USAID

10/25/11

            Today we visited the US Embassy to speak with a member of USAID.  Some people weren’t exactly jazzed about going, which confused me because this is what I think TBB is all about! I forget his last name, but we spoke with Chris, a member of USAID who is on his second year in Ecuador. It was a very interesting talk, especially because this is the type of career that I could see pursuing one day. At least, that’s what I thought going in.

            I believe that Chris himself is good in intent, but USAID itself gets bogged down in the bureaucracy.  For example, he was very eloquent when telling us all about USAID’s mission to protect the environment in Ecuador, particularly biodiversity.  But he became very tongue-tied when I asked him if USAID had gotten involved at all after the Texaco oil mismanagement in the Amazon (one in ten known species in the world lives in the Amazon Rainforest.) Basically, the biggest threat to biodiversity in Ecuador, and they did nothing. I can’t speak for USAID, but I’m assuming it was because Texaco is an American company. Although I’m not sure how quick they’d have been to act had it been BP, because that might hurt diplomatic relations.  He even said that USAID had never worked with an indigenous tribe in the area of the oil spills, which confuses me because he also said that they worked with the Hourani…

            Although USAID does seem to do some good, if I were to get involved in this line of work it would have to be through an NGO. Perhaps it’s sometimes easier to go through the government, but I know I couldn’t deal with the bureaucracy. I need to be able to fight whichever battles I want to fight.  Besides, ever since Ecuador expelled the US Ambassador from the country, they’re only receiving 17 million dollars from USAID a year.

Towards the end of the talk, Chris seemed to become more honest with us. He admitted that he didn’t agree with USAID spending the most money on certain countries in the Middle East (not even including military spending.) He also told us that his next location is Iraq for a year.  I can’t decide if you have to be a really good person, or a really bad person to leave behind your wife and kids to work in Iraq for an entire year.  Hehe, another interesting fact: United States government members working abroad must take their vacations in the US. This is to “re-program” them, so that they don’t become more loyal to their new country than the US. Isn’t that a little frightening?

On a separate note, my Ecuador photos are now on Shutterfly!

http://tbbwest.shutterfly.com/

            This will be my last post in Ecuador, as tomorrow we are moving onto Peru to hike Machu Picchu. After that, I’ll be going to China for six weeks! I really miss Los Naranjos, but I don’t see missing Quito all that much.  Although the people are very helpful here. While searching for the restaurant tonight, four different people told us not to get mugged!

Love,

Katherine

Last Blog in Los Naranjos

11/22/11

Dear Everyone,

            Today was the despedida, our going away party.  All of our families gathered at the community center. After hearing so many stories, it was nice to finally meet everyone in person. We participated in traditional Tsa’chila games, such as spear throwing  (of the infamous picture) and Tug of War.  Man those women are strong! It must be all the water lugging.  We also ran some typical American games, such as a three-legged race. In the largest pot I’ve ever seen, over the largest indoor fire I’ve ever seen (especially for a thatched roof,) with the largest bag of rice I’ve ever seen, the women made dinner for the entire community. And of course there was Tang.  Giovanni and Freddy came for the speeches, and Giovanni’s was very touching. Even Teresa, the president of Puerto Limon came. She’s the typically take-advantage-type politician. She actually reminds me a lot of Cora Hoover Hooper (of Anyone Can Whistle.) She had less to do with anything than anybody, and yet she proceeded to make the longest speech. She even brought a camera crew. Sleazy politicians.  Did I tell you about the time she tried to give Lizzie a shot of penicillin in a sketchy back ally, with a needle with no packaging?

Afterwards we all received homemade gifts from our homestay families. Carolina gave me a beautiful satchel. I now have a satchel made by a Tsa’chila! How funny is that? Well, I guess it’s only funny if you’ve figured out how Tsa’chila is pronounced.  The despedida was fun, but the real party was afterwards for Sandro’s (Alejandro’s son, Carolina’s brother) seventeenth birthday.

Let me tell you, Los Naranjos knows how to throw a party! When I left at ten (because I had to get up to leave at four,) people were just arriving. They hired a DJ who blared music out of a massive speaker system. It was still playing when Maggie and Kelsey (who live next door) woke up the next morning. I’d never seen alcohol in Los Naranjos before (besides the Shaman’s hallucinogenic alcohol,) but for the party they ordered three hundred giant bottles of Pilsner beer.  The way in which they served it was very interesting. Instead of everyone getting their own bottle or cup, there were two plastic cups that everyone shared. The women would pour a cup, the recipient would drink it immediately, and then it would go to the next person.  Perhaps it’s about community or pacing yourself? There were also unlimited (as long as you said “salud” first) shots of sweet white wine. Golly gosh I think I might have had a fifth of a glass’s worth! Anyway, I spent the night dancing with a gaggle of little girls and it was tons of fun.

