Do as I Say, Not as I Do.

Today the reason why I cannot stand to work with my counterpart agency was personified during a meeting with the youth group.

The only contact I have with my assigned counterpart agency is twice a week with my direct counterpart person. Lets call her Louisa. Louisa had promised them that we would watch a movie having to do with Afro-History, because that is what we discussed the last time we met. During the last meeting, Louisa had prepared a printout about Afro-Ecuadorian history for the group. It was actually really great—we read over the history and talked about how it related to the kids today. Well, really Louisa did most the talking, as it goes during most any charla she gives. She was pretty adamant during the charla, as it goes during most any time she is talking about Afro-Ecuadorian history. She gets really loud when talking about how Afro-people helped construct this country, both literally and figuratively, yet (in her opinion) are consistently denied any special rights to it as the indigenous people are. She tells the kids that they should be proud of who they are, proud of where they come from. That they should see all black people as their family, their brothers and sisters, embracing everything that is black about their neighbors and themselves.

So getting back to today—we watched a Danny Glover movie called Bopah!. It is about apartheid in South Africa, it was a pretty serious movie, had a feel similar to Hotel Rwanda. In the movie the police (which is run by white men, but dirty work is done by black men) are trying to take control of a city that is on the cusp of erupting with a revolution. Every time the revolutionaries would gather, the police would break it up with tear-gas, guns and beating batons. The twist is that Danny Glover is a police officer, but his son is one of the revolutionaries. The leader of the revolutionaries is taken to jail where he is severely beaten for refusing to speak and eventually killed. Although we discussed Afro-Ecuadorian history before, we did not discuss the premise of this particular film. I assumed that Louisa was going to do this, since it was her charla to plan and since I do not possess South African History 101 in my brain and wasn’t able to prepare because I wasn’t told what we were watching until the bus ride over to the meeting. But of course that didn’t happen and we just jumped right into the film. After several demonstrations during the film, several fights between members of the two sides, I asked the group if everyone understood what was going on in the movie. The response was silence, which I took as a “No,” but Louisa said “Yes” so everyone nodded and we continued. After the revolutionary leader was nearly killed while in police custody I asked again if everyone understood what was happening. Finally the youth group president spoke up that she wasn’t sure she understood why the police were beating the man in captivity. We paused the movie, Louisa groaned, insisting that everyone understood, and I asked for someone to explain what had happened up until that point. Silence. So we discussed it, questions were asked, both me and Louisa answered (as best we could, I don’t think she, either, is well versed in South African history), and we got back to watching.

That’s part one of what bugged me: that she insists that since she follows what is going on, that everyone else does. Are we here for ourselves or are we here for the youth group? Yeah, that’s what I thought.

The revolutionary leader was an incredibly dark, dark black man; so dark that his lips were a purplish-brown color. Louisa made a comment about the “ugly” color of his lips and laughed along with the youth group at her own joke. When it was nighttime and the characters faces disappeared in the darkness, she laughed and said they should just close their eyes and mouths, that way the police would never find them. When a character with a large, flat nose was with his girlfriend, she made a joke about how could the girl want him with a nose like that? When Danny Glover’s character’s wife is screaming, pleading with her husband to leave the police force and respect his son’s efforts, she laughed that the woman was so overcome with emotion. When the police are beating people in the streets, sending people fleeing for their lives in all directions, she makes a “plop” sound as the baton hits their flesh. When the blacks are rejoicing, singing a song in a tribal-sounding language, she makes fun of the “do-digga-do” sound of their voices and the way that they dance.

And the youth group laughed right along with her every time. I ask again, are we here for ourselves or to teach the youth something? And what are we teaching them? Our words, or our actions?

The movie ended without a real conclusion, they don’t come out and tell you what happened with the characters involved. The youth group groaned complaints. Louisa asked me again (or just asked the air? I am sure she wasn’t actually talking to me, but I answered anyhow) how they could end the movie without telling you what happened? I said it was probably done on purpose. That this was a struggle that lasted for YEARS in South Africa. That the characters probably died for their cause, that a lot of people died during this time. She rolled her eyes at me, shook her head and said, “Yeah, yeah, whatever, Tere,” as though I were the one who did not understand the movie.

