I don't know if it's a cultural difference, if some people are just comfortable around the gringa now, or if it's disrespect.
All I know is that in the last two days, TWO ladies have commented on whether or not I am a virgin.
The first is this sassy teacher, who was explaining to me the difference between a Senora and a Senorita. "Senoras are women who have children and aren't virgins," she said. "And senoritas are unmarried virgins. So although you're not a virgin, you're not married, so you're still a senorita."
I nearly choked.
This woman and I have never had a personal chat about my virginity. We aren't particularly close, although I sometimes do appreciate her bluntness.
I don't know if it's because I'm foreign and they assume all American girls are walking Paris Hiltons- short dress wearing, no underwear at all, ready to jump on the first interested man, be he 15 or 55- or because I've been dating for Justin for two years and we aren't married and that shocks them- but she said it so matter of factly as though it was a well known fact.
Then, my host mom today was talking to me on the balcony outside their home. The crowded balcony that is in front of the food market and right next to the meat shop. So then she asks me point blank: "Do you have relations with your boyfriend?"
So much for subtlety.
It makes me mad because I don't think that is something you should just talk about openly- I dont think it's anyone's business. But in a heavily Catholic town, there is still so much secrecy, shame, and judgement surrounding sex. I am constantly told that the Ecuadorian woman is very conservative and waits until marriage to have sex. But I know students who have sex- and who use birth control- and who have to escape to another town to do it. It's not that people don't have sex here, they just hide it. Not just from the judgement of their families, but from the ears and judgements of their whole community, who love nothing more than to talk of the corruption of the young.
Of course, this only relates to women- men go to brothels together on any night of the week. Goign to a prostitute is not a big deal for a man. It's joked about. It's accepted. But the woman- the woman is expected to be as pure as the snow on Chimborazo.
This stuff doesn't just happen here- it happens everywhere, especially in the good ole US of A. Remember the HPV Vaccine Controversy when people argued about whether getting the vaccine would turn girls promiscuous? And when it became safe for boys, people only cared about whether it was safe? The same idea applies here. Boys can do whatever they want, girls need to protect themselves and save themselves until they say "I do."
Some people still have the idea that virgins are pillars of strength and virture- and that nonvirgins are dirty, easy, or vile. That makes no sense to me. A woman could do a thousand good things- cooking dinner every night for their mom, saving babies from fires, curing cancer- but if she's an unmarried virgin she is still worth less than a married one. She's still tainted. Damaged goods. Not as worthy.
It still happens in the states with the preaching of abstinence only education. Men go with their daughters to Purity Balls, and girls as young as 8 pledge to their fathers that they will be "pure" until marriage. Teens are still given promise rings and take "virginity pledges" to wait until marriage. All of this doesn't work- it just spreads the idea that sex is bad unless under the cloak of marriage. That being a virgin is the best way to be.
I highly reccommend everyone to read The Purity Myth
Maybe if enough people do, society will start to challenge and shed our old beliefs about virgins, like one sheds a really itchy and uncomfortable polyester coat after years and years of sweating in it. I don't expect to change anyone's minds here, but hey, maybe one day I'll grow the cajones (balls) to confront the issue instead of shirking it. Or maybe I'll just end up doing what most people do to sexuality- sweep it under the rug, and the go back to telling chisme.
Time will tell.
Wednesday, May 16, 2012
Saturday, May 5, 2012
pooooor! poooor! poooor!
I am spiritually growing but materially very, very, poor.
I wasn't always poor.
Before I moved out, I was comfortable every month.
But since moving out, and being saddled with electricity bills, internet bills, having to buy the "uniform" the teachers have so that I can match them has taken out a LOT of my money. And my other Peace Corps friends have mastered the art of living frugally. They save fifty or more bucks a month, while these last two months I've been scraping by and borrowing money.
What happened? When did my personal finances begin resembling the Greek debt?
It all started when Justin got here. I got swept up in going from place to place that I didn't budget out the vacation. So we stayed in 44 dollar a night hostels for two nights, which added up to 44 dollars for me total, which is a LOT of money for a PCV.
Then my host sister from Tumbaco wanted Converses, so I paid money for that. All that leaves me with is now is...debt. I need to start tracking all of my expenses, and I realize now, with three looming weeks until I get paid, that I will need to (gulp) ask for money from the parentals. After buying all the stuff I need for my apartment, and getting my life in order, I should be OK from this point on.
There are some PCVs whose parents supply them with money every month, who take vacations once or twice a month all over the country, seeing the parts of Ecuador that every guidebook reccommends. That's great for them- I'm glad they're living it up. But it annoys me sometimes that I can't do the same. Some people act like the Peace Corps stipend is lavish. Lavish! Ha! If I can pay everything I need to pay in a month and still manage to travel soemwhere nearby, it is a success.
So, that's the main thing I've been doing today. Making a budget and thinking about money. I'm not sure if the PCVs around my site were always frugal, but I've found it so hard to get used to this new belt tightening. Gone are the days of 25 dollar Guapos dinners, or buying a new dress from Forever 21 just because I felt like it. Sighn. Apparently, also, gone are the days of eating out in Zaruma. It's time to get austere.
