While living in the United States, December easily qualified as the most hectic and stressful month of the year. Not only was I on a quest to find the perfect Christmas gifts for my friends and family, but I also needed to study for finals exams, write far too many papers, and try (and fail) to dominate TUXC's annual triple crown. It was absolute madness.
Yet, nothing could prepare me for the month of December in Zamora. It was absolute locura highlighted by the discovery of my perfect new penthouse apartment, too many afternoons spent reiterating the forms to the verb “be” to students attending mandatory recuperation after classes, and some narrow victories in the annual sport's tournament at the colegio.
The “Penthouse”
As a member of Omnibus 106 in Ecuador, I am amongst the final generation of Peace Corps volunteers in Ecuador who will have the opportunity to live without a host family during their service ostensibly due to security concerns although many suspect budget concerns may be the more compelling reason behind the policy switch. Thus, the vast majority of my fellow PCVs and I formally moved into our new dwellings in December.
Given that I enjoy an excellent relationship with my host family, I admittedly put very little effort until December when I had the realization that I needed to move quickly to comply with Peace Corps regulations. Will, a fellow PCV in Zamora, had been searching for months with little success. Few of the vacant apartments in Zamora fulfilled Peace Corps guidelines. Yet, I somehow managed to stumble upon a gem within hours of beginning my search and moved in about a week later.
My apartment, affectionately dubbed the penthouse, sits atop a four story building on a hillside above town. Although I love the kitchenette with windows overlooking banana trees and my spacious bedroom, my favorite feature is an enormous terraza overlooking the entire city and surrounding hillsides. Whenever the sun shines (admittedly a rarity lately as we enter the rainy season), I can lay in my hammock, roast my skin, and emerge myself in a book in spite of the cacophony of reggaeton music and birdcalls rising from Zamora and its surroundings. Heavenly.
And, surprisingly, I'm not actually living entirely alone. Unfortunately, my apartment is also home to far too many cockroaches, lizards, and chickens that have escaped from a neighboring coop. So, in spite of its swanky title, my penthouse is certainly Peace Corps housing after all. And I absolutely love it.
Recuperation
As I scoured the city for affordable furniture and kitchen utensils (a can opener costs $18.00?), I continued working long weeks in the colegio. In fact, the afternoon planning sessions became ever more important as the colegio began a period of mandatory recuperation—afternoon classes for students who had failed during the first quimester. Under new education laws, students cannot fail a year; essentially, they can learn nothing but must be promoted to the next year. The colegio, therefore, wanted to ensure that all students were at least learning something.
Prior to the start of the week, I expected a few kids from each class of roughly 35-40 students to require additional help. Thus, I was quite surprised when seemingly the entire school arrived to attend recuperation. The situation was especially dire in many English classes; in “10D” (ninth grade), only two of 42 students had passed the first quimester. And a passing grade is 14 points on a 20 point scale—which is 70% or the equivalent of a passing grade in the United States.
Why are so many students failing English? I believe their struggles stem from a combination of factors ranging from poor teaching methodology to lack of interest and effort on the part of many of the students. It is, after all, hard to give the students any legitimate reason why they must learn English given that few English-speaking tourists pass through Zamora in spite of the province's efforts to advertise itself as a tourist destination. Moreover, the older students lack the necessary base to complete their schoolwork. Each year, they utilize the next book in a series called “Our World through English.” Logically, the books creators assume that the students have an adequate understanding of the material before proceeding with the next book. This is not, however, how it goes. Rather students who cannot even conjugate the verb “be” in the present tense (part of the second unit in the first book) are somehow expected to master the first conditional in the third book or irregular past participles in the fourth book.
Much of December was, therefore, dedicating to helping students earn passing notes so that they deserve to advance to the following year in June. Hours were spent rehashing personal pronouns and verbs with some success. Many students who dedicated themselves to recuperation saw remarkable improvements in their grades. A student previously earning a whopping 5 points in the first quimester managed to attain a 17 on the final quiz. Another who attained an 8 in classes earned a 20 on the final quiz. Success. Although the events did bring up questions as to why the majority of teachers only offer extra help after students failed the quimester; wouldn't it make more sense to note struggling students earlier and recuperate them before giving them a failing grade in the first place?
El Campeonato de Deportes
As noted in a previous entry, the colegio inaugerated its annual sports tournament with the madrina competition at the end of November. Although competition was briefly interrupted by the recuperation, the high school's staff has been immersed in the event ever since. It consists of three sports—basketball (masculino and femenino), soccer (masculino and femenino), and ecuavolley (masculino). My team, Las Manderinas has faired relatively well and I'm excited to see how we do in our final games in January.
On a brief side note, ecuaovolley in a uniquely Ecuadorian form of volleyball played almost exclusively by men. The three-vs-three competition resembles volleyball in that points are attained when a soccer ball touches the ground on the opponent's side of the net. It differs, however, in that almost all types of hits are legal—a necessary adjustment given the weight of a soccer ball. Moreover, the net is considerably higher in spite of the fact that most Ecuadorians are quite short; I am, in fact, a giant in Zamora as I stand at a towering 5'5.
Regardless, I most likely won't have many opportunities to play ecuavolley. While women are increasingly participating in soccer and basketball competitions, ecuavolley remains an exclusively male activity. Although dozens of men pack into the canchas by the river on a nightly basis and bet sums of money reaching into four digits on the games, I have never seen a woman enter the facility to play nor watch.
30.12.11
28.11.11
Madrinas, Munching, Microfinance, and Miles
Had I known what the Madrina contest would entail, I would not have eagerly agreed to participate. I honestly thought that I would leave school at 1:00 with the other teachers, throw on a dress, and strut around with the other madrinas an hour later. Let's just say, I was sorely mistaken.
Upon returning to Colegio “12 de Febrero” following Reconnect, I discovered that the teacher's were about to begin the annual soccer and basketball tournament between professors. Given the importance of celebration and formality in Ecuador, it was unsurprising that it would begin with a large inaugeration in which each of the five teams would select a madrina to compete for the title of Señorita de Deportes.
