An Ecuadorian Adventure

The final week was hard. There was no time for stoop sitting. I had a house full of worn-out clothes, moldy linens, rusty tools, slightly used appliances, US novelties, and a long line of neighbors all wanting their recuerdo. I didn't want to deal with it. I left a lot, gifted even more (I had a constant stream of kids coming to my house saying it was like Christmas), and zipped up all I wanted in one over-weight suitcase.
The weekend came up and it was parties from then out. I took four extra scheduled meetings to get the bank squared away. We had the party Thursday night and I was so happy for the bank members, each receiving $47 from the dollar they put in every week and $20 from interest from the loans throughout the year. $67 when the majority live off $7 a day their husbands can make off day labor is significant. Just as thrilling was hearing how helpful the loans had been and how they talked of finding more members for another year of Banco del Barrio.
The teacher’s goodbye party was amusing as always. We got in a little fender bender on the way into the city. It was interesting to see how it played out between the furious taxi driver, the cop, and the principal. Once the money was exchanged everyone calmed down and were on our way. The lunch party was quite tame. There was no power in the whole city and the teachers didn’t know what to do. There was talk of loading up everyone and driving an hour to the next beach town in search of some rumba. It was only noon but a party without dancing was unacceptable. We ended up taking over the hammock section of the restaurant and waiting out the storm until the power came on a few hours later. They were making up for lost time when it finally came back on and after the beach cabana, burger joint, karaoke bar, and salsa club we finally bid farewell some time after 1am.
My favorite despedida of all was in my dear Cube. It was tranquilo just as I wanted. The greatest gesture of hospitality, a free-range hen was prepared for a dinner with my host family. We went out dancing with the rest of the town that night. I showed off my moves in the crazy spandex outfit my teacher friends had given me and everyone said how I’d finally got it down. The next morning was just as I would have wanted it. I walked the downtown one last time. All the neighbors came out to bid farewell. It was all fine until I had to say goodbye to my host mom. Rosa and I had spent the last two years together sharing many meals (often bad, she was a terrible cook and she knew it), laughs, and memories. She had really taken me in like her own daughter and no words English or Spanish were of any help in that moment we said goodbye.
Thank you Ecuador for an unforgettable two years. I am leaving as a better person for the lessons I have learned, the examples you have shown me, and the wisdom you've share. I will always carry this experience with me and I am certain this isn't the last you will be seeing of me.
For all of you at home, thank you for your love and support. I couldn't have done it without you and I hope that you will accept me and all my quirks as I attempt to re-enter society In this time, I hope you've come away with something as well. Peace Corps visionary Sargent Shriver once said,

"Peace requires the simple but powerful recognition that what we have in common as human beings is more important and crucial than what divides us."

I pray that now having seen a slice of the heart of the Ecuadorian people, seen how they love, they laugh and thoroughly enjoy life, that we always strive to look past the differences and strive to see the humanity in not just the people of Ecuador but in all people all over the world.

The week for me held an urgency that isn’t often encountered (or conducive) in Ecuador. I was down to my last two weeks so the stuff everyone had been saying, had to happen or it was never going to happen. I’ve learned patience in my two years here, with the help of all transportation that doesn’t come, the meetings that never happen, the people that don’t show up and the weather that overrides even the best laid plans. I was aware of the situation but still my home culture got the best of me.
I tried taking charge of the situation. I made efforts to meet up with friends I knew would be difficult to track down in during my last week. My attempts were futile. Some I didn't manage to see at all and the ones I did meet up with, refused to call it goodbye, convinced we would see each other again before my time was up. We each knew we wouldn’t but it was just easier that way. Goodbyes are hard.
The teacher goodbye party didn’t alleviate my frustrations as far as making time before my final days. I called before I headed out to the city for the party. I found out that it had been postponed. No one told me.
None of this surprised me, but I couldn't help but be frustrated. I didn't want to spend my last bit of time irritated so I threw up my hands. Things would come as they may. I'd let my last week go as many of my best moments here, unplanned, without expectations just the openness to embrace the moment and enjoy the little time I had with the people I enjoy.

