Married in the Peace Corps

The most common question I receive from PCVs and non-PCV alike is “What’s it like being a married volunteer?” It isn’t that I don’t like answering the same question over and over again (for instance, the daily ritual of taxi drivers asking me if I’m married, if my husband is Ecuadorian, if we have kids yet, etc. has gotten old, but I’m used to it) but I figured I’d address everyone, since it seems to be such a popular question. World-wide, approximately 10% of Peace Corps Volunteers are married, and I think the percentage in Ecuador is even smaller, so hopefully this addresses the most salient points. I’d love to hear from other married volunteers out there, to see if their experiences have been different.



Generally, being a married volunteer is pretty awesome. It comes with all kinds of perks and benefits that make life here in Ecuador that much sweeter. Probably the most apparent is the loneliness factor. Showing up with your very own spouse means no waiting until Halloween in Cuenca/Thanksgiving in Macas/New Years in Puerto Lopez to find a warm body, no venturing into the tricky intercultural exchange that is trying to maintain a relationship with that cute Ecuadorian who lives in your site, no need for visiting the dubious section of the DVD stores, and no pestering from community members to make a trip to that sketchy building on the outside of town.

As a woman, already being married has had several perks here in Ecuador. Of course there is the nifty benefit of giving me a simple and easily-understood reason for turning away potential suitors without (much) harassment. (It helps in this instance to have [as I do] a particularly large husband who can look menacing if need be.) But it also provides me an excellent talking point with men and women alike. Since the third question I’m always asked is “Do you have kids?” I am able to either a) give an impromptu charla on reproductive health and how it is ok to wait on having children and plan your family, or b) garner pity/sympathy when I respond with an Un día, Sí Dios quiere.



More importantly, though, serving with my husband has the enormous benefit of having someone to talk to at the end of the day – and saving me on saldo. When I hit the bottom of the U-curve and lose patience with my co-workers or just have an overwhelming bout of homesickness, I don’t need to spend away my monthly allowance on Porta recargas – I can just head home and vent, unfettered by the concern of running out of minutes and being cut off mid-gripe. (In full disclosure, I’m just kidding about the saldo thing. Serving with a spouse is far more elaborate and meaningful than just having someone to complain to at the end of the day. Plus, I’m an ECC and never use up all my saldo.)

In all seriousness, it has been immeasurably helpful to have someone there to listen and commiserate at the end of a bad day or week. Or month. So helpful, in fact, I occasionally wonder to myself if I would have even made it a whole two years here without his support. I have infinite respect for single volunteers, for their perseverance and ability to cope with a crushing loneliness that it is hard to imagine. No joke.



It isn’t always all it is cracked up to be, however. There are a few drawbacks that I’ve found, reasons why it is (occasionally) more difficult to be a married PCV. Primarily, integration is undeniably more challenging. Since I have a husband to go home to, no kindly older woman is offering to cook me dinner or invite me over to chat, just because. It is assumed that I go home and make my man a nice hearty meal and clean our home. Yeah, for the most part, that is what happens (ok, I don’t actually do all that much of the cleaning), but it doesn’t change the fact that time that would be spent at the end of the work day with community members or co-workers (if I were a single PCV) is actually spent in my apartment, perusing our cook book -Buen Provecho, discussing our future (in English), watching movies (in English), or gossiping about our neighbors/officemates/fellow PCVs (in English).

This leads to the other major drawback of being a married couple in Peace Corps: stunted Spanish-speaking prowess. While you are out there learning slang with the jovenes or the language of amor with your cross-cultural love interest, we’re slipping behind, stagnant in all but work-related vocabulary. I feel comfortable with my ability to discuss Geographic Information Systems and national park management at length, but throw me a ¡que huevado! or a text message that looks like a monkey got a hold of the cell phone, and I’m left scratching my head. I suppose in the long run, not knowing the intricacies of Ecuadorian slang will probably have little bearing on my ability to successfully conduct myself as a bilingual human being, but for now I feel dolefully inadequate and would appreciate it if my fellow volunteers could provide me with subtitles when hurling what I can only assume are expletives at the other “cool” volunteers.

In the could-go-either-way column, being a married PCV means I see a whole lot more of my husband than I ever did in the US. While working 40-60 hour-a-week jobs and commuting an hour to and from our offices ever day (in opposite directions), we didn’t get a whole lot of time to see one another. Throw in a 2-3 day business trip every month and I’m spending more time with my co-workers than with my significant other. By contrast, we now work in the same office and our daily commute is shared. I actually worked out the math on this, and by calculating hours of face time here versus hours of face time back in the US, I found that each year of being in Peace Corps is the face time equivalent of 3.1 years of time back home. So instead of feeling like we’ve been married for 3.5 years at the end of our service, it will actually feel more like 8 years – face time-wise.

