My kingdom for a HOUSE

I miss you, as I miss the little moments,
sipping tea on the couch with the TV on.
I see you, like the photos in my fingers,
as I´m standing here alone and the whole world feels wrong.

Yes, I still write songs. It´s a nice stress reliever.

I’m writing outside of the house I am staying at, my feet in the sun and a light breeze blowing by. Three cats in varying shades of white and grey, one pregnant (and hopefully I will get one of the kittens when it comes), sleep on top of each other in a heap at my feet. Flowers are in bloom all around me, the air smells sweet, and it is a bright blue sky day in the Sierra.

I’m writing this here, instead of at my village twenty minutes away, because after two solid weeks my house is still not finished. It was supposed to be finished when I got here, but it still has only some of its lights, no door, and is filled with various junk. Truth be told, it’s starting to piss me off just a bit. Luckily the family that I am staying with (the same I stayed with during my site visit) are amazing, feeding me good food and talking with me and just in general being awesome.

We are all fed up with my housing situation, and so on Saturday there will be a Red Cross minga at my house, to clean, install lights, and do whatever needs to be done. We might even put the damn door in. Then Saturday night I am supposed to meet with the town to explain who I am and why I am here; this was supposed to happen twice already, but both times no one showed. Let’s see if Saturday is any different.

With the notable exception of the no-house business, everything has been going surprisingly smoothly, and I have been very content and happy settling into my new life in Tungurahua. The weather is perfect, sunny and mild most days, much better than often-frigid Cayambe. Since I can’t work on my PACA and CAT tools due to the fact that my community is too far away/too expensive to commute to daily, I’ve been getting my other ducks in row. I’ve already been approached by several farmers with questions about going organic, and have seen some of their farms. I’ve met the (fantastic) Red Cross volunteers, a group of mostly young men and some women with whom I will be working for the next two years. We are already discussing plans for the future, including a possible youth camp for two weeks at the end of June, when school lets out.

I’ve also had meetings with a local agricultural high school and a local elementary school. At the moment the plan is to give a full day to the ag high school once every two weeks to work with the students and create a large example organic garden that will showcase all of the various techniques for the community to see (including different types of compost, both liquid and solid, different types of irrigation, companion planting, crop diversity, organic pesticides, tire-gardens, and more). At the escuela I’m all set to give my mornings one day a week to work with younger students on who knows what: hopefully nutrition and maybe a family garden of their own. I think that’s pretty good for my first two weeks, especially without a house and in the midst of buying everything I need for the house, including a fridge, a bed (donated by the Red Cross!), a dresser, and many cooking supplies.

Swearing in was fun, with the ceremony at the Ambassador’s mansion in the early morning, the chilly mist around us and planes roaring ahead every five minutes. That night was the big party, and earlier in the week we had gone to the old part of Quito for a pitifully short cultural trip. However, we did see the newly re-elected president of Ecuador, Correa, the day after the big elections, which was damn exciting. He drove slowly by, hanging out of the front window and waving. I hear that he even shouted to some of us (“Where are you from?” to which people enthusiastically yelled, “Estados Unidos!”), but I didn’t hear that part.

The sad news is that now five of our group are gone, some of their own free will, some wrenched away. At our hostel in Quito, I happened to room with two girls who left, one because she felt the work didn’t suit her, and one because of frustrating beaurocratic reasons. By the end of our stay in the hostel, I went from having two roommates to having none.

So here I am, a real volunteer, just starting off my two years with a little trepidation and a lot of optimism. I just feel so lucky, every day, to be in Ecuador. The people are amazing, the culture different and alternately trying and wonderful, the work intimidating but I think I can figure it all out; if not I have a back-up system of over 100 volunteers all throughout the country. I already feel like I’m getting somewhere—even if my community takes a long time to trust me, I still have my Red Cross work and my charlas at various schools to give. I realized the other day that at least once a day, at least a little and often much more, I have been happy here, and that’s really saying something. I am so blessed, it’s almost scary sometimes.

And Oh! I have an address now. It’s in Ambato, so I’ll probably only be able to check it once or twice a month, but please, anyone out there, even people I don’t know, if you want to send my letters, I will love you forever. Nothing beats the excitement of opening a mailbox to find letters/packages from friends and family far away.

The address is:
Sarah Evans
Casilla 18-01-175
Ambato, Tungurahua
Ecuador
South America

If you send a package, make sure that it is under four pounds, preferably in a padded envelop, and completely wrapped in clear tape to discourage thieves. Also never, ever declare a value. Thanks.

Another Oh! moment: My Gill, my best friend since we were six and practically my sister, is getting married sometime within the next two years, so that means I’m a’comin’ home twice! Lil’ extra money I’ll have to scrape up, but it will be worth it to see her walk down the aisle.

So that’s life in Tungurahua, Ecuador. I’d ask how everything is going in the US, but no one ever seems to answer my entreaties for comments and love, so I’ll just skip it this time. Or maybe I’m using reverse psychology…

Chaito!