Hooray for Affirmation of Life Choices!

Teaching on Thursday was a ridiculously fantastic improvement over the delightful chaos of Tuesday. I spent all of Wednesday night writing a lesson plan and making supplies. I decided to do lessons on feelings since I can’t go through an entire year hearing “imfinethankyouhowareyou” every time I say “How are you?”

At 7:30, I walked into the classroom, set up my stuff and got to it. Started by drawing pictures of faces on the board and writing the English and Spanish words for the emotions. Then, we did some verbs that go with each one. I’ve wanted to teach secondary because I’ve never been really comfortable with really demonstrative, physical teaching that the younger grades get. I always thought I wanted to be the cool teacher that sits on the desk and makes off handed comments to get the kids’ attention. (OK, so “cool” might be pushing my luck but you know what I mean.) Anyway, now I’m in sixth grade classes and some of these kids make Ritalin look like a Flintstones vitamin so keeping their attention is key. So to demonstrate “embarrassed” I’m falling all over the place and hiding behind desks, “scared” – tearing out of the room yelling that there’s a “perro grandísimo” (huge dog) after me and for “angry” I yelled in a kid’s face which they all got a kick out of (including him, calm down!). I am thanking my lucky stars that I don’t have to be observed…I want NO record of this behavior!

I handed out my homemade “emotions” flashcards (or tarjetas de “flash” as the BC group has so cleverly dubbed them) and we sang 20 verses of “If You’re Happy and You Know It.” Yes, 20. 2-0. TWENTY. Voice, ouch. One kid destroyed my “In Love” flashcard which I found mildly amusing. Lesson, successful. Moving on.

I had the bright idea of taking pictures of all the kids on my digital so I could learn their names and also use the pictures for an art project next month. Of course, they’re thrilled since I don’t think I could find an extension cord’s worth of technology in the school. So thrilled, in fact, that they start an all out sixth grade-style riot on me, jumping around and beating each other with rulers. Note to self: Whatever you do, do NOT start technological riots! Oh well, got my pics and sent them out to beat each other up at recess instead. I spent recess talking to another (<-- HA! I said “another”!) teacher about the school system in Ecuador and the kids at my school.

Some background: Almost 600 kids from K-6, very few over lower-middle class. Their parents are the maids, cooks, guards in our houses, the street vendors I pass on my way to the bus or the busboys and gardeners at the houses and country clubs back in the States. Kind of an eye-opening group.

The second class went pretty much the same way, except there was no destruction of flashcards, no riot and I had them do a role playing game instead of a second round of “If You’re Happy.” I let them play fútbol in the classroom so they could show me how they feel when Cuenca beats Quito. I think the kid I had playing the losing Quito goalie has it out for me now! As I was walking back to the university amongst the mob of munchkins from my school, a whole bunch of them were calling goodbye from across the street and waving. That was, by far, the most gratifying feeling of all.

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Originally uploaded by amantedivita.

A view of the schoolyard with Quito in the background

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My sixth grade class at la Escuela Carmen Amelia Hidalgo

I will not scream because I am la profesora, I am la profesora, I am la profesora…

¡Dios mio, what a day! First day of teaching and I was beyond pumped. I did my dorky teacher routine and laid out my clothes the night before. I swear, teaching is like Christmas day for me with a lot more stress. Got up at 5:45 to the sweet wail of Eric Clapton’s “Layla,” studio version…had to break out the big guns for this one. Maneuvering through bus stations was uneventful but I made a delightful discovery. If you don’t get off the bus at the right stop in the valley, it meanders on for almost an hour and dumps you in the middle of a village near Tumbaco. Who knew?! Anywho, I FINALLY arrive at la Escuela Carmen Amelia Hidalgo (my school) at 8:30 which is brimming with parents registering their kiddies. After trying to shout my situation to one of the teachers, she marches me into the middle of a meeting with the director. They suggest I check out the sixth grade class and I’m down for anything so off we go. And so the real fun begins.

