Thursday, January 12, 2012
Thursday, January 5, 2012
Happy New Year!
So my New Year´s Resolution is to write in this thing more. My mom (hey, mom!) calls this blog the ¨thing I never write in.¨ Subtle, mom, subtle. But she´s right. This blog offers a very limited view of what I go through on a daily basis, or what life here is really like. I´m going to try and change that for the new year. I want to be posting weekly, not semi-monthly, even if things suck, even if there is nothing to talk about, even if the most exciting part of my day was watching American Horror Story.
So, with that, I´ve been here for over four months now. The last time I posted was before Thanksgiving, I think, and not much has changed. It all goes in cycles. The students, the teachers, the town. Sometimes I love it and have a Pollyanna-like view of the world, and sometimes it´s awful and I don´t want to leave my house. Here is a recap of December.
In DECEMBER, tensions with some teachers came to a head. I got sick of sitting in classrooms, ¨coteaching¨ and not saying a word. I finally opened up my mouth and told the persons involved, only to find out that they were upset that my schedule was so varied. See, one teacher had to leave a class he was teaching because a parent didn´t want him there, so I had to switch my entire schedule to have a class with him. With this, I had two or three classes at the same time, and had to pick which one to go to. THat only caused more drama. If I went to one class more than other classes, I was viewed as favoring that teacher. And because of my noncronfrontational nature and desire to please everyone, I tried. Hard. To make everyone happy and to make them like me. But it backfired, because the resentment over having nothing to do, or being constantly pulled in different directions, piled up and piled up and suddently exploded. I found myself crying, alone, in the teacher´s lounge while it rained outside one morning, unwilling to face the teachers who didn´t let me do anything in class.
One day, earlier in training, my boss told me ¨some teachers you will love. Some you will hate. You have to deal with it.¨
And it´s true. Teaching brings out such strong emotions in you. It´s like looking into a mirror for 40 minutes that shows you all your faults. How you control a class of bored 17 year olds. How you get along with the other teacher. What to do when they don´t let you do anything.
So that was December. Slugging through the drama of the teachers and the strong desire I felt to go home.
THANKFULLY,
in an ¨How Andrea Got her Groove Back¨ moment, I did get to go home. For ten glorious days. In this time, I gorged on Bagel Bites, Bagels, pizza, Guapo´s (the best Mexican food in DC, you gotta go if you haven´t been there). I got to see friends that I made in the 90s, my big family, all my cousins who are shooting up like reeds. And Justin. And his family. Even though conversations at the house centered around the Evil of Obama and left me clenching my fork with annoyance, it was good to see them. I feel like I´ve been restored. And it is such a good reminder that there is a place in the world where I really do have friends. Good, trustworthy, honest, funny friends. Sometimes here I feel like this friendless alien who everyone knows. Like Courtney Love, minus the drug problem.
So for the New Year, I just want to figure out how to live in this new home. Understand the people. Integrate.
I think it´s happening, slowly. Very, very, slowly. The people are sniffing me out, and me them. We´re all trying to see if we can trust each other and if this thing called friendship is worth it. I´m in my host sister´s house now, surrounded by her and her family. The oldest, 13, and her friends, are all sitting around the table, studying for exams. It´s raining like hell, and has been since 4pm. It´s cold. Maybe in the 50s, which is as cold as it gets here. Teeth are chattering. One teacher showed up in a cotton pea coat today, which was hilarious. The people here have a flair for drama, in any situation.
I have to go because there is a gaggle of preteens who want to play Wii and check Facebook. Some things, regardless of country, never change.
So, with that, I´ve been here for over four months now. The last time I posted was before Thanksgiving, I think, and not much has changed. It all goes in cycles. The students, the teachers, the town. Sometimes I love it and have a Pollyanna-like view of the world, and sometimes it´s awful and I don´t want to leave my house. Here is a recap of December.
In DECEMBER, tensions with some teachers came to a head. I got sick of sitting in classrooms, ¨coteaching¨ and not saying a word. I finally opened up my mouth and told the persons involved, only to find out that they were upset that my schedule was so varied. See, one teacher had to leave a class he was teaching because a parent didn´t want him there, so I had to switch my entire schedule to have a class with him. With this, I had two or three classes at the same time, and had to pick which one to go to. THat only caused more drama. If I went to one class more than other classes, I was viewed as favoring that teacher. And because of my noncronfrontational nature and desire to please everyone, I tried. Hard. To make everyone happy and to make them like me. But it backfired, because the resentment over having nothing to do, or being constantly pulled in different directions, piled up and piled up and suddently exploded. I found myself crying, alone, in the teacher´s lounge while it rained outside one morning, unwilling to face the teachers who didn´t let me do anything in class.
One day, earlier in training, my boss told me ¨some teachers you will love. Some you will hate. You have to deal with it.¨
And it´s true. Teaching brings out such strong emotions in you. It´s like looking into a mirror for 40 minutes that shows you all your faults. How you control a class of bored 17 year olds. How you get along with the other teacher. What to do when they don´t let you do anything.