The lights just went off all around Zaruma. Typical. It's a Saturday night. I don't know why this always happens during Saturday nights. When it went out, people all around my neighborhood gasped and my host mom screamed "Que iras!' which means, loosely translated, "I'm so pissed!" So yeah. I'm in complete darkness now, except for my laptop. I can see the moon from the open window, which is nice, because at least there's light somewhere. Things like this don't even phase me anymore. Power outage? Whatevs. This could last for five minutes, or it could last for hours. The power's probably out in Pinas and Porto Vello too, meaning a lot of people are sitting around their houses with candles.
Which reminds me.....I forgot to buy candles. Fantastic.
(Twenty minutes after writing this, seeing my teacher, and making pasta in the dark, the lights came back on. Finally! It's such a thrill when they do. It makes you appreciate everything electrical so much more.)
Good night, lovelies. Hope everyone is having a good Cinco De Mayo (which is nothing here, because it's not THEIR day of independence. It's kind of funny that we celebrate another country's Independence Day- or, as K says, "take other people's holidays". But it's a great excuse to wear a sundress and drink a maragarita.
So, Happy Cinco de Mayo!
I wasn't always poor.
Before I moved out, I was comfortable every month.
But since moving out, and being saddled with electricity bills, internet bills, having to buy the "uniform" the teachers have so that I can match them has taken out a LOT of my money. And my other Peace Corps friends have mastered the art of living frugally. They save fifty or more bucks a month, while these last two months I've been scraping by and borrowing money.
What happened? When did my personal finances begin resembling the Greek debt?
It all started when Justin got here. I got swept up in going from place to place that I didn't budget out the vacation. So we stayed in 44 dollar a night hostels for two nights, which added up to 44 dollars for me total, which is a LOT of money for a PCV.
Then my host sister from Tumbaco wanted Converses, so I paid money for that. All that leaves me with is now is...debt. I need to start tracking all of my expenses, and I realize now, with three looming weeks until I get paid, that I will need to (gulp) ask for money from the parentals. After buying all the stuff I need for my apartment, and getting my life in order, I should be OK from this point on.
There are some PCVs whose parents supply them with money every month, who take vacations once or twice a month all over the country, seeing the parts of Ecuador that every guidebook reccommends. That's great for them- I'm glad they're living it up. But it annoys me sometimes that I can't do the same. Some people act like the Peace Corps stipend is lavish. Lavish! Ha! If I can pay everything I need to pay in a month and still manage to travel soemwhere nearby, it is a success.
So, that's the main thing I've been doing today. Making a budget and thinking about money. I'm not sure if the PCVs around my site were always frugal, but I've found it so hard to get used to this new belt tightening. Gone are the days of 25 dollar Guapos dinners, or buying a new dress from Forever 21 just because I felt like it. Sighn. Apparently, also, gone are the days of eating out in Zaruma. It's time to get austere.
The lights just went off all around Zaruma. Typical. It's a Saturday night. I don't know why this always happens during Saturday nights. When it went out, people all around my neighborhood gasped and my host mom screamed "Que iras!' which means, loosely translated, "I'm so pissed!" So yeah. I'm in complete darkness now, except for my laptop. I can see the moon from the open window, which is nice, because at least there's light somewhere. Things like this don't even phase me anymore. Power outage? Whatevs. This could last for five minutes, or it could last for hours. The power's probably out in Pinas and Porto Vello too, meaning a lot of people are sitting around their houses with candles.
Which reminds me.....I forgot to buy candles. Fantastic.
(Twenty minutes after writing this, seeing my teacher, and making pasta in the dark, the lights came back on. Finally! It's such a thrill when they do. It makes you appreciate everything electrical so much more.)
Good night, lovelies. Hope everyone is having a good Cinco De Mayo (which is nothing here, because it's not THEIR day of independence. It's kind of funny that we celebrate another country's Independence Day- or, as K says, "take other people's holidays". But it's a great excuse to wear a sundress and drink a maragarita.
So, Happy Cinco de Mayo!
Monday, April 23, 2012
The Neverending Story of Laundry
So today was both absurd and completely normal, as are most days here (as is life? says Camus).
So the first absurd part of today was the holiday. It's El Oro Day! What is El Oro? El Oro is the province I live in. So, El Oro day is just a day off from work and school to celebrate the fact that we live in this southern coastal province. Are there parades on El Oro day? Are there fiestas? Nope. It's just a day off of school. A week after school started back up again, we have our first of many holidays. So, here's to El Oro day.
I woke up at 8, which for me is a very early time to be conscious and moving, but is kind of late for Zarumeno standards. They have a saying here: Quien le madruga, Dios le ayuda. This means that people who wake up early are blessed by God for their early rising prowress. Yep, still trying to master the whole "morning person" routine. Many of my friends have slowly become morning people here.
One reason why I think so many women wake up early is to do the laundry. Doing the laundry in the US is so simple. You take a giant batch of clothes, put it in the laundry machine, pick whether you want hot or cold or warm water, pick whether you want a bleach cycle, pick if the clothes are "Normal" or "Delicate" or whatever, and then in 40 minutes, you have dry clothes. After throwing the clothes in the dryer for an hour, you're done. Poof! Clean, good smelling clothes.
