Peace Corps Volunteers: They're just like US!...They love and worry about kids

Haha, thats my nod to my favorite section of the trash magazines from the States. Like its important to know that Ashton Kutcher plugs the toll on his own meter. Ah, but I cant help but look...Anyhow, on to the post.

This problem I have right now is multisided, multidimensional, multiplying with each coming day. In Ecuador, migration is a major problem. Have we discussed this? I think so. Its two sided: adults leave Ecuador to go live and work in other countries, especially the States, Spain and Chile (at least in the families that I know). Then they send money back to their families here in Ecuador. Sounds like a good enough thing, but the problem is that most of the time they leave their kids behind. And as much as money is helpful in raising kids, (in my opinion) a present parent is far more valuable. Interesting factoids: Of the total Ecuadorian population (about 13 million people), about 15% live outside of the country; and money sent from family members who migrated to other countries is the second leading source of revenue in Ecuador (second to oil. I think I previously said it was the third, but I was wrong). So, obviously, migration is a big problem in the country, because it leaves lots of kids behind; but its totally necessary in the country, because it creates revenue.

So there are the statistics. Here is a piece of the reality, in my admittadly skewed, American way of seeing it. I work with teens in one barrio here in Guayaquil, and I work with an am very close with children in another barrio here in the city. The teens I work with are incredibly wonderful. In fact, they just threw me a surprize birthday party last week and pushed my face into the cake. It was wonderful and I love those kids! They are smart, they come to meetings twice a week, and they are generally interested in learning about values, self esteem, and of course, sex. We had a charla the other week about the human genital parts. They were so freaking attentive during that charla, it was scary! It was so much fun, such a rush, to see them connect the pieces together...the pain near your pelvic bone when your ovary releases an egg, the fact that the penis fills with blood (not sperm) to create an erection, the concept that the vagina expands in such extreme ways that it allows a new child to pass through into the world. I would not trade the work that I do with them for anything, it is a major part of my life here.

Like I said, they are really great, wonderful kids. They are well cared for, they have adults in their lives who look out for their well being. But the fact is that they are not the only teens living in their barrio. Consistantly there is a group of about 9 kids that come every week, but there are hundreds of teens living in that barrio. When I get off the three-wheeled moto in Isla Trinitaria, I pass by lots of teens sitting around on street corners, doing a whole lot of nothing. They gather and play cards, they probably drink a beer or two if they can get their hands on some. They whistle at girls who pass by, they struggle to carry the children that they had years before they were ready to care for them. Thats just reality. I love my jovenes, but that doesnt mean that I dont notice all the teens that dont come to the meetings. I care about my jovenes, but that doesnt mean that I dont worry just as much (if not more) about the kids gathered on the corner.

As you know (if you have been keeping up), I spend most of my time out in Calle 8. Since I am there for several hours a day, 6 days a week, I have come to be that Peace Corps Volunteer that kids run up to screaming "Tia!!!" (which means Aunt). They grab my hands and ask me if we have class that day (art class), ask if we can play a game, ask me for 5 cents so they can buy a frozen treat (I never give it, but they keep asking). There are a couple of kids that I see very often, and am becoming very attached to. Two are a set of brothers, two are a set of sisters, both live with grandparents. The boys' mom live here in Guayaquil. When I ask adults where she is, I get told that shes "Over there" with a motion leading out of the barrio. When I ask what shes doing, and why shes hardly ever around, I get shrugs. What is she doing? Drugs? Who knows. The girls' mom has migrated to another country. She comes back to visit about once a year, an event that is coming up right now with much anticipation from her daughters and mother. And me. I want to know her, I want to not be so mad at her all the time. I want to understand her intentions, because I am sure they are good.

Ah, this is hard. Out of respect for the kids and their families, I dont want to give too many details. But I want you to know these kids. I want you to come to lunch and meet them, to see how they all but beg be be spoon fed their soup, despite the fact that they are 7 years old. I want you to see how giving them one little hug results in them crawling up on your lap, cradling themselves in your arms like an infant. I want you to feel this constant tug on my heart that these kids make.

The girls' dad lives in Guayaquil, too. He was supposed to take care of them for the school year, but when confronted with the reality that he would then also have to be financially responsible for them, he ran off with his 'other woman.' The girls dont seem to mind, I wonder if this was the first time. While taking a nap the older one heard her grandmom say that someone had called earlier. She woke from her slumber and asked, 'Who called? My dad? Is he coming to get me? Did my mom call? Who called, grandma?' We all just looked at her...what do you say? Your dad doesnt....doesnt want...doesnt want to what? To care for you? To pay for you lunch? To hold you when youre sleepy? To play with you? To what? And your mom? How do you explain to a seven-year-old that mom loves you SO much that she moved far, far away so that she can send money home to pay for you to go to school?

I just worry about my kids, thats all. I want to take them all home with me, to love them all like they are my own and to remind them everyday, every hour and every minute how beautiful and wonderful and special they are. I do not want them to grow up to be those kids who hang out on the corner and do God knows what. I want, I want, I want them to be okay. But, at the same time, I know that I am not the solution. As much as those kiddos love me and I love them, I am Tia, not mom. I tell them that I love them all the time, I braid their hair, I kiss their boo-boos, I draw pictures with them. But I am Tia Tere, and thats just reality. I just hate reality, thats all. I want to be able to some how change it, somehow make it "better" or at least "easier." But what do I know? And more importantly, what can I do?

...ah, I hate stressing so much. Continue with art classes (in celebration of Earth Day they each decorated little cups and got little plants to take home and care for). Hold hands as we walk down the street. Blow on spoonfulls of soup to cool it off. Kiss boo-boos. Be Tia. Thats all I can do.

Go home and kiss your kids,
Tia Tere