I feel the need to praise my fridge. To cover it with beautiful magnets, to fill it with delicious foods that demand to be kept cold: opened Ecuadorian diary products (because they can be kept on the shelf until opened, don’t ask me why cuz I don’t get it either), ice, ice cream, leftovers…ahhh, frozen precooked foods…

Let me back up, before I get to my newfound love affair with my fridge, let me tell the back story.

I have been living with cold showers since I moved into my home in December. Until then, I was one of those pampered Trainees with a personal electric shower, and a personal electric shower in my “host family” home once I moved to site as a newly sworn in Volunteer. In December when I moved into my own home, I decided I would find some solace in my suffering and refused to install an electric shower. I am a Peace Corps Volunteer, I thought, I can do this. I am supposed to be living in the jungle, and here I am in this big ass city…the least I can do is take a cold shower. Yes, I convinced myself as I dashed into the shower each day, I am suffering. Look at me in my cold shower, a true PCV.

I did that for several months, denying myself many regular comforts that were readily available to me because I live in an Ecuadorian city bigger than my two American hometowns put together. A mop, a table, a couch, a spatula…Look at me living without these things, living against the elements; suffering, surviving. Yeah, well, that got old really fast. Old habits die hard, and I began to come to terms with the fact that Peace Corps probably placed me in this particular site (against my wishes, for I had pleaded to live in a small town near the northern border, though the volunteer there complained of “killer flies.”) for a reason. I made a table (not a dinner table, cuz lets be honest, I don’t know how to do that and I eat dinner on the couch). I bought a spatula for easier cooking (and a lighter thingy to quickly ignite my stove rather than “suffering” through constantly breaking matches). I have chairs, though I use them as shelves, and I bought a futon from a Volunteer leaving Guayaquil. And lets get real, I don’t mop…so the need for that isn’t all that great. The last major obstacle was the electric shower. I would mull around in the hardware department of Ecuadorian superstores, touching the familiar plastic showerheads, remembering the good old days when I used to enjoy showering. I thought about the common assumption that doing something too much made a person tire of the activity, and decided that showering every-other day in ice cold water was, therefore, entirely excessive. After one year, I told myself, It will be my one year gift.

So, after one year in an entirely anticlimactic event, I bought an electric shower. A whopping $9.00. I kicked myself for not doing it earlier. Silly silly early Volunteer, convinced she will find insight in freezing her nipples off in a cold shower. My landlord installed it for me the next day. Of course it didn’t work…I mean, this is Ecuador and that would have just been too easy. Not only did it blow a fuse every time I turned it on, it also sprayed the water about 2 inches away from the shower wall. Now I was really suffering, trying to shave my legs for a formal event to welcome the new US Ambassador to Ecuador, huddling inches away from the shower wall, showering in cold water from the turned-off electric showerhead. A few days later, my fridge stopped working.

Now, the fridge had been on the fritz for a while now. And by “fritz” and “a while now,” I mean that it had been luke cold since about 2 months after I bought it in December. One morning, I woke up and thought to myself, “The fridge died last night.” My epiphany proved true, as I opened the warm box in my kitchen that disgracefully called itself a “refrigerator;” my psychic abilities most surely gained from the last year of cold showers and months of flipping grilled cheese sandwiches with a fork.

It took the dead fridge to finally kick my landlord into gear. I had told him the shower wasn’t working, he had all but ignored my previous complaints that the bathroom light was on the fritz, and seemed amazingly unphased by the fact that pushing on the main electric breakerss for the house caused the lights to flicker. I guess my need to keep food in his fridge moved him to a more helping mood. The electrician came over, fixed the shower (hot water! Hot damn!), the bathroom light and the breaker box. The next day the fridge guys came over and took the fridge. I convinced myself that they were legit because the side of their truck had the LG Electronics logo on it…although copyright laws seem to mean nothing in this country, so they could have just bought that sticker at the mall. Two days later (yesterday), they dropped the fridge off. I plugged it in and it started making that (not-so) familiar hum. Hours later I opened the door and was further amazed at the feeling of cold air rushing out at my face. I decided to go out on a limb and fill the ice cube tray with water and see what happens. This morning I woke up to find 10 beautiful little frozen ice cubes in my freezer. Ice! Who woulda thunk it?!?

So, this brings me back to my first paragraph, back to my thoughts of wanting to love all over my newly revived fridge. Since I have officially admitted that Theresa is going no where (in self-identity terms…what I mean is that me as I am fundamentally cannot be changed by changing the scenery. Put me in the middle of the dessert and I will still labor over what to wear each day, wonder what my fro would look like if I straightened it, wish I could watch What Not to Wear, and chose sitting at home with a good book and a good cd to going out and being social-normal in the middle of the week), and that there is nothing to be learned in denying myself things that I want, have access to and can afford (in my current life, “can afford” is usually the determining factor in not getting something). In that vein, Theresa wants frozen foods…frozen precooked French fries, chicken patties and yucca nuggets. Theresa wants ice cream. Theresa gets what Theresa wants (but only after the first of the month when I get paid, cuz right now Theresa has about $10 to her name).

If pregnancy were contagious, I would be so knocked up right now.

In my barrio there are five women I know of who are currently with child. Two are mothers whose kids eat in the Comedor. I was shocked when I saw the belly of one lady as she walked into the store the other day. I kid you not I see this woman nearly every single day and I never noticed that she was pregnant. I asked her how far along she was and she said 4 months; and she looks it too. I guess I just never paid close enough attention? Another came into the Comedor the other day after not coming for the past few weeks. I was worried that she just didn’t want her kids to eat there anymore, and I was worried about what the reason for that might be (I worry a lot, if you haven’t noticed). But when I saw her she was all smiles, literally glowing. I asked how she was, asked if she had been sick. No, she said, I am pregnant! I was so happy for her, I mean, granted she has two small children already, but she looked so happy it was hard not to reflect that back at her. And how refreshing to hear pregnancy not referred to as an illness!

Another of the pregnant woman is one of the Mujeres. She hadn’t been into work for a while and I asked where she was. She’s pregnant! I was told, Didn’t you know?? Well, no, obviously not. Apparently I am not all that good at spotting a pregnant woman when I see one. I joked that she should name her child after me, because she told me that her husband really likes the scented lotion that I gave her when I came back from the States…who knows what that led to? One of the Mujeres agreed that the lotion works wonders: she said that whenever she fights with her husband she puts the lotion on before she goes to bed. Then when he comes in to lie down he smells her and will try to cuddle her, try to be affectionate. Then she brushes him off and glows in the power that the lotion has given her. Another girl further agreed, however she believes that one of her cousins stole her lotion because it smelled so good and the cousin was jealous. Another girl used all her lotion up in a matter of weeks, she was putting it on several times daily. She said she tried to make it last, but she just liked how it smelled so much she couldn’t stop! Ha! So word to the wise, before coming to Ecuador, buy several bottles of variously scented Bath and Body Works lotion and distribute it in the country. You will make friends quickly.

Another one of the Mujeres is also pregnant. Well, everyone else thinks she’s pregnant, but she is trying really hard to deny it. She doesn’t keep track of her period, so when I ask her when the last time she had it the answer one day will be a month ago, the next day she claims it has only been 2 weeks. We all think she had a miscarriage a few months ago as well, which makes me even more worried that she is pregnant because I don’t think it is safe to be pregnant again so soon after a miscarriage. But she claims that the doctor said she was not pregnant before and that it was not a miscarriage; she swears it was just a very heavy period. Hmm…I worry about these things.

A 14-year-old girl that I completely adore is also probably pregnant. She used to eat in the Comedor and would sometimes come in early and help with last minute cooking, setting up and serving food. She is totally amazing, I seriously love this kid. She is so kind and so… so… so fragile. She has a sad story—since she was about 9-years-old she has been repeatedly raped by the same man, a member of her family. She came to us for help, but she was too terrified to file a denuncia (a formal legal complaint) against the man, because then all the neighbors would find out and they would probably be kicked out of their house because they live with his family. So when she had not come into lunch, I was very worried that something happened to her. But then I was told that she was getting married, living with her fiancé’s family and, for that reason, would no longer be considered a child for the program. No longer a child? Getting married? And then…Oh also, she’s pregnant. She’s WHAT?!?! Terror. I was terrified. Pregnant with whose child? I was too scared to even ask.

I finally saw her the other day. I walked in and she was standing in the office, looking for the original of her birth certificate that her mom had left with us to make a copy of. She needed the certificate to get married. Married. My whole face lit up when I saw her. I yelled out her name and hugged her full in my arms, told her I heard she was getting married, swallowed my doubt and congratulated her. One of the Mujeres asked if it was her decision or her parents’ for her to marry. I already knew the answer. Her mom was in the Comedor the other day, saying that she’s not sure about the marriage, but its what her daughter wants so she supports it. I had also been told that when the fiancé went to ask for her hand he told the grandfather about the rapes, said that he could not stand for her to live in that house any longer, and that despite all the ugly this young lady has been through, he loves her and wants to be with her, to take care of her. She told me her fiancé is about 20 years old, maybe 21. Oh, worry.

I asked her if she was pregnant. She barely looked up from what she was doing, shook her head and said No. Really? I pressed, Because I heard that you were, I was going to congratulate you. No, she says, I don’t think I am. Oh, I said, Well I was looking for information for you on this law that says you can get all of the medical care for your pregnancy for free through the birth, but since you are not pregnant I guess I will stop looking. Did you know about that law? No…she says, Maybe you can get me that information? I smile. Another one of the Mujeres says, So you are then, hmm? Well, she blushes, Maybe. I ask when her last period was (in case you were wondering, yes, this is a very personal question here in Ecuador, just as it is in the States, probably even more so. But I get away with a lot of things because I am a gringa, and you know, those gringas are so weird! And besides, I don’t think that the ability to make life is anything to be ashamed of, or anything to be talked about behind closed doors only, so I am very open and up front about menstruation questions, and people around me just get used to the fact that this is how Tere is). Its been a month. A month. Oh, worry worry worry. Worry about why she really wants to get married. Worried about if it will work. Worried about if he’s a nice young man. Worried about my never seeing her again. Worried she thinks its an empty EcuaStatement when I tell her to come by and visit us and help us in the Comedor whenever she wants. Worried about her tiny little body with a tiny little life growing inside of it. Worried.

Today the reason why I cannot stand to work with my counterpart agency was personified during a meeting with the youth group. The only contact I have with my assigned counterpart agency is twice a week with my direct counterpart person. Lets call her Louisa. Louisa had promised them that we would watch a movie having to do with Afro-History, because that is what we discussed the last time we met. During the last meeting, Louisa had prepared a printout about Afro-Ecuadorian history for the group. It was actually really great—we read over the history and talked about how it related to the kids today. Well, really Louisa did most the talking, as it goes during most any charla she gives. She was pretty adamant during the charla, as it goes during most any time she is talking about Afro-Ecuadorian history. She gets really loud when talking about how Afro-people helped construct this country, both literally and figuratively, yet (in her opinion) are consistently denied any special rights to it as the indigenous people are. She tells the kids that they should be proud of who they are, proud of where they come from. That they should see all black people as their family, their brothers and sisters, embracing everything that is black about their neighbors and themselves.So getting back to today—we watched a Danny Glover movie called Bopah!. It is about apartheid in South Africa, it was a pretty serious movie, had a feel similar to Hotel Rwanda. In the movie the police (which is run by white men, but dirty work is done by black men) are trying to take control of a city that is on the cusp of erupting with a revolution. Every time the revolutionaries would gather, the police would break it up with tear-gas, guns and beating batons. The twist is that Danny Glover is a police officer, but his son is one of the revolutionaries. The leader of the revolutionaries is taken to jail where he is severely beaten for refusing to speak and eventually killed. Although we discussed Afro-Ecuadorian history before, we did not discuss the premise of this particular film. I assumed that Louisa was going to do this, since it was her charla to plan and since I do not possess South African History 101 in my brain and wasn’t able to prepare because I wasn’t told what we were watching until the bus ride over to the meeting. But of course that didn’t happen and we just jumped right into the film. After several demonstrations during the film, several fights between members of the two sides, I asked the group if everyone understood what was going on in the movie. The response was silence, which I took as a “No,” but Louisa said “Yes” so everyone nodded and we continued. After the revolutionary leader was nearly killed while in police custody I asked again if everyone understood what was happening. Finally the youth group president spoke up that she wasn’t sure she understood why the police were beating the man in captivity. We paused the movie, Louisa groaned, insisting that everyone understood, and I asked for someone to explain what had happened up until that point. Silence. So we discussed it, questions were asked, both me and Louisa answered (as best we could, I don’t think she, either, is well versed in South African history), and we got back to watching.That’s part one of what bugged me: that she insists that since she follows what is going on, that everyone else does. Are we here for ourselves or are we here for the youth group? Yeah, that’s what I thought.The revolutionary leader was an incredibly dark, dark black man; so dark that his lips were a purplish-brown color. Louisa made a comment about the “ugly” color of his lips and laughed along with the youth group at her own joke. When it was nighttime and the characters faces disappeared in the darkness, she laughed and said they should just close their eyes and mouths, that way the police would never find them. When a character with a large, flat nose was with his girlfriend, she made a joke about how could the girl want him with a nose like that? When Danny Glover’s character’s wife is screaming, pleading with her husband to leave the police force and respect his son’s efforts, she laughed that the woman was so overcome with emotion. When the police are beating people in the streets, sending people fleeing for their lives in all directions, she makes a “plop” sound as the baton hits their flesh. When the blacks are rejoicing, singing a song in a tribal-sounding language, she makes fun of the “do-digga-do” sound of their voices and the way that they dance.And the youth group laughed right along with her every time. I ask again, are we here for ourselves or to teach the youth something? And what are we teaching them? Our words, or our actions?The movie ended without a real conclusion, they don’t come out and tell you what happened with the characters involved. The youth group groaned complaints. Louisa asked me again (or just asked the air? I am sure she wasn’t actually talking to me, but I answered anyhow) how they could end the movie without telling you what happened? I said it was probably done on purpose. That this was a struggle that lasted for YEARS in South Africa. That the characters probably died for their cause, that a lot of people died during this time. She rolled her eyes at me, shook her head and said, “Yeah, yeah, whatever, Tere,” as though I were the one who did not understand the movie.

Would you take your 5 year old to see Mr. Woodcock? Just based on the title of the movie, and the fact that the main characters are Billy Bob Thorton and the guy who got famous as playing Stifler in the American Pie movies, I would guess that the answer is a resounding NO. I would agree, and so would whoever makes ratings for movies, as I would assume that Mr. Woodcock is rated PG-13. I wouldn’t know, because these ratings don’t seem to apply here in Ecuador…it was listed as a movie appropriate for children 12 years old and up, but it seems to me that those listings are made for fun or formality sake, because the people selling the tickets don’t seem to care. Here in Ecuador one of my favorite things to do is to go to the movies. Alone. I never did that in the States, never had the courage nor the need I guess, either. But I do it quite a bit here, and I especially enjoy it when the theater is nearly empty; in fact if I am the only one there its perfect! This past Sunday I decided to go to a movie after a “date” I had with an EcuaDude ended after he pumped gas in his car and made an emergency appointment with his mechanic because his car was stalling (he buys and sells cars for a living and needed the car to be sale-ready. I like to believe that it really was an emergency, because I looked really cute that day and I don’t like to think he was just ditching me. Why even show up then, right??). I made it to the mall with 10 minutes to spare for show time (not bad seeing as how I didn’t even know when it was starting). I bought my ticket and thought to myself, “Hmm, there must be a lot of people seeing Wall-E today, cuz there sure are a lot of kids out here.” I bought my usual Kiddie Combo popcorn, candy bar and drink and headed in. The theater is packed, I am forced to sit in the 5th row, just so I can have a few seats as a buffer between me and the nearest movie-watcher. Strike One. The previews start and more people continue to file into the theater. A group of teenagers sit in my row, leaving only one seat of buffer on my right between me and them. There is no way I can pretend that I am alone in this theater with people sitting so freaking close to me! Strike Two. A family comes in: Mom, Dad, daughter age 7ish, daughter age 5ish. They are looking for seats, I am relieved that the whole front row is open for them to pick from, and besides there are only 3 seats to my left, so that’s not enough space for them. You can imagine my shock when the dad comes up to me and asks if I would mind moving into the empty buffer seat to my right so that his family can fit on the left. My annoyed expression and rolled eyes must have been clearly visible in the dark theater, because he tossed in a “No seas malita” which literally means “don’t be mean” but is used in Ecuador to mean “pretty, pretty please.” Strike Three. I move over. As if it can get any worse, the children proceed to talk during the entire movie. The movie is in English, subtitles in Spanish, so OF COURSE the 5 and 7 year old are bored. I am sure they had no freaking idea what the hell was going on, besides what they can gather from the pictures. Oh wait, no…Daddy helped them out with that one--as he proceeded to give them a play by play of what was happening. Whenever the 5 year old did catch a word that was said in the movie, like “Bye” and “Thank you,” she would repeat it over and over and over again. “Bye! Bye! Bye! What does ‘bye’ mean, daddy?” He leans in as if he’s going to whisper the answer to her, and answers at full volume that it means “adios.” “Adios! Adios! Bye! Bye! Bye!” she repeats. Well great, glad I could sit through your freaking English lesson. So, to my left I have a family which clearly doesn’t understand the no-talking-during-the-movie rule, a 7 year old practically spilling her soda on my shoe, and a 5 year old learning that “please” means “porfavor.” Directly behind me is another child, who is running back and forth between her mom and dad, batting my head in the process. My eyes are distracted by the glow of a text-messager’s cell phone 2 rows ahead of me. Somewhere in the back, an infant starts crying. To make matters worse, the movie sorta sucks. But what really got me is that this movie was filled with sexual references. I mean, I guess its not like the 5 year old could read what was going on (or the 7 year old either, who knows?), but still. Women getting their butts grabbed, men making grinding motions, a bed bouncing up and down with “Oh, oh, oh” sounds in the background. And I am sure this isn’t the first age-inappropriate movie they have seen in their lives. And I wonder why EcuaChildren can be so inappropriate sometimes? Cripes, who can blame them? So here’s the lesson, parents. PG-13 means 13 and up--or 12 and up, if you happen to live in Ecuador. Either way, it does not mean 5 or 7, and P.S. if the movie is not dubbed into Spanish so that kids don’t have to read along to get it, its probably not appropriate for your kids to watch. And by the way, leave the gringa alone. Don’t sit next to me!

I am at a bit of a loss here.

I like to write on this blog about interesting happenings in my work. However, since I got back from vacation in the States I have felt like I am on a downward, slippery, quickly sliding slope. I just feel...I dont know. I guess thats the loss. I dont really know what I feel but I know that its not really a feeling of happiness about wanting to be here. I dont want to be there, either. Anyone who saw me when I was at home could see in my eyes and hear in my voice that I wanted to go back home--to Ecuador. So now I am back, so now what? Work has become just that: work. Work, by my personal definition, is something that you get up for in the morning, but avoid doing for as long as is humanly possible. Terribly negative outlook, isnt it? Work is generally enjoyed once you are there, but you look for other things to do to keep youself busy outside of work, too. Thats sort of what my life here has become: work.

Maybe I just like to complain, maybe its because I am a "city volunteer", maybe its because I dont have a tv, maybe its because I'm broke, maybe its because I am perpetually single in a country where young couples take PDA to a whole new level, maybe its just me--but I feel like my life is too much about work and not enough about learning, enjoying, being. So what do I want to learn, enjoy...(gasp!), be? Good question. Theres that loss again. I am working on figuring that out (by working on it I mean being at a total loss and spending WAY more time than is healthy for a human sitting on my futon and reading books, with occasional trips to the internet cafe to research "future plans"). So what should I do? I am open for suggestions. Speaking of suggestions, sometimes (and by sometimes I mean all the time) writing on this blog makes me sad when people dont post comments. I mean, I mean not to fish for compliments, but I want thoughts, perspectives, opinions. Thats why I keep this thing for cripes sake, I can keep a journal on my own without posting it on the internet. Por gusto me voy a continuar escribiendo aqui si nadie lo esta leyendo? So anyhow, let me know your thoughts on that (silence is a thought as well).

In the meantime what do I have to tell you? In an attmept to do whatever it took to get the hell out of my site, I recently went on a little trip. I went up to Súa, where I spent last Christmas, and went whale watching. It was amazing. We saw a family of whales and I took great pictures (which I would share with you except that this computer doesnt want to read my pendrive right now). I then went to another beach (Mompiche) and hung out on a hidden black sand beach area. Wonderful again. Then I went to a town called Mindo (I have been there before, during training) and went zip-lining through the canopy trees in the cloud forest. More amazing and wonderul things that I get to do in my lucky life here (and I dont mean that in a sarcastic way). During the trip I chatted with some other volunteers (because thats mostly who I was with) and I pulled outta my slump, if even just for a minute. One of the volunteers I was with had a really great time talking about how he hates Ecuador and hates his job and hates Ecuadorians and hate hate hate. I do not hate Ecuador. I love Ecuador; I am just bored (I was bored in the States, too, hell, how do you think I ended up here??). The best thing about leaving site is coming back. I missed my house and I missed my solitude and I missed the Mujeres. But then I get back and there is no food in my house, and I am bored being alone at home, and the Mujeres missed me, too, but did just fine without me (and cripes let me talk before you jump in correcting me about what it is I did on my trip!).

Anyway, I am getting no where with this post. I will try to be more positive next time, if I decide I have something worth writing when next time comes around.

Peace,

Theresa

(Before I get to the post, I warn you now that I recently brought my laptop back with me from the States, which means that I can write at home and more easily make blog posts. Basically what that means is that I will probably be posting more blogs, but maybe more than one at a time (for instance, today I am making 4 posts: 3 stories, one intro-explaination). I will also be back-setting the dates on those posts accordingly...okay, hope that all makes sense... and hope you dont get overwhelmed with The Theresa Show--cue theme song...what is my theme song??)

