The plan is to have two parts to this post, Guayaquil and Sùa, however, I have to get back to Hostal Theresa as soon as I get a text that my next visitor is here, so I dont promise that I will be able to stick to that plan. The thing is that I live in Guayaquil, the BIG CITY with the airport and the major bus terminal. So I have had lots of visitors lately at my little home. Its fun, but it means that I am getting to my Omnibus New Years Beach Party late, and that I dont have lots of toilet paper. Ahhh, I do it to myself.
So Christmas in Ecuador. You would think that for a country that is so Christian that Christmas would be a crazy big deal. With the Mujeres, the phrase "Dios Bendiga" --God Bless You-- is used like "Aloha." In that its used for hello and goodbye...and how are you, and I am fine, and what time is it...thats an exaggeration, but Im saying, they use it a lot. I, who do not follow any specific religion (but when asked about religion, I reply that my mom goes to church every Sunday, its sort of the easy way out rather than explaining my multi-dios-religion idea), have almost caught myself saying it on more than one occasion. But no, Christmas could have easily passed without me even noticing, but for the planning of holiday parties in the barrio. I think what it boils down to is that folks here, at least folks that I know here, dont have a whole lot of dinero. For that reason, the focus on buying presents, giving presents, getting presents and all that goes away. And really, when you think about it, thats what all the hoopla in the States comes down to at this time of year. Except maybe in the churches. I am sure that in churches, both here and in the States, that Christmas is discussed not as a reason to buy the latest Barbie doll, pair of shoes, or Ambercrombie distressed jeans, but as you know, the birth of Christ. So I guess maybe I didnt notice Christmas so much because I dont go to church? Maybe its just ME who was so focused on the materialness of Christmas in the States...? Who knows, whatever, on with the story.
Like I said, I was, to some extent, involved in the planning of the Christmas party in the barrio with the Mujeres. Basically the way it goes is that every year, barrios across the city request toys and candy from people and organizations with money so that they can have a party for the barrio kids. The Mujeres, being the kick ass group that they are, are in charge of such activities every year in their barrio. In the weeks and days coming up to the party, which took place on the Sunday before Christmas, I was worried that it wasnt going to happen. There were no toys, no candy. At a meeting at my main organization's office, there was a long discussion amongst the promotores that their barrios were having the same problem. That they had "ni un caramelo" (not even one piece of candy) to give out to the kids. Side-note: this conversation was immediately followed by the planning of the office Christmas party, to which they planned to buy several turkeys, beer, champagne, salads, etc. that they would all chip in to pay for. I held my tongue that perhaps the better way to spend that money--turkey is a VERY expensive meat in this country, for whatever reason--would be to, oh, I dont know, buy some candies and toys for the barrio kids? I figured this happens every year, and that maybe there was something that I was missing...
Well, there was something that I was missing. I guess I failed to take into account that, generally speaking, in this country things happen at the last minute. When I left the barrio on Friday, there were no candies, no toys, no nothing for the party. When I came back on Sunday to help set up for the party, there was a room full of stuff to give out to the kids. I have no idea where it came from. I know that the candy came from the national children's rights organization here, the toys came from...? Dont know. Someone with a good heart. When I arrived, the Mujeres' president said "¡Aqui está una mujer de la lucha!" ("Here is a woman of the struggle!" but also Mujeres de Lucha is their group name), it might have been one of the greatest moments of my life, just sayin.
We started setting up the tables, chairs and streamers outside (weird! Christmas party outside! Its hot out, no snow!). Then the president and the member in charge of organizing the gifts called me into the gift room. They explained that they had various presents for boys and girls of different ages, and a bag of candies for each child. The president was arguing that we should wrap the gifts, the other member was saying that if we wrapped them, we wouldnt be able to tell them apart and plus we didnt have any wrapping paper. I thought to myself, "I'm confused. Dont we have this party every year?? How's about we do what we did last year...and why didnt we get some wrapping paper if we knew we were giving gifts?" Out-loud, I responded that much of the fun of a child getting a gift comes from opening it, so we should wrap them. And although we dont have paper, we do have a mass amount of holiday printed plastic bags, which we could cut and use to wrap the gifts. And to tell the gifts apart? Well, we could separate them into larger plastic bags once they were wrapped, and label said bags as gifts for young kids, girls under 10, boys under 10, girls 10 and over, boys 10 and over. Wow! Best idea ever! So we got to wrapping. As we were wrapping, there was constant discussion on if a gift should be for a boy or a girl. Dolls for the girls, guns for the boys. I held back my opinions that teaching this kind of gender roles is harmful to children and society, and that giving children guns desensitizes them to violence. Rather, I gently answered that the SpongeBob cell phone could easily be played with by both boys and girls, and dutifully put the Walkie-Talkie Spy set in the "boys 10 and over" bag.
So the party gets under way complete with the Christian-Latino-Band and a prayer led by the president of the Mujeres. The kids seemed to be having a good time, and I love watching happy kids, so I was having a good time as well. That goodness was temporarily halted by one little girl. Now, I hate to say bad stuff about kids. I have never been a real "loves to work with children" kind of person, but I like kids, they are cool with me as long as they are nice. This little girl was not so nice. I had noticed her at the beginning of the party cuz she was just sitting there staring at me. I am sort of used to that because there are not a lot of new faces in the barrio, so when there is one, you get stared at. I stared back and winked at her and stuck out my tongue. Thats my usual response to kids. Usually they know I am kidding and giggle and stick their tongue back out. She didnt. She just kept staring at me.
So later during the party, I was sitting with a barrio kid that I know on my lap (after he excitedly modeled his new shoes, jeans and tshirt to me, he's so cute!) watching a Simon Says type of game. The girl, I would guess age 7or 8 is sitting next to me. She sort of hits me on the thigh. I figure shes just playing around, so I tap her back on her thigh. She hits back, closed fist this time, a little harder. This continues for some time. She gets harder with each hit, but still, I figure shes a kid, she just doesnt realize it. I was wrong. After a while, she raises her hand in the air makes a fist and looks me straight in the eye. I say, "No. No me pegas." (Don't hit me). I'm not yelling, but I am speaking sternly, so that she knows that the game is over. She responds by pinching me! What! There is NO SUCH THING as a playful pinch. I tell her no again, she pinches me again. I grab her wrist as she goes for a third, and tell her "No seas malcreada." (literally means "Dont be poorly raised," but is used as "Dont be sassy"). "No seas malcreado/a" (depending on if you are saying it to a male of female child) is a phrase used often here in Ecuador. I really disliked the phrase until right then at that moment. Mostly because its usually a parent saying it to their own child, and I'm like, what? YOU raised her! If shes poorly raised, its your own damn fault. But, c'mon, pinching? Thats malcreada if you ask me. Her response? Not shame, not saying shes sorry, nope. She gets up, and spits on me! I am NOT kidding! This little rugrat kid spit on my jeans. MALCREADA! I get up, put the kid who is still sitting on my lap on the chair, and calmly walk away. I know how to discipline and lecture kids with patience in English, but I dont know those words in Spanish, especially not when I am pissed that some freaking kid just spit on my pants.
I watched the kid for the rest of the party. She got picked on a lot by the other kids. Her hair got pulled a lot, other kids hit her, kicked her, yelled at her. She always did it back, often she was even the one that started it. But it always ended with her rolling around on the ground, screaming her lungs out that someone had hit her. The most interesting thing was that no one seemed to care. Here is this little girl in the middle of a Christmas party, screaming bloody murder while the Christian Band plays a holiday hit, and no one does a thing. I felt horrible, because usually when kids are crying in the barrio (which is a common occurrence because kids fight A LOT here, might have to do with giving guns as presents, or the fact that violence against kids here is BEYOND common place) I will go over to them, and ask what happened. They usually respond by crying harder (you know how kids are, it always hurt more when someone's paying attention) and tell me tearily that someone hit them. I ask where it hurts, look at that spot, ignore what looks like a cigarette burn on their back, and tell them I dont see anything. I rub their back and tell them its okay, and wipe off their tears with my shirt. By then the kid that hit them, usually their sibling or neighbor, comes back and gets them and they run off playing again. But with this kid, I gotta say I was a little scared. She pinched me! AND she spit on me! What if she did it again?? I wanted to help her, but I didnt know what to do that wouldnt end up in making the situation worse. I saw someone trying to console her, and she just started pounding her fists at them. The only person who could console her was the president of the Mujeres, who she seemed to know (which was weird, because I have NEVER seen this kid before, and I know her grandchildren). I get the feeling that there is some crazy bad shit going on in this kid's house. No children come out of their mother responding to life by hitting, kicking, pinching and/or spitting. Children who behave this way, in my opinion, do so because they are malcreados. They have learned this behavior from their parents and caregivers, probably from direct experience.
So what do I do? My job in the States was to take kids who were being abused and neglected by their parents away from their parents, put them into a (usually) safe home, and help their parents learn how not to treat their children in this manner. That job doesnt exist here. I am pretty sure its not illegal to abuse your children here. And if it is, its probably one of those laws that gets ignored like not driving on the wrong side of the road, and not having your 6 year old sell candies on the bus, and not drinking while driving a city bus. I know for sure that my old job doesnt exist here. In fact, I have been told that I probably shouldnt discuss my old job in too much detail to people here, because it might result in them not trusting me. With a judge and a law behind me, I know what to do about child abuse. Without that system, I have found myself at a loss. I have found that I have become the well-meaning neighbor who rubs your kid's back when the your other kid hits them, and ignores the cigarette burns she sees there. I have become the passerby who averts her eyes when she sees your chasing your kid into the house with while waving a large stick in the air (the same stick I just saw you grab from your child's hand after he hit the neighbor kid with it), the passerby who cringes at his screams, but does not call the cops to intervene (because what would they say??). I have become the person who sees a teenager kick a kitten and tells her not to, but doesnt actually DO anything to get her to stop. Who have I become?
I thought this experience was going to make me a better person, but sometimes I wonder what effects its really having on me. We were told a story at training of a house warming party that a volunteer had, and a woman who came to the party without her husbands permission. The husband came over, told her to come home, and she ignored him. He came back over and proceeded to beat the woman on the volunteer's porch. When the volunteer tried to intervene, the rest of the community told her it was best not to, for her won safety. A friend of mine told me about a woman who lifted her sunglasses to show a bruised eye in response to a question about domestic violence in her community. I told my friend to go back over and talk to the woman, even just to tell her that someone wants to hear her story. I think thats the right thing to do, to listen. And I WANT to listen to these kids. The problem is, I dont know HOW. I know better than to just bust into their homes and try to stop whats going on, I have been the social worker who hears from a 12 year old that she got whipped even harder after the teacher reported the abuse and her mom found out. So what do I do? How many times can I ask that in one post? What do I do?
I guess all I can do is to help the community in more round about ways. Maybe I can start some kind of afterschool program with some kids? Something to get their minds thinking, to get their self esteem rising, to get their hands moving in peaceful manners. I can keep helping the Mujeres, as they are helping the community. They might not be stopping the kids from getting hit, but putting food on a family's table is better than doing nothing at all. I have been helping the Mujeres in applying for some grants recently--one to get some much needed supplies for the bakery (they make the bread by hand--every step except the baking in the oven is done by the hands of one of two women. Very time consuming, but the machines to make bread are very expensive). The other is to get supplies for the lunch program, like larger pots, cooking spoons, plates, cups, silverware, that kind of stuff (which is also wildly expensive here, which is why I only own about 3 spoons and forks, not a very good thing for a psuedo-hostal owner, but I make sure my guests know that food is not included in their stay). That grant is also for money to cover kids who's families cant pay for their lunch. Also, the US Consulate's office organized a Christmas Food Drive for the Mujeres. They ended up donating over 1000 pounds of food to the lunch program, it was AMAZING. The food wont last for long, but it will allow the lunch program to pay off some debts to the store, and aid in this crazy game of catch-up that is going on. The Mujeres were so happy, the woman who makes all the food for the lunch program started crying. They are just not used to people caring or noticing the work that they do.
They try to teach the kids to be polite when they are getting their food, but saying a simple "Gracias" is something they often need to be reminded to do. Again, I blame it on the malcreado. I noticed the same problem at the Christmas party, some kids didnt say thank you for their gifts, the soda, or the food. And you know what? Neither did most of the parents. I swear I saw one lady come up with a kid to get a bag of candy, and then come back later with a different kid to ask for more. I recognized her, but not the kid, so I told her that I had already given her candy. She said she had two kids, I responded that we didnt have enough for everyone. What I really thought was that we are giving baggies of candy (chewy and hard candy) and even if they both really were her kids, they were both under the age of 3, and really didnt need a baggie of candy each. And that she was a bit malcreada herself for asking.
Ah, this life that I live. Sometimes I just get so frustrated. Sometimes it feels like looking at a huge snowy mountain waiting to be climbed, and all I am wearing is a swimming suit and flipflops. Sometimes I just dont know what to do.
Wow, sorry if that post brought you down a bit, I just read through it myself again. I promise that my Christmas wasnt bad. Thats part 2 to this post: Christmas in Súa with some volunteer friends. I just hope I get the time to get around to writing it...but not today. Hasta Luego, folks.
Theresa
Sunday, December 30, 2007
Friday, December 21, 2007
I have No Idea what Keeps them Coming Back.
With a title like that, this post could easily be about my roommates. Roommates? But you thought I lived alone now? Oh, I do. Alone with a shit-ton of ants. I dont know what keeps them coming back, but a fellow volunteer believes that the ants in the bathroom are attracted to some kind of mold that forms on the bottom of sinks. Dont judge, I am sure you have it on your sink, too! My solution (in case you also have ants and are too cheap to buy ant-killer, too embarrased to tell your landlord that you are afraid of a bunch of ants, and sick of your home smelling like nail-polish remover from spraying ants dead all the time) is tape. Heavy duty Scotch tape. I used it to seal up the space between where my faucet connects to the wall, because (after much time spent studying their routes and behaviors) I determined that that is where the ants are coming from. This was only after I flooded a million of them out of the sink and then doused them with nail polish remover. But the solution worked. The ants always come in the morning, so the first morning I ran downstairs like there were presents waiting for me under a Chirstmas tree and went to see if there were any ants. And there were! There were tons of ants crawling all around the inside of my Scotch tape trap, wondering in their ant-like-way why they could not get out. Haha! I am bigger and stronger and will always win! They havent come back in three days now...
Anyhow, I could write a whole post about the ants that I kill on a daily basis (not ALL the ants come from that opening, so there are still many an ant in my home. Especially if I leave food in the sink over night...) but I wont. Mostly just for your own benefit, because I am sure that reading about ants in my home is not what you want to learn about my wild, exotic, Peace Corps adventures.
Instead, I write to you today about the Jovenes de Afromix. That is the group of kids that I work with out in Isla Trinitaria. Last week a volunteer friend of mine said she would like to come out and meet said jovenes, to try and figure out what it is that keeps them coming back every week. I told her I have know idea what it is, but I hope it keeps happening.
Now, I will not idealize the situation for you, its not all rainbows and butterflies and well formed groups. The Afromix kids are like most teenagers: inconsistant. There is a steady group of about 7 or 8 kids that are there every week, without fail. Then there is a trickle-in group of about 5 or 6 more that sometimes are there and sometimes are not. Then there is a large group of kids that I barely ever see. But either way, its more than I can ask for. I got lucky with my site placement, in that there were decently formed groups already here when I arrived, and Afromix was one such group. In the 3ish months that I have been here, we "formed" Afromix by joining two neighboring groups together. On Tuesdays we generally do charlas and on Thursdays we do hiphop dance class. Like I said, the number of kids varies a lot, and I have become pretty worried in the last few weeks because the majority of guys in the group have stopped coming. I think they get embarrased to be dancing and dont want to do that, and since they stopped coming for a few weeks maybe they just dont feel like coming back...? I am not really sure. But I have chosen not to blame myself for that one and just be happy with what I have got, which is a super great group of young ladies and a few young men when we are lucky.
Last week Thursday and this week Tuesday got cancelled due to lack of keys to enter the building where we meet. I was disappointed, but it was a good thing at the same time. The kids still came out both days (because no one knew we didnt have keys until we got there) and were super disappointed to not have a meeting. I know I shouldnt be happy about disappointed kids, but I gotta admit I was happy when one girl was like, "But I wanted to dance!" and when another said, "Thursday lets do a charla and not dance, because I like the charlas better!" And this week when we finally met, one said that we should go until 8:30 instead of 8, because "We didnt meet on Tuesday, and thats not fair!" We participated in a really great dance program at the end of last month, and all of my kids were super pumped about it. I dont think they get to get out of the barrio much except to go to school, so going downtown to dance in a show was pretty cool for them.
As much as I love dancing, teaching dance, learning dance (my girls started teaching the Reggaeton dance last night, complete with a "get low" section where you make an "ass smaking motion"), and seeing my kids dance around all happy, what I really love is the charlas. The point of a charla is to get the kids thinking, talking, and learning about new things. Most of what we have focused on thus far is sex and the human body. The thing is that no one really talks to kids here about those kinds of things, so many of them dont know what is going on inside of their own clothing. Enter Theresa, who is not at all embarrased to speak openly about orgasms, the G-spot, wet dreams and semen. Its pretty common here, as it is in the states, for kids to start experimenting with sex at a pretty early age. All of my jovenes are over the age of 16, and I am pretty sure that most of them have already lost their virginity. I find it really concerning when kids (or adults) are having sex without really taking the time to understand their own bodies. So for that reason, I like so speak openly with the jovenes about these kinds of things, and because I want to help them create a "safe space" where it is okay to speak openly.
The most fun charla that we have done so far was one that I call "Musical Chairs of Truth" where I prepare pieces of paper with words on them. Each paper is put on a chair, and I play music from my Gpod (thats a Generic Ipod, for those of you who are not hip to the lingo) as they go around the chairs. When the music stops, they have to write down the first thing that comes to their mind when they see the word on the paper. When everyone has gone to each chair, we all sit down and go around the circle reading all the comments and discuss. It was interesting to see what they thought of the different words, and the discussion that followed was always interesting as well. A few observations...
1. Menstration
"Dirty. Ugly. Why does it come every month?"
We talked about why it comes every month, and the prometora from the area (who I believe is in her 50s) told them that for her it is nothing but a memory, so we talked about how your period stops when you get older. Then I tried (relatively unsuccessfully) to tell them that your period is wonderful thing, and should serve as a reminder that the female body can make life. They were like, "Yaaaa, Tere. ¡Es feo!" (Whatever, Theresa. Its gross!).
