Soon I will write more about Christmas in Ecuador, which blessed me fully and festively. For now, I simply wish you all a merry and holy Christmas. Celebrate!
Also, I want to note that I am blessed with an incredible family - a crew of parents, sister, aunts, uncles, cousins, and a grandma that would make anyone grateful to be alive. Thanks to all of you for your unflinching love, support, and ridiculous stories. You light my days!
miércoles, 26 de diciembre de 2007
lunes, 24 de diciembre de 2007
Finding it anyways
A response from my dear friend and a particularly bright light, Erin Ramsey:
"Do not be daunted by the enormity of the world's grief.
Do justly, now.
Love mercy, now.
Walk humbly, now.
You are not obligated to the complete the work, but neither are you free to abandon it"
- The Talmud
"Do not be daunted by the enormity of the world's grief.
Do justly, now.
Love mercy, now.
Walk humbly, now.
You are not obligated to the complete the work, but neither are you free to abandon it"
- The Talmud
lunes, 17 de diciembre de 2007
Fotos
Pictures! It´s about time, eh? This is my house - a slice of the first-world amidst Arbolito´s poverty. On one hand, I am very uncomfortable living in this palace while my neighbors live in cane shacks. This hand is very heavy. On the other, much less believable hand, I understand Rostro´s philosophy that we´ll be no good out there if we´re not taking care of ourselves in here. It´s not exactly what I wanted, and was very hard to adjust after visiting the vol house at the Finca. Nonetheless, it´s my home so let´s run with it.
And my street. This is taken while standing in front of the gate (yes, it´s gated, and also guarded) around my house. If you follow this street down to the dead end that you see in the distance and turn left, you will see...
...the church, La Virgen del Perpetuo Socorro (look it up) where I sing on Sundays. You can also see the beginning of pavement in Arboito (exciting!). There are currently four-ish paved streets in our 5,000 person world. The rest are dirt and rocks. Rough on tires, but it creates amazing soccer players at a very young age.
The Arbolito community - my housemates. Another 5 live in a separate house a few miles away, but these are my Ecuadorian family. Top row: Christine Donovan (obvio), Santiago Bunce (my platonic Ecuadorian life partner and soccer star), Nate Radomski (Logistics Coordinator and surprisingly resilient victim of ambiguity), Marie Miano (gentle friend, biggest challenge, and probably our best cook), Scott Winkelmann (resident musican and reminder that life is a gift). Front row: Andrea Readhimer (house accountant and lover of lime), Patrick Cashio (Community Member Emeritus - he left on Tuesday to return to the States). I love them.
A tanquero (water truck). I´ve written about the water that gets trucked in to Arbolito. Trucks like these carry it in. In the foreground is Elkin, Nate´s adopted son who is chock full of personality, and Sonia, his mom.
The aformentioned Iris (the one who can´t do math) and me.
Some of our Semillas kids participating in a minga - a big cleaning party where we get them to pick up all the trash and give the winners bananas. Sound familiar, parents?
More to come - I love you!
jueves, 13 de diciembre de 2007
Find it anyways
Thursday. Our afternoon at Semillas began as any other. Halfway throught homework hour, I heard a loud noise and stuck my head out to investigate. Paul the guard is running over to me. ¨Get them inside!¨ We had 60 that day. Kids are smarter than we give them credit for - they knew what happened. The noise was a gunshot. Thankfully the shooter missed and the target took off running. All of this where another man was shot and killed on our second dy of work back inAugust. All of this outside the front entrance to Semillas.
Last Monday a little girl disappeared from a neighboring commuity and turned up in Arbolito the following morning. Many details remain fuzzy, but we do know that there is a man living in our sector who pays people to kidnap children, then sells them on the black market. I soften this story by telling myself the buyers are looking for young, hard-working maids and construction workers. Then my stomach turns when I remember the way Saturday-night drunks watch the little girls playing in the street.
Walk up a block from my house and you´ll find a house much nicer than the rest. Out front is a motorcycle (neighbors have bikes) and two large, metal soccer goals (neighbors use piles of rocks). Clearly business is good. The house´s owner is pimp. All the neighbors know - even the kids - but no one turns him in because he protects the neighborhood (by force, as noted by the bulge where his back meets his belt). He has made an implicit agreement not to ¨sell¨ in the neighborhood, which neighbors say he keeps. Besides, no one wants to get on a pimp´s bad side. Two weeks ago, he was killed. He was shot eight times. Thankfully for us, this murder occurred in Quevedo, about four hours from here. Death is death, murder is murder, and we mourn with his family, who keep coming in from the country. But its hard to be reverent when a pimp´s brother is checking you out during the wake. Business will continue. His cousin, who was second-in-command, has likely resumed their normal activity after this little bump in the road. The workforce and the clientele keep the market afloat, though I do wonder how long this next boss will last.
Over the last few years, the electric company has slowly made its rounds through many of the poor neighborhoods, installing locked meters on all the houses to keep people from stealing electricity. Seems fair. Right? And if you don´t pay your bill, they cut you off. That´s normal. Right? Sure it is. But it´s not just. Not when the family with two bare lightbulbs pays the same as the neighbor with two TVs, a refrigerator, a stereo, and exterior lighting. They pay the same flat fee - $33/mo. - and suffer the same consequences though their households show a stark difference in both income and consumption. Also, it´s worth mentioning that this is a public company, government-owned and -regulated.
