Its Thanksgiving this weekend, as you, of course, know. I have wanted to say something since returning to Canada, but I haven't figured out what exactly I want to say or how I want to say it. I suppose in part, this is because I wanted to offer up some concluding word; some summing up of what I experienced, the meaning of that experience and so on. I haven't figured out a way to do that though. Perhaps some day I'll be able to write a Concluding Unscientific Postscript of my own...but, until then, it is Thanksgiving and I want to offer up some of that.
Because, well, I am quite thankful. I'm thankful I was able to take part in this program called Intercordia. I'm thankful for the placement that was chosen for me by FRI in Ecuador. I'm thankful that I was...absorbed into the family I was living with, such that I now say "my family". I'm thankful that bonds were made that wouldn't have otherwise been made. I'm thankful that it is possible for those connections to be made; that there is some deep, beautiful connection that grows between people, that we have an opportunity to be a part of this as long as we are with other people and that this is really where much of the meaning in life comes from. I'm thankful that when you experience this sort of thing, you don't really wonder so much if life is meaningless, or if God exists. You kind of just get smothered in meaning, and you get smothered in a sense of God being there, of maybe what it means for "the kingdom of God to be at-hand". I'm thankful for the Spanish language, and maybe, I guess, language in general. Its an enormous thing and so deep down into how we move and act and think in this world. I like it very much. Especially that language beyond languages which enables comprehension, and sometimes the use of words. And the feeling of words on your tongue and on your lips; words that have not been there before, but now are. I'm thankful that you have taken the time to read these blog posts/letters; that you have struggled through my struggles in word form, if even just to try to figure out what it is I am saying. Because, well, I never really feel like I am being very clear. I'm thankful too, for the other forms of support that have been extended to me from you, whether they be prayers, letters/notes/messages/comment things, financial support and so on. All of these made it possible for me to be able to do this, and so, thank you very much. I'm thankful for the other, perhaps, unexpected friendships that grew up between us fellow Ecuador Intercordians. It takes some sort of struggle for a person to be revealed, and gorgeous people were revealed to me. I am so glad to have been there with them. And I am glad to be back and have the ability to visit you (probably...eventually...I hope). I know that I have been benefited from my time in Ecuador, and I am quite sure that my presence was beneficial as well, and I want you to benefit too. You won't make any more money, your job will most likely be the same one afterwards, and you should probably still brush your teeth, but I think there is still something for you to "get". At the least, I want to make food for you, and share some pictures and some stories, and maybe some tea (some of you already have that!). I think there is something very special in that, something very beautiful. I think that is beneficial. We could always use a little more beauty in our lives.
Muchos gracias!
Monday, October 11, 2010
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
A sort of homecoming
The mood is quieter now- everyone is quieter now; students and host families. There is an ever present cloud hanging about and none of us really know how to deal with it quite right. If there even is a right way. There are, of course, wrong ways. What presses against us is the continual recognition that this is our last week here with our host families. We are soon on our way home. And what will that be like? How will we be able to exist back in Canada? How can we talk about this place? And then, this is probably the last time I will eat papipollo at the market, drink Fiora Vanti, peel papas with Maribel, sing Old Macdonald with the kids at school, walk to Cayambe, drink jugo de piña, pay to use a public washroom, put my backpack in a locker, see Mount Cayambe, play futbol with the neighbourhood kids, and so on.
We leave our families Sunday morning, sometime after breakfast. We then go to Quito for a bit of a debrief and then some of us leave Ecuador on Monday morning. I am one of them. I was hoping to travel for fifteen days, but there has been much difficulty with flights and visas and all that awesome stuff, that it is much easier and less stressful to just come home on the second. A bit disappointing, but not too much. It will be good, I hope, to get back. Show off my beard and such, you know? Haha, it is a sight. I have not shaved the entire three months I´ve been here, so, its interesting. There has been moustache trimming, so, do not get too frightened. In any case, as you can see, my method of dealing with this last week is to talk about other things- silly things. I know that I am often near to tears now and this coming Sunday is going to be possibly the hardest day of them all.
We leave our families Sunday morning, sometime after breakfast. We then go to Quito for a bit of a debrief and then some of us leave Ecuador on Monday morning. I am one of them. I was hoping to travel for fifteen days, but there has been much difficulty with flights and visas and all that awesome stuff, that it is much easier and less stressful to just come home on the second. A bit disappointing, but not too much. It will be good, I hope, to get back. Show off my beard and such, you know? Haha, it is a sight. I have not shaved the entire three months I´ve been here, so, its interesting. There has been moustache trimming, so, do not get too frightened. In any case, as you can see, my method of dealing with this last week is to talk about other things- silly things. I know that I am often near to tears now and this coming Sunday is going to be possibly the hardest day of them all.
Thursday, July 8, 2010
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".
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".
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Mountain Man, etc.
This past weekend, as many of you know, I climbed Volcan Cotapaxi. I´ll try to recount our journey.
I suppose it started back in December on the night we found out our placements at 10,000 Villages. Nick and I found that we were both placed in Ecuador and when we had a moment together he said "We´re climbing a mountain...you in?" My reply, promptly, was "Oh yes. We are climbing a mountain!" Fast forward to about a month ago, here, and we talked more about climbing a mountain. We had designs on Cayambe as it is always looming above us everyday. Our talk seemed to stir another Intercordian to want to climb as well. And so, our tandem became a trio; joined by Maria.
Maria lives in Saskatchewan, is of East Indian descent, and is the shortest member of our group. She is also, perhaps, the most tenacious. As most people we talked to said, climbing mountains requires heart...we had no doubt Maria had heart. As well, because Maria will not be travelling after our placements are finished, this would be her only chance to get to the top of a mountain.
We consulted both the guidebooks that Maria and Nick had and they seemed to suggest that Cayambe was not a good first climb. There are many crevasses and so, its supposed to be more dangerous. We settled on Cotapaxi instead; which was described in Nick´s book as "A tough uphill slog." Maria did most of the arranging and found us a company that set up climbs, in Quito. It was suggested to do an acclimatization program, which would take five days. Five days we did not have (not to mention the extra costs) and besides, we had been living above Cayambe (the city) for nearly two months now and so we figured we were in good shape for the climb. Just to make sure though, we decided to take a truck up to the Cayambe climber´s refugio last Wednesday to see how our bodies handled the extra altitude. Our breath was a little shorter, but we were ok. We also did a little bit of climbing on the rocks there and handled it well.
Thursday, we all (that is, more than just Nick and Maria and I) headed to Quito for Canada Day. The place to meet up with other Canadians on this special day, apparently. We stayed at a hostal near "Plaza Foch" in New Town. Plaza Foch is probably one of the swankiest places in Quito or really, in Ecuador. It was very much like being in a different world. Anyways, off of the plaza area there are a few streets with many different restaurants. We went to a place called Tomato, an Italian restaurant, that night for dinner. I do not know what I ate, but it had zucchini, cheese and pasta in it and it was so so good. Like, top three meals ever good. And only $4.60 (plus taxes and service fees, but....)! It was a good day/night.
The next day (Friday) the others left to return back to Cayambe and Nick, Maria and I were left alone in Quito. We needed to still pay so, after lunch we headed to the tour company. Meanwhile, of course, was one of the best soccer games of the World Cup going on. Ghana and Uruguay. We saw the first half of the game and then we were on our way during the second half. All the way we were peeking in to restaurants and bars and other shops to see what was happening. When we got to the office, one of the workers was watching the game on his computer so we were kept up to date on the score. When we were done paying we went with him to try on gear and to get gloves and sunglasses. We ended up headed to a shop to rent sunglasses and buy gloves (for in our mittens). The shop had a tv going with the game and we all watched the last minutes of extra time with much anticipation. It should be said, I suppose, that Ecuadorians seemed to be cheering for Uruguay...while Nick and I were cheering for Ghana (we have a friend there from the King´s Intercordia program). Everywhere around, most noticeably across the street, people were stopped and watching the crazy scramble, the penalty kick for Ghana and then penalties afterwards. It was such a crazy "whole world watching" moment. Unfortunately, poor Ghana.
After, we went and bought snacks for the climb...too many snacks, jaja. Probably enough to climb the mountain twice, but at least we were prepared. And then we went out for dinner, again to Tomato, but for pizza. It was a pretty quiet dinner and we had progressively more morbid conversations. Perhaps the feeling of the dread of the mountain was hanging over us, or the feeling of the sublimity of it, I don´t know. In any case, there was a lot of death conversation. We went to bed around nine, I think. I slept well, Maria slept worse, and Nick was up a lot with diarrhea and puking.