Lets Go to the Movies

Would you take your 5 year old to see Mr. Woodcock? Just based on the title of the movie, and the fact that the main characters are Billy Bob Thorton and the guy who got famous as playing Stifler in the American Pie movies, I would guess that the answer is a resounding NO. I would agree, and so would whoever makes ratings for movies, as I would assume that Mr. Woodcock is rated PG-13. I wouldn’t know, because these ratings don’t seem to apply here in Ecuador…it was listed as a movie appropriate for children 12 years old and up, but it seems to me that those listings are made for fun or formality sake, because the people selling the tickets don’t seem to care.

Here in Ecuador one of my favorite things to do is to go to the movies. Alone. I never did that in the States, never had the courage nor the need I guess, either. But I do it quite a bit here, and I especially enjoy it when the theater is nearly empty; in fact if I am the only one there its perfect! This past Sunday I decided to go to a movie after a “date” I had with an EcuaDude ended after he pumped gas in his car and made an emergency appointment with his mechanic because his car was stalling (he buys and sells cars for a living and needed the car to be sale-ready. I like to believe that it really was an emergency, because I looked really cute that day and I don’t like to think he was just ditching me. Why even show up then, right??). I made it to the mall with 10 minutes to spare for show time (not bad seeing as how I didn’t even know when it was starting). I bought my ticket and thought to myself, “Hmm, there must be a lot of people seeing Wall-E today, cuz there sure are a lot of kids out here.” I bought my usual Kiddie Combo popcorn, candy bar and drink and headed in.

The theater is packed, I am forced to sit in the 5^th row, just so I can have a few seats as a buffer between me and the nearest movie-watcher. Strike One. The previews start and more people continue to file into the theater. A group of teenagers sit in my row, leaving only one seat of buffer on my right between me and them. There is no way I can pretend that I am alone in this theater with people sitting so freaking close to me! Strike Two. A family comes in: Mom, Dad, daughter age 7ish, daughter age 5ish. They are looking for seats, I am relieved that the whole front row is open for them to pick from, and besides there are only 3 seats to my left, so that’s not enough space for them. You can imagine my shock when the dad comes up to me and asks if I would mind moving into the empty buffer seat to my right so that his family can fit on the left. My annoyed expression and rolled eyes must have been clearly visible in the dark theater, because he tossed in a “No seas malita” which literally means “don’t be mean” but is used in Ecuador to mean “pretty, pretty please.” Strike Three. I move over.

As if it can get any worse, the children proceed to talk during the entire movie. The movie is in English, subtitles in Spanish, so OF COURSE the 5 and 7 year old are bored. I am sure they had no freaking idea what the hell was going on, besides what they can gather from the pictures. Oh wait, no…Daddy helped them out with that one--as he proceeded to give them a play by play of what was happening. Whenever the 5 year old did catch a word that was said in the movie, like “Bye” and “Thank you,” she would repeat it over and over and over again. “Bye! Bye! Bye! What does ‘bye’ mean, daddy?” He leans in as if he’s going to whisper the answer to her, and answers at full volume that it means “adios.” “Adios! Adios! Bye! Bye! Bye!” she repeats. Well great, glad I could sit through your freaking English lesson.

So, to my left I have a family which clearly doesn’t understand the no-talking-during-the-movie rule, a 7 year old practically spilling her soda on my shoe, and a 5 year old learning that “please” means “porfavor.” Directly behind me is another child, who is running back and forth between her mom and dad, batting my head in the process. My eyes are distracted by the glow of a text-messager’s cell phone 2 rows ahead of me. Somewhere in the back, an infant starts crying. To make matters worse, the movie sorta sucks. But what really got me is that this movie was filled with sexual references. I mean, I guess its not like the 5 year old could read what was going on (or the 7 year old either, who knows?), but still. Women getting their butts grabbed, men making grinding motions, a bed bouncing up and down with “Oh, oh, oh” sounds in the background. And I am sure this isn’t the first age-inappropriate movie they have seen in their lives. And I wonder why EcuaChildren can be so inappropriate sometimes? Cripes, who can blame them?

