Lost In the Campo

Last week Nayelli, a rural health volunteer asked me to come out to her site to help her give a workshop with the graduating senior class in her community (there is only one school in her community and only about 25-30 graduating seniors) on job skills. We planned to teach them how to make a resume, how to do a job interview, as well as let them know what their options were for continuing their education in cities like Horqueta (where I live) and Concepcion, the bigger city about an hour from Horqueta. I haven’t yet done any workshops like this in my community so was excited about the chance to practice with her. I made all the preparations and we communicated over the phone how we would organize the workshop. I would start with a small activity relating to values, then cover the topics of resumes and job interviews and she would handle the part about higher education. We made plans for me to arrive at her house in the morning so we would have time to prepare, make lunch and get to the school by 1 in the afternoon. I was feeling really great and ambitious about the whole thing and decided I would bike out to her community from Horqueta. It was only about 30k and I was looking forward to some exercise and picturesque scenery.

I left my house around 8:30am but decided to make a quick stop at the internet café on my way out of town. I should have known I wouldn’t be able to just take a quick peak at my email without getting sucked into the cyber world. At 9:30am I forced myself to leave the internet café and promised myself I would get back to all those emails and front page yahoo headlines about Angelina Jolie’s 20th adoption later. I started to bike out of town and turned on my ipod to some Guns and Roses “Sweet Child of Mine” to get the energy just right. I biked on pavement for about a half hour and was making great time. By 10:00 I had reached the little store Naylli told me to look for. I turned right, and began the second leg of my journey on dirt. I reminded myself that in the U.S people drive for miles to find terrain like this for mountain biking so I should be appreciative that I had the opportunity to ride on trails like this on my way to work.

For awhile, everything was going fine and I was making excellent time. I was on the lookout for the “only T in the road” where I would have to turn left and ride into her community called Cullentrillo. I had been to her house once before, when I had my tear off a straw roof and make a new one in a day adventure. That time I had taken a dusty campo bus and wasn’t paying much attention to anything except the dust flying in the windows and the incredible way in which the driver charged through ditches and over bumps. So, when I approached a “T” much sooner than I expected I wasn’t sure what to do. “This doesn’t seem right” I thought but I turned anyway. I began to bike past a few houses and fields and reassured myself “oh yes, this is right, I remember that field and that cow” Why I thought I that those particular houses and fields looked familiar when every house in the campo has a similar look didn’t cross my mind at that moment.

I continued a few more kilometers until it dawned on me that nothing looked familiar and the road was narrowing and approaching a more deserted area. “This definitely doesn’t seem right” I finally admitted. I saw two women walking towards me, baskets of bananas balanced neatly on their heads and puzzled looks. I reminded myself that I was a sweaty, red faced, white girl, on a mountain bike, with headphone coming out of my ears and sunglasses on. I took out my headphones and removed my sunglasses to reveal my equally puzzled expression and asked them if they could tell me where I was and how to get to Cullentrillo. When they stared at me blankly and then at each other I “thought, “oh yes of course, they don’t speak Spanish……..Moo, optyta Cullentrillo? Ahata cullentrillope ha amba’apota petei voluntaria cuerpo de pazpagua ha ndaikuaai moo “ optya. They smiled and I let out a sigh of relief. What I said must have sounded funny…I said “where is culluentrillo? I am going to cullentrillo and I will work with a peace corp volunteer there and I don’t know where it is” I knew I was a long ways off when they didn’t know who Nayelli was. Usually you can approach anywhere near a volunteer’s community and they will say “oh yes, of course me know her/him” and then they will offer to take you to their house.

I started backtracking and when I got close to the T I had made a wrong turn at I asked another local about my whereabouts. He was a very nice farmer, who I am sure was glad to stop cutting grass with a machete to stop and talk to me. He lifted his head up to reveal a face that had suffered years of working in the sun. He smiled a mostly toothless smile and told me I had made a right turn but I needed to make an immediate right after turning left at the T. So, I set out to find my way to Cullentrillo. Just for fun, I asked about 5 more people for directions. I think I was really enjoying utilizing the guarani and making small talk with the campo people. They are so calm and friendly…just like the difference between farm folk and city folk back home in California.

Eventually I got close enough to Cullentrillo that people started to tell me they knew who Nayelli was. They said “oh yes, she’s the one who is American but doesn’t look American, the brown one” I silently gave props to Nayelli and any other peace corps volunteer who isn’t white with blonde hair who had to constantly explain that Americans come in all shapes, sizes and colors. That is one challenge I don’t have to deal with. I asked them how far I was from her house and they told me to just keep going down the road until I got to a T, then turn left. So, I kept going, and going, and going…….

What seemed like forever later I became really thirsty and stopped riding to take a break. The sun was hitting me full force now and I began to panic a little. I hadn’t seen a single house or person in a long time (which probably had only been about 15 min or so). I was almost out of water and really tired. I had left at 9:30 and it was now 11:30, I was running really late. I called Nayelli to tell her I was lost but she didn’t answer her phone. I left a pathetic sounding message and charged on. I decided to trust the Paraguayans and continue to follow the only directions I had. Sure enough, they were right. I saw the T from a distance, it was a beautiful site. I turned left and 2k later I recognized her house. She greeted me and within an hour, we had made lunch, showered, changed, prepared for the workshop and were on our way to the High School.

The workshop went great. Most of the students had no idea what a resume was or how to make one. I could tell they enjoyed the activities and they were very receptive. Nayelli and I performed a skit to demonstrate what NOT to do in a job interview and how to do a good interview. I talked to them about how they had their whole lives ahead of them, and that now was a good time to start thinking about what was important to them. As simple as those statements were, I could tell no one had said anything like that to them. Nayelli had made a question box for them the week before and their questions were genuine. “what will people in the city think about us because we come from the campo? What does someone have to do to get ahead in life? How much does it cost to live in the city? How do you rent an apartment?” The kids were excited about graduating and also terrified of what their life would be like now. Many plan on saving enough money to go to Spain or Buenos Aires to work but hopefully others will stay and find something close to home that’s worthwhile. Whatever their future holds, at least now they may be able to talk about themselves on paper and in a formal setting. Maybe that will be just what they need to get ahead in life.

We finished the workshop and I spent the night at Nayelli’s house. We made dinner and watched a movie on her portable DVD player and talked about the day. She listened to her voicemail just before she went to bed and laughed about how I was “lost in the campo” and congratulated me on finding my way. I decided I didn’t want to risk any more unwanted adventures so I caught a campo bus at 5:30 the next morning and was back in horqueata by 6:30. As often as I loose myself and as much as I seem lost, I always seem to get where I am going and I always find myself.