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).
27.9.11
La Suerte Que Tenemos: Un Milagrito en Bomboiza
I knew. Or I thought I knew. But on Saturday, I finally learned what it truly means to lack access to medical care.
My host family and I traveled to Bomboiza, a village consisting of a few hundred residents buried deep in the Amazon, on Saturday to visit some family friends and attend the town's festivals. The day passed tranquilly; we jumped in the river and frolicked amid raindrops and rainbows.
Unfortunately, the day took a radical turn from the worse when we returned to our friend's house. As we drove up, it was immediately evident that something was severely wrong. Dozens of individuals had gathered outside the house and huddled in small groups sobbing. An acquantaince had just revealed that he had passed the family's motorcycle about fifteen minutes outside town. It had been involved in a severe crash and, the man reported, their were no survivors; the family's fifteen-year-old son was believed dead.
As there is no hospital, centro de salud, or subcentro de salud in Bomboiza or within any nearby communities, the family had not even bothered to call for help. Lacking a car, they could not even go retrieve the bodies. Rather they were forced to wait helplessly until an acquantaince with a car (my host father Fausto arrived).
After Fausto departed to retrieve the corpses, the hoards remained outside the house. As I tried to console family members or distract toddlers, I felt utterly helpless in the midst of such tragedy. There was no cell phone signal; I couldn't even call for help had ambulances and EMTs actually existed. Hopelessness prevailed and rumors swirled. All four victims (two from each motorcycle) were believed dead and many feared bing attacked by the families of the other victims in an act of vigilante justice which highlighted the lack of a functioning justice system in the area.
After a painfully long time had passed, Fausto finally returned with the son and his friend. Miraculously, both had survived the crash although they were not wearing helmets. Though gravely wounded, they were brought to the hospital and continue improving. We later found out that the other victims survived as well, although too remain severaly injured.
In spite of the miraculous end to the terrifying events, the afternoon has left a resounding impression. Although I have long understood that many poor communities lack access to fundamental social institutions such as healthcare and justice, this problem is not simply manifested as a lack of services. Rather it creates a sense of hopelessness and fear. No one would wait to see the bodies before believing that all had died; they assumed the worst. Similarly, they assumed the worst of their neighbors when fearing mob violence. Their was no hope for the best, no trust, and, unfortunately, the lack of such fundamental emotions may be one of the most insurmountable obstacles facing those in Bomboiza as they search for a better tomorrow.
Although the near tragic accident certainly put a damper on our trip to Bomboiza, the night still had many bright spots. Whether listening to children boldly declare that they will be doctors so that they can live in Bomboiza and save people or listening to teenagers grumble about their classes but ultimately admit that any subject could be a means of escaping poverty, there we abundant signs that change may someday come. Although, while all deserve a better quality of life, I sincerely hope change does not require that the community abandon its cultural roots, since another highlight of the night was most definitely the indigneous dances celebrating the town's foundation however many years ago.
My host family and I traveled to Bomboiza, a village consisting of a few hundred residents buried deep in the Amazon, on Saturday to visit some family friends and attend the town's festivals. The day passed tranquilly; we jumped in the river and frolicked amid raindrops and rainbows.
Unfortunately, the day took a radical turn from the worse when we returned to our friend's house. As we drove up, it was immediately evident that something was severely wrong. Dozens of individuals had gathered outside the house and huddled in small groups sobbing. An acquantaince had just revealed that he had passed the family's motorcycle about fifteen minutes outside town. It had been involved in a severe crash and, the man reported, their were no survivors; the family's fifteen-year-old son was believed dead.
As there is no hospital, centro de salud, or subcentro de salud in Bomboiza or within any nearby communities, the family had not even bothered to call for help. Lacking a car, they could not even go retrieve the bodies. Rather they were forced to wait helplessly until an acquantaince with a car (my host father Fausto arrived).
After Fausto departed to retrieve the corpses, the hoards remained outside the house. As I tried to console family members or distract toddlers, I felt utterly helpless in the midst of such tragedy. There was no cell phone signal; I couldn't even call for help had ambulances and EMTs actually existed. Hopelessness prevailed and rumors swirled. All four victims (two from each motorcycle) were believed dead and many feared bing attacked by the families of the other victims in an act of vigilante justice which highlighted the lack of a functioning justice system in the area.
