What was happening a week and a half ago

Ready for the longest entry EVER?

I am writing this in my bed at my host family’s house, in my pajamas at 1:00 in the afternoon on Wednesday, a week after I arrived. As predicted, (and no one is less happy than me that this predication came true), I became horribly, disgustingly sick a few days ago, and haven’t left my bed since. Two days of missed classes when we already only have nine weeks…that’s what really brings me down.

But it’s nearly over now, and if it had to happen, at least it happened and is over with. Besides the days of vomiting, Ecuador has been amazing. I am honestly loving it here. I think I am a good fit for the Latin American mentality; they are very open, and generous with their affections, and I appreciate that, much more so than the “don’t look strangers in the eye or smile” mentality of PA.

Right now I am listening to the roosters crowing outside my window, and let me tell you, whoever said that roosters crow only in the morning was a horrible liar. They crow ALL DAY. Morning, afternoon, night, middle of the night. Earlier today I could hear the pigs squealing, not really so much a squeal but the twisted shriek of demented children. I’ve realized that I am slightly afraid of pigs, from their beady black eyes to their impressive size, horrible squeals, and the disturbing memory of Orwell’s “Animal Farm” popping into my head every time I see them. But I get ahead of myself. Let’s go back to the beginning.

The night I arrived in Quito it was lightly raining, warm and lush. On the bus ride to the hostel I sat with my head half out the open window in the rain, listening to the chatter of people around me, hardly able to believe that I am in Ecuador. I still can barely believe it.

Everyone is my group, Omnibus 101, is amazing. It’s a unique situation where you can look at a group of 45 people and there is not one person that you think is a jerk, or standoffish, or something disagreeable. But everyone seems very open and friendly, and just…good. Good people. The kind of people you would expect to join the Peace Corps, right?

When we arrived at the hostel there was a huge group of volunteers waiting, and they clapped and whooped and shook the bus, handing us roses as we disembarked, throwing flower petals into the air and singing some Peace Corps song that I have yet to learn. My rose had a strip of paper tied to it that said, “don’t worry, be happy!”

My days in Quito were fun: trying a different fruit juice every day, most of which I had never heard of (anyone who has been to Ecuador will tell you that tomate de arbol, aka tree tomato and not really a tomato, is the big thing here); drinking wine out of the box with the other trainees as we sat in the communal space of the hostel, a central villa-like area open to the stars, and played card games and laughed; going to Mitad el Mundo, the center of the earth, and standing on the equator line, the real equator line (as opposed to the fake one that everyone had been going to for years.) At Mitad el Mundo we also tried all of this fruit that I had never heard of, most with seedy, pulpy insides that were either sour or sweet like candy, and included a lemon that was the size of my head.

My community is about one hour as the bird flies from Quito, but driving time is actually more like two. I’m lucky in that it’s the community where everyone meets for technical training (which I haven’t been to yet because of being ill), so I don’t have to travel two days a week like many people do. Some have to ride on a bus for forty minutes each way! I don’t know if I am allowed to say the name of my community; in fact as of this moment I still have to clear this journal before I can post this entry, but it’s near Cayambe. In fact, during my first two days here I went to Cayambe three times with my host family.

My experience in my community began with a funeral. My host mother’s brother had just died, so I was dropped off at the house and had about five minutes before I was whisked away to the church for the tail end of the ceremony; then to the cemetery, where my host mother cried and I awkwardly patted her back, feeling far too tall and white to be standing with this community during their time of mourning; then to a communal area where I helped pass out soup and later plates of food that everyone ate with their hands. I did too, without even washing them first! (gasp!) I’m changing already. I must have looked so strange, this tall blonde gringa passing out food to over a hundred people after a funeral.

Honestly, I stick out like a sore thumb. Everyone here is beautiful, most of the time shorter than I am by about a head, slim with beautiful dark mestizo skin, black hair, and a certain proud, ancient curve to their faces. There are many indigenous in the community too, who wear their calf length skirts with knee socks, flat shoes, shining jewelry and small hats with a feather sticking out of the top. Sometimes there is a baby strapped with a loop of material around their backs, and their hair is long, often braided. They have the strong noses of royalty.

