One of Ecuador's jungle provinces, known as Napo, is home to many interesting people, animals, and natural resources. By far my favorite province so far, Napo's friendly indigenous communities and mischevious monkeys made for an unforgettable experience. Here are some of the people I met during a week-long medical brigade in the pueblo called Misayualli and surrounding communities:
Marta- A 28 year-old female living in a one-story, wooden hut built on sticks to provide protection from torrential rains and poisounous snakes, spiders, and more. A mother of one child, and sibling of many, Marta lives in extreme poverty in a community far into the jungle. We entered her home to find about ten people huddled around on the floor, dirty clothes hanging from the ceiling, an eery silence and fearful eyes from Marta's family members. In the corner we saw Marta. Covered in blankets it was hard to see the little flesh that still hung from her bones but it was apparent she was unhealthily skinny, her skin color (normally very dark) was nearly white, with cracked lips and sunken-in eyes. Our last patient of the day, Marta.
Our medical brigade team consisted of rougly 6 doctors, 4 nurses, a handful of translators (including myself), and 40 volunteers from Microsoft in Seattle. Our mission was a week-long quest into the jungle, treating more than 100 patients a day for 5 days. Doctors, nurses, translators, and volunteers were split up within 8 communities and each day brought new stories and memories never to be forgotten.
Marta's hut could fit no more than 5 of us at a time, with fear of her house falling down, so I was sent with a doctor and an emergency nurse to help her. The trouble was the extreme lack of ability to communicate, not because of language differences but because of cultural differences which made it hard to get the right story. Marta and her family speak Qhechua, one of Ecuador's indigenous languages, so we ultimately were playing a game of phone tag that went something like this:
Doctor: Marta, how long have you been sick?
Me: Por cuanto tiempo ya estas enferma?
Quechua Translator: translate Spanish to Quechua
Marta: reply
Send back the other way.
This went on for about an hour, but the end result left us with frustration and confusion. Marta and her family, according to them, had no idea what happened to her. She did not fall, she was not beaten by her husband, she had no infeccion, they simply told us, "the doctors told us she was sick." Marta had visited the doctors office two months ago, but the family did not have money to keep her there so they brought her home. So there she layed, for two months on a wooden floor, dehydrated, and ready to die. The head doctor for Marta was nervous, she wanted Marta out of there immediately and insisted she go to the hospital. After giving her an IV, we carried her out of the hut, onto our bus, and to the hospital. We left the next day, it is still a mystery what happened.
Charlie: An 11-year old boy from the same community as Marta, atleast an hour from any larger town, very isolated in the jungle. Driving up to Charlie's community, I noticed signs for oil companies (PetroEcuador) and, not surprisingly, was aware of the great presence that oil companies held in this region. I am not sure of the relevance of that information with what I will go on to explain- but, only time will tell. Charlie is son to a mother of five and is one out of four other siblings that suffer from severe mental disabilities and retardation. Charlie is 11, yet he acts as though he is 3 or 4 years old. He was one of the cutest kids I have ever seen, I was instantly drawn to him. Yet Charlie's life is, unfortunately, at risk and unless he recieves further help from Timmy (the medical brigade foundation) could potentially die before he gets much older. Charlie looked sickly, although he wanted to be fun and playful he had a hard time breathing, his forehead was dripping with sweat, and held a severe cough. Not to mention it was hard to interact with Charlie, and he was unresponsive to the doctors or myself. Alone, just Charlie himself, this case would seem manageable. A child with health problems, mental retardation, those cases happen. But, one of four in the family? Charlie, his two sisters, and brother, all suffered from similar symptoms. Here was a family, sitting with us, every one of them suffering from some type of severe ailment. It was scary.
The doctor and I spent over an hour with the family, trying to figure out what could possibily be going on. This family, shockingly, was one amongst MANY families we saw that day that suffered from mental disabilities. Something was wrong, very wrong, in this town. What was going on? Was it the extreme isolation that the community faced, causing for inter-breeding which leads to disabilities? Was this an environmental issue, potentially caused from the nearby oil companies we saw on our drive there? Were people being poisoned? It was shocking.
Charlie and his family will be referred to Quito, where they will recieve medical treatment for Charlie's enlarged liver, other ailments, and hopefully help with his mental disability. Thanks to the Timmy Foundation, the community will continue to be seen and hopefully more evidence will be presented about what is going on there. Only time can tell.
Monos: Mono in Spanish means monkey. I used to love monkeys, well, I still do. But I never realized how mischevious and annoying they can be at times. Misayulli, the pueblo we were based in, is home to hundreds of monkeys who sit around in the town plaza, waiting for tourists and locals to turn their heads away. When they do, the monkeys quietly sneak in, steal whatever they can, and run away before the victim has even realized what happened. They are aggressive, outgoing, and kind of terrifying. I, unfortunately, or fortunately, was a victim to the monkeys twice during my stay in Misayulli. The first interaction occurred in the town's local bar. We were sitting down, eating patacones (fried plantains) when all of a sudden, in walks a monkey. He creeps into the kitchen, steals a bowl full of eggs which he carried out in his hand, and bolts for the plaza. The owner of the restaurant chased after him with a broom, but, she was too slow and lost alot of eggs that day. The monkey then sat, facing the restaurant, and quietly cracked open each individual egg, lining them up in a row after sucking out the eggyoke from each one. He had an expression as though he was completely justified for stealing so many eggs, and sat pleasantly to enjoy the snack. I thought he was really cute, of course, so I went to sit next to him. He didn't seem to mind, as my friend and I sat there talking, watching him eat. We looked away for one second, and I felt something touching my leg. I look over, and the monkey has his paws on me, staring at me in the face.
Monkey interaction number two was even more bizarre, and I am pretty sure a lesson from my grandma Oma. It happened within 15 minutes of the first interaction, with the same monkey who apparently did, or did not, like me I am not sure which. We were having a couple of beers, and I had a pack of cigarettes in front of me on the table. I turn my head because I was getting good at spotting out the monkeys before they attacked, and see a monkey slowly climbing down the pole near where I was sitting. I wasn't worried this time, though, as I was prepared. I spotted him! He could do no harm...wrong. All of a sudden, Mr. Monkey leapt forward, put his hands on my shoulder, grabbed my pack of cigarettes, and ran away! WHAT?! I was shocked, again.