All the kids jump to their feet when we enter (a la fourth grade at Villa) and the teacher I’m with explains that I’m going to be helping them learn English this semester. All this is very standard and up until this point I’m feeling pretty confident. So I go up to introduce myself which went something like this: “Me llamo Christina Vetre. Soy estudiante de los Estados Unidos y ahora, estudio en la Universidad San Fran… oh, adios real teacher!” And in a heartbeat, she has escaped out the door. So, ::deep cleansing breath:: I figure starting with the basic questions should cover me until she gets out of her meeting. An hour and a half later, we’ve covered (in a very cursory manner) questions, feelings, body parts, colors, shapes, food, classroom objects, animals and an attempt at geography and the sweat I’ve broken is reaching disastrous levels.

Just to give you an idea: about 40 ten and eleven year olds in a classroom with no chalk, no paper, a calendar that says July 27, 2002 and no decorations except a bunch of dusty posters on the floor, a few of which saved my butt in a big way. There was, however, a sketchy roll of toilet paper on the desk that came in handy for the “I Spy” shapes game. Thoroughly amused myself by fouling up my espanglish…not helpful when you can’t remember what language you’re speaking in. Eventually, a bell, that I was 100% certain was a bomb drill, signaled recess and I ceased my hyperventilation.

Grabbed a snack with one of the teachers and it’s off to the other sixth grade class until the end of the school day (12:30). Lo and behold, in addition to another 40 students, this one actually has a teacher in it! I asked if it might be possible to observe for a while since I really don’t know how a class is supposed to be run here. I am POSITIVE she understood me - ”observar” is a rather obvious verb - but nevertheless, she just cocked her head and basically said, “No, you don’t need to.” Gracias, lady. Basically, it was the same drill in this class except I had board markers, notebooks and half a clue.

At 12:30, the entire school flooded out into the street and I walked back to the University for Quichua class. Jenna claims I had a look of complete and absolute terror every time I had to answer a question. You try being fully incapacitated at both Spanish and English and attempting “Ari, nukanchikka warmikunami kanchik.” Could be wrong but I probably announced that “I am an angry red llama” or some such thing. Pizza hawaiiana and a double scoop of babaco and taxo ice cream soothe the nerves quite well.

In reality, this day was amazing and I am thrilled beyond belief to be working there. I’ll definitely relish the adrenaline rush a little more when there are lesson plans involved though!

Originally uploaded by amantedivita.

Bruce, me and my espresso. Notice that all the food is on my side of the table. Isn´t that just the way?

Yo quiero all things Cuban! (except Fidel)

Ode to Food (I had a classier name in mind but this one just fits.)

All in all this week was less than eventful…not a near-death experience to be had! Tuesday was a little taste of late onset culture shock. At breakfast, Ximena told me it was Fabián’s birthday and that my sisters would be coming over for coffee around 7. No big, hope you can be around, yadda, yadda, yadda. After class, Bruce, Summers and I hit “Verde y Carbon,” a teeny little hole in the wall burger joint they found. My friends, I have seen heaven and it is in the form of hamburguesas with unidentifiable green special sauce. Anywho, headed home around 7:10, slightly grumpy from five hours of sleep, a headache and yet another fight with a cab driver when lo and behold, SURPRISE! There are 17 people in my house! Oh and surprise, there is not only coffee but dinner and dessert to be served by us girls and eaten amongst lots of rapid fire Spanish conversation. As I fell asleep in my nest of textbooks, I contemplated a country where things made sense to me (and that’s saying something!). A few hours of sleep and three cups of coffee later, I was over it.

Thursday was just what the doctor ordered. The public schools here open today so Jenna, Summers and I (who will all be teaching on Tuesdays and Thursdays) decided to play hooky and take a little trip. There is an indigenous market about two hours away called Saquisilí and its big day is Thursday. Quichua class or first-hand Quichua experience?…you do the math. OK, so technically, first hand Quichua meant recognizing one word and celebrating that victory by buying entirely too much stuff. But hey, when you bargain a blanket from $20 down to $12, who’s counting?