            I’m going to miss it here so much! Yes, if I had to do one more day of our work project, Machete Freddy would probably get a digger in the face, but I could live  in Los Naranjos for at least another month. Another year if not for the bugs. I’m going to miss so many things. I’m going to miss the sense of community you get from people shouting “Carolina” from their own nearby houses at all hours. The sense of safety when you get lost walking home in the dark, and you get attacked by dogs, and then the owner of the dogs comes and saves you, and then you ask them if they know how to get to the home of Carolina and Victor, and then they tell you how lost you are, and in their nightgown put you in the back of their truck and drive you home.  I’m going to miss the firemen in Puerto Limon and their pink camo uniforms. And the scarily machete competent children, where will I ever find that again? I’m going to miss all the beautiful names. Elena, Viviana, Carolina, Lupita, and Luciana with her three beautiful daughters: Milena, Diana, and Annai, it all sounds like a Gabriel Garcia Marquez novel.  I’ll miss being able to pick a cocoa whenever I’m hungry. And eating every meal with spoons, even beef.  I’ll miss the strange mix of shamanism and Catholicism (which was only introduced thirty years ago.) What do I do now if I need to be cleansed?  I’ll miss the freshest eggs of my life (before a meal I’d be sent to collect them from the nest, and we would eat them immediately.) And perhaps, just perhaps, I’ll even miss Machete Freddy and his habit of watering the plants with the excess water in his boots.

And although I won’t miss avoiding the drinking water, or poisoning myself with deet, I also won’t have Carolina sneaking into my room in the morning when I’m sick (beware the water) and fixing the blinds. I’m going to miss her most of all.  In my first blog post in Los Naranjos, I said I wasn’t sure if I resented or respected TBB for sending us to Ecuador first, and refusing to ease us into the habit of culture shock. But now I understand perfectly why Ecuador is stop number one.  For the first time in our lives, we left our families behind. However, the transition was eased by the strong sense of family we all felt in Los Naranjos. Whenever I would come home after dark, there would be Carolina, standing in the doorway with her flashlight. When Lizzie came home from the hospital (seriously beware of the water,) Carolina was the first to run out there and get her from the car. When Lizzie was late coming home from the cultural center, the other two girls in my block of houses and I decided we would go looking for her if she wasn’t back by 7:30. At 7:00 Elena (their host mother) came over with flashlights to start the search. How many communities do you know where they would bring cousins, let alone homestay cousins, to a five-year-old’s school beauty pageant?

For our media project, we interviewed over twenty of the community members. That’s about 10% of Los Naranjos. Watching those interviews, I realize how endeared I feel towards each and every person. I find myself desperately trying to cram every last memory, picture, and recipe in. I want to come home, and remember how to make panfryed plantains! Just chop them up real small and fry them in a wok with canola oil, in case you were wondering.

Perhaps if I was made more cynical about the future of the environment, and about the effectiveness of NGOs, at least I learned that I can feel genuine love for a people of a culture completely different from mine.

Love,

Katherine

Beauty Pageant

11/21/11

Twenty Swiss tourists came to visit Los Naranjos today. You know to stare and take pictures of the natives. We had our seminar in the morning and worked in the afternoon, so we got to watch the families around the community center getting all dolled-up.  I personally found it hilarious. Usually about a fourth of the women are wearing the traditional skirts, a couple of the men have the achote in their hair, and mainly only the children have the black lines on their faces.  Today everyone was decked out in his or her Tsa’chila finest. It was a shameless tourist trap. Caroline (the Peace Corps volunteer) told me that Los Naranjos is the least touristy of the Tsa’chila communities. At the others, they receive tourist all the time, and the little girls are always ready to put on a show for them. I’m so lucky to be able to see what these people actually live like. Yes, there are many differences, but not to the extent that they showed the tourists today. I wonder when in my life I have been tricked by such a tourist trap. But I don’t blame the people of Los Naranjos. They’re simply giving the tourists what they want.

One thing I find interesting about the black lines, is that when the people of the community first saw mine, they all told me how beautiful they were.  Yes, I think they’re very cool, but I would never consider them beautiful. The same thing happened when I got henna in India last February. Everyone told me how beautiful it was. The word I would have used would be “awesome.” It’s fascinating to see what different cultures perceive as beauty.

After dinner, I went with Michele, Haley, and their homestay family to see Nicole’s (my homestay cousin) school performance.  We packed into Arturo’s truck (which is about half the size of the hauling cattle to slaughter truck,) with about twenty of Nicole’s extended family members.  Although twenty-five people in the back of a half-size truck is pretty conspicuous, I realized that we were nowhere near as conspicuous as when the thirteen of us gringos are all in Umberto’s truck. Ben and Andrew’s homestay brother, Wilmer, even came. So if we weren’t packed in tight enough, Ben came along last minute as well. It was a very merry ride. I love that their sense of family is so strong. To bring not only cousins, but homestay cousins along to a five-year-old’s school performance, that just astounds me.

I was expecting a school auditorium, with little girls and boys doing a play or presentation of some sort. Very short, very innocent. I was severely incorrect. First of all it was outside, and all of the families were drinking beer and doing shots. Secondly, it was less of a performance, and more of a beauty pageant. And lastly, beforehand and in between each contest, there was blaring music, and all the families would merengue. I just got home, and it’s 2:30am. I cannot imagine anything more different than my elementary school performances, but I had a wonderful time.

I must say, meringue has to be the most boring of all the dances in the world. It’s pretty much just stepping from side to side. But those Ecuadorian men, they can lead.  Of course eventually we gave up and started crazy American dancing. We pulled out all of the stereotypically cheesy moves you would never see at an actual American dance. The highlight of my night was when Wilmer joined in. I’m just a little worried for him if he ever visits America now.  The worst part of my night was when I didn’t win the raffle for the chicken. Yes, this was a raffle for a whole fully cooked chicken, on a plate with rice and potatoes. It was very disappointing.  I’m so glad Elena thought to bring me.

Love,

Katherine

Anyone know where I can pick up a pair of heels in Quito?