So today I got the bright idea to maybe teach yoga-pilates in the barrio.

This sprung from my deep, sinking feeling of complete and utter uselessness in the barrio today. I am sure the Mujeres would be upset to hear me say it, but I am feeling more and more (or as many mores as one can have after one week) since my vacation that they really don’t need me anymore. Did they need me to begin with? Well, not like they asked for me, but also not like I ever felt a “want” for things to do, or a need to (heaven forbid) “busy” myself. I felt like I was motivating them to get this Comedor back on its feet. I was trying to remind them of why they became a group in the first place, and bringing them back to the place where they worked together as a team, not as several separate entities. I was bringing in the outside so that they could bask in the sunshine that they created for themselves on the inside. I was a good volunteer.

Then I went on vacation, and things continued as normal without me. Or at least they continued as a post-Tere normal. I came back and found that my role had been divided up between various members, and that things were going as they should be (not quite as detail-oriented as they were with me, but going nonetheless. And with WAY fewer math mistakes, but hey, it was their choice to put me in charge of a math-oriented job!). Isn't this the goal? Isn't this that thing they call “sustainability?” For my community to pick up where I left off: be happy to see me, happy to have me around, but not really NEED for me to be there. I guess that’s the goal, trouble is the goal sucks for me. I hate to be constantly tuned into The Theresa Show, but here’s the thing: I like feeling wanted, but I like feeling needed more. I like feeling that my help is actually making a difference. Yeah, yeah, my help MADE a difference: I mean, look at where we are now. Not like I can begin to take credit for all the changes that have gone on in the last year with the Mujeres, but I equally am not gonna act like it had nothing to do with me. I did a lot of legwork, a lot of talking, a lot of brochure making, a lot of organizing, a lot of smiling nice and embarrassing myself in front of TV cameras, a lot of supporting and backing and encouraging…and finally, the Comedor is on its feet again.

So now what do I do?

I mean, I can still to the listado for lunch; that it is still helpful for me to keep track of who is eating lunch each day and making various payments. But that’s about the only role that I have going on right now…I mean, I guess by the time I left for vacation that’s how it was, too, but I had PLANS. Art class was done since the kids started school again and were sleeping in on Saturdays. I planned to fill my Saturdays then with classes for the mothers of the Comedor program. I figured I would alternate traditional (read “mostly-because-PC-makes-me”) charlas on nutrition, children's rights, care for kids, etc. with more practical (in my humble opinion) workshops on making flowers out of paper, making toys for your kids out of toilet paper rolls, making a campo oven, and knitting (that is once I learn how to knit…). But then I get back and learn that some classes for the community are going to be starting. I don’t know by who…some governmental something or the other I think. Anyhow it’s a wonderful, wonderful thing, but they are offering classes on EVERYTHING from cake baking to auto mechanics to crafts to computers. So again, I am at a loss. What the hell am I supposed to do? Just up and find a new community to work in because mine doesn’t need me anymore? Like hell I will! I freaking love this community fiercely, I don’t want to work anywhere else, I just need to know what to do!

So that’s how I came (back to) yoga-pilates. You see, the only reason I brought my yoga mat was because I had this pipe dream when I left that I would teach yoga-pilates to women or teens in my community once I had a “community” to speak of. That never ended up happening, mostly because I am too afraid. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I can be fearless at times, but when it comes to putting myself out there like that, I am a big fat quivering coward. Which brings me back to why I referred sarcastically (in case you didn’t catch the sarcasm) to this being a “bright” idea. I did my yoga-pilates routine today and that’s exactly how I felt. Big, fat and quivering. You see, I haven’t used my yoga mat for a damn thing besides decoration in my home since…oh…January? Ok, lets be honest, probably more like December, and I'm talking early December. Now, everyone who saw me on my recent vacation knows that I “left half of me in Ecuador.” And I mean that not in some deep, touchy feely, philosophical way, I mean that like I lost a lotta weight (have I mentioned that? I lost weight! I’m sorta really freaking happy about it, so be not fooled that this will be the last mention of it…). However, loosing weight had nothing to do with purposeful exercise, rather it had more to do with walking too much, probably not eating enough, and sweating more than I ever thought I could possibly sweat…while sitting still…

So, in order for my Operation: Feel Useful Again in the Barrio to work out, I am going to need to do some working out. No one wants a yoga teacher who can barely hold the pose herself, now that’s not inspiring! In the meantime, I am going to continue to avoid “finding work to do” in the newly opened daycare, because work that involves several screaming children that do not stand past the height of my knees is NOT the kind of work I am looking for…just being honest.

Wish me luck!

Tere

The next two posts are excerpts from the journal entry that I wrote while getting on the plane, and while on the plane to the States on my recent "vacation."

In the posts I am trying (not sure that I accomplished it) to figure out what "culture shock" means for me....is it acknowledging the difference between two places? Does it mean that you have to pick a favorite? Why does everyone seem to want me to pick a favorite??

Anyhow, I hope no one takes offense to my back and forth thoughts about Americans, America, Ecuadorians, and Ecuador. None of it is meant to offend, so just enjoy.

Peace,

Theresa

My alarm woke me up at 5am, I think I only half realized why I had set it. Quickly I jumped to attention and realized: I leave today. I fumbled to turn it off and called the cab company. They must have had my number registered since the last time I used them, because they already had all my information ready (which was good, since I had only .31 cents of saldo left on my phone). He asked me something really fast…If I’m at the puerta principal (main door of the house)? I was like, What, what, what? And he says something else—I’m groggy and confused. He says something about confirmation and hangs up. You would think that after a year in this country, I would have learned how to carry a conversation on the phone. You would think that, but you would be wrong in most cases.

I jump out of bed and use the bathroom, then get a text that the taxi will be at my house in 9 minutes! Ahhhh! Kelly Clarkson! I will NOT be ready in 9 minutes, what kind of Ecuadorian service is so quick, anyhow?!?! I text back and tell them I need at least 30 minutes. No response. I hear beeping outside; I decide to ignore it and continue racing around the house trying to stay calm but quick. I get a text (in all capital letters which I hate because it makes me feel like the person is yelling at me) that the taxi is waiting for me outside. I race around the house to find my glasses, but am so frantic and totally blind that my search is unsuccessful. I go outside, there’s a car near the scary guard guy the next block over. I ask my guard (who is slightly less scary) if a taxi came. “No…,” he says; he’s barely listening to me. I ask if maybe it’s that car parked over there. He doesn’t know. He asks if I leave him today? “Yes,” I say, “and I called a taxi and I think they are here already, but I am not ready!” He takes my hand and is gazing me in that creepy way he does sometimes and is muttering something about how he’s going to miss me and gets jealous of my being away with other people. I ask AGAIN about the taxi, finally he starts listening to me. I pull my hand from his, go into the street and wave the taxi over. I explain to the driver that I need another 15 minutes, he looks irritated and asks where we’re going. To the airport. Okay, now he’s willing to wait because that’s a good distance and he wants the fare.

Racing again--thank goodness I had the presence of mind last night to have all my stuff ready to go. I check, double check and recheck that I have my passport and E-Ticket in my purse, zip up the suitcase, take a few breaths, turn off all the lights. Shit! There’s milk in the fridge! I grab it and dump it in the drain outside, making a mental note to text the landlord to ask his maid to wash it down the drain for me so I don’t have nasty curtly milkness growing out of the drain when I get back. How do you say drain in Spanish…? I wonder to myself as I head out the door. I lock the doors, did I double check that the front door was locked? I had to slam it, right?…so that means its locked, I hope…

I get out to the taxi and dude is fast asleep! Dammit! If I knew he didn’t mind waiting, I wouldn’t have rushed and woulda washed the milk down the drain myself!

I get in the cab, he barely speaks the whole ride. He changes the radio from the good reaggaeton station to Radio Disney. Weird for an adult to listen to Radio Disney, I think. My mind is racing, I don’t even realize that I should be, like, taking in the view or something, right? Yesterday I saw a guy in a suit peeing on the side of the road. I’m gonna “miss” that sort of stuff these next three weeks. I know that my passport, E-Ticket and Ids are in my purse, the rest is arbitrary. I look around as we pass through my city. Normally I kinda hate chatty taxistas, but I feel like chatting! I’m nervous! Doesn’t he want to know why I’m going to the airport?? Where I’m going, and for what? I guess not… We get there, the total is $4.83. Yikes, that’s an expensive taxi! I give him a $20 bill; “Waaauw” he says, “Hopefully I have change to break that!” I watch him pop open his money area up front and there a shit ton of change in there! Why do they always do that?? Like the dude who stopped at 2 gas stations AND asked another taxista for change during a 10 minute taxi ride, only for me to later see that dude has about $50 in singles in his back pocket! Honestly!

I go into the airport, there a short line formed with lots of gringos. I ask which desk is American Airlines? The short line. I get in line, and a guy with a young lady come up behind me. They open the elastic-expandy-gate thing to let themselves through rather than just going through the line the gates form. Must be Ecuadorians, I figure, take the ‘shortcut’ instead of doing what’s most obvious and logical. Its about 6am now, maybe 6:15. The guy asks the dude setting up the gates what time the desk opens. “…Seven…or I mean six,” dude says. Crap!

The couple gets in line behind me, he asks in timid English if I have been waiting long. The girl looks off with an annoyed expression on her face. DEFINITELY Ecuadorian, ‘cuz she’s tossing me attitude just because her man asks me a simple question. “No,” I respond, “I have not been waiting long.” He starts chatting with me, we are talking in English and Spanish because I never know if when Ecuadorians talk to me in English if I should answer in Spanish or English. I know they do it because they want to practice their English, but usually its easier to follow the conversation if we just talk in Spanish. He lives in Miami, but is Ecuadorian. He asks where I am from more than once. I ask if his girlfriend speaks English as well? “No,” he says, “she speaks French.” She laughs. He tells her about how I am a volunteer here in Ecuador. I offer her my hand and introduce myself. She mutters to him how she’s always wanted to work with street kids. I nod and raise my eyebrows to show interest. He tells her to talk with me, so I ask her about what she was saying. We exchange EcuaFormalties about how I speak Spanish, and speak it well, “and you’re not timid about it like other gringos!” I explain that I live here, so its speak Spanish or don’t speak. We talk about my work, more than once he says, “I want to tell you something. You have my respect.” She’s 23 years old, he doesn’t offer his age but looks about 40. I tell them love knows no age and smile. They met 12 years ago but just recently started dating because she was really young back then. She doesn’t want him to leave. I smell the whiskey on his breath—before or after he told me that he was drinking last night?? He hasn’t slept. At the party last night he decided he didn’t want to leave. “Great!” she says, “Let’s go!” and grabs his bags making like she’s leaving. Haha, they’re cute. I get these romantic thoughts about how they are the Ecuadorian Greg and Tara Mortenson. Except he works in “imports and exports”…which, when in Ecuador and said without more elaboration, I generally assume to mean drugs.

There is staff milling around behind the desk, but not doing much of anything, and the line is not moving. He says he’s surprised the line is so long, he thought he would be the first one here. I say its ‘cuz its an American Airlines flight with tons of gringos. We joke about la hora ecuatoriana (Ecuadorian concept of time). He says he was gonna get here at 8:40 (the flight is at 9:10!), but she insisted that they come earlier. She says he should know better because he lives in the States. I say la hora ecuatoriana is always with an Ecuadorian, its permanently in their mind. We laugh and he says he will always be an Ecuadorian. We joke about EcuaSayings like ya mismito, bien prontitio, un ratito (all of which mean “in a minute” but really in an hour, a month, a year…maybe never…). He asks the gate guy again when they open. “Ehhhheeeemmmm…?” responds the guy. He’s not wearing a watch, I am sure he doesn’t want to accidentally offer a time that has already passed. “Ya mismito…” he finally responds. The girl and I exchange smiled glances. He asks for a time, a specific time. Ecuadorians crack me up! Everything here takes SO LONG, but the people can be so freaking impatient! The line starts moving, he immediately cuts the line and goes to an open desk and starts asking about changing his ticket. She says she thinks he might stay, she wants him to stay, but she knows that he can’t. He owns his own business, and when he’s not there the workers don’t do their jobs. She says he’s coming back in 15 days. I tell her that’s not all THAT long to wait. She smiles but looks sad. She has to go to the bathroom and asks if I will move their bags if the line moves. I say sure, while thinking about American airports automated warning messages about not touching bags that aren’t yours. Especially bags of a guy who works in “imports and exports,” I think. Man I can be paranoid sometimes! He comes back and says they can’t guarantee him a spot on a plane tomorrow (now that I am no a near-empty, freaking huge plane to Miami, I cannot see why not!). He says he loves her, wants to stay, but knows he can’t because he has to work. I tell him she told me the say thing. He says she’s a great girl, but what can he do? I tell him to do whatever he’s thinking, that’s the right thing to do. He clutches his left chest and says that’s easier said than done. He says I’m using my psychology on him (I told them that I’m a social worker, somehow that always means that I am also a psychologist…). As she comes back to the line, I get called up to the desk.

The ticket desk dude is taking forever! I hear the couple asking a few desks over about flights for tomorrow again. What’s the holdup with my freaking tickets? I’m getting nervous! “Is there a problem?” I ask. He cannot find my flights. He asks where I am going, he says my flights were either cancelled of the numbers changed. He ends up rebooking all of my flights, which I have no problem with because his new flights have me home hours before my initial flights did.

“He staying!!!” I hear the girl call out. “Congratulations!” I respond. She rushes over to me, thanks me, asks what I said to him. I say I told him to follow his heart. She smiles, “Gracias.”

I go through check in, its so much faster than it ever is in the States! I call my mom with the new plane information. I put on a (3rd in 3 days !! That’s what happens when stupid boys at the club don’t tell me that they use a different cell company than I do!) $3 saldo card on my phone so I can text all the people who asked me to let them know when I am getting on the plane. I go to the coffee shop near the gate. $3.95 for a white chocolate mocha, $3.00 for a humita de queso?!? Ouch! Is that pain in my side what they call culture shock? ‘Cuz it hurts me to pay so much for a freaking coffee and humita! Is this how much things cost there? It’s only been a year and I already cannot remember. I buy it anyhow: hey, I’m hungry AND I’m on vacation, right? And besides, the servers are polite, listen to what I am ordering without interrupting, don’t try to extra-grande-size my drink, and bring the food to me even though I’m sitting just a few feet from the register. I go to the bookstore, they don’t ask me to check my bag when I walk in. Weird. There’s a photo book there called “Un Dia Como Hoy en el Ecuador” (A Day Like Today in Ecuador). I want that book! But I am too afraid to even ask how much it costs. I go to the bathroom-do we still throw the paper out, or do we flush here? I’m struggling (not with bowel movements, don’t worry), should I act like I am in Ecuador, or should I act like I am in the States since we seem to have switched to American pricing standards and social rituals? Or am I just confused because its airport prices and standards? There’s a basket by the wall, I toss the TP in there.

There are gringos everywhere! They’re those (no offense) annoying, crunchy granola eating, wearing shoes that are meant to look rugged but cost a fortune (like those shameful, waste-of-freaking-money Chacos of mine!), Panama Hat, wrinkle free pants, Galapagos Islands and Mitad del Mundo t-shirt kind of gringos. They’re laughing, Ahahahaha!. Talking, Oh! It was so nice to meet you! Oh we will see you again! Oh you must come and visit us in New York!

I cannot stand the sound of their voices. I think I got just got shocked again.

The airline is boarding my flight now. I send the mandatory Emergency Contact text messages, text a couple PCV friends, the landlord (and remind him to have his maid wash down that milk outside!). I text an Ecuadorian friend, I text the Mujeres. I turn off my cell phone (sad face). The safety warnings are starting, the plane starts moving, I can see a bus leaving the terminal across the way (my usual mode of transportation) and I frown. In seconds we are in the air. I forgot gum; I never remember those kinds of things for flights. We are passing the city, I peer out the window: Where’s the Malecon? Where’s my house? I always hear planes passing over my roof. We pass cloud cover. Its just clouds and the plane wing thing in my view now. God, I hope this plane doesn’t burst into flames, I think. I imagine those little death gremlins running out on the wing like on that show ‘Dead Like Me.’ The clouds break, I can see the city again. God, I love Ecuador, I think. There are tears in my eyes, but its just becauseI forced a yawn to keep my ears from popping.

Its cold on this plane! Like there’s an air conditioner or something. We are in the air now, they turn off the seatbelt light. They are coming with the food. I will be in Miami in 3 and a half hours. It feels too easy. Life is always anti-climatic when I am expecting drama. There’s no one sitting next to me. Good, I don’t really feel like chatting more right now. I am wearing my “Peace on Earth” shirt. God, how cliché: a Peace Corps Volunteer wearing a “Peace on Earth” shirt. I don’t want to sit next to any gringos who will ask me about what I am doing in Ecuador, then look at my shirt and smile and laugh to themselves. The flight attendant just gave me a turkey sandwich and a ginger ale. Turkey?? In a sandwich?? And I didn’t even have to pay extra? Now that’s a shock I like getting jolted with! I pick up the “American Way” airline magazine. The cover story is about some Will Ferrell basketball movie. I have never heard of it. I look at the date: June 1, 2008! That was like, 10 days ago! I haven’t read a magazine this current in months! I read an article about Nanny 911 and the likelihood of other TV nannies like Fran Drescher and Charles in Charge. I think I will switch to my month-old, Peace Corps-issued Newsweek about the worldwide hunger crisis. It may be old, but hey, it’s still relevant. (Yeah, that’s right, I said it! I LIKE Newsweek! Take that all you whiney PCVs who made the subscription get cancelled!)

In Miami the arrival gate is THE farthest possible gate from my next departure gate. I decide not to hurry, I am gonna miss the plane and will just deal with it when I get there. The customs line is ridiculous. There is some lady rushing her way through, getting a guard to let her skip. I do NOT want to be that lady. Maybe wherever she’s going is temporary, urgent; but I am going home, and home doesn’t move and will wait ‘til I get there. The customs guy looks at my passport, looks at me, smiles at my shirt and says, “Yeah, that’ll never happen.” Ass, I don’t even validate his comment with a response. Pessimist. I missed my plane, I swear I got to the gate on time, but whatever. The lady who was rushing through customs was supposed to be on my flight, too. She’s ranting and raving about missing the plane, wanting to call the manager (the manager of American Airlines? Come on lady!) and yelling at the desk staff that its THEIR fault she missed the plane. The check-in staff told her she would make it if she ran, and she RAN! When she leaves one of the gate-staff says in a timid-English not as his first language-tone that they are not there to abused and he does not understand why people act that way. He asks if I was on the flight from Guayaquil. “Si,” I respond-realizing that I am speaking in Spanish and should probably switch to English. He asks if my plane was late. “No,” I say, “but the gates were super far apart, and I just didn’t make it in time, no big deal as long as I can get on another flight.” He tells me that the lady wasn’t even transferring flights, she checked in here in Miami, late on her own accord, and is now pissed at the staff for her own mistake. As if gate-staff has any control over what check-in staff says, as if it’s anyone’s fault but her own that she missed her flight! Immediately I think, God, I hate America. Then I remind myself that someone of any nationality could have been just as much as a jerk as that lady, right?

I get a new flight to Chicago. Almost home, except, oops: Planes are not leaving Indiana because of rain, so the plane my flight is supposed to load onto is stuck in Bloomington. Whatever, I think as I make my way over to the magazine stand, buy an Elle magazine and a bag of Lays chips (chips that don’t taste like peanut butter! Yum!). I take a seat and get to waiting. The gate gets changed, SIGHS from everyone waiting. What’s the matter? Isn’t them changing the gate a good thing? Doesn’t that mean that they are trying to arrange a new plane for us? Whatever. At the new gate I take some time off from the Elle magazine to do some people watching. There are countless men in business attire and argyle socks. Most people are intently starting at their Blackberry thingys, poking at ‘em with that little plastic pencil thingy. Others are rearranging meetings with someone on their cell phones. My cell phone does not work now that I am not in Ecuador, so I cannot even text my friends. Not like I have anything important to say, but still, texting is fun: just look at everyone else doing it! I get all panicky realizing that my ex could be getting on this very plane, back from some very important business trip. I bet he has one of those Blackberry things with the plastic pencil thingy. I mentally promise myself that I will never own a Blackberry (it’s not the first time—I used to make that same promise in court rooms when snotty lawyers busted theirs out to rearrange hearings, as I frantically scribbled things out in my dayplanner). There is a young couple in post-vacation clothing, the girl is sighing loudly about once every 5 seconds, as though that’s going to change anything. No one is striking up random conversations with strangers next to them about how they work in imports and exports and don’t want to leave their girlfriend who is several years their junior. I’m sad. I miss Ecuador already. I miss social rules where you share your life story with strangers. Its so annoying to me sometimes when I am there, but right now I just want to tell some random person all about the Mujeres de Lucha and my youth group. No one asks, no one cares.

The plane finally leaves, about 3 hours behind schedule for a 30 minute flight. Asi es la vida. My luggage is late, its on the next plane coming in (hopefully) and will be here (hopefully) in an hour. I call my mom, and get to waiting. I overhear some lady and her grandson complaining to the baggage claim lady about how their baggage is late, too. Like she has any control over it! She walks past me and rolls her eyes in their direction. I take a seat and start chatting (finally!…wait, didn’t I NOT want to be chatting?) with an older couple sitting next to me about what they are doing in Milwaukee, what I am doing there, where we started our journeys today. Their daughter comes to pick them up. She tells me she has “always wanted to do something like the Peace Corps.” My mom comes, she does this funny-excited-speed walky thing when she sees me. We hug. Finally, I am happy to be home.

We go to the grocery store to get tortilla chips for Mexican dinner (my favorite!). “What kind of tortilla chips do you want?” my mom asks. What?!? There’s at LEAST 25-30 different kinds. I’m struggling again. I’m overwhelmed. This is going to be a long 3 weeks.

