(Before I get to the post, I warn you now that I recently brought my laptop back with me from the States, which means that I can write at home and more easily make blog posts. Basically what that means is that I will probably be posting more blogs, but maybe more than one at a time (for instance, today I am making 4 posts: 3 stories, one intro-explaination). I will also be back-setting the dates on those posts accordingly...okay, hope that all makes sense... and hope you dont get overwhelmed with The Theresa Show--cue theme song...what is my theme song??)
So today I got the bright idea to maybe teach yoga-pilates in the barrio.
This sprung from my deep, sinking feeling of complete and utter uselessness in the barrio today. I am sure the Mujeres would be upset to hear me say it, but I am feeling more and more (or as many mores as one can have after one week) since my vacation that they really don’t need me anymore. Did they need me to begin with? Well, not like they asked for me, but also not like I ever felt a “want” for things to do, or a need to (heaven forbid) “busy” myself. I felt like I was motivating them to get this Comedor back on its feet. I was trying to remind them of why they became a group in the first place, and bringing them back to the place where they worked together as a team, not as several separate entities. I was bringing in the outside so that they could bask in the sunshine that they created for themselves on the inside. I was a good volunteer.
Then I went on vacation, and things continued as normal without me. Or at least they continued as a post-Tere normal. I came back and found that my role had been divided up between various members, and that things were going as they should be (not quite as detail-oriented as they were with me, but going nonetheless. And with WAY fewer math mistakes, but hey, it was their choice to put me in charge of a math-oriented job!). Isn't this the goal? Isn't this that thing they call “sustainability?” For my community to pick up where I left off: be happy to see me, happy to have me around, but not really NEED for me to be there. I guess that’s the goal, trouble is the goal sucks for me. I hate to be constantly tuned into The Theresa Show, but here’s the thing: I like feeling wanted, but I like feeling needed more. I like feeling that my help is actually making a difference. Yeah, yeah, my help MADE a difference: I mean, look at where we are now. Not like I can begin to take credit for all the changes that have gone on in the last year with the Mujeres, but I equally am not gonna act like it had nothing to do with me. I did a lot of legwork, a lot of talking, a lot of brochure making, a lot of organizing, a lot of smiling nice and embarrassing myself in front of TV cameras, a lot of supporting and backing and encouraging…and finally, the Comedor is on its feet again.
So now what do I do?
I mean, I can still to the listado for lunch; that it is still helpful for me to keep track of who is eating lunch each day and making various payments. But that’s about the only role that I have going on right now…I mean, I guess by the time I left for vacation that’s how it was, too, but I had PLANS. Art class was done since the kids started school again and were sleeping in on Saturdays. I planned to fill my Saturdays then with classes for the mothers of the Comedor program. I figured I would alternate traditional (read “mostly-because-PC-makes-me”) charlas on nutrition, children's rights, care for kids, etc. with more practical (in my humble opinion) workshops on making flowers out of paper, making toys for your kids out of toilet paper rolls, making a campo oven, and knitting (that is once I learn how to knit…). But then I get back and learn that some classes for the community are going to be starting. I don’t know by who…some governmental something or the other I think. Anyhow it’s a wonderful, wonderful thing, but they are offering classes on EVERYTHING from cake baking to auto mechanics to crafts to computers. So again, I am at a loss. What the hell am I supposed to do? Just up and find a new community to work in because mine doesn’t need me anymore? Like hell I will! I freaking love this community fiercely, I don’t want to work anywhere else, I just need to know what to do!
So that’s how I came (back to) yoga-pilates. You see, the only reason I brought my yoga mat was because I had this pipe dream when I left that I would teach yoga-pilates to women or teens in my community once I had a “community” to speak of. That never ended up happening, mostly because I am too afraid. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I can be fearless at times, but when it comes to putting myself out there like that, I am a big fat quivering coward. Which brings me back to why I referred sarcastically (in case you didn’t catch the sarcasm) to this being a “bright” idea. I did my yoga-pilates routine today and that’s exactly how I felt. Big, fat and quivering. You see, I haven’t used my yoga mat for a damn thing besides decoration in my home since…oh…January? Ok, lets be honest, probably more like December, and I'm talking early December. Now, everyone who saw me on my recent vacation knows that I “left half of me in Ecuador.” And I mean that not in some deep, touchy feely, philosophical way, I mean that like I lost a lotta weight (have I mentioned that? I lost weight! I’m sorta really freaking happy about it, so be not fooled that this will be the last mention of it…). However, loosing weight had nothing to do with purposeful exercise, rather it had more to do with walking too much, probably not eating enough, and sweating more than I ever thought I could possibly sweat…while sitting still…
So, in order for my Operation: Feel Useful Again in the Barrio to work out, I am going to need to do some working out. No one wants a yoga teacher who can barely hold the pose herself, now that’s not inspiring! In the meantime, I am going to continue to avoid “finding work to do” in the newly opened daycare, because work that involves several screaming children that do not stand past the height of my knees is NOT the kind of work I am looking for…just being honest.
