Buen Provecho

Ten months ago, I would have scoffed if you had offered me a lukewarm cup of instant coffee. Ten months ago, I would have complained incessantly if anyone dared to make me grilled cheese with quesillo instead of good ole' cheddar cheese. Ten months ago, my local “supermarket” carried Jiff, Skippy, AND Peter Pan peanut butter instead of generic mashed peanuts. Ten months ago I could buy ready-made pasta sauce instead of chopping up vegetable and boiling them for eons. Ten months ago...

I most definitely would not snacking on an humita as I write this blog.

Food.

In the words of chef James Beard, “Food is our common ground, a universal experience.”  Across the globe, we all eat. Some eat more than others. Billions of individuals struggle to survive without enough food to eat. But, in order to live, all need a bit of nourishment each day.

Yet, this basic fundamental need for food is the only universal. What we eat and how we eat is inherently linked to our surroundings and culture. Beyond a base need to consume calories, eating is an intensely local experience.

Since moving to Zamora, the foods I ingest daily have changed as I have begun to incorporate many local treats into my diet. Favorites include humitas (ground corn and cheese with a “healthy” dose of pig fat), cevichochos (dried corn, plantains, tomatoes, and lime), empanadas (fried cheese pastries), and chocobananas (frozen bananas covered in chocolate...only 10 cents apiece!)  Beyond prepared dishes, the fruit and vegetable selection available in the chaotic Sunday market shames the selection found in most United States supermarkets. Guayabas, machete guayabas, zapotes, granadillas, uvillas, pitahayas, chontas, naranjillas, and tree tomatoes are abundant. Even fruits found throughout the United States come in more varieties; bananas can be either yellow, green, or red! 

Yet, as the variety of fruits found in my refrigerator has grown, other food have disappeared from my diet. Perhaps my favorite food in the United States—peanut butter—is hard to obtain here. I either have to buy a ground peanut substitute available in the local market or trek to SuperMaxi (a large and overpriced supermarket in Loja) and hope that they currently have either Peter Pan or Jiffy available for about $7.00 per jar. Craving Reese's Pieces? Forget about it. Want some Starbursts? Keep dreaming. Just as there are many more varieties of fruits and vegetables available here, there are many more varieties of packaged food available in the local Shaw's.

Beyond the food on my plate, the experience of eating has been transformed since moving to the southern hemisphere. Growing up, dinner was always the most important meal. Although frequently interrupted by a plethora  of sports practices, scout meetings, and the like my mother always tried to serve the family together. It was the largest meal of day after all; we groggilly ate cereal for breakfast before dawn and brought either sandwiches or yogurt to either school or work.

In Ecuador, however, lunch is the most important meal of the day. After school ends at 1:00, teachers and students alike return to their houses to eat with their families. The teachers and staff then return to the school at 2:00 under the controversial new education law requiring all public servants to work for at least 8 hours per day. Such a small window for lunch requires significant adjustment. By the time teachers arrive at home, they have barelyenough time to guzzle down the obligatory appetizer, namely a big steaming bowl of soup regardless of the soaring temperatures outside. As soon as the last drops of broth have been scraped from the bowl, all must dive into the second platter with a vengeance if they plan to return to work ontime. Not only does the plate contain a massive heap (Chimborazo if you will) of rice, but there is typically also a bit of meat or chicken and a spoonful of salad (which generally consists of only one or two vegetables maximum).  The meal isn't over after downing such a large quantity of food, however. A large glass of lukewarm “refresco” or “horchata” is still waiting as Ecuadorians almost never touch their beverage until they have devoured all of their food.

Teachers successfully returning to work on time need to eat with focus given how much food arrives with a typical lunch. Luckily, the majority of Ecuadorians do not seem to talk much once receiving their plates (which are always filled with food in the kitchen). As soon as the plate arrives—whether the others at the table have received their portion or not—an individual will typically dive into their food with admirable focus. In spite of the importance of familial meals, conversation is somewhat rare. Each person focuses on finishing their food before conversing. Although I do not know the reasoning behind this, I suspect it may stem from a desire to avoid the legions of  bugs apt to arrive whenever food is left around for more than a few seconds.

Moreover, many Ecuadorians forgo forks and knives in favor of large spoons. Thus, it is possible to eat significant quantities of food quite rapidly given how much fits into each spoonful. Anything that needs to be cut—such as meat—is simple torn with one's fingers. Quite efficient. Quite messy. Luckily, as I have somewhat recently become a vegetarian to protest the impact of the meat industry on the rainforest, by hands remain clean both literally and figuaratively.

Thus, as I sit spooning heaping spoonfuls of rice with nary a drop of water to wash it down, it is clear that the need for food may indeed be universal but the act of consuming it most certainly is not.

Ridin` Dirty

We made it. Miraculously, we made it.