I have been in Ecuador for almost one year. My one year mark will actually be spent in the United States, because I am going there shortly for a "vacation." That being said, I feel like how most Peace Corps Volunteers probably feel at this first-one year anniversary (first because we have 2 anniversaries, 1 year in country and then 1 year at site). I feel analytical. I travelled up north recently for my one year medical exam. While there I learned that I have lost at least 30 pounds since I arrived in country, and have managed to avoid any serious ailments (including cavaties, parasites and STDs...not like I'm promiscuous or anything, but I am human, and 50% of people living with HIV in Ecuador live in my city, so you know).

I was, however, sick with food-something-yuckyness the day I left for my medical exam(Friday). I ate some bad crab meat, went to work in the barrio the next day, and left about an hour later (after 2 trips to the baño...). The Mujeres sent me home with Alka-Seltzer and lemons to make me feel better. I took the Alka-Seltzer only because they were so worried about me, otherwise I'm anti-meds on those kinds of things and would rather just wait it out. Anyhow, the Mujeres called me that afternoon to check up on me, and again the next morning to make sure I was feeling 100% better. The next Wednesday when I returned, they told me that they were super worried about me because they have never seen me sick before. Not like I have never had a case of the food-something-yuckyness before, but I usually stay home for the day and am back the next day so they know I am okay. On that Wednesday I also reminded them that I would be leaving for the States in about a week. They were bummed, but excited for me to get to see my family and friends. Their number one concern was when my plane back to Ecuador was getting in so that they could meet me at the airport, "With balloons! And a big sign that says 'Welcome Tere!'"

Anyhow, that side tangent will make sense in a minute, just bear with me...

While on my trip I met a volunteer who is completing his 2 years of service, but has decided to extend service to a new site for the next year. He proclaimed shortly upon meeting me and a bunch of my other PCV friends that he as "the best site in Ecuador." Well, congratulations to you, buddy, but my site is pretty cool, too. He works on a community garden project at his site, and appearantly it is a very big garden and very well recieved by the community. He informed us that said garden project won a national award, and that he plans on winning an international award also about this fantastical garden project he has going. His major concern is that he is leaving, but he has requested a volunteer to take his place. He is, however, beyond concerned that this new volunteer will not live up to his expectations. He wants a volunteer who will keep the garden going (he, of course, will train this volunteer on how to do just that); a volunteer who always takes initiative to start new things; who sees a room full of dusty books as not just that, but rather as a youth reading group just waiting to happen. How will he ensure that the new volunteer is living up to his expectations? Well, besides his plan to hand-pick this volunteer from the new training group and to train this new volunteer himself, he also plans to make near-weekly phone calls to his community to check up on the new volunteer. He followed all this up by saying, "Not like I want to scare off the new volunteer, but I just want to make sure they are doing a good job." I said, "Thank God I already have a site, because I would kill myself if I got assigned to your site." "Well, you are not the kind of volunteer I am looking for, then."

Thats right, I most certainly am not.

This volunteer had lots of ideas about what makes a good volunteer. Number one on his list appeared to be a willingness to purchase things for people in the community. He has fully funded 2 families with gas stoves during his service, and paid to do so out of his PC allowance. He also believes that a good volunteer would never have money left at the end of the month and would never spend their money on frivolous, personal things, but would rather donate all extra money to random people on the street who ask for handouts. Finally, he shared with us his theory of what is messed up about Peace Corps: the priorities. He was outraged that a high-up administration person in PC Ecuador had recently admitted that, ultimately, PC service is about making the US look good, not about the success of projects that the volunteer does. I tried to remind this volunteer that all three of the major PC goals are, essentially, about image: showing other countries what well meaning Americans can do to help them; other countries learning about Americans; Americans learning about other countries. No where does it say that the point it to make a community garden (or help with a lunch program). Well, he informed me, thats just wrong.

Is it? For me its not. I'll be honest with you: if the lunch program failed I would be devestated. I worry endlessly about how much money we are and are not making in that program, and wait in fear for the day that the Padrinos drop out again. I constantly wonder what I can do to help the program more (outside of tossing money at it, because I personally dont believe in tossing money at people as form of helping them). I am a bit bummed right now because school is back in session, therefore my art class with kids has pretty much fizzled out. I get bummed when I plan a charla and it doesnt work out. Thats because I take pride in the work that I do. However, I know that at the end of the day, at the end of my 2 years, all those things are just a song and dance that I am doing while I am doing the "real work." A big part of the reason why I wanted to come to Ecuador (outside of the inner reasons about "finding myself"), was because I really dont like the way that America and Americans are seen by the global society. Its an image we have brought upon ourselves, obviously, but its reality. People think Americans are greedy, selfish, violent, uncaring, rich and war-driven. And some Americans are, but this one is not (well, I can be quite greedy and selfish, but not in the way that I am getting at here...). I wanted to show people that there are Americans that go to other countries not to spy on them, not to sell them things, not to bomb them, not to hurt them in any way. Just to hang out, get to know them and help them out with whatever they are doing. Thats why I am here, I am just helping out...if it doesnt work out, that really sucks, but the people I work with will still remember that there was this American chick here once, and she helped us just for the sake of helping.

So, getting back to the side story about me getting sick....thats what I want at the end of my service (and I am not taking about food-something-yuckyness, cuz I have had enough of that!). I would love for another PCV to take over my site when I leave, I think that would be really beneficial to the Mujeres and the community. I dont, however, really care if that PCV is down with giving art classes, charlas on self esteem, and helping to manage the lunch program. In fact, I think it would be cool if the PCV was into repairing TVs, gardening, and environmental education. Or whatever! I love my community, and I want them to see that there are good Americans out there...some of them like to teach art to kids and really care about food insecurity, but some of them are totally unlike this American Tere they know. What I want at the end of my service is to have a group of people in Ecuador that care when I eat bad crab and am not feeling good. I want people that want to pick me up at the airport when I get into the country. I want people who will say, "This one time, this American came out of the blue and she really helped us." Thats what I want, project success or not, thats what Peace Corps is about to me.

(In the other volunteer's defense, I should note that he was drunk at the time. Hopefully hes a cooler person when sober...)

(I will also take this time to remind you to read this page's disclaimer about these thoughts being my own personally, and in no way reflecting the view of the Peace Corps...yaddayaddayadda)

See you soon...

Tere

I wanted that title to be like Wheel-a-Fortune Before and After catagory. As in Prison Break, Big Break...but it didnt work out. oops.

I used to have a section on the blog here called "We're Making Headlines" in which I posted links to newspaper articles about the organizations that I work with. But then I realized that the articles were in Spanish, and as I dont have many friends and family that read Spanish I took that part down. Also, after this one visit where a former Ambassador and the Vice-Mayor of Guayaquil came out, we (as in the Mujeres de Lucha) have gotten A LOT of press coverage, and I just could not keep up with all the stories! A few days after that visit (which was way back in Feburary, my blog post about the New-Chick refers to it) we made the front page of the city section in the major Guayaquil newspaper. After that story ran, we got a couple of phone calls, mostly from organizations wanting to help us out with one thing or another. One organization wanted to give us discounted coffins...um, okay? Another sold us resturant materials at a discounted price so that we could expand the lunch program to include a resturant so that we could increase revenue. Another gave nearly-free eye exams and free eye glasses to anyone in the community over the age of 30. We did not, however, get what we needed the most, which is Padrinos for the lunch program.

Padrino literally means God-Parent, and it is a role taken very seriously in Ecuador. In fact, a mother refers to her child's God-Mother as comadre, which means co-mother. However, a Padrino for the lunch program is only responsible for paying $1.50 each week so that their ahijado (God-Child) can eat lunch for that week. I have an ahijada myself...her name is Melissa. She's all over my photo page...She eats all her soup every day like a good little girl. I love her.

Anyhow, last week Thursday I did not go into the barrio because I was at home being lazy. When I went in the next day they told me that this small, although very popular newspaper had come out. My immediate response was, "Why? Nobody died here," because this newspaper is notorious for having nasty bloody corpse pictures all over the front cover. That and pictures of half naked ladies....The Mujeres were like, "Tere! Dont talk like that! They came to help us, they are going to write a story about the lunch program." So last Monday the story ran. By the time I got to the barrio on Monday at 10AM, we already had 3 appointments to be to that day with people that were interested in apadrinaring a child (which is Spanglish for "being a Padrino"). The rest of the week continued in that fashion, everyday we got more and more phone calls, by Friday we had a list of 32 new kids to start eating lunch next Monday with payment from a Padrino. It was totally amazing. I was totally blown away by the generostiy of the people in Guayaquil.

One of the strangest (in my opinion) calls we got was from the prison. Yep, an inmate called and wanted to help us. What the what?!?! was basicaly my response to that one. How on EARTH can we take a prisoner as a Padrino....I mean, think about where the money comes from. The Mujeres agreed, but they still thought we should go out and meet with him: even if we wouldnt be able to collaborate with him as a Padrino, maybe he just likes to get visitors and we could talk to him and give him advice and stuff. Again, I was blown away. As many problems as these women have in their own day to day lives (including not making any monthly income despite working more than 8 hours a day with the organization, and offering to have their kids be the last ones on the list for Padrinos, which means that they keep paying each week...), they want to take the time to talk to a prisoner, in hopes that they can give him some advice. Ecuadorians continue to surprize me.

One of the Mujeres has a family member in prison, lets call him Juan. He has been in for two years for robbery (from what I could gather), and is still awaiting sentancing. We decided that I would go with her, we would visit her brother, and we would ask him if he had heard of this guy who called us. So this morning I got outta bed, got dressed, and headed over to my friend's house to go to an Ecuadorian prison. The prison here in Guayaquil, I believe, is the 2nd largest in Ecuador, and it houses men and women (although they are separtated). There is also no distinct location for a jail vs. prison. If you are only in for a week, you get put in one part of the prison; if you are in long term, you get put in the other part. My friend told me to bring my ID and to leave my cell phone at home. At her house, her family packed up a big bag of food, coffee and a small sum of money to give to Juan. We caught one bus for about 10 blocks, and then another bus for about 45 minutes to get out to the prison. As we got on the second bus, she saw a friend of her's who was also carrying a big bag, also on her way out to the prison to visit a loved one. I asked why we were bringing all that stuff with us, and my friend told me that its because the food in the prison is not very good, you dont get very much, and the prisoners have to pay for it themselves (and its expensive). So someone from her family goes every weekend to visit Juan and bring him food. I asked what inmates do when they dont have family to bring them food or money, she shrugged and said she didnt know.

The bus was packed full by the time we got there, and when we got off my friend was like, "Walk fast, 'cuz theres gonna be a line!" So we rushed into a line that wound around the outside gate. The line we were in was for women only, there is a separtate line for men, and another still for elderly and women with children. As with any line in Ecaudor, it is only for formality sake, because as soon as you get to the front, people start pushing and jetting in front of each other. As if that ever made anything go any faster, sheez! Outside the prison there are a ton of vendors set up serving small snacks, full meals, gum, soda and candy. There are also people that will store you cell phone, sunglasses and hats for you (since none of those items are allowed inside). A nicely dressed woman came up to one of the storage vendors and asked where the female was that usually worked there, the man said thats his wife and she was at home for the day. I thought it was odd that this woman would be so familiar with a random vendor, but I assumed maybe she, too, visited someone every week. But she didnt have any large bags of food with her...my friend told me that usually when you see a nicely dressed woman like that at the prison, its because she comes to "offer her services" to the inmates. What??...like, where? Where do they, you know, have relations? And does she, like, take appointments?? My friend shrugged, the men know shes coming, she probably has regular clients.

As we made our way to the front of the line I realized my hands were shaking. I was terrified they wouldnt let me in, since I dont have an Ecuadorian ID, and sometimes the cops get crabby with the ID that I do have to offer. The guard to enter the prison grounds didnt even look at my ID. From there we ran (literally) to get into the next line. My friend told me to switch my purse to my left arm, so I did. A cop came by and made a stamp on my right arm. My friend says that this stamp, and one more that we would get when we were all the way in, is what gets us out at the end of the visit. Its the only way of distinguishing inmates from non-inmates. Huh? Are the inmates in regular clothes? I asked. "Claro," she says, of course, "What, in the States inmates have uniforms?" Well, yeah, I said. That way you know who is and inmate and whos not...even without a stamp on the persons arm. The guard to let us in almost didnt accept my ID. My friend turned on her EcuaWoman sass and was like, "Shes with me, shes not from here, shes not a minor and she just wants to see what the prison is like." He nods and accepts my ID. I'm in.

Next my friend leaves her bag on a table and ushers me into a room. She told me this is where they do a pat down search to each visitor. I still had my purse on, I didnt even realize I didnt leave it on the table to get looked through. I stood infront of the female guard who was supposed to pat me down. She was eating an orange, glanced at me, and with her free hand flicked her wrist at me as if to say "ya, ya, go ahead." We went back to the table for the bags, I asked my friend if they needed to see my purse, she said dont worry about it. The guard reviewing her bag pulled out a clear plastic baggie with a bag of sugar and a yellow non-see-through tupperwareish container. The yellow container had coffee in it, I saw them packing it back at the house, but the guard doesnt know that. My friend tells him, "its just coffee" and (get this!) he SHAKES it, nods, and puts it back in the bag. He doesnt smell it, doenst open it, nada. Shakes it. As if the sound of coffee in tupperware is different than that of cocaine.

Then we are in. There are a bunch of men milling around an open front yard area, and my friend leans to me and says, "Check their arms. If they dont have a stamp, theyre a prisoner." There are armed guards milling around as well, although none are actually near the exit door. We head into the large compound area. I wonder how on earth we are going to find Juan, since no one has asked which prisoner we are there to visit. We walk through a short entry corridor and head into another outside yard. Some guy, street clothes and stampless arm, comes up and asks my friend who she is looking for. She keeps walking and doesnt respond, but hes right by her side. She speeds up (I think shes seen Juan), and a young man in a striped polo shirt, blue jeans an Nike shoes walks up to us. "I thought you werent coming! Ive been waiting forever," he says. Its Juan. The random guy taps him like he wants something, my friend says "No! We found him on our own," and Juan tells him to get lost. He leads us back into the indoor corridor, and into a bigger hall. There are men lining the walls, some are craning their necks down the hall and look like they are waiting for someone, some look like they are waiting for something, some just look like they are waiting. "All these guys are prisoners," my friend tells me proudly, sort of pointing at them. Yeah, thanks, I kinda gathered that much.

We head into the cell block through a gate (Juan sort of nods at a non-stamped guy guarding the door) and then into Juan's cell. Juan opens a padlock on the door with a key he got from another inmate in the hall, there is a sheet hanging on the inside of the door so that you cannot see in the room even if the door is open. I have not seen a guard since we left the front yard. They explain to me that each cell has an owner, who buys the cell. Then the owner can "rent" out space for extra inmates who cannot afford to buy their own cell. Juan is one of those inmates, and shares the 15ft by 8ft cell (my rough estimate) with the owner and 7 other guys. I count the tiles on the floor: by what I can see, the owner sleeps on a trunkated twin bed, 6 guys sleep on the floor--about 2ft of space each, and one guy sleeps in the hammock above their heads. As we visit, my friend and I sit on the bed and Juan lounges in the hammock, devoring the food we brought. He goes through the other items (soap, coffee, sugar) and stores them in a small ledge behind the bed. He offers me some of his cola. He cleans the dishes using a bucket of water on the kitchen floor, which has a drain in the corner. Connected to the kitchen (a space I am guessing is 8ft by 3 ft) is the bathroom, I cannot see if there is a shower. At the foot of the bed is a wire with clothes hanging on it. "The guys sleep with their feet under the bed," my friend tells me, as I take in the Christmas lights hanging from the ceiling. The room is basically spotless, the bed is nicely made, outside I can hear some kind of a concert going on, or at least a live DJ.

We hang out in his cell for a while, as my friend lectures Juan about praying with his heart and not just his mouth, and things of that nature. He looks like hes heard it all before but he listens politely. Another guy comes in (not the cell owner, but one of the cellmates), Juan offers him the glass of cola he is drinking. Another friend comes in who Juan was friends with on the streets. My friend continues to lecuture them both (as they share Juan's fish, rice and beans), this time about not blaming their girlfriends for moving on with their lives while they are in prison. My friend asks Juan if hes heard of the guy who called us. Yes, he has, he owns a store in the prison, we will go see him ya mismo. My friend tells me that inmates open up small businesses (stores, fruit juice bars, pharmacys, etc) in the prison to make money. Prisoners have various expenses, like buying their cell or paying cell rent, paying the "guard" (the inmate watching the cell block door), buying food, toilet paper, medicine and whatever else they need to get by.

Before we head to the guys store, Juan wants to take us to visit another one of his friends. We head down the hall, Juan seems less comfortable walking into this area, I guess because its not where he lives so people dont recognize him as well. As we head down the hall I smell marijuana, I look around and see an inmate sorta slumped against the wall, inhaling on something hidden in his hand. There are people everywhere, children running around, a toddler jets past us with no shoes on. A sgraggly looking dog crosses our path. Some guy offers Juan his hand in a greeting, but Juan refuses to shake his hand, saying something about not wanting any of that. We head into another cell block, passing through a group of guys playing pool. Into another cell, this one about twice the size because there is a bathroom thats the size of Juan's cell attached to it. This inmate is an old friend of the family, hes sorta chubby, espcially compared to Juan. There are bunk beds in his cell, and I am told that only 2 guys sleep there. Juan tells me that these room are for foriegners (though my friend tells me later that this is only because the cells cost more, and foriegners have more money sent to them from the outside; this guy, for example, is Ecuadorian). He has been sentanced to 17 years, I think he has already been in for a year or two. He comes out of the bathroom to greet us, pulling on his shirt and zipping up his unbelted pants. He introduces us to his beautiful newborn baby and his wife. There is a rug with a print of a tiger on his floor. My friend commends him for being so chubby, and nudges Juan saying that maybe if he smoked less he would gain some weight, too.

We finally head down to this store of the guy who called us. There is a woman and two small children working in the store. My friend presents us, the woman calls for he husband and he lets us into the store. We sit down and he talks to us about how he was impressed with the work we are doing, he says that hes concerned about the families not being able to afford the lunch. He talks to us about Community Banking, which he used to participate with in his home country (he is not Ecuadorian) before he got "here." My friend asks how long hes been in? 7 years, he says, and hopefully he will be out soon. He quickly changes the subject back to Community Banking. He eludes later to being in for something having to do with drugs. We talk for a while, maybe half an hour, and thank him for his thoughts. He seemed like a nice enough guy.

Juan wants to show us around a little bit, and I am all game. So we check out the swimming pool for inmate's kids, and walk through another yard area. Everywhere you look there are inmates hanging out, wandering around; I still havent noticed a guard since we came in from the front yard. Some of the inmates are alone, some with people who look like their mothers, others with women holding small children, some are leading women in fancy clothes and high heels down the halls into the cell blocks. We head back to Juan's block to get my friends bag that she left in his room. We are informed by one of the cellmates that she will have to get the bag next week; there is a "visit" going on in the room, and we cannot get in. We head back towards the exit, another family member has come to visit Juan and we run into him in the hall. We pass and area with a closed door and guys hanging out, my friend says those are the really bad cells, for inmates with no family and money sent to them to get a nice cell. On our way out, Juan gives me a semi-toothless grin and tells me that when he gets out he will protect me on the streets. I laugh and wish him luck.

Out in the front yard there is a huge group, like 80-100 women, waiting in several unorganized lines to pick up IDs and leave. We are in line for at least an hour, pushing, getting pushed, waiting. Everyone is yelling, "Get to the back of the line! Guard, help us!" as women creep around the edges and cut ahead in the line. I kid you not, I counted 7 armed guards milling around the front yard, SITTING DOWN AND CHATTING, as this group of 100 angry EcuaWomen push and shove and fight to get their IDs. Finally, a young guard with braces on his teeth comes up and starts to try to establish some kind of order. He stands no chance against these women, and he knows it. The machine gun strapped across his chest does not even phase them, he kindly asks them to step back, they look past him and scream out their last name to the guy sorting through IDs to hand out. An inmate keeps coming up around the side, telling the ID guy last names and getting IDs to take to the back of the line. I think this is the business that he has set up, I am pretty sure I heard him say, "I already gave you the $4 for these IDs!" and then yells out a last name attached to the ID he is seeking. We finally get our IDs, push our way back out of the line, and head through the door.

I check my arm, worried that my stamps have rubbed off. My friend told me that once, her sister only got one stamp (instead of 2) and they almost didnt let her out. My stamps are intact, but a little smudged. I accidentally made a copy stamp on my upper arm at some point during the day because its hot and sweaty out. There is no guard at the door when we exit the yard, no one looks at my id or my arm at any of the checkpoints on the way out. I want to keep my stamp on til I get home so I can take a picture, my friend just laughs at this idea. It starts to rain as we head home: hard, pouring, Guayaquil-rain. I ask what happens in the rainy season with stamps at the prison, she says they do it the same as they do all the time. I wonder what keeps inmates from licking their visitors arms and passing the stamp to their own.

"So, what did you think???" my friend asks as we cross the street to catch the bus home. Well, its certainly different than prisons (as I know them) back in the States, I respond. If nothing else, I learned lots of new swear words.

Until next time,

Theresa

Haha, thats my nod to my favorite section of the trash magazines from the States. Like its important to know that Ashton Kutcher plugs the toll on his own meter. Ah, but I cant help but look...Anyhow, on to the post.