Wish me luck!
Tere
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
Thursday, June 12, 2008
Culture Shock??
The next two posts are excerpts from the journal entry that I wrote while getting on the plane, and while on the plane to the States on my recent "vacation."
In the posts I am trying (not sure that I accomplished it) to figure out what "culture shock" means for me....is it acknowledging the difference between two places? Does it mean that you have to pick a favorite? Why does everyone seem to want me to pick a favorite??
Anyhow, I hope no one takes offense to my back and forth thoughts about Americans, America, Ecuadorians, and Ecuador. None of it is meant to offend, so just enjoy.
Peace,
Theresa
In the posts I am trying (not sure that I accomplished it) to figure out what "culture shock" means for me....is it acknowledging the difference between two places? Does it mean that you have to pick a favorite? Why does everyone seem to want me to pick a favorite??
Anyhow, I hope no one takes offense to my back and forth thoughts about Americans, America, Ecuadorians, and Ecuador. None of it is meant to offend, so just enjoy.
Peace,
Theresa
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Leaving on a Jet Plane: Pt 1- A Love Story
My alarm woke me up at 5am, I think I only half realized why I had set it. Quickly I jumped to attention and realized: I leave today. I fumbled to turn it off and called the cab company. They must have had my number registered since the last time I used them, because they already had all my information ready (which was good, since I had only .31 cents of saldo left on my phone). He asked me something really fast…If I’m at the puerta principal (main door of the house)? I was like, What, what, what? And he says something else—I’m groggy and confused. He says something about confirmation and hangs up. You would think that after a year in this country, I would have learned how to carry a conversation on the phone. You would think that, but you would be wrong in most cases.
I jump out of bed and use the bathroom, then get a text that the taxi will be at my house in 9 minutes! Ahhhh! Kelly Clarkson! I will NOT be ready in 9 minutes, what kind of Ecuadorian service is so quick, anyhow?!?! I text back and tell them I need at least 30 minutes. No response. I hear beeping outside; I decide to ignore it and continue racing around the house trying to stay calm but quick. I get a text (in all capital letters which I hate because it makes me feel like the person is yelling at me) that the taxi is waiting for me outside. I race around the house to find my glasses, but am so frantic and totally blind that my search is unsuccessful. I go outside, there’s a car near the scary guard guy the next block over. I ask my guard (who is slightly less scary) if a taxi came. “No…,” he says; he’s barely listening to me. I ask if maybe it’s that car parked over there. He doesn’t know. He asks if I leave him today? “Yes,” I say, “and I called a taxi and I think they are here already, but I am not ready!” He takes my hand and is gazing me in that creepy way he does sometimes and is muttering something about how he’s going to miss me and gets jealous of my being away with other people. I ask AGAIN about the taxi, finally he starts listening to me. I pull my hand from his, go into the street and wave the taxi over. I explain to the driver that I need another 15 minutes, he looks irritated and asks where we’re going. To the airport. Okay, now he’s willing to wait because that’s a good distance and he wants the fare.
Racing again--thank goodness I had the presence of mind last night to have all my stuff ready to go. I check, double check and recheck that I have my passport and E-Ticket in my purse, zip up the suitcase, take a few breaths, turn off all the lights. Shit! There’s milk in the fridge! I grab it and dump it in the drain outside, making a mental note to text the landlord to ask his maid to wash it down the drain for me so I don’t have nasty curtly milkness growing out of the drain when I get back. How do you say drain in Spanish…? I wonder to myself as I head out the door. I lock the doors, did I double check that the front door was locked? I had to slam it, right?…so that means its locked, I hope…
I get out to the taxi and dude is fast asleep! Dammit! If I knew he didn’t mind waiting, I wouldn’t have rushed and woulda washed the milk down the drain myself!