Saturday morning we went to a restaurant for breakfast and ate omelettes and hearty home fries. We then met up with our guide at 9:30 and discovered we were being joined by another climber- a man from Brasil, named Guillarmo. Since the climb he has been dubbed Gollum. We came up with nicknames for each other beforehand- Nick was Rambo (he has been wearing a bandana...and his host family calls him that because of the bandana), I was Mountain Man (mostly because of my beard and the hill I climb all the time and, well, Nick has been calling me that for a long time), and Maria was Frodo. Nick and I made....too many Lord of the Rings references. So, we saddled Maria with Frodo. We took our left over pizza with us and began the drive to the mountain in the truck of our guide, Segundo, at 10:30.
It was a long drive, made longer by our stop on the way at Segundo´s house to get his gear in another community. As well, he had to stop at a store to pick up food for our meals at the refugio. On the way we continued with our Lord of the Rings jokes. Nick remembered his idea (sadly too late) that we should buy a ring for the top of the mountain (Cotapaxi is the highest active volcanoe in the world, remember)...to throw in. Eventually we reached the entrance to Cotapaxi Park and could see the mountain looming over us, despite being mostly covered with clouds. The land here was mostly flat, a large valley land between mountain ranges. There were wild horses around, eating the lichen that grows on the rocks. There is not much more plant life near the mountain. Eventually we reached the parking lot below the refuge. We then had to climb with all our gear up to the refuge, where we, and all the other climbers, would make our base. It was a long climb up and fairly tough because of the weight of everything. I was glad I had eaten some pizza in the truck as it was 2 or 3 by the time we reached the refuge.
We were met by our other guide, Marcos, and he took us upstairs and showed us where to put our sleeping bags and gear. In about ten minutes he came and told us that lunch was ready. We went downstairs and ate bread with cheese, jam or butter; potato chips (homemade style); and tea. It was a decent meal, perhaps made moreso as we hadn´t eaten much since breakfast. After lunch we suited up into our climbing pants and boots and took our cramp-ons and ice-axe outside for training. This was at 4 or so. We learned how to put our cramp-ons on and then took them off. We climbed a little ways up from the refuge after this, learning different techniques and how to use our ice-axe to help walking. Then we went down, learning how to go down. We didn´t get any experience on ice or snow.
After getting our gear back inside we promptly had dinner. This was soup and tea, which we all ate, and then a plate of rice, fried chicken, papas fritas and a little salad. We did not eat much of the plate. Maria and I tried to share one, but we only ate a little rice and a few fries. No appetite. This was probably due to the higher altitude, as it reduces appetite usually. Guillarmo promptly left the table and went to bed. Not a good sign as sleepiness is another indication of altitude sickness. Nick and I also wanted to sleep, but with prompting from Maria, agreed to get our bags and gatorade ready for the climb. This was a very good decision as, later, it was much colder (and it would have been unpleasant), but we also discovered we had bought one too few batteries for our head lamps. Luckily this was promptly solved by our guide. Segundo asked another guide if he had an extra battery. Like magic, there was one in his hand offered to us. Amazing. We were soon ready and then in bed (a row of bottom bunks in our mummy bags, me on the outside, then Maria, then Nick, then the already sleeping Guillarmo) at 7. We were going to be woken at midnight for "breakfast" and then begin the climb at 1 AM.
And that is what happened...basically. Most of the other climbers woke at 11 (which woke us as well) to get their gear ready and to get going. The next hour was slightly dozey, but right at 12, Carlos whispered "Ok chicos, vamos!" Nick was quickly out to go to the washroom and came in saying it was snowing! It was like a blizzard out there, I discovered, when I went out to pee. We all had some headache and so, took some ibuprofen. Then we had breakfast. I ate yoghurt with cocoa puffs and drank tea. After went up and put on my boots and snakes (snow covers for boots and lower legs) and carried down my cramp-ons, ice-axe, back-pack (my big hiking one), and harness. I was told to put my cramp-ons in my back-pack, so I did that. After, Segundo helped me put my harness on. Then my balaclava went on, and on top, my toque that I bought in Otavalo for two dollars. Then came my small gloves and mitts and I was ready.
We assembled outside the refugio: Marcos in front, then Maria, then Guillarmo, then Nick, then me, then Segundo. Nick said "Race you to the top!" and we began. The first part of the climb is from the refugio to where the glacier begins. We were told this part should take about an hour, and, in total to the top (the summit), seven hours. This part was fairly easy and Marcos lead us at a good easy pace. It was just dirt and rock at this part. Red dirt and rock. Red because, well, it came out of the volcanoe! Nick and I both, when asked how we were feeling, said we were good, but very warm and sweating. I think the guides found that funny. Nick and I commented to each other a bunch saying, "This is definitely the coolest thing I´ve ever done!" And, well, there is no way to describe how cool it is to be on the side of a mountain in the middle of the night looking out at the stars or distant Quito all the while climbing up and up and up.
There were a couple times though, where Nick turned around to me and said "I´m freaking out a bit, I think he´s going to fall on me." Not a good sign. Eventually, about 50 minutes in, Maria asked to stop for a drink of water. When she was done, then Guillarmo said he wanted some too. Nick and I said we were still hot. Then Marcos called Segundo up to talk. Two minutes later Nick and I were told to follow Segundo and we left the others behind. We didn´t know what was going on really, only that we had to get going with Segundo. Unfortunately, this is where it got bad for Maria, because she was stuck with struggling Guillarmo. They followed us, but by the time they reached the glacier, it was clear there was no way Guillarmo could make it to the top. He was going to try to make it back down on his own, but five minutes or so of Maria and Marcos going for it on the glacier and Guillarmo was calling up to Marcos saying he could not find the path down. So, they had to go down to help him back. This was around 4 now, and so, it was too late for Maria to be able to get up. Poor Maria.
Of course, Nick and I did not know any of this had been happening. Instead, we were racing ahead up the hill. Segundo´s pace was much quicker. We passed a number of people and reached the area by the glacier. Here we put our cramp-ons on, had a snack and drink, and attached the rope to our harnesses. Segundo led, I followed, and Nick came after me. We then started on the glacier. And we scrambled up the first part. Fast. Nick and I did not know what we were doing yet and our footing was an issue. Especially me, losing my plant a few times and being held in position by Segundo. He kept saying, "Don´t worry," "Don´t be afraid," "Its no problem." Haha, it seemed like one. So, we kept going, passing people, scrambling up the ice (and I mean up the ice) until we reached a spot that was more snowy. The path became, well, a path, at this point and we continued on. We kept motoring up, passing more and more groups (once, two groups at one time). I don´t remember how many breaks we took during this part, but not too many. Eventually we reached a point where Segundo told us no one else had been yet. We were ahead of everyone! I turned around to Nick and I don´t know if we sid anything, but our looks said "This is the most ridiculous thing ever. No way we are ahead of the pros!" But we were, and the path was less defined now. It had been covered with drifts.
We passed many crevasses during that part and later. One spot we had to jump about a foot and a half across. Another had a little bridge across...where we were told to "Run quickly." There were other little precarious climbs right next to a 50 foot or more fall. And they say the crevasses are more dangerous on Cayambe. I don´t know what that means. Wow. Segundo told us though, that Cayambe isn´t actually more dangerous or harder, just different.
We kept on, after a short break at the spot where we learned we were ahead of everyone. My stomach was now beginning to feel a bit upset, so I had less food than I would have liked to have. Nick´s was too. We had also been gassing our way up the mountain so far (I mean that in terms of speed as well as farts), and this began to be an issue for me here. That is, I realized I was going to have to go to the bathroom on the way. But not yet. As I was saying, we kept on. The climbs got steeper and longer and we began to feel the weight of our back-packs and the strain in our legs. Compounded with the feeling in my stomach and bowels, it was getting tougher. There were parts where we would look up and not see anything above us and think that this must be it, no more to go. At the top of that climb though, we would see more to climb. And at the same angle. Other parts were just as steep, but the path narrowed to one foot in front of the other, the steep incline on the one side (which gave little space for pick-axe support) and a steep fall to the other side. And, of course, crevasses scattered around. At one of these spots, Nick pointed and said "Death." Very true.
