My big boo-boo.

I know I'm doing one blog post right after another, but I feel like this story deserves it's own post. So, my 9 year old cousin Jack is on the track club at his school. They have a race coming up and he's concerned that he won't be in good enough shape to run the race. My aunt suggested that if I could take him running twice a week we could build up his confidence so he would feel good about the upcoming race. I thought this was a great idea and that it would help me stay in shape too. So, I went and picked him up from one of his clubs this afternoon and we went on a run. We picked a destination goal that was about 1.7 km away that we were going to try and reach. I figured we would shoot high since his race is only 800 meters. We set off and actually made it all the way to our goal! He's really in good shape, but he just needs to boost his confidence a bit. We went at a pretty good pace the whole way and only had three brief stops. First, we had to stop after about 2 blocks because he was having MP3 player issues. Then, naturally, we had to stop at crosswalks and the like, but the third time we had to stop was a slightly bigger deal. You see, while we were running, the headphone jack came out of my iPod. I didn't want to stop again to put it back in so I just stuck my hand in my pocket and tried to plug it back in without having to break stride. This was slightly distracting to my overall running coordination and so when I happened to step on the tiniest of cracks in the sidewalk I did one of the more impressive face plants of my life. OK, it actually wasn't that bad. It was more of an awkward/embarrassing stumble and fall with minor scrapes on my palms and knees. I quickly rolled over on my back to compose myself, catch my breath, and make sure everything was where it should be before getting up. While Jack was busy laughing at me and watching me lay there in the dirt, he suddenly looked up and said, "Um, there are two guys running over here to help you". Uh oh. I quickly sat up so as to make sure I was no longer giving the impression that I had fallen and couldn't get up, then turned around to face these two men who were coming to my aid and realized they weren't just men who had been out walking, seen me fall, and were coming to check on me. Oh no. These were two men who had been driving down the one lane one-way street, seen me fall and subsequently not get up, stop in the middle of the road, abandon their car, and run over to help the poor little gringa who had fallen over. Meanwhile, their car is still sitting in the middle of the street with the doors wide open and blocking traffic with about 5 cars stuck behind it. I don't think I have ever seen a more concerned look on anyone's face before in my life. They didn't even care about all the traffic they had just stopped, but were only concerned with making sure I was OK. As cute and chivalrous as this was, it was also extremely embarrassing as I desperately tried to convince them I was actually fine so they could get back in their car and get traffic moving again. As soon as they had driven off, Jack and I started laughing, and laughed for the next four blocks of our run.

So, after a hugely busy week last week where I had to attempt to do about 2 weeks worth of work in 6 days, I'm back on track, getting more sleep, and fully recovered. We do a lot of travelling over the weekends so there is no guarantee that you're ever going to get to rest you need on the weekends, but thankfully I was able to get some much needed sleep the past couple days. We were planning on travelling this weekend and being gone for almost three days, but unfortunately I am not going to be able to join them. With all of the girl's clubs that my aunt has going, she thought it would be a good idea if every week I went to a different club and did a little English workshop with the girls. I really liked the idea and so far it's been a blast. (The last one I went to all the girls mobbed me and started jumping up and down chanting "Tia Dani! Tia Dani!". It was really cute) I had another club this Saturday when we're supposed to be up in the mountains so the whole family is going up without me. I was actually kind of looking forward to this and hoping that this would mean I could have the house to myself for the weekend. I could go hang out with some friends and just get to be by myself for a change. No such luck. My aunt finally laid out the plan this afternoon and said that since they obviously couldn't leave me in the house alone, (I don't know where she got this ridiculous notion), that I would be staying with the housekeeper and her husband for the weekend. This could be fun, but I'm a little nervous about staying somewhere where the only known English phrase is "Please close the door". It should be fun and good experience, but I'm getting a little tired of being drug around. I'm feeling the need to be a little more independant than I feel like I have the freedom to be. Since my aunt and uncle have never really had any contact with me, especially as an adult, a lot of the time I feel like I'm 12. A bit frustrating, but other than that I'm really having a great time. I have a lot more stuff to do now and that feels good. I hate feeling useless.

My War on Pests

Today was a very, um, interesting day. First of all, I am happy to report that one of the little friends who has been crawling around in my walls is deceased. How do we know this you might ask? The easy answer would be that he followed in his crazy friend's footsteps and come out into the yard to die where we can see him and dispose of him accordingly. Unfortunately, this is not the case. How else can you determine that you have a dead rat? You use your other senses of course. In this case, our sense of smell. Our housekeeper opened the door to the laundry room and had her senses assailed by the intoxicating scent of decomposing rat. It leaves much to be desired I assure you. We promptly got on the horn to the exterminator people to have them come and remove our stinky friend from the attic of the laundry room. As soon as Mr. Helpful exterminator arrived he removed the panel which allows access to the attic and very quickly came to the conclusion that there was no way he could reach said rat. Thank you Mr. Helpful. A quick call later and we had the neighborhood caretaker, Juan, at the door with a ladder to assist Mr. Helpful in the taking off of the laundry room roof to continue the search from above.

