In a few days I´ll celebrate my first Christmas fuera de (outside of) the States. This past week I´ve enjoyed Ecuadorian and American Christmas traditions around Loja Province.
Beginning December15th, Ecuadorian families gather nightly for nine days to celebrate la Novena (the ninth night) with oraciones (readings/prayers), songs and food. I joined my extended host family of the first night of the Novena. After reading, prayers, and songs, we ate cake with a slice of cheese in place of frosting - a delicacy I´m rapidly warming to - then admired my host aunt´s Christmas decorations. In the courtyard, a mechanical snowman sweeps the walk while a creche, complete with multi-colored twinkle lights, adorns the living room. The creche is joined by an artificial Christmas tree, and even a shake-your-hips Santa Claus. Such US-import Christmas decorations are everywhere, right down to the icicle lights at my friend Peggy´s site... who lives in the jungle and will be enjoying a 90 degree with high humidity Christmas.
A few days after my first Novena, I joined fellow Lojana, Liz, to travel out to Santi and Kayla´s exceptionally isolated site. Santi and Kayla are a married couple from my omnibus, and PC stuck them at the end of a dirt road nearly six hours from Loja, but only one mountain pass from Peru. Our journey came with a purpose - gingerbread houses! We constructed a small gingerbread town, including a post office, church, house, pond, and train. Some very moist frosting and over-loaded roofs led to structural difficulties. As a civil engineer, I´m a bit embarrassed by this, but in my defense, I did not have access to a building code for recommended coconut snow or frosting loads. Kaylas´s English students thought the gingerbread village a smashing success, however, as its imperfections meant they were welcomed to eat it this morning, which, according to Kayla, they did with relish.
Tonight I´m off to Guayaquil, Ecuador´s biggest city, to pick-up my parents and siblings. I so look forward to sharing Ecuador iwth them and hope that they´ll lend their pens to my next post, sharing their impressions with all of you.
Feliz Navidad y Prospero Año Nuevo!
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
I Get Knocked Down, But I Get Up Again!
I try to keep my blog posts upbeat, though admitedly, I occasionally do some whining. Unfortunately, the past couple of months in Ecuador have been a constant mental battle, and I´ve been losing. I´ve even found myself considering ¨decisiones drasticas,¨ as PCVs euphamistically call going home early. Work has been slow and tedious, and I´m disgusted with my own sloth and general lack of animation. I never realized how hard it would be to get going in the morning when the usual consequences of not (like losing a job, failing a class, and so on) are absent, but these consequences aren´t a part of Peace Corps life, and striving on without them is tough.
That said, I got a major motivation this afternoon from an unlikely source. An SUV picked me up on my way into town for English club and the driver and passengers turned out to be ingeñeros (engineers, though the term encompasses a much wider swath of professions than its English equivalent) driving from Piura, Peru, to Loja, Ecuador. They were a lively crew and blasted a collection of mostly English songs throughout the trip. The familiar "We´ll be singing, while we´re winning," opening line to Chumbawamba´s song came through the speakers and my heart lifted. Bobbing my head to the music, a welcome wave of optimism and determination swept over me, as I decided that, damn it PC, you´re never gonna get me down!
Beyond the mental challenges of PC, the States threw a serious curve ball my way a few weeks ago in the form of bad health news on my grandma. I don´t yet know what course of action will prove best there, but while I´m here, I´m determined to make the most of the experience and try to do some good in my little corner of Ecuador. And if you´re familiar with the rest of "I Get Knocked Down," don´t worry, my plan of attack involves neither whiskey drinks, vodka drinks, lager drinks, nor cider drinks!
The plan does involve a little rest and relaxation that will be happening Stateside over the Thanksgiving holiday. If you´ll be around the A2 T-Town area, hope to see you there!
That said, I got a major motivation this afternoon from an unlikely source. An SUV picked me up on my way into town for English club and the driver and passengers turned out to be ingeñeros (engineers, though the term encompasses a much wider swath of professions than its English equivalent) driving from Piura, Peru, to Loja, Ecuador. They were a lively crew and blasted a collection of mostly English songs throughout the trip. The familiar "We´ll be singing, while we´re winning," opening line to Chumbawamba´s song came through the speakers and my heart lifted. Bobbing my head to the music, a welcome wave of optimism and determination swept over me, as I decided that, damn it PC, you´re never gonna get me down!
Beyond the mental challenges of PC, the States threw a serious curve ball my way a few weeks ago in the form of bad health news on my grandma. I don´t yet know what course of action will prove best there, but while I´m here, I´m determined to make the most of the experience and try to do some good in my little corner of Ecuador. And if you´re familiar with the rest of "I Get Knocked Down," don´t worry, my plan of attack involves neither whiskey drinks, vodka drinks, lager drinks, nor cider drinks!
The plan does involve a little rest and relaxation that will be happening Stateside over the Thanksgiving holiday. If you´ll be around the A2 T-Town area, hope to see you there!
Thursday, November 4, 2010
Creepy Crawler
I was tidying my room recently, preparing for a visit from PC buddies over Halloween. I picked up my fallecido (dearly departed) computer and noticed something blackish-brown and furry lurking in the computer´s vacated spot.
Like the Michigander idiot that I am, my mind first concluded that a fake tarantula was in my closet. Next I wondered who could have left a fake tarantula in my closet, and where on Earth they had found such a realistic looking one. Finally, and startlingly, it dawned on me that I live in the tropics and, by golly, they have real tarantulas here! The monster in the closet (if not yet under the bed) was real! Mierda! Puta madre!
I stood doing nothing for a few moments,
carefully watching the beast to assure myself that it wasn´t about to scurry off. I fumbled about for my camera and got in as close as I dared to capture this very anti-Hallmark Moment. Picture secured (see right), I got out the flashlight for a better view. The harsh LED crank light didn´t make the critter look any friendlier, and while I remembered reading a blog about a tarantula catch and release undertaken by a PC couple in similar straits, I knew I needed backup.
Luckily, Silvia, the farm manager´s wife was outside reading a magazine. I approached her painfully conscious that a proper ecuatoriana would deal with the stupid thing on her own, but I had to admit to myself that I am not, nor do I anticipate approaching, proper ecuatoriana status.
Silvia came back with me to my room and watched on as I shone the flashlight into the closet depths once again. A few seconds of observation assured her that the gringa did, at least, know what a tarantula was, and said I should "matalo, no más" (kill it, of course). In a flash, she grabbed my machete, made a quick chop, brushed the creature onto my shovel, and deposited the remains outside. All that was left to do was find some papel higenico (toilet paper) to clean-up the small mess left by the machete action.
I thanked Silvia, confident that her assistance would be amply repaid in amusement. I also, and quite foolishly, inquired further about the general prevalence of tarantulas in the area, particularly preoccupied with worries of this fellow's friends or descendents sharing his home. Silvia recommended shaking out my clothes, then recounted a story about a child who was bit in the neck by a tarantula and died. If you think it odd that Silvia would relate this story at such a time, you need to meet more Ecuadorians. Of course, who knows if my species was even the same species (Silvia grew-up in Peru) and I am at least twice as big as Ecuadorian adults, but still, my skin still occasionally crawls at the memory of my furry visitor.
Like the Michigander idiot that I am, my mind first concluded that a fake tarantula was in my closet. Next I wondered who could have left a fake tarantula in my closet, and where on Earth they had found such a realistic looking one. Finally, and startlingly, it dawned on me that I live in the tropics and, by golly, they have real tarantulas here! The monster in the closet (if not yet under the bed) was real! Mierda! Puta madre!
