Two days ago, I sat around a pot full of boiled chonta and peeled them with burning hands for probably the fifth time in two months. Surrounded by my host sisters and mother, all chatting about happenings in the community, and laughing at my red fingers. It was here, looking at my sisters and bent over a pile of smoking fruit, that I felt overwhelmed with the saddest happiness. "I love peeling chonta so much," I told them, feeling like I had to share. "And I'm going to miss it."
The past few days have been spent in my community, with my host family. I made American pancakes for my family on Saturday morning, which my little sister kept calling "empanadas!!" I woke up early with my host sister the next day to sell those same pancakes to visiting military workers for breakfast with my host sister. I played lots of tag with my host brother, watched Ride Along 2 in Spanish on my host sister's laptop, and helped my other sister chase around her two year old. I had a huge tickle fight with my little brother, listened to my 15 year old brother show me all his sad songs he loves to listen to, and helped clean up the toddler when he randomly chucked on the playground. Last night, I helped make dinner for and babysit two nine year olds, a three year old, and a two year old while the adults were out in the town to celebrate a local election. I carried my little sister down the stairs when she was about to pee her pants. It definitely feels like the last few days, I've gotten much closer, both physically and emotionally, to a lot of my family. And the last few days have also contained many conversations about why I'm leaving, how sad it will be when I go, and when I am going to return. It makes the idea of me leaving in four days that much harder when I have to explain that I don't know when I'll be back, and that it may be in quite a while. But those moments also remind me to stay in the moment and soak up these last few days as much as I can. On Friday, my mom will be visiting my community (all the way from the US, she's a badass!) and we'll be traveling in Ecuador for a week. Until then, I hope to make more pancakes, build more castles out of soap bars with the little ones, watch my favorite telenovelas with my host sisters, and take in the beautiful views of the Amazon a few more times.
1 Comment
In my nearly two months here, I have been lucky enough to encounter some incredibly strong individuals. Some are quiet and modest, others are outspoken and proud. Almost all have been women.
That's not to say men don't work extremely hard, say profound things, or provide me with an insight into their beautiful culture. But, the women who I have interacted with day to day, have blown me away with their hardworking nature, their intelligence, and their energy. In Kichwa, this idea of a strong women is translated to the phrase, sinchi warmi. I say "sinchi warmi" out loud at least three times a day. When I hear my mom waking up at 4am to get tea ready for the family and go out to the chakra. When my 94 year old grandmother holds her legs up to the fire to numb the pain in her feet. When my host sister heads to the forest with my mom to harvest wayusa leaves alllll day. These women do everything for their families, without recognition or affirmation. They are always doing things for others before others can think to ask. They cook all meals, wash all clothes, dress the little kids for school, bathe them, sweep and clean, hold the crying kids, bathe themselves, the list goes on. And there is never an attitude of bitterness or anger, but rather, of love to share a responsibility in the family and community. That being said, I constantly imagine how I would feel in their shoes, with all the tasks that they take on and are expected to complete every day, and instantly get bitter for them. When does my host mom get five minutes to herself to relax? Even at night, she wakes up often to help my host sister with the newborn. When does my host sister, who works at the daycare and takes care of her toddler all day, get to hang out with her girl friends? It just seems so unfair to me, when I see the men going out to wander when they aren't working, and the women go out in the community to look for them to make sure they're safe. The men don't have to worry about who is where, and who is safe; they know the women are already worrying. Of course, a lot of these things I'm noticing are considered cultural norms for women. Many rarely think of these even as chores, more as just things to do when there are a few minutes of free time. But, last weekend I attended a workshop for the men and women in my community about gender expectations. It was put on by a german international org, and they had professionals run conversations with men and women separated. Sitting in on the women's group, and talking about how much women are constantly expected to do versus men, ended up being met with little giggles and jokes between the women. It seemed like the women were often trying to defend the men during the conversations, instead of contradict them in any way. Later in the weekend, a male family member ended up getting drunk all weekend and hanging around the community and home in a half-conscious state. My host sister started bringing up topics with me from the workshop, like how she doesn't want her son seeing drunk men around. She talked of her guilt for not protecting him, when she doesn't really have control over another man's actions. This woman is sinchi warmi, she is protecting others, and challenging the cultural norms, and questioning those close to her to improve her child's life. During that same workshop, the women in the group talked about their needs for the community. This took a really long time, as they weren't asked to list the needs of others, but to take a moment and think about what they really want for themselves. Many still ended up listing things that the whole community would benefit from, including new machines to process their plants. One woman also spoke extensively and passionately about how she wants to organize all of the chakramamas (knowledgeable women of the forest). She wants the women to be able to sustainably pass on ancestral knowledge to their children, and protect both their culture and the forest. She brought her 13 year old daughter to the workshop with her, who said she learns new things from her mother every day. Each of the women I meet in this community are unique and strong in their own way. They inspire me, and remind me that I have that same uniqueness and strength inside me; All women do. This weekend, I was expecting to relax at home a bit with my family, catch up on rest from my late Thursday evening at the beauty pageant (read my last post if you haven't yet), and help out taking pictures for a tour in our community. Instead, I led a tour through the chakra on my own, got to make chocolate, got tipsy at a party with my host parents, and almost got stuck at a waterfall in the middle of a downpour. That's how it always works here. Even if there's nothing planned, something is bound to come up.