My host family is wonderful. It is a mother and a father and a two-year-old son who can say only Mami, Papi, agua, and moooo (to the skinny cows that linger on the sides of the streets along with the stray dogs). My host mom is amazing, taking care of me when I was sick, even spoon feeding me soup when I could barely eat, and being wonderful even when I accidentally dropped and broke a cup in a half-delirious stupor.

Across a small park lives the rest of the family, where they spend half of their time: grandparents, nieces and nephews, and more. I’m not sure how many actually live in that house or just spend a lot of time there. The grandmother (and pretty much everyone else) keeps trying to push food on me, saying that I need to be más gordita. Putting on weight is a good thing here, it means that you are comfortable and happy, but I still don’t want the “Peace Corps 20” to happen to me. I’m just pleased that they don’t already think that I am gorda.

There are two little girls, one ten and one five, who are just adorable. The ten year old is pretty shy and doesn’t say much, but the five year old prances around me like I am her favorite toy and constantly wants to play a game where I pretend that I can’t find her even though she is standing right behind me. No one in the family speaks any English. I get along, barely, though I’m realizing that my Spanish is a lot worse than I thought it was.

The family works regular jobs but also has a business that makes cheese, yogurt, and raises pigs for slaughter. On my first night here we went to feed the pigs…damn those beady black eyes! They looked like they would eat me if they could.

My host family also has a truck, which not everyone has, so quite often they pile far more people into it than were ever meant to fit and drive them somewhere: across town, or to Cayambe. There is such a sense of community here, everyone helping everyone else, whole families walking with their arms around each other, young lovers embracing openly in the supermarket, children everywhere, more kids than I have ever seen.

And I didn’t even mention how high we are! I’ve never been to such a high elevation. My first night in Quito I could barely sleep due to a strange pressure in my sinuses that felt like it was trying to pop my eyes out of my head, and even now I feel exhausted after walking just a little uphill. I try to breathe in deep but I still don’t feel like I’m getting enough oxygen. We are high enough that even on the equator I sleep sometimes with long underwear under pajama pants, and two sweaters. During the day the temperature can change from hot to pretty damn freezing depending on whether or not the sun is out. I’ve been loading up on sun block like a crazy person, even on cloudy days, the result being that after a full day out I was one of the only ones in the group not burned.

The Cayambe volcano rises over the town, only visible from certain areas, huge and covered with snow; my mouth literally dropped when I first saw it. Despite being high in the mountains, we are still surrounded by more mountains on every side, and the light in the afternoon is different here, whiter and more shining, and to borrow a phrase from Lost, like it scatters differently. The sky seems close enough to touch; at times this is almost disconcerting, like you’ve stepping into one of those paintings of God opening up the heavens.

Aw, I just tried to be serious about it, but after writing those words all I can see is that scene from Monty Python and the Holy Grail. “Stop groveling!” “Yes, my Lord.”

I’ve been writing for an hour. It’s easy to write embarrassingly long entries when you are sick and can’t sleep. If you’ve gotten this far, congratulations.

So I guess it’s time to say goodbye for now. I still feel pretty sick, but at least I don’t feel like I am going to vomit again. I don’t know what else I will do today; probably sleep, maybe watch some more Battlestar Galactica on my laptop. (I’ve turned into one of those people who says Frak! all the time, though only when I’m alone.)

I’ve only been in Ecuador for one week and already it’s had this much influence on me. I’m feeling the beginning of a love affair with this country. I can’t wait to have classes, find out my final site, swear in as a real volunteer, and start farming. I hope that this feeling I have about the next two years is right. I pray that it is.

I miss you all, my wonderful family and friends. I appreciate you more than ever. You are my happiness, and damned if I don’t love you with every fiber of my being. Being far away doesn’t change that; nothing ever will.

-Wednesday, March 4, 2009.