11/20/11

Anyone know where I can pick up a pair of heels in Quito?

Because I’m going to the US Embassy! Once we’re back in Quito that is. We’re meeting with a representative from USAID (United States Agency for International Development.) USAID is a “federal government agency that works to support economic growth, agriculture and trade, global health, democracy, conflict prevention, and humanitarian assistance in developing countries.” Many of our assigned readings have been very critical of USAID, so it’s going to be a very interesting visit. I’m extremely excited!

This morning I woke up to a towering stack of pancakes. It seems that in watching me make them mediocrely once, Carolina was able to perfect both the recipe and the technique. Seriously, they were much more beautiful and tasted much better than mine.  All my friends were soooo jealous when Lizzie and I told them. Now that I have sweet breakfasts again, I’m going to miss it here so much! Okay, I would have missed it regardless, but this just makes things worse.

I was hoping to be able to send Carolina and Victor postcards throughout my trip. Even though they can’t read, there are people in the community who can, and they would definitely help. But some things are slightly more difficult here. Thing is, they don’t really get mail. If I want to send them a letter, I need to send it to the Yana Puma Foundation in Quito. Then perhaps one of their representatives will bring it to the Cultural Center on their next visit. Then hopefully Alejandro will know that it’s for his daughter, and pass it on to her. The chances of my ever finding out whether or not they received my letter are very slim. Well, I’ll try anyway.

Sandro (Carolina’s brother) came to work with us today, and afterwards he taught me to throw poison spears. Of course they weren’t poisoned for our practice, but before the Tsatchilla were introduced to guns, they used to hunt with poisoned spears.  I’m so glad to finally be learning some real life skills! Although, if anyone’s ever seen me throw, you can imagine how successful I was at actually hitting the tree…

After dinner, Carolina brought out a bag of beads, and asked us if we wanted to make necklaces and bracelets.  Instead of the plastic beads I’m used to, the beads were actually beautiful seeds she had collected from plants and trees. I’ve never seen anything like them. It was pretty darn cutesy, the whole family sitting around the table making jewelry. Of course to protect his manhood, Victor was sitting there with a power drill on his lap. But I’m not sure how manly it is drilling holes in beads. I made a pretty cool necklace, and then Carolina pulled out the string and made me the most beautiful bracelet. She used robin’s-egg-blue sting, a contraption made of a piece of wood with two nails on either side, three beautiful beads, and a very intricate weaving pattern that I couldn’t pick up let alone describe. So of course I felt it necessary to reciprocate with the traditional American sleep-away camp “V” style bracelet. It was a very memorable night. 

Love,

Katherine

Spangfikilish

10/18/11

            Last night I was trying to fall asleep, when Haley, Michele, and their entire homestay family traipsed into the house in a dust cloud of mayhem. I stumbled out of bed to see what was going on, and found Carolina painting them with the traditional Tsatchilla stripes.  They had asked their host mother to get it done, but she had to take them to Carolina because only members of the Shaman’s family can do the paining. Of course, once I showed up I was offered stripes as well, which was an offer I couldn’t refuse.  So now I have black lines on my face, arms, legs, and feet. Carolina said they last for twelve days, so I’m a little worried I might show up to my homestay family in China looking a bit odd. Oh well, how many people can say they’ve experienced this? Anyway, she used a mushed up plant, and when she first painted us you could barely see it at all. When I woke up this morning, needless to say I was a little shocked. I sort of feel like I let someone draw on my face with permanent marker… But all in the name of cultural exchange!

            I had a good day at work today. We were accompanied by twelve big strong Ecuadorian Military Men, and they carried our heavy baskets of trees for us.  Carrying that basket of trees is currently the bane of my existence. They were so helpful, that we ran out of trees early. To pass the time waiting for the truck, we devised a game of throwing stakes like spears at a rock target. It’s so weird to think that while my high school classmates were probably enjoying “Boozeday Tuesday,” I was in the middle of an Ecuadorian jungle throwing spears with truck driver named Umberto. I’m not saying that one is superior to another; it’s just so completely different!

After work we helped Alejandro and his sons (Danny and Sandro) pick up trash around the community. Although I’ve never quite understood picking up other people’s trash, it was a nice chance to speak with the boys, as I’ve always wondered if Danny is married, or just really close with his sister. It turns out that Danny is fourteen, and has been married for five months to Lupita, who is fifteen. They dated for a whole year before they were married. Here’s the thing I find really upsetting: the poor newlyweds are sharing a one-room house with Danny’s older brother Sandro (who is unmarried and sixteen.) Or is it that poor Sandro is sharing a one-room house with the newlyweds? Either way, that sounds like a fun situation…

I came home to find Carolina in the middle of a small construction site. It took me awhile to understand, but I eventually learned that she is singlehandedly building a chicken coup. Pretty impressive if I do say so myself.

During my Skyping extravaganza in Banos, many people asked how communication is going with my homestay family (whose Spanish is only slightly better than mine.) We’re getting by, with a mixture of acting things out, and speaking what I call “Spangfikilish.” I’m sure someday I will refer to a cat as a “mishu” while trying to speak Spanish, and my audience will come to the conclusion that I am insane.

Speaking of insane… I know I spent a considerable amount of time ranting about Machete Freddy in a previous post, but I’m beginning to see him for the comic relief that he is. Yesterday he nearly died climbing a mandarin tree to pick us all a snack. He also decided he was going to try to use a digger to pole-vault over a barbed-wire fence. Of course, he fell straight on it. When I stop taking things so darn seriously, I can almost appreciate his presence.  For example, when he showed up to work with the military men today, he was wearing a knock-off military camo.  Need I say more?

