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.
Monday, October 3, 2011
Sunday, September 18, 2011
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.
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.
Friday, September 2, 2011
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.
Monday, August 15, 2011
Almost Done!
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.
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.
Sunday, July 3, 2011
Bros, Beaches, Drag Queens
This last week, half of the TEFL group went to Santa Elena for our very first tech trip. They put all girls in one trip, and put all of the guys in the other, so we aptly titled them the Sorority Trip and the Bro Trip. At first, I was miffed at being with the bros. I am not a bro, or a bro´s girl. My closest friends were all on the sorority trip. I didn´t know how the week of testosterone would pan out.
To get to Santa Elena, we took what felt like 60 buses to get from Tumbaco to Quito, and then from Quito to the right terminal, and then from Quito to Guayaquil, and then from Guayaquil to Santa Elena. We left at 6am. Oso, again, followed me on the bus and had to be shooed off and restrained by Marissa. We spent two harrowing hours traveling through the Andes in the Sierra. The bus made many 180 degree turns and the driver didn´t seem to slow down too much when sashaying through the mountains. That, and the flimsy barriers that separated the bus from thousand foot mountainous drops did little to soothe my nerves. Luckily, the bus attendant distracted us by putting on what may be the most bro like movie ever, a Steven Segal flick called Driven to Kill which was full of Russians, guns, blood, and half naked women. We finally got out of the Sierra and into the coast. The first thing I noticed about the coast was the muggy heat, and the colorful houses that people live in. Unlike the Sierra, the Costenos are not afraid of the rainbow. We passed houses of every color in Guayaquil. After hours, and hours, and HOURS of traveling, we finally got to Santa Elena at around 10 pm, and passed out in our hostel afterwards.
The week itself was awesome. The nice thing about the bro trip was there was very little drama. In lieu of drama, we made a game of inserting ¨bro¨ into every word. The Jacuzzi was the BroCuzzi, Luis the facilitator was Brois, and Jamito was Bromito, which is fitting because he loves bromas, or jokes. Our hostel, which had hammocks and hot water, was a block from the beach, so for two afternoons, we got to go to the beach. My first time in the Pacific! The water was warm and the waves were really small, so we stayed in the water while the sun was setting and swam around. I raced a facilitor and another Trainee, and conveniently forgot to mention to them that I used to be a swimmer. Being back in the ocean and swimming again made me feel strangely closer to home, even though I was in a different ocean on a different continent. I miss swimming deep down in my bones.
The very best part of the week were the kids we worked with, though. We went to a public high school where many of the kids didn´t have money to buy textbooks, so the teachers had to write out the lessons on the board. The classrooms didn´t have AC or glass windows, so the noises and screams from outside came right into the classroom. Many of our classes had fifty kids. The first few days, we observed the classes. Many of the English teachers had an extremely basic understanding of the language, and many were sort of thrust into the role of English teacher without any training in the language. There were a few times when we were supposed to be observing the classes and ended up giving charlas instead. The funniest one was our impromtu sex ed charla. There were four of us, three guys and me, and we tried to explain to the kids in basic English the different ways you could avoid being pregnant. Jacob asked them ¨Tell me why having a baby is always bad¨ and our facilitator starts waving her hands at him. There were many awkward silences but we got our points across, I think. My kids loved us. My favorite moment was when Jasmine and I ended up singing songs with a big group of Ecuadorian girls. They sang us some Mana and we sang them Beyonce and Lady Gaga. A girl came up to me the next day and told me how happy she was that we came to their school and how much fun we made the English classes. It almost made me cry. After teaching this week, I´m really pumped to get to site and start teaching. I know now that I can do it, and that teenagers will be hard but rewarding to work with.