The reason that this is in the could-go-either-way column is because on the one hand it means that I actually get to see my husband. It has been incredible to be able to share our experience and strengthen our relationship. And in a way, I feel that couples who never do something as intense as Peace Corps may take 20 years get to the emotional levels that we have achieved being here (in the same way that people who have never been PCVs will not understand each of our individual plights). On the other hand, I miss missing him. I had really gotten to enjoy his monthly business trips and the subsequent solitude, followed by joyful anticipation of his return. But ultimately I suppose we’ll have plenty of opportunities for business trips again in the future, so I embrace the final few months of 24/7 togetherness that we have left.



The bottom line for me is that serving as a married PCV, I got to bring my best friend along with me, to share in all the ups and downs that come with our lives here. Maybe I didn’t write down as many memories as I should have because he was already there to discuss; maybe I could have formed closer friendships with my co-workers and neighbors. But being one of the married PCVs is great for the same reason that being married is great: your partner is an unwavering witness to your life. And I wouldn’t have done it any other way.

Olvidarse

Someone famous once said that you should always begin (or was it end?) your writings with a quote. Come to think of it, I believe it was Ed Norton’s character from American History X -- or maybe it was his kid brother? Anyway, doesn’t matter. I’m really more of a paraphraser, myself.

I’m going to come right out and say it: I have a mind like a colander. Seriously, I have a horrible memory. It’s genetic. Names, dates, faces – you name it. Well, actually, that’s the thing: If you name it, it will probably ring a bell and I will be able to conjure something up. But coming up with something out of thin air – forget about it. Seriously, I mean I probably did.

I have always been jealous of those folks who remember everything, the photographic memory types. It seems infinitely unfair that people like my friend Joey can remember details from the conversation we had the night we met in the dorms freshman year, and I can’t even remember his mom’s name (sorry Joey’s mom!). Now Joey is Dr. Joey, MD and I, well, I am Laurel, PCV. (Tangentially, it has been increasingly weird as more of my friends have become doctors and lawyers and other professionals. I know it has been years since I saw them drunk at a party or passed out on their couch the morning after, but it still seems to me that at least doctors should have been goody two-shoes in college.)

I don't want to forget

So remembering things has never been my strong suit, but usually I can get by with logic and my finely honed BS-ing abilities. I make lots of lists to keep myself sane, but sometimes I forget to check the lists. There is a good chance I’ll ask you where you’re from several times before I think too much time has passed in our relationship and I can’t ask anymore without looking like a total jerk, and then resign myself to assuming you are from wherever you appear to be from (which also makes me look like a jerk). Occasionally I try using mnemonic devices, but if I forget the device I devised I feel doubly silly. I can never remember song lyrics unless they are from albums that I memorized in middle or high school.

For forgetful people like me and my mom, the internet is a game changer. When my mom was in Catholic school as a child, she figured God was the only one who could answer all her questions. Now the all-powerful search engine outpaces the divine. In my case, living in Ecuador and not having constant, 24/7/365 internet access means that I no longer have my crutch, The Google, to rely on when my memory fails. Which is tough when I feel the need to look up important things, like how long to boil hard boiled eggs and who the actor was that played so-and-so on West Wing.



I’m not a total ditz. I’ve got my stuff together. I like to think I’ve done alright for myself despite my mediocre memory. Ok so maybe I can’t remember birthdays or movie titles or the end of my sentence, but I can do other stuff, like

It isn’t all jokes though, if I may be serious for a moment. When my parents came to visit us in Tena, my mom was driving me, and especially my husband, absolutely nuts by taking pictures every two minutes. She’s taking pictures of the hostel room and the dog outside and the kids on our street and us getting into the cab and her lunch and my lunch and this river and the other river and the monkey and the bird and so on and so on until my sweet husband (who had been graciously biting his tongue) rolls his eyes and I decide to say something. Do you have to take pictures of EVERYTHING, Mom? And then she breaks my heart. She has to take pictures, she says, because otherwise she will forget. I realize I should be taking more pictures, too. Our lives here feel so vivid and our memories so clear -- how could I possibly forget? -- but they won’t always be. It will be over before we know it.

Maybe you aren’t as forgetful as I am or maybe you have been better about keeping track of the daily crazy that is just being here. Maybe you think it isn’t all that important. For me it is. So do me a favor, or two. Give me the benefit of the doubt when I can’t remember what city you are from or ask you three times what the plan is for the evening. But also, take pictures and notes about our time here. Maybe you won’t need them, but I could use the reminder.



My sweet husband reminded me that it would be nice to end this with a quote, since I espoused the virtues of citing a smarter person back up there in the beginning. I consulted The Google and it turns out the actual quote from the movie wasn’t all that great. Nevertheless, I will leave you with this, my parting thoughts:

"I'm a writer obsessed with remembering, with remembering the past of America above all and above all that of Latin America, intimate land condemned to amnesia." -Eduardo Galeano

Con cariño,
Laurel

Finding Consensus

Part of my job as a Peace Corps Volunteer is to represent my training group on the Volunteer Advisory Council (VAC) and for the last year I have served as president. VAC meets with the Country Director 3 times a year to discuss volunteer concerns: policy changes, office or programming issues, volunteer events and initiatives. Our main objective is to provide volunteer support through various means like conducting an outreach program called Hermanitos, hosting training and volunteer events, and giving out small VAC grants. Our events and grants are paid for through VAC calendars, a product we produce featuring photos taken by volunteers around the country.