I get in the cab, he barely speaks the whole ride. He changes the radio from the good reaggaeton station to Radio Disney. Weird for an adult to listen to Radio Disney, I think. My mind is racing, I don’t even realize that I should be, like, taking in the view or something, right? Yesterday I saw a guy in a suit peeing on the side of the road. I’m gonna “miss” that sort of stuff these next three weeks. I know that my passport, E-Ticket and Ids are in my purse, the rest is arbitrary. I look around as we pass through my city. Normally I kinda hate chatty taxistas, but I feel like chatting! I’m nervous! Doesn’t he want to know why I’m going to the airport?? Where I’m going, and for what? I guess not… We get there, the total is $4.83. Yikes, that’s an expensive taxi! I give him a $20 bill; “Waaauw” he says, “Hopefully I have change to break that!” I watch him pop open his money area up front and there a shit ton of change in there! Why do they always do that?? Like the dude who stopped at 2 gas stations AND asked another taxista for change during a 10 minute taxi ride, only for me to later see that dude has about $50 in singles in his back pocket! Honestly!
I go into the airport, there a short line formed with lots of gringos. I ask which desk is American Airlines? The short line. I get in line, and a guy with a young lady come up behind me. They open the elastic-expandy-gate thing to let themselves through rather than just going through the line the gates form. Must be Ecuadorians, I figure, take the ‘shortcut’ instead of doing what’s most obvious and logical. Its about 6am now, maybe 6:15. The guy asks the dude setting up the gates what time the desk opens. “…Seven…or I mean six,” dude says. Crap!
The couple gets in line behind me, he asks in timid English if I have been waiting long. The girl looks off with an annoyed expression on her face. DEFINITELY Ecuadorian, ‘cuz she’s tossing me attitude just because her man asks me a simple question. “No,” I respond, “I have not been waiting long.” He starts chatting with me, we are talking in English and Spanish because I never know if when Ecuadorians talk to me in English if I should answer in Spanish or English. I know they do it because they want to practice their English, but usually its easier to follow the conversation if we just talk in Spanish. He lives in Miami, but is Ecuadorian. He asks where I am from more than once. I ask if his girlfriend speaks English as well? “No,” he says, “she speaks French.” She laughs. He tells her about how I am a volunteer here in Ecuador. I offer her my hand and introduce myself. She mutters to him how she’s always wanted to work with street kids. I nod and raise my eyebrows to show interest. He tells her to talk with me, so I ask her about what she was saying. We exchange EcuaFormalties about how I speak Spanish, and speak it well, “and you’re not timid about it like other gringos!” I explain that I live here, so its speak Spanish or don’t speak. We talk about my work, more than once he says, “I want to tell you something. You have my respect.” She’s 23 years old, he doesn’t offer his age but looks about 40. I tell them love knows no age and smile. They met 12 years ago but just recently started dating because she was really young back then. She doesn’t want him to leave. I smell the whiskey on his breath—before or after he told me that he was drinking last night?? He hasn’t slept. At the party last night he decided he didn’t want to leave. “Great!” she says, “Let’s go!” and grabs his bags making like she’s leaving. Haha, they’re cute. I get these romantic thoughts about how they are the Ecuadorian Greg and Tara Mortenson. Except he works in “imports and exports”…which, when in Ecuador and said without more elaboration, I generally assume to mean drugs.
There is staff milling around behind the desk, but not doing much of anything, and the line is not moving. He says he’s surprised the line is so long, he thought he would be the first one here. I say its ‘cuz its an American Airlines flight with tons of gringos. We joke about la hora ecuatoriana (Ecuadorian concept of time). He says he was gonna get here at 8:40 (the flight is at 9:10!), but she insisted that they come earlier. She says he should know better because he lives in the States. I say la hora ecuatoriana is always with an Ecuadorian, its permanently in their mind. We laugh and he says he will always be an Ecuadorian. We joke about EcuaSayings like ya mismito, bien prontitio, un ratito (all of which mean “in a minute” but really in an hour, a month, a year…maybe never…). He asks the gate guy again when they open. “Ehhhheeeemmmm…?” responds the guy. He’s not wearing a watch, I am sure he doesn’t want to accidentally offer a time that has already passed. “Ya mismito…” he finally responds. The girl and I exchange smiled glances. He asks for a time, a specific time. Ecuadorians crack me up! Everything here takes SO LONG, but the people can be so freaking impatient! The line starts moving, he immediately cuts the line and goes to an open desk and starts asking about changing his ticket. She says she thinks he might stay, she wants him to stay, but she knows that he can’t. He owns his own business, and when he’s not there the workers don’t do their jobs. She says he’s coming back in 15 days. I tell her that’s not all THAT long to wait. She smiles but looks sad. She has to go to the bathroom and asks if I will move their bags if the line moves. I say sure, while thinking about American airports automated warning messages about not touching bags that aren’t yours. Especially bags of a guy who works in “imports and exports,” I think. Man I can be paranoid sometimes! He comes back and says they can’t guarantee him a spot on a plane tomorrow (now that I am no a near-empty, freaking huge plane to Miami, I cannot see why not!). He says he loves her, wants to stay, but knows he can’t because he has to work. I tell him she told me the say thing. He says she’s a great girl, but what can he do? I tell him to do whatever he’s thinking, that’s the right thing to do. He clutches his left chest and says that’s easier said than done. He says I’m using my psychology on him (I told them that I’m a social worker, somehow that always means that I am also a psychologist…). As she comes back to the line, I get called up to the desk.