You may think that is funny, I did too. Well, I turned around to watch him run off with my recently opened pack of cigarettes and, as if out of a movie, he began dropping them down one by one from three stories up AND, slowly walked across the telephone wire with A CIGARETTE IN HIS MOUTH. You've got to be kidding me, you crazy monkey! I don't know how often that happens in Misayulli, although I don't think it is uncommon, but I take it as a sign from my grandma Oma to stop smoking. I get it, I do.
These were only three of the hundreds of people that truely impacted my life during this past week in the jungle. I will never forget the amazing trip we had and will be doing more of them later on this year. Thanks for listening!
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
Friday, September 16, 2011
"Dinner" and a Movie
The little things that are taken for granted. A hot shower, a walk through the grocery store, a 0.25 cent busride. These things occur in my daily life without being given a second thought. It's not until I go into the poorer neighborhoods of Santo Domingo that I realize these commodities, for many people, are rare.
Wednesday afternoon was movie day for the kids of barrios Laura Flores, Cristo Vive, and 12 de Octubre (the three neighborhoods that our organization, Sonando por el Cambio, works in.) Santo Domingo's mayor, a follower of our project, donated 60 movie tickets to our organization to take the kids on a field trip. The majority of the kids had never been to the movie theater before so, needless to say, it was an exciting day for them. Not quite as exciting for myself, though, as I was responsible for all 60 children, as my coworkers had other acitivities to take care of that day. After being in Ecuador for nearly a year and a half, my concept of "being on time" has altered tremendously and I no longer hold great importance in being punctual (being on time just does not happen in Ecuador.) So, we arrived for the 3:00pm movie at 3:20pm. Sprinting down the hallways of Santo Domingo's shopping plaza with 60 kids towards the movie theater, a memory that will never be forgotten. Dodging in and out of shoppers, dragging kids by their arms and legs who fell behind, screaming and laughing as we went, it was quite the sight to be seen.
I'm not sure why I thought I would be able to actually watch the movie we had tickets for. The most I probably sat down to see was a maximum of 2 minutes. Within the first 30 seconds inside the movie theater, atleast 10 kids were screaming my name from the top seats of the theater, they needed the bathroom. "Ok, lets go..." I said. As I waited for them outside of the bathroom, atleast 4 or 5 more would pop out, they, too, needed the bathroom. I waited 5 minutes, then 10 minutes for the kids. After getting impatient, I entered the bathroom to find them not washing their hands or using the bathroom, but instead blowdrying their hair under the hand dryers. I couldn't help but laugh at them, and ask them what they thought they were doing. After basically washing their hair in the sink, they had fallen in love with the fancy hand dryers and were crowded around them to get a turn.
Five more minutes after our return to the movie, a handful more of kids "needed the bathroom." Off we went, again, but this time it wasn't the hand dryers they were after. They wanted popcorn. I accompanied them to the concession stand to watch, painfully, as the kids asked the attendant the prices of every single item the store had to offer. "Three dollars, two dollars, a dollar fifty," she responded coldly as my children got more and more discouraged, as they recounted the 0.20 or 0.30 cents they held in their hands. "It's ok you guys," I explained. "Movie theaters are always really expensive, let's not waste our money here." Trying to make them feel better about the situation was hard, I realized, because all the kids wanted was a snack during the movie. Those kids who did conjure up the sufficient 0.80 cents needed for a tiny candybar walked away unsatisfied, dividing up the meager treat amongst their friends. The realization that these kids had just bought over-priced candy, wasting the 0.80 to $1 their parents could barely afford to give them was heartbreaking for me.
Returning to the movie, I was able to watch a couple more minutes of the movie until the next interruption. "Mia! Mia! Mia!" the kids screamed and ran down to my seat. "Why does it say on our ticket that they will give us CENA?" Looking at their ticket, I see that on each ticket is written, "SENA." Cena, in Spanish, means dinner. As Cena and Sena are similarly spelled, and many of the kids cannot read very well, the rumor had been spread that dinner was on the way. Sadly, I had to explain to them that they don't serve dinner in the movie theater, and that it doesn't say CENA but SENA.
After many more interruptions and occurences, the movie ended and we shuffled everyone to their buses to head home. Reflecting on the afternoon, I was left with saddness for the unfairness and inequality that exists even within a city like Santo Domingo, let alone the rest of the world. Tucked under sheet metal and cardboard houses, these kids will probably never make it out of their social class, even if they want to. Over the course of a year and a half here in Santo Domingo, I have met kids who blow my mind away with their intelligence and desire to do something great with their lives. A 15 year old girl the other week who wants to become Santo Domingo's first woman guitar player to perform publically, a 13 year old boy who wants to be an architect and study engineering, an 11 year old boy that loves math and got 100% on his exam last week. One can only hope they will find a way out of their barrios, out of falling into the norm which is, it seems, to have a baby at age 15 or 16, to live on the streets or join a gang.
A very unique afternoon at the movies...
Wednesday afternoon was movie day for the kids of barrios Laura Flores, Cristo Vive, and 12 de Octubre (the three neighborhoods that our organization, Sonando por el Cambio, works in.) Santo Domingo's mayor, a follower of our project, donated 60 movie tickets to our organization to take the kids on a field trip. The majority of the kids had never been to the movie theater before so, needless to say, it was an exciting day for them. Not quite as exciting for myself, though, as I was responsible for all 60 children, as my coworkers had other acitivities to take care of that day. After being in Ecuador for nearly a year and a half, my concept of "being on time" has altered tremendously and I no longer hold great importance in being punctual (being on time just does not happen in Ecuador.) So, we arrived for the 3:00pm movie at 3:20pm. Sprinting down the hallways of Santo Domingo's shopping plaza with 60 kids towards the movie theater, a memory that will never be forgotten. Dodging in and out of shoppers, dragging kids by their arms and legs who fell behind, screaming and laughing as we went, it was quite the sight to be seen.
I'm not sure why I thought I would be able to actually watch the movie we had tickets for. The most I probably sat down to see was a maximum of 2 minutes. Within the first 30 seconds inside the movie theater, atleast 10 kids were screaming my name from the top seats of the theater, they needed the bathroom. "Ok, lets go..." I said. As I waited for them outside of the bathroom, atleast 4 or 5 more would pop out, they, too, needed the bathroom. I waited 5 minutes, then 10 minutes for the kids. After getting impatient, I entered the bathroom to find them not washing their hands or using the bathroom, but instead blowdrying their hair under the hand dryers. I couldn't help but laugh at them, and ask them what they thought they were doing. After basically washing their hair in the sink, they had fallen in love with the fancy hand dryers and were crowded around them to get a turn.