VAC VP Jason, Sec. Molly, and former-president Jacob

VAC grants are a unique opportunity for volunteers to get a smaller project off the ground with the help of a small amount of cash (between $50 and $100). The amount isn't enough to give community members the impression that PCVs are going to be a source of major project funding, capable of financing any idea they come up with (a role to be avoided), but rather to provide just enough to jump start a project through the purchase of educational materials or minor infrastructure improvements. In their applications, PCVs are asked to explain how their grant will be used to support a sustainable project, why the project will be useful and successful, and how many people will be positively affected by the grant.

Until recently VAC grants were handed out by the grant coordinator and his or her smaller committee, but now we use our entire smart and ambitious council of representatives in order to make the selections a more democratic process. This requires each of us to read all of the grants that were submitted, applying initial quantitative scores, then arguing out the details as to who the recipients would be and why.

So we spent an entire morning at our last meeting reading through the different proposals, scoring them, and arguing over who deserved our precious VAC grant money. No, it isn't much, but it is something, and it could be a turning point for a PCV trying to get in good with his or her community. From the down-to-the-cent specifics ($76.34 for a jewelry making drill) to the excruciatingly vague ($100 to help start a 'nature center'), we set out upon the task at hand (we even received a few requests for world map supplies). Some proposals were unanimously rejected outright, others embraced by all, but the vast majority had a few strong proponents and a few who felt it did not meet our specific requirements.

The way Peace Corps Ecuador is configured, there are four different programs: Natural Resource Conservation, Sustainable Agriculture, Community Health, and Youth & Families. This, more or less, puts us into 2 camps. ‘NRC’ and ‘Agriculture’ (the green group that deals more with the environment) go through training together; likewise, ‘Health’ and ‘Y&F’ (the people people) go through training together. When it came to making decisions about who got VAC money for their projects, our personal project scopes became a major factor in how we, as individuals, understood the main criteria of "sustainability".

As we battled it out, project-by-project, something interesting and nearly unprecedented happened -- people changed their minds. When was the last time any one of us sat in a conversation and had their mind changed by a persuasive argument? We were essentially debating sustainability (as many of us do over beers now and again while working in the development biz), but this time it came down to the actual dollars and cents that we had the privilege of distributing. It wasn't much money that we were talking about giving, but it was enough so that every penny of it was scrutinized. Why would this proposal be successful? Will it continue to impact project’s life after the end of the PCVs two years of service? What about after 3 years? 5 years? To what extent has the community demonstrated interest? Does the proposal reflect support for a "project" or just an improvement?

It was difficult to put aside our biases - NRC and Ag volunteers for green projects, Health and Y&F volunteers for health projects - but I think the discussion ultimately broke down the idea of sustainability quite succinctly, as well as forcing us to verbalize and argue for our own definitions. In development we talk about "sustainability" all the time - so much so, in fact, that I loathe using the word when another will do as well. However, since it was our criteria, we were steered back to the familiar jargon time and time again. Not all of us had our minds changed, but enough of us did so that we finally came to decisions that were (very nearly) consensus.

Before we moved on, we broke into groups and wrote feedback for each of the proposal submitters – why we did or did not accept their proposal and if not, how they could improve their proposal to be considered the next time around. Going through the action of writing the feedback reinforced the process of examining what makes a good project and which would be worth funding.

Despite being a much more tedious process and adding several hours to our already-long meeting, the joint decision-making process was a huge improvement over the former method, as well as a rewarding intellectual experience for those involved.


VAC Treasurer Ethan and me

World Cup

With rain pouring down on us, Laurel and John and I ran to the SUV of our German friend, Jens. With the windows fogged and our clothes soaked, we pulled up to a shop of appliances and construction equipment. We were on a mission, a mission to find power by any means necessary. It was still early morning on Saturday the 26^th of June, the same day the U.S. was scheduled to play their round of sixteen game in the World Cup against Ghana. And, of course ours and the surrounding provinces in the Ecuadorian rainforest would be without electricity for the entire day. Occasionally the local power company has to do some upgrades and they chose the day the U.S. plays in a once-in-four-years-if your-lucky soccer match. We needed a generator.

We also needed a location with Direct TV as opposed to standard cable. Suffice it to say the bunny ears wouldn't work either – the antenna stations didn't have electricity. After canvassing the entire town we finally found a guy named Guido who runs a hostel called La Posada (used to be called Yutzus-Dos) who not only had Direct TV but also paid his bill last month (unlike Michael at Hostel Limoncocha, another one of our German friends) and allowed us to hook a generator up to his electrical box. Guido was awesome! This guy not only let us hook up the generator but also set up his nicer TV outside on the patio with chairs and beers. The twenty American tourists staying there gave their local Peace Corps Volunteers a round of applause for getting this set up. Finally, game time.

