Not that I'm special or anything, but I had a super top secret trip home. It's partly attributed to the fact that I didn't believe I would get over there. The other part due to my lack of financial independence to come and go as I please. Sigh. So this is why I didn't get a chance to visit many of you. I'll be back for good in the states in August 2009. I hope to see many of you then.

Here are some pictures proving I was in the USA...

Happy Turkey Day

Too Quick Visit to North Carolina...

Happy 1st Birthday, Janae

Christmas 2008

Random Takes...Mostly of Janae

I wanted to videotape this entry, but the lights went out and if I did record you’d only hear my voice and see shadows. Not too good for your eyes. Neither is this text, huh?Happy birthday to me…happy birthday to me…happy birthday, dear me! Happy 25th Birthday to me!! Yes I am 25, a quarter of a century and all that jazz. Today was a good day, though. I got up way too early; 6 am. My eyes just opened on their own. I dozed back off to sleep but was awakened by the sound of my cell phone beeping; birthday texts from Taña (neighbor and sister-in-law) and Ismeria (mother-in-law)! What a lazy gal I was. I stayed in bed for as long as I could (about 8:30 am) until I jumped out of bed from excitement. A phone call from my sister, Tiffany. Now in my one year and two month gig away from home this chick has never called me. Ever! (I’d like to think that it was her who called when Janae, my niece was born, but I know it had to be mommy.) So I felt very special when I heard her voice. After a while, more messages came in and Andrés put it all together. “Happy Birthday, gringa.” Men, especially Ecua men. Why is it so hard to keep track of the days? He made breakfast for me and washed the dishes afterward, just how I like it. He even sang as he cleaned up. Cute.

I knew there was a package waiting for me in the post office. My mother sent it out weeks ago with all kind of goodies, ie. it’s a heavy box. I’d been looking for it for 2 weeks since and supposedly letters and packages arrive in 10 days. Riiiiighht. My birthday was on a Thursday, which meant the likelihood of me retrieving the package was slim to none since customs agents are only in office Mondays, Tuesdays and Fridays. I don’t sweat the little stuff. Now I had to excuses to dress myself to the nines: my birthday and to make flirting easier with the p.o. guy. Hey! Don’t judge. This is Ecuador where a little leg, cleavage, whining or cash can make things happen. Don’t hate. I took my package home. I know the game, kids. While checking my email, Sydney called to send me good wishes. Damn, I miss my gang.When I arrived at my home, Andrés had a delicious lunch ready for me. We ate while watching an American classic, “Coming to America” with Diego. I never laughed so hard or ate so much. After the movie I wanted to take a stroll. Sitting in the house was driving me crazy. I wanted to bake the cake mix my mom sent me. German chocolate cake. When was the last time I had German chocolate cake. Diego and Andrés got angry. “Why won’t you let any one else do things for you. You already have a cake!”

“Oh, how was I supposed to know?”

“It was supposed to be a surprise!”

At least I knew I had a cake that I didn’t have to bake! And you guys already know that no one can surprise me.

Visiting friends was just what I needed. In mid visit mommy called, but couldn’t talk long. I stayed out until dark and then the lights went out. Grrrrrr. Now how am I supposed to have a get together now? In the dark? I blew it off, ate leftovers and headed for the bed. Knock, knock, knock. Are they for real? “Since we can’t play music and dance the least we can do is have dinner and cake, right? Move out of our way this paila is heavy!” By the poor light of my candles over 16 people enjoyed arroz relleno (fried rice with peas, carrots, onions, chicken and sausage) and the cake Ismeria bought for me. We laughed and talked and cried a little when they started talking about their reactions when they met me and how quickly one year will pass and how much we’ll miss each other. When it was time to cut the cake everyone chanted que la muerda, que la muerda (bite it, bite it) and I did…only to have my face smashed in the cake. Dré wanted to cut the cake with me, like it was a wedding cake or something. I had everyone cracking up when I said that. Traditional toasts and chants were made. ¡Que viva la cumpleañera! ¡Que viva! (Long live the birthday girl! May she live long!)Then it got crazy as is to be expected with my bunch of friends. ¡Que vivan los novios! ¡Que viva! (Long live the boyfriend and girlfriend [couple]! May they live long!) This is not a wedding, ya’ll! ¡Que viva el arroz! ¡Que viva! (Long live the rice! May it live long!)I really don’t want my rice to live. ¡Que vivan los colados! ¡Que vivan! (Long live the boyfriend uninvited guests! May they live long!) This was hilarious because there were quite a few. We continued joking around until very late. People slowly started retreating to their homes. My neighbors stayed the longest. I wanted Marcela to sing “Happy Birthday” to me because it was so cute when she did it for her mother, but you know how two year olds can be. She sang a little bit once coerced, but boy did she sing the heck out of Tego Calderon’s “Chucha Tu Madre (F*** Your Mother). I couldn’t believe it. So funny, so sad. As the last guests were leaving the lights came back on. Wouldn’t you know it? I wasn’t bitter though. I had a great time with people who I love and who love me here in Ecuador. Realistically, what could be better? (Having my American friends and family here is not realistic ‘cuz most of you heffas don’t even have passports. Humph!) I couldn't lay down after havin geaten so much. I ended my night cleaning house. I inherited that OCD thing from my mom and it’s a good thing. “No dishes in the sink at night!” “Clean the kitchen before you go to bed.” I thought mommy was crazy when I was little, but I understand now. I went to bed with a clean kitchen and living room which helped me sleep wonderfully knowing that I was not providing a hot spot for insects and rodents. (They have boycotted my home thus far because of my condition.) Another memorable birthday on the record. I thank you all for your text messages, calls, Facebook shout outs, and emails. I love you!

It's a shame August is almost done and I am just now getting images and video up for you. Please forgive.

It went by entirely too fast!

In June I...

had my good Peace Corps buddy, Alicia, and her sister Melissa come to my neack of the woods. Well, actually Robert's. But hey. I didn't mind a 45 minute trip to get there.spent tons of QT with my adopted family. The kids now call me "auntie," usually when they want something, but still it's cute.toyed with the thought of relaxing my hair, but I'm scared. Even though I live in an afro community, there are very limited hair supplies here which could leave me bald (at least aroud the edges) like most women here. I'll keep my braids and Rudy Huxtable 'fro, thank you!enjoyed babysitting Jeily on the weekends. She finally took to the bottle. I imagine that had to be very hard for a breastfed baby. I was very proud of this accomplishment but the results didn't last long. I couldn't take her for two Saturdays and when I got her back she wanted nothing with the bottle. I blame her Aunt Emilia who went looking for someone to wet nurse her. (How dangerous it is to trust someone else to breastfeed a child. That scares me like you couldn't even imagine since this is one way in which HIV is spread. Yet, it's no big deal here.)volunteered with a company (Vista Para Todos) who gave free eye exams and glasses to those in need.attended a kindergarten graduation. Too cute! It just took a long time because there weren't enough cap and gowns for everyone so every child and parent/representative had to put the cap and gown on, accept the diploma, take a picture, take off the cap and gown, then return to their seats. Whew! It was a long one.Robert invited himself and Clevelend over to my place. I'm glad they did. They learned a lot about black Ecuadorian culture.had a blast at the Father's Day Event. Music, games and crazy performances. I was asked to help out at the event, passing out gifts, filling in the space between the acts and anything else possible. saw Aventura's Tour Corazoncito for the second time in Machala with my girl Edith. Worth the overnight bus ride there. That gal knows how to show people a good time.attended my first Quinceañera. Endri (Andrés' cousin) turned fifteen and had the church ceremony and party afterwards. I baked a cake from scratch and topped it with some Betty Crocker frosting I miraculously found here. I've been looking ever since to no avail. They loved it although some said it was too sweet. The frosting here is more like whipped cream so imagine the sugar overload when they got the real thing.ventured off to more undesirable parts of my town to get ideas about trash management projects we could implement here.July was ok, too. I...spent another 4th away from home. No barbeques, no pool, no fireworks. I spent the morning with my kids and the afternoon with volunteers who live in my cluster. It was great to have strawberry cheesecake. Roberto and I even decided to wave the flag around a bit. If there wre two volunteers in our cluster who do not fit the Ecuadorian's description of Americans it'd be us. was too excited to get the box of clothes my mom has been promising to send since forever. Most of the clothes I bought in Mexico are too big for me. Imagine that! And ya know I came home anorexic-lookin.taught English at summer camp. I didn't think it would fair out as well as it did because there were some problems beyond our control with the location and snacks and camp guides, but it was all good. Now I get greeted in English by my kids and a few have even asked for more classes. I'll see what I can do.met a photographer/documentary maker in Juncal. Betty's making a documentary about youngsters who want to be soccer players, what their struggles are and how their environment with influence their futures. Through her I met a colleague, Viviana, who's also helping with this film. She hired Andrés to help her with setting up interviews and shots. He even filmed a portion of the project. I was interviewed as well. When it's good and ready I'll let you know. Until then, visit her website and learn about the great work she's done at http://www.babphotography.net/worked at an event with one of my groups selling food. The purpose of the concert was to bring Ecuadorians and Colombians together to break down barriers and stereotypes. It was really successful. There was no violence and everyone left smiling.

Now I'm dizzy...

My heart is still racing at 12:58 as I scribble this experience in my notebook while waiting to hear how Emilia, one of my sister-in-laws is doing. It races from stress, elation, frustration and rage. In a nutshell, I’m a big ol’ mess.

The adventure began around 10:30am. Someone knocked on my door.

“Great. Who wants to ruin my rest now? I’ll ignore it.”

Knock, knock, BOOM!

“OK, you win. I’m up.” (I know you are probably thinking why am I knocked out cold that late on a Monday morning. I blame Juan Formell y Los Van Van (see blog entry.) Trust me. It’s a miracle I could sleep that late with all of Juncal bugging me as they tend to do. I walk to the door to see who my alarm clock is today. Endri, Cristel and Sara. Great. The whole gang is here.

“Fran, Emilia’s in labor. She’s going to have the baby now. Hurry. She’s been calling for you.”

“Yeah, right.”

“I’m serious. Hurry.”

“I’m not up for jokes today, kids.”

[Why jokes? Last week la loca de Emilia called me while I was working at summer camp in town to tell me she was ready to give birth. I knew the baby was due minute so I always had a backpack with stuff to keep me awake and sane while I wait for the baby to be born in the hospital. Stuff, you ask? My camera, Newsweek magazines, a notebook…you know, stuff. Please believe me when I said I was ready for the big event. Moving on. I got the call, apologized to my students for cutting my English class short, flew out of class and off campus grounds, heading straight to her house, phone in hand, calling to make plans for our next steps. As I’m running down the street I pass Ismeria’s (mother-in-law) house where Sara is outside washing clothes.

“Where’s the pregnant chick?”

“Right over there.” Sara points across the street. I turn my head only to see Andrés (the BF) crying from laughter. A bit behind him I see Daisy and Emilia seated on the stoop of the neighbor’s house. For a moment I don’t process the fact that Daisy is putting extensions in Emilia’s hair and that the pregger is scarfing down something in a small pot.

“Hey gringa! How are you?”

I yell, “let’s go crazy. The hospital is 45 minutes away.”

“Ah, crazy. I’m not in labor. I just had some bad pains that went away. Sit down and spend some time with us.”

“You mean to tell me I left work, running like a mad woman only for a joke?!”

“I wouldn’t say it was a prank. Let’s just say I was timing your response. Still funny though. Come sit, sit.” Everyone but me is cracking up at this point.

“You already left the day camp. What are you going to do? Go back?" I’m furious and my reaction makes the scene even more hilarious for the onlookers.

Andrés grabs me from behind, gives me a kiss on the cheek laughs.

“Gringa, you’re so gullible.”

“I hate you all. And you, grand heffa, cryin’

wolf. When the time comes I may not come. You don’t play with stuff like that, Emilia.” I stomp off to camp, leaving behind the laughing audience.

My co-workers and students give me weird looks when I arrived on campus.

“Wow, Franche. Back from Ibarra so fast?”

“That’s the quickest birth I’ve ever heard of. Under 10 minutes?" I give them my “don’t even start face” and begin to explain the prank. I sit through 10 more minutes of ridicule. I guess I made quite a spectacle of myself storming out the way I did.