After a painfully long time had passed, Fausto finally returned with the son and his friend. Miraculously, both had survived the crash although they were not wearing helmets. Though gravely wounded, they were brought to the hospital and continue improving. We later found out that the other victims survived as well, although too remain severaly injured.
In spite of the miraculous end to the terrifying events, the afternoon has left a resounding impression. Although I have long understood that many poor communities lack access to fundamental social institutions such as healthcare and justice, this problem is not simply manifested as a lack of services. Rather it creates a sense of hopelessness and fear. No one would wait to see the bodies before believing that all had died; they assumed the worst. Similarly, they assumed the worst of their neighbors when fearing mob violence. Their was no hope for the best, no trust, and, unfortunately, the lack of such fundamental emotions may be one of the most insurmountable obstacles facing those in Bomboiza as they search for a better tomorrow.
Although the near tragic accident certainly put a damper on our trip to Bomboiza, the night still had many bright spots. Whether listening to children boldly declare that they will be doctors so that they can live in Bomboiza and save people or listening to teenagers grumble about their classes but ultimately admit that any subject could be a means of escaping poverty, there we abundant signs that change may someday come. Although, while all deserve a better quality of life, I sincerely hope change does not require that the community abandon its cultural roots, since another highlight of the night was most definitely the indigneous dances celebrating the town's foundation however many years ago.
26.9.11
Moving Home
One month. It's unbelievable how quickly time has passed since the seemingly interminable 18 hour journey from the training center in Tumbaco to my new home in Zamora, Ecuador. The past few weeks have been a whirlwind of introductions, English classes, and quick jaunts to various nooks in the Ecuadorian jungle.
Most of my time, unsurprisingly, has been dedicated to my work. As a TEFL volunteer, my primary project involves working as an English teacher in a local high school. Specifically, I co-teach with Ecuadorian teachers as a means of improving their English as well as that of our students. We plan together, practice together, and conduct classes in tandem; it sounds much easier than it is, but I've been extremely lucky in that the English teachers at Colegio 12 de Febrero have been extraordinarily welcoming and eager to work together.
In addition to adjusting to a co-teaching model which is unfamiliar to all involved, much of my work throughout the first few weeks has included adjusting to life within an Ecuadorian high school with students ranging from 11 -20 years old. Classrooms consist of roughly 40 students, grouped in accordance with their academic performance during previous years. The composition of the class never shifts as professors brave the rains to walk from classroom to classroom as opposed to the students. Moreover, most of the buildings lack windows; rather, they have metal slats enabling birds and other distracting wildlife to interrupt class at seemingly the least opportune moments.
I have not, however, been the only teacher adjusting to a new educational system at Colegio 12 de Febrero. Under new educational policies implemented by Correa's government, all teachers now must work eight hours per day. Therefore, we are at the school from 7:00-1:00, go home for lunch from 1:00-2:00, and return from 2:00-4:00 ostensibly to grade student work and plan our classes. As a new teacher, this schedule seems fair, but it is quite controversial amongst the Ecuadorian staff given that they now must work two more hours each day but did not receive a pay raise. In fact, many are earning significantly less money since they can no longer work second jobs during the afternoon or work during the night session at the Colegio as Correa also forbade individual's from earning two government salaries.
In spite of the long hours, I have still begun exploring potential secondary projects. Immediately after arriving, Jarrett, Manny, Will, and I conducted English courses for teachers' from throughout the province and, as suggested by staff from the Ministry of Education, we will most likely by hosting more workshops in the future. Moreover, the librarian at the Colegio recently approached me and another volunteer about helping at a center for disabled members of the community. Until recently, disabled Ecuadorians were essentially institutionalized and segregated from the populace. Recent laws have mandated their inclusion in schools, but inclusion most certainly does not denote that they receive adequate support. Thus, the center seeks to provide support and resources to the disabled and their families. Although the details of a project have yet to be discussed, I greatly enjoyed meeting the center's constituents at a recent birthday party at the center. Other potential projects proposed by staff at the colegio include creating a nutrition program for students, microconsignment work with some of my former colleagues in Paraguay who now work in southern Ecuador, and coaching girls' sports teams.