I agreed to represent the Madrinas on Monday; by Tuesday morning, I realized that my expections were far too low. Not only did I have three days to learn to prance about the Colegio in high heels, but I also had to borrow a very formal dress and wear oodles of make-up. The competition was considered extremely important; the other candidates and I were dismissed from work several hours early to prepare. And, after my sisters spent several hours primping me, I was definitely transformed into a new person; my three-year-old niece didn't even recognize me.
Following the inaugeration, I immediately hopped on a bus to Loja after scraping off about 75% of the makeup to join the rest of the Loja Cluster for Thanksgiving dinner at Sabriga's house. It was a resounding success; whether we were eating too many slices of pie or dancing to Stevie Wonder, we all spent the night laughing and celebrating in spite of the being thousands of miles from our friends, families, and the vast majority of people celebrating such an important United States holiday. I can speak for everyone when I say we all left thankful for having such an awesome and scrumptious Thanksgiving with our pretty awesome cluster.
Still stuffed, I arose far too early Friday morning to head to Colegio. Given how late I arrived in Zamora, I was lucky in that I didn't have to teach. School was cancelled so the teachers and staff could enjoy a giant pig fry. At dawn, the male faculty dragged three 200 pound pigs, head and skin included to the colegio and commenced the long process of preparing the food. As teachers arrived, everyone begin pitching in whether cutting yucca, pealing plantains, and chopping up the animals while chomping on uncooked pig skin (cuero). Yikes. It's as aweful as it sounds; little hairs are still on it. Eventually, most of the work completed, we began playing sports and lounging around under the blazing sun. By 4:00, all were absulutely stuffed, quite sunburnt, and eager to go for a quick dip in the river before reuntiing for Maria Elisa's despedida later that night.
Still exhausted from dancing into the wee hours into the morning, I arose relatively early on Saturday to join a fellow PCV on her trek to Guadalupe, a rural town roughly 45 minutes outside Zamora. The PCV works with a non-profit dedicated to microconsignment, a growing branch of microfinance in which clients are trained to provide necessary health services such as eye glasses and water purification information to their communities. They subsequently host lectures to explain the importance of water treatment, for instance, and sell needed tools and equipment to their neighbors which enables them to help their communities address widespread health concerns while subsequently earning a living for themselves and their families. Interestingly, the non-profit, Soluciones Comunitarias, happens to be operated by Maria Luz and Sarah, two of my housemates while I lived in Paraguay.
After arriving in Guadalupe, my fellow PCV and I began her visit with a local group providing eye glasses, affordable water purification systems, and solar lamps to their communities. As Guadalupe is in the midst of fiestas, they had set up a stand in the feria. Unfortunately, sales were not overwhleming Saturday afternoon, but our visit did allow us to provide some sales tips (i.e. don't leave boxes of material where they can easily be robbed) and explore a charming small town. Moreover, we spent several hours hunched over the crossword found in a local paper. Several hours and one serious sunburn later, we still hadn't finished but we definitely enjoyed an excellent afternoon with some budding local businessmen and women.
Early Sunday morning, I continued exploring the Zamora-Chinchipe, although I decided to venture out on foot by participating in Reto 21x24. What is Reto 21x24? It is a challenge posed by a woman living in Quito dedicated to protecting the Yasuni Reserve from oil exploration and extraction. The immense Amazonian reserve, located deep in the province of Pastaza, is home to significant biodiversity as well as several indigenous groups still engaging in hunting and gethering. It is also, unfortunately, reputed to by the home of significant oil deposits. As oil exploration commences, the wildlife and ecosystem is being destroyed and roads are enabling colonists to squat on the land, thus interrupting the indigenous groups' ways of life. Ecuadorian President Correa has indicated that he will stop oil exploration provided that other nations pay Ecuador the estimated value of the oil as they are preserving the rainforest instead of garnering a profit. This plan, known as Proyecto ITT, has not been well received and threats of continued oil exploration and extraction continue.
Reto 21x24 is a means of protesting oil extraction in the Yasuni reserve. It involved a group run of 21 kilometers (13.1 miles or a half marathon) in each of Ecuador's 24 provinces to raise awareness and money. It is not a race; rather it is a group effort and, on Sunday morning, a small group of about 10-15 athletes united in the Parque Lineal of Zamora to begin the half marathon. Although it was an unbarably hot and hilly route, it was an excellent chance to explore Zamora, the nearby barrio of Tinbara, and many rural corners of the Canton of Zamora that I had yet to explore. Not to mention a great chance to meet runners from throughout Ecuador and support the preservation of one of our Earth's greatest treasures. I will most assuredly be participating in more Reto 21x24 races in other nearby provinces throughout the coming months.
Upon returning to Colegio “12 de Febrero” following Reconnect, I discovered that the teacher's were about to begin the annual soccer and basketball tournament between professors. Given the importance of celebration and formality in Ecuador, it was unsurprising that it would begin with a large inaugeration in which each of the five teams would select a madrina to compete for the title of Señorita de Deportes.
I agreed to represent the Madrinas on Monday; by Tuesday morning, I realized that my expections were far too low. Not only did I have three days to learn to prance about the Colegio in high heels, but I also had to borrow a very formal dress and wear oodles of make-up. The competition was considered extremely important; the other candidates and I were dismissed from work several hours early to prepare. And, after my sisters spent several hours primping me, I was definitely transformed into a new person; my three-year-old niece didn't even recognize me.
Following the inaugeration, I immediately hopped on a bus to Loja after scraping off about 75% of the makeup to join the rest of the Loja Cluster for Thanksgiving dinner at Sabriga's house. It was a resounding success; whether we were eating too many slices of pie or dancing to Stevie Wonder, we all spent the night laughing and celebrating in spite of the being thousands of miles from our friends, families, and the vast majority of people celebrating such an important United States holiday. I can speak for everyone when I say we all left thankful for having such an awesome and scrumptious Thanksgiving with our pretty awesome cluster.
Still stuffed, I arose far too early Friday morning to head to Colegio. Given how late I arrived in Zamora, I was lucky in that I didn't have to teach. School was cancelled so the teachers and staff could enjoy a giant pig fry. At dawn, the male faculty dragged three 200 pound pigs, head and skin included to the colegio and commenced the long process of preparing the food. As teachers arrived, everyone begin pitching in whether cutting yucca, pealing plantains, and chopping up the animals while chomping on uncooked pig skin (cuero). Yikes. It's as aweful as it sounds; little hairs are still on it. Eventually, most of the work completed, we began playing sports and lounging around under the blazing sun. By 4:00, all were absulutely stuffed, quite sunburnt, and eager to go for a quick dip in the river before reuntiing for Maria Elisa's despedida later that night.