2. Orgasm
There was a woman in the group who has two children (she's married and older than the rest of them). She did not know what an orgasm was. She thought that I had written it wrong and meant to write "organ" or something. Most of my jovenes were unsure about what it was, too. My counterpart and I did our best to explain. We said that it is a sensation that you feel inside of your own body when you are sexually pleased. The response was raised eyebrows, some girls said they think they have had one. We told them that if they are not sure, they probably were not having an orgasm.
3. Tampons
It is widely believed in Ecuador that tampons cause you to loose your virginity. Most of my girls already knew that I use tampons, because they have found them in my backpack. I have already talked to some of them about how to use a tampon--where you insert it, what happens when its inside of you, no-it wont get lost inside of you, no-it doesnt make you not a virgin (which reminds me that I should give a charla about "virginity" and if its a physical or a mental concept...), and let them take one home to put in water to see what it looks like when it expands. When we did the musical chairs, some of the girls that I have already talked to about tampons nodded their heads as I was explaining it to the group, but one girl was adamant that she would not use them because she is a virgin.
4. Oral Sex
"Es feo, okey."
I was totally shocked that they thought oral sex was gross. I remember being their age and being super curious about oral sex, it was openly discussed among my group of friends, and we would trade horror stories about our experiences. We might have thought it was weird, but I dont think we thought it was gross. And (at least it seemed) it was something that most people my age were doing. Here, that is not the case. All of my jovenes seemed to agree that it was gross and that they would never want to give or receive oral sex. Luckily, this one came after we had already talked about virginity and how they all thought it is a good thing to be a virgin when you get married (whether or not they are all still virgins we did not discuss). So I asked them if vaginal sex is out of the question so as to save your virginity, why was oral sex considered "gross" and not an alternative? The response was raised eyebrows (which is really all I am looking for sometimes, I guess).
5. Pregnancy
Gracias a Dios, most of the girls said that its something they are not ready for. Lets hope that translates into using condoms...(wishful thinking, I know. But at least we talked about it).
So what keeps them coming back? I hope they come back because they have this space and this time to talk about these things that they think about but are not supposed to talk about. I hope they come back because they know that I will be there, and that I will not ditch out on them. I hope they come back because they feel like they are actually learning something. I just hope they keep coming back.
So there you have it, thats what I do on Tuesday and Thursday nights. I hang out with a rad group of teenagers, dance around to reggaeton and hiphop music, and talk about sex.
Until next time...
Sweet (wet) dreams,
Theresa
Anyhow, I could write a whole post about the ants that I kill on a daily basis (not ALL the ants come from that opening, so there are still many an ant in my home. Especially if I leave food in the sink over night...) but I wont. Mostly just for your own benefit, because I am sure that reading about ants in my home is not what you want to learn about my wild, exotic, Peace Corps adventures.
Instead, I write to you today about the Jovenes de Afromix. That is the group of kids that I work with out in Isla Trinitaria. Last week a volunteer friend of mine said she would like to come out and meet said jovenes, to try and figure out what it is that keeps them coming back every week. I told her I have know idea what it is, but I hope it keeps happening.
Now, I will not idealize the situation for you, its not all rainbows and butterflies and well formed groups. The Afromix kids are like most teenagers: inconsistant. There is a steady group of about 7 or 8 kids that are there every week, without fail. Then there is a trickle-in group of about 5 or 6 more that sometimes are there and sometimes are not. Then there is a large group of kids that I barely ever see. But either way, its more than I can ask for. I got lucky with my site placement, in that there were decently formed groups already here when I arrived, and Afromix was one such group. In the 3ish months that I have been here, we "formed" Afromix by joining two neighboring groups together. On Tuesdays we generally do charlas and on Thursdays we do hiphop dance class. Like I said, the number of kids varies a lot, and I have become pretty worried in the last few weeks because the majority of guys in the group have stopped coming. I think they get embarrased to be dancing and dont want to do that, and since they stopped coming for a few weeks maybe they just dont feel like coming back...? I am not really sure. But I have chosen not to blame myself for that one and just be happy with what I have got, which is a super great group of young ladies and a few young men when we are lucky.
Last week Thursday and this week Tuesday got cancelled due to lack of keys to enter the building where we meet. I was disappointed, but it was a good thing at the same time. The kids still came out both days (because no one knew we didnt have keys until we got there) and were super disappointed to not have a meeting. I know I shouldnt be happy about disappointed kids, but I gotta admit I was happy when one girl was like, "But I wanted to dance!" and when another said, "Thursday lets do a charla and not dance, because I like the charlas better!" And this week when we finally met, one said that we should go until 8:30 instead of 8, because "We didnt meet on Tuesday, and thats not fair!" We participated in a really great dance program at the end of last month, and all of my kids were super pumped about it. I dont think they get to get out of the barrio much except to go to school, so going downtown to dance in a show was pretty cool for them.
As much as I love dancing, teaching dance, learning dance (my girls started teaching the Reggaeton dance last night, complete with a "get low" section where you make an "ass smaking motion"), and seeing my kids dance around all happy, what I really love is the charlas. The point of a charla is to get the kids thinking, talking, and learning about new things. Most of what we have focused on thus far is sex and the human body. The thing is that no one really talks to kids here about those kinds of things, so many of them dont know what is going on inside of their own clothing. Enter Theresa, who is not at all embarrased to speak openly about orgasms, the G-spot, wet dreams and semen. Its pretty common here, as it is in the states, for kids to start experimenting with sex at a pretty early age. All of my jovenes are over the age of 16, and I am pretty sure that most of them have already lost their virginity. I find it really concerning when kids (or adults) are having sex without really taking the time to understand their own bodies. So for that reason, I like so speak openly with the jovenes about these kinds of things, and because I want to help them create a "safe space" where it is okay to speak openly.
The most fun charla that we have done so far was one that I call "Musical Chairs of Truth" where I prepare pieces of paper with words on them. Each paper is put on a chair, and I play music from my Gpod (thats a Generic Ipod, for those of you who are not hip to the lingo) as they go around the chairs. When the music stops, they have to write down the first thing that comes to their mind when they see the word on the paper. When everyone has gone to each chair, we all sit down and go around the circle reading all the comments and discuss. It was interesting to see what they thought of the different words, and the discussion that followed was always interesting as well. A few observations...
1. Menstration
"Dirty. Ugly. Why does it come every month?"
We talked about why it comes every month, and the prometora from the area (who I believe is in her 50s) told them that for her it is nothing but a memory, so we talked about how your period stops when you get older. Then I tried (relatively unsuccessfully) to tell them that your period is wonderful thing, and should serve as a reminder that the female body can make life. They were like, "Yaaaa, Tere. ¡Es feo!" (Whatever, Theresa. Its gross!).
2. Orgasm
There was a woman in the group who has two children (she's married and older than the rest of them). She did not know what an orgasm was. She thought that I had written it wrong and meant to write "organ" or something. Most of my jovenes were unsure about what it was, too. My counterpart and I did our best to explain. We said that it is a sensation that you feel inside of your own body when you are sexually pleased. The response was raised eyebrows, some girls said they think they have had one. We told them that if they are not sure, they probably were not having an orgasm.
3. Tampons
It is widely believed in Ecuador that tampons cause you to loose your virginity. Most of my girls already knew that I use tampons, because they have found them in my backpack. I have already talked to some of them about how to use a tampon--where you insert it, what happens when its inside of you, no-it wont get lost inside of you, no-it doesnt make you not a virgin (which reminds me that I should give a charla about "virginity" and if its a physical or a mental concept...), and let them take one home to put in water to see what it looks like when it expands. When we did the musical chairs, some of the girls that I have already talked to about tampons nodded their heads as I was explaining it to the group, but one girl was adamant that she would not use them because she is a virgin.
4. Oral Sex
"Es feo, okey."
I was totally shocked that they thought oral sex was gross. I remember being their age and being super curious about oral sex, it was openly discussed among my group of friends, and we would trade horror stories about our experiences. We might have thought it was weird, but I dont think we thought it was gross. And (at least it seemed) it was something that most people my age were doing. Here, that is not the case. All of my jovenes seemed to agree that it was gross and that they would never want to give or receive oral sex. Luckily, this one came after we had already talked about virginity and how they all thought it is a good thing to be a virgin when you get married (whether or not they are all still virgins we did not discuss). So I asked them if vaginal sex is out of the question so as to save your virginity, why was oral sex considered "gross" and not an alternative? The response was raised eyebrows (which is really all I am looking for sometimes, I guess).
5. Pregnancy
Gracias a Dios, most of the girls said that its something they are not ready for. Lets hope that translates into using condoms...(wishful thinking, I know. But at least we talked about it).
So what keeps them coming back? I hope they come back because they have this space and this time to talk about these things that they think about but are not supposed to talk about. I hope they come back because they know that I will be there, and that I will not ditch out on them. I hope they come back because they feel like they are actually learning something. I just hope they keep coming back.
So there you have it, thats what I do on Tuesday and Thursday nights. I hang out with a rad group of teenagers, dance around to reggaeton and hiphop music, and talk about sex.
Until next time...
Sweet (wet) dreams,
Theresa
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
This is What it Doing Nothing Looks Like
You know what happens when I come to the office too much? Well, besides being constantly accused of having anemia and anorexia (as if anorexia is something that you just catch, like the flu), what happens is that I write on my blog more often. You know why? Well, because the internet is free and there ain't a whole lot going on in the office. At least not that I have anything to do with...
Which leads me to the point of this blog. This blog can be filed under the "complaining about the life we have choosen for ourselves" catagory of bitching. My least favorite kind of bitching, but hey--indulge me. And if not? Well, you have been warned...
So not last week but the week before we (as in the community promoters of my counterpart organization and myself) were wrapping up the HIV test campaign. It was a really huge deal, and I was really proud of the work that they had done. They set the goal waaaay back when to do 500 HIV tests in each of the 6 barrios that they work in. Each week of November they were out in the subcentros (sub centers? I dont really know, but it means like community clinic) to do the tests. The weekend before they would go door-to-door in the barrio that was having the tests the next week to get the word out and encourage people to come in and take the test. In the end, they met their goal, and then some, which is totally freaking awesome if you ask me.
Really, I don't know why I am using the pronoun "they," because I was there and I helped. My job was to take the datos, or the basic info about the person who was going to take the test: name, cedula number (like social security number), birthday, address, phone number. You would think that this would be an easy enough task that even a well trained monkey could do. And really, it would be, if that monkey was native to the language and land in which these datos were being given. Think if you had to write down the names of hundreds of Americans in your city... Most likely several names would be familiar to your ears, you would know how to spell the variations of the name, many names would be repeated, especially common last names to your city. You would also be familiar with the streets in your city, and the way in which addresses are written and understood. You would also know that if someone gave you a social security number with 8 digits instead of 9 that they had made some kind of mistake. Now, do that in Ecuador. Add in noise the prometores and nurses and people waiting for their tests and the fact that you already dont hear all that well. Add in the fact that its not uncommon in the barrio to know how to say your name, but not how to spell it. Nor is uncommon to have no clue what your birthday is or how old you are. Nor is it common to deal with gringas who don't really speak your language and don't always understand what you are saying, but when you do it is perfectly acceptable to be totally rude and condescending about how she does not know how to spell your name (even if you dont either...). So, my seemingly simple task quickly became relatively difficult, but I still got my butt out to the barrio almost everyday around 7 or 8am to do it. By the end of each week it got a little easier, as I would learn the streets in that area and the common last names, but then we would change to a new barrio with new streets and new names. Asi es la vida, no?
Like I said, I made it out to the barrio almost everyday for the tests. If I didnt make it out, it was because I was also moving apartments at that same time, and occasionally needed to run out to my new place to do totally unimportant things like sign my lease and pay my rent. Or because I was hosting the majority of the volunteers from my cluster for the "Fall Flu Shot Tour" at my house. Or maybe I needed to do something really selfish, like go to the grocery store (which needs to be done in the morning to avoid having to walk home at night). During the weeks of the test I also continued my regularly scheduled programming of working with the Mujeres, including the planning for and the visit from the Deputy Assistant Secratary guy that I already told you about; and working with the Jovenes de Afromix, including participation in a really great dance program that the Canadian volunteer who was with my organization had put together (we danced to "Errtime" by Nelly. Sounds corney, but it was basically the coolest thing EVER!). So, you would imagine my surprize when my main counterpart person told me that some people in the office had confronted her to ask her why Tere (thats what everyone calls me here, short for Teresa, duh) isn't doing anything. I believe the exact words that I was told were: "Why is Tere here? I thought she came to help us with the HIV/AIDS project, but she isn't doing anything but hanging out with the Mujeres de Lucha."
I'm sorry, what? This is what doing nothing looks like to you people? So I guess thats why I use the pronoun "they" whenever I refer to any work that I do with the promotores. Because they tend to make me feel like, no matter what I do, I am not a part of them. Of course my counterpart broke this news to me as we were walking to the bus to go to a meeting with the Jovenes. Good thing she was on the bus with me, because I became so preoccupied with self-analysis during that busride that I would have forgetten to get off if she had not called out my name. So anyone who knows me, especially my old boss and any of my old coworkers, knows that I am basically a workaholic. I basically will kill myself in effort to get the job done and to get it done well. I am my own worst critic, and if something isn't going well with something that I am working on, my first instinct is to blame my approach at the situation and try to find a better way to do it. I could easily blame this on UWGB Social Work program Competency number 4: Evaluation (reassess the plan and change as needed when the goals are not being met), or on Wisconsin State Statutes Chapter 48: parent has 15 months to meet court conditions, what reasonable efforts are being made by the Department to assist the parent in meeting the conditions? I could easily blame it on that kind of training that I have had to be a good social worker and find a way to approach the problem from a new direction. But I won't, because its really just me. Because any good social worker would tell you that you should never work harder than they are. That tends to be my problem, and without my boss and my coworkers around, I guess I forgot about that.
So anyhow, before I was reminded of the golden rule of never working harder than they are (luckily I called a friend, she set me straight. Shes reading this right now, because she is a blogstalker through and through...) I did what I always do:
Step 1. Overanalyze. As already described above.
Step 2. Cry your eyes out. Unfortunately, that step occured when I was sitting on the couch at one of my joven's houses. And I am talking full out, Theresa is really upset, heaping, shoulder shaking, voice jumping, sobbing. It was not pretty, folks. And my kids were like, "How could anyone say that you arent doing anything? You are here with us!" My counterpart was there, too, saying the same thing. She was like, "Tere, I could never think what they think. I work with you, I know what you are doing, they don't. Plus, this is just the way it is in Ecuador, everyone talks bad behind everyone else's back." I told her that I gave that up in high school. Not entirely true, but I mean really? You dont diss a person's work, thats as low as you can go for me. I also told her to try and put herself in my shoes. I left my friends, my family, my job, my LIFE; I left that all behind to come here and work. I am never comfortable here, because I am ALWAYS the extranjera (foreigner), I am always the outsider. This is the life that I have choosen, nobody said it was gonna be easy, but I would appreciate it if folks would have some freaking empathy, you know. Yeah, she didnt really understand, because no one can really put themselves in someone else's shoes. Aint that just the beauty of life.
Step 3: Continue overanalyzing, formalize approach. I wrote the prometores a letter (my counterpart joked that she hoped it wasnt my resignation letter, because then it would be her turn to cry). In this letter I kindly reminded them that I am here to help, and that since the HIV/AIDS project is coming to an end, I wanted to remind them of the plethora of charla themes that I can offer to them and their community. I then listed out some 30 different charla topics, and gave options of about 10 times during the week when I am available to give charlas to them; which they can then give in their community (with my help if they want it, because again, I am here to help them). I presented this letter at the next prometores meeting.
I will give you three guesses at what happened next. You guessed it! A whole lotta nothing, and more crying! Great! Just what I wanted! Yeah, I explained the letter and the response was blank stares. So then I asked my counterpart to explain, perhaps they didnt understand me. So she explains the letter again, and blatantly points out that the reason for the letter was because there were complaints that I was doing nothing to help, despite the fact that I have asked each of the prometores on several occasions what I can do to get involved in their barrio. Each of these times I have been told to come to a meeting, to do this or do that. Each time when I try to follow up with these requests, my text messages go unanswered, my phone calls are not answered, and in person I am given the almighty "ya mismo." Then one of the prometores, who is actually the prometora for the barrio where I work with the jovenes, said that she has no problem with the work that I am doing. The prometora for the barrio where the Mujeres are said the same. The one who I helped in planning the get-the-word-out for the HIV tests said the same thing. The one who neglected to respond to my text message on the morning that we had planned to meet with some kids in her barrio echoed these sentiments. This leaves the folks who were talking shit. None of them seemed to want to say anything when confronted directly with the shit they were slanging behind my back. So my counterpart called them out directly. They cowarded, of course. Backpeddled about what was said, made excuses, took the blame, blah blah blah. At one point one of the girls complained that until recently I wasnt attending to prometores meetings, and that I wasnt there to help plan for the HIV tests. I pointed out (between my sobs and sniffles) that the reason for this is because I was in the sewing room, reviewing the bags that were sewn that day, fixing broken machines, keeping track of how many bags were sewn and making sure that all the girls got paid on time. She continued on that the least I could have done was leave the room for the meetings when they were planning the get-out-the-word, that my ideas would have been appreciated. I replied that if thats what she wanted, all she would have needed to do was ask. And that besides that, only one prometora had asked for my help, and I did help her (I did not point out that it was my and this prometora's idea to do the door-to-door campaign and hand out flyers, which is what ended up being done in all of the barrios, which is what they credited the large test numbers to).
Eventually, the main prometora (who was one of the ones talking the shit) gave a long speech (she does that often) about how it was really no fault of my own, that they were to blame for not being more specific with what they wanted. But that she believes that the reason the organization requested a volunteer was to help with the goals of the organization. Not to go out and work the the Mujeres de Lucha all the time, since they are a separate group with their own agenda and goals. Seriously! This AGAIN?? I told them that actually, the application stated that I was to work with groups of jovenes and mujeres in the barrios, and that is exactly what I am doing. The application asked for support with the HIV/AIDS project, and thats what I am doing (despite the fact that I find it boring, but I didnt tell them that part). I explained AGAIN that no one ever told me about this whatever-rift between the larger organization and the Mujeres until after I was already working with them, and that if they want to think of it as something that I do in my freetime, thats just fine, cuz I have no intention of stopping my work with them. I said that it doesnt really matter who is to blame, because placing blame never solved anything. I wanted to tell them that placing blame is like making Rice Crispy Bars--its far too sticky and is bound to get on the spoon and the bowl. And that work I do tends to go overlooked because I dont tend to take credit for things, because credit is really just blame's pretty step-sister, and is just as sticky. I didnt tell them those things because I dont know how to say sticky or step-sister or Rice Crispy Bars in Spanish, but I think the point got across even without my analogies on life.
