Dizzying December Days

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.

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.

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.

"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.

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).

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.

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.

Mindo is Lindo

For nearly three months, the gringos of Omnibus 106 had been an omnipresent presence in Tumbaco. Although we tried to blend in, a group of 62 foreigners in a relatively small town will undisputably make quite an impact. Thus, while the majority of Omnibus 106 ventured to their sites immediately after swearing in, those in TEFL remained in Tumbaco for another week in order to host a summer camp for area children. The three day event brought more than fifty youngsters to the compound for some English classes, relay races, mask-making, and other such debauchery. I, of course, ended up working with the youngest campers. Ostensibly, all should have been at least six-years-old since we only invited those over the age of six, but I somehow ended up with a raucious group of 15 or so youngsters ranging from 3-7. Needless to say, mayhem ensued. I hope they learned something; I certainly learned a lot...most importantly how to cajole farmers herding livestock down the street into allowing children to put their herds and how to (unsuccessfully) try to rent a pig.

Before the insanity commenced, Manny, Jarrett, Elizabeth and I went on a weekend jaunt to Mindo to relax for a bit before venturing to our sites. We left the compound shortly after lunch on Friday, expecting to arrive at the terminal about 1 hour later. Thus, imagine our surprise when the bus stopped roughly 10 minutes from the training center and the driver proceeded to lay down and take a twenty minute nap. This was no cat nap; the man was snoring. WTF? Once again, life seems to prove that anything can happen in Ecuador.

By 6:30, we had ventured deep into the cloud forests west of Quito and arrived in Mindo. After several weeks of the intense training regime, we welcomed the chance to relax, enjoy a good meal with friends, and spend the evening relaxing amid the chirping of insects and rustling of the breeze in the jungle leaves.

Early Saturday AM, we crawled out of bed after a sleepless night spent listening to roosters crowing (they start about 4 hours before dawn), drunk men bickering in the street, and mosquitos buzzing near our heads to venture around town. 1 treehouse, 1 abandoned house, and 3475938475 pictures later, we were sipping coffee and plotting the day's adventures.

After walking slightly outside town, we hired an ice cream vendor to take us to the cascades. Once we arrived at the park, we spent the day frolicking in waterfalls, meandering through rainforest vegetation, and hurtling over canyons in metal cages similar to telefericos. By nightfall, we were returning to town, gourging ourselves on another delicious meal, and relaxing in our hostel, refreshed but not quite ready to return to the real world and Peace Corps Summer Camp the next morning.

Seguimos Adelante

11 weeks, 38 PowerPoints, 67 papalotes, and 345324985 cups of coffee later, we did it. On August 17, the 62 volunteers of Omnibus 106 officially swore in as Peace Corps Volunteers officially swore in during a ceremony presided over by the charge du affairs from the US embassy (unfortunately, the ambassador is currently persona non-grata in Ecuador and couldn't attend the ceremony).

Following the ceremony, we celebrated. American-style. Not only did the Volunteer Advisory Council provide us with a make-your-own-sundae party, but we enjoyed a pretty intense game of kickball. Too soon, it was time to say good-bye as all non-TEFL volunteers departed for their sites. We're off soon enough though; after hosting a weeklong summer camp for area youth, we're climbing on our own buses and I'm heading to the jungle!

El diez de agosto y otras historias

Throughout the past week, the relative stillness of the Ecuadorian night has been interrupted by brilliant displays of fireworks in the darkened skies and the rhythmic thumping of salsa and cumbia music escaping from dozens of outdoor concerts. Why has there been so much hullaballoo? August 10, of course, the day of both my 22nd birthday and Ecuador's 201st one.

Given that August 10 fell on a Wednesday this year, much of the patriotic festivities were moved to the weekend and August 12 was declared feriado (aka no one has to work). Thus, August 10 was primarily reserved for my own (relatively sedate) celebrations. After consuming almost an entire cake as a means of distracting myself from some rather disconcerting pictures of various contagious diseases during a health lecture, a group of PCTs and I ventured to a nearby shwarma restaurant to chat, relax, and enjoy a dinner free from Ecuadorian staples (namely rice). Delicious. And some wonderful PCTs decided to indulge my two biggest vices, coffee and Chile, and gave me some excellent Ecuadorian coffee and Chilean wine. Some things never change -- my obsessions and my awesome birthdays whether occuring in Chile, the USofA, or Ecuador.