Still exhausted from dancing into the wee hours into the morning, I arose relatively early on Saturday to join a fellow PCV on her trek to Guadalupe, a rural town roughly 45 minutes outside Zamora. The PCV works with a non-profit dedicated to microconsignment, a growing branch of microfinance in which clients are trained to provide necessary health services such as eye glasses and water purification information to their communities. They subsequently host lectures to explain the importance of water treatment, for instance, and sell needed tools and equipment to their neighbors which enables them to help their communities address widespread health concerns while subsequently earning a living for themselves and their families. Interestingly, the non-profit, Soluciones Comunitarias, happens to be operated by Maria Luz and Sarah, two of my housemates while I lived in Paraguay.
After arriving in Guadalupe, my fellow PCV and I began her visit with a local group providing eye glasses, affordable water purification systems, and solar lamps to their communities. As Guadalupe is in the midst of fiestas, they had set up a stand in the feria. Unfortunately, sales were not overwhleming Saturday afternoon, but our visit did allow us to provide some sales tips (i.e. don't leave boxes of material where they can easily be robbed) and explore a charming small town. Moreover, we spent several hours hunched over the crossword found in a local paper. Several hours and one serious sunburn later, we still hadn't finished but we definitely enjoyed an excellent afternoon with some budding local businessmen and women.
Early Sunday morning, I continued exploring the Zamora-Chinchipe, although I decided to venture out on foot by participating in Reto 21x24. What is Reto 21x24? It is a challenge posed by a woman living in Quito dedicated to protecting the Yasuni Reserve from oil exploration and extraction. The immense Amazonian reserve, located deep in the province of Pastaza, is home to significant biodiversity as well as several indigenous groups still engaging in hunting and gethering. It is also, unfortunately, reputed to by the home of significant oil deposits. As oil exploration commences, the wildlife and ecosystem is being destroyed and roads are enabling colonists to squat on the land, thus interrupting the indigenous groups' ways of life. Ecuadorian President Correa has indicated that he will stop oil exploration provided that other nations pay Ecuador the estimated value of the oil as they are preserving the rainforest instead of garnering a profit. This plan, known as Proyecto ITT, has not been well received and threats of continued oil exploration and extraction continue.
Reto 21x24 is a means of protesting oil extraction in the Yasuni reserve. It involved a group run of 21 kilometers (13.1 miles or a half marathon) in each of Ecuador's 24 provinces to raise awareness and money. It is not a race; rather it is a group effort and, on Sunday morning, a small group of about 10-15 athletes united in the Parque Lineal of Zamora to begin the half marathon. Although it was an unbarably hot and hilly route, it was an excellent chance to explore Zamora, the nearby barrio of Tinbara, and many rural corners of the Canton of Zamora that I had yet to explore. Not to mention a great chance to meet runners from throughout Ecuador and support the preservation of one of our Earth's greatest treasures. I will most assuredly be participating in more Reto 21x24 races in other nearby provinces throughout the coming months.
27.11.11
Capturing Riobamba
Whenever travelling in South America, my camera is never far from my fingertips. I have, therefore, amassed hundreds of photographs of church steeples and the Andes scraping the sky. Yet, while I love these images, they don't seem to epitomize South America because, quite simply, they always seem to lack people. Although I try to capture the people flooding the public squares and the marketplace, my camara never manages to capture the intangible magic and cultural friction that makes Ecuador such an interesting and excellent home.
Although my photographic inabilities have long plagued me, my struggles were particularly acute when I trekked to Riobamba last weekend. Riobamba (AKA Riobamba), one of the largest and coldest cities in Ecuador, lies 2750 meters in the air. t is surrounded by three snow-capped volcanos in spite of its proximity to the equator. It is, therefore, absolutely stunning.
Yet, its natural wonders are overshadowed by its cultural ones. It boasts a largely indigenous population, many of whom still adorn themselves with tradition clothing and panama hats. Many still speak Kichwa according to a friend living in the city. This creates an interesting juxtaposition with the signs of “modernity” or “westernization” also frequent in the city and it certainly made for many interesting and thought-provoking jaunts through the city although, unfortunately, I struggles to adequately capture the cultural clash on my camara.
Of all the places we visited, which include several churches and an artisan market, my favorite was undoubtedly the livestock market. It can best be described as absolute mayhem. Thousands of people packed into a small space which searching for the best deals on chickens, rabbits, and guinea pigs (a Riobamban delicacy). Meanwhile, the vendors do whatever possible to attract potential buyers whether they do so be screaming or sidling up alongside the customers and whispering about their wares stored in large tweed sacks. They are quite talented; even I almost bought a live guinea pig after all for the discount price of $3.25.
Our trek through Riobamba not only enabled the Loja cluster of Omnibus 106 to discover a delightful Ecuadorian city, but it also allowed us to break up the trip home following reconnect. Every Peace Corps omnibus reunites after spending roughly three months at their sites to discuss their needs assessments and potential projects with fellow PCVs and their counterparts . Moreover, it's a chance to “reconnect” with old friends and laugh about the absurdity that is inherent to Peace Corps service (Absurdistan anyone?).
Following our brief stay in Riobamba, most of the 106ers from Loja relaxed in Cuenca and enjoyed the luxuries inherent to a city oriented around tourism. Es decir, we ate food containing vegetables and spices. Delightful. Before continuing onto our sites and beginning to work once again.
Although my photographic inabilities have long plagued me, my struggles were particularly acute when I trekked to Riobamba last weekend. Riobamba (AKA Riobamba), one of the largest and coldest cities in Ecuador, lies 2750 meters in the air. t is surrounded by three snow-capped volcanos in spite of its proximity to the equator. It is, therefore, absolutely stunning.