Yesterday was one of the best days I´ve had here so far. We went to the Gay Pride parade in Quito, and somehow ended up marching in it with some other PCVs. Luckily, we were right behind the trolley that blasted music and had gyrating drag queens dancing on the sides. The parade started out really small. There were a few rainbow balloons and flags and one float. But as the day wore on, more and more people joined, until we were this giant, dancing, rainbow flag waving swell that filled up the streets of the Mariscal. There were so many wonderful drag queens, including this one who literally looked like a giant, with seven inch platform shoes and a long black wig. My favorite was this one wearing giant wire angel wings and and angel outfit, who kissed me when I told him that he was bonita. Afterwards, we went dancing and the one Ecuadorian I danced with told me that everything about my friends screaming ¨gringa¨. It probably didnt help that we were swaying around the dance floor and do si doing. Oh well. There are two years to shed the gringa ness.
Tomorrow is the Fourth of July, and then the week after, we get our sites!! I wonder where I will be. In two weeks, I´ll tell yall. I dont even know what to hope for right now. I did love the coast, but really hate the moscas. Loja would be beautiful, and the Amazon would be sick also. Keep your fingers crossed for me.
To get to Santa Elena, we took what felt like 60 buses to get from Tumbaco to Quito, and then from Quito to the right terminal, and then from Quito to Guayaquil, and then from Guayaquil to Santa Elena. We left at 6am. Oso, again, followed me on the bus and had to be shooed off and restrained by Marissa. We spent two harrowing hours traveling through the Andes in the Sierra. The bus made many 180 degree turns and the driver didn´t seem to slow down too much when sashaying through the mountains. That, and the flimsy barriers that separated the bus from thousand foot mountainous drops did little to soothe my nerves. Luckily, the bus attendant distracted us by putting on what may be the most bro like movie ever, a Steven Segal flick called Driven to Kill which was full of Russians, guns, blood, and half naked women. We finally got out of the Sierra and into the coast. The first thing I noticed about the coast was the muggy heat, and the colorful houses that people live in. Unlike the Sierra, the Costenos are not afraid of the rainbow. We passed houses of every color in Guayaquil. After hours, and hours, and HOURS of traveling, we finally got to Santa Elena at around 10 pm, and passed out in our hostel afterwards.
The week itself was awesome. The nice thing about the bro trip was there was very little drama. In lieu of drama, we made a game of inserting ¨bro¨ into every word. The Jacuzzi was the BroCuzzi, Luis the facilitator was Brois, and Jamito was Bromito, which is fitting because he loves bromas, or jokes. Our hostel, which had hammocks and hot water, was a block from the beach, so for two afternoons, we got to go to the beach. My first time in the Pacific! The water was warm and the waves were really small, so we stayed in the water while the sun was setting and swam around. I raced a facilitor and another Trainee, and conveniently forgot to mention to them that I used to be a swimmer. Being back in the ocean and swimming again made me feel strangely closer to home, even though I was in a different ocean on a different continent. I miss swimming deep down in my bones.
The very best part of the week were the kids we worked with, though. We went to a public high school where many of the kids didn´t have money to buy textbooks, so the teachers had to write out the lessons on the board. The classrooms didn´t have AC or glass windows, so the noises and screams from outside came right into the classroom. Many of our classes had fifty kids. The first few days, we observed the classes. Many of the English teachers had an extremely basic understanding of the language, and many were sort of thrust into the role of English teacher without any training in the language. There were a few times when we were supposed to be observing the classes and ended up giving charlas instead. The funniest one was our impromtu sex ed charla. There were four of us, three guys and me, and we tried to explain to the kids in basic English the different ways you could avoid being pregnant. Jacob asked them ¨Tell me why having a baby is always bad¨ and our facilitator starts waving her hands at him. There were many awkward silences but we got our points across, I think. My kids loved us. My favorite moment was when Jasmine and I ended up singing songs with a big group of Ecuadorian girls. They sang us some Mana and we sang them Beyonce and Lady Gaga. A girl came up to me the next day and told me how happy she was that we came to their school and how much fun we made the English classes. It almost made me cry. After teaching this week, I´m really pumped to get to site and start teaching. I know now that I can do it, and that teenagers will be hard but rewarding to work with.