Given that Ecuador decided to celebrate its independance and birthday on the August 12, we enjoyed a long weekend and a break from training. Thus, my host parents and I journeyed to their farm in the cloud forests between the highlands of the sierra and the Amazon. The excitement began before leaving Tumbaco; due to the long weekend, my host mother and I could not find space on any buses passing through the suburb on their way to Napo. After hours of waiting, we finally found a driver willing to let us board, provided we squeezed into the front cabin with him. Thus, I spent the next few hours wedged between the shift and drivers' seat trembling in fear as the driver seemingly forgot to stay on the right side of the twisty mountain roads.

Luckily, we soon arrived in Cosanga and tumbled into bed given that our plans for the weekend began well before dawn. By 7:00 AM on Friday, I had learned to milk cows, drank fresh milk (boiled of course), climbed the mud mountain in search of pregnant cows, and helped with numerous household chores. We spent the rest of the day exploring nearby towns, fruitlessly searching for tropical birds, and bathing in the nearby river. As the sun set, we ventured to a nearby mirador for an unrivaled view towards the seemingly endless Amazon rainforest. On Saturday, we actually trekked to the edges of the rainforest. Not only did we frolic with monkeys in Misahualli (as well as snakes) and explore Tena, but we also spent hours practicing our detective skills as we hunted for one of my host father's elusive clients in Archiduna.

Throughout these many trips around Napo, I obviously enjoyed stunning views of the countryside. Yet, many of these panoramas were blighted...either by oil pipelines or desperate poverty. In regards to the pipes, huge metal structures bringing the oil from the Amazon to the coast line nearly all roads in the region. Not only is it an eyesore, but it's also a reminder that much of the economy is reliant on a resource that will soon disappear. Moreover, the Amazon regions have not benefited from the profits generated by the extractive economy; the vast majority of infrastructure and resources are concentrated in the coast and sierra. Yet, this many slowly be changing. It seems as if Correa's “Revolucion Ciudadania” is finally bringing investment to the region as the nearly every river is now spanned by a newly-constructed bridge alongside a large sign crediting Correa with the projects.

In addition to making the province more accessible to those coming from the sierra and the coast, the projects will hopefully generate economic development. As in other parts of Ecuador and Latin America (as well as much of the rest of the world), there is a sharp juxtaposition between the “haves” and “have-nots” in Ecuador. While various prosperous farms and haciendas dot the country, countless families also live in abject poverty. As a Peace Corps volunteer, I am obviously aware of this reality, yet it doesn't make it less upsetting to meet the 12 year-old children living on my host family's land who have already left school in order to work on the farm everyday. And I hope, in the next two years and beyond, I never become complacent and accept it as a part of life. If no one becomes upset, how will it ever change?

A La Playa

After spending our first technical trip surrounded by chaos and mayhem in Santo Domingo, the TEFL PCTs relaxed on the beach after spending the week working in public high schools in the coastal province of Santa Elena. Admittedly, the journey was long (approximately 15 hours in a bus), but most definitely worth it. Not only did we enjoy some free time to read and sleep as the bus zipped across the country, but we also enjoyed some great sites along the way including Chimborazo, a 5000+ meter snowcapped volcano, and dozens of houses on stilts.

During the days, we focused on co-teaching with local English teachers. Although it was difficult to build co-teaching relationships in only a few days, we divided tasks, shared insights, and practiced English. I question whether our brief stint truly revolutionized the English program, but it did motivate the students and introduce all to some pretty rocking English songs ranging from “The Hokey Pokey” to “If You're Happy and You Know It.” It definitely highlighted how much potential the TEFL program has when volunteers begin working with their co-teachers on a long-term basis.

After spending hours in the school working with English teachers, observing classes in other disciplines, and investigating behavioral problems alongside the DOBE (essentially the guidance counselor), we found a few moments to relax on the beach. Not only did we frolic in the waves, but we also saw local fishermen haul in their daily catch and return unedible fish into the sea as huge predatory birds circled overhead. Super chevere!

And, unlike in Santo Domingo, we never truly felt unsafe, perhaps because we seemingly had God watching over us at all time. As I lounged on the nearly vacant beach with another PCT, hoards of nuns stood on the boardwalk watching. At the time, the waves were small; at least 5 feet separated our towels, camaras, books, and journals from the closest waves. Unfortunately, they soon left and literally moments later a freak wave swept through, soaking everything. We obviously then retreated to the boardwalk, although it proved unnecessary. None of the subsequent waves reached our former perch. We must have needed those nuns after all.

Although we enjoyed our work in the colegio, our bizarre philosophical conversations, and our brief sojourns on the beach, the highlight of the trip was most certainly the final night. Given that we had to depart at 4:30 on Friday morning to return to Tumbaco, almost no one wanted to leave the hostel. As usual, I could not overcome my cabin fever and stay in; thus, another PCV and I began wandering around the small town of Ballenita at about 9:00 PM. Surprisingly, the usually lively town was almost silent. Everyone it seemed, had left the store fronts to go to a well-lit park nearby.