At a local public school, Escuela Simon Bolivar, where classrooms are crude cane shacks, mothers of students have been gathering more and more frequently to discuss what´s happening. The director of this public (¨free¨) school has been charging some families for tuition. The school receives funding from Hogar de Cristo for students of HdC families, and is supposed to use them to expand the workforce to reduce the 60-1 student-teacher ratio that the government supports in its public schools. The director has failed and the new teacher, who is not receiving a paycheck, protests by simply not teaching. Kids are in the classroom, so it looks like they´re learning. But their rowdy noise travels easily through the cane walls and disturbs neighboring lessons. In the end, very few children are actually learning.
Yesterday after Semillas, I sent my kids home and walked out to find Belén, who is six, walking toward me tugging an enormous pink backpack. Bringing it to Semillas to sell to another girl. She couldn´t go home, she said matter-of-factly, because Mom had gone out and locked the door. This didn´t bother Belén nearly as much as it did me. What was she going to do? Wait for her brother and sister, she said. Clarita (9) and Winky (7) (yes, ¨Winky¨...I don´t get it either) came home, but without keys. Mom doesn´t give them keys. Eventually Belén wriggles her way through a hole near the floor and they tug on it to make it big enough for Clarita to enter. I left them there, with a hug and an offer to come to my house if they needed anything.
So what does all this mean? Neglect, embezzling, corruption, prostitution, kidnapping, gun violence. This is not small potatoes. This is very, very big, enormous, chemically-enhanced potatoes. Part of me wants to write you a nice resolution that leaves you feeling hopeful. But maybe it´s more fair to make you sit with this for a while, too. Be uncomfortable with ugliness. Find hope anyways. That´s my challenge every day. Now it´s yours.
Last Monday a little girl disappeared from a neighboring commuity and turned up in Arbolito the following morning. Many details remain fuzzy, but we do know that there is a man living in our sector who pays people to kidnap children, then sells them on the black market. I soften this story by telling myself the buyers are looking for young, hard-working maids and construction workers. Then my stomach turns when I remember the way Saturday-night drunks watch the little girls playing in the street.
Walk up a block from my house and you´ll find a house much nicer than the rest. Out front is a motorcycle (neighbors have bikes) and two large, metal soccer goals (neighbors use piles of rocks). Clearly business is good. The house´s owner is pimp. All the neighbors know - even the kids - but no one turns him in because he protects the neighborhood (by force, as noted by the bulge where his back meets his belt). He has made an implicit agreement not to ¨sell¨ in the neighborhood, which neighbors say he keeps. Besides, no one wants to get on a pimp´s bad side. Two weeks ago, he was killed. He was shot eight times. Thankfully for us, this murder occurred in Quevedo, about four hours from here. Death is death, murder is murder, and we mourn with his family, who keep coming in from the country. But its hard to be reverent when a pimp´s brother is checking you out during the wake. Business will continue. His cousin, who was second-in-command, has likely resumed their normal activity after this little bump in the road. The workforce and the clientele keep the market afloat, though I do wonder how long this next boss will last.
Over the last few years, the electric company has slowly made its rounds through many of the poor neighborhoods, installing locked meters on all the houses to keep people from stealing electricity. Seems fair. Right? And if you don´t pay your bill, they cut you off. That´s normal. Right? Sure it is. But it´s not just. Not when the family with two bare lightbulbs pays the same as the neighbor with two TVs, a refrigerator, a stereo, and exterior lighting. They pay the same flat fee - $33/mo. - and suffer the same consequences though their households show a stark difference in both income and consumption. Also, it´s worth mentioning that this is a public company, government-owned and -regulated.
At a local public school, Escuela Simon Bolivar, where classrooms are crude cane shacks, mothers of students have been gathering more and more frequently to discuss what´s happening. The director of this public (¨free¨) school has been charging some families for tuition. The school receives funding from Hogar de Cristo for students of HdC families, and is supposed to use them to expand the workforce to reduce the 60-1 student-teacher ratio that the government supports in its public schools. The director has failed and the new teacher, who is not receiving a paycheck, protests by simply not teaching. Kids are in the classroom, so it looks like they´re learning. But their rowdy noise travels easily through the cane walls and disturbs neighboring lessons. In the end, very few children are actually learning.
Yesterday after Semillas, I sent my kids home and walked out to find Belén, who is six, walking toward me tugging an enormous pink backpack. Bringing it to Semillas to sell to another girl. She couldn´t go home, she said matter-of-factly, because Mom had gone out and locked the door. This didn´t bother Belén nearly as much as it did me. What was she going to do? Wait for her brother and sister, she said. Clarita (9) and Winky (7) (yes, ¨Winky¨...I don´t get it either) came home, but without keys. Mom doesn´t give them keys. Eventually Belén wriggles her way through a hole near the floor and they tug on it to make it big enough for Clarita to enter. I left them there, with a hug and an offer to come to my house if they needed anything.
So what does all this mean? Neglect, embezzling, corruption, prostitution, kidnapping, gun violence. This is not small potatoes. This is very, very big, enormous, chemically-enhanced potatoes. Part of me wants to write you a nice resolution that leaves you feeling hopeful. But maybe it´s more fair to make you sit with this for a while, too. Be uncomfortable with ugliness. Find hope anyways. That´s my challenge every day. Now it´s yours.
jueves, 22 de noviembre de 2007
Dándose gracias
Meche and Wellington are back! A month ago, they suddenly disappeared and their sister (cousin? neighbor?) informed us that they´d gone to live in Spain with their mother. Clearly this is not the case and they´ve triumphantly returned to Semillas to bless and bother us with their tiny, waddling presence.
