Formal Jobs:
• 40 hours/week
• Salary around $170/month
• Domestic services salary around $150/month
• Social security JUST for the individual working
• Three bonuses: April ($140), September ($140), December ($340)
• 15 vacation days
• Maternity leave: three months, followed by six months working 6 hours/day
• The most sought after jobs are those working for the government as there are many benefits and an individual can’t be fired.
Informal Jobs:
• The majority of Cuencanos: taxi drivers, vendors, hairdressers, little shops
• No social security or other benefits
• Must go to private clinics, which cost more money
Other tidbits:
• Minimum wage: $170/month
• Teacher: $350/month
• Bank employee: $400/month
• Nurse: $600/month
• University Professor: $700/month
• Neurosurgeon: $8,000/month
Unfortunately, there is a lot of job discrimination down here as well. For example (all facts shared by prof), when women go in for job interviews employers can ask them to take a pregnancy test because they don’t want to have to deal with maternity leave. Therefore, single women are usually preferred. It’s also very difficult for anyone who is Indigenous, Black, or non-Catholic to get a good job. Apparently it really doesn’t matter how much education an individual has had, but more what you like and what you believe. Most Black people are either police men, security guards, or athletes. Only get this… of course… when a Black individual is an amazing athlete, all of a sudden his skin color doesn’t seem to matter anymore and he is a celebrity. I find it intriguing that my host brother claims Black people are lazy when it appears super difficult for them to land decent paying jobs in the first place due to discrimination. Catch 22.
Ecuador’s President Correa, while certainly not loved by all, has certainly done some notable things within his one year in office. For example, all children under six years now have access to free medicine. Also, pregnant women can give birth for free. Way cool. Canada is also currently helping Ecuador fight tuberculosis through a program that allows those who are infected to get drugs for free. Yeah, Canada!
Finally, the justice system is quite different than the one we’re accustomed to in the states. For starters, lawyers are dirt poor and really only work with wills, arguments over land, and the occasional divorce. When it comes to public court… there isn’t one. There is only a judge, and no jury. Therefore, a drug traffiker can bribe the judge and get out scott free. Corruption!
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Stereotypes
Before coming to Ecuador, I heard various stereotypes about Latin Americans:
• “Latin Americans can dance really well, especially when it comes to Salsa.” What I’ve noticed: Eh, some can dance really well, some can’t. But heck yes, music (whether it’s Salsa, Discotecas, Andean tunes, or regular old Pop) is definitely a big part of the Cuenca culture.
• “Siesta time? They are so lazy.” What I’ve noticed: I would beg to differ. People certainly put in long hard days of work and sometimes host dad doesn’t even make it home until around 8 pm.
• “Ecuadorians are poor.” What I’ve noticed: Just like practically everywhere in this world, there are “haves” and “have nots.” Unfortunately, the gap keeps growing even wider.
What my profs tell me Latin Americans think about people from the US:
• “Latin American men think American women are easy.” What I’ve noticed: Unfortunately, whenever this one proves true, it makes a girl feel like every man on the street feels the same way. But yeah, during our group orientation we heard that thanks to Hollywood, many men down here think that white women are indeed easy. This helps explain catcalls, kissing sounds, and the ever popular honk of the horn. I will admit, it has affected my interactions with men on the street. It’s pretty sad when one thinks twice about whether or not she should smile at someone she’s passing. But it’s the truth. But really, it’s not that big of a deal and you definitely learn to tune certain undesirable things out.
• “Americans are fat.”
• “Americans like President Bush” That’s unfortunate. I was quick to clear that up with my host family.
• “Americans are rich.” This must explain why people can afford to visit, or you know… study abroad.
• “Latin Americans can dance really well, especially when it comes to Salsa.” What I’ve noticed: Eh, some can dance really well, some can’t. But heck yes, music (whether it’s Salsa, Discotecas, Andean tunes, or regular old Pop) is definitely a big part of the Cuenca culture.
• “Siesta time? They are so lazy.” What I’ve noticed: I would beg to differ. People certainly put in long hard days of work and sometimes host dad doesn’t even make it home until around 8 pm.
• “Ecuadorians are poor.” What I’ve noticed: Just like practically everywhere in this world, there are “haves” and “have nots.” Unfortunately, the gap keeps growing even wider.
What my profs tell me Latin Americans think about people from the US:
• “Latin American men think American women are easy.” What I’ve noticed: Unfortunately, whenever this one proves true, it makes a girl feel like every man on the street feels the same way. But yeah, during our group orientation we heard that thanks to Hollywood, many men down here think that white women are indeed easy. This helps explain catcalls, kissing sounds, and the ever popular honk of the horn. I will admit, it has affected my interactions with men on the street. It’s pretty sad when one thinks twice about whether or not she should smile at someone she’s passing. But it’s the truth. But really, it’s not that big of a deal and you definitely learn to tune certain undesirable things out.
• “Americans are fat.”
• “Americans like President Bush” That’s unfortunate. I was quick to clear that up with my host family.
• “Americans are rich.” This must explain why people can afford to visit, or you know… study abroad.
Monday, February 25, 2008
Cajas and a day with the Fam
Saturday morning we went hiking in Cajas National Park, easily our most beautiful adventure yet. We’d been planning on camping there but since the rainy season showed up two months early and all of Ecuador is in a state of emergency, our guide called it off. The hike was full of beautiful lakes and a forest filled with the most ridiculous looking trees that looked like they were straight out of a fairy tale story. We were on the verge of making it through our first weekend hike without rain when the heavens opened up on our last half hour and drenched us. We were all super thankful at that point that we weren’t spending the night, as fires are banned within the park and we probably would have frozen to death. No joke.
This was the first Sunday I got to spend in Cuenca and I was anxious to go to church. I showed the taxicab the exact address of a particular church, and while he immediately shook his head in recognition, unfortunately, he was unable to find it. So my friend and I got out and walked around. For some reason or another, the numbering of houses makes absolutely no sense at all and this journey was no treat. Yet somehow, we made it to church, a good half an hour late, just in time to pass the peace. You’ll never guess what passing the peace involves! Heck yes! More cheek kissing. This particular church was non-denominational (95% of Cuencanos are Catholic) and the building was huge. Instead of pews, we sat in plastic garden chairs. While we received a bulletin, this was just full of announcements. There were no books because everything the congregation needed was projected up on a screen. There was a guest speaker that morning from New England and he couldn’t speak Spanish so there was an interpreter. Unfortunately, I had to duck out early because my family needed me at home. So I don’t know if there was any liturgy, and what that looked like. However, it was nice to be part of a worshipping community once again.
In the afternoon my family went to the 34-yr-old brother’s house for ceviche (marinated seafood), my FAVORITE Ecuadorian dish so far, especially since it appears to agree with my stomach. His wife served us the entire time and only sat down to eat at the very end. Also, when we were done eating, the women washed all of the dishes and took care of cleaning up while all of the men remained seated at the table. Ugh. Only too familiar. Kudos to all of the men out there who break that stereotypical pattern. I appreciate you. Later, we all went upstairs to the master bedroom where host mom, dad, 34 and 28-yr-old brothers stretched out on the biggest bed I’ve ever seen, to watch the Cuenca-Barcelona soccer game on tv. I did not feel like getting super cozy with the fam so I chose a spot on the couch, where I immediately fell asleep. Unfortunately, soccer seems to have this effect on me. It still boggles my mind to witness how affectionate my family is with one another. For example, I noticed that throughout the entire game, my brother held his mom’s hand.