Five more minutes after our return to the movie, a handful more of kids "needed the bathroom." Off we went, again, but this time it wasn't the hand dryers they were after. They wanted popcorn. I accompanied them to the concession stand to watch, painfully, as the kids asked the attendant the prices of every single item the store had to offer. "Three dollars, two dollars, a dollar fifty," she responded coldly as my children got more and more discouraged, as they recounted the 0.20 or 0.30 cents they held in their hands. "It's ok you guys," I explained. "Movie theaters are always really expensive, let's not waste our money here." Trying to make them feel better about the situation was hard, I realized, because all the kids wanted was a snack during the movie. Those kids who did conjure up the sufficient 0.80 cents needed for a tiny candybar walked away unsatisfied, dividing up the meager treat amongst their friends. The realization that these kids had just bought over-priced candy, wasting the 0.80 to $1 their parents could barely afford to give them was heartbreaking for me.
Returning to the movie, I was able to watch a couple more minutes of the movie until the next interruption. "Mia! Mia! Mia!" the kids screamed and ran down to my seat. "Why does it say on our ticket that they will give us CENA?" Looking at their ticket, I see that on each ticket is written, "SENA." Cena, in Spanish, means dinner. As Cena and Sena are similarly spelled, and many of the kids cannot read very well, the rumor had been spread that dinner was on the way. Sadly, I had to explain to them that they don't serve dinner in the movie theater, and that it doesn't say CENA but SENA.
After many more interruptions and occurences, the movie ended and we shuffled everyone to their buses to head home. Reflecting on the afternoon, I was left with saddness for the unfairness and inequality that exists even within a city like Santo Domingo, let alone the rest of the world. Tucked under sheet metal and cardboard houses, these kids will probably never make it out of their social class, even if they want to. Over the course of a year and a half here in Santo Domingo, I have met kids who blow my mind away with their intelligence and desire to do something great with their lives. A 15 year old girl the other week who wants to become Santo Domingo's first woman guitar player to perform publically, a 13 year old boy who wants to be an architect and study engineering, an 11 year old boy that loves math and got 100% on his exam last week. One can only hope they will find a way out of their barrios, out of falling into the norm which is, it seems, to have a baby at age 15 or 16, to live on the streets or join a gang.
A very unique afternoon at the movies...
Philosophy of Rehabilitation Center for Kids
Por que estamos aqui
Estamos aqui, porque queremos ser personas nuevas.
Con deseos de luchar y transformar nuestras vidas
Y nuestros comportamientos.
El dia que nos enfrentamos con nosotros mismos
Comenzaremos a cambiar y a crecer
Expresando los sentimientos
De ira, rechazo y soledad, seremos diferentes.
De lo contrario, no podremos dejar nuestros viejos e inutiles habitos.
En nuestra comunidad, podremos darnos la mano, comprendiendonos, respetandonos y amandonos es aqui.
Donde debemos empezar nuestra nueva vida,
Juntos y comprometidos, con uno mismo y los demas.
Why are we here?
We are here, because we want to become new people.
A desire to fight and transform our lives
And our behaviors.
The day that we confront ourselves
We will begin to change and grow.
Expressing our feelings
Of anger, rejection and solidarity, we will become different people.
On the contrary, we cannot forget our past or our unuseful habits.
In our community, we can give a helping hand,
Understanding, respecting, and loving eachother.
It is here that we should begin our new lives, together and compromised, with ourselves and with eachother.
Estamos aqui, porque queremos ser personas nuevas.
Con deseos de luchar y transformar nuestras vidas
Y nuestros comportamientos.
El dia que nos enfrentamos con nosotros mismos
Comenzaremos a cambiar y a crecer
Expresando los sentimientos
De ira, rechazo y soledad, seremos diferentes.
De lo contrario, no podremos dejar nuestros viejos e inutiles habitos.
En nuestra comunidad, podremos darnos la mano, comprendiendonos, respetandonos y amandonos es aqui.
Donde debemos empezar nuestra nueva vida,
Juntos y comprometidos, con uno mismo y los demas.
Why are we here?
We are here, because we want to become new people.
A desire to fight and transform our lives
And our behaviors.
The day that we confront ourselves
We will begin to change and grow.
Expressing our feelings
Of anger, rejection and solidarity, we will become different people.
On the contrary, we cannot forget our past or our unuseful habits.
In our community, we can give a helping hand,
Understanding, respecting, and loving eachother.
It is here that we should begin our new lives, together and compromised, with ourselves and with eachother.
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
wheels on the bus parte 1 y 2
Transportation in Ecuador makes you pound hands against glass windows and stomp your feet.
It was a Friday night and I was trying to get from one end of Quito to the other. Normally a two hour bus ride but, being Friday, the locals were out to meet up with friends after work. Traffic was thin, tonight's ride would be a breeze.
Things in Ecuador always have a way of working out but, most certainly, never work out in ways one had imagined.
This "breeze" of a bus ride started out smoothly. No traffic, empty bus, we would be at our destination in no time. Ten minutes into the drive, however, the bus driver stopped the bus in the middle of the busy street, in front of Quito's biggest shopping plaza. It was 8:30pm, the mall was closing, and people poured out of the doors to hop on the last bus of the day. A once empty bus quickly filled to the brim, yet still our bus sat in the center of the road. Cars honked in anger, trying to pass us on all sides, and passengers started to get restless. Those 10 minutes turned into 15, and then 15 turned into 20. Suddenly, our "breeze" bus ride now did'nt seem so probable.
More than 20 minutes of waiting and the passengers went wild. All of us, including myself, began stomping our feet, banging on windows, whistling, shouting and then some. "VAMOS!" we screamed. "Let's go! What is wrong with you Mr. Busdriver we've been here for 20 minutes!" they shouted. There was no words from the busdriver, as he clearly did not care about how late he was making his clientele, or think twice about how badly we wanted to get home. "Do you not have a family to go home to?!" one angry man screamed. "If he doesn't hurry up, I have it in me to go up there and hit him," another uttered.
