That Time of the Month

I have taken about a month and a half hiatus from site, unwillingly.  The better half of this time away from Chiquián was spent spread eagle in a hospital bed being sponge bathed by a middle-aged Peruvian woman or taking monitored toilet visits.  The remainder of my, less humiliating, time was spent was dreaming of my, at times, unconceivable, return to my little mountain town in the beautiful and better Anca$h.  Before I left site at the end of June for a fun-packed vacation with my parents, I had felt a little defeated in site.  Peace Corps life is not hard in the way one might think: poor living conditions, hundreds or miles away from home, intestinal infections, lack of hot water or even solitude.  It is a HARD job; it is hard to turn ideas into a reality; it is hard to gain the trust of people; it is hard to change an already established process of work, and lastly, it is hard to want so badly for a project to work and watch it fail before it even starts.  It is not only the pressures from work to succeed but also my own personal need to succeed and excel that make being a Peace Corps Volunteer such a trying job.  Being a PCV is hard, and I love it.  Additionally, time away from site made me realize how much I truly adore my town, the people, my work, and the possibilities!  I came back after a 5 week stint in Lima, rejuvenated and excited to not only get projects off the ground, but to spend those extra minutes and have a conversation with a friend or neighbor, take that ride in the back of the pick-up, or accept that kiss from the toothless man and his 4 foot tall wife.

Time in site is unlike time anywhere else.  It is hard to explain.  As a Peace Corps Volunteer, you are constantly plagued by time.  We have an alarm set for us two years from your arrival date that will wake you from this dream and take you back to the bustling reality of the Western World.  I have never thought about time so much, sometimes I just stare at a clock watching the minutes change; sometimes, there isn't much going on here in my secluded mountain town.

But anyway, to stick with my seemingly obsessive lust for animals, I will tell you all a story of an unfortunate week in the life.

I cried in various locations the other day throughout town. Mind you, those are the first tears that I have shed in site!  Must be something terrible you are thinking, and you would be right!

I am pretty sure that my neighbors' DOG thinks that I am my female dog who happens to be in heat.  I am almost positive he thinks that we are in a relationship and this is his finally his chance to leave me with a little piece of himself.  His wild, animal instincts are taking over, and he thinks I am looking good with my greasy hair and unbathed armpits--he can't help it; he is only a man. 

What this really means is that this HUGE Rottweiler-like animal from next door is trying to hump me all over town.  I have worked hard this past year to keep up my reputation as a respectable foreigner who does not take to the cloth or the bottle.  I am scared that this dog will ruin all that I have worked for with one simple quickie in the plaza.

He follows me everywhere, as I walk he tries to seductively nibble and lick my toes.  When he isn't being so sensual, he straight up tries to take me from behind. Furthermore, he follows me in to every building and guards me like a jealous boyfriend; he fights with other dogs that come near, and he won't listen to authority.  Yes, he sits in on meetings with Mayors or other political figures.  He will not let me out of his site.  It is a recent relationship; it has gotten pretty hot and heavy in the past few days especially.  He, Guidion, tries to throw me down on the ground, rip off my backpack, and mount me. What do I expect, he did grow up in a machista, Peruvian society, he has learned from his peers.  In all seriousness, the machismo and familial violence is very prominent here and is something that I do plan to address and work against in my year left in Perú.  Anyway, this is why I am not in a relationship, all they do is make you cry—twice in one day, in public settings.

Also, during one sitting at the internet cafe, the dog tried three time to show me who is boss (if you know what I mean), licked my crotch, and forced the store owner to throw countless buckets of water on him so that he go home.  He was still outside waiting for my exit an hour later. 

Later, I manage to get home unnoticed by my neighbor only to realize I have another meeting in a few short hours.  Not wanting to leave the protected confines of my bedroom, I took the logical next step—a long distance call to America.  With the help of the internet and a little brother, it was decided that dogs dislike chilies, acidic fruits, vinegar, and alcohol. So, before I set out for my meeting, I spiced myself accordingly.  I sprinkled oregano into my boots (obvious substitute for chilies), covered them with a delicious balsamic vinaigrette, and to top it off, added a touch of lime juice to my hair and clothing.  Now, does that sound like a foul mixture that would scare off a dog? Absolutely not, it sounds like a delightfully seasoned steak.  Now, as if I wasn’t irresistible enough as the menstruating K-9 that I apparently am, I went ahead and made sure to attract those starved dogs as well—you can bet I had the creatures biting at my heals, wanting a taste of the forbidden tenderLOIN.  In conclusion, I left my house as either the perfect mate or the most delicious dinner any Peruvian dog has ever laid nose upon.

All week I was scared. I did not know for how long dogs bleed and if the unwanted attention and harassment would ever end.  Seriously, I have not been so scared in Peru.  For this, I have cried twice. Only slightly embarrassing.  T'would be more so if I gave in to my suitor’s sheer strength, as he is a dog of about 6 feet on his hind legs, and let him take me as he so desires.