Later still, we met host dad’s relatives and walked around the mall with them for hours. The mall was pretty big and super fancy and artsy. There were the typical fountains and then there was a statue of Caeser. This particular mall wasn’t too Americanized and I only saw two places I was familiar with, Payless Shoes and Kentucky Fried Chicken. How I know my family has money… Host mom contemplated buying a vest made out of bunny fur for over two hundred dollars. Dag yo.
This was the first Sunday I got to spend in Cuenca and I was anxious to go to church. I showed the taxicab the exact address of a particular church, and while he immediately shook his head in recognition, unfortunately, he was unable to find it. So my friend and I got out and walked around. For some reason or another, the numbering of houses makes absolutely no sense at all and this journey was no treat. Yet somehow, we made it to church, a good half an hour late, just in time to pass the peace. You’ll never guess what passing the peace involves! Heck yes! More cheek kissing. This particular church was non-denominational (95% of Cuencanos are Catholic) and the building was huge. Instead of pews, we sat in plastic garden chairs. While we received a bulletin, this was just full of announcements. There were no books because everything the congregation needed was projected up on a screen. There was a guest speaker that morning from New England and he couldn’t speak Spanish so there was an interpreter. Unfortunately, I had to duck out early because my family needed me at home. So I don’t know if there was any liturgy, and what that looked like. However, it was nice to be part of a worshipping community once again.
In the afternoon my family went to the 34-yr-old brother’s house for ceviche (marinated seafood), my FAVORITE Ecuadorian dish so far, especially since it appears to agree with my stomach. His wife served us the entire time and only sat down to eat at the very end. Also, when we were done eating, the women washed all of the dishes and took care of cleaning up while all of the men remained seated at the table. Ugh. Only too familiar. Kudos to all of the men out there who break that stereotypical pattern. I appreciate you. Later, we all went upstairs to the master bedroom where host mom, dad, 34 and 28-yr-old brothers stretched out on the biggest bed I’ve ever seen, to watch the Cuenca-Barcelona soccer game on tv. I did not feel like getting super cozy with the fam so I chose a spot on the couch, where I immediately fell asleep. Unfortunately, soccer seems to have this effect on me. It still boggles my mind to witness how affectionate my family is with one another. For example, I noticed that throughout the entire game, my brother held his mom’s hand.
Later still, we met host dad’s relatives and walked around the mall with them for hours. The mall was pretty big and super fancy and artsy. There were the typical fountains and then there was a statue of Caeser. This particular mall wasn’t too Americanized and I only saw two places I was familiar with, Payless Shoes and Kentucky Fried Chicken. How I know my family has money… Host mom contemplated buying a vest made out of bunny fur for over two hundred dollars. Dag yo.
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
Saraguro
In preparation for our weekend trip, this past Friday we had a discussion about Shamanism . During this discussion the leader went through some rituals with us and I was lucky enough to be an example for one of them. First the man told me to think about nothing. Then he took some flowers, had me spit in them, and beat my body with them. Up and down, my head all the way down to my feet and up again. Then he took an egg and moved it around my body as well (o_O). When he was done he had me blow on the egg four times and then broke it into a glass full of water. Apparently this was an ex-ray of my body. My egg was hovering towards the bottom of the glass and all of the white matter was concentrated around the middle of the egg. The man explained that this suggested something was wrong with my stomach and that I should drink some special kind of tea. Unfortunately, he was right about my tummy. Then he asked me if I was missing someone from home. I was like… well, yes, lots of people, but nothing that’s killing me. To be honest, I thought that was a pretty safe diagnosis on his part and wasn’t overly impressed by any means. Another girl went through the same ritual and some of her white matter strung to the top where there were a couple of bubbles. He diagnosed her as having a headache because of too much stress and an overactive nervous system. Interesting… Apparently if you are perfectly well (mind, body, spirit) the egg floats at the top without any suspicious white matter.
Saturday morning we took off in the gringo bubble bus for a good four and a half hour drive. The road was in ridiculous shape and the bus felt like a snake because it kept making drastic swerves to avoid cavernous potholes. Pretty intense. But it was a good time and we made it safely to Saraguro, the land of the corn. Saraguros have retained a great part of their heritage and many of them dress in black clothes. I asked our guide why this was and he explained that it was to retain heat to stay warm. However, my host father (and literature here and there) claims it’s because these people are still mourning the downfall of the Incan empire. Walking around town, we saw men with long, black ponytails and white hats. They were usually wearing black ponchos and knee-length black pants. The women had black skirts, shawls, and white hats as well. While these people have done a fabulous job of retaining their heritage, they are also becoming more modern. For example, we saw so many people riding on motorbikes! This sight was really quite a stitch as their ponchos would fly behind them as if they were Batman. Pretty cool. Alas, I took no photos as this tends to be super disrespectful. My apologies. I did see one other white couple in the town and was totally disgusted when I saw the woman ask a young girl in traditional clothes if she could take a picture of her. Afterwards, she gave the child a piece of candy. When we got back on the bus our guide told us to NEVER, ever do that.
Later that day our hike through the mountains was canceled because of too much rain, and while some people were taking siestas, our guide took a few of us on a tour around town. We went to the tail end of an indigenous wedding! We were super paranoid about going but the guide kept pushing us to and we decided to trust him as far as crossing lines go. The wedding did not take place in a church, but an open building, like a barn. It looked like the whole town had showed up to celebrate. The couple was BEAUTIFUL. The husband was dressed in pink and the wife had on a beautiful blue shawl and lots of flowers and decorations in her hair. It was so interesting to see these stereotypical color roles (US culture) reversed. Both were kneeling on the ground for what seemed like forever while members of their families individually came up to them to congratulate and bless them as well as give them advice. One woman told the bride that the groom loved music so if she could sing for him that would really make him happy. I thought it was much more personal than the line of people that newlyweds in the states have to greet and thank as fast as possible once the ceremony is dismissed. However, I would not be up for all of that kneeling.
Finally, Sunday morning we hiked up to a limestone overhang (reminded me of Bridal Falls at Pikes Peak Park on the Mississippi River) where we attended a Shaman ceremony. These rituals are usually done in caves because caves represent being closer to Mother Nature. The atmosphere was too perfect for this ceremony as there was a small waterfall flowing over the overhang and a much larger waterfall right next to us. There was a fire in a small pot that was burning leaves and incense. It was in the center of six decorated poles that marked the cardinal directions as well as NE and SW. A Saraguro man stood at each cardinal direction. We circled around them and faced each cardinal direction while one of the Saraguros blew a horn to give thanks to Mother Nature and for the many blessings she provides. The others made music with rattles and drums. Then we each drank (from a seashell) the most intense alcohol ever. My tongue went numb and I felt as if the alcohol was shooting out of every single pore in my body. It tasted like what I imagine soap detergent and another ridiculous mixture of chemicals would taste like. As much as I wanted to watch every one elses' reactions to consuming this nastiness, I decided this would be too dangerous and that I'd better keep my eyes closed so I wouldn't burst our laughing. Then one of the Saraguros blessed some herbal medicine water and went around the circle, misting it into everyone’s face. I was excited for the mist as I previously thought he’d be hocking a loogi in our faces. He was followed by a man who had picked up the center fire and was moving around the circle, blowing the smoke from the fire into our faces. This was fabulous because it dried up the mist on our faces super quick. And just like that, we were spiritually cleansed. It was a cool cultural experience and all, but I certainly didn’t feel anything except drowsy from the incense. The director claims she stole all of my positive energy vibes that I was supposed to have received. Darn it!