So that was December. Slugging through the drama of the teachers and the strong desire I felt to go home.
THANKFULLY,
in an ¨How Andrea Got her Groove Back¨ moment, I did get to go home. For ten glorious days. In this time, I gorged on Bagel Bites, Bagels, pizza, Guapo´s (the best Mexican food in DC, you gotta go if you haven´t been there). I got to see friends that I made in the 90s, my big family, all my cousins who are shooting up like reeds. And Justin. And his family. Even though conversations at the house centered around the Evil of Obama and left me clenching my fork with annoyance, it was good to see them. I feel like I´ve been restored. And it is such a good reminder that there is a place in the world where I really do have friends. Good, trustworthy, honest, funny friends. Sometimes here I feel like this friendless alien who everyone knows. Like Courtney Love, minus the drug problem.
So for the New Year, I just want to figure out how to live in this new home. Understand the people. Integrate.
I think it´s happening, slowly. Very, very, slowly. The people are sniffing me out, and me them. We´re all trying to see if we can trust each other and if this thing called friendship is worth it. I´m in my host sister´s house now, surrounded by her and her family. The oldest, 13, and her friends, are all sitting around the table, studying for exams. It´s raining like hell, and has been since 4pm. It´s cold. Maybe in the 50s, which is as cold as it gets here. Teeth are chattering. One teacher showed up in a cotton pea coat today, which was hilarious. The people here have a flair for drama, in any situation.
I have to go because there is a gaggle of preteens who want to play Wii and check Facebook. Some things, regardless of country, never change.
Sunday, November 27, 2011
Three months in, still absurd
The past month has been full of ups and downs. One of the most common thoughts I have here is "what the hell am I doing?" But sometimes, it sort of comes together for a class and I think, "OK. I can do this."
Life here is just strange. Things that don't seem to make sense seem to happen all the time as if they're normal. For example, one day I was walking down the street and a horde of people were stuck trying to move up the stairs. It turns out that a man selling ducks was walking by, the ducks in tow, and people had to stop to let the walking ducks pass by on the street. No one gave a second look at the man walking down a busy street with farm animals in tow. Another example is seeing mothers holding babies on motorcyles. Or just seeing three or four people piled onto motorcycles. Kind of like a clown car, but more badass because it's real life.
Here are some of the things I've been doing this last month:
1. Scratching my head and trying to relacionar with all of the teachers. Getting in with the teachers at school is kind of like being the new kid in high school and trying to figure out where I belong. The politics and friendships of the teachers are akin to the social hierarchy of the students I teach. I STILL don't understand what they say half the time. I think, sadly, that my Spanish is not improving. I speak English in class all day, English to my family on Skype, I read in English and think in English. I can hold a conversation in Spanish, but not fluently. Something's gotta give if I want my Spanish to get better. I made them apple pie for Thanksgiving, which went over well except that we ran out of pie. Life lesson learned: make more than enough food for stressed, hungry professors.
2. Realizing that I secretly am 17. Teaching 17 year olds brings me back to when I was 17, itching to get out of school, wanting to see the world, waiting to fall in love. There is so much hope in being 17. So much urgency. So much angst.
Being here makes me realize I haven't changed that much from my 17 year old self. 17 year old Andrea liked to listen to Death Cab for Cutie and the Postal Service, to fantasize about boys I didn't have the guts to talk to, and to make lists of ways I would improve myself that always included "Lose 10 pounds." A lot has changed, but so much is the same. A 17 year old debating how to tell her crush she likes him is the same as a woman in her mid-twenties, fretting over whether he'll call. Not so much changes in love or in friendship. I'm actually learning from them. They majority of them are so motivated in what they want to do- so focused on the future. It's heartwarming to think about how many girls want ot be engineers and how many want to go abroad and see the world. The future is in good hands. As long as they keep off their damn Blackberries to make it happen.
3. Mastering the Ecua-whine
One thing people do here often is WHINE. The whine is a subtle tool of manipulation. Want someone to get you coffee? Whine about it. Or tell them, "No seas malito", which translates into something like "Don't be a little bitch." Either one will give you what you want. The whine, so unattractive in America, is a necessary communicative tool here. I've been able to get what I wanted, like a cup of Coke or help with a project or a ride, using this special, powerful whine.
4. Being stronger with the students
I had a student who would always whistle at me in class. Or call me pretty. Or "mi vida," my life. Or grab my hip. I didn't do anything about it, just shook my head and ignored it. But that didn't work until one day I unleashed the "You lack respect," line on him, and he shut up like a clam. Kids, like puppies, need boundaries. Otherwise they're going to shit all over your house and chew up your best pair of heels. Calling him out was one of the hardest, and best things I've done here.