Fed up, I gathered my students and went back to teaching numbers.]

“No, Francesca. This time it’s for real.”

“Ok.” I say nonchalantly. “I’m on my way.” I close the doors and proceed with my wake up duties (make the bed, sweep the floors, etc.) only to find there is no electricity. I freaked out because I didn’t pay the light bill last month. Hey, $8.00 is a lot of money me to drop in one place. Then, I realized I was in the country. They don’t ever cut off the ‘lectric here. Most people steal it, anyway. I try to imagine what is in my fridge without opening it. What will go bad first. Yogurt and tuna. (I know you are probably freaking out now, mommy, but you know I have a cast iron stomach and no combination of food no matter how weird will do me harm.) So that was my breakfast: rice, tuna with mayo and strawberry yogurt. As I finish up eating there’s another knock on the door. I open it and it’s sweet little Camila (Emilia’s daughter).

“Please hurry Franche my mommy’s hurting and the baby is coming.” I believe her. She’s too innocent to lie. Besides the look on her face says it all. I pick up the pace and throw on some clothes (I bathed the night before, so I was clean ok?), grabbed my bad and headed out with Andrés who always seems to walk like he has all day to get where he’d going. Normally at his slowest pace he can out walk me, but today my stubby legs out speed walk him. As I walk up to Fredi’s the kids all shout my name, as they always do, as if I was the star of the show. I walk in the house to see Emilia doubled over in pain.

“This is it,” I think to myself. “Let’s go.”They called 911, which is a joke here in Chota Valley. They never come. They called the ambulance at the toll booth, some 10 minutes away. Those ambulances are only for transit accidents. They called the fire department (5 minutes way), which has an ambulance. Only one. And it was out on duty. So where does that leave us? How do we get her to San Vicente de Paul, 45 minutes away? My friend, Emilia’s cousin Paulina comes up with the idea to use the public bus to get her into town. Although this is the most popular method of transportation for women who are in labor here, I’d rather not put my good friend in no stinky, slow ass bus, thank you! I decide to call one of the cops that is always hitting on me.

“Yea, Franche. He’ll come for you.”

I call in the favor, but he takes too long to get to us. Patricia, a neighbor, calls in a favor from a friend who had a beautiful, new, burgundy, double cab pick up in plain site. “Take us to Ambuquí to the fire station.” And he does. Paulina shot gun, Patricia in the back at the right side, Emilia on the left and I in the middle are whisked off in comfort to our destination. We arrive in Ambuquí only to find that the ambulance is still not there. We wait a few minutes, but her pains are getting worse. All three of us beg the driver if he can fly to Ibarra. He agrees. What a saint! And the plot thickens.

For the majority of the ride Emilia expresses her pain with the customary, “Ay, yay, yay.” I’d say 10 minutes into the ride, her contractions get stronger and closer in time (I was timing her with the clock in the truck.) This is when I start to shake uncontrollably, trying to catch hold of myself to comfort her. This is when she converts into Spiderwoman, scaling the walls of the truck, twisting and gyrating, grimacing with pain. Now that I think of it, she looked more like Emily Rose when she was possessed by the demon and was climbing the walls of her room. Anyway. I don’t know how she did so much moving in such a little space.

“Ay, yay, yay. ¡No avanzo guaguas! (I can’t take it anymore!)”The contractions are 2 minutes apart and I begin to think she’s going to have the baby in the truck.

“Tengo que impujar. (I have to push.)” If you could’ve seen the look on the driver’s face. He became one with the gas pedal, more so than before. Paulina was in the too afraid we’d have an accident to say anything or move. Patricia in the back was telling Emilia to be a man about her pains and not to push. I told her to shut up. “Emilia, if you have to push, baby, push. Let me help you with your pants and undies.” One with the pedal, I tell you. As she was crying and shouting we arrived in Ibarra. Detours. Road construction. Obstacles. AHHHHHHHHHHHH!

We pull up at the hospital 20 minutes after we left Ambuquí. At this point the poor thing can’t even walk. Patricia and I carry her in. Paulina pays the driver. Immediately we are sent to the second floor. Once in the elevator, Emilia collapses onto the hard floor. We get her up and take her into the prep room. Onto a cot she goes. I’m ordered to take off her clothes and jewelry and put on the hospital gown. As the nurse begins shaving her pubic region, Emilia has a contraction. The nurse tells her not to push, but she does.

I say, “Emilia, I see hair and it ain’t yours.” Then the nurse gets mad.

“I don’t even have time to prep her. Why didn’t you bring her to the hospital earlier? And look. She has painted nails… (they cut the mother-to-be’s nails and take off polish to prevent ‘contamination’.”If you know me, you know I rebutted.

“First of all it’s not like we plan these things you know? Sorry we live where there are no hospitals or reliable transportation to your ‘wonderful’ health care facility. Do your f****** job. While you are complaining she could be delivering the baby. Insensitive bitch. Glad we are leaving your department.”(Oh yes I did.) Paulina and Patricia look at me in shock. I think to myself, “Guess Emilia isn’t the only one possessed today, huh?” I help the nurse put Emilia on another gurney so she can be transferred to the birthing ward. Because they are in such a hurry, they hurl her across the bars that keep out visitors. She’s wheeled off and I don’t see her for another three hours. Paulina and I stick around; Patricia and the driver head back to Juncal. The another nurse comes out.

“Family of Suarez Palacios.”

“Yes.”

“She needs maternal pads. Go buy them and come back.” I run off to the pharmacy, crying. This is too much emotion for one day. When I get back, Paulina tells me the baby’s been born. 11:45 am.

“It’s a girl.”

“What do you mean, ‘it’s a girl’? It’s a boy.”

“No,

Francesca,” says Paulina. “It’s a baby girl.” I see the pink slip and think about how glad I was that I didn’t bet that it was a boy like everyone else, even though I really thought it’d be a boy. Losers! Paulina and I take the pink slip along with the baby’s blood sample down to the lab for analysis. “Come back in 30 minutes.” This translates into “come back in an hour and a half.” I head back upstairs, waiting to hear word from the nurses about Emilia’s state. Nothing. I go into the ward to ask and am treated like a dog with fleas.

“Get out. You can’t be in here.”

“But people were just in there, chillin’. A whole family and you didn’t shoo them out. Just tell me how she is?”

“Ya mismo. ( In a little while.)” Ecua translation: when I’m good and ready. I go back out in the waiting area and wait for a half hour. Then I head back into the ward demanding answers. She shoos me once again.

“And you wonder why black folk get all rowdy. You let the mestizos in and answered whatever question they had. I just want to know how they are and when they’ll be passed to the recuperation ward.”

“Leave now.” I’m steaming now. Ranting and people in the hallway are either agreeing with my frustration with the insensitivity of the staff or are scared to death of me. I don’t’ care. At the very moment I was about to break down, Andrés stepped off the elevator and gave me a kiss.

“What’s wrong?”

“They won’t tell us anything.”

“Wait here.” Do you know this wench not only answered his questions, but treated him like a human being? There Paulina and I suffered, waited, did the hospital run around and this fool strolls in the place and they treat him like King Midas. Whatever! He joins us and waits, but he is antsy. Always is.

“Francesca, let’s go get some lunch.”

“You really expect me to leave her alone.”

“You are out here and she is in there…”

“I will not leave her here alone. Bad enough lay folk aren’t allowed in to be with the mother during the birth. And what if they transfer her while we are out grubbin. Uh-uh. I’m staying right here.”

He looks at his cousin and says, “Who does she think she is? The husband.”

I interject, “Yes, Emilia and I have been having a love affair for several months now. That’s my baby in there.”

“It figures.” Paulina and I stay put. Andrés comes back empty handed.

“What? I didn’t know you wanted me to bring food back here.” We wait around until she was finally discharged from observation and put into the maternity ward. Yes, a ward. Six women and their newborns in a room with one bathroom. No medical personnel in the room observing how the mamas are doing. The nurses’ station is way up the hall. Oh, and no call buttons.

Paulina and I help Emilia into her new bed. Pitiful sheets and blanket, but I guess anything is better than the gurneys she’s been on earlier. The babies don’t sleep in a bassinet. There aren’t any. They sleep in the bed with their mothers. I guess it’s a good way to bond. Baby girl is so precious. As pink as can be. One of the nurses didn’t believe it was Emilia’s baby. I had to explain that black babies are sometimes born like that; they get their color in a few months. She didn’t quite believe me. Her look clued me in. She’s slow, because my Spanish is almost perfect now. ;) As mommy settles in we ask if there is anything else she needs. “FOOD.” Ready. Paulina and I head out to find some food for her and for us. Chicken soup was on the menu at a restaurant not too far from the hospital. We buy it and as we continue to walk we see Fredi, Emilia’s mother. We chat for a while. She thanks us and takes the soup to her daughter. Paulina and I want Chinese food and we walked a few miles to get it. (I almost pass out a few times from the hunger pains.) We stopped in the market to get some fruit for Emilia as well. Time was running short and we had to get back to the hospital before visiting hours ended. And wouldn’t you know we didn’t make it in time. I spent a few minutes, along with everyone else, trying to get the guard to let me pass. He was a stone·faced S.O.B.

“No, visiting hours are over.”

“I ain’t here to visit. I need to drop off this stuff and get my book bag from the second floor. You remember my friend. We drug her in here today. She was having a baby.”

“Yeah. What’s in the bag?”

“I have some stuff for the baby and her. Oranges, apples, grapes…”

“A newborn can’t …”

“..diapers, clothes.

“…eat fruit.”

“Are you serious? It’s for the mother, duh!”

“Oh. Look I’ll let one of you go upstairs, but the other has to stay here.”

“Fine.”

And I storm past him, to the elevator so I could get the job done. I get to Emilia and she is so worried about me.

“How are you? Have you eaten? You are freaked out, aren’t you?” I tell her about my experience in the edifice of incompetency and stupidity that is this hospital. All the ladies are laughing with me. I assured her I was ok and ask one last time if she needs anything.

“Nope. I’m good. See you tomorrow.” I think to myself, “I can’t come see you tomorrow. I missed work today and most definitely can’t miss tomorrow.”

“Why tomorrow?”

“I’ll be home then.” She only spent one night in the hospital. The next day she was at home. Wow.

As I head out of the ward I bump into Paulina, who some how got the guard to give in. Unfortunately the ward door slammed shut and the nurses at the station were not about to open it. Oh well. See you tomorrow, baby girls.

Paulina and I head to the bus stop and bump into big head (Andrés.) Because of the detour, the traffic route changed, so we had to walk a bit more. At this point I really feel like falling out. Just can`t go on. We get on the bus and there are no seats. We ride most of the way standing up. When I finally do get a seat, I open my container of beef fried rice and dig in. Rice is flying everywhere and, believe me, I catch every fallen grain. I don’t finish it all. When I get off the bus, everyone I run into tells me I look exhausted, disaster, a hot mess, tenaz…you get the picture.

“What did she have, Franche?”

“A beautiful baby girl.”

“Damn! I lost the bet!”

Who cares? The baby is here safe and sound. Emilia is in good health. The interior of the driver’s car didn’t get ruined. I didn’t have to get physical with the idiots who work at San Vicente de Paul. I can say it was a good day. One I’ll never forget.

The next day, sure enough, Emilia and the baby were at home, surrounded by visitors. The family spent hours and hours with her.

“Cheka, tell us about how she performed.”

“Ya’ll don’t want to know about Spiderwoman, do you?”

“Yes!”

So I tell the tale over and over again. And every time they love it more. We sat around talking about girl stuff, birthing customs, kids, how it will be when I’ll have kids (if they ask me that one more time I’ll scream), passing time waiting for her milk to come in. Poor baby didn’t couldn’t eat the night before. On her second day she had plenty because her Aunt Sara breastfeeds a greedy little baby named Jeily (remember her?) Sara was a bit jealous of me giving attention to the new little one. She told me, “Jeily is your first daughter. Don’t for get that.” How could I?