Saturday morning we took off in the gringo bubble bus for a good four and a half hour drive. The road was in ridiculous shape and the bus felt like a snake because it kept making drastic swerves to avoid cavernous potholes. Pretty intense. But it was a good time and we made it safely to Saraguro, the land of the corn. Saraguros have retained a great part of their heritage and many of them dress in black clothes. I asked our guide why this was and he explained that it was to retain heat to stay warm. However, my host father (and literature here and there) claims it’s because these people are still mourning the downfall of the Incan empire. Walking around town, we saw men with long, black ponytails and white hats. They were usually wearing black ponchos and knee-length black pants. The women had black skirts, shawls, and white hats as well. While these people have done a fabulous job of retaining their heritage, they are also becoming more modern. For example, we saw so many people riding on motorbikes! This sight was really quite a stitch as their ponchos would fly behind them as if they were Batman. Pretty cool. Alas, I took no photos as this tends to be super disrespectful. My apologies. I did see one other white couple in the town and was totally disgusted when I saw the woman ask a young girl in traditional clothes if she could take a picture of her. Afterwards, she gave the child a piece of candy. When we got back on the bus our guide told us to NEVER, ever do that.
Later that day our hike through the mountains was canceled because of too much rain, and while some people were taking siestas, our guide took a few of us on a tour around town. We went to the tail end of an indigenous wedding! We were super paranoid about going but the guide kept pushing us to and we decided to trust him as far as crossing lines go. The wedding did not take place in a church, but an open building, like a barn. It looked like the whole town had showed up to celebrate. The couple was BEAUTIFUL. The husband was dressed in pink and the wife had on a beautiful blue shawl and lots of flowers and decorations in her hair. It was so interesting to see these stereotypical color roles (US culture) reversed. Both were kneeling on the ground for what seemed like forever while members of their families individually came up to them to congratulate and bless them as well as give them advice. One woman told the bride that the groom loved music so if she could sing for him that would really make him happy. I thought it was much more personal than the line of people that newlyweds in the states have to greet and thank as fast as possible once the ceremony is dismissed. However, I would not be up for all of that kneeling.
Finally, Sunday morning we hiked up to a limestone overhang (reminded me of Bridal Falls at Pikes Peak Park on the Mississippi River) where we attended a Shaman ceremony. These rituals are usually done in caves because caves represent being closer to Mother Nature. The atmosphere was too perfect for this ceremony as there was a small waterfall flowing over the overhang and a much larger waterfall right next to us. There was a fire in a small pot that was burning leaves and incense. It was in the center of six decorated poles that marked the cardinal directions as well as NE and SW. A Saraguro man stood at each cardinal direction. We circled around them and faced each cardinal direction while one of the Saraguros blew a horn to give thanks to Mother Nature and for the many blessings she provides. The others made music with rattles and drums. Then we each drank (from a seashell) the most intense alcohol ever. My tongue went numb and I felt as if the alcohol was shooting out of every single pore in my body. It tasted like what I imagine soap detergent and another ridiculous mixture of chemicals would taste like. As much as I wanted to watch every one elses' reactions to consuming this nastiness, I decided this would be too dangerous and that I'd better keep my eyes closed so I wouldn't burst our laughing. Then one of the Saraguros blessed some herbal medicine water and went around the circle, misting it into everyone’s face. I was excited for the mist as I previously thought he’d be hocking a loogi in our faces. He was followed by a man who had picked up the center fire and was moving around the circle, blowing the smoke from the fire into our faces. This was fabulous because it dried up the mist on our faces super quick. And just like that, we were spiritually cleansed. It was a cool cultural experience and all, but I certainly didn’t feel anything except drowsy from the incense. The director claims she stole all of my positive energy vibes that I was supposed to have received. Darn it!
Friday, February 15, 2008
Raccoons, Bible Study, and El Día de Amor y Amistad
The other night I got to spend 20 quality minutes with my host brother (unfortunately, a rare occasion) while we went to pick up a pizza at Pizza Hut. WOOHOO! Of all things, he couldn’t stop asking me questions about raccoons! Are they cute? Do people have them for pets? Do they snarl? It was an absolute riot. I asked him about discrimination in Ecuador and he said that Black people are even more discriminated against than indigenous people. Then he came right out and said Black people are lazy and that they don’t want to work (more about that later…). He was also super intrigued about Native Americans in the US and asked if they were all drunkards and whether or not they all lived on reservations. However, the one question I practically burst out laughing at… “What tribe lives in your city?” These questions really made me wonder how backwards my own impressions might be. No doubt, waaaaay off.
As we usually have trips every weekend, Sunday morning worship just isn’t that feasible. I’ve definitely been missing that community. However, the other night I attended a non-denominational Bible study with another student and her host sister. It took place at someone’s house and there were about twenty of us there. I think the kids’ ages ranged from about 16-22. After praying and singing two songs in Spanish (thank goodness I was behind the guitar player and could peak over his shoulder to see the words), the youth director started off with an activity to get our brains stimulated. Much to my surprise, it was “Johnny, Johnny!” This is a game I’ve played numerous times at camp but I will skip an intense and boring description of how to play and instead just spill the secret (shhhh!). The whole point of the activity is that you must end with your hands clasped on your lap. However, most people don’t catch that this is THE whole purpose of the game and they get super frustrated trying to figure out what other little details they need to change. I was pretty pumped to participate because when you're used to constantly feeling like the outsider who has no idea what's going on, it's that much sweeter when you're actually successful at something. Of course the youth director had to give everyone else crap because the gringa figured out the game before they did (I may or may not have failed to mention that I've played it before... woops!). But yeah, Bible study. Somehow, I understood at least 80% of what was said, which was super exciting. I never would have guessed how mentally exhausting it is to be immersed in a foreign language. Lots of times my brain just wants to float away. Unfortunately/luckily, understanding what was being said definitely didn’t mean I was capable of communicating any thoughts. But yeah… no new insights really. The youth director was pushing us to think about how we are called to live out our lives as Christians. The night definitely reminded me of high school and Unity of the Cross Bible studies where everyone would sit around awkwardly and stare at something that appeared to be super interesting in order to avoid answering any questions. Finally, this group definitely passed the test because when we were done, food appeared! Tuna sandwiches… Ecuador’s peanut butter. Yuck.