In spite of an ever-increasing workload, I have still managed to find time to explore Zamora and its surroundings with my host family, friends, and others PCVs. Some of my favorite spots: my host grandfather's farm outside Yantzaza where I've learned to make homemade empanadas (maybe I no longer qualify as a karishina?) and maintain a herd of cattle, Loja where the entirety of Southern Ecuador convened to celebrate the Virgen del Cisne at the beginning of September by attending a massive fair and my Peace Corps cluster convened to relax and meet nearby volunteers, El Pangui where I sat under the stars chomping on street meat in the midst of a hot, humid jungle night, and the road to Podocarpus where I long run each weekend and enjoy amazing views of the jungle, mountains, and so many birds.
Most of my time, unsurprisingly, has been dedicated to my work. As a TEFL volunteer, my primary project involves working as an English teacher in a local high school. Specifically, I co-teach with Ecuadorian teachers as a means of improving their English as well as that of our students. We plan together, practice together, and conduct classes in tandem; it sounds much easier than it is, but I've been extremely lucky in that the English teachers at Colegio 12 de Febrero have been extraordinarily welcoming and eager to work together.
In addition to adjusting to a co-teaching model which is unfamiliar to all involved, much of my work throughout the first few weeks has included adjusting to life within an Ecuadorian high school with students ranging from 11 -20 years old. Classrooms consist of roughly 40 students, grouped in accordance with their academic performance during previous years. The composition of the class never shifts as professors brave the rains to walk from classroom to classroom as opposed to the students. Moreover, most of the buildings lack windows; rather, they have metal slats enabling birds and other distracting wildlife to interrupt class at seemingly the least opportune moments.
I have not, however, been the only teacher adjusting to a new educational system at Colegio 12 de Febrero. Under new educational policies implemented by Correa's government, all teachers now must work eight hours per day. Therefore, we are at the school from 7:00-1:00, go home for lunch from 1:00-2:00, and return from 2:00-4:00 ostensibly to grade student work and plan our classes. As a new teacher, this schedule seems fair, but it is quite controversial amongst the Ecuadorian staff given that they now must work two more hours each day but did not receive a pay raise. In fact, many are earning significantly less money since they can no longer work second jobs during the afternoon or work during the night session at the Colegio as Correa also forbade individual's from earning two government salaries.
In spite of the long hours, I have still begun exploring potential secondary projects. Immediately after arriving, Jarrett, Manny, Will, and I conducted English courses for teachers' from throughout the province and, as suggested by staff from the Ministry of Education, we will most likely by hosting more workshops in the future. Moreover, the librarian at the Colegio recently approached me and another volunteer about helping at a center for disabled members of the community. Until recently, disabled Ecuadorians were essentially institutionalized and segregated from the populace. Recent laws have mandated their inclusion in schools, but inclusion most certainly does not denote that they receive adequate support. Thus, the center seeks to provide support and resources to the disabled and their families. Although the details of a project have yet to be discussed, I greatly enjoyed meeting the center's constituents at a recent birthday party at the center. Other potential projects proposed by staff at the colegio include creating a nutrition program for students, microconsignment work with some of my former colleagues in Paraguay who now work in southern Ecuador, and coaching girls' sports teams.
In spite of an ever-increasing workload, I have still managed to find time to explore Zamora and its surroundings with my host family, friends, and others PCVs. Some of my favorite spots: my host grandfather's farm outside Yantzaza where I've learned to make homemade empanadas (maybe I no longer qualify as a karishina?) and maintain a herd of cattle, Loja where the entirety of Southern Ecuador convened to celebrate the Virgen del Cisne at the beginning of September by attending a massive fair and my Peace Corps cluster convened to relax and meet nearby volunteers, El Pangui where I sat under the stars chomping on street meat in the midst of a hot, humid jungle night, and the road to Podocarpus where I long run each weekend and enjoy amazing views of the jungle, mountains, and so many birds.
23.8.11
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.
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.
18.8.11
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!
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?
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?
7.8.11
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.
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.
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