*    *    *

So we didn't win. Did anyone expect us to? Let's be honest here, the U.S. has some – some – good players but there were too many glaring flaws to expect them to beat Ghana let alone a team like Brazil or Spain.


Bradley, Edu, Bocanegra and Dempsey look on after a tough loss to Ghana

The mark of great teams is ball control, creativity and at least one world class player that can better a double or triple team – Argentina might have two guys like that in Messi and Tevez – amazingly exciting to watch. The U.S. has some really fast guys and an aggressive attacking posture but we were consistently bullied at mid-field and had consistent mental lapses on defense. Coach Bradley was rumored to have adopted a long-ball strategy because he didn't have faith in our players' ability to play more measured, controlled attacks (he may have been right). Some teams can stretch the field and live off of set plays and a few explosive players scoring in a flash but very few win World Cup games with this strategy. Italy did it in 2006 because of amazing defense and an ill-timed head butt by France's captain at a critical point in the finals (also, all their goals, I believe, came from penalty kicks). England subscribes to a faster striking style as well but what have they done internationally lately? No, the prevailing style, the mark of excellence, is the ability to control the ball and score creatively a la Brazil, Argentina, Spain, the Netherlands, and in this World Cup, Uruguay. I wonder if there's a strategic change on the way for Team USA.

That day we weren't the only Americans tuned into the game. Apparently it was also the most watched men's FIFA World Cup game in history. Fifteen million people watched it in the U.S. with San Diego leading all media markets in viewership. Yay San Diego! As many people watched the World Cup games as the NBA Finals – which says something when the WC games are on in the mornings and the NBA Finals are on during prime time. Of course it still did not equal the ratings for the Women's World Cup – a world athletic event we actually win at occasionally.


Bradley, stoic as usual.


The next World Cup will probably not feature Donovan or Dempsey, two guys who've led our team the last two attempts, for better or for worse. I'm really disappointed with Coach Bradley's decision to put Findley in at forward and leave Dempsey on a wing. With Dempsey and Altidore up front we could have been a much scarier scoring threat. Next time around Donovan will either not be playing (at 32 years old) or will be ineffectual. I liked what I saw in two younger guys Maurice Edu and Benny Feilhaber, and hopefully Charlie Davies will be able to play after he heals from his recent car accident. Mostly, however, we'll need to adopt a strategy that involves better midfield play and we'll need to manifest some better defensive talent. Strategies aside, our one win against a small North African country aside, all the manufactured hype of the U.S.'s supposed chances this time aside, now what?


Good looking team.

We look forward to the Women's World Cup next summer in Germany, that's what. Our women are currently ranked number one by FIFA and if we can beat two-time defending champs Germany in their own country it could be bigger than a Super Bowl. No seriously, the cool thing about being an American during World Cup, besides making fun of fake pansy divers from France, is rooting for that other country you're a fan of because your family actually hails from there. I intend to root for Germany (I'm half German and my other sanguine rooted half, Ireland, got robbed by Thierry Henry's hand ball in the qualifying rounds) and I'll admire the abilities of Lionel Messi (it's a shame he only came off the bench in 2006 because he was also the best player on any pitch then, as now).


Messi and Tevez, great one-two combo for Argentina.

It's also appropriate to root for any other countries where you've lived in the past. I'd even say an extended vacation would qualify, say a hazy month in Jamaica, or a long hiking trip in the Swiss Alps. For us, obviously, we are fans of Ecuador, but that fandom will have to wait at least another four years. We've heard that the last World Cup was a much bigger deal here (Ecuador actually qualified that time). But we're still pretty excited to be in a country that truly appreciates the sport and this whole month hasn't disappointed. People take off work, drink beer in the morning, sing in the streets – it's actually a bit like Carnival.

As for the power outage, the lights, fans, and TVs fired back up just in time for the Germany England game the next morning. Those Germans have some real sway around here. Watching the Germans scream and hug after every goal, en route to a thorough beat-down of the sport's creators, I was reminded of the heights of joy my American friends and I shared when Landon scored that goal in the 91^st minute against Algeria, giving us just one more game of life. If the Padres or Chargers ever won a championship, I imagine that's what it would be like. And that's what soccer does, on the world stage, there's something for nearly everyone. Even one shot, ill fated, with just enough english on it to trickle passed the keeper can cause celebration over a one-one tie against a former colonial overlord. They should do this every year.


Donovan couldn't do it all himself.

*    *    *

World Cup Observations:

• Japan is pretty impressive. With their public organization abilities they will soon boast the best youth development program to find and train the best talent available and eventually become a consistent contender on the world stage. First they beat us in baseball, now this.
  
• The U.S. needs soccer development programs in places other than the suburbs.
  