Here, I dread my laundry days. My host mom knows this and, like an old lady, constantly chastises me to my laundry more often, which just bugs me. The whole process of laundry bugs me because of its tediousness but I'm trying to get more patient.
This is how we wash laundry in Zaruma.
1. I thoroughly scrub my kitchen sink so make sure there is no pasta or tomato sauce or any other vestiges of my Italian food obsession in the sink. Tada! The sink is now Laundry Central.
2. I touch the soap bar, which has to, like Madonna's ego, be handled very carefully, or it becomes the Bar of Pain. It's full of very concentrated detergent, and holding it for too long makes my hands get angry and painful and itchy.
3. I lay out each piece of clothing, soak it, then use my laundry brush and the Soap Bar of Death to scrub both sides of the cloth. Then I rinse it with the brush, turning it over, and bunch the cloth together to make sure all the soap is out of it. I scunch it up to get all of the water out and drop it in the "clean clothes bucket."
4. I repeat this for an hour, more or less, until all the clothing is washed.
Here's the fun part:
5. Then, I go outside to the clothes line to hang everything up. Hopefully, it's a hot, sunny day. This means the clothes will dry in an hour or two. If it's cloudy, they can take all day. Or, if it's the rainy season, where it rains all day, day after day after day in raindom, it can take four or five days for a single shirt to dry.
To spice things up, some days, like today, a clothing line will topple to the floor, and all of my hard washed clothes will be covered in dust and dirt, leaving me to repeat the process over, and over, and over again.
So there you have it. The saga of laundry in Zaruma. It's the never ending story, and one reason women here are always on their feet. I can only imagine how long it takes a mother of four to do laundry. How many hours every week she must spend washing, kneading, and hanging clothes. She must spend one third of her life doing laundry. One thing is for certain: i will never again take for granted the miracle of the washing machine, and the life of convenience we have in the States.
Hasta pronto!
So the first absurd part of today was the holiday. It's El Oro Day! What is El Oro? El Oro is the province I live in. So, El Oro day is just a day off from work and school to celebrate the fact that we live in this southern coastal province. Are there parades on El Oro day? Are there fiestas? Nope. It's just a day off of school. A week after school started back up again, we have our first of many holidays. So, here's to El Oro day.
I woke up at 8, which for me is a very early time to be conscious and moving, but is kind of late for Zarumeno standards. They have a saying here: Quien le madruga, Dios le ayuda. This means that people who wake up early are blessed by God for their early rising prowress. Yep, still trying to master the whole "morning person" routine. Many of my friends have slowly become morning people here.
One reason why I think so many women wake up early is to do the laundry. Doing the laundry in the US is so simple. You take a giant batch of clothes, put it in the laundry machine, pick whether you want hot or cold or warm water, pick whether you want a bleach cycle, pick if the clothes are "Normal" or "Delicate" or whatever, and then in 40 minutes, you have dry clothes. After throwing the clothes in the dryer for an hour, you're done. Poof! Clean, good smelling clothes.
Here, I dread my laundry days. My host mom knows this and, like an old lady, constantly chastises me to my laundry more often, which just bugs me. The whole process of laundry bugs me because of its tediousness but I'm trying to get more patient.
This is how we wash laundry in Zaruma.
1. I thoroughly scrub my kitchen sink so make sure there is no pasta or tomato sauce or any other vestiges of my Italian food obsession in the sink. Tada! The sink is now Laundry Central.
2. I touch the soap bar, which has to, like Madonna's ego, be handled very carefully, or it becomes the Bar of Pain. It's full of very concentrated detergent, and holding it for too long makes my hands get angry and painful and itchy.
3. I lay out each piece of clothing, soak it, then use my laundry brush and the Soap Bar of Death to scrub both sides of the cloth. Then I rinse it with the brush, turning it over, and bunch the cloth together to make sure all the soap is out of it. I scunch it up to get all of the water out and drop it in the "clean clothes bucket."
4. I repeat this for an hour, more or less, until all the clothing is washed.
Here's the fun part:
5. Then, I go outside to the clothes line to hang everything up. Hopefully, it's a hot, sunny day. This means the clothes will dry in an hour or two. If it's cloudy, they can take all day. Or, if it's the rainy season, where it rains all day, day after day after day in raindom, it can take four or five days for a single shirt to dry.
To spice things up, some days, like today, a clothing line will topple to the floor, and all of my hard washed clothes will be covered in dust and dirt, leaving me to repeat the process over, and over, and over again.
So there you have it. The saga of laundry in Zaruma. It's the never ending story, and one reason women here are always on their feet. I can only imagine how long it takes a mother of four to do laundry. How many hours every week she must spend washing, kneading, and hanging clothes. She must spend one third of her life doing laundry. One thing is for certain: i will never again take for granted the miracle of the washing machine, and the life of convenience we have in the States.
Hasta pronto!
it's the weekend, weekend
Here is my weekend in pictures.