On Saturday, I went up to the tourism center in my community. I knew there was a tour going on that morning, for which my host dad would be leading a chakra tour, and my mom would be cooking the tourists' traditional lunches. It turns out there were two different groups coming that day. One, a large class of students, and the other, a small group of execs of Pacari, the chocolate company that buys the cacao and sets up a lot of the tours. I started by working in the kitchen a bit, washing dishes and setting the tables for the guests. I knew they hadn't made the chocolate mousse that's served with lunch yet, so I tried to make myself available for that. It's a fun process, plus you get to lick the batter-coated bowls and utensils when you're finished. After the mousse was finished, I didn't have much to do, except get in the way. I sat on the side in the kitchen to rest and watch my mom and the others work, trying to at least absorb some information while not helping much. After a while, the groups finished eating and I jumped in to help clean the tables. Suddenly, a face appeared in the doorway that looked a bit nervous and confused. It was a gringa from Holland who had taken a taxi into town to try and set up a tour, right then. This is pretty uncommon- almost all tours are planned weeks in advance, to give the community time to prepare the right amount of food and guides. But this girl didn't seem to know how to set up a tour ahead of time like the others. We felt a bit of pressure, since both of the tour guides we had were already in the chakra (forest) with the other groups. But my mom decided it would be a good idea to send me with her to meet one of the guides, my dad, at the entrance to the chakra. I was definitely nervous, but also recognized that this girl's Spanish was about the same level as mine, she was foreign too, and I'm sure we'd have a lot to talk about. So I walked her to the forest, and found out she had been living in nearby Tena for a month, working with a botany professor there, and that this was her last weekend in the area. Back in Holland, she worked at a chocolate museum/store, and loved learning about the chocolate making process. She was super kind and open to learning, so I tried to explain as much as I could before we met up with Bolívar, my host dad. Once we found him, he surprised me by saying that we could head off on our own and I could lead the tour. I have walked it a couple of times already, but always with Bolívar, and never alone. The route of the tour takes about 2 hours, and can be rigorous at points. I also needed to be able to open plants without a machete or tools, only by hitting the fruits against the tree. Naturally, I was nervous, but decided to run with it. I was excited to have been given permission to walk the chakra on my own, and that my dad trusted me with the knowledge he had taught me. Marleen, the tourist, and I began our journey into the chakra. Immediately, I started realizing I had so much to share with someone who had never entered the forest before. Everything from facts about certain rocks, to explaining different fruits and having her try them. I found myself retelling stories that Bolívar had told me and other tourists before, and also sharing stories from my own experience. At points, one of us had trouble with finding a word in Spanish, and would say it in English instead, but we decided to otherwise speak in all Spanish. It was great practice for both of us, and kept my mind active the whole time. We made the walk in good time, and both agreed we really enjoyed it. Once back at the tourism center, my family made me lunch alongside her, so I got to indulge in some more comidas típicas (and more mousse!), which I always enjoy. Kati, the other American volunteer living the community, had shown up to help out with the tours as well. Her dad is the other tour guide for the groups, and he is also named Bolívar (can´t make this stuff up). Her dad, Bolívar, offered to show us the cacao fermentation process, and Kati joined us as well. Afterwards, Kati and I got to take part in actually grinding the cacao and trying the chocolate! This was a real treat, as normally, we just help in the kitchen or on the tour in the chakra. The chocolate was burning hot, but delicious, licking it off of a cacao leaf being used as a plate. After the tour, it was close to 5pm, and Kati and my parents were planning to head to an aniversario, a party in a neighboring community, for the evening. So we quickly got changed, hopped on the bus and headed to the party. We got there a bit early, but it was nice to scope the place out before it went completely dark. The party ended up being really fun. We danced with plenty of random people, which is pretty low stakes here. Most people dance by just shuffling their feet forwards and backwards, and sometimes clapping to the beat. It's pretty hard to mess up. Everyone was drinking, and those who weren't "drunk enough to dance" stood near the dancers and watched. It's an interesting custom, but I asked my family and they told me it was true: Kichwa people don't really dance unless they're drunk. If you are dancing, people will basically assume you've been drinking. Kati and I found this interesting, as in the US, you could say the same rule applies at certain gatherings. But we also took advantage of the opportunity to completely embarrass our families, dancing like crazy every once in a while. Kati even broke out dance moves she learned in Senegal, which made our parents both blush and laugh. Another thing I noticed about the drinking culture here is that a lot of people really drink to get drunk. Alcoholism is an issue here, just like it is in many other places. I had a fair share of awkward encounters with drunk men, one coming up to say hello and then trying to kiss me? I've learned by now how to swerve that interaction. And, of course, lots of dancing with drunk old men who are half my height. But I was never really uncomfortable, I had my host family and Kati with me the whole time. It was fun to experience this kind of party setting with my parents, in a safe way while also learning about different aspects of our families' lives. The next day, myself and a few other interns went to visit el gran canyón, which is a set of a few waterfalls that you hike down to from a nearby community. We made the plans before discovering it was pouring rain, but stuck to the idea and went anyway. Our local friend, Carlos, drove us there in his car and acted as our guide, though he hadn't visited in a few years. The road was extremely muddy