Chicken!

So I'm over here, washing my bed sheets, mindin' my own business and my host mom strings up a couple of chickens for dinner.

Washin' my clothes... and there's my host mom

First you nick their necks and let the blood drain out... 

Dump them in boiling water to get the feathers off... 

Chicken! 

She made sopa de gallina india. I should've gotten a picture of the soup, but I was fishing around the chicken foot. Yum!

Graduation 2013

I've spent the past two weeks attending graduation ceremonies for kindergartners and 9th grade. I'll let the pictures tell the story:

My host nephew, Wilfredo, graduated last Thursday from the school in the canton over. We started the day with a photo shoot.

Me and Cori, my host sister who goes to the university in San Miguel during the week

Edwin, looking like a macho Salvadoran man

From left: Kenny, Cori, Edwin, Ale

Wilfredo and me. I was surprised by his hand placement... 

Here I'm thinking "I hope this isn't the Rico Suave I was meant to meet in ES"

Cori, Wil, Yo

Edwin and Aysel. I'm glad she's too young to pick up on the no-smile Salvadoran smile. 

The ceremony was in the casa comunal de San Lucas

Every graduate has an escort, and they're the only ones who get to sit :( Usually it's a family member around the same age or a parent. Cori was Wil's escort. 

Why wouldn't there be a Catholic mass at the public school's graduation ceremony?

From left: Lili and Marili, my community guide's daughter and granddaughter 

Karime, my community guide's other granddaughter. This is what all the female kindergartners wore for graduation. No caps and gowns here, but lots of rhinestones.  

The 9th grade graduates

Me and Glenda. I went to her quince on my first day here

Wil, Edwin, Ivenia

Cori, Wil, Edwin, Ivenia

Woo! More pics!

 Yesterday was the kindergarten graduation for La Montañita. It was super cute!

Everyone walking back from the Evangelical mass part of the graduation ceremony. Why wouldn't there be an Evangelical mass at the public school's graduation ceremony? Vaquito makes his presence known. 

Sergio, my new friend, escorts his graduate friend

The kiddies

Mesa de honor

The kids sang a song at the end. My battery died right in the middle of the song!

 Today I went to the 9th grade graduation for La Montañita. I only took one picture because honestly I'm all graduated out. Where's the cake?

Color change at the mesa de honor, everyone taking pictures

Of course we've had family graduate at every ceremony, so I've been going to a lot of parties. Typical food here is fried chicken, rice, coleslaw and tortillas with a coke on the side. I've eaten more the past week than I have the past month. It's been fun, but exhausting! I'm glad I went to everyone's ceremony though. It's important to support the youth in the community. I even got a few shout outs from the mesa de honor!

And hey, I got some sweet pics with my wanna-be GQ model host nephew. Right!?

The Peace Corps Wormhole

At the risk of jumping the shark on my PC blog, here is what they don't tell you about Peace Corps. I'm gonna explain this the only way I know how- with scifi. 

Peace Corps service functions as a wormhole. Not to be confused with blackholes or buttholes, a wormhole is described by this nerdy website as

"a theoretical passage through space-time that could create shortcuts for long journeys across the universe. Wormholes are predicted by the theory of general relativity. But be wary: wormholes bring with them the dangers of sudden collapse, high radiation and dangerous contact with exotic matter."

It all starts like this- you're so proud to get your official PC invitation. Finally months if not years of applications and medical appointments pay off and you begin the intensely emotional process of detaching yourself from your current life. Everyone goes about this differently, but based on my unscientific case study of our COED 2013 group the future PCV's final months in America boil down to overindulgence in comfort food and stocking up on that special brand of soap you use. You say your goodbyes, whisper outlandish promises to your significant other, and pay your credit card bills. This is it, hunny. We're going in!

If this was a low-budget scifi film our spaceship would be slowly approaching a blueish swirly thing that looks kinda like this:

Oooooo, hyperspace.

We're sucked in to the wormhole, lured to the edge with promises of life-changing experiences and a great résumé builder. You get to Pre-Service Training and suddenly you lose all personal control over your life. You don't get to decide what you do during the day, what you eat for lunch, when you go to bed. You're at the mercy of the training manager and your new host family. And everything is different: the food, climate, language, customs, safety procedures. Bathing is even different. You struggle to communicate basic things like "Please, don't put that moldy bag in with my nice clothes!" You get diarrhea more than a couple times. You break down crying when you hear 'One More Night' by Phil Collins because your mom likes Phil Collins and the fact that no one here knows what he's even saying makes you feel lonely. You're so damn lonely.

