I ended my site visit this morning as I ran down the hill to catch the bus. I should have anticipated that the 8 AM does not come until 8:20. Four hours and four buses later, I find myself back in Olmedo. We spent the afternoon watching the usual Sunday soccer games at the town cancha. It is nice to have my friends around again.
Some people speak of unbearably hot Amazon towns surrounded by dense jungle. Others tell of high humidity, bug nets, and towns so poor they have mud streets and bathe in the river. Others yet have hot showers, cold beer, and offices. The number of totally different experiences compares to the number of malaria strains present in Ecuador. Luckily I live above the government standard altitude requiring malaria pills. 1500 meters, if you were curious.
Highlights from the rest of my site visit:
1) During my first walk around the area, I ran into a guy wrestling a pig on a leash. I couldn´t figure out exactly what he was doing, even after I asked.
2) More than just a few meals consisted of a plate full of whole potatoes and potato soup (whole peeled potatoes in a thin broth). Good thing I have multivitamins.
3) The entire elementary school spent Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday playing a soccer tournament. I served as referee for multiple games.
4) I met with some of the women whom I will be helping with a large community garden. Within the first ten seconds of meeting them, they began complaining the municipio will not allow them access to the irrigation canal that runs under the street next to the garden. Seeing as the rainy season has not arrived in full capacity in two years, a large scale garden would be a challenge without irrigation. This led to my first meeting with the town president.
5) He asked if I could give him guitar lessons.
All in all, I come back excited from my site visit. Preliminary project ideas include the family gardens, community banking, and an afterschool youth group for the supposedly dangerous jovenes in the next town over. I´ve already got a contact who might be able to help with dance classes. I would teach music and take care of organization.
It is still early to tell many things about how daily life will function, but I can already see I don´t mind doing laundry by hand with a ginormous volcano staring me in the face.
Sunday, March 28, 2010
Sunday, March 21, 2010
First Impressions
My last post contained many raw emotions, ones I had not been prepared to sustain. However, as they said to us in a speech just before they handed out sites, its a deck of cards and we all receive one. The cards have been dealt, and I'm here in my tiny indigenous town in the North Country (that is, the Northern Sierra of a country straddling the equator; hardly North Country in the Acadian Driftwood sense).
I met the volunteer whom I will replace in the larger city near our site, and she took me to our town. We spent the afternoon getting to know my home for the next two years. I live with a host family for the initial three months. Yes, they recently put walls on my bedroom. The family consists of a mother, father, and five children (that I've counted so far). The town is tiny. It has many spread out houses, all with their own land and crops. Picture white or earth-colored walls with loosely-placed red shingles slowly growing moss under the rain and sun. The town sits between two inactive volcanos, and overlooks rolling hills covered with family farms. There are three small tiendas and a school in the center of town. I haven't explored much yet, but it seems like that is the majority of the infrastructure. No Internet, so this is my first post via Blackberry.
The current volunteer will be leaving before I arrive for the longevity, so she is tying up many loose ends. I accompanied her to her last community bank meeting, during which she insisted upon collecting the money she had contributed. A reasonable request since she will be leaving. The meeting was held outside of a bank member's house in the intense sun, with chickens running around and women breast feeding whenever the need arose. The only thing accomplished in the two hours we sat on the ground was her money collection. Literally, this took two hours. That, my friends, is the Ecuadorian sense of time.
The entire bank meeting was held in Quichua, a language that is dawning on me in two major ways. 1) It does not sound, nor is it constructed, anything like Spanish, and 2) I will spend a lot of time trying to comprehend it. Yes, everyone speaks Spanish, but Quichua between each other. I really had hoped to become fluent in Spanish, but it may not be the case. Oh well, at least I won't be speaking English.
Besides the language issue, I get a great first impression of this community. The indigenous experience will be very different than anything I know. The surroundings are breath-taking. Having had a previous volunteer to break the ice, the people understand why I am here and are ready to work with me. The climate is perfect: warm and sunny during the day and pleasantly cool at night.