Unsure of what to expect, we decided to venture to the park and soon discovered that a girl's soccer game had captured the entire town's attention. This would not have proven particularly exciting in the United States. In Ecuador, however, machismo remains prevalent and women's sports are not particularly valued nor respected. Moreover, gender roles are sharply divided with women often relegated to the kitchen or home for fear of being labeled as a “karishina”--a women who does not know how to cook nor maintain the home (a concept still taken very seriously by many of our host families and neighbors). Thus, after listening to countless comments about women's roles as well as enduring untold numbers of piropos, it was pretty awesome to see an entire town supporting their young ladies as they participated in a healthy and worthwhile activity. Hopefully, the sport's program suggested by my counterpart will be as well received in Zamora.

After returning to Tumbaco, several other PCTs and I decided to spend Saturday touring Quito. Given that many of our sites our several hours away from the city, we won't be able to return frequently. Thus, we explored the many beautiful churches found in the historical district (reputed to be the best preserved one in South America), climbed the Panecillo and enjoyed stunning views of the city and nearby volcanos as young children frolicked with their kites in the park, and sipped on iced coffee (an extremely rare treat in South America.

By the time we had returned to Tumbaco, the sun had set, which usually means that the entirety of Tumbaco has closed for the night. Not this time however. In honor of the Ecuadorian independence day on August 10, the plaza had been transformed into a giant fiesta with blasting cumbia and salsa music with hoards of celebrants, with the night culminating in a giant display of fireworks much like those seen throughout the United States on July 4.

And My New Hometown is...

And my new hometown is...

ZAMORA.

After weeks of anticipation and speculation, the site assignment ceremony had finally arrived on July 13. 60 PCTs and I stood alongside a map of Ecuador and fidgeted nervously as PC staff read off names and locations. Would I sweat as I read in my hammock in a coastal banana grove? Would I learn Kichwa while riding a horse through the Andean highlands? Would I try to sleep beneath a mosquito net as raindrops thudded against my roof?

Abruptly, my thoughts were interrupted as a loud voice announced my name. After what seemed like a eternal pause, it then announced my new home...Zamora.

Zamora is a small city of roughly 20,000 located in the transistion zone between the Amazon and the Andes. Affectionately known Known as the city of birds and waterfalls, it is absolutely stunning. Lush green vegetation covers the hills and red dirt paths meander past rivers and waterfalls.

The city itself lies alongside the intersection of two such rivers. It is orientated around an inordinately large clock, reputed to be the largest in the world, and consists of colorful concrete buildings often with partially constructed top floors. Near Rio Zamora, a river with a brownish hue due to local mining activity, the city has constructed a promenade or Malecon in an effort to attract tourists. It remains a work in progress, but definitely has the potential to be a great place to relax with friends.

With only this limited knowledge about my new home and my host mother's phone number, I climbed aboard a bus to trek to Zamora early Thursday morning. Luckily, several other PCTs had been posted to sites somewhat near mine so we could embark on the 18 hour journey together and enjoy stunning views of various volcanos, mountain hamlets, and colonial churches as the bus chugged through the Andes mountains.

Given Peace Corps policy prohibiting night travel for PCTs, we had a small pit stop in Cuenca on Thursday night. Although eager to arrive at our sites, Cuenca is stunning with dozens of historic churches, cobblestone roads, and great eats. I only wish we had more time to explore before embarking on the final leg our our journey.

About 7 hours later, the bus pulled into the terminal in Zamora. Within moments, I was swarmed by
my host nieces and nephews who wanted to give me a tour of the house, play soccer, and practice English with me simultaneously. My host mother finally calmed the niñitos before introducing me to the family. I have five host sisters between the ages of 16-30 as well as 6 nieces and nephews between 2-10, although only two sisters and two children live en casa.

After I settled in and gorged myself on a ridiculously delicious lunch, I journey to Colegio 12 de Febrero, where I will be teaching to meet with the rector and vice-rector (essentially the principal and assistant principal). Unfortunately, as it is summer vacation, I did not have the opportunity to meet with my teachers nor many students.

The majority of the weekend was, therefore, spent bonding with my host family. Whether frolicking in the rapids in a local river, journeying to my grandfather's farm outside Yantzaza (future home of two other PCTs), celebrating my host mother's Saint Day with a surprise shindig, or boating in Loja, so much laughter. The house was constantly in a state of (good) mayhem with so many children racing around by the energy was infectious and I had a phenomenal time. And whenever the chaos became slightly overwhelming, I could escape and go for a run along red-dirt roads surrounded by the rainforest. Too bad we had lost electricity (again) by the time I returned home and had to enjoy a freezing shower (we don't have hot water) in the pitch-black windowless bathroom upon my return. Regardless, the Peace Corps could not have found me a more perfect site.