Thursday night just topped off a good day. Jenna had homework and Summers was experiencing a bad reaction to Saquisilí corn bread, so that left Bruce and me to experience the wonder that is “La Bodeguita.” It’s a Cuban bar/restaurant with live music on Thursday nights and fried plantains (also known as my greatest weakness in the world). What more could a girl ask for? AND (Warning: moment of glory exciting to no one but me.) I had a Cuban espresso! I’ve been trying to acculturate myself to the wonders of coffee so that maybe by December, I would be ready for the ultimate caffeinated test. But why wait? Mmm, espresso – two very jittery thumbs up. In any case, Cuban music is one of the sweetest things to fall upon these ears and I’m all set for a Thursday night tradition.

The weekend consisted of seeing “Monster” in the theatre on Friday and spending Saturday evening at Summers’ watching La Liga (a Quito team) beat Cuenca in futbol followed by “The Best of Will Ferrell” and “Ocean’s 11” with a bunch of friends. While “Monster” was very well done, I’ll take Saturday’s lineup for laughs not to mention Summers’ mom’s amazing chocolate cookie cake of which I ate half. Do not for a moment think I’m joking. Calories don’t count in Ecuador.

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Nothing like a holographic dancing Jesus to ease your traffic weary mind!

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This is a chiva. Now just imagine fifteen people on top. Only in college!

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Originally uploaded by amantedivita.

Bruce, me and the demon ATV (Note his pained expression, pobrecito.)

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An amazing view of the mountains an hour into the ride

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Originally uploaded by amantedivita.

The pictures a little blurry but it shows the trail we started out on through the village. (It's also the same trail where we were chased by dogs on the ATV.)

Through the Desert on a Horse with No Name or Two-for-One Special on Near-Death Experiences

Friday, we headed for a town called Baños on our first unsupervised trip. Just the bus ride should have served as warning that the weekend was going to be nothing but ridiculous. For instance, after waiting a good long while for the bus’ flat to get changed, Jenna announced to half the bus “Estoy lindo!” Unfortunately, her intended comment, “Estoy lista!” (I’m ready!) is a far cry from “I am a pretty boy!” Then, the driver put on “George de la Selva” (“George of the Jungle”) and all was right with the world. The irony of the movie choice will be explained in a few paragraphs.

In any case, we showed up in Baños around 7 without plans, reservations or any idea where the other half of our group from another bus might be. Livin’ on the edge, man! Incidentally, this may seem obvious to some but looking for a bathroom in a town called Baños is not the easiest of tasks…tricky things, those signs. After finding the others, grabbing some grub and checking into a hostel, we did what college students do best and went to a discoteca to try out our salsa moves. Let’s not go there, shall we? At least midnight pizza and Fanta was a success.

The next morning, nine of us decided to go horseback riding in the mountains. And thus the real adventure begins… As we’re just getting out of town, Lindsey drops her jacket so the guide, Hugo, hops off to get it and asks Jenna to hold his horse. He tells us to continue and since it generally doesn’t take much to pick up a jacket, we do. A few minutes later we realize he and Jenna are nowhere in sight. Someone points us down a trail so we head out on a search and rescue. Flash forward an hour and a half (after we have successfully gone through a village, across a highway and up the mountain trail sans guide) we finally find both Hugo and Jenna, whose face is a mix of relief and murderous rage. A few of us begin to realize why when Hugo tells us how “bonita” we are. Well, that’s one way to get the horse to canter. The rest of the ride was amazing…five hours of breathtaking views, steep muddy trails, a hiccup of a puff from Tungurahua volcano, a few scenes that made me feel like I stepped out of “Wild Hearts Can’t Be Broken” (minus the blindness and the Steel Pier…never mind.) and very sore behinds.