Jasmine and I went to Machala for my good friend Nicky's 24th birthday. When we got to our friend's apartment, the sun was just setting over the city. It looked like this:
We spent the night eating delicious paramsean noodles and drinking fruit juice mixed with alcohol. Then we sat on the balcony and talked about zombies, other volunteers, weather, good music, and mental health. A neighbor was having a birthday party, and we had a clear view of the dance floor from our balcony. Of course, the music started blaring salsa and reggaeton around 9, but all the guests stayed seated in a circle, eating and not dancing, until 11, when the first brave souls stood up to jiggie.
Saturday, we went to Jambeli, which is an hour away from Machala by boat. The "life jackets" were foam with President Correa's face etched into them, and the seats were cramped together. Ben put it best: "My whole left ass cheek and leg are completely asleep." The boat ride was tipped to the side for the entire ride. Very comforting. The ride does take you through the mangrove forests off of Machala's coast, and timid dolphins lurk in the waters. Jambeli is a very nice beach, although when we went the water was filled with trash. By trash, I mean vats of cream cheese, plastic cups, and big logs. It was impossible to swim. Usually it is a very tranquilo place to swim, but because of the rising water levels this rainy season, it was filled with trash.
Sunday, Jasmine and I were looking for a purse and I heard my name being shouted out on the city streets. I looked back and saw a Zarumen friend and his friend. In typical Zarumeno generosity, they dropped what they were doing to help us find a purse for Jasmine. I really love Zaruenos sometimes. When you need help, they help you, even if it's something as small as find a cheaper purse on the city streets than you'd find in the giant mall.
Yesterday, after I got back to Zaruma, it rained and was freezing. But we were rewarded with this:
Then today, after the saga of laundry, it started to thunder. "Help me!" called my host mom. I thought something bad had happened, and rushed down the stairs, expecting to see her on the ground. Instead, she was hanging up orchids...on the clothes line. To soak up the rain. Here in Zaruma, we hang not just clothes, but flowers. Totally badass.
So there you have my weekend. Braving the rainy season, doing laundry, drinking fruit juice, visiting friends. Just another few days in Zaruma.
Hasta luego,
Andrea
Friday, April 20, 2012
I live next to a concert hall....
Whew. Things continuously surprise me about Zaruma. Things that leave me scratching my head, wondering who in the hell decided what was appropriate and what was not appropriate. Here's my top five list of appropriate behaviors that befuddle me.
5. Male teachers talking about sex/sexual organs/pornography with married female teachers Maybe I'm just an American prude. Maybe I'm repressed. Maybe I knew really prudish old men in the States. But I can't get over all of the sex jokes I hear from older male teachers on a regular basis. Today, for instance, an older female teacher was talking about her laundry machine. A male teacher then started joking about his male appendage getting caught in it. Something like that. The female teacher laughed hysterically while I stared on in half confusion, half horror. And they say Ecuador is such a conservative country. Bah! I'd love to see something similar go down in the Bible Belt.
4. Singing is appropriate anytime, anywhere The mystery singer on my street turned out to be one of my neighbors, Diego, who works in the meat shop next to where I live. Almost every day, he belts out some song about far away love or beauty. At all times of the day: in the morning, when they're cutting the meat, in the afternoon, when they're bored, whenever he has a free moment. There are two teachers who walk into the office and greet the teachers by singing ballads. This is mainly a male phenomenon. It might be part of the machista culture. Males who normally are expected to be strong and stoic can let their emotions out by drinking copious amounts of booze on the weekends or by singing. Or maybe it's more of a "fuck it, I'm a man in Ecuador, I can do anything" type of attitude. I'm not sure. But there is much more bursting into random songs, a la Oklahaoma or South Pacific, than anything I've seen in America.
3. It's perfectly to discuss medical conditions, or personal problems, with people you barely know This might be part of the chisme, or gossip, that comes from living in a small town, or maybe people are just more open. I met a woman the other day at a party. She started telling me about her daughter, who was an acquaintance. "She suffers from depression, she's had a hard hard time with it," the woman told me. We hardly knew each other, and she was already telling me about some of the biggest struggles in her family. Similarly, when I got back from the States, and had put on an extra 7 or so pounds thanks to the gallons of Starbucks peppermint mochas I'd consumed, the teachers felt the need to comment on my weight to me and to others. "Andrea, you've put on some weight!" the gym teacher said, as if I'd been blind. Another teacher turned to my sitemate Jacob and asked him, "Don't you think Andrea's put on weight?" Similarly, the teachers like to talk about which female students are gaining weight. It's a spectator sport in a small town. In Washington, the go-to conversation is politics. Here, it's gossip or physical appearances.
2. Reina competitions, or beauty contest, which showcase 13 to 18 year old girls walking around in bikinis, is normal and celebrated Again, American prudery. But these damn reina competitions are something I don't know if I'll ever get used to. The girls who compete in them are usually about 14 or 15. Depending on the competition, they parade around a stage in either a dress or a bikini. The audience, mostly male, but often times scattered with families and groups of teens, cheers and hoots. The judges, who are always middle aged men, then huddle and decide who the queen should be. The biggest competition is for the queen of Zaruma, a title held by one of my students, who admittedly is gorgeous, vivacious, but so so vain. In the reina for Zaruma competition, the newspaper writes articles about the different contestants. They have photo shoots. They get interviewed for the Zaruma television channel. They have multiple days of competition. Beauty and youth are really really important here. But it makes sense, though. After they're 18, many of these girls get married or go on to school. This is their "pure" time, the time when they go from being little girls to beautiful women. After 15, when they have they're quincenera, they're considered real women. Being the queen of Zaruma is like being the head cheerleader and the prom queen. So many girls here want that crown.