Yesterday was one of the best days I´ve had here so far. We went to the Gay Pride parade in Quito, and somehow ended up marching in it with some other PCVs. Luckily, we were right behind the trolley that blasted music and had gyrating drag queens dancing on the sides. The parade started out really small. There were a few rainbow balloons and flags and one float. But as the day wore on, more and more people joined, until we were this giant, dancing, rainbow flag waving swell that filled up the streets of the Mariscal. There were so many wonderful drag queens, including this one who literally looked like a giant, with seven inch platform shoes and a long black wig. My favorite was this one wearing giant wire angel wings and and angel outfit, who kissed me when I told him that he was bonita. Afterwards, we went dancing and the one Ecuadorian I danced with told me that everything about my friends screaming ¨gringa¨. It probably didnt help that we were swaying around the dance floor and do si doing. Oh well. There are two years to shed the gringa ness.
Tomorrow is the Fourth of July, and then the week after, we get our sites!! I wonder where I will be. In two weeks, I´ll tell yall. I dont even know what to hope for right now. I did love the coast, but really hate the moscas. Loja would be beautiful, and the Amazon would be sick also. Keep your fingers crossed for me.
Sunday, June 26, 2011
week four
Tomorrow, half of the TEFL group is going to the coast for our very first tech trip. The bus ride is around 13 hours from here to there. Pray that I dont get horrendous diarrhea and am passed out for most of it. My host mom says that it is so hot there that she never wants to eat anything, only to drink water. And she told me to beware of the moscas, or mosquitoes, that live there. I have enough problems not scratching my mosquito bites here in the Sierra. I´m tempted to sleep with my bottle of insect repellent and to wear long clothes for the whole week to avoid them. They truly are the worst thing about the country, and they love my gringa blood.
This week has been quite duro, or long. We gave our first talk, called a charla, to a group of sixth graders this week about gender roles in the media. We cut out pictures of Justin Biebs and Katy Perry and asked them what they thought of them, and then had them cut out pictures in magazines of people who were sexy, macho, successful, and modest. Then, they got up in front of their classmates and talked about what all of these concepts meant. I was astounded that these prepubescent, sixth grade boys picked photos of scantily clad girls and said that ¨sexy meant wearing only a little clothing,¨ but that ¨modesty meant dressing nicely and having people respect you.¨ Then they started asking each other questions and picking apart each concept. They high fived us on the way out and cheered as we left. It was a promising first charla.
The sessions this last week felt like they dragged on, and on, and on. My Spanish does not seem to be getting better, and I apparently insert ¨like¨ into my sentences. In Spain, and after Spain, I knew I could speak Spanish. I knew it because I dreamed in Spanish. I knew it because I would talk to Cristobal for hours in Spanish on the phone, since he did not speak English. It feels like all of the Spanish has oozed out of my brain, and I am now an incoherent valley girl who is trying to make herself understood. I tried to tell my host dad about the Ecuador vs. Mexico game last night, but he thought I said ¨medico¨ and was talking about my host mom´s headache. I just wish I could be completely immersed in Spanish instead of being surrounded by gringas all day and night. That is the only way it will get better. We are reading this pesado, pesado book, ¨The country of little Manuel¨, that makes me sleepy whenever I open it. I don´t care about Manuelito´s adventures, I can´t understand them since half of the words in the book are not in my Spanish dictionary. Thankfully, my host mom and brother are awesome. My host mom always asks me about my day, my family, my boyfriend. She is my one tie to authentically speaking the language. Without her, most of my words would be in English.