Valentine’s Day… Thankfully this holiday is not blown out of proportion like it is in the states. In fact, it wasn’t until this past Tuesday that venders suddenly popped up on the streets with all of their Valentine’s Day merchandise (somehow Simpsons stuffed dolls fall into this category?!). However, Ecuadorians do not waste a single minute of this day. At midnight I was awakened by a group of eight guys who were out on the street playing guitars and serenading my neighbor. So I spied on them for awhile at my window until I know they noticed my curtain moving. Twenty minutes later they were done and I drifted off to sleep thinking, awww… that’s so sweet. However, that was definitely NOT my thought when I was awakened again at two. This group of guys BLASTED their pop love songs from the radios in their cars. Apparentally this is quite the tradition and takes place all over town. Valentine’s Day itself was overflowing with flowers. I have never bought flowers on Valentine's Day, but figured I better not walk around town empty handed. So I picked some up for both host mom and Leo. Eight roses for two bucks. Not bad. My family said that mainly only youth and very, very, very old people celebrate this holiday and informed me that since they were somewhere in the middle, they don’t celebrate. Not gonna lie, I was definitely disappointed that we didn’t have any chocolate around the house. So please, don’t feel guilty about sneaking that extra piece; just say you’re doing it for me. ☺
As we usually have trips every weekend, Sunday morning worship just isn’t that feasible. I’ve definitely been missing that community. However, the other night I attended a non-denominational Bible study with another student and her host sister. It took place at someone’s house and there were about twenty of us there. I think the kids’ ages ranged from about 16-22. After praying and singing two songs in Spanish (thank goodness I was behind the guitar player and could peak over his shoulder to see the words), the youth director started off with an activity to get our brains stimulated. Much to my surprise, it was “Johnny, Johnny!” This is a game I’ve played numerous times at camp but I will skip an intense and boring description of how to play and instead just spill the secret (shhhh!). The whole point of the activity is that you must end with your hands clasped on your lap. However, most people don’t catch that this is THE whole purpose of the game and they get super frustrated trying to figure out what other little details they need to change. I was pretty pumped to participate because when you're used to constantly feeling like the outsider who has no idea what's going on, it's that much sweeter when you're actually successful at something. Of course the youth director had to give everyone else crap because the gringa figured out the game before they did (I may or may not have failed to mention that I've played it before... woops!). But yeah, Bible study. Somehow, I understood at least 80% of what was said, which was super exciting. I never would have guessed how mentally exhausting it is to be immersed in a foreign language. Lots of times my brain just wants to float away. Unfortunately/luckily, understanding what was being said definitely didn’t mean I was capable of communicating any thoughts. But yeah… no new insights really. The youth director was pushing us to think about how we are called to live out our lives as Christians. The night definitely reminded me of high school and Unity of the Cross Bible studies where everyone would sit around awkwardly and stare at something that appeared to be super interesting in order to avoid answering any questions. Finally, this group definitely passed the test because when we were done, food appeared! Tuna sandwiches… Ecuador’s peanut butter. Yuck.
Valentine’s Day… Thankfully this holiday is not blown out of proportion like it is in the states. In fact, it wasn’t until this past Tuesday that venders suddenly popped up on the streets with all of their Valentine’s Day merchandise (somehow Simpsons stuffed dolls fall into this category?!). However, Ecuadorians do not waste a single minute of this day. At midnight I was awakened by a group of eight guys who were out on the street playing guitars and serenading my neighbor. So I spied on them for awhile at my window until I know they noticed my curtain moving. Twenty minutes later they were done and I drifted off to sleep thinking, awww… that’s so sweet. However, that was definitely NOT my thought when I was awakened again at two. This group of guys BLASTED their pop love songs from the radios in their cars. Apparentally this is quite the tradition and takes place all over town. Valentine’s Day itself was overflowing with flowers. I have never bought flowers on Valentine's Day, but figured I better not walk around town empty handed. So I picked some up for both host mom and Leo. Eight roses for two bucks. Not bad. My family said that mainly only youth and very, very, very old people celebrate this holiday and informed me that since they were somewhere in the middle, they don’t celebrate. Not gonna lie, I was definitely disappointed that we didn’t have any chocolate around the house. So please, don’t feel guilty about sneaking that extra piece; just say you’re doing it for me. ☺
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
Principal – Thank You for Nature
The one thing I really enjoy about this program is that traveling on weekends counts as class credit. When I first read our semester schedule and noticed that something was planned for practically every weekend I was disappointed, assuming these excursions were mere field trips that would squash any attempt at independence. Turns out these “field trips” are certainly cool and the directors certainly don’t hold our hands every step of the way. In fact, they usually don’t accompany us. This past weekend we hopped on a bus, got dropped off in a small town where we found another bus to hop on, and got dropped off into an even tinier village called Principal. This city was full of countless dogs, chickens, dirt roads, and people who smiled back at you. It smelled like Iowa and I could see the stars at night. Needless to say, I definitely felt at home and found myself wishing I could remain there.
Saturday morning some local women demonstrated how they make Panama Hats. They are actually part of a project initiated by the Peace Corps to help insure that these workers get a just price for their goods. There are not many men in this community because they are working in the states (illegally). The women explained that while they began weaving around age six, the children today do not weave because their fathers are providing for them; and therefore, it’s not imperative that the children help support the family. The women also expressed their concern that this part of their culture will eventually die out. It was interesting talking to the current Peace Corps volunteer because she mentioned that what she is doing (helping to manage finances for the weavers) is totally not what she had in mind when she came. She was initially sent to help out with agriculture but said that the people in Ecuador are not starving, and because of this, they see no reason to change their agricultural ways. The whole idea of “helping” people when they don’t want or even need your “help”… This really demonstrated to me the importance of living within a community for quite some time in order to experience what needs the community has and how it wants to address them rather than swooping into a place thinking you know what’s best for a people you’ve never met before. I’m totally not slamming the volunteer, but perhaps I’ve put the Peace Corps on too high of a pedestal.
On Saturday we were supposed to work with the community on a community project but they had a town meeting, so we explored the countryside instead. Before we left the town we came across some adorable kids who were full of giggles and kept exclaiming “gringas!” We played hide-and-go-seek for awhile and shortly afterwards we came across a man, and after conversing for awhile he said, “Blah, blah, blah… US” and all six of us misinterpreted what he said and we enthusiastically declared “Yeah!” Luckily the Peace Corps volunteer showed up at this point and told us that the man had just asked us if we could help him get into the states. Shoot. Later we discovered a pretty sweet river, complete with massive rocks and a skinny, but tall waterfall! Woohoo! I went bouldering for the first time ever and man is that an exhilarating experience. Basically this involves clinging to rocks on the riverbank and inching your way along, searching for crevices to hold onto for dear life while praying that you won’t slip and smash your head on the rocks below. That night some local youth put on their traditional clothes and danced for us. Then they played music and laughed while we attempted to make use of our most recent dance lesson that involved spins. Oh dear.