Monday did, unfortunately, signify the end of the weekend and my return to work. After briefly meeting with the rector to discuss potential secondary projects (still TBD, but a girl's sports program seems likely), I spent hours meandering through the streets and constructing my community map. Not only do I now know where to find important resources, but I also found some of the most delicious bread I have eaten in Ecuador. Perfecto. Too soon, the workday rolled to a close and I had a brief meeting with the Provincial Minister of Education. My day wasn't completely over, however, as my host mom took me to the market and began introducing me to local vendors as her daughter. No gringo prices for me thank you very much.

Although I most certainly was not ready to leave, I climbed aboard a bus returning to Tumbaco early Tuesday morning full of excitement about my new home. At least I spent the next 18 or so hours comparing stories with other PCTs who joined us throughout the trek home.

Although Zamora remained tranquilo, the entire country passed through a brief crisis beginning Saturday. Throughout Ecuador, although primarily within the Province of Los Rios, dozens of individuals became deathly ill and many died after consuming punta, basically Ecuadorian moonshine. A devious entrepreneur, it appears, decided to spike his punta with industrial alcohol to increase its strength while simultaneously diminishing the costs of production. As fear spread regarding the quality of all punta in Ecuador, the government declared a “ley seca” banning alcohol for three days throughout the country. Surprising. And, like prohibition, almost impossible to enforce.

(Media) Marathon Madness

Why not run a half marathon? Despite the elevation (9000 feet above sea level) and very little training, it seemed like an excellent opportunity. While surrounded by hundreds of other competitors, I could explore the streets of Quito while trying to burn the 12371237 pounds of rice that I consume on a daily basis (Yes. We occasionally eat rice at breakfast, lunch, and dinner). It would be perfect. Maybe I would even run a decent time. After all, as my experiences in the past few weeks have shown, anything can happen in Ecuador.

And it most certainly did.

Shortly before 5:30 AM, all the competitors in the marathon had assembled in Plaza San Francisco, a magnificant square buried deep in the historical district. Although the race would start momentarily, most competitors still seemed drowsy. After all, the sun wouldn't even rise for another hour. A wake-up call was definitely needed.

Suddenly, the silence was broken by a loud bang and a splash of color across the darkened sky. Someone had decided to launch fireworks to motivate competitors prior to the race. While the fifteen minute display of massive fireworks was incredibly risky (the fireworks were launched from a cardboard box next to an overflowing trashcan about 10 feet from marathon competitors), it just might have been the best secret psych ever.

Once the marathon competitors had begun their race, another PCV and I began searching for a ride to Parque La Carolina, located about 6 kilometers away. Despite assurances that the trolebus would be open in the pre-dawn hours on a Sunday morning, we soon discovered that our preferred means of transportation would not be bringing us to the park where the half marathon would begin about two hours later.


Taxi? Unfortunately, we couldn't find any taxis rocking orange licenses plates (meaning that they are governmentally-licensed and, therefore, much safer), so we asked race organizers if they knew a number for a taxi. Failure. But also success because we ultimately hitched a ride with race organizers bringing porter potties from Plaza San Francisco to Parque La Carolina. Not the classiest way to arrive at the start, but definitely memorable.

And, most importantly, the race. The half marathon consisted of a loop through northern Quito. While this is a newer part of the city and it isn't particularly interesting in terms of its architecture, the trek was still an adventure. Along the way, a full military band serenaded runners, reggaeton-blasted from various speakers, and far too many fans eagerly took pictures of the “gringuita.” Slightly awkward. Moreover, the looped course allowed me to chatter with other competitors and learn a bit about running in Ecuador. Well, try to learn. It's still a struggle to speak in Spanish as my lungs ached and searched for oxygen in the thin Ecuadorian air.

Santo Domingo, Hair Dye, and Pickpockets

After spending three weeks within the middle class enclave of Tumbaco, the PCTs of omnibus 106 finally ventured outside the valley to explore more of Ecuador. For our first technical trip, those in the TEFL program traveled to Santo Domingo de las Tsatchilas (AKA Santo Domingo de los Colorados).

The three hour journey to Santo Domingo, a town of about 200,000 people, is stunning. Beginning in the highlands of southern Quito, we trekked through the Andes mountains before plummeting down towards sea level and lush tropical vegetation. Along the way, we passed waterfalls, dramatic ledges, and trees reminiscent to those in Dr. Seuss's The Lorax. The temperature also spiked dramatically as the dry warmth of the sierra gave way to the tropical humidity of the coast. It wasn't, unfortunately, quite as hot as I would have liked...there's something simply wonderful about 100+ degree heat.