That night we took a “chiva” up the mountain. Picture one of those British double-decker busses. Now smush it into a box shape, paint it neon green, remove the seats on the top, loosen all safety rails slightly and add blasting speakers. That, my friends, is a chiva. About ten or twelve of us climbed up and crammed onto the roof for the ride up. Let me just emphasize how illegal this would be in the U.S. As proven by my last entry, safety precautions are kind of an afterthought here. So we’re riding along on top of a bus, belting out garbled Spanish songs and generally not paying attention to the foliage around. Recall that I said watching “George de la Selva” was ironic. Nothing like turning your head to see Bruce’s feet flailing through the air as he hangs on to the chiva rail with one hand. Watch out for that tree, Bruce. All limbs intact (human and tree), we hit the mountain for a little bonfire, a lot of pictures and general good times.

Sunday morning, four of us went to Mass at the Basilica amongst tons of different people – indigenous families, local people of all classes, surprisingly few tourists. In addition to being a very nice Mass and a beautiful church, it was a great way to check out a little culture too.

Final adventure of the weekend: ATVing. Bruce rented an ATV (all terrain vehicle – like a big four wheeled motorcycle) and I hopped on for the ride. It was pretty sweet just flying through town and down the highway. That is, of course, until we took a turn, had a bit of fumblage of feet and I assisted Bruce in busting up his ankle (which I’ve been told about 40 times is not my fault...Who knows? Maybe Bruce just has bad luck with near-death experiences.) In trying to restart the ATV we also ran across the warning saying 1) You should only have one rider. 2) You shouldn’t ride on paved surfaces. Silly Ecuador, I’ve definitely seen ATVs here with 4 people on them. They really ought to correct those warnings. Someone could get hurt! We hit a trail though a village, got chased twice by dogs (And once again, I have the urge to compare my experience here to a video game.) and had to periodically get off and push the ATV while Bruce steered. We got a few funny looks for that one. All in all, it was crazy fun (probably a bit more for me). Bruce’s ankle is now in a partial cast and I’m on personal assistant duty until it heals. Good thing we didn’t go through with bridge jumping…near death experiences could be contagious!

Leave your house if you dare!

The first half of the week has been nothing but crazy busy. Mondays and Wednesdays I have yoga at 8:30 followed by four classes followed by salsa class (which is so fun...look out Boston, there´s going to be a salsa dancing gringa on the loose!) AND I have to walk home from the bus after 6pm…SO against the rules! (Color me rebellious).

Speaking of walking, let’s have a little primer on Quiteño traffic, shall we?

1) Traffic lights are merely a recommendation as are street signs and lines on the road.

2) While crossing a street, think “Frogger” (the video game). Moving in a straight line is not really recommended. Up, back, side to side is the only way to survive.

3) A traffic light is not a signal for stopping and going but actually a reminder of how vigorously you should be honking.

4) Learn not to flinch at honks. Reasons could be:
a) an offer from a taxi
b) an expression of attraction
c) an attempt to scare the funny gringa
d) a general reminder that you are near a road, should you dare to step off the curb

5) In the time it takes you to question, “Is it safe to run through the four lane roundabout?” it will no longer be safe. Actually, it never is. Don’t think, just run.

6) Looking both ways on a one way street is not only not ridiculous but advisable.

7) Crossing guards are there to help the busses, not the little gringas who narrowly avoid getting flattened every day.

8) When waiting on the corner to cross, stand at least two feet from the curb so you are not mistaken for some sort of gringa maypole by passing motorcyclistas.

9) When booking it across a street, always run next to your street crossing partner in the event that you must stop on the line in the middle of the road. Running into her is not advisable.

10) Do not assume that cops have any idea where such oddities as a road or a post office might be located.

11) Do not smile at, greet or generally acknowledge passing strangers unless they are wearing habits or carrying babies.

12) When boarding a bus, try to get on as quickly and fluidly as possible since the chances of the bus pulling away as you board are rather good.

13) Holding your breath will not help the bus squeeze through the alley in between a parked car and another moving bus. Don’t worry, side mirrors are expendable anyway.

