A Season's Change

There are only two seasons in Ecuador: winter and summer. The former is characterized by torrential downpours of rain every afternoon. The latter is the exact opposite, no rain whatsoever. Fall and spring are completely ostracized here on the equator leaving little room for transition from one climate to the next. Because of this, when one season will end and the next begins is a guessing game. But now, more than ever, we have much reason to assume that summer is comin round the bend. As the kids pile through the 2-ton metal door frame into are makeshift school, we notice that not a single one is wearing his or her galoshes that they have worn since day one. For three days in row now, we have been without a single drop of rain and temperatures have been a balmy 80 degrees. And early, every morning for the past week, I have seen the white, snow capped peak of Cotopaxi 100 miles south looming over Pasachoa and the Los Chillos Valley in which we live.

But the seasons of change not only apply to the climate of the Andes Cordillera; we too are coming out of winter and opening the door to a warmer and brighter season. We just finished our first Spring Break Volunteer session that included 45 Med-school and undergrad students who worked in and around our community, San Francisco, over the past month. Each of the 4 groups played a major role in propelling us forward into a more mature site. The groups aided in donating school supplies and new reading material for improving literacy. They worked with us to fund and repair the playground next to our school with new equipment, fresh paint, and a better soccer field. They have helped improve the health of the community by stocking the health centers with $5000 worth of donated medical supplies. They have raised half the funds to pay a social worker for 1-year who will provide psychological care for the abused children in our programs. But most importantly, they helped us get the ball rolling on transitioning from providing after-school programs with the kids to providing vital services to the whole community via our community assessment program.

Our community assessment program is unlike the traditional community needs-based assessment, which takes a look at a community to see what they lack and where they are weak, and then caters to that information. But the route we are taking assesses what the community has and where they are strong, and then helps to use those strengths to build up the community. Jim Collins, in his book Good to Great, calls this the Hedgehog approach. He applies it to businesses, but the principle is sound across the board for any organization. It is when an organization takes what they have, what they know, and what they are good at and builds the organization upon those strengths. The same can be applied for community development and it is what we hope to do here in our community.

We are joined by another organization and together we plan to assess the strengths of 5 communities in the same area, one of those communities being San Francisco, by way of surveying 1000 to 1200 families. It is a lot like a census in many ways but from the data we will extrapolate what services are provided and how well it is doing. And for us, we will be looking at the data to guide us to where our assistance can best be used in the 3 long, muddy streets that make up San Francisco.

So, as the day slowly ages and the sun stretches high above the Valley with the clouds still at bay, we as an organization have a lot to look forward to in the coming months. And before we know it, summer volunteers will be arriving just as we begin to pine for more rain, to again propel us forward and remind us just how pleasant the weather really is.

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Watering the Plants

I am lying in one of the hammocks in the atrium and noticing that our two hanging plants are becoming wilted and dying. With 7 people living in the house I’m sure we have all thought that someone else is probably taking care of them. So, I am going to stop playing a part in this distributive responsibility mentality and do something about it. I am going to single-handedly save the lives of these plants. I get up, fill a pitcher with water, and nourish the moribund shrubs with a sense of self-righteousness. I am doing something good. I lie back down in the hammock to gaze upon my good deed. But, my feeling of self-righteousness quickly retreats with the lack of immediate satisfaction. I am still looking at two wilted, dying plants.

She is saying something to me, but I cannot understand her. I’m hearing the words but they are not making sense to me when I mentally reconstruct her sentence in English. This is the third person that I have had trouble understanding. What’s wrong with my Spanish today? I felt so good about it just three days earlier and was encouraged by my progress so far. Slowly, I am coming to the realization that this is not something that just clicks one day, like algebra, and I can now move on to calculus. No, it is a lifetime of slow progress. Little by little learning something new everyday. Language is like Math itself, not the subjects within it. It takes a PhD in Mathematical theory before the student can look back and say he understands how numbers work. Every day before, he was building his knowledge. Building and building.