Upon arriving in Santo Domingo, we were greeted at the terminal by Maria Dolores, our program manager, and whisked to the hotel through the city's bustling streets. Our hotel was located in the heart of the city, amid panaderias, anarchic streets with too many taxis, and pulsating reggaeton beats escaping from the many storefronts.

We didn't have too much time to explore however. We were expected at Colegio Juan Moreno Espinosa momentarily to meet with the English teachers with whom we would work throughout the week. The urban high school is gigantic; approximately 2,500 students attend classes during either the morning, afternoon, or evening. Most live within the city, but some do commute for a couple of hours. It is, after all, a prestigious and public institution.

Throughout the week, we co-taught with the school's English teachers. Most teachers asked us to focus on pronunciation and speaking, although we gave some grammar and vocabulary lessons as well. As a group, we were quite impressed with the student's English skills. While we had learned that about 5,000 English teachers in Ecuador failed basic English tests administered by the Ministry of Education, the teachers demonstrated mastery of the language and the students seemed to be absorbing the material, although there was an admitted focus on grammar rules as opposed to communication (which is the norm within the Ecuadorian educational system). Moreover, I found the students' behavior impressive. Although each class had at least 45 students, the children behaved remarkably well. Had I been in a class of 47 students at the age of fourteen, I most certainly would not have been able to focus as well for the entire period.

In addition to our work within the school, we also ventured to Valle Hermoso, a rural community about 45 minutes outside Santo Domingo on Tuesday. This provided us with the opportunity to view the differences between an urban high school and rural institutions in terms of resources and curriculum.

In the afternoon, we enjoyed a cultural excursion to a Tsatchila community outside of Santo Domingo. Numbering around 1000, the Tsatchila are an indigenous community currently fighting to maintain their language and heritage in the midst of grinding poverty. While visiting with the pueblito, we saw the various ways in which they sustainably use the forest's resources to develop a variety of herbal remedies, the hair dye that inspired the Spanish to call them “Los Colorados” (hence the city's two names: Santo Domingo de las Tsatchilas or Santo Domingo de los Colorados” ), and a fruit dye used to make tattoos lasting for several weeks. When we left, I had a streak of red hair, and the fruit needed to give myself my first new tattoo. More importantly, I had several new 5-8 year-old-friends who had happily taught me Tsatchila words, Tsatchila dance moves, and mastered some numbers in English during our too brief visit.

Given that we spent most of our time either at high schools or on the cultural trip, we did not have much time to explore Santo Domingo independently. Perhaps it was for the best; Santo Domingo is amongst the most dangerous cities in Ecuador. It has recently been wracked by a series of murders currently dominating headline news in Ecuador. Moreover, it is the site of far too many robberies and assaults, as I, unfortunately, learned first hand.

Wednesday morning, Elizabeth and I ventured to a nearby panaderia to purchase some bread and yogurt for breakfast. Without thinking, I absentmindedly stuck a few coins and my cell phone in my pocket before leaving the hotel. As I stood in the panaderia chatting with the owner about her concoctions, two men ran into the open storefront, grabbed my phone out of my pocket, and sprinted across the street. I froze. What just happened?

Luckily, Elizabeth reacted. She ran into the street and began screaming “Socorro, Socorro.” I, too jumped, into action as the entire bustling neighborhood stopped and stared and sprinted across the road without regard for the oncoming traffic (poor choice). Five men also responded to her screams and began chasing the robbers. Realizing that it would not be as easy as anticipated to steal my cell phone, the pickpockets turned, hurled my phone at me, and disappeared into the hoards of pedestrians. Robbery averted. Win. Good thing we did all those 200 meter sprints during TUTF workouts.

Well, kind of. Luckily, no one was hurt in the exchange. As the PC staff (which was incredibly supportive in making sure that I was not too shaken up following the incident) has reminded me numerous times, never chase a pickpocket. While it seems to have lead to the recovery of my phone, it could have ended very differently had the men been violent or armed. A $38 telephone is not worth experiencing the Ecuadorian medical system nor learning firsthand the sad reality that the vast majority of violent crime in this country goes unpunished.

I not too upset by the incident itself. I was too complacent; my phone should not have been in my pocket and I should have been more aware of my surroundings. By virtue of having been born in a middle class family in the United States, I am inherently more priveledged than most around the world and I must recognize that this makes me more vulnerable. While I don't attach too much value to a cell phone (I absentmindedly stuck it in my pocket), there are other individuals for whom a $38 phone is a luxury that could feed a family for several days. Had I been born in another family elsewhere in our world, the situation could have been reversed.

