Sunday, July 19, 2009
Playing Simon Says
This is a video of my 4th grade class playing Simon says...except we say "Patty says"
Video from my English Class
Aren't they cute? I never got them to actually sing it but they sure are proud of this song and beg me each week to let them sing. I don't always feel like I'm getting anywhere with my English class but students certainly have dominated the parts of the body.
Friday, July 17, 2009
Some Quick updates..
I have been busy this past month. I ran a half marathon in Pacasmayo, traveled to Lima to take care of some funky skin disease that's been plaguing me, worked at a girl's leadership camp, and had a week-long training session with the newly arrived volunteers (10 trainees, 2 trainers, and 4 volunteers all came to my site).
Running the half marathon was...interesting. I have never been much of a runner so motivating myself to train for a 13-miler took a lot of discipline. It was difficult to run in site because of all the dogs, the hot sun, and the altitude. Fortunately on race day I didn't die and crossed the finish line still running, albeit slowly but running nevertheless--slow and steady wins the race (I didn't actually win, but completing the 13 miles without walking was a personal victory).
The new trainees are amazingggg. Their sites will be announced next week and I cannot wait to find out who will be placed in Cajamarca. I know they will all make fantastic volunteers.
Back in training I wrote a blog entry about how much I hate Lima. That is no longer the case. It has many charms and is slowly growing on me. I have 5 days of vacation coming up at the end of the month for independence day and I plan to spend them exploring Lima with my friend Kat.
Kat and I celebrating the end of the Marathon
Kids from the preschool dancing for the dia del maestro
My girls at Camp ALMA, the 3 day leadership camp for adolescent girls that we held in Cajamarca
Saturday, July 11, 2009
Birth of Seven
After all the fretting, false alarms, anxiety, fussing, and fawning, it seemed the moment had finally arrived. Though a bit skeptical (I cannot even recount the number of times I was told “it’s definite, today’s the day”), I E.T.ed my internet sesh and went running over to my grandparent’s house to witness the big event—only to be greeted by Grandpa Segundo’s stern gaze and admonishing tone.
“Hide,” he nervously barked, “la vaca doesn´t know you. She´s embarassed.”
Sheepishly I retreated to conceal myself in the bushes around the corner from her nook. Two hours passed, darkness set in, nothing. Taking pity on my obvious discomfort, my host mom finally called me out of hiding to watch our daily telenovela, promising we could check in on Chili during each commercial break. The novela came and went…still nothing. Chili appeared tranquila as can be. Beginning to believe that this was yet another false alarm and perhaps the darn creature wasn’t actually pregnant (despite the fact that her udder had now swollen to the size of a beach ball), I began to extend the intervals passed between vaca checks.
Around 10:30 pm (a half hour since my last check in) Grandma Maria knocked on the door.
“Ya,” she said.
Dashing across the street I expected to encounter cow moans, lots of gore, and excitement. Instead I found a serene mama cow tenderly licking clean her mucus-y newborn.
“Rats!” I thought. “That tricky little bugger had to go and give birth while I wasn’t there. How many more opportunities will I have to witness such an event?!”
Perceiving my disappointment, Grandma Maria did her best to console me.
“Don’t worry,” she said, “in about an hour the placenta will come out. It’s just like watching the real birth.” So, again I went off to hide, again I waited, and again, nothing. Certain Chili was intentionally trying to spite me, I left around 2 am, deciding my warm bed and a good night’s rest were not worth sacrificing for a placenta.
I awoke the next morning ready to befriend the no-longer slimy member of the family. Crossing the street to saludar the new ternera (hembra—yes! More milk will be making its way to the Sanchez family) I was beckoned by Grandma’s excited calls.
“Senorita, Senorita, come here. I want to show you something.” She proudly opened up a shopping bag in her hand to reveal the large, not-so-comely placental sack that she had saved so I wouldn’t feel like I had missed out—how amable of her.
The Sanchez family now has a mischievous calf with a perfect number seven on her forehead (they actually named her “seven” in honor of their friendly English-speaking guest from the States), more dairy products than it is able to consume, and one gringa with yet another Peace Corps anecdote to share.
“Hide,” he nervously barked, “la vaca doesn´t know you. She´s embarassed.”
Sheepishly I retreated to conceal myself in the bushes around the corner from her nook. Two hours passed, darkness set in, nothing. Taking pity on my obvious discomfort, my host mom finally called me out of hiding to watch our daily telenovela, promising we could check in on Chili during each commercial break. The novela came and went…still nothing. Chili appeared tranquila as can be. Beginning to believe that this was yet another false alarm and perhaps the darn creature wasn’t actually pregnant (despite the fact that her udder had now swollen to the size of a beach ball), I began to extend the intervals passed between vaca checks.
Around 10:30 pm (a half hour since my last check in) Grandma Maria knocked on the door.
“Ya,” she said.
Dashing across the street I expected to encounter cow moans, lots of gore, and excitement. Instead I found a serene mama cow tenderly licking clean her mucus-y newborn.
“Rats!” I thought. “That tricky little bugger had to go and give birth while I wasn’t there. How many more opportunities will I have to witness such an event?!”
Perceiving my disappointment, Grandma Maria did her best to console me.
“Don’t worry,” she said, “in about an hour the placenta will come out. It’s just like watching the real birth.” So, again I went off to hide, again I waited, and again, nothing. Certain Chili was intentionally trying to spite me, I left around 2 am, deciding my warm bed and a good night’s rest were not worth sacrificing for a placenta.
I awoke the next morning ready to befriend the no-longer slimy member of the family. Crossing the street to saludar the new ternera (hembra—yes! More milk will be making its way to the Sanchez family) I was beckoned by Grandma’s excited calls.
“Senorita, Senorita, come here. I want to show you something.” She proudly opened up a shopping bag in her hand to reveal the large, not-so-comely placental sack that she had saved so I wouldn’t feel like I had missed out—how amable of her.
The Sanchez family now has a mischievous calf with a perfect number seven on her forehead (they actually named her “seven” in honor of their friendly English-speaking guest from the States), more dairy products than it is able to consume, and one gringa with yet another Peace Corps anecdote to share.
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