Pamela is not concentrating. She keeps telling me that 9 minus 3 is 5. We have spent 5 minutes on this one problem and I am working hard to keep the muscles in my face from displaying bewilderment. I don’t want to make her feel stupid with my reaction. But, she is one of the smartest kids in our program. Being only 9, she can learn any new material quicker than most of the kids who are older than her. In addition, I work with her everyday on math and I know that she can do better than this. I have seen her breeze through 4 digit multiplication problems. She has risen from being one of the shyest kids in the program, lacking self-confidence, to one of the best and brightest. She may be the best example we have of what service can do for kids who are capable and just need a little extra attention. But today, we’re hung up on single digit subtraction. And Today, my patience is waning. With a look of indignation, I tell her she has 10 minutes to finish her 20 math problems. She gets wide-eyed, puts her head down, and plows through to end without making a single mistake, and she did it in just 7 minutes. That’s more like it.

Day after day, I continue to water the plants.

Cultural Exchanges

I am rolling through the Andean Mountains looking at spectacular views of lush green hills and far away mountain tops in a 360-degree panorama. Mark and I just finished a two-week excursion through Colombia and are now busing back to Quito. As I sit staring out the bus window I try to take in the beauty around me and wish there was a way to capture the moment so I can show my friends and family. There is something majestic about these mountains that make them unique from the mountains I know back home. They are grandiose like the Rockies but covered in lush green grass and trees like the Appalachians. They are inviting and warm as the sun reflects the beautiful shades of green. I get the urge to run barefooted up to the top and roll down. They have deep, wide valleys where life is abundant with rivers, lakes, and small pueblos. These wide valleys add to the greatness of the peaks. They create a sense of abundant space as your eyes softly climb the sides of the mountains until they reach the distant top. The land plays tricks with your eyes and creates a false sense of distance. The largeness of the mountains and valleys compared to the tiny houses dotted across them leaves nothing to compare the distance too. That peak over there could be 5 miles or 25 miles away.

But that is not what this journey is about today. I want to talk about Colombia and Ecuador. More specifically, I want to say something about culture. There is an old saying that says you really never know a place until you leave it and then return to it. There is something about experiencing other places that opens your eyes to your own home. That happened in several ways over the past two weeks. Colombians are some of the best conversers around and are extremely amiable. Their pace of life is slower and less stressful. Our first night in Colombia we asked a lady on a bus how to get to a certain part of Cartagena. Her and her husband got off the bus with us and took us where we wanted to go and then proceeded to help us find a place to stay for the night. For about an hour and a half we talked and walked around Old Town Cartagena. This also happened in Cali, Colombia when we asked where we could buy some preroasted coffee beans. A guy about our age ended up spending half the day with us showing us different parts of Cali. Others would simply walk up to us and begin a conversation. I can’t tell you how many times that happened in the course of one day. Across the border, Ecuadorians do not have the same gift of gab as their neighbors. It is part of Ecuadorian culture to stare at foreigners. This took me awhile to get used to. But it still irks me sometimes when I am eating to look up and find a pair of unfamiliar eyes staring back into mine.

These views of the Ecuadorian countryside remind me of how beautiful Colombia is. The land radiates with green mountains contrasted by blue skies and various colored flowers. The people are like the land and radiate with similar beauty. They are black, brown, white and every shade in between. Colombia’s prominent past slave trade mixed with the indigenous people, the indigenous mixed with the European Spaniards, and the Spaniards with the slaves creating an array of colorful people. As a result, only 1% of Colombians still claim any indigenous heritage. In comparison, 25% of Ecuadorians still have strong indigenous blood and continue to practice traditional indigenous religion and language. The rest of the Ecuadorians are in a category called Mestizo (Mixed Spanish and Indigenous roots) and there is a small minority of Afro-Ecuadorians. Most Ecuadorians thus have prominent Indigenous physical features including wider nostrils, strong wide jaw lines, short stature, and similar skin tones.

As we cross the equatorial line I have some relief in knowing that despite all the zigzagging and winding through these mountains we are making our way southward. Quito is on the horizon and my mind is at ease with thoughts of a warm shower, a soft bed, and a hearty meal waiting on me at my home away from home.