Last week Ecuador suffered an earthquake – a 6.7, epicenter near the Peruvian border. Here in Duran, we were wrapping up Spirituality Night. Like any good Midwesterner, I sat dumbfounded until the sound of breaking glass and a California native pulled me out of the house. Gracias a Dios, all of us are fine, and our neighbors also suffered little to no damage. Keep these folks in your prayers – in the last week Argentina, Peru, and Ecuador were each hit once, and Chile is still shaking from their three.
On Saturday my director/pseudo-communitymate Kevin will marry a lovely ecuatoriana named Emilia. Despite this blatant violation of the ¨No dating Ecuadorians¨ policy, I´m happy for them. Congratulations, Kevin and Emilia!
Last week I learned to make a dish called seco de pollo. We began the process with a living, breathing, clucking chicken. Sadly I arrived too late to partake in the entire process (ie. I didn´t get to slit its throat), but I did get to drain the blood, pluck the bird, cut it up and take out the innards (what a great word!). Yes, I plan to cook for anyone who will let me when I come home, though I won´t insist on beginning with live fowl. Now that I´ve seen this process from start to finish, I am astounded that I haven´t gotten sick yet. Blood dripping from the body onto an old, rusty table as we wash it with parasite-ridden tank water - mmmmm. Nonetheless, it was delicious AND educational.
Tank water – I haven´t explained this yet. Although parts of Duran have running water, Arbolito is not so blessed/developed. Water trucks drive daily through the nighborhood and families who need a refill wait outside with their barrels, shouting ¨Agua!¨ intermittently with little regard for how close or far the nearest truck is at the moment. Water quality is poor - not healthy, but not deadly. Most of our neighbors use it for cooking, bathing, washing, and some drinking, though some drink bagged or bottled water.
In the volunteer house, we live a cushy life. A giant cistern sits under the ground and feeds water into our sinks and showers. Our luxury stops at running water - temperature control is another story. Since the cistern´s metal roof breaks the surface of the ground, it soaks up sunlight and heat all day long, and loses it all night. In the morning, showers are ice cold, but by 10:00, the water is warm and at 2:00 it´s too hot to touch. 6:00p is your best bet.
We try to conserve water as best we can because our cistern takes an entire truck to fill it. Therefore, every time we call our water guy (called El Gato for reasons unbeknownst to me), that is one less truck that circulates the neighborhood and fills out neighbors´ empty barrels. This point hit home for me a few weeks ago. I stopped by Patricia´s and chatted with her while she did laundry behind the house. Her water barrel was almost empty, and she needed more to finish the wash. When we heard a truck rumbling by, she sent Fernando outside to flag it down. The rumbling continued down the street and Fernando returned to inform me that the truck refused to stop, presumably because it was headed to my house. Sure enough, I found out later that our cistern was freshly filled that afternoon. Man. Of course I know that my consumption of resources affects the people around me, locally and beyond. Now I´ve seen it with my own eyes. Think about that the next time you brush your teeth.
What else, what else? Ahh - for those of you who´ve left comments for me, please also leave your email address so I can contact you de vuelta! This applies especially to old volunteers - I would like to know you.
Oh, and I have parasites. Thankfully, I also have the pills to kill them. $0.70 for the medication to kill two classes of intestinal paraites - wow. I´ll be fine in a week.
Happy Thanksgiving! How strange to think that most of you are at home, helping to cook your turkey and pie and probably enjoying a crisp Fall day. I must admit to jealousy. That said, I am immensely grateful for my opportunity to be in Ecuador, even if that means I cannot be where you are. I am also grateful for YOU, because you clearly love me enough to read about my life. Thank you for your love and support, and especially your prayers. God´s grace - man. Where would I be without it? I wouldn´t have survived this long, that´s for sure.
Our mayor agreed to fill in our road! Very few roads in Arbolito are paved, though we recently got a new one. (I found out later that this particular road was paved because it´s where the biggest local drug dealer lives and he and the mayor are buds. Oh, what good news.) My street is a dusty, rocky mess with a huge dip in he middle that turns into a cesspool during rainy season, so neighbors got together to organize (yes!) and meet with the mayor. This was their third meeting, but she finally agreed to do it. The process is starting on another nearby road, and I´m hoping she complies with her promise before the rains start. Either way, I´m proud of my neighbors. This is not their first organize-to-achieve success. Last year they got a community clean-up together and also talked the power company into giving them deeply discounted poles from which to hang power lines - a huge improvement from the old sugarcane poles (dried out cane and electrical currents? Talk about a fire hazard). I walk with hope.Yes, hope. I have it. I have to. Thank you, Lord.
Today´s prayer intentions: for Kevin and Emilia, as they begin a marriage and a life together; for Patrick and Catherine; in thanksgiving for all, all, all the gifts God gives us and that we give to each other. Amen!
lunes, 29 de octubre de 2007
A day´s work
Long ago, I mentioned that I spend my mornings working with an organization clled Hogar de Cristo. Specifically, I work with their micro-credit program, which gives smalls loans to individual women who work together in groups of 10 or more. Each of these ¨banks¨of 10+ women has a director who is in charge of collecting weekly payments and depositing them in the bank. Hogar follows this structure because it promotes accountability not only to the organization, but also to the neighbors and friends who make up each bank. Subsidiarity - good work, Hogar.
We spent the first month shadowing Promotoras - the Hogar employees who visit the women who are behind on their payments. Working with them gave Santiago (my site partner) and I a good sense of how the program works , but was otherwise frustrating and unfulfilling work. After a few meetings with Hogar folks and our Rostro director, we found our niche within Hogar.
Every day I´m out in one of three communities (Arbolito, where I live, 28 de agosto, or5 de junio) meeting with women to...well...to accompany them, I guess. I have a tough time feeling like this is work - usually I have the sense that I´m playing hooky from what I should actually be doing. Hogar believes strongly in ¨accompaniment and empowerment¨ and thus, my job is to visit their clients to sit and talk. That´s it. So no, it doesn´t feel like work, but this may only be because I enjoy it so much.
