The Scene & The Players (2006.08.25)

I thought I’d put up some photos of where I live and who I spend my time with these days.

The Hardeman Water Tank – Lets you know you’ve arrived as well as does some free advertising for some agriculture company.

Hardeman is a dusty place, thanks to the lack of paved roads. Here’s a shot of looking down the road coming into town:


The blue building to the left is the pharmacy, and the little place on the corner behind that big sign (this side of the blue building) is where I get a nice cool drink and a treat on the mornings I feel the need for a snack. Sadly, the Hostess and Little Debbie trucks have elected to not include Hardeman (or Bolivia for that matter) on their daily routes. Papa Shultz would have a tough time here.



Looking up the main road, right before it takes a turn into the plaza. I live in the blue house on the left, behind the pile of bricks I can stand on if I want cell phone service. Off to the right is a nice little path to take a walk on, without people living around it. Nice and secluded.



The Water Cooperative where I work every day. You can see the tank in the back. This is two doors down from where I live.



Here is my front door. It opens up to the front part of the house, which is older and dirtier. After going in through the front door, I walk through a dark little room and come out the doorway on the right below. Looking right, this is what I see.


I hesitate to call it the dining “room,” so I’ll just call it the dining area. Beyond that door straight ahead is the kitchen, where we also sometimes eat. There is a tiny oven and fridge in there, but we have to bring water from the faucet, which is behind me from where I’m taking this picture. Turning around from this view, I see this:



This is what I call my “house.” I use quotes because it’s not really what we think of as a house…it’s really just a few covered rooms that all open up into the open air…so I guess this is my “yard.” On the right is the old bathroom set up, along with the clothes washing sink (stationary tub?). Beyond the enormous satellite dish is the new construction at the back of the house, where all the bedrooms are. My front window is the one on the left. Also behind the satellite dish is a coconut tree. Cool! Walking a little further into the yard and looking left, you see the new bathroom:


The door on the right is the toilet, and the door on the left is the shower. Behind the little tree you can see the new stationary tub, and also a tiny sink for hand washing and tooth brushing. If I keep walking back, I arrive at the bedrooms. Here are some shots of my room.




There is a nice high ceiling, two big windows, a bed, a table and a dresser. The room came with the table and the bed, I bought the dresser. It would be cooler with a Dark Side of the Moon poster on the wall, but oh well. The floor is tile and I sweep out the dust that finds it way in every couple of days. It’s a pretty nice set up, I’ve got no complaints about the house. Except maybe our dog, Ocampo, seems to bark at nothing during the night, which can get to be annoying. Here he is:


Some of you Von Allmens over the age of 19 might remember Spiegel, Pop and Grandma’s faithful steed, who reminds me of this dog here. However, Ocampo is by no means a dog and a half.

When you hear me referring to my “office,” here’s what I’m talking about.


It’s a nice corner, just enough space for what I need. And they let me take up a bunch of space with my whiteboard, which makes me happy.



And now on to the people. The woman who owns the house I live in is named Lidia, and she also works with me at the water cooperative. Lidia is on the left.



On the right is Susy, who answers the phones and does other random tasks around the water cooperative. They get a kick out of my strange Spanish and my refusal to shave. We have a pretty good time around the office each day. Also hanging around the office is Danny the plumber, seen below.



Danny fixes pipes when they break and cuts off people’s water off when they don’t pay. He also talks really freaking fast. Nice fella. There are always people coming in and out of the coop to receive phone calls or just to hang out. Two of our favorite guests are Kilmer and Elli, seen below.



I talked about Kilmer in an earlier blog…quite a comical character. Elli is Lidia’s cousin and is very nice, and she speaks slowly which earns her serious points in my book. Although the other day we had an unwelcome visitor to the cooperative.


Pretty nasty, huh? Freakin’ huge! No idea where it came from or where it went. I can hear my sister still screaming.

Other people running around my house include Vianka, Lidia’s 8 year old daughter:



She’s always running around getting into whatever there is to get into. She can be a brat sometimes, but I don’t blame her really, I assume it’s tough without her dad around, who lives in Spain. She doesn’t quite fill the void made from my sisters from my old host family, but those are tough shoes to fill. There is also Cristian (nickname “Chino”), who is Lidias nephew, the 11 year old son of her sister who passed away when he was a baby. His dad left town too. I don’t have a photo of Chino. Then there is Lidia’s 23 year old sister, Bilma, and her baby boy, Daul.


The baby is pretty well behaved for being a one year old and is usually the center of attention around the house. Bilma is also very friendly and speaks slow. Then there are a few folks who aren’t always around but are regular visitors. Lidia’s parents usually spend their time out at their farm, but come in usually on the weekends or whenever they feel like it, really. They bring stuff to sell in town (watermelon…yum!) and her mom is a better than average Bolivian cook, which also earns serious points in my book. Last but not least is Lidia’s 19 year old brother, Pepe. Pepe spends the vast majority of the time in Santa Cruz city, where he studies agriculture in college so he can help his dad. He comes home usually every other weekend and is also very friendly. He has shown me a few things on the guitar and introduced me to a few people around town as well.

That pretty much wraps things up for my daily life here. Below is a shot of the sunset on the busride back to Hardeman…nice.