In the meantime, the housekeeper, Erika, and I began a different attack in my room, which just happens to be adjacent to the laundry room. I'm sure the vast majority of North Americans have had a chigger bite at one point or another. They're those little red bites you get sometime in the night that itch for a couple days and go away. Obnoxious, but not earth shattering. (I have had a chigger infestation for the last 2 weeks and wake up every morning with at least 5 new bites.) However, I am sure the vast majority of North Americans have never had a flea bite. Flea bites are bright red, the size of a very large mosquito bite, hard, and itch. When I say they itch, I mean they ITCH. It's not an annoying itch, it's a burning, "oh my gosh I'm on fire!" kind of itch that makes you want to gnaw off whatever limb is unfortunate enough to have the bite. I also have fleas. Erika's and my war this afternoon was against these fleas and chiggers. All my clothes and sheets had to be washed, my blankets are being sent to the laundromat, Raid was sprayed in all the corners, and Eucalyptus oil was sprayed on every surface. The room was then locked up for the day to let the fumes do their work. We'll see how it works.

Back to the rat. Finally having got the roof off, Mr. Helpful dropped down into the attic to fetch the rat. He surfaced with no rat in hand, they re-boarded up the roof, and climbed down. This can't be good. Sure enough, there was no dead rat in the attic which means it has died somewhere under the building or in the walls. Our worst fears have been realized. Unless we want to completely rip apart the floor and the walls, there is nothing that can be done and we have 5 more fun filled days of decomposing rat to do laundry to. Lucky us. Thankfully, the smell hasn't reached my room yet and will hopefully stay away, otherwise I'll be moving into the main house for the next few days. Welcome to Chile!

My Wildlife

There is a great deal of spectacular wildlife in Chile. There is a bird that is all around, even in the city, that is just gorgeous. As is typical in every Latin American country there is also an abundance of stray dogs. I heard that it was due to the lack of rabies in dogs and therefore there is a lack of motivation on behalf of the government to control the population. In my own life and experience, I get to have a very close interaction and relationship with two of God’s creatures in particular: rats and fleas. Every night we all snuggle down together for a night of not so sound sleep. The rats have been living in my walls since I got here so we are well acquainted, but the fleas are the newcomers. They’ve only been around for a couple weeks. Allow me to elaborate. I’ll begin with the rats.

The city of Temuco, and probably the rest of Latin America, has a severe rat infestation. If anyone ever tells me that rats should be put on the endangered species list I will have to laugh and promptly smack them in the face. The rats live in the sewers and everyone is in a constant battle to keep them from coming up and infiltrating the rest of the world. For this reason, the wealthier neighborhoods have trash pick up every day. When there is no trash for them to smell or get at, they stay put; at least that’s the theory. As I mentioned, I have had rats living in my walls for who knows how long, but I have been living with them for the past 6 weeks. My Aunt put "call the exterminator" on her To Do list, but was prompted to move it up when a rat wandered out into the yard this past Friday. Now, the only reason a rat would wander into the middle of a yard in broad daylight would be to die. Evidently, when a rat has been poisoned they will come out of their hole and die outside. Well, this rat was evidently not doing well. He would sit still in the yard until we were convinced he was dead, then jump up and wander drunkenly around the yard till he found another good place to sit for a while. This routine lasted all day. None of us could figure out why, since he had obviously been poisoned, it wouldn’t just die. We watched all day until it finally made it’s way back around to it’s hole, which just happens to be under my room, and crawled in. The exterminator finally came and was as handy as eating ice cream with chopsticks. We finally called the neighborhood caretaker and he said that when the same type of poison is used year after year, the rats get accustomed to it and instead of dying they just go absolutely bonkers. He said the crazy one had wandered into his yard, where it was "taken care of", but he had some friends around. Now we have to change our poison, but in the meantime he gave me an ultrasonic speaker that is supposed to drive them out. Well, it’s been a few days and it still sounds like they’re doing a midnight square dance, but they’re not happy. Don’t ask me how I know, but I can tell they’re angry. Till we find something that works I just have to keep banging on the walls to get them to shut up and let me go to sleep.

