Today was, what some people may say, our last "real" day of training. We are, gleefully, done with the grueling schedule of safety trainings, health sessions, and day after day of rigid scheduling. After the brief, tantalizing week of my site visit, all I've wanted to do is return to Zaruma and start taking care of business.
Oh! I forgot to tell you all! I got my site, and it is wonderful. I'll be living in a pueblo of 20,000 called Zaruma. It is in the province of El Oro, in the south of the country. We are four hours from the border with Peru, and two from the coast. I'll be teaching high school English and working as a swim coach. Zaruma has a beautiful, well maintained pool right at the school, so every Saturday, a hodgepodge group of students practices together. The other coaches were really excited that I wanted to coach, because they want to start having competitions with other nearby schools. It seems sort of odd to me how it all worked out. First off, and I could be wrong, but I don't think that it's all that common for schools in Ecuador to have pools. Second, that the school would just happen to need a swim coach. Third, that I, actually, have been dreaming and dying to swim again. I miss swimming with every inch of my body. Now, not only can I swim whenever I want, but I can coach kids too.
The other weird and wonderful thing about Zaruma is that they are famous for their oranges. And everyone who knows me knows that I absolutely love oranges. I eat two a day, and pride myself on being able to peel them quickly and without breaking the peel. My sister says I always smell like oranges, which is probably true. Their Vitamin C keeps me constantly healthy.
They may seem like small things, but as long as I have oranges and swimming, I will be OK. They are two of the great loves of my life, and no matter what crazy stuff Luck or Fate or God dumps on me, I will always have these two constants.
Here are a few other things I've learned about Ecuadorians and life from training:
a) Big Dogs vs. Small Dogs: The Great Divide
Big dogs are treated here like alarm systems that need to be fed and maybe petted. Their main purpose is their very useful quality of barking loudly when someone (person, animal) comes near the house, to signal an alarm to the humans inside that Something May Be Wrong. Now, we do this in the US too, but the difference is that the dogs here usually sleep outside and do not get walked often. My old host dog, Oso, has been recently seen fighting with other dogs in the street and lounging lazily in from of the bread shop. Because he lives outside, all of Tumbaco is his home. It is common to have to step over dogs sleeping in the sidewalk, or to dodge two dogs on the my morning walk having a turf war with each other. Big dogs here are very street smart. They know how to dodge cars, how to dodge bully dogs, and how to wrench bread from the bread store. They have to be, or else they wouldn't make it.
SMALL dogs are way more lucky. They are treated like dolls. It is common to see someone in public holding the dog by the stomach, as if it was a small toy. It is common to see small dogs on buses, and you may even see some dressed up in sweaters. They are the Barbies of the Ecuadorian dog world. They always sleep inside, and get away with pooping inside and generally being fussy on account of their cuteness. It is an unjust, unjust dog world out there.
b) Families are a really, really big deal here.
I went in expecting this one, since I know how close Roxana's family is. Still, I didn't realize to what extent it is true. Welfare doesn't exist here, so when a person gets sick, or hurt, or falls into a rut, who do they turn to? Their family. The family is this powerful, all encompassing unit. You party with your family. You watch TV with your family. You spend all of Sunday eating AND watching TV with your family. The extended family sticks together no matter what. I both love this and am very challenged by the concept. I'm used to going where I want, when I want, and seeing who I want to see, when I want to see them. I'm not used to spending so much time at home, or constantly consulting other people when I want to do something. But that's the cultural difference here: the individualist vs. the collectivist culture. In Ecuador, they have a team player mentality. In a family, everyone is consulted and everyone ruminates and argues and talks before a decision is made. Parents commonly do their kids' homework. In America, we're all into doing our own thing, and carving our own path. Very different mentalities. I have to say, though, that there are some very beautiful things about collectivism. The idea that "we're all in it together" is much stronger here than in America.
c) I think (hope?) I've done a tad of self growth so far. I've been on two different tech trips where I was thrust into a classroom with little or no preparation or knowledge of the lesson, and told to "teach" while staring at forty blank faces. I've gotten to know a few of the 61 other Trainees really well, and can say that I'll honestly miss many of them. I'll miss the foul smelling dog Zakarias and the raspy voice of my program facilitator. I'll miss seeing the same 61 faces every day, and the walk home, where we pass grazing cows and kids playing soccer. I think I've gotten to figure out more of who I am, the Drea who is not Justin's girlfriend, or Jan's daughter, or Brittany's best friend. Who am I outside of the people I love and the home I grew up in? That is what I'm still figuring out. Speaking of self growth, one of the best parts of training is being exposed to a slew of new music. I'm currently listening to Sea Wolf's "Middle Distance Runner," which is this haunting song about not measuring up to someone elses' expectations. SO good.
It is getting late (yes, 11pm is very late here), so I'm going to say goodnight. Tomorrow, we swear in as official volunteers, and then in eight short, short days, it is off to Zaruma. ARRRGH. Life is speeding up so fast.