So anyhow, the meeting ended with as many plans for how to utilize Theresa as it started with. Zero. Pfft! I was told that rather than them filling out the survey I had made about what they want, I should attend the Plan for 2008 Meeting (which, by the way, was scheduled right there on the spot, and has already been cancelled). I wondered whats the difference between having a meeting to talk about what you want (a meeting that I knew was going to end up not happening) and filling out a form about it. But I figured, whatever. Dont work harder than they are. My counterpart and the other prometora from her barrio were like, "Whatever. If they dont want you help, thats just more time you have for us." They filled out the sheet and told me they are ready to start when I am. I then went with them to a vigil for World AIDS Day and met the president of the local LGBTQ organization there. I got his name and contact info so that I can hopefully start working with that group at some time, too. He hasn't grabbed my fro and told me that I am fabulous yet, but I am sure he will eventually.
So yeah, in case you ever wonder what I am up to, this is what I am up to. I am working. I am attempting to make little silent waves of change by way of charlas and dance with my jovenes, and helping out with the Mujeres. EcuaTranslation: I am doing a whole bunch of nothing.
I should get going now, because I have lots of nothing to do for my organization that I dont help.
Paz,
Tere
Ps, I didnt mean it Ecuador! I love you!
PPs, spell check still not working. Un mil disculpas....
Which leads me to the point of this blog. This blog can be filed under the "complaining about the life we have choosen for ourselves" catagory of bitching. My least favorite kind of bitching, but hey--indulge me. And if not? Well, you have been warned...
So not last week but the week before we (as in the community promoters of my counterpart organization and myself) were wrapping up the HIV test campaign. It was a really huge deal, and I was really proud of the work that they had done. They set the goal waaaay back when to do 500 HIV tests in each of the 6 barrios that they work in. Each week of November they were out in the subcentros (sub centers? I dont really know, but it means like community clinic) to do the tests. The weekend before they would go door-to-door in the barrio that was having the tests the next week to get the word out and encourage people to come in and take the test. In the end, they met their goal, and then some, which is totally freaking awesome if you ask me.
Really, I don't know why I am using the pronoun "they," because I was there and I helped. My job was to take the datos, or the basic info about the person who was going to take the test: name, cedula number (like social security number), birthday, address, phone number. You would think that this would be an easy enough task that even a well trained monkey could do. And really, it would be, if that monkey was native to the language and land in which these datos were being given. Think if you had to write down the names of hundreds of Americans in your city... Most likely several names would be familiar to your ears, you would know how to spell the variations of the name, many names would be repeated, especially common last names to your city. You would also be familiar with the streets in your city, and the way in which addresses are written and understood. You would also know that if someone gave you a social security number with 8 digits instead of 9 that they had made some kind of mistake. Now, do that in Ecuador. Add in noise the prometores and nurses and people waiting for their tests and the fact that you already dont hear all that well. Add in the fact that its not uncommon in the barrio to know how to say your name, but not how to spell it. Nor is uncommon to have no clue what your birthday is or how old you are. Nor is it common to deal with gringas who don't really speak your language and don't always understand what you are saying, but when you do it is perfectly acceptable to be totally rude and condescending about how she does not know how to spell your name (even if you dont either...). So, my seemingly simple task quickly became relatively difficult, but I still got my butt out to the barrio almost everyday around 7 or 8am to do it. By the end of each week it got a little easier, as I would learn the streets in that area and the common last names, but then we would change to a new barrio with new streets and new names. Asi es la vida, no?
Like I said, I made it out to the barrio almost everyday for the tests. If I didnt make it out, it was because I was also moving apartments at that same time, and occasionally needed to run out to my new place to do totally unimportant things like sign my lease and pay my rent. Or because I was hosting the majority of the volunteers from my cluster for the "Fall Flu Shot Tour" at my house. Or maybe I needed to do something really selfish, like go to the grocery store (which needs to be done in the morning to avoid having to walk home at night). During the weeks of the test I also continued my regularly scheduled programming of working with the Mujeres, including the planning for and the visit from the Deputy Assistant Secratary guy that I already told you about; and working with the Jovenes de Afromix, including participation in a really great dance program that the Canadian volunteer who was with my organization had put together (we danced to "Errtime" by Nelly. Sounds corney, but it was basically the coolest thing EVER!). So, you would imagine my surprize when my main counterpart person told me that some people in the office had confronted her to ask her why Tere (thats what everyone calls me here, short for Teresa, duh) isn't doing anything. I believe the exact words that I was told were: "Why is Tere here? I thought she came to help us with the HIV/AIDS project, but she isn't doing anything but hanging out with the Mujeres de Lucha."
I'm sorry, what? This is what doing nothing looks like to you people? So I guess thats why I use the pronoun "they" whenever I refer to any work that I do with the promotores. Because they tend to make me feel like, no matter what I do, I am not a part of them. Of course my counterpart broke this news to me as we were walking to the bus to go to a meeting with the Jovenes. Good thing she was on the bus with me, because I became so preoccupied with self-analysis during that busride that I would have forgetten to get off if she had not called out my name. So anyone who knows me, especially my old boss and any of my old coworkers, knows that I am basically a workaholic. I basically will kill myself in effort to get the job done and to get it done well. I am my own worst critic, and if something isn't going well with something that I am working on, my first instinct is to blame my approach at the situation and try to find a better way to do it. I could easily blame this on UWGB Social Work program Competency number 4: Evaluation (reassess the plan and change as needed when the goals are not being met), or on Wisconsin State Statutes Chapter 48: parent has 15 months to meet court conditions, what reasonable efforts are being made by the Department to assist the parent in meeting the conditions? I could easily blame it on that kind of training that I have had to be a good social worker and find a way to approach the problem from a new direction. But I won't, because its really just me. Because any good social worker would tell you that you should never work harder than they are. That tends to be my problem, and without my boss and my coworkers around, I guess I forgot about that.
So anyhow, before I was reminded of the golden rule of never working harder than they are (luckily I called a friend, she set me straight. Shes reading this right now, because she is a blogstalker through and through...) I did what I always do:
Step 1. Overanalyze. As already described above.
Step 2. Cry your eyes out. Unfortunately, that step occured when I was sitting on the couch at one of my joven's houses. And I am talking full out, Theresa is really upset, heaping, shoulder shaking, voice jumping, sobbing. It was not pretty, folks. And my kids were like, "How could anyone say that you arent doing anything? You are here with us!" My counterpart was there, too, saying the same thing. She was like, "Tere, I could never think what they think. I work with you, I know what you are doing, they don't. Plus, this is just the way it is in Ecuador, everyone talks bad behind everyone else's back." I told her that I gave that up in high school. Not entirely true, but I mean really? You dont diss a person's work, thats as low as you can go for me. I also told her to try and put herself in my shoes. I left my friends, my family, my job, my LIFE; I left that all behind to come here and work. I am never comfortable here, because I am ALWAYS the extranjera (foreigner), I am always the outsider. This is the life that I have choosen, nobody said it was gonna be easy, but I would appreciate it if folks would have some freaking empathy, you know. Yeah, she didnt really understand, because no one can really put themselves in someone else's shoes. Aint that just the beauty of life.
Step 3: Continue overanalyzing, formalize approach. I wrote the prometores a letter (my counterpart joked that she hoped it wasnt my resignation letter, because then it would be her turn to cry). In this letter I kindly reminded them that I am here to help, and that since the HIV/AIDS project is coming to an end, I wanted to remind them of the plethora of charla themes that I can offer to them and their community. I then listed out some 30 different charla topics, and gave options of about 10 times during the week when I am available to give charlas to them; which they can then give in their community (with my help if they want it, because again, I am here to help them). I presented this letter at the next prometores meeting.
I will give you three guesses at what happened next. You guessed it! A whole lotta nothing, and more crying! Great! Just what I wanted! Yeah, I explained the letter and the response was blank stares. So then I asked my counterpart to explain, perhaps they didnt understand me. So she explains the letter again, and blatantly points out that the reason for the letter was because there were complaints that I was doing nothing to help, despite the fact that I have asked each of the prometores on several occasions what I can do to get involved in their barrio. Each of these times I have been told to come to a meeting, to do this or do that. Each time when I try to follow up with these requests, my text messages go unanswered, my phone calls are not answered, and in person I am given the almighty "ya mismo." Then one of the prometores, who is actually the prometora for the barrio where I work with the jovenes, said that she has no problem with the work that I am doing. The prometora for the barrio where the Mujeres are said the same. The one who I helped in planning the get-the-word-out for the HIV tests said the same thing. The one who neglected to respond to my text message on the morning that we had planned to meet with some kids in her barrio echoed these sentiments. This leaves the folks who were talking shit. None of them seemed to want to say anything when confronted directly with the shit they were slanging behind my back. So my counterpart called them out directly. They cowarded, of course. Backpeddled about what was said, made excuses, took the blame, blah blah blah. At one point one of the girls complained that until recently I wasnt attending to prometores meetings, and that I wasnt there to help plan for the HIV tests. I pointed out (between my sobs and sniffles) that the reason for this is because I was in the sewing room, reviewing the bags that were sewn that day, fixing broken machines, keeping track of how many bags were sewn and making sure that all the girls got paid on time. She continued on that the least I could have done was leave the room for the meetings when they were planning the get-out-the-word, that my ideas would have been appreciated. I replied that if thats what she wanted, all she would have needed to do was ask. And that besides that, only one prometora had asked for my help, and I did help her (I did not point out that it was my and this prometora's idea to do the door-to-door campaign and hand out flyers, which is what ended up being done in all of the barrios, which is what they credited the large test numbers to).
Eventually, the main prometora (who was one of the ones talking the shit) gave a long speech (she does that often) about how it was really no fault of my own, that they were to blame for not being more specific with what they wanted. But that she believes that the reason the organization requested a volunteer was to help with the goals of the organization. Not to go out and work the the Mujeres de Lucha all the time, since they are a separate group with their own agenda and goals. Seriously! This AGAIN?? I told them that actually, the application stated that I was to work with groups of jovenes and mujeres in the barrios, and that is exactly what I am doing. The application asked for support with the HIV/AIDS project, and thats what I am doing (despite the fact that I find it boring, but I didnt tell them that part). I explained AGAIN that no one ever told me about this whatever-rift between the larger organization and the Mujeres until after I was already working with them, and that if they want to think of it as something that I do in my freetime, thats just fine, cuz I have no intention of stopping my work with them. I said that it doesnt really matter who is to blame, because placing blame never solved anything. I wanted to tell them that placing blame is like making Rice Crispy Bars--its far too sticky and is bound to get on the spoon and the bowl. And that work I do tends to go overlooked because I dont tend to take credit for things, because credit is really just blame's pretty step-sister, and is just as sticky. I didnt tell them those things because I dont know how to say sticky or step-sister or Rice Crispy Bars in Spanish, but I think the point got across even without my analogies on life.
So anyhow, the meeting ended with as many plans for how to utilize Theresa as it started with. Zero. Pfft! I was told that rather than them filling out the survey I had made about what they want, I should attend the Plan for 2008 Meeting (which, by the way, was scheduled right there on the spot, and has already been cancelled). I wondered whats the difference between having a meeting to talk about what you want (a meeting that I knew was going to end up not happening) and filling out a form about it. But I figured, whatever. Dont work harder than they are. My counterpart and the other prometora from her barrio were like, "Whatever. If they dont want you help, thats just more time you have for us." They filled out the sheet and told me they are ready to start when I am. I then went with them to a vigil for World AIDS Day and met the president of the local LGBTQ organization there. I got his name and contact info so that I can hopefully start working with that group at some time, too. He hasn't grabbed my fro and told me that I am fabulous yet, but I am sure he will eventually.
So yeah, in case you ever wonder what I am up to, this is what I am up to. I am working. I am attempting to make little silent waves of change by way of charlas and dance with my jovenes, and helping out with the Mujeres. EcuaTranslation: I am doing a whole bunch of nothing.
I should get going now, because I have lots of nothing to do for my organization that I dont help.
Paz,
Tere
Ps, I didnt mean it Ecuador! I love you!
PPs, spell check still not working. Un mil disculpas....
Wednesday, December 5, 2007
New Place, More Heat, Cold Showers
I moved! Yeah! I am now the proud renter of a wonderfully lovely little casita in Guayaquil. When you come and visit me (cough, hint, hint) you will absolutely love it! And then you will laugh at me for moving into the Ecuadorian version of my apartment in De Pere...
My new place is totally great. Its a casa interior, which means that it is located behind the main house on the property. In my case, its actually behind a house and 2 apartments; mine is the only one thats not connected to the other ones. On the outside it looks like a cute little dollhouse cabin. I described it to one of my friends here as being very handmade, which means that I kill lots of bugs. Ps, if you are looking for an effective and cheap insect killer, might I recommend mixing water, nailpolish remover and concentrated disinfectant household cleaner. It stops ants dead in their tracks, literally. But besides the ants (and the bees, and the flies, and the mosquitoes, and dont forget the lizards in the laundry room) my new place is great. I am, for my first time in Ecuador, living without a hot shower. You would think that a cold shower would take the joy out of showering, at least thats what I always thought. That is until the hot season came...My new place has a metal roof, which means that it heats up really quickly. That would be hugely useful if I lived in the mountains, but unfortunately I like in Guayaquil, the sweaty armpit of Ecuador. Its crazy hot, so the cold showers are kinda nice (once I get over the initial shock, I'm talking ice water, people).
My landlord is an Ingeniero (literally means enginer, but in Ecuador is used for all kinds of people with a college degree. In his case, I do believe he was an enginer in the English sense of the word) and he seems to enjoy the house repairs. However, he is a bit old (and going deaf and senile with Alzheimers, his words, not mine) so he doesnt really do the repairs himself anymore. Rather, there is a steady stream of señores who work on the different properties that he owns. Per Peace Corps rules (and my paranoia) a gate had to be installed on the sliding glass doors in the front of the house. I, foolishly, assumed that a gate would be purchased and installed. Nope! They made it by hand. Then they also made me a table for my stovetop, fixed some doors, installed several curtain rods, and a rod to give me more closet space. I paid them back in coffee, watered down juice and crackers. It was all I had to give, and they took it with a smile!
You might wonder whats inside of my house? Since anyone who knows me (or has half a brain) would know that I could not bring things like a fridge and a couch to Ecuador. Well, PC gives us a separate spending allowance to furnish our home. The amount that they give us is certainly not enough for everything that needs to be bought, if you take into account things like plates, cups, a broom, drapes (so that the señores dont see me when i am nakey...) and all the other misc. things that home requires. Enter lots of drama with my bank account. RARR! Yeah, as predicted I was given the "budget" line for why my money situation got all messed up. And I have broken down and spent money from my US account for the first time since that wild swearing-in week in gringo-lovin Quito (not counting buying new pants, but that was totally necessary because my old jeans fall off me without undoing the zipper). But I (obsessively) keep track of how much money I am spending, bien raro for me, since I am used to being frivoulous and out of control with my money. So hopefully I will get back on track with that at some point. And if not, well, what-are-ya-gonna-do? The whole point of living only within my PC means is to experience living at a level more like the people that I serve. But really, thats a crock, because the people that I serve could never afford to live in the neighborhood that I live in, and I could never live in their neighborhood because its too "dangerous." So really I am living at the level of a modest-means Ecuadorian, and the lesson that I have learned is that this is why no one owns forks AND spoons and many people (myself included) do not own a couch. Hopefully by the time I have company in my casita I will scrap together the money to buy a table, something to sit on thats not the floor or the stairs, and more than one fork. And if not, well, I guess we will eat pizza on my yoga mat. Probably not even that, though, because pizza is expensive and I dont own an oven to make it in either....
Buying the things to furnish my home was an adventure in and of itself. First of all, we got an email at the end of November that because of increased crime rates in December with the holiday season, PCVs were forbidden to be in Quito (the capital) and Guayaquil (yeah, thats where I live) because the cities are too dangerous. So, does that mean I get to move?!?!? Nope, it just means that my friends cant come visit me. On of my friends asked for clarification because she has to come to the city for work, and because she has to come here to buy stuff for her new house as well. She was told that she should try to limit the amount of time in the city, and that she should try to do her shopping in one day, to minimize risk. Really, folks, that makes no sense. Doing all the shopping in one day (which is what I did, beacause its cheaper) only makes you a humongous target if you ask me. What would you think about some chick hopping in and out of a pickup truck digging money out of her bra to pay for large items like a fridge, a bed, a stove, etc? Its not like the "bad-guys" dont know that this stuff costs a lot of money. So its not like the whole world didnt know I was carrying a whole lot of loot in my boobies.
But I was able to buy everything that I needed, which is good. The thing about Ecuador (or at least Guayaquil) is that if you go to a normal store, you are going to pay more. And second hand things basically dont exist. So you have to go to a store where they will barter the price. But if you go there with a grina-voice, you get the special-gringa-price. So one of the Mujeres de Lucha offered to go with me. It was really fun! It was almost like a game: the sellers gives a bogus price, she says "What do you think, Niña Tere?", I scrunch my face and say, "Ummm...I dont have that much...", she goes off into a schpeel about how I am a student/social worker/youth organizer who doesnt have a lot of money but deserves a good price because I am here to make life better for the Ecuadorian people. Basically the sellers dont care who I am or why I am here, but they go along with it anyhow. At one point we were standing in the street trying to decided where to go next and a security guard asked if we needed help. She said yes, gave him the schpeel, he led us to someone else and told that person to help us. When he left, the new guy asks if we know the security guard? She resonds, "Yes, he's my godfather." Without even a waver in her voice! Just flat out pulled it outta her butt like it was nothing! I just stared at the groud, I am a horrible liar!
Anyhow, we found all the stuff I needed to buy, and then came back 2 days later with the pickup truck to buy all the stuff. We moved it all into my new place (which she confirmed is "Bien bonita"), I put a brand new lock on the brand new gate, and ate my first dinner of silent house freedom! Its great to be living on my own again! Basically all the Mujeres and folks from the office want to come over. They ignore my protests that I have three chairs, no table and one fork. They say a house without a party is not yet a house. So I guess the party will be at my house this weekend....
Party on! (Just kidding, I still speng most of my time reading and laying in bed listening to cds...)
Theresa
(ps, spell check isnt working, sorry for the errors....bad liar, even badder speller...is badder even a word? the spell check would know...)
