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.
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