I stood doing nothing for a few moments,
carefully watching the beast to assure myself that it wasn´t about to scurry off. I fumbled about for my camera and got in as close as I dared to capture this very anti-Hallmark Moment. Picture secured (see right), I got out the flashlight for a better view. The harsh LED crank light didn´t make the critter look any friendlier, and while I remembered reading a blog about a tarantula catch and release undertaken by a PC couple in similar straits, I knew I needed backup.Luckily, Silvia, the farm manager´s wife was outside reading a magazine. I approached her painfully conscious that a proper ecuatoriana would deal with the stupid thing on her own, but I had to admit to myself that I am not, nor do I anticipate approaching, proper ecuatoriana status.
Silvia came back with me to my room and watched on as I shone the flashlight into the closet depths once again. A few seconds of observation assured her that the gringa did, at least, know what a tarantula was, and said I should "matalo, no más" (kill it, of course). In a flash, she grabbed my machete, made a quick chop, brushed the creature onto my shovel, and deposited the remains outside. All that was left to do was find some papel higenico (toilet paper) to clean-up the small mess left by the machete action.
I thanked Silvia, confident that her assistance would be amply repaid in amusement. I also, and quite foolishly, inquired further about the general prevalence of tarantulas in the area, particularly preoccupied with worries of this fellow's friends or descendents sharing his home. Silvia recommended shaking out my clothes, then recounted a story about a child who was bit in the neck by a tarantula and died. If you think it odd that Silvia would relate this story at such a time, you need to meet more Ecuadorians. Of course, who knows if my species was even the same species (Silvia grew-up in Peru) and I am at least twice as big as Ecuadorian adults, but still, my skin still occasionally crawls at the memory of my furry visitor.
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
Elaboración de Miel de Caña, or Making Sugar Cane Honey
I set out this morning to a neighboring barrio (rural collection of houses with an elementary school) to find out how long I´ve committed myself to hiking to teach a new set of English classes. It took an hour and fifteen minutes, uphill. I admit the uphill was only one way, but all the same, I will be forced into shape.
As I arrived back in my barrio, legs aching and feeling the effects of the sun, my neighbor called me over and invited me to help out in some sort of project involving a pile of sugar cane and a machine. The engineer instinct took over and I hurried around the fence. It turned out my neighbors (many were filtering through to assist) were making sugar cane honey. The first phase, harvesting the sugar cane, happened elsewhere, as the caña is thin on the ground in my dry area. However, in the well irrigated places or valleys hugging rivers near me, the stuff grows well and I´m used to seeing it. Up close, it looks a bit like bamboo (see the pile to the right).
As I arrived back in my barrio, legs aching and feeling the effects of the sun, my neighbor called me over and invited me to help out in some sort of project involving a pile of sugar cane and a machine. The engineer instinct took over and I hurried around the fence. It turned out my neighbors (many were filtering through to assist) were making sugar cane honey. The first phase, harvesting the sugar cane, happened elsewhere, as the caña is thin on the ground in my dry area. However, in the well irrigated places or valleys hugging rivers near me, the stuff grows well and I´m used to seeing it. Up close, it looks a bit like bamboo (see the pile to the right). To make the honey, you cut the end at an angle, then feed through a mechanical press, slanty-end first. The press devours the caña, shooting dry-ish sticks out one end and lot
s of juice out the bottom. The juice at my neighbor´s poured into a 15 gallon kettle, from which it was seived into buckets and transported to the "stove," two concrete basins atop a leña (wood) fire (see picture at right). The juice was boiled down to a syrup, and then it´s ready. The miel de caña is sold throughout Ecuador as sweetner either in the honey form, or reduced further until it´s solid and called panela. Panela, when shaved, is the brownish sugar that Starbucks puts in the "natural" colored wrappers labelled cane sugar. Here, it´s the norm. Even the white sugar comes from sugar cane and is simply processed further (the smaller the pieces get, the whiter they appear – I think much of Michigan´s sugar comes from sugar beets and am not sure what color the sugar from these begins).
s of juice out the bottom. The juice at my neighbor´s poured into a 15 gallon kettle, from which it was seived into buckets and transported to the "stove," two concrete basins atop a leña (wood) fire (see picture at right). The juice was boiled down to a syrup, and then it´s ready. The miel de caña is sold throughout Ecuador as sweetner either in the honey form, or reduced further until it´s solid and called panela. Panela, when shaved, is the brownish sugar that Starbucks puts in the "natural" colored wrappers labelled cane sugar. Here, it´s the norm. Even the white sugar comes from sugar cane and is simply processed further (the smaller the pieces get, the whiter they appear – I think much of Michigan´s sugar comes from sugar beets and am not sure what color the sugar from these begins).
I got to feed the sugar cane into the press and have the picture to prove it! OSHA, I´m outside your jurisdiction and have no comment on the gear that may or may not have popped out of the press two times in thirty minutes.
After elaboración de miel de caña, I put in some quality hammock time with the gatita before setting out around two for the canton capital to help at a middle school English club. My camioneta initially only had one other woman in the back seat, and I rode in comfort for ten minutes. Then a woman got in with her one-year-old and seven-year-old. With five squished in the back seat, the comfort quotient took a big hit, and then the baby started crying. Even I could tell the kid was doing his "my tummy hurts" cry (he sounded a bit like the moaning I associate with hugging toilets) and sure enough, he projectile vomited all over his mother and the seat that was mine until the vomit claimed it. I spent the remaining 15 minutes of the trip clinging to the driver´s bench to avoid backsliding into the mess, head straining towards the only open window. I was pretty glad to get out of that truck.
English club was a blast – we drew floor plans of our houses and learned all the words to label the rooms and furniture in English. If you´ve ever seen my notebooks, napkins, or placemats, you know that this activity was right up my alley. Now I´m writing to all of you and will be back in miel de caña land in a few hours. All in all, a fantastically Peace Corps-ish day.
Friday, October 8, 2010
Attempted Coup!
Sorry for the delay - life sin computadora has been a bit trying, and September was a busy month! Since posting last, I've attended a Reconnect Conference in Quito with my Omnibus, said goodbye to one COSing (regular end of Peace Corps service) and four ETing (leaving early) volunteers, attended my host cousin's quincenera (15th birthday party), spent a little over a week stuck in site on account of national police strikes and an attempted coup, got some good news on future work projects, and taken my first by-myself nightbus to Quito for a long weekend, from where I am writing this post.
I'm saving more details on the quincenera and work developments for another post, and will devote this one to the attempted coup. Last Thursday, September 30, Peace Corps sent out a message telling all volunteers to go on standfast, the first phase of our evacuation plan. Standfast entails pinpointing all volunteers' locations, then telling them to stay put until either consolidation in provincial capitals and possible evacuation, or an all-clear returning us to normal life. The standfast was enacted in anticipation of unrest likely to arise because of a planned national police strike.