Partially nevous, partially loving this comical encounter, I couldn't help but wonder how a similar situation might have unfolded in the USA. I imagine patience, calmness, potentially irritated passengers sitting quietly, whispering to one another about their anger felt towards such an inefficient system. Not in Ecuador, though. You say what you feel, there is no time for being polite.
Luckily enough for some, another bus going in the same direction as ours pulled up alongside us. This bus driver, in comparison, seemed much more logical about getting to places on time, and much less concerned with making an extra 0.25 cents per passenger. "VAMOS!" our passengers screamed. The majority of the passengers on our "slow bus" jumped up and ran through traffic to catch up with their new ride home. A friend of mine turned to me, saying, "Lets get out of here, we will get home faster on the other one!" My hesitant reply: "Noooo...let's just stay. I am sure our bus will leave soon enough."
And so we sat...5 minutes more and, as if a switch went off, the busdriver was suddenly satisfied with his overcrowded bus space. Off we went. We chugged along for awhile longer, jamming extra bodies here and there into the remaining cracks and crevices. In the distance, we watched as the "speedy bus," once alongside us, roared out of sight and left us in the dust. "I guess you were right," I shamefully admitted to my friend. "We should've gone with the other one." Irritaded, she agreed.
Little did anyone know at the time, our bus driver turned out to be a pretty smart guy. What appeared to be his selfish, sluggish plan turned out to be quite genious.
After getting outside of Quito's more populated neighborhoods, our bus ride changed from what appeared a turtle-speed endeavor to a "hold on for dear life, buckle up your seatbelts (not really...as seltbelts are practically nonexistent in Ecuador), we're goin' for a ride!!" For those who remember Magic School Bus, it was basically the same experience. Now, instead of screaming "Hurry up, let's go!" we now cried (only partially kiddingly), "Slow down! You're going to kill us all!" The whole bus joked together, laughing at the comical situation, as we speeded through Quito's entirety in less than 20 minutes.
And, the best of all? Remember the "speedy" bus that left us in the dust? We passed it. What was once just two busses, driving through the city turned into a fullout race through Quito, seeing which machistic busdriver could outdo the other. We waived to our ex-passengers as we hurled by. With a schreeching stop (wait...actually...the bus didn't even completely stop), we jumped off the moving bus upon arrival at our destination.
Transportation in Ecuador makes you feel light as a cloud and full of bliss.
Sometimes, well, most of the time, it is hard to see the beauty in a place so ugly, so forgotten and so unappreciated like Santo Domingo. Most of the time, you see smog. You see paintchipped walls, beggars with no hands and feet, 9 year old boys with ripped clothes doing kartwheels in the dusty streets to earn a couple of coins. You see macho men who think of you as a piece of meat, a less-than-human, a symbol of sex. You feel hate, you smell smoke, you hear gunshots, you forget the good.
But then, there are days. There are moments. There are sounds, and noises, and colors, and smells that make your 10 months remaining in the Peace Corps feel so sad you want to cry because you can't imagine leaving such a bizarre place you now call home.
Driving in the backs of trucks. A time that I feel most happy about my life. A day playing soccer with dirty children, the winner earns 0.50 cents. And they kick my ass, as usual. I leave them, sweating and out of breath, in awe that 7 to 13 year olds literally run circles around me with a soccer ball. I hop in the back of the truck and off we go. Transportation in Ecuador is unique because you might not make it alive but you just stop caring as much. You let the wind blow through your hair and admire the beauty around you.
The smoggy streets become filled with wonder and excitement. The macho men fade out of your existance. The paintchipped buildings feel comforting. Salsa music blasting from every car, bus, store and house brings passion and love. A beautiful sunset peaks through the shackled buildings and polluted sky, and castes shadows on paths where latina women in tight white spandex and middrift tanktops walk dogs.
And you feel at peace.
Monday, August 15, 2011
the good and the bad
i write today about my experiences because, mostly, i feel a need to vent to the world about the saddness and anger i have seen.
today was a normal day, 2 oclock pm heading to the barrios, neighborhoods, to meet with the children to make bracelets, play soccer, jumprope, lo que sea. upon arrival, two kids pulled me aside and said "marcelo has been shot." i did a double take, saying "what?!" and they told me that marcelo, our 18 year old "group leader," son of a wonderful family, leader of our dance group, my good friend, in the barrio "Cristo Vive" was shot. he is alive, he is well, he wont die, but the whole thing really just got me thinking.
i don't know the story, so i cannot retell it to you all, but the basics are that he was walking home, attempted to be robbed by two ladrones, and resisted, hence being shot and nearly killed. when i saw him, he was laying in bed, in shock, with bloody bandages and a look of fear i have never seen in him. marcelo is my friend, i rely on him. he is known, through rumors, to be homosexual within the community and my organization. he is a true leader, he is confident (as much as he can be living in a very conservative world), true, kind, and helpful. marcelo is strong, in that he openly questions his sexuality, he is the dance instructor, the reason our kids perform salsa, bachata, samba numbers at all of our public events. marcelo is, in my eyes, my reference in the neighborhood.
he was caught in the wrong place, at the wrong time. today i sat with him, held his hand, and told him how much i admired him as a person. he will be ok, he will live, he will probably lose a finger or two. but, his life is most important and he cherishes that.
today i decided i would join the psychology sector of my organization. i have decided to pursue my passion, which is psychology, when i return to the USA. so, in order to gain experience i am learning from local psychologists to understand how it all works down here. i sat through a therapy session with marcelo and the psychologist today, and to say the least it was interesting. the psychologists first question was, "so what good can come out of this experience?" marcelo looked at the psychologist and timidly laughed. "nothing, good, will come out of this experience." the conversation proceeded by the psychologist telling marcelo that, although he has just been shot in the arm and the finger, might lose a finger, their are postives. number one, marcelo has realized his family does love him. he said, "i couldnt tell if my dad ever really cared about me. i know he loves my brothers and sisters, but i never really thought he loved me. but he came, to the hospital, and he was with me." his family does love him, hopefully he sees that. marcelo learned he didnt die, he lived. while he is now in extreme risk, as they reported the situation to the police and are at risk of being pursued by the people that hurt him, he is alive.