1. Music that plays in the streets, all the time It's a Thursday night. Tomorrow is a work day. Yet tonight I've heard two different music groups on my street. The first one was a guy with a guitar whose music was probably recorded and blasted from one of my neighbor's houses at 9pm. That was kind of annoying, but not too bad. Maybe they just wanted everyone else to join in on the good time. But then, the icing on the cake was when the Jehovah's Witnesses decided to crank up the sound in their church, which is on my block, and blast Jesus music from 11 to 1230 tonight. WHO decided this was OK on a school night? No neighbors went outside, outraged. No police came to break up the party. Nothing. This is one of the greatest mysteries of Zaruma. The constant, unending concert that happens right outside my house, almost nightly. Even the roosters are in on it. Someimes they start crowing at 1 or 2 in the morning. By 5, there is a whole rooster orchestra, crowing from every hilltop and every corner of the city. Sometimes, they coordinate their crowings, and other times, they sort of mimic each other.
On a really good night, the rain will chime in and come down in buckets, waking everyone in Zaruma up. Like last night, where it seemed like Noah's flood was about to be upon us as it dumped buckets at 2am. On a really good night, like the night before last, the newborn baby will wake up in the middle of the night, crying. Since my host family thinks that me having a glass window in my kitchen will prevent ventiliation, the sound of the baby crying travels from my kitchen right into my room, so it sounds like there is a baby in a cradle right by my bed that is howling. So sometimes this is all really stressful. The noises, the constant criticism of physical appearances, the strange relationship between conservative small town cultural and open sexual jokes, etc.
But before you think that all I do is bitch about Zaruma, let me let you in on some of the good things that I'm starting to dig. One of them is my barrio. My neighbors are very close-knit, which is kind of hard because they don't understand what in the heck a young, unmarried girl is doing away from her family (gasp!), unmarried (double gasp), without kids (aaaaaaah!), in her prime child-bearing years, in a foreign country, LIVING ON HER OWN. I'm like this strange, tall, gangly, white alien to them. But they do nice neighborly things like have monthly lunches together and they have a big Christmas party. I like living in a place where everyone looks out for everyone else.
Another thing i love is how family oriented everyone is here. My host dad and mom are the best parents to their kids and the most supportive and caring grandparents. The grandkids are ALWAY over at the house, and always loved and looked after. I had my students write me paragraphs about themselves, and a few of them wrote sentences like this: "My mother is the most beautiful woman in the world." How many American teenagers would write a sentence like that about their moms? Openly? That they would share with their class? I don't think many. One of the perks of this Catholic, Virgin Mary worshipping town is the emphasis on motherhood. I love how much people here openly love their moms. It's cute. It makes me think about how much I love my own quirky, no bullshit taking, spontaneous, deeply affectionate mom. Go Mom!
Lastly, we are in pineapple season. This means that all the vendors are selling big, juicy pineapples for the ripe price of 1.50. Which is nothing, when you have money. I have four dollars left in my bank account which has to last me until....I don't know, a day from now, so the pineapples will have to wait. Still, I am totally spoiled by the food prices here. Fifty cent mangos. One dollar for a pound of apples. Forty cents for a pound of potatoes. I really live in fruit paradise. I'm nodding off. It just started raining. I love the sound of rain falling lightly on a tin roof. This is my lullaby, most nights. Good night, y'all.
5. Male teachers talking about sex/sexual organs/pornography with married female teachers Maybe I'm just an American prude. Maybe I'm repressed. Maybe I knew really prudish old men in the States. But I can't get over all of the sex jokes I hear from older male teachers on a regular basis. Today, for instance, an older female teacher was talking about her laundry machine. A male teacher then started joking about his male appendage getting caught in it. Something like that. The female teacher laughed hysterically while I stared on in half confusion, half horror. And they say Ecuador is such a conservative country. Bah! I'd love to see something similar go down in the Bible Belt.
4. Singing is appropriate anytime, anywhere The mystery singer on my street turned out to be one of my neighbors, Diego, who works in the meat shop next to where I live. Almost every day, he belts out some song about far away love or beauty. At all times of the day: in the morning, when they're cutting the meat, in the afternoon, when they're bored, whenever he has a free moment. There are two teachers who walk into the office and greet the teachers by singing ballads. This is mainly a male phenomenon. It might be part of the machista culture. Males who normally are expected to be strong and stoic can let their emotions out by drinking copious amounts of booze on the weekends or by singing. Or maybe it's more of a "fuck it, I'm a man in Ecuador, I can do anything" type of attitude. I'm not sure. But there is much more bursting into random songs, a la Oklahaoma or South Pacific, than anything I've seen in America.