and slippery, not helped by the torrential downpour (or the fact that I chose to wear my chacos). It looked like they had begun a construction project to build a road from the community to the entrance to the jungle path, but hadn't finished it. Which meant there was a big ankle deep mess of rocks and copper mud everywhere. After about 20 minutes of navigating those roads, we finally made it to the trail. Walking there wasn't much easier; with the downpour flooding half of the trail, we had to walk through running water and muddy paths once again. Half of us took our shoes off, delicately stepping and trying not to fall on our asses. Even though it was raining so much it became difficult to focus on more than where I was stepping, I was definitely overwhelmed by the dense forest around us. It was so lush and full, it felt more like the rainforest than any other forest or chakra I had visited. Once we finally made it to the waterfall, we got to take a break, take some photos and relax. After hanging for a bit in this dry spot under the waterfall, we noticed that the river started picking up. We started getting worried, as we had to cross a river by foot in order to reach the waterfall. We scrambled back to the crossing, and sure enough, the rocks we had walked on to get across the river were completely submerged by water. Luckily, we found another trail on the same side of the river. We weren't sure if it would take us the right way back, but thought it would be better than waiting any longer. The path was extremely steep, and had hand made staircases all along the way. We even had to run straight through a smaller waterfall at one point. It was getting late, closer to 4pm, and I was getting nervous for our safety. We were all so tired, and if something happened to one of us, I was wondering how we would get help. Luckily, the trail got us back to the original trail we took, and soon enough, we made it back to the entrance. The whole weekend was jam packed and exhausting, but definitely filled with some crazy moments. How many of us have watching a Miss America competition on TV? I think I've probably seen it on once or twice, but never have made it more than 30 minutes before finding it pretty unbearable. It just feels so objectifying, and like it's pitting females against one another.
So, how did I find myself being a judge at a beauty pageant last night, in a town I've never been to, until 1am? Long story short, there's this sweet shaman who always runs into me and other interns at the bus terminal. He always wants to chat, and last time he ran into my friend, Kati, he was telling her about this "Queen's ceremony" that he wanted Kati and I to "commemorate"? Kati told me this, and I immediately thought it sounded sketchy. Why would this town want these random Americans who have never visited to come in and judge a culture they are just getting to know? I decided to leave it be, and that it was a passing idea that he must have had that wouldn't come to fruition. Fast forward to yesterday morning, I get a call from an unknown number that I don't answer. A minute later, a text from Kati pops up: someone called her, too, but she answered. It was a woman saying that they were going to pick us both up at 7pm that evening, and take us to the competition. We would be judging the girls, and they'd drop us off when it ends. Kati and I were both feeling a bit confused on why they wanted us to judge. I didn't want to show up and be intruding on their event. But Kati said she was going, so I said, screw it. When will I ever get the chance to do this again? So at 7:45, an unusually nice car picked us up from Santa Rita and zoomed us to the event. It took place in a large gym, but was really done up nice. A good amount of people were in attendance, I would say close to two hundred, and the stage was decorated with plants and colored lights. We sat in the front in these large chairs, placed awkwardly far apart from one another. What did we get ourselves into, I couldn't believe where I was. This thing was way more organized than I thought it would be, with a full sound system, and a crew putting the whole thing together. It was nice to have Kati with me, so every once in a while we could look over at each other and laugh, mouthing, what is happening right now? The event was long, and ended being a competition both for Miss Seed and for Miss Fruit. We were judging Miss Fruit, while the other girls were getting judged on these choreographed traditional dances and clothing. Those girls did not mess around- full yucca trees were brought on stage (and harvested) for the performances, as well as small chickens (who then ran off the stage and had to be chased). Kati and I got to enjoy those performances, but instead, judge the Miss Fruit girls, who had a swimsuit category, traditional dress category, and gown category. The girls ranged from 15-17 years old. They were so young, but poised. I watched them fight nerves the whole time, while trying to strut in big heels half naked in front of their community. It brought me back to the most insecure years of my life, and how I would have crumbled in this setting. I felt so weird judging them, seeing as I would never take part in something like this at home. But trust me, this whole event was absolutely worth it. The girls were all really sweet, as was the rest of the community. And to keep everyone awake and excited, after every couple of performances, an artist would come on and sing or play an instrument. We'd all get up and dance, sometimes with other welcoming judges, or with Kati, or other times with complete strangers. I had one man from Tena speak with me completely in English (he works in the tourism industry), and another very drunk man only laugh with me in Spanish about how tall I was, dancing with me in such awkward positions that I couldn't stop laughing. After about 5 hours of judging, Kati and I were beat. I've only stayed up past 11pm once since getting to Ecuador, so I definitely pushed my limits. But finally, a little after 1am, they crowned their winners. All of the girls were sweet and respectful, some a little teary eyed. We got a taxi ride home, and just then, I felt my mouth hurting from how much I had smiled all night. I don't think I stopped laughing or smiling the whole time, at the absurdity and serendipity and beauty of it all. So, overall, not a huge fan of judging people, but a huge fan of Ecuadorian beauty pageants. Today, I took a bus to another town to try and give myself some relief- instead, I found myself more stressed and panicked than when I left.