We took more breaks here, but ate very little and drank less than before as well. We had a halloween size snickers bar at some point (earlier), which was awesome for energy. You could feel the difference. But anyway, during one climb I could feel my bowels working and told Segundo I needed the baños when possible. He told me in ten minutes it would be flatter, so we settled for that. There was no way I could have gone where we were though...except in my pants. Time was flying the whole climb, so I don´t know if it was actually ten minutes, it seemed more like three, but we reached a spot where I could go. I was unhooked from the rope and told to go over closer to the crevasse. They turned off their head lamps. I kept mine on though; I needed to see. I got the harness off as much as I could and then pulled my two pairs of pants as well as underwear down. They didn´t go down very far. Reminded me of the few times I´ve had to go while at hockey practice and trying to keep my goalie pads on while doing so. Anyway, it turned into a not-exactly-squat. It was...cold, but felt good at the same time. I kicked some snow over and on we went. More steep climbs, and more breaks. We were getting exhausted. Nick and I would just sort of fall against the side of the hill and sit there until we had to get up. We weren´t taking our back-packs off. Segundo kept telling us that we were going to get there first and that were were making good time, we were strong, we were going to get to the top. Only 100 metres more. It would take 45 minutes. So close. We kept on, it felt like a race. The pace was still the same, only breaks were more often. It was windy (it had actually been windy for a long time which made breathing even more difficult); very, very windy. There were parts where it would blow our step off of the path. The tiredness made it more difficult to fight the blow. And then we stopped again. Nick asked how much farther. Fifteen metres. Two minutes. Vamos. Vamos. Vamos. We all said it. No question. Let´s go. And we seemed to run up. It was hard, but then, it was so easy at the same time. And we made it...to the top...to the summit...of a mountain...of a volcanoe...of the highest active volcanoe...in the world!
We ran to the middle of the area there, got our backpacks off and planted our ice-axes in the snow. We made it! We undid the rope and Nick collapsed on the snow and made a snow angel. I turned around and looked all over. Nick got up and we all had a big hug. Nick got out his little camera to take a video. He asked me what I thought of being at the top of the highest active volcanoe in the world. I didn´t say anything. I just smiled, completely dumbfounded. It was so cold there. The sky was full of clouds. The sun was just beginning to rise. We looked at the time. It was around 6. We climbed up there in 5 hours! We couldn´t see into the crater; bit of disappointment. The sun was coming out. We could see mountains off in the distance. We were all above the clouds. That ocean of clouds you see when you are in a plane, 45 minutes after take-off. We were possibly the people at the highest point on earth at that point. Loco! Hopefully we would see Maria on our way down. She had to get to this point as well. I took some pictures. The camera was cold. It was freezing. I shot on auto, no way to adjust settings in that weather. And then we went down. It was faster, and brighter. We passed all the people we passed before. No Maria. We went past the crevasses again and got a better look at them. Death, for sure. Still no Maria. We were off the ice after scrambling down what we first scrambled up. Nick was leading here. Pathfinding was a lot of pressure, but he managed it well. I had to catch him a bit once, but nothing like how I was caught the night before. We were exhausted the whole way. Cramp-ons were off, and I took some pictures of that mountain we were seeing before. Beautiful. And then we were going down in the deep soft dirt. Falling from exhaustion, or going too fast, or just the looseness of the dirt. Lots of fun. Then into a groove and I was racing down. Nick tried to keep up, but his stomach was in bad shape now...as well as his bowels. He decided he couldn´t go in the light. And then we were close to the refuge and I could see someone looking up the hill from the front door. We got closer and I knew it was Maria. I felt terrible for her, and teared up a little. Kept skating down and could see she was smiling at us. Man, she was tough. She told me we were early; expected at 9, but it was around 8. I apologized. She didn´t understand what I meant. I was sorry she wasn´t able to get to the top. We knew it wasn´t because she couldn´t cut it. It was the other guy. She wanted to hear about it all though, and it was tough to tell her because of her experience. She fought back tears to tell us about what happened with her, and I was on the verge of them to hear it. I still feel sad about it.
But that was it. We left at 9:30, not much of a rest. I didn´t finish my tea as I went to pack and change and by the time that was finished we were leaving. The ride back to Quito was a little awkward as Guillarmo knew Maria was not pleased (and hence, neither were we), but it was obvious as well that he was truly sorry for what happened. It was just a sad thing that happened. And at the same time, a very happy thing. I told my host family, upon return, that I was both very happy and very sad. I think that is how this will be remembered.
That is basically what happened.
I suppose it started back in December on the night we found out our placements at 10,000 Villages. Nick and I found that we were both placed in Ecuador and when we had a moment together he said "We´re climbing a mountain...you in?" My reply, promptly, was "Oh yes. We are climbing a mountain!" Fast forward to about a month ago, here, and we talked more about climbing a mountain. We had designs on Cayambe as it is always looming above us everyday. Our talk seemed to stir another Intercordian to want to climb as well. And so, our tandem became a trio; joined by Maria.
Maria lives in Saskatchewan, is of East Indian descent, and is the shortest member of our group. She is also, perhaps, the most tenacious. As most people we talked to said, climbing mountains requires heart...we had no doubt Maria had heart. As well, because Maria will not be travelling after our placements are finished, this would be her only chance to get to the top of a mountain.
We consulted both the guidebooks that Maria and Nick had and they seemed to suggest that Cayambe was not a good first climb. There are many crevasses and so, its supposed to be more dangerous. We settled on Cotapaxi instead; which was described in Nick´s book as "A tough uphill slog." Maria did most of the arranging and found us a company that set up climbs, in Quito. It was suggested to do an acclimatization program, which would take five days. Five days we did not have (not to mention the extra costs) and besides, we had been living above Cayambe (the city) for nearly two months now and so we figured we were in good shape for the climb. Just to make sure though, we decided to take a truck up to the Cayambe climber´s refugio last Wednesday to see how our bodies handled the extra altitude. Our breath was a little shorter, but we were ok. We also did a little bit of climbing on the rocks there and handled it well.
Thursday, we all (that is, more than just Nick and Maria and I) headed to Quito for Canada Day. The place to meet up with other Canadians on this special day, apparently. We stayed at a hostal near "Plaza Foch" in New Town. Plaza Foch is probably one of the swankiest places in Quito or really, in Ecuador. It was very much like being in a different world. Anyways, off of the plaza area there are a few streets with many different restaurants. We went to a place called Tomato, an Italian restaurant, that night for dinner. I do not know what I ate, but it had zucchini, cheese and pasta in it and it was so so good. Like, top three meals ever good. And only $4.60 (plus taxes and service fees, but....)! It was a good day/night.
The next day (Friday) the others left to return back to Cayambe and Nick, Maria and I were left alone in Quito. We needed to still pay so, after lunch we headed to the tour company. Meanwhile, of course, was one of the best soccer games of the World Cup going on. Ghana and Uruguay. We saw the first half of the game and then we were on our way during the second half. All the way we were peeking in to restaurants and bars and other shops to see what was happening. When we got to the office, one of the workers was watching the game on his computer so we were kept up to date on the score. When we were done paying we went with him to try on gear and to get gloves and sunglasses. We ended up headed to a shop to rent sunglasses and buy gloves (for in our mittens). The shop had a tv going with the game and we all watched the last minutes of extra time with much anticipation. It should be said, I suppose, that Ecuadorians seemed to be cheering for Uruguay...while Nick and I were cheering for Ghana (we have a friend there from the King´s Intercordia program). Everywhere around, most noticeably across the street, people were stopped and watching the crazy scramble, the penalty kick for Ghana and then penalties afterwards. It was such a crazy "whole world watching" moment. Unfortunately, poor Ghana.
After, we went and bought snacks for the climb...too many snacks, jaja. Probably enough to climb the mountain twice, but at least we were prepared. And then we went out for dinner, again to Tomato, but for pizza. It was a pretty quiet dinner and we had progressively more morbid conversations. Perhaps the feeling of the dread of the mountain was hanging over us, or the feeling of the sublimity of it, I don´t know. In any case, there was a lot of death conversation. We went to bed around nine, I think. I slept well, Maria slept worse, and Nick was up a lot with diarrhea and puking.
Saturday morning we went to a restaurant for breakfast and ate omelettes and hearty home fries. We then met up with our guide at 9:30 and discovered we were being joined by another climber- a man from Brasil, named Guillarmo. Since the climb he has been dubbed Gollum. We came up with nicknames for each other beforehand- Nick was Rambo (he has been wearing a bandana...and his host family calls him that because of the bandana), I was Mountain Man (mostly because of my beard and the hill I climb all the time and, well, Nick has been calling me that for a long time), and Maria was Frodo. Nick and I made....too many Lord of the Rings references. So, we saddled Maria with Frodo. We took our left over pizza with us and began the drive to the mountain in the truck of our guide, Segundo, at 10:30.
It was a long drive, made longer by our stop on the way at Segundo´s house to get his gear in another community. As well, he had to stop at a store to pick up food for our meals at the refugio. On the way we continued with our Lord of the Rings jokes. Nick remembered his idea (sadly too late) that we should buy a ring for the top of the mountain (Cotapaxi is the highest active volcanoe in the world, remember)...to throw in. Eventually we reached the entrance to Cotapaxi Park and could see the mountain looming over us, despite being mostly covered with clouds. The land here was mostly flat, a large valley land between mountain ranges. There were wild horses around, eating the lichen that grows on the rocks. There is not much more plant life near the mountain. Eventually we reached the parking lot below the refuge. We then had to climb with all our gear up to the refuge, where we, and all the other climbers, would make our base. It was a long climb up and fairly tough because of the weight of everything. I was glad I had eaten some pizza in the truck as it was 2 or 3 by the time we reached the refuge.