This brings me to the fleas. Now, I do not have fleas. I am quite hygienic thank you very much, but hygiene in the country and with the people we visit in the country leaves something to be desired. Sometime during our last visit to the country I brought some fleas back with me, which quickly settled into my bed, and I now have at least twenty lovely little flea bites. We just sprayed my bed this afternoon so we’ll see how that goes.

My Cultural Deep End

On Wednesday my aunt and I traveled to the remote Mapuche community of Trilawapi, (don’t hold me to that spelling), to help women from the last of the three weaving groups in the area. This community is located in one of the most beautiful places I have ever been. They are in the heart of the Andes mountains at the foot of a volcano. My aunt warned me that these people were extremely poor, but very hospitable. Anytime you visit a Mapuche home they are insistent on feeding you. Depending on their situation, this could range from a little meat to a huge plate of rice with a hot dog or egg on top. If we do get meat in a Mapuche home then we more than likely got their meat for the month. Regardless of what they put in front of you though, you have to eat it. There was a fair chance we would get meat on this visit though because a pack of pumas had come down from the higher mountains and killed, not eaten, but killed a herd of sheep in the community. They owners didn’t have a choice but to divide the sheep between the rest of the families.

The roads in this area are nearly impassible by car and so we had to park at the top of a very large hill and hike down to the house. When I say hike, I mean that for the first half we were practically sliding down on our behinds it was so steep. Our guide took us over several rustic wooden fences and through several small fields. We got to the house, which by North American standards would be a run down shed, sat down at the table, and our guide, Tomas, offered us some chicha, (apple cider). Now, there are two kinds of chicha. There is chicha dulce, (sweet apple cider), and chicha fuerte, (hard apple cider). He didn’t mention what kind it was, nor did we think to ask, but he poured us two large glasses. I was a little wary to drink mine, but my aunt all but chugged hers. When I saw she was fine, I took a gulp and did my very best not to make a lemony pucker face. Not only was it rather tart, but it was also well on its way to fuerte. I managed to get my first glass down and, for reasons still unknown to me, accepted when Tomas offered to refill our glasses. We took our time with this glass, and when we finished we notice something. You see, it was about 3:00 in the afternoon and neither of us had eaten since breakfast at 9 that morning. We drank two glasses of chicha fuerte on completely empty stomachs. My head was just slightly spinning.

When lunch came, sure enough, we all had a piece of lamb, a leg of a chicken, and 3 small roasted potatoes. Not to mention tomato salad and a basket of home made bread which had been made just for us. It was a ton of food! Halfway through they brought out the traditional bread of the Mapuche, also made specifically for us, and is evidently very labor intensive. Of course, we had to eat a piece. After lunch, Tomas, one of my uncle’s bee keepers, brought some of the honey he had just harvested. We split another large piece of bread to try the honey. By this time, I was about to pop I was so full. This, plus my lightheadedness from the chicha, led me to start considering what the culturally polite way would be to excuse myself and go throw up. Once we had forced down the bread and honey, wouldn’t you know it but they brought out some corn dumplings! After half an hour, and numerous refusals to drink more chicha, my aunt made a highly sarcastic comment about how they never feed her. Haha! Unfortunately, she had forgotten that sarcasm has not reached Chile, nor the people living in the mountains. Sure enough, 10 minutes later we both had a fried egg sitting in front of us. We were about to be sick already, but somehow managed to swallow that thing.

It was beginning to get dark and we needed to head out because we still had to walk back up the hill to the car. Despite our best efforts to excuse ourselves however, we couldn’t get out of there. They wanted us to stay the night and knew if they just gave us more chicha we wouldn’t be able to get up the hill. At one point, Tomas didn’t even ask, he got out two glasses and asked how much we wanted. My aunt said half a glass, and Tomas complied by filling them to the brim. We were finally able to get out of there just as the sun had gone behind the mountains. Getting up that hill, we were practically running to get up before dark. As soon as we got in the car, we looked at each other and cracked up. Even Barb said that was the worst food experience she had ever had and we were both sick for the rest of the night.

My broken heart

When I went out this last week to another community to dye wool, I was expecting somewhat of the same experience that I had with the first group of women in Lanco. I was anticipating a bit of a difference because Lanco is a small Chilean town, while the community we went to on Wednesday was a Mapuche community on one of their reservations. Needless to say, I was not prepared for what I saw there. This was not a jolly group of women all coming together for the communal experience of dyeing wool. This was a group of women who were coming together for the sake of their livelihood. In Lanco, the selling of wool, clothing, and weavings is more of a supplemental income they can bring home. Those women are married to working husbands and their involvement in the weaving project is a good way for them to ensure that their head stay above water. For the women in the Mapuche community of Repocura, this is their only source of income. Many of them are married, but their husbands aren’t working. These men can only get jobs as day laborers for construction companies, but with the global economic crisis, nothing is being built and there is no work for these men to do. It is now up to the women and their wool to bring money home. Unfortunately, with the state of the economy, their merchandise isn’t selling. These women live in conditions I have only read about. Most of them speak mainly Mapudungun and little to no Spanish. They live with the rats and the fleas, no electricity, and no access to clean water. Everyday they have to walk to a well to get water. In the summer time however, the well dries up and they have to get their water from the river. All of their washing and bathing is also done in the river.

