Poco a Poco

I've been telling people all day that tomorrow will be my one month anniversary in Zaruma. This is because I mistakenly thought that today was September 24th, when it is actually the 18th. Oops. That sort of goes to show how irrelevant time seems to be here. Every day is pretty much the same. I get up. I drink coffee with my host parents and eat some bread. Sometimes, I sprinkle Old Bay on my bread to feel closer to Maryland. Then I make my bed. Making the bed is a very big deal here. It signals respect for the house and for the god of cleanliness that all Ecuadorian women seem to follow. Wrinkled sheets, unkempt rooms, and dirt are the enemies of the Ecuadorian woman.

After that, I usually read or go hunting in the outdoor market for some fruit. I like to set out in Zaruma on a mission to find something new. Usually, I run into a talkative shopkeeper and make a new contact/friend. Today, I met the owner of a shoestore, a woman who had lived in Italy for seven years. We talked about police corruption and Italian food for 40 minutes while her young son kept shyly looking at me, texting, and walking out. As a city, Zarumenos seem to have the gift of gab. Someone told me it's because they come from a history of listening to the priest in Mass, whereas most Americans come from a heritage of reading the Bible and promoting literacy. Talking and telling stories seems to be embedded in the blood vessels of Zarumenos. They know how to use their hands to emphasize a point, when to raise their voices, and how to pause to garner suspense for the conclusion. Too bad I can't understand what they are saying half of the time to due their coastal accents. Still, even if I don't get the joke, it's entertaining to watch them tell it.

After that, it is lunch, usually half a plate of rice with some chicken or rice, and either juice or coffee. After lunch, I take a nap or walk around the town some more, and then come back for the 4pm coffee break, the 6pm dinner, and the 10:30 bed time. Life here is very tranquilo, or calm. There really isn't too much to worry about in terms of getting robbed, because everyone knows each other, so there isn't any anonymity. If you rob someone, chances are, they'll tell half a dozen people within 30 minutes, and you'll get caught.

The hardest things about being here right now are just being the foreigner all the time and not being able to trust people. When people find out I am an English teacher, they immediately ask me if I want to teach classes to their grandmother/son/husband. Or, they ask me when I can move out of the house I am in, and oh do I want to move into their basement apartment? Or, if they are an older woman and they find out I am not married, their eyes light up and they say "You are going to leave with a husband!" I can't wait until I am Andrea and not the New Gringa Who Might Teach Us English. School is hard, too. Some days, the seniors do not want to listen or do any work, because college and freedom are so temptingly close. Sometimes my games fall flat to a sea of confused and blank eyes. But, once in a while, they like my class. When I come home complaining about school, my host mom says "Poco a poco," or "little by little." Little by little. It's the only way I stay sane. Little by little, I meet more people, understand the seemingly indistinguishable coastal accent, and learn to adapt to the constant barrage of rice.

Doc Watson's blues about being far away from home are guiding me through these days, saying the words I can't say. "Soutbound" is a perfect song for my life right now.

"I've been here for a month or so,
Stuck in this old city,
People who call this place home, oh
They're the ones I pity,
Lord I'm homesick."


But poco a poco, things will get better. Poco a poco. One word, one new face, one joke at a time.

First Impressions of Zaruma

Hello, all. I've been in Zaruma for eight days. Nine days, if you count Thursday. We got in late Thursday night after spending 14 hours on a bus. Stepping off the bus was different than last time. During my site visit, I knew that I was just there for a few days, and then I was off. It felt like a vacation. This time, it felt heavier. This time, it was for real.

I've spent the last week in kind of a funk. The rhythm and the daily functioning of training has stopped. Training is history. Living in Tumbaco, falling asleep to dogs barking every night, eating fritada and drinking Coke with my Tumbaco host family, seeing my Peace Corps friends every day, struggling through TEFL training sessions: all of this is over. I feel like I've lost a pet, or a good friend. Training, for all of its highs and its lows, became life. Without it, and without the people, I'm shell-shocked, insecure, and unsure of where to step.


We started "observing" in school yesterday. I'm working with four teachers, all of whom are relatively young. My students are 16 and 17, and it's been kind of intimidating working with them because they are Real People, and nearly adults. In general, the kids have been sweet. They call out "Andrea!" when I walk into class, say "hi" to me in the halls, and a group of them bought me chips doused in mayonaise and ketchup and talked to me about music. (By the way, maybe one of my side projects will be getting Ecuadorian teens to develop an appreciation for indie rock. When I mention Bright Eyes or Death Cab for Cutie, all I get are confused faces and blank stares). The teachers have been intimidating, even though many of them are over 50, because tehy are so close. But today, I cared less than I did yesterday, and talked to a few of the more welcoming ones.

The best thing that happened today was the fact that the physical education teacher, who has a raspy smoker's voice and looks to be about 65, asked me if I could help out with his swim class next week. This made me almost jump for joy. He said we could have try outs and even have a swim team. I really, really, really hope that this pans out. I'm a bit afraid of overcommitting, but if this does work out, and Zaruma gets a swim team, it would be a perfect way for me to integrate and do something I love. Plus, they have a perfect climate for swimming. My host mom, who is in her mid-60s, also wants to learn, so I'm going to teach her as well. She is a whiz at knitting, so we are going to trade: sewing lessons for swimming lessons. I can't wait. I still haven't gotten to swim, since little kids swarm the pool in the afternoons. Still. It will happen soon. I'm itching to burn off this constant, unending diet of rice and bread, rice and bread. My body craves antioxidants and vegetables.


Skype has really been a lifesaver these last few days. I've gotten to talk to the people I love most in the world, the ones who ground me and guide me from continents away. Everything seems to be moving so quickly at home. Acquaintances seem to be getting engaged weekly. Friends are moving across the country for grad school and for love. People are moving out of their parents houses. We are, slowly and inextricably, growing up.


This weekend, I plan to go running and to hold a rock in my hand in case a dog starts barking at me. I've been told the dogs here bark, but don't bite. I want to get lost and find my way back through Zaruma's narrow, mountainous streets. Sometimes I can't believe I'm living in a city this beautiful. It almost feels like a town in a fairy tale. Colorful houses encircle the mountain the city sits on. Mountains surround the whole town, like a flock of protective sheep.

Here are some pictures for your eyes to see what my words try to say. It really is a Disney princess town.