We were met by our other guide, Marcos, and he took us upstairs and showed us where to put our sleeping bags and gear. In about ten minutes he came and told us that lunch was ready. We went downstairs and ate bread with cheese, jam or butter; potato chips (homemade style); and tea. It was a decent meal, perhaps made moreso as we hadn´t eaten much since breakfast. After lunch we suited up into our climbing pants and boots and took our cramp-ons and ice-axe outside for training. This was at 4 or so. We learned how to put our cramp-ons on and then took them off. We climbed a little ways up from the refuge after this, learning different techniques and how to use our ice-axe to help walking. Then we went down, learning how to go down. We didn´t get any experience on ice or snow.
After getting our gear back inside we promptly had dinner. This was soup and tea, which we all ate, and then a plate of rice, fried chicken, papas fritas and a little salad. We did not eat much of the plate. Maria and I tried to share one, but we only ate a little rice and a few fries. No appetite. This was probably due to the higher altitude, as it reduces appetite usually. Guillarmo promptly left the table and went to bed. Not a good sign as sleepiness is another indication of altitude sickness. Nick and I also wanted to sleep, but with prompting from Maria, agreed to get our bags and gatorade ready for the climb. This was a very good decision as, later, it was much colder (and it would have been unpleasant), but we also discovered we had bought one too few batteries for our head lamps. Luckily this was promptly solved by our guide. Segundo asked another guide if he had an extra battery. Like magic, there was one in his hand offered to us. Amazing. We were soon ready and then in bed (a row of bottom bunks in our mummy bags, me on the outside, then Maria, then Nick, then the already sleeping Guillarmo) at 7. We were going to be woken at midnight for "breakfast" and then begin the climb at 1 AM.
And that is what happened...basically. Most of the other climbers woke at 11 (which woke us as well) to get their gear ready and to get going. The next hour was slightly dozey, but right at 12, Carlos whispered "Ok chicos, vamos!" Nick was quickly out to go to the washroom and came in saying it was snowing! It was like a blizzard out there, I discovered, when I went out to pee. We all had some headache and so, took some ibuprofen. Then we had breakfast. I ate yoghurt with cocoa puffs and drank tea. After went up and put on my boots and snakes (snow covers for boots and lower legs) and carried down my cramp-ons, ice-axe, back-pack (my big hiking one), and harness. I was told to put my cramp-ons in my back-pack, so I did that. After, Segundo helped me put my harness on. Then my balaclava went on, and on top, my toque that I bought in Otavalo for two dollars. Then came my small gloves and mitts and I was ready.
We assembled outside the refugio: Marcos in front, then Maria, then Guillarmo, then Nick, then me, then Segundo. Nick said "Race you to the top!" and we began. The first part of the climb is from the refugio to where the glacier begins. We were told this part should take about an hour, and, in total to the top (the summit), seven hours. This part was fairly easy and Marcos lead us at a good easy pace. It was just dirt and rock at this part. Red dirt and rock. Red because, well, it came out of the volcanoe! Nick and I both, when asked how we were feeling, said we were good, but very warm and sweating. I think the guides found that funny. Nick and I commented to each other a bunch saying, "This is definitely the coolest thing I´ve ever done!" And, well, there is no way to describe how cool it is to be on the side of a mountain in the middle of the night looking out at the stars or distant Quito all the while climbing up and up and up.
There were a couple times though, where Nick turned around to me and said "I´m freaking out a bit, I think he´s going to fall on me." Not a good sign. Eventually, about 50 minutes in, Maria asked to stop for a drink of water. When she was done, then Guillarmo said he wanted some too. Nick and I said we were still hot. Then Marcos called Segundo up to talk. Two minutes later Nick and I were told to follow Segundo and we left the others behind. We didn´t know what was going on really, only that we had to get going with Segundo. Unfortunately, this is where it got bad for Maria, because she was stuck with struggling Guillarmo. They followed us, but by the time they reached the glacier, it was clear there was no way Guillarmo could make it to the top. He was going to try to make it back down on his own, but five minutes or so of Maria and Marcos going for it on the glacier and Guillarmo was calling up to Marcos saying he could not find the path down. So, they had to go down to help him back. This was around 4 now, and so, it was too late for Maria to be able to get up. Poor Maria.
Of course, Nick and I did not know any of this had been happening. Instead, we were racing ahead up the hill. Segundo´s pace was much quicker. We passed a number of people and reached the area by the glacier. Here we put our cramp-ons on, had a snack and drink, and attached the rope to our harnesses. Segundo led, I followed, and Nick came after me. We then started on the glacier. And we scrambled up the first part. Fast. Nick and I did not know what we were doing yet and our footing was an issue. Especially me, losing my plant a few times and being held in position by Segundo. He kept saying, "Don´t worry," "Don´t be afraid," "Its no problem." Haha, it seemed like one. So, we kept going, passing people, scrambling up the ice (and I mean up the ice) until we reached a spot that was more snowy. The path became, well, a path, at this point and we continued on. We kept motoring up, passing more and more groups (once, two groups at one time). I don´t remember how many breaks we took during this part, but not too many. Eventually we reached a point where Segundo told us no one else had been yet. We were ahead of everyone! I turned around to Nick and I don´t know if we sid anything, but our looks said "This is the most ridiculous thing ever. No way we are ahead of the pros!" But we were, and the path was less defined now. It had been covered with drifts.
We passed many crevasses during that part and later. One spot we had to jump about a foot and a half across. Another had a little bridge across...where we were told to "Run quickly." There were other little precarious climbs right next to a 50 foot or more fall. And they say the crevasses are more dangerous on Cayambe. I don´t know what that means. Wow. Segundo told us though, that Cayambe isn´t actually more dangerous or harder, just different.
We kept on, after a short break at the spot where we learned we were ahead of everyone. My stomach was now beginning to feel a bit upset, so I had less food than I would have liked to have. Nick´s was too. We had also been gassing our way up the mountain so far (I mean that in terms of speed as well as farts), and this began to be an issue for me here. That is, I realized I was going to have to go to the bathroom on the way. But not yet. As I was saying, we kept on. The climbs got steeper and longer and we began to feel the weight of our back-packs and the strain in our legs. Compounded with the feeling in my stomach and bowels, it was getting tougher. There were parts where we would look up and not see anything above us and think that this must be it, no more to go. At the top of that climb though, we would see more to climb. And at the same angle. Other parts were just as steep, but the path narrowed to one foot in front of the other, the steep incline on the one side (which gave little space for pick-axe support) and a steep fall to the other side. And, of course, crevasses scattered around. At one of these spots, Nick pointed and said "Death." Very true.
We took more breaks here, but ate very little and drank less than before as well. We had a halloween size snickers bar at some point (earlier), which was awesome for energy. You could feel the difference. But anyway, during one climb I could feel my bowels working and told Segundo I needed the baños when possible. He told me in ten minutes it would be flatter, so we settled for that. There was no way I could have gone where we were though...except in my pants. Time was flying the whole climb, so I don´t know if it was actually ten minutes, it seemed more like three, but we reached a spot where I could go. I was unhooked from the rope and told to go over closer to the crevasse. They turned off their head lamps. I kept mine on though; I needed to see. I got the harness off as much as I could and then pulled my two pairs of pants as well as underwear down. They didn´t go down very far. Reminded me of the few times I´ve had to go while at hockey practice and trying to keep my goalie pads on while doing so. Anyway, it turned into a not-exactly-squat. It was...cold, but felt good at the same time. I kicked some snow over and on we went. More steep climbs, and more breaks. We were getting exhausted. Nick and I would just sort of fall against the side of the hill and sit there until we had to get up. We weren´t taking our back-packs off. Segundo kept telling us that we were going to get there first and that were were making good time, we were strong, we were going to get to the top. Only 100 metres more. It would take 45 minutes. So close. We kept on, it felt like a race. The pace was still the same, only breaks were more often. It was windy (it had actually been windy for a long time which made breathing even more difficult); very, very windy. There were parts where it would blow our step off of the path. The tiredness made it more difficult to fight the blow. And then we stopped again. Nick asked how much farther. Fifteen metres. Two minutes. Vamos. Vamos. Vamos. We all said it. No question. Let´s go. And we seemed to run up. It was hard, but then, it was so easy at the same time. And we made it...to the top...to the summit...of a mountain...of a volcanoe...of the highest active volcanoe...in the world!