Health Status Update: Doing fine after a 12 hour bout with food poisoning (I think) earlier this week
Beard Update: Long enough to merit shampoo. Still no plans to cut it, or my hair for that matter.
Most Utilized Thing I Brought: Laptop computer. God bless Apple
Least Utilized Thing I Brought: Shaving Cream. Ha!

Cock-A-Doodle-Don’t (2006.08.24)

Well, it’s 5:53 am and as I was lying here in bed wondering why on earth roosters feel the need to crow more than once or twice or why they need to start crowing at 3am, I figured I may as well blog since I’m awake. I’ve been here in Hardeman just about three weeks, and just as I imagined they would, things are getting progressively better. I am understanding the fast, mumbly campo Spanish more and more, I’m meeting more people and work is starting to pick up a bit. I went down to visit another volunteer who is an hour south of me and realized I have absolutely no room to complain. His work partner decided to quit on him, he doesn’t really have a host family, his room is nothing but a small concrete floor and he has done NOTHING every day except read all of his books. It got so bad that he even read through all the Peace Corps rulebooks and handbooks they gave us, which, if you saw them, would realize that meant he was REALLY desperate. So, after spending a little time down there, I realized that I was way beyond what he was going through. The few complaints I did have seemed like peanuts. As crappy as it is for him, it made me feel a lot better about my situation. I felt bad bringing him up to see my place, but it did give him something to do that day.

I haven’t met a ton of people yet, but the few I have met have warmed up to me nicely. There is a guy named Kilmer (he introduced himself as Val Kilmer) who is quite a hoot to talk with. He loves speaking “English” to me, although his vocab is limited mostly to greetings and swear words. If you’ve never heard a South American say cuss words in English, I feel sorry for you…it makes me laugh beyond belief. This guy Kilmer is self absorbed to the point of comedy, always talking about how beautiful he is and such. I’ve gotten in with the doctor at the health post in town as well, a very friendly guy who is very supportive and interested in what I’m doing. He set up a meeting with the town health council so he could introduce me to them, since I will be doing some health education here, he thought it would be a good idea to collaborate. He also let me tag along with a group of health workers on Tuesday when they went out to surrounding communities (three hours from the middle of nowhere) in their ambulance (converted early 90s Toyota 4x4). They were giving vaccinations to kids and I myself got to weigh the kids using this sling-type thing that hung from a spring scale. For whatever reason, the kids would always scream and cry when they had to be weighed, but hardly any made a peep when they had to get shots, which baffled me. I couldn’t even watch them get shots I hate needles so much. Perhaps they were just afraid of the bearded gringo that was holding the scale, I don’t know. It was good to get out of town for a day and see how folks live way, WAY out there, although I did manage to get sick from the food I ate. It only lasted about 12 hours, which is about as good as you can ask for from food poisoning I’d say. It was quite an experience vomiting out the window of an ambulance on this dark dusty bumpy road and one I won’t soon forget. That’s what I get for cleaning my plate I guess.

Most of my days are spent in my office (really just a corner of a room), reading over things from training, coming up with development plans for programs and trying to put all the pieces together. There is a lot to be done here, and it’s tricky trying to manage it all at once. Although, I did manage to get my hands on a dry-erase board (just like at home!) so I’ve got it all written up there to help me organize it. We have a lot of support from outside organizations and a lot of strong institutions in our community, so it’s a challenge putting it all together, trying to utilize everything that’s at my disposal. Then there are always the random tasks that are going on around the office. For example, the other day, the high winds knocked the speaker wires off of the PA system that is up on our water tank for town announcements. Well, Danny the plumber doesn’t like climbing the tower because he gets scared, so I got nominated to do it. I jumped at the opportunity to do some climbing, and besides, the ladder was enclosed so it wasn’t all that scary, even though I wasn’t tied into a harness with Jed Johnson on the other end of the rope, barking at me to keep going. The speakers were about 20 meters up, and once I got up there I had to cut and re-strip the wires (thank you, Leatherman) and plug the speakers back in. Success! It was a nice little break from sitting at my desk, albeit a little scary.

Up High On The Tower...Woo Hoo!

Most of my evenings are spent reading books, writing letters, journaling or playing guitar. Fairly uneventful, really. I’m usually asleep by 10 or 10:30, which is probably why it’s tough to sleep past 6am (plus the roosters don’t help). My host family and I are getting more and more used to each other, which is definitely a plus. I’m becoming less and less self-conscious about doing things on my own around the house (like making my own food or something) and it is becoming easier to ask about different things. I know that might sound funny but you never know what people are going to think when you ask them seemingly normal questions. We make each other laugh a lot, which is definitely a life saver. Me with my kooky Spanish and them with their seemingly non-sensical ideas about random things. For example, in Bolivia, sitting on a hot surface will give you a stomach ache. Or when you yawn, you’re either hungry or sick, but not tired. My favorite is that eating watermelon gives you diarrhea, but eating fried cheese does not. We have a TV here, although I don’t watch it too often. The Simpsons are on every night, and I’ve caught a few episodes here and there. It’s not quite as funny in Spanish, but it has its moments…mostly stuff that I have memorized and I know what they are saying in English. Then on Sunday nights they play movies, and this past week E.T. was on, and I laughed out loud when he said, “E.T. llama casa! E.T. llama casa!” which loosely translates to “E.T. phone home!” They say watching T.V. in Spanish (as well as reading books and newspapers) is a great way to improve your skills. We’ll see.

