This place is weird. Sometimes I come home from school, completely frustrated with a smart-mouthed student, or a teacher who doesn't want to work with me, or simply not being able to understand jokes in this land of fast, coastal Spanish.
But in the last week, things have been different. It's like the universe cosmically shifted and started dropping down good day after good day. Maybe it's like the wave of life- right now we've entered the warm, calm waters, with the storms brewing off in the distance. But I can't help falling in love with Zaruma.
For one thing, the smallness of the town doesn't yet feel claustrophobic. At this point, I usually see a student/teacher/storekeeper/family member that I know on its tiny narrow streets. Sometimes someone yells my name across the street and asks where I'm going. "Andreita! Donde vas?" is a common question.
Second, and I half love this, and half am opposed to it, is the extreme nuturance by the female teachers at my school. While the male teachers range from dignified, old-school grandfathers who wear bowl hats and offer advice, to young, non politically correct rabbelrousers, the female teachers are pretty united in their joie de vivre and their motherliness. The older women, I think, see me like a young daughter lost in a sea of unfamiliarity, and try to express their approval of me by doing things like buying me manicures, getting me milkshakes, and inviting me to their houses. I appreciate, and am astounded by, the hospitatlity of these people, who have known me for a little over a month. Their huge hearts and willingness to help others is incredible. The slow pace of life here means that people have time to stop and get a coffee together, to visit their family more, and to give money to the homeless on the street. It also means more time for chisme, or gossip, which they say is the national pastime of Ecuadorians. But I'm starting to dig it. Unlike DC, where we rush rush rush from one activity to the next, the slowness of life here means more time to live instead of checking off to-do lists.
It's probably just a surge of good luck, but I've also had two wildly fun weekends where I got to hang out with interesting, kind, young people, both Ecuadorians and PCVs. Last weekend, we went swimming in a nearby river. This one guy brought his Cocker Spaniel and kept throwing it from the river bank into the water, and watching it swim back to him, soggy ears and all. The local priest and a group of high-spirited seminarians were there, too, playing some catch game with a soccer ball and posing for pictures on a rock. The priest later gave us a ride home through the dusty and bumpy streets of Porto Vello.
This weekend, we went to the dance contest for the coronation of the neighborhood queen. Yes, here in Zaruma, queens, or reinas, are a very big deal. Every neighborhood has a queen. The school has a queen. The town has a queen. The province has a queen. These girls are usually 16 or 17, and, to be selected, must be the most beautiful, and well-clothed of the bunch. I'm not sure if they're supposed to be especially charismatic or smart...the main point seems to be how beautiful they are. The queens, once elected, get to do things like go to other towns to represent Zaruma, and get to sit in the front row of important town events.
Anyways, it started pouring so they moved the umbrella-less queens to under a tent. A singer crooned "I will always love you" while the mainly-male crowd listened. The inebriated men in the crowd started to dance and sway, which was all the dancing that I saw that night.
Then we started dancing, in this big circle of people in the midst of paired up dancers. It started raining and people cleared off the asphalt, but we kept going. It was just one of those magical, everything is ok and we're all one kind of nights that only dancing, rain, and good people can bring out.
Tomorrow starts exam week. And Thursday marks my sixth week here. After the strange turn of events this past month, there is literally no telling what will happen next.
Sunday, October 9, 2011
Monday, October 3, 2011
"it's like stomping a cockroach", or, my first Ecuadorian birthday party
Last Saturday, we celebrated my host dad's 66th year of life on Earth. Now, for those of you who have 60-something year old relatives, think about what a typical American birthday party for a sextagenearian entails. For my family, that means a dinner out at a restaurant. It MAY mean a glass of wine, two if someone's feeling really celebrative. It almost always means a start time of 7pm and an end time of 10, maybe 11.
Not in Ecuador.
My host dad's family is a brood of eight close-knit siblings, who all live in a nearby city called Loja. The Lojanos get together a few times a year to eat, reminisce, and party. I was told (warned?) by a few different people that my host dad's brothers were "crazy." I thought that might mean that they got a little too tipsy at family events and said innapropriate things, or maybe fell down. I underestimated the definiation of "crazy."
The day started out normally. My host sister, her kids, husband, and I ran around the house getting everything ready for that night's surprise party. Beds were made, hundreds of coconut balls were rolled and dipped in sugar, and hair was done. Around five, the brood of Lojanos arrived: a man with a bemused face in a pink shirt (who I would quickly learn was the Crazy Brother), another in a green shirt, and a flock of five older women who stared at me quietly.
An hour later, my host dad arrived to the house early. We were all supposed to pop out and shout "Surprise!" at him, but since he came early, no one had time to hide. He greeted all of his siblings with huge bear hugs. Then, out came the scotch and water. The siblings all sat around outside, drinking and telling stories. THey all seemed normal. I was scared to go out and speak Spanish with a group of new, tight knit, strangers, so I sat inside and talked about middle school drama with my host sister. After a few minutes, I ventured outside, where the sisters greeted me warmly and we talked about the right age to marry. They say it is mid twenties, and were a little astonished that we Americans wait until 30 or so to marry. They also said that it was sad how torn up American families were. That their family gathered together when someone got sick, when someone had good news, when someone needed support. And seeing these wildly different people all sitting around the circle, laughing and telling old jokes, made me think that Ecuador, with all of it's craziness, lack of traffic laws, adulterated liquor problems, and machismo, got many things right. And one of the things they really understand is the importance of family. It made me want to recreate that at home. Not that my family is awful (love you, rents) but the commitment to family in this country is unlike anything in America. The family supersedes friends and careers. It is the most important thing.