My new place is totally great. Its a casa interior, which means that it is located behind the main house on the property. In my case, its actually behind a house and 2 apartments; mine is the only one thats not connected to the other ones. On the outside it looks like a cute little dollhouse cabin. I described it to one of my friends here as being very handmade, which means that I kill lots of bugs. Ps, if you are looking for an effective and cheap insect killer, might I recommend mixing water, nailpolish remover and concentrated disinfectant household cleaner. It stops ants dead in their tracks, literally. But besides the ants (and the bees, and the flies, and the mosquitoes, and dont forget the lizards in the laundry room) my new place is great. I am, for my first time in Ecuador, living without a hot shower. You would think that a cold shower would take the joy out of showering, at least thats what I always thought. That is until the hot season came...My new place has a metal roof, which means that it heats up really quickly. That would be hugely useful if I lived in the mountains, but unfortunately I like in Guayaquil, the sweaty armpit of Ecuador. Its crazy hot, so the cold showers are kinda nice (once I get over the initial shock, I'm talking ice water, people).
My landlord is an Ingeniero (literally means enginer, but in Ecuador is used for all kinds of people with a college degree. In his case, I do believe he was an enginer in the English sense of the word) and he seems to enjoy the house repairs. However, he is a bit old (and going deaf and senile with Alzheimers, his words, not mine) so he doesnt really do the repairs himself anymore. Rather, there is a steady stream of señores who work on the different properties that he owns. Per Peace Corps rules (and my paranoia) a gate had to be installed on the sliding glass doors in the front of the house. I, foolishly, assumed that a gate would be purchased and installed. Nope! They made it by hand. Then they also made me a table for my stovetop, fixed some doors, installed several curtain rods, and a rod to give me more closet space. I paid them back in coffee, watered down juice and crackers. It was all I had to give, and they took it with a smile!
You might wonder whats inside of my house? Since anyone who knows me (or has half a brain) would know that I could not bring things like a fridge and a couch to Ecuador. Well, PC gives us a separate spending allowance to furnish our home. The amount that they give us is certainly not enough for everything that needs to be bought, if you take into account things like plates, cups, a broom, drapes (so that the señores dont see me when i am nakey...) and all the other misc. things that home requires. Enter lots of drama with my bank account. RARR! Yeah, as predicted I was given the "budget" line for why my money situation got all messed up. And I have broken down and spent money from my US account for the first time since that wild swearing-in week in gringo-lovin Quito (not counting buying new pants, but that was totally necessary because my old jeans fall off me without undoing the zipper). But I (obsessively) keep track of how much money I am spending, bien raro for me, since I am used to being frivoulous and out of control with my money. So hopefully I will get back on track with that at some point. And if not, well, what-are-ya-gonna-do? The whole point of living only within my PC means is to experience living at a level more like the people that I serve. But really, thats a crock, because the people that I serve could never afford to live in the neighborhood that I live in, and I could never live in their neighborhood because its too "dangerous." So really I am living at the level of a modest-means Ecuadorian, and the lesson that I have learned is that this is why no one owns forks AND spoons and many people (myself included) do not own a couch. Hopefully by the time I have company in my casita I will scrap together the money to buy a table, something to sit on thats not the floor or the stairs, and more than one fork. And if not, well, I guess we will eat pizza on my yoga mat. Probably not even that, though, because pizza is expensive and I dont own an oven to make it in either....
Buying the things to furnish my home was an adventure in and of itself. First of all, we got an email at the end of November that because of increased crime rates in December with the holiday season, PCVs were forbidden to be in Quito (the capital) and Guayaquil (yeah, thats where I live) because the cities are too dangerous. So, does that mean I get to move?!?!? Nope, it just means that my friends cant come visit me. On of my friends asked for clarification because she has to come to the city for work, and because she has to come here to buy stuff for her new house as well. She was told that she should try to limit the amount of time in the city, and that she should try to do her shopping in one day, to minimize risk. Really, folks, that makes no sense. Doing all the shopping in one day (which is what I did, beacause its cheaper) only makes you a humongous target if you ask me. What would you think about some chick hopping in and out of a pickup truck digging money out of her bra to pay for large items like a fridge, a bed, a stove, etc? Its not like the "bad-guys" dont know that this stuff costs a lot of money. So its not like the whole world didnt know I was carrying a whole lot of loot in my boobies.
But I was able to buy everything that I needed, which is good. The thing about Ecuador (or at least Guayaquil) is that if you go to a normal store, you are going to pay more. And second hand things basically dont exist. So you have to go to a store where they will barter the price. But if you go there with a grina-voice, you get the special-gringa-price. So one of the Mujeres de Lucha offered to go with me. It was really fun! It was almost like a game: the sellers gives a bogus price, she says "What do you think, Niña Tere?", I scrunch my face and say, "Ummm...I dont have that much...", she goes off into a schpeel about how I am a student/social worker/youth organizer who doesnt have a lot of money but deserves a good price because I am here to make life better for the Ecuadorian people. Basically the sellers dont care who I am or why I am here, but they go along with it anyhow. At one point we were standing in the street trying to decided where to go next and a security guard asked if we needed help. She said yes, gave him the schpeel, he led us to someone else and told that person to help us. When he left, the new guy asks if we know the security guard? She resonds, "Yes, he's my godfather." Without even a waver in her voice! Just flat out pulled it outta her butt like it was nothing! I just stared at the groud, I am a horrible liar!
Anyhow, we found all the stuff I needed to buy, and then came back 2 days later with the pickup truck to buy all the stuff. We moved it all into my new place (which she confirmed is "Bien bonita"), I put a brand new lock on the brand new gate, and ate my first dinner of silent house freedom! Its great to be living on my own again! Basically all the Mujeres and folks from the office want to come over. They ignore my protests that I have three chairs, no table and one fork. They say a house without a party is not yet a house. So I guess the party will be at my house this weekend....
Party on! (Just kidding, I still speng most of my time reading and laying in bed listening to cds...)
Theresa
(ps, spell check isnt working, sorry for the errors....bad liar, even badder speller...is badder even a word? the spell check would know...)
Monday, December 3, 2007
Thanksgiving, what is Thanksgiving? We can never go back to Russia. Even if we wated to, we could not.
That blog title was just for my sisters, love you girls. Miss you tons. If anyone else recognizes it, that makes you the coolest person ever because I LOVE Molly's Pilgrim.
Yeah, so on to the post. Rarr, I hate being so busy that I neglect my blog. What a bad mother I am (to blogs and to birds...may they rest in peace).
So Thanksgiving in the Land of Ecua! Here's how it went down...
Thanksgiving does not exist in Ecuador. I would say that most people I spoke with did not know what it was, but for those who do it is called Dia de Accion de Gracias. They asked me what Thanksgiving is: is it a religious holiday? they wanted to know. Ummm...yeah, I didnt really like answering that question. Because really, there is no easy, elementary level Spanish (because of my abilities to speak, not theirs to understand) explanation for Thanksgiving. Basically what I told them that the story goes that the pilgrims went to the land that is now called the States, made friends with some "Indians" and they all sat down at a pretty little table and ate turkey. Then I explain that in reality, the pilgrims are what Latin America refers to as conquistadores, and that they stole the land from the native people, and that I am not sure if there ever really was a pretty table with turkey. But either way, turkey is my favorite meat i.e. Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. On a side note, in training we had a really interesting session about the difference between the US view of "settlers" and "pilgrims" vs. the Latin American view of "conquistadores." Think about it: basically they were doing the same thing, right? Folks from Europe travelling around trying to see what was on the other side of the world. US America sees them as "settlers" who are the basis of the "equality" that we pride ourselves on. Latin America sees them as conquestors who are the basis for the inequality between the haves and the have nots. Same thing, different view point; or different thing altogether? You be the judge. Food for thought...but back to the turkey, cuz thats far more tasty.
So for Thanksgiving I travelled to Zaruma, a city further south in Ecuador in the province of El Oro. Yeah, basically I spent the weekend being jealous that my friend, another volunteer, who lives there while I live here in nasty ass Guayaquil. Zaruma was CRAZY beautiful. Its still on what is considered the coast, but its not crazy gross hot (we are in the "winter" here, which means (more) hot and rainy, fabulous!) and there are mountains! I think its actually considered to be in the transitional zone, which means not quite sierra (mountains) and not quite coastal. Yeah, so anyhow, its beautiful. And there is no crime and no drugs and no HIV/AIDS...haha. Thats a joke with my Omnibus, thats what the counterpart from Zaruma said during the site presentation. We were all like, yeah...so why do you need a volunteer? But the chick who got placed there is doing some cool work, working with a bunch of local schools. But I digress...Zaruma is beautiful. We rode on the top of this big ass truck to go swimming in a freaking waterfall. How cool is that???
Thanksgiving was, well, it was an EcuaThanksgiving. Se fue la luz y el agua. That means that the lights and the water went out. Yeah, on Thanksgiving. But it was fine! The volunteers who planned the get-together were concerned, but everyone else was like, No Worries! The stoves are gas, so the turkey and the fixins cooked just fine. We went to the neighbor's house to use some of their clean water supply that they keep. We lit lots of candles, and the volunteer who carved the turkey did so while wearing his headlamp (yeah, thats a flashlight that you attach to your head. We are a rugged crew).
No lights, no water, no problem. The day went just fine, and the food was great! Some of the volunteers made a gumbo with cuy. It was DELICIOUS! I am sorry guys, but I freaking love the guinea pig. I dont know why we keep them as pets in the States, cuz they are freaking tastey. They give me gas, but so does everything...yeah, I am sure you dont care to know more about that. The only thing that was missing was sweet potato pie with marshmellows! Thats my favorite part! I will have to make it for Christmas and Thanksgiving next year, lots of folks didnt even know what it was. Is it a Wisconsin thing? Or maybe its an African-American thing? I am not sure. Oh! Speaking of Wisconsin things...my accent. Yeah, it hasnt gone away. One of the folks at Thanksgiving who I hadnt met yet asked where I was from and when I said Wisconsin he was like, "Yeah, thats what I thought. Dontcha know Bobby..." Hahaha.
The Thanksgiving gathering was also a cross-program event. Here's the thing: I am going to give it to you straight. This is something that we PCVs in Ecuador dont talk about too openly, unless its just with people from your own program. There are two breeds of PCVs in Ecuador. There are the Odd-Omnibuses, and there are the Even-Omnibuses. Or as some (not I!) refer to it as the Green Groups and Peace Corps Lite. The Odds (Green Groups) come in January/February; they are the Agriculture and Habitat Conservation kids. The Evens (or Peace Corps Lite as some refer to us, although its totally not true!) come in June/July and are the Health and Youth and Families folks. So obviously, by nature of their jobs, there Odd groups tend to get a bit more dirty. You know, they work on farms and stuff. They start chicken farms and gardens (at least thats what I think they do...). The Evens do stuff like I do. Some of us live in big cities, some in more rural areas, but we probably dont get as physically dirty on a daily basis as the Odds (not counting the huge amounts of dirt that is currently residing in my lungs as a direct result of all of the city buses in this city).
You know what else we dont do in the city? We dont eat worms. Yeah, worms. One of the girls at Thanksgiving brought worms, which she cooked by boiling them with the heart of a Palm tree. I was like, "What the hell is that?" And she was like, "Worms, of course. What, you dont eat them at your site?" I was like, "Um, no. We dont eat worms in Guayaquil." You know why? Because we have Burger King, thats why. Would you eat worms when you could eat a burger? I dont think so, so hop on down from that high horse, girly. Then, when we were walking back to the hostel, some Odds were leading the way. I swear to you they took us through the muddiest freaking path that we could have possibly taken. And I really think it was just to laugh of us, and I'm not gonna lie, it probably was a funny sight to see. My Old Navy flip flops broke! I was so mad! I freaken loved those flips! And my EcuaPedicure? Yeah, it was ruined. They probably all though, "Pfft, freaking city-girl PC Lite and her stupid pedicure." But you know what? If you could get pretty flowers painted on your toenails for $1.50, you would, too. Dont judge.
So anyhow, Thanksgiving went well. It wasnt half as nice as it would have been if I was at home with my family, but it was as good as it can be when I am miles aways from home. I was worried that the holidays would be really hard on me here. My solution to that is to travel during the holidays and try to ignore the fact that it is a holiday. The upside is that its hot (thats the ONLY positive aspect of this weather) so its easier to forget what time of year it is. When I am pitting through my shirt after 5 seconds of walking outside, December is nothing more than a word or number that I write down. Its easy to forget (at least thats the mantra that I am going to keep repeating until I believe it....).
Miss you all tons.
Hasta luego,
Theresa
Yeah, so on to the post. Rarr, I hate being so busy that I neglect my blog. What a bad mother I am (to blogs and to birds...may they rest in peace).
So Thanksgiving in the Land of Ecua! Here's how it went down...
Thanksgiving does not exist in Ecuador. I would say that most people I spoke with did not know what it was, but for those who do it is called Dia de Accion de Gracias. They asked me what Thanksgiving is: is it a religious holiday? they wanted to know. Ummm...yeah, I didnt really like answering that question. Because really, there is no easy, elementary level Spanish (because of my abilities to speak, not theirs to understand) explanation for Thanksgiving. Basically what I told them that the story goes that the pilgrims went to the land that is now called the States, made friends with some "Indians" and they all sat down at a pretty little table and ate turkey. Then I explain that in reality, the pilgrims are what Latin America refers to as conquistadores, and that they stole the land from the native people, and that I am not sure if there ever really was a pretty table with turkey. But either way, turkey is my favorite meat i.e. Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. On a side note, in training we had a really interesting session about the difference between the US view of "settlers" and "pilgrims" vs. the Latin American view of "conquistadores." Think about it: basically they were doing the same thing, right? Folks from Europe travelling around trying to see what was on the other side of the world. US America sees them as "settlers" who are the basis of the "equality" that we pride ourselves on. Latin America sees them as conquestors who are the basis for the inequality between the haves and the have nots. Same thing, different view point; or different thing altogether? You be the judge. Food for thought...but back to the turkey, cuz thats far more tasty.
So for Thanksgiving I travelled to Zaruma, a city further south in Ecuador in the province of El Oro. Yeah, basically I spent the weekend being jealous that my friend, another volunteer, who lives there while I live here in nasty ass Guayaquil. Zaruma was CRAZY beautiful. Its still on what is considered the coast, but its not crazy gross hot (we are in the "winter" here, which means (more) hot and rainy, fabulous!) and there are mountains! I think its actually considered to be in the transitional zone, which means not quite sierra (mountains) and not quite coastal. Yeah, so anyhow, its beautiful. And there is no crime and no drugs and no HIV/AIDS...haha. Thats a joke with my Omnibus, thats what the counterpart from Zaruma said during the site presentation. We were all like, yeah...so why do you need a volunteer? But the chick who got placed there is doing some cool work, working with a bunch of local schools. But I digress...Zaruma is beautiful. We rode on the top of this big ass truck to go swimming in a freaking waterfall. How cool is that???
Thanksgiving was, well, it was an EcuaThanksgiving. Se fue la luz y el agua. That means that the lights and the water went out. Yeah, on Thanksgiving. But it was fine! The volunteers who planned the get-together were concerned, but everyone else was like, No Worries! The stoves are gas, so the turkey and the fixins cooked just fine. We went to the neighbor's house to use some of their clean water supply that they keep. We lit lots of candles, and the volunteer who carved the turkey did so while wearing his headlamp (yeah, thats a flashlight that you attach to your head. We are a rugged crew).
No lights, no water, no problem. The day went just fine, and the food was great! Some of the volunteers made a gumbo with cuy. It was DELICIOUS! I am sorry guys, but I freaking love the guinea pig. I dont know why we keep them as pets in the States, cuz they are freaking tastey. They give me gas, but so does everything...yeah, I am sure you dont care to know more about that. The only thing that was missing was sweet potato pie with marshmellows! Thats my favorite part! I will have to make it for Christmas and Thanksgiving next year, lots of folks didnt even know what it was. Is it a Wisconsin thing? Or maybe its an African-American thing? I am not sure. Oh! Speaking of Wisconsin things...my accent. Yeah, it hasnt gone away. One of the folks at Thanksgiving who I hadnt met yet asked where I was from and when I said Wisconsin he was like, "Yeah, thats what I thought. Dontcha know Bobby..." Hahaha.
The Thanksgiving gathering was also a cross-program event. Here's the thing: I am going to give it to you straight. This is something that we PCVs in Ecuador dont talk about too openly, unless its just with people from your own program. There are two breeds of PCVs in Ecuador. There are the Odd-Omnibuses, and there are the Even-Omnibuses. Or as some (not I!) refer to it as the Green Groups and Peace Corps Lite. The Odds (Green Groups) come in January/February; they are the Agriculture and Habitat Conservation kids. The Evens (or Peace Corps Lite as some refer to us, although its totally not true!) come in June/July and are the Health and Youth and Families folks. So obviously, by nature of their jobs, there Odd groups tend to get a bit more dirty. You know, they work on farms and stuff. They start chicken farms and gardens (at least thats what I think they do...). The Evens do stuff like I do. Some of us live in big cities, some in more rural areas, but we probably dont get as physically dirty on a daily basis as the Odds (not counting the huge amounts of dirt that is currently residing in my lungs as a direct result of all of the city buses in this city).
You know what else we dont do in the city? We dont eat worms. Yeah, worms. One of the girls at Thanksgiving brought worms, which she cooked by boiling them with the heart of a Palm tree. I was like, "What the hell is that?" And she was like, "Worms, of course. What, you dont eat them at your site?" I was like, "Um, no. We dont eat worms in Guayaquil." You know why? Because we have Burger King, thats why. Would you eat worms when you could eat a burger? I dont think so, so hop on down from that high horse, girly. Then, when we were walking back to the hostel, some Odds were leading the way. I swear to you they took us through the muddiest freaking path that we could have possibly taken. And I really think it was just to laugh of us, and I'm not gonna lie, it probably was a funny sight to see. My Old Navy flip flops broke! I was so mad! I freaken loved those flips! And my EcuaPedicure? Yeah, it was ruined. They probably all though, "Pfft, freaking city-girl PC Lite and her stupid pedicure." But you know what? If you could get pretty flowers painted on your toenails for $1.50, you would, too. Dont judge.
So anyhow, Thanksgiving went well. It wasnt half as nice as it would have been if I was at home with my family, but it was as good as it can be when I am miles aways from home. I was worried that the holidays would be really hard on me here. My solution to that is to travel during the holidays and try to ignore the fact that it is a holiday. The upside is that its hot (thats the ONLY positive aspect of this weather) so its easier to forget what time of year it is. When I am pitting through my shirt after 5 seconds of walking outside, December is nothing more than a word or number that I write down. Its easy to forget (at least thats the mantra that I am going to keep repeating until I believe it....).
Miss you all tons.