• Germany is scary good. Mostly because they are a young team that everyone thought wouldn't have contend until 2014. They may not beat Argentina but they looked pretty impressive against Ghana and England. (Obviously I wrote that last bit before the German dismantling of Argentina. Wow, eight goals in two games against England then Argentina. And, it was the very first game I've ever seen where Messi looked mortal.)
  

• All the South American qualifiers made it out of group play. For real, Paraguay, Chile and Uruguay (the other teams that made it besides the two power houses Brazil and Argentina) could easily be better than England, France and Italy. Who would've thought that would happen back in 2006?
  
• The Netherlands Brazil game was a soccer clinic. More ball control than hernia check-up. Watching the Uruguay vs Ghana game later that day was like watching a local pick up soccer match with drunk Kichwa men. How do they learn this stuff? And, how can we convince our youth it's actually cool?
  
• Teams that didn't deserve to be in the World Cup but got in because of regional qualification tournaments:
  

    1. North Korea

    2. Honduras

    3. Nigeria

    4. France (Also wouldn't have qualified anyway if there was replay in soccer.)

• Teams that should have been invited instead:
  

1. Ireland – Not only because of Henry's hand ball, the Irish should get automatic qualification status every year just because it would help the world economy by way of increased beer sales – kind of like how Americans insist Cinco de Mayo is a big holiday.
   
2. Coatia – Currently ranked number ten in the world by FIFA.
   
3. Russia – Currently ranked number eleven in the world by FIFA.
   
4. Ecuador – Waaaay better than Honduras or North Korea. They actually beat Argentina and tied Brazil during qualifying rounds. And, with the high altitude locations in South Africa, they could have been a surprise, heart-warming Cinderella team. They just don't lose at altitude. Also, it would have been cool for us PCVs in Ecuador.
   

 

• American sports columnists have begun their idiotic, "I hate soccer" rants. For an American sports column that doesn't insist that soccer sucks because it's slow, go here: Bleacher Report and here: Mike Freeman (CBS).
  
• For a hilarious take on the moronic Jim Rome soccerphobe stance go here: The Guardian (UK). I promise this one will knock your socks off.
  

The Berdels

About a month into training, in April 2009, we traveled to Tena to do a week-long visit and some preliminary project discussions. That week was the most anticipated one of training, by far. Many things have happened since then: Some people’s projects have changed, some people’s sites have changed and for us, mostly just our perspective changed. One thing that didn’t change was the presence of our compadre couple at the office, Wolf and Franka Berdel. Last week however, was their last.

That day we arrived, there were six of us sitting at a bus stop café, drinking a victory beer for having, to our surprise, survived the bus trip down here. Little did we know that we would become very used to the bus drivers’ break-neck pace soon enough. We waited at the café for our counterparts to pick us up while talking excitedly about the adventures ahead of us. I didn’t think much about it at the time but one of the first counterparts to arrive was Wolf Berdel – for Ben, another volunteer in our cluster assigned to work with Parque Nacional Sumaco.

Wolf is a six-foot-two, skinny blonde German guy with a tremendous laugh and a happy spirit to match. That’s kind of a strange looking counterpart for Ecuador, I thought. After everyone left, Laurel and I jumped into the back of a pick-up truck of a guy who owned a hostel on the far end of town. Our counterpart (Bolier) was out of town at the time so we stayed in said hostel (previously written about) that also had great hammocks, good food and a monkey on a rope.

Wolf

After unpacking our weeks’ worth of clothes, Laurel and I asked where the best place to get a cold drink would be. They said the name of a bar that would eventually become our Cheers, Araña. Upon arriving to the watering hole along the river we saw Ben and the tall German sitting around a table, having beers and eating. It turns out that Wolf was also one of our counterparts; he was just picking up Ben because he drew the short straw and had to leave the bar while one of Ecuador’s World Cup qualifying matches was going on. (If I remember correctly, Ecuador won easily against Bolivia.) Ben would be heading to his site near Volcán Sumaco, three hours out, the next day with another counterpart, Juan Pablo. At this table there sat almost all of our future office mates.

Franka

Wolf and Franka work for the German development agency DED. This group actually started out as a show of support for John F. Kennedy’s vision of the Peace Corps. DED and USPC started similarly, but eventually Germany shifted focus to more advanced technical assistance. Now DED workers get paid like USAID, which is to say, pretty good for the developing world. Wolf and Franka dated while on his first assignment for the DED in Gambia. Because of his work in Gambia, Wolf was quite familiar with the Peace Corps, and speaking English.

While Wolf is tireless and always fun and optimistic, Franka, his possibly wiser half (she has her PhD) is down to earth and cool. They have two beautiful little girls, Maya and Paula and together they lived next door to us in probably Tena’s nicest house. Good for parties.




Of course, when we first arrived in site, after training, the Berdels and many other people from the office were on a month-long vacation so there was very little to actually do. But, when everyone got back, the Berdels would prove invaluable not only as friends in a strange city but as summarizers of the ins and outs of our work place. Together, our inexperience with the coastal accent (several of our counterparts hail from the coast), misunderstandings about timeliness, frustrations about disorganization, and questions about the meaning of it all began to take its toll. If it wasn’t for the explanations of the Berdels (in English to boot), I (at least) would have been lost for a lot longer than the first month or so.