Yet, its natural wonders are overshadowed by its cultural ones. It boasts a largely indigenous population, many of whom still adorn themselves with tradition clothing and panama hats. Many still speak Kichwa according to a friend living in the city. This creates an interesting juxtaposition with the signs of “modernity” or “westernization” also frequent in the city and it certainly made for many interesting and thought-provoking jaunts through the city although, unfortunately, I struggles to adequately capture the cultural clash on my camara.
Of all the places we visited, which include several churches and an artisan market, my favorite was undoubtedly the livestock market. It can best be described as absolute mayhem. Thousands of people packed into a small space which searching for the best deals on chickens, rabbits, and guinea pigs (a Riobamban delicacy). Meanwhile, the vendors do whatever possible to attract potential buyers whether they do so be screaming or sidling up alongside the customers and whispering about their wares stored in large tweed sacks. They are quite talented; even I almost bought a live guinea pig after all for the discount price of $3.25.
Our trek through Riobamba not only enabled the Loja cluster of Omnibus 106 to discover a delightful Ecuadorian city, but it also allowed us to break up the trip home following reconnect. Every Peace Corps omnibus reunites after spending roughly three months at their sites to discuss their needs assessments and potential projects with fellow PCVs and their counterparts . Moreover, it's a chance to “reconnect” with old friends and laugh about the absurdity that is inherent to Peace Corps service (Absurdistan anyone?).
Following our brief stay in Riobamba, most of the 106ers from Loja relaxed in Cuenca and enjoyed the luxuries inherent to a city oriented around tourism. Es decir, we ate food containing vegetables and spices. Delightful. Before continuing onto our sites and beginning to work once again.
12.11.11
"Celebrate We Will"
In early October, the entire city of Zamora paused to celebrate the city; likewise, the city and the surrounding province spent the first weeks of November celebrating the province's foundation a mere fifty-eight years ago. Although the official holiday falls on November 10, shenanigans began on November 1st with the annual Pregon. The Pregon is an annual parade featuring thousand high school students and officials of various public institutions dressed in elaborate costumes despite the blazing sunlight and soaring temperatures. For me, it was a great replacement for Halloween. There are very few Halloween celebrations in Zamora—although most are familiar with the Americanized version of the Celtic holiday—but the entire town still seems to dress up as soccer stars, butterflies, or zombies albeit a day later than the American holiday.
Following the Pregon, the town officially opened the giant feria. Not only can visitors buy everything from coconut milk to Saraguro attire, but they can also ride numerous carnival rides and attend raucious free concerts. The rides are admittedly terrifying given the absence of safety regulations in Ecuador and the young—barely adolescent—employees charged with operating them. I recently boarded a ride in which customers are repeatedly twirled upside down in the air. As expected, the attendant secured the safety bars above my sisters and I. He did not, however, remember the do the same for those in the front row and he started the ride. The boys immediately began screaming and, luckily, the attendant stopped the attraction saving the boys from serious injuries if not death. Crisis averted but I'm certainly less willing to jump on a ride and entrust a twelve-year-old with the security after that experience.
In addition to the carnival, there have been numerous free concerts in the fair grounds beginning with a cumbia group on Sunday evening. Monday—known as La Noche de la Juventud-- featured the largest concert of the week: Rata Blanca. After a two year wait (Rata Blanca had been a scheduled guest for the past several years but never arrived due to mining companies refusal to financially-back the event due to conflicts with the provincial government), Zamoranos packed the fair grounds to mosh or moshear to the beat. But, unfortunately, the wait continued for several hours more as, in true Ecuadorian fashion, the concert that was scheduled to begin at 9:00 did not start until 12:00. Following such a late night, the town relaxed on Tuesday before returning to the fair groups on Wednesday for the next concert-a folkloric band known as Hayak.
Finally, after barely sleeping for several nights due to my house's proximity to the fair grounds and the loud concerts lasting nearly until dawn, November 10th arrived. The official anniversary of Zamora-Chinchipe's provincialization was marked by the civic parade in the morning. As a teacher, I once again spent the morning marching through town and slowly being transformed into a lobster thanks to the sun's piercing rays. Given than each high school marches with a band, all staff, and three legions of students (the tallest and best “formed” of the students as selected by the inspectors), it is certainly a long parade. Following the parade, the town relaxed—I trekked to the river with some friends to frolick in the current and snack on some rocks—until the final cumbia and reggaeton concert in the fair.
We're now in the midst of our final spat of vacation prior to resuming a normal schedule. For various reasons, we hae only had 3 ½ days of school in the past few weeks; well, 4 ½ if you count to Saturday of the minga. Theweekend prior to the beginning of festivities, all parents and teachers were required to come to the school and conduct a minga or a community work project. Everyone contributed; some planted gardens, others macheted the soccer field, and others constructed a rear fence out of logs so students cannot sneak out. It was truly impressive to see all come together and work to improve the facilties, although such widespread participation may have been provoked more from the threat of a $5.00 fine than overall goodwill.
In spite of spending a Saturday at the school helping with the minga and playing basketball, the copious vacations have also left much time for exploration including several jaunts in Podocarpus National Park near Loja, Vilcabamba, and Zamora respectively. Interestingly, each respective trek was in an ecologically distinct zone in spite of being only a few hours apart on twisting mountain roads. I must admit, however, that my favorite was that in the tropical forests of Zamora—which proved to be a truly ridiculous adventure when we went in search of the “mirador.” Prior to the hike, we had noted a trail to the mirador. The sign suggested that it was only 800 meters, but that it required 85 minutes. Odd. We decided to skip it and return some other time; unfortunately, a miscommunication with a Belgian friend left us with no other options. We had to climb to the mirador. Legs burning and soaked with sweat, we had literally clawed our way up a steep ascent nearly an hour later only to discover that, in spite of the signs, there was no mirador. We had literally climbed up steep mountain ridge pushing through overgrown vegetation and discovered nothing. After descending, we decided to ask the guard about the trail; he laughed and said something about an area with slightly fewer trees. Classic Ecuador—good times and absurd adventures. And really, really sore legs the following day.