Love,

Katherine

Baños

10/16/11

Dear Everyone,

My IST (Independent Student Travel) to Baños was wonderful. Getting there was a bit of an ordeal, as Maggie (the only one in my group of four who can speak Spanish) had to come a few hours later. The four-hour bus-ride to Ambato went pretty smoothly, although we may have gotten off a stop too late? We’re still not quite sure. What we realized was that Ambato doesn’t have a big bus hub, and that we would have to take a cab to get to the bus to Banos. Somehow I was able to pull out “el autobus estacion para Banos” out of the deep dark depths in which I have buried my middle school Spanish. I don’t know if that’s exactly correct, but it got the message across and we weren’t eaten by wolfs. My parents will be proud, we did not get in the sketchy non-yellow taxi without the orange taxi license plates. Also you should probably never get in a cab that approaches you first….

Anyway, we arrived in one piece, and I proceeded to take the most emotional shower of my life. It all of a sudden hit me, that this was my first hot shower in five weeks, and that for the last three I had simply been pouring dirty river water over myself. I’ve been working to clean up the river, I know what’s in there! And the bed! In Los Naranjos I am sharing a tiny bed with Lizzie, and the mattress can hardly be considered one. This was the first time I’d been given a real blanket since I left Connecticut. I kept waking up ready to go at three AM, and I think it’s because I was just too darn comfortable. Perhaps the quality of sleep I got there was just so superior, that it equaled the number of hours I get in Los Naranjos by 3am. Perhaps Alejandro accidentally passed on Haley’s insomnia to me. I now understand why they don’t let us come home for Christmas. I am having the time of my life, and if I came home I would come back, but it would be the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I highly doubt that all eleven of us would return after break

We spent Friday and most of Saturday simply catching up on rest, comfort, and abusing the Wi-Fi. Ooooh and twenty dollar messages! In countries where I have more of the comforts of home, and where I’m not constantly doing intense physical labor, I will make more productive use of my IST. However, I really needed this. My mother couldn’t be more proud.

Saturday afternoon and Sunday morning, we went down to the town to explore. Banos is famous for it’s taffy, and there are men pulling it by hand all over the streets. We were given free sample upon free sample, until we had the sugar sweats. Some of the free samples were the size of an actual purchase.

Wandering on my own around the open market, I came upon a woman roasting large rodents on a spit (ROUS for those of you who’ve seen/read The Princess Bride.) When I suggested to the group that we go back for lunch, the response was “absolutely not.” Oh well, maybe next time.

Saturday night, the air was filled with gunshots, blaring music, and the occasional firework. It gave my parents quite a scare to hear it all over Skype. I asked the men at the front desk what was going on, and they said it was “the Festival of the Virgin.” I wanted to see  it for myself, so I went outside and started following the music. Although it is called the “Festival of the Virgin,” I was slightly surprised to find a church to be the source of all the ruckus. I wasn’t sure if I was allowed,  but I went inside. The whole thing was very underwhelming. Just a group of people dancing averagely to a DJ. There have been more hopping parties at Temple Israel.

Afterwards I stumbled upon a diner for dinner, and found out that there are stereotypically chatty waitresses, studying alone in diners in every country. This was just more difficult because she didn’t speak English.

The whole attraction of Banos, is the volcano (pics of shutterfly.) If it explodes, the whole town will be swept away within forty seconds. It wasn’t until I arrived back in Los Naranjos, that we found out that during our stay the volcano had been the most active it’d been in years. I had convinced myself that those were clouds, not smoke…

Love,

Katherine

There’s a New Small and Skinny Gringo in Town

10/12/11

Dear Everyone,

This morning I woke up early to make pancakes for my family. It was slightly more complicated than I thought it would be, in that I had no measuring cups, no spatula, and an utterly unpredictable stove.  I suppose I’m a good guesstimator because they tasted fine, but between my flipping them with spoons, and the odd shape caused by the dented pan, they looked pretty damn weird. Carolina was watching and helping throughout the whole process, and I’m not sure if it made things easier or just gave me performance anxiety. Well, at least she and Victor seemed to like them quite a bit. They asked if I would make them tomorrow as well. It was also nice for Lizzie and me to have a taste of home. Even if we did use the Aunt Jemima *scouf. *

Work has been going a little better since two men from a motorcycle gang (that’s all we’ve been told about them) started helping us out. They are beasts at digging holes, and our speed has really picked up. We planted five hundred plants today, and we would have planted more if we hadn’t had to keep stopping to climb through barbed wire, and if we hadn’t been attacked by at that herd of cows. Yes a herd of cows ambushing us is a regular occurrence here.

Today we were joined by Caroline, a Peace Corps volunteer living in Puerto Limon. She told us that we gringos have been the talk of the town.  They’ve even mentioned the extremely small and skinny one, which Caroline assumes is me. She also told us not to purchase anything embarrassing, because everything we buy is broadcasted on the nightly town news. 

Funny story about the Los Naranjos Peace Corps volunteer we watched an hour-long (234 picture) slide show on. Caroline tells us he was kicked out halfway through for traveling during a no-travel period.  They sent him home, but he just came straight back on his own dime. The community welcomed him back with open arms.