We ran to the middle of the area there, got our backpacks off and planted our ice-axes in the snow. We made it! We undid the rope and Nick collapsed on the snow and made a snow angel. I turned around and looked all over. Nick got up and we all had a big hug. Nick got out his little camera to take a video. He asked me what I thought of being at the top of the highest active volcanoe in the world. I didn´t say anything. I just smiled, completely dumbfounded. It was so cold there. The sky was full of clouds. The sun was just beginning to rise. We looked at the time. It was around 6. We climbed up there in 5 hours! We couldn´t see into the crater; bit of disappointment. The sun was coming out. We could see mountains off in the distance. We were all above the clouds. That ocean of clouds you see when you are in a plane, 45 minutes after take-off. We were possibly the people at the highest point on earth at that point. Loco! Hopefully we would see Maria on our way down. She had to get to this point as well. I took some pictures. The camera was cold. It was freezing. I shot on auto, no way to adjust settings in that weather. And then we went down. It was faster, and brighter. We passed all the people we passed before. No Maria. We went past the crevasses again and got a better look at them. Death, for sure. Still no Maria. We were off the ice after scrambling down what we first scrambled up. Nick was leading here. Pathfinding was a lot of pressure, but he managed it well. I had to catch him a bit once, but nothing like how I was caught the night before. We were exhausted the whole way. Cramp-ons were off, and I took some pictures of that mountain we were seeing before. Beautiful. And then we were going down in the deep soft dirt. Falling from exhaustion, or going too fast, or just the looseness of the dirt. Lots of fun. Then into a groove and I was racing down. Nick tried to keep up, but his stomach was in bad shape now...as well as his bowels. He decided he couldn´t go in the light. And then we were close to the refuge and I could see someone looking up the hill from the front door. We got closer and I knew it was Maria. I felt terrible for her, and teared up a little. Kept skating down and could see she was smiling at us. Man, she was tough. She told me we were early; expected at 9, but it was around 8. I apologized. She didn´t understand what I meant. I was sorry she wasn´t able to get to the top. We knew it wasn´t because she couldn´t cut it. It was the other guy. She wanted to hear about it all though, and it was tough to tell her because of her experience. She fought back tears to tell us about what happened with her, and I was on the verge of them to hear it. I still feel sad about it.
But that was it. We left at 9:30, not much of a rest. I didn´t finish my tea as I went to pack and change and by the time that was finished we were leaving. The ride back to Quito was a little awkward as Guillarmo knew Maria was not pleased (and hence, neither were we), but it was obvious as well that he was truly sorry for what happened. It was just a sad thing that happened. And at the same time, a very happy thing. I told my host family, upon return, that I was both very happy and very sad. I think that is how this will be remembered.
That is basically what happened.
Sunday, July 4, 2010
Reflection 2
For the Intercordia program we have to submit reflections every so often. This is my second, the question: What impact have you had on your community.
How does one evaluate one´s impact in a community? How can you even tell if you are having an impact? There does not seem to be any easy answer to these questions, but there is one person where my impact seems to be more clear--with my host niece, Maribel.
Learning Maribel´s story has been a slow process. It seems that as I continue to get better at Spanish, more and more is revealed about her family situation. To use a mathematical example, my increase in understanding with both is like parallel lines. The curves have seemed to be on a flat incline for most of the time. At least, this is how it has felt. In any case, Maribel is the grandaughter of my host mother. She lives in the same house (or...did) as us. I first learned that her parents lived in other towns, working in those places, but Maribel didn´t actually know where their house was. She also did not know where her brother lived. This was because she had never been to visit them there.
In my time here, I have seen Maribel´s mother twice--the two times she visited. Both were incredibly tense times, filled with family tension; heartache expressed in arguments and tears...at the dining table. Once at lunch and once at the end of dinner. Each time I was witness to the entire unfolding, feeling out of place, but given a place by each of them. I suppose that is one way to realize that you are part of a family; when they allow you to witness strictly family matters. Since then I have learned more of the family situation. For instance, why Maribel´s parents live and work in separate communities. The answer being that they are divorced. It seems there is a bit of a taboo for divorce here, like there sometimes is in Canada and like there was. Because of this, from what I understand, Maribel has lived with her grandparents (on her mother´s side) while going to school in town in Cayambe.
Last Tuesday, a week ago, however, Maribel left to live with her dad. While my host mom talked with Maribel´s father about the next while, there was plenty of mentioning of "el amigo de Maribel", that is, me. I was witness to this converstation as well. At the end, just before Maribel and her father left, Maribel turned around at the door and charged me. Her arms were flung around my arms, still at my side, and waist, holding me tight. So tight I could not get my arms out to hug her back. She held on for about ten seconds and I held onto my tears for about ten seconds after she left. In the time that I did have with Maribel, a month and a bit, we spent quite a bit together. In my afternoons, after being finished at school, and after she was done at school as well, we worked on her homework, or worked on English, or on my Spanish, or played games, or learned guitar, or went with my host mom to the other house and helped milk the cows and other chores. After dinner too. Friendship was developed during this time, but it was hard to tell what it meant to Maribel; how much she actually cared that it was me doing these things with her and not someone else. The hug, I think, clarified that some. Last Saturday made it clearer.
Last Saturday was Maribel´s first communion. It was held in the community next to ours, maybe a ten minute walk away. I got there very early, due to not realizing the time I was told was not really when it would be starting. One of those different cultural views on time. It was no problem though, there were people there preparing food for after so I helped with that. Maribel and her father and the rest of the family arrived about thirty minutes before it started. They came by truck from wherever it is that they live. When they saw me they made their way over to me, Maribel running and hugging me again. When her father and step-mother reached me they both shook my hand and thanked me for coming. Before entering the church we walked to a cousin´s house to have Maribel´s hair done. Maribel made sure I came along everywhere, holding my hand to help her walk....but also to make sure I was there. When everything was over and they were ready to leave, my hand was shook many times by everyone in the family with many sincere thank you´s. And then one more hug from Maribel.
I don´t think I can really say what the impact is that I am making. However, it is incredibly apparent that I am having an impact and it is significant. "I have come to the frightening conclusion..." that I actually have an impact and my existence is meaningful to others. That impact, as it is in this case, is not in any tangible, extremely visible way. I guess, its not really "empirically verifiable". But, it is there and deeply meaningful. And that is, at the same time, incredibly moving and uplifting, as well as painful. Painful because soon I will not be here. Uplifting because, despite my physical absence, I´ll still be remembered and I will still remember.
How does one evaluate one´s impact in a community? How can you even tell if you are having an impact? There does not seem to be any easy answer to these questions, but there is one person where my impact seems to be more clear--with my host niece, Maribel.
Learning Maribel´s story has been a slow process. It seems that as I continue to get better at Spanish, more and more is revealed about her family situation. To use a mathematical example, my increase in understanding with both is like parallel lines. The curves have seemed to be on a flat incline for most of the time. At least, this is how it has felt. In any case, Maribel is the grandaughter of my host mother. She lives in the same house (or...did) as us. I first learned that her parents lived in other towns, working in those places, but Maribel didn´t actually know where their house was. She also did not know where her brother lived. This was because she had never been to visit them there.
In my time here, I have seen Maribel´s mother twice--the two times she visited. Both were incredibly tense times, filled with family tension; heartache expressed in arguments and tears...at the dining table. Once at lunch and once at the end of dinner. Each time I was witness to the entire unfolding, feeling out of place, but given a place by each of them. I suppose that is one way to realize that you are part of a family; when they allow you to witness strictly family matters. Since then I have learned more of the family situation. For instance, why Maribel´s parents live and work in separate communities. The answer being that they are divorced. It seems there is a bit of a taboo for divorce here, like there sometimes is in Canada and like there was. Because of this, from what I understand, Maribel has lived with her grandparents (on her mother´s side) while going to school in town in Cayambe.
Last Tuesday, a week ago, however, Maribel left to live with her dad. While my host mom talked with Maribel´s father about the next while, there was plenty of mentioning of "el amigo de Maribel", that is, me. I was witness to this converstation as well. At the end, just before Maribel and her father left, Maribel turned around at the door and charged me. Her arms were flung around my arms, still at my side, and waist, holding me tight. So tight I could not get my arms out to hug her back. She held on for about ten seconds and I held onto my tears for about ten seconds after she left. In the time that I did have with Maribel, a month and a bit, we spent quite a bit together. In my afternoons, after being finished at school, and after she was done at school as well, we worked on her homework, or worked on English, or on my Spanish, or played games, or learned guitar, or went with my host mom to the other house and helped milk the cows and other chores. After dinner too. Friendship was developed during this time, but it was hard to tell what it meant to Maribel; how much she actually cared that it was me doing these things with her and not someone else. The hug, I think, clarified that some. Last Saturday made it clearer.
Last Saturday was Maribel´s first communion. It was held in the community next to ours, maybe a ten minute walk away. I got there very early, due to not realizing the time I was told was not really when it would be starting. One of those different cultural views on time. It was no problem though, there were people there preparing food for after so I helped with that. Maribel and her father and the rest of the family arrived about thirty minutes before it started. They came by truck from wherever it is that they live. When they saw me they made their way over to me, Maribel running and hugging me again. When her father and step-mother reached me they both shook my hand and thanked me for coming. Before entering the church we walked to a cousin´s house to have Maribel´s hair done. Maribel made sure I came along everywhere, holding my hand to help her walk....but also to make sure I was there. When everything was over and they were ready to leave, my hand was shook many times by everyone in the family with many sincere thank you´s. And then one more hug from Maribel.