If I thought my town was cut off from the rest of the world before, I was mistaken. With the help of the recent heavy rains, an entire hillside detached itself last week and wiped out a quarter mile stretch of road. More of the road was in danger of going so the police marked off a clean 5k and buses went no further than the closest towns on either side, 15 and 30 miles away respectively. These events put me in quite a predicament. I was to be at a quinceñera/despedida with a particularly insistent presidenta of the cacao co-op. I left my town the night before to evaluate things because the Cubeñans were of little help. Myself and a captive audience of stoop sitters only received elaborated tales of knee deep mud and 800% increases in fares. Even getting out of town was tricky with the scheduled trucks not running. I piled on a motorcycle with a couple other people just to get to the road and of course, it was raining. Talking to people in the city where they couldn’t get away with such tales, I learned that the quiñcenera was possible. So the next day, three buses, two motorcycles, one truck and a little hike later, I arrived at my destination. With a round of applause they greeted me at the door, soaking wet but triumphant in my journey.
The party was nice although it was a small crowd with the landslide from the north and the hefty taxi fares from the south. We ate a few rice mountains, danced a little, passed traigo, toasted the quincñera and roasted the foreigners. It never fails that the presidenta Betty always puts my fellow volunteer and I on the spot. I think part of it s an effort to make us feel included but I know there is an amusementfactor that plays into things (I think it involves blushing). There is a tradition at quiceñeras to take 15 ligas (garders) of the birthday girl. It wasn’t our quiceñera, but Betty made us put on a liga and had the caballeros take them off...hands optional.

We spent the week in Quito in our final close-of-service conference. In these situations you can make yourself go crazy comparing your service to that of other volunteers. We are now a group of 40 after having lost almost a third for various medical, security, and personal reasons. Some volunteers have wildly successful projects. A married couple started up a tourism project and coffee label from nothing and another volunteer has a thriving restaurant with her women’s group. Everyone has their story. Some volunteers have overcame incredibly difficult placements. Some were forced to leave the communities and project for no fault of their own. Some have just gotten by. Regardless, completing the full two years of service is an accomplishment in itself.
Comparisons with others offer little value being the different hands we were all dealt. Rather than putting a score on things, it’s best to use the opportunity to see what has made each of our experiences unique. The real value in my service has been the close friendships and the extent in which I have been pulled into the culture. I own a couple pair of ecuajeans. I speak fast costal Spanish. I learned to sit back and embrace whatever crazy situation I get pulled into and I can dance ‘til the sun comes up...literally. I’ve said this before that the hot, costal, afro-Ecuadorian providence isn’t the most conducive for completing projects, but we’ve sure had a lot of fun in the meantime.
Not only is it a Peace Corps goal to share in culture with Ecuadorians but also to bring the Ecuadorian culture home. I have my blog but I think I hold the record for 15 visitors during my time. (Maybe a record amount of mail as well!) I can’t help but see what great family, friends, and community I have following along and holding me up from afar.
I don’t know where I stand on the totem pole of volunteers, but I wouldn’t trade my experience for anything. Things are wrapping up now but if there is one thing I’m sure of is that these Esmeraldans won’t let me go quietly. If the 13th birthday of the school got a two week celebration, then I imagine my despedida festivities to start…ya mismo!

I had a fun weekend visiting a friend in Esmeraldas. She is helping me knock out my bucket list and has apparently made a list of her own for me. It looks like time is running out to marry me off so I’ll never leave, but we did check one thing off the list. It can only be found at one location, a thriving example of community tourism, this beautiful restaurant on the river draws foodies from around the country. The coveted dish…Cevicangre. You know you’re in for something big when the waiter puts an apron on you and sets your place with a mallet and a pounding board. I was glad we arrived on empty stomachs when the plates came: coconut-stewed crab, shrimp ceviche, double-fried plantains, rice, and an entire coconut to drink. No dinner conversation can be had as the crab calls for all your attention. Being that it is stewed in a sauce, the aprons are very necessary. First step is to suck off the juice, then go at it with your hands and whatever you can’t handle goes to the pounding board. I was a disaster spraying the table with crab juices but I was not alone. My friend’s boyfriend who was not even eating was in everyone’s splash zone and had to relocate halfway through the meal.
The next day it was my turn to play the host. My friend and her classmates from the university came out to my house with the intention to study for their upcoming English exam. We had a great time making the famous Esmeraldan dish of tapoa – a delicious mix of everything thrown into a pot and topped. Maybe I should have warned them that my town wasn’t the place to go after professional or academic endeavors. Like all my guests that came before, my friends fell victim to the afternoon heat and good eating. We dozed through the afternoon and found ourselves rushing to catch the ranchera without a word of English being practiced.