So here’s the lesson, parents. PG-13 means 13 and up--or 12 and up, if you happen to live in Ecuador. Either way, it does not mean 5 or 7, and P.S. if the movie is not dubbed into Spanish so that kids don’t have to read along to get it, its probably not appropriate for your kids to watch. And by the way, leave the gringa alone. Don’t sit next to me!

Lost

I am at a bit of a loss here.

I like to write on this blog about interesting happenings in my work. However, since I got back from vacation in the States I have felt like I am on a downward, slippery, quickly sliding slope. I just feel...I dont know. I guess thats the loss. I dont really know what I feel but I know that its not really a feeling of happiness about wanting to be here. I dont want to be there, either. Anyone who saw me when I was at home could see in my eyes and hear in my voice that I wanted to go back home--to Ecuador. So now I am back, so now what? Work has become just that: work. Work, by my personal definition, is something that you get up for in the morning, but avoid doing for as long as is humanly possible. Terribly negative outlook, isnt it? Work is generally enjoyed once you are there, but you look for other things to do to keep youself busy outside of work, too. Thats sort of what my life here has become: work.

Maybe I just like to complain, maybe its because I am a "city volunteer", maybe its because I dont have a tv, maybe its because I'm broke, maybe its because I am perpetually single in a country where young couples take PDA to a whole new level, maybe its just me--but I feel like my life is too much about work and not enough about learning, enjoying, being. So what do I want to learn, enjoy...(gasp!), be? Good question. Theres that loss again. I am working on figuring that out (by working on it I mean being at a total loss and spending WAY more time than is healthy for a human sitting on my futon and reading books, with occasional trips to the internet cafe to research "future plans"). So what should I do? I am open for suggestions. Speaking of suggestions, sometimes (and by sometimes I mean all the time) writing on this blog makes me sad when people dont post comments. I mean, I mean not to fish for compliments, but I want thoughts, perspectives, opinions. Thats why I keep this thing for cripes sake, I can keep a journal on my own without posting it on the internet. Por gusto me voy a continuar escribiendo aqui si nadie lo esta leyendo? So anyhow, let me know your thoughts on that (silence is a thought as well).

In the meantime what do I have to tell you? In an attmept to do whatever it took to get the hell out of my site, I recently went on a little trip. I went up to Súa, where I spent last Christmas, and went whale watching. It was amazing. We saw a family of whales and I took great pictures (which I would share with you except that this computer doesnt want to read my pendrive right now). I then went to another beach (Mompiche) and hung out on a hidden black sand beach area. Wonderful again. Then I went to a town called Mindo (I have been there before, during training) and went zip-lining through the canopy trees in the cloud forest. More amazing and wonderul things that I get to do in my lucky life here (and I dont mean that in a sarcastic way). During the trip I chatted with some other volunteers (because thats mostly who I was with) and I pulled outta my slump, if even just for a minute. One of the volunteers I was with had a really great time talking about how he hates Ecuador and hates his job and hates Ecuadorians and hate hate hate. I do not hate Ecuador. I love Ecuador; I am just bored (I was bored in the States, too, hell, how do you think I ended up here??). The best thing about leaving site is coming back. I missed my house and I missed my solitude and I missed the Mujeres. But then I get back and there is no food in my house, and I am bored being alone at home, and the Mujeres missed me, too, but did just fine without me (and cripes let me talk before you jump in correcting me about what it is I did on my trip!).

Anyway, I am getting no where with this post. I will try to be more positive next time, if I decide I have something worth writing when next time comes around.

Peace,
Theresa