This problem I have right now is multisided, multidimensional, multiplying with each coming day. In Ecuador, migration is a major problem. Have we discussed this? I think so. Its two sided: adults leave Ecuador to go live and work in other countries, especially the States, Spain and Chile (at least in the families that I know). Then they send money back to their families here in Ecuador. Sounds like a good enough thing, but the problem is that most of the time they leave their kids behind. And as much as money is helpful in raising kids, (in my opinion) a present parent is far more valuable. Interesting factoids: Of the total Ecuadorian population (about 13 million people), about 15% live outside of the country; and money sent from family members who migrated to other countries is the second leading source of revenue in Ecuador (second to oil. I think I previously said it was the third, but I was wrong). So, obviously, migration is a big problem in the country, because it leaves lots of kids behind; but its totally necessary in the country, because it creates revenue.

So there are the statistics. Here is a piece of the reality, in my admittadly skewed, American way of seeing it. I work with teens in one barrio here in Guayaquil, and I work with an am very close with children in another barrio here in the city. The teens I work with are incredibly wonderful. In fact, they just threw me a surprize birthday party last week and pushed my face into the cake. It was wonderful and I love those kids! They are smart, they come to meetings twice a week, and they are generally interested in learning about values, self esteem, and of course, sex. We had a charla the other week about the human genital parts. They were so freaking attentive during that charla, it was scary! It was so much fun, such a rush, to see them connect the pieces together...the pain near your pelvic bone when your ovary releases an egg, the fact that the penis fills with blood (not sperm) to create an erection, the concept that the vagina expands in such extreme ways that it allows a new child to pass through into the world. I would not trade the work that I do with them for anything, it is a major part of my life here.

Like I said, they are really great, wonderful kids. They are well cared for, they have adults in their lives who look out for their well being. But the fact is that they are not the only teens living in their barrio. Consistantly there is a group of about 9 kids that come every week, but there are hundreds of teens living in that barrio. When I get off the three-wheeled moto in Isla Trinitaria, I pass by lots of teens sitting around on street corners, doing a whole lot of nothing. They gather and play cards, they probably drink a beer or two if they can get their hands on some. They whistle at girls who pass by, they struggle to carry the children that they had years before they were ready to care for them. Thats just reality. I love my jovenes, but that doesnt mean that I dont notice all the teens that dont come to the meetings. I care about my jovenes, but that doesnt mean that I dont worry just as much (if not more) about the kids gathered on the corner.

As you know (if you have been keeping up), I spend most of my time out in Calle 8. Since I am there for several hours a day, 6 days a week, I have come to be that Peace Corps Volunteer that kids run up to screaming "Tia!!!" (which means Aunt). They grab my hands and ask me if we have class that day (art class), ask if we can play a game, ask me for 5 cents so they can buy a frozen treat (I never give it, but they keep asking). There are a couple of kids that I see very often, and am becoming very attached to. Two are a set of brothers, two are a set of sisters, both live with grandparents. The boys' mom live here in Guayaquil. When I ask adults where she is, I get told that shes "Over there" with a motion leading out of the barrio. When I ask what shes doing, and why shes hardly ever around, I get shrugs. What is she doing? Drugs? Who knows. The girls' mom has migrated to another country. She comes back to visit about once a year, an event that is coming up right now with much anticipation from her daughters and mother. And me. I want to know her, I want to not be so mad at her all the time. I want to understand her intentions, because I am sure they are good.

Ah, this is hard. Out of respect for the kids and their families, I dont want to give too many details. But I want you to know these kids. I want you to come to lunch and meet them, to see how they all but beg be be spoon fed their soup, despite the fact that they are 7 years old. I want you to see how giving them one little hug results in them crawling up on your lap, cradling themselves in your arms like an infant. I want you to feel this constant tug on my heart that these kids make.

The girls' dad lives in Guayaquil, too. He was supposed to take care of them for the school year, but when confronted with the reality that he would then also have to be financially responsible for them, he ran off with his 'other woman.' The girls dont seem to mind, I wonder if this was the first time. While taking a nap the older one heard her grandmom say that someone had called earlier. She woke from her slumber and asked, 'Who called? My dad? Is he coming to get me? Did my mom call? Who called, grandma?' We all just looked at her...what do you say? Your dad doesnt....doesnt want...doesnt want to what? To care for you? To pay for you lunch? To hold you when youre sleepy? To play with you? To what? And your mom? How do you explain to a seven-year-old that mom loves you SO much that she moved far, far away so that she can send money home to pay for you to go to school?

I just worry about my kids, thats all. I want to take them all home with me, to love them all like they are my own and to remind them everyday, every hour and every minute how beautiful and wonderful and special they are. I do not want them to grow up to be those kids who hang out on the corner and do God knows what. I want, I want, I want them to be okay. But, at the same time, I know that I am not the solution. As much as those kiddos love me and I love them, I am Tia, not mom. I tell them that I love them all the time, I braid their hair, I kiss their boo-boos, I draw pictures with them. But I am Tia Tere, and thats just reality. I just hate reality, thats all. I want to be able to some how change it, somehow make it "better" or at least "easier." But what do I know? And more importantly, what can I do?

...ah, I hate stressing so much. Continue with art classes (in celebration of Earth Day they each decorated little cups and got little plants to take home and care for). Hold hands as we walk down the street. Blow on spoonfulls of soup to cool it off. Kiss boo-boos. Be Tia. Thats all I can do.

Go home and kiss your kids,

Tia Tere

Before we get to the story, let me add that I turned 25 on Monday! Happy Birthday to me, to me, to me! haha. Did you know that in Ecuador they sing the Happy Birthday song first in Spanish and then always followed by the English version? I dont think that most people even know what they are saying, but they sing it all the same...I was serenated by both the staff at Applebees in Quito and by the Mujeres de Lucha. Good times. The best birthday wish I got? From my little sister who posted on my Facebook wall: "Feliz Navidad sista! Hope you had a fiesta fantastica!" hahaha! Clearly she doesnt always know what the words in songs she hears mean, either....as in "Feliz Navidad...I wanna wish you a Merry Christmas from the bottom of my heart." Ohhh, too funny little sis. Feliz Navidad to you, too.

So what does a Peace Corps Volunteer do for her 25th birthday? Well, this one went out dancing one night, had a party with the Mujeres de Lucha another day, went to dinner with friends a couple of times, and oh yes, gave a charla about homosexuality in Ecuador. Ahhh, duty calls.

The newest Omnibus 99 arrived in Ecuador in January, and now they are just getting set to head out to their sites. They are the Agriculture and Habitat Conservation Groups, so you know, their PC life is gonna be just a liiiittle bit different than mine is. Nonetheless, their training site is the same place where I used to live: in Tabacundo (lindo de mi corazon, eres la tierra de mi pasión). As a member of the PC-Ecuador GLBT Interest group, I was invited to give a charla about homosexuality in Ecuador along with a friend of mine from the group. I took the night bus up to Quito on Sunday night so that we would have Monday (the day I became a quater of a century years old) to plan. Yeeeaaaah...she has a tv so instead we watched movies and dvds of The L Word. But I mean, hey, watching The L Word is sorta like planning a GLBT charla, right? So yeah, the charla didnt end up getting planned until basically the morning of the charla, which was the next day. No big deal because we were just replicating the charla that was given to us several short months ago when we were eager to learn trainees.

So we head out on the bus to Tabacundo. I wanted to stay awake and alert so that I would see my old surroundings coming in around me again, and relish in the beauty that is the sierra of Ecuador. Instead I fell asleep on the bus...oops. When we got there, I called my old host family. Heres the thing--I have done a real crappy job of keeping in touch with those folks. And its not because I dont love them, because I do love them. They are wonderful and absolutely the best host family match for me and I wouldnt trade them for the world. The problem is that keeping in touch requires a skill called "small talk." Thats something I have always stuggled with, and it doesnt get any prettier in Spanish. I did text my host sister once to tell her that I was reading all the wonderful things that I had written about her in my journal and that I missed her. But then she didnt call me back. In fact, they have called me no more than I have called them, which is not at all. So then I didnt feel so bad, you know?

So anyhow, we get to Tabacundo and I call the host family, ask for Sra. Carmen. A man answers the phone...shit...its Don....Don...Don, shit! How can I forget my own host fathers name?!?! I'm like, Hi! Its Tere! How are you?? And he's like, Teresita?? I dont believe it! How are you, how have you been, how long its been since I have seen you, how is everything, how do you feel? Awww...did I ever mention how my host dad asks a minimum of 5 "how are you doing" questions at the beginning of EVERY phone conversation? Haha, I love that man. So we get to talking and he's like, We thought we would never hear from you again. Youre in Tabacundo? Where? Since when? When are you coming over? My wife and the kids will be home later today. I feel this immediate rush of happiness and nostalgia and wonderfulness and missing my host family like crazy. I tell him that I have to give this charla to the new group, but I will come over shortly after that. They have a new host daughter in the new group, he asks if I know her? (ps, at least as it relates to Peace Corps, in Ecuador the general assumption is that all gringos know each other). I say no, but I will look for her during the charla. After I hang up it hits me: Cesar! Don Cesar is his name! Man, Im an idiot.

Yay! So they dont totally hate me for not being the wonder-gringa that their last host daughter was who called them once a week and visited like once a month. And it seems like they want to see me, too, which makes my heart smile. So I head back over to the meeting site for Omnibus 99, and immediately one of the PCTs comes running up to me and is like, Oh my God! I was so excited to see you! I figured she was one of the girls who I had talked with online before they got here. But no, she thought I was a friend of hers from home. Haha. Funny how many people I look like. Anyhow, I find the new host daughter for my host family and introduce myself.

Then we get going on the charla, and all in all, it goes well. Well, I mean really, the main part of it totally crashed and burned because it based on a lie and they didnt really go along with it (kinda complicated to explain, but just trust me it didnt really work out). So I was like, heres a PC Lesson: Sometimes charlas dont work out. Haha. Then we had a productive discussion on how to improve the charla to do in their sites, their worries about doing a charla on such a hot-button issue like homosexuality, talked about intergrating into your site first, etc. Really we had a good little chat, it was fun. There are also 5 people in their group that are from Wisconsin, and they enjoyed my (still)very Wisconsin accent. It was really fun being the person who came to visit the new group. I remember when I was in training and all these random PCVs came in and gave us charlas and we (or at least I) were in such awe that they actually live all alone in this country and enjoy themselves and manage not to die. In case you dont recall, I totally fucking hated training, so it was always such a major refresher to see real life volunteers. Its a lofty goal, but I hope that maybe one of those 99ers was like, Dude, that Theresa chick was cool and is doing some cool work and I hope I become a cool volunteer like she is. Ahh, dreams. I did end up meeting a girl who had read my blog...so in case shes reading this now: Hello! Good luck at site!

So after the charla I ended up continuing to be a crappy host daughter and did not go out and see my host family. I just ran outta time because I went to coffee with some of the new group and we were chatting and I felt bad bailing out on them. But I went back out the next day. I got off the bus (I stayed awake this time, and yes: the sierra is still way prettier than the coast) and I was like, crap! How do I get to my house?? I lived in Tabacundo for 10 weeks, and I get back there and feel immediately lost. Then I took a deep breath and realized I knew exactly where I was and walked home. Im pretty sure I saw my host uncle in the paper store they own, but I didnt stop to say hi because I couldnt remember his name (although Im sure he doesnt remember mine either) and because that would result in the dreaded small talk game. I get to the house, open the front gate and walk up to the door. A car drives up behind me and a guy says "Who are you looking for?" and Im like, Eeeee! My family is here! (it was my host dad, I recognized his voice). We all hugged and headed inside and they took my bags and sat me down at the table.

For the next several hours I kicked myself over and over again and wondered what the hell had kept me from calling them all this time. I mean, its been SEVEN MONTHS! And believe me, they reminded me of it. My host mom even joked that they thought maybe I was just ungrateful. At least I think thats what the word meant...and I was like NOOOO! I think about you all the time, Im just not good at calling. Turns out they had my phone number wrong, so the ball was all in my court and I totally didnt pick it up. They were full of questions about my life in Guayaquil, my work, and how I am adjusting. They (I, we all, everyone) were very worried when I went to site because I was so completely terrified at the prospect of living in Guayaquil. I assured them that all was well, that I was living in a nice house with a nice landlord who also lives on the same plot of land. They said they were really glad that I was safe and happy. My host sister said shes glad I have a place and now she can come and visit me! Yes! I hope she meant it! We talked about the difference between life on the coast and life in the sierra: how I was shivering cold now in Tabacundo because I had gotten used to it being 90 degrees out everyday. How men on the coast stand around with their shirts lifted up over their beer bellies on the side of the road. How Guayaquil is totally crazy and practically its own little world. How I talk weird, fast, slurred coastal Spanish now, instead of the slow, clear sierran Spanish. And as we spoke I realized how much I have grown up since I was in Tabacundo. I dont know that I have really matured (well, maybe I have...) but I am certainly more myself now than I was then. Talking with them came so much more naturally than it did when I was in training. And being myself was less of an effort, as well. I think as I spend more time here in Ecuador Theresa and Tere are becoming more of the same person. Thats a good thing. I dont quite know that we are one yet, but we are getting there.

I also chatted quite a bit (in English and Spanish) with their new PCT. She is really nice, shes 30 and from Florida and her site will be with the Tsachilas (the super cool indigeounous group that I visited during a tech trip waaaay back when). She seems to be real nervous about going to site and being out on her own. Shes still really stuggling with Spanish and worried about that, I told her that when you stop being surrounded by gringo PCTs and are at your site, you have no choice but to learn Spanish. She seemed a bit awed that I was gonna hop on a bus all alone (at night time nonetheless, how DANGEROUS!) and go to Quito and then back to Guayaquil. She said that the other day she took the bus to Cayambe (which is about 20 minutes from Tabacundo) and she was terrified. I tried not to laugh, because I can totally remember feeling exactly that way just a short time ago. I told her that PC tells you a lot of things are dangerous, but when it comes down to it, you gotta just learn to be yourself and live your life here in Ecuador. Following all the PC rules about night buses, sleeping on buses, taking pictures with your digital camera, eating meat sold on the street, eating strawberries, brushing your teeth with the water, all that stuff. I mean, they say it all for your own good, and any one of those things could turn out to be "dangerous" but its worse not to do them, I think. Except for the strawberries: do NOT eat the strawberries.

So anyhow, thats what I learned on my 25th birthday. I learned that keeping in touch is only difficult in theory, and that once you do it feels oh so good (you also get a delicious home cooked sierran dinner and amazing peach flavored Quaker outta it--thats a drink made out of water strained from Quaker oatmeal, my host mom makes it better than anyone on the freaking planet. Ecuadorians think its totally weird that in the States we actually eat the oatmeal instead of straining it and drinking the water. They also refuse to believe that its pronounced "Quake-er" and not "Quwaak-er" hahaha!). I learned that this life I live here is making the different parts of myself more like one whole self. I was reminded of how terrifying it is to be a PCTrainee, and how good it feels to look back on how far I have come. I learned to try to stay awake and watch the view.

I also scheduled a gyno appointment, so it wasnt all good times...haha.

Besos mijitos,

Tere, Theresa and somewhere inbetween

(I wish to inform you that this post demonstrates an excessive use of paranthesis. I appologize in advance...hahaha. I am so full of tangents.)

I know, I am totally spoiled. Seeing as how my homestate of Wisconsin got stomped with snow this summer while I sweated away in 80-plus degree heat everyday, you would think that I would aknowledge how lucky I am that I am going to the beach this weekend for the third weekend in a row. The other day I was hanging out with one of the Mujeres and she was looking through my digital camera at the pictures. She kept asking: Whats this? Where are you here? Whos that person? She, in general, asks a lot of questions. So I'm telling her about the various places I am in my camera: Thats my first apartment in Guayaquil. Thats me with my host family in Tabacundo. Thats on the drive between Guayaquil and Quito, Riobamba maybe? Thats a waterfall in Zaruma. Those are my friends in churches in Cuenca on the Day of the Dead. She marvelled at my photos (none of which are all thaaaat interesting. You can see them for yourself on my photosite) and she said, You know more parts of Ecuador than I do. I asked if she had ever been to Cuenca, or Quito and other parts of the Sierra. She said, No, she has only been here in Guayaquil and to the beaches around Guayaquil.

I journaled about this last night. I dont know if this is a middle class American thing, but I feel like one should try to get to know the country that they live in. Then I thought about my clients back home, the vast majority of whom are low income Americans, and I guess that they dont spend their money on travel either. But then I thought that they also dont have cars, and at least to the extent that I understand it (again as a middle class American), public transportation around the United States is more expensive (relatively speaking) than it is in Ecuador. Or maybe I'm wrong and blinded by my middle classness, which is totally possibe. Either way, this conversation got me thinking: is it better for me to take advantage of the fact that I CAN travel around Ecuador? Or is it better for me to do as the Peace Corps credo says and "live at the level of those that I serve"? Well, what it comes down to is that I am not living at the level of those I serve. My living allowance, travel allowance and rent allowance amounts to WAY more money than folks in Calle 8 are pulling in on a monthly basis. So I decided that suffering is not noble (although sometimes I tell myself that it is), and that I should take advantage of being able to get out and see this beautiful country while I have it so easily at my fingertips.

That said, I am totally sick of the beach. About three weeks ago I was informed by the prometora from Calle 8 that they were "wondering where I was" at the meeting at my counterpart agency. I found that odd since it had been several weeks since I had gone to a meeting (because basically the meetings make my head hurt. And they make me go downtown which means that I HAVE to buy an empanada and a cola and that costs money and calories...). Besides that, I see my counterpart person twice a week for meetings with the jovenes, and she never said anything. Anyhow, I find out that I was wanted at the meeting so that I could assit with a trip to the beach with the jovenes that have been participating in the HIV AIDS Project (thats the project that I am actually assigned to work with but I kinda avoid because I avoid all things related to the office....). So I go to the next meeting and theyre like, Yeah, we'd like you to plan some dinamicas (which are interactive learning activities) on teamwork and communication. Perfecto! I think, because I have been planning charlas on that theme for the Mujeres. I told them I would get to work on a list for the next meeting. I show up at the next meeting with my list but, of course, the meeting doesnt happen (have I mentioned that I HATE all things related to the office??). So I show up to the next-next meeting and we do some of the dinamicas--they were basic summer camp stuff like the human knot and trust falls and stuff like that.

Never was I actually invited to the trip, it was just expected that I was coming. In fact, I mentined to my counterpart person that I might be late to catch the bus to leave and she said they would just leave without me. And I was like, Well, if that happens who will do the dinamicas? We'll do them ourselves, she replied. Have I mentioned that I HATE all things related to the office?? ...I dont mean that, I dont really hate her...its just nice to feel wanted, you know. The kid that sat next to me on the bus to the beach made a big show of sighing at how she HAD to sit next to me--I guess I'm not a very exciting busride partner. I see where she was coming from, seeing as how I didnt really feel welcomed to the trip (yet somehow still obligated to attend), I was not all that enthusiastic about going. And I read on buses. Weird! Reading for fun!

So we get to the beach (in a town called Playas, which means "beaches"...creative name, eh?) and I decide to improve my attitude because I might as well enjoy myself. My frustration with the plan for the trip really never ended, however, because it turned out that I was in charge of keeping the kids excited and animated, being called on for wake-you-up dinamicas at random times (most of the time I responded with, Ummm...let me think. Followed by doing nothing...), and two hours of activities on the beach. Well, thanks for letting me know. Everything went fine, though. I mean, the kids were teenagers, so I am not going to fault myself if they weren't excited about everything. But the activities went well on the beach, and I was remined again of how lucky I was as a kid to go to camps and stuff like that and learn fun games like trust falls and human knots and such. And after a serious talk and some serious videos about people living with AIDS in Africa, all the kids were pretty down. I lightened up the mood with a game of ¿Quieres tener sexo conmigo? (Do you want to have sex with me?) which is played like "Honey I love you would you please please smile?" where the person has to respond to the question without laughing. Everyone seemed to really enjoy it, and I was happy to help. Not once did anyone, however, ever say thank you.

Second weekend at the beach was last weekend. I went with some girlfriends to Montañita. Yeahhh....the hippy gringo beach. It was a good time, we dont need to talk about it. By the time I got back home I was totally beached out and had sand in all my pockets and between my toes. I was happy to shower and do laundry and not think about going to the beach for a while.

Then I was informed that the office was "wondering where I was" at another meeting. Damnit! Turns out theres another trip to the beach this weekend! This time, however, I was actually asked to come, in that it was actually aknowledged that my help the last time was a good thing and they would like me to be there again this time. And my counterpart person actually said, "Well, if you dont come, who will do the dinamicas?" And I thought to myself, hmmm, that sounds familiar...So back to the beach I go. The theme this weekend is the media. I dont really know where we are going with that but I am interested to see where it takes us. In my opinion, the media here seems to be more interested in The 3 D's: Death and Double D boobs. Front page news almost always includes a picture of a bloodly corpse and a half naked lady. I am interested in what will be said over the weekend, because I have heard that people here dont find it at all strange, gross or disrespectful. Hopefully my bus partner this time will be more enthusiastic to share a seat with me, hopefully I will mirror this sentiment. Although probably not because we have to leave downtown at 6am....yeah, I'm NOT a morning person.

..................................

In other news, things out in the barrio have been good. I want to tell you a little story about what happened at a charla today.

I am giving a 6 week series of charlas on Communication and Self Esteem to the Mujeres de Lucha. We started two weeks ago, took last week off because it was Holy Week, and had the second charla today.

This week's theme was Group Communication and Teamwork. We did an activity that demonstrated how multifaceted groups (like the Mujeres who work in three different areas, but still have one unified goal) can be especially difficult because members get focused on their area and ignore whats going on in the other areas. Then we discussed why, in general, it can be hard to work as part of a team (like everyone is different and has their own ideas on the best way of going about things, sometimes not everyone is motivated to work, etc.), and discussed why its important to acknowledge both postive and negative sides of group work. And that doing this does not mean that you are being a negative-minded person. We discussed how in communicating with other team members you must do so in the manner that works best for them, not just what works for you (you know "meet em where they're at" kind of thing). Then we did an activity to demonstrate why when working as a team its necessary to plan well and involve all members in the plan and discussion.