3. It's perfectly to discuss medical conditions, or personal problems, with people you barely know This might be part of the chisme, or gossip, that comes from living in a small town, or maybe people are just more open. I met a woman the other day at a party. She started telling me about her daughter, who was an acquaintance. "She suffers from depression, she's had a hard hard time with it," the woman told me. We hardly knew each other, and she was already telling me about some of the biggest struggles in her family. Similarly, when I got back from the States, and had put on an extra 7 or so pounds thanks to the gallons of Starbucks peppermint mochas I'd consumed, the teachers felt the need to comment on my weight to me and to others. "Andrea, you've put on some weight!" the gym teacher said, as if I'd been blind. Another teacher turned to my sitemate Jacob and asked him, "Don't you think Andrea's put on weight?" Similarly, the teachers like to talk about which female students are gaining weight. It's a spectator sport in a small town. In Washington, the go-to conversation is politics. Here, it's gossip or physical appearances.
2. Reina competitions, or beauty contest, which showcase 13 to 18 year old girls walking around in bikinis, is normal and celebrated Again, American prudery. But these damn reina competitions are something I don't know if I'll ever get used to. The girls who compete in them are usually about 14 or 15. Depending on the competition, they parade around a stage in either a dress or a bikini. The audience, mostly male, but often times scattered with families and groups of teens, cheers and hoots. The judges, who are always middle aged men, then huddle and decide who the queen should be. The biggest competition is for the queen of Zaruma, a title held by one of my students, who admittedly is gorgeous, vivacious, but so so vain. In the reina for Zaruma competition, the newspaper writes articles about the different contestants. They have photo shoots. They get interviewed for the Zaruma television channel. They have multiple days of competition. Beauty and youth are really really important here. But it makes sense, though. After they're 18, many of these girls get married or go on to school. This is their "pure" time, the time when they go from being little girls to beautiful women. After 15, when they have they're quincenera, they're considered real women. Being the queen of Zaruma is like being the head cheerleader and the prom queen. So many girls here want that crown.
1. Music that plays in the streets, all the time It's a Thursday night. Tomorrow is a work day. Yet tonight I've heard two different music groups on my street. The first one was a guy with a guitar whose music was probably recorded and blasted from one of my neighbor's houses at 9pm. That was kind of annoying, but not too bad. Maybe they just wanted everyone else to join in on the good time. But then, the icing on the cake was when the Jehovah's Witnesses decided to crank up the sound in their church, which is on my block, and blast Jesus music from 11 to 1230 tonight. WHO decided this was OK on a school night? No neighbors went outside, outraged. No police came to break up the party. Nothing. This is one of the greatest mysteries of Zaruma. The constant, unending concert that happens right outside my house, almost nightly. Even the roosters are in on it. Someimes they start crowing at 1 or 2 in the morning. By 5, there is a whole rooster orchestra, crowing from every hilltop and every corner of the city. Sometimes, they coordinate their crowings, and other times, they sort of mimic each other.
On a really good night, the rain will chime in and come down in buckets, waking everyone in Zaruma up. Like last night, where it seemed like Noah's flood was about to be upon us as it dumped buckets at 2am. On a really good night, like the night before last, the newborn baby will wake up in the middle of the night, crying. Since my host family thinks that me having a glass window in my kitchen will prevent ventiliation, the sound of the baby crying travels from my kitchen right into my room, so it sounds like there is a baby in a cradle right by my bed that is howling. So sometimes this is all really stressful. The noises, the constant criticism of physical appearances, the strange relationship between conservative small town cultural and open sexual jokes, etc.
But before you think that all I do is bitch about Zaruma, let me let you in on some of the good things that I'm starting to dig. One of them is my barrio. My neighbors are very close-knit, which is kind of hard because they don't understand what in the heck a young, unmarried girl is doing away from her family (gasp!), unmarried (double gasp), without kids (aaaaaaah!), in her prime child-bearing years, in a foreign country, LIVING ON HER OWN. I'm like this strange, tall, gangly, white alien to them. But they do nice neighborly things like have monthly lunches together and they have a big Christmas party. I like living in a place where everyone looks out for everyone else.
Another thing i love is how family oriented everyone is here. My host dad and mom are the best parents to their kids and the most supportive and caring grandparents. The grandkids are ALWAY over at the house, and always loved and looked after. I had my students write me paragraphs about themselves, and a few of them wrote sentences like this: "My mother is the most beautiful woman in the world." How many American teenagers would write a sentence like that about their moms? Openly? That they would share with their class? I don't think many. One of the perks of this Catholic, Virgin Mary worshipping town is the emphasis on motherhood. I love how much people here openly love their moms. It's cute. It makes me think about how much I love my own quirky, no bullshit taking, spontaneous, deeply affectionate mom. Go Mom!
Lastly, we are in pineapple season. This means that all the vendors are selling big, juicy pineapples for the ripe price of 1.50. Which is nothing, when you have money. I have four dollars left in my bank account which has to last me until....I don't know, a day from now, so the pineapples will have to wait. Still, I am totally spoiled by the food prices here. Fifty cent mangos. One dollar for a pound of apples. Forty cents for a pound of potatoes. I really live in fruit paradise. I'm nodding off. It just started raining. I love the sound of rain falling lightly on a tin roof. This is my lullaby, most nights. Good night, y'all.