Sunday was SUPER intense as we left at 8:30 to climb mountains with a local guide. The trail was incredibly muddy and I was definitely thankful for my galoshes as my tennies would have been sucked in by the crazy mixture of mud and cow pies forever. I was sure I was going to face plant it in some nastiness but somehow managed not to. It took us a good four hours to hike four miles. The guide said it usually takes him an hour and a half! We didn’t just pass through the mountains though. Heck no. We switch backed our way up those crazy high things. The ecosystems we walked through were ridiculously diverse. We traversed through cornfields, lush forests, cow pastures, spongy swamps, and cascades next to waterfalls. A few locals came cruising past us, carrying heavy odds and ends on their backs. At one point we came across a man who was loaded with several empty two liter Coke bottles. He was on his way up to milk his cow! I couldn’t imagine making that trek every single day to get some milk! Wow. When you think about how many calories he expended in the process of getting his milk… dag yo. I will never again complain about driving ten minutes into town to grab a gallon. After four hours we reached a cool looking lagoon. Unfortunately, at this point we were freezing and so we basically inhaled our lunch before turning around and heading back. Hiking downhill proved to be much more physically taxing, especially on the knees. However, it only took two hours to hike the remaining four miles. There were so many Wow moments where all I could do is shake my head at the overwhelming wonder of God’s creation. One thing I love about heading into the wilderness (especially mountains) is how one can become solely focused on life’s bare necessities… water, food, good health, and breathing. For at least awhile, acquiring/maintaining these bare essentials is all that really matters. Too bad life tends to get so much more complicated when I come out of the wilderness and no longer think the bare essentials are good enough. Robert Coles, author of The Call of Service, expresses my biggest concern after descending from the mountain/mountaintop experiences in general, “Maybe I’ll just start in with the rat race again, and my memory will take the rear seat while my greed grabs the wheel and steps on the gas.” Scary.
Saturday morning some local women demonstrated how they make Panama Hats. They are actually part of a project initiated by the Peace Corps to help insure that these workers get a just price for their goods. There are not many men in this community because they are working in the states (illegally). The women explained that while they began weaving around age six, the children today do not weave because their fathers are providing for them; and therefore, it’s not imperative that the children help support the family. The women also expressed their concern that this part of their culture will eventually die out. It was interesting talking to the current Peace Corps volunteer because she mentioned that what she is doing (helping to manage finances for the weavers) is totally not what she had in mind when she came. She was initially sent to help out with agriculture but said that the people in Ecuador are not starving, and because of this, they see no reason to change their agricultural ways. The whole idea of “helping” people when they don’t want or even need your “help”… This really demonstrated to me the importance of living within a community for quite some time in order to experience what needs the community has and how it wants to address them rather than swooping into a place thinking you know what’s best for a people you’ve never met before. I’m totally not slamming the volunteer, but perhaps I’ve put the Peace Corps on too high of a pedestal.
On Saturday we were supposed to work with the community on a community project but they had a town meeting, so we explored the countryside instead. Before we left the town we came across some adorable kids who were full of giggles and kept exclaiming “gringas!” We played hide-and-go-seek for awhile and shortly afterwards we came across a man, and after conversing for awhile he said, “Blah, blah, blah… US” and all six of us misinterpreted what he said and we enthusiastically declared “Yeah!” Luckily the Peace Corps volunteer showed up at this point and told us that the man had just asked us if we could help him get into the states. Shoot. Later we discovered a pretty sweet river, complete with massive rocks and a skinny, but tall waterfall! Woohoo! I went bouldering for the first time ever and man is that an exhilarating experience. Basically this involves clinging to rocks on the riverbank and inching your way along, searching for crevices to hold onto for dear life while praying that you won’t slip and smash your head on the rocks below. That night some local youth put on their traditional clothes and danced for us. Then they played music and laughed while we attempted to make use of our most recent dance lesson that involved spins. Oh dear.
Sunday was SUPER intense as we left at 8:30 to climb mountains with a local guide. The trail was incredibly muddy and I was definitely thankful for my galoshes as my tennies would have been sucked in by the crazy mixture of mud and cow pies forever. I was sure I was going to face plant it in some nastiness but somehow managed not to. It took us a good four hours to hike four miles. The guide said it usually takes him an hour and a half! We didn’t just pass through the mountains though. Heck no. We switch backed our way up those crazy high things. The ecosystems we walked through were ridiculously diverse. We traversed through cornfields, lush forests, cow pastures, spongy swamps, and cascades next to waterfalls. A few locals came cruising past us, carrying heavy odds and ends on their backs. At one point we came across a man who was loaded with several empty two liter Coke bottles. He was on his way up to milk his cow! I couldn’t imagine making that trek every single day to get some milk! Wow. When you think about how many calories he expended in the process of getting his milk… dag yo. I will never again complain about driving ten minutes into town to grab a gallon. After four hours we reached a cool looking lagoon. Unfortunately, at this point we were freezing and so we basically inhaled our lunch before turning around and heading back. Hiking downhill proved to be much more physically taxing, especially on the knees. However, it only took two hours to hike the remaining four miles. There were so many Wow moments where all I could do is shake my head at the overwhelming wonder of God’s creation. One thing I love about heading into the wilderness (especially mountains) is how one can become solely focused on life’s bare necessities… water, food, good health, and breathing. For at least awhile, acquiring/maintaining these bare essentials is all that really matters. Too bad life tends to get so much more complicated when I come out of the wilderness and no longer think the bare essentials are good enough. Robert Coles, author of The Call of Service, expresses my biggest concern after descending from the mountain/mountaintop experiences in general, “Maybe I’ll just start in with the rat race again, and my memory will take the rear seat while my greed grabs the wheel and steps on the gas.” Scary.
Friday, February 8, 2008
Escaping Carnaval
So as much as you're probably hoping that Carnaval went out with a BANG... it really didn't. Last Friday night I went with my host mom to pick up host dad at the bank. He was SOPPING wet and SMELLY. Apparentally the office celebrated hard core and the boss himself smashed eggs on his employees' heads and everyone splashed coffee and water on each other. ¡Aye Carumba! When I asked my family what their Carnaval plans were they told me to go to the beach because Cuenca would be dead.
So the next day I took off at 6 am for the beach! Only while leaving my house, I definitely set off the ALARM SYSTEM! Lights flashed, sirens wailed, and there was a telephone call saying the police were coming! OH NO! Host brother rushed out of his room and said, "Aye Kah-tay" with a big grin on his face. Let me explain... usually when I wake up and leave the house the alarm system has already been turned off. Not to mention, I have yet to wrap my head around locking doors, let alone alarm systems! Unfortunately, I failed to realize that I was the first one up (Saturday morning, 6 am... DUH!) and forgot to press the magic buttons.
Anyway... the beach. We had a personal bus for our five hour trip. At first I was not a fan of traveling in this gringa bubble but it ended up being ok. Our drive there was crazy because there have been some intense rains in the mountains and mudslides left some hefty boulders right in the middle of the roads. Also, we drove through some cities that were flooded. Yeah, definitely gave me an ugly feeling knowing I was heading to the beach for four days of relaxation while there were people struggling to put their homes back together. Yes, this is an everyday occurence around the world. But this time I drove right through it... and did absolutely nothing about it except feel guilty.
The beach itself was definitely nothing to boast about as it lacked vegetation and was full of trash. But still... the OCEAN! We stayed at a hostel. Ten girls, six beds with mosquito nets, geckos chirping in the room, two towels, bad eggs... you can ONLY imagine. While everyone else was having a super sweet adventure exploring the great unknown beach miles away, I was sitting in a two dollar beach chair under an umbrella, dying from dehydration and breakfast (Yes, you REALLY should drink more BOTTLED water). However, one super cool girl kept me company and as she is a San Diego beach bum, we made several observations while comparing beach experiences...
• This beach was definitely the dirtiest we’d ever seen. People didn’t seem to go for the concept of taking trash with you.