Today Santi (my site partner) and I met a woman named Victoria. She makes all sorts of jewelry and spent almost two hours giving me an impromptu lesson in macrame. Unbeknownst to us, her daughter was making lunch in the kitchen during my lesson, so when she suddenly appeared with two plates of food (a huge pile of rice with a side of mashed potatoes and a hamburger the size of a silver dollar - we feast on a carb-heavy diet), Santi and I had no choice but to push aside our beadwork and chow down. Over lunch, our questions pulled out her story - she was a teacher in Guayaquil (major city across the river) for years, and her plan is to open a kindergarten in the house across the street. She gave us plenty more on the Minstry of Education, on private vs. public school here in Ecuador, on corruption and misappropriation of funds in the education system. I ate, frustrated and small.
She also shared her thoughts on culture of interpersonal relations here in Guayaquil and in the country as a whole. In the jungle and the mountains, people build community. They live together. They share. Here on the coast, they´re more selfish and individualistic. Can we change that? Sure, she says, but it´s a long process. People don´t organize here. Things aren´t fair, but they don´t work together.
So now what? All I can change is me. Yes. True. And believing that is the only way to survive community living. Lead by example. Still, I know voice plays a role. My life will be my legacy, but when I need to use my words, God, please take them. My life is yours. My voice is yours.
Today´s prayer intentions: for grace, trust, and patience
We spent the first month shadowing Promotoras - the Hogar employees who visit the women who are behind on their payments. Working with them gave Santiago (my site partner) and I a good sense of how the program works , but was otherwise frustrating and unfulfilling work. After a few meetings with Hogar folks and our Rostro director, we found our niche within Hogar.
Every day I´m out in one of three communities (Arbolito, where I live, 28 de agosto, or5 de junio) meeting with women to...well...to accompany them, I guess. I have a tough time feeling like this is work - usually I have the sense that I´m playing hooky from what I should actually be doing. Hogar believes strongly in ¨accompaniment and empowerment¨ and thus, my job is to visit their clients to sit and talk. That´s it. So no, it doesn´t feel like work, but this may only be because I enjoy it so much.
Today Santi (my site partner) and I met a woman named Victoria. She makes all sorts of jewelry and spent almost two hours giving me an impromptu lesson in macrame. Unbeknownst to us, her daughter was making lunch in the kitchen during my lesson, so when she suddenly appeared with two plates of food (a huge pile of rice with a side of mashed potatoes and a hamburger the size of a silver dollar - we feast on a carb-heavy diet), Santi and I had no choice but to push aside our beadwork and chow down. Over lunch, our questions pulled out her story - she was a teacher in Guayaquil (major city across the river) for years, and her plan is to open a kindergarten in the house across the street. She gave us plenty more on the Minstry of Education, on private vs. public school here in Ecuador, on corruption and misappropriation of funds in the education system. I ate, frustrated and small.
She also shared her thoughts on culture of interpersonal relations here in Guayaquil and in the country as a whole. In the jungle and the mountains, people build community. They live together. They share. Here on the coast, they´re more selfish and individualistic. Can we change that? Sure, she says, but it´s a long process. People don´t organize here. Things aren´t fair, but they don´t work together.
So now what? All I can change is me. Yes. True. And believing that is the only way to survive community living. Lead by example. Still, I know voice plays a role. My life will be my legacy, but when I need to use my words, God, please take them. My life is yours. My voice is yours.
Today´s prayer intentions: for grace, trust, and patience
lunes, 22 de octubre de 2007
For Iris
In a few hours I head to work with several dozen Ecuadorian kids who are waiting for me with homework questions. In an effort to continue to process of turning Rostro´s programs over to Ecuadorian direction, we´ve been talking to community members about what they want us to do with our two-hour-a-day after-school program. They want us to teach English. Their kids can´t add, they can´t find Ecuador on a map of the world, and they can barely read in Spanish, but parents want us to teach English.
To be sustainable, it needs to come from the people. Yes. I know this. But I can´t help but feel like the people have a grossly skewed vision of the world that makes English and anyone who speaks it into a superhero or a savior. What do I do? I shut up and listen, at least for now. Wisdom welcomed.
Today´s pray intentions: for Catherine; for young idealists to find the strength to create change, especially the folks from Villanova; and in thanksgiving for Patricia´s growing home.
To be sustainable, it needs to come from the people. Yes. I know this. But I can´t help but feel like the people have a grossly skewed vision of the world that makes English and anyone who speaks it into a superhero or a savior. What do I do? I shut up and listen, at least for now. Wisdom welcomed.
Today´s pray intentions: for Catherine; for young idealists to find the strength to create change, especially the folks from Villanova; and in thanksgiving for Patricia´s growing home.
sábado, 29 de septiembre de 2007
Hospitality
How do I overcome the desire to guard my territory and my time and let others take part in my life? How do I let the present moment take precedence over the planned future?
Here, I do this more easily. My schedule changes in the three seconds it takes a neighbor to invite me in for lunch, or as soon as the herd of children see me and sprint to tackle me into a game of Cafe Chocolate. Here, I let myself be taken by life as I learn to trust spontaneity.
I give my time, though not my home. Like most houses here, our home is gated, though it´s unique in that it has a guard, and only Rostro staff are allowed in unannounced or unaccompanied. I am uncomfortable with the distance this system creates between us and our neighbors, but understand its necessity (or at least utility) for security and other reasons. Following the recommendation (not rule) of our directors, our community opted for a no-visitors policy, to be revisited regularly. Eso me cuesta. Again, I understand its purpose, but I struggle with the distance it creates. I want to share my space with people I care about, to give them the intimacy of my sanctuary.