Laurel and I quickly found out that weekend evenings at Araña or at someone’s house were the place to find answers about the labyrinth that is a development consortium like Grupo Sumaco. Social situations like these were not only our way to clarify unknowns, it was also a way for many other people in the office to get to know us and more casually vent frustrations of their own. Eventually, our Spanish improved (I mostly mean mine, Laurel was fine from the beginning) and our relationships with other counterparts also developed. I wouldn’t say things are always smooth sailing at the office now but at least we understand why it isn’t. Thank goodness for the Berdels.

Beyond work and social gatherings, Laurel and I also began to develop a real friendship with these guys. We took trips together, ate meals together and talked about everything under the sun. They learned about our U.S.A and we learned about their Germany. They’ve been in Ecuador for five years this month and their kids have never really known Germany, but they are in fact going home. . . But not until the largest despedida (going away celebration) this town has ever seen.

One Thursday night in June during game seven of the NBA finals (I know, I missed it, but I’m glad I did) about seventy people met at the Park offices auditorium for speeches, games, music, presentations and a pretty good time.



Afterward we all spent the entire night imbibing and reminiscing at a local private bar. When the sun came up we all trudged along to the Vagabundo Pizzaria, the Italian restaurant of one of the other Germans in town, Jurgen, to watch the World Cup. Germany was playing the 6:30 am game and the U.S. had the 9:00 am game. Needless to say Friday was a lost day after the games were over.

I haven’t stayed up all night in ten years, nor do I plan on doing it ever again. It just seemed fitting. I wonder if the Mayor is as popular as the Berdels in this town.

Among the many people who were thankful in their own way for having been friends with the Berdels was a Women’s group from Loreto (about two hours east). Wolf and Franka assisted this group with a grant about four years ago to pay for machines to help them with their arts and crafts business. It was a big success, at least on the part of these women’s lives even if not in terms of pure profit. But, because of security restrictions, DED, like the Peace Corps are not allowed to travel to the province east of here anymore, where Loreto borders. As a result the Berdels haven’t seen these women in four years.

Jens helps present with a community member

A couple weeks ago, Miguel, one of the Park Guards stationed in Loreto told the women about the Berdels leaving. So, they all gathered on a bus to Tena (by bus it takes about three and half hours) with Kichwa handy-crafts packed as gifts. When arriving in Tena on the day of the despedida, they were greeted with big smiles and a few tears. They all took pictures and exchanged gifts (Wolf didn’t remove his twine purse all night). The women also went to the party and had a great time.

In all, it was one heck of a memorable fiesta for everyone. Over five years, well, I’m sure they have a pretty long list of accomplishments to name in a resume, some of which I personally know of, but how many people do you know who get to have a job where you can actually change the course of peoples’ lives?

They didn’t want to leave. Up until the end they were working furiously to find positions with one of the other German groups in-country. They’re going to miss it here, sure, but they might just be missed more.

no es adios, solo hasta luego

Quito, Ecuador

Quito, Ecuador sits approximately nine thousand feet above sea level in the Andes mountain range. With 1.8 million people, in such a relatively small mountain valley, this capital city boasts many of the nice amenities and the aggravating air and noise pollution you would expect to find. From our home in the rain forest we have to ascend eight thousand feet in just over five hours. The trip is breath taking in its beauty and lack of oxygen. With winding roads on perilous cliff edges, the one hundred mile trip makes Quito seem like a completely different day away.



This month, Laurel and I made the journey for about the eighth time since we’ve been here. We were attending what the Peace Corps calls “mid-service training” where each of the thirty-three remaining volunteers from our training class met up for almost a week of seminars, medical exams and good food. The striking cool air and light headedness combined with nearly no humidity and the ever present cloud of bus exhaust works together to make head colds a hundred percent probability for those of us in sites “down the mountain”.

Every time we go to Quito, we get a cold – no exceptions. Those volunteers who live in sites in or around the Andes obviously have an easier time. They even think Quito is warmer than their sites as it sits in a valley adorned with copious amounts of cement. For us, it’s like being on another planet, a very cold planet with a different atmosphere and gravity. Even a flight of stairs a burden – and we’ve been working out regularly.



Of course, during the middle of the day the sun will definitely burn you in no time at all. Walking along the downtown streets looking for a bagel shop or DVD store, one can surely become overheated but the shade is a reprieve in the neighborhood of a twenty degree difference. At night, the wind swirls and cuts through our jeans and jacket. I used to love the cool weather. I even used to complain about people who kept their homes or offices higher than 68 Fahrenheit. Now, I guess you could say I’m used to the comfort of the balmy, tropical heat I’ve been living in for the last year.