the good...marcelo didnt die. hes alive to grow, and to continue being an awesome person. from this experience i see him growing, becoming more confident, and continuing on with life. the bad, an 18 year old boy cant live a normal life, cant walk down the street without danger of dying, cant be who he is without prejudice.
a run-on of emotions. hope this was somewhat coherent.
today was a normal day, 2 oclock pm heading to the barrios, neighborhoods, to meet with the children to make bracelets, play soccer, jumprope, lo que sea. upon arrival, two kids pulled me aside and said "marcelo has been shot." i did a double take, saying "what?!" and they told me that marcelo, our 18 year old "group leader," son of a wonderful family, leader of our dance group, my good friend, in the barrio "Cristo Vive" was shot. he is alive, he is well, he wont die, but the whole thing really just got me thinking.
i don't know the story, so i cannot retell it to you all, but the basics are that he was walking home, attempted to be robbed by two ladrones, and resisted, hence being shot and nearly killed. when i saw him, he was laying in bed, in shock, with bloody bandages and a look of fear i have never seen in him. marcelo is my friend, i rely on him. he is known, through rumors, to be homosexual within the community and my organization. he is a true leader, he is confident (as much as he can be living in a very conservative world), true, kind, and helpful. marcelo is strong, in that he openly questions his sexuality, he is the dance instructor, the reason our kids perform salsa, bachata, samba numbers at all of our public events. marcelo is, in my eyes, my reference in the neighborhood.
he was caught in the wrong place, at the wrong time. today i sat with him, held his hand, and told him how much i admired him as a person. he will be ok, he will live, he will probably lose a finger or two. but, his life is most important and he cherishes that.
today i decided i would join the psychology sector of my organization. i have decided to pursue my passion, which is psychology, when i return to the USA. so, in order to gain experience i am learning from local psychologists to understand how it all works down here. i sat through a therapy session with marcelo and the psychologist today, and to say the least it was interesting. the psychologists first question was, "so what good can come out of this experience?" marcelo looked at the psychologist and timidly laughed. "nothing, good, will come out of this experience." the conversation proceeded by the psychologist telling marcelo that, although he has just been shot in the arm and the finger, might lose a finger, their are postives. number one, marcelo has realized his family does love him. he said, "i couldnt tell if my dad ever really cared about me. i know he loves my brothers and sisters, but i never really thought he loved me. but he came, to the hospital, and he was with me." his family does love him, hopefully he sees that. marcelo learned he didnt die, he lived. while he is now in extreme risk, as they reported the situation to the police and are at risk of being pursued by the people that hurt him, he is alive.
the good...marcelo didnt die. hes alive to grow, and to continue being an awesome person. from this experience i see him growing, becoming more confident, and continuing on with life. the bad, an 18 year old boy cant live a normal life, cant walk down the street without danger of dying, cant be who he is without prejudice.
a run-on of emotions. hope this was somewhat coherent.
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
The Queen of Sports
Hello friends and family,
I write to you with a new, entertaining story that happened to me about a week ago. I am hoping atleast you all will get a kick out of it because, I unfortunately did not. However, this experience that I am about to explain will probably go down as one of the weirdest, most uncomfortable, most bizarre occurances of my life thus far.
In order to fully explain, I will need to first brief you all on one of Ecuador's proudest traditions, beauty pagaents. Beauty pagaents in Ecuador seem to hold the interest of almost everyone. Whether it is Miss Ecuador, Miss Santo Domingo or Miss Universe, beauty pagaents are the talk of the town wherever you go. So much so that before Miss Ecuador was held here in Santo Domingo about two months ago, the government had people working up a storm in order to get the city ready. Parks were made, trees were planted, water pipes installed, roads paved, all for the hosting of the soon-to-be-pagaent. Pagaents are also held before all soccer games. Each time assigns a "queen" to represent them on game day, and a contest is held before each game to see which queen is the most beautiful.
Well...yes...here is where I come in. Lucky for me, I was nominated to be the "Queen of Sports" for the 2011 government-held soccer tournament. I knew, when they asked me to partake, what ridiculousness this would entail as I have witnessed many such events in my year here so far. But, unfortunately, after saying "NO GRACIAS" three times, I was forced into the role. The whole week leading up to the event I had random people I have never met whispering as I walked by "mira la reina de deportes! look its the queen of sports!" and "ah la famosa ha llegado! the famous girl has arrived." Flattering? Yes, a little.
Needless to say, this was only the beginning of it all. The day of the event arrived, and my coworker pulled me into the bathroom at 8am to try on a bagfull of dresses she brought for me to wear. I tried to keep a smile on my face as she pulled out the 1. skin-tight metallic purple dress with a gold belt 2. bright green 80s prom dress that went to right below my butt 3. corset and skirt. NO NO NO NO. allll wrong. As you all may know, I'm a bit picky about what I wear and I definately don't like getting too dressed up, so this experience was rather difficult for me. I politely said, "no...buscare mi propio vestido i will find my own dress!" and ran away. Thanks to my other Peace Corps friends who were laughing hysterically at my misery, I was able to put together an outfit that was somewhat appropriate for both parties. Meaning, I liked it and I hoped they would too.
That night is was time for the big event and more importantly, my Ecuadorian teammates time to do my makeup and hair! They dragged my to someones house, not sure who, sat me down on the bed and went to work. To start, bright blue, purple, red, and black eyeshadow all mixed together into one. Next, so much dark black eyeliner that when I looked in the mirror I scared myself. Bright red lipstick, bright pink blush, slicked back with gel hair, and I was ready to go. I tried my best to avoid mirrors because I literally felt like a clown.
We arrived to hundreds of people, all staring at the "reinas queens." I led my soccer team in an inauguration ceremony, and was introduced to the mayor, the leader of the indigenous tribe, and many other important officials. Scandal occured when people starting noticing that I was not Ecuadorian, and wanted to kick me out of the pagaent. My coworkers fought for me to stay in as I, secretly, prayed that they would kick me out so I could go put on my soccer uniform.
Thankfully enough I was eliminated rather early in the pagaent, due to the scandal, and was able to relax a bit. I tried to smile and congratulate the other teams queens but for the most part I recieved only deathly stares from the other girls. I guess I wasn't taking things seriously enough. Luckily enough, things ended rather quickly, and my 15 minutes of fame in Santo Domingo de los Tsachilas, Ecuador was a success!