Because I live in a community that doesn't really get cell service, I like going into the nearby town of Archidona for my internship, or a bit farther to Tena to meet other interns. I get a little bit of service, I can buy an ice cream, and I can feel some connection to back home. I love my community so much, but after a day like yesterday where I worked out in the sun almost all day, and played outside for the other half, I was looking for a relaxing phone call or text convo- in English. But I didn't really get one. I thought I would go to my internship in Archidona for a bit, then to Tena to pick up a few things and say hi to fellow friends if I saw them, and then call home. Instead, I showed up at my internship early, and no one was there. The front gates were locked and I didn't see people around waiting. Normally, I would just wait twenty minutes or so for someone to let me in. Not today, though- I was not in the mood to wait. Instead, I hopped on a bus to Tena, thinking I'd get some work done there, and buy the stuff I wanted. When I got to Tena, I found myself in an immediate funk. Even though I have been thinking about the work I have been wanting to get started on, projects for my host family and my internship, I couldn't make myself do them. I pulled up youtube and facebook, gmail, and whatever other familiar sites the crappy wifi would eventually load. Just as I have done a thousand times in my life, I procrastinated for hours. And unsurprisingly, after a few hours of barely getting anything done, and with no human contact, I felt very unfulfilled. That's the other thing about leaving my community, is that I suddenly feel like I've accidentally walked outside without clothes on. People stare, or try to look away, or don't know how to react to me. I know there are plenty of other outsiders, especially in Tena, but when I'm having a day like this where I am not interacting with people, it all feels intensified. Like I'm an ant under a magnifying glass that is reflecting the sun. My emotions heighten and I burn up. One of the worst feelings is being surrounded by people when you're far from home and just want to be alone. So how did I get my work done? I decided I would take a break and pick up a pair of pants I wanted, then grabbed lunch at a place I hadn't tried before. My meal felt lonely and unsatisfying, but I didn't want to face that thought. Instead, I took the next bus to Archidona to go back to my internship and try, again, to complete any type of task. Now, I've been at work for a couple of hours, and have done a bit of work, but mostly sidetracked into looking at plans for my summer internship and my mom's trip here in a few weeks. Which means I feel wildly unproductive, unsuccessful, and lazy. But it's 3:30pm- I'm going to leave work in an hour, pick up my laundry, and go home- and a new day will start tomorrow. I think that some days are just meant to be unproductive. I don't know much about horoscopes, but I do not that Mercury is in retrograde, and because of this, Scorpios are having trouble with productivity and inspiration? Which I thought was a load of crap until I felt like I had been sucked into a social media blackhole today. Some days are also meant to move slower here. We just had a four day weekend from Carnaval, and getting moving again after not being at work for a bit can be hard. So I'm going to try and not beat myself up too much about this, because doing this back and forth between my community is a lot on my system. It is hard to transition between conversations with friends and home, and speaking Spanish with locals here. No one expects me to be perfect, and no one expects me to crank out perfect, full fledged products in the short time that I'm here. All I can do is be authentic and listen to myself. On the days where my productivity is through the roof, I'll put in all my best work. And days like these where I feel lonely and struggle, I'll end by hanging out at my house with my host family, helping with dinner or playing games. This whole experience has been a balance, and I take each day as it comes. Hopefully, tomorrow will bring a bit more energy and motion. For now, I'll just have to treat myself with a little ice cream. At least I was productive enough to upload this blog post! I'm currently sprawled across my bed, at 9pm, hoping to read a little but knowing I will fall asleep while trying. I slept for four hours last night, sharing my twin bed with my friend because after a night out, at 2 am, there were no hotels in town with open rooms. Today, I took a bus to a Carnaval beach party, and the entire 45 minute ride, I had the kind of need to poop that sends your mind into panicked delusion (tmi, but true, sorry). After a long and tiring day, I missed the last bus into my community and had to get a taxi instead. My pj shirt reeks of carnaval espuma.