The ticket desk dude is taking forever! I hear the couple asking a few desks over about flights for tomorrow again. What’s the holdup with my freaking tickets? I’m getting nervous! “Is there a problem?” I ask. He cannot find my flights. He asks where I am going, he says my flights were either cancelled of the numbers changed. He ends up rebooking all of my flights, which I have no problem with because his new flights have me home hours before my initial flights did.
“He staying!!!” I hear the girl call out. “Congratulations!” I respond. She rushes over to me, thanks me, asks what I said to him. I say I told him to follow his heart. She smiles, “Gracias.”
I jump out of bed and use the bathroom, then get a text that the taxi will be at my house in 9 minutes! Ahhhh! Kelly Clarkson! I will NOT be ready in 9 minutes, what kind of Ecuadorian service is so quick, anyhow?!?! I text back and tell them I need at least 30 minutes. No response. I hear beeping outside; I decide to ignore it and continue racing around the house trying to stay calm but quick. I get a text (in all capital letters which I hate because it makes me feel like the person is yelling at me) that the taxi is waiting for me outside. I race around the house to find my glasses, but am so frantic and totally blind that my search is unsuccessful. I go outside, there’s a car near the scary guard guy the next block over. I ask my guard (who is slightly less scary) if a taxi came. “No…,” he says; he’s barely listening to me. I ask if maybe it’s that car parked over there. He doesn’t know. He asks if I leave him today? “Yes,” I say, “and I called a taxi and I think they are here already, but I am not ready!” He takes my hand and is gazing me in that creepy way he does sometimes and is muttering something about how he’s going to miss me and gets jealous of my being away with other people. I ask AGAIN about the taxi, finally he starts listening to me. I pull my hand from his, go into the street and wave the taxi over. I explain to the driver that I need another 15 minutes, he looks irritated and asks where we’re going. To the airport. Okay, now he’s willing to wait because that’s a good distance and he wants the fare.
Racing again--thank goodness I had the presence of mind last night to have all my stuff ready to go. I check, double check and recheck that I have my passport and E-Ticket in my purse, zip up the suitcase, take a few breaths, turn off all the lights. Shit! There’s milk in the fridge! I grab it and dump it in the drain outside, making a mental note to text the landlord to ask his maid to wash it down the drain for me so I don’t have nasty curtly milkness growing out of the drain when I get back. How do you say drain in Spanish…? I wonder to myself as I head out the door. I lock the doors, did I double check that the front door was locked? I had to slam it, right?…so that means its locked, I hope…
I get out to the taxi and dude is fast asleep! Dammit! If I knew he didn’t mind waiting, I wouldn’t have rushed and woulda washed the milk down the drain myself!
I get in the cab, he barely speaks the whole ride. He changes the radio from the good reaggaeton station to Radio Disney. Weird for an adult to listen to Radio Disney, I think. My mind is racing, I don’t even realize that I should be, like, taking in the view or something, right? Yesterday I saw a guy in a suit peeing on the side of the road. I’m gonna “miss” that sort of stuff these next three weeks. I know that my passport, E-Ticket and Ids are in my purse, the rest is arbitrary. I look around as we pass through my city. Normally I kinda hate chatty taxistas, but I feel like chatting! I’m nervous! Doesn’t he want to know why I’m going to the airport?? Where I’m going, and for what? I guess not… We get there, the total is $4.83. Yikes, that’s an expensive taxi! I give him a $20 bill; “Waaauw” he says, “Hopefully I have change to break that!” I watch him pop open his money area up front and there a shit ton of change in there! Why do they always do that?? Like the dude who stopped at 2 gas stations AND asked another taxista for change during a 10 minute taxi ride, only for me to later see that dude has about $50 in singles in his back pocket! Honestly!
I go into the airport, there a short line formed with lots of gringos. I ask which desk is American Airlines? The short line. I get in line, and a guy with a young lady come up behind me. They open the elastic-expandy-gate thing to let themselves through rather than just going through the line the gates form. Must be Ecuadorians, I figure, take the ‘shortcut’ instead of doing what’s most obvious and logical. Its about 6am now, maybe 6:15. The guy asks the dude setting up the gates what time the desk opens. “…Seven…or I mean six,” dude says. Crap!