Quito is a great time though: there are book stores with books in English, there are sushi restaurants, pizza delivered to your hostel, Indian food (I was introduced to a food called shwarma this last time around – kind of like a mix between a gyro and a burrito), bars, night clubs, movie theatres – you name it. And, the NBA finals were going on so of course, we all headed to a sports bar and spent three bucks a beer. This is actually harder to bring yourself to do than one might think. It’s not just the cost compared to our meager salaries; it’s also the size of the beer. In most of the country, beers (Pilsener brand) come in 22 oz bottles. It has a little less “beer flavor” than a Coors Light and in warm climates you have to drink it somewhat faster than one might be used to so that it doesn’t get warm by the time you finish. Add that all together and my measly twelve ounce mug in a Quito restaurant turns into a Dixie cup in my mind. Oh well, it’s not like we make a habit of going to Quito.



So, by the end of the third day people started to filter home, being done with their medical screenings. Some said that they really had to get back to their sites and that they didn’t have time to goof around in Quito but you could tell that we were also starting to get burnt out from all the gringos around us. We’ve all lived fairly solitary English-speaking existences and outgoing Spanish-speaking ones for over a year now. Going to bars and parties was becoming tiresome this time – who would’ve thought? Admittedly, I was feeling the same way. Also, I always yearn for the rain forest climate every time I’m stuck in Quito.


Gotta love Omnibus 101!

As far as our medical screenings go: Laurel and I had no cavities, no parasites, no worms, no amoebas. Of course, I was sure that I would have had something wrong with me if I had taken this medical exam six months ago but it seems I’ve grown accustomed to whatever new power arrangement formed between any new bad-assed bacteria I now have in my gut. Also, the dentist even said “good job with the flossing, hardly any plaque.” I thought he must have been kidding, no matter how clean my teeth are in the States, I feel like I always get the flossing lecture. Maybe it’s a matter of relativity, or salesmanship. After every floss lecture I always have to deal with the “up-sell” of some state-of-the-art new tooth sealant they want me to pay for.

Also, no head-cold. That’s right, hardly a sniffle. Well, Laurel had her usual but I was fine. And by day four, I felt like I was getting used to the altitude – just in time to go back home. Now we’re back and extremely happy about it. Our fun little town is so much more enjoyable than some big polluted city. Working out is always nice when you travel to some place with more oxygen than the place you came, so we got that working for us for a few days.

We have about ten months left in our service. It’s seems like nowhere near enough time to finish all we came here for. I’ve even resigned myself to continue working on my project for a few months after I’m back home in San Diego next year – the stuff I can do via the internet, that is. But ten months will be gone before we know it, especially when you consider it will be more like eight months when you subtract the vacations we’ll be taking in October and December. And, one month gets scratched off for the World Cup. This whole country has shut down during the day and it’s only group play.

Well, there’s lots going on right now and plenty to blog about so we’ll be updating this a little more regularly throughout the next month or so. That’s right, I mean to do a World Cup post. Also we’ll do a story covering the going away party for our German friends, and Laurel has a highly informative post in the works regarding poop. Also there is a new foundation Laurel is working with based out of the States so I’m sure we’ll be doing a little blog post publicity thing here soon, and she might even get around to writing a little bit about the Cacao Fair. Did you know Laurel even helped produce a series of local television shows on climate change a couple weeks ago? Yeah, we got some cool new stuff so stay tuned.

Go USA!


(Much love to Yoni for letting us borrow his picture.)

Thesis: Texts as a way of measuring stages of volunteer integration

Peace Corps Volunteers these days have it so good. While conditions haven't actually changed very much from the 1960s (as evidenced by the book Living Poor by Moritz Thomsen), our ability to communicate with our fellow PCVs and loved ones at home has improved dramatically (and very recently – our welcome kit still recommended that families number their letters). Email, cell phones, Skype, and Facebook have given us unprecedented connectivity, and more than ever we are able to give friends and family at home an accurate picture of volunteer life.

Just over a year ago, I started writing down what I thought were the funniest, strangest, or just most interesting texts I received from my fellow PCVs. It essentially came about because I had no more room in my SMS inbox and couldn't bear the thought of just deleting such priceless snippets of hilarity. So I started a Word file on my laptop and every time I got the "No space: message waiting"-beep I copied the best ones down before deleting.
 
 

In that first month I would get as many as 6 or 7 messages a day that I deemed worth saving. Things like:

“Remote controlled car but the car is attached to a cord which is attached to the remote and dragged. Instead of cutting in slices, they cut the cake in circles. My [host] mom still doesn’t know my name.”

“My host mom is senile.”

“…my neighbor is wearing an “I love hippie” hat. Dirty DHs!”

“Should one year olds be drinking Gatorade?”

“I think I was a party in selling beer and cigarettes to minors and the police are involved. If I got to jail please bail me out.”

“So I’m reading in my hammock and hear a rustle in the bushes. Probably a chicken, or maybe a kid. No, iguana.”

“My hide and go seek moment from last night feels like the Almost Famous I’m-a-golden-god scene.”