All this, yet all I can focus on is the overwhelming, gushing, aching feeling of gratitude for the life I get to say is mine right now. Last week, my group of interns met up to talk about how our experiences have been going, and I cried for the first time in months when trying to explain how grateful I was for all of this. I’m living in Ecuador? My family is huge and kind and loving and hilarious? I got sprayed with foam and attacked with paint today, and got to swim in a river, and now I’m squeaky clean post outdoor shower? I got to eat both french fries AND ice cream today?! When I first got here, I felt a different kind of gratitude- I focused on how much money things cost back home, and how lucky I was to even afford a plane ticket over here. Everyone here talks about money a lot. I have been asked both by strangers and my host family how much things cost in the US compared to here, and how much my plane cost, and my phone, a cup of coffee, each individual ring on my finger... It got to a point where I would just resort to saying that I didn't know the cost, or that someone else bought it for me. Sometimes, I knew the cost was really high, and I didn't even want to say it out loud. Now, I get asked questions like this less frequently, and don't think about money as constantly. Instead, I find myself wondering how I got here. I never thought of myself as someone who could live in the jungle, bathe in the river, or learn an indigenous language while sucking on fish bones. I wanted to come here to improve my Spanish- I've studied for over six years in school, but we all know that could mean I'm anywhere from fluent to beginner in real life. My goal was to put myself in an immersive situation where I had no choice but to speak the language with very little English. While that is what has been happening, I have realized there are so many other little reasons that the world has brought me here. More so than just learning Spanish, I've been learning some Kichwa as well. My family speaks about half and half of each language at once in the house, so even just learning some key words and phrases can really help me follow a conversation. My favorite phrase I've learned so far is probably sinchi warmi, meaning "strong woman". My host dad taught it to me, and whenever any of the amazing women in my house make or do something commendable, him or I will say the phrase and the other will repeat it back. I have learned so much about my community's connection to their chakra, their forest, and their home. It is so hard to describe, but easy to feel and observe. My family is teaching me how to claim space, while also sharing it with other living things. I'm grateful for the concept of time here, too- I've learned to always bring a book, journal, or headphones with me on any journey. Buses constantly change with holidays, and sometimes I'm waiting at a bus station for two hours. But that is giving me more time to reflect, read, and just watch what's going on around me. I'm grateful for the ability to stare here- God knows I'm getting stared at all the time. Our program director explained the culture of it when I first arrived, saying that a lot of people stare at one another, but its not a big deal. It's a free country, what's the harm in looking at one another? And the same goes for asking questions: In the US, my pride and embarrassment would often keep me from asking a stranger for directions. Here, with limited cell data and local knowledge, I am asking someone for help almost every day. But everyone wants to help- people here will go out of their way to help you with even more than you asked for. Last week, I accidentally got on the wrong bus, which just meant I'd wait at the next terminal for my correct bus to come along at some point. But the employee on the other bus ran over to me a few minutes after he saw me waiting, and found the schedule for me so I knew what time the bus would be coming. I never even asked him for that, but he saw where he could help me, and stepped in. This all sounds so idealistic when I explain it like this, but I promise it has not all been so easy (read my first paragraph again for a refresher). There are plenty of things here that push me to my limits and have me asking myself, How did I get here? But once I give myself ten minutes to reassess my surroundings and remind myself where I am, I end up asking another question: How did I get so lucky? I haven’t been getting the best of sleep while in Ecuador. This could be partially due to the fact that I just got a mosquito net a couple of days ago. To avoid the incessant little bites from all types of critters, I have been sleeping in thick socks and sweats (with the hood up) in already warm weather. So, combine sweating through your clothes every night while getting eaten alive, with roosters at 3am and loud music from the neighbors- it adds up to mostly restless nights. Which is why I was subconsciously bummed when I was woken from my slumber last week at 4:30am with a phone call. I was on my back, legs straight out, and my whole body and mind were completely relaxed. Until I realized I had picked up a phone call in my sleep, from my fellow intern who was waiting at the top of our community for me in the taxi I had ordered the night before.