Then one of the Mujeres asked of what one should do when they have a conflict with another person in the group? So we talked about how in conflict resolution with team members you should speak directly and clearly with the person that you have a problem with (rather than complaining to all the other members of the group), but do so in a way that makes it clear that its not the PERSON that is the problem, rather the actions of that person. Then she asked what if someone has a problem with me, but they go around and tell everyone else and not me, what should I do? (by the way, yes: this is directly related to an ongoing problem between two members of the group. My goal for my two years is to get these two members to sit down ant talk to eachother) So we talked about "treating others the way you want to be treated" ie if you want them to talk directly with you, then you should demonstrate this by talking directly with them. What if I already did that? Well, change takes time so keep doing it. Then we talked about ways that we can improve communication within the Mujeres de Lucha. We ended with each person making a promise to help someone else in their work area (for instance, the person who cooks in the lunch program promised that she would spend time helping in the store when it got busy), and agreed that we would do these things in the next 7 days and check progress at next week's charla.

So after this wonderful lemon-scented charla on communication, it came up that the Mujeres really enjoy doing charlas with me because they are fun and interactive yet they also feel like theyre getting something out of it. Although I am not from the barrio--I am an outsider coming in to help--they feel like they can trust me and talk openly with me about whatever is going on. They dont, however, feel this way about another "outsider" who assists them and is also currently giving charlas to them (although they do acknowledge that her help is really good and totally necessary to the progress of the group). I was so excited (and no, not just because I am selfish and glad that they like my charlas) because I saw this as the perfect opportunity to demonstrate what we just learned. I asked what could be done to communicate this to the other person? If the charlas with her arent speaking to them, they should explain this (like we agreed, conflicts with group members are best addressed when taken on clearly and directly). "Oh, no, Tere, we cant do that! That would hurt her feelings." We talked this one out for quite some time, I held my ground that the best approach was to just tell her how they felt; they held their ground that the best way was to suck it up, go to the charlas and try to like it.

So I guess with that my own lesson was staring me right back in the face. Change takes time, so keep trying.

Hasta luego my friends!

Theresa

But all I have to share at this time are the pictures. Ive spent the last several hours (and SEVERAL dollars) uploading new pictures to my Shutterfly account. Just so that you can look at them! (well, that and so that i can safely delete them from my camera, but yeah, its all about YOU baby!).

There are pictures of work that I am doing out in the barrio: picutres of the Mujeres de Lucha, Art Class with the kids, Kids eating in the Lunch Program, etc. Check em out because they are super cute and super fun!

Okay, promise my thoughts will be coming soon...like, maybe tomorrow because I dont have to work.

Besos,

Theresa

(More than one post in a month?! Send me some cookies, cuz I deserve a prize!!)

It made me feel like the girlfriend that goes away for a trip with her girls without her boyfriend. She spends the whole trip talking about how much she loves her boyfriend, how great he is, how much she misses him when she is gone. Then she comes back home and finds that her boyfriend is still there, but that he did not spend the whole week talking about how great she was. In fact, a neighbor girl moved in next door, and he spent the week chatting with her. And shes sitting on their couch when the girlfriend comes home, eating all their food and practically making out with the guy!

Alright, I am being dramatic, I know, but thats how I felt.

Reconnect is a mandatory (unless you are out of the country, have unbreakable work committments or are in a city who's roads are too flooded for you to leave) conference for Peace Corps Volunteers. Our Reconnect was originally scheduled for January, but it was cancelled because Admin feared that some relatively nearby volcano might erupt (pfft!) and we would all die from inhaling ash or something. So it was rescheduled for last week, which happened to be the WORST week of rain that the country has had in a several years (we made CNN news and the President declared it a national emergency or something). I got lucky, my bus-ride only took 2 hours more than normal (10 hours rather than 8), but most people's rides were increased by 4 hours at least. One girl's bus fell into a ditch, then the new bus got stopped by two separate avalanches. Her ride was about 18 hours instead of 10, so I have no cause to complain.

Counterparts are supposed to come to Reconnect. Mine cancelled on me at the last minute...I dont blame her, she got a really great new job and needed to do some tax updating something business. Also, as soon as she was wavering about coming I told her that it was totally up to her, and that I was neither here nor there about her coming and would totally understand if she couldnt make it. Really, I regretted not asking one of the Mujeres to come with me, but it was too late to change that now. I decided that I would go to the conference alone, learn about project planning, budgeting and grant writing, and come back and share that with the Mujeres. I also had to give a presentation on the work I was doing, and of course everyone in my group was super impressed with the Mujeres and their programs, and I basically gushed about them like a proud grandmother (which makes no sense, since they are all old enough to be MY mother...). Some of my fellow volunteers talked about difficulties intergrating into their communities, about their counterparts not being open to their ideas, not appreciating the work they are trying to do. I feel the same way about my official counterpart agency much of the time, but I felt (feel) lucky to be able to work with the Mujeres, who accept me as one of their own, are always excited about my ideas and are constantly praising me for the work I do with them. I was that girl: the gushing girlfriend on a weekend trip with her girls, talking about how her boyfriend is so wonderful and never does anything wrong.

Then I got home and there was a new girl in town. Let me back up....The week before I left my counterpart agency received a new volunteer. They consistantly have a volunteer at the organization who is there to teach english, dance, theater, etc. in the barrios. When the guy from the office first brought her out, I could tell that the Mujeres were being a little stand-offish with her. The thing is that they dont really trust the guy who brought her out to meet them, he has the tendency to make lots of open promises and is "puro blah blah blah" as we say. So I decided that I would bring her back out to the barrio to meet with the Mujeres and speak for herself on what she wants to do with the community (especially important because some of the things that the other guy originally told them she would do were part of his blahblahblah, and not actually true). So I did. Then she hung out with me in the lunch program and chatted with the Mujeres and other members of the community that came in and out during the day.

Okay...so then I left and went to the conference and came back. It was Monday, so I got to lunch late because I meet with the sewing group in a different barrio on Monday AMs. I walk in and the ladies are like "Theresa! Welcome back!" and then SHE'S there. Just sitting there eating lunch like she runs the place. What is she doing here?? Then I realize that she has class there on Monday AMs, and I try to stop being the jealous girlfriend and settle down a little. Well, they didnt make it easy on me. Here I am, fresh from a week of gushing about the work they are doing and building up ideas on things I can do to help them more, and they are just RAVING over this chick! Oh, she speaks 5 languages! Oh, she has dreadlocks! Oh, there are SO MANY kids signed up for her classes! Oh, shes such a gringa with her blue eyes and white person dreadlocks! Oh she said the funniest thing earlier today! Oh, isnt she lovely, isnt she grand??

My response was to ignore the comments and make myself look busy. Which wasnt hard, I had things to do because we had a visit from the Consulate's office and the InterAmerican Foundation (who provided the start up funding for the Mujeres' programs) the next day. I was an intergral part of the planning for this day. I was important. At least thats the mantra that I was giving myself. She (the other volunteer) had another class in the afternoon. She had all the kids outside playing a bunch of fun games that were meant to help them be less shy, because its a theater class (with english, of course). The gushing continued as the class went on, I tried not to look jealous. After class is over I take the bus back with her into downtown because she's not allowed to ride on her own yet. As we are waiting for the bus, shes all "Oh Theresa, that was so fun! But so many students! I dont know that I can handle so many students!" And I am like "Dont worry, I am sure that it will taper off with time, thats what always happens with my classes." And shes all, "Did it look like they were having fun? Oh I hope they liked the games!" And I am thinking, yeah yeah, chick, looked like a great time...Whatever! My classes are fun, too! And shes like, "Could you tell I was nervous?? I was SO nervous! I am only just now learning to speak in Spanish, and English isnt my first language either, so its hard to be teaching that." And I am thinking that maybe this girl likes to put salt in my wounds. Maybe she likes to rub it in that I WORKED since the day I got here to be part of the Mujeres, to be one of their own. Maybe she likes to rub it in that I have been learning Spanish since the 7th grade, shes been learning it since 2 months ago, and we are practically at the same level. Maybe she would like to ask me again about the Mujeres de Lucha tshirt that the president said she should have. Maybe she wants me to cry. Or kick her.

Then I actually look at the girl and realize that shes being totally sincere. She came here for the same reason that I did: she wants to be part of a community here and make a difference. I console myself with the possibility that the Mujeres are so open to her because I brought her back with me; I showed them that she was with me and then therefore they found it easier to trust her. And this visit the next day is really important, and they want us to look like a team, and thats why they want her to have a tshirt. And I think that maybe I should stop being a whiney baby about it and just be happy that theres someone else out there that wants to help with Mujeres. Afterall, this is about them and not me, right?

So the next day comes, she comes later and I dont mind because I know that I have a role and that even if she's there, I am still one of the Mujeres. The visit goes well-- all the Mujeres threw in a hand to make encocada de pollo y pescado (coconut flavored chicken and fish), I raced with two of them to the store to buy forks and knives because we didnt have any (most people in Ecuador just eat with spoons, but they thought we should have forks and knives because these were special people from the Consulate and the InterAmerican Foundation. I thought it was silly, but whatever). During lunch, the ladies chatted with our visitors, showed off the improvements we have made since the last visit, and talked about the work that is yet to be done. One of the kids started acting out during lunch (the kid that spit on me back at the Christmas party), and I got her to calm down because we are building a relationship where I am nice to her and she doesnt spit on me or hit me. I got invited to a reception at the Consulate's house, and in the taxi home the lady from InterAmerica that works with the Mujeres told me how highly they spoke of me when she visited while I was gone for the week. She said they were so excited to explain that they work with a gringa who looks just like them but is still really a gringa, who could imagine such a thing?? Then today I went back out and we made some plans about things we can do to get people to "adopt" kids for the lunch program, solicit food donations, grants for various materials we need, and foster the relationship that we have built with the Consulates office. They told me that they are so glad that I am here, because they know what they want but not always how to get it and I always have great ideas to give them. And my heart smiled.

During Reconnect, we talked about how we volunteers sometimes get jealous of good work that other volunteers are doing, because we are human and we compare ourselves to them. One of my fellow Omnibus members said that its way more productive for us to congratulate each other, and be happy about the good work that others are doing in their communities. Thats a lovely idea in theory, but I come from a lifelong pursuit of betterness where I constantly compare myself to others. Its really yucky, I know it is bad, and I am trying to break myself of it. The new volunteer is not "the other woman" she's "another woman." Another woman who just wants to help. So let it be.

Con Paz,

Theresa

So dont get your undies in a bunch, I didnt actually go to the States without calling you! Whoever you are, know that you mean so very much to me that I will call you when I am at home (and if I actually mean that, then you probably know when I plan to come home to visit. If you dont, perhaps you are some creepy blogstalker, in which case I do not plan to call you but I thank you for reading my blog!).

Carnival is a holiday that comes before Ash Wednesday. During Carnival, it is acceptable to throw water, ink, fish water, cow poop (not kidding) and mud at strangers, friends and family alike. It is also acceptable to climb up to your balcony or rooftop and drop water balloons (filled with your choice of fillings) on unsuspecting passersby below. Thats basically all I know about Carnival. I asked a bunch of locals what the purpose of it was, and no one could tell me. The president of the Mujeres told me that thats the exact reason why she doesnt like the holiday, because its just an excuse for people to act crazy and rude. I think it is the same thing like Mardi Gras, although I never really understood that one either. But at least showing your boobs so that people give you plastic beads is a little less messy (I mean, physically less messy. Sure would mess with your self respect, but thats just my opinion).

So I decided early on that I was not going to participate in Carnival. I dont like getting water thrown on me, I dont care how hot it is outside. I planned to lock myself in my home with lots of popcorn to eat and books to read. When my friend at the US Consulate's office asked what my plans where I told him that exactly. Nada, no tengo planes. So he asked if I would be willing to house- and dog-sit for him while he went to Quito with his family. My response was something along the lines of, "Um....yes, please!" House-sit for a Consulate officer? You better believe they have hot showers, cable tv (heck, ANY tv is better than my non-tv), and a DVD player. I was so in! I went to the Bahia (the black market) and bought 5 bootleg dvds (for $1 each) just for the occasion!

Friday comes and finally its a sunny day. The sun hid behind rainclouds for basically the entire month of January. No sun and lots of rain is bad for doing laundry. The one time that I did do laundry I did it inside, which got my floor all wet. Also, no sun means that it takes more time for my clothes to dry on the line (when its not raining and I can actually put them on the line), or more than 24 hours to dry inside (cuz its raining, again!). So finally a sunny day, I decided to get home early, eat lunch at home and do some laundry! Man, my Fridays are exciting these days, arent they? As I am eating my hotdogs, my friend from the Consulate's office calls and asks what I am up to, and if I am still willing to housesit? I tried not to scream YES too loudly at that, and told him that I was eating lunch and about to do laundry, since it was sunny and all. His response was, "Well, why dont you save that laundry and bring it to our house? We have a washer and dryer. And be sure to save some room because we [he and his wife] are taking you out to dinner." As my PCV friend later said, "You had me at dryer."

So I packed up all my clothes (literally, almost all the clothes that I own here. I seriously didnt do laundry for a month, my clothes were filthy). Then I looked at the pile and debated on if I should really bring everything. I mean, I dont want them to think that I was just bringing all that shit just because they have a washer and dryer and I was trying to take advantage of them or something. Should I bring the underwear? Do they have a maid? Is she gonna try to wash my dirty underwear? I settled on bringing everything, and hoping that there was no maid. I put the underwear in a different bag, just in case. I really dont like other people washing my panties. I picked out 10 dvds that I wanted to watch (why do I even own 10 dvds when I dont have a tv or a dvd player??). Should I bring a book? Will I really read a book when there is cable tv to be watched? Of course I will! I read quite a bit back in the States, I read A TON here, I am a reading machine. Bring the book....and the dvds. This was basically the most exciting packing experience I have ever had. It rivaled packing to come here to Ecuador...because I knew I was packing for a weekend spent in a world unlike the one I presently know.

I headed over to his house. I get there and hung out with him and his wife and their two ADORABLE kids. And their maid. He and his wife were both in the Peace Corps, but not in the same countries--he was in Africa and she was in Eastern Europe. They now both work at the Consulates office; he interviews for visas and stuff, and she is the (self proclaimed) "social chair." She says she does things like welcome new officers and their families, plan holiday parties, etc. She said that her job is alright, but seeing as she has TWO masters degrees (one in weapons of mass destuction ?!), it gets a little boring for her at times. Understandable.

Their house is huge. Well, my mind is warped. Its huge for Ecuador, for the States its like an upper-middle class home. With a maid. And a nanny. And a pool. And a dog with no fleas. All inside a gated community with electric fences, armed guards and private gardens. Lets just say this is not the Ecuador I have come to know and love. I mean, guards with guns? sure. Guards with guns that are not drinking beer? no. Lots of dogs? sure. Lots of dogs with no fleas? unheard-of.

They take me to dinner at Chili's. Yes, my Peace Corps life takes place in a city that has a Chili's resturant. It was totally weird. I mean, I have been to resturants like that a bunch of times since I got here, and its weird everytime. For one thing there is a staff person who's job it is to greet you at the door. And then someone else seats you at a table. And then they bring you a menu, and you didnt even have to ask for it! And then they bring you FREE chips! And then they smile and say, "Of course we can make that" when you order a kiddie cocktail even though its not on the menu. And then when you order, they actually have all the different kinds of food that everyone at the table ordered. It was as if they put things on the menu with the real intention of making them, and then later serving them to the customers! How wild is that?!?! Just to really go out on a limb, I ordered the tuna. Man, am I a risk taker! What kind of Peace Corps Volunteer who eats tuna from a can at least once a week goes out to eat and orders TUNA?!? This kind, cuz I love me some tuna! And it was Grilled Margarita Tuna, I mean, how could I resist??

By the time we head back to their house its nearly 10pm. I am exahusted. All that fine dining and kiddie cocktailing can really take a lot outta a girl! I have to work in the morning (because only the Mujeres de Lucha plan a medical brigade for Carnival weekend, jeez!), and they are gonna be gone by the time I get back. They leave me some instructions for stuff around their house and for the dog. As they are showing me the laundry room and food pantry (yes, food pantry! With FOOD in it! Lots of food!), it hits me that I have no clean underwear for the morning. Crap. It would be totally akward for me to ask if I can toss a load of laundry in right now....and I might be okay with being dirty, but I do NOT wear dirty underwear. Maybe I should wait until they go to sleep? But no, washing machines make noise, they will hear me. I figure I will just pretend like I am going to sleep, wait for them to go upstairs, and then sneak out to the bathroom and wash a pair in the sink.

So thats just what I do. I clean my panties in the sink with the pump handsoap in the bathroom. Then I realize that the panties are wet now, and I know from experience in my own home that they will not be dry by the AM. Dammnit! Now what? Lucky for me, there is an air conditioner in my room. So I crawl up on the big fluffy mattress and hold the panties in front of the A/C. But I cant stand here all night! Maybe I should hang them from the A/C? Is that a fire hazard? Oh God, if I set a fire in this house because I dried my panties on the A/C, they will never invite me back! I do some wave the panties around a bit, rub it against its self, anything to get them to dry faster. Then I hang them from the desk across from the A/C. I crawl into bed, get under the covers (yes! covers! you can sleep with covers when you have an A/C!) and hope that the panties are dry in the morning.

Wake up the next day, and thank God, they are dry: A/C works wonders. I head to the bathroom for a hot (!) shower. The towels they gave me are white. I shower on a regular basis, but I know that I am dirty, I am terrified of dirtying their towels. The heels on my feet are cracked, inside the cracks is permenatly embedded dirt as a result of wearing sandals in the barrio and living in a country with no standards for exhaust from vehicles. But they were in the Peace Corps, right? They will understand if I dirty the towels, right? So I shower, I go to work, come back, walk the dog, and plop in front of the tv. I then proceed to watch about 10 hours straight of Miami Ink, Made and True Life ("True Life: Im an asshole" it should be called, man the people on that show are ANNOYING!). During commercial breaks and when my mind started to get bored, I walked the dog, made dinner, and gave the dog his dinner and medicine. Then I watched 2 dvds. Then I went to sleep, woke up, took a shower (only because it was hot), got bit by the dog while giving him medicine, and continued my tv marathon. I cursed myself when I finally figured out that the tv guide was translating What Not to Wear as No Te Lo Pongas (or something like that), and wondered how many episodes I had missed out on. I watched Desperate Housewives, and then got pissed that it was the same episode as the last one I saw in the States.

Sometime around 6pm on Sunday, I started to feel guilty. I had yet to crack open my book. I had yet to write in my journal. I had yet to really do much of anything at all. I started to feel like I was back on my purple couch in DePere, on any given weekend of the year. I felt like, man, this is great. This is totally fun. There is tv in English where I get to watch people getting tattoos, breaking up with their boyfriend, fighting with the judge on People's Court, doing all kids of crazy things. I get to eat popcorn with Reeses Pieces in it. I get to drink lots of soda. I ate an ice cream bar, and didnt even have to leave home to do it because the freezer in this house actually works. I had air conditioning (although, I swear it gives me the gripe). It was totally fun, totally indulgent, totally wonderful, and was making me totally sad.

I came here to Ecuador for a lot of different reasons. I was inspired by people who had done things like this before. I was tired of my clients and helping people who didnt want my help. I wanted to learn more Spanish. I missed Guatemala and wanted a repeat performance. I wanted to grow up. A big reason was that I wanted to get the fuck off of my couch, away from my limitless life and see how the "other half" lives. I mean that not in a patronizing kind of way...I mean, I didnt think I would be wearing loin-cloths and eating bugs (I dont know where that "half" lives...). But there is so much life outside the wonderful life that is possible (for those who have the means to get to it) in the States. I am speaking for myself when I say that my life in the States was great. I had all the things that "poor people" here in Ecuador want: a house made of concrete and brick that doesnt flood, a job where I made enough money to spend it on whatever I want, my own car, a gym membership, the ability to eat in just about any resturant I wanted, a Target store around the corner (okay, maybe they dont want that, but if they knew what Target was they would!). But I still wasnt satisfied. I was happy, yes, most of the time. But it still somehow wasnt enough.

As great as my trip to (sorta)America was, I was happy when it was over. It was a wonderful, much needed, and (I like to think) well deserved break. But it was just that, a break. And today when I was on the bus-- leaving the barrio after helping serve lunch and shooting the shit with the Mujeres, worried for my life because the driver wasnt paying attention to the road, heading towards the downtown and excited about the .40 cent empanada that awaited me--I felt so filled with happyness. Happyness with a "y" like in the movie, because it may not be perfect, but its just the way I want it to be.

I wonder what I will feel like when I go back to the States? I think its a problem with myself. Its like when I order a pizza, I feel the need to eat the ENTIRE pizza. When I have cable tv, I feel the need to watch it ALL THE TIME. I have got to find a way to live a life with privileges, yet not indulge myself completly in them. I want to move back to the States when my Peace Corps 2 years is done. I already think about my dream Masters Degree and my subsequent dream job. I have just got to learn to stay happY while I seek that Degree and that job, while living in a house that doesnt flood, has a freezer that works, a fridge with all kinds of food options, hot water and cable tv. My life here is not tough, I 'm not gonna lie. Its not easy either, and thats the damn truth. I like it here...but I still havent learned enough to believe that I will like it back there.

Paz Afuera,

Tere

I swear to post soon, just not now. I am a little crabby right now, I dont like posting when I am crabby.

I have added a new portion to my blog. Its linked under Random Thoughts with Theresa. It includes...my random thoughts, of course! Check it out if you dig.

Also, rest in peace Ms. Anne Kok. Spirit lives forever, never forgotten.

