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.

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.