• Instead of a boardwalk where you can go buy food and trinkets, the food and trinkets come to you. Venders came up to us about every 10 minutes, shaking their product in front of our faces. Usually not a big deal, but definitely annoying when you’re dozing off.
• The people here LOVE the sand. I remember being super little and getting sand all over the world. But I definitely went through a stage where I was like, you know, sand isn’t as cool as I once thought it was. That stage does not exist here. People recklessly rolled around in it, completely plastering themselves. It didn’t matter what age they were, these Ecuadorians definitely know how to play in the sand. It was pretty cool to see that adults hadn’t forgotten how to play. Playfulness. I am a fan. I think life starts to turn sour when you don’t make time to play.
• We gringas were the ONLY ones lying out on the beach with the intention of getting a tan. Everyone else was already bronze enough. I can only imagine the laughs they got when the pale skinned people turned into lobsters. HAHA!
• Waves rushing at you equals one heck of a sweet adrenaline rush.
• Sunsets over the ocean are INCREDIBLE and you can almost always count on them to salvage a crappy (sometimes quite literally… sorry, I can’t help it!) day.
Alas, Carnaval is finally OVER and the streets are safe to walk through. WOOHOO! At least during the day...
So the next day I took off at 6 am for the beach! Only while leaving my house, I definitely set off the ALARM SYSTEM! Lights flashed, sirens wailed, and there was a telephone call saying the police were coming! OH NO! Host brother rushed out of his room and said, "Aye Kah-tay" with a big grin on his face. Let me explain... usually when I wake up and leave the house the alarm system has already been turned off. Not to mention, I have yet to wrap my head around locking doors, let alone alarm systems! Unfortunately, I failed to realize that I was the first one up (Saturday morning, 6 am... DUH!) and forgot to press the magic buttons.
Anyway... the beach. We had a personal bus for our five hour trip. At first I was not a fan of traveling in this gringa bubble but it ended up being ok. Our drive there was crazy because there have been some intense rains in the mountains and mudslides left some hefty boulders right in the middle of the roads. Also, we drove through some cities that were flooded. Yeah, definitely gave me an ugly feeling knowing I was heading to the beach for four days of relaxation while there were people struggling to put their homes back together. Yes, this is an everyday occurence around the world. But this time I drove right through it... and did absolutely nothing about it except feel guilty.
The beach itself was definitely nothing to boast about as it lacked vegetation and was full of trash. But still... the OCEAN! We stayed at a hostel. Ten girls, six beds with mosquito nets, geckos chirping in the room, two towels, bad eggs... you can ONLY imagine. While everyone else was having a super sweet adventure exploring the great unknown beach miles away, I was sitting in a two dollar beach chair under an umbrella, dying from dehydration and breakfast (Yes, you REALLY should drink more BOTTLED water). However, one super cool girl kept me company and as she is a San Diego beach bum, we made several observations while comparing beach experiences...
• This beach was definitely the dirtiest we’d ever seen. People didn’t seem to go for the concept of taking trash with you.
• Instead of a boardwalk where you can go buy food and trinkets, the food and trinkets come to you. Venders came up to us about every 10 minutes, shaking their product in front of our faces. Usually not a big deal, but definitely annoying when you’re dozing off.
• The people here LOVE the sand. I remember being super little and getting sand all over the world. But I definitely went through a stage where I was like, you know, sand isn’t as cool as I once thought it was. That stage does not exist here. People recklessly rolled around in it, completely plastering themselves. It didn’t matter what age they were, these Ecuadorians definitely know how to play in the sand. It was pretty cool to see that adults hadn’t forgotten how to play. Playfulness. I am a fan. I think life starts to turn sour when you don’t make time to play.
• We gringas were the ONLY ones lying out on the beach with the intention of getting a tan. Everyone else was already bronze enough. I can only imagine the laughs they got when the pale skinned people turned into lobsters. HAHA!
• Waves rushing at you equals one heck of a sweet adrenaline rush.
• Sunsets over the ocean are INCREDIBLE and you can almost always count on them to salvage a crappy (sometimes quite literally… sorry, I can’t help it!) day.
Alas, Carnaval is finally OVER and the streets are safe to walk through. WOOHOO! At least during the day...
Thursday, February 7, 2008
My Typical Day
6:30 Host mom goes for a walk. So far I’ve only seen one person out jogging.
7:30 Leo (the maid) serves me breakfast: every day I have hot chocolate made with milk, fresh juice, bread from a panaderia with homemade blackberry jam, and a banana for the road; 15 minute walk to school
8-12:30 Classes: Conversation and Composition (Hooray), Grammar (Gross); internet access
12:30 Walk home and chill w/ Leo while she finishes preparing lunch
1:30 Lunchtime! The most important meal of the day in Latin America… Kisses all around along with soup (rice, potato, bean, vegetable, green bean, pea), white rice, meat, veggies (usually lettuce), and fresh juice (pineapple, blackberry, tomato, orange, strawberry, papaya). The father is served first and then usually me. We don’t pray before eating. Conversation flies around and I attempt to hold on for dear life. Since my host father works in a bank, they talk a lot about economics, a subject I usually don’t even understand in English! Shoot. In prime form, inevitably I spill something or launch rice across the table. The brothers teach me how to cuss, tell me that I’m eating hippo meat and that Madonna has slept in my bed and baked cookies with Leo. They are a stitch. Lunch is NOT eaten at a leisurely pace and everyone seems to finish at the same time. Usually the father is the first to leave the table after first crossing himself (they are Catholic) and saying “Gracias, gracias” (Thanks for the food, thanks for the conversation). Everyone does this and then retires to their rooms for siesta time, which they spend watching tv, usually soap operas.
2:00-? Family heads back to work, I hang out with hilarious orphans… they practice English, I practice Spanish, occasionally I have my service learning class where we sit around and listen to everyone’s experiences volunteering in various places, explore the town and eventually head home and chill with Leo some more
7:30 Dinner, much like lunch only way smaller portions… Ruffage my friends, this food definitely cleanses your system. I have yet to decide whether this is healthy or not. Silly sensitive stomach.
8:00 on the mother tells me to go rest, they watch the local news and then CNN in Spanish, Leo brings drinks (Strawberry juice…I think) up to their room, I do homework
Leo is indigenous and has been working for this family for at least 25 years. She lives on the third floor of their house and has Sundays off. She has children in their twenties and when they were young they lived in my host family’s house as well. The family and Leo appear to be really close and Leo cares for the family quite a bit. While Leo does the majority of the cooking, everyone is quite capable of creating their own food masterpieces. They keep asking me if I can cook and get a good laugh when I tell them pancakes from a box, potatoes from a box, brownies from a box… Shoot. One day the granddaughter and I will make cookies. Or scotcheroos. That way I can prove that I’m capable of cooking on some level, right? Leo never eats with us. At breakfast I’m all by myself and she’ll sit at the table and converse with me. At lunch she eats in the kitchen with the one other employer who works in the family cutlery business and at dinner she eats by herself. I’ve often heard her talking to herself and the granddaughter claims she’s “está en otro mundo” (in another world). Whether or not that is the case, she is extremely kind-hearted and I appreciate her friendship. It bothers me greatly that a line exists that neither she nor the family crosses. Thankfully I will just claim ignorance and cross lines whether I realize it or not.