Suddenly, I was up, throwing my body out of my bed and rummaging through my suitcase for a change of pants and socks (Halfway to our destination, I realized I was still in the tshirt I had slept in). I ran downstairs in my rubber boots, frantically saying goodbye to my host dad, who was already up for the day. I can’t imagine what I looked like to him in that moment, feeling disheveled and embarrassed for sleeping in 45 minutes later than I meant to. I ran out to the taxi to meet my friend and driver, and we were off to Archidona, the nearby town. There, we would join a few other interns and head to La Libertad, where we would take part in a guayusa ceremony. You may be wondering why my dad was already up at 4am when everyone else was still asleep. My dad takes part in a Kichwa tradition of waking up before the sun rises and drinking the tea brewed from the guayusa (written wayusa in Kichwa) plant to start the day. He’s the only one in my family of nearly 12 that really takes part, but many households practice this a whole family, every morning. It’s difficult to explain entirely, as there are many parts to the tradition, but drinking the guayusa tea is mostly a way to reflect, socialize, connect with your ancestors and the Amazon, and energize yourself for the day ahead. It reminds me a bit of sitting with your loved ones, drinking a cup of coffee in the morning. A group of us interns took part in a guayusa ceremony, which just meant we had Kichwa community members from La Libertad explain to us the many traditions of the drink while we drank it. We arrived to the community while it was still dark, and took a path through the back of the community. It was a little unnerving and disorienting taking the long walk in the middle of the jungle when I was still waking up. About halfway there, though, our intern leader had us all stop to take a moment of pause. We all turned off our flashlights in the middle of the trail, and stood in silence, listening to the bugs and water and life surrounding us. For a minute, I felt like a tiny little bug, chilling on a branch, listening in on the conversations of the animals around me. One we got to the choza, or hut for the ceremony, we sat in a circle and were handed pilches from which to drink the guayusa. The tea is pretty bitter if you don't add lemon and sugar, like most people do. But it also felt more powerful to drink it this way, like I was absorbing the real energy of the plant. Before drinking the whole cup, however, we learned how to spit it on various parts of our body, as ancestors did, to protect themselves from dangers in the jungle. We all tried our best to get a good spit spray onto each arm, below us, and up over our heads. You also gargle the tea like mouthwash, to clear our mouth and body of bad energy that may have been left over from the night before. Our leaders of the ceremony also told us many interesting stories about the history of the plant, and how it was discovered by humans. It is said that the grandfather of one of the leaders stumbled upon the plant one day in the forest, and it was shaking. He tried to reach for it and grab it, but the guayusa would not allow itself to be touched. When the man brought back his family to see the plant, the guayusa continuted to shake and avoid the people's grasps. Then they realized that the guayusa plant was a virgin- never touched or used by humans. So, the people bowed and prayed to Pachamama, or Mother Earth, to ask for use of the guayusa. Pachamama listened and allowed them to harvest the guayusa, which is now drunk by Ecuadorians every day. The people's connection to and understanding of their natural world is so moving, in a way that makes me wish I had that same deep connection with the jungle. Kichwa people, specifically, hold a special relationship with their environment, one where they try to maintain balance and respect. Just yesterday, I noticed my nine year old brother taking a moment to pray to himself and the tree before climbing it to grab some clementines for us to snack on. Everyone understands how to communicate with the earth and how to respect it, in a way that I've never seen before. We also got our dreams interpreted, which is a practice that can casually takes place for some families. Kichwa culture has many different meanings for different dreams. They believe that if you dream about something, you are receiving a sign or message about how to spend your day. There are certain interpretations of some signals in dreams that have spooky meanings. The dream that I shared with our leader, Amable, for example, was about my host sister. My dream took place in bed, but I couldn't tell if I was awake or asleep throughout the whole thing. When I think I was awake, I was experiencing sleep paralysis, and then I kept thinking I was seeing my host sister next to my bed. She would peek her head out and giggle, playing hide and seek. When I finally woke up, she wasn't there. There was also a worm hole of insects that appeared above my bed and was sucking all of the bugs out of my room (yep, super icky). Amable told me that because she was near me in my dream, but not in real life, that meant she may get sick. Another intern asked about dreams about you pulling your teeth, which Amable said could mean a family member is going to pass away. We talked for a long time about all of the different meanin gs and interpretations, and I started thinking about all of the dreams I have and how they could be interpreted. Apparently, a lot of dreams with parties and music can generally have bad connotations. I swear all of my dreams recently have been about parties- uh oh. Maybe it was the multiple pilches of wayusa, but I was feeling real emotional during the whole ceremony. The quiet rushing water right outside, the calm voices of our guides telling elaborate stories, the warm and bitter guayusa soothing my throat. I felt too lucky to have been sitting in the middle of the jungle with creative and loving people from all over the world, including from La Libertad. I heard stories that sounded like they were from a fairytale; I watched a couple of people take tough hits from a hortiga, a stinging nettle plant to relieve some pain (our leader, Stephanie, calls it nature's Icy Hot); I peed in a beautiful river! It was an early and moving morning, and since then, I've been trying to thank Pachamama as much as I can. This past weekend, to get a change of scenery, I visited Baños. This touristy