Its been two weeks, and my roommates and volunteer friends are still laughing at me. Despite all of my sarcasm, it was a very loving event and I actually feel more connected to the people here than I have yet. Below is a photo from the newspaper. Hope you got a laugh out of this!
I write to you with a new, entertaining story that happened to me about a week ago. I am hoping atleast you all will get a kick out of it because, I unfortunately did not. However, this experience that I am about to explain will probably go down as one of the weirdest, most uncomfortable, most bizarre occurances of my life thus far.
In order to fully explain, I will need to first brief you all on one of Ecuador's proudest traditions, beauty pagaents. Beauty pagaents in Ecuador seem to hold the interest of almost everyone. Whether it is Miss Ecuador, Miss Santo Domingo or Miss Universe, beauty pagaents are the talk of the town wherever you go. So much so that before Miss Ecuador was held here in Santo Domingo about two months ago, the government had people working up a storm in order to get the city ready. Parks were made, trees were planted, water pipes installed, roads paved, all for the hosting of the soon-to-be-pagaent. Pagaents are also held before all soccer games. Each time assigns a "queen" to represent them on game day, and a contest is held before each game to see which queen is the most beautiful.
Well...yes...here is where I come in. Lucky for me, I was nominated to be the "Queen of Sports" for the 2011 government-held soccer tournament. I knew, when they asked me to partake, what ridiculousness this would entail as I have witnessed many such events in my year here so far. But, unfortunately, after saying "NO GRACIAS" three times, I was forced into the role. The whole week leading up to the event I had random people I have never met whispering as I walked by "mira la reina de deportes! look its the queen of sports!" and "ah la famosa ha llegado! the famous girl has arrived." Flattering? Yes, a little.
Needless to say, this was only the beginning of it all. The day of the event arrived, and my coworker pulled me into the bathroom at 8am to try on a bagfull of dresses she brought for me to wear. I tried to keep a smile on my face as she pulled out the 1. skin-tight metallic purple dress with a gold belt 2. bright green 80s prom dress that went to right below my butt 3. corset and skirt. NO NO NO NO. allll wrong. As you all may know, I'm a bit picky about what I wear and I definately don't like getting too dressed up, so this experience was rather difficult for me. I politely said, "no...buscare mi propio vestido i will find my own dress!" and ran away. Thanks to my other Peace Corps friends who were laughing hysterically at my misery, I was able to put together an outfit that was somewhat appropriate for both parties. Meaning, I liked it and I hoped they would too.
That night is was time for the big event and more importantly, my Ecuadorian teammates time to do my makeup and hair! They dragged my to someones house, not sure who, sat me down on the bed and went to work. To start, bright blue, purple, red, and black eyeshadow all mixed together into one. Next, so much dark black eyeliner that when I looked in the mirror I scared myself. Bright red lipstick, bright pink blush, slicked back with gel hair, and I was ready to go. I tried my best to avoid mirrors because I literally felt like a clown.
We arrived to hundreds of people, all staring at the "reinas queens." I led my soccer team in an inauguration ceremony, and was introduced to the mayor, the leader of the indigenous tribe, and many other important officials. Scandal occured when people starting noticing that I was not Ecuadorian, and wanted to kick me out of the pagaent. My coworkers fought for me to stay in as I, secretly, prayed that they would kick me out so I could go put on my soccer uniform.
Thankfully enough I was eliminated rather early in the pagaent, due to the scandal, and was able to relax a bit. I tried to smile and congratulate the other teams queens but for the most part I recieved only deathly stares from the other girls. I guess I wasn't taking things seriously enough. Luckily enough, things ended rather quickly, and my 15 minutes of fame in Santo Domingo de los Tsachilas, Ecuador was a success!
Its been two weeks, and my roommates and volunteer friends are still laughing at me. Despite all of my sarcasm, it was a very loving event and I actually feel more connected to the people here than I have yet. Below is a photo from the newspaper. Hope you got a laugh out of this!
Thursday, March 31, 2011
easter egg hunt/war
Easter is coming up. Here in Ecuador, Easter is known as Semana Santa...and while we still have a few weeks until then I chose to utilize/share my recent Easter packages from home to celebrate Semana Santa with the kids I work with.
Thanks to my family's incredible Easter packages, I was able to gather up about 30 easter eggs, chocolates and other little candies to hold this spontaneous easter egg hunt today in the neighborhood Laura Flores.
Upon my arrival the kids were whining, asking what activity we would be doing today, telling me they couldnt make it, etc. When I mentioned the word "surprises" I suddenly was faced with way more children than I had prizes for, all ready to participate. I explained that in the USA we have a custom of holding easter egg hunts. I asked them all to form a large circle, close their eyes, hold hands, and sing a song that we made up on the spot. As the kids sang, I ran around the soccer field hiding the eggs. They showed little interest in closing their eyes, a headstart in finding the eggs was obviously more important.
This concept of a circle with eyes closed lasted for less than one minute, when they all gave up on that idea and thought it would be better to race to find the eggs that I had not finished hiding. This turned into everyone screaming, chasing me with the bag of eggs, me screaming at them to keep singing and close their eyes, etc.
Things really only went downhill from here. What was fun and games turned into crying, fighting, and very upset children. Easter eggs were being ripped apart, hidden in pants, and were the reason for much chaos this afternoon.
Kids are really incredible. I heard every excuse in the world as to why, "I deserve ANOTHER egg because I just found this EMPTY eggshell on the ground... I swear it was empty and I didn't get ANY chocolate!" Or...
Child 2- "Please Mia, oh PLEASE give me an egg...you see its for my sister. She didnt get one. Shes crying, see! Here she is shes really upset."
Me- "I already gave her an egg. And I gave you one too one minute ago."
Child 2- "No!!! Ok... well fine, its for my cousin! I promise! I will bring it to my cousin shes just a baby she couldnt come!"
Me-"mmmhmm..."
The afternoon carried on this way, however things just kept on escalating. Eventually, when there were no more eggs, I was swarmed by 30 children begging me for more eggs. I promised them over and over again there were no more eggs, but the begging continued. Finally, when they just would not stop, I let them search my bags, and everything I had to prove to them my honesty. Nothing worked.
As I write this I just so happen to be snacking on a Reese's Peanut Butter cup, which I did NOT give up in today's easter egg hunt/war.