Another thing that has taken some getting used to is that the main hang out room appears to be my host parents’ bedroom. After talking to other students, this seems to be common for them as well. There is a living room on the first floor but all of the furniture has sheets over it and I have yet to see anyone set foot in there. The one time they had lots of family over we all remained around the massive dining table for hours. Occasionally they’ll invite me in to their bedroom to watch the nightly news with them. I have yet to grow comfortable with this (the bedroom part) and personally prefer the good old living room. Also, most families here don’t have either air conditioning or heat because the weather is so comfortable. However, on days that it is cold, the people just FREEZE! On days like this, my host family wears layers upon layers of clothes and they ask me why I’m just in a t-shirt and won’t I please put a jacket on. If it is a weekend, odds are they will spend the majority of the day watching movies while tucked into bed. If only they knew what you all were suffering back home! Oh gracious.
7:30 Leo (the maid) serves me breakfast: every day I have hot chocolate made with milk, fresh juice, bread from a panaderia with homemade blackberry jam, and a banana for the road; 15 minute walk to school
8-12:30 Classes: Conversation and Composition (Hooray), Grammar (Gross); internet access
12:30 Walk home and chill w/ Leo while she finishes preparing lunch
1:30 Lunchtime! The most important meal of the day in Latin America… Kisses all around along with soup (rice, potato, bean, vegetable, green bean, pea), white rice, meat, veggies (usually lettuce), and fresh juice (pineapple, blackberry, tomato, orange, strawberry, papaya). The father is served first and then usually me. We don’t pray before eating. Conversation flies around and I attempt to hold on for dear life. Since my host father works in a bank, they talk a lot about economics, a subject I usually don’t even understand in English! Shoot. In prime form, inevitably I spill something or launch rice across the table. The brothers teach me how to cuss, tell me that I’m eating hippo meat and that Madonna has slept in my bed and baked cookies with Leo. They are a stitch. Lunch is NOT eaten at a leisurely pace and everyone seems to finish at the same time. Usually the father is the first to leave the table after first crossing himself (they are Catholic) and saying “Gracias, gracias” (Thanks for the food, thanks for the conversation). Everyone does this and then retires to their rooms for siesta time, which they spend watching tv, usually soap operas.
2:00-? Family heads back to work, I hang out with hilarious orphans… they practice English, I practice Spanish, occasionally I have my service learning class where we sit around and listen to everyone’s experiences volunteering in various places, explore the town and eventually head home and chill with Leo some more
7:30 Dinner, much like lunch only way smaller portions… Ruffage my friends, this food definitely cleanses your system. I have yet to decide whether this is healthy or not. Silly sensitive stomach.
8:00 on the mother tells me to go rest, they watch the local news and then CNN in Spanish, Leo brings drinks (Strawberry juice…I think) up to their room, I do homework
Leo is indigenous and has been working for this family for at least 25 years. She lives on the third floor of their house and has Sundays off. She has children in their twenties and when they were young they lived in my host family’s house as well. The family and Leo appear to be really close and Leo cares for the family quite a bit. While Leo does the majority of the cooking, everyone is quite capable of creating their own food masterpieces. They keep asking me if I can cook and get a good laugh when I tell them pancakes from a box, potatoes from a box, brownies from a box… Shoot. One day the granddaughter and I will make cookies. Or scotcheroos. That way I can prove that I’m capable of cooking on some level, right? Leo never eats with us. At breakfast I’m all by myself and she’ll sit at the table and converse with me. At lunch she eats in the kitchen with the one other employer who works in the family cutlery business and at dinner she eats by herself. I’ve often heard her talking to herself and the granddaughter claims she’s “está en otro mundo” (in another world). Whether or not that is the case, she is extremely kind-hearted and I appreciate her friendship. It bothers me greatly that a line exists that neither she nor the family crosses. Thankfully I will just claim ignorance and cross lines whether I realize it or not.
Another thing that has taken some getting used to is that the main hang out room appears to be my host parents’ bedroom. After talking to other students, this seems to be common for them as well. There is a living room on the first floor but all of the furniture has sheets over it and I have yet to see anyone set foot in there. The one time they had lots of family over we all remained around the massive dining table for hours. Occasionally they’ll invite me in to their bedroom to watch the nightly news with them. I have yet to grow comfortable with this (the bedroom part) and personally prefer the good old living room. Also, most families here don’t have either air conditioning or heat because the weather is so comfortable. However, on days that it is cold, the people just FREEZE! On days like this, my host family wears layers upon layers of clothes and they ask me why I’m just in a t-shirt and won’t I please put a jacket on. If it is a weekend, odds are they will spend the majority of the day watching movies while tucked into bed. If only they knew what you all were suffering back home! Oh gracious.
Wednesday, February 6, 2008
Shaman and VISAs
My composition and conversation professor is the nicest man ever and truly does care about how his three students’ experiences in Ecuador are going (yeah small class size!). However, sometimes we have some pretty lame-o exercises in his class. Therefore, we do our best to keep him off subject for as long as possible. No worries, he is cool with it, because after all, it is a conversation class, and he is definitely a fount of information when it comes to Ecuadorian culture. Fascination…
I’ve been super interested in shaman lately (people who practice natural medicine and spiritual healing) and when I brought it up with my host parents they expressed their belief that shaman were silly because they were all about curing people by scaring the devil out of them. My professor is also very skeptical of their practices, especially since they take a powerful hallucinogen at least two times a week that is apparently 10 times stronger than LSD! YIKES. He believes in natural medicine but thinks shaman rock the “power of suggestion” for all it’s worth and that their so-called method of curing is nothing more than the result of an expensive placebo effect. For example, it costs people around $20 to see a typical doctor for a regular checkup whereas to see the shaman one usually has to fork over at least $50. Prof claims shaman take advantage of uneducated country people who are willing to pay big bucks for natural medicine. Also, because rich mythology is embedded in this culture, many people in the lower class believe in witchcraft. I found this to be quite intriguing because the majority of Ecuadorians are Catholic. Apparently many people practice both Catholicism and witchcraft. Anyway, I wrongfully assumed that these uneducated country people were poor and wondered how they could even afford to see a Shaman. Prof explained how those living in the country are actually loaded with money because the men in these households mortgage their property to loan sharks who pay them $10,000, enough to finance their illegal immigration to New York where they work in construction and get paid $10-$15/hour. They send this money back home for necessities and living expenses, and for what Prof refers to as “buying” their children’s love with things like play stations! Unfortunately, while in New York these men become uber materialistic and end up spending many years in the US while their wives remain at home raising the children on their own. At first I was like, dag yo, that is so depressing. And then I thought about how this experience is not too terribly far removed from many families in the US, where countless parents are so enslaved to their work that they can’t make time for family and then end up missing their children grow up.
Illegal immigration… I’m sure this topic will come up again and again. Prof explained how if he were to visit the US Embassy here in Ecuador, he would be denied a VISA because he isn’t qualified. These qualifications include owning a nice house and a practically brand new car, as well as earning $500/month. Since Prof drives a junker and lives in an apartment with his wife and kids, he doesn’t even come close to meeting this ridiculous policy. The idea is that if an individual has all of these things in Ecuador, he will be much less likely to vanish in the states once his VISA expires. Ecuadorians can easily get VISAS to China and Africa, as well as travel around South America; but they can only dream about haughty Europe and US.