The Ecuadorian Matador

Diego Rivas falls to his knees two feet in front of the bull. He throws open his arms and looks to sky and yells at the top of his lungs. We can’t believe it! The crowd jumps to their feet as the bull stands there panting, glaring at Diego. The Ecuadorian Matador spins on his knees now with his back to bull and again throws open his arms to an approving crowd. Another gasp resounds, applause erupts, and a murmur resonates. The bull, still standing there panting, knows it has been defeated. The dirt at its feet is dark red from its wounds. The bull has six decorated hooks hanging perfectly from its back, three hanging off to one side, three hanging off the other side. They were placed there by an unusual display of courage from Diego.

After a few moments Diego now has full control of the stands. He motions for the band to play louder as he flashes his red cape and draws the bull near for a turn, “Ole!” The Matador spins and again flashes the cape and again the bull charges and again we yell, “Ole!” Diego has perfect form by not moving his feet as the bull brushes past him. Diego goes for a third turn, flashes his cape, the bull charges, and Diego does a reverse spin with his back momentarily to the bull, “Ole!” The crowd gives an approving applause and cheers. The Matador accepts the applause with open arms and a pompous pelvis thrust followed by a yell. We stand and clap in approval. The guy has got charisma. The whole stadium can feel his energy. The trumpets sound signifying that it is time for the Matador to finish the bull.

Diego gracefully struts toward the bull, one pointed foot in front of the other like a male dancer, building anticipation. He now motions for the band to play softer. He holds his cape to his left side. Behind the cape he is hiding his sword. He slowly stops. The bull hesitates, digs its left foot into the dirt, lowers its horns, and narrows its gaze on the cape. Perfectly and slowly and with fluent motion, the Matador lifts his sword from behind the cape and points it just above the horns. The bull doesn’t notice the sword. Perfect execution. The bull charges. Diego charges. The Matador drives the sword into the hump of the bull with perfect aim and timing and is nearly scathed by the bull’s left horn. The crowd again erupts in approval. The bull is then turned a few last times by three or four of the Matador’s workers and it finally falls to its knees, then onto its side, a sign of a perfect kill. No finishing off is needed.

Diego walks to the wall with open arms. The crowd chanting and jeering “Orejas! Orejas!” He places an arm on the wall, lowers his head and begins to weep. He knows he has just given the show of a lifetime and this fight will promote him into a higher status of fame and prestige. For his show of bravery and skill, the judges award him both of the bull’s ears to appease the cheers from the crowd, “Orejas! Orejas!” He is picked up and carried on a set of shoulders for his victory lap. We throw our hats into the ring as a sign of approval and continue to cheer. Diego Rivas is truly a great Matador.

La Mariscal Beats

We stepped outside into the dark and foggy streets of north Quito. The clouds have descended upon the city from somewhere behind the Andes mountains. We see some headlights fragmented by the smoke-like air and hope it is a taxi. It is peculiar that my hair and jacket feel damp. It is not raining but the moisture from the clouds engulfing us creates a fresh mist that is a relief from the hot sun during the day. The taxi pulls up and we head back to La Mariscal, my home neighborhood for the next month, to begin our night out on the town. As I sit cramped four deep in the back of a three person cab my mind drifts over the experiences of my first week in Quito: the bullfight, the beautiful flamenco dancers, Fiesta de Quito, my impromptu salsa lesson, the food, and the people.

I begin to see colorful lights and people walking on the sidewalk out of the cab window and there is the faint sound of music in the distance. We are back to La Mariscal. The area is one of the most modern areas in Ecuador and is known to have some of the best nightlife in the country. It is appropriately nicknamed “Gringolandia” because it is home to many visiting Americans, Europeans, and Australians alike. My host home is smack in the middle of La Mariscal in area called Plaza la Foch. It is like having a balcony on Bourbon Street in the middle of the French Quarter. I can look down from my balcony here and see a mass of people congregating in the plaza and see the overspill into the conjoining streets most nights of the week

We climb out of the cab a few blocks from Plaza la Foch because the traffic is so backed up it would be faster just to walk the rest of the way. As we walk the guys fill me in on the stories that I missed during the three months I have not been with them. The music is getting louder. Music. Ah the Music. Music is the heart and soul of Latin America. Take music away and Latin America would come to a screeching stop. It is everywhere: the clubs, the streets, the buses, my house all day, the taxies, the café and Internet shops, and every other little shop on the street. The sounds flood the air. There is a reason why Latinos can dance the way they can. The rhythm is a part of their anatomy. From the time their ears can hear at birth they live life moving to the sounds of music. I wouldn’t be surprised if doctors and nurses set up radios in the delivery rooms and slightly moved their hips and shoulders as they delivered the babies.