Following the Pregon, the town officially opened the giant feria. Not only can visitors buy everything from coconut milk to Saraguro attire, but they can also ride numerous carnival rides and attend raucious free concerts. The rides are admittedly terrifying given the absence of safety regulations in Ecuador and the young—barely adolescent—employees charged with operating them. I recently boarded a ride in which customers are repeatedly twirled upside down in the air. As expected, the attendant secured the safety bars above my sisters and I. He did not, however, remember the do the same for those in the front row and he started the ride. The boys immediately began screaming and, luckily, the attendant stopped the attraction saving the boys from serious injuries if not death. Crisis averted but I'm certainly less willing to jump on a ride and entrust a twelve-year-old with the security after that experience.
In addition to the carnival, there have been numerous free concerts in the fair grounds beginning with a cumbia group on Sunday evening. Monday—known as La Noche de la Juventud-- featured the largest concert of the week: Rata Blanca. After a two year wait (Rata Blanca had been a scheduled guest for the past several years but never arrived due to mining companies refusal to financially-back the event due to conflicts with the provincial government), Zamoranos packed the fair grounds to mosh or moshear to the beat. But, unfortunately, the wait continued for several hours more as, in true Ecuadorian fashion, the concert that was scheduled to begin at 9:00 did not start until 12:00. Following such a late night, the town relaxed on Tuesday before returning to the fair groups on Wednesday for the next concert-a folkloric band known as Hayak.
Finally, after barely sleeping for several nights due to my house's proximity to the fair grounds and the loud concerts lasting nearly until dawn, November 10th arrived. The official anniversary of Zamora-Chinchipe's provincialization was marked by the civic parade in the morning. As a teacher, I once again spent the morning marching through town and slowly being transformed into a lobster thanks to the sun's piercing rays. Given than each high school marches with a band, all staff, and three legions of students (the tallest and best “formed” of the students as selected by the inspectors), it is certainly a long parade. Following the parade, the town relaxed—I trekked to the river with some friends to frolick in the current and snack on some rocks—until the final cumbia and reggaeton concert in the fair.
We're now in the midst of our final spat of vacation prior to resuming a normal schedule. For various reasons, we hae only had 3 ½ days of school in the past few weeks; well, 4 ½ if you count to Saturday of the minga. Theweekend prior to the beginning of festivities, all parents and teachers were required to come to the school and conduct a minga or a community work project. Everyone contributed; some planted gardens, others macheted the soccer field, and others constructed a rear fence out of logs so students cannot sneak out. It was truly impressive to see all come together and work to improve the facilties, although such widespread participation may have been provoked more from the threat of a $5.00 fine than overall goodwill.
In spite of spending a Saturday at the school helping with the minga and playing basketball, the copious vacations have also left much time for exploration including several jaunts in Podocarpus National Park near Loja, Vilcabamba, and Zamora respectively. Interestingly, each respective trek was in an ecologically distinct zone in spite of being only a few hours apart on twisting mountain roads. I must admit, however, that my favorite was that in the tropical forests of Zamora—which proved to be a truly ridiculous adventure when we went in search of the “mirador.” Prior to the hike, we had noted a trail to the mirador. The sign suggested that it was only 800 meters, but that it required 85 minutes. Odd. We decided to skip it and return some other time; unfortunately, a miscommunication with a Belgian friend left us with no other options. We had to climb to the mirador. Legs burning and soaked with sweat, we had literally clawed our way up a steep ascent nearly an hour later only to discover that, in spite of the signs, there was no mirador. We had literally climbed up steep mountain ridge pushing through overgrown vegetation and discovered nothing. After descending, we decided to ask the guard about the trail; he laughed and said something about an area with slightly fewer trees. Classic Ecuador—good times and absurd adventures. And really, really sore legs the following day.
24.10.11
Work Hard, Play Hard: Zamora Edition
As my second month in Zamora draws to a close, I am beginning to settle into a routine. During the week, I spend roughly fifty hours in the colegio. Most of the hours are spent in the classroom—working primarily with students between 11-15 years old in the morning and older teenagers and adults at night (most are returning to school after having left or must work or care for children during the day). The highly controversial afternoon sessions are spent planning classes, grading exams, and shooting hoops with other teachers. Recently, daring students have begun venturing back to the school as well in order to challenge the gringos to a game of basketball, which, surprisingly, is the most popular sport in Zamora. Luckily, at 5'5 I am a giant in Ecuador so I have rocked the majority of these games. When we play soccer, on the other hand, the Ecuadorian students most assuredly dominate.
My athletic pursuits have not solely been limited the the basketball court and the soccer field; the inspector (roughly the equivalent of the vice principal) at my school is a former national-calibur track and field athlete and the accountant is a soccer player hoping to return to top form. Thus, after challenging me to races and narrowly defeating me, both have begun training with me twice a week on a mountaintop track. Under the blazing sun and 95+ degree temperatures, we run intervals ranging between 300 meters and 5ks. Not gonna, lie it definitely makes me miss my 5:00am jogs on the other weekdays or my weekend log runs through the rainforest. But, it's also a great time and will hopefully pay off come my next race (most likely a local 10k in Loja ).
Moreover, I have not only been participating in the local sports scene as an athlete but as a coach. In early October, the high schools of Zamora competed in a team triathlon. Each school entered a co-ed relay squad consisting of bikers, runners, and swimmers. The relay teams then raced the 14 kilometer distance between Cumbarantza and Zamora. “12 de febrero,” unfortunately, finished in a disappointing second place but many athletes ran/biked/swam excellent splits and we will be seeking our revenge in our next inter-colegio competition (they are reportedly relatively rare since fights often break out amongst the fans).
Furthermore, I am also co-teaching a swimming class at APNELE (Asociacion de Padres de Niños Especiales Luz y Esperanza) to children with Autism, Down's Syndrome and a variety of other disorders. The students are, without question, wonderful and loving. Yet, many come from incredibly difficult circumstances. One of my favorites is a ten-old-girl. She has a lot of rage; understandable considering that she was abandoned as a young child and lives in an institution for abandoned children. Moreover, she is completely deaf in one ear. With a hearing aid, she could hear reasonably well through the other. Unfortunately, due to a lack of funding, she is without a hearing aid and has thus been rendered completely deaf. Yet, in spite of her anger and tendency to lash out at the limited staff (for 78 enrolled disabled individuals, APNELE has three paid staff members), we've become good friends and experts at charades and some basic sign language.