Now I have three. Janae, Jeily and Devisun. Don’t ask where Emilia got that name. Devi is cool. She needs another name and was tossing around the idea of Francesca. That would make two babies in town with my name. (The first is the youngest daughter of Edison Mendez, one of the jewels of Ecuador’s soccer team.) If it sticks, great. But I know Emilia. Soon she’ll have another name. I’m content she has at least one name. Here children aren’t officially put on the records until they have to go to school. Tisk tisk.

So here’s to little Devi, who’s journey into the world will have me forever freaked out.

It’s my long lost hobby. I loved to read. When I was little, I’d finish a book every week. I was a high scorer in the Accelerated Reader program in my junior high school, finishing novels in the blink of an eye. I continued with my joy for reading in high school, but it wasn’t the same. With so many honors and AP classes on top of my extracurricular activities, it was almost impossible to keep up with my previous reading pace. In college it got worse; I stopped pleasure reading altogether. I was forced to read enough articles and textbooks to last a lifetime. And you all know my work schedule hardly gave me time for a personal life. So here I am, years later, getting back into my habit.

I went (and sometimes still go) through this bout of loneliness. Don’t get me wrong. There are plenty of people in my town and I am very popular here. The thing is it’s impossible to just chill and relax with my female friends because they all have families and by families I mean kids. Imagine you trying to spend time with your girlfriends, watching a novela (soap opera) or just laying around catching up on town gossip with a screaming child serenading you or her other children fighting. She tries to control them by screaming at the top of her lungs. It makes it hard for us to do things that I’d like to do as a single 20 something, like travel, have a nice chat over hot cocoa, do girly things like doing our nails or just hang out and watch the soccer and volleyball games that go on in town. At first I had my friends with kids come visit me, but their animals would destroy my house and Cheka was not having that. I like it clean and tidy. Then we changed the repertoire and I would go visit them, which was better because I could leave when I wanted to and not have to clean up any one. But then this got redundant. I would go home with a headache and would spend more time disciplining kids than spending time with friend. It’s sad. The only girlfriends I have here that don’t have children are children and adolescents. I love hanging with the kids, but sometimes I want to hang with a person my age. What’s a girl to do? Sad and depressed about the whole situation, I turned to something that has brought me much joy in the past: pleasure reading. I spend at least 4 nights inside, reading. Andrés asks,

“What are you doing? You crying again? Want me to stay in with you?”

“No, leave me in peace!”

“You working on some voodoo potion for me? Why are you cooped up inside.?”

“Reading, man. Reading.”

This is a foreign concept. Most people here can read, but don’t do so for pleasure. I mean, come on, I live in a town where newspapers and magazines can’t be found. Books are so expensive here because people don’t read. And people don’t read, maybe, because books are so expensive. It’s a sad little cycle.

I started with Toni Morrison’s The Bluest Eye and wasn’t really impressed. It ok.

Richard Wright’s Black Boy is a book I’ve been dying to read since college. He has a way with words that left me very much impressed. It’s an autobiography and his life was a page turner until he got mixed up with communism. That part put me to sleep. I’d like to read some more of Richard Wright’s works. (Hint, hint. Send books if you can swing it.)

The last two books I read were breathtaking.

BREATHTAKING!

Highly recommended.

Requiem for a Dream was a title I remembered seeing while searching through the movie collection at the UL Library during undergrad at UNC. I always wanted to check the movie out; the title intrigued me. What happened to the dreams? Why did they die? I forgot about this title until I ran across a book with the same title in the Peace Corps Volunteer lounge. “I’ll give it a try.” I’m glad I did. Hubert Selby, Jr., the author of this masterpiece, writes so vividly that I played the book out in my head a million times and I never tired of the plot. “I have to find the movie…No, I shouldn’t. It will ruin how I’ve set up the book in my mind…” While perusing through one of the many bootleg DVD stands here in Ecualand I ran across “Requiem por un Sueño.” “Oh, my GOD. That’s it! That’s the movie. It’s a sign.” I splurged $1.50 on it. I was so impressed with how the movie stayed true to the book. After watching the perfectly executed visual companion, I couldn’t shake the scenes from my head. They stuck with me for days. I don’t know how I missed out on this jewel in the states. I suggest you read the book first; without a background and extra detail you’ll think the movie is too weird to sit though. I started watching it with Andrés and he couldn’t take more than 45 minutes of it. I loved every second of it and was constantly comparing it to the text.

I was skeptical about reading the next book. On the cover it said a Lifetime Original Movie was made out of it. I hate Lifetime dramas. They are all the same. Abused women, kidnapped teenagers, divorces and other craziness. In my opinion, Lifetime moved up a few notches when they added sitcom reruns like Will & Grace, Designing Women and The Golden Girls to the scheduling. Anyway, I wasn’t about to read some sappy Lifetime crappy book so it stayed on my bookshelf for the longest time, collecting dust. I gave in after a few days. I had to pick up another to get my mind off Requiem. “What the heck.” I opened it and fell in love with Picoult’s style; her development of characters, description of scenery, her way helping me relapse with my nail biting habit. It’s a ‘90s story inspired by the classic drama Romeo and Juliet. If I write any more I’m sure to give it away. A page turner. For real.

I have a few more books on my shelf waiting for some attention. Which one will I read next? Not sure. I do know that PCVs in country need to start sharing books more. I can’t help but be selfish. PCVs if you have any good reads send ‘em my way.

I can tell you right now some of you will hate on me and my girl Edith, but that’s ok. We are used to it. Let me tell you why. Nah, I’ll leave you hanging.

Guess what? I finally took a vacation. And my once in a blue moon weekend trips to Quito don’t count. I actually travelled quite a ways from my home here in Ecuador. Machala is hours away. Can you say night trip!? There is no way I’d travel that long during the day. So on Tuesday, June 24th I headed into Quito so I could connect to my direct bus to the province of El Oro. What’s a trip to Quito without visiting my gal, Kentucky? We had dinner together at Pizza Hut. Two for one Tuesday. Oh yeah! So I filled up on good conversation, bad customer service, buttery crust and cheesy goodness then had to bounce. I never get to spend enough time with Kentucky.

Twelve hours later I arrive in the city of Machala. Edith texts me “Get off on the corner of X and Y.” Cool. I hop in cab and head over to Edith’s and get off at corner X & Y, standing there trying to figure out where she lives. “Girl, come out here and get me before people think I’m a prostitute workin’ the corner.” She comes out to get me, laughing. “Why are you laughin’ os hard?” “Because,” she says, “there is a prostíbulo on that corner.” A prostíbulo is a whore house, ya’ll. I couldn’t believe it. Her neighborhood is so nice. Not to say that such workers and clients couldn’t be found just about anywhere, but you know what I’m tryin’ to say. After the big laugh, we talk a bit, then take a nap. Poor Edith had just travelled from Guayaquil to get her mother who was visiting from the states and here she had to deal with me.

We woke up and had lunch at this local spot which is famous for it’s caldo de bola, a delicious soup with cabbage, carrots and other stuff, but the bola is a ball made with mashed plantain stuffed with seasoned ground beef. Mmmmm. Edith is a great hostess. We got manicures, went to the mall, took advantage of the night life, marched in a Gay, Lesbian Bisexual, Transgender parade, visited her job. It was great. She seems very well adjusted in her site, one less volunteer bud I have to worry about.

The high point of my vacation was when I saw 3 very special pieces of paper on her fridge: tickets to the Aventura concert. Unfortunately, I could not express myself as I wished because Edith's mommy was fast asleep in the next room.

Yeah, I know. I saw them in concert already in Ibarra in February. Remember? But Edith got the GOOD tickets: gold box. I had been promising her a visit since February. Aventura was her way of roping me in.

We got to the stadium at 7 pm, one hour before the concert was supposed to start, only to find that our golden tickets only were important once we were in the venue. We had to join the line with all the common ticket folk. As we were walking in line someone grabbed my arm. “Get in line,” said Thalia, Edith’s transgender hair dresser. So I fell in line. I ain’t no fool. Minutes later we were in. We basically skipped the whole waiting process. So we are inside with our golden tickets and I can’t help but think back to Ibarra. The venue looks exactly the same. In Ecuador I guess there is only one design for stadiums. Anyhoo, As we are walking to our golden area I can’t help but think back to where we were seated in February. We could hardly see the stage. Now it was directly in my face. Edith and I immediately thought of our girl, Stephanie, and made a lil video for her to let her know we wished she could be there with us.

I was anxious. Romeo, Henry, Max and Lenny would be on stage any second now. But I waited and waited, watching the stage crew set up, watching the stadium fill to the brim, seeing angry silver ticket fans trying to break down the fence that separated them from us, hearing vendors yelling if anyone wanted beer, talking to people around me. I couldn’t help but think bad thoughts. Something bad happened to the band. There’s a problem with the pay. Will they ever get on stage? The show started two hours late and it was worth the wait. I was so excited about the concert I didn’t eat dinner which is bad for me because when my blood sugar gets low I feel faint, which is what happened to me. “I gotta go find some food.” All I found was Pilsener beer. No chips, no popcorn, no gum, no nothing. I wasn’t about to drink because, for one, I don’t drink and even if I did, I wouldn’t do it on an empty stomach. I laid myself down on the grass, propped my feel up and closed my eyes until the paramedic shook me vigorously to ask if I was ok. By then my dizzy spell went away and I ran back to my spot to fixate my eyes on Henry and Romeo. Romeo is so much larger than I imagined him to be and much more gorgeous in person.

¡Qué rico!

When the concert ended we tried to head out with the mob. Me being the pushy New Yorker that I am had no problem pushing my way through the crowd, but because Edith’s feet were killing her and her mommy was in our company, we decided to wait until the majority of the fans left before we exited. We hopped in a cab, made it home, ate, reflected on the night and dropped dead. It was a long, yet beautiful day.

On Friday night I started the journey to my neck of the woods. This is my second time visiting the coast yet I have not entered the water. Maybe next time I go to Machala I’ll see the malecón and the ocean. I can’t say I missed out on anything, though. Maybe I’ll be used to the Mefloquine (Larium) by the next trip down and won’t have hallucinations of monkeys in the trees in the public park. Edith thought that was hilarious. I still trust my vision; I know there were f****** monkeys in tha trees. I’M NOT CRAZY!!!!!!!!!!!!! Besides my moment of insanity, it was an unforgettable trip. Thank you, Edith!

General Trip Photos

Concert Photos

Coming soon!Video clips from the concert...if only youtube weren't so slow with the upload. Sigh!

Warning: Brooklyn’s in the house. Correction. Brooklyn is always in the house. No matter where you go on Earth you will bump into Brooklynites. I’m sorry. That’s just how it is. We represent everywhere we go. You just never know when you’ll meet one. Who thought I’d meet a whole bus full in little old Juncal? Well I did.

Adults and children were knocking on my door after a long day of minga.

Francesa, su familia estaba buscándole. (Francesca, your family was looking for you)

¿Mi family? (My family)

Sí, sus paisanos, vea. ¿Dónde estaba, a ver, andariega? (No, people from your country. Where where you, huh, wanderer?)

En la minga, pues. ¿Van a regresar? (I was in the minga. Are they coming back?)

No se. (I don’t know)

I went to bed that night thinking people here were crazy. Who do I know in the states that’s crazy enough to surprise me with a visit in Ecuador? No one really. Maybe Julius, but I haven’t talked to him or his family in ages. I don’t even think they know I’m here. I went to bed and didn’t think anything else of it.

The next day, during a meeting to jumpstart an environmental conservation project in Juncal, Andrés interrupts the meeting and asks me to step outside. I was really upset with him for the interruption. As I’m walking out I’m thinking he wants to cook something in the house but doesn’t know what my gringo spices are or he lost the key to my place, you know, something to really tap dance on my nerves. Not the case. Francesca, hay dos hombres esperándote. (Francesca, there are two men waiting for you.) And sure enough there was a mestizo and a black man waiting at the corner of the street. As I walked towards them all I could think of is what they wanted with me. The black man started talking and I realized he wasn’t from here.

Me llamo Stanley y soy de Brooklyn… (My name is Stanley and I’m from

Brooklyn…

Me too! Let’s speak in English.