Particularly entertaining (to me, at least) were the texts I got about strange food encounters. Not living with a community deep in the jungle, I don't often get offered the interesting fare that many of my friends do, so I live vicariously through their experiences:

"I just had monkey for dinner! Yum!"

"We are going to have possum for lunch."

"I just ate big black ants a.k.a. ukuy."

"I just had catfish caviar, wild animal meat from the jungle, and boiled bananas for breakfast. No wonder my poop looks like an iron chef version of chili."

"I just drank 2 litros of chicha in 32 seconds at our town meeting to practice for a game day we're having against 10 other communities Sunday. I'm representing [my community] for the chicha drinking contest"

...and the subsequent illnesses:

"Woke up with sulfuric burps and intense stomach cramps… chalk another slash on the giardia count."

"Well, we're now in the same 'don't want to see a hot dog for a long time' club after I ate one for dinner last night and spent the night sick, today as well."

"On the upside, I went big on my fecal exam: parasites, 2 types of amoebas, and Ecoli. That's a Grand Slam!"

"I got worms!"

After those first several weeks, these observations began to drop off as the shock began to subside. I went from getting as many as 6 save-worthy texts per day down to one or two. And as constant communication slowed down, I began to get messages from people who felt, perhaps, neglected and needed to talk.

“Hey”

“I need some English.”

“I have the best story ever.”

“Hey when you get a chance could you give me a call? I just need to vent.”

“When I don’t hear from you in a week I get fucking worried.”

Isolated PCVs find great comfort in just getting a chance to speak their own language at the end of a long day or week of verbal isolation. I had the benefit of more saldo (cell phone minutes) than the others, and could call when they had already used up their month's allotment. At various intervals, I got some texts that made me question whether the isolation (or whatever) wasn't starting to get to some of my fellow PCVs. There were strange messages that indicated they might be getting closer to the edge:

“The feeling is beautiful and that’s the best part. PS. [I’m] drunk. Electric love lightning bolts fill the sky.”

“James Bean made me cry.”

“Just killed an equis [very poisonous type of snake] that was crawling up the steps. Totally calm. Totally cool.”

“Maybe I’m overheating because of my hair.”

“We’re all looking for something out here in the darkness. Do we know what it is? No. Will we find it? Most definitely. Things we can feel but not touch.”

“Oops that wasn’t meant for you. Haha.”

“Dead mon. And homeless hungry hung over I slept in a bus stop last night wow”

“You start to find out Who You Really Are (i.e. Who I Am) when there's no power and you're drinking 4 dollar gin solo by candlelight. The answers are somewhere at the bottom of this bottle. Or in the pages of my notebooks. The words are written in the blood of generations lost and they spell something that includes smooth Soul Butter”

But eventually we moved on. The focus shifted (with occasional lapses due to unprecedented ridiculousness) toward work, relationships, and events in our communities rather than culture shock and madness:

“That damn helicopter has been at it again today. It’s not looking like it's dropping the stuff off in Rukullacta but more adentro. If you're at the entrance to the caves looking at the road it’s going into the mountains in front and to the right of the caves. Muy lejos.”

“Okay, cutest thing ever. My foundation that doesn't celebrate birthdays threw me a surprise party last night with cake and dancing. It was their first ever birthday party they threw. Wow!”

“Today, meeting with battalion commander. Tomorrow, hand washing conference.”

“Have you heard of a new mining project in [deleted]? Some of the Germans are thinking of calling UNESCO and getting the reserve status revoked - all through other organizations and using fake names. This sounds like fun.”

“We have adjusted nursery policy to no fires but it is difficult for them because for them quemar is both burn and decompose.”

“At the fiestas of Cotundo and they're totally singing songs from the [Sumaco] national park CD!”

It isn't to say that ridiculous things weren't still happening – just that we had stopped being so impressed. I still get the occasional "There are young girls dancing in bikinis at the women's day event. Where does this fit in?" or "There's one of those candy sellers on my bus posing as a clown and he just stuck a six inch nail up his nose. Sweet lord." But most of the messages I get these days are more like this:

“Um. I. Have. Gossip.”

“Gotta love a cab ride home from a cabby with his whole family in the cab. As an added bonus the cabby even gave me an orange.”

“Oh, did I mention I'm becoming a Godfather on Sunday? Respect Dat!”

“My new favorite word - ecuatorianamente. It comes from the new Pilsener slogan but has become my new life slogan. It translates to Ecuadorianally [sic].”

“I'm sorry, I couldn't hear you over the roar of my community rushing onto the field to congratulate me on my game winning header with 20 seconds left in the game!”

“… I missed this so much. I don't know how I can stay away.”

 
I love looking back on all the texts I deemed worthy of saving. It makes me see how far we've come, how much we've integrated, and how much we've shared. I'm grateful for the friends I've got here and how much they enrich my experience as a PCV. So here's to text messaging! And to all of the technology that keeps us close emotionally when the roads are long and winding (or closed by mudslides and protests) between your site and mine.

Love,
Laurel