I just had dinner with my new host family. Although they are not as adept at correcting my Spanish as native speakers, they still make a point to speak it with me. We spent a few minutes writing down basic Quichua phrases. If I'm really going to do this, I've gotta start making a concerted effort with my Quichua. To all my readers: buenas noches. To all the Quichua speakers among you: Ali tuta.
I met the volunteer whom I will replace in the larger city near our site, and she took me to our town. We spent the afternoon getting to know my home for the next two years. I live with a host family for the initial three months. Yes, they recently put walls on my bedroom. The family consists of a mother, father, and five children (that I've counted so far). The town is tiny. It has many spread out houses, all with their own land and crops. Picture white or earth-colored walls with loosely-placed red shingles slowly growing moss under the rain and sun. The town sits between two inactive volcanos, and overlooks rolling hills covered with family farms. There are three small tiendas and a school in the center of town. I haven't explored much yet, but it seems like that is the majority of the infrastructure. No Internet, so this is my first post via Blackberry.
The current volunteer will be leaving before I arrive for the longevity, so she is tying up many loose ends. I accompanied her to her last community bank meeting, during which she insisted upon collecting the money she had contributed. A reasonable request since she will be leaving. The meeting was held outside of a bank member's house in the intense sun, with chickens running around and women breast feeding whenever the need arose. The only thing accomplished in the two hours we sat on the ground was her money collection. Literally, this took two hours. That, my friends, is the Ecuadorian sense of time.
The entire bank meeting was held in Quichua, a language that is dawning on me in two major ways. 1) It does not sound, nor is it constructed, anything like Spanish, and 2) I will spend a lot of time trying to comprehend it. Yes, everyone speaks Spanish, but Quichua between each other. I really had hoped to become fluent in Spanish, but it may not be the case. Oh well, at least I won't be speaking English.
Besides the language issue, I get a great first impression of this community. The indigenous experience will be very different than anything I know. The surroundings are breath-taking. Having had a previous volunteer to break the ice, the people understand why I am here and are ready to work with me. The climate is perfect: warm and sunny during the day and pleasantly cool at night.
I just had dinner with my new host family. Although they are not as adept at correcting my Spanish as native speakers, they still make a point to speak it with me. We spent a few minutes writing down basic Quichua phrases. If I'm really going to do this, I've gotta start making a concerted effort with my Quichua. To all my readers: buenas noches. To all the Quichua speakers among you: Ali tuta.
Friday, March 19, 2010
Site Assignment
Today was a rollercoaster of emotions. I woke up excited to learn about my home for the next two years. My entire Omnibus collected at our usual meeting spot for the news. We entered the room to see a large map of Ecuador outlined in roses on the floor. One of the trainers pulled our names out of a hat and read off our site assignments. Once read, the person ran through a line of people throwing roses and slapping our hands.
The suspense was more intense than my skydiving experience last Spring. Sitting in the plane before the jump, at least I knew I would land safely on the ground within a few minutes. I had no idea where I would be placed, and the suspense was almost unbearable.
Towards the end of the names, I was finally called. I´m not sure why I gave myself expectations, but my site was exactly the opposite of what I had hoped. I had asked for the Coast or Amazon region, and I was led to the top of the map. The Northern Sierra mountainous region. The more I learned about it, the more upset I got. Beyond regional preference, I had asked for a small community, Spanish speaking, rural, very low level of services (no running water, electricity, etc), and to be the first volunteer in the site. My site is in the mountains, has way over a few hundred people, is indigenous (the majority of the inhabitants speak Quichua), is very close to a larger city, has running water and electricity, and is only about an hour by bus from my training site. I was devastated.
In going through my paperwork, I noticed a few strange things on my housing form. Most of boxes explaining required aspects of my host family house were checked. However, when I got to 1) personal room, 2) locked room, and 3) ability to change locks, only the word PENDING. Upon further scrutiny, the section entitled ¨Required Improvements to Living Quarters¨ read ¨WALLS ON BEDROOM¨. I couldn´t exactly figure out what that meant, but for my $40-per-month rent, I should hope I have walls on my bedroom.
Meanwhile, I had friends in my same program assigned to a site on the beach in a town of fisherman and cacao farmers. Others were given sites deep in the jungle surrounded by Amazon rainforest. I couldn´t believe how insensitive the placement staff was of my preferences. I still can´t believe it.