This is not a means of justifying crime and robbery. The vast majority of impoverished individuals across the globe do not engage in criminal activities to survive, rather they demonstrate incredible ingenuity and resourcefulness in the midst of discriminatory social structures. Moreover, I don't even know if the robbers are poor; plenty of affluent individuals engage in criminal activity as well. These thoughts did, however, redirect my anger following the incident. Why rage at nameless thieves when I could redirect my fury at the systems creating poverty and inequality and use this to motivate me in my future endeavors as a PCV?

On the bright side, it was also incredibly heartening to see random pedestrians and vendors abandon their daily endeavors to rush to my aid. It is often said that people living in violent cities such as Santo Domingo become numb to violence, but that wasn't my experience. Rather, I saw a sense of community and social networks that served to minimize crime and create a safer city for all. Following the crime, it seemed as if most of the street including a security officer wandered over to the panaderia to ensure that the gringas really were okay.

On another note, we also had the opportunity to explore the Feria de Santo Domingo. July 3rd is the Feast of Santo Domingo and the entire city turns into a giant celebration as the Saint's Day nears. We consequently spent Thursday evening chomping on “pailas de helado” (dairy-free ice cream made by whipping fruit until it's creamy), empanadas colombianos, and coconut dulces as we wandered through artisan stalls at the local fair while listening to salsa, cumbia, merengue, and bachata music blaring through the loud speakers. And, yes, we know it's super gringa to sing along with Aventura and Marc Antony while dancing in las calles, but there are some parts of our culture we just arn't ready to leave behind.

Our adventure, unfortunately, ended on Friday and we returned to Tumbaco following a long bus ride defined by a driver whose skills were similar to mine at the age of 16 (and I failed the driving test at 17 years-old). Eeek. La noche was tranquila; I spent time catching up with other PCTs who had traveled to other parts of Ecuador with their respective programs and relaxing with la familia.

On Saturday, I once again ventured outside Tumbaco with Elizabeth and Lori; we went to Quito to explore the nearby city. We began by searching for Lori's former neighbors (she lived in Quito for a few months while in college). As they didn't have emails nor cell phones, we simply went to the neighborhood and looked for the shop. Unfortunately, they have since retired, but we did find a gigantic market that dwarves La Vega in Santiago. Best find of the day: Quinoa pancakes. We also found our inner tourists and took the teleferico to the observation decks atop Pinchincha. At 4,100 meters, the oxygen was a bit scarce, but the views plentiful. We watched the clouds creep over the city, a rainbow appear over the mariscal, and finally figured out where Tumbaco is in relation to the incredibly long and narrow city of about 2,000,000 people.

I'll post pictures this time on Picasa/Facebook. Promise.

I live here?

Before Omnibus 106 departed for Ecuador, the PC warned us that the first few months would be filled with an intensive pre-service training program. Not an exaggeration. From Monday-Friday, we're in the training center from 8:00-5:00 perfecting our Spanish, memorizing security procedures, and learning to temporarily self-medicate until help arrives if our poops suddenly contain 6 foot worms or maggots begin growing under our skin (I wish I was kidding). We also engage in various supplementary projects ranging from running life-skills classes in local schools to planting tire gardens and basil around the training center.

Despite the intensive program, I still look around in awe about 198731897 per day and think “I get to live here.” Whether meandering through a local canyon during our lunch break, jogging along the ciclovia as the mist rises from the valley in the early AM, our sampling still-unknown fruits from local vendor, Ecuador still proves enchanting. Do I really get to live here?

Some highlights from the past few weeks:

Mascarilla:For my cultural trip, I had the opportunity to spend a night in Mascarilla, an Afro-Ecuadorian community of about 1200 people located in Imbabura about 4 hours north of Quito. While I enjoyed creating traditional masks, chewing on sugar cane,and learning to dance Bindo (I'm almost as good at it as I am at salsa...which is to say I need more than a little practice), the time spent just playing sports, drawing, and teaching community kids to use my camara proved truly unforgettable and clinched my desire to work in a small town.

I also loved staying with my host family...minus briefly believing that I was about to be kidnapped when someone began pounding on the unlocked front door that was 3 feet away from my bed at 3 AM. Apparently they weren't looking for me though. They just wanted one of the eight month old twins, which the mother promptly gave them. WTF?