The couple gets in line behind me, he asks in timid English if I have been waiting long. The girl looks off with an annoyed expression on her face. DEFINITELY Ecuadorian, ‘cuz she’s tossing me attitude just because her man asks me a simple question. “No,” I respond, “I have not been waiting long.” He starts chatting with me, we are talking in English and Spanish because I never know if when Ecuadorians talk to me in English if I should answer in Spanish or English. I know they do it because they want to practice their English, but usually its easier to follow the conversation if we just talk in Spanish. He lives in Miami, but is Ecuadorian. He asks where I am from more than once. I ask if his girlfriend speaks English as well? “No,” he says, “she speaks French.” She laughs. He tells her about how I am a volunteer here in Ecuador. I offer her my hand and introduce myself. She mutters to him how she’s always wanted to work with street kids. I nod and raise my eyebrows to show interest. He tells her to talk with me, so I ask her about what she was saying. We exchange EcuaFormalties about how I speak Spanish, and speak it well, “and you’re not timid about it like other gringos!” I explain that I live here, so its speak Spanish or don’t speak. We talk about my work, more than once he says, “I want to tell you something. You have my respect.” She’s 23 years old, he doesn’t offer his age but looks about 40. I tell them love knows no age and smile. They met 12 years ago but just recently started dating because she was really young back then. She doesn’t want him to leave. I smell the whiskey on his breath—before or after he told me that he was drinking last night?? He hasn’t slept. At the party last night he decided he didn’t want to leave. “Great!” she says, “Let’s go!” and grabs his bags making like she’s leaving. Haha, they’re cute. I get these romantic thoughts about how they are the Ecuadorian Greg and Tara Mortenson. Except he works in “imports and exports”…which, when in Ecuador and said without more elaboration, I generally assume to mean drugs.
There is staff milling around behind the desk, but not doing much of anything, and the line is not moving. He says he’s surprised the line is so long, he thought he would be the first one here. I say its ‘cuz its an American Airlines flight with tons of gringos. We joke about la hora ecuatoriana (Ecuadorian concept of time). He says he was gonna get here at 8:40 (the flight is at 9:10!), but she insisted that they come earlier. She says he should know better because he lives in the States. I say la hora ecuatoriana is always with an Ecuadorian, its permanently in their mind. We laugh and he says he will always be an Ecuadorian. We joke about EcuaSayings like ya mismito, bien prontitio, un ratito (all of which mean “in a minute” but really in an hour, a month, a year…maybe never…). He asks the gate guy again when they open. “Ehhhheeeemmmm…?” responds the guy. He’s not wearing a watch, I am sure he doesn’t want to accidentally offer a time that has already passed. “Ya mismito…” he finally responds. The girl and I exchange smiled glances. He asks for a time, a specific time. Ecuadorians crack me up! Everything here takes SO LONG, but the people can be so freaking impatient! The line starts moving, he immediately cuts the line and goes to an open desk and starts asking about changing his ticket. She says she thinks he might stay, she wants him to stay, but she knows that he can’t. He owns his own business, and when he’s not there the workers don’t do their jobs. She says he’s coming back in 15 days. I tell her that’s not all THAT long to wait. She smiles but looks sad. She has to go to the bathroom and asks if I will move their bags if the line moves. I say sure, while thinking about American airports automated warning messages about not touching bags that aren’t yours. Especially bags of a guy who works in “imports and exports,” I think. Man I can be paranoid sometimes! He comes back and says they can’t guarantee him a spot on a plane tomorrow (now that I am no a near-empty, freaking huge plane to Miami, I cannot see why not!). He says he loves her, wants to stay, but knows he can’t because he has to work. I tell him she told me the say thing. He says she’s a great girl, but what can he do? I tell him to do whatever he’s thinking, that’s the right thing to do. He clutches his left chest and says that’s easier said than done. He says I’m using my psychology on him (I told them that I’m a social worker, somehow that always means that I am also a psychologist…). As she comes back to the line, I get called up to the desk.
The ticket desk dude is taking forever! I hear the couple asking a few desks over about flights for tomorrow again. What’s the holdup with my freaking tickets? I’m getting nervous! “Is there a problem?” I ask. He cannot find my flights. He asks where I am going, he says my flights were either cancelled of the numbers changed. He ends up rebooking all of my flights, which I have no problem with because his new flights have me home hours before my initial flights did.
“He staying!!!” I hear the girl call out. “Congratulations!” I respond. She rushes over to me, thanks me, asks what I said to him. I say I told him to follow his heart. She smiles, “Gracias.”
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