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
Monday, October 29, 2007
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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