Travel in Zamora-Chinchipe is always an adventure. In spite of the omnipresent “Revolución Cuidadania”--a public works program headed by President Rafael Correa that seeks to improve infrastructure throughout the country—travel in rural Ecuador remains perilous especially during the rainy season. The vast majority of roads are dirt. This is not problematic in dryer zones, but in the Amazonian provinces, for example, the roads often turn into impassable mud pits riddled with pot holes. Given that the entire province on Zamora-Chinchipe only has one paved road connecting different towns and communities (within individual cities/towns small roads are often paved), travel can be quite difficult. Some parts of the province, namely the southern counties of Chinchipe and Palanda, have no paved roads connecting towns whatsoever.

Moreover, muddy roads are not the only problem plaguing the transportation system. Given that Zamora-Chinchipe lies in the foothills of the Andes, most roads wind around mountain ridges. Landslides, therefore, are a constant threat. Roads are frequently closed, travelers stranded, and communities isolated until road crews can clear the way.  Unfortunately, landslides are not entirely avoidable; they are a natural part of the mountainous ecosystem in which I live. Yet, the problem is exacerbated by road construction, agriculture, and deforestation. Natural landslides are generally only a couple of meters wide; the landslides common throughout the province often span a dozen meters.

Why so much frusteration with the road system? A friend had invited a group of our friends to pick fruit at his farm in the countryside. Finally, after several failed attempts to visit, we ventured to his town, Numpam,he  early Saturday morning. It initially seemed like an easy trip; we needed to take the 8.45 bus to the town of Guadalupe and walk about thirty minutes to the Shuar community. Yet, our plans were immediately smashed when we discovered that the needed bus rout had been unexplicably removed the day before. Typical.

Given that the student does not have cellular phone service in his home, we could not call and cancel. We had to find another way to trek into the countryside. We eventually decided to take a bus destined for Yantzaza. We did not go all the way to Yantzaza, however. Rather we disembarked in La Saquea and began asking for a ride to Guadalupe. Luckily, a provincial fireman in the pickup truck was heading in that direction and he allowed the five of us to pile into the back of the truck. For a moment, it seemed as if we would make it after all.

Unfortunately, our plans were dashed about fifteen minutes later. A mountainside had collapsed the night before. The road was blocked. No había paso.

Once again, we were in luck. The young fireman needed to find a way to Guadalupe and he thus suggested returning to La Saquea and returning via the “bad” road on the other side of the river. Ironically, the “good” road as impassable, thus resulting in a trip along the muddy narrow track on the other side of the river. We eagerly agreed and, mud-flying, we were soon whizzing along the narrow curves until arriving in Guadalupe.

Although the fireman stayed in the town, our trip was not over. We continued on foot for another thirty minutes until reaching the Shuar community of Numpam. Although motorcycles can traverse the muddy road , the majority of residents trek on foot. It's a stunning walk and, for the majority, this is an easy, albeit time-consuming, trip. Some, however, such as the father of my friend, can no longer make such a long journey on foot due to medical problems stemming from both old-age and a lifetime of arduous agricultural work. He  is, therefore, confined to his home. It is simply too difficult to leave.

           

We would, on the other hand, be leaving in a few short hours and our hosts wasted no time in welcoming us to their community. As soon as we finished greeting what seemed to be every member of the extended family or the entire town, we were handed glasses brimming with chicha de yucca. Chicha de Yucca—fermented yucca juice—is vile and far too alcoholic to consume at 11:30 am. Moreover, traditional recipes require that the cooks or our hosts chew the yucca before allowing it to ferment. Not an appealing midmorning snack. Regardless, refusing was not an option; to refuse an offer of chicha de yucca is extremely rude and inconsiderate.

After struggling to down glass after glass of yucca de chicha, we began exploring the farm. As we roamed through the fruit trees growing amid the rainforest, we gourged ourselves on jungle treats  such as chonta, guava,  guayaba, and maracaña. We grabbed long-hanging fruits from the lowest branches as children scaled trees and tossed us fruits from above. Their agility was impressive; without fear nor caution they shimmied along  branches several meters above the ground.

Within an hour, I was not only impressed by the amount of food we had eaten and stored in giant grain sacks, but by our hosts' insights into the uses of different plants. Regardless of the plant, they seemed to know how to prepare it for human consumption. If a plant proved toxic berries, for instance, they always could provide another use. The toxic greenish-blue berries down yonder? Feed them to the fish so they die and float to the surface; then, they can easily be caught and cooked by humans (the berries consequently do not poison humans). As one woman aptly pointed out, the forest can provide plenty of food to feed impovershed communities (87% of Shuar live beneath the poverty line). Yet, they still need money—school materials, clothes, etc. don't grow on trees...even in the rainforest.

Making money, unfortunately, is not particularly easy to agricultural communities buried in the rainforest. Produce sells for shockingly low prices in the market—six pounds of potatoes only garners $1.00 in the Sunday market. Yet, there is home. Many members of the community hae recently built an organic fish farm with the help of experts at a nearby agro-pecuarian program. Moreover, others are finding jobs in nearby mining projects run by foreign conglomerates from countries ranging from China to Canada. While these projects are extraordinarily controversial given their environmental impacts, and their effects on local communities such as increased alcoholism (as demonstrated by a study conducted by Save the Children), they have already begun bringing work, albeit often low-paying and dangerous work, to remote corners of the jungle.