Feliz Semana Santa!
Thanks to my family's incredible Easter packages, I was able to gather up about 30 easter eggs, chocolates and other little candies to hold this spontaneous easter egg hunt today in the neighborhood Laura Flores.
Upon my arrival the kids were whining, asking what activity we would be doing today, telling me they couldnt make it, etc. When I mentioned the word "surprises" I suddenly was faced with way more children than I had prizes for, all ready to participate. I explained that in the USA we have a custom of holding easter egg hunts. I asked them all to form a large circle, close their eyes, hold hands, and sing a song that we made up on the spot. As the kids sang, I ran around the soccer field hiding the eggs. They showed little interest in closing their eyes, a headstart in finding the eggs was obviously more important.
This concept of a circle with eyes closed lasted for less than one minute, when they all gave up on that idea and thought it would be better to race to find the eggs that I had not finished hiding. This turned into everyone screaming, chasing me with the bag of eggs, me screaming at them to keep singing and close their eyes, etc.
Things really only went downhill from here. What was fun and games turned into crying, fighting, and very upset children. Easter eggs were being ripped apart, hidden in pants, and were the reason for much chaos this afternoon.
Kids are really incredible. I heard every excuse in the world as to why, "I deserve ANOTHER egg because I just found this EMPTY eggshell on the ground... I swear it was empty and I didn't get ANY chocolate!" Or...
Child 2- "Please Mia, oh PLEASE give me an egg...you see its for my sister. She didnt get one. Shes crying, see! Here she is shes really upset."
Me- "I already gave her an egg. And I gave you one too one minute ago."
Child 2- "No!!! Ok... well fine, its for my cousin! I promise! I will bring it to my cousin shes just a baby she couldnt come!"
Me-"mmmhmm..."
The afternoon carried on this way, however things just kept on escalating. Eventually, when there were no more eggs, I was swarmed by 30 children begging me for more eggs. I promised them over and over again there were no more eggs, but the begging continued. Finally, when they just would not stop, I let them search my bags, and everything I had to prove to them my honesty. Nothing worked.
As I write this I just so happen to be snacking on a Reese's Peanut Butter cup, which I did NOT give up in today's easter egg hunt/war.
Feliz Semana Santa!
Friday, February 18, 2011
the beauty of rain
A friend and I were talking before I left on this adventure. I expressed to her how I find it bizarre that I am one of the biggest worryworts on earth yet I seem to crave adventure, living on the edge, and pushing my limits. Today I realized why. Today I tasted the fruit of my ambitions. Today all of my worries faded away.
I cant express the gratitude and passion that I feel for the organization I work for. I feel I have fallen in love with the cause we are fighting for. To think that I could be happy, ecstatic, and inspired while living in this city blows my mind away. My first night in Santo Domingo, looking back, gave me the instinct to run. Run away as fast as I could. Everything felt wrong. Filthy streets, rundown buildings, the intensity of the city...I had to get out.
I feel now that I am part of the craziness of this city. I feel I am living on the edge of things, I´m flying, I´m doing it.
Yesterday I was sitting with two of the street boys we work with making paper airplanes. One of the boys pulled out a picture of some of their friends who also live on the streets. I asked who the boys in the photo were, as I didn´t recognize them. I quickly realized why I had not yet met them, ¨theyre dead,¨was the response I got. Killed. They casually explained the story to me as if we were talking about the weather.
Today I met up with them again, and a new boy I had not yet met. Juan, who we picked up walking down the street without shoes, limping from sores on the soles of his feet. Appearing a little child, I couldn´t believe he, too, has become a product of society´s cruelty. Within his eyes, somewhere, you can see glimpses of his youth, his sweetness, and his innocence. The streets have taken over him, though. The roughness this child possesses is stunning. I held out my hand to introduce myself, yet he is so hardened that even human contact is not within his capability. He shows no fear, he immediately began fighting with anyone and everyone regardless of their age or status. His prey became another one of the street boys we were with, who sat quietly as Juan aggresively made fun of him. Upon recieving no response, Juan continued to become infuriated, threatening to split the street boy´s head open with a rock.
Its hard to imagine an 11 year old with such hatred for the world. Such aggressiveness when appearingly so innocent. He, too, is on his way to becoming a drug addict, left alone to fend for himself. Same story, over and over again.
My first impression was, ¨get me the hell away from this kid.¨ Its hard to picture being scared of a little boy, but I stood clear from him and his whirl of anger. More about Juan later...
Next stop of the day was the futbol tournament we were hosting in my favorite neighborhood we work in, la Laura Flores. Next month, I will be in charge of this neighborhood, more later on that too. We spent all morning getting the field ready. The whole neighborhood community helped as we shovelled shit, trash, and dirt off of the field. The field is a sacred space within the community, the kids know that.
The afternoon was dedicated to the tournament itself. We stayed for hours playing soccer, I had kids clinging to me, begging me to put them into the game. These kids live, breathe, and dream futbol. Their skills prove it. I wish I could take them all to the US, put them in some fancy soccer training camp and watch them become professionals one day. After a couple of hours of playing the rains came. Now, yes, I am from Seattle and, yes, I love the rain. The rain here is a complete different story.
Needless to say, the floods came. A complete downpour, flooding the field within minutes and only increasing the intensity of the game. As usual I didnt bring my camera for fear of it being stolen but the photos of this day wouldve been incredible. Mixture of rain, the rich, dark bare skin of these beautiful children was mesmorizing to watch. I fell in love with the moment, standing on a tiny rock as the ground flooded around me, creating rivers of water with nowhere to go. Left only to watch the beauty occuring around me.
In this moment I realized there is nothing better. Knowing other cultures, living a life so simple, but so rich. Not making big changes in peoples lives, not lifting them out of poverty, but just BEING present with them brings life to everyone.
The mixture of rain,lightening, and thunder coming down directly upon us would have normally filled me with fear. Not today. A little girl clung to me as lightening struck, telling me she was afraid. I hugged her, smiled, and responded ¨No pasa nada!! No worries!¨ In that moment I thought, if lightening strikes us down (we were holding onto a metal sheet used for a roof) in this moment, I would die completely happy.