I don´t think I can really say what the impact is that I am making. However, it is incredibly apparent that I am having an impact and it is significant. "I have come to the frightening conclusion..." that I actually have an impact and my existence is meaningful to others. That impact, as it is in this case, is not in any tangible, extremely visible way. I guess, its not really "empirically verifiable". But, it is there and deeply meaningful. And that is, at the same time, incredibly moving and uplifting, as well as painful. Painful because soon I will not be here. Uplifting because, despite my physical absence, I´ll still be remembered and I will still remember.
Thursday, June 17, 2010
Jesus was a phenomenologist
So, Tuesday was King´s convocation. This means that I am now officially a university graduate. Crazy! In any case, it has often been asked of me, "What are you going to do with philosophy?" My answer is usually, "Nothing..." or ...nothing. That is, I don´t answer the question. Of course, this answer is not exactly true. During my time here I´ve worked through a book by the philosopher Edmund Husserl; his Cartesian Meditations: An Introduction to Phenomenology. Now, what phenomenolgy is exactly is difficult to explain. I don´t think I can actually do it. But, what I can say is that is has a lot to do with perception, with consciousness and seeing. And so, I want to begin to talk a bit about consciousness of culture, particularly a different culture.
First of all, it should be mentioned that different languages see different worlds. I have been wondering how to penetrate into this other world-this other culture-for just a peak. To see it in a fuller, more rich-a thickened-way. One cannot experience another culture but by experiencing the other experiencing their culture. Culture does not exist independently of people. It does not exist outside of, separate and apart from them. It is not food, or music, ways of using the toilet or ways of speaking. It is people living together, doing these things, making this way of being. Its not that I eat Ecuadorian food that I experience Ecuadorian culture. It is by eating it with others; seeing how they prepare it, how they serve it, how they use a spoon almost always, how they say "Gracias" at the end, how the scraps are put in a bowl for the dogs, and so on. So what is this experiencing?
Husserl says, "We see that in this fashion the cultural world too is given "orientedly", in relation to a zero member or a zero "personality". Here I and my culture are primordial, over against every alien culture. To me and to those who share in my culture, an alien culture is accessible only by a kind of "experience of someone else", a kind of "empathy", by which we project ourselves into the alien cultural community and its culture. This empathy also calls for intentional investigations." This is what I would like to carry out, these "intentional investigations".
I suppose it is interesting, this use of the word "empathy". Husserl has been criticised for it, for one´s experience of another must surely be more than empathy, nevertheless, let´s see where it can take us. Let´s assume empathy is required to truly experience the other. There is another mode-which I think we should say is still an experience, though a different one, of course-called sympathy. It seems often we sort of "look down" on sympathy because it is very much a "downward movement", whereas empathy comes on a level of equality. I think though, sympathy is, perhaps, a first step towards empathy.
Anyway, empathy implies a sense of common ground, of a connection available besides the natural difference of being separate people, despite being "alien". One reaches into one´s own experience, sees into the other´s experience and recognizes the similarity; gains understanding; "sees through their eyes". Now, this is supposed to happen in the background. It is a "condition for the possibility of experience of the other". But, when it is reflected upon after, or even during, the experience one gains a stronger sense of what occurs. Or, in the way I put it before, a "thickening".
This discerning of empathy, of common ground, "in the moment", and applying it to the situation at hand, is generally difficult for me to do. Largely this comes from the basic fact that my interactions are mostly with women. It is, however, an extremely important thing to do; to break out of my enclosed "monad" (for what this means, look to wikipedia and its article on Leibniz) to experience the other as other. In any case, for example, I think I have had a few moments of this type of experience with my host mom. Of seeing her deeper, of experiencing her through this "empathy".
Olimpia is much older than me, over forty, I think. She has given birth to six children. It is unlikely I will ever give birth to one. I am much taller than her. Her dress is in the traditional Kichwa way, mine is...I don´t know what you call it. She works harder than me and, very likely, is stronger than I am. She is missing the teeth between her upper canines. She sticks her tongue out from side to side while doing things like stirring a pot, slicing onions, peeling potatoes; essentially whenever she uses a tool. I do not. I am very white (though tanned...in some spots..now) while she has dark skin, like the other Kichwa people. She speaks (apparently) only Spanish. I speak English...and some Spanish. It is tough to talk with each other. She does not read or write (thus, she cannot use a dictionary, which makes communication even more difficult). She has, then, seemed "cold" to other people.
Olimpia is shy. This is something, I suppose, we have in common. This is not where one stops looking though. What else is seen in light of this, or despite this? And what insights into this culture are uncovered? First of all, it is immediately apparent that she has invited numerous students into her home. I am by no means the first. I am the fourth or fifth. We have all been cooked for and taken care of. When my stomach was a little upset the other week, Olimpia went out and found a special plant to make a special tea with. This tea was then made for me and brought up to me in my room. For the next few days her concern over my stomach´s condition was well made. It was obvious that she wanted the best for me, for my stomach to be healed.
There is another way in which I see deeper in to who Olimpia is. This is through her granddaughter, Maribel. Last week, in the kitchen as lunch was being cooked, Olimpia was talking to Patricio, Maribel´s brother. They were talking about Maribel, though what exactly was being said, I could not tell. I think, and this comes after recent events, they were talking about Maribel´s future place of residence. In any case, all of a sudden Olimpia began weeping as she talked. There was no attempt to hide them, no "Jordan, please leave the room". She was feeling deeply and was allowing us to see. Shortly after Patricio was in a similar state. My experience of Patricio has been limited, but I know that he is seventeen, has some large scars on his right arm, does not go to school, but works instead. I´ve begun to wonder if Maribel will have a similar future.
On Tuesday, I came down to see how dinner preparations were going. Olimpia told me that Maribel was at her father´s house. A little while later Maribel came in and her dad as well. Olimpia and Maribel´s father talked for awhile. They were obviously talking about Maribel. And Colegio, which seems to basically be high school. Seemed like there were doubts about Maribel attending one next year. In that conversation Olimpia began to weep again. Again, I was a witness to all this that was going on. It was becoming increasingly clear that Maribel was not just going for a day or so, but was actually moving in with her father. Just before leaving Maribel turned back and charged at me, throwing her arms around me. I was pretty taken by surprise and so, she pinned my arms at my side. She was squeezing so hard I couldn´t get them free. It was a five to ten second hug. The first real hug I´ve had since getting here. In that moment it was very very clear what was happening. And then they left. It was just Olimpia and I left in the room. And we both started to cry. Supper was long ago ready so she went into the kitchen and brought out soup for each of us. We ate in silence, mostly. Tears ran down each of our faces for most of the meal. A few times we looked each other in the eyes, knowing much of what the other was feeling and understanding why. It was clear. The situation was rotten.
I´ve thought back on this moment and wondered if perhaps this was also similar to the feelings and emotions expressed by my own grandparents (and other family members) and various "partings" in the past. When we moved to Yellowknife, for instance. Or, before I left for here.
In any case, the title of this post has Jesus in it, so I should make that clear. It stems from the idea that Jesus is the incarnation of God. That "the Word was made flesh" and that it "dwelt among us". That in becoming human there is this greater sense of empathy, of "knowing what its like". That, in Jesus experiencing pain and heartbreak and temptation his love takes on a deeper meaning. It is, perhaps, "thickened". But it goes the other way too. Because through seeing the Son, we see the Father. It is our experience of Jesus that is our experience of God. So, in seeing the love that was expressed by him, we see the love that the, more or less, incomprehensible father has. We see as well, the new "culture" that was preached; the Kingdom. In experiencing Jesus, we experience his kingdom. But how do we experience Jesus? There are a few aspects, I think. One of seeing the "image of God" in others and the other, which is perhaps similar, that when one feeds another, or gives water to them, one is giving it to Jesus himself. Both of these are, well, difficult. Later I will go more into my experience with these things, here and back home. But, I´ve been too long here...and this last bit needs more thought. And probably more phenomenology (since its what I´m pretending to talk about). I was, of course, only drawing a bit of a comparison. He wasn´t really.
First of all, it should be mentioned that different languages see different worlds. I have been wondering how to penetrate into this other world-this other culture-for just a peak. To see it in a fuller, more rich-a thickened-way. One cannot experience another culture but by experiencing the other experiencing their culture. Culture does not exist independently of people. It does not exist outside of, separate and apart from them. It is not food, or music, ways of using the toilet or ways of speaking. It is people living together, doing these things, making this way of being. Its not that I eat Ecuadorian food that I experience Ecuadorian culture. It is by eating it with others; seeing how they prepare it, how they serve it, how they use a spoon almost always, how they say "Gracias" at the end, how the scraps are put in a bowl for the dogs, and so on. So what is this experiencing?