I awoke Friday morning to the usual quiet laziness of my rural site, but shortly thereafter received a text from my mom asking "Did u hear about coup attempt? Is everything ok by u? Has pc said anything?" The text was the first I'd heard of the coup, and I had run out of saldo (phone minutes) the day before, so I couldn't call anyone to find out quickly. I was scheduled to help prepare the soil at one of my schools for a new garden, but decided to head into the town where I lived with my host family to buy saldo and hear the news (this sort of travel is allowed on Standfast - I have to go into town to buy food). The camioneta (pick-up truck) driver and high schooler with whom I shared a ride were discussing the coup and I learned that the national police force kidnapped Rafael Correa, the president of Ecuador, in a quasi-coup attempt on Thursday night (I'm unsure if the goal was to take over the government or just force Correa to repeal a new law they don't like). The kidnapping was short-lived and by my Friday morning camioneta ride, the military had already rescued him from the police kidnappers and the South American and international communities had expressed their support for the elected president.
Because of the coup, school across the country was cancelled, so my day was free and I spent time on the internet, then went over to my host parents' house and watched the news with my host mom. I really enjoyed talking with her about the coup. She was feeling shaken by the coup attempt, and not terribly proud of Ecuador, but I actually helped her feel better, pointing out that the coup's failure was probably a good sign for Ecuador - that the country was stable enough to withstand such an assault. She reflected on that and agreed, remembering the occasions in the not that distant past when Ecuadorian governments did not fare so well when faced with affronts to their power.
The country was placed under an "exceptional state" following the coup, meaning that the military took control of security throughout the country and retains it until tomorrow, Saturday, when the police force is scheduled to return to its normal duties. I'm not sure what the difference between an "exceptional state" and marshal law is - they seam awfully similar to me - but the official name for the state of affairs here has been the former. In Quito and Guayaquil the military was roving the streets picking up groups bigger than 2, at times, and there were a few gun fights and a big uptick in robberies. Out by me, life was unchanged except for a few more people from the ejercito (army) walking around, though there wasn't any obvious unrest for them to contain. Friends in Ciudad de Loja said all they heard of happening was a bank and mini-mart robbery. My province is super tranquilo, as they say in Spanish, and when it comes to political instability, I'm happy with things this way.
So, that was my experience with a coup attempt. Interesting in a far-away sense, but pretty unevently in my physical relm. Let's hope things remain calm!
I'm saving more details on the quincenera and work developments for another post, and will devote this one to the attempted coup. Last Thursday, September 30, Peace Corps sent out a message telling all volunteers to go on standfast, the first phase of our evacuation plan. Standfast entails pinpointing all volunteers' locations, then telling them to stay put until either consolidation in provincial capitals and possible evacuation, or an all-clear returning us to normal life. The standfast was enacted in anticipation of unrest likely to arise because of a planned national police strike.
I awoke Friday morning to the usual quiet laziness of my rural site, but shortly thereafter received a text from my mom asking "Did u hear about coup attempt? Is everything ok by u? Has pc said anything?" The text was the first I'd heard of the coup, and I had run out of saldo (phone minutes) the day before, so I couldn't call anyone to find out quickly. I was scheduled to help prepare the soil at one of my schools for a new garden, but decided to head into the town where I lived with my host family to buy saldo and hear the news (this sort of travel is allowed on Standfast - I have to go into town to buy food). The camioneta (pick-up truck) driver and high schooler with whom I shared a ride were discussing the coup and I learned that the national police force kidnapped Rafael Correa, the president of Ecuador, in a quasi-coup attempt on Thursday night (I'm unsure if the goal was to take over the government or just force Correa to repeal a new law they don't like). The kidnapping was short-lived and by my Friday morning camioneta ride, the military had already rescued him from the police kidnappers and the South American and international communities had expressed their support for the elected president.
Because of the coup, school across the country was cancelled, so my day was free and I spent time on the internet, then went over to my host parents' house and watched the news with my host mom. I really enjoyed talking with her about the coup. She was feeling shaken by the coup attempt, and not terribly proud of Ecuador, but I actually helped her feel better, pointing out that the coup's failure was probably a good sign for Ecuador - that the country was stable enough to withstand such an assault. She reflected on that and agreed, remembering the occasions in the not that distant past when Ecuadorian governments did not fare so well when faced with affronts to their power.
The country was placed under an "exceptional state" following the coup, meaning that the military took control of security throughout the country and retains it until tomorrow, Saturday, when the police force is scheduled to return to its normal duties. I'm not sure what the difference between an "exceptional state" and marshal law is - they seam awfully similar to me - but the official name for the state of affairs here has been the former. In Quito and Guayaquil the military was roving the streets picking up groups bigger than 2, at times, and there were a few gun fights and a big uptick in robberies. Out by me, life was unchanged except for a few more people from the ejercito (army) walking around, though there wasn't any obvious unrest for them to contain. Friends in Ciudad de Loja said all they heard of happening was a bank and mini-mart robbery. My province is super tranquilo, as they say in Spanish, and when it comes to political instability, I'm happy with things this way.
So, that was my experience with a coup attempt. Interesting in a far-away sense, but pretty unevently in my physical relm. Let's hope things remain calm!
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
A Quick Update
So, my very elderly computer kicked the bucket a little under two weeks ago. I lost my movie theater, picture editor and ability to pre-type blog posts. As a result, my posts may be a bit slighter and farther between until the computerlessness is resolved, but here´s a quick update on what´s up in la vida ecuatoriana:
My first two batches of personal compost are complete and a small but sturdy crop of green beans, tomatoes and a kidney bean plant that survived composting are coming along well. I´ll be transplanting a few of the tomatoes to the closest school garden tomorrow.
The school garden´s compost pile has been destroyed twice by rummaging chickens, forcing me to move it inside the garden walls. This is fine, except that now the land under the compost is no longer available for growing things.
I´ve started a World Wise Schools exchange with the Spanish teacher at my alma mater. Please feel sorry for the third year Spanish students of THS who are subjected to my atrocious attempt at writing in Spanish.
I´ve caught something that feels flu-ish, but as I´ve been vaccinated against everything under the sun, it must be a cold. My Peace Corps-issued mini-pharmacy is getting me through, and I´m pretty sure I´m on the mend already.
Next week I head up to Quito for a weeklong training/reconnect seminar with my omnibus. I´m looking forward to catching up with my fellow 7-months-in-Ecuadorers and getting some help on project planning.
I ordered a Kindle and am having it shipped via the Peace Corps Express, meaning it and it´s cell-phone network enabled internet connection should arrive next week when Liz gets back from wedding attending in los Estados Unidos. I´m pretty psyched by the prospect of internet on demand.
That´s all for now, but I´ll try to get some photos up somehow for the next post. Que les vaya bien!
My first two batches of personal compost are complete and a small but sturdy crop of green beans, tomatoes and a kidney bean plant that survived composting are coming along well. I´ll be transplanting a few of the tomatoes to the closest school garden tomorrow.
The school garden´s compost pile has been destroyed twice by rummaging chickens, forcing me to move it inside the garden walls. This is fine, except that now the land under the compost is no longer available for growing things.
I´ve started a World Wise Schools exchange with the Spanish teacher at my alma mater. Please feel sorry for the third year Spanish students of THS who are subjected to my atrocious attempt at writing in Spanish.
I´ve caught something that feels flu-ish, but as I´ve been vaccinated against everything under the sun, it must be a cold. My Peace Corps-issued mini-pharmacy is getting me through, and I´m pretty sure I´m on the mend already.
Next week I head up to Quito for a weeklong training/reconnect seminar with my omnibus. I´m looking forward to catching up with my fellow 7-months-in-Ecuadorers and getting some help on project planning.
I ordered a Kindle and am having it shipped via the Peace Corps Express, meaning it and it´s cell-phone network enabled internet connection should arrive next week when Liz gets back from wedding attending in los Estados Unidos. I´m pretty psyched by the prospect of internet on demand.