These first three months in site are supposed to be the toughest of our whole service, and it’s easy to see why. At this point, it’s much more appealing to stay in my room reading than venturing out into the unknown and walking around town. I find myself thinking a lot about my trip back home in May, which I suppose is understandable but I really need to buckle down and focus on what I’m doing here. I have less and less of the “What on earth am I doing here?” thoughts and an occasional phone call from a friend or my parents allows me a good outlet. There will come a time when I can’t walk around town without being greeted by everyone I see, but I can’t expect that right away. I’ve got to do something first. Next week we have a health council coming in for a talk on hygiene and hand washing, and I’m supposed to manage the group of facilitators they put together, so I suppose that’s my first opportunity. I hope to start doing some well drilling next month with the group of people that invented the technology in order to get some more training and become an expert. Once the well drilling gets underway, I might even get too busy to blog, who knows.

I’m headed into the city this weekend to get money and see my pals from training. We are allowed up to 5 days a month to go to the city to do things and buy things we just can’t get in our sites, and also because they understand that we need a break from the campo lifestyle every once in a while. I’m hoping a few packages I’m waiting on will be there, but the Bolivian postal service is not what you’d call “reliable.” It’s ok, I’ll settle for a few good emails and phone calls. Well, it’s about time for coffee and bread, the usual breakfast. Have a nice Thursday.

Sustainability…Are We Doing More Harm Than Good? (2006.08.21)

One of the aspects of the Peace Corps that made it attractive for me was their focus on sustainable change. What exactly does that mean? Well, I suppose I could sum it up as the difference between giving a man a fish and teaching a man to fish. The Peace Corps understands that it does no good for us to come in and simply drill wells or build latrines and leave. Sure, it gives some people water or a clean place to use the bathroom, but it’s only a temporary solution, it’s not something that will last. In the grand scheme of things, anyone can come in and build something, that’s easy. The trick is getting the community to want to change things on their own. Educate them on why latrines are important or how washing your hands prevents diarrhea and that will make them want to change their habits. This is a much more challenging task. The social aspects of development work are FAR more important than the “tangible” results. This is something that took a little getting used to for me, I came in thinking I was going to be building bathrooms and digging ditches myself, but the real trick is getting the people to do it on their own. I originally thought I’d be good at this because I am pretty good with a shovel (thanks to my Dad and his endless piles of dirt/sand/gravel) and know my way around some useful tools, but that is only one tiny part of it. Sure, I will help out when it’s ditch-digging time, but it does the people no good for me to dig the ditch for them. Yes, I will personally be drilling wells for people, but by the end of my service I hope to have trained well technicians in all of these surrounding communities so that they can build rigs and drill wells on their own. The simple technology we use makes this an absolutely possible reality and after a few wells, a technician can go out and make some money drilling wells for people, which helps out the economy much more than if it were just me drilling and then it ending when I leave. It sounded kind of funny at first, but they told us in training that we personally should do the least amount of work possible…the locals should be doing it. The less actual physical work we do, the more effective we are. The fact is, I’m not going to be here forever, and even though there will probably be a few more volunteers in this site after I’m gone, the Peace Corps isn’t going to be here forever. It does no one any good to just build things without doing the social development first.

Here’s an example. One of the biggest problems in Hardeman is the amount of plastic trash there is around. There is no garbage dump or recycling center around, so all the plastic bottles they drink from and plastic bags they carry things in just end up being burned or thrown in the streets. It’s not unbearable yet, but in about 20 more years the streets will be filled with trash. Some of you know I’m pretty into picking up litter (more so than most, I’d say) and I could definitely go around and pick up a bunch of this plastic trash, toss it in a huge sack and take it with me to the city when I go and deliver it to the recycling center there. It really wouldn’t be all that hard for me to do, and actually, I would enjoy it. But, it would be MUCH more effective if I could teach the community first about the dangers of burning plastic (birth defects and the possibility of sterility when young girls inhale the fumes…not to mention the environmental effects), get a trash collection system going and maybe even start a garbage dump. Get them to change their habits. I said it would be much more effective, but it’s also much more challenging. It’s not that the people are lazy necessarily, it’s just that they don’t know any better. The modern world has overtaken places like this without bringing all of the necessary amenities. Sure, plastic bottles are great, but not if you don’t have a garbage dump to put them in. Everyone has a TV and a stereo here, but most have dirt floors and one water spicket for drinking, bathing, washing and cooking. The gap is just getting wider and wider.

Sustainability is the challenge all of us do-gooders need to start thinking about. Does it really do some good for a small Midwestern church to send a boatload of money and a youth group to a tiny third world Mexican town to build a modern church or even a house in the middle of a town that can’t even afford to pave the roads or get water to everyone? My answer would be no, because what happens is then that little Mexican town becomes dependent on the outside, and begins to expect support like they have gotten in the past and if for whatever reason the money dries up, then they are just left with a nice building for which they can’t even afford new light bulbs, much less pay the electric bill. It’s a tough argument…should we help a few if we can’t help everyone? And should we help them if we’re not going to make sure the work can continue after we’re gone? Often times, there is money that needs to be spent on non-profit work…money from the budget that needs to be used up. Whether it’s a religious organization or an NGO, their donators need to see that their money is being spent. The crappy part is, building things is easy but expensive, which helps them spend their money in an easy way. Doing social development work is much more challenging while at the same time less costly, so it’s not always as attractive. But the fact of the matter is, the social development work is much more valuable in the long run.