Con Paz,

Theresa

Haha, just kidding. I just wanted to use that blog title because it sounds like a tampon commercial so it makes me giggle. Also because I have no cohesive thought on which to write about, so brace yourselves...

So it is now 2008. Its still only January, but still, thats a pretty major milestone. I spent this past New Years Eve on the beach in Montañita...Thats the hippie beach where I stayed at the drug house in the past. This time I did not stay at a drug house, I stayed at some hostal where the owner was this nice old lady that looked and sounded scarily similar to Yoda from StarWars. Admittedly, I have only watched StarWars when I have been forced to do so, but still, I am pretty sure she and Yoda are related. She was a really nice lady though, and she was really decent with pricing (like if you shared a bed you only paid halfprice, which was super nice of her considering it was New Years and she coulda robbed us if she really wanted to). The place was called Hostal Amigo (I am pretty sure), so if you are ever in Montañita, you should check it out.

Basically my New Years Eve was the best one that I have had in recent memory. I mean that as no slam against my totally awesome, wildly loved friends back home and the many a New Years that we have spent together. I mean that more as a slam against myself. I think I always go into New Years with high hopes of some kind of New-Years-Goodness-Wonderful-Miracle. I think usually (shamefully) it includes meeting the man of my dreams, spending the whole night talking about politics, life, poverty and richness, and how good of a dresser Kanye West is (which would only come up because he would be dressed EXACTLY like Kanye...). And that is exactly what happened this New Years! Yeah, right, just kidding. That totally did not happen. In fact, nothing happened. I had a few drinks (literally a few, very few, not a good idea to get too drunk at the crazy hippie beach cuz there are lots of opportunists out there, you know), I danced my booty off, I watched some huge bonfires on the beach. I really have no idea when the clock struck 12. Everyone I was with set their own time on their cell phones, so we had a range of about 10 minutes going on; no one really knew EXACTLY when the New Year had come. And Lord knows that the locals didnt know. So 12 o'clock came and went, whenever that was, we drank some cheap champagne, and continued to dance on the beach. Nothing of note happened at all, and thats why it was great. Because I went in without expectations, so I couldnt come out disappointed.

Then I came back to site, and continued my gringo-fest-a-palooza at my home. When the last of my guests had left, I took a long sigh of relief and laid in my bed for several hours and started my finally-I'm-alone-to-read-and-nap-a-palooza. From then on I have no idea what happened, because thats basically what I do everyday...

Anyhow, when I finally did go back to work it was really hard. I went to a meeting at my office, and (strangely) was happy to be there! I had missed work! I had missed that office! I even made them rice crispy bars just so that I could see them smile! Then they started in with comments about my weight and questions on how I could have POSSIBLY gone to Montañita and still come out single, and I remembered why I dont like being there. Then there was some kind of an argument during the meeting, and I zoned out and further reminded myself why I hate the office. Later (or was it before?) I went out and saw the Mujeres. They said, "Tere! We are so glad you are here! We thought you went back to the States and didnt tell us! Oh, Tere, are you loosing more weight?" Rarr, no rest for the weary (or weightless. And, by the way, I have not lost more weight. They are just all going crazy and obsessed with weight in general).

I spoke with the President of the Mujeres about the art classes for the barrio kids. Her response was, "Sounds like a great idea. Of course you can use our space to do it, it is just as much your space as it is ours. Let me know what we can do to help." Have I mentioned that I love these ladies? I won the Peace Corps Lottery in finding this group. Then she said that several people in the area had been asking since Christmas about English classes. Rarr, love lost. I HATE teaching English. But I decided to set my personal feelings aside and do what my community was asking me to do. I supposed thats what I am here for...so I posted a sign about English class and said I would be back the next day.

Then I didnt go back for a week, because I was locked away in the office like Princess Rampuzel doing my stupid Peace Corps Work Report, and preparing a PowerPoint for Peace Corps training that I have coming up. I hate stupid Peace Corps mandatory work to proove that I am working (when really, doing that work only keeps me from actually WORKING!). When I returned, the lady at the lunch program scolded me, said that I cant just go saying that I will back the next day if I dont come back for a week because then everyone worries about me, and why doesnt she have my phone number to that she can call and check up on me? Aw, theres the love. Its back. I learned that many people had responded to my sign about the English classes. Schools are in vacations right now here, so kids have a lot of free time. Lots of families had come by with their teenagers to inquire about my classes. I was pumped! Maybe these classes wouldnt be so bad afterall? But then when we started classes, there were only TWO people in class that I know. The rest were teenagers and some adults that I have never seen before, dressed in some pretty nice looking clothes. I hate to make this a race thing or a money thing, but the two I knew were the only Afroecuadorians in the group, and nice clothes mean you have the money to buy them. Which means that you have the money to pay for school (lack of money for "public" school is a major reason that most kids here only stay in till they are about 12 years old), which means that you already know a bunch of English because you learn it in school. Which means that I reap just a little less joy from teaching you. I want to help people who really need my help. I want the kids from the barrio to come out, but I think they dont want to because they get intimidated by these other kids. I want, I want, I want. Problem is this is not about me, so I am going to go ahead and shut up about that one now.

Appearantly there was lots of demand for classes for little kids in the barrio, too. Yes! I said. Thats just what I was hoping, because I would love to start a little art class with them. Whats that? Oh, they want English class? (do you feel the love slipping again?). Compromise: Arte con Inglés. We will learn about the English words for the colors, shapes, and things we draw. Everyone seemed to agree that this was a good way to meet the demand the community was asking for and keep the kids occupied without getting bored from sitting through an English lesson (or is it me who gets bored...). Class starts on Thursday, I cant wait! Down side is that I dont have any specific person from the community to help me. I want to ask this one girl who I was expecting at my English class, but she wasnt there. Hopefully shes there this week. I asked one of the Prometores from my larger organization. I told her that I would like to do class out in her barrio (because we had talked about that before) as well as out with the Mujeres. Her response was that "you never know when its going to rain." Im sorry, what? Well, since its rainy season, it would be hard to do, beacause when it rains people dont leave the house. Well, that is true, because in the barrio its mud roads that get nasty in the rain. And in the city it seems that no one has thought to spend the non-rainy season repairing the roads so that they dont turn in to rivers when it rains. But I took it more like blah, blah, blah, excuses, excuses, excuses. And I am not gonna push her on it. I will let her know that I am starting out with the Mujeres, and that I am ready to go with her when she is. We will see.

Other good news for this new me in the new year? My organization has decided to sell the sewing machines! Clearly, that is not good news. In fact, when the discussion came up in a meeting, I felt like I had gotten hit in the tummy with a ton of bricks. Nooooo! Dont sell my machines! I have PLANS for those! I already told the barrio girls we would start a new project! Nooooo! But none of those words actually escaped my lips. Rather I sat there in silence and listened to them say that there was no need for the machines because no one here knows how to use them (what?!? This again? I thought we established that the problem is that we never asked!). But there is a facet of the organization that is based up in northern Ecuador, and there is a group of women there who have a project plan for the machines (for a small business) and who are prepared to pay $2000 for the machines. So again, this became less about me and what I want, and more about whats best in general. Whatsmore, although this was discussed in the meeting as a new item of discussion, I get the feeling that the decision was done. It seemed that everyone was on board, and I later found out that my direct counterpart had been working on a plan for the last week or so before the meeting to change the workshop into an office for the jovenes. Well, thanks for telling me, folks.

Speaking of jovenes, on to the bad news of the new year. Remember that post about that great group of kids that I work with? Who come to the charlas and dance class and enjoy themselves and are great, great, great? Well, they are not so great right now. I think not having meetings for two weeks and my not being there to get their asses into gear for a performance at a Christmas show did a number on the group morale. When we finally did have a meeting, not too many of the "regulars" showed up. I wanted to spend the time talking about goals for the new year. I really believe that with some training these kids could learn to give the charlas themselves, and give them to high schools and middle schools and their parents and stuff. I also really believe that with some more work we could be a really great dance group, and could be a regularly included act in programs that the bigger organization has. Well, once again, what I believe didnt really matter so much. Basically there were a lot of blank stares when asked about what they wanted to do, and not much response to learning the charlas to give them. And they decided that they no longer want to dance, but they do want (thats right, you guessed it) English classes! GAWD. How did I fall into this spiraling hole of an English class rut?? We did make plans for a Bingo fundraiser to save money to go on paseos (like field trips), so hopefully that will pan out. Hopefully they were just in a bad mood that day, I know I was after the meeting...

Lets end this on an up-note. Back to the sewing machines, because I never explained why it was good news. The day after (or was it two days?) the meeting where the sewing machines and all my good intentions were ripped from my hands and my silent mouth, I got a phone call. Did I ever mention that group of women who have a history with PC, but have never had a volunteer? Well, probably not much, because the story of Theresa and that group is one that puts a whole lot of sticky rice crispy guilt all over my spoon. I had gone out to see them once, and I cant say I had a good time. Problem is that, well...it was basically another case of what I want vs. what I am being asked to do. I thought they wanted to work with me to work on a sewing workshop, crafts, and charlas. When I went out to see them I was suddenly helping the President (who is the husband of the main-lady) with a soccer tournament for the barrio kids. And I did not like it one bit. He kind of yells a lot, I mean, its not like hes being mean...its sort of an Ecuadorian-Man kind of thing. Sometimes they just sorta bark orders, and I really dislike it. Generally, I just choose to remove myself from the situation, but when I was supposed to be out there to help with this soccer crap--there was nothing I could do but listen and respond. Then came the "but so-and-so always did it that way" part. Thats the thing about people who have worked with PCVs in the past. Basically they tend to think that we are all one person, reincarnated into different life forms, but still basically the same person. You didnt bring a camera? So-and-so always did. You dont like to play soccer? But so-and-so always did. You never ran a small business? But so-and-so did. You get the point. I AM NOT SO-AND-SO, and frankly, I dont really care what they did.

So yeah, I did the wrong thing and basically let contact just not happen. I got busy doing other things, and pushed back guilty thoughts about not following up with them. Then she called (she being the president's wife, the main-lady in the group). I saw the number on my phone and panicked. Do I pick up? Are they gonna yell at me? But doing my work report for Peace Corps was boring, and thats what I was doing at the time, so I answered the phone. She was totally nice about everything! Nothing accusatory, equally appologized for not having been in touch, and asked me to come out the next Monday and meet with the ladies regarding their sewing project! Yes! Sewing goodness raining down from the sky! I went out, talked with them, and was so relieved. I felt good being with the ladies, talking about how they want to learn about sewing with a pre-made pattern, about making patterns for things based on models they already have, about how they just want to learn about any crafty-goodness that they can do with their hands. I cannot even express how pumped I am to work with these ladies. Start tomorrow...the only problem is that I leaned that Ecuadorians tend to not know how to sew with a pattern because they are basically not sold here....yeahhh...not sure what I am gonna do tomorrow morning then, but I will figure something out. Always do, right?

So there you have it, theres the new year, new me, freedom from pads by using soft, comfortable tampons! Just kidding, but you know, theres the life update. More to come soon (and by soon I mean I hopefully wont take 3 weeks like I did last time...). Hope all is well with you all. Winter sounds like its sucking pretty bad this year in my homestate. If its any consolation, it rains every day here, so my clothes have to be hung to dry inside (which means they take more than 24 hours to dry! (Damn, guess that means I will just HAVE to stay home and read until they dry becuse there is NOTHING to wear...). Also, rain has resulted in what looks like grass in my front yard. Trouble is I dont have a yard...its cement. And the grassy looking stuff? Mold. Mmmm, I heart Ecuador.

Peace,

Theresa

The plan is to have two parts to this post, Guayaquil and Sùa, however, I have to get back to Hostal Theresa as soon as I get a text that my next visitor is here, so I dont promise that I will be able to stick to that plan. The thing is that I live in Guayaquil, the BIG CITY with the airport and the major bus terminal. So I have had lots of visitors lately at my little home. Its fun, but it means that I am getting to my Omnibus New Years Beach Party late, and that I dont have lots of toilet paper. Ahhh, I do it to myself.

So Christmas in Ecuador. You would think that for a country that is so Christian that Christmas would be a crazy big deal. With the Mujeres, the phrase "Dios Bendiga" --God Bless You-- is used like "Aloha." In that its used for hello and goodbye...and how are you, and I am fine, and what time is it...thats an exaggeration, but Im saying, they use it a lot. I, who do not follow any specific religion (but when asked about religion, I reply that my mom goes to church every Sunday, its sort of the easy way out rather than explaining my multi-dios-religion idea), have almost caught myself saying it on more than one occasion. But no, Christmas could have easily passed without me even noticing, but for the planning of holiday parties in the barrio. I think what it boils down to is that folks here, at least folks that I know here, dont have a whole lot of dinero. For that reason, the focus on buying presents, giving presents, getting presents and all that goes away. And really, when you think about it, thats what all the hoopla in the States comes down to at this time of year. Except maybe in the churches. I am sure that in churches, both here and in the States, that Christmas is discussed not as a reason to buy the latest Barbie doll, pair of shoes, or Ambercrombie distressed jeans, but as you know, the birth of Christ. So I guess maybe I didnt notice Christmas so much because I dont go to church? Maybe its just ME who was so focused on the materialness of Christmas in the States...? Who knows, whatever, on with the story.

Like I said, I was, to some extent, involved in the planning of the Christmas party in the barrio with the Mujeres. Basically the way it goes is that every year, barrios across the city request toys and candy from people and organizations with money so that they can have a party for the barrio kids. The Mujeres, being the kick ass group that they are, are in charge of such activities every year in their barrio. In the weeks and days coming up to the party, which took place on the Sunday before Christmas, I was worried that it wasnt going to happen. There were no toys, no candy. At a meeting at my main organization's office, there was a long discussion amongst the promotores that their barrios were having the same problem. That they had "ni un caramelo" (not even one piece of candy) to give out to the kids. Side-note: this conversation was immediately followed by the planning of the office Christmas party, to which they planned to buy several turkeys, beer, champagne, salads, etc. that they would all chip in to pay for. I held my tongue that perhaps the better way to spend that money--turkey is a VERY expensive meat in this country, for whatever reason--would be to, oh, I dont know, buy some candies and toys for the barrio kids? I figured this happens every year, and that maybe there was something that I was missing...

Well, there was something that I was missing. I guess I failed to take into account that, generally speaking, in this country things happen at the last minute. When I left the barrio on Friday, there were no candies, no toys, no nothing for the party. When I came back on Sunday to help set up for the party, there was a room full of stuff to give out to the kids. I have no idea where it came from. I know that the candy came from the national children's rights organization here, the toys came from...? Dont know. Someone with a good heart. When I arrived, the Mujeres' president said "¡Aqui está una mujer de la lucha!" ("Here is a woman of the struggle!" but also Mujeres de Lucha is their group name), it might have been one of the greatest moments of my life, just sayin.

We started setting up the tables, chairs and streamers outside (weird! Christmas party outside! Its hot out, no snow!). Then the president and the member in charge of organizing the gifts called me into the gift room. They explained that they had various presents for boys and girls of different ages, and a bag of candies for each child. The president was arguing that we should wrap the gifts, the other member was saying that if we wrapped them, we wouldnt be able to tell them apart and plus we didnt have any wrapping paper. I thought to myself, "I'm confused. Dont we have this party every year?? How's about we do what we did last year...and why didnt we get some wrapping paper if we knew we were giving gifts?" Out-loud, I responded that much of the fun of a child getting a gift comes from opening it, so we should wrap them. And although we dont have paper, we do have a mass amount of holiday printed plastic bags, which we could cut and use to wrap the gifts. And to tell the gifts apart? Well, we could separate them into larger plastic bags once they were wrapped, and label said bags as gifts for young kids, girls under 10, boys under 10, girls 10 and over, boys 10 and over. Wow! Best idea ever! So we got to wrapping. As we were wrapping, there was constant discussion on if a gift should be for a boy or a girl. Dolls for the girls, guns for the boys. I held back my opinions that teaching this kind of gender roles is harmful to children and society, and that giving children guns desensitizes them to violence. Rather, I gently answered that the SpongeBob cell phone could easily be played with by both boys and girls, and dutifully put the Walkie-Talkie Spy set in the "boys 10 and over" bag.

So the party gets under way complete with the Christian-Latino-Band and a prayer led by the president of the Mujeres. The kids seemed to be having a good time, and I love watching happy kids, so I was having a good time as well. That goodness was temporarily halted by one little girl. Now, I hate to say bad stuff about kids. I have never been a real "loves to work with children" kind of person, but I like kids, they are cool with me as long as they are nice. This little girl was not so nice. I had noticed her at the beginning of the party cuz she was just sitting there staring at me. I am sort of used to that because there are not a lot of new faces in the barrio, so when there is one, you get stared at. I stared back and winked at her and stuck out my tongue. Thats my usual response to kids. Usually they know I am kidding and giggle and stick their tongue back out. She didnt. She just kept staring at me.

So later during the party, I was sitting with a barrio kid that I know on my lap (after he excitedly modeled his new shoes, jeans and tshirt to me, he's so cute!) watching a Simon Says type of game. The girl, I would guess age 7or 8 is sitting next to me. She sort of hits me on the thigh. I figure shes just playing around, so I tap her back on her thigh. She hits back, closed fist this time, a little harder. This continues for some time. She gets harder with each hit, but still, I figure shes a kid, she just doesnt realize it. I was wrong. After a while, she raises her hand in the air makes a fist and looks me straight in the eye. I say, "No. No me pegas." (Don't hit me). I'm not yelling, but I am speaking sternly, so that she knows that the game is over. She responds by pinching me! What! There is NO SUCH THING as a playful pinch. I tell her no again, she pinches me again. I grab her wrist as she goes for a third, and tell her "No seas malcreada." (literally means "Dont be poorly raised," but is used as "Dont be sassy"). "No seas malcreado/a" (depending on if you are saying it to a male of female child) is a phrase used often here in Ecuador. I really disliked the phrase until right then at that moment. Mostly because its usually a parent saying it to their own child, and I'm like, what? YOU raised her! If shes poorly raised, its your own damn fault. But, c'mon, pinching? Thats malcreada if you ask me. Her response? Not shame, not saying shes sorry, nope. She gets up, and spits on me! I am NOT kidding! This little rugrat kid spit on my jeans. MALCREADA! I get up, put the kid who is still sitting on my lap on the chair, and calmly walk away. I know how to discipline and lecture kids with patience in English, but I dont know those words in Spanish, especially not when I am pissed that some freaking kid just spit on my pants.

I watched the kid for the rest of the party. She got picked on a lot by the other kids. Her hair got pulled a lot, other kids hit her, kicked her, yelled at her. She always did it back, often she was even the one that started it. But it always ended with her rolling around on the ground, screaming her lungs out that someone had hit her. The most interesting thing was that no one seemed to care. Here is this little girl in the middle of a Christmas party, screaming bloody murder while the Christian Band plays a holiday hit, and no one does a thing. I felt horrible, because usually when kids are crying in the barrio (which is a common occurrence because kids fight A LOT here, might have to do with giving guns as presents, or the fact that violence against kids here is BEYOND common place) I will go over to them, and ask what happened. They usually respond by crying harder (you know how kids are, it always hurt more when someone's paying attention) and tell me tearily that someone hit them. I ask where it hurts, look at that spot, ignore what looks like a cigarette burn on their back, and tell them I dont see anything. I rub their back and tell them its okay, and wipe off their tears with my shirt. By then the kid that hit them, usually their sibling or neighbor, comes back and gets them and they run off playing again. But with this kid, I gotta say I was a little scared. She pinched me! AND she spit on me! What if she did it again?? I wanted to help her, but I didnt know what to do that wouldnt end up in making the situation worse. I saw someone trying to console her, and she just started pounding her fists at them. The only person who could console her was the president of the Mujeres, who she seemed to know (which was weird, because I have NEVER seen this kid before, and I know her grandchildren). I get the feeling that there is some crazy bad shit going on in this kid's house. No children come out of their mother responding to life by hitting, kicking, pinching and/or spitting. Children who behave this way, in my opinion, do so because they are malcreados. They have learned this behavior from their parents and caregivers, probably from direct experience.

So what do I do? My job in the States was to take kids who were being abused and neglected by their parents away from their parents, put them into a (usually) safe home, and help their parents learn how not to treat their children in this manner. That job doesnt exist here. I am pretty sure its not illegal to abuse your children here. And if it is, its probably one of those laws that gets ignored like not driving on the wrong side of the road, and not having your 6 year old sell candies on the bus, and not drinking while driving a city bus. I know for sure that my old job doesnt exist here. In fact, I have been told that I probably shouldnt discuss my old job in too much detail to people here, because it might result in them not trusting me. With a judge and a law behind me, I know what to do about child abuse. Without that system, I have found myself at a loss. I have found that I have become the well-meaning neighbor who rubs your kid's back when the your other kid hits them, and ignores the cigarette burns she sees there. I have become the passerby who averts her eyes when she sees your chasing your kid into the house with while waving a large stick in the air (the same stick I just saw you grab from your child's hand after he hit the neighbor kid with it), the passerby who cringes at his screams, but does not call the cops to intervene (because what would they say??). I have become the person who sees a teenager kick a kitten and tells her not to, but doesnt actually DO anything to get her to stop. Who have I become?

I thought this experience was going to make me a better person, but sometimes I wonder what effects its really having on me. We were told a story at training of a house warming party that a volunteer had, and a woman who came to the party without her husbands permission. The husband came over, told her to come home, and she ignored him. He came back over and proceeded to beat the woman on the volunteer's porch. When the volunteer tried to intervene, the rest of the community told her it was best not to, for her won safety. A friend of mine told me about a woman who lifted her sunglasses to show a bruised eye in response to a question about domestic violence in her community. I told my friend to go back over and talk to the woman, even just to tell her that someone wants to hear her story. I think thats the right thing to do, to listen. And I WANT to listen to these kids. The problem is, I dont know HOW. I know better than to just bust into their homes and try to stop whats going on, I have been the social worker who hears from a 12 year old that she got whipped even harder after the teacher reported the abuse and her mom found out. So what do I do? How many times can I ask that in one post? What do I do?

