In Peace Corps, they tell you that there's no such thing as a solid routine.
Sometimes you're cramming a week's worth of work in a weekend. Sometimes you're left to your own devices. And when you're host mom kicks you out of the wash bin, complaining that you're not washing your clothes right, you usually find yourself with a book in hand.
Granted, I haven't read THAT many books since becoming a PCV. While other volunteers average a book a week, I've probably read a book a month.
But that was, of course, until I started reading Twilight.
I blame my friend Diane. She was the one who told me to read it before I left.
"I know they're for a younger crowd, but you'll love them," she said.
We have similar tastes in books. I trusted her.
It took me eight months to pick up my copy of the first Twilight book. And now, three days later, I am anxiously pacing, sleep-deprived, among the roosters, wondering how I could possibly get a copy of the 4th book — the only one I couldn't bring with me — in English, in Peru.
They´re so awful and so amazing all at the same time. Thank God Stephenie Meyer stopped at four.
Crippling illness attacks Peace Corps volunteers
A recent survey has discovered a potentially serious illness targeting Peace Corps volunteers in Peru. The Peace Corps Blues — or PCB — is feared to be responsible for the incapacitation of dozens of volunteers in May alone — with many of the victims being struck without warning.
"It just hit me suddenly, you know?" said Geoffrey Lord, a current Peace Corps volunteer living just outside of Lima. "One minute I was dancing to cumbia and discussing the merits of sustainable development, and the next I was running outside to call my friend in tears, screaming about how much I love and support [President] Obama."
Although PCB is not known to be fatal, symptoms include: hating everything Peruvian, idolizing everything from the United States, being irrationally sensitive, never wanting to leave mosquito netting, crying over spilled SODIS water, lashing out at small children, and general irritability.
More than what some psychologists call "homesickness," PCB attacks volunteers at their idealistic core. Persistent introspection worsens their condition, with such questions as: "What am I even doing here?" ... "What difference can I actually make?" ... "Why did I ever think this was a good idea?" ... and "Where the %$@* am I? Seriously?"
Like herpes or a stubborn case of giardiasis, PCB can lie dormant for months before an outbreak occurs.
"I thought I was perfectly fine, and then it hit me twice in one month," recounted Julie Fast, a health volunteer based in the Andean department of Cajamarca. "It was nasty."
There is no cure for PCB, but treatments for the condition include: Ceviche, calling another PCV across the country and talking for three hours, ice-cold Coca-Cola, watching President Obama's inauguration speech on YouTube, eating chocolate, going to the beach, going to the beach and eating chocolate, watching NBC's "The Office" entire season 3 in one sitting, shouting English curse words to cat-callers, and yoga.
Despite an outcry by volunteers' parents, the World Health Organization has denied plans to take further action.
"They see no reason to raise the advisory to level six," said Jason Pickens of the New York Times.
Causes of the disease are yet unknown, but some speculate there could be a correlation between PCB and a volunteer's peanut butter intake.
Further research on the long-term effects of PCB are pending.
— With reporting by Sarah Walker.
"It just hit me suddenly, you know?" said Geoffrey Lord, a current Peace Corps volunteer living just outside of Lima. "One minute I was dancing to cumbia and discussing the merits of sustainable development, and the next I was running outside to call my friend in tears, screaming about how much I love and support [President] Obama."
Although PCB is not known to be fatal, symptoms include: hating everything Peruvian, idolizing everything from the United States, being irrationally sensitive, never wanting to leave mosquito netting, crying over spilled SODIS water, lashing out at small children, and general irritability.
More than what some psychologists call "homesickness," PCB attacks volunteers at their idealistic core. Persistent introspection worsens their condition, with such questions as: "What am I even doing here?" ... "What difference can I actually make?" ... "Why did I ever think this was a good idea?" ... and "Where the %$@* am I? Seriously?"
Like herpes or a stubborn case of giardiasis, PCB can lie dormant for months before an outbreak occurs.
"I thought I was perfectly fine, and then it hit me twice in one month," recounted Julie Fast, a health volunteer based in the Andean department of Cajamarca. "It was nasty."
There is no cure for PCB, but treatments for the condition include: Ceviche, calling another PCV across the country and talking for three hours, ice-cold Coca-Cola, watching President Obama's inauguration speech on YouTube, eating chocolate, going to the beach, going to the beach and eating chocolate, watching NBC's "The Office" entire season 3 in one sitting, shouting English curse words to cat-callers, and yoga.
Despite an outcry by volunteers' parents, the World Health Organization has denied plans to take further action.
"They see no reason to raise the advisory to level six," said Jason Pickens of the New York Times.
Causes of the disease are yet unknown, but some speculate there could be a correlation between PCB and a volunteer's peanut butter intake.
Further research on the long-term effects of PCB are pending.
— With reporting by Sarah Walker.
A Mother´s Day Story
Before my front door was even shut, I heard the words calling me over.
"Row-bean .... ROW-bean! ... Ven!"
A beautiful 24-year-old dressed in a sparkly blouse and full makeup waved her hand violently.
"Hola Sandra," I called back, stepping lightly toward the drinking circle set up on the dusty street. It was a small group of 20-somethings consisting of several host relatives and some neighbors, all passing the small glass around with the chelas. It was mother's day. They were celebrating. And I highly doubted they were sober.
"Row-bean," Sandra said again as I approached. "I need to talk to you. Do you know anything about medicines?"