Here, now, I can´t. So - how to be a hospitable guest? How to share my heart and home outside of the gate? Pictures, bananna bread, conversation, radical availability. That´s my best answer to date.
I am not Ecuadorian. As welcome as I feel with certain families, I don´t and can´t understand life in Arbolito. I will leave. I can leave. Poverty is the absence of power to change your life. (Who said this?) I have power. I have a college degree, money, two languages, white skin, and I vote for the president of the United States of America. I feel welcome, open, loved, loving, and learning, but I am not arboliteña and I want to respect the difference. Yes, I still learn across a gulf, and I learn more honestly.
Given the gulf, why do they invite me in? Because I´m new? Special? A good person? White? Rich? Able to give them things? Or because close quarters and sugarcane walls make barriers fluid, and everyone cooks more than their family will eat?
It´s easy to fall into the trap of cynicism and to believe that new friends here will eventually manipulate the gringa into repaying them with favors or money. But I don´t believe that. Some will try to exploit me, but this is true anywhere of any people. The world I want to create - the world Christ calls me to create - sows trust and generosity to reap love and strength of community. How can I construct this world if I don´t first believe in it and live it? I won´t request what I refuse to live.
¨I am blessed to be a witness.¨
Trust is risky. So is generosity. Eventually, I´m gonna get screwed. Someone will take advantage of my whatever goodness I manage to share. You will read those emotions too as the year (as life?) wears on, and they will be ugly. I will try, try, try to live joyfully despite disappointment and deception. Bear with me. Feel free to join in the experiment. Also to pray.
What a small price to pay for build love.
I trust you.
Today´s prayer intentions: for the cumpleañeros, Brigitte and Fernando; for us to find strength to love through difficulty, and that we resist the hardening of our hearts as we face the ugliness of this world. And also in thanksgiving for good parents, both mine and others´.
Here, I do this more easily. My schedule changes in the three seconds it takes a neighbor to invite me in for lunch, or as soon as the herd of children see me and sprint to tackle me into a game of Cafe Chocolate. Here, I let myself be taken by life as I learn to trust spontaneity.
I give my time, though not my home. Like most houses here, our home is gated, though it´s unique in that it has a guard, and only Rostro staff are allowed in unannounced or unaccompanied. I am uncomfortable with the distance this system creates between us and our neighbors, but understand its necessity (or at least utility) for security and other reasons. Following the recommendation (not rule) of our directors, our community opted for a no-visitors policy, to be revisited regularly. Eso me cuesta. Again, I understand its purpose, but I struggle with the distance it creates. I want to share my space with people I care about, to give them the intimacy of my sanctuary.
Here, now, I can´t. So - how to be a hospitable guest? How to share my heart and home outside of the gate? Pictures, bananna bread, conversation, radical availability. That´s my best answer to date.
I am not Ecuadorian. As welcome as I feel with certain families, I don´t and can´t understand life in Arbolito. I will leave. I can leave. Poverty is the absence of power to change your life. (Who said this?) I have power. I have a college degree, money, two languages, white skin, and I vote for the president of the United States of America. I feel welcome, open, loved, loving, and learning, but I am not arboliteña and I want to respect the difference. Yes, I still learn across a gulf, and I learn more honestly.
Given the gulf, why do they invite me in? Because I´m new? Special? A good person? White? Rich? Able to give them things? Or because close quarters and sugarcane walls make barriers fluid, and everyone cooks more than their family will eat?
It´s easy to fall into the trap of cynicism and to believe that new friends here will eventually manipulate the gringa into repaying them with favors or money. But I don´t believe that. Some will try to exploit me, but this is true anywhere of any people. The world I want to create - the world Christ calls me to create - sows trust and generosity to reap love and strength of community. How can I construct this world if I don´t first believe in it and live it? I won´t request what I refuse to live.
¨I am blessed to be a witness.¨
Trust is risky. So is generosity. Eventually, I´m gonna get screwed. Someone will take advantage of my whatever goodness I manage to share. You will read those emotions too as the year (as life?) wears on, and they will be ugly. I will try, try, try to live joyfully despite disappointment and deception. Bear with me. Feel free to join in the experiment. Also to pray.
What a small price to pay for build love.
I trust you.
Today´s prayer intentions: for the cumpleañeros, Brigitte and Fernando; for us to find strength to love through difficulty, and that we resist the hardening of our hearts as we face the ugliness of this world. And also in thanksgiving for good parents, both mine and others´.
jueves, 20 de septiembre de 2007
Happy birthday, Pops!
This entry, and most good and a few bad things about me, are dedicated to my dad. Yesterday he began his 55th year of his loving life. I love you, Dad!
I didn´t look in the mirror today. Here, I barely do, but thankfully I always know that my hair is a mess or if I´m blessed with a pimple because my Ecuadorian friends point them out. This doesn´t surprise me from a culture where the names Fatty and Old Man are as common as Maria and Ricardo. One of our Semillas kids has an extra stub on each hand. His friends call him ¨Seis¨.
La amarguita - así era yo a lo largo de un sabado feo y caluroso. I let butterness gnaw at me. Why? Pancakes.
Three weeks ago my neighbor Ricardo (son of the aforementioned Patricia) turned 16. To celebrate, I offered to make him a pancake breakfast. Scheduling conflicts repeatedly delayed the date. ¨Cristina, why haven´t you made my pancakes yet?¨ ¨Because you weren´t home , because I was bed-ridden, etc.¨ ¨No, becauase you´re lazy and a liar.¨ Ouch. It wasn´t supposed to sting - it was supposed to be a flippant, playful remark from a 16 year old boy who lacks tact to a girl he treats like a sister. It stung because I let it.
