The
story about the Jewish cemetery in Prague goes that once upon a time, when a
famous rabbi of Prague was on his deathbed, he asked as his parting wish to be
buried at the side of his beloved teacher, who had long ago been interred in
the Prague cemetery. The only problem, the space at both of his sides was
already filled. However, a miracle occurred, the earth spread, and there was
space for the student to also be buried beside his teacher. This story
(le’havdil) could be taken as analogy for Paraguayan hospitality, especially
surrounding meal times. There is always room for more at the table. In fact,
chances are, if you find yourself at a Paraguayan’s house before 9:30, you will
be eating a second breakfast. If it is after 9:30, you will be invited
(sweet-talked, guilted, stared-down) to stay for lunch.
One
of my host-mom’s, Ña Rafaela, takes this type of hospitality to a whole other
level. Sometimes when I show up, there are immediate family members, multiple
cousins (who have their own moms making lunch as well), in-laws, boarders (they
were actually staying with other families, but somehow in the end, moved into
Rafa’s house), grandchildren all smished around the table. I don’t think any of
them called ahead. I certainly didn’t. And yet, everyone is able to get seconds
and thirds. I think maybe Rafa just senses from the wind that she should add another
cup of rice to the soup.
While
sometimes PC’s innocently come to work with a community member in the morning
and just end up getting invited to lunch, sometimes (especially when it is
either really hot out, it’s a traditional PYan holiday, or when I have a really
bad cold) it is more intentional: the art of the lunch crash. I mean, there is nothing
better for a bad cold then really hot gizo—chicken or beef soup with rice.
Cooking it on the gas stove just doesn’t taste the same. I also love to
lunch-crash because that is how I’ve learned how to cook some different
Paraguayan dishes and also learned about living “close to the earth.”
In my community, meals are generally cooked
over the fire—fueled by firewood. Paraguay, is 95% deforested currently.
Educating about trees, reforesting, and planting trees here is so important.
Since trees are scarce, much of the firewood is collected from dry/fallen
branches or from trees that can regrow after partial shearing.
Vegetables are seasonal—as in, in the
summer it is too hot for vegetables to grow in Paraguay without a sun-shade. In
the winter, 99% of my community cultivates gardens. Ña Rafaela’s garden is one
of the largest in my site—she expands every year. Here she is harvesting
cabbage for our salad.
Ña Rafaela’s oldest daughter and her first
cousin chopping together.
No food is ever wasted. When I first
attempted to make composts with some community members, I learned that whereas
suburban Americans might have lots of leftover vegetable scraps to compost,
many of the food scraps here are earmarked for various livestock. Chickens, for
example, love to crunch on the remains of leafy greens such as cabbage (or on
the leafy greens themselves if the garden doesn’t have a good fence!).
You never know how something might be
repurposed or multipurposed here. This bucket makes a perfect gigantic salad
bowl.
Although there is running water in my
community, the water is pumped from a special type of deep well (about a 5
minute walk from Rafa’s house) and then runs to individual houses. If the power
goes out, as it often does in this rainy spring weather, or if Rafa’s nephew
forgets to reset the meter, the water stops. Here Rafa’s daughter drains the
wash-water from the greens to use for soaking dishes.
Lunch time! Today (in addition to myself),
there were cousins and in-laws at lunch.
In parting…
Happy thanksgiving from the Paraguay (I
will be celebrating with by attending a Lady Gaga concert…)
And here is my favorite smile in all of
Ysypo Potrero (Rafa’s son).