However, as the day wore on, my attitude began to change. I reminded myself that I joined Peace Corps because I was willing to go anywhere and do anything. Even though I had hoped for a more exotic experience, I have to admit that I love mountains. Maybe I would have gone crazy on the coast dreaming of huge volcanos towering overhead. I called the volunteer whom I will replace, and she made me feel a lot better. She had the same doubts about the site for her first few months, but now loves it. I don´t need to learn Quichua (everyone speaks Spanish as well), she claims my house is amazing, and there is plenty of meaningful work to be done.
I had hoped for a site as far outside of my comfort zone as possible. At first glance, this site did not seem to fit that mold. Por otro mano, when else will I get to live at 2,500 meters and still have summer weather all year round? When else will I have two volcanos in my backyard? When else will I have the opportunity to learn an indigenous language?
Rest assured that the end of my day was a lot better than the beginning and middle. I can´t judge this place before I even set foot there. I can´t set myself up for failure like that. I´m still trying to process that I landed such a place, but I am keeping an open mind. No one ever said Peace Corps would be easy.
The suspense was more intense than my skydiving experience last Spring. Sitting in the plane before the jump, at least I knew I would land safely on the ground within a few minutes. I had no idea where I would be placed, and the suspense was almost unbearable.
Towards the end of the names, I was finally called. I´m not sure why I gave myself expectations, but my site was exactly the opposite of what I had hoped. I had asked for the Coast or Amazon region, and I was led to the top of the map. The Northern Sierra mountainous region. The more I learned about it, the more upset I got. Beyond regional preference, I had asked for a small community, Spanish speaking, rural, very low level of services (no running water, electricity, etc), and to be the first volunteer in the site. My site is in the mountains, has way over a few hundred people, is indigenous (the majority of the inhabitants speak Quichua), is very close to a larger city, has running water and electricity, and is only about an hour by bus from my training site. I was devastated.
In going through my paperwork, I noticed a few strange things on my housing form. Most of boxes explaining required aspects of my host family house were checked. However, when I got to 1) personal room, 2) locked room, and 3) ability to change locks, only the word PENDING. Upon further scrutiny, the section entitled ¨Required Improvements to Living Quarters¨ read ¨WALLS ON BEDROOM¨. I couldn´t exactly figure out what that meant, but for my $40-per-month rent, I should hope I have walls on my bedroom.
Meanwhile, I had friends in my same program assigned to a site on the beach in a town of fisherman and cacao farmers. Others were given sites deep in the jungle surrounded by Amazon rainforest. I couldn´t believe how insensitive the placement staff was of my preferences. I still can´t believe it.
However, as the day wore on, my attitude began to change. I reminded myself that I joined Peace Corps because I was willing to go anywhere and do anything. Even though I had hoped for a more exotic experience, I have to admit that I love mountains. Maybe I would have gone crazy on the coast dreaming of huge volcanos towering overhead. I called the volunteer whom I will replace, and she made me feel a lot better. She had the same doubts about the site for her first few months, but now loves it. I don´t need to learn Quichua (everyone speaks Spanish as well), she claims my house is amazing, and there is plenty of meaningful work to be done.
I had hoped for a site as far outside of my comfort zone as possible. At first glance, this site did not seem to fit that mold. Por otro mano, when else will I get to live at 2,500 meters and still have summer weather all year round? When else will I have two volcanos in my backyard? When else will I have the opportunity to learn an indigenous language?
Rest assured that the end of my day was a lot better than the beginning and middle. I can´t judge this place before I even set foot there. I can´t set myself up for failure like that. I´m still trying to process that I landed such a place, but I am keeping an open mind. No one ever said Peace Corps would be easy.
Monday, March 8, 2010
Sunday, March 7, 2010
Culture, Camisetas, and Cuyes
We took a trip this weekend to Cotocachi for more cultural exposure. Some activities included visiting a leather factory, swimming in a waterfall, and listening to live traditional Andean folk music. Friday night we split up and stayed at the houses of some indigeneous Ecuadorians. Some PC trainees stayed down the road from me at the house of one of the members of the folk band. All of the other members came over that night and we jammed together, sharing American and Andean music. I played Phish and the Grateful Dead while they sang in Quechua.
