I was waist deep between the rows of canavalia – peering through weeds and under and around the plant’s own lily pad-like glossy leaves – trying to catch sight of some of the foot long seed pods we’d gone to the field to harvest. Chances are I’d probably just thrown another of the dried, golden pods into the feed sack I was lugging with me, when the farmer I was with asked me, where this plant comes from. It’s not often you hear someone ask a plant or vegetable’s origin back home. The botanical curiosity of the Paraguayan farmer is something special to me, even if at times a little overplayed.

I tell him Central America – the truth – and get an affirmative grunt of sorts that a year or so ago I wouldn’t have noticed helped to mask his confusion in understanding my response. Like Nicaragua, Guatemala or Costa Rica, I add and get a smile and an enthusiastic nod. Now we’re on the same page.

Another lull in conversation as we move on down the line stopping every few feet and picking off the dried pods, leaving those still green on the vines for another pass – another week. I’d gotten lost in thought and in the work and in the breeze of the absolutely perfect afternoon when a few minutes later he asks if there there Peace Corps volunteers there. It takes me a minute to realize where “there” is and then I let him know. Yeah there are. The slow pace of our field conversation carries on as we reach the end of our lines, turn and start again, with him naming different countries in South America and me giving a yes or no for volunteers or not. Columbia? Si. Peru? Si. Bolivia? Antes. Chile, Argentina, Brasil? Antes. Uruguay? Antes. If his knowledge of his continent’s geography wasn’t impressive enough, the where with all to ask the next question made up for it – How come they’re not there anymore?

That’s where I have to start thinking about how to talk without offending.

Bolivia’s story gives me a warm up for this. Political tensions are easier to describe then socioeconomic ones, plus Paraguayan’s don’t exactly have a soft spot for their neighbors to the north anyway. But the Chile, Argentina, Brasil, Uruguay, that gave me pause. Partly because I wasn’t fully sure and partly because I didn’t want to put down his country in some sort of round about way. Then I remembered I was talking to friend. One with a quality so hard to find in these parts (and it would seem more and more so even at home these days) – an honest interest in the outside world. A chance for a real discussion. A back of forth of why we think things are the way they are. So after my pause I go for the reason I’m pretty sure is true – places like Uruguay and Argentina no longer request volunteers, because in their eyes they have developed to a point where they aren’t needed.

So there’re less poor people, he adds.
Yeah. Well, maybe not less in total, but more wealthy people too, I go with.
Ah, more wealthy.
Yeah, I say with a nod.
In a place where everyone is poor it’s easy to see. When there are poor, but not everyone, it’s easier not to see, to not want to see.

I pause again. Mainly in astonishment at the line he’s drawn. To not want to see, I repeat letting the aptness of such a literal translation set in.

Easier to look the other way, he adds.

The harvesting continued and I stopped to pull off some of the few hundred thistles that were stuck to my pants. He asks, so what does Paraguay need? I tell him I don’t know.

Then I decided that’s a cop out. I ran through the possible answers in my head. A way for small farmers to effectively borrow money, a less corrupt political system, more “developed” agriculture, and all the other ideas and ideals we all tend to think makes a place less “third world” or better off, or just closer to own. I shot them down one by one and settled on the only solid one I can argue – because it’s what I actually believe.

Education.

His expression showed understanding, yet an unexpectedness in the simplicity of the response. Then it sunk in and he offered up a long list of all the current faults in education here summing it up with that it’s just not a priority. I comfort him, but mainly myself, by pointing out that it’s not just here that that’s the case. Education is the foundation, he said.

I left the field feeling good about the harvest. Something we planted, with the aim of improving the soil and in time his family’s disposition, but feeling better about the conversation. It’s so much easier when talking in language you’re bad at to drive the conversation – making sure it stays on ground you’re familiar with. Ideas you know how to express. It’s dangerous in a way too though because you can wind up driving to a conclusion that you want – one that satisfies your ends – innocent as they may be – by validating your own beliefs in the world through the voice of someone who hasn’t fully formed their own yet. You can see how it could be easy – and sometimes tempting to do so – even if not purposefully. Maybe it’s an over-analysis that others don’t go through – my own little neurosis carrying over into something as mundane as picking seeds and having a conversation. Or maybe I’m just happy to see that people do get it – or at least the same “it” as me – and that’s such a good feeling that it deserves a second look – or even a long, drawn out blog entry reminding yourself they got there on their own.

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