In spite of many hours spent at work, I have still found much time to relax. In fact, the entire town of Zamora took a break in early October to celebrate Foundation Day. Festivities lasted nearly a week, beginning with the Reina Ceremony. This well-attended beauty contest proved surprisingly interesting; although I had anticipated a ceremony celebrating western ideas of beauty, the reina competition actually considered other norms. Rather than crowning solely a “Reina Hispanola”--think Miss Universe beauty norms—they city also crowned a Saragura queen and Shaur queen, both of which dressed in the traditional attire of their respective indigenous group. I must admit that, in spite of the interesting glimpse into local cultures, the program was beginning to get a bit boring by about 2:30 AM. Luckily, we were all jolted awake by a bit of a brawl between some drunken men and teenagers only a few feet away.
In the days following the Reina ceremony, the town enjoyed various events which culminated in a parade. As a teacher at “12 de febrero” I was, of course, expected to march (although, ironically, it often seems that it isn't mandatory to leave the teacher's room in order to teach classes). In spite of the mix of sunlight and rain, it was relatively enjoyable to meander through town and relax with my fellow teachers afterwards. After returning home to have lunch and swim with my "nephews", I met up with the teachers once again to attend a free outdoor concert that left the entire city dancing salsa and merengue in the streets despite pouring rain. By 4:00, I had finally tired and wandered home and crashed into my bed, ready for a long night's sleep along the thumping music drifiting through my window most certainly complicated this endeavor.
After a week of fiestas, I can only imagine what Novembers' fiestas, beginning next week, will bring. After all, they are supposed to be much, much bigger.
When not in the midst of festivals (which apparently are a monthly occurance), weekends are pretty tranquilo in Zamora. The city is, in fact, a ghost town on Sundays when everyone in town seems to go to church and hide in their homes. This did not stop my fellow PCVs from visiting however. We recently spent a day frolicking in Podocarpus National Park with my host family before treating them to an American-style breakfast the next morning. Although I have lived in the midst of the park for months now, my surroudings never cease to amaze me although the recent spat of wild fires and charred hillsides are quite alarming. Luckily, after a long dry spell, the rains have seemingly returned although I am hoping they subside before festivals commence once again with a giant costume parade early next week (I guess I won't be missing out on Halloween after all).
My athletic pursuits have not solely been limited the the basketball court and the soccer field; the inspector (roughly the equivalent of the vice principal) at my school is a former national-calibur track and field athlete and the accountant is a soccer player hoping to return to top form. Thus, after challenging me to races and narrowly defeating me, both have begun training with me twice a week on a mountaintop track. Under the blazing sun and 95+ degree temperatures, we run intervals ranging between 300 meters and 5ks. Not gonna, lie it definitely makes me miss my 5:00am jogs on the other weekdays or my weekend log runs through the rainforest. But, it's also a great time and will hopefully pay off come my next race (most likely a local 10k in Loja ).
Moreover, I have not only been participating in the local sports scene as an athlete but as a coach. In early October, the high schools of Zamora competed in a team triathlon. Each school entered a co-ed relay squad consisting of bikers, runners, and swimmers. The relay teams then raced the 14 kilometer distance between Cumbarantza and Zamora. “12 de febrero,” unfortunately, finished in a disappointing second place but many athletes ran/biked/swam excellent splits and we will be seeking our revenge in our next inter-colegio competition (they are reportedly relatively rare since fights often break out amongst the fans).
Furthermore, I am also co-teaching a swimming class at APNELE (Asociacion de Padres de Niños Especiales Luz y Esperanza) to children with Autism, Down's Syndrome and a variety of other disorders. The students are, without question, wonderful and loving. Yet, many come from incredibly difficult circumstances. One of my favorites is a ten-old-girl. She has a lot of rage; understandable considering that she was abandoned as a young child and lives in an institution for abandoned children. Moreover, she is completely deaf in one ear. With a hearing aid, she could hear reasonably well through the other. Unfortunately, due to a lack of funding, she is without a hearing aid and has thus been rendered completely deaf. Yet, in spite of her anger and tendency to lash out at the limited staff (for 78 enrolled disabled individuals, APNELE has three paid staff members), we've become good friends and experts at charades and some basic sign language.
In spite of many hours spent at work, I have still found much time to relax. In fact, the entire town of Zamora took a break in early October to celebrate Foundation Day. Festivities lasted nearly a week, beginning with the Reina Ceremony. This well-attended beauty contest proved surprisingly interesting; although I had anticipated a ceremony celebrating western ideas of beauty, the reina competition actually considered other norms. Rather than crowning solely a “Reina Hispanola”--think Miss Universe beauty norms—they city also crowned a Saragura queen and Shaur queen, both of which dressed in the traditional attire of their respective indigenous group. I must admit that, in spite of the interesting glimpse into local cultures, the program was beginning to get a bit boring by about 2:30 AM. Luckily, we were all jolted awake by a bit of a brawl between some drunken men and teenagers only a few feet away.
In the days following the Reina ceremony, the town enjoyed various events which culminated in a parade. As a teacher at “12 de febrero” I was, of course, expected to march (although, ironically, it often seems that it isn't mandatory to leave the teacher's room in order to teach classes). In spite of the mix of sunlight and rain, it was relatively enjoyable to meander through town and relax with my fellow teachers afterwards. After returning home to have lunch and swim with my "nephews", I met up with the teachers once again to attend a free outdoor concert that left the entire city dancing salsa and merengue in the streets despite pouring rain. By 4:00, I had finally tired and wandered home and crashed into my bed, ready for a long night's sleep along the thumping music drifiting through my window most certainly complicated this endeavor.
After a week of fiestas, I can only imagine what Novembers' fiestas, beginning next week, will bring. After all, they are supposed to be much, much bigger.
When not in the midst of festivals (which apparently are a monthly occurance), weekends are pretty tranquilo in Zamora. The city is, in fact, a ghost town on Sundays when everyone in town seems to go to church and hide in their homes. This did not stop my fellow PCVs from visiting however. We recently spent a day frolicking in Podocarpus National Park with my host family before treating them to an American-style breakfast the next morning. Although I have lived in the midst of the park for months now, my surroudings never cease to amaze me although the recent spat of wild fires and charred hillsides are quite alarming. Luckily, after a long dry spell, the rains have seemingly returned although I am hoping they subside before festivals commence once again with a giant costume parade early next week (I guess I won't be missing out on Halloween after all).