On a more serious note, it was an interesting look at race and ethnicity in an Ecuadorian context. Ecuador boasts one of the strongest indigenous movements in Latin America, yet indigenous communities remain significantly poorer than the majority of their mestizo counterparts. The Afro-Ecuadorian community does not have an particularly strong advocacy organizations according to our hosts, and consequently remains one of the poorest and most marginalized demographics in the country. Our hosts told us of nearby Afro-Ecuadorian communities in which the majority of residents work on sugar cane farms for only a few dollars per day.

While numbers and anecdotes are certainly upsetting, it was a simple children's game that truly bothered me. The rules are essentially the same as those of “Sharks and Minnows,” but before the minnows ran across the street, the kids chanted the following:

Sharks: “Who wants to play with the Black Man”
Minnows: “No one wants to play with the Black Man”
Sharks: “Why not?”
Minnows: “Because he's black.”
Sharks: “What does he eat?”
Minnows: “Meat.”
Sharks:”What does he drink?”
Minnows: “Blood.”

Regardless of the community, this chant is disturbing. Yet, the children (all of whom were Afro-Ecuadorian) continued chanting it. In fact, they loved it. How do you address this form of institutionalized racism? The kids may not really pay attention to the words, but what ideas are they internalizing?

Racism is certainly not a uniquely Ecuadorian phenomenon. It exists in nearly every country around the world and needs to be addressed. But where to start? With social systems and structures or simple childrens' rhymes?

Iloa: Tumbaco, our lovely home during training, is surrounded by numerous mountains and hills including Iloa. Last Sunday, some PCTs and I decided to venture to the first cross and enjoy the view. Having enjoyed the trip, we decided to continue onto the summit after an old man assured us it was only 30 minutes further down the path. Well, we must have missed a turn because about 5 hour, 1 massive sunburn, 12389 bug bites, 1 charging horse, and innumerable stunning views later, we finally passed another cross and arrived in the town of El Tingo. Worth the trek? Of course.

To the Torres del Paine crew, reunion in the Ecuadorian Andes?

Deportes: Spending nine hours per day in the training center just isn't enough. So why not stay for a few more hours and perfect our ultimate frisbee and american football skills (I promise that I'll catch the ball/frisbee someday) or challenge the Ecuadorian staff to a soccer game? Deportes are actually one of my favorite parts of the week, especially when we walk home under the stars and the lights of Quito twinkle in the distance after a pseudo-intense game in which the score never matters and the last goal always wins.

PACA Projects: As a means of understanding the needs of a community, PCVs use numerous PACA tools to assess the town's perceptions of their own needs. For our first major assignment, we had to go to the nearby town of Pifo and put the tools into practice. In itself, this would be an awesome opportunity to explore a small town and enjoy the sunshine, but it was completely overshadowed by the town's guest: President Rafael Correa. As part of his current administration, he travels to a different small community each weekend and gives a speech. We just happened to be in Pifo on the same day so I had the opportunity to hear him speak and enjoy free bread and juice “gracias al presidente.”

Julian's Baptism: Yesterday, we baptized my 1.5 year old host nephew. The ceremony differed from the US in that it wasn't a mass. Rather, about a dozen people of all ages and their families assembled in the church just to be baptized. My family gave my the all-important role of paparazzi; I had to creep around the church and get the perfect shot. Much more challenging than it seems given that every other family had about 12 photographers also jockeying for positions. Added to my slight discomfort being the paparazzi (although it was clearly culturally-appropriate since EVERYONE was doing it), this made for an interesting ceremony.

Afterwards, we returned home y celebramos. It was my first large Ecuadorian family shindig and it brought back memories of Paraguay in that we ate crazy amounts of food and everyone shared a cup. At first the communal cup thing made me a bit wary of germs especially given the medical lectures about germs and diseases and whatnot. But I've decided I really like it. Whenever asked to “serve,” I had to walk around and pour everyone a glassa and chat with them as they chugged it. This gave me an excellent opportunity to learn names, meet my Ecuadorian family, and otherwise bond with everyone there.

Host Familia: Maybe I'm just lucky, but I seem to have won the host family lottery once again. Although I'm not home nearly as often as I would like, I definitely enjoy our meals together. Sometimes we chat; sometimes we watch telenovelas that make “Donde esta Elisa” seem realistic (is that possible); sometimes we watch the Ecuadorian “Deal or No Deal.” The show itself follows a similar format, except its sponsored by the omnipresent food company Nestle. Rather than pick numbered suitcases, contestants choose suitcases labeled as Nestle products (i.e. I'll take the Nescafe). Commercialization much?

I only wish we didn't follow such as Ecuadorian sleep schedule. We're all in bed sleeping (or trying to sleep thanks to the wonderful melofloquine-produced sleep disturbance currently disrupting my life) by 10.00 and up and about before 6.00 AM. Who would have thought I could function on this schedule a few months ago?