Sunday, January 22, 2012
SUNDAY night musings
Just got back from visiting friend in Catamayo and Loja.
Catamayo: a dusty town where roosters woke us up every time we tried to nap. Full of kids playing in mud.
Loja: the big nearby city of about 200,000 people. Went to see some live music with songs I'd never heard, but we got to sit with some introverted university students who reminded me of friends from back home. Also got to eat waffles with ice cream and fruit for dinner and schwarma for dessert- incredible. How I miss those combinations of food.
I sat next to the strangest man on the bus back to Zaruma. He was an ex-diplomat and was regaling me with stories from his youth. The bus was overpacked, so people left big burlap sacks of fruit down in the aisles. I got elbowed in the face at one point, because when there are no seats left, people stand in the aisles, and lean against the passengers. We went down an "illegal" road but after the police officers stopped us, the bus driver took him outside to "talk", or to bribe him with money, and within ten minutes we were chugging back along the road. Really, a typical claustrophobic bus ride of Ecuador.
My goals for this week are to figure out what I'm doing all "summer" break, since school is practically over. Wish me luck. It's like a new slate all over again.
Catamayo: a dusty town where roosters woke us up every time we tried to nap. Full of kids playing in mud.
Loja: the big nearby city of about 200,000 people. Went to see some live music with songs I'd never heard, but we got to sit with some introverted university students who reminded me of friends from back home. Also got to eat waffles with ice cream and fruit for dinner and schwarma for dessert- incredible. How I miss those combinations of food.
I sat next to the strangest man on the bus back to Zaruma. He was an ex-diplomat and was regaling me with stories from his youth. The bus was overpacked, so people left big burlap sacks of fruit down in the aisles. I got elbowed in the face at one point, because when there are no seats left, people stand in the aisles, and lean against the passengers. We went down an "illegal" road but after the police officers stopped us, the bus driver took him outside to "talk", or to bribe him with money, and within ten minutes we were chugging back along the road. Really, a typical claustrophobic bus ride of Ecuador.
My goals for this week are to figure out what I'm doing all "summer" break, since school is practically over. Wish me luck. It's like a new slate all over again.
Friday, January 20, 2012
Guayaquil, you tug at my heart
The other day my filling fell out of my mouth. I dutifully called the Peace Corps and they told me I had two choices. Take a 14 hour bus up to Quito, the capital, a city I know semi well (thanks to many good times getting lost there, strange cab conversations) or take a shorter, 4 hour buseta ride to the crime ridden, ¨scary¨ city of Guayaquil. I chose the latter. Thus begins our story.
Guayaquil is the biggest city in Ecuador. It´s the opposite of Quito. While Quito is conservative, cold (not really cold...more brisk...but for Ecuadorians who don´t know the true coldness of ¨snow¨, anything below fifty five degrees is ¨bien frio¨), Guayaquil is HOT. Hot, humid, liberal. Full of some of the ritziest malls in the country and the poorest peoople. Full of businesmen in expensive looking suits and poor street kids, four or five years old, begging clubgoers for change at 2am. Truly. It tugged at every emotion I had.
I started the day out in the dentist´s office, then met a friend and went walking up over 400 steps to the top of the city. It was HOT. Half of Guayaquil also looks like someone dumped Crayola colors all over it. This part is called Las Penas. So, on one side you have the Guayas River, and then huge billowing gray skyscapers, and then on another side you have Las Penas, which is so colorful it makes you happy just looking at it.
I got to see some people from training I didn´t know too well but who are fantastic and hilarious. We sat and did what Peace Corps Volunteers do best when they are together: bitch! Vent! Speak in English! Make vague cultural references that people in site shake their heads over but that we understand. Yearn about far away love.
The night was topped off with STUFFED CRUST PIZZA from Pizza Hut. You Americans are so incredibly lucky to have access to this luxury with frequency. You could even get it delivered to your door! You could eat it all day, every day, and never even have to leave your host.This, my friends, is a great difference. Here in Ecuador, most places don´t have food delivery. I miss it sorely. I will go home and not leave my apartment for a good month because of the awesome power of food delivery. Can´t wait.
Anyways, beer, pizza, and good people made for a lovely night. I´m always surprised how such different people who, under normal circumstances, wouldn´t be friends, can come together and connect because of the incredibly strange situation we´re all collectively in. It´s one of the best parts about Peace Corps.
Today, I wandered around for a few hours on my own. I found this park called the Iguana Park. People friendly iguanas bask in the grass and walk around on the stones, looking for lettuce. They are very energy efficient, either spending their time not moving a muscle, or running towards a piece of lettuce. Smart creatures. There were also a group of turtles. The park workers were cleaning out their little lake area and put all the turtles on the other side of this two foot high rock wall. The turtles kept trying to climb over each other to get back into the ¨lake¨. They would get halfway up the rocks, and then fall back down. Or, if one did reach blissful freedom, a worker would come over, grab it by the tail (ouch! do you think that hurts the turtle?) and put it back in its confinement. And there were pidgeons- erratic pidgeons- who would all randomly fly from one part of the park to another, as if they all had collective thoughts. I gave a few some food and they all started following me, for a second I thought I was going to get stampeded to death by those birds.