Hasta luego,
Theresa
Sunday, November 25, 2007
Cross-Cultural Drama
So its been almost a month since my last post, how bogus is that? I am sorry, not just to you, but to my sanity, which struggles just as much as you do when I don’t blog. So what has been keeping me so busy? Well, my work, in general; that and the fact that I make a daily effort not to go to the office, and thats where the free internet is. Lets see…what have I been up to lately?
There have been a few small, but cumulatively totally major in my book things going on this month, most of them based around my work with the Mujeres de Lucha. I freaking love them, have I mentioned that? In the last post I mentioned that they want me to come and hang out more, so I have been making the effort to do that. The thing is that sometimes it goes really well, and sometimes I feel like, What am I doing here? They are always working, so if I don’t have something in particular to be doing, I feel like I am keeping them from their work if I stay for more than just a minute. And when I have to take two buses to get out there, I am going to stay for more than just a minute, you know. Not trying to waste my 50 cents (well, really a dollar to go there and back, and I can practically eat lunch for a dollar, so that’s a lot of moola). So my solution to that problem is to work with them. Wow, I am a genius, aren’t I?
While in Cuenca for Halloween, my boss called me. I was scared out of my mind, because she knew I was out in Cuenca having a good time and hanging out with friends, so I figured she must be calling with bad news. Its not like they ever call just to talk, and why would she call me about work when she knows that I am not at work? Someone must have died. That was my immediate thought. My heart sank to the floor and my stomach hurt. Why did I let so many weeks go by without talking to my mom and sisters and brother? But no, she was calling about work, its just that it was urgent. As it turned out, the US Deputy Assistant Secretary in the Department of State’s Bureau of Western Hemisphere Affairs, Chris McMullen, was coming to visit. Um, come again? And remind me what that has to do with lil ol me Peace Corps Ecuador volunteer? Well, I was told that he had heard about my organization and wanted to come out and see work that we were doing. Okay, that’s cool. I am perfectly comfortable showing off my organization and the work we do, I am not so comfortable being the focus of the discussion.
Currently the youth program is working on the huge final phase of the HIV/AIDS campaign, and trying to reach the goal of 500 free HIV/AIDS tests in each of the 5 barrios in the next 3 weeks. I figured we could take Señor McMullen out to the barrio to see the tests. I am told to talk to my counterpart and confirm on Monday afternoon. Monday AM I get a call that there will not be enough time to go out to the barrio to see the tests. There will only be an hour, and the barrio where the tests are is WAAAAY south, as far south as you can get in Guayaquil. It would take at least 30 minutes to get out there, so transportation alone would eat up all the time. So I am asked to switch plans to something in the office which is downtown. Not really what I want to do because I think it you want to see work, you should not go to the office, because the real work (in MY opinion) is done in the barrio. But whatever, no one really asked for my opinion, I guess…
So I explain things to my counterpart, explain the original plan, then the change to the office. I ask is she thinks we can do this? Oh, sure, she says. No problem. She has me write up an Oficio (which is an official invitation document) and post it on the bulltain board to invite folks to come. I do that, and I also speak with the Org president and the leader of the Youth program and they say they will be there. Great, this should go just fine, I think in my naïve thoughts. In the next few days, I start communicating directly with the US Consulate Office in Guayaquil to plan and replan for the visit (there is a very nice guy who works there who is in charge of planning the visit). By Thursday, the plan has been changed to go to the barrio again. It turns out that Señor McMullen agrees that real work is seen in the barrio. Still have the problem of time, so I suggest that we go see the Mujeres de Lucha. Like I said, they are always working (they have a community lunch program, community store, community beauty shop, community bakery and are working on a community garden, see my updated site description below for more info) and their barrio is not as far away and would be a heck of a lot faster to get to. So I communicate that with my counterpart, the head of the Youth program, and the prometores from that barrio. Everyone seems to be on board, although I’m not gonna lie, I got the feeling that they weren’t really listening to me. That’s the thing, remember how I said that I am trying to not be in the office? That’s pretty much why. Pretty much I am getting tired of the noise level of people mulling around and (I hate to be rude, because they really do good work when they set their minds to it) not doing a whole lot of anything. Besides that, they don’t seem to pick up on what I am putting down as I kindly remind folks that my name is Theresa, not flaca, chica, gorda, niña, or whatever other adjective they choose for the day. And, generally speaking, I appreciate mutual respect: I listen to you, you listen to me. That’s the kind of environment that I seek out, and its not always the environment in the office. So yeah, this pedestal is high and I am afraid of heights so let me come on back down now.
Anyways, so Señor McMullen wants to go to the barrio. It just so happens that the barrio where I feel most connected, most at home, and most part of the community is out in the barrio with the Mujeres. What’s more, they are doing a crapload of work out there, and somebody oughtta see it and appreciate it, you know? So that’s where I offer to go, on Wednesday, it appears that everyone is on board. I confirm it with the Mujeres, they are all about it. Really, they are all about everything, they are just that kind of group. I figure I should bring it up again at the meeting in the office on Friday, just to be safe. I have my counterpart bring it up at the meeting, because to put is simply, people will listen to her more than they will me. Well, good thing I did. Because suddenly no one is okay with it. Suddenly the Mujeres are not really part of the larger Organization, but a community group that does their own thing with or without the larger group. What the what? Since when? Because since the day I came for my site visit, I was told that the Organization works in several various barrios with the groups of women and youth in those barrios. In fact, I specifically remember being taken to meet the Mujeres on my site visit. And how do you think it became that I am working with them. Its not like I just go wandering around dangerous barrios looking for friendly looking folks. I was brought to them! What the f is going on here? So follow that confusion with an impromptu meeting where basically all the plans I have made with the freaking US Consulate’s Office are smashed and cancelled…the Organization decides that the visit will not happen unless he comes to the office. Well, too bad you don’t just tell the US Deputy Assistant Secretary in the Department of State’s Bureau of Western Hemisphere Affairs what to do, he’s a pretty important guy. Pretty much he makes his own decisions, and pretty much he’s not going to come see the work at all if he has to come to the office. So what now? This is really not the reputation that I am trying to give myself with the Consulate’s office, and besides, I feel like I am making Peace Corps Volunteers look bad, you know?
So I go to the bathroom and cry, and then curse the fact that ONCE AGAIN, there is no freaking toilet paper so I have to wipe my tears on my shirt sleeve, so there goes my guise of privately crying. After I finish crying, I call the Consulate guy back again, he explains that he doesn’t care what my organization has to say. If they don’t consider the Mujeres part of them, then what’s to stop us from going out there? Dude wants to see the barrio, and dude wants to see the work of a Peace Corps Volunteer in an Ecuadorian community: so lets go see it (enter me being not so comfortable, but whatever, lets not make this The Theresa Show). The Mujeres were all pumped about the idea, and surely they still will be. Phew! Okay, lets do this! I privately explain to my counterpart that the visit is going to go through anyways, and would you believe that she said that I still had to talk to the president?? Furthermore, would you believe that he then says to me that I cannot go out there without them because is THEIR barrio. Excuse me? I thought they weren’t part of you. I calmly explain in increasingly broken Spanish (cannot think when I am angry) that I will go out there and I will not mention to the Organization at all, and its not reasonable to say that I cannot do so. RARRRR! In the next few days, I go out and explain everything to the Mujeres who then explain that they would rather have it this way. They, too, think of themselves as their own separate group. In their opinion, the larger Organization has done a whole lot of talking with them with not a whole lot of action (until I came along, but we wont get into that, because I have already put myself on enough pedestals in this post…).
So, to make a long story a little less long, the day finally comes around where Señor McMullen is here. The plane is of course an hour late. So really, there is no time to go out and see the Mujeres because the schedule is super tight and the next meeting is with the mayor (VERY important guy in Ecuador). But, the Vice Consulate says that too much work and effort has gone into this visit to cancel it. We go out to the barrio, we have a totally wonderful welcome from the Mujeres, we take a super quick tour around their various work sites, and the president of the Mujeres explains the totally great work they do. And just like that, it was all over. The drama that had consumed my life for two whole weeks was done in a flash. I felt crappy. I was like, Oh no, the Mujeres are going to be mad because everything started late so we didn’t get to do it the way we had practiced and planned and we didn’t have time to go out to the beauty shop! Oh, but no, of course my worries were unwarranted. They were totally pleased with the visit, totally stoked that these very important American Government men in suits wanted to come out and see what they do everyday. I mentioned again how glad and proud I was with them, and that no promises can be made, but networking is always a good thing to do (hint, hint, larger Organization…).
And guess what? The US Consulate’s Office is now talking with me about planning a Christmas Food Drive for the Mujeres. The Vice Consulate told me that they are pretty much his favorite group of women in Ecuador. Mine, too! The lunch program is majorly stuggling because about 1/3 of the kids dont pay for their lunch each week (despite the fact that its just a $1.50, the cost of ONE lunch at a normal resturant) because their parents dont have the money. And rather than let the kids go hungry, the Mujeres feed them anyways. But that means that they end up short on money to buy the food, so they skimp on the recipies and bring items from their own kitchens when needed. A Food Drive will MAJORLY help them out.
On Monday, I get to tell the Mujeres about the Food Drive (ps, how do you say Food Drive in Spanish???) and I cannot wait to see their smiles. I may not love the US Government, but I gotta say I am pretty damned pleased with (this tiny facet) of it right now. I may have had to totally let the Mujeres down because I told them I would take them to a Community Bank workshop in November, but then I couldn’t because of “budget cuts.” And my Peace Corps boss got fired because of “budget cuts.” And I had to pay ½ of a month’s rent and 1 month security deposit for my new place and probably won’t get reimbursed until January (which equals I am broke as a freaking joke) and will probably be given the almighty “budget cuts” line as a reason for it. Speaking of budget cuts, how’s that War on Terror going, Mr. President? Pfft. But anyhow, THIS part of the US Government is pretty freaking rad in my book. And so are the Mujeres.
And so are YOU!
Besos,
Theresa
There have been a few small, but cumulatively totally major in my book things going on this month, most of them based around my work with the Mujeres de Lucha. I freaking love them, have I mentioned that? In the last post I mentioned that they want me to come and hang out more, so I have been making the effort to do that. The thing is that sometimes it goes really well, and sometimes I feel like, What am I doing here? They are always working, so if I don’t have something in particular to be doing, I feel like I am keeping them from their work if I stay for more than just a minute. And when I have to take two buses to get out there, I am going to stay for more than just a minute, you know. Not trying to waste my 50 cents (well, really a dollar to go there and back, and I can practically eat lunch for a dollar, so that’s a lot of moola). So my solution to that problem is to work with them. Wow, I am a genius, aren’t I?
While in Cuenca for Halloween, my boss called me. I was scared out of my mind, because she knew I was out in Cuenca having a good time and hanging out with friends, so I figured she must be calling with bad news. Its not like they ever call just to talk, and why would she call me about work when she knows that I am not at work? Someone must have died. That was my immediate thought. My heart sank to the floor and my stomach hurt. Why did I let so many weeks go by without talking to my mom and sisters and brother? But no, she was calling about work, its just that it was urgent. As it turned out, the US Deputy Assistant Secretary in the Department of State’s Bureau of Western Hemisphere Affairs, Chris McMullen, was coming to visit. Um, come again? And remind me what that has to do with lil ol me Peace Corps Ecuador volunteer? Well, I was told that he had heard about my organization and wanted to come out and see work that we were doing. Okay, that’s cool. I am perfectly comfortable showing off my organization and the work we do, I am not so comfortable being the focus of the discussion.
Currently the youth program is working on the huge final phase of the HIV/AIDS campaign, and trying to reach the goal of 500 free HIV/AIDS tests in each of the 5 barrios in the next 3 weeks. I figured we could take Señor McMullen out to the barrio to see the tests. I am told to talk to my counterpart and confirm on Monday afternoon. Monday AM I get a call that there will not be enough time to go out to the barrio to see the tests. There will only be an hour, and the barrio where the tests are is WAAAAY south, as far south as you can get in Guayaquil. It would take at least 30 minutes to get out there, so transportation alone would eat up all the time. So I am asked to switch plans to something in the office which is downtown. Not really what I want to do because I think it you want to see work, you should not go to the office, because the real work (in MY opinion) is done in the barrio. But whatever, no one really asked for my opinion, I guess…
So I explain things to my counterpart, explain the original plan, then the change to the office. I ask is she thinks we can do this? Oh, sure, she says. No problem. She has me write up an Oficio (which is an official invitation document) and post it on the bulltain board to invite folks to come. I do that, and I also speak with the Org president and the leader of the Youth program and they say they will be there. Great, this should go just fine, I think in my naïve thoughts. In the next few days, I start communicating directly with the US Consulate Office in Guayaquil to plan and replan for the visit (there is a very nice guy who works there who is in charge of planning the visit). By Thursday, the plan has been changed to go to the barrio again. It turns out that Señor McMullen agrees that real work is seen in the barrio. Still have the problem of time, so I suggest that we go see the Mujeres de Lucha. Like I said, they are always working (they have a community lunch program, community store, community beauty shop, community bakery and are working on a community garden, see my updated site description below for more info) and their barrio is not as far away and would be a heck of a lot faster to get to. So I communicate that with my counterpart, the head of the Youth program, and the prometores from that barrio. Everyone seems to be on board, although I’m not gonna lie, I got the feeling that they weren’t really listening to me. That’s the thing, remember how I said that I am trying to not be in the office? That’s pretty much why. Pretty much I am getting tired of the noise level of people mulling around and (I hate to be rude, because they really do good work when they set their minds to it) not doing a whole lot of anything. Besides that, they don’t seem to pick up on what I am putting down as I kindly remind folks that my name is Theresa, not flaca, chica, gorda, niña, or whatever other adjective they choose for the day. And, generally speaking, I appreciate mutual respect: I listen to you, you listen to me. That’s the kind of environment that I seek out, and its not always the environment in the office. So yeah, this pedestal is high and I am afraid of heights so let me come on back down now.
Anyways, so Señor McMullen wants to go to the barrio. It just so happens that the barrio where I feel most connected, most at home, and most part of the community is out in the barrio with the Mujeres. What’s more, they are doing a crapload of work out there, and somebody oughtta see it and appreciate it, you know? So that’s where I offer to go, on Wednesday, it appears that everyone is on board. I confirm it with the Mujeres, they are all about it. Really, they are all about everything, they are just that kind of group. I figure I should bring it up again at the meeting in the office on Friday, just to be safe. I have my counterpart bring it up at the meeting, because to put is simply, people will listen to her more than they will me. Well, good thing I did. Because suddenly no one is okay with it. Suddenly the Mujeres are not really part of the larger Organization, but a community group that does their own thing with or without the larger group. What the what? Since when? Because since the day I came for my site visit, I was told that the Organization works in several various barrios with the groups of women and youth in those barrios. In fact, I specifically remember being taken to meet the Mujeres on my site visit. And how do you think it became that I am working with them. Its not like I just go wandering around dangerous barrios looking for friendly looking folks. I was brought to them! What the f is going on here? So follow that confusion with an impromptu meeting where basically all the plans I have made with the freaking US Consulate’s Office are smashed and cancelled…the Organization decides that the visit will not happen unless he comes to the office. Well, too bad you don’t just tell the US Deputy Assistant Secretary in the Department of State’s Bureau of Western Hemisphere Affairs what to do, he’s a pretty important guy. Pretty much he makes his own decisions, and pretty much he’s not going to come see the work at all if he has to come to the office. So what now? This is really not the reputation that I am trying to give myself with the Consulate’s office, and besides, I feel like I am making Peace Corps Volunteers look bad, you know?
So I go to the bathroom and cry, and then curse the fact that ONCE AGAIN, there is no freaking toilet paper so I have to wipe my tears on my shirt sleeve, so there goes my guise of privately crying. After I finish crying, I call the Consulate guy back again, he explains that he doesn’t care what my organization has to say. If they don’t consider the Mujeres part of them, then what’s to stop us from going out there? Dude wants to see the barrio, and dude wants to see the work of a Peace Corps Volunteer in an Ecuadorian community: so lets go see it (enter me being not so comfortable, but whatever, lets not make this The Theresa Show). The Mujeres were all pumped about the idea, and surely they still will be. Phew! Okay, lets do this! I privately explain to my counterpart that the visit is going to go through anyways, and would you believe that she said that I still had to talk to the president?? Furthermore, would you believe that he then says to me that I cannot go out there without them because is THEIR barrio. Excuse me? I thought they weren’t part of you. I calmly explain in increasingly broken Spanish (cannot think when I am angry) that I will go out there and I will not mention to the Organization at all, and its not reasonable to say that I cannot do so. RARRRR! In the next few days, I go out and explain everything to the Mujeres who then explain that they would rather have it this way. They, too, think of themselves as their own separate group. In their opinion, the larger Organization has done a whole lot of talking with them with not a whole lot of action (until I came along, but we wont get into that, because I have already put myself on enough pedestals in this post…).
So, to make a long story a little less long, the day finally comes around where Señor McMullen is here. The plane is of course an hour late. So really, there is no time to go out and see the Mujeres because the schedule is super tight and the next meeting is with the mayor (VERY important guy in Ecuador). But, the Vice Consulate says that too much work and effort has gone into this visit to cancel it. We go out to the barrio, we have a totally wonderful welcome from the Mujeres, we take a super quick tour around their various work sites, and the president of the Mujeres explains the totally great work they do. And just like that, it was all over. The drama that had consumed my life for two whole weeks was done in a flash. I felt crappy. I was like, Oh no, the Mujeres are going to be mad because everything started late so we didn’t get to do it the way we had practiced and planned and we didn’t have time to go out to the beauty shop! Oh, but no, of course my worries were unwarranted. They were totally pleased with the visit, totally stoked that these very important American Government men in suits wanted to come out and see what they do everyday. I mentioned again how glad and proud I was with them, and that no promises can be made, but networking is always a good thing to do (hint, hint, larger Organization…).
And guess what? The US Consulate’s Office is now talking with me about planning a Christmas Food Drive for the Mujeres. The Vice Consulate told me that they are pretty much his favorite group of women in Ecuador. Mine, too! The lunch program is majorly stuggling because about 1/3 of the kids dont pay for their lunch each week (despite the fact that its just a $1.50, the cost of ONE lunch at a normal resturant) because their parents dont have the money. And rather than let the kids go hungry, the Mujeres feed them anyways. But that means that they end up short on money to buy the food, so they skimp on the recipies and bring items from their own kitchens when needed. A Food Drive will MAJORLY help them out.