Stan had a group from BK touring Ecuador’s afro communities. The day before they stopped briefly in Juncal where they had the opportunity to chat with some Juncaleños who told them that I, too, was from New York. Since they had a schedule to keep, they went off to Esmeraldas where there is also another populous afro population. Regrettably, they couldn’t get into the area where they intended to travel because there were strikes. They were told that if they entered they wouldn’t be able to leave for a few days. Who wants to be trapped? They turned the bus around and passed through the Valley once again. This time I had the pleasure of meeting the entire group, some 25 or more persons. Their purpose is to travel the world and gain a better understanding of the culture of people of African descent abroad and also to share their culture and turn in much needed supplies to those with whom they cross paths. I think their mission is wonderful because sometimes black Americans forget about the struggle, about where we came from, about what changes need to be made in the world.

I met the entire group near the Pana, across the street from Viveres Vivianita. They are all smiles and talking to the town’s people. We take tons of photos and I answer all kinds of questions. “How many people live here?” “Why are you here?” “How long have you been here and when do you leave?” “What’s it like in Juncal?” I could go on. But the question that all people from BK ask is, “what part of Brooklyn are you from?” You have to ask this question people. There are so many wannabes trying to be from the thoroughest borough in NYC.

“Crown Heights, Lefferts Avenue and Washington.” For those of you who know Brooklyn, you know this is THE area to be in! A woman over hears me and says, “Get out! I live not too far from there!” I ask for how long. She says 30 years. Imagine that. My mother, the politician that she can be, was the unofficial mayor of Flatbush Avenue, knew tons of people in the ‘hood during that period and this woman had no idea who she was. That can tell you something about life in NYC. It’s so big, with so many people that you can live around the corner from someone, even live next door to them and not know they exist. It’s the hustle and bustle of city life, I guess.

While we were conversing a few teenagers started the bottle dance and some members of the group decided to hand out school supplies. Big mistake! Kids started pushing, yelling and fighting to get the gifts so the group made the decision to turn in the materials to me so I could distribute them. We walked to my place and spent a while there laughing, talking and taking more pictures. They told me it was time to go, but I didn’t want them to. We exchanged contact information and promised to keep in touch. I plan to keep this promise.

I also wanted to post some information the group gave me so that you may also have the opportunity to get to know these lovely people and projects that hey have going on, like BAM’s Dance Africa and the African art museum Stan has in Brooklyn.

Just wanted you to know that for the first time in my life I felt like I was going to die.

Tumbatú sounds a lot like Timbuktu, huh? It’s the same thing to me, they both are in the middle of nowhere only one is in Ecuador and the other in Malí.

After finishing up early (around 9:30) in Tumbatú I decided not to wait until 12:30 for the bus to take me back to civilization. I’m going to cross the Chota River. It’s low tide today, I should be fine! And I was, thank God. But you want to read the story? Like ta’ read it here it go’.

As I’m walking to the river I’m enjoying the scenery: beautiful trees, cows in the pasture, the sound of the river rushing near by. Occasionally, the picture of the school director who died crossing the river a few years back popped into my mind. For 15 minutes I’m enjoying the scenery. I have to walk down a hill to get to the river and it doesn’t look so bad at first.

The goats are looking at me take off my pants and stuff them in my work bag, strap my camera to my bra to prevent it from getting wet and prepare to cross. I don’t know what it is about the Chota River but it is always, ALWAYS cold. The Valley is always one million degrees and the water sub zero, I swear. I get in, taking giant steps to reduce the trip time. Midway, something tells me to look back. “Whoa, I’ve come pretty far. Let me keep on going.” This is where the current picks up in force. The water comes up to my chest and starts to push me away from my target. I panic and think I’m sure to die here, alone, in the river and no one knows I’m here. My body is going to be found way, way down the river, bloody and bruised due to the numerous rocks. Please don’t burry me here. Ship me back to the states where they bury people decently, so my family can see me one last time. I just started talking to the Lord and that calmed me down. Next thing I know I’m on the other side. Sigh of relief. I walk another 15 minutes to get to the Pana where I wait and wait for a bus to stop and take me to my Juncal, located somewhat in civilization. But no busses stop. They all give me the signal that they can’t stop. Hmmm. But a few stopped a few yards up for mestizos. As Martin Lawrence said, “RACIAL, man, racial.” I had to walk another kilometer up and finally a bus stopped. I’m thinking this is my lucky day. Not so much. The only available seat is in front next to the driver. I sit down, ask how much he will charge because sometimes they overcharge love to overcharge people from the Valley. At this point I’d give him whatever I had on me. He charges me $0.25, which is $0.10 too much, but after my near death experience I am not in the mood to complain. As he’s driving he starts asking me questions about my love life, if I want to marry him and other standard huevadas (bullsh*t) that dirty cab and bus drivers say when they are trying to hit on a girl. I ignore him. I just want to get home. Then the fool begins to touch my arm and I flinch. He reaches for my breast and as I stand up to get off, gropes my butt.

“Te amo, mamí”

“¡Quita pericote!”

I get off the bus as brava (mad) as I can be. I get home and I snap at whoever talks to me. (Later I apologized and was forgiven.) “What is wrong with you?” I explain to my Ecua family and friends and the males, without missing a beat ask, “Could you identify him?” “Yea.” “Well one of these days we’ll have to show him how to treat a lady.” Andrés said, “No. Tomorrow. Tomorrow we’ll show him. I’ll spend all day out there waiting for him to pass by.” “Dré, I’ve got sh*t to do, baby. Who’s the exaggerated one now?

FYI nothing happened. I’m afraid that if I identified the bastard, the boys would surely kill him and get themselves into some big trouble. Better off not to say anything and keep their records clean.

“Dre, you are skinny.”“Gringa, I’ve always been skinny.”“No, man. You are skin and bones.”“You always exaggerate things.”“Ok.”I had this conversation with Andrés over a month ago. He was hacking and spitting up phlegm for what seemed like forever. “Tuberculosis. He’s got TB and he can pass it on to all of us,” I thought to myself. But he ignored his body’s signals, my advice and his family’s advice and continued working and living his life. At one point I got so heated with him.

“Why won’t you go to the free clinic and get a free, a FREE TB test?”“I don’t want to now.”“Why not? Are you scared of the doctor?”“No I’m not scared. I practically lived in the doctor’s office during my childhood because of my hard head. I don’t want to miss work. That’s all”“And work would be more important than your well being. That makes soooo much sense.”“Niña, you don’t understand.”“What is there to understand?”

If I had only known what he meant our little argument would have been much shorter. I’m a persuasive chick when I want to be. Andrés finally decided to go see what was ailing him. He came from Quito to Ibarra to be seen by a doctor, a 3.5 hour ride on a bus.

“Why didn’t you go to a doctor in Quito?”“You don’t understand how it is here, Francesca.”“Humph.”

When we arrive at the hospital his mother, Ismeria is waiting there. Now I was really confused. Why would his mother be at the hospital before us? The reason is here you must wait for a turn to be seen. She had arrived an hour before holding a spot in line. We walk in and he is immediately sent to triage. This is where the learning process began. They asked him questions, took his vitals and made a preliminary diagnosis, as is done in any emergency case. But as my mother says it’s not what you do it’s how you do it. First off, confidentiality is a word unknown in the medical world here. The triage door was open and there were four or five patients in a room with no curtain separating them. So you could see everyone’s everything and hear just about everyone’s business. I know this because I was concerned about Dré and would not leave the door for anything. Hey! Nobody made me. What can I say? I’m nosey. There. I said it.

One thing I saw that really made me boil was how the patients were treated. I’ll give you an example. The nurse was asking Dré questions and he coughed. This “health professional” almost jumped to the other side of the room. Now I can say as a health professional (BA in Public Health for those of you that don’t know) that there were two things wrong with this situation. This first is quality of care, specifically the aspect of compassion. You don’t treat patients as if they have the bubonic because you want to provide a comfortable and friendly environment so that you can treat the patient as quickly and effectively as possible. If you treat the patient well, they will warm up to you and are more likely to answer your questions and comply with medical advice. Secondly, there is a thing called universal precautions. It’s really important when dealing with patients to treat them all as if they were carriers of a disease. This way you aren’t making anyone feel bad for putting on a mask or gloves because you do it for EVERYONE. Universal precautions are put in place to not only protect the health care provider but also to protect the patient. What is the nurse has some communicable disease? I can tell you no one in the room had on a mask. I did see gloves once in a while. Enough of me ranting about this incident. Let’s move on to another.

“You don’t understand. You don’t understand. You don’t understand.”

Now I do. I get why he came all the way to Ibarra to get care and it’s not because it’s better. It’s because when you go to a hospital you have to have people with you. No one will rob you or kidnap you. Relax. You need people who can do foot work for you. Lemme ‘splain. Dré is triaged and the nurse comes to the door. “Family of Mr. Súarez?”“Yes.”“You must buy these things before we can go any further with treatment.”

We were handed a sheet with hospital letterhead that contained a list of items written in the always expected illegible doctor’s handwriting.3 needles2 IVs1 urine specimen cup1 phlegm specimen cup1 blood vialand various meds“Ismeria, where are we to get all of these things?”“The hospital’s pharmacy. Vamos.”So we walk around and wind up at the hospital’s pharmacy, which is closed. Our second and more expensive option is to find a pharmacy chain outside of the hospital and buy from there. The pharmacist looks at the list, goes in the back and hands us a bag with all the requested materials. Money is exchanged, we are given the prescription list and we are on our way back to triage so the medical staff can get to gettin’. We make runs to this pharmacy several times this same day. We get back to the hospital, hand the staff the bag and they start an IV, take a blood sample and hand him the other specimen cups so he can fill them when a sample becomes available.“Family of Mr. Súarez?”“Yes.”“You must take this blood sample to the lab.”Yea. I walk to the lab with his O+ in my hands and drop it off so it can be analyzed. I walk back thinking, “Damn. What does the staff here do? The pharmacy is closed. They don’t drop off lab stuff. And this is the ED? What are the other departments like?”

Finally they decide he should be admitted until lab results come back. It costs $3.00 a day to stay in the hospital. After the bill is paid for 5 days he’s wheeled up to the fourth floor into the isolation ward, which is a joke. No one has on a mask and patients are allowed to leave their rooms and ward to walk around the floor which is shared by general medicine. We enter a small room with white walls, a bed, a side table and a bathroom. No pillow, no radio, no TV, no call button. We put him in bed, arrange his meds on the side table so the staff can readily identify them and try to make Dré as comfortable as possible. It was hard to do. Ibarra can be chilly and with the covers the hospital provided he was sure to be treated for hypothermia on top of whatever else he had. I called Diego and told him to go to my house to get a blanket and pillow for his uncle. On his first day in the hospital I stayed as long as I could, until about 6 pm, 3 hours past the end of visiting hours. I had to work the next day and had to make lesson plans for the kids in Tumbatú. I felt bad leaving him there all alone with no music or TV. If you knew Andrés you’d know the no music part is death for him.

I went to visit a day later, Thursday afternoon, equipped with my boom box, CDs, Chinese food (although the hospital food wasn’t bad, the portions were way too small) and my willingness to keep him company. He thought I only came to visit. You should have seen the look on his face when I told him I was going to spend the night. I’ve never seen him smile that big or blush in the 8 months I’ve known him. I stayed until Friday morning, when he was discharged. That night was great despite him being in the hospital. He refused to have me sit in the visitor’s chair. We cuddled and talked and talked well into the night, since there wasn’t much else to do. He asked me to marry him, again. I declined again. We slept pretty well considering the small size of the mattress and the nurses entering every once in a while to take his temperature, to ask him how he was and occasionally give meds. (Besides the IV, I personally think he could have kept the medical regimen up at home.) I didn’t really feel the cold of Ibarra until I got out of bed to use the bathroom. The next morning the nurses and the doctors gave him the OK to go home, even though they didn’t know was wrong with him; the only test result that came back was the HIV test. He flunked, ‘AKA’ it came back negative. I couldn’t believe that this was the only one to come back. He was in the hospital for 3 days. What were they doing in the lab?! I checked his chart, which was always in the room (remember the lack of confidentiality?) and sure enough the HIV lab result was the only one there. When the staff was there releasing him and telling him how to take his meds, I couldn’t help but think how one can release a patient without knowing anything about the situation. His phlegm was gone and he looked better, but what was the cause of the problem?