Prof’s dream job is to one day be a translator in the US; but since that will probably never happen, his back-up plan is to get his citizenship in Canada where he can easily get a VISA to travel anywhere. It was most upsetting to listen to this wonderfully kind man who has worked so hard to get where he is, passionately express his dreams to travel… only to wonder if he (or anyone else in his boat) ever will, or if ludicrous systems will continue to oppress him. Semester after semester he receives new students from the US who are able to live out their dreams by traveling to his country; yet he may never be granted access to ours. This makes me sick and I can’t help but think that the Lord must shake His head over this business of borders and keeping people in and out.
I’ve been super interested in shaman lately (people who practice natural medicine and spiritual healing) and when I brought it up with my host parents they expressed their belief that shaman were silly because they were all about curing people by scaring the devil out of them. My professor is also very skeptical of their practices, especially since they take a powerful hallucinogen at least two times a week that is apparently 10 times stronger than LSD! YIKES. He believes in natural medicine but thinks shaman rock the “power of suggestion” for all it’s worth and that their so-called method of curing is nothing more than the result of an expensive placebo effect. For example, it costs people around $20 to see a typical doctor for a regular checkup whereas to see the shaman one usually has to fork over at least $50. Prof claims shaman take advantage of uneducated country people who are willing to pay big bucks for natural medicine. Also, because rich mythology is embedded in this culture, many people in the lower class believe in witchcraft. I found this to be quite intriguing because the majority of Ecuadorians are Catholic. Apparently many people practice both Catholicism and witchcraft. Anyway, I wrongfully assumed that these uneducated country people were poor and wondered how they could even afford to see a Shaman. Prof explained how those living in the country are actually loaded with money because the men in these households mortgage their property to loan sharks who pay them $10,000, enough to finance their illegal immigration to New York where they work in construction and get paid $10-$15/hour. They send this money back home for necessities and living expenses, and for what Prof refers to as “buying” their children’s love with things like play stations! Unfortunately, while in New York these men become uber materialistic and end up spending many years in the US while their wives remain at home raising the children on their own. At first I was like, dag yo, that is so depressing. And then I thought about how this experience is not too terribly far removed from many families in the US, where countless parents are so enslaved to their work that they can’t make time for family and then end up missing their children grow up.
Illegal immigration… I’m sure this topic will come up again and again. Prof explained how if he were to visit the US Embassy here in Ecuador, he would be denied a VISA because he isn’t qualified. These qualifications include owning a nice house and a practically brand new car, as well as earning $500/month. Since Prof drives a junker and lives in an apartment with his wife and kids, he doesn’t even come close to meeting this ridiculous policy. The idea is that if an individual has all of these things in Ecuador, he will be much less likely to vanish in the states once his VISA expires. Ecuadorians can easily get VISAS to China and Africa, as well as travel around South America; but they can only dream about haughty Europe and US.
Prof’s dream job is to one day be a translator in the US; but since that will probably never happen, his back-up plan is to get his citizenship in Canada where he can easily get a VISA to travel anywhere. It was most upsetting to listen to this wonderfully kind man who has worked so hard to get where he is, passionately express his dreams to travel… only to wonder if he (or anyone else in his boat) ever will, or if ludicrous systems will continue to oppress him. Semester after semester he receives new students from the US who are able to live out their dreams by traveling to his country; yet he may never be granted access to ours. This makes me sick and I can’t help but think that the Lord must shake His head over this business of borders and keeping people in and out.
Friday, February 1, 2008
Family, Family, Family
Having spent one week with my host family, I’ve already experienced a common theme here in Cuenca – the importance of kin. From day one my host parents have addressed me as “Mi hija,” (my child) and they go out of their way to make sure things are going smoothly for me. My host mother explained how during her time it was common for newlyweds to move in with either the wife or husband’s family. While this is no longer common, members of the family still maintain strong ties with one another. While my three host brothers went to college in Cuenca they lived at home. In fact, it is typical for children to remain at home until they are married; and as my 28-yr-old brother is single, he too, resides at home. This is not only completely acceptable, but highly encouraged. But it’s not like he’s putzing around the house as he definitely puts in a full day’s work at the family’s cutlery business in the backyard.
My host mother is very much a caretaker and wishes that everyone in her family could live nearby one another forever. Sometimes we come pretty close. For example, my host brother and his wife come over for lunch every single day during the workweek. Also, my host parents’ granddaughter, who lives on the coast (where schools just let out for what is equivalent to our summer vacation), is now spending the next three months living with her grandparents (I am most stoked to have a kid around the house). It’s pretty cool how they make time during their busy day to have meals as a family. Throughout high school and college I usually rushed through eating and failed to fully appreciate sharing a meal with others because I was usually focused (stupidly) on what more had to be done before that blessed moment when I could lay my head on my pillow. As if anything could have been that much more important then enjoying my limited time with friends and family.
I explained how where I come from, children are usually expected to move out of the house once they complete school. My host mother’s response… “¡Qué drástico!” I’d never really thought about it before; but yeah, that does sound pretty drastic… as if one were being cut off from a main support system. Then again, that depends on the family. But to be completely honest, if I’m living with my folks when I am 28, heck yeah, I will probably be wondering where I went wrong. In my eyes, I would have failed at independence. What can I say? I’ve been shaped by my culture and internalized its overall negative stigma associated with continuing to live with one’s family instead of out on one’s own. From what I have experienced thus far, here, continuing to live at home doesn’t imply a lack of independence, but rather, great devotion for one’s family. Granted, there are and always will be exceptions. Needless to say, with a desire to see more of the world, I’m afraid I wouldn’t make a very good Ecuadorian daughter. I would be late for too many meals.
My host mother is very much a caretaker and wishes that everyone in her family could live nearby one another forever. Sometimes we come pretty close. For example, my host brother and his wife come over for lunch every single day during the workweek. Also, my host parents’ granddaughter, who lives on the coast (where schools just let out for what is equivalent to our summer vacation), is now spending the next three months living with her grandparents (I am most stoked to have a kid around the house). It’s pretty cool how they make time during their busy day to have meals as a family. Throughout high school and college I usually rushed through eating and failed to fully appreciate sharing a meal with others because I was usually focused (stupidly) on what more had to be done before that blessed moment when I could lay my head on my pillow. As if anything could have been that much more important then enjoying my limited time with friends and family.
I explained how where I come from, children are usually expected to move out of the house once they complete school. My host mother’s response… “¡Qué drástico!” I’d never really thought about it before; but yeah, that does sound pretty drastic… as if one were being cut off from a main support system. Then again, that depends on the family. But to be completely honest, if I’m living with my folks when I am 28, heck yeah, I will probably be wondering where I went wrong. In my eyes, I would have failed at independence. What can I say? I’ve been shaped by my culture and internalized its overall negative stigma associated with continuing to live with one’s family instead of out on one’s own. From what I have experienced thus far, here, continuing to live at home doesn’t imply a lack of independence, but rather, great devotion for one’s family. Granted, there are and always will be exceptions. Needless to say, with a desire to see more of the world, I’m afraid I wouldn’t make a very good Ecuadorian daughter. I would be late for too many meals.
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