Husserl says, "We see that in this fashion the cultural world too is given "orientedly", in relation to a zero member or a zero "personality". Here I and my culture are primordial, over against every alien culture. To me and to those who share in my culture, an alien culture is accessible only by a kind of "experience of someone else", a kind of "empathy", by which we project ourselves into the alien cultural community and its culture. This empathy also calls for intentional investigations." This is what I would like to carry out, these "intentional investigations".
I suppose it is interesting, this use of the word "empathy". Husserl has been criticised for it, for one´s experience of another must surely be more than empathy, nevertheless, let´s see where it can take us. Let´s assume empathy is required to truly experience the other. There is another mode-which I think we should say is still an experience, though a different one, of course-called sympathy. It seems often we sort of "look down" on sympathy because it is very much a "downward movement", whereas empathy comes on a level of equality. I think though, sympathy is, perhaps, a first step towards empathy.
Anyway, empathy implies a sense of common ground, of a connection available besides the natural difference of being separate people, despite being "alien". One reaches into one´s own experience, sees into the other´s experience and recognizes the similarity; gains understanding; "sees through their eyes". Now, this is supposed to happen in the background. It is a "condition for the possibility of experience of the other". But, when it is reflected upon after, or even during, the experience one gains a stronger sense of what occurs. Or, in the way I put it before, a "thickening".
This discerning of empathy, of common ground, "in the moment", and applying it to the situation at hand, is generally difficult for me to do. Largely this comes from the basic fact that my interactions are mostly with women. It is, however, an extremely important thing to do; to break out of my enclosed "monad" (for what this means, look to wikipedia and its article on Leibniz) to experience the other as other. In any case, for example, I think I have had a few moments of this type of experience with my host mom. Of seeing her deeper, of experiencing her through this "empathy".
Olimpia is much older than me, over forty, I think. She has given birth to six children. It is unlikely I will ever give birth to one. I am much taller than her. Her dress is in the traditional Kichwa way, mine is...I don´t know what you call it. She works harder than me and, very likely, is stronger than I am. She is missing the teeth between her upper canines. She sticks her tongue out from side to side while doing things like stirring a pot, slicing onions, peeling potatoes; essentially whenever she uses a tool. I do not. I am very white (though tanned...in some spots..now) while she has dark skin, like the other Kichwa people. She speaks (apparently) only Spanish. I speak English...and some Spanish. It is tough to talk with each other. She does not read or write (thus, she cannot use a dictionary, which makes communication even more difficult). She has, then, seemed "cold" to other people.
Olimpia is shy. This is something, I suppose, we have in common. This is not where one stops looking though. What else is seen in light of this, or despite this? And what insights into this culture are uncovered? First of all, it is immediately apparent that she has invited numerous students into her home. I am by no means the first. I am the fourth or fifth. We have all been cooked for and taken care of. When my stomach was a little upset the other week, Olimpia went out and found a special plant to make a special tea with. This tea was then made for me and brought up to me in my room. For the next few days her concern over my stomach´s condition was well made. It was obvious that she wanted the best for me, for my stomach to be healed.
There is another way in which I see deeper in to who Olimpia is. This is through her granddaughter, Maribel. Last week, in the kitchen as lunch was being cooked, Olimpia was talking to Patricio, Maribel´s brother. They were talking about Maribel, though what exactly was being said, I could not tell. I think, and this comes after recent events, they were talking about Maribel´s future place of residence. In any case, all of a sudden Olimpia began weeping as she talked. There was no attempt to hide them, no "Jordan, please leave the room". She was feeling deeply and was allowing us to see. Shortly after Patricio was in a similar state. My experience of Patricio has been limited, but I know that he is seventeen, has some large scars on his right arm, does not go to school, but works instead. I´ve begun to wonder if Maribel will have a similar future.
On Tuesday, I came down to see how dinner preparations were going. Olimpia told me that Maribel was at her father´s house. A little while later Maribel came in and her dad as well. Olimpia and Maribel´s father talked for awhile. They were obviously talking about Maribel. And Colegio, which seems to basically be high school. Seemed like there were doubts about Maribel attending one next year. In that conversation Olimpia began to weep again. Again, I was a witness to all this that was going on. It was becoming increasingly clear that Maribel was not just going for a day or so, but was actually moving in with her father. Just before leaving Maribel turned back and charged at me, throwing her arms around me. I was pretty taken by surprise and so, she pinned my arms at my side. She was squeezing so hard I couldn´t get them free. It was a five to ten second hug. The first real hug I´ve had since getting here. In that moment it was very very clear what was happening. And then they left. It was just Olimpia and I left in the room. And we both started to cry. Supper was long ago ready so she went into the kitchen and brought out soup for each of us. We ate in silence, mostly. Tears ran down each of our faces for most of the meal. A few times we looked each other in the eyes, knowing much of what the other was feeling and understanding why. It was clear. The situation was rotten.
I´ve thought back on this moment and wondered if perhaps this was also similar to the feelings and emotions expressed by my own grandparents (and other family members) and various "partings" in the past. When we moved to Yellowknife, for instance. Or, before I left for here.
In any case, the title of this post has Jesus in it, so I should make that clear. It stems from the idea that Jesus is the incarnation of God. That "the Word was made flesh" and that it "dwelt among us". That in becoming human there is this greater sense of empathy, of "knowing what its like". That, in Jesus experiencing pain and heartbreak and temptation his love takes on a deeper meaning. It is, perhaps, "thickened". But it goes the other way too. Because through seeing the Son, we see the Father. It is our experience of Jesus that is our experience of God. So, in seeing the love that was expressed by him, we see the love that the, more or less, incomprehensible father has. We see as well, the new "culture" that was preached; the Kingdom. In experiencing Jesus, we experience his kingdom. But how do we experience Jesus? There are a few aspects, I think. One of seeing the "image of God" in others and the other, which is perhaps similar, that when one feeds another, or gives water to them, one is giving it to Jesus himself. Both of these are, well, difficult. Later I will go more into my experience with these things, here and back home. But, I´ve been too long here...and this last bit needs more thought. And probably more phenomenology (since its what I´m pretending to talk about). I was, of course, only drawing a bit of a comparison. He wasn´t really.
Monday, June 14, 2010
Arrival and Feliz Dia Del Ninos!
By "arrival," I of course do not mean my own. Given that I have been here for nearly a month now (wow?! haha, or en espanol, jaja). On Friday when I got home from school, Olimpia, my host mom, told me that Blanca had gone into Cayambe, to the hospital, that morning. For the baby. Lunch was quite frantic, as one would expect, as Olimpia moved (probably as fast as I´ve ever seen her move) around the house getting things ready so that she could get to the hospital to be with Blanca. That afternoon I was...freaking out, you could say. I wasn´t expecting the birth to be "so soon" I guess. Really though, by appearances, I knew it could´ve been anytime. I went walking to the other town that afternoon to sort of "cool down" and see if Nick (the other male Intercordian in Ecuador, who also goes to King´s) was around. I guess I talked about his host family last time. He wasn´t there at first, so I walked around town a bit. When I came back, about 10 minutes later, I saw a truck loaded with grain outside the house and a bunch of people unloading. It had been raining for a few hours by this point, and they were all quite soaked. They had come from where we were harvesting grain a couple weeks ago, with it now processed into bags. About 100 pounds each. They weighed them that day. I guess they ended up loading and unloading the truck a few times (one of which was because they got stuck fording the river!). Pretty tough work. And with the rain, a pretty miserable situation. There was quite a bit of joking and fooling around when I saw them though, which Nick said had been carrying on the whole time. Which is something neat to see. Grumbling could still be detected in Spanish, I think. We ended up playing Monopoly in their kitchen (where the fire is) with his brothers and another neighbourhood kid who had been working. The rest of the family was eating, which meant I was offered food as well, so I had a second lunch. I´ll be a hobbit yet. Never expected to play Monopoly though. Not in a building made of dirt, right next to a fire. Anyway, Blanca and her little girl arrived home Saturday afternoon and seem to be doing well. Though, Blanca has mostly been in her room, with the baby, since getting home. I have not seen much of either of them.
This Saturday is my niece´s (though, for some reason I have been calling her my cousin.....) first communion. She is quite excited for it. The past few Saturdays she has been working through her little prep book, going to her class, and seems to know her stuff. I´m not sure what all is in store for this. Celebrationwise, and otherwise. A lot of that having to do with the fact that she lives with us, at her Grandmother and Grandfather´s house. Her mom has been in twice, in the time I´ve been here, for a couple hours each time. I´ve never seen her dad. Or her brother. Maribel, told me that she doesn´t actually know where any of them live. One of the hardest things I´ve heard so far. Basically, I don´t know know what that means with regard to her parents showing up. I hope they do. But, at the same time, the two times Maribel´s mom has been at the house, have been the most tense. So...