“Dré, you don’t want to stay a few days more or ask for more exams?”“No gringa. Let’s pack this stuff up and go now. I’m dying here.”

At his request we gathered our things, bought more meds and went back to Juncal. His lab results came back in 6 days. TB negative. Everything negative. So what EXACTLY was wrong with him? Maybe it was a bad cold? Nah. Maybe it was the fumes from delivering gas tanks in Quito? Bronchitis? Pneumonia? I guess we’ll never know. He’s still phlegm free, but skinny as a reed. We are working on fattening him up.Can you imagine how his experience would have been different in the states? I am just glad Peace Corps approves hospitals for volunteers. They want to make sure that if a volunteer ever needs healthcare that they get the best the nation has to offer. Sadly, my approved hospital is 3.5 hours away. Let’s pray I stay in good health.

On April 17th I loaned my camera to a friend who accidentally left it in a cab in Quito. It was impossible to find. We are talking about a city bigger than Manhattan with millions and billions of cabs. Bummer, especially since I did not have insurance for it.

I was reimbursed for it according to American prices, but how was I to get a new one in Ecuador when electro-domestic items cost at minimum double what they cost in the states? I gave the cash to a friend of mine who bought the camera online at newegg.com and mailed it to my best bud’s sister who was traveling to Ecuador in a month. Whew! That was a lot of networking, a lot of begging, but a month and 8 days later by baby was safe in my hands.

Thank you Greg and Maggie, Ella, Alicia and Mellissa! I love my baby and have filled up a 4GB memory card in less than 2 weeks. The first picture I took was of Jeily, my Ecua niece. Expect to see some good pictures and videos on the blog. Dios les pague.

I’ve been waiting for this moment for months with mixed feelings; happy because a baby is on the way (duh), sad because it’s being born to a minor teenage mother who has a two year old child. All three will be dependent on the mother who already has a huge load to bear. I was also sad because I missed my own sister’s pregnancy and the birth of the first of a new generation in my immediate family. I tried to make up for it with Sara, my “sister-in-law” by spending time with her, talking to the tummy, trying to imagine what it would have been like with Tiffany and Janae. It didn’t work. Sara went into labor on Saturday, May 24th at around 11 pm and “Baby Girl Pavón Súarez” was born on Saturday, May 25th at 3 am-ish. I, sadly, wasn’t there. Since it was so late Sara and Ismeria, her mother, decided not to wake me up. Little did they know I was already awake, trying to nurse Andrés back to health. I wake up and at 9 am I get a text message from Sara saying the baby was born, it’s a girl so I better start embroidering something cute fast! I was so happy, ready to see the little one but because Dré was still sick on Sunday, I decided to stick around with him since he was pretty bad off. She came home the next day, a Monday. Yes, American women. She spent all of 36 hours in the hospital, natural birth with no anesthesia and she gave birth alone. Well not alone. What I mean is only medical staff was allowed in the room with her during the birth. Afterwards she was moved back to a ward where mothers have given birth or were waiting to do so. Can you imagine? As Sara explained her experience to me I could only think of contrasting images: birthing centers in the states, private rooms, ice chips, epidurals, companionship by whomever the mother to be pleases, always knowing how she’s doing in the birth process. I told her how it is in the states. She and a few other women who were around said that’s spa treatment! I told them, yea it was in comparison to Sara’s experience. “Her experience? That’s how it is for the poor here!” We talked for hours about the birthing experience in Ecuador. First of all for those of you who may still have your mouths open about the lack of personal attention and pampering, pre and postnatal care as well as the birth are free. The Ministry of Public Health pays for everything, minus additional supplies one may need. Do you know how much the average, vaginal delivery costs in the states? Quality of care is another issue that I could talk about, but I think you as well as I can imagine. Since I was not present, I don’t think I can do this topic justice. Andrés has another sister who is due in August. Maybe I can tag along with her. I’m afraid though. I was told after the birth of her first child she was told by the staff never to come back due to her outstanding performance during labor and delivery. I’ll see how she acts with baby number two. Moving along…“Baby Girl Pavón Súarez” weighed 7lbs and was 21 inches long (yeah, I did the conversions), had a head full of hair and was born el color de muertos, the color of dead people. Her color improved and she came home as white as she could be, but is slowly getting her color. She’s a doll and I treat her as such. I visit her everyday, cuddle with her and chat with her, mostly in English. She loves it. Get this. She’s not even a month old and she’s smiling and turning over on her own. Crazy, huh?A few days after her arrival at home, “Baby Girl Pavón Súarez” was unofficially named Jeily Shasari Pavón Súarez. Her first name came from Diego, a big fan of Eminem, whose daughter’s name is Hailey. The spelling had to be changed to maintain the pronunciation in Spanish. Sara heard the middle name on the radio during her pregnancy and the two last names follow the Latin culture; the first from the father’s father and the second from the mother’s father. No one else in town will have this name, maybe in Ecuador even. The problem is Jeily has to be taken to the Municipality to be named and they may not approve of the name for whatever reason. Maybe because it is not Latin, maybe because they don’t like it, etc. I think it is weird that government officials have to approve the name of a child. What would they say about Erykah Badu and her son, Seven, or Gwyneth Paltrow and her daughter, Apple? I’m hoping the unofficial name sticks. And even if it doesn’t everyone will continue to call her Jeily. I can’t tell you how many children in my site answer to names that were rejected by the municipality.Sara is doing well, as best as she can. She decided to get her high school diploma through distance learning. During the week she studies and completes her assignments and on Saturday she heads in for class time. I think it is a good decision on her part to finish her studies. She’s young and, although she has 2 kids already, many opportunities will become available to her by having the diploma. I support her in every way I can. I review her homework and let me tell you, I’ve learned a lot from her curriculum about Spanish. I also babysit from 7 am to 2 pm on Saturdays. That’s right. Jeily kicks it with me until mommy comes home from school. At first it was a challenge for me. I’ve never babysat a little one like her before and because I don’t have my own kids, the whole baby thing took a little getting used to. Deciphering her noises (if they meant anything at all), bottle feeding a baby who exclusively breastfeeds, making sure she’s clean and happy is a job! I don’t’ envy Sara at all. When I take her out to get air people in town ask how the training is going and when will I actually have one of my own. I tell them to wait 10 years. They laugh and tell me I’ll be too old then. You must understand this is a culture where teenage pregnancy is an epidemic. It seems like girls get their menarche and BOOM! They are pregnant not too long after. I’ve got time.I talk to her in English. She grins at my babel. I figure I can get her ear used to the sounds and when she’s old enough she’ll be able to understand. People ask why I bother speaking to her in English. I explained the language learning process and told them since she will be learning everything for the first time, she can pick up another language with no problem. Andrés is a bit jealous. “Why don’t’ you speak English to me? I want to learn too.” Not to be outdone, he studies Inglés Sin Barreras (English Without Barriers) every morning. He already has one nephew who speaks English (Diego.) I don’t think he can stand having his little niece learn before him. I think it’s funny.When my own niece, Janae, was born, my sister emailed me pictures of her. For some reason she stopped sending them to me, but anyway, that’s a whole new blog entry. I immediately went to print them out. I have an 8X10 on my wall of her precious face. It’s been there since December. Everyone who comes in the house asks about her. “Who is she? “ “What’s her name?” “Where is she?” Most of these questions come from my biddies. (Yes, I’m a mother hen. I have over 50 children.) Two in particular, Marcela and Alina, ask every time they come in the house if Janae is their little cousin, Jeily. I tell them no, it’s my niece and they nod and go about their business playing or coloring . But because they are two years old, they ask the same thing minutes later. Either I’m not speaking Spanish or they don’t believe me. I think it has more to do with the fact that they want to see themselves on my wall of fame. I’ll have to print pictures of them soon. So there you have it. Jeily’s here and I’m tickled pink!

Dre’s cousin, Olga, invited me to her daughter’s first communion in Quito. I know the majority of his family, but because Olgita spends most of her time in Quito and rarely comes back to Juncal, I thought she was cavalier in inviting me, you know, just to make conversation. Girlfriend was serious. So on May 17th 2008 I made it to her home and spent two days with the family there because they didn’t want me to go home. “Meet my cousin.” “Meet my niece.” This is how I was introduced to friends all weekend. Occasionally I was the “gringa”, but the majority of the people didn’t believe I was from the USA. What’s new? The family is really attached to me and I to them. Anahi was so happy to have kids to play with (she’s an only child) and, of course, gifts from guests. She refused to take off her white garb and surprisingly, it wasn’t too dirty at the end of the day. The food was great, even though the kitchen crew (me included) didn’t get to eat the meat from the main course. We were short on chicken. The music was excellent (thank God there’s a free DJ in the family, Dré). He played all kinds of music including salsa, meringue, techno cumbia (yuck!), reggaeton and of course, bomba. Fredi, Olga’s mom, performed the famous bottle dance, where the dancer moves to bomba music with a glass bottle on her head. And no. It didn’t fall. The atmosphere was light and friendly. I was so happy to see so many types of people together and not at a soccer game. Since racism is somewhat of a problem here, the majority tend to stick with “their own.” Olga’s not like that. She’s got a rainbow of friends who are not only from Ecuador, but from other countries as well. She reminds me of my friends back home, so different from other Afro-Ecuadorians I know. The party was free of hypocrisy. Since this was a religious event I expected the church members to be stiffs, criticizing the rest, but it wasn’t like that at all. As most church leaders do at special events, El Padre (the priest) came over to eat, but also to mingle with the people and to dance. It was a great time. Unfortunately, I didn’t have my camera to document any of Anahi’s special day(s). Pictures were taken, but I have to bug Olga for them. Once I get ‘em, I’ll put ‘em up.

I know I probably wrote about this already, but one of my good friends went home in the middle of May. I’ve only known her since February, but it feels like much longer. We met at a black youth leadership conference organized by my Stephanie, RPCV (Returned Peace Corps Volunteer. I can’t wait until I have that acronym behind my name!). Chisara has returned to continue her studies in anthropology. She’ll be done soon enough. We clicked on so many levels. We were both born in New York State and then were transported to North Carolina. Our experiences as black Americans in Ecuador helped us bond even more. (One day I’ll write an entry about racism here in Ecuador. It’s a trip.) Some of our work slightly crossed paths. She had an internship with CARE International here in Ecuador and a CARE representative gave free business training in my community. To top it all off we both fell in love with Ecuas and since they are a breed of their own, we had much to talk about.

I’ll miss you Chisara. Don’t act like you don’t know me since you are in the land where queues are respected, water runs freely 24/7 in your home and gas almost costs $4.00 (so I heard). Love ya! Angelo, Diggy and Pericote (Andrés, if you’ve forgotten) say hi and wish you the best. They always ask “when is she coming back?” You’d better get an answer to me quickly because if they ask me one mo ‘gin I’m going to explode. Besitos.

My “niece” Alina (Dre’s niece) is successfully potty training. “Me meo (I wet myself)” means we run to the bathroom, get the pants down and put her on the toilet. I was so happy the first time she used the bathroom at my place. She got a big kick out of me jumping up and down and clapping my hands. Yea, I was her jester that day. Gave her a lollypop. Now she thinks she’ll get one every time. Love ya, but don’t push your luck babe!My camera was lost by a friend…I’m waiting on the arrival of the new one. I was reimbursed, but since electronics cost twice as much if not more, I had to find someone with an American credit card, have them buy it online and ship it to my best bud’s sister who is coming in May. EXHALE. I can’t wait for it to get here. Dying without it.