That´s all for now, but I´ll try to get some photos up somehow for the next post. Que les vaya bien!
Sunday, August 22, 2010
PC Rage, Closeness, Openness
Peace Corps can, at times, feel like an emotional roller coaster worthy of top billing at Cedar Point. The highs are really high, and the lows can be crushing. As most PCVs do, I live in what still feels like a new and dramatically foreign culture and must figure out how to cope largely on my own, at least in geographic terms. In response to the pressures of PCV life, I’m prone to fits of rage and extreme openness, and, at least among those I see, other volunteers are too.
Rage
It comes on suddenly, and then lashes out. I’ll be going about my day, not particularly perturbed by the more irritating parts of my host culture, then all of a sudden, one too many men hisses at me and the caged rage tiger breaks free. I instantly despise the crudeness, pettiness or injustice of some action and I have to find an outlet for my irritation. I’ve taken up voicing the obscenities I desperately want to say, but refrain from translating them. A beauty of the cultural divide is that as long as I pronounce things properly and quickly (which is pretty much guaranteed in an outburst), nobody but me is any the wiser, and I feel immensely better.
I fell back on this coping mechanism during a recent encounter with the bus system. I was attempting to return home after a day trip to Loja last weekend in the mess of the Virgen del Cisne (virgin on the swan) pilgrimage. Swarms of devotees had come in from all over Ecuador to accompany the Virgen on her annual journey from El Cisne to Loja, and while they pour money into the local economy (yea!), they make travelling a nightmare (boo!). The Loja bus terminal bore a striking resemblance to O’Hare on the Friday before Christmas when Denver’s closed down by a snowstorm. My bus was delayed by more than an hour, but did eventually leave.
However, for reasons that did not appear to satisfy my fellow passengers, and which I couldn’t quite understand, our chofer (driver) pulled over about 30 minutes after leaving Loja, sat doing nothing for another 20, then announced that we were returning to Loja. I was proud of my initial staidness, patiently resigned to the absurdities of Virgen del Cisne time as the bus went back down the mountain. But, as we pulled back into the terminal, and the chofer had no explanation for what we should do, I remembered that the next bus wasn’t for 3 hours and was likely already full, the rage rose up inside and I joined the other passengers sharing their displeasure with the driver. I said my piece in English, though, so while I felt just as self-righteous and justified as my fellow complainers, the driver was no worse for the wear.
A fellow Lojana volunteer shared the story of a rage-fueled fit she threw because a mini-mart wouldn’t let her take the small tote bag she carries as a purse into the store, though streams of women carrying purses that doubled as bowling ball bags flowed through. As she described it, the fact that her bag wasn’t "stylish" enough for the bag-checker’s purse standards was what set her off. She lost it after her explanation that her tote was small and contained the wallet she would need to pay fell on deaf ears. Her Spanish flew immediately out the window as she through the sort of indignant tantrum usually reserved for the exclusive use of middle-aged women at Black Friday sales in Wal-Mart. She felt comfortable sharing this bout of poor behavior with me because: A) she was sure I’d behaved similarly poorly in similar encounters with Peace Corps Rage, and B) PCVs tend to tell each other anything and everything, which brings me to my second topic….
Openness and Closeness
I know some alarmingly intimate facts about my fellow PCVs. I can give a fairly detailed report on the diarrhea bouts of the Loja cluster, have seen scars from hideous puss-producing allergic reactions, and know that the average time between volunteers’ showers hovers around 48 hours for those in warm climates and 96 hours for those in the cold. Why do I know this? Because volunteers share so openly. Since this openness is so widespread, I suspect it’s related to coping with life abroad, but whatever causes it, it has some wonderful consequences.
Firstly, since bizarre illnesses are a probable reality, it’s actually nice to know what to expect in the puss and poo department. Secondly, volunteers are eager to share more personal info of the emotional variety, along with bodily functions. I’m amazed by how well I know those volunteers I get to see with some regularity. I know all about their past experiences and future plans, frustrations and triumphs here in Ecuador, and a lot about their extended families. In fact, with the possible exception of whining about Peace Corps policies, our favorite conversation topic is our families – what they’re like, what they’re up to back in the States, etc.. Sadly, I know we talk about them because we miss them (me too! I miss you guys!), and realize we’ve elected to miss two years of time we could had spent near them, but with all the joyfully shared information, it’s easy to get to know people. I value the knowledge I’m gaining about Ecuador and its culture, but I also love getting to know the eclectic and charming group of Americans who also said, “Sure, I’ll live and work in Ecuador for two years!”
Rage
It comes on suddenly, and then lashes out. I’ll be going about my day, not particularly perturbed by the more irritating parts of my host culture, then all of a sudden, one too many men hisses at me and the caged rage tiger breaks free. I instantly despise the crudeness, pettiness or injustice of some action and I have to find an outlet for my irritation. I’ve taken up voicing the obscenities I desperately want to say, but refrain from translating them. A beauty of the cultural divide is that as long as I pronounce things properly and quickly (which is pretty much guaranteed in an outburst), nobody but me is any the wiser, and I feel immensely better.
I fell back on this coping mechanism during a recent encounter with the bus system. I was attempting to return home after a day trip to Loja last weekend in the mess of the Virgen del Cisne (virgin on the swan) pilgrimage. Swarms of devotees had come in from all over Ecuador to accompany the Virgen on her annual journey from El Cisne to Loja, and while they pour money into the local economy (yea!), they make travelling a nightmare (boo!). The Loja bus terminal bore a striking resemblance to O’Hare on the Friday before Christmas when Denver’s closed down by a snowstorm. My bus was delayed by more than an hour, but did eventually leave.
However, for reasons that did not appear to satisfy my fellow passengers, and which I couldn’t quite understand, our chofer (driver) pulled over about 30 minutes after leaving Loja, sat doing nothing for another 20, then announced that we were returning to Loja. I was proud of my initial staidness, patiently resigned to the absurdities of Virgen del Cisne time as the bus went back down the mountain. But, as we pulled back into the terminal, and the chofer had no explanation for what we should do, I remembered that the next bus wasn’t for 3 hours and was likely already full, the rage rose up inside and I joined the other passengers sharing their displeasure with the driver. I said my piece in English, though, so while I felt just as self-righteous and justified as my fellow complainers, the driver was no worse for the wear.
A fellow Lojana volunteer shared the story of a rage-fueled fit she threw because a mini-mart wouldn’t let her take the small tote bag she carries as a purse into the store, though streams of women carrying purses that doubled as bowling ball bags flowed through. As she described it, the fact that her bag wasn’t "stylish" enough for the bag-checker’s purse standards was what set her off. She lost it after her explanation that her tote was small and contained the wallet she would need to pay fell on deaf ears. Her Spanish flew immediately out the window as she through the sort of indignant tantrum usually reserved for the exclusive use of middle-aged women at Black Friday sales in Wal-Mart. She felt comfortable sharing this bout of poor behavior with me because: A) she was sure I’d behaved similarly poorly in similar encounters with Peace Corps Rage, and B) PCVs tend to tell each other anything and everything, which brings me to my second topic….
Openness and Closeness
I know some alarmingly intimate facts about my fellow PCVs. I can give a fairly detailed report on the diarrhea bouts of the Loja cluster, have seen scars from hideous puss-producing allergic reactions, and know that the average time between volunteers’ showers hovers around 48 hours for those in warm climates and 96 hours for those in the cold. Why do I know this? Because volunteers share so openly. Since this openness is so widespread, I suspect it’s related to coping with life abroad, but whatever causes it, it has some wonderful consequences.