14) If the windshield of a bus is more than 75% covered by flags and holographic Jesus stickers, it may be in your best interest not to take it.

15) Do not eat ice cream on the bus…you will need at least both hands to keep yourself upright. (yesterday´s lesson)

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Originally uploaded by amantedivita.

Photo from el Rio Napo with the hymn lyrics

To Be a Witness…

…does not consist in engaging in propaganda, nor even in stirring people up, but in being a living mystery. It means to line in such a way that one’s life would not make sense if God did not exist.” ~Emmanuel Suhard

One of the hardest parts of being down here is surprisingly not the language but my situation with religion. This might come out like a personal vendetta but no matter, it has a happy ending. I came down here to teach and to really get to know the people here on a “sociological” and personal level. The whole breaking out of the comfort zone, traveling, learning a new language aspects are definitely added bonuses but like I said, my real reason is to know the people. The “men and women for others” idea never seemed so real. I guess that’s the Jesuitness in my head. I never really considered myself one for the whole faith community idea…I never really wanted to go on retreats or talk about God too much. It’s always been MY thing. But suddenly, I’m here and there isn’t a really cool priest living downstairs, no Liturgy Arts group, no ten minute sign of peace and suddenly I’m realizing that I actually miss that community.

The first real religious feeling I got here was coming back from the jungle. I saw a lot of canoes belonging to the Quichua families along the banks of the river. The scene of all these canoes tossing around the morning after a big storm was somehow inspiring. I started inadvertently humming a hymn that I conveniently forget the title of. The lyrics are “Señor, me has mirado mis ojos. Sonriendo, has dicho mi nombre. En la arena, he dejado mi barco. Junto a ti, buscaré otro mar.” (En inglés: “Lord, in my eyes you were gazing. Kindly smiling, my name you were calling. All my treasures I have left on the sand there. Close to you, I will find other seas.” The direct translation of the third line that really struck me is “In the rocks, I have left my boat.”) It was a really moving experience and I posted a picture that I made to remember it. End flashback.

Sunday, Bruce told me about a really cool Mass he went to the week before so he, Jenna and I went with my family that evening. Of course, in keeping with the language barrier theme, we ended up going to the wrong church. Well, I guess God’s a little tricky sometimes. In a church that usually uses a CD of church songs with lyrics like “Jesus, Jesus, Jesus es Señor” repeated forty times, they played the same song from the jungle. As sarcastic and cynical as I come off sometimes, I really feel it was a sign. That song, the first time I was able to go to Mass with friends, the first time I could share the kiss of peace with people I know (and yes, here it is a kiss. That took a little extra coordination.) All in all, it was just a wonderful, peaceful, content feeling. So that was my moving religious experience.

Looking back, this entry is a little heavy but so it goes. Naturally, you’re welcome to take it, leave it, think about it, ask about it or ignore it. Just tossing some thoughts out there. To finish this one off, the following is a reflection from my service trip to Jamaica last spring break.

"More and more the desire grows in me simply to walk around, greet people, enter their homes, sit on their doorsteps, play ball and be known as someone who simply wants to live with them. It is a privilege to have the time to practice this simple ministry of presence. Still, it is not as simple as it seems. My own desire to be useful, to do something significant, or to be a part of some impressive project is so strong that soon my time is taken up by meetings, conferences, study groups and workshops that prevent me from walking the streets. It is difficult not to have plans, not to organize people around an urgent cause, and not to feel that you are working directly for social progress. But I wonder more and more if the first thing shouldn’t be to know people by name, to eat and drink with them, to listen to their stories and tell your own, and to let them know with words, handshakes and hugs that you do not simply like them, but you truly love them."
~Henri Nouwen “Gracias”

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Attempting to hike down to the village in Pululahua vocano crater might not be the best idea in these conditions.

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Who wants to straddle the equator when you can bridge it? (Megan and I have no shame.)

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Christina, Megan, me and Bruce in two hemispheres...Don´t ask me what Bruce is doing.