I guess all I can do is to help the community in more round about ways. Maybe I can start some kind of afterschool program with some kids? Something to get their minds thinking, to get their self esteem rising, to get their hands moving in peaceful manners. I can keep helping the Mujeres, as they are helping the community. They might not be stopping the kids from getting hit, but putting food on a family's table is better than doing nothing at all. I have been helping the Mujeres in applying for some grants recently--one to get some much needed supplies for the bakery (they make the bread by hand--every step except the baking in the oven is done by the hands of one of two women. Very time consuming, but the machines to make bread are very expensive). The other is to get supplies for the lunch program, like larger pots, cooking spoons, plates, cups, silverware, that kind of stuff (which is also wildly expensive here, which is why I only own about 3 spoons and forks, not a very good thing for a psuedo-hostal owner, but I make sure my guests know that food is not included in their stay). That grant is also for money to cover kids who's families cant pay for their lunch. Also, the US Consulate's office organized a Christmas Food Drive for the Mujeres. They ended up donating over 1000 pounds of food to the lunch program, it was AMAZING. The food wont last for long, but it will allow the lunch program to pay off some debts to the store, and aid in this crazy game of catch-up that is going on. The Mujeres were so happy, the woman who makes all the food for the lunch program started crying. They are just not used to people caring or noticing the work that they do.

They try to teach the kids to be polite when they are getting their food, but saying a simple "Gracias" is something they often need to be reminded to do. Again, I blame it on the malcreado. I noticed the same problem at the Christmas party, some kids didnt say thank you for their gifts, the soda, or the food. And you know what? Neither did most of the parents. I swear I saw one lady come up with a kid to get a bag of candy, and then come back later with a different kid to ask for more. I recognized her, but not the kid, so I told her that I had already given her candy. She said she had two kids, I responded that we didnt have enough for everyone. What I really thought was that we are giving baggies of candy (chewy and hard candy) and even if they both really were her kids, they were both under the age of 3, and really didnt need a baggie of candy each. And that she was a bit malcreada herself for asking.

Ah, this life that I live. Sometimes I just get so frustrated. Sometimes it feels like looking at a huge snowy mountain waiting to be climbed, and all I am wearing is a swimming suit and flipflops. Sometimes I just dont know what to do.

Wow, sorry if that post brought you down a bit, I just read through it myself again. I promise that my Christmas wasnt bad. Thats part 2 to this post: Christmas in Súa with some volunteer friends. I just hope I get the time to get around to writing it...but not today. Hasta Luego, folks.

Theresa

With a title like that, this post could easily be about my roommates. Roommates? But you thought I lived alone now? Oh, I do. Alone with a shit-ton of ants. I dont know what keeps them coming back, but a fellow volunteer believes that the ants in the bathroom are attracted to some kind of mold that forms on the bottom of sinks. Dont judge, I am sure you have it on your sink, too! My solution (in case you also have ants and are too cheap to buy ant-killer, too embarrased to tell your landlord that you are afraid of a bunch of ants, and sick of your home smelling like nail-polish remover from spraying ants dead all the time) is tape. Heavy duty Scotch tape. I used it to seal up the space between where my faucet connects to the wall, because (after much time spent studying their routes and behaviors) I determined that that is where the ants are coming from. This was only after I flooded a million of them out of the sink and then doused them with nail polish remover. But the solution worked. The ants always come in the morning, so the first morning I ran downstairs like there were presents waiting for me under a Chirstmas tree and went to see if there were any ants. And there were! There were tons of ants crawling all around the inside of my Scotch tape trap, wondering in their ant-like-way why they could not get out. Haha! I am bigger and stronger and will always win! They havent come back in three days now...

Anyhow, I could write a whole post about the ants that I kill on a daily basis (not ALL the ants come from that opening, so there are still many an ant in my home. Especially if I leave food in the sink over night...) but I wont. Mostly just for your own benefit, because I am sure that reading about ants in my home is not what you want to learn about my wild, exotic, Peace Corps adventures.

Instead, I write to you today about the Jovenes de Afromix. That is the group of kids that I work with out in Isla Trinitaria. Last week a volunteer friend of mine said she would like to come out and meet said jovenes, to try and figure out what it is that keeps them coming back every week. I told her I have know idea what it is, but I hope it keeps happening.

Now, I will not idealize the situation for you, its not all rainbows and butterflies and well formed groups. The Afromix kids are like most teenagers: inconsistant. There is a steady group of about 7 or 8 kids that are there every week, without fail. Then there is a trickle-in group of about 5 or 6 more that sometimes are there and sometimes are not. Then there is a large group of kids that I barely ever see. But either way, its more than I can ask for. I got lucky with my site placement, in that there were decently formed groups already here when I arrived, and Afromix was one such group. In the 3ish months that I have been here, we "formed" Afromix by joining two neighboring groups together. On Tuesdays we generally do charlas and on Thursdays we do hiphop dance class. Like I said, the number of kids varies a lot, and I have become pretty worried in the last few weeks because the majority of guys in the group have stopped coming. I think they get embarrased to be dancing and dont want to do that, and since they stopped coming for a few weeks maybe they just dont feel like coming back...? I am not really sure. But I have chosen not to blame myself for that one and just be happy with what I have got, which is a super great group of young ladies and a few young men when we are lucky.

Last week Thursday and this week Tuesday got cancelled due to lack of keys to enter the building where we meet. I was disappointed, but it was a good thing at the same time. The kids still came out both days (because no one knew we didnt have keys until we got there) and were super disappointed to not have a meeting. I know I shouldnt be happy about disappointed kids, but I gotta admit I was happy when one girl was like, "But I wanted to dance!" and when another said, "Thursday lets do a charla and not dance, because I like the charlas better!" And this week when we finally met, one said that we should go until 8:30 instead of 8, because "We didnt meet on Tuesday, and thats not fair!" We participated in a really great dance program at the end of last month, and all of my kids were super pumped about it. I dont think they get to get out of the barrio much except to go to school, so going downtown to dance in a show was pretty cool for them.

As much as I love dancing, teaching dance, learning dance (my girls started teaching the Reggaeton dance last night, complete with a "get low" section where you make an "ass smaking motion"), and seeing my kids dance around all happy, what I really love is the charlas. The point of a charla is to get the kids thinking, talking, and learning about new things. Most of what we have focused on thus far is sex and the human body. The thing is that no one really talks to kids here about those kinds of things, so many of them dont know what is going on inside of their own clothing. Enter Theresa, who is not at all embarrased to speak openly about orgasms, the G-spot, wet dreams and semen. Its pretty common here, as it is in the states, for kids to start experimenting with sex at a pretty early age. All of my jovenes are over the age of 16, and I am pretty sure that most of them have already lost their virginity. I find it really concerning when kids (or adults) are having sex without really taking the time to understand their own bodies. So for that reason, I like so speak openly with the jovenes about these kinds of things, and because I want to help them create a "safe space" where it is okay to speak openly.

The most fun charla that we have done so far was one that I call "Musical Chairs of Truth" where I prepare pieces of paper with words on them. Each paper is put on a chair, and I play music from my Gpod (thats a Generic Ipod, for those of you who are not hip to the lingo) as they go around the chairs. When the music stops, they have to write down the first thing that comes to their mind when they see the word on the paper. When everyone has gone to each chair, we all sit down and go around the circle reading all the comments and discuss. It was interesting to see what they thought of the different words, and the discussion that followed was always interesting as well. A few observations...

1. Menstration

"Dirty. Ugly. Why does it come every month?"

We talked about why it comes every month, and the prometora from the area (who I believe is in her 50s) told them that for her it is nothing but a memory, so we talked about how your period stops when you get older. Then I tried (relatively unsuccessfully) to tell them that your period is wonderful thing, and should serve as a reminder that the female body can make life. They were like, "Yaaaa, Tere. ¡Es feo!" (Whatever, Theresa. Its gross!).

2. Orgasm

There was a woman in the group who has two children (she's married and older than the rest of them). She did not know what an orgasm was. She thought that I had written it wrong and meant to write "organ" or something. Most of my jovenes were unsure about what it was, too. My counterpart and I did our best to explain. We said that it is a sensation that you feel inside of your own body when you are sexually pleased. The response was raised eyebrows, some girls said they think they have had one. We told them that if they are not sure, they probably were not having an orgasm.

3. Tampons

It is widely believed in Ecuador that tampons cause you to loose your virginity. Most of my girls already knew that I use tampons, because they have found them in my backpack. I have already talked to some of them about how to use a tampon--where you insert it, what happens when its inside of you, no-it wont get lost inside of you, no-it doesnt make you not a virgin (which reminds me that I should give a charla about "virginity" and if its a physical or a mental concept...), and let them take one home to put in water to see what it looks like when it expands. When we did the musical chairs, some of the girls that I have already talked to about tampons nodded their heads as I was explaining it to the group, but one girl was adamant that she would not use them because she is a virgin.

4. Oral Sex

"Es feo, okey."

I was totally shocked that they thought oral sex was gross. I remember being their age and being super curious about oral sex, it was openly discussed among my group of friends, and we would trade horror stories about our experiences. We might have thought it was weird, but I dont think we thought it was gross. And (at least it seemed) it was something that most people my age were doing. Here, that is not the case. All of my jovenes seemed to agree that it was gross and that they would never want to give or receive oral sex. Luckily, this one came after we had already talked about virginity and how they all thought it is a good thing to be a virgin when you get married (whether or not they are all still virgins we did not discuss). So I asked them if vaginal sex is out of the question so as to save your virginity, why was oral sex considered "gross" and not an alternative? The response was raised eyebrows (which is really all I am looking for sometimes, I guess).

5. Pregnancy

Gracias a Dios, most of the girls said that its something they are not ready for. Lets hope that translates into using condoms...(wishful thinking, I know. But at least we talked about it).

So what keeps them coming back? I hope they come back because they have this space and this time to talk about these things that they think about but are not supposed to talk about. I hope they come back because they know that I will be there, and that I will not ditch out on them. I hope they come back because they feel like they are actually learning something. I just hope they keep coming back.

So there you have it, thats what I do on Tuesday and Thursday nights. I hang out with a rad group of teenagers, dance around to reggaeton and hiphop music, and talk about sex.

Until next time...

Sweet (wet) dreams,

Theresa

You know what happens when I come to the office too much? Well, besides being constantly accused of having anemia and anorexia (as if anorexia is something that you just catch, like the flu), what happens is that I write on my blog more often. You know why? Well, because the internet is free and there ain't a whole lot going on in the office. At least not that I have anything to do with...

Which leads me to the point of this blog. This blog can be filed under the "complaining about the life we have choosen for ourselves" catagory of bitching. My least favorite kind of bitching, but hey--indulge me. And if not? Well, you have been warned...

So not last week but the week before we (as in the community promoters of my counterpart organization and myself) were wrapping up the HIV test campaign. It was a really huge deal, and I was really proud of the work that they had done. They set the goal waaaay back when to do 500 HIV tests in each of the 6 barrios that they work in. Each week of November they were out in the subcentros (sub centers? I dont really know, but it means like community clinic) to do the tests. The weekend before they would go door-to-door in the barrio that was having the tests the next week to get the word out and encourage people to come in and take the test. In the end, they met their goal, and then some, which is totally freaking awesome if you ask me.

Really, I don't know why I am using the pronoun "they," because I was there and I helped. My job was to take the datos, or the basic info about the person who was going to take the test: name, cedula number (like social security number), birthday, address, phone number. You would think that this would be an easy enough task that even a well trained monkey could do. And really, it would be, if that monkey was native to the language and land in which these datos were being given. Think if you had to write down the names of hundreds of Americans in your city... Most likely several names would be familiar to your ears, you would know how to spell the variations of the name, many names would be repeated, especially common last names to your city. You would also be familiar with the streets in your city, and the way in which addresses are written and understood. You would also know that if someone gave you a social security number with 8 digits instead of 9 that they had made some kind of mistake. Now, do that in Ecuador. Add in noise the prometores and nurses and people waiting for their tests and the fact that you already dont hear all that well. Add in the fact that its not uncommon in the barrio to know how to say your name, but not how to spell it. Nor is uncommon to have no clue what your birthday is or how old you are. Nor is it common to deal with gringas who don't really speak your language and don't always understand what you are saying, but when you do it is perfectly acceptable to be totally rude and condescending about how she does not know how to spell your name (even if you dont either...). So, my seemingly simple task quickly became relatively difficult, but I still got my butt out to the barrio almost everyday around 7 or 8am to do it. By the end of each week it got a little easier, as I would learn the streets in that area and the common last names, but then we would change to a new barrio with new streets and new names. Asi es la vida, no?

Like I said, I made it out to the barrio almost everyday for the tests. If I didnt make it out, it was because I was also moving apartments at that same time, and occasionally needed to run out to my new place to do totally unimportant things like sign my lease and pay my rent. Or because I was hosting the majority of the volunteers from my cluster for the "Fall Flu Shot Tour" at my house. Or maybe I needed to do something really selfish, like go to the grocery store (which needs to be done in the morning to avoid having to walk home at night). During the weeks of the test I also continued my regularly scheduled programming of working with the Mujeres, including the planning for and the visit from the Deputy Assistant Secratary guy that I already told you about; and working with the Jovenes de Afromix, including participation in a really great dance program that the Canadian volunteer who was with my organization had put together (we danced to "Errtime" by Nelly. Sounds corney, but it was basically the coolest thing EVER!). So, you would imagine my surprize when my main counterpart person told me that some people in the office had confronted her to ask her why Tere (thats what everyone calls me here, short for Teresa, duh) isn't doing anything. I believe the exact words that I was told were: "Why is Tere here? I thought she came to help us with the HIV/AIDS project, but she isn't doing anything but hanging out with the Mujeres de Lucha."

I'm sorry, what? This is what doing nothing looks like to you people? So I guess thats why I use the pronoun "they" whenever I refer to any work that I do with the promotores. Because they tend to make me feel like, no matter what I do, I am not a part of them. Of course my counterpart broke this news to me as we were walking to the bus to go to a meeting with the Jovenes. Good thing she was on the bus with me, because I became so preoccupied with self-analysis during that busride that I would have forgetten to get off if she had not called out my name. So anyone who knows me, especially my old boss and any of my old coworkers, knows that I am basically a workaholic. I basically will kill myself in effort to get the job done and to get it done well. I am my own worst critic, and if something isn't going well with something that I am working on, my first instinct is to blame my approach at the situation and try to find a better way to do it. I could easily blame this on UWGB Social Work program Competency number 4: Evaluation (reassess the plan and change as needed when the goals are not being met), or on Wisconsin State Statutes Chapter 48: parent has 15 months to meet court conditions, what reasonable efforts are being made by the Department to assist the parent in meeting the conditions? I could easily blame it on that kind of training that I have had to be a good social worker and find a way to approach the problem from a new direction. But I won't, because its really just me. Because any good social worker would tell you that you should never work harder than they are. That tends to be my problem, and without my boss and my coworkers around, I guess I forgot about that.

So anyhow, before I was reminded of the golden rule of never working harder than they are (luckily I called a friend, she set me straight. Shes reading this right now, because she is a blogstalker through and through...) I did what I always do:

Step 1. Overanalyze. As already described above.

Step 2. Cry your eyes out. Unfortunately, that step occured when I was sitting on the couch at one of my joven's houses. And I am talking full out, Theresa is really upset, heaping, shoulder shaking, voice jumping, sobbing. It was not pretty, folks. And my kids were like, "How could anyone say that you arent doing anything? You are here with us!" My counterpart was there, too, saying the same thing. She was like, "Tere, I could never think what they think. I work with you, I know what you are doing, they don't. Plus, this is just the way it is in Ecuador, everyone talks bad behind everyone else's back." I told her that I gave that up in high school. Not entirely true, but I mean really? You dont diss a person's work, thats as low as you can go for me. I also told her to try and put herself in my shoes. I left my friends, my family, my job, my LIFE; I left that all behind to come here and work. I am never comfortable here, because I am ALWAYS the extranjera (foreigner), I am always the outsider. This is the life that I have choosen, nobody said it was gonna be easy, but I would appreciate it if folks would have some freaking empathy, you know. Yeah, she didnt really understand, because no one can really put themselves in someone else's shoes. Aint that just the beauty of life.

Step 3: Continue overanalyzing, formalize approach. I wrote the prometores a letter (my counterpart joked that she hoped it wasnt my resignation letter, because then it would be her turn to cry). In this letter I kindly reminded them that I am here to help, and that since the HIV/AIDS project is coming to an end, I wanted to remind them of the plethora of charla themes that I can offer to them and their community. I then listed out some 30 different charla topics, and gave options of about 10 times during the week when I am available to give charlas to them; which they can then give in their community (with my help if they want it, because again, I am here to help them). I presented this letter at the next prometores meeting.

I will give you three guesses at what happened next. You guessed it! A whole lotta nothing, and more crying! Great! Just what I wanted! Yeah, I explained the letter and the response was blank stares. So then I asked my counterpart to explain, perhaps they didnt understand me. So she explains the letter again, and blatantly points out that the reason for the letter was because there were complaints that I was doing nothing to help, despite the fact that I have asked each of the prometores on several occasions what I can do to get involved in their barrio. Each of these times I have been told to come to a meeting, to do this or do that. Each time when I try to follow up with these requests, my text messages go unanswered, my phone calls are not answered, and in person I am given the almighty "ya mismo." Then one of the prometores, who is actually the prometora for the barrio where I work with the jovenes, said that she has no problem with the work that I am doing. The prometora for the barrio where the Mujeres are said the same. The one who I helped in planning the get-the-word-out for the HIV tests said the same thing. The one who neglected to respond to my text message on the morning that we had planned to meet with some kids in her barrio echoed these sentiments. This leaves the folks who were talking shit. None of them seemed to want to say anything when confronted directly with the shit they were slanging behind my back. So my counterpart called them out directly. They cowarded, of course. Backpeddled about what was said, made excuses, took the blame, blah blah blah. At one point one of the girls complained that until recently I wasnt attending to prometores meetings, and that I wasnt there to help plan for the HIV tests. I pointed out (between my sobs and sniffles) that the reason for this is because I was in the sewing room, reviewing the bags that were sewn that day, fixing broken machines, keeping track of how many bags were sewn and making sure that all the girls got paid on time. She continued on that the least I could have done was leave the room for the meetings when they were planning the get-out-the-word, that my ideas would have been appreciated. I replied that if thats what she wanted, all she would have needed to do was ask. And that besides that, only one prometora had asked for my help, and I did help her (I did not point out that it was my and this prometora's idea to do the door-to-door campaign and hand out flyers, which is what ended up being done in all of the barrios, which is what they credited the large test numbers to).

Eventually, the main prometora (who was one of the ones talking the shit) gave a long speech (she does that often) about how it was really no fault of my own, that they were to blame for not being more specific with what they wanted. But that she believes that the reason the organization requested a volunteer was to help with the goals of the organization. Not to go out and work the the Mujeres de Lucha all the time, since they are a separate group with their own agenda and goals. Seriously! This AGAIN?? I told them that actually, the application stated that I was to work with groups of jovenes and mujeres in the barrios, and that is exactly what I am doing. The application asked for support with the HIV/AIDS project, and thats what I am doing (despite the fact that I find it boring, but I didnt tell them that part). I explained AGAIN that no one ever told me about this whatever-rift between the larger organization and the Mujeres until after I was already working with them, and that if they want to think of it as something that I do in my freetime, thats just fine, cuz I have no intention of stopping my work with them. I said that it doesnt really matter who is to blame, because placing blame never solved anything. I wanted to tell them that placing blame is like making Rice Crispy Bars--its far too sticky and is bound to get on the spoon and the bowl. And that work I do tends to go overlooked because I dont tend to take credit for things, because credit is really just blame's pretty step-sister, and is just as sticky. I didnt tell them those things because I dont know how to say sticky or step-sister or Rice Crispy Bars in Spanish, but I think the point got across even without my analogies on life.

So anyhow, the meeting ended with as many plans for how to utilize Theresa as it started with. Zero. Pfft! I was told that rather than them filling out the survey I had made about what they want, I should attend the Plan for 2008 Meeting (which, by the way, was scheduled right there on the spot, and has already been cancelled). I wondered whats the difference between having a meeting to talk about what you want (a meeting that I knew was going to end up not happening) and filling out a form about it. But I figured, whatever. Dont work harder than they are. My counterpart and the other prometora from her barrio were like, "Whatever. If they dont want you help, thats just more time you have for us." They filled out the sheet and told me they are ready to start when I am. I then went with them to a vigil for World AIDS Day and met the president of the local LGBTQ organization there. I got his name and contact info so that I can hopefully start working with that group at some time, too. He hasn't grabbed my fro and told me that I am fabulous yet, but I am sure he will eventually.

So yeah, in case you ever wonder what I am up to, this is what I am up to. I am working. I am attempting to make little silent waves of change by way of charlas and dance with my jovenes, and helping out with the Mujeres. EcuaTranslation: I am doing a whole bunch of nothing.

I should get going now, because I have lots of nothing to do for my organization that I dont help.

Paz,

Tere

Ps, I didnt mean it Ecuador! I love you!

PPs, spell check still not working. Un mil disculpas....

I moved! Yeah! I am now the proud renter of a wonderfully lovely little casita in Guayaquil. When you come and visit me (cough, hint, hint) you will absolutely love it! And then you will laugh at me for moving into the Ecuadorian version of my apartment in De Pere...