Firstly, since bizarre illnesses are a probable reality, it’s actually nice to know what to expect in the puss and poo department. Secondly, volunteers are eager to share more personal info of the emotional variety, along with bodily functions. I’m amazed by how well I know those volunteers I get to see with some regularity. I know all about their past experiences and future plans, frustrations and triumphs here in Ecuador, and a lot about their extended families. In fact, with the possible exception of whining about Peace Corps policies, our favorite conversation topic is our families – what they’re like, what they’re up to back in the States, etc.. Sadly, I know we talk about them because we miss them (me too! I miss you guys!), and realize we’ve elected to miss two years of time we could had spent near them, but with all the joyfully shared information, it’s easy to get to know people. I value the knowledge I’m gaining about Ecuador and its culture, but I also love getting to know the eclectic and charming group of Americans who also said, “Sure, I’ll live and work in Ecuador for two years!”
Sunday, August 8, 2010
Miscellaneous Moments
It seems I’ve had a string of goofy, amusing, “I’m not in Kansas anymore” moments of late, so this post is devoted to regaling you with my tales, but first, a quick update on the nuts and bolts of my Peace Corps existence. Last Saturday I said goodbye to my second host family and moved to my host aunt and uncle’s finca (farm, in this case, sheep farm) out in the campo, about a 15 minute walk from the Centro. I should be living here until I close Peace Corps service in 2012 and am starting in earnest with agriculture projects, beginning with a compost pile by the all-set-to-go community garden. Now, on to the stories!
A toad lives in my inodoro (toilet). He (or she, how do you tell?) has been spotted hopping off the rim as the light went on twice, and surprised me once in a more, er… alarming manner.
The Caserita (farm manager's wife) at my new place is 17-years-old, married and expecting a baby in September. I’m not sure which one of us was more amazed by the answer each gave to the question “cuantos años tienes?" (how old are you).
I tried out the pool at my new place for the first time Friday morning after hiking. As I sunned myself poolside after a dip, I had a hard time believing I was a Peace Corps volunteer. Then I went to do my laundry (by hand – a long and tedious event) and mixed my compost pile and was once again confident that I was, indeed, an agriculture volunteer.
Making compost requires chopping up hierba (plants/organic material), and for this, the tool of choice is the machete. I stopped in at a host cousin’s ferretería (hardware store) on Wednesday and explained what I needed. I was told that a small machete would serve my purposes best, and was assured that I could indeed travel on the bus back home in the company of my machete, as long as I didn’t assault anyone. The machete and I, therefore, boarded the bus without incident, road home, and I felt like a badass. I’ve had an absurd urge to swashbuckle ever since. I might have gotten a bit carried away staging the photo to the right.
About a week ago I found myself seated, once again, on a little plastic stool at my favorite lunch stall in the market, awaiting my pechuga ampanada (breaded and fried chicken breast served with rice, salad and an avocado slice – que rico!). A tiny, adorable Ecuadorian girl smiled at me shyly a few times before getting up the courage to speak to the scary, freakishly tall gringa. When she finally got up the nerve, she asked me if I was from the circus.
I’m a Peace Corps volunteer, which, until I became one, always made me think of rustic-sorts fetching water from distant wells to cook over pit fires in mud huts. Rather than a mud hut, I have a swimming pool and live in a charming adobe house complete with hammock (see photo) and kitchen equipped with an oven (there goes my campo stove…), fridge and running water. I could sort-of claim to be roughing it since I have to go outside to reach the bathroom, and the shower doesn’t have hot water, but since the mid-day temperature here is always in the upper 80s, the cold water is not really a hardship.
A toad lives in my inodoro (toilet). He (or she, how do you tell?) has been spotted hopping off the rim as the light went on twice, and surprised me once in a more, er… alarming manner.
I imagine most of you already know this, but if, perchance, a few do not, I am not what anyone would call an animal person. I’ve never done well with animals more exotic than dogs, and have had a number of embarrassing incidents here in Ecuador because of lingering wariness towards cows, pigs, bees and campo dogs. However, I spent this past Friday morning walking up and down my camino (dirt road) collecting poo from these very animals in a little plastic baggie. Moreover, as poo is an important ingredient in compost, bocashi and bioles, I’ll be continuing my poo-treks for the duration of my Peace Corps service.
The sheep at my new life down-on-the-farm were originally all of the non-wooly variety. However, one of the breeding males died and was replaced with a new, wooly guy. Now the herd is full of wooly and non-wooly hybrids. You’d think that such mixes would have slightly more puffy “fur” than a non-wooly sheep, but less than a traditional wool producer. Instead, the mix produces sheep with bodies that are only partially wooly. They all look like someone got bored halfway through sheering them.
My landlords warned me about a bug that lays eggs on uncovered dishes and causes some sort of incurable disease. Now I obsessively close and cover everything in my kitchen. My fruit bowl, drying wrack and cutting board are all wearing towel clothes.
The Caserita (farm manager's wife) at my new place is 17-years-old, married and expecting a baby in September. I’m not sure which one of us was more amazed by the answer each gave to the question “cuantos años tienes?" (how old are you).
I tried out the pool at my new place for the first time Friday morning after hiking. As I sunned myself poolside after a dip, I had a hard time believing I was a Peace Corps volunteer. Then I went to do my laundry (by hand – a long and tedious event) and mixed my compost pile and was once again confident that I was, indeed, an agriculture volunteer.
Making compost requires chopping up hierba (plants/organic material), and for this, the tool of choice is the machete. I stopped in at a host cousin’s ferretería (hardware store) on Wednesday and explained what I needed. I was told that a small machete would serve my purposes best, and was assured that I could indeed travel on the bus back home in the company of my machete, as long as I didn’t assault anyone. The machete and I, therefore, boarded the bus without incident, road home, and I felt like a badass. I’ve had an absurd urge to swashbuckle ever since. I might have gotten a bit carried away staging the photo to the right.
Sunday, July 25, 2010
What Am I Doing Here?
I’ve been thinking about that question a lot in the past month. I wish I could say that the extended delay between this and my previous post was due to an over-abundance of work, but the truth is quite the opposite. I’ve been in a rut, puttering around with a variety of English-teaching activities and not much else, quedando (remaining) without anything interesting to relate. For the time being, my Ecuadorian adventure lacks just that. With a bit of good-fortune, things will fall into place this week for my permanent living-arrangement, and I’ll move out of my host family’s city-digs for a place out in the country near the Centro. My hope is that the change of scenery will be more conducive to finding work in sustainable agriculture, and will jolt me back into an ambitious mode of living.
So, what sorts of agricultural work can a civil engineer whose only conocemiento (knowledge) of farming is based on gardening hope to share with a population of life-long farmers? Well, not tons, but more than I initially thought. The results of the community assessment survey I conducted show that very little fertilization of any variety, and no pest control outside of fumigation, takes place in my community. Peace Corps did a nice job of teaching its trainees to make organic fertilizers and pesticides, as well as ideas for pest-control based on integrated planting techniques, so I hope to share this knowledge through two organic community gardens. I won’t pretend to be an organic fanatic, but in my community where family incomes hover around $100/month (I live on more than three times that and am not wealthy by local standards), the cheapness of organic fertilizers and pesticides is very attractive.