I have gotten to disfrutarme, or enjoy myself, too. We went to a friendly match of Ecuador versus Mexico yesterday. It started raining, so everyone bought pastel colored ponchos. The whole crowd looked like a giant box of Easter eggs. Giant, screaming, whistling Easter eggs. It was my first experience eating fried pork, which probably gave me a few parasites, but was extremely delicious. When Mexico got a goal, instead of booing the Ecuadorian goalie, the crowd started shouting ¨Fuera Ruega, Fuera Ruega¨! Ruega is the Ecuadorian coach, and is apparently a Colombian, so the Ecuadorians don´t like him much. I love how whenever a team in Latin America plays badly, it is the coach, not the players, who get blamed and then sacked. I wish that Redskins fans could somehow get rid of Dan Snyder using a similar tactic.
My new favorite Ecuadorian word is ¨Chuta!¨ which means ¨shoot!¨ You can apply it to so many things. When my exuberant host dog Oso follows me on the bus, I can yell ¨Chuta Oso!¨ and shoo him off. When I spill something on my clothes as I´m about to head outside, I can yell CHUUTA and immediately feel better. It is the PG version of ¨shit¨, and works for any distressing situation. Thank you, chuta, for easing my transition into Ecuador.
Until next week, if the moscas haven´t eaten me alive.
This week has been quite duro, or long. We gave our first talk, called a charla, to a group of sixth graders this week about gender roles in the media. We cut out pictures of Justin Biebs and Katy Perry and asked them what they thought of them, and then had them cut out pictures in magazines of people who were sexy, macho, successful, and modest. Then, they got up in front of their classmates and talked about what all of these concepts meant. I was astounded that these prepubescent, sixth grade boys picked photos of scantily clad girls and said that ¨sexy meant wearing only a little clothing,¨ but that ¨modesty meant dressing nicely and having people respect you.¨ Then they started asking each other questions and picking apart each concept. They high fived us on the way out and cheered as we left. It was a promising first charla.
The sessions this last week felt like they dragged on, and on, and on. My Spanish does not seem to be getting better, and I apparently insert ¨like¨ into my sentences. In Spain, and after Spain, I knew I could speak Spanish. I knew it because I dreamed in Spanish. I knew it because I would talk to Cristobal for hours in Spanish on the phone, since he did not speak English. It feels like all of the Spanish has oozed out of my brain, and I am now an incoherent valley girl who is trying to make herself understood. I tried to tell my host dad about the Ecuador vs. Mexico game last night, but he thought I said ¨medico¨ and was talking about my host mom´s headache. I just wish I could be completely immersed in Spanish instead of being surrounded by gringas all day and night. That is the only way it will get better. We are reading this pesado, pesado book, ¨The country of little Manuel¨, that makes me sleepy whenever I open it. I don´t care about Manuelito´s adventures, I can´t understand them since half of the words in the book are not in my Spanish dictionary. Thankfully, my host mom and brother are awesome. My host mom always asks me about my day, my family, my boyfriend. She is my one tie to authentically speaking the language. Without her, most of my words would be in English.
I have gotten to disfrutarme, or enjoy myself, too. We went to a friendly match of Ecuador versus Mexico yesterday. It started raining, so everyone bought pastel colored ponchos. The whole crowd looked like a giant box of Easter eggs. Giant, screaming, whistling Easter eggs. It was my first experience eating fried pork, which probably gave me a few parasites, but was extremely delicious. When Mexico got a goal, instead of booing the Ecuadorian goalie, the crowd started shouting ¨Fuera Ruega, Fuera Ruega¨! Ruega is the Ecuadorian coach, and is apparently a Colombian, so the Ecuadorians don´t like him much. I love how whenever a team in Latin America plays badly, it is the coach, not the players, who get blamed and then sacked. I wish that Redskins fans could somehow get rid of Dan Snyder using a similar tactic.
My new favorite Ecuadorian word is ¨Chuta!¨ which means ¨shoot!¨ You can apply it to so many things. When my exuberant host dog Oso follows me on the bus, I can yell ¨Chuta Oso!¨ and shoo him off. When I spill something on my clothes as I´m about to head outside, I can yell CHUUTA and immediately feel better. It is the PG version of ¨shit¨, and works for any distressing situation. Thank you, chuta, for easing my transition into Ecuador.