I came away from this party with an interesting cultural perspective. At one point, we got on the topic of the Spanish language, where us Americans had learned to speak, etc. This opened up a discussion about how they despise Spanish. In fact, they speak Quechua between each other and Spanish only when they must communicate with foreigners. It almost pains their tongues. I had never before fully understood the cultural implications of this alien and imposed language on these indigenous members of society.
The central square of Otavalo on Saturdays is allegedly the largest flea market in all of South America. Although I would not have come to that conclusion myself, it was daunting in scope and rich in diversity. Haggle, haggle, haggle. I came away with two camisetas, an Alpaca wool sweater, and a leather sombrero, most sold by the people who made them. Second Sima reference: I got the hat down from $25 to $13.
WARNING/AVISO: The rest of this post may not be suitable for the faint of heart.
The central square of Otavalo on Saturdays is allegedly the largest flea market in all of South America. Although I would not have come to that conclusion myself, it was daunting in scope and rich in diversity. Haggle, haggle, haggle. I came away with two camisetas, an Alpaca wool sweater, and a leather sombrero, most sold by the people who made them. Second Sima reference: I got the hat down from $25 to $13.
WARNING/AVISO: The rest of this post may not be suitable for the faint of heart.
Guinea pigs are surprisingly hard to catch. After 45 minutes of chasing them around the pen this morning, Mama Iness and I decided that eight would be enough. My first guinea pig or cuy (pronounced coo-ee) experience proved a test of the nerves for the next two years of my assignment in Integrated Farming and Animal Production.
When I woke up and asked what our Sunday activity would be, my madre said she would be preparing cuyes for lunch tomorrow. When asked if I could help, she replied it was something only the women do. My thoughts: 1) I don´t care, and 2) The women here are badass.
Once caught, we set a big pot of water over a wood fire. When she (remember Iness has 82 years) bent the head into the chest and proceeded to break the neck, my stomach wretched. I almost walked out of the smoky room to escape the reality of my situation. Instead, I found that my decision to enjoy meat on my dinner plate on a regular basis could only be justified if I was willing to look death in the face. In short, I broke the necks(a sound so similar to the cracking of knuckles that a knuckle crack in Ecuador is actually called a cuy), removed the eyes, skinned the hair with boiling water, removed intestines, and set to dry for the kitchen tomorrow. Comfort zone = expanded enough for today.
When I woke up and asked what our Sunday activity would be, my madre said she would be preparing cuyes for lunch tomorrow. When asked if I could help, she replied it was something only the women do. My thoughts: 1) I don´t care, and 2) The women here are badass.
Once caught, we set a big pot of water over a wood fire. When she (remember Iness has 82 years) bent the head into the chest and proceeded to break the neck, my stomach wretched. I almost walked out of the smoky room to escape the reality of my situation. Instead, I found that my decision to enjoy meat on my dinner plate on a regular basis could only be justified if I was willing to look death in the face. In short, I broke the necks(a sound so similar to the cracking of knuckles that a knuckle crack in Ecuador is actually called a cuy), removed the eyes, skinned the hair with boiling water, removed intestines, and set to dry for the kitchen tomorrow. Comfort zone = expanded enough for today.
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
View from my patio: Cayambe Volcano
The terrible cramp I reported a few days ago turned into two full days of intense food poisoning (and all the unpleasant bodily functions that accompany such an affliction). Good thing I was sick on Sunday and didn´t miss class.Once that passed, I got right back into the swing of things around Olmedo. It turns out that my Mama Iness has many small properties right around our house. I´ve been helping tend to the corn, chickens, and guinea pigs. I spent a few hours the other night helping her grandson Raúl tend to one of her corn fields. When he asked me to come with him, I thought we were just going to see them, so I didn´t change out of my shorts and sneakers. After moving the active sprinklers multiple times and chasing goats away, I found myself soaked in water and covered in luscious, black dirt. Together we watched the sunset among the mountains. Almost too romantic. Almost.
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