Guayaquil was the first time I´ve seen true, genuine, poverty in this country. Some people dress in really raggedy clothes and beg. There are MANy street kids at night. Girls who aren´t older than 5 or 6 who are begging customers in bars and night clubs for money. These kids have to stay up until 3 or 4 in the morning, begging. It´s a really sad reality of this country. I´m so glad there are volunteers here. Between the HIV, the poverty, and the violence that goes unpunished, this city has a lot, lot, lot of problems. For that reason, Volunteers are told to avoid it. Many foreigners have been robbed or involved in taxi kidnappings, and everyday on the news, there is a shooting or a robbery in this city. So it´s really everything- hot, humid, incredibly friendly, but also dangerous, congested, and sometimes overwhelming.
Here are some pictures:
The Iguana Park, where the iguanas will come up to any human who may, possibly, have food.
Las Penas, a crayon makers fantasy
That´s all for now. I´m about to enjoy some more delicious American food (hey bus terminal!) before leaving the craziness. I´ll miss you, Guayaquil. You´re like the Amy Winehouse or Mick Jagger of Ecuadorian cities. Unpredictable, seductive, exciitng, scary. See you again.
Guayaquil is the biggest city in Ecuador. It´s the opposite of Quito. While Quito is conservative, cold (not really cold...more brisk...but for Ecuadorians who don´t know the true coldness of ¨snow¨, anything below fifty five degrees is ¨bien frio¨), Guayaquil is HOT. Hot, humid, liberal. Full of some of the ritziest malls in the country and the poorest peoople. Full of businesmen in expensive looking suits and poor street kids, four or five years old, begging clubgoers for change at 2am. Truly. It tugged at every emotion I had.
I started the day out in the dentist´s office, then met a friend and went walking up over 400 steps to the top of the city. It was HOT. Half of Guayaquil also looks like someone dumped Crayola colors all over it. This part is called Las Penas. So, on one side you have the Guayas River, and then huge billowing gray skyscapers, and then on another side you have Las Penas, which is so colorful it makes you happy just looking at it.
I got to see some people from training I didn´t know too well but who are fantastic and hilarious. We sat and did what Peace Corps Volunteers do best when they are together: bitch! Vent! Speak in English! Make vague cultural references that people in site shake their heads over but that we understand. Yearn about far away love.
The night was topped off with STUFFED CRUST PIZZA from Pizza Hut. You Americans are so incredibly lucky to have access to this luxury with frequency. You could even get it delivered to your door! You could eat it all day, every day, and never even have to leave your host.This, my friends, is a great difference. Here in Ecuador, most places don´t have food delivery. I miss it sorely. I will go home and not leave my apartment for a good month because of the awesome power of food delivery. Can´t wait.
Anyways, beer, pizza, and good people made for a lovely night. I´m always surprised how such different people who, under normal circumstances, wouldn´t be friends, can come together and connect because of the incredibly strange situation we´re all collectively in. It´s one of the best parts about Peace Corps.
Today, I wandered around for a few hours on my own. I found this park called the Iguana Park. People friendly iguanas bask in the grass and walk around on the stones, looking for lettuce. They are very energy efficient, either spending their time not moving a muscle, or running towards a piece of lettuce. Smart creatures. There were also a group of turtles. The park workers were cleaning out their little lake area and put all the turtles on the other side of this two foot high rock wall. The turtles kept trying to climb over each other to get back into the ¨lake¨. They would get halfway up the rocks, and then fall back down. Or, if one did reach blissful freedom, a worker would come over, grab it by the tail (ouch! do you think that hurts the turtle?) and put it back in its confinement. And there were pidgeons- erratic pidgeons- who would all randomly fly from one part of the park to another, as if they all had collective thoughts. I gave a few some food and they all started following me, for a second I thought I was going to get stampeded to death by those birds.
Guayaquil was the first time I´ve seen true, genuine, poverty in this country. Some people dress in really raggedy clothes and beg. There are MANy street kids at night. Girls who aren´t older than 5 or 6 who are begging customers in bars and night clubs for money. These kids have to stay up until 3 or 4 in the morning, begging. It´s a really sad reality of this country. I´m so glad there are volunteers here. Between the HIV, the poverty, and the violence that goes unpunished, this city has a lot, lot, lot of problems. For that reason, Volunteers are told to avoid it. Many foreigners have been robbed or involved in taxi kidnappings, and everyday on the news, there is a shooting or a robbery in this city. So it´s really everything- hot, humid, incredibly friendly, but also dangerous, congested, and sometimes overwhelming.
Here are some pictures:
The Iguana Park, where the iguanas will come up to any human who may, possibly, have food.
Las Penas, a crayon makers fantasy
That´s all for now. I´m about to enjoy some more delicious American food (hey bus terminal!) before leaving the craziness. I´ll miss you, Guayaquil. You´re like the Amy Winehouse or Mick Jagger of Ecuadorian cities. Unpredictable, seductive, exciitng, scary. See you again.
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