I had ringworm on my friggin’ neck. I’m assuming someone had it on their face and since I’m such a good hugger, I put their head in the nook of my neck which transferred the nastiness. Aren’t you glad I don’t have a camera? That’s it! No more hugs for my kids. I had my medical exam with Peace Corps. I started my service weighing 198, I now am a buck sixty eight. Hooray! I dropped a whole child without trying. Now if I can wake my butt up every morning and jog like I said I would, I could appease those BMI bastards.Paperwork, paperwork and more paperwork. Sent off for my free credit reports, license renewal and absentee ballot (tell yo’ mama about Obama, k?). Let’s see how fast it will get to the states, one. And two let’s wait until my requests get resolved. I’ll put my money on September.I’m hyped. My sometimes sister-in-law is due any moment. Since I missed my own sister’s birth experience I’m taking advantage of Sara’s. Her aunt Fredi, who I absolutely adore, insists that I not go because the experience will be horrible, beyond what it should be because treatment in public hospitals is tenaz (horrible, the worst, fill in other words that express disgust and outrage here.) “They won’t let you inside and there are no accommodations for you, so bring your own pillow and blanket, mamita.”I still would like to see what it’s like. While I’m waiting outside for the news, I can write up a blog entry about birth abroad. Hey, I can even email the entry to my anthropology professor Dr. Kaja Finkler. We talked about births in different cultures. I’m sure she would like to learn about how it is here. Sure hope I have my camera by then :/(Birth In Four Cultures was an interesting read. Check it out sometime.)I think about my cousin Nicey often. I miss her so much. Sometimes I think she’s my guardian angel. Hope she is looking out for me.

Punctuality. Someone once told me Ecuador was one of the most unpunctual countries in the world. I believe them. We must get rid of La Hora Ecuatoriana! Just for laughs, read this. Sad thing is all the hooplah was for nothing. It's 2008, right? Guess they are really late.Open-minded people. The Ecuaway isn’t the only way, contrary to popular belief. How do you say there is more than one way to skin a cat in Spanish?People who understand that wanting to be alone is normal. It’s really hard for people who grew up and live with a houseful of people to comprehend the concept of solitude and personal space.People who are to the point. No dancing around issues. Say what you have to say and stop wasting my time.Non-Catholic church. I tried. Really. But when I hear the same sermon every time I go no matter if it is a normal mass, wedding, funeral, etc. I just have to say no. I’ve got it recorded to memory. Not really, but I’m sayin’. Besides, all that sitting, standing or kneeling is too much. Catholics should have perfect muscle tone in their legs and thighs. I prefer to get my exercise in church like most Baptists, Holiness, Pentecostals, etc...dancing around and praising the Lord with a joyful voice. I just want to hear a typical sermon where the Pastor gets so caught up in the spirit that he says “ah” after every other word (“The Lord, ah, is so good ah…”), sweats profusely and talks to the church congregation and not at it.Being able to walk into a store and buy clothes without the merchant treating me like a cow. FUnny thing is the saleswomen are usually larger than me. So can they tell me where their big asses shop? Oh, and can a sista find a C cup in Ecuador? B is the "average" size here, that or all women squeeze into B cups here.The fours seasons. There is only sunshine and rain here. The sunshine is great, but sometimes the rain comes without warning. Thanks, Weather Channel for spoiling my experience abroad.Customer service, which does not exist here…AT ALL. Ni me hagas alterar. Don’t even get me started.Wal-Mart, Target and other supercenters. I get tired of running here and there to buy my necessities. Also, I love the fact that prices (although too expensive at times) are set in stone, well at least in sticker. No bargaining!Not having to show my ID before buying goods at the pharmacy. Did you know they actually have a price for host nationals and another for foreigners at the pharmacy?Sexy names like Reeses, Hershey and Cadbury. Mmmmm. Just had a moment. Forgive me?Having a television. My brain has actually gotten firmer since I’ve been without a TV. I like it to have a semi-mushy consistency, thank you very much.Hearing new music all the time. There is always some new artist, some new song in the USA. Here, I jam to the same jams. Once in a while we get something new, but not like in the states. Having internet access in my home. It’s a pain in the butt to have to travel 45 minutes away every time I want to check my mail. I try to go once a week, but you wouldn’t imagine how it mounts up and above all, I have to pay for it on a Peace Corps budget. I prefer to just wait until my one month trip to Quito and do all my stuff at the office for free.Having running water all day, number one. Number two having a hot and cold faucet at each sink. I’d love to wash and rinse my dishes in hot water. Number three…let’s not even talk about bathtubs!Washing machines. Although I like the fact I’m developing a tight little muscle in my arms, hand washing everything is tedious and wastes so much of my time. Towels, comforters and jeans are my favorite…NOT!Beauty supply stores and salons. My hair could really use a deep conditioning (wha? what’s that?) and my ends could take a trimming, but who could I trust to do that? You know scissor happy some folks get.Recycling centers. I want to begin a trash management program here but don’t know where to start. The truck goes to several other communities before it gets to Juncal. Sometimes it fills up before it gets to us and what are we to do with the trash. Some throw it in the river or in an open field. Some burn it. I keep it in my house until it comes around again, 3 or 4 days later or I dump it in one of the only trash bins we have in town.

Lots more, but why bother?

Hi folks! For those of you who were worried about whether I am dead or alive, this blog entry willlet you know that I am indeed alive.

A few people have contacted me about a horrible club fire in Quito they heard about on the news. (SeeDeadly fire sweeps Ecuador club .) I wasn't there. Probablybeing a site rat again. Besides, said club was a rock venue, more for the goth kids as I'm told. I'm more of a Latin Diva/Hip-Hopper.

Rest assured that I am doing más o menos (more or less) wellhere in Ecuador. I greatly appreciate your concern. And I love you too!

I really can't tell you where the month of March went. It was really a blur.

Bancos Communitarios (Community Banks) are taking up the majority of my time.(I promise to put up a blog entry explaining the concept.) I started one with a group of women, El Encanto del Valle (The Enchantment of the Valley), in September and it's been a big hit. Quite naturally, when I was interested in starting banks, no one wanted to give it a chance. Now that Banco Comunitario Esperanza Negra (Black Hope Community Bank) is running pretty well, everyone wants in. This is why Viviana and I wanted to give others the opportunity to have access to credits in a red-lined area. It's been a battle. People want access to savings and loans, but they don't want to receive training so the banks can be sustainable; they'd rather Viviana or I do the work. Like I said before, it's a battle. Making sustainable projects is not as easy as one thinks. In April, I'll begin training others to take over my duties so I can be less stressed about having to do almost everything.

Although work is still kicking my butt, I've found a way to spend more quality time with people in my community, mostly friends and my children (I have over 50 of them.) It's nice to finish a days work, drop by someone's house, chat, maybe eat and enjoy the company of others.I have improved, but it is impossible to visit everyone. If only they could understand that. A few people have expressed their disappointment with me; they feel like I've forgotten them. This, of course, is far from the truth. There just aren't enough hours in the day.

I am always looking for new ways to relieve stress. My favorite is giving myself a pedicure. Lord knows I need it (third world life is not kind on the tootsies) and besides, what better feeling is there than to put your feet in a bucket of hot soapy suds and just chill. (Hey, check out the cute sandals Paca gave me.)

My hair is huge! I have the biggest, thickest 'fro. It's almost impossible to manage. When my neighbor Mayneli braids my hair she complains, "Why don't you relax it? It'll be so much easier for me." She's to the point now were she threatens to relax my hair. This is why I will never, ever, ever take a nap at her house. I'll wake up and my hair will be bone straight. That's not what I want right now. I like wearing braids and twists (which look like little, black ropes). Being natural is all right!

(Thursday, February 28, 2008) Peace Corps Medical Officers invited me to assist with a first aid presentation for the new Omnibus of volunteers in country. It was like old times. I rememeber passing many Saturdays in the Red Cross giving first aid and CPR training. The course that I gave was a lot less intense. We just skimmed the basics, taught volunteers how to patch themselves up por si acaso (just in case), who to call, where to go, etc. I also could not teach CPR or rescue breathing. Besides the fact we aren't equipped with manequins, Ecuador doesn't have a Good Samaritan Law. Therefore the focus was on self-care. We don't want any cases of negligence! Nurse Kelly was so pleased with my performance that she demands that I return for the next group of volunteers. Aren't you proud, Patty?

(Wednesday, March 19, 2008) I let Andrés back in my life as my boyfriend. I still care about him, but in the back of my mind I keep thinking about why we broke up in the first place and if that will affect this second phase of us. This might be the most stupid decision I've made in my life...we shall see.

(Thursday, March 20, 2008) I finally took a trip to La Mitad del Mundo (the middle of the world). It's a little tourist attraction that marks the line that divides the northern hemisphere from the southern, AKA the equator. Alicia, Andrés and I paid our $2.00 to say we had one foot in one hemisphere and the other in the other one. It was cute, well kinda cheesy, but how many people can say they've visited the equator? There are lots of nice shops and restaurants for folks who have money. Needless to say, we didn't buy or eat anything, especially with signs advertising grilled guinea pig (cuy a la brasa), which is a delicacy, I guess. Overall it was ok. I wouldn't go back alone, but if some folks came to visit and wanted to see this attraction, I'd take them for the ride.

(Thursday, March 20, 2008) Alicia and I weren't satisfied with one touristy activity in a day. Oh, no! We had to do something else, but in my opinion the second activity was more enjoyable. On March 20, 2008, we participated in the walk to the seven churches (well we actually went to 4 of the 7, but who's counting) to observe how people worship during the Holy Week and also to admire the architectural beauty of the churches in Quito. One of these days I am going to visit the other three churches, but I know it won't be the same. Everything was so ornately decorated, alters adorned with roses, rich fabrics and crucifixes. The environment was so calm, everyone was so serene. It was a mass of people moving as one from church to church. Beautiful. This is an event I'd recommend to tourists, Jesus freaks and admirers of architecture.

On Good Friday there is an elaborate parade, which I missed because I was waiting to say goodbye to my good, good friend Stephanie who never showed up. SNIFF. Maybe I can catch it next year. Until then, here are some pictures from other sources to hold you until 2009.

http://www.ecuadorial.com/images/semana_santa_quito/index.html

http://travel.webshots.com/album/554192440JOzDSU(Friday, March 21, 2008) First time ever being broke. I returned to Juncal with only $0.99 to my name. It's brutal visiting Quito on a Peace Corps Volunteer's budget. Thank God I set aside $3.00 to get me home.

(Tuesday, March 25, 2008)Tuberculosis Awareness Campaign in Ambuquí was a success. The children got an overview about what TB is and how it manifests in the body. They were really excited, so much they started chanting, ¡qué viva Tuberculosis! (Let TB live). I don't agree with the choice phrase, but at least they were riled up about something. They know TB is bad, very bad. Remember guys, if you have a cough with phlegm for more than 15 days go to your local health department!

(Saturday, April 5, 2008 to Sunday, April 6, 2008) Not too long ago, during my rushed trip to Muisne, I met a very cool gal named Chisara. She's a study abroad student in Quito. During the first weekend in April she visited me in my site. I had a great time, besides the fact that Chisara brought a Duke University book bag in my house, which jinxed the good vibes I had going for UNC and they didn't make it into the top 2 for the NCAA tournament. I can never forgive her for that. Sniff. Final four isn't bad, though. Go Heels!

I was so happy to entertain an American. We had fresh pineapple-strawberry juice, french toast with syrup and scrambled eggs for breakfast. Mmmmm. I even baked a cake, vanilla batter with chocolate frosting...from scratch. Aunt Bet would be soooooo proud. It was so very delicious. I offered some to my neighbors and one of my babies cried because she wanted more. Damn, I´m good! I love the sweets, but since I don't have my own oven, I'll have to keep the baking to a minimum. Sniff. Don't want to keep sharing the goodies.

And now when will I get some more blogs up? Hmmmm?

On February 17th, several Peace Corps Volunteers who reside in northern Ecuador were invited to a luncheon with members of CODEL. This is the second time I´ve been invited to a luncheon with political folk. I don’t know why since I’m not all that political (well at least I don’t think I am), but I don’t mind. Keep the invites coming! I learn so much from the guests and get to eat real food. I’ve yet to attend a function where rice, beans and plantain (my almost daily bread) were the main course. I can say both times the company and the food were exceptional. Unfortunately, it's for a short period of time so we have to eat fast and talk faster to get to know one another.

CODEL stands for Congressional Delegation. This name refers to a trip abroad by a group of members House of Representatives and the Senate.