The other aspect, which I´ve hinted at, is that Olimpia and Luis, my host parents, (Maribel´s grandparents), are not Catholic, but are Pentecostal. I think, though, that there is an acceptance of each other in this (which is good, I think...I´m not much of a fan of the division that seems to be there...). I´m getting this idea basically from the fact that Maribel came with us to church when we went. And that she took part in it. That might not mean a whole lot, but maybe. We were at church that day for about four hours anyway. We spent the first 40 minutes praying, while people arrived and began praying as well. A few prayed at the front and some of them were praying into microphones. There was a certain ambiance because of this, as well as the others that prayed out loud. I wish I could have understood what they were saying, because there is definitely an intensity to how they are saying what they are saying. An urgency, maybe. I had that same wish more times as well, of course. After individual prayer, one of the ladies led a song, then read some scripture, then prayed, then more song, more prayer, more song. Basically a cycle back and forth of the two. After her, the young pastor got up and did much of the same, though he had a guitar as well. I think he had more of a sermon type thing as well. Hard to tell. After him, the older pastor did the same. They all used different passages of scripture though. After this, there was anointing, I think. They filled some...what looked like shot glasses, with a yellow liquid, which was oil or perfume. People came up in groups and were prayed over, and then oil was put on their foreheads, and sometimes hands as well. This happened for awhile, and I wasn´t really sure what was happening. Or more, why it was happening. The reason some went up sometimes and not others, and so on. After that though, was a final bit of song and prayer and then we all sort of shook hands and went out. Kind of different. Kind of the same.
My day at school usually starts around 730, where the kids are rounded up and do various exercises/marching and hear announcements. Class is supposed to start at 8, but usually starts earlier. Each class is about an hour long, with four classes a day. Grade 1s, Grade 2´s and 3´s, Grade 4´s and 5´s, and grade 6´s and 7´s. The best behaved are the grade 2/3 class and the 6/7 class. The others are...hit and miss, haha. So far I´ve taught the family, some verbs, the body, question words, greetings, and colours. With the upper grades I´ve been able to get into writing questions on the board and getting them to come up with answers. For example, What colour is a banana? A banana is yellow. This is...kind of exciting. Basically, they are actually learning something. Compared with what others have said about their classes, this is actually a significant thing. They feel they aren´t learning anyway. I´ve noticed though, I am not really the cool teacher I used to think (as a kid) I´d be. I often take away candy from the kids (before 8, even) and things like that. But they learn. They don´t seem very surprised anyway. Mostly the problem is, its tough to repeat when you have stuff in your mouth. Especially tough, when the letters sound different! There is a break at 10 for half an hour for "recreo". Then two more hours and I am finished at 1230. School actually ends at that time, with sometimes more time for some students for music. They seem to be learning a traditional song which is quite common here. Perhaps, it is the song. I like it quite a bit, anyway. I heard a ridiculously long version that day I was at the mother´s day celebration at the all girls school. There was a dance to it there, which went on for about 10 minutes. They faded it out. It didn´t resolve. I was a bit tortured for the rest of the day because of that. Or maybe it was sitting four hours in the sun (Nana, Mom, unread this sentence).
Yesterday, as well, was the Dia Del Ninos, (Children´s Day, I guess) so I played bingo with the first class. Afterwhich we played a bunch of games outside. Feedbag races, some other types of races, musical chairs, and so on. Good fun. They made me lead the first group to go at musical chairs, grade 1s to 3...in dance. Probably there is a video of it. There was much laughter. Lots of fun. I feel like I dreamt this a couple years ago, actually. A school in the mountains with me at it. Really weird feeling. Maybe I´ve mentioned this dream to someone before?...Anyway, we ended the day with a "feast" for the kids, which was nice. Then they went and got lunch from the kitchen. Haha, they eat a lot. So, so far, school is going good. I need more paper though, and have come into Cayambe to buy more, so I am headed to get some now. Please pray about these things I´ve mentioned above. Its needed. Gracias.
Jordan
This Saturday is my niece´s (though, for some reason I have been calling her my cousin.....) first communion. She is quite excited for it. The past few Saturdays she has been working through her little prep book, going to her class, and seems to know her stuff. I´m not sure what all is in store for this. Celebrationwise, and otherwise. A lot of that having to do with the fact that she lives with us, at her Grandmother and Grandfather´s house. Her mom has been in twice, in the time I´ve been here, for a couple hours each time. I´ve never seen her dad. Or her brother. Maribel, told me that she doesn´t actually know where any of them live. One of the hardest things I´ve heard so far. Basically, I don´t know know what that means with regard to her parents showing up. I hope they do. But, at the same time, the two times Maribel´s mom has been at the house, have been the most tense. So...
The other aspect, which I´ve hinted at, is that Olimpia and Luis, my host parents, (Maribel´s grandparents), are not Catholic, but are Pentecostal. I think, though, that there is an acceptance of each other in this (which is good, I think...I´m not much of a fan of the division that seems to be there...). I´m getting this idea basically from the fact that Maribel came with us to church when we went. And that she took part in it. That might not mean a whole lot, but maybe. We were at church that day for about four hours anyway. We spent the first 40 minutes praying, while people arrived and began praying as well. A few prayed at the front and some of them were praying into microphones. There was a certain ambiance because of this, as well as the others that prayed out loud. I wish I could have understood what they were saying, because there is definitely an intensity to how they are saying what they are saying. An urgency, maybe. I had that same wish more times as well, of course. After individual prayer, one of the ladies led a song, then read some scripture, then prayed, then more song, more prayer, more song. Basically a cycle back and forth of the two. After her, the young pastor got up and did much of the same, though he had a guitar as well. I think he had more of a sermon type thing as well. Hard to tell. After him, the older pastor did the same. They all used different passages of scripture though. After this, there was anointing, I think. They filled some...what looked like shot glasses, with a yellow liquid, which was oil or perfume. People came up in groups and were prayed over, and then oil was put on their foreheads, and sometimes hands as well. This happened for awhile, and I wasn´t really sure what was happening. Or more, why it was happening. The reason some went up sometimes and not others, and so on. After that though, was a final bit of song and prayer and then we all sort of shook hands and went out. Kind of different. Kind of the same.
My day at school usually starts around 730, where the kids are rounded up and do various exercises/marching and hear announcements. Class is supposed to start at 8, but usually starts earlier. Each class is about an hour long, with four classes a day. Grade 1s, Grade 2´s and 3´s, Grade 4´s and 5´s, and grade 6´s and 7´s. The best behaved are the grade 2/3 class and the 6/7 class. The others are...hit and miss, haha. So far I´ve taught the family, some verbs, the body, question words, greetings, and colours. With the upper grades I´ve been able to get into writing questions on the board and getting them to come up with answers. For example, What colour is a banana? A banana is yellow. This is...kind of exciting. Basically, they are actually learning something. Compared with what others have said about their classes, this is actually a significant thing. They feel they aren´t learning anyway. I´ve noticed though, I am not really the cool teacher I used to think (as a kid) I´d be. I often take away candy from the kids (before 8, even) and things like that. But they learn. They don´t seem very surprised anyway. Mostly the problem is, its tough to repeat when you have stuff in your mouth. Especially tough, when the letters sound different! There is a break at 10 for half an hour for "recreo". Then two more hours and I am finished at 1230. School actually ends at that time, with sometimes more time for some students for music. They seem to be learning a traditional song which is quite common here. Perhaps, it is the song. I like it quite a bit, anyway. I heard a ridiculously long version that day I was at the mother´s day celebration at the all girls school. There was a dance to it there, which went on for about 10 minutes. They faded it out. It didn´t resolve. I was a bit tortured for the rest of the day because of that. Or maybe it was sitting four hours in the sun (Nana, Mom, unread this sentence).
Yesterday, as well, was the Dia Del Ninos, (Children´s Day, I guess) so I played bingo with the first class. Afterwhich we played a bunch of games outside. Feedbag races, some other types of races, musical chairs, and so on. Good fun. They made me lead the first group to go at musical chairs, grade 1s to 3...in dance. Probably there is a video of it. There was much laughter. Lots of fun. I feel like I dreamt this a couple years ago, actually. A school in the mountains with me at it. Really weird feeling. Maybe I´ve mentioned this dream to someone before?...Anyway, we ended the day with a "feast" for the kids, which was nice. Then they went and got lunch from the kitchen. Haha, they eat a lot. So, so far, school is going good. I need more paper though, and have come into Cayambe to buy more, so I am headed to get some now. Please pray about these things I´ve mentioned above. Its needed. Gracias.
Jordan
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