Stuck in the Middle With You (Cheesy, yes, but “Welcome To the Jungle” needed a companion.)

On Saturday, Megan, Christina, Bruce and I went to “Mitad del Mundo,” the equator site with a monument, exhibits and of course, a big red line along the ground. It’s clearly a tourist site to the highest degree but we had a really great time taking pictures in all the classic poses (a la holding up the Leaning Tower of Pisa) and generally being silly turistas. Then we hit a little museum that explains that the French explorers and their fancy shmancy instruments were 300m off so the equatorial line on the ground is actually wrong. In fact, seven years or so ago a structure was discovered exactly on the REAL equator. It was built in pre-Incan times. Pre-Incans: 1 French explorers: 0 Better luck next time. There’s a geometric design motif found on a lot of Incan, Egyptian, Native American, etc. artifacts that depicts the same movements of the sun at solstices, equinoxes and such. Actually, I think it’s in some Rusted Root album art.

In addition, the Incan sun temples in what is now Quito followed the same pattern. When the conquistadores barged in and built Catholic churches literally on top of the temples, they used the sun patterns they learned as tools to convert the Indians. During the solstices and equinoxes, the light hits the churches at a certain angle and highlights different paintings and statues (the crucifix in one, the Sacred Heart in another, etc.). They appear to glow and because of that, the Spaniards convinced a lot of the Indians to convert. How deceptive is that?! We’re going to check it out at the next equinox this month. Anywho, sorry for the history lesson. It was a really interesting presentation until the guy started going off on how the world is a violent corrupt place because we don’t know our roots. He’s right but I just wanted to know where the right line was. Eeep!

We went up to the Pululahua crater which is supposed to be a great view because since the volcano became inactive, a village sprang up in the middle of the crater. We’ll have to take their word for it because the clouds in the crater were some of the thickest I’ve ever seen. Bruce and I wanted to be daring and try to hike down a little but it was pretty steep and neither of us cared to “drop in” on the village so we didn’t get too far. Oh well, playing in clouds was fun.

Back in Quito, I found what is probably the only Dunk’s (Dunky’s, Dunkin’ Donuts – there has been great disagreement over the proper nickname.) in the country, tried a cappuccino (not even a Dunkaccino!) and decided that unfortunately, Dunk’s does not a successful world traveler make. Played a round of boisterous bowling and incidentally, if Quito can present a proper 10-pin lane, I think Boston certainly has the capacity to do the same! Watched a bit of the Peru vs. Argentina futbol game with Fabián to get in the mindset for tomorrow’s big Ecuador vs. Uruguay game. Since Olympic speed walking was such a disappointment here, I’m really pumped for a futbol win. It’s may not be Eagles hockey but it’s pretty darn cool!

Imanallatak kanki?

Every class should be as cool as Quichua. The professor is this animated little man who started spouting out the language in rapid-fire succession, giving each of us T-minus 2 seconds to figure out if we were a “kari” or “warmi,” “kuchilla” or “llakilla” (man or woman, happy or sad). We heard nothing but Quichua for almost an hour and there was not a stress vibe to be had. And if anyone would like to confuse and bewilder their friends and neighbors, just pull out the old standby “Nukaka (insert your name here)mi kani” (noo-KAH-kah xxxx-mee KAH-nee), “My name is…” Gets ‘em every time. And by the way, the title of this entry is “How are you?”

After class, five of us met Boney, our coordinator’s husband, who took us to visit the women’s prison in town. One of the more questionable policies in this country is that the children of women in prison here also live there. They go to a day care center in the prison all day and stay with their mothers through the night. The center is on par with some of the better ones in the U.S. and, especially important for the infants and toddlers, they aren’t forced to live without their mothers at such a critical age but, for Pete’s sake, they live in a PRISON. These children have been condemned before they have learned to talk! A few of us will be volunteering in the center. I’m hoping to work there until I start in the public school but I’ll only do it if I can work with infants. I don’t want to get attached to the toddlers and then abandon them. I’m still deciding if it is a good idea at all. There was definitely a moment, though, when we all looked at our bags being searched, the ID stamps on our arms and realized that we are INSIDE a prison. The whole experience was something of a silent shock.