The honored guests included…

Congressman Eliot EngelCongressman Gene GreenCongressman Maurice D. HincheyCongressman Jerry WellerCongresswoman Dr. Virginia FoxxMadam Ambassador Linda Jewell

I did some research to educate myself about each politician’s career and stance on issues. Dr. Foxx’s profile caught my eye for many reasons. Sheis an alumna of The University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, my alma mata and a community service devotee, just like me. You get the picture. What made me nervous about talking to her for a long period of time was her political status: conservative. Gasp! Will she be like the stereotypical conservative? Will we bump heads on opinions? After meeting Dr. Foxx I realized how ridiculous I was in my thinking. Dr. Foxx was a joy to spend time with. Her husband was a hoot, too. We dined and chatted on a lake-front property (with the other guests, of course), watching ducks float by and people on jet skis as we talked about current events in Ecuador as well as the states. It was a very relaxed and soothing environment if you don’t take into consideration the guards with machine guns and bomb-sniffing dogs. Smile. From the short period of time I spent with them I can tell they have big hearts. After telling them about my experience as a Peace Corps Volunteer, she inquired if the Carolina Alumni Magazine wrote anything about my career decision. I said no. “Well, they should. I’ll look into the issue.” I thought that was cute.

Like I said it was an eat, talk and run affair. CODEL members were whisked away to continue their tour of Ecuador and the volunteers stayed behind and had chocolate cake. Well at least me and Amarylis did. =)

Dr. Foxx, it was a pleasure meeting you. I wish you and your family well. Maybe one day we’ll bump into each other again. Until then, so long.

They said it would start at 8 but we could arrive at 8:30 because of la hora ecuatoriana.

"Aiight."

So I get up early and am ready at 8 on the dot. I walk out my door and head over to Taña's (pronounced Tanya) to meet the rest of the family only to find a scene that made me homesick. They were running around like chickens with their heads cut off, trying to get ready, just like I used to do at my Aunt Rita's before any special event. Taña is rocking a towel, Angelo is brushing his teeth, Marcela is trying to break away and play in the dirt, and Diego preparing food for lunch. No one was ready and no one had any concept of what time it was.

"Ya'll ain't ready yet?...Taña, give me some polish. I can paint my toenails while I wait."

I did. Results were fabulous. Copper really compliments my tone and now that the swelling has gone down in my feet due to the beach vampires my feet look human again...blah, blah, blah.

I sing "Happy Birthday" to Angelo. In addition to turning 18, he gets to participate in a very important civic ceremony today. Finally, everyone is dressed and ready to go. Marcelo, Sr. can stop complaining now. Off we go in Marcelo's pickup, to put some air in the tires and to get Angelo to the school. LATE! Just as I thought. As we were pulling in we could see the students already in formation. As we ran in the honor students were just about to march in. Taña helped her son put the finishing touches on his uniform and he was ready to march.

Juramento de la bandera or simply pledging allegiance to the flag is a very big deal here. In Ecuador, students from the Sierra and the Orient pledge allegiance on February 27th to celebrate the Day of Civic Duty and to remember the Battle of Tarqui. (On the coast, this honor is realized on September 26th for the National Flag Day.)

In elementary schools and high schools, the students with the highest G.P.A. wear a banner and are the leaders if this function. Other students participate as well. In the case of the Technical High School in Carpuela, the seniors participate, as tradition dictates. They swear to defend the Ecuadorian flad and their nation, sealing their promise with a kiss on the flag. Speeches are made by teachers and other civic leaders, parents and family members are in attendance, it's a really nice event, besides the fact we were in the hot sun for almost 2 hours while the event went on. A few students fainted and were carried off. No one was seriously ill. Thank God!

After the ceremony, the family thanked me for coming and supporting Angelo. It was no problem at all. I thanked them for considering me family and for allowing me to witness this cultural event. It was a nice family outing.

It took me 9 1/2 hours on 2 buses, 6 minutes on a motor boat and 10 minutes on a moto taxi to get to Muisne, Esmereldas. I was invited by my friend Stephanie to attend a youth leadership conference she had organized with some other Peace Corps Volunteers. Sadly, because of Reconnect and horrible road conditions throughout the country, I missed a day and a half of activities, basically the bulk of the conference. =(

I traveled during the day, which I hate. Why waste a beautiful day stuck inside a bus. Well, I had no choice. I was advise not to travel at night. I took the 8:25 TransEsmereldas to Atacames and had to hop another one that'd get me to Muisne. Starving, after having slept through the rest stop on the bus, I have never been so happy to see food vendors get on the bus. I heard salchipapas (hot dogs and french fries) and was delighted although the idea of this popular Ecuatreat drowned in mayo and ketchup usually makes me nauseous. "Give me one and hold the mayo, please." This really confused the vendor because, really, how can you eat anything here without mayonaise?I get off the bus at the pier and call Steph. "Hey, mama. I'm here. What do I do now?""Ok, girl. All you have to do is get on a boat to get to the

other side then take a mototaxi to the playa (beach) and you'll soon be here at the

hotel.""Say what?!""Girl, stop trippin'. The hard part of your trip is

over."She might be right and after traveling all day, what the heck. After talking to almost every boat operator out there to figure out where the heck I should be going and after denying many of them attention (and my phone number), I got on a boat and sailed to the other side for a whopping $0.20. My next big question...what in the world is a mototaxi. I soon found out. This modern rickshaw took me to the playa for $0.50, the flooded streets and potholes were bonuses. As we turn onto the main street at the beach I see Diego and Angelo, who are running towards me and hop on the mototaxi. They hug me and kiss me and give thanks for the invite. (You see, this was their first time ever visiting the beach. When Stephanie told me she had 3 open spaces I immediately thought of them. They are good kids and the material covered at the conference would serve them well, since they are already so bright and headed in the right direction.) From their greeting I could tell they had a great time. Shame I missed it. I got off the mototaxi at around 6 pm so there wasn't much time to go frolicking in the H20. I did, however, get the chance to wet my feet, take a few pictures and enjoy the breathtaking view which included palm trees, a lovely sunset and the most beautiful rainbow I have ever seen. I wanted to go searching for the pot of gold, especially since the rainbow's beginning and end were so well defined. The flies, mosquitoes and other vampire creatures were my least favorite part of my 17 hour stay in Muisne. At night, there was a dance presentation of Bomba (Afro-Ecuadorian dance of the Sierra)and Marimba (Afro-Ecuadorian dance of the Coast) music.

Afterwards there was down time to dance and socialize. I kicked it with fellow PCVs Tyler, Stephanie and Allie. I also had the opportunity to meet a study abroad student, Chisara, who is really cool, but who will only be here for a few more months. =(The next day, the group said their goodbyes and headed back to their homes. I hopped on the bus with the Mascarilla kids because I thought it'd be a straight shot home, well at least pretty close to home. Oh, no. These folks had to stop in Atacames...and I'm glad they did. This beach was lovely. Since we were traveling, we only had time to get our feet wet. I promise I will go back sometime soon. Hopefully it won't rain the next time! I like to think of this weekend as my sneak peek to the beach.We made it home at around 9 pm and boy was I tired. Once I got home, I lowered my storefront door so I could rest a bit longer the next day. Who knew? It worked.

It's hard to believe that Omnibus 98 has been in their sites for almost half a year. So much time has passed and I feel as if I've done little in terms of accomplishing my personal goals and too much as far as working on every project someone throws my way, on projects that only have meaning to a select few in the community. Reconnect, a 3 day conference for PCV (Peace Corps Volunteers) and their counterparts, made me come to this realization.

During Reconnect, the goal is to share experiences of the first 5 months in site, share our findings from the CAT (Community Assessment Tools), learn how to effectively plan projects, acquire funding for these projects, how to implement them and measure outcomes. It was a ton of information, but I'm glad I got it! Unfortunately, none of my counterparts could attend. My original counterpart is impossible to keep in touch with; she's always so busy and her aversion to means of communication, i.e. the cell phone, doesn't help. The other is a mother of 2 young children, a public health nurse and the wife of a doctor who works all the time. The last is so tied up in projects that she barely has time for herself, her other job or her family.(At times I think she wants my life to be the same.) Once I get a hold of these ladies, I will share my learnings.

After all the technical information, we had the chance to talk one another about the Peace Corps experience. Thanks Peer Support, APCDs and Country Director for lending us your ears. I appreciate having those 3 days to catch up and bond with my 'bus after being away from them for more than 4 months. Thanks for putting us all in the same place so we could realize that although we are in different places in the country, we are sharing the same feelings of doubt, homesickness, and stressful work and or living situations. We are overcoming obstacles everyday. Hopefully, '98 can keep on working, doing the thing and keep true to the oath we took on August 31st 2007.

Quito, cold, rainy and always gray, was our host city. We didn't let the weather get us down or stop us from taking advantage of civilization. The Pancake House, Baskin and Robbins (whipped cream, Alicia), Cinnabon and The Red Hot Chili Peppers were a few of the places we indulged. It was beautiful. We even caught a flick. Don't remember the name because it wasn't worth remembering. Thanks for dragging us all to the movies, Roberto. We should've waited and seen the Bucket List. Although it was a horrible movie, I must admit it was good to sneak outside food (cheeseburger from Micky D's and oh yea...it tastes the same here) in the theater, even more wonderful to watch a movie in English. As you may already know, no trip to Quito is complete without a trip to the Mariscal. On Thursday after the talent show...

we went Level and had a blast. Friday, we made our mark, literally, on the wall of the restaurant Red Hot Chili Peppers and my folks got to see the rougher side of Cheka (don't mess with Nate, is all I'm sayin').

All in all a great conference, but I have to get some down time in...Off to the beach!

Dear Alicia, Edith, Lynnsey, Nathan, Roberto and Stephanie (my Carnaval guests):

I want to thank you all, but feel that any means of expressing this sentiment will be inadequate. I'll give it a shot. You all caught me at the best and worst time. Worst because I was sad, lonely, going through some drama and thinking about going home. Best because being with you rejuvenated me and made me realize that although I will be sad and alone and might have a little drama here and there, I have wonderful friendships that budded about seven months ago that are too precious to just give up on just yet. We have so much more to share, so much more time to spend together. Besides, I came to Ecuador to "Git R Done" and I'm gonna do just that. So I've postponed the going home drama to a later date. Hopefully that date will be August 28, 2009. Hope you guys throw in the towel then, too. You are all welcome in my home. Anytime you'd like to visit, give me a ring and I'll do my best to make it happen. I love you, miss you already and can't say thank you enough.

Siempre,

Cheka

Carnaval finally came and went. I’d been hearing of this event since September, going to meetings where nothing seemed to get done, offering my time to help promote the big event, answering my door at odd hours of the morning and night, lending my camera help develop advertisements, helping with fundraising ideas, etc, etc. The group El Encanto del Valle (The Enchanted of the Valley) invited me to Tulcán to help present gastronomy and dance unique to the Chota Valley. Although the trip there was horrible (30+ people were packed in the back of a truck for 2 hours with cooking supplies, tables and other necessities to prepare and serve food), the result was exactly what we wanted: to open people’s eyes to Valley culture. The ladies set up their stations, began preparing their dishes which included chanfaina (chitterlings, more or less) and yucca, agua de Jamaica (a tasty brew, served hot or cold, from hibiscus leaves), guandúl (a delicious bean) and rice, fritada (fried pork bits), seco de pollo, empanadas and morocho (a hot, thick drink made from corn). Good stuff! I was a bit concerned about the public’s response since the water source was a block or so away and the disposal of trash and management of dirty dishes wasn’t handled very well until mid- day. I guess coming from a culture where sanitation grades determine where one eats really makes me a hypochondriac when it comes to eateries. Needless to say, the people of Tulcán ate it up! I broke down and took a few nibbles myself, but not of the chitterlings. Puh-lease!

As far as the dance presentation went, it could have been better, but what can you expect from a bunch of teenagers? We unloaded the truck and they were tired and hungry. The ladies cooked for them and they complained about the food. Some refused to eat it.

“Rice and eggs?

Why can’t we have the chanfaina?” (Yea, it’s not weird to eat a fried egg and rice here.)

“Because they are selling the chanfaina.

Do you have $2.00?”

“No”

“Well then shut up and eat what is given to you, pericote.” (Pericote is a mouse/rat, just so you know.One of my favorite Chota words)When they finally got tired of complaining, they ate, then danced around informally and hung out with each other. Towards the end of they day they finally got it together and pumped out a mediocre performance.