You experience all these low times with equal parts happiness. It's exhausting to sob on the phone with your best friend, convinced you'll never be loved like Gerry loves Holly in P.S. I Love You, then the next day you have an amazing dance party with your fellow PCT's and make plans to go to the beach. The acting director visits your country and you cry some more, but this time you're filled with purpose and resolve.

Scientific "tubey part" 

Swear-in. Move to site. Meet some people and climb a mountain. We're in the tubey part of the wormhole, the part where you get all integrated into the host community, and you start to think "Woo, the PC wormhole is great! What a perfect shortcut through the turbulent post-graduation downward spiral into a desk job! It's gonna spit me out into my dream job! I have a higher calling because I'm learning Spanish!"

But the PC wormhole shortcut  is dangerous. Where, exactly, will it spit you out? The question isn't where, constable, but when.

Blorgons! Just go with me on this one, OK?

Fast forward a few months into service. Life is different. Peace Corps is said to change people, gain more patience and appreciation of this and that. But you're still you, right? The wormhole is just transporting you through the boring stuff, but it's not changing your fundamental building blocks?

Well, let's see. You listen to Alanis Morissette unironically. You've watched every episode of the recent NBC comedies. You read hundreds of pages of George R. R. Martin's Game of Thrones in one sitting. You keep peanut butter hidden in your room. You miss fluoride in your water supply and deli meat in your supermarket. You can't remember which bug bites you put the hydrocortisone cream on last, so you just slather it on like lotion. Your diet has gone to hell. Your shoes are covered in cow crap. You spend 3 hours writing one blog post. The highlight of your week is talking to your parents.

None of these things are necessarily bad. It's just that your idea of a "good time" changes. And reflecting on how different the "good times" are now makes you feel weird, like suspended in time. But only two years and you'll be back to your American life- strip malls, parking tickets and all.

The sudden collapse? Spending days on end alone in your room because you feel like you can't be yourself here, not like you were before. The culture is too conservative, you're not confident in the new language. You just want to share a cheeseburger and beer with your best friend.

Chewie, are we ever gonna get home? 

High radiation? You start to get sick of spending time with yourself. Symptoms include boredom, anger, apathy, and guilt. This kind of radiation doesn't create super powers.

And dangerous contact with exotic matter? You might think this is amoebas or other diarrhea inducing creatures, but you'd be wrong. The PCV's most dangerous threat is the person they become in the two-year long wormhole.

You see, Peace Corps service breaks you down to your most basic self. People here think of you as the gringa with silly nerd glasses, 6th in a line of other PCV gringos to come to their village and, ultimately, leave.

You start seeing yourself as a one-dimensional stranger, and it's scary. You forget what you used to do for fun or what you'd talk about with other people. Ya know, before the biggest news you had was that the papusa lady upped her prices. Three for a dollar? Gimme a break!

You don't like the wormhole anymore. You don't completely understand what's happening to you, but you want to go back to your old life, back to what makes sense and what's comfortable.

They don't tell you about this stuff. Sure, they say "PC isn't for everyone. You have to be a really strong person to make it." But they don't tell you why it's so hard. Why it really sucks sometimes.

I hope this wormhole spits me out put-back-together and whole. I don't even care where or when. I just wanna feel whole.

Caminemos Con Job

Do you guys remember that most horrible, awful day when I was selling raffle tickets to benefit the man in my canton who has cancer? Sunday we had the big soccer tournament and raffled off the baby cow! It was fun, and a lot of people showed up. The DJ wasn't too bad either.

I'm really proud of this campaign. They did great!

It was muddy, but that's how it goes. 

There were 20 futbol teams who participated. I think it went that they played for 10 minutes then did a shoot out? I don't really know, but it looked like fun. 

The prize! A baby cow goes for about $300. I didn't stay long enough to see who won because they were really messin with me. "We'll do the raffle at 1pm!" Yeah, 4 hours later.... 

I got to hang out with Job the whole time. We ate ice cream and talked about American movies. I told him that I like hockey and he was like, "Ooooh, like Happy Gilmore!" He really likes Adam Sandler. 

It was a fun day! I want to find out how much money they raised. Hopefully it will be enough to cover the costs of his prosthetic.

Hot dog!

*Note: I thought everyone was saying "chale" but the word is actually chalet. They sometimes drop the T when speaking.

