Week 3: “Mixto”

In my third week in Ecuador, I am doing a mix of things. Monday of course was a day of mourning (which reminds me of my favorite Sunday River ski trail, “Monday Mourning.”) Unfortunately, however, the world did not stop when our friends were missing. VEP had a new volunteer arriving, and our director Juan was busy looking for our old ones.

So, to relieve Juan of the classic dilemma (you can’t be two places at once), Joe and I traveled to the airport in Quito in order to pick up Christine. Getting out of the hostel proved to be good for the both of us. The somber air was enough to suffocate a woolly mammoth. So when we heard at 5pm that night (shortly after arriving in Quito) that our friends were found safe, we had no choice but to celebrate our asses off.

Hopping from bar to restaurant, from restaurant to bar, Joe and I ran into friends, made new ones, and then ran into our new friends again later. Christine turned out to be a cool girl. And so, Quito was definitely a good medicine for the Lost Friend Blues. (Also finding said lost friends was curative).

Wednesday

Wednesday, Gilberto and I decided to continue with our research, and go on with the next steps for building our school. We traveled to Ibarra, wherein lies the Ministry of Education, and spoke with the Director of Education there. The conversation was heartening, as we found out that all we needed to do was submit a proposal, and the ministry could provide us with up to 5 state-paid teachers, and possibly other resources. We collected some documents detailing the requirements that need to be met, and Gilberto and I discussed our budget on the busride back.

All in all, things are rolling along this week, despite the epic mishap that cast a shadow over our weekend.

off the platform backwards

Upside down in the air

open sky

l o s t

Last weekend will go down in Village Education Project history. On Saturday morning at 4am, the volunteers rubbed the sand out of their eyes and set off for an epic hike. They were accompanied by Christian Cifuentes (Gilberto’s son), and 4 other family friends with significant hiking experience. In all truth, however, the poor saps could not imagine what was lying ahead of them.

I awoke that morning feeling not quite recovered from the saga of vomiting and defecating that had haunted night two days prior. Despite my groggy nausea, I knew that I would kick myself later if I allowed myself to go back to bed. And so, I sat on the bus to Imbabura (monster of a mountain) with the window open at my neighbor’s expense. I’m pretty sure everybody hated me by the end of that ride, seeing that I was sweltering in my tee-shirt while my bundled up companeros muttered under their breath about the frigid breeze.

I did not make it all the way Mount Imbabura. I’d like to take this opportunity to blame my fragil and debilitated state for this unforgivable embarassment. I’d also like to point out that Imbabura boasts a 4,600 meter peak, which at that altitude can