So I made his precious pancakes. Without a lick of love, I mixed and cooked the batter, all the while muttering how rude and ungrateful that bratty teenager is, what a jerk, I hope he chokes on his pancakes, grumble, grumble, grumble.
Bitter.
My Rostro sister Marie is a joyful servant. She serves us only when she can do so joyfully. Otherwise, she leaves our work to each individual. She washes my dishes only when it enlivens her. In this, Marie is my mirror, my teacher.
It seems I failed a test. The plate of pancakes I delivered to Ricardo dripped with resentment, and he tasted it enough to pull me aside later to apologize. Thankfully what I atoned for Joyless Service with Compassionate Forgiveness. I also apologized for my short temper and calmly reopened my heart to my little brother, who did, in fact, thank me.
So...turtle blood. You can drink it. It´s sweet, and best when chased with Coke. ¨Try it - it´s good for you. Full of vitamins.¨ I graciously declined, but watched my Semillas kids suck it down. Yum.
Last night I attended a quinceañera (15th birthday party. Big celebration marking a girl´s entrance into womanhood) for Dalia, a girl in the youth group I am also a part of (Nueva Generación) who´ve I really taken a liking too. According to the invitation, festivities would begin at 9:00p. We´ve already learned that Ecua time bumps everything back, so we arrived at 10:00p, a little worried we would miss the presentation. We were the first to arrive.
The presentation finally got rolling around midnight, and we stayed to dance until around 1:30a when we were, appropriately, the first to leave. A bleary-eyed Dalia informed me at Mass this morning that the party kept rolling until 5:00a. Give me a few months to build up Ecua-endurance, and I´ll be right there with them. Dalia choked back tears when she toasted her family in gratitude. What a blessing to be invited to the party and into this family.
Again, thank you for letters! I´m amazed by you folks and all you´re doing, for me and for the world. Responses will come, but slowly, as I have to wait for USA-bound visitors to grace our home. Peace, my friends.
Today´s prayer intentions: for Rosa, Dalia´s sister, who recently found a tumor in her cheek, that she and her family find the peace and strength to deal with the doctor´s news tomorrow; and in thanksgiving for friends, old and new, local and far-and-away.
I didn´t look in the mirror today. Here, I barely do, but thankfully I always know that my hair is a mess or if I´m blessed with a pimple because my Ecuadorian friends point them out. This doesn´t surprise me from a culture where the names Fatty and Old Man are as common as Maria and Ricardo. One of our Semillas kids has an extra stub on each hand. His friends call him ¨Seis¨.
La amarguita - así era yo a lo largo de un sabado feo y caluroso. I let butterness gnaw at me. Why? Pancakes.
Three weeks ago my neighbor Ricardo (son of the aforementioned Patricia) turned 16. To celebrate, I offered to make him a pancake breakfast. Scheduling conflicts repeatedly delayed the date. ¨Cristina, why haven´t you made my pancakes yet?¨ ¨Because you weren´t home , because I was bed-ridden, etc.¨ ¨No, becauase you´re lazy and a liar.¨ Ouch. It wasn´t supposed to sting - it was supposed to be a flippant, playful remark from a 16 year old boy who lacks tact to a girl he treats like a sister. It stung because I let it.
So I made his precious pancakes. Without a lick of love, I mixed and cooked the batter, all the while muttering how rude and ungrateful that bratty teenager is, what a jerk, I hope he chokes on his pancakes, grumble, grumble, grumble.
Bitter.
My Rostro sister Marie is a joyful servant. She serves us only when she can do so joyfully. Otherwise, she leaves our work to each individual. She washes my dishes only when it enlivens her. In this, Marie is my mirror, my teacher.
It seems I failed a test. The plate of pancakes I delivered to Ricardo dripped with resentment, and he tasted it enough to pull me aside later to apologize. Thankfully what I atoned for Joyless Service with Compassionate Forgiveness. I also apologized for my short temper and calmly reopened my heart to my little brother, who did, in fact, thank me.
So...turtle blood. You can drink it. It´s sweet, and best when chased with Coke. ¨Try it - it´s good for you. Full of vitamins.¨ I graciously declined, but watched my Semillas kids suck it down. Yum.
Last night I attended a quinceañera (15th birthday party. Big celebration marking a girl´s entrance into womanhood) for Dalia, a girl in the youth group I am also a part of (Nueva Generación) who´ve I really taken a liking too. According to the invitation, festivities would begin at 9:00p. We´ve already learned that Ecua time bumps everything back, so we arrived at 10:00p, a little worried we would miss the presentation. We were the first to arrive.
The presentation finally got rolling around midnight, and we stayed to dance until around 1:30a when we were, appropriately, the first to leave. A bleary-eyed Dalia informed me at Mass this morning that the party kept rolling until 5:00a. Give me a few months to build up Ecua-endurance, and I´ll be right there with them. Dalia choked back tears when she toasted her family in gratitude. What a blessing to be invited to the party and into this family.
Again, thank you for letters! I´m amazed by you folks and all you´re doing, for me and for the world. Responses will come, but slowly, as I have to wait for USA-bound visitors to grace our home. Peace, my friends.