This specific community has been the subject of numerous sociological case studies due to their inability to work together as a group. The women in this community fight, bicker, and back-stab each other constantly. Large missions organizations, like World Vision, have tried to help these people, only to ditch them when their efforts failed due to the women’s inability to get along with each other. My aunt and her mission came in as sort of a last hope for these women. She introduced them to the weaving project and before long they were fighting amongst themselves and trying to get each other kicked out of the weaving groups. One woman even bought another woman’s weaving, turned it in to my aunt as her own, and had it sold it in the states for twice what she bought it for. When all this started, my aunt had them all over to her house for dinner, sat them all down at the table, and had a little come to Jesus meeting. She explained to them that their bickering had driven off major organizations and she was the last chance they had to receive help from anyone. Basically, they had to learn to resolve their issues and keep their personal lives outside the weaving group or they would have no chance to succeed. Giving them the option to change for themselves and empowering them to solve their own issues without trying to solve the problems for them, enabled these women to rise up and form one of the most successful weaving groups.

Barb considers one of these women, Elcira, as one of the greatest successes from the weaving project. Elcira was orphaned at the age of 2 when her mother died. She was "raised", and I use the word loosely, by her older sister. By the time she was 14, she was already pregnant and living on her own. Barb suspects that this pregnancy did not come about from any relationship with a boyfriend. She lived with her son in a tin room in the country. At times, she was forced to go out in a field, pick grass, boil it, and feed the water to her son just to avoid starvation. She did survive, her son grew up, got married, and now she lives on the same property as her son, his wife, and their young daughter. She got involved in the weaving project and turned out to be, what Barb determines, an expert weaver. Of the 30 plus women involved in the project, there are only about 4 who would be deemed expert weavers. These women truly are artists while the rest of the work would be considered to be more artisan weavings. Elcira, is an artist. Her weavings sell immediately in the states for $100-$150. From the sales, she has been able to build herself a house, which is actually just a bigger room made of wood instead of tin, and use her old room as a workshop. She now has electricity and is awaiting the sale of more weavings in order to finally get water and glass windows put in. At the moment, the windows are just covered in plastic and she still has to walk to a well for water and bathe in the river.

These women are depending on this project for their livelihood and it broke my heart to see them so disheartened because they aren’t making any sales. People in the states are disappointed that they can’t afford as extravagant of a vacation this year because of the economy, when these women are wondering how they will feed themselves and their children if no one is buying their merchandise.

Busy, busy, busy

After a couple weeks of wandering around the house doing random little projects, feeding the boys, and being kind of an assistant to the housekeeper, my schedule has all of a sudden grown wings and flown off with me desperately trying to hang on. I now have on my schedule: teaching my cousin's English class twice a week, English tutoring with two girls once a week, traveling out to various locations to dye wool, preparing for various meetings, and traveling out to a different girl's club each week to do an English lesson. Great milk of magnesia! Thankfully I'm not teaching all of my cousin's English class as I previously thought. Since he already speaks English my aunt and uncle have gotten permission from the school to come in while the rest of his class is in English and do private spelling, reading, and pronunciation lessons with him. He's completely fluent, but since he has grown up speaking Spanish as well as English and the only English he has been exposed to in his life is spoken with a Texan accent, he has some trouble with his "r"s, but we're working on it.

Though I am enjoying my time here, I have been a little bored. The only social network I really have is my aunt, a 4 year old boy, and a group of women who get together once a week for tea. Even my aunt and uncle are saying that I need to get out and get a life. Don't get me wrong, I want to get a life, but it's just a little difficult and intimidating when I don't speak the language. I find it to be slightly helpful when you can actually talk to the people you're trying to befriend. Novel idea isn't it? Thankfully, the director of the boy's school has a couple daughters who have spent some time in the states and they have a group of young adults that get together. I'm going to visit their church on Sunday and hopefully get hooked up with a big of a social group while I'm here. For some reason the whole hanging out witha 4 year old all day just isn't giving me the social interaction I'm craving. Who'd of thunk it?