This and that

There are a number of things I´ve been thinking about lately, seeing lately, and then, thinking some more about. Here are a few.

To get the whole idea, it will be necessary to say a bit more about Maria. Details I neglected to mention last time. A couple weeks ago Maria turned twenty. She is entering her third year, recently accepted into the pharmacy program at her school. Before this, she was a physiology major. It may be obvious, then, that she has her sights set on Med school. As her school here recently closed for the summer, English classes not continuing, Maria acquired a new placement at a hospital in a nearby community. Maria also has an older sister in the medical profession.

On Maria´s second day at the hospital, there was an emergency of sorts. She was taken down the street to a house. There was a woman crying there, and others crowding around, trying to get a look. Inside was a man in his seventies. He was dead, and there was blood and vomit coming out of the side of his mouth. Maria was told to check his pulse. Nothing.

Later, back at the hospital, she found out the man had been out drinking the night before- he was an alcoholic- had come home and choked to death on his vomit. Maria talked to her sister that night and other signs of alcoholism, visible on the man, were discussed. As Maria and I were walking home that night (we have to climb the same hill) she told me that the husband of the sister of her host mom, is also an alcoholic. At a recent fiesta, he was holding his arm because he was drinking so much. A sign of the effects his alcoholism is having. The sister had a child at sixteen...a year ago. Her husband is not much older. Apparently, he beats his wife now too. A sad situation.

The next day was a day of many youth in the community having their Confirmation. Because of this there were many fiestas that night. My family was attending one. I had been waiting for my friend, Marian, to go to a different fiesta in my town. By eight she had not arrived, and not having a cell phone to find out what was happening, I decided to leave with my family for the other fiesta. We got there near eight-thirty. It was a bit of a mess. The chicha, trago, cervezas, and "wine" had obviously made their way around already. The man who was referred to as "Presidente" at the community meetings I´ve been too was walking slowly and not surely. When he sat down, he would begin to nod off. He knocked over a bucket of wine. We all sat down and were brought soup and plates of food. I ate the soup, watching others dancing in the rest of the room. Some, more successfully than others. The plate of food consisted of chancho, pollo, choclo y papas. The potatoes were covered in a peanut sauce. It was very tasty. I pretty much only ate the potatoes. I was quite full from the soup. The community leader came over to me a couple times while I was eating, offering me drinks and/or welcomings. He was in rough shape. I wasn´t enjoying the fiesta much. I went out of the room, then outside the house, looking for a washroom. It was occupied. That did not stop others, though. Males, that is. Anyplace was a good place. Beside the speakers, four feet away from the entrance to the tent (which was attached to the side of the house, by the room I was in), by the corn field nearby; it didn´t really matter. Some of the kids there, took me to the house right next door to use the washroom there. It smelled of chickens, but was much more pleasant than the other options. I should mention, though, that, at least, the males were only urinating. Nothing else.

Well, no, there was something else. Vomit. I saw a few people throw up when I came up. One was a member of the band that was hired to play (all night). Another, the father of the girl who´s fiesta it was. Who had her Confirmation earlier that day. Who then to help the man walk, but his wife and daughter. The girl still dressed up in her white dress, with veil, gloves and white shoes. It was a heartbreaking sight. The pain caused by the father´s conditions was evident on their faces. I did not want to be at the fiesta any longer. I kept thinking of the man Maria had seen, the story she told me about her host mom´s sister, and seriously wondered how many of these people would, and were, experiencing the same thing. It broke me. I had to wait another hour though, before we left. I saw more of the same and it continued to break me. I went straight to my room after we got back, lay down in my bed, and wept. It was not just an experience of seeing the brokenness that exists here. It was at the same time, being confronted with an awareness of my own brokenness. The painful reality that I am not very much different from my companeros. It was similar to, for those of you who know of it, my experience on the way to the Salvation Army War Room on the downtown Eastside of Vancouver. Only, this was felt deeper.

I´ve been reading a book while here, that was given to me by my friend Dave before leaving, called Simple Spirituality. In it the authour talks about how living amongst others can call us into seeing more of the others, but also more of ourselves. Something like that, I suppose, is what happened that night. He also mentions the prophetic power of the presence of the poor; how living amongst those who are poor provides an opportunity for them to speak truth into our lives. I´ve noticed this the most in my friend Nick. As I described before, Nick´s family is very poor. Nick, in Canada, is not. He has been working at Costco since he was sixteen, last summer interning at head office in Seattle. His income is pretty staggering. Nick sells electronics, and so, you could say he is a technology guy. He has an iPhone with a full data plan. It costs him over $100 a month. Living with the family he lives with has been quite the experience, then. We´ve had a few conversations about it and there is a very real, very deep embarrassment felt, for instance, for his phone. There is a feeling of it being, well, offensive really. I don´t know how it will continue to speak to him once we return, but it is something cool to see happen.

A little while back, as we were all returning in the back of a pick-up truck from Oyacachi (cloud forest land- like rain forest, but in the mountains; as well as hot springs) I was talking with Maria about our communities. We went by a spot where we saw a Salvation Army sign. I was a bit surprised to see it, and commented on it. Some of the others weren´t so surprised and mentioned seeing kids with World Vision backpacks. A little while later, talking to Maria again, mentioned that I sponspr a child through Compassion, and, my aunt and uncle sponsor a child in Ecuador through Compassion as well, and how it would be a bit incomprehensible to visit him. (which I would do, if I could find out where he lived-anyone know where The Colmena is *cough*Lawrence*cough*) A few days later I was in Santa Isabel, talking with Nick and Maria, and Maria asked what the name of the organization I mentioned the other day was. I said Compassion and asked why. There had been a truck in town during the week. It was blue. It was Compassion. They had been at the Guarderia below Maria´s house, taking pictures of children. They were going to start sponsorships in Santa Isabel. Two weeks ago, Nick told me that his host mom asked him to take pictures of the baby. For Compassion. To try to get her into the program. Natalie is only one and a half though, and probably does not qualify. Regardless, this has been...I really don´t know what words to use. I mean, Nick lives with these people, works with them everyday. I´ve slept at their house a number of times. They offer me what food they have everytime. They can´t afford $100 a month to send their daughter to University, to pay for rent and food. It is absolutely bizzare to be able to say "I know these people." I am living near them. They are my friends. They call me Tortuga when I play soccer with them. Its barely comprehensible that, this is where those organizations go. Next door; over the hill.

There is a cool moment when, on the last day of school, when tests are being handed back, and you notice a student looks upset, ask him why, see the results of his tests in Kichwa and Spanish- all fails or bare passes, and then watch as his English test is handed back, watch as he notices the mark- equivalent to a seventy- and the change in demeanor that comes over his whole body, as he stands up from his chair, an enormous grin spreading, and a feeling of triumph. Unfortunately, it doesn´t really make up for the other marks. But for that moment...wow.

One last remark: I don´t know why "we" seem to have always said this, but, we were way wrong when we said female cows don´t have horns. Yes they do. Or, at least, they can. Apologies to Cows Ice Cream, and all others (mostly in elementary school) who I have "corrected".