The doctors in Puerto Limon are not to be trusted, and the closest reliable doctors are an hour and a half away in Santo Domingo. Partly for this reason and partly out of curiosity, our group has officially turned to shamanism.  Of course some missionaries converted all the Tsatchilla people to Catholicism way back when, but they still practice shamanism as well. Today Lizzie was sent home with a potato and a ginger root for the weird bite/sting/prick on her leg. As we speak she is lying on the floor of the kitchen with a potato salad on her leg.

Much more exciting was the cleansing ceremony Alejandro performed on Haley today in order to cure her insomnia. Haley and Alejandro both very graciously allowed me to observe the entire process. We trekked out into the forest, to a straw lean-two. He started by rubbing her body with an unlit candlestick. Then he lit the candle, and placed it on an alter of sorts, along with some very interesting rocks and a glass orb. Next he took a swig of a liquid that smelled like liquor from a bottle with dirt and roots at the bottom. He then proceeded to spit the liquid all over the items on the alter. It was at this time that he began smoking something, I’m really not sure what. Paying special attention to her face, the next thing he rubbed on her body was an uncracked egg. After he finished the rubbing, he cracked the egg into a cup of water, and examined it for a long time. Then he had Haley take off her shirt and stand in the middle of the room. He poured his special liquid on a feather-duster arrangement of leaves and began spitting on her and splashing her with the leaves. Next her rubbed a red fruit smelling liquid on her face. Once she was sitting down again, he rubbed the many different rocks on her body. During the entire process he alternated between whistling, grunting, and chanting under his breath. After he finished, he explained that the egg showed many bad spirits. She was thinking, working, and worrying too hard; that’s why she couldn’t sleep at night. He said he cleansed her of the bad spirits, but she would have to drink two lemons tomorrow, and he would make her a special drink on Monday. I’m very curious to ask her how she slept tomorrow morning.

Because we stayed late at the center to watch the cleansing, Lizzie, Haley, and I had to brave the long walk home in the dark. It was all fine and dandy until we reached the neighbor’s house with the evil dogs. We were all screaming and trying to scare them away by throwing rocks and water bottles…and that’s when Carolina found us with her flashlight. She must think we’re insane, but she got quite a kick out of the whole show.

Thankfully Carolina had hauled in some well water, so we were able to bucket shower instead of facing bathing in the river in the dark. I quite enjoy the bucket shower, although I must say I’m getting much better at the river bathing. I find it quite calming.

Well I think it’s bedtime for me. You see, to combat the exhaustion of the most physical labor I’ve ever done in my life, I’ve been going to bed at the old lady time of 8:30. This averages about nine and a half hours of sleep per night.  Of course this sleep is frequently interrupted. It is a common misconception that rooster only crow at dawn, and I’ve found that the ones surrounding my house can wake me up as many as three times a night. So better get started on that.

Love,

Katherine

P.S. If you remember my 10/10 post on our breakfast of fried friedness, there has been an interesting breakthrough. My host family calls them “empanadas.” They are not empanadas (at least in the traditional sense.) It turns out; Alison’s family calls them “tortillas.” They are not tortillas. I have no idea what’s going on. 

Digging Holes Builds Character

10/11/11

“Digging Holes Builds Character”

-Warden Walker from the book Holes by Louis Sachar

Dear Everyone,         

I love the people here so much my heart hurts. Elena just stopped by with a bottle of homemade medicine, and proceeded to rub it all over our bug-bites.  She was so horrified when Lizzie came by to pick up Michelle to go bathe, that she just had to come over.  She brought her daughters, and Lizzie and I fed them the Aunt Jemima with spoons and played guessing games as the other was attended to. They each gave us a big hug on their way out, and my heart just melted.

It occurs to me that I gush about my homestay family (and extended-family) at length, but rarely discuss the work project. This is probably because I prefer writing about what I love as opposed to what is increasingly frustrating me. I came on this trip thinking it would ignite a crazy passion in me to save the world. This work project is simply making me cynical. Although the environment has never quite been my cause, I understand the necessity of our tree planting, and this is not my issue. My issue is the lack of organization with which our project supervisors are going about things. Giovanni is in charge, and though he is a very sweet man (who loves singing  songs from Grease  with us,) he is most terribly scatterbrained. When I think of all the time we waste as he changes the plans on us several times a minute, it is truly disheartening. I’m sure we’re not going to reach our 10,000 tree goal, not because we’re not working fast enough, but because we spend so much time waiting for a concrete decision from him or trying desperately to find the truck to take us to the next location. I’m very frustrated with him, but I sort of like Giovanni.

Machete Freddy is another story.  I secretly believe that he doesn’t even speak Spanish, he just mumbles to himself in gibberish all day. As much as Giovanni doesn’t speed up the process, Freddy brings things to a dead halt. Yesterday going to work we crossed the river three times following Freddy’s orders. That’s correct, we crossed an extra two times cause he got it wrong the first time.  I told Sarah that if we crossed the river one more time, Freddy would get a digger in the face. But you know where a beautifully ironic place to put a hole digger would be… Although we’ve timed it and found that I can dig holes just as quickly as the boys, the first day he proclaimed it a “man’s job,” and frequently tries to tell the girls that we are digging incorrectly. If I must have a positive attitude, I guess I can thank him for a truly beautiful cultural experience. One day  Willmar (Andrew and Ben’s homestay brother) decided to come to work with us. Freddy was going about making things difficult and we made the most amazing eye contact. In that moment I knew we were both thinking the same exact thing: I don’t speak your language, and you don’t speak mine, but in this moment, we both know that this man is an incompetent fool. One of my peers here disagrees with me, and says perhaps Freddy would be considered incompetent in the US, but here he’s a government worker. I’m just  wondering, “since when are government workers in the US competent?”

