I was invited to the school for party to celebrate all the other students who were moving up a grade in their class. Celina had asked me to come at the same time that she showed me Mishel's report card. It was sweet how proud she was of the good grades that Mishel had received, and just as sweet that she came to my room to share them with me. I went to the celebration a touch late, and looked for Celina but couldn't find her and instead looked lost standing in the middle of the primary school, every eye on me, making my skin itch and inspiring a rather strong urge to give up and leave. I was saved by the appearance of one of my community partners, who emerged from a little shack near where they were cooking pounds of rice and potatoes, and he waved me over. He ushered me into the little cottage and offered me a seat at the picnic table they had in the corner where most of the school staff was seated. After greeting everyone and sitting down, I was quickly served a GIANT bowl full of rice, potatoes, and a fried cuy (guinea pig) spread-eagled across the pile of carbohydrates, complete with eyes and teeth. They also poured me a drink in a previously used cup that smelled and tasted like a cross between a jolly rancher and cough syrup - could have been worse. I took a couple of sips and tried really hard not to look at my bowl of food, but realized that this was not one of those moments I couldn't escape from. I was going to have to try cuy.
I'll be real, I had no idea where to start, and didn't really relish the thought of ripping an animal in half, fried or not fried. I was however, surrounded by people tearing the little animals to bits and sucking on their bones. I kept trying to push the image of the guinea pigs I'd had as pets when I was a kid out of my head. I thought I might be safe with a little bit of skin, so I tried to pull off a piece...but I couldn't. It was fried hard as a rock. I tried biting on it, which involved picking up the whole fried cuy and trying to take a chomp at it's side. The skin was literally so hard I was not entirely sure it wasn't bone. I finally got a tiny piece of meat, and closing my eyes and imagining chicken, I put it in my mouth. It was so greasy and tasted so strange I felt my gag reflex tighten and my mind was screaming, "YOU'RE EATING CHUCKIE!!!"
That was the end of my attempt to eat cuy. I did the Peruvian stand-by and asked them if I could have a bag to bring my food home. I said I had just eaten lunch. They fetched me a plastic bag and held it while I shoveled all the food off my plate and into the bag. I turned back to my drink, only to find a giant moth floating dead in it. I tried really hard not to laugh.
Later that afternoon, my host mom came into my room and sat on my bed. She told me she really felt like I was becoming accustomed and that if I needed anything I should just ask. It was nice to hear that she thought I was adjusting well. Positive feedback in the integrating department is always appreciated because I really have no idea what they think about me. She also told me that if I didn't like something, I should tell her. I decided right then to just be up front about the fact that I can't eat cuy. They think it's funny that I used to have them as pets, and she laughed at me a bit but accepted it.
That night, when everyone else had cuy, I got chicken. It was fantastic. I tried to eat as much of the chicken off the bone as I could, but regardless, I will never be able to clean a bone like a Peruvian. It was not so much fun being surrounded by my family eating cuy - the sound of them sucking on bones, or chewing bones, or watching them open their mouths and let chunks of chewed meat just fall to the kitchen floor was less than appetizing. I'm not sure I'll ever get used to just brushing food onto the floor, or spitting out food onto the floor, it's a bit shocking every time, but it is also, I will admit, incredibly convenient.
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