Ah Music. We walk a little further up the street and I can now hear a distinguishable rhythm above the rest. We are standing in front of my favorite club. They play a good mix of Salsa and Reggeaton. I am looking forward to the dancing tonight. I feel good, I have energy, I learn something new every time. My host mother, Gloria, swears that I have Latino blood in me after watching me dance at a restaurant. While flattering, it’s hard for me to believe because she also tells me I am good at Spanish. It makes me feel good every time though.

We get into the club and disappear into the people and the smoke. This is going to be a good night.

Stateside Service

They filed in one-by-one through the gold confetti, kid-decorated door into the classroom of the local elementary. “There are so many of them!” she whispered, as the young Hispanic students all fumbled around for a seat facing the blackboard. Our hearts were pounding and there was hint of nervous excitement in the air. This was our first Hispanic tutoring session and none of us really knew what we were doing. But acting as if she had been doing this for years, Lindsay, with lesson plan in hand, walked to the front of the room...

But this story doesn’t begin here. It actually begins a few years ago when I first moved to North Louisiana. As a native Texan now residing in Ruston, La I had noticed an absence of Hispanics in my day-to-day activities. But over the past few years, this small college town and its surrounding areas have seen a swell of Hispanic migration. The South has not seen something like it since the end of the Civil War. It is hard not to notice this emerging trend of cultural integration. Everywhere we are seeing a new language and a new culture. It is in the workforce, in the hospitals, in the grocery stores, and in the public schools. And like the rest of the South, North Louisiana is experiencing some growing pains. There is a need for adjusting and accommodating to the specific needs of this new demographic. Having talked to people in business and local government, the greatest problem has been overcoming the language barrier. Still, Hispanics continue to enter realties looking for homes, banks trying to set up an account, and schools for educating their children without much assistance.

Wanting to help in some way, a few students here at Louisiana Tech University got together in early September and decided that we could make a difference. We wanted to begin a tutoring program for Hispanic kids who were struggling in school because of the language barrier. We chose Manna Project as our vehicle and began to simultaneously work on the twofold process of starting a campus organization (Manna Project LaTech Chapter) and finding a public school with whom we could work. The need is so great that within the first week of announcing our plans, we had six different schools contact us wanting to talk about implementing the Hispanic tutoring program. One of those contacts was Martha Brown who was hired by a local school district specifically for helping the large numbers of Hispanic students adjust in the classroom and pass the state standardized tests. But from the moment she began her job she has been overloaded. There are over 150 Hispanic students in four schools spread out around the area. She needed help. So, we traveled Farmerville, La to visit with her and see the students of two schools with the largest number of Hispanic students. We decided to work with more than 50 students at Farmerville Elementary. Martha has great support from her school board and this has been a tremendous benefit. She has been able to supply us with more educational resources than we know what to do with, get permission to tutor in the classrooms during school hours, and has even been granted funding to pay for the 50+ miles of gas each of us use roundtrip.

We have been tutoring now for more than a month and it could not be going any more smoothly. We meet every Monday for 3 hours and tutor K-5 in reading and math. The kids are smart and enjoy the time we spend with them. The teachers are happy that we are giving an extra hand so they can improve the quality of learning in their classrooms. And our organization is continuously growing with volunteers as the word is spread about what we are doing. Soon we will be growing large enough to expand to other schools and provide additional services to the community.

Blogging Again...

In late November I will be embarking on what is my first extended world-travel adventure. I have created this blog as another way for communication between me and friends and family. I will be updating periodically with stories, adventures, and just about anything else I feel is blog-worthy. I would love to hear from you, so leave me a comment or drop me an email.