Obviously I don’t have all the answers and this is just one person’s opinion…it’s a sticky argument, but I’d like to hear what anyone has to say in defense or opposition of what I’ve said here. Let’s get some chatter going.

“What Would You Say, Ya Do Here?”(2006.08.08)

I think it’s about time I explain what work is like for me…so far anyway. I talked with my parents the other night and they asked me if I was going to be drilling any wells soon…to which I responded that first I needed to unpack my clothes. Everything works a lot slower here…there isn’t just work waiting for me to jump on, I have to be very proactive in seeking out projects that the people want, especially since I am the first volunteer to be sent here. There has been nothing set up for me and it’s pretty much completely without structure so far. I’ll try to give you as much of a window into my work as I’ve got so far.

The way I see it, I have two fairly separate jobs, both equally important. One of them is working pretty much as an employee of the town water cooperative, which I can explain as sort of the Water Works for the town. We have an office with a phone, fax machine and even a couple of computers (no internet). Within the confines of the cooperative is the well where the water comes from (about 160 meters deep) and the tank that the water gets pumped to. The water system is managed here, and it is also sort of a town center for a lot of things that are going on. There is a big speaker attached to the water tower and people come in to make town announcements over the microphone. There is a council that oversees the cooperative, which is elected by the town and serves a one year term. The president and vice president of this council are my official work partners, but since they aren’t going to be around the whole time, I’m not sure what’s going to come of that after they are gone. The coop employs three other people. Danny is the plumber who fixes things when the break and also is responsible for cutting off people’s water when they don’t pay their water bills. Susy is the receptionist and answers the phone and deals with the folks when they come in to pay the bills. And Lidia is the head administrator, who pretty much runs the whole place. She is also the owner of the house where I am staying, so I work with her and live in her house. It’s a good thing she’s super nice. We have been getting along well, she is a good person to have on my side, introducing me to people and such.

My responsibilities with the cooperative can vary, but I’m going to try and check out their water system and see if it needs revamping, perhaps do some health and hygiene courses, and try to figure out a way to solve the problem they have of too much fluoride in their water, which turns the children teeth brown. Another big project they want me to work on is the trash in town. There isn’t any sort of trash collection service, so anything that isn’t burned is just kind of thrown wherever. It’s not too terrible yet, but it needs to be controlled before it gets worse. I was thinking of trying to put together some sort of collection system with a landfill, but I have no idea yet how to go about that. They were also talking about me teaching English…perhaps in the school or perhaps in the evenings, but that has to come second to my work with basic sanitation. That’s what we call a secondary project. With all of these projects comes the need for funding, which can come from a variety of sources. There is the mayor’s office, there are NGO’s and there is the community. Depending on the project, I will have to look in different areas for funding.

The other job I’ve got is to drill wells in more rural parts of the community. Everyone who lives in Hardeman has access to good water (as far as I know), so they don’t need any new wells. But once you get outside of town, it’s not always the case. There are farmers who don’t have enough water to irrigate and places that may just be using rainwater. It’s not all that clear to me how I’m going to find out who needs a well, especially without an effective means of transportation to get around to all these places, but for right now I’m just worried about understanding Spanish. I wanted to come here because I knew that drilling wells would be a big part of my work, so I’m pretty excited to get out and see what there is to do. There was a volunteer in a town about 3 hours south of here that drilled a couple wells in the area, and he set us all up (there are two more volunteers here to work on the same sort of stuff…one is an hour south of me and there is another one 2 hours south) to do drilling. He got a big grant from a Rotary club in Florida where he’s from and has also worked with a Rotary club here in Santa Cruz…so there is still money left over from his project and even a well drilling rig for each of the three of us. So we are pretty set up…he was an all-star volunteer…maybe if I’m good enough they’ll need three people to replace me in 2 more years.

So, needless to say, there is a lot to do. But for the first month or so, I’m most focused on integrating into the community, meeting people and establishing myself. Some people have said they haven’t even started working until 6 months or a year have passed…I honestly don’t see that being a problem here…there seems to be a pretty big desire to get some stuff done. I think it’s going to be a challenge to juggle the well drilling with the water cooperative work, but I think I’m going to enjoy having work on two different levels. The well drilling is kind of the fun, get-my-hands-dirty manual labor stuff I really expected to be doing all the time, but it’s not enough to keep me busy all the time because it takes time to plan and wait for the money, etc. So during that down time, instead of being bored, I’ll have things to do here in town to keep me busy. Off we go.

A Tribute to a Long Standing Tradition (2006.08.12)

Today I write not for you the reader, but for me the writer. I shall not write about an amazing person I met here in Bolivia or even about an experience I’ve had once arriving here at my site. I have no curious tale about a four-hour dusty bus ride or even a story of some strange food I ate, leading to even stranger bowel movements. Today, I write to remember, and perhaps experience, a little bit of something very dear to me that I’m missing back home. I have done my best to not try and think about what I’m missing at home, but some days it’s damn near impossible. Those days when my best friend gets married or another best friend turns 21…those are the days it’s tough to be here, especially when there’s nothing going on short of roosters crowing out in the “yard” and trucks rumbling through town, dragging a curtain of dust along with them. This day has been one of those days.