Yana Puma is the name of the organization that sent us here.  I’m curious as to why they didn’t try to find us someone more together and organized than Giovanni. This whole situation makes me wonder how many other non-profit organizations are wasting donations on incompetent workers. Perhaps the reason TBB sends us here is to make us realize that if we ever want to get anything done, we need to start up our own NGOs…

On a more positive note, after only a short time working here, I have apparently gained some serious biceps. When I braved wearing a tank top to work today, the group proclaimed that I looked like a (I’m going to censor for the adults reading this) bad a** b****. I am now learning that physical labor is rewarding in a multitude of ways.

Love,

Katherine

Aunt Jemima

10/10/11

            Thursday we finished a tough workweek. I will always cherish the feel of the uneven banana tree straps of my thirty-pound wicker basket against my sunburnt skin. I was even lucky enough to either fall in the river, or simply end up in water deeper than my boots, three out of the four days. There’s nothing like the hour walk home in soaking wet socks. But I’ve got to say that my favorite part, would be the fire ants. If all the fire ants in the world were to be brutally exterminated, I would dance naked on their graves.  Oh, and did I mention the barbed wire? If it weren’t for the crazed singing, I’m not sure the group would have gotten through it. Enough complaining though, the point is I needed this weekend.

            We left Friday morning for the beach, yet again in the back of trucks.  I swear in the last two weeks I’ve spent more time in the back of trucks than any American since the 1950s.  That night we slept in tents at the eco-tourism lodge of the organization that planned our weekend. There is something so satisfying about setting up a perfect tent while Mr. Harvard struggles until you take pity and help him.

            The beach was a blast. To be honest, when we saw that they brought a digger for us to use to plant with at the beach, I was going to strangle somebody.  But our leaders kept asking Marcello (our host) when we were going to work, and he just kept telling them to “relax.” Beach bums. In the end we never did any work, and we used the digger to dig a giant heart-shaped Jacuzzi in the sand.  I even took two hour-and-a-half long naps. It was glorious.

            That night we had a the largest bonfire I’ve ever seen.  Although the smell was a little unsettlingly trashy… Marcello even got us marshmallows and chocolate when we requested them on a whim.  There’s nothing better for group bonding than a camping trip. That’s what we should have been doing in Costa Rica!

Sunday we packed our sandy selves into a van and returned home. Have you ever spent a three-hour van ride straddling the stick shift? It would be hyperbolizing to say I had, but it was pretty damn close. 

            On the way back we stopped in Santo Domingo to buy lunchmeat, and I felt compelled to buy a giant bottle of Aunt Jemima to bring home to Carolina and Victor. You see, at first they didn’t know what to do with the bottle of Vermont Maple Syrup I brought them, but once I had them try it on the fried pieces of friedness (I really have no better way to describe them) that we have every other morning for breakfast, they were hooked.  They loved the syrup, and asked if they could get it in Ecuador. And no, you cannot get good quality maple syrup in Ecuador. But I knew I had to find them a replacement, and Aunt Jemima would have to do. When I got home I explained that it is “mas peor” and “muy mal,” but “es de Ecuador.” They were confounded that the huge bottle I bought was four dollars less than the tiny bottle of the good stuff.  And once I had the syrup, I  just had to buy the pancake mix as well. Tomorrow I’m making them breakfast!

            Until Sunday night, it was a truly wonderful and relaxing weekend. Sunday night Dave informed us that he was leaving. He wouldn’t give us an explanation, which infuriated me, but we gathered that he has a lot of inner turmoil that he needs to sort through. Dave was the father figure of the trip, and a very soothing presence. I will really miss him. The powers that be say we will probably get his replacement halfway through China. It was a tough night, and is going to be a tough transition. I don’t really want to write about this anymore.

Love,

Katherine

Ten Cups of Tang

10/5/11

            For my media project in Ecuador, I have teamed up with Andrew and Alison. We have decided to explore gender roles in the Tsachilla community. Today we began our interviews.  Besides the language barrier, I would say the hardest part of the interview process, was the Tang. Everyone we interviewed insisted on making us Tang. I used to love Tang, but I’m not sure I do anymore. It was very hospitable of them, but I’ve used the bathroom four times tonight.

            Carolina was the first one we interviewed. We filmed her while she was washing clothes in the river (she had made us Tang when we arrived home and were preparing our questions.) It was difficult, because she is very shy and her Spanish is limited. We’ll have to interview Victor later, as there are never any men around in the afternoon.

            Next we went to Haley and Michele’s house to interview their host mother (Elena) and her ten-year-daughter Viviana. Elena is a very eloquent woman, and her interview went splendidly. When we told her we were researching the community of Los Naranjos, she even offered to change into her traditional Tsatchilla skirt for the  (video) interview.  Elena has six siblings, but does not want more children than the two daughters she has now.  She is set on their completing  not only high school (she only had six years of schooling,) but university as well.  I must add that currently Los Naranjos doesn’t have a high school, and it’s been a couple years since anyone from the community has attended a high school. Elena even sends Viviana to a school outside of Los Naranjos every day, because at the Tsatchilla school none of the teachers have college educations. It was truly a heart-warming interview.  It’s so wonderful to see such an empowered woman, in a community that our culture would consider to have very old-fashioned values.