Will the economic situation improve in the next few years? Given that the reserves of uranium, gold, and silver are expected to value several billion dollars, one hopes that the proceeds will trickle down to area residents. After all, they will be the ones enduring the environmental damages imperiling the very jungle on which they now rely for much of their food and their livlihoods. Will the mining be for the best? For the worst? Only time will tell, but for now, the debate rages on in Ecuador and beyond.

Thirty-Three

33.

Since February 20^th, we have only had 33 days of school in a period in which were 55 weekdays. We have,  therefore, enjoyed 22 days off as well and very few of these vacation days correspond with national and provincial holidays. Rather, classes have been cancelled for nearly every reason imaginable ranging from intra-school soccer and basketball tournaments to “Día del Maestro” or Teacher's Day.

Although I've enjoyed lounging in my hammock with a book, I'm becoming increasingly concerned about the lack of classes. By cancelling school constantly, the administration inherently devalues the education it provides to students. It often appears as if soccer is more important than mathematics. Moreover, the quality of the education suffers as teachers struggle to introduce new material as the students constantly need to review after long breaks. We seemingly need to restart each unit six times before we can string together enough classes to accomplish anything.

Yet, in spite of my reservations about the lack of school, the past few months have proved quite enjoyable. At the beginning of April, we enjoyed a week-long break for Semana Santa. Even though—given that 95% of Ecuadorians identify as Roman Catholic—this is clearly a very important holy week for most, the vast majority of public institutions and schools in Ecuador only had two days of vacation (Thursday and Friday). Even fisco-misional schools, which are religious institutions funded by the state, had classes for most of the week. Yet, students attending colegio “12 de febrero” enjoyed five days off.

Although I considered travelling over the extended break, I ultimately decided to remain in Zamora for various reasons. In addition to relaxing in my hammock and devouring the first two books of the Millenium trilogy, I continued volunteering in APNELE (a center for disabled individuals), which remained open in spite of the holiday. Not only did we continue with our normal activities—training for the special Olympics, occupational therapy, etc.,--but we also cooked fonesca, a traditional Ecuadorian soup consumed during holy week. It consists of various grains as well as cheese and vegetables but no meat. Quite delicious.

Stomachs overflowing after our gourmet lunch of fried tilapia, a local specialty, and fonesca, the other staff members and I began the clean-up. As I was collecting stray soccer balls in the dirt lot behind the center, I was approached by a shy little girl hanging clothing on the line. Given that APNELE shares a building with a state-run foster home, I immediately assumed that the petite ten-year-old lived in the institution and after briefly talking with the girl discovered that I was indeed correct. Although not technically an orphan, the young lady had always lived deep in the campo in extreme poverty. She was ten-years-old and had never even been to school. Soon, I was playing soccer and tutoring the girl as well as her pseudo-siblings also living in the house and an afternoon of laughing was transformed into a semi-project in which I “mentor” the youngsters living in the home. Although I enjoy spending time with the children, my already overflowing schedule is making it difficult to make a regular commitment to them but I am hoping to have more free time come summer vacation.

Following the prolonged vacation for semana santa, I expected several full weeks of school. After all—apart from Marathon Monday—there arn't any major holidays in April. Somehow, I managed to forget Teacher's Day; after only three days of classes, students once again enjoyed two days of vacation. Meanwhile, teachers spent Thursday playing soccer and frolicking under the sun at a school-sponsored party. Good times. Bad sunburn. And no worries about exhaustion on Friday because the following day was also declared feriado and students did not go to school.

Completely rested after the long weekend, I returned to school ready for five days of classes. Students only had two days of work; due to juntas del curso, students enjoyed vacation on Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday. Teachers—not including Peace Corps volunteers-- on the other hand, had to attend sessions in which they submitted students grades for the past quimester and discuss their behavior. As I did not attend juntas, I will not comment on the utility of such meetings but three days of classes cancelled once again? Do Zamoran students EVER go to school?

Miraculously, we had a full week of school following the juntas del curso. This week also marked the beginning of the annual sports tournament between the staff of  all public institutions in Zamora ranging from the hospital to the high schools. Given the emphasis on appearance in Ecuadorian culture, all teams had to march in a parade through town in their full uniforms prior to the tournament. This was the fifth parade in which I have marched since arriving in Zamora less than a year ago. Insane. The tournament has been quite enjoyable though; I'm playing soccer and basketball which has been a completely different experience than in the US of A given that I tower over almost every other Ecuadorian in this Amazonian town.

And so life rolls on in my jungle paradise. Even with all the vacation from school, there is little time fo boredom. Other projects, dirt roads open for running, rainforest hikes, and my hammock call my attention. Eleven months have gone by since I arrived in the southern hemisphere, but it's passing in a blink.