Thursday night was the “Bienvenidos” fiesta in a club downtown. Yes, invite all the 19 and 20 year old American students to a club with a free open bar. Excellent plan. In any case, I spent the evening upstairs having a fantabulous time dancing but Jenna spent half an hour downstairs in desperate need of a wing-man, fending off an Ecuadorian suitor. She and I left pretty early but the crisis of the evening was that one of our friends left rather inebriated, wearing the sweatshirt of one of the guys, and managed to drop her other shirt in the street in front of her house where her host brother found it the next morning. All of this was very innocent but try explaining it away in English, let alone Spanish. This really wouldn’t be worth sharing except that all of the host mothers are world-class gossips and consequently, all us BC folk are in on the drama. And I thought Villa chatter was a phenomenon!

Friday night, a group of us went to see “Hombre en llamas” (“Man on Fire”) with Denzel Washington. [Side note: How do these people communicate when one word, llama, can mean fire, a form of the verb “to call” and a South American quadruped? Nevermind.] Anywho, some background on the movie without giving away any important plot. It’s about kidnappings and police corruption in Mexico City. In the first few minutes, there is an unrelated kidnapping that ends with a caption to the effect of “Every 4 hours, there is a kidnapping in Latin America. 70% of the victims do not survive.” Now I saw this movie in May right after reading the quote “It is almost strange to die of natural causes in El Salvador” and I’ll admit, Dave probably had to pry my nails out of his hand. Seeing it down here, however kinda takes it to a different level. Excellent movie but no one really cared to go hang out downtown afterwards. I think the guard of my apartment building was a little surprised to get a full plot recap when he asked how my night was. He’s lucky he didn’t get a hug! And since I can envision the panic in my mom’s face all too well right now, let me reassure her/you: Kidnapping is not the method of choice in Ecuador, as my host parents reassured me. Besides, I don’t dress well enough to warrant a ransom. :)

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Alegria, the most adorable Ecuadorian niece in the world

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La Virgen de Quito statue

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A view of Quito (looking North) from to top of El Panecillo

Um, I’m sorry. I lost you at “Buenos dias.”

Walking into campus on Monday felt a lot like high school. We all climbed out of our van (And just to be as conspicuous as possible, it’s bright yellow and has “Escolar” written on the side in BIG letters.) and moved through the campus in a big gringo pack. You know that scary part of freshman year when you think everyone is looking at you thinking “Ha, freshman. Fresh meat” ? Replace freshman with “gringa.” Anywho, the class rundown:

“Temas (Themes) de America Latina” (poli sci) was fantastic…potentially my favorite class. It’s a decent mix of gringos and ecuatorianos. The professor is one of those cool, smiley sweater wearing men who just loves talking about how the world works. One assignment is to go and just sit in the Plaza de la Independencia for an afternoon and write a few pages about what we see and who we talk to.The readings cover Castro, Evita Perón, Che Guevara and Rigoberta Menchú plus Colombian refugee issues and just about anything we can pull out of the newspaper.

Tangent: Has anyone heard that a man directly linked to the murder of Oscar Romero has just been found and is going to trial? He was living in California and supposedly, the US has been aware of this since 1980. For all I know this has been floating around at home for weeks but I just heard it and I’m very interested to know if anything is said at home in church, etc.

After that was “Lecto-escritura y Artes de Lenguage” (Reading, Writing and Language Arts), an education class that nearly gave me a panic attack. First of all, for anyone who has seen “Bend It Like Beckham,” remember the older sister and her scary friends? That’s who was in the class. Then, in comes the professor who talks for half an hour saying something about “lot of work” and “Write eight notebooks for homework.” I caught maybe 40% of her explanation but after talking to her after class, I found out a lot of the reading is in English and the notebooks aren’t due for a few weeks. All I needed to hear.