Currently as I write, the majority of my dad’s side of the family has packed coolers, charcoal, tents, oversized fans, undersized dirtbikes, an unhealthy amount of those old nylon woven chairs and a whole slew of other things into trucks, vans and the occasional little Japanese car and headed off to a camping trip which has been so accurately named the Ranzaganza. I would imagine most of you readers have at the very least heard of Ranzaganza, the way some people have heard about Bigfoot or the Loch Ness Monster…a legend, a myth, no more. You’ve heard me spin tales of campfire stories and water balloon fights mixed with some oynion and chicken-what-de-hell. However, some of you (the lucky ones) have actually experienced the joy of which I speak.

My family is one of what some might call interesting traditions. Those who have stood around a pile of blazing pine trees in January or experienced the disgusting amount of fireworks we purchase to celebrate our nation’s birthday have see this first hand…but I would imagine what makes these traditions interesting are the interesting members of my family. The Ranzaganza is no exception, and perhaps the best example of this…for everyone brings his or her own little bit to the Ranzaganza, and it’s never failed to be a mishmash of good food, hilarious encounters and just some damn fine folks. It’s well accepted amongst the family that if one of us brings a significant other to the Ranzaganza, then we are obviously serious about the relationship. Otherwise we would not risk putting a civilian through what might be quite a traumatizing experience. Once they make it through a Ranzaganza, they’re usually around for good or gone pretty quickly. It’s a good way to test the water, although it’s more a baptism by fire than anything. Allow me to outline some of the important characters. (Ranzes, please don’t be offended if I don’t highlight you here, it would take way too long to talk about all of you). First there’s Uncle Mitch…the eldest of the Ranz children and perhaps the wittiest of all of us, which is quite an accomplishment. Uncle Mitch lives in Columbus, so we don’t get to see him too often, so the Ranzaganza is always a treat. Uncle Mitch makes some mean instant pancakes in the mornings and is also always good for a free t-shirt or two from his job as a wine salesman. About 5 years ago he bought a big ‘ol Winnebago and changed the whole look of the Ranzaganza, and also gave us a place to cool off in the AC for a bit when it’s hot. There’s Uncle Jamie, always good for an atomic wedgie (look out Seth) and some excellent cooking. One year he brought his deep fryer and fried us up some turkey, and he can always be counted on for some pork sausage cooked over the fire with his mortar trowel. Damn that’s good stuff. Nothing in the world like Ranzaganza breakfast, I say. Grandpa and Grandma are of course always in attendance, although they usually stay at the lodge to stay comfortable and cool. But you can always count on them rolling up for breakfast in the morning and hanging around most of the day. There’s cousin Seth, the youngest of the 3rd generation Ranzes until Jamie and Jeanie’s twins came along about 8 years back. Seth has always marched to the beat of a different drum and is always coming up with something crazy. One year he built a bed out of ropes in a tree and slept in it, he’s always tinkering around with his old school mopeds that he got a hold of…you never can be quite sure what Seth will get into next. I could go on, but I’ll leave it at that.

This year marks the 18th year of the Ranzaganza, which generally changes locations each year. We have certainly recycled some places over the years…come to think of it I think the only place we’ve been more than once is Brown County (near Nashville, Indiana) and Hueston Woods (near Oxford, Ohio). Brown County was the place of the very first Ranzaganza and it’s kind of our safe bet if we can’t come up with another place to do. My grandparents used to take my dad and his brothers and sisters there when they were just wee youngn’s. This year, like last, the elected place was Hueston Woods, mainly because of its close proximity to Cincinnati and also because of its close proximity to Wal-Mart. Now, I myself am pretty anti-Wal Mart (as any decent hearted person should be) but like most things, it’s always good to indulge every once in a great while. You see, because the first thing we have to do once we arrive (and unpack all the things that have been meticulously placed in the back of the Ford Pickup, to maximize space) is go to the store. What’s that you say? Why not simply go shopping before we come and bring the food we need? Well, Uncle Scott has the answer to that question. “Cause it’s fun to all go together! And we forget less things!” The first part is definitely true, but we always forget something and end up making countless subsequent trips to Wal Mart or whatever oversized supermarket may be in the vicinity of the campground. At the store we stock up on ice, hamburger meat, lots and lots of bacon, fig newtons, those little Keebler fudge stick wafer things that my dad just can’t seem to get enough of, and of course some Natural Light. You may find it strange or downright disgusting that our alcoholic beverage of choice is Natural Light, but that’s just the way things are at the Ranzaganza.

It has occurred to me that I could write a fairly long and drawn out book about the Ranzaganza, and perhaps someday I will. But for now I’d just like to recount a few things that stick out in my mind to give you even a better idea of what it might be like to spend three or four hot August days with the Ranz family. First of all, we always go during the first week of August. Why, do you ask, do we choose what perennially turns out to be the hottest, stickiest time of the year in the Midwest to go camping? The truth is, I really don’t know. Once again, it’s just always been like that, and we Ranzes have never seen a good reason to change it.