Today´s prayer intentions: for Rosa, Dalia´s sister, who recently found a tumor in her cheek, that she and her family find the peace and strength to deal with the doctor´s news tomorrow; and in thanksgiving for friends, old and new, local and far-and-away.
sábado, 15 de septiembre de 2007
Con gripe (GREE-pay)
Así ando, con gripe. I´m sick as a dog with enough junk leaving my nasal cavity to question what modern medicine teaches about the human body´s maximum volume capacity. I wonder if I´ve leaked any brainpower in the process. The last few days have left me bedridden and this is my first exciting foray into the world since Wednesday. Who knew buying bread and hitting up the Internet cafe could be such a thrill?
I have discovered the cause for my sickness, or rather, my Ecuadorian neighbors have discovered it for me. Cambio de clima, se dicen, y mucho polvo. Blame it on the change in temperature and the excessive dust. Whether we have the sniffles, a sore throat, upset stomach, or a broken arm, these two are always the culprit. It´s like going to the campus medical center and receiving their super-potent antibiotic pack for everything from the flu to carpal tunnel syndrome. Regardless of the cause, I am resting a receiving lots o´ love from concerned neighbors and communitymates. If I can´t have Mom, at least I have good friends.
My neighborhood is known as Arbolito, although there is no specific small tree that makes this name logical. It started as an invasion - a squatter settlement - about 15 years ago and has grown. The main road and one other are paved, but most are dirt and rocks. It´s divided losely into 4 sectors, numbered based on age and level of devleopment. I live in Sector 3, which hosts the Catholic church and a tech school built a few years ago which moonlights (afternoons) as our host for Semillas. Most houses are made of sugarcane, though some are cement and most blocks have one or two under construction. Arbolito settlers moved into a swamp, and the damp climate remains and gives us LOTS of mosquitos, so I avoid the outdoors during twilight hours. Most of our female neighbors work out of the house - owning a store, sewing, making shoes or some other type of artisanry - and male neighbors are mechanics, bus or taxi drivers, construction workers, or work sporadically in whatever job they can find. Many are unemployed, particularly because Arbolito offers very little in terms of employment, and a good chunk work in jobs that keep them away from the home Mon-Fri.
Te lo explico. Arbolito is a neighborhood of Duran, a large area across the river from Guayaquil. Most of the poor who work in Guayaquil live in Duran, which has developed more quickly in some sectors than others. Every way I can think of to explain these places references places I´ve lived before - Duran´s largest artery called Primavera 1 looks like the main drag in Callao in Peru, lined with stores covered by grates and stoplights that regulate very little. Arbolito is Lima´s Gambetta neghborhood - dusty, dirty, burning trash, small stores, lots of pedestrians and biciclists riding two or three on a bike that looks like it shouldn´t support one. Music, music, music, though this is true for almost every location I visit here. And kids! Everywhere! Guayaquil hosts plenty of street children, though I don´t see them often because there are fewer in Duran and my job keeps me on this side of the river. Oh man, the kids. Those big brown eyes. And they´re all so darn good at soccer. I feel uncoordinated and clumsy with them, but they continue to run to me for hugs and any sort of cariño. I guess soccer skills don´t define one´s worth as a person. Who knew?
Funny anecdote: Duran and Guayaquil are separated by a river, which flows in some of the strangest, most erratic currents I´ve ever seen. Consequently, the river (río in Spanish) is affectionately called the ría, making it feminine and thus matching the female characteristics of being fickle, indecisive, and impossible to understand. I know I´ll catch flack for posting this, but if you saw the way 72 year old Gabriel winked and knudged me with his elbow as he told this story, you´d throw it in too. Oh Gabriel - would that I were old and charming enough to be as excusably irreverent as he! Dimples and a good laugh - dangerously powerful.
Pardon my directionless writings - cabin fever leaves me a little loopy. Peace be with you, friends!
Today´s prayer intentions: for the volunteers at the Farm of the Child, who are taking a weekend retreat to renew their energy, that they find strength and patience for love; and for Raul, for whatever made him cry the other day.
I have discovered the cause for my sickness, or rather, my Ecuadorian neighbors have discovered it for me. Cambio de clima, se dicen, y mucho polvo. Blame it on the change in temperature and the excessive dust. Whether we have the sniffles, a sore throat, upset stomach, or a broken arm, these two are always the culprit. It´s like going to the campus medical center and receiving their super-potent antibiotic pack for everything from the flu to carpal tunnel syndrome. Regardless of the cause, I am resting a receiving lots o´ love from concerned neighbors and communitymates. If I can´t have Mom, at least I have good friends.
My neighborhood is known as Arbolito, although there is no specific small tree that makes this name logical. It started as an invasion - a squatter settlement - about 15 years ago and has grown. The main road and one other are paved, but most are dirt and rocks. It´s divided losely into 4 sectors, numbered based on age and level of devleopment. I live in Sector 3, which hosts the Catholic church and a tech school built a few years ago which moonlights (afternoons) as our host for Semillas. Most houses are made of sugarcane, though some are cement and most blocks have one or two under construction. Arbolito settlers moved into a swamp, and the damp climate remains and gives us LOTS of mosquitos, so I avoid the outdoors during twilight hours. Most of our female neighbors work out of the house - owning a store, sewing, making shoes or some other type of artisanry - and male neighbors are mechanics, bus or taxi drivers, construction workers, or work sporadically in whatever job they can find. Many are unemployed, particularly because Arbolito offers very little in terms of employment, and a good chunk work in jobs that keep them away from the home Mon-Fri.