            Elena’s determination that Viviana and Nicole (her youngest daughter) attend college intrigued me. No one in Los Naranjos is college educated.  Everyone seems so happy and content here. None of the many college educated adults I know appear  any more satisfied with life than the people I’ve met here. I know that I need a college education, because it’s what I need to be happy. I know it’s what I need to be happy, because of the material comforts and conversation levels I grew accustomed to during childhood. But if Viviana never grew up with a flushing toilet, why does she need one to be happy? If she never discussed literature with her parents, why does she need to to be happy? Perhaps I have misgauged the level of happiness here, or perhaps her mother feels that modern day society will not leave Los Naranjos blissfully isolated for much longer.  In my culture a college education seems to be necessary, but I can’t help but wonder if it truly is here.  Are they worse off because they are poorer? Or are they just living differently?

On a lighter note: if I’ve learned one thing about people in general today, it’s that all women, no matter where they’re from or what language they speak, giggle when you ask them where they met their husband.

You know what? I still freakin love Tang!

Love,

Katherine

My First True Log

10/3/11

Dear Everyone,

Lizzie and I are not due to be up for another hour, but Carolina and Victor are already awake a whispering under their breath. There is something so comforting and homey about the adults speaking softly and trying not to wake the sleeping children. They both have such beautiful voices when they whisper, especially when they use Safiki instead of Spanish. Safiki is like no other language I’ve ever heard before. It’s all just syllables mushed together, if that makes sense. It is beautiful.

            This weekend was pretty relaxing. I mean as relaxing as it gets when you’re trying to not to tear your skin off from scratching. Saturday we piled the fourteen of us into a five-seater truck, and went into Puerto Limon so we could use the Internet café to plan our ISTs (Independent Student Travel,), which are coming up the weekend after next. Three other girls and I are going to Banos, which is supposed to be a pretty awesome volcano, where you can get twenty-dollar massages. I need a break from the constantly being itchy, dirty, and sweaty okay!?!?!? Anyway, it turns out that in the entire town of Puerto Limon there is not a diet coke to be found! Plenty of regular coke, but not a single diet! I’m going through aspartame withdrawal.

            During dinner, we learned that Carolina only attended school from ages nine through eleven. She also told us that neither she nor Victor can read, although they can write a little. I’m not sure if she meant in Spanish or Safiki. Safiki doesn’t have it’s own characters, but  we hear someone sounded out the words with our letters about one hundred years ago.  

            After dinner we asked Carolina to play cards. After some discussion, Lizzie and I decided to teach her Gin, as poker needs chips, go-fish needs a lot of talking, blackjack needs a lot of counting, and war is boring. I guess it was sort of a gamble, trying to teach someone who can’t read to play a pretty  number-oriented game, but she’s intelligent, and caught on quick.  We started by laying out possible threesomes/foursomes on the table, and then progressed to an open hand. The second round we played closed-handed, and she won. It was actually a very enjoyable night. I’m going to leave her the deck when we move on to China.

            Sunday, Nikki and Haley visited us before breakfast, and when Carolina called us to the table, we saw that she had made food and places for all four of us. She’s such a sweetheart.

Later, we went down to the river with Andrew and Ben, and ran into Michele and Haley’s host-family. The little girls decided to slick back Andrew’s hair with red, in the traditional Tsatchilla style.  They opened these pods they picked from trees, and took out the “achote” seeds.  They smushed the seeds with their fingers, and placed them on a giant leaf. They had Andrew kneel on the ground, and they rubbed them into his hair for several minutes. My hands are still dyed red…

            That night we finally had “the log (see 9/30 post)!” It tastes like nothingness, and truly sits in your stomach like a log! I even got to help make them! Here’s how it’s done: First several plantains must be boiled. The families here all have a special tool they call the “lehrohnsah” (sounded out.) It’s like a large cutting board  with one propped-up end. You sit on the non propped-up end with your legs curled around to one side. Using a rectangular rolling pin-type-thing,  you roll out plantains like dough, until they have a matzo-ballish consistency. Then with your hands, you roll the dough into a plantain shape, and there you have your log! Enjoy the recipe!

Love,

Katherine

Skype!

This weekend I will have internet access, and would love to Skype! I´ll be free all day Friday, Saturday except for at nine EST (my parents already claimed that slot,) and Sunday morning. Just e-mail me with your Skype name and a time! Mine is kdkoller493. Hope to talk to you soon!

Hey neighbor, can I borrow a stick of sugar cane?

10/1/11

Dear Everyone,

So you know how women in the United States will sometimes visit one another bearing treats such as coffee and biscotti?  Well here the social act is very similar, it’s just the treats that are different. Michele and Haley stopped by randomly today, brining with them an opened cocoa and some sticks of sugar cane.  It all felt very grown-up. Sugar cane is wonderful. You simply gnaw on it and suck the sugar out. They told us that their homestay mother just chopped one down this morning and cut it into pieces for them. It’s as simple as that!

Today for lunch we each received and entire fish, face, tail, and all. Carolina caught them this morning in a net. Despite it’s terrifying appearance, it wasn’t bad. It wasn’t too fishy, so I’m pretty sure it was a white fish. When I asked “es pescado blanco?” Carolina answered yes, but I’m not sure if that means the same thing when directly translated. The tiny bones weren’t even an issue because she had sort of pre-sliced the fish, and the meat jus fell off the bone. I was a little worried she was going to eat the face (due to stories from my peers) and I would have to follow suit. But that never happened. 