One of the stranger things that goes on at the Ranzaganza would have to be the cardboard cut outs. It all started around Ranzaganza VII (I think) in Portsmouth, Ohio. About a week prior to departure, my dad was cruising down Westwood Northern Boulevard when he came across a yard (junk) sale. For those of you who know my dad, not stopping at a junk sale (“just for a sec! just to see what they’ve got!”) would be like a boy scout seeing an old lady crossing the street and not helping her. It just doesn’t happen that often. But ol’ Joe had his eye on something particular this time. He skipped going through the boxes of basement relics and old books and went straight for a life sized wooden cut out of Elvis, the king himself. It was beautifully painted and even came with a nice little stand so he could stay up on his own. My mind is sketchy on the exact price, but I don’t imagine it cost more than $10…well worth all the good memories he was to bring. The King was the first thing packed, laid down in the bed of the truck, nice and flat, and hence the last thing we pulled out. We triumphantly displayed Elvis in front of our campground for everyone driving by to see and for some reason just got a huge kick out of it. We even mustered over to the little amphitheater they had in the campground and played some Elvis music while my dad danced around with the big wooden Elvis to a tape of his greatest hits we had bought in town…probably at Wal Mart. What my dad didn’t know was that we kids had planned a bit of an attack at the end of the concert and when it was all said and done we bombed the crap out of him with water balloons. Thirty people standing around laughing their asses off as we drenched Joe and Elvis was quite the sight for the rest of the campground, but we couldn’t care less, we were having a blast. And so it began. Each subsequent year, people began bringing more cardboard cutouts. Some years even two. A few have suffered the effects of a nighttime rainstorm and aren’t quite as sharp as they used to be, and Uncle Jamie even took poor Fabio to the shooting range one day and pumped the blonde bombshell’s pretty little modeling head full of bullet holes. Over the years we’ve added the likes of Hilary Clinton, Dr. Evil, John Wayne, Pee Wee Herman, the Lone Ranger (with Tonto) and this year I hear they’ve added not only Spiderman, but Superman as well. These all get displayed proudly around the campsite, with interested onlookers driving by, wondering just what the hell is wrong with those people. One year some punk kids even stole Elvis in the middle of the night, which we realized after my cousin Shane had run down the street naked for no reason (on videotape) and we were out by the front of the campsite. I believe my cousin Matt was the first to notice, and we then proceeded to go on a late night Elvis hunt, not willing to part with something that had become such a strong part of Ranzaganza tradition without a fight. Well, he was easy to find, the thieves were not quite as stealthy as they thought, and I also think they were stoners, which didn’t make it any harder on us. He was sitting out, under a light, with some teenagers sitting around a campfire. We promptly walked into their campsite, rescued The King (with little protest from the stoners…except maybe a quick “Heeeeeeeeeeeeeey maaaaaaaaaaaaaan…” I guess they couldn’t really argue, they knew he was ours) and triumphantly returned to our campsite. Matt and I celebrated by eating even more of the leftover cottage ham that had been cooked for dinner. We just kind of sat it on the table and hacked off pieces with a knife and ate with our hands…that went on for about an hour till we almost threw up. Victory celebrated by consuming mass quantities of pork is pretty awesome.

The Cardboard Clan

For the most part, Ranzaganza is all about silly things that we find funny for whatever reason. For example, the year we broke out the song “I’m My Own Grandpa” for everyone to hear…or the fact that first one to fall asleep around the campfire (almost every time it’s me) gets a bare ass in their face until they wake up…affectionately referred to as “open assing.” I can’t even type that phrase without laughing hysterically. You just hope that it’s cousin Leslie’s soft little smooth hynee in your face as opposed to cousin Shane’s hairy pimply one…sometimes you’re lucky, other times not. The campfire, however is what I consider to be the heart and soul of Ranzaganza. It breeds both discussion and quiet, which is a strange dichotomy but one that works well. Smores are always in the mix, along with some of the aforementioned Natural Light, perhaps a cigar or two and definitely the name game. If my memory serves me correctly, the name game came to us from Uncle Denny, who (since related by marriage and not mandated to come to Ranzaganza) made a surprise showing for Ranzganza VI or VII. The name game is simply this: I name a famous person (famous is to be judged by the group…usually if one other person knows who it is, then it’s allowed), then the next person in the circle names another famous person whose first name begins with the same letter as the other person’s last name. For example, a quick round might go like this: Tom Cruise, Christopher Walken, Wally Joyner, John Wayne, etc. But if you can manage to get a double name, then it reverses directions…”Backatchya!” we like to say. For example if someone says to me “Reggie Sanders” I’ll usually respond with “Sally Struthers, backatchya!” And if that person is so inclined, he or she can send it back to me with “Susan Sarandon” or “Sam Snead.” The point of this game is that there is no point, it’s merely to pass the time and laugh occasionally when you pull out a funny name. Shane is always making up names and claiming that they are ballet dancers, but we all know he’s full of crap…even him.

Most evenings the 2nd generation Ranzes (my dad and his siblings) muster off to bed by 10 pm, or fall asleep in their chairs, snoring until we wake them up and send them off to bed. The third generation Ranzes (my cousins and I) usually stay up a bit later around the fire, catching up on whatever, reminisce about old Ranzaganzas, threaten to Open Ass whoever falls asleep first and sometimes even tell a ghost story…the favorite is one called “The Burr Woman” which I read in a ghost story book I bought at the Oakdale book fair in elementary school, but cannot seem to find anymore. I think the first time I told the story my cousins were genuinely scared because I had remembered all the details and we were much younger then…and every subsequent year they ask me to tell it again…although I haven’t told it in quite a while, mainly because what I remember of it is just not that scary…but it always comes up. Maybe when there are more of the 4th generation Ranzes around it will come out again.