Until next week, if the moscas haven´t eaten me alive.
Sunday, June 19, 2011
19 days in Ecuador
HOLA fam. I´m writing to you from my host brother´s room in Tumbaco, the city I am training in for the next two months. So much happened since my last Stateside post, so I´ll try and sum it up quickly before bed. Yes, staying up ¨late¨ here means going to sleep at 1030. ¨Sleeping in¨ means waking up at 830 on a weekend. But I digress. Here is the scoop on Ecuador so far.
WEEK ONE started out with a hectic last week of packing. I thought I was completely packed but forgot about a few crucial mementoes. I went to sleep at 230 am and drove with mom and Justin to Philly, where we ate three tear soaked pizza slices before bidding farewell. Walking away from them into a room full of 62 new Trainees was one of the hardest things I´ve ever had to do.
Luckily, they kept us busy. We spent the whole day in staging, got bank cards with $120 in them to cover our day in the US, and then took a 2am bus from Philly to JFK Airport in New York. From New York, we took a 10am flight to Miami, and then a 2pm flight to Quito. We got into Quito right at dusk. It is a huge city for Ecuadorian standards, because over 1 million people live there. The sun was setting over the buildings and the mountains, and the city felt hot with smoke and lights. We got into the training center in Tumbaco, the suburb where we train, at 7pm. We ate a huge dinner of chicken and rice and then passed out at 9.
The first week was so new. We spent 40 hours a week in training, learning about security, opening up bank accounts, getting tested for our language classes, and exploring the city. I got placed into a great host family. They are an elderly couple who live with their 14 grandson, Andres. He is a rockero, meaning that listens to rock music. Apparently the rockeros clash with the Jonas Brother and Justin Bieber crew, as well as with the reggaeton crew. He also said the punkeros, or punks, scare him a bit, though that could just be him. The couple are extremely nurturing and generous. Soya, the ¨mom¨, makes the best food, including fruit juices I´ve never tried before, like tomato juice that actually tastes sweet, and passionfruit. The dad walks for two hours a day, and always asks me about life in America. Their Golden Retriever Oso lives outside and follows me around town. Yesterday, he followed me into a restaurant, jumped up on the chair I sat at, and tried to eat the food. The restaurant owner had to close the door to get him out. Even then, he sat staring at us intently for a good five minutes.
It was hard for me to sleep. The family sleeps with their windows open, and they live across from a karoake bar. At night, the sounds of people crooning Kurt Cobain and the All American Rejects combines with the sounds of unleashed dogs barking at each other in their nocturnal conversations. Roosters often crow in the early morning, adding to the strange music of the Tumbacan street. I started listening to Bobby D. before bed, so ¨Girl From North Country¨ is muting out the sounds.
WEEK TWO was better than week one. Things that bugged me in week one, like the noisiness of the street, became easier to deal with. I have a hilarious language teacher, and began to really like the people in the program. Almost every person in our Omnibus is awesome, with a few exceptions, but you´ll get that anywhere. We played soccer against the Ecuadorians and lost 2 to 5, but it was an intense game. I get winded after running for 5 minutes up here because of the altitude! I started walking to and from school on the bike path, which has lovely views of the mountains and agave plants. I routinely pass women walking their cow(s) and men with bullhorns driving in potato trucks who shout ¨CINCO DOLARES POR PAPAS CINCO DOLARES¨.
We´ve been here for almost three weeks now. I think that we are going on a tech trip in a few weeks to practice teaching. We get our site assignments in a month. I wonder where I´ll be! We know that we will be in the south of the country, in Zone 7, but do not have a clue as to where specifically. I can´t wait to know.
The worst thing so far about Ecuador is the mosquitoes. The bites here ITCH like crazy, and hydrocortisone cream doesn´t help. They tore up my ankles this last week and I´ve been addicted to Calagel ever since. They are by far my least favorite thing about the country. The best things so far are the fruit drinks, the lush green scenery and rolling hills filled with plants that look like they come from a Dr. Seuss book, and the Ecuadorian people, who love to make chistes, or jokes, whenever possible.