This may be it for a week or two, and then I will inundate you all with news again.

Love,

Katherine

The New Wonderful Adventures of Machete Freddy and Henry Who Also Has A Machete

9/30/11

Dear Everyone,        

Here is a list of things not worth one extra hour in the hauling cattle to slaughter truck:  Disney Land

            Morton’s Steakhouse

            A Britney Spears concert

            A day at the Metropolitan Museum of Art

            A Broadway Show

Here is a list of things not worth 15 extra minutes in the hauling cattle to slaughter truck:           A papaya and pineapple farm.

I do not know whose idea this was, as most of the time we are just following blindly on this trip, but to whomever’s idea it was to drive an extra hour (after the first hour it takes to get to Puerto Limon) in that G-d forsaken truck to visit a farm on our day off from hard physical labor: tisk tisk.  To be fair the pineapple was delicious. But the tour itself… And then there was the papaya. I must start by saying that not a single person in TBB West enjoys papaya. Out of the 14 of us, about three can force themselves to choke it down. They would not stop bringing it out to us! All sliced and ready to be eaten, with those big puppy dog eyes. Ben must have eaten 3 entire papaya himself. As we left, they brought us 6 pineapple to bring back to our families. They gave us four large cardboard boxes of papaya.  Hopefully Carolina or Victor like the stuff.

Speaking of Carolina, I decided that although they’ve told us not to be obnoxious and American with our technology, I’m not going to hide out like a shut-in in my bedroom to type. The point is, I’ve brought this laptop into the kitchen to transcribe my journal entries onto a Word document, and as I type, Carolina sits and watches in fascination. In my broken Spanish I’ve explained to her what I’m doing, and I think she understands. I thought she might have seen a computer when that Peace Corps agent stayed with her family for two years (building the cultural center,) but it would appear not. I think she does know what it is though, from the television.

Lizzie and I finally found out what Victor does for a living. He cuts down plantains with his machete.  Plantains seem to be the life-breath (or is it life-blood? What’s the expression?) of Los Naranjos. Many of the other homestay fathers work in the plantain labor industry, and they show up in almost every single meal. My peers speak of “the log,” which is the name they have oh so lovingly given to two plantains mushed into the size of one and boiled. We are the only pair who have never been fed a “log,” while Andrew receives one with every meal.

            Some even speculated that the ice cream Machete Freddy gave us after the farm today was plantain flavored.  Jemma thinks it was just “miscellaneous sugar.” Either way it was… different. It came in a plastic baggy, sort of like an obese milky brother of the freezy-pop.  Well whatever it was, in the blistering heat, I enjoyed it.

Guess what! My homestay mother found Lizzie’s shoe! We came home from work yesterday, and found it waiting in our room for her. Apparently Carolina stumbled upon it while doing laundry in the river. Craaaazy.

Yesterday I saw a woman coming back from bathing in the river, wearing nothing but her traditional Tsatchilla skirt. I believe toplessness is the natural way  here, at least for the older generations. The men who wear their hair in the traditional manner never wear shirts.  I wonder if the older women are covering up because we’re here. I hope not. I guess I should probably specify about the “older” generations. The youngest two don’t seem to really follow all of the attire traditions, but the oldest three do. That’s right, there are currently five generations in Alejandro’s (also Carolina’s) family. This man has grandchildren, and his grandmother is still alive. She even collects her own firewood for cooking! I guess in a society where most women marry and begin childbearing at seventeen, this is possible.

Most people know that chocolate is made from cocoa, which grows on trees, but did you know that you can eat the cocoa fruit? You eat it from around the seed, and then spit the seed out. It is very sweet and wonderful. Yesterday as we were walking back from work all tired and sweaty, “Henri who also has a machete” was cutting them down for us and feeding us their fruit along the way.

It’s strange, but for the first time the other day, I realized that Victor has barely said one word to me. Then I realized that I hadn’t really been addressed by any men in the community. They told us before we came that men and women aren’t really friends in this society, perhaps this is why. Perhaps Victor is just shy and I haven’t spent much time with the other men.  Something else I’ve noticed, is that men here greet every single individual, no matter how large the group, with a handshake. I suppose this is supposed to make us feel personally greeted, but I feel even less noticed, as there is never any eye contact during the handshake.

Note:  watching the news in a language that you barely understand is terribly dangerous. Yesterday as I was watching all hell break loose in Quito, with rioting and general madness in the streets, I began to grow quite concerned. When I asked Carolina if something important was happening, she shrugged and said “es in Quito.” So I went next-door to Haley and Michelle’s house to see if they knew anything. They turned on the news, and finally their homestay  mother was able to explain to me that is was the one-year anniversary of Correa’s (el Presidente de la Republica) kidnapping by the police. Can you imagine what it must have been like for last year’s group?

            Written the next morning: Hahahahaha when I woke up this morning, Lizzie informed me that I fell asleep with a pen in one hand, the anti-itch cream in the other, and the computer in my lap. I guess that’s probably the best way I can illustrate how tiring and itchy my days have been.

Love,

Katherine

P.S. Carolina asked me before dinner last night if I like cheese. Since I arrived, she hasn’t asked me once if I liked something before she cooked it. I was able to say no, and there was no cheese with my egg. Cheese is the one thing I couldn’t choke down for my homestay mother. What a match made in heaven!