I spent all day Saturday learning about Otinia's chale. A chale is a little metal hut, usually on the side of the road, that sells stuff. Also see: hot dog stand, banana stand... really any kind of stand. Here's what I learned:

She's got a prime location in the desvio of Hoja de Sal.

The chale actually belongs to her daughter, but Otinia usually works it. They paid a carpenter a few years back to build the shade. It's perfect because when it's not raining the sun is burning a hole through your t-shirt. Shade is key. She's also across the street from the bus stop. 

She sells hot dogs, but also has chips, soda, juice, coffee, pan dulce, and beer. Always beer. 

She borrows clean water from the molino across the street. She carries it on her head, of course. 

I wanted to see how the stove works inside, so she showed me the hot dog making process. Then she gave me the hot dog! 

Which I ate so as not to be rude. They cut the bun on the top here. Weird, right?!

She'd like to make enough money to fix up the place, get new lamina for the sides and add on to the shade. Isn't she cute?

I asked Otinia if she'll stop selling beer out of her house if the chale makes enough money. She said probably not. She always needs more money. She worked on Friday from 8am-5pm and made $15, so I guess I can see how the extra beer income is necessary. Still, I hope that in 2 years she'll consider closing up shop in her house so the bolos don't bother her or her family any more. 

Nothing to do

I'm so relieved that my general assembly is over with. It really hung over my head the past month. Will I get my census done? Will anyone come? Do people even care?

But now it's all over and I have zero plans until I go back for Pre-Service Training 2. (El Salvador does a split training where you spend the first 10 weeks learning the basics, go to your site and learn what they want/need, then come back for technical training on how to get it done. I like it, I feel like I have a lot of questions I can ask now that I've lived in my site.) Now I can focus on what really matters. Like...

Cleaning up the wax that spilled all over my new dresser. Oops. 

And figuring out what this half-scorpion/half-spider creature is called and starting a campaign to wipe them out. 

Ya know. The important stuff. (It's gonna be a long two weeks.)

My Aysel!

I love taking pictures of baby Aysel. I'm going to make a photo book of her at the end of my two years. I hope she'll remember me!

The thing I love about Aysel is that she can make a game out of anything. We've played  such exciting games as "bounce the tennis ball," and "roll the marble." Here's a new one I like to call "touch alllll the frijoles."

Too cute

Playing with Aysel is a huge relief for me. I don't have to worry about saying the right words or making plans. We can just sit and count beans, and that's fun. She always brightens my day!

Etiquette shmetiquette

Etiquette is weird here. I'm constantly thinking, "Oh no, was that bad?" But the Salvadorans always put me at ease. For example:

After swimming in the waterfalls, I'm soaking wet. I feel awkward getting the seats on the bus wet.

...Then a lady gets on with a dead chicken under her arm, and I figure wet seats aren't a big deal. 

I'm sweating like a pig, but I'm not sure if my tank top is appropriate for game night. 

...Then my host sister comes out in see-through lingerie, and Uno is significantly more awkward.

I'm really thirsty, but I'm not sure if I can drink in the church. Like, is that weird?

...Then a lady sits next to me and eats four pupusas, so a sip of water can't hurt. 

It's getting dark, so I have to leave. But I hate to eat and run on my community guide!

...Then the bolos start singing down the street, and I feel more justified in getting my butt home. Fast.

I have a horrible head cold and I really need to blow my nose. It's gonna be noisy and messy. 

...Then a man hocks a loogie next to me. At least my fluids are going in a tissue, ok!

I'm going to be such a mess when I head back to the US. 

Asamblea General

Yesterday I had my asamblea general. Every PCV has to invite the community to a meeting and present themselves, Peace Corps, and what they've learned about the community. It's kind of like a right of passage.

I really stressed that I'm here to work as a team with the community. Of course, I used a punny futbol reference to explain teamwork that included a part where I jump around and scream "Gooooooooooal!!!"

Nobody thought it was funny.

Overall, I think the asamblea went well. A decent amount of people showed up, and I had representatives from the police and the local branch of Fundación Campo, an amazing micro-finance organization. My promotor de salud spoke and then the police talked about how they're working to keep the youth out of trouble.

The wild turnout

Soy de Chicago

Otinia and the promotor in the front row

I used visuals to explain my role as the PCV

I think they liked it!

Not pictured is my dear friend Maria. I never would have been able to pull off my asamblea without her! I've been sick with a cold all week, but she came out to help me even when I was hacking and snotting all over the place. She's a good friend!