My new place is totally great. Its a casa interior, which means that it is located behind the main house on the property. In my case, its actually behind a house and 2 apartments; mine is the only one thats not connected to the other ones. On the outside it looks like a cute little dollhouse cabin. I described it to one of my friends here as being very handmade, which means that I kill lots of bugs. Ps, if you are looking for an effective and cheap insect killer, might I recommend mixing water, nailpolish remover and concentrated disinfectant household cleaner. It stops ants dead in their tracks, literally. But besides the ants (and the bees, and the flies, and the mosquitoes, and dont forget the lizards in the laundry room) my new place is great. I am, for my first time in Ecuador, living without a hot shower. You would think that a cold shower would take the joy out of showering, at least thats what I always thought. That is until the hot season came...My new place has a metal roof, which means that it heats up really quickly. That would be hugely useful if I lived in the mountains, but unfortunately I like in Guayaquil, the sweaty armpit of Ecuador. Its crazy hot, so the cold showers are kinda nice (once I get over the initial shock, I'm talking ice water, people).

My landlord is an Ingeniero (literally means enginer, but in Ecuador is used for all kinds of people with a college degree. In his case, I do believe he was an enginer in the English sense of the word) and he seems to enjoy the house repairs. However, he is a bit old (and going deaf and senile with Alzheimers, his words, not mine) so he doesnt really do the repairs himself anymore. Rather, there is a steady stream of señores who work on the different properties that he owns. Per Peace Corps rules (and my paranoia) a gate had to be installed on the sliding glass doors in the front of the house. I, foolishly, assumed that a gate would be purchased and installed. Nope! They made it by hand. Then they also made me a table for my stovetop, fixed some doors, installed several curtain rods, and a rod to give me more closet space. I paid them back in coffee, watered down juice and crackers. It was all I had to give, and they took it with a smile!

You might wonder whats inside of my house? Since anyone who knows me (or has half a brain) would know that I could not bring things like a fridge and a couch to Ecuador. Well, PC gives us a separate spending allowance to furnish our home. The amount that they give us is certainly not enough for everything that needs to be bought, if you take into account things like plates, cups, a broom, drapes (so that the señores dont see me when i am nakey...) and all the other misc. things that home requires. Enter lots of drama with my bank account. RARR! Yeah, as predicted I was given the "budget" line for why my money situation got all messed up. And I have broken down and spent money from my US account for the first time since that wild swearing-in week in gringo-lovin Quito (not counting buying new pants, but that was totally necessary because my old jeans fall off me without undoing the zipper). But I (obsessively) keep track of how much money I am spending, bien raro for me, since I am used to being frivoulous and out of control with my money. So hopefully I will get back on track with that at some point. And if not, well, what-are-ya-gonna-do? The whole point of living only within my PC means is to experience living at a level more like the people that I serve. But really, thats a crock, because the people that I serve could never afford to live in the neighborhood that I live in, and I could never live in their neighborhood because its too "dangerous." So really I am living at the level of a modest-means Ecuadorian, and the lesson that I have learned is that this is why no one owns forks AND spoons and many people (myself included) do not own a couch. Hopefully by the time I have company in my casita I will scrap together the money to buy a table, something to sit on thats not the floor or the stairs, and more than one fork. And if not, well, I guess we will eat pizza on my yoga mat. Probably not even that, though, because pizza is expensive and I dont own an oven to make it in either....

Buying the things to furnish my home was an adventure in and of itself. First of all, we got an email at the end of November that because of increased crime rates in December with the holiday season, PCVs were forbidden to be in Quito (the capital) and Guayaquil (yeah, thats where I live) because the cities are too dangerous. So, does that mean I get to move?!?!? Nope, it just means that my friends cant come visit me. On of my friends asked for clarification because she has to come to the city for work, and because she has to come here to buy stuff for her new house as well. She was told that she should try to limit the amount of time in the city, and that she should try to do her shopping in one day, to minimize risk. Really, folks, that makes no sense. Doing all the shopping in one day (which is what I did, beacause its cheaper) only makes you a humongous target if you ask me. What would you think about some chick hopping in and out of a pickup truck digging money out of her bra to pay for large items like a fridge, a bed, a stove, etc? Its not like the "bad-guys" dont know that this stuff costs a lot of money. So its not like the whole world didnt know I was carrying a whole lot of loot in my boobies.

But I was able to buy everything that I needed, which is good. The thing about Ecuador (or at least Guayaquil) is that if you go to a normal store, you are going to pay more. And second hand things basically dont exist. So you have to go to a store where they will barter the price. But if you go there with a grina-voice, you get the special-gringa-price. So one of the Mujeres de Lucha offered to go with me. It was really fun! It was almost like a game: the sellers gives a bogus price, she says "What do you think, Niña Tere?", I scrunch my face and say, "Ummm...I dont have that much...", she goes off into a schpeel about how I am a student/social worker/youth organizer who doesnt have a lot of money but deserves a good price because I am here to make life better for the Ecuadorian people. Basically the sellers dont care who I am or why I am here, but they go along with it anyhow. At one point we were standing in the street trying to decided where to go next and a security guard asked if we needed help. She said yes, gave him the schpeel, he led us to someone else and told that person to help us. When he left, the new guy asks if we know the security guard? She resonds, "Yes, he's my godfather." Without even a waver in her voice! Just flat out pulled it outta her butt like it was nothing! I just stared at the groud, I am a horrible liar!

Anyhow, we found all the stuff I needed to buy, and then came back 2 days later with the pickup truck to buy all the stuff. We moved it all into my new place (which she confirmed is "Bien bonita"), I put a brand new lock on the brand new gate, and ate my first dinner of silent house freedom! Its great to be living on my own again! Basically all the Mujeres and folks from the office want to come over. They ignore my protests that I have three chairs, no table and one fork. They say a house without a party is not yet a house. So I guess the party will be at my house this weekend....

Party on! (Just kidding, I still speng most of my time reading and laying in bed listening to cds...)

Theresa

(ps, spell check isnt working, sorry for the errors....bad liar, even badder speller...is badder even a word? the spell check would know...)

That blog title was just for my sisters, love you girls. Miss you tons. If anyone else recognizes it, that makes you the coolest person ever because I LOVE Molly's Pilgrim.

Yeah, so on to the post. Rarr, I hate being so busy that I neglect my blog. What a bad mother I am (to blogs and to birds...may they rest in peace).

So Thanksgiving in the Land of Ecua! Here's how it went down...

Thanksgiving does not exist in Ecuador. I would say that most people I spoke with did not know what it was, but for those who do it is called Dia de Accion de Gracias. They asked me what Thanksgiving is: is it a religious holiday? they wanted to know. Ummm...yeah, I didnt really like answering that question. Because really, there is no easy, elementary level Spanish (because of my abilities to speak, not theirs to understand) explanation for Thanksgiving. Basically what I told them that the story goes that the pilgrims went to the land that is now called the States, made friends with some "Indians" and they all sat down at a pretty little table and ate turkey. Then I explain that in reality, the pilgrims are what Latin America refers to as conquistadores, and that they stole the land from the native people, and that I am not sure if there ever really was a pretty table with turkey. But either way, turkey is my favorite meat i.e. Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. On a side note, in training we had a really interesting session about the difference between the US view of "settlers" and "pilgrims" vs. the Latin American view of "conquistadores." Think about it: basically they were doing the same thing, right? Folks from Europe travelling around trying to see what was on the other side of the world. US America sees them as "settlers" who are the basis of the "equality" that we pride ourselves on. Latin America sees them as conquestors who are the basis for the inequality between the haves and the have nots. Same thing, different view point; or different thing altogether? You be the judge. Food for thought...but back to the turkey, cuz thats far more tasty.

So for Thanksgiving I travelled to Zaruma, a city further south in Ecuador in the province of El Oro. Yeah, basically I spent the weekend being jealous that my friend, another volunteer, who lives there while I live here in nasty ass Guayaquil. Zaruma was CRAZY beautiful. Its still on what is considered the coast, but its not crazy gross hot (we are in the "winter" here, which means (more) hot and rainy, fabulous!) and there are mountains! I think its actually considered to be in the transitional zone, which means not quite sierra (mountains) and not quite coastal. Yeah, so anyhow, its beautiful. And there is no crime and no drugs and no HIV/AIDS...haha. Thats a joke with my Omnibus, thats what the counterpart from Zaruma said during the site presentation. We were all like, yeah...so why do you need a volunteer? But the chick who got placed there is doing some cool work, working with a bunch of local schools. But I digress...Zaruma is beautiful. We rode on the top of this big ass truck to go swimming in a freaking waterfall. How cool is that???

Thanksgiving was, well, it was an EcuaThanksgiving. Se fue la luz y el agua. That means that the lights and the water went out. Yeah, on Thanksgiving. But it was fine! The volunteers who planned the get-together were concerned, but everyone else was like, No Worries! The stoves are gas, so the turkey and the fixins cooked just fine. We went to the neighbor's house to use some of their clean water supply that they keep. We lit lots of candles, and the volunteer who carved the turkey did so while wearing his headlamp (yeah, thats a flashlight that you attach to your head. We are a rugged crew).

No lights, no water, no problem. The day went just fine, and the food was great! Some of the volunteers made a gumbo with cuy. It was DELICIOUS! I am sorry guys, but I freaking love the guinea pig. I dont know why we keep them as pets in the States, cuz they are freaking tastey. They give me gas, but so does everything...yeah, I am sure you dont care to know more about that. The only thing that was missing was sweet potato pie with marshmellows! Thats my favorite part! I will have to make it for Christmas and Thanksgiving next year, lots of folks didnt even know what it was. Is it a Wisconsin thing? Or maybe its an African-American thing? I am not sure. Oh! Speaking of Wisconsin things...my accent. Yeah, it hasnt gone away. One of the folks at Thanksgiving who I hadnt met yet asked where I was from and when I said Wisconsin he was like, "Yeah, thats what I thought. Dontcha know Bobby..." Hahaha.

The Thanksgiving gathering was also a cross-program event. Here's the thing: I am going to give it to you straight. This is something that we PCVs in Ecuador dont talk about too openly, unless its just with people from your own program. There are two breeds of PCVs in Ecuador. There are the Odd-Omnibuses, and there are the Even-Omnibuses. Or as some (not I!) refer to it as the Green Groups and Peace Corps Lite. The Odds (Green Groups) come in January/February; they are the Agriculture and Habitat Conservation kids. The Evens (or Peace Corps Lite as some refer to us, although its totally not true!) come in June/July and are the Health and Youth and Families folks. So obviously, by nature of their jobs, there Odd groups tend to get a bit more dirty. You know, they work on farms and stuff. They start chicken farms and gardens (at least thats what I think they do...). The Evens do stuff like I do. Some of us live in big cities, some in more rural areas, but we probably dont get as physically dirty on a daily basis as the Odds (not counting the huge amounts of dirt that is currently residing in my lungs as a direct result of all of the city buses in this city).

You know what else we dont do in the city? We dont eat worms. Yeah, worms. One of the girls at Thanksgiving brought worms, which she cooked by boiling them with the heart of a Palm tree. I was like, "What the hell is that?" And she was like, "Worms, of course. What, you dont eat them at your site?" I was like, "Um, no. We dont eat worms in Guayaquil." You know why? Because we have Burger King, thats why. Would you eat worms when you could eat a burger? I dont think so, so hop on down from that high horse, girly. Then, when we were walking back to the hostel, some Odds were leading the way. I swear to you they took us through the muddiest freaking path that we could have possibly taken. And I really think it was just to laugh of us, and I'm not gonna lie, it probably was a funny sight to see. My Old Navy flip flops broke! I was so mad! I freaken loved those flips! And my EcuaPedicure? Yeah, it was ruined. They probably all though, "Pfft, freaking city-girl PC Lite and her stupid pedicure." But you know what? If you could get pretty flowers painted on your toenails for $1.50, you would, too. Dont judge.

So anyhow, Thanksgiving went well. It wasnt half as nice as it would have been if I was at home with my family, but it was as good as it can be when I am miles aways from home. I was worried that the holidays would be really hard on me here. My solution to that is to travel during the holidays and try to ignore the fact that it is a holiday. The upside is that its hot (thats the ONLY positive aspect of this weather) so its easier to forget what time of year it is. When I am pitting through my shirt after 5 seconds of walking outside, December is nothing more than a word or number that I write down. Its easy to forget (at least thats the mantra that I am going to keep repeating until I believe it....).

Miss you all tons.

Hasta luego,

Theresa

So its been almost a month since my last post, how bogus is that? I am sorry, not just to you, but to my sanity, which struggles just as much as you do when I don’t blog. So what has been keeping me so busy? Well, my work, in general; that and the fact that I make a daily effort not to go to the office, and thats where the free internet is. Lets see…what have I been up to lately?

There have been a few small, but cumulatively totally major in my book things going on this month, most of them based around my work with the Mujeres de Lucha. I freaking love them, have I mentioned that? In the last post I mentioned that they want me to come and hang out more, so I have been making the effort to do that. The thing is that sometimes it goes really well, and sometimes I feel like, What am I doing here? They are always working, so if I don’t have something in particular to be doing, I feel like I am keeping them from their work if I stay for more than just a minute. And when I have to take two buses to get out there, I am going to stay for more than just a minute, you know. Not trying to waste my 50 cents (well, really a dollar to go there and back, and I can practically eat lunch for a dollar, so that’s a lot of moola). So my solution to that problem is to work with them. Wow, I am a genius, aren’t I?

While in Cuenca for Halloween, my boss called me. I was scared out of my mind, because she knew I was out in Cuenca having a good time and hanging out with friends, so I figured she must be calling with bad news. Its not like they ever call just to talk, and why would she call me about work when she knows that I am not at work? Someone must have died. That was my immediate thought. My heart sank to the floor and my stomach hurt. Why did I let so many weeks go by without talking to my mom and sisters and brother? But no, she was calling about work, its just that it was urgent. As it turned out, the US Deputy Assistant Secretary in the Department of State’s Bureau of Western Hemisphere Affairs, Chris McMullen, was coming to visit. Um, come again? And remind me what that has to do with lil ol me Peace Corps Ecuador volunteer? Well, I was told that he had heard about my organization and wanted to come out and see work that we were doing. Okay, that’s cool. I am perfectly comfortable showing off my organization and the work we do, I am not so comfortable being the focus of the discussion.

Currently the youth program is working on the huge final phase of the HIV/AIDS campaign, and trying to reach the goal of 500 free HIV/AIDS tests in each of the 5 barrios in the next 3 weeks. I figured we could take Señor McMullen out to the barrio to see the tests. I am told to talk to my counterpart and confirm on Monday afternoon. Monday AM I get a call that there will not be enough time to go out to the barrio to see the tests. There will only be an hour, and the barrio where the tests are is WAAAAY south, as far south as you can get in Guayaquil. It would take at least 30 minutes to get out there, so transportation alone would eat up all the time. So I am asked to switch plans to something in the office which is downtown. Not really what I want to do because I think it you want to see work, you should not go to the office, because the real work (in MY opinion) is done in the barrio. But whatever, no one really asked for my opinion, I guess…

So I explain things to my counterpart, explain the original plan, then the change to the office. I ask is she thinks we can do this? Oh, sure, she says. No problem. She has me write up an Oficio (which is an official invitation document) and post it on the bulltain board to invite folks to come. I do that, and I also speak with the Org president and the leader of the Youth program and they say they will be there. Great, this should go just fine, I think in my naïve thoughts. In the next few days, I start communicating directly with the US Consulate Office in Guayaquil to plan and replan for the visit (there is a very nice guy who works there who is in charge of planning the visit). By Thursday, the plan has been changed to go to the barrio again. It turns out that Señor McMullen agrees that real work is seen in the barrio. Still have the problem of time, so I suggest that we go see the Mujeres de Lucha. Like I said, they are always working (they have a community lunch program, community store, community beauty shop, community bakery and are working on a community garden, see my updated site description below for more info) and their barrio is not as far away and would be a heck of a lot faster to get to. So I communicate that with my counterpart, the head of the Youth program, and the prometores from that barrio. Everyone seems to be on board, although I’m not gonna lie, I got the feeling that they weren’t really listening to me. That’s the thing, remember how I said that I am trying to not be in the office? That’s pretty much why. Pretty much I am getting tired of the noise level of people mulling around and (I hate to be rude, because they really do good work when they set their minds to it) not doing a whole lot of anything. Besides that, they don’t seem to pick up on what I am putting down as I kindly remind folks that my name is Theresa, not flaca, chica, gorda, niña, or whatever other adjective they choose for the day. And, generally speaking, I appreciate mutual respect: I listen to you, you listen to me. That’s the kind of environment that I seek out, and its not always the environment in the office. So yeah, this pedestal is high and I am afraid of heights so let me come on back down now.

Anyways, so Señor McMullen wants to go to the barrio. It just so happens that the barrio where I feel most connected, most at home, and most part of the community is out in the barrio with the Mujeres. What’s more, they are doing a crapload of work out there, and somebody oughtta see it and appreciate it, you know? So that’s where I offer to go, on Wednesday, it appears that everyone is on board. I confirm it with the Mujeres, they are all about it. Really, they are all about everything, they are just that kind of group. I figure I should bring it up again at the meeting in the office on Friday, just to be safe. I have my counterpart bring it up at the meeting, because to put is simply, people will listen to her more than they will me. Well, good thing I did. Because suddenly no one is okay with it. Suddenly the Mujeres are not really part of the larger Organization, but a community group that does their own thing with or without the larger group. What the what? Since when? Because since the day I came for my site visit, I was told that the Organization works in several various barrios with the groups of women and youth in those barrios. In fact, I specifically remember being taken to meet the Mujeres on my site visit. And how do you think it became that I am working with them. Its not like I just go wandering around dangerous barrios looking for friendly looking folks. I was brought to them! What the f is going on here? So follow that confusion with an impromptu meeting where basically all the plans I have made with the freaking US Consulate’s Office are smashed and cancelled…the Organization decides that the visit will not happen unless he comes to the office. Well, too bad you don’t just tell the US Deputy Assistant Secretary in the Department of State’s Bureau of Western Hemisphere Affairs what to do, he’s a pretty important guy. Pretty much he makes his own decisions, and pretty much he’s not going to come see the work at all if he has to come to the office. So what now? This is really not the reputation that I am trying to give myself with the Consulate’s office, and besides, I feel like I am making Peace Corps Volunteers look bad, you know?

So I go to the bathroom and cry, and then curse the fact that ONCE AGAIN, there is no freaking toilet paper so I have to wipe my tears on my shirt sleeve, so there goes my guise of privately crying. After I finish crying, I call the Consulate guy back again, he explains that he doesn’t care what my organization has to say. If they don’t consider the Mujeres part of them, then what’s to stop us from going out there? Dude wants to see the barrio, and dude wants to see the work of a Peace Corps Volunteer in an Ecuadorian community: so lets go see it (enter me being not so comfortable, but whatever, lets not make this The Theresa Show). The Mujeres were all pumped about the idea, and surely they still will be. Phew! Okay, lets do this! I privately explain to my counterpart that the visit is going to go through anyways, and would you believe that she said that I still had to talk to the president?? Furthermore, would you believe that he then says to me that I cannot go out there without them because is THEIR barrio. Excuse me? I thought they weren’t part of you. I calmly explain in increasingly broken Spanish (cannot think when I am angry) that I will go out there and I will not mention to the Organization at all, and its not reasonable to say that I cannot do so. RARRRR! In the next few days, I go out and explain everything to the Mujeres who then explain that they would rather have it this way. They, too, think of themselves as their own separate group. In their opinion, the larger Organization has done a whole lot of talking with them with not a whole lot of action (until I came along, but we wont get into that, because I have already put myself on enough pedestals in this post…).

So, to make a long story a little less long, the day finally comes around where Señor McMullen is here. The plane is of course an hour late. So really, there is no time to go out and see the Mujeres because the schedule is super tight and the next meeting is with the mayor (VERY important guy in Ecuador). But, the Vice Consulate says that too much work and effort has gone into this visit to cancel it. We go out to the barrio, we have a totally wonderful welcome from the Mujeres, we take a super quick tour around their various work sites, and the president of the Mujeres explains the totally great work they do. And just like that, it was all over. The drama that had consumed my life for two whole weeks was done in a flash. I felt crappy. I was like, Oh no, the Mujeres are going to be mad because everything started late so we didn’t get to do it the way we had practiced and planned and we didn’t have time to go out to the beauty shop! Oh, but no, of course my worries were unwarranted. They were totally pleased with the visit, totally stoked that these very important American Government men in suits wanted to come out and see what they do everyday. I mentioned again how glad and proud I was with them, and that no promises can be made, but networking is always a good thing to do (hint, hint, larger Organization…).

And guess what? The US Consulate’s Office is now talking with me about planning a Christmas Food Drive for the Mujeres. The Vice Consulate told me that they are pretty much his favorite group of women in Ecuador. Mine, too! The lunch program is majorly stuggling because about 1/3 of the kids dont pay for their lunch each week (despite the fact that its just a $1.50, the cost of ONE lunch at a normal resturant) because their parents dont have the money. And rather than let the kids go hungry, the Mujeres feed them anyways. But that means that they end up short on money to buy the food, so they skimp on the recipies and bring items from their own kitchens when needed. A Food Drive will MAJORLY help them out.

On Monday, I get to tell the Mujeres about the Food Drive (ps, how do you say Food Drive in Spanish???) and I cannot wait to see their smiles. I may not love the US Government, but I gotta say I am pretty damned pleased with (this tiny facet) of it right now. I may have had to totally let the Mujeres down because I told them I would take them to a Community Bank workshop in November, but then I couldn’t because of “budget cuts.” And my Peace Corps boss got fired because of “budget cuts.” And I had to pay ½ of a month’s rent and 1 month security deposit for my new place and probably won’t get reimbursed until January (which equals I am broke as a freaking joke) and will probably be given the almighty “budget cuts” line as a reason for it. Speaking of budget cuts, how’s that War on Terror going, Mr. President? Pfft. But anyhow, THIS part of the US Government is pretty freaking rad in my book. And so are the Mujeres.

And so are YOU!

Besos,

Theresa