The Bus Men

Wednesday June 14, 2006


Recently I’ve had strange, almost profound experiences with old men while waiting for buses. Sounds bizarre, I know, and at 530am the last thing I’ve wanted is to be talking to strangers, much less in Spanish, but actually I didn’t say much at all. These men wanted someone to listen. They didn’t know I was American or a Peace Corps Volunteer (I’m often mistaken for an Argentinian), but they thought somehow I was a sympathetic ear and spoke all about their lives specifically and the lives of Paraguayans in general.

One man talked of his farm in one of the asentamientos or settlements outside of Tacuati, how it’s not enough to provide for his family any more. He somehow was able to scrape together funds to send one son to high school in Asuncion, because as he said, education is the key and he wants his children to have a better life. He spoke of how the people in his community don’t want to learn or change or try new things, how they’re stuck in their old ways and when he tries to talk to them about the importance of basic hygiene, wearing shoes and washing vegetables and using soap and such, they don’t want to listen. All they know is how they have lived. He was exasperated, up at 2am to ride his horse in to town to meet the 5am bus that was going to bring him an order of bread or something to sell back in town for a profit of a few mil Guaranies, barely a dollar. His life wasn’t easy, he spoke of how both his parents died before he was 12 years old, but he wasn’t necessarily complaining. This was his life, “como Dios quiere,” as God wants it, and I found myself crying on the bus thinking of his life and that of poor farmers like him who are intelligent and willing and by chance of birth end up in such difficult circumstances.

Then the next week I met three brothers, one of whom was obviously drunk at 11am on a Monday. One man spoke so lyrically, calling me Senora, and those of you who speak Spanish will understand how almost hypnotic his words were, “Somos Paraguayos, Senora, y solo queremos trabajar.” We’re Paraguayans, and we only want to work. I was worried at first that they were going to beg for money, ask for bus fare or something, and then I realized that was such a New York reaction, to immediately be afraid or expect to be taken advantage of. The man did ask for something: he said he wanted to learn English so he could go to the United States some day. (For people in need of work, fleeing Paraguay to go to the US or Argentina or Brazil or even Spain is a common goal here. There simply aren’t jobs in Paraguay – it’s not uncommon for a student to spend a lot of money to attend law school and then be unable to find work as a lawyer and end up back with their family helping out at the corner store. Almost all of the products we buy, soap or milk, are produced in Brazil or Argentina. There seems to be no industry, no formal economy in Paraguay.) Then he asked me if when he got to the US (how he’d ever save up the 3 million Guaranies for a plane ticket, much less get a visa or money for food I have no idea), if I had work for him and his four brothers. The thought of a handout never occurred to him, what he wanted was the opportunity to work hard and earn for himself. These men were filthy with the ubiquitous red dirt of Paraguay, but their clothes were carefully ironed, showing their pride in appearance despite the fact that these were likely the only clothes they owned. He was so polite, and eventually curious about me and where I was from and what I was doing here. He asked my name, and I’ll bet you if I see him again a year from now he’ll remember it.

These conversations make me wonder about so many things … why is the economy such a mess here, what can be done about it on the govt policy level, as a volunteer am I helping to deal with these issues on a grassroots level, or are the changes I’m encouraging like posting an alphabet on the wall just superficial, will a population well-educated be prepared to make the changes necessary, is it a facet of Paraguayan culture to be complacent and not challenge the status quo, is that a direct result of their oppressive history, and if so can/should we be trying to change that, why do people talk to me like this here, so openly, or why don’t they in the US, or is it just that I haven’t listened...

Excuse my rambling … The Peace Corps experience definitely offers excessive time to think and ponder both the mundane and the philosophical, to analyze and overanalyze and be melodramatic. I certainly welcome the opportunity…

PS – a few days after thinking about all this I was listening to Bruce Springsteen on my iPod (how I love my iPod) and remembered that these issues exist in the US too – rural poverty and lack of job opportunity and good people struggling to make ends meet. Bummer...