5. Realizing, grudgingly, that not everyone is going to like me
This is hard. I have a complusive need to have people like me. If they don't, I get hot and bothered and wonder what I did wrong. But what a waste of a young life to go worrying over other people's opinions. If people don't like me, fine. I read here that most people don't even care that you're alive, and that it doesn't really matter. I don't want to look back on my Peace Corps experience and think that I spent the two years, wondering what people were gossiping about me and what they were saying. Not. Worth. It.
6. With that, realizing how much there is to do here. Staying busy is saving my sanity. The next thing I have planned is a singing contest with English songs. I have to figure out how to get money for the prizes, and how to advertise it. But if it works, it'll be awesome. Another school in the area did one this year too, and next year I want to get all the other schools and the nearest city, Pinas, in on it too. Turn this area into a mini American Idol. Or El Oro Idol. However you want to look at it.
So, still plodding through the abyss, witnessing strange and absurd things, trying to laugh, understand the jokes, and get the teachers to respect me. Don't know how the rest of the time will go, but it's been a hilly, but thrilling ride so far.
Until next time.
Life here is just strange. Things that don't seem to make sense seem to happen all the time as if they're normal. For example, one day I was walking down the street and a horde of people were stuck trying to move up the stairs. It turns out that a man selling ducks was walking by, the ducks in tow, and people had to stop to let the walking ducks pass by on the street. No one gave a second look at the man walking down a busy street with farm animals in tow. Another example is seeing mothers holding babies on motorcyles. Or just seeing three or four people piled onto motorcycles. Kind of like a clown car, but more badass because it's real life.
Here are some of the things I've been doing this last month:
1. Scratching my head and trying to relacionar with all of the teachers. Getting in with the teachers at school is kind of like being the new kid in high school and trying to figure out where I belong. The politics and friendships of the teachers are akin to the social hierarchy of the students I teach. I STILL don't understand what they say half the time. I think, sadly, that my Spanish is not improving. I speak English in class all day, English to my family on Skype, I read in English and think in English. I can hold a conversation in Spanish, but not fluently. Something's gotta give if I want my Spanish to get better. I made them apple pie for Thanksgiving, which went over well except that we ran out of pie. Life lesson learned: make more than enough food for stressed, hungry professors.
2. Realizing that I secretly am 17. Teaching 17 year olds brings me back to when I was 17, itching to get out of school, wanting to see the world, waiting to fall in love. There is so much hope in being 17. So much urgency. So much angst.
Being here makes me realize I haven't changed that much from my 17 year old self. 17 year old Andrea liked to listen to Death Cab for Cutie and the Postal Service, to fantasize about boys I didn't have the guts to talk to, and to make lists of ways I would improve myself that always included "Lose 10 pounds." A lot has changed, but so much is the same. A 17 year old debating how to tell her crush she likes him is the same as a woman in her mid-twenties, fretting over whether he'll call. Not so much changes in love or in friendship. I'm actually learning from them. They majority of them are so motivated in what they want to do- so focused on the future. It's heartwarming to think about how many girls want ot be engineers and how many want to go abroad and see the world. The future is in good hands. As long as they keep off their damn Blackberries to make it happen.
3. Mastering the Ecua-whine
One thing people do here often is WHINE. The whine is a subtle tool of manipulation. Want someone to get you coffee? Whine about it. Or tell them, "No seas malito", which translates into something like "Don't be a little bitch." Either one will give you what you want. The whine, so unattractive in America, is a necessary communicative tool here. I've been able to get what I wanted, like a cup of Coke or help with a project or a ride, using this special, powerful whine.
4. Being stronger with the students
I had a student who would always whistle at me in class. Or call me pretty. Or "mi vida," my life. Or grab my hip. I didn't do anything about it, just shook my head and ignored it. But that didn't work until one day I unleashed the "You lack respect," line on him, and he shut up like a clam. Kids, like puppies, need boundaries. Otherwise they're going to shit all over your house and chew up your best pair of heels. Calling him out was one of the hardest, and best things I've done here.
5. Realizing, grudgingly, that not everyone is going to like me
This is hard. I have a complusive need to have people like me. If they don't, I get hot and bothered and wonder what I did wrong. But what a waste of a young life to go worrying over other people's opinions. If people don't like me, fine. I read here that most people don't even care that you're alive, and that it doesn't really matter. I don't want to look back on my Peace Corps experience and think that I spent the two years, wondering what people were gossiping about me and what they were saying. Not. Worth. It.
6. With that, realizing how much there is to do here. Staying busy is saving my sanity. The next thing I have planned is a singing contest with English songs. I have to figure out how to get money for the prizes, and how to advertise it. But if it works, it'll be awesome. Another school in the area did one this year too, and next year I want to get all the other schools and the nearest city, Pinas, in on it too. Turn this area into a mini American Idol. Or El Oro Idol. However you want to look at it.
So, still plodding through the abyss, witnessing strange and absurd things, trying to laugh, understand the jokes, and get the teachers to respect me. Don't know how the rest of the time will go, but it's been a hilly, but thrilling ride so far.
Until next time.
Sunday, October 9, 2011
maybe starting to like zaruma?
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.
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.
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.
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.
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