On Monday, I get to tell the Mujeres about the Food Drive (ps, how do you say Food Drive in Spanish???) and I cannot wait to see their smiles. I may not love the US Government, but I gotta say I am pretty damned pleased with (this tiny facet) of it right now. I may have had to totally let the Mujeres down because I told them I would take them to a Community Bank workshop in November, but then I couldn’t because of “budget cuts.” And my Peace Corps boss got fired because of “budget cuts.” And I had to pay ½ of a month’s rent and 1 month security deposit for my new place and probably won’t get reimbursed until January (which equals I am broke as a freaking joke) and will probably be given the almighty “budget cuts” line as a reason for it. Speaking of budget cuts, how’s that War on Terror going, Mr. President? Pfft. But anyhow, THIS part of the US Government is pretty freaking rad in my book. And so are the Mujeres.
And so are YOU!
Besos,
Theresa
Sunday, November 4, 2007
Cuerpo de Paseo
Hey kids,
Sorry its been a minute since the last post (I know you all check daily, waiting with baited breath for new blog posts from me for my wildly inspirational insights). I have been doing some travelling (see post below regarding Montañita) and then I was in Cuenca for Halloween: nothing interesting happened there except for Puro (sort of like a moonshine cane alcohol, very strong) induced inebriation, and I dont think you really need to know about all that. My costume was hot though, I will tell you that much. I was a fairy! I made my own wings and wand! Oh so crafty.
Its has not been all fun and games, though: I have started a Shutterfly account! The address is:
www.comoestatheresa.shutterfly.com. At least thats what I think it is...I will fix this post later if thats wrong...
I am slowly (very slowly) uploading my pictures onto there. There are a few albums so far, so check them out. And leave you comments because I love to hear your inspirational insights as well.
Love and miss you all,
Theresa
ps: The Mujeres de Lucha asked me to come by more often and hang out with them. I friggin love my life.
Sorry its been a minute since the last post (I know you all check daily, waiting with baited breath for new blog posts from me for my wildly inspirational insights). I have been doing some travelling (see post below regarding Montañita) and then I was in Cuenca for Halloween: nothing interesting happened there except for Puro (sort of like a moonshine cane alcohol, very strong) induced inebriation, and I dont think you really need to know about all that. My costume was hot though, I will tell you that much. I was a fairy! I made my own wings and wand! Oh so crafty.
Its has not been all fun and games, though: I have started a Shutterfly account! The address is:
www.comoestatheresa.shutterfly.com. At least thats what I think it is...I will fix this post later if thats wrong...
I am slowly (very slowly) uploading my pictures onto there. There are a few albums so far, so check them out. And leave you comments because I love to hear your inspirational insights as well.
Love and miss you all,
Theresa
ps: The Mujeres de Lucha asked me to come by more often and hang out with them. I friggin love my life.
Monday, October 29, 2007
Remeber that One Time we Accidentally Stayed at the Drughouse?
So I decided to take a little viaje this weekend, to the lovely beach (and gringo filled) town of Montañita, Ecaudor. Montañita is famous for its surf-schools and laid-back ways of beachlife. Its lovely there.
My friend and took the bus to Montañita. We werent sure when the bus would leave, the staff at the Oro Verde Hotel (where she frequents for over-priced, but non-NesCafe caffinee fixes and to use the handicapped bathroom because it has airconditioning and plays classical music when you shut the door) told her that we could take the luxary bus line for $10 or so. Mmmm, no so much. We took the standard for $5.50, but had to wait at the station for an hour and a half until the bus left. No big deal, EcuaLife is all about the waiting. We chatted until the bus came and ignored the stares of the kids who grouped near us to watch the gringas speaking in that crazy gringa-speak. The bus ride was about 2 hours or so, and as far as I am concerned, it was luxary. The seat cushions had no rips, it did not smell like urine, and the tv was a flip-down screen. Top of the line, folks. I think they also recently had the microphone system installed, and were abusing that power at any opportunity.
We arrive into Montañita, its COLD! Well, its cold for Ecuador, but its beautiful! Pretty little beach town where you gotta roll up the cuffs to your pants because its muddy in the streets. Gringos in every direction, gotta admit it was a little weird for me...Anyhow, where should we stay? There are hostals everywhere, we go into town and turn away from the noisey "downtown" area and walk to the first hostal. "A ver..." we call out (EcuaSpeak for "Is anyone there to provide service to me?") No one responds. Business opportunity lost for them; we move on to the next hostal. There is a lady standing in the "lobby" area, but she says she doesnt work there. "A ver..." she calls out, and a skater-surfer-boy with a shaved head and tattoos everywhere comes out. "Do you have rooms available?" we ask in Spanish. "Yes," he responds in English. "Do they have private bathrooms?" we ask in Spanish. "Yes," he responds in English, "and a kitchen and hotwater. Come up and see them" he says. We head up the stairs and follow him to the room. Sounds too good to be true...ps, it was.
"This room is available. The beds are clean," he says motioning to the single bed and the set of bunkbeds. He points to the bottom bunk and says, "Except for this one. Its not dirty, but I slept here last night. I did not sleep under the covers, I passed out on top of the covers. So its not dirty if you sleep under the covers"
"Oooookay..." we say. Thats fine, there's two of us and two beds.
He continues, "I was drunk last night, and I didnt want to wake up my roommates, thats why I slept here. But normally I sleep in my room across the hall there. But last night, you know, I was drunk, I was talking to myself, and I didnt want to bother them."
Probably more information than I needed, I think. The room is $5 per person per night. We are sold. He leaves the room and comes back with a lock for us to put on the door, then he says, "Oh crap! My plants! My babies are on the deck here, dont mess with my babies!" he says playfully and goes to the deck. He moves the plants to the hallway area, where the plants still have access to lots of sunlight. He must be an avid gardener, I think, thats cool.
My friend goes to the bathroom. When she's done, I go in. "Umm...is this your underwear in here?" I call out to her. "Nope, that was in there when I went in" she says. When we pass by the hostal owner on our way out to the lunch and tell him there is underwear in the bathroom. "No way..." he says, "Who's are they?" "Well they are not ours," we respond, and tell him not to worry about it and that he can take them out when we get back. When we come back, he greets us warmly, and as we head up the stairs my friend calls out, "Hey! Do you wanna come get your underwear from the bathroom??" "Oh yeah," he says, and grabs a plastic bag so that he doesnt have to touch them with his bare hands.
He procedes to tell us about how our room is pretty much the nicest room in the hostal, I think he was trying to reassure us that we made a good choice in staying there, despite the man-panties in the bathroom. "Nicest room except for this one," he tells us, leading us to the other room. His friend was staying there, he tells us, but he kicked him out the other day. "Why?" we ask. "Well, he was a pig," he says, pointing to the numerous cigarette butts all over the floor and the bed with the sheets ripped off. "And besides," he adds, "he was selling cocaine out of the room. And thats not good, you know." "Yeah," we say, "definately not good. We are gonna go now..."
Montañita is a beautiful little town. We spent the rest of the day and night wandering around the (total of 4) streets in the town, and I tried to hold back how weird and scary and nice it was to see so many gringos in one place and not know all of their names...I also ate something that made my stomach hurt very bad. I wont get into it, lets just say there were lots of trips to the bathroom, followed by me peering intently into the bowl looking for worms as the nurses taught us to do (I am not kidding, they have pictures of people with worms they found in the toilet. If I ever get a worm, you best believe that I will take a picture for you all to see!). So I end up turning it in early for the night, which sucked because we had met some really cool folks and were having a great time chatting with gringos in Spanish, but hey, I always was a party pooper- much pun intended.
I doze in and out of sleep, trying to stay alert so I will hear my friend when she comes back in. Around 3am (I think that was the time, clocks in Ecuadorian Hostals do not exist, and I have stopped wearing a watch, because really? I live in Ecuador, the time doesnt really matter...) I wake up wondering where my friend is. She still hasnt come back yet. I slip on my flip flops, decide a bra isnt really necessary in this little surf town, and head down the stairs to see if anyone has seen her. Its dark, I dont see anyone in the lobby/resturant downstairs. Then this kid comes in the front door. "Hey, are you staying here?" he asks. Is he speaking in English? Am I awake? What time is it...? This kid cannot be more than 14 years old, what is he, the mini-security guard? "Sí" I respond to his question (I´m gonna not translate that for you all, you better know what sí means, come on now). "Ok," he says, followed by: "Hey, do you smoke pot?" What the what?!?! Who the hell is this mini-security guard-slash-drug pusher?? "No," I respond, and continue to head down the stairs because I can see there is a light on in the common bathroom so I figure I can ask that person if they have seen my friend. I peek into the bathroom, the door is open ajar, there is a guy sitting on the floor, I hope hes not sick, for his own sake and because I am not really trying to smell his vomit. "Has my friend come back yet?" I ask him, basically just assuming that he knows who the hell I am talking about. "No," he says, "Shes still out, dont worry, I am sure shes fine." "Ok, thanks" I say as I realize why he is sitting on the floor. He is accompanyed on the floor by a large plastic grocery bag filled with some green stuff. On the top of the closed toilet lid, he is cleaning mass amounts of marijuana. Where the hell are we?? The local drughouse?!?! Oh dear God. Maybe I am dreaming, I am going back to my bed.
My friend comes home eventually. I groggily open the door for her and get back into bed. I tell her about the weird 14 year old and the dude in the bathroom downstairs. "No way!" she says, "You must have been dreaming...."
The next morning we get dressed (not taking a shower, because there is no showerhead...there is just a rod coming out of the wall that a trickle of (not hot) water comes out of. Whatever, welcome to Ecaudor). We go downstairs to check the bathroom to see if there is evidence of whether or not I was having a Malaria Medication Hallucination, and sure enough...little green leafy things all over the bathroom. Good thing we are checking out tonight. We go to lunch, head out to the beach to do some yoga and watch the gringo surf-lessons (I only make fun because it looks way too hard for my big ass to do...) and head back to the hostal. As we make our way up the stairs, we stop to look at the dudes "babies." Yep, you guessed it: pot.
So pretty sure I will go back to Montañita because it is beautiful: there are no city buses there to make so much noise my ears are becoming deafened, and when you get off the main strip, its pretty chill. I found another little hostal down on the beach with hammocks on the deck overlooking the ocean. Pretty sure I will stay there next time, its worth the extra $3. Drugs are against the PC-Ecuador Pillars of Badness Rules, and besides my morals besides. My life here is crazy, I heart Ecuador.
peace,
Theresa
My friend and took the bus to Montañita. We werent sure when the bus would leave, the staff at the Oro Verde Hotel (where she frequents for over-priced, but non-NesCafe caffinee fixes and to use the handicapped bathroom because it has airconditioning and plays classical music when you shut the door) told her that we could take the luxary bus line for $10 or so. Mmmm, no so much. We took the standard for $5.50, but had to wait at the station for an hour and a half until the bus left. No big deal, EcuaLife is all about the waiting. We chatted until the bus came and ignored the stares of the kids who grouped near us to watch the gringas speaking in that crazy gringa-speak. The bus ride was about 2 hours or so, and as far as I am concerned, it was luxary. The seat cushions had no rips, it did not smell like urine, and the tv was a flip-down screen. Top of the line, folks. I think they also recently had the microphone system installed, and were abusing that power at any opportunity.
We arrive into Montañita, its COLD! Well, its cold for Ecuador, but its beautiful! Pretty little beach town where you gotta roll up the cuffs to your pants because its muddy in the streets. Gringos in every direction, gotta admit it was a little weird for me...Anyhow, where should we stay? There are hostals everywhere, we go into town and turn away from the noisey "downtown" area and walk to the first hostal. "A ver..." we call out (EcuaSpeak for "Is anyone there to provide service to me?") No one responds. Business opportunity lost for them; we move on to the next hostal. There is a lady standing in the "lobby" area, but she says she doesnt work there. "A ver..." she calls out, and a skater-surfer-boy with a shaved head and tattoos everywhere comes out. "Do you have rooms available?" we ask in Spanish. "Yes," he responds in English. "Do they have private bathrooms?" we ask in Spanish. "Yes," he responds in English, "and a kitchen and hotwater. Come up and see them" he says. We head up the stairs and follow him to the room. Sounds too good to be true...ps, it was.
"This room is available. The beds are clean," he says motioning to the single bed and the set of bunkbeds. He points to the bottom bunk and says, "Except for this one. Its not dirty, but I slept here last night. I did not sleep under the covers, I passed out on top of the covers. So its not dirty if you sleep under the covers"
"Oooookay..." we say. Thats fine, there's two of us and two beds.
He continues, "I was drunk last night, and I didnt want to wake up my roommates, thats why I slept here. But normally I sleep in my room across the hall there. But last night, you know, I was drunk, I was talking to myself, and I didnt want to bother them."
Probably more information than I needed, I think. The room is $5 per person per night. We are sold. He leaves the room and comes back with a lock for us to put on the door, then he says, "Oh crap! My plants! My babies are on the deck here, dont mess with my babies!" he says playfully and goes to the deck. He moves the plants to the hallway area, where the plants still have access to lots of sunlight. He must be an avid gardener, I think, thats cool.
My friend goes to the bathroom. When she's done, I go in. "Umm...is this your underwear in here?" I call out to her. "Nope, that was in there when I went in" she says. When we pass by the hostal owner on our way out to the lunch and tell him there is underwear in the bathroom. "No way..." he says, "Who's are they?" "Well they are not ours," we respond, and tell him not to worry about it and that he can take them out when we get back. When we come back, he greets us warmly, and as we head up the stairs my friend calls out, "Hey! Do you wanna come get your underwear from the bathroom??" "Oh yeah," he says, and grabs a plastic bag so that he doesnt have to touch them with his bare hands.
He procedes to tell us about how our room is pretty much the nicest room in the hostal, I think he was trying to reassure us that we made a good choice in staying there, despite the man-panties in the bathroom. "Nicest room except for this one," he tells us, leading us to the other room. His friend was staying there, he tells us, but he kicked him out the other day. "Why?" we ask. "Well, he was a pig," he says, pointing to the numerous cigarette butts all over the floor and the bed with the sheets ripped off. "And besides," he adds, "he was selling cocaine out of the room. And thats not good, you know." "Yeah," we say, "definately not good. We are gonna go now..."
Montañita is a beautiful little town. We spent the rest of the day and night wandering around the (total of 4) streets in the town, and I tried to hold back how weird and scary and nice it was to see so many gringos in one place and not know all of their names...I also ate something that made my stomach hurt very bad. I wont get into it, lets just say there were lots of trips to the bathroom, followed by me peering intently into the bowl looking for worms as the nurses taught us to do (I am not kidding, they have pictures of people with worms they found in the toilet. If I ever get a worm, you best believe that I will take a picture for you all to see!). So I end up turning it in early for the night, which sucked because we had met some really cool folks and were having a great time chatting with gringos in Spanish, but hey, I always was a party pooper- much pun intended.
I doze in and out of sleep, trying to stay alert so I will hear my friend when she comes back in. Around 3am (I think that was the time, clocks in Ecuadorian Hostals do not exist, and I have stopped wearing a watch, because really? I live in Ecuador, the time doesnt really matter...) I wake up wondering where my friend is. She still hasnt come back yet. I slip on my flip flops, decide a bra isnt really necessary in this little surf town, and head down the stairs to see if anyone has seen her. Its dark, I dont see anyone in the lobby/resturant downstairs. Then this kid comes in the front door. "Hey, are you staying here?" he asks. Is he speaking in English? Am I awake? What time is it...? This kid cannot be more than 14 years old, what is he, the mini-security guard? "Sí" I respond to his question (I´m gonna not translate that for you all, you better know what sí means, come on now). "Ok," he says, followed by: "Hey, do you smoke pot?" What the what?!?! Who the hell is this mini-security guard-slash-drug pusher?? "No," I respond, and continue to head down the stairs because I can see there is a light on in the common bathroom so I figure I can ask that person if they have seen my friend. I peek into the bathroom, the door is open ajar, there is a guy sitting on the floor, I hope hes not sick, for his own sake and because I am not really trying to smell his vomit. "Has my friend come back yet?" I ask him, basically just assuming that he knows who the hell I am talking about. "No," he says, "Shes still out, dont worry, I am sure shes fine." "Ok, thanks" I say as I realize why he is sitting on the floor. He is accompanyed on the floor by a large plastic grocery bag filled with some green stuff. On the top of the closed toilet lid, he is cleaning mass amounts of marijuana. Where the hell are we?? The local drughouse?!?! Oh dear God. Maybe I am dreaming, I am going back to my bed.
My friend comes home eventually. I groggily open the door for her and get back into bed. I tell her about the weird 14 year old and the dude in the bathroom downstairs. "No way!" she says, "You must have been dreaming...."
The next morning we get dressed (not taking a shower, because there is no showerhead...there is just a rod coming out of the wall that a trickle of (not hot) water comes out of. Whatever, welcome to Ecaudor). We go downstairs to check the bathroom to see if there is evidence of whether or not I was having a Malaria Medication Hallucination, and sure enough...little green leafy things all over the bathroom. Good thing we are checking out tonight. We go to lunch, head out to the beach to do some yoga and watch the gringo surf-lessons (I only make fun because it looks way too hard for my big ass to do...) and head back to the hostal. As we make our way up the stairs, we stop to look at the dudes "babies." Yep, you guessed it: pot.
So pretty sure I will go back to Montañita because it is beautiful: there are no city buses there to make so much noise my ears are becoming deafened, and when you get off the main strip, its pretty chill. I found another little hostal down on the beach with hammocks on the deck overlooking the ocean. Pretty sure I will stay there next time, its worth the extra $3. Drugs are against the PC-Ecuador Pillars of Badness Rules, and besides my morals besides. My life here is crazy, I heart Ecuador.
peace,
Theresa
Sunday, October 14, 2007
The Down Side
So, here is the other half of the story. The down side of the last two weeks...We got a visit from from a historian from the States who studies people of African descent around the world. I am not going to mention his name, and I am going to be as vauge as possible about him, just out of respect to him. I would like to believe that he his a far better person than the version that he presented to me here in Guayaquil, and out of respect for that, I will try to keep him anonymous here...
So within a few days at site, I was informed that some historian from the United States would be coming to Ecuador to learn about Afro-descentant people here. I was told that he spoke no Spanish, so it was asked that I assist with translation. Sure! I said, eager and excited to have work. My days at the time were filled most usually with aimless searching of the free internet in the office, so any definition of real work was welcomed. As time went on, work picked up, I still knew this historian was coming. But I was still pumped about it, I was pumped to assist my organization in sharing the work that they do with someone who would further share this informtion with interested parties in the States and elsewhere.
Well, when the time actually came, it became immediatly tainted with badness. First of all, I had made plans to be visiting with a group in one of the barrios. I had to cancel those plans because, without mentioning anything to me, the president of my organizaion had made plans for me to be at the airport with him and some other guys from the organization to pick the historian up. I was not happy at all about that, its a group thats not part of Proceso, but has a history of working with PCVs in Guayaquil, I have yet to meet with them and have cancelled on them many times already for one reason or another. But I had a prior committment from back when I said I would help with translation, so I figured I would stick to that.