Will update when I can. It is 1020 now (late! scandalous!) so I must sleep.
RUV,
Drea
WEEK ONE started out with a hectic last week of packing. I thought I was completely packed but forgot about a few crucial mementoes. I went to sleep at 230 am and drove with mom and Justin to Philly, where we ate three tear soaked pizza slices before bidding farewell. Walking away from them into a room full of 62 new Trainees was one of the hardest things I´ve ever had to do.
Luckily, they kept us busy. We spent the whole day in staging, got bank cards with $120 in them to cover our day in the US, and then took a 2am bus from Philly to JFK Airport in New York. From New York, we took a 10am flight to Miami, and then a 2pm flight to Quito. We got into Quito right at dusk. It is a huge city for Ecuadorian standards, because over 1 million people live there. The sun was setting over the buildings and the mountains, and the city felt hot with smoke and lights. We got into the training center in Tumbaco, the suburb where we train, at 7pm. We ate a huge dinner of chicken and rice and then passed out at 9.
The first week was so new. We spent 40 hours a week in training, learning about security, opening up bank accounts, getting tested for our language classes, and exploring the city. I got placed into a great host family. They are an elderly couple who live with their 14 grandson, Andres. He is a rockero, meaning that listens to rock music. Apparently the rockeros clash with the Jonas Brother and Justin Bieber crew, as well as with the reggaeton crew. He also said the punkeros, or punks, scare him a bit, though that could just be him. The couple are extremely nurturing and generous. Soya, the ¨mom¨, makes the best food, including fruit juices I´ve never tried before, like tomato juice that actually tastes sweet, and passionfruit. The dad walks for two hours a day, and always asks me about life in America. Their Golden Retriever Oso lives outside and follows me around town. Yesterday, he followed me into a restaurant, jumped up on the chair I sat at, and tried to eat the food. The restaurant owner had to close the door to get him out. Even then, he sat staring at us intently for a good five minutes.
It was hard for me to sleep. The family sleeps with their windows open, and they live across from a karoake bar. At night, the sounds of people crooning Kurt Cobain and the All American Rejects combines with the sounds of unleashed dogs barking at each other in their nocturnal conversations. Roosters often crow in the early morning, adding to the strange music of the Tumbacan street. I started listening to Bobby D. before bed, so ¨Girl From North Country¨ is muting out the sounds.
WEEK TWO was better than week one. Things that bugged me in week one, like the noisiness of the street, became easier to deal with. I have a hilarious language teacher, and began to really like the people in the program. Almost every person in our Omnibus is awesome, with a few exceptions, but you´ll get that anywhere. We played soccer against the Ecuadorians and lost 2 to 5, but it was an intense game. I get winded after running for 5 minutes up here because of the altitude! I started walking to and from school on the bike path, which has lovely views of the mountains and agave plants. I routinely pass women walking their cow(s) and men with bullhorns driving in potato trucks who shout ¨CINCO DOLARES POR PAPAS CINCO DOLARES¨.
We´ve been here for almost three weeks now. I think that we are going on a tech trip in a few weeks to practice teaching. We get our site assignments in a month. I wonder where I´ll be! We know that we will be in the south of the country, in Zone 7, but do not have a clue as to where specifically. I can´t wait to know.
The worst thing so far about Ecuador is the mosquitoes. The bites here ITCH like crazy, and hydrocortisone cream doesn´t help. They tore up my ankles this last week and I´ve been addicted to Calagel ever since. They are by far my least favorite thing about the country. The best things so far are the fruit drinks, the lush green scenery and rolling hills filled with plants that look like they come from a Dr. Seuss book, and the Ecuadorian people, who love to make chistes, or jokes, whenever possible.
Will update when I can. It is 1020 now (late! scandalous!) so I must sleep.
RUV,
Drea
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