When it was time to leave the neighborhood, my energy and passion was still running high so I offered to sit in the back of the pickup truck the whole ride home, with the storm still raging on. My coworkers politely suggested that ¨I am a lady and please, stay inside of the truck Mia.¨ ¨One of the kids will sit in the back, its cold! Its raining!¨ I politely responded, ¨why would they sit in the back, get soaking wet, when I have a warm shower to go home to and they have the freezing bus terminal to sleep in?¨ We carried on this way for awhile, until finally I said, ¨you know...I just really love the rain.¨ There was no argument there, so off we went. Good decision, bad decision, I´m not sure. It was much less adventuresome that I thought it would be and more, just down right freezing, but I continued smiling the whole way home.
In this moment I only thought of my dad. It was definately a move he wouldve made, and I felt like a true Preble living on the edge of things. I felt so much like a Preble, in fact, that I decided to run the rest of the way home in the downpouring rain, about a mile or so from my house.
To end the day, I turned to my coworker and said, ¨Wow, our job is really insane.¨ She replied, ¨You just wait, this is nothing. Things are going to get alot crazier.¨
Bring it on I say.
P.S. Juan went home to his family at the end of the day. He stayed the night, then went back to the streets the following day. If it it was for only one night, for us this is a small success.
I cant express the gratitude and passion that I feel for the organization I work for. I feel I have fallen in love with the cause we are fighting for. To think that I could be happy, ecstatic, and inspired while living in this city blows my mind away. My first night in Santo Domingo, looking back, gave me the instinct to run. Run away as fast as I could. Everything felt wrong. Filthy streets, rundown buildings, the intensity of the city...I had to get out.
I feel now that I am part of the craziness of this city. I feel I am living on the edge of things, I´m flying, I´m doing it.
Yesterday I was sitting with two of the street boys we work with making paper airplanes. One of the boys pulled out a picture of some of their friends who also live on the streets. I asked who the boys in the photo were, as I didn´t recognize them. I quickly realized why I had not yet met them, ¨theyre dead,¨was the response I got. Killed. They casually explained the story to me as if we were talking about the weather.
Today I met up with them again, and a new boy I had not yet met. Juan, who we picked up walking down the street without shoes, limping from sores on the soles of his feet. Appearing a little child, I couldn´t believe he, too, has become a product of society´s cruelty. Within his eyes, somewhere, you can see glimpses of his youth, his sweetness, and his innocence. The streets have taken over him, though. The roughness this child possesses is stunning. I held out my hand to introduce myself, yet he is so hardened that even human contact is not within his capability. He shows no fear, he immediately began fighting with anyone and everyone regardless of their age or status. His prey became another one of the street boys we were with, who sat quietly as Juan aggresively made fun of him. Upon recieving no response, Juan continued to become infuriated, threatening to split the street boy´s head open with a rock.
Its hard to imagine an 11 year old with such hatred for the world. Such aggressiveness when appearingly so innocent. He, too, is on his way to becoming a drug addict, left alone to fend for himself. Same story, over and over again.
My first impression was, ¨get me the hell away from this kid.¨ Its hard to picture being scared of a little boy, but I stood clear from him and his whirl of anger. More about Juan later...
Next stop of the day was the futbol tournament we were hosting in my favorite neighborhood we work in, la Laura Flores. Next month, I will be in charge of this neighborhood, more later on that too. We spent all morning getting the field ready. The whole neighborhood community helped as we shovelled shit, trash, and dirt off of the field. The field is a sacred space within the community, the kids know that.
The afternoon was dedicated to the tournament itself. We stayed for hours playing soccer, I had kids clinging to me, begging me to put them into the game. These kids live, breathe, and dream futbol. Their skills prove it. I wish I could take them all to the US, put them in some fancy soccer training camp and watch them become professionals one day. After a couple of hours of playing the rains came. Now, yes, I am from Seattle and, yes, I love the rain. The rain here is a complete different story.
Needless to say, the floods came. A complete downpour, flooding the field within minutes and only increasing the intensity of the game. As usual I didnt bring my camera for fear of it being stolen but the photos of this day wouldve been incredible. Mixture of rain, the rich, dark bare skin of these beautiful children was mesmorizing to watch. I fell in love with the moment, standing on a tiny rock as the ground flooded around me, creating rivers of water with nowhere to go. Left only to watch the beauty occuring around me.
In this moment I realized there is nothing better. Knowing other cultures, living a life so simple, but so rich. Not making big changes in peoples lives, not lifting them out of poverty, but just BEING present with them brings life to everyone.
The mixture of rain,lightening, and thunder coming down directly upon us would have normally filled me with fear. Not today. A little girl clung to me as lightening struck, telling me she was afraid. I hugged her, smiled, and responded ¨No pasa nada!! No worries!¨ In that moment I thought, if lightening strikes us down (we were holding onto a metal sheet used for a roof) in this moment, I would die completely happy.
When it was time to leave the neighborhood, my energy and passion was still running high so I offered to sit in the back of the pickup truck the whole ride home, with the storm still raging on. My coworkers politely suggested that ¨I am a lady and please, stay inside of the truck Mia.¨ ¨One of the kids will sit in the back, its cold! Its raining!¨ I politely responded, ¨why would they sit in the back, get soaking wet, when I have a warm shower to go home to and they have the freezing bus terminal to sleep in?¨ We carried on this way for awhile, until finally I said, ¨you know...I just really love the rain.¨ There was no argument there, so off we went. Good decision, bad decision, I´m not sure. It was much less adventuresome that I thought it would be and more, just down right freezing, but I continued smiling the whole way home.
In this moment I only thought of my dad. It was definately a move he wouldve made, and I felt like a true Preble living on the edge of things. I felt so much like a Preble, in fact, that I decided to run the rest of the way home in the downpouring rain, about a mile or so from my house.
To end the day, I turned to my coworker and said, ¨Wow, our job is really insane.¨ She replied, ¨You just wait, this is nothing. Things are going to get alot crazier.¨
Bring it on I say.
P.S. Juan went home to his family at the end of the day. He stayed the night, then went back to the streets the following day. If it it was for only one night, for us this is a small success.
Monday, January 24, 2011
winter time
Typical neighborhood scene from the neighborhood Cristo Vive ("Christ Lives") where we work.
As many of you know, I have a very dear new friend named Sebastian. He visits me most mornings and chirps at my door.
These are the bracelets the kids of my organization make. We are in the initial stages of setting up a business. All profits made will go towards leadership trips for the children.
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