The plane was late. No big deal, and more or less to be expected. How will we know which one he is? I ask the guys from the office. Well, we will just look for an Afro (Ecuador politically correct version of saying "black") person to come through the arrivals gate. Those plans were foiled as a steady stream of black men came thru the gate...there are parties here in Guayaquil right now (of course!) for the city´s anniversery, so lots of people are travelling into town. Most of the black dudes getting off were young musicians, so when an older gentleman not carrying any musical instruments came through, we rose to our feet expectantly. "You here for me?" he asked. We knew it was him, hes speaking in English. "Which one of you speaks English?" He asks, and my work as a translater begins. He greeted us in a gruffy manner, immediatly explaining that there is "already a problem" as his bags were not transferred to his plane and we would have to wait for them to come in later. He asks my name, I say its Theresa, pronounced Teresa in Spanish. He pronounces his name (which is a super difficult name to pronounce, I think its an African name of sorts) and says that its pronounced "the same in English and Spanish and any other language." Well, okay then.
He treats us to beers (coffee for me, still dont drink beer) which was very nice of him. He asks the org president if he remembers their being at the same conference in 1999? The president says no, apologetically, that was a long time ago. The historian responds that his time in Ecuador (hes been here about a week already) has already proved itself to be a humbling experience, he is not accostomed to people forgetting him. He showers some praise on the president and the work that he does, who responds by saying how great the organization is and how proud he is of them. The historian responds by saying that the president is a very humble man in not taking responsiblity for his own accomplishments, and that Theresa is a very beautiful woman. Why thank you. Weird, cuz you are old enough to be my father, I think. But thank you, nonetheless. We make plans to all meet at his hotel the next morning at 10am to go to some museums he has read about in his Lonely Plant Guidebook.
I get to the hotel on time. I left the house early because I wasnt exactly sure how to get there, and I didnt want to be too late. But we are in Ecuador, so I knew that no one else would be on time...but still. The historian was ready to go, the guys from the office were not there. One came by a few minutes later, explaining that the president, who works as a school teacher, would be there soon. He had to go to school in the morning to make sure the students were ready to go with the subsitute, but he would be here, ya mismo. I explained to the historian that ya mismo means in an ungiven amount of time...a few minutes, an hour, next year...dont get your hopes up, it could be a while. I figured that it was no big deal, at least we know he´s on his way, a little waiting never hurt anyone. Well, he disagreed. He proceeded to get very irritated and insulted the president for his tardiness. I tried to explain that at least he had called to say he was on his way, and that is all that matters really around here. He said that he is accostomed to America/European concepts of timelyness, and that nothing would ever change that. Okedoki.
As we waited, he commented on how Ecuadorian women tend to dress in a seemingly provocative manner. I agreed, its the truth (its also the basis of my upcoming Halloween costume!). Especially here on the coast, but its understandable, its ungodly hot out all the time, and this is the cold season. I said that I have even been altering how I dress to accomodate to the weather, a t-shirt with a tank underneth means way more sweat than just wearing the tshirt. Besides that, the women in the office pick on me when I dress with more than one shirt on, they are on a quest for me to join the mesh-shirt concept of fashion. He glanced towards my chest and my v-neck shirt and said that he "couldnt help but notice" that I was dressed in such a manner today, but that I looked "quite cute." Thanks...? He went on to say that I reminded him of his first wife, "idealistic and out to save the world." Anyone who knows me would know that I would take such a thing as an insult. I am not idealistic, nor do I want or believe that I am saving anyone. I told him so, in a polite manner, he responded that he has never lost his idealism that he can change the world. I told him that 2 years in child protection will do that to a person...
We finally got out on our way about an hour later. He got immediatly irritated at the first museum, there was nothing there about Afro people. The org president explained that that is part of the problem. That the museums are funded by the government, and that Afro history is not a priority. The president suggested that we skip the museums and go to the barrios, because all of the museums would be the same. The historian repsonded with several comments on how he found it hard to believe that there was nothing at any of the museums, I translated his words the best I could, usually trying to make them sound less rude than the version that he was giving me. We went out to the barrios, he greeted everyone in English. Okay, I know you dont speak Spanish. But really, if you say that you want to learn about a people, the least you can do is buy a copy of Spanish for Dummies and practice some basic phrases. My irritation is growing...
During the taxi rides he tells me stories of his travels. He has been all over the world, studying Afro people in every corner. What he does really did sound quite interesting. He told me of meeting groups of the untouchables in India, of giving speeches there that so enraged the powers that be that he is not allowed to return to the area. I think I was supposed to be very impressed, lets just say that modesty was not his strong suit. He asked questions of the guys from the office about the status of Afro-Ecudorians, the answers were really interesting. If nothing else, I was glad to have heard them for myself. I really did learn a lot. He had been in Ecuador for about a week already, going to different areas to meet with groups of Afro folks. He had been to Mascarilla, I was so excited to hear that! I asked if he met the PCV there, I told him that was the site I wanted to be assigned to. He asked if she was black? No...shes not, I say. He wouldnt be interested in meeting her if shes not black. This guy is trying on my patience...I am getting flashbacks of arguments I had in high school, I cannot stand people who think like that.
In one of the barrios, he handed out a $20 bill to a group of women who were telling him about the lunch program they provide to kids in the barrio. They were explaining that money is a constant difficulty: food and energy bills cost more than they can afford, but they dont want to raise the price of lunch because they know that the kids´mom´s cant afford it. It didnt appear to me that they were asking for handouts, but they were thankful for what he gave. Not like $20 is really going to pay for much of anything, in the time we were there they were feeding at least 25 kids. In another barrio, he handed a $1 coin to two boys who were following us around. "There, I just made their day" he said. Cavities, I thought. Cavities as a result of a candies they will buy with that dollar. The kids smiled and said Gracias. He responded with Your Welcome, in English. My irritation rises, speaking English and spreading the idea that Americans are just made of money and we can solve all your problems by tossing a dollar at you. Great.
We get back to the hotel for lunchbreak. By this time it is 3pm. I am beyond tired and have fully erased any thoughts I ever had as ever working as a translator should my Spanish ever get good enough to do so. I dont like saying other people´s words. What if I disagree? I still have to say the words. And I dont like surrounding myself with people who bring down my mojo, and that is basically what I had done in agreeing to spend my day helping to interepret for this guy.
I was not happy, and the day was not over. The office had set up a conferencia for the historian to give a lecture. Sounds like a big deal conference, but really it was just a small meeting with some interested people. I tried to explain this to him. He said he understood. He paid for the taxi from the hotel to the conference location, only after complaining that he should have to pay for a taxi to his own conference. When we got into the room, there were a small handful of people seated, a few more milling in, and two people seated at the table in the front of the room. The org president greets us when we come in, saying we are ready to start. I tell the historian, he says we cannot possibly be ready, people are still coming in and what are those people doing sitting at the table up front? I translate this to the president. He says that we are not expecting too many more people, and that they are sitting there to give a welcome speech for the historian. I translate this back to him. He gruffs, we head up to the table anyways.
Okay folks, keep in mind I have already spent the day with this guy. I have already explained to him more than once, and he has already witnessed for himself that I am still learning the Spanish language. I certainly do not have a true mastery of it. So, then, why on EARTH would he not try to at least be nice and accomodate his words to this??? Perhaps he does not understand that when you are learning a language, you learn the simple words first. You dont know all the words, you know words that are used most often. But nooo....just keep on giving your speech with your big ass words, and keep on rolling your eyes at me when I respond that I dont know that word in Spanish. Just keep on telling me under your breath that you will never come back to Guayaquil because the experience here was sub-par. Just keep on complaining that the resources here are written in Spanish and not in English. Just keep on forcing me to translate your insults about my new friend´s choices of hairstyles. Just keep on making me to translate claims that teenaged AfroEcuadorian girls dont like having their picture taken because they have been taught that their skin is ugly (couldnt just be their hormones, right??). Just keep on saying that you will send books on African history here, but heck if you know where to find books in Spanish that anyone here could actually read. Just keep on keepin on, buddy.
At the end of the lecture, I was about ready to kill someone. I couldnt get out of there fast enough. I welcomed the arms the sewing room ladies and their excited comments on what I had missed from the office that day. I was so happy to fet out to the barrio for dance class. Here´s the thing: I had to cancel a meeting with a group of community members so that we could take a tour and flash some pictures and talk about community service to Afro-people around the world. Talk about teaching Afro-people to be proud of their history, talk about supporting their programs, talk about showing them by example of all they can accomplish. I cancelled action to talk. Then, to add insult to injury, I was late my class to do some more talking. Frustration does not even describe it.
Over dinner that night, I recounted my frustrations to the dueña. She understood. She agreed that it is rude and counterproductive to say you want to learn about a people if you do not want to take the time to actually speak to them. I told her how he had visited more than 80 countries, but from what I could tell, he spoke only English. She was equally as amazed at the ridiculousness as I was. She said that I should have said something. I shouldnt have just sat there and translated and let him crap all over my good mood. I told her that I try to live by Ghandi´s words that "We must be the change that we want to see in the world." That I dont like to tell people how they should behave, I would rather just behave in a matter that I find appropriate and hope that others might follow the example. She said thats all good and well for people who are willing to pay attention, but that sometimes you just got to speak up. She´s right. I have got to work on that. We laughed over the notion that I was anything like the historian´s first wife, but that if I was, that must be why they are no longer together.
I went to bed that night still frustrated, and still frustrated the next morning. I talked it out with my counterpart and the girls in the sewing room. I told them the truth about the things he said that I did not translate because I thought they were too rude. They agreed with the dueña, that I should have just let everyone know what he was really saying, because they deserve to know what he really had to say about them. They were right too.
I suppose we all see the world differently. They say that you know the world through your experience of it, and thats true. My time here in Ecuador is going to change the way that I see the world, but even still, I dont think that I have changed that much in my time here in Ecuador...I dont like when people are late or when plans are super unsolid and ever changing, but I also understand that thats just the way it is here. Yeah, I get irritated about lateness, but if people at least give me the heads up, I get over it. I cannot have changed that much...even as I sit here in this internet cafe, wasting away money in writing this, in honesty I am doing things I have always done. I am writing to you in an effort to avoid going to the grocery store, cleaning the bathroom and doing the laundry, and I am thinking seriously about going to Taco Bell for dinner to further my time away from the grocery store. Those parts of me, I think, will never change...
Our different lives give us different lenses on the way things are. All I can say is that I am glad that the historian and I do not share the same perscription.
Be well,
Theresa
So within a few days at site, I was informed that some historian from the United States would be coming to Ecuador to learn about Afro-descentant people here. I was told that he spoke no Spanish, so it was asked that I assist with translation. Sure! I said, eager and excited to have work. My days at the time were filled most usually with aimless searching of the free internet in the office, so any definition of real work was welcomed. As time went on, work picked up, I still knew this historian was coming. But I was still pumped about it, I was pumped to assist my organization in sharing the work that they do with someone who would further share this informtion with interested parties in the States and elsewhere.
Well, when the time actually came, it became immediatly tainted with badness. First of all, I had made plans to be visiting with a group in one of the barrios. I had to cancel those plans because, without mentioning anything to me, the president of my organizaion had made plans for me to be at the airport with him and some other guys from the organization to pick the historian up. I was not happy at all about that, its a group thats not part of Proceso, but has a history of working with PCVs in Guayaquil, I have yet to meet with them and have cancelled on them many times already for one reason or another. But I had a prior committment from back when I said I would help with translation, so I figured I would stick to that.
The plane was late. No big deal, and more or less to be expected. How will we know which one he is? I ask the guys from the office. Well, we will just look for an Afro (Ecuador politically correct version of saying "black") person to come through the arrivals gate. Those plans were foiled as a steady stream of black men came thru the gate...there are parties here in Guayaquil right now (of course!) for the city´s anniversery, so lots of people are travelling into town. Most of the black dudes getting off were young musicians, so when an older gentleman not carrying any musical instruments came through, we rose to our feet expectantly. "You here for me?" he asked. We knew it was him, hes speaking in English. "Which one of you speaks English?" He asks, and my work as a translater begins. He greeted us in a gruffy manner, immediatly explaining that there is "already a problem" as his bags were not transferred to his plane and we would have to wait for them to come in later. He asks my name, I say its Theresa, pronounced Teresa in Spanish. He pronounces his name (which is a super difficult name to pronounce, I think its an African name of sorts) and says that its pronounced "the same in English and Spanish and any other language." Well, okay then.
He treats us to beers (coffee for me, still dont drink beer) which was very nice of him. He asks the org president if he remembers their being at the same conference in 1999? The president says no, apologetically, that was a long time ago. The historian responds that his time in Ecuador (hes been here about a week already) has already proved itself to be a humbling experience, he is not accostomed to people forgetting him. He showers some praise on the president and the work that he does, who responds by saying how great the organization is and how proud he is of them. The historian responds by saying that the president is a very humble man in not taking responsiblity for his own accomplishments, and that Theresa is a very beautiful woman. Why thank you. Weird, cuz you are old enough to be my father, I think. But thank you, nonetheless. We make plans to all meet at his hotel the next morning at 10am to go to some museums he has read about in his Lonely Plant Guidebook.
I get to the hotel on time. I left the house early because I wasnt exactly sure how to get there, and I didnt want to be too late. But we are in Ecuador, so I knew that no one else would be on time...but still. The historian was ready to go, the guys from the office were not there. One came by a few minutes later, explaining that the president, who works as a school teacher, would be there soon. He had to go to school in the morning to make sure the students were ready to go with the subsitute, but he would be here, ya mismo. I explained to the historian that ya mismo means in an ungiven amount of time...a few minutes, an hour, next year...dont get your hopes up, it could be a while. I figured that it was no big deal, at least we know he´s on his way, a little waiting never hurt anyone. Well, he disagreed. He proceeded to get very irritated and insulted the president for his tardiness. I tried to explain that at least he had called to say he was on his way, and that is all that matters really around here. He said that he is accostomed to America/European concepts of timelyness, and that nothing would ever change that. Okedoki.
As we waited, he commented on how Ecuadorian women tend to dress in a seemingly provocative manner. I agreed, its the truth (its also the basis of my upcoming Halloween costume!). Especially here on the coast, but its understandable, its ungodly hot out all the time, and this is the cold season. I said that I have even been altering how I dress to accomodate to the weather, a t-shirt with a tank underneth means way more sweat than just wearing the tshirt. Besides that, the women in the office pick on me when I dress with more than one shirt on, they are on a quest for me to join the mesh-shirt concept of fashion. He glanced towards my chest and my v-neck shirt and said that he "couldnt help but notice" that I was dressed in such a manner today, but that I looked "quite cute." Thanks...? He went on to say that I reminded him of his first wife, "idealistic and out to save the world." Anyone who knows me would know that I would take such a thing as an insult. I am not idealistic, nor do I want or believe that I am saving anyone. I told him so, in a polite manner, he responded that he has never lost his idealism that he can change the world. I told him that 2 years in child protection will do that to a person...
We finally got out on our way about an hour later. He got immediatly irritated at the first museum, there was nothing there about Afro people. The org president explained that that is part of the problem. That the museums are funded by the government, and that Afro history is not a priority. The president suggested that we skip the museums and go to the barrios, because all of the museums would be the same. The historian repsonded with several comments on how he found it hard to believe that there was nothing at any of the museums, I translated his words the best I could, usually trying to make them sound less rude than the version that he was giving me. We went out to the barrios, he greeted everyone in English. Okay, I know you dont speak Spanish. But really, if you say that you want to learn about a people, the least you can do is buy a copy of Spanish for Dummies and practice some basic phrases. My irritation is growing...
During the taxi rides he tells me stories of his travels. He has been all over the world, studying Afro people in every corner. What he does really did sound quite interesting. He told me of meeting groups of the untouchables in India, of giving speeches there that so enraged the powers that be that he is not allowed to return to the area. I think I was supposed to be very impressed, lets just say that modesty was not his strong suit. He asked questions of the guys from the office about the status of Afro-Ecudorians, the answers were really interesting. If nothing else, I was glad to have heard them for myself. I really did learn a lot. He had been in Ecuador for about a week already, going to different areas to meet with groups of Afro folks. He had been to Mascarilla, I was so excited to hear that! I asked if he met the PCV there, I told him that was the site I wanted to be assigned to. He asked if she was black? No...shes not, I say. He wouldnt be interested in meeting her if shes not black. This guy is trying on my patience...I am getting flashbacks of arguments I had in high school, I cannot stand people who think like that.
In one of the barrios, he handed out a $20 bill to a group of women who were telling him about the lunch program they provide to kids in the barrio. They were explaining that money is a constant difficulty: food and energy bills cost more than they can afford, but they dont want to raise the price of lunch because they know that the kids´mom´s cant afford it. It didnt appear to me that they were asking for handouts, but they were thankful for what he gave. Not like $20 is really going to pay for much of anything, in the time we were there they were feeding at least 25 kids. In another barrio, he handed a $1 coin to two boys who were following us around. "There, I just made their day" he said. Cavities, I thought. Cavities as a result of a candies they will buy with that dollar. The kids smiled and said Gracias. He responded with Your Welcome, in English. My irritation rises, speaking English and spreading the idea that Americans are just made of money and we can solve all your problems by tossing a dollar at you. Great.
We get back to the hotel for lunchbreak. By this time it is 3pm. I am beyond tired and have fully erased any thoughts I ever had as ever working as a translator should my Spanish ever get good enough to do so. I dont like saying other people´s words. What if I disagree? I still have to say the words. And I dont like surrounding myself with people who bring down my mojo, and that is basically what I had done in agreeing to spend my day helping to interepret for this guy.
I was not happy, and the day was not over. The office had set up a conferencia for the historian to give a lecture. Sounds like a big deal conference, but really it was just a small meeting with some interested people. I tried to explain this to him. He said he understood. He paid for the taxi from the hotel to the conference location, only after complaining that he should have to pay for a taxi to his own conference. When we got into the room, there were a small handful of people seated, a few more milling in, and two people seated at the table in the front of the room. The org president greets us when we come in, saying we are ready to start. I tell the historian, he says we cannot possibly be ready, people are still coming in and what are those people doing sitting at the table up front? I translate this to the president. He says that we are not expecting too many more people, and that they are sitting there to give a welcome speech for the historian. I translate this back to him. He gruffs, we head up to the table anyways.