27.9.11
La Suerte Que Tenemos: Un Milagrito en Bomboiza
I knew. Or I thought I knew. But on Saturday, I finally learned what it truly means to lack access to medical care.
My host family and I traveled to Bomboiza, a village consisting of a few hundred residents buried deep in the Amazon, on Saturday to visit some family friends and attend the town's festivals. The day passed tranquilly; we jumped in the river and frolicked amid raindrops and rainbows.
Unfortunately, the day took a radical turn from the worse when we returned to our friend's house. As we drove up, it was immediately evident that something was severely wrong. Dozens of individuals had gathered outside the house and huddled in small groups sobbing. An acquantaince had just revealed that he had passed the family's motorcycle about fifteen minutes outside town. It had been involved in a severe crash and, the man reported, their were no survivors; the family's fifteen-year-old son was believed dead.
As there is no hospital, centro de salud, or subcentro de salud in Bomboiza or within any nearby communities, the family had not even bothered to call for help. Lacking a car, they could not even go retrieve the bodies. Rather they were forced to wait helplessly until an acquantaince with a car (my host father Fausto arrived).
After Fausto departed to retrieve the corpses, the hoards remained outside the house. As I tried to console family members or distract toddlers, I felt utterly helpless in the midst of such tragedy. There was no cell phone signal; I couldn't even call for help had ambulances and EMTs actually existed. Hopelessness prevailed and rumors swirled. All four victims (two from each motorcycle) were believed dead and many feared bing attacked by the families of the other victims in an act of vigilante justice which highlighted the lack of a functioning justice system in the area.
After a painfully long time had passed, Fausto finally returned with the son and his friend. Miraculously, both had survived the crash although they were not wearing helmets. Though gravely wounded, they were brought to the hospital and continue improving. We later found out that the other victims survived as well, although too remain severaly injured.
In spite of the miraculous end to the terrifying events, the afternoon has left a resounding impression. Although I have long understood that many poor communities lack access to fundamental social institutions such as healthcare and justice, this problem is not simply manifested as a lack of services. Rather it creates a sense of hopelessness and fear. No one would wait to see the bodies before believing that all had died; they assumed the worst. Similarly, they assumed the worst of their neighbors when fearing mob violence. Their was no hope for the best, no trust, and, unfortunately, the lack of such fundamental emotions may be one of the most insurmountable obstacles facing those in Bomboiza as they search for a better tomorrow.
Although the near tragic accident certainly put a damper on our trip to Bomboiza, the night still had many bright spots. Whether listening to children boldly declare that they will be doctors so that they can live in Bomboiza and save people or listening to teenagers grumble about their classes but ultimately admit that any subject could be a means of escaping poverty, there we abundant signs that change may someday come. Although, while all deserve a better quality of life, I sincerely hope change does not require that the community abandon its cultural roots, since another highlight of the night was most definitely the indigneous dances celebrating the town's foundation however many years ago.
My host family and I traveled to Bomboiza, a village consisting of a few hundred residents buried deep in the Amazon, on Saturday to visit some family friends and attend the town's festivals. The day passed tranquilly; we jumped in the river and frolicked amid raindrops and rainbows.
Unfortunately, the day took a radical turn from the worse when we returned to our friend's house. As we drove up, it was immediately evident that something was severely wrong. Dozens of individuals had gathered outside the house and huddled in small groups sobbing. An acquantaince had just revealed that he had passed the family's motorcycle about fifteen minutes outside town. It had been involved in a severe crash and, the man reported, their were no survivors; the family's fifteen-year-old son was believed dead.
As there is no hospital, centro de salud, or subcentro de salud in Bomboiza or within any nearby communities, the family had not even bothered to call for help. Lacking a car, they could not even go retrieve the bodies. Rather they were forced to wait helplessly until an acquantaince with a car (my host father Fausto arrived).
After Fausto departed to retrieve the corpses, the hoards remained outside the house. As I tried to console family members or distract toddlers, I felt utterly helpless in the midst of such tragedy. There was no cell phone signal; I couldn't even call for help had ambulances and EMTs actually existed. Hopelessness prevailed and rumors swirled. All four victims (two from each motorcycle) were believed dead and many feared bing attacked by the families of the other victims in an act of vigilante justice which highlighted the lack of a functioning justice system in the area.
After a painfully long time had passed, Fausto finally returned with the son and his friend. Miraculously, both had survived the crash although they were not wearing helmets. Though gravely wounded, they were brought to the hospital and continue improving. We later found out that the other victims survived as well, although too remain severaly injured.
In spite of the miraculous end to the terrifying events, the afternoon has left a resounding impression. Although I have long understood that many poor communities lack access to fundamental social institutions such as healthcare and justice, this problem is not simply manifested as a lack of services. Rather it creates a sense of hopelessness and fear. No one would wait to see the bodies before believing that all had died; they assumed the worst. Similarly, they assumed the worst of their neighbors when fearing mob violence. Their was no hope for the best, no trust, and, unfortunately, the lack of such fundamental emotions may be one of the most insurmountable obstacles facing those in Bomboiza as they search for a better tomorrow.
Although the near tragic accident certainly put a damper on our trip to Bomboiza, the night still had many bright spots. Whether listening to children boldly declare that they will be doctors so that they can live in Bomboiza and save people or listening to teenagers grumble about their classes but ultimately admit that any subject could be a means of escaping poverty, there we abundant signs that change may someday come. Although, while all deserve a better quality of life, I sincerely hope change does not require that the community abandon its cultural roots, since another highlight of the night was most definitely the indigneous dances celebrating the town's foundation however many years ago.
26.9.11
Moving Home
One month. It's unbelievable how quickly time has passed since the seemingly interminable 18 hour journey from the training center in Tumbaco to my new home in Zamora, Ecuador. The past few weeks have been a whirlwind of introductions, English classes, and quick jaunts to various nooks in the Ecuadorian jungle.