Te lo explico. Arbolito is a neighborhood of Duran, a large area across the river from Guayaquil. Most of the poor who work in Guayaquil live in Duran, which has developed more quickly in some sectors than others. Every way I can think of to explain these places references places I´ve lived before - Duran´s largest artery called Primavera 1 looks like the main drag in Callao in Peru, lined with stores covered by grates and stoplights that regulate very little. Arbolito is Lima´s Gambetta neghborhood - dusty, dirty, burning trash, small stores, lots of pedestrians and biciclists riding two or three on a bike that looks like it shouldn´t support one. Music, music, music, though this is true for almost every location I visit here. And kids! Everywhere! Guayaquil hosts plenty of street children, though I don´t see them often because there are fewer in Duran and my job keeps me on this side of the river. Oh man, the kids. Those big brown eyes. And they´re all so darn good at soccer. I feel uncoordinated and clumsy with them, but they continue to run to me for hugs and any sort of cariño. I guess soccer skills don´t define one´s worth as a person. Who knew?
Funny anecdote: Duran and Guayaquil are separated by a river, which flows in some of the strangest, most erratic currents I´ve ever seen. Consequently, the river (río in Spanish) is affectionately called the ría, making it feminine and thus matching the female characteristics of being fickle, indecisive, and impossible to understand. I know I´ll catch flack for posting this, but if you saw the way 72 year old Gabriel winked and knudged me with his elbow as he told this story, you´d throw it in too. Oh Gabriel - would that I were old and charming enough to be as excusably irreverent as he! Dimples and a good laugh - dangerously powerful.
Pardon my directionless writings - cabin fever leaves me a little loopy. Peace be with you, friends!
Today´s prayer intentions: for the volunteers at the Farm of the Child, who are taking a weekend retreat to renew their energy, that they find strength and patience for love; and for Raul, for whatever made him cry the other day.
martes, 11 de septiembre de 2007
Come in
Dear friends and family, past, present, and future,
¡Feliz dia!
I am in Ecuador. July 31, 2007 marked my first night and I´m dumbstruck when I see today´s date. 6 weeks? Really?
When I first arrived, a veteran volunteer told me that his days in Ecuador dragged on, but weeks and months flew by. Now I sit in the front office at work, scribbling notes in a small book filled with prayres and Spanish vocabulary (parsley is ¨perejil¨), waiting to head out for another interminable day.
I love these days, these long, sweaty days that send me home dripping, drained, and satisfied. Evenings smell like sunscreen diluted with salt water and children´s dirty hands until a cold shower, rice steam, and lime juice take over. I prefer neither clean nor dirty, and I sleep best when I´ve bathed in both.
Nights are cool and windy, though I´m told this will change when the rains come (November-April). The sun is intense. There is no font bold enough for this word.
God is here, in people. Bueno, God is everywhere in people, but I see Him here, now, sweating, laughing. Six other volunteers share my days and theirs over dinner, and five more live in another house nearby. Family.
My neighbors also. Señora Patricia and Co. above all. Nine people live in that open home. Be patient - I will give them to you as best I can in the coming weeks and months. Know that I am well loved here. And that I am blessed.
Monday-Friday take me to work. Two jobs, morning and afternoon. At 8:30a I start my day with Hogar de Cristo, working in their micro-credit program. This job will change dramatically in the next few weeks, so I´ll say more in time.
Afternoons call me to Semillas de Mostaza, an after-school program in my neighborhood that hosts 50-140 kids daily, depending on the time of year. It is my greatest source of joy and frustration. Children´s lies sting more than others, and their growth tastes rich and sweet. Again, I will say more.
I am learning to pray here. A slow process. Singing helps tremendously, as (strangely) do bumpy buses.
Brief, piddly, insufficient. Yes, I know, but it is something! Tell me what you want more of.
Your letters! Thank you, and for your prayers also.
Today´s intentions: Jefferson, that he stop getting in his own way and can learn to behave as well as he so desperately wants to.
¡Feliz dia!
I am in Ecuador. July 31, 2007 marked my first night and I´m dumbstruck when I see today´s date. 6 weeks? Really?
When I first arrived, a veteran volunteer told me that his days in Ecuador dragged on, but weeks and months flew by. Now I sit in the front office at work, scribbling notes in a small book filled with prayres and Spanish vocabulary (parsley is ¨perejil¨), waiting to head out for another interminable day.
I love these days, these long, sweaty days that send me home dripping, drained, and satisfied. Evenings smell like sunscreen diluted with salt water and children´s dirty hands until a cold shower, rice steam, and lime juice take over. I prefer neither clean nor dirty, and I sleep best when I´ve bathed in both.
Nights are cool and windy, though I´m told this will change when the rains come (November-April). The sun is intense. There is no font bold enough for this word.
God is here, in people. Bueno, God is everywhere in people, but I see Him here, now, sweating, laughing. Six other volunteers share my days and theirs over dinner, and five more live in another house nearby. Family.
My neighbors also. Señora Patricia and Co. above all. Nine people live in that open home. Be patient - I will give them to you as best I can in the coming weeks and months. Know that I am well loved here. And that I am blessed.
Monday-Friday take me to work. Two jobs, morning and afternoon. At 8:30a I start my day with Hogar de Cristo, working in their micro-credit program. This job will change dramatically in the next few weeks, so I´ll say more in time.
Afternoons call me to Semillas de Mostaza, an after-school program in my neighborhood that hosts 50-140 kids daily, depending on the time of year. It is my greatest source of joy and frustration. Children´s lies sting more than others, and their growth tastes rich and sweet. Again, I will say more.
I am learning to pray here. A slow process. Singing helps tremendously, as (strangely) do bumpy buses.
Brief, piddly, insufficient. Yes, I know, but it is something! Tell me what you want more of.
Your letters! Thank you, and for your prayers also.
Today´s intentions: Jefferson, that he stop getting in his own way and can learn to behave as well as he so desperately wants to.
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