Although much of the Ranzaganza stays the same over the years, there are usually a few instances that stick out that make each one unique. The Elvis concert was one of those, last year was the year we all played paintball and my cousin Shane and I ran across the firing range while all our relatives pumped us full of paint, there was the first year cousin Seth brought his little mopeds and we found some trials to take them on, there was the time Uncle Mitch first brought his Winnebago and saved everyone the trouble of having to listen to him snore, there was the time when a seemingly huge log fell out of a tree and nearly crushed poor little Seth, or the time Shane ran into a tree on his bike and sliced open his twig & berries on the gooseneck, then there was the time when Seth got attacked by a swarm of bees in his clothes and my dad had to strip him down and dunk him in the creek as passing hikers once again wondered what the hell was going on, or when Shane put on Uncle Jamie’s gorilla costume and went calvanting around in the field like a monkey and scared the crap out of the missionary kids who were camping next to us, or the time Little Leslie dropped the F-bomb in front of her dad, or the time Shane chucked a water balloon out of the car at some poor kid along the road, nailed him the stomach and he fell over wincing…like I said, I could go on for days, and someday I might.

There is always someone tossing something…whether it be Mitch and Matt tossing a softball, Aunt Joanie and Maryjane tossing cornhole bags, Me tossing a Frisbee, or Shane, Seth, Leslie and I tossing the screaming vortex football in an invented fashion we like to call “The Butt Game.” I’ll spare you the details, but know that it is great fun. When we go to the pool or the lake, whichever the campground has, we always bring one of those little waterballs that you soak and toss around in the water. Usually it consists of someone standing on the water’s edge, rocketing the little ball up in the air, and 5 or 6 of us wrestling around in the water to get to the ball. The point of this game? Once again, there really is none. And then of course someone is always tossing water balloons. Whoever makes the mistake of bringing them can count on the twins getting a hold of them and throwing every last one and then wishing there were more. Bless the person who invented water balloons, I say.

The last day of Ranzaganza is a sad time, but often we’ve had enough and are ready to pack up. We skip making breakfast (unless of course there’s a pound or two of bacon left…then it gets thrown on the fire and we “snack” as we pack up) and go straight into breaking camp. The truck is easier to load this time, with no firewood, having burned it all. The tents come down, the chairs get folded and the campers closed up. Usually by 10am we’re ready to roll out, Uncle Mitch and his crew back to Columbus, The Laucks back to Indy, and the rest of us back to Cincy. Once it’s all packed up though, we usually spend a good 20 minutes relaxing, finishing the rest of the Fudge Stick Cookies Joe hasn’t managed to polish off, and usually talking about where we’re going to be headed next year. Then we move out, sometimes stopping at the local roadside choke-and-puke for some greasy breakfast to make up for the meal we skipped while packing up. Then it’s back home, unpacking, washing the campfire smell out of…well just about everything, airing out the sleeping bags and putting away all of our cardboard friends, only to be dusted off a year later to adorn our new campground.

Ranzaganza has evolved over time like most things…us kids are a little older, some of us are married, some of us with kids of our own (or on the way). Truth be told, I’m not sure what the future holds for Ranzaganza. I like to think that we will all always make time for 3 or 4 days spent sleeping under the stars and cooking over the fire, regardless of where we are or what’s going on. And personally I’m going to try my best to do that (well, after I get done here in Bolivia that is), but you never can tell. Perhaps one day it will fizzle out…when Mitch doesn’t want to navigate the Winnebago or Joe just tires of packing up the Beverly Hillbillies truck. But, I feel strongly that it will always be going on in some format. Whether it’s Seth, Shane and me taking a ski trip to Utah or Sarah & Jason meeting up with Jenny & Mike to do some camping with all their little kiddies, Ranzaganza will go on. We all know things change, we all know everyone can’t make it every year, especially now that we’re getting a bit older, a bit busier and our lives are taking different paths. I’d be willing to bet that regardless of what we’re doing or where we are, those of us who can’t go camping that first week in August will always wish we could. After all, I’m thousands of miles away and all I can think about is sitting around the campfire with some of the finest folks around, making smores and drinking some not so good beer. I miss you guys, I wish I was there with you, but I’ve enjoyed every minute of writing this little dissertation on what we do during the hot days of August. It’s given me a chance to be there in spirit a bit and remember just a handful of the great memories I’ve got. You all know there are so many more, but I’ve gone on long enough. For those of you who made it all the way to the end, I commend you, especially if you’re last name isn’t Ranz (well, or Lauck or Bryant or Saskowsky or even Hanauer). Thanks for your time and for letting me share my memories with you.

Sending all my love from South America,

Ben (the good cousin)

P.S. Some topics I didn’t touch on include The Death Bike, Rawhide, Night Hikes, lots of bug spray, My Mom’s Cookies, The Dogs, Gordon Lightfoot, Tammy the blow up doll, frantically building tents to keep out of the rain, Scott’s Hammock, Joe repairing chairs, the Western Hills Press…I could go on…

Every Year We Take A Group Photo...And This Year They Left a Chair Open For Me In The Front

No More Than a Boy in The Company of Strangers (2006.08.08)

Well, I’m settling in for my fourth night here in Hardeman and so far I don’t have too many complaints. I actually got to hang around in Santa Cruz city for a couple of extra days to wait on some medical tests, which came back positive, re-assuring me that I actually had diarrhea…as if the 15 trips to the bathroom in one day wasn’t enough indication. But I got some meds and now here I am.