One of the reasons I decided to go to Tulcán, besides helping with organization, was because I was told there would be a pregón, a parade. Since I like parades and helping out the ladies from Encanto I found the trip to be a win-win situation. Unfortunately, my heart was broken to find that the parade consisted of a flatbed truck with supporting rails decorated with palm trees, balloons, last year’s carnival queen, this year’s candidates and waaaay too many teens. That was the parade. About 6 or 7 dancers followed the truck throughout the city. Laugh if you want, but like I said earlier, no matter how ghetto things were, we got the result we wanted. The ends justified the means. The ladies even made the front page on the newspaper, La Hora.

Here is a clip of me and one of my teens dancing to bomba music.

Minga (from quechua) describes an event where the community gets together to accomplish some goal, be it painting a house, paving a road or some other type of laborious job. The idea is if there are more people helping, the less tedious the task will be. Besides, the end result benefits the community so why not pitch in? Juncal decided to clean up for Carnaval. The minga mostly consisted of elementary school students and a few of us adults leading the pack and paying our dues with sweat. Since littering is a norm here, one can only imagine what we were dealing with. Plastic bags, underwear, rats leaving their disturbed homes, dirty diapers, over grown plants… you get the picture. You can actually see a picture in the slideshow below. One day of work yielded lovely results. Imagine if we did a clean up of the whole town. The results were lovely.

Fast forward 2 weeks. I’m really excited because I have company coming to visit me. These past few weeks I’ve been overworked, emotionally drained…to summarize, I was a hot mess. On February 1st I would go to Quito and pick up my bestest Peace Corps buddy, Alicia, hang out for a while then head home to relax and prepare for the 3 days of Carnaval in Juncal. Unfortunately, it didn't work out so purdy.

I left home early, EARLY in the morning, accompanied by Andrés. While we were waiting for the bus at 6 am, one of his friends asked us if we wanted to accompany him to Quito. Sure, why not? Life for truck drivers is hard and lonely; why not provide him company on the way down? Ha, ha. That’s funny. Now any of you who have traveled long distances with me knows that I am not the best gal to take for company. Why? Because I fall asleep, especially when there is no music (and there wasn’t any.) What can I say? I was down for the free ride! Traveling in a private vehicle is wonderful. By bus, the ride to Quito takes between 3.5 hours. Andres and I go to Carapungo (in North Quito) in 2.5 hours. I don’t know if this is normal or if dude was seriously breaking the speed limit, but I loved the short travel time, even if I was in la-la land, calling hogs during the ride. We arrive in Carapungo and head over to Paca's (Andrés' aunt and my good friend) to chill while I wait for a call from Alicia.

"Where are you?"

"I'm in my bed."

"WHHHHHHAAAAAT?!?!? (a la Lil Jon) See, what had happened was miss thing was sick. She had me scared, answering the phone sounding like a man and all. Alicia decided to stay home on Friday to recuperate, then head on up to Quito. Cool. I just wanted her to get well so I could finally see her after 3 months. Now what am I to do for the day? My whole day revolved around catching up with Alicia. "Demos un paseo, niña.” Ok, Andres, we’ll hang out. Who knew we would hang out the whole day. Seems like I’m spending more time with him now than when we were dating. We walked down 10 de Agosto, one of Quito’s main veins, took strolls in 2 different parks talking about everything and nothing at all. The boy even sat with me as I talked to my mother for two hours. It is possible we hit up every mall in the city. (I was looking for some clothes and shoes.) While chilling in the mall we caught a group dancing samba to commemorate Carnaval. It was really nice. What a shame my camera doesn't capture sound so you can put the moves with music. =(

We ate junk food, KFC, Dunkin Dounuts…yep, they’ve got it in Quito. I have to admit I was having a better time with him as my amigo than as my boyfriend. It seems he’s opened up more now. I almost forgot we weren't together. After the long day, he took me back to Paca’s so I could spend the night with her and her girls, kissed me good night (on the cheek, on the cheek, ok?!) and said he’d see me the next day.

Sure enough at 9 am brotha was dressed and ready to go, knocking on the door. I told him I would stay put until I heard from my Alicia and that’s what I did. I hung out in the house until I found out she was well and in Quito. “Vámonos,” I said. And we took off to pick up some shoes Paca wanted me to have, then headed off to El Centro (downtown) to the Plaza Grande, where the president of the republic stays. (Take a peek at the link. His house is on the side of a plaza in the middle of the city. That's kinda weird for me because in American culture, the President‘s home is secluded, totally off limits. It may even be illegal to look directly at the White House, I’m just saying.) After Alicia and I make a big scene in the plaza (hey, I hadn't seen my girl since CuencaWeen), I thought ol'boy would bounce and go about his business. Nope. He wanted to hang with the gringas. So after I explained to Alicia that he still thinks we are a couple, she laughed and told me not to give him too hard of a time. We had a great day, walking through town, chilling in the Mariscal, doing things that people in civilization do. (Sorry but I get all worked up when I see a variety of restaurants, especially foreign cuisine, when there are faucet options...hot AND cold, night life and American goodies like Dr. Pepper ($1.24) and Hershey's Cookies and Cream Chocolate Bars (around $1 something, too) are available well into the wee hours of the night. Please forgive me for being so weak.) We met up with come more volunteers in Gringolandia and had a blast. He went on his way and Alicia and I headed to Lynnsey’s “mansion”.

The next day, Alicia and I take off to Juncal, enjoying delicious Entenmann's dounuts during the trip. We stop at the SuperMaxi to do some quick shopping (chick's a vegetarian and there are NO veggies in my house) then arrive at my house in time for the parade that marks the commencement of Carnaval. After frolicking about, we had to get ready for the Aventura concert that was held in Ibarra, tour Mi Corazoncito.

It was awesome, although we were far away from the stage and the event was held in a stadium. Hearing Romeo's voice, as clear and beautiful as it is on the CD and handing with my girls was well worth the $15 ticket. Stephanie and Edith arrived when over half of the concert was over, but I'm sure they still had a great time, especially since they were staying in the same hotel as the band...and they didn't have balls to talk to them. Sorry there was no extra ticket, Andrés. You didn't deserve to go anyway.

A conversation that all my Peace Corps friends have with me...

"Francesca, you are a site rat! Leave your site, mama!"

"No, I have to work."

"Well, we are going to come to you one day."

"Aiight." Who knew that day would come so soon! And I'm glad it did!Carnaval was the perfect excuse to see folks, well to have folks come see me. I invited my entire Peace Corps Omnibus, yep, all 40 something of 'em to spend

some time in the Valley with me. Six responded, including Alicia, Stephanie and

Edith. =)

Carnaval was so much fun. Well what I saw of Carnaval was fun. In the morning the gang would go out to see the scene, but we’d run home to spend the afternoon and night inside. It’s tradition to throw water at others (no matter age, handicap, etc.) during this time and the water is ice cold. (I don’t know why, but the Chota River is always frigid, no matter the temperature outside.) Add that to a chilly afternoon/night temperature and you’ll have a bunch of sick gringos. We passed the busiest part of the day indoors, even if it meant we’d miss the big musical performances presented in

the afternoon and night. (I heard the acts were awesome!) Inside we talked, cooked, played games, and enjoyed each other’s company. Here are some videos for you!

My friends here also wanted to hang out a bit with my Peace

Corps friends. It was a nice cultural exchange, especially when Lixy and Alina came over. I think my friends enjoyed their company the most. At night, we’d sleep and wake up to go dance until the

morning, wake up and do the Carnaval thing. Wednesday came so fast, the day my guests had to head out. Sniff, sniff. I was sad to see them go. I have to admit it was nice to spend some QT with gringos.

Fun Highlights

Just like my childhood. Running through water supplied by a fire truck reminded me of hot Brooklyn days when we’d open the fire hydrant and make our own water park.

Matchmaker make me a match! I am proud to say I am responsible (well, partly) for the

match making of Joseph and Stephanie. Sorry Leo, Edith isn’t even thinking about you,

babe.

They broke my bed! When I came home from the salón all I wanted to do was sleep. I go into my room only to find my mattress on the floor with 10 million people in it. “Sorry, Frannie. Your bed collapsed. We’ll fix it don’t worry.” The scene is so funny I can’t be mad at ‘em.

¿Dónde está el chinito? Everyone fell in love with Nathan, who is Philippian but all Ecuas swear he is Chinese.

If you could teleport yourself home for an hour what would you do? Hmmmm…I heard some very interesting answers.

Sunday, February 3: Carnaval Begins in Juncal

Sunday, February 3-Monday February 4: Coronación en El Salón

Monday February 4:The Second Night

Bachateros, Last night out! Me dancing with Mario, my one and only bachata partner. Also, Edith is dancing with a cutie, too.

Today I worked at the church, my first time in a loooong time. (I've been having some communication issues with the director and simply stopped going.) It was great. I led the oldest group in a self-esteem activity, which they loved. Back in December I had them write a letter to themselves about how they were feeling at that moment, specifically about themselves and their accomplishments. Many of them said they had overcome the problems they had then and now that they look back on it, it their problems weren't that big. This made them feel better about themselves. Aww, how tender! An after school special lesson learned. Enough with the sarcasm; I was pleased with the outcome. I couldn't work much with the pre-teen group because they were finishing up an arts and crafts project for the occasion. As I was helping the tutor with this activity, my phone rang. I slipped outside to take the call, look at my screen and who is it? Andrés. "Feliz día de amor y amistad." (Happy day of love and friendship. I know. It sounds way better without the translation.) It's Paca's girls. "Hey, I'm at work. Call back in about an hour, ok." "Ok, but Andrés wants to tell you something." Basically, it's I love you and miss you, hope you're having a fine day. Awkward and heartbreaking. "Thanks. I have to run now." When I get off work, the phone rings again. It's him. We talk for a bit, then he passes the phone around to his family members, who greet me warmly.

"When are you coming to see us?"

"At the end of the month."

"Ok, but please don't change your plans."

"I won't!"

"We love you!"

"I love you guys, too. Luego."For the first time in, well ever, I decided to stay out late during a weeknight. A few Volunteers wanted to eat dinner and chill, essentially celebrate V-Day together. Since I am the hermit sister of the Peace Corps family, I decided it was time to break free and enjoy. I'm glad I did. Dinner was great and the company was even better.

On the way home (around 11 pm) I was trying to figure out who I'd forgotten on this day. Let's see...I called mommy and Patty yesterday, talked to Tiffany today, sent text messages to Volunteers, emailed everyone on my list...Where's daddy's number? I scroll through my directory for a bit and then I think to myself, "Francesca, he's been gone for almost two years now." I cry softly on the bus till I get home. How could I forget something like that? Where is my mind?

I wake up the next morning and play some music. This morning it just happens to be Stevie Wonder. "These Three Words" makes me break down and cry. Normally, this song makes me think of the scene in Jungle Fever where Angie's dad is beating her for dating Flipper...notice how I'm trying to change the subject? On this day, I think of my dad. I always knew there were some unresolved issues between us. We said "I love you" a lot, but did we show it with our actions? I think we could've done a better job. We could've, we should've, but now he's gone. How can I get over this? When will I get over this?

Happy Valentine's Day, Daddy

After celebrating Carnaval, my guests and I headed off to Quito for the Rose Ceremony for Omnibus ’99. You are probably thinking, “what is a Rose Ceremony?” Well here is your answer.

As new Peace Corps Trainees enter the country they land in a thing we call an airport. As they leave this airport current Peace Corps Volunteers (PCVs)like to scare the beJesus, I mean welcome, the newbies. We cheer them on as they pass through the exit, hand them a rose with an encouraging message attached and they make their way to the bus which carries them to their destination. It may not sound like a big deal to you, but I remember all the feelings I had once I got of the plane to Quito. Seeing , well hearing, the PCVs’ enthusiasm and their wonderful welcome was the icing on the cake for that day. Sometimes it’s the little stuff that really makes a big impression. This is why when Edith threatened my life if I didn’t go (she’ll do just about anything to get me out of my site), I had to say yes. I’m glad I did. Omnibus ’99 seems like an alright group. Best of luck, ’99.