After dinner, the dancing started around 10. When I say dancing, I mean that every single adult got on the dance floor and started moving. Dancing could consist of moving one's feet in a one-two-three salsa step, or moving the hips in the fluid way that only Latinos seem capable of. My dancing consisted of flailing my arms around and trying to copy my host sister's effortlessly relaxed steps. After an hour, when the whiskey hit, the brothers all began asking me ot dance. The crazy pink shirted brother took my hand and put it around my head, and tried to convince me that rubbing his head was part of salsa dancing. Another stood on a chair to be taller than me when I danced. As they tried to get me to learn their moves, the pink-shirted loon told me to pretend I was stomping a cockcroach. He stuck out a foot and stomped down hard. And I did the same. "You did it, you did it!" he cried. Soon the "Andrea's cockroach" became a dance move at the party. Whenever people got bored during a song, they would yell "stomp the cockroach! stomp the cockroach!"
The night got better when the pinata came out. In America, pinatas are for small children. They get lame and childish after the age of 11 or so. Here in Ecuador, it's common for 66 year old men to have a pinata on their birthday. I love it! So my host dad opened up the pinata, and all the host siblings and garndchildren made a mad dash for the chocolate and perfume that were stuffed in its belly.
The dancing and laughing kept going. I passed out around 1:30, and my 60-something partiers kept the night rolling until 3:30. We went home, and, for some reason, all had a cup of coffee at 4am, and then headed off for a well-deserved night of sleep. My first Ecuadorian party left me awed and exhausted.
Not in Ecuador.
My host dad's family is a brood of eight close-knit siblings, who all live in a nearby city called Loja. The Lojanos get together a few times a year to eat, reminisce, and party. I was told (warned?) by a few different people that my host dad's brothers were "crazy." I thought that might mean that they got a little too tipsy at family events and said innapropriate things, or maybe fell down. I underestimated the definiation of "crazy."
The day started out normally. My host sister, her kids, husband, and I ran around the house getting everything ready for that night's surprise party. Beds were made, hundreds of coconut balls were rolled and dipped in sugar, and hair was done. Around five, the brood of Lojanos arrived: a man with a bemused face in a pink shirt (who I would quickly learn was the Crazy Brother), another in a green shirt, and a flock of five older women who stared at me quietly.
An hour later, my host dad arrived to the house early. We were all supposed to pop out and shout "Surprise!" at him, but since he came early, no one had time to hide. He greeted all of his siblings with huge bear hugs. Then, out came the scotch and water. The siblings all sat around outside, drinking and telling stories. THey all seemed normal. I was scared to go out and speak Spanish with a group of new, tight knit, strangers, so I sat inside and talked about middle school drama with my host sister. After a few minutes, I ventured outside, where the sisters greeted me warmly and we talked about the right age to marry. They say it is mid twenties, and were a little astonished that we Americans wait until 30 or so to marry. They also said that it was sad how torn up American families were. That their family gathered together when someone got sick, when someone had good news, when someone needed support. And seeing these wildly different people all sitting around the circle, laughing and telling old jokes, made me think that Ecuador, with all of it's craziness, lack of traffic laws, adulterated liquor problems, and machismo, got many things right. And one of the things they really understand is the importance of family. It made me want to recreate that at home. Not that my family is awful (love you, rents) but the commitment to family in this country is unlike anything in America. The family supersedes friends and careers. It is the most important thing.
After dinner, the dancing started around 10. When I say dancing, I mean that every single adult got on the dance floor and started moving. Dancing could consist of moving one's feet in a one-two-three salsa step, or moving the hips in the fluid way that only Latinos seem capable of. My dancing consisted of flailing my arms around and trying to copy my host sister's effortlessly relaxed steps. After an hour, when the whiskey hit, the brothers all began asking me ot dance. The crazy pink shirted brother took my hand and put it around my head, and tried to convince me that rubbing his head was part of salsa dancing. Another stood on a chair to be taller than me when I danced. As they tried to get me to learn their moves, the pink-shirted loon told me to pretend I was stomping a cockcroach. He stuck out a foot and stomped down hard. And I did the same. "You did it, you did it!" he cried. Soon the "Andrea's cockroach" became a dance move at the party. Whenever people got bored during a song, they would yell "stomp the cockroach! stomp the cockroach!"
The night got better when the pinata came out. In America, pinatas are for small children. They get lame and childish after the age of 11 or so. Here in Ecuador, it's common for 66 year old men to have a pinata on their birthday. I love it! So my host dad opened up the pinata, and all the host siblings and garndchildren made a mad dash for the chocolate and perfume that were stuffed in its belly.
The dancing and laughing kept going. I passed out around 1:30, and my 60-something partiers kept the night rolling until 3:30. We went home, and, for some reason, all had a cup of coffee at 4am, and then headed off for a well-deserved night of sleep. My first Ecuadorian party left me awed and exhausted.
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