Literatura Feminina was an experience. All gringas, save 2 or 3 ecuatorianas. No guys. And they were the kind of gringas that smile really widely when they discuss the terrible injustice and inequality of women. Help! I’m drowning in feminism! I’m looking it at a sociology experience though: We’re reading authors that are not a) male b) white c) Irish and d) dead. So already it’s got the BC English department beat. Plus, this country is crazy with the machismo. It’s just understood that men can get away with just about anything and women aren’t going to do anything about it. (I’m talking attitude and opinion, not assault. We do have a little labyrinth of due process for that.) So to take the class from that perspective should make it worth it.

El “Boom” Latinoamericano (another literature course) is my last one on Mondays and Wednesdays. It took me a ridiculous amount of time to read a fifteen page critical essay for the class but the rest of the readings look great (Garcia Marquez, Vargas Llosa, etc.). Man, do Ecuadorian lit majors talk fast!

On Tuesday, my Quichua professor never showed so that language remains a mystery for one day more. I did find the school where I will be teaching though. It wasn’t open but Jenna and I went to scope out a similar school a block away where she will be teaching. I’ll wait to describe mine when it’s teeming with kids but all I can say is hers is exactly what I pictured. Dirt roads, handmade decorations, cement floors, a recess area about as big as one of our normal classrooms at home. Public schools don’t open until September 20th but that day cannot come soon enough.

Señorita Manners…

Sunday was a nice relaxed family day. My “sister,” Ximena, her husband, José Luis, and their children, Isidro and Alegria, came over for a big lunch with about four types of corn products. I wonder what the Spanish word for “moderation” is. José Luis teased me for not finding an Ecuadorian boyfriend yet. Apparently in semesters past, that’s been quite the thing to do and everyone loves to update us on the latest gringa-ecuatoriano drama. Oh well, hate to disappoint them but I’m all set in that department. I don’t really want to be anyone’s “muñequita” anyhow. Spent the afternoon watching the Olympics Closing Ceremonies. Since Ecuador got gypped out of the vast majority of Olympic coverage, my host parents (I’m using their names from now on: Ximena and Fabián) were filling me in on the details of every South American athlete. Crazy what happened to the Brazilian marathon runner! I still don’t understand how athletes in marathons, Tour de France, etc. concentrate with insanity like that around. But I digress…

In the evening, Ximena, Fabián, los guaguas (“babies” It’s a Quichua word but all Ecuadorians use it.) and I went up to El Panecillo. It’s a big hill in southern Quito and on top, there is a big statue of La Virgen de Quito who watches over the city. It still catches me off guard to be somewhere where public religion is the norm, not the exception (or the conflict for that matter).

At the same time, though, my family kept explaining that el Panecillo is not a safe area, that I can’t go there without them and that the people there are “different.” I’m sure it’s true to a degree because I’ve heard the same from other sources, Ecuadorian and otherwise, but sometimes I wonder how much of their advice is related to the class discrimination here (in addition to your classic racism and sexism). I’ve noticed it in restaurants, with the guards at my apartment building and all over the city. Even the seemingly kindest people will think nothing of snapping at someone when they want something done. I’ve read a lot of precautions warning gringos not to interfere if we don’t agree with the way the maid, for instance, is spoken to. I’m not about to become the rebel of the group and I’m trying really hard not to be a judgmental American but I make a point to be friendly with all the people that are “serving” me. Just that term bothers me in a big way. I’ve had some genuinely good conversations with the guards and let’s face it, guards are definitely people you want on your side. It’s the only way I can see working against a way of thinking that I disagree with without causing chaos. I guess you have to pick your battles.

I hope I am not painting Ecuador in a poor light. It’s hard to tell the impression I’m giving off when I can’t let you walk in my shoes every day. For every complaint or criticism I could mention there are ten instances of genuinely kind, generous, honest, respectful and all around good people. Social constructs here are worlds away from what Americans are used to and I’ll do my best to paint the most honest picture possible.