Okay folks, keep in mind I have already spent the day with this guy. I have already explained to him more than once, and he has already witnessed for himself that I am still learning the Spanish language. I certainly do not have a true mastery of it. So, then, why on EARTH would he not try to at least be nice and accomodate his words to this??? Perhaps he does not understand that when you are learning a language, you learn the simple words first. You dont know all the words, you know words that are used most often. But nooo....just keep on giving your speech with your big ass words, and keep on rolling your eyes at me when I respond that I dont know that word in Spanish. Just keep on telling me under your breath that you will never come back to Guayaquil because the experience here was sub-par. Just keep on complaining that the resources here are written in Spanish and not in English. Just keep on forcing me to translate your insults about my new friend´s choices of hairstyles. Just keep on making me to translate claims that teenaged AfroEcuadorian girls dont like having their picture taken because they have been taught that their skin is ugly (couldnt just be their hormones, right??). Just keep on saying that you will send books on African history here, but heck if you know where to find books in Spanish that anyone here could actually read. Just keep on keepin on, buddy.
At the end of the lecture, I was about ready to kill someone. I couldnt get out of there fast enough. I welcomed the arms the sewing room ladies and their excited comments on what I had missed from the office that day. I was so happy to fet out to the barrio for dance class. Here´s the thing: I had to cancel a meeting with a group of community members so that we could take a tour and flash some pictures and talk about community service to Afro-people around the world. Talk about teaching Afro-people to be proud of their history, talk about supporting their programs, talk about showing them by example of all they can accomplish. I cancelled action to talk. Then, to add insult to injury, I was late my class to do some more talking. Frustration does not even describe it.
Over dinner that night, I recounted my frustrations to the dueña. She understood. She agreed that it is rude and counterproductive to say you want to learn about a people if you do not want to take the time to actually speak to them. I told her how he had visited more than 80 countries, but from what I could tell, he spoke only English. She was equally as amazed at the ridiculousness as I was. She said that I should have said something. I shouldnt have just sat there and translated and let him crap all over my good mood. I told her that I try to live by Ghandi´s words that "We must be the change that we want to see in the world." That I dont like to tell people how they should behave, I would rather just behave in a matter that I find appropriate and hope that others might follow the example. She said thats all good and well for people who are willing to pay attention, but that sometimes you just got to speak up. She´s right. I have got to work on that. We laughed over the notion that I was anything like the historian´s first wife, but that if I was, that must be why they are no longer together.
I went to bed that night still frustrated, and still frustrated the next morning. I talked it out with my counterpart and the girls in the sewing room. I told them the truth about the things he said that I did not translate because I thought they were too rude. They agreed with the dueña, that I should have just let everyone know what he was really saying, because they deserve to know what he really had to say about them. They were right too.
I suppose we all see the world differently. They say that you know the world through your experience of it, and thats true. My time here in Ecuador is going to change the way that I see the world, but even still, I dont think that I have changed that much in my time here in Ecuador...I dont like when people are late or when plans are super unsolid and ever changing, but I also understand that thats just the way it is here. Yeah, I get irritated about lateness, but if people at least give me the heads up, I get over it. I cannot have changed that much...even as I sit here in this internet cafe, wasting away money in writing this, in honesty I am doing things I have always done. I am writing to you in an effort to avoid going to the grocery store, cleaning the bathroom and doing the laundry, and I am thinking seriously about going to Taco Bell for dinner to further my time away from the grocery store. Those parts of me, I think, will never change...
Our different lives give us different lenses on the way things are. All I can say is that I am glad that the historian and I do not share the same perscription.
Be well,
Theresa
The Up Side
So the last two weeks since I last wrote have been one of extremes...moments of major goodness and moments of major badness. I will split them into two entries, so that they do not taint each other...
First, the Up Side. The good stuff. If I went back to when I last wrote, it was sitting here at this same computer the day that I lost my voice. The next day, my voice was back, more or less, so i returned to work. The week that followed was great! for a number of reasons.
1. I received unneccessary (but always welcomed!) amounts of care packages. When I last wrote I had received 2 packages...in the days that followed I got three more. My friends are amazing. I cannot express that enough. There is so much candy in my room that I do not even know what to do with it, I feel like I should just carry it around and give it to the street kids selling cigarettes and gum on the bus. But then I think, candy makes cavities, dental care doesnt happen, who would I really be helping? (and this make-believe will get me through another night...) Okay, so maybe I am just really greedy, whatever. So needless to say, me and the ants in my room are very happy with the new supply of sweets. I also got two books (gracias a dios!) which I proptly began reading since I have no unread books left...danger is near! Reading is always made easier with the peaceful tunes of adult-alternative mixed cds (although I am pretty sure the dueña and her son think I might be falling into some kind of musical depression of sorts...) And the walls of my room are colorfully plastered with beautiful pictures and cards of pieces of my life from home. Its great. You are all great. I am grateful for each of you.
2. The Mujeres de Lucha. They are a group that I work with in one of the barrios here. They are freaking awesome! I love working with them so much, helping people who want help! Pfft! Who ever heard of such a thing?!?! I love it. We (how exciting is it that I can use that pronoun instead of "they"?!?!) are working on plans for a Día de Nutrición coming up this Tuesday. I was asked to print off some nutritional info on carrots, beans and quinuoa (a grain that is super common here and super good for you) and to try to think of ideas for a charla on nutrition. What I came up with (aided of course by my awesome PC pre-service training) is Nutrition Bingo. I printed off a copy of the new Food Guide Pyramid, news to me that there even was a new edition. I suggested that we make Bingo cards with the food groups in place of letters, and food in place of numbers. And the free space: exercise! because we must remember that exercise is an important part of nutrition. It sounds lame, I know, but Bingo is crazy popular down here, and learning is always better when it is fun...right? So I was hoping the idea would not be totally laughed at. I presented the idea, and guess what? In true Ecuador style, the Mujeres de Lucha were so excited about it. They got all pumped and were like, "We can give away apples, pears and bananas as prizes instead of candy! Great!!!" I was so happy! I am continually blown away at working in this country. I am always thinking that whatever ideas I come up with or whatever I try to offer will never be enough, that the ideas have been done so who would want to do them again. But the result is usually the opposite, and it seems to surprize me everytime. Tomorrow at the meeting, we will make the Bingo cards (What? Make our own personalized Bingo cards rather than buying premade ones? Great idea!), and Tuesday is the program. One of the ladys asked what we would do to make sure that the point of the Bingo was getting explained everytime? And another lady was like, "Of course, Theresa will be there to help us, dont worry. Youll be there, right Theresa?" Of course I will! Little do they know that I will do very little so that they will see how very much they can do without my assistance...
The Mujeres also asked for English classes. Ugggghhhh....have I mentioned that I hate teaching English? I dont know, part of it is that its hard to teach: I refuse to just write the phrases in Spanish, then write the English version of the phrase. I think it is important to understand that "Cómo te llamas" does not exactly mean "What is your name," because that is actually "Qué es tu nombre" because things are said differently in English than they are in Spanish. And I like to explain that "Buenas tardes" is "Good afternoon" because "after" means "despues de" and "noon" means "medio-día." When I teach that to kids here, often times the respond is just a blank stare...they dont really care. They just want to know how to say the freaking phrase in English. Why, though? Why do you want to speak English? Thats the other reason I dont really like teaching: Something about people wanting to speak English bothers me. I feel like teaching English is giving into American capitalism taking over the world. Thats a hugely broad stroke of the paintbrush, I know, but thats not something that I want to do. And I know that teaching some kids in Ecuador how to say "Good Morning" isnt really a huge step in that direction, but its like littering... Yeah, my gum-wrapper on the ground isnt really hurting anyone; but if there are lots of gum-wrappers on the ground, that is hurting someone. So my small wave is contributing to the bigger tsunami, and I dont like to do that. But thats what they want, they want English. So I try to set aside my wants and just go with it. Thats made harder when my actually trying to TEACH the words rather than having them memorize the pharases is answered by blank stares.
But, in the first class with the Mujeres de Lucha, it was a different experience. Before I even launched into my explaination between asking for someone´s name in English vs. Spanish, the question was asked for why it took more words in English than it did in Spanish. How awesome is that? That means that they werent just writing the letters down on their paper to form some random words that they dont really look at but just try to remember how the words sound. They actually were paying attention! Its the little things that count, folks.
3. The sewing ladies. My constant frustration of not living in the barrios continues. It gets worse everytime I go to the barrios. How am I ever going to be a part of this community when I live on the outside? No one here will every seem me as part of their "them" if I continue to be the chick who comes in on a bus and leaves during the night in a taxi because their neighborhood is too dangerous at nighttime to take public transportation. But the time I spend with the ladies in the sewing room makes me feel so much better. If a day (or even several hours) passes that I am not there, when I return they are like, "Tere! Where were you???" They always make me feel so welcome, so wanted. Its nice. They want me to move into their barrio, but they understand that I cannot. They invite me to hacer la vaca (really means "do the cow" but for whatever reason in slang is means to split the bill) with them and go in on a group lunch. They are sad that we are almost done with our 1000 bolsos and dont have plans on what to sew next. The other day I was having a HORRIBLE day (as explained later in the Down Side), but at the end they surrounded me, linked their arms with mine, and told me excitedly all about how the machine repair man had come to the office today, all the machines are running like new, and he even taught them how to use the double needle! They couldnt wait for me to come in the next day to see the work they had done with their new found knowledge. They make me smile.
4. The jovenes got in a fight. That should be a bad thing, I know. But they got in a fight and now they are working on resolving it. The group that I work with the most (who have now agreed to call themselves Afromix) are a combination of kids from two neighboring barrios. For whatever reason, they tend not to like each other, but they know it makes more sense for them to work together given that they live practically next door to each other. But, at hip hop dance class two weeks ago, one of the girls from one side was making fun of a girl from the other side. So they started fighting, the girls from each side ganged up on the girls from the other. Teenagers!
So we spent the entire next group meeting talking through the matter. No one mentioned for quite some time that the problem had stemmed from dance class. Once that came up, I told them straight up that if this is the result of my classes, the classes will be cancelled. Oh! Anything but that! The guys (who had been all but silent during the meeting) chimed in that this is a problem between the girls in the group, and as far as they are concerned it is petty and they should just get over it. The girls in the group agreed that this fight was not bigger than what they wanted for the group, and that stopping dance classes was not an acceptable solution. So the group will stay together and we will work through it. (I will covertly work on forcing them to work on projects that mix the two groups together...)
After the meeting, I spoke, or tried to speak, with the girl who was getting made fun of. She had left class that day, I was concerned because she is one of my favorite kids, and I didnt know what the problem had been. I asked her how she felt after talking through things in the meeting. She said she felt better, especially because she had come ready to fight, although she didnt really want to. And I am not talking about a cat fight: she had braided up her hair, took out her earings, wore her tennis shoes in place of flip-flops. I told her that she should be a woman about it. She took that to mean that she should be strong, and defend herself with her fists. I tried to explain that a real woman knows the value of her body; and that no other person should be given a higher value than that of her body, not in terms of sex or physical fighting or anything. That a woman would never allow her body to be used in such a manner. Honestly, I am not sure if she was really listening, but at least the words were put out in the air around her. And the fight never happened, gracias a dios.
So there you have it. Things have been, for the most part, pretty good. Until a visitor came...
First, the Up Side. The good stuff. If I went back to when I last wrote, it was sitting here at this same computer the day that I lost my voice. The next day, my voice was back, more or less, so i returned to work. The week that followed was great! for a number of reasons.
1. I received unneccessary (but always welcomed!) amounts of care packages. When I last wrote I had received 2 packages...in the days that followed I got three more. My friends are amazing. I cannot express that enough. There is so much candy in my room that I do not even know what to do with it, I feel like I should just carry it around and give it to the street kids selling cigarettes and gum on the bus. But then I think, candy makes cavities, dental care doesnt happen, who would I really be helping? (and this make-believe will get me through another night...) Okay, so maybe I am just really greedy, whatever. So needless to say, me and the ants in my room are very happy with the new supply of sweets. I also got two books (gracias a dios!) which I proptly began reading since I have no unread books left...danger is near! Reading is always made easier with the peaceful tunes of adult-alternative mixed cds (although I am pretty sure the dueña and her son think I might be falling into some kind of musical depression of sorts...) And the walls of my room are colorfully plastered with beautiful pictures and cards of pieces of my life from home. Its great. You are all great. I am grateful for each of you.
2. The Mujeres de Lucha. They are a group that I work with in one of the barrios here. They are freaking awesome! I love working with them so much, helping people who want help! Pfft! Who ever heard of such a thing?!?! I love it. We (how exciting is it that I can use that pronoun instead of "they"?!?!) are working on plans for a Día de Nutrición coming up this Tuesday. I was asked to print off some nutritional info on carrots, beans and quinuoa (a grain that is super common here and super good for you) and to try to think of ideas for a charla on nutrition. What I came up with (aided of course by my awesome PC pre-service training) is Nutrition Bingo. I printed off a copy of the new Food Guide Pyramid, news to me that there even was a new edition. I suggested that we make Bingo cards with the food groups in place of letters, and food in place of numbers. And the free space: exercise! because we must remember that exercise is an important part of nutrition. It sounds lame, I know, but Bingo is crazy popular down here, and learning is always better when it is fun...right? So I was hoping the idea would not be totally laughed at. I presented the idea, and guess what? In true Ecuador style, the Mujeres de Lucha were so excited about it. They got all pumped and were like, "We can give away apples, pears and bananas as prizes instead of candy! Great!!!" I was so happy! I am continually blown away at working in this country. I am always thinking that whatever ideas I come up with or whatever I try to offer will never be enough, that the ideas have been done so who would want to do them again. But the result is usually the opposite, and it seems to surprize me everytime. Tomorrow at the meeting, we will make the Bingo cards (What? Make our own personalized Bingo cards rather than buying premade ones? Great idea!), and Tuesday is the program. One of the ladys asked what we would do to make sure that the point of the Bingo was getting explained everytime? And another lady was like, "Of course, Theresa will be there to help us, dont worry. Youll be there, right Theresa?" Of course I will! Little do they know that I will do very little so that they will see how very much they can do without my assistance...
The Mujeres also asked for English classes. Ugggghhhh....have I mentioned that I hate teaching English? I dont know, part of it is that its hard to teach: I refuse to just write the phrases in Spanish, then write the English version of the phrase. I think it is important to understand that "Cómo te llamas" does not exactly mean "What is your name," because that is actually "Qué es tu nombre" because things are said differently in English than they are in Spanish. And I like to explain that "Buenas tardes" is "Good afternoon" because "after" means "despues de" and "noon" means "medio-día." When I teach that to kids here, often times the respond is just a blank stare...they dont really care. They just want to know how to say the freaking phrase in English. Why, though? Why do you want to speak English? Thats the other reason I dont really like teaching: Something about people wanting to speak English bothers me. I feel like teaching English is giving into American capitalism taking over the world. Thats a hugely broad stroke of the paintbrush, I know, but thats not something that I want to do. And I know that teaching some kids in Ecuador how to say "Good Morning" isnt really a huge step in that direction, but its like littering... Yeah, my gum-wrapper on the ground isnt really hurting anyone; but if there are lots of gum-wrappers on the ground, that is hurting someone. So my small wave is contributing to the bigger tsunami, and I dont like to do that. But thats what they want, they want English. So I try to set aside my wants and just go with it. Thats made harder when my actually trying to TEACH the words rather than having them memorize the pharases is answered by blank stares.
But, in the first class with the Mujeres de Lucha, it was a different experience. Before I even launched into my explaination between asking for someone´s name in English vs. Spanish, the question was asked for why it took more words in English than it did in Spanish. How awesome is that? That means that they werent just writing the letters down on their paper to form some random words that they dont really look at but just try to remember how the words sound. They actually were paying attention! Its the little things that count, folks.
3. The sewing ladies. My constant frustration of not living in the barrios continues. It gets worse everytime I go to the barrios. How am I ever going to be a part of this community when I live on the outside? No one here will every seem me as part of their "them" if I continue to be the chick who comes in on a bus and leaves during the night in a taxi because their neighborhood is too dangerous at nighttime to take public transportation. But the time I spend with the ladies in the sewing room makes me feel so much better. If a day (or even several hours) passes that I am not there, when I return they are like, "Tere! Where were you???" They always make me feel so welcome, so wanted. Its nice. They want me to move into their barrio, but they understand that I cannot. They invite me to hacer la vaca (really means "do the cow" but for whatever reason in slang is means to split the bill) with them and go in on a group lunch. They are sad that we are almost done with our 1000 bolsos and dont have plans on what to sew next. The other day I was having a HORRIBLE day (as explained later in the Down Side), but at the end they surrounded me, linked their arms with mine, and told me excitedly all about how the machine repair man had come to the office today, all the machines are running like new, and he even taught them how to use the double needle! They couldnt wait for me to come in the next day to see the work they had done with their new found knowledge. They make me smile.
4. The jovenes got in a fight. That should be a bad thing, I know. But they got in a fight and now they are working on resolving it. The group that I work with the most (who have now agreed to call themselves Afromix) are a combination of kids from two neighboring barrios. For whatever reason, they tend not to like each other, but they know it makes more sense for them to work together given that they live practically next door to each other. But, at hip hop dance class two weeks ago, one of the girls from one side was making fun of a girl from the other side. So they started fighting, the girls from each side ganged up on the girls from the other. Teenagers!
So we spent the entire next group meeting talking through the matter. No one mentioned for quite some time that the problem had stemmed from dance class. Once that came up, I told them straight up that if this is the result of my classes, the classes will be cancelled. Oh! Anything but that! The guys (who had been all but silent during the meeting) chimed in that this is a problem between the girls in the group, and as far as they are concerned it is petty and they should just get over it. The girls in the group agreed that this fight was not bigger than what they wanted for the group, and that stopping dance classes was not an acceptable solution. So the group will stay together and we will work through it. (I will covertly work on forcing them to work on projects that mix the two groups together...)
After the meeting, I spoke, or tried to speak, with the girl who was getting made fun of. She had left class that day, I was concerned because she is one of my favorite kids, and I didnt know what the problem had been. I asked her how she felt after talking through things in the meeting. She said she felt better, especially because she had come ready to fight, although she didnt really want to. And I am not talking about a cat fight: she had braided up her hair, took out her earings, wore her tennis shoes in place of flip-flops. I told her that she should be a woman about it. She took that to mean that she should be strong, and defend herself with her fists. I tried to explain that a real woman knows the value of her body; and that no other person should be given a higher value than that of her body, not in terms of sex or physical fighting or anything. That a woman would never allow her body to be used in such a manner. Honestly, I am not sure if she was really listening, but at least the words were put out in the air around her. And the fight never happened, gracias a dios.
So there you have it. Things have been, for the most part, pretty good. Until a visitor came...
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