"Medicines?" I asked, slightly confused. "No, not really. Sorry."
The lip-sticked corners of her mouth drooped.
"Oh ... It's just my son, Josep."
He won't eat, she told me. He'll only eat milk — like he's 1 or 2, but he's 3 years old! He fights her all the time. He says 'Mommy! You don't love me! You make me eat plants!'
"Will he eat eggs?" I interrupted gently. She nodded. I explained how to cut up the vegetables very small and put them into an omelet, so he won't notice.
She works hard to buy his milk, she continued. She gets up at 6 a.m. and works until 7 p.m. to make sure that he never goes without. Sometimes, she goes without a new blouse or jewelry, but her son, Josep, never. She always tries to get him to eat his vegetables. 'To be big and strong like Spiderman' she tells him.
"That's really good," I assured her. "It's obvious you're doing the best you can."
He calls his grandmother mamá, she went on. When she gets home from a long day at work and is tired, sometimes she snaps at him. The minute she walks in the door, he's shouting about how he wants his milk, and she can't handle it. She's tired. 'Go away, Sandra' her mother tells her. 'I'll take care of him.' Sometimes he tells her that he hates her, she said, eyes swelling.
"I know that must really hurt you," I said. "But he's 3, he doesn't understand why you're away from him."
And then Miguel, she said. Miguel asks her why she won't spend enough time with him. Why she won't go to bed with him. 'I'm tired!' she cried out. 'I'm tired all the time!' She gets home from work, and she has to wash the dishes, wash the clothes, make dinner. She doesn't even have time to spend with her own son.
"You don't even have much time for you," I said softly.
"I don't!" she said. But she doesn't want to lose her husband. They've had their problems, she admitted. They were separated for a nearly a year. "But we have four years together," she said. "Three of those with the baby." He talks about other girls to her. He works when he wants to. He doesn't get that she doesn't even have time for my her son.
She'd been clinging to the drinking glass, and her friends in the circle were getting annoyed. She swallowed the last of the beer, and passed it along.
"Row-bean .... ROW-bean! ... Ven!"
A beautiful 24-year-old dressed in a sparkly blouse and full makeup waved her hand violently.
"Hola Sandra," I called back, stepping lightly toward the drinking circle set up on the dusty street. It was a small group of 20-somethings consisting of several host relatives and some neighbors, all passing the small glass around with the chelas. It was mother's day. They were celebrating. And I highly doubted they were sober.
"Row-bean," Sandra said again as I approached. "I need to talk to you. Do you know anything about medicines?"
"Medicines?" I asked, slightly confused. "No, not really. Sorry."
The lip-sticked corners of her mouth drooped.
"Oh ... It's just my son, Josep."
He won't eat, she told me. He'll only eat milk — like he's 1 or 2, but he's 3 years old! He fights her all the time. He says 'Mommy! You don't love me! You make me eat plants!'
"Will he eat eggs?" I interrupted gently. She nodded. I explained how to cut up the vegetables very small and put them into an omelet, so he won't notice.
She works hard to buy his milk, she continued. She gets up at 6 a.m. and works until 7 p.m. to make sure that he never goes without. Sometimes, she goes without a new blouse or jewelry, but her son, Josep, never. She always tries to get him to eat his vegetables. 'To be big and strong like Spiderman' she tells him.
"That's really good," I assured her. "It's obvious you're doing the best you can."
He calls his grandmother mamá, she went on. When she gets home from a long day at work and is tired, sometimes she snaps at him. The minute she walks in the door, he's shouting about how he wants his milk, and she can't handle it. She's tired. 'Go away, Sandra' her mother tells her. 'I'll take care of him.' Sometimes he tells her that he hates her, she said, eyes swelling.
"I know that must really hurt you," I said. "But he's 3, he doesn't understand why you're away from him."
And then Miguel, she said. Miguel asks her why she won't spend enough time with him. Why she won't go to bed with him. 'I'm tired!' she cried out. 'I'm tired all the time!' She gets home from work, and she has to wash the dishes, wash the clothes, make dinner. She doesn't even have time to spend with her own son.
"You don't even have much time for you," I said softly.
"I don't!" she said. But she doesn't want to lose her husband. They've had their problems, she admitted. They were separated for a nearly a year. "But we have four years together," she said. "Three of those with the baby." He talks about other girls to her. He works when he wants to. He doesn't get that she doesn't even have time for my her son.
She'd been clinging to the drinking glass, and her friends in the circle were getting annoyed. She swallowed the last of the beer, and passed it along.
She paused, looking down at a splatter of foam on the ground.
"I tell him that if he eats his vegetables, he'll be big and strong like Spiderman," she said almost whispering. "I just want to be a good mom."
"You are," I said, and grabbed her hand until it stopped trembling.
"I tell him that if he eats his vegetables, he'll be big and strong like Spiderman," she said almost whispering. "I just want to be a good mom."
"You are," I said, and grabbed her hand until it stopped trembling.
Earth Day! (Día de la Tierra)
Earth Day Activity 1: Veggie garden in the primary school.
Earth Day Activity 2: Decomposition Activity
Earth Day Activity 3: The Web of Life (how everything is connected)
Earth Day Activity 4: Coloring pages! Kids were given a page with animals already drawn on them, and they had to add where the animals live.Earth Day Activity 5: Climax!! 200-kid parade down the main street of Pampas. I'm really surprised we didn't lose anyone.
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