One of the gardens I mentioned in a previous post, and it is already fenced in, tilled, and set-up to be a fairly traditional vegetable garden. The other would be new, and my hope is to make it container-based (probably old, halved truck-tires) focused on intensive, micro-scale production. I hope the gardens will serve as hands-on teaching facilities for fertilizer and pest production, and also as inspiration for family gardens that could diversify the overly-starched, rice and yucca diet of the area, while simultaneously providing food security.
I’ve also talked with my counterpart at the Centro about helping out a few days a week with poultry production in order to learn how to go about it. My community wanted the local Parroquia (township, sort-of), to fund a micro-empresa (micro-business) raising chickens, but funding fell through. I hope to get the project going again, and maybe coordinate with two cajitas de ahorro (micro-savings banks) run by women’s groups in the community to provide the loan needed to begin the project. If it goes well, there’s a slim chance I could actually use my engineering background to design and build chicken coops!
Though the view of work from where I sit has been a
bit gray, life at my host family’s has been cheered by the arrival of Poleth (pronounced Paulette) and Matthew, host niece and nephews from Quito who came at the beginning of July and are spending the summer with my host parents. In the picture to the right, the niños (kids) are waiting for bus to take them and me out to my community for a picnic to celebrate the end of exams for the students I teach in the campo. They had a blast, and I ate my first salad prepared in un-boiled river water. To my surprise and delight, Montezuma did not exact his revenge, so, apparently, I have a fully-integrated stomach. If only the rest of me were so well adjusted....
The picture to the right is of Poleth helping me make cinnamon rolls. I got an excellent recip
e from Emily, a fellow volunteer in Loja Province, and have made them a number of times in a campo oven. A campo oven is just a pot, but I put rocks and bricks on the bottom to store heat, close the lid tightly, and it bakes fairly well. Instructions for its construction came in the literature PC gave out at swear-in, as ovens are rare in Ecuador. In my life of hot water, microwave, and basic cable, I enjoy using the campo oven to feel a bit more like I’m in the rustic Peace Corps of my imagination, rather than the Posh, but isolated, Corps of reality.
So, what sorts of agricultural work can a civil engineer whose only conocemiento (knowledge) of farming is based on gardening hope to share with a population of life-long farmers? Well, not tons, but more than I initially thought. The results of the community assessment survey I conducted show that very little fertilization of any variety, and no pest control outside of fumigation, takes place in my community. Peace Corps did a nice job of teaching its trainees to make organic fertilizers and pesticides, as well as ideas for pest-control based on integrated planting techniques, so I hope to share this knowledge through two organic community gardens. I won’t pretend to be an organic fanatic, but in my community where family incomes hover around $100/month (I live on more than three times that and am not wealthy by local standards), the cheapness of organic fertilizers and pesticides is very attractive.
One of the gardens I mentioned in a previous post, and it is already fenced in, tilled, and set-up to be a fairly traditional vegetable garden. The other would be new, and my hope is to make it container-based (probably old, halved truck-tires) focused on intensive, micro-scale production. I hope the gardens will serve as hands-on teaching facilities for fertilizer and pest production, and also as inspiration for family gardens that could diversify the overly-starched, rice and yucca diet of the area, while simultaneously providing food security.
I’ve also talked with my counterpart at the Centro about helping out a few days a week with poultry production in order to learn how to go about it. My community wanted the local Parroquia (township, sort-of), to fund a micro-empresa (micro-business) raising chickens, but funding fell through. I hope to get the project going again, and maybe coordinate with two cajitas de ahorro (micro-savings banks) run by women’s groups in the community to provide the loan needed to begin the project. If it goes well, there’s a slim chance I could actually use my engineering background to design and build chicken coops!
Though the view of work from where I sit has been a
bit gray, life at my host family’s has been cheered by the arrival of Poleth (pronounced Paulette) and Matthew, host niece and nephews from Quito who came at the beginning of July and are spending the summer with my host parents. In the picture to the right, the niños (kids) are waiting for bus to take them and me out to my community for a picnic to celebrate the end of exams for the students I teach in the campo. They had a blast, and I ate my first salad prepared in un-boiled river water. To my surprise and delight, Montezuma did not exact his revenge, so, apparently, I have a fully-integrated stomach. If only the rest of me were so well adjusted....The picture to the right is of Poleth helping me make cinnamon rolls. I got an excellent recip
e from Emily, a fellow volunteer in Loja Province, and have made them a number of times in a campo oven. A campo oven is just a pot, but I put rocks and bricks on the bottom to store heat, close the lid tightly, and it bakes fairly well. Instructions for its construction came in the literature PC gave out at swear-in, as ovens are rare in Ecuador. In my life of hot water, microwave, and basic cable, I enjoy using the campo oven to feel a bit more like I’m in the rustic Peace Corps of my imagination, rather than the Posh, but isolated, Corps of reality.
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Geography / History
I have thus-far neglected to give a decent overview of Ecuad
or as a country, but this post should rectify the situation....
Geography
Ecuador is on the northwestern coast of South America and is roughly the size of the state of Colorado. It shares a northern border with Columbia, a western border with the Pacific Ocean, and eastern and southern borders with Peru. There are four geographic regions: the Galapagos Islands, the Costa (coast), the Sierra (Andes Mountains), and the Oriente (jungle; also called Amazonia, as the rivers in this region are part of the Amazon basin).
The capital city, Quito, is located in the northern Sierra, less than 100 miles south of the Equator. Many parts of the Sierra are home to indigenous peoples and their cu
ltures dominate small-town life and enjoy a growing influence in the politics of this region, which has the highest population density of the four. The picture to the right is of Shuar people, the indigenous group that lives closest to me. The weather in the Sierra varies from hot and dry in the lowest valleys (like my site) to extreme cold and snow at the highest elevations and on the many volcanoes (six are currently active) that dot the countryside.
The Costa is dominated by mestizo culture, with the exception of Esmeraldas Province, which is home to most of the Afro-Ecuadorian population. It has a humid, tropical climate with a flood-prone monsoon season. The largest city in Ecuador, Guayaquil, is located in the Costa on a natural bay, west and south of Quito. The coastal culture is known for greater openness and boisterousness than either the Sierra or Oriente, but also for higher crime rates. My fellow volunteers from this region assure me that the accent in this region is much harder to understand than that of the other regions.
The Oriente is the least densely populated region of Ecuador, and also the location of most of the country’s oil reserves. There is an ongoing struggle between the indigenous peoples of the region, environmental groups, and oil companies (run by the state) as to how the reserves should be managed. The Oriente has a uniformly humid climate, and the climate is hot, with the exception of the cooler cloud forests that hug the western slopes of the Andes. Many of the volunteers working in this region are promoting the blossoming eco-tourism industry with Peace Corps’ Natural Resources program.
The Galapagos Islands are dry, warm, isolated islands located more than 1000km west of the rest of Ecuador. The wildlife here evolved without humans and are remarkably unperturbed by their relatively-recent arrival. I liked one description I came across that compared the islands’ animals’ response to humans to the way stars deal with annoying paparazzi. These animals inspired Darwin to write his Theory of Evolution, and the islands now attract an enormous crop of tourists interested in swimming with the turtles and seeing a blue-footed booby. There are so many tourists that the Ministry of the Environment regularly introduces new regulations designed to protect the islands from them. They generally achieve this by raising admission prices, making the Galapagos a major splurge for volunteers.
