9/27/11
Dear Everyone,
Yesterday was like any ordinary day at home; I had my breakfast, I grabbed my backpack, and I headed off to the bus stop. Except breakfast was panfryed plantains (like Ecuadorian cheerios) with freshly collected scrambled eggs, my backpack was a wicker contraption made for carrying trees, and instead of a bus, a truck (the type that carries cows, hoses, lumber, etc.) picked us up for work.
I woke up feeling guilty and itchy. Guilty because I believe our homestay parents have given up their bed for Lizzie and me to share. They are currently sleeping on a mattress on the floor in the other room. I felt itchy, because despite my mosquito net, the bugs had gotten to me in the hours in which I was not sleeping. And these are no ordinary mosquitoes; they make the ones at home look just plain lazy! The bites cover my body, in clumps with tens of bites no more than a centimeter apart. On my feet, they are white and look like boils. On my arms, they are red and look like chicken pox. On my eyebrow, the single swollen bite denies me the ability to fully open my eye, and it looks like I have a lazy eye. There is also some talk of sand flies… So despite the heat and humidity, I departed for work in long sleeves and long jeans to protect myself.
Our work project here is planting trees. As communities along the river cut down trees to expand their farms, severe deforestation occurred. The deforestation led to erosion, which is killing the fish the river communities need to survive. The communities now understand the issue with cutting down trees, and have pledged not to repeat their mistake. I must clarify that this is no Hadassah mosey on down and plant a single tree. Our goal is to plant 10,000 trees. The first day we planted a dismal 200. Giovanni, our project manager, said we planted 300, but I knew he was stretching the truth to make us feel better. To reach 10,000 we are going to have to work up to over 600 a day. I’m not sure if we can do it…
The trees we are planting are about the size of houseplants. Every morning we fill up our wicker baskets with about twenty trees, and wade across the river in our regulation boots. I don’t know the actual name for the tools we use, but we call them “diggers.” We stab the earth with the diggers, then pull the two end pieces apart to close the mouth of the two front claws. In this way we scoop out sections of dirt, to create perfect cylindrical holes. About half of us dig, while the others put trees in the holes and cover them up with dirt. My favorite job is the digging. There is something very satisfying about completing a hole. Along with Giovanni, “Machete Freddy” and “Henry who also has a machete” accompany us, telling us where to dig and macheteing down shrubbery that gets in our way.
I never knew the meaning of sweating before yesterday. People use that a lot as an expression, but seriously, at home I had never really sweat. Yesterday, I looked like normal people after they exercise! My peers looked like they had just existed the shower. Not only was I drenched in sweat, but I was filthy as well. After about your fourth plant the dirt is everywhere, your face, your hair, your clothes, your nails. And you know what happens when dirt mixes with the moisture of sweat. Anyway, after returning home in this disheveled state, we recalled that we do not in fact have running water. So our homestay mother promptly sent us down to the river to bathe. We took Haley and Michelle (who live right next-door) with us, and trekked down to the river soap, shampoo, bowls, and towels in hand. The only issue with bathing in the river (besides the cold, the mud, and the trek,) is that it’s not very deep. So to fully submerge my body, I had to either squat, or get down on my knees (which would be extremely complicated with the mud.) Basically, it was a mess. A hilarious and ridiculously fun mess. Lizzie lost a flip-flop to the mud. She had to stumble back up through the woods with one shoe. Perhaps next time we will be able to bathe more gracefully. I imagine pouring water over ourselves with a bowl will be quite tranquil once we get the hang of it.
It’s funny how everything tastes better after the most physical labor of your life. The peanut butter-and-jelly sandwich I had for lunch: the best butter-and-jelly sandwich of my life. I have a theory that PB&Js really only taste good when you’ve earned them. Yesterday, I earned two.
Carolina made chicken soup for dinner. I don’t know how she knew that is what I’d been craving to heal me ever since I came down with this cough (that sounds more like consumption.) And at dinner we finally found out why she appeared so much wealthier than the other families around us. It turns out that she’s Alejandro’s (they call him the President (we think he’s sort of the shaman) of Los Naranjos) daughter. We have now figured out that we have homestay cousins on both sides. Maggie and Kelsey are living in the huge house of Alejandro’s son (we believe he is inheriting Alejandro’s position,) and Michelle and Haley are living with Victor’s brother. I guess since our leaders are living with Alejandro, that makes them our homestay aunt/uncles. I wonder if it is hard to marry in a community with only 248 people, many of which are your cousins. I know that Ben and Andrew’s homestay father goes to a different Tsatchilla community every weekend to visit his girlfriend. Perhaps it’s done this way?
It’s funny how I talk of the cushy homestay situation I’m in, with no running water, concrete floors, and four doorless (actually she hung sight-blocking blankets today) rooms. I guess it proves that wealth is all relative. I wonder sometimes if it would be a better experience to live with one of the poorer families, with their thatched roofs, wooden floors, and no electricity. But I guess big picture my home is still a pretty drastic change.
There are benefits and drawbacks to Carolina and Victor’s not having children. We have no kids to play with in the evenings, but on the other hand, some of my peers have so many homestay siblings, that they cannot eat with the family because there simply isn’t enough silverware. I’m very glad we get to eat with the family. I know I’ve made a lot of assumptions in this post, but just one more I’m promising. We assume that Carolina cannot have children. In this community it does not seem possible to be married seven years and have no children. Carolina’s sister-in-law is twenty-four with three children. She was married at thirteen and gave birth to her first child at 16! And at the grand welcome, there were several women who looked like teenagers nursing babies. What a different culture.
Well, with these bites in addition to the sound of rain on a metal roof (the Soviets are coming!) Lizzie and I have had to Benadryl ourselves to sleep and it’s starting to kick in. More soon!
Love,
Katherine
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