Most of my time, unsurprisingly, has been dedicated to my work. As a TEFL volunteer, my primary project involves working as an English teacher in a local high school. Specifically, I co-teach with Ecuadorian teachers as a means of improving their English as well as that of our students. We plan together, practice together, and conduct classes in tandem; it sounds much easier than it is, but I've been extremely lucky in that the English teachers at Colegio 12 de Febrero have been extraordinarily welcoming and eager to work together.
In addition to adjusting to a co-teaching model which is unfamiliar to all involved, much of my work throughout the first few weeks has included adjusting to life within an Ecuadorian high school with students ranging from 11 -20 years old. Classrooms consist of roughly 40 students, grouped in accordance with their academic performance during previous years. The composition of the class never shifts as professors brave the rains to walk from classroom to classroom as opposed to the students. Moreover, most of the buildings lack windows; rather, they have metal slats enabling birds and other distracting wildlife to interrupt class at seemingly the least opportune moments.
I have not, however, been the only teacher adjusting to a new educational system at Colegio 12 de Febrero. Under new educational policies implemented by Correa's government, all teachers now must work eight hours per day. Therefore, we are at the school from 7:00-1:00, go home for lunch from 1:00-2:00, and return from 2:00-4:00 ostensibly to grade student work and plan our classes. As a new teacher, this schedule seems fair, but it is quite controversial amongst the Ecuadorian staff given that they now must work two more hours each day but did not receive a pay raise. In fact, many are earning significantly less money since they can no longer work second jobs during the afternoon or work during the night session at the Colegio as Correa also forbade individual's from earning two government salaries.
In spite of the long hours, I have still begun exploring potential secondary projects. Immediately after arriving, Jarrett, Manny, Will, and I conducted English courses for teachers' from throughout the province and, as suggested by staff from the Ministry of Education, we will most likely by hosting more workshops in the future. Moreover, the librarian at the Colegio recently approached me and another volunteer about helping at a center for disabled members of the community. Until recently, disabled Ecuadorians were essentially institutionalized and segregated from the populace. Recent laws have mandated their inclusion in schools, but inclusion most certainly does not denote that they receive adequate support. Thus, the center seeks to provide support and resources to the disabled and their families. Although the details of a project have yet to be discussed, I greatly enjoyed meeting the center's constituents at a recent birthday party at the center. Other potential projects proposed by staff at the colegio include creating a nutrition program for students, microconsignment work with some of my former colleagues in Paraguay who now work in southern Ecuador, and coaching girls' sports teams.
In spite of an ever-increasing workload, I have still managed to find time to explore Zamora and its surroundings with my host family, friends, and others PCVs. Some of my favorite spots: my host grandfather's farm outside Yantzaza where I've learned to make homemade empanadas (maybe I no longer qualify as a karishina?) and maintain a herd of cattle, Loja where the entirety of Southern Ecuador convened to celebrate the Virgen del Cisne at the beginning of September by attending a massive fair and my Peace Corps cluster convened to relax and meet nearby volunteers, El Pangui where I sat under the stars chomping on street meat in the midst of a hot, humid jungle night, and the road to Podocarpus where I long run each weekend and enjoy amazing views of the jungle, mountains, and so many birds.
Most of my time, unsurprisingly, has been dedicated to my work. As a TEFL volunteer, my primary project involves working as an English teacher in a local high school. Specifically, I co-teach with Ecuadorian teachers as a means of improving their English as well as that of our students. We plan together, practice together, and conduct classes in tandem; it sounds much easier than it is, but I've been extremely lucky in that the English teachers at Colegio 12 de Febrero have been extraordinarily welcoming and eager to work together.
In addition to adjusting to a co-teaching model which is unfamiliar to all involved, much of my work throughout the first few weeks has included adjusting to life within an Ecuadorian high school with students ranging from 11 -20 years old. Classrooms consist of roughly 40 students, grouped in accordance with their academic performance during previous years. The composition of the class never shifts as professors brave the rains to walk from classroom to classroom as opposed to the students. Moreover, most of the buildings lack windows; rather, they have metal slats enabling birds and other distracting wildlife to interrupt class at seemingly the least opportune moments.
I have not, however, been the only teacher adjusting to a new educational system at Colegio 12 de Febrero. Under new educational policies implemented by Correa's government, all teachers now must work eight hours per day. Therefore, we are at the school from 7:00-1:00, go home for lunch from 1:00-2:00, and return from 2:00-4:00 ostensibly to grade student work and plan our classes. As a new teacher, this schedule seems fair, but it is quite controversial amongst the Ecuadorian staff given that they now must work two more hours each day but did not receive a pay raise. In fact, many are earning significantly less money since they can no longer work second jobs during the afternoon or work during the night session at the Colegio as Correa also forbade individual's from earning two government salaries.
In spite of the long hours, I have still begun exploring potential secondary projects. Immediately after arriving, Jarrett, Manny, Will, and I conducted English courses for teachers' from throughout the province and, as suggested by staff from the Ministry of Education, we will most likely by hosting more workshops in the future. Moreover, the librarian at the Colegio recently approached me and another volunteer about helping at a center for disabled members of the community. Until recently, disabled Ecuadorians were essentially institutionalized and segregated from the populace. Recent laws have mandated their inclusion in schools, but inclusion most certainly does not denote that they receive adequate support. Thus, the center seeks to provide support and resources to the disabled and their families. Although the details of a project have yet to be discussed, I greatly enjoyed meeting the center's constituents at a recent birthday party at the center. Other potential projects proposed by staff at the colegio include creating a nutrition program for students, microconsignment work with some of my former colleagues in Paraguay who now work in southern Ecuador, and coaching girls' sports teams.
In spite of an ever-increasing workload, I have still managed to find time to explore Zamora and its surroundings with my host family, friends, and others PCVs. Some of my favorite spots: my host grandfather's farm outside Yantzaza where I've learned to make homemade empanadas (maybe I no longer qualify as a karishina?) and maintain a herd of cattle, Loja where the entirety of Southern Ecuador convened to celebrate the Virgen del Cisne at the beginning of September by attending a massive fair and my Peace Corps cluster convened to relax and meet nearby volunteers, El Pangui where I sat under the stars chomping on street meat in the midst of a hot, humid jungle night, and the road to Podocarpus where I long run each weekend and enjoy amazing views of the jungle, mountains, and so many birds.
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