town is about three hours south from Tena. We took a bus for $5 (would recommend over Greyhound, they played movies and everything) and got in Thursday night. I was with three other interns, and we all stayed in a room at this hostel in town. Arriving in Baños and being tourists for the weekend was weird- I immediately started feeling a push and pull of my American tendencies and my new desires and thoughts in Ecuador. I felt immediate comfort hearing other Americans' accents in the hostel, and was so excited to feel the cold air outside versus the more humid and warm Tena climate. But with each of these thoughts, I also started feeling waves of guilt. I was thinking about my host family a lot, and was wondering what they were up to while I was using all of these amenities. While I am here to travel and experience all different parts of Ecuador, I also want to immerse myself with my family. I've found this balance to be difficult so far, as there are so many things I want to see and do in such a short time, but I also love being with my host family. Nevertheless, the weekend was really enjoyable and beautiful. Baños is one of my favorite places that I've ever visited. We couldn't see it when we arrived at night, but the next morning, we looked out from our hostel's wide windows to see the entire city surrounded by mountains. The view was incredible, and it felt oddly calming to be hugged by the tall, green scenery. The first day, we went to Casa del Arbol, which took an hour to get to by bus. For $1, we inched up the mountain to the park of swings for what felt like forever- shifting gears uphill on a bus with 40 people all holding their breath was slightly unnerving. But the tense trip up was worth it. The views from the top of the mountain were so beautiful, and riding on one of their swings felt like you were flying into the mountains. I didn't think my stomach would flip as much as it did! After spending a short time at the park, we decided to walk back down the hill for about an hour to take a stop at this upscale spa/hotel, called Luna Volcán. For $20, we were given robes and towels, and access to the pools overlooking the city of Baños. The experience was relaxing, sipping drinks with the other interns and watching the clouds glide through the tips of the mountains. We did all look at each other at one point and admit that it all felt a little unsettling, though. The vibe of the hotel was very upper class tourist. After living in an indigenous community, this spa felt different to me than it would have a month ago. Though, I did still appreciate my first hot shower in a couple of weeks. The next day, we ate breakfast in Mercado Central, where tons of individual booths sell essentially the same meals at the same price. This is a very common practice here, that seems almost un-American to me- place the competition right on top of each other. But they don't seem to mind, and the food was delicious. I also bought little things at the outdoor market next door. Something I didn't prepare for was the amount of money I was going to be spending while traveling. While still cheaper than traveling in the States, prices were hiked up for eating and shopping in Baños, because of the high number of visiting foreigners. The next day, we visited Pailon del Diablo, which has a large waterfall that you can hike up to see, and even stand under it if you want to get soaked! It also only cost few a dollars to enter, and had great markets near the front where you could buy local jewelry or bags. Leaving at the end of the weekend was difficult. I don't think I am particularly good at transitions between environments. Leaving the odd comfort of other foreigners, combined with excitement to see my host family, made me feel a little bit of guilt. I know my thoughts were valid and made sense, but part of me wished I could more easily adapt to hopping around this country. The weekend flew by, and I spent too much money, but the trip was definitely worth it. I think I'll stay in my community and travel a little less for the next few weeks, though- it may be easier on my body and mind. Plus, I missed my host siblings and parents (and parrot!) too much! One of the first pieces of advice I received when asking previous volunteers what to expect from this program, started with, "So, you're going to get sick..."
There was an inevitable expectation of getting sick that I knew from the get-go. Any and all gringos eating the food and drinking water here-unless extremely careful, and lucky- will expose themselves to unfamiliar bacteria and get sick at least once. And for me, this sickness started just a few days into my stay in my community. It started with tummy grumbles, then multiple trips to the bathroom, then waking up one morning with full body aches and shivers. My poor body was trying to hard to fight this stuff off, and I started kicking myself for being so lenient with what I was eating. I had drank Chonta juice twice already, which could easily have thrown my body for a loop. I also had been accepting candies from the spit covered hands of Yosalin- not her fault for being a gracious toddler. Not to mention, I've been eating uvas before they've been washed, and I drank a glass of water in a Tena office without thinking that it probably isn't filtered. So, I screwed up. I can't blame anyone but myself for the fever and discomfort I experienced for most all of yesterday. I tried to be discreet about it, so as not to disturb my family. But when the bathroom can be seen from both my parent's room and the kitchen, it only takes two runs to the bathroom for them to notice. As soon as I confessed my pain, they were offering me solutions. My mom boiled me a small glass of a dark concoction to drink that morning, as I was about to take an hour long bus ride to Tena and needed something fast. It was numbing on my throat, and made my whole body feel a bit loopy. It definitely helped, along with the electrolytes and basic meds I picked up at the pharmacy in town. Once I got home, my family was feeling my head to check for my temperature, which apparently was still high. My host dad told me to sit down in this small chair in the door of the kitchen. Susie, my host mom, cut up some pure tobacco, and Bolivar started performing a traditional cleansing. He wouldd blow tobacco smoke on different parts of my head and body, and brush me with a bushel of leaves down my limbs to rid myself of the sickness. My host sister told me that