History
Ecuador became an independent nation in 1830. Since then, it has undergone nearly 100 changes in government and 20 constitutions, the most recent of which went into effect in 2008. My Lonely Planet claims that the volatility stems from strife between the conservative, Catholic Sierra and the liberal, secular Coast, and from disputes with Peru. I am yet to visit the Coast, so I don’t have much to add to that first proposed cause, but animosity with Peru is certainly ripe. The Centro I work at was founded after the most recent war with Peru (peace accords signed 1998) with the goal of improving conditions in the border region. I am often told about the dire poverty, crime, and general yuckiness of Peru by my Ecuadorian neighbors (I live in the border region).
Before 1830, Ecuador was part of Gran Columbia, a nation composed of present-day Venezuela, Columbia and Ecuador. Gran Columbia was the united, idealistic dream of Simon Bolivar, a Venezuelan, who led the struggle for independence from Spain. He and his army fought from 1820, achieving the complete expulsion of the Spanish from Ecuador in 1822.
The Spanish, in turn, had concurred Ecuador from the Incan Empire. If you can remember back to your world history class, you may recall (as I did not) that Conquistador Francisco Pizarro led Spain’s defeat of Incan Emperor Atahualpa with greatly-outnumbered troops and a kidnapping scheme. Pizarro’s conquest began in 1532, and by 1534, Pizarro had made his way to Quito. The city had been razed by its fleeing Incan rulers, so Pizarro re-founded it on December 6, 1534, which is celebrated today as the Foundation of Quito. The Spanish Colonial period was characterized by extensive church-construction on former Incan religious sites, flourishing agriculture and the arts, and extreme oppression of the indigenous and mestizo populations.
In truth, when the Spanish ousted them, the Incans had only recently arrived, as they had
conquered indigenous groups called the Cañari, beginning in 1463. Though they ruled for a relatively short time, the Inca had a great influence on the indigenous cultures, introducing the Quechua language, which is still spoken by many indigenous people as a primary language, and which peppers Ecuadorian Spanish even outside of indigenous populations. The Incans also changed land-ownership standards and introduced many crops now commonly associated with Ecuadorian agriculture such as cocoa, sweet potatoes (camote, the most common variety is available in my local market and has white outer flesh and a purple interior – see the picture to the right), and peanuts.
or as a country, but this post should rectify the situation....Geography
Ecuador is on the northwestern coast of South America and is roughly the size of the state of Colorado. It shares a northern border with Columbia, a western border with the Pacific Ocean, and eastern and southern borders with Peru. There are four geographic regions: the Galapagos Islands, the Costa (coast), the Sierra (Andes Mountains), and the Oriente (jungle; also called Amazonia, as the rivers in this region are part of the Amazon basin).
The capital city, Quito, is located in the northern Sierra, less than 100 miles south of the Equator. Many parts of the Sierra are home to indigenous peoples and their cu
ltures dominate small-town life and enjoy a growing influence in the politics of this region, which has the highest population density of the four. The picture to the right is of Shuar people, the indigenous group that lives closest to me. The weather in the Sierra varies from hot and dry in the lowest valleys (like my site) to extreme cold and snow at the highest elevations and on the many volcanoes (six are currently active) that dot the countryside.The Costa is dominated by mestizo culture, with the exception of Esmeraldas Province, which is home to most of the Afro-Ecuadorian population. It has a humid, tropical climate with a flood-prone monsoon season. The largest city in Ecuador, Guayaquil, is located in the Costa on a natural bay, west and south of Quito. The coastal culture is known for greater openness and boisterousness than either the Sierra or Oriente, but also for higher crime rates. My fellow volunteers from this region assure me that the accent in this region is much harder to understand than that of the other regions.
The Oriente is the least densely populated region of Ecuador, and also the location of most of the country’s oil reserves. There is an ongoing struggle between the indigenous peoples of the region, environmental groups, and oil companies (run by the state) as to how the reserves should be managed. The Oriente has a uniformly humid climate, and the climate is hot, with the exception of the cooler cloud forests that hug the western slopes of the Andes. Many of the volunteers working in this region are promoting the blossoming eco-tourism industry with Peace Corps’ Natural Resources program.
The Galapagos Islands are dry, warm, isolated islands located more than 1000km west of the rest of Ecuador. The wildlife here evolved without humans and are remarkably unperturbed by their relatively-recent arrival. I liked one description I came across that compared the islands’ animals’ response to humans to the way stars deal with annoying paparazzi. These animals inspired Darwin to write his Theory of Evolution, and the islands now attract an enormous crop of tourists interested in swimming with the turtles and seeing a blue-footed booby. There are so many tourists that the Ministry of the Environment regularly introduces new regulations designed to protect the islands from them. They generally achieve this by raising admission prices, making the Galapagos a major splurge for volunteers.
History
Ecuador became an independent nation in 1830. Since then, it has undergone nearly 100 changes in government and 20 constitutions, the most recent of which went into effect in 2008. My Lonely Planet claims that the volatility stems from strife between the conservative, Catholic Sierra and the liberal, secular Coast, and from disputes with Peru. I am yet to visit the Coast, so I don’t have much to add to that first proposed cause, but animosity with Peru is certainly ripe. The Centro I work at was founded after the most recent war with Peru (peace accords signed 1998) with the goal of improving conditions in the border region. I am often told about the dire poverty, crime, and general yuckiness of Peru by my Ecuadorian neighbors (I live in the border region).
Before 1830, Ecuador was part of Gran Columbia, a nation composed of present-day Venezuela, Columbia and Ecuador. Gran Columbia was the united, idealistic dream of Simon Bolivar, a Venezuelan, who led the struggle for independence from Spain. He and his army fought from 1820, achieving the complete expulsion of the Spanish from Ecuador in 1822.
The Spanish, in turn, had concurred Ecuador from the Incan Empire. If you can remember back to your world history class, you may recall (as I did not) that Conquistador Francisco Pizarro led Spain’s defeat of Incan Emperor Atahualpa with greatly-outnumbered troops and a kidnapping scheme. Pizarro’s conquest began in 1532, and by 1534, Pizarro had made his way to Quito. The city had been razed by its fleeing Incan rulers, so Pizarro re-founded it on December 6, 1534, which is celebrated today as the Foundation of Quito. The Spanish Colonial period was characterized by extensive church-construction on former Incan religious sites, flourishing agriculture and the arts, and extreme oppression of the indigenous and mestizo populations.
In truth, when the Spanish ousted them, the Incans had only recently arrived, as they had
conquered indigenous groups called the Cañari, beginning in 1463. Though they ruled for a relatively short time, the Inca had a great influence on the indigenous cultures, introducing the Quechua language, which is still spoken by many indigenous people as a primary language, and which peppers Ecuadorian Spanish even outside of indigenous populations. The Incans also changed land-ownership standards and introduced many crops now commonly associated with Ecuadorian agriculture such as cocoa, sweet potatoes (camote, the most common variety is available in my local market and has white outer flesh and a purple interior – see the picture to the right), and peanuts.
Sunday, June 20, 2010
Fiesta Time
June is the month for fiestas in my neck of Loja, so this post is about my experiences partying it up in my site!
Reina del Canton
The pageant started, as everything with even a hint of officialness does here in Ecuador, with a longwinded speech in which each and every dignitary in attendance (and there were many) was welcomed individually and the virtues of the
cantón were pondered at length. Eventually, though, the long-winded MCs couldn’t come up with anything more to say and the contestants made their first appearances. The pageant had three rounds: dancing in headdresses, swimsuit, and evening gown/message. To the right is a group photo of 5 of the 6 contestants decked out in their headdresses. In this phase, the contestants came out one-by-one to intense cheers from their barrios (neighborhoods), walked about doing pageant-y poses, then came out on the catwalk to do a little dance.