It’s kind of like moving to Bolivia all over again, except I don’t understand the Spanish as well and now it’s really hot. But all the same feelings of not fitting in and feeling uncomfortable are still here, which is kind of a bummer. I’m not sure I’m ready to go through another huge adjustment period, but I’ll have to get over that pretty quickly. It’s a whole new ballgame now without the comfort zone of my friends and allies I had during training. Now simply trying to feel comfortable is a full time job. Like I mentioned, the Spanish here is a lot trickier to understand for some reason. Perhaps my old family just spoke a lot slower, knowing that I was just a silly gringo. But here I get no such recognition. The folks here aren’t used to having silly gringos around and therefore have less sympathy. Which is kind of cool I guess, I no longer get to be babied. And the truth is, I understood a lot more today (Tuesday) than I did when I got here on Saturday, so I suppose in a month or so, I should be rocking with the language. It helps that I never get a break…but I’ve also realized that I don’t speak nearly as well as I thought I did. It’s almost impossible for me to understand what two people are saying to each other when they are conversing and I’m not involved in the conversation. And for some reason I find men much harder to understand than women. I’ve been doing a lot of blindly agreeing and laughing…having no idea what was just said to me. Which I find kind of funny but also frustrating. Asi es, poco a poco.

A little bit about my town. It’s definitely a country farming town…and I’m trying to discern what is hard about it being Bolivia and what is hard about it being a little town…neither of which I’m used to. Living in rural America for a few months would have been a nice way to ease into life in Hardeman, but all I got was Hilliard, which doesn’t do me much good. I guess the first thing that comes to mind when I think of Hardeman is that it’s dusty. All the roads are dirt, and whenever trucks loaded with sugar cane or big ‘ol tractors come rolling through town, it kicks up a bunch of dirt. It’s too hot to wear anything but sandals, which means my feet are in a constant state of filth. Don’t worry, I took Lieutenant Dan’s advice and I take good care of my feet. The good news is that the heat mandates that I shower every day, which is about the only effective way to cool off. I imagine that after two weeks of being here I will have showered more than I did throughout all of training, which works out nicely because my hair is getting longer and it likes being washed. We’ll see if I can stand the heat with my hair and beard…I’m gonna try like crazy to tough it out. Sidenote: one of the current volunteers started calling me Blackbeard, which I found really awesome. Arrrrrr!

Considering what else is around, Hardeman is pretty nice. There is a really nice health post, with a seemingly modern dentist facility and even a lab to do tests. They are building a new really big hospital as well. The school is supposedly the nicest school within four hours, and I believe it, they seem to keep it in good condition. It’s run by an Italian nun named Sister Ana…there are a lot of foreigners in town, considering it’s the middle of nowhere in Bolivia. There is a lady from Thailand, a family from Brazil, three or four Italian nuns and they tell me that there are even some Russian farmers on the outskirts of town. And now that there’s an American in town, who knows what’s going to happen. There is some wilderness around as well, although I haven’t explored too much yet…I imagine it gets pretty jungly once you get outside of town. Everyone has been very friendly so far, although I don’t think they quite understand why I’m here yet…and they don’t realize I’m staying for a while either. For some reason, when people introduce me around, they have this terrible habit of not telling me the person’s name…and that’s if I’m lucky enough for them to introduce me…usually it’s just kind of an awkward, in the same room encounter. Although tomorrow we’ve planned a little meeting for me to be introduced to some of the community members so I can talk a little bit more about what I’m here to do.

Sunday was the Bolivian Independence Day, so there was a bit of a celebration. The night before, all the kids in the school got together and walked in a little parade around town with these little lanterns they made out of tissue paper…kind of hard to explain but it was pretty cool. And on Sunday I was told we wer e going to the parade where the whole town would be there, but once we got there, I found out that I got to be IN the parade. I felt a little like Chris Farley in that Japanese game show skit with Mike Myers…”I thought they said go and see a game show…not be on a game show.” (“Kwa-ku-sur-pi-ni-ku?”) Anyway, I wish they would have told me that I was going to be in the parade in front of the whole town, I might have worn something different than dirty jeans and my “Ithaca is Gorges” t-shirt. But with my vast experience with parades, it was alright. After all, the parade was only about fifty yards long…and it was kind of nice, I thought it was going to be a long time before I got to walk in a parade again. I was walking with the other five people from the water cooperative where I work and the announcer even knew that I was from Peace Corps and announced that, which I found pretty cool. Then that night the town party was out in some field where they had big speakers set up playing music that was coming from a computer set up in the back of a dump truck…the dance floor was nothing but grass and I really felt like country boys and girls getting down on the farm. I showed off all 3 of the dance moves I’ve got up my sleeve, and that was enough to impress the folks I was with.

On the nights we don’t eat dinner at home, we usually go across the street, where they make some mean roasted chicken served with rice and French fries. It’s not Popeye’s, but they’ve got a great video jukebox with a decent amount of songs in English…and since it’s across the street, I can hear it from my house and I’ve heard some pretty random ones played the past few nights, including Michael Jackson, The Cranberries, Bruce Springsteen, Richard Marx, and even The Scorpions. It’s a good solid meal with good entertainment for Bs 6, equivalent to about 75 cents.

I see myself fitting in pretty well here in Hardeman and am confident that the more time I spend here, the more I’ll want to spend time here. With any luck, I’ll become what they call a “site rat” and hardly ever go to the city…but we’ll see.