the leaves, which were very alive before the ritual, would be wilted and dead when we were finished. The process was very calming, and made my spine tingle. It was casual, the family was watching and carrying on as it happened. As soon as he finished, I was sent to bed. I was exhausted, and had the best night's sleep I've experienced since getting here. Today, I'm feeling much better. And good thing, since I'm taking a last minute trip to the touristy town of Baños this weekend. From now on, I'll be drinking more (gringo) water, avoiding jugo de chonta, and thinking twice before accepting Yosalin's dulces (again, not her fault, pobrecita). Have you ever asked someone to repeat themselves more than once, and when you don’t get it the second time, you just pretend that you did to not be a bother? Well, me too. That’s probably happened a good 5 times today, not at the fault of my wonderful host family, but rather, at my fatigue and worry that i will be a worse visitor if I am actually THAT incapable of conversing. On the morning of my first full day, I sat at the breakfast table as my host mom reminded me I was going to the chakra this morning. What i didn’t understand was that i wasn’t going with my host dad, but instead, with my 15 year old brother Cosmi. I figured it out when my family kept waiting for me to move; that, and Cosmi was standing at the door with rubber boots and a machete. The Chakra is an agroforestry system used by rural indigenous towns to live off their land communally in a sustainable manner. Basically, it’s a big rainforest on the side of the community that intercrops all types of plants. They’re used for everything from medicinal purposes, to food, to construction materials. Most families have someone go into the chakra at least once a day to harvest a couple of things. Cosmi and I walked about 10 minutes to the chakra, talking about a couple of plants and other simple things. We talked about our favorite fruits, and i revealed that I love the guavas and uvas here. Uvas are grapes, and here, guava means ice cream fruit, this long plant with pods of white, creamy sweetness. It’s difficult to describe a chakra, except that it looks like what you imagined a jungle would look like when you were little. It’s gorgeous, with many layers and countless different plants scattered throughout the forest. When we first hiked in, Cosmi immediately cut open a cacao plant for me to snack on. With these, you can suck on the pulp surrounding each seed, and it tastes like candy. I snacked as we walked only a few steps more to the uva trees. I was surprised to notice how high up the grapes were, at least 20 feet in the air. “How are you going to get those down?” I asked, and he stated, “i’m going up.” He told me to sit and watch as he does it. So I squatted on a nearby rock and gaped in awe as my 15 year old brother pulled off his boots, took a few moments to hug and hold the tree, and then swung his legs around to encircle and start scaling the tree. Once up the nearly 20 feet to the first branch, he pulled up a long bamboo stick with a kind of hook on the end that was leaning against the tree, and started using it to reach for the bunches of grapes on the far off branches. It was a fun game of trying to pull the grapes towards him and catch them. This was one of the first moments so far where I have been wowed by my host family. And I could write a book about each of my family members- my father, Bolivar, is a hardworking man trying to make ends meet for his five kids and three grandchildren currently living in the house. He cares so much about sharing his culture with me, and is reminding me to practice my Kichwa every time we see each other. Joel is nine, and both extremely silly, while also mature. He is always messing around and making jokes, but will never leave me in the dark. I’ve gone to the river with him a few times, which is so fun. I’m teaching him how to swim, and he’s teaching me every version of tag and hide and seek that exists. Yosalin, Cristi’s daughter, is one of the cutest little tricksters I’ve ever encountered. She’s three, and everyone calls her “la maestra” because I spend so much time with her, she’s basically reteaching me Spanish. Since Cristi has a newborn she’s constantly caring for, Yosalin and I like to spend hours together drawing in my notebook, counting her stuffed animals, or playing at the daycare next door. Each day she’s wearing a new piece of my clothing, either my watch, or my headband- I know better than to take off any accessory near her unless i don’t want to see it for a day. She shows me so much affection, and even when she starts to get on my nerves, as toddlers can, I miss her as soon as she leaves the room. Cristi is a strong young woman, taking care of two kids at my age, often making meals for the family, and still taking the time to invite me to watch novelas with her and chat about fun girly things. There’s so much more I could say about each family member, but I’ll save it for later. For now, I’ll lay out a typical day in the first week settling into my community: I wake up a little before 7, while most aside from the little ones have already risen. My mom, Susie, makes me breakfast and I eat with the kids or whoever else hasn’t eaten yet. If there’s no school, I play games around the house with Joel and Yosalin, or walk to the daycare for a change of hiding spots. In the afternoon, Joel and I will want to go to the river to swim. We may bring an insistent Yosalin, even though she’s too young to go in the water and will just throw rocks while we swim. In the evening, all of the family will be sitting around a bowl of picked and boiled Chonta to peel and chat. I may surprise them with understanding something they think I didn’t hear, or I may just sit in silence and find comfort in the home. Every family member takes the time to explain things to me, and have so much patience for my silly spanish mistakes and lack of knowledge. They’ve opened their home to me, and I know I will always have a piece of my heart and mind in their company. Not much else has happened thus far, other than a couple of day trips out to Tena (and feeling unwell- but I’ll talk about that later). Now, I’m feeling grateful and excited to know my community even better, and to get to work! |
Details
AuthorI'm a 21 year old university student, studying geography and food security, and spending a semester in Ecuador interning with Amazon Learning. ArchivesCategories |