Between the first and second rounds of the pageant, a woman sang a variety of traditional Ecuadorian ballads. She was a decent singer and my host aunts informed me that her song selections were good.
The swimsuit competition followed a very old-school format, giving out each girls’ measurements as she posed. I say girls quite seriously, as five of the six contestants were 16 or 17 years old. The pageant rules state, in fact, that contestants must be between the ages of 16 and 25, but the mos
t elderly contestant was an 18-year-old college freshman.
The atmosphere was upbeat heading into the final round and the contestants did a nice job with their mensajes (messages). One poor contestant forgot hers halfway through, but the audience was indulgent and an MC kindly commented that the stress of being a contestant can be quite a burden. Listening to the mensajes was the first time I heard Ecuadorian Spanish spoken as elegantly as possible, and it was impressive. Though the mensajes were uniformly about why the cantón is charming and why the contestant was so orgullosa (proud) to represent her barrio, the ‘Rs’ rolled out with incredible skill and the timing was fabulous.
As the clock struck 1 am, the judges turned in their cards and the contestants learned their fate. The runners-up were named the Señoritas (Misses) of this and that, while Reina (Queen) was reserved for the winner. The 1st runner up’s barrio felt she
had been cheated and ripped off her Srta. Cantón sash when she went to join them in a bit of amusing indignation. This started chatter among my host family about past problems with rigged pageants and judges in assorted pockets. And considering what a big deal the pageant was in the town, I can imagine that happening.
The students had prepped a couple of dance routines
to perform at the fiesta and I got a number of adorable photos of them at their final dress-rehearsal. They did a traditional dance to a pasillo, a ballad-like Ecuadorian type of music, and some hip-hop to a reggatone song. Watching the computer teacher instruct the little 8-11 year old boys on how to best dance hip-hop was hilarious. She had them looking like quite the group of bad-boys.
Misstaken that this was an afternoon-only fiesta, I’d made plans to go jogging with my host aunts in the early evening, so I had to go just as the habas of cervesas (cases of beers) arrived, but I’m told that like the beauty pageant, this fiesta also danced its way to the wee hours.
Reina del Canton
My cantón, or county, elected a new queen a few weeks ago in an elaborate ceremony attended by everyone I know in the town and judged by a panel including the vice-prefect of the Province of Loja. My ticket claimed the festivities began at 8 pm, so I foolishly arrived at a few minutes to eight. The stage was set-up and a few people were milling around, but the pageant was definitely not about to begin. I spent the next hour chatting with people I knew as they arrived and took a seat by my host aunts around 9, though the show didn’t begin until 9:30.
The pageant started, as everything with even a hint of officialness does here in Ecuador, with a longwinded speech in which each and every dignitary in attendance (and there were many) was welcomed individually and the virtues of the
cantón were pondered at length. Eventually, though, the long-winded MCs couldn’t come up with anything more to say and the contestants made their first appearances. The pageant had three rounds: dancing in headdresses, swimsuit, and evening gown/message. To the right is a group photo of 5 of the 6 contestants decked out in their headdresses. In this phase, the contestants came out one-by-one to intense cheers from their barrios (neighborhoods), walked about doing pageant-y poses, then came out on the catwalk to do a little dance. Between the first and second rounds of the pageant, a woman sang a variety of traditional Ecuadorian ballads. She was a decent singer and my host aunts informed me that her song selections were good.
The swimsuit competition followed a very old-school format, giving out each girls’ measurements as she posed. I say girls quite seriously, as five of the six contestants were 16 or 17 years old. The pageant rules state, in fact, that contestants must be between the ages of 16 and 25, but the mos
t elderly contestant was an 18-year-old college freshman. My favorite part of the evening followed the swimsuit competition. An aging, but engaging Uruguayan band called the Iracundos performed a well-rounded set of songs that the audience knew well and to which they could sing -along. The band’s performance was very polished, and while they did feel the need to give a speech, it was beautifully brief.
The atmosphere was upbeat heading into the final round and the contestants did a nice job with their mensajes (messages). One poor contestant forgot hers halfway through, but the audience was indulgent and an MC kindly commented that the stress of being a contestant can be quite a burden. Listening to the mensajes was the first time I heard Ecuadorian Spanish spoken as elegantly as possible, and it was impressive. Though the mensajes were uniformly about why the cantón is charming and why the contestant was so orgullosa (proud) to represent her barrio, the ‘Rs’ rolled out with incredible skill and the timing was fabulous.
As the clock struck 1 am, the judges turned in their cards and the contestants learned their fate. The runners-up were named the Señoritas (Misses) of this and that, while Reina (Queen) was reserved for the winner. The 1st runner up’s barrio felt she
had been cheated and ripped off her Srta. Cantón sash when she went to join them in a bit of amusing indignation. This started chatter among my host family about past problems with rigged pageants and judges in assorted pockets. And considering what a big deal the pageant was in the town, I can imagine that happening.Though the party apparently went well into the wee hours of the morning, I was tuckered –out, much like my host cousin, Santi, at right, and headed home shortly after the Reina was crowned.
Fiesta at the Escuela
A few days later I attended a different variety of fiesta out at the rural school where I teach English. Classes ended very early and families started pouring in at 11 am weighted down with chickens, veggies and herbs to start preparing the feast in honor of the end of an improvement campaign loosely associated with the Centro.
A few days later I attended a different variety of fiesta out at the rural school where I teach English. Classes ended very early and families started pouring in at 11 am weighted down with chickens, veggies and herbs to start preparing the feast in honor of the end of an improvement campaign loosely associated with the Centro.
As soon as I arrived, my students eagerly led me to a spare room where the food-of-honor, a whole pig, was awaiting preparation. I tried to feign excitement, but was actually a bit overwhelmed by the tale, head, and faint smell. The only events I’ve attended in the past that featured a whole pig were pig roasts and I understood that this method of preparation required a great amount of time. I was, therefore, surprised to see the pig completely uncooked, but it turned out that this pig was destined for a giant fritada, or pan-frying (see right), a much quicker method of cooking.
The students had prepped a couple of dance routines
to perform at the fiesta and I got a number of adorable photos of them at their final dress-rehearsal. They did a traditional dance to a pasillo, a ballad-like Ecuadorian type of music, and some hip-hop to a reggatone song. Watching the computer teacher instruct the little 8-11 year old boys on how to best dance hip-hop was hilarious. She had them looking like quite the group of bad-boys. Misstaken that this was an afternoon-only fiesta, I’d made plans to go jogging with my host aunts in the early evening, so I had to go just as the habas of cervesas (cases of beers) arrived, but I’m told that like the beauty pageant, this fiesta also danced its way to the wee hours.
Cantonales
In honor of the 80th or so anniversary of the founding of my canton, a series of small fiestas has been going on for the past few days. The highlights were definitely a caballeros (cowboys) show in which one of my host uncles took part and a multi-day arts-and-crafts fair that features beautiful wooden goods and woven items typical of the indigenous tribes of the Sierra, or highlands areas. The fair also features food J I’m in love with the Ecuadorian equivalent of the elephant ear. Rather than large and flat, this sweet, yucca-based dough is formed into little balls, deep fried, then coated with sugar. It’s called huevitos chilenos, or Chilean eggs.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