La Comida: Fruit. Tropical fruit. Amazing. Some other interesting cultural experiences...I ordered a corn on the cob from a vendor near the church. After grilling it, the man proceeded to douse it in mayonnaise. Uh? Maybe I'll just have a fried plaintain or twelve next time. On the bright side, I recently made a deal with the women who sells empanadas by the plaza. When we return from our tech trips, she'll teach me to make empanadas if I teach her English. I cannot wait. Hungry anyone?

With so much food, it's a good thing I've found my running crew. Unoffically-captained by the “Conejo Viejo” who has run upwards of 20 marathons and served as a PCV in Paraguay in the 70s, the five man team meets in the wee hours of the morning to jog through the valley. Starts everyday off right...especially since we have nescafe instead of folgers in our cup(s). (Although omnibus 106 does have a coffee club designed to satiate all of our real coffee withdrawal, at least while we're still at the training center).

Pictures will once again be posted on Facebook and Picasa.

Hay los vidrios (mi despedida preferida en este momento)!

Love,
Christy

Y por fin, llegamos!

We´re here. After waiting for what seemed like an eternity, the 62 members of omnibus 106 (the 106 group of PC volunteers in Ecuador)have arrived in Ecuador and settled in with our host families.

After our staging event (aka orientation) in Philadelphia, we departed from our hotel at 1:30 AM to begin an arduous 16 hour journey to Quito. In theory, it would have been a phenomenal opportunity to catch some zzzzzz´s. Unfortunately, excitement and a bit a apprehension made it impossible to sleep. While I needed rest, it did serve as a great opportunity to celebrate birthdays, bond with my fellow PCTs, and tone my biceps as I lugged too much luggage through some of the airports.

Upon arrival in Quito, PC Ecuador swooped us up and chauffered us to the PC training center in Tumbaco, a upper-middle class suburb outside of Quito. It was, unfortanately, already dark, thus making it impossible to enjoy the scenery.

The next few days could best be described as Tufts-in-Chile orientation week. We lived in dorms rooms on-site, played cards and ultimate frisbee, and attended various charlas conducted by speakers working in areas such as security and training. And we ate. A lot. All the time. Sound familiar?

Before lunch on Saturday, all 62 PCTs were herded on stage in front of the Ecuadorian host families and we were formally introduced to our new familias. I´m living with a mother, her 21-year-old daughter, and her 1 1/2 year old son and I absolutely love it. Although my internal clock has certainly been shaken up a bit. The family goes to bed around 9:00 and awakens around 5:00 everyday. The early bed time is for the best though; training starts at 8:00 each morning and its a bit of a commute.

Leaving with our host families also marked the first time that we were permitted to leave the PC compound. Ecuador is absolutely stunning; green mountains scrape the sky and flowers seemingly dot every tree. And the climate is amazing. Around 70 degrees and sunny every day in spite of what is reported by weather.com.

On Saturday, I spent the day meeting my host familia and exploring Tumbaco. After some intense soccer and volleyball games with my host nephew, we journeyed to the plaza, the fruteria (easily my favorite place in Tumbaco, and the soccer stadium to watch my my host brothers (who live down the street. actually, I think only family even lives on the street) game. Although the hincha wasn´t quite as crazy as that of cola cola, I think we could learn a few songs, paint our faces, and rival cola cola´s mob sometime soon.

After waking up embarrassingly late on Sunday (who knew that breakfast was at 7:00 on Sunday as well), we went on a paseo. My Spanish isn´t up to par and I thought we were merely going to the PC center so I could learn how to get to school, but we actually journeyed to an Andean town nearby - Quiche - to attend mass in the giant cathedral. It was absolutely loco; people were wandering around mid-prayer while police patrolled the crowds. We then meandered through the markets outside the church, listened to an Andean folk singer, and enjoyed a traditional almuerzo. Important note..when offered churros in Ecuador, don´t expect a fluffy pastry. Rather, expect a bag of snails in lemon juice and be expected to suck the snail out of the shell. Delicious but most definately a surprise.

During the week, almost all of our time is spent perfecting our Spanish, learning TEFL techniques, and constructing rooftop gardens at the PC center. I´ll try to update regularly, but I´m also without internet en casa, so I don´t expect to be on the computer too much.

En Números

14 months after submitting the initial application, 8 months after finishing my medical review, and 5 months after receiving my invitation to serve in Ecuador, I leave tomorrow for a 27 month stint as a TEFL volunteer. Por fin.

1 unforgettable senior week and graduation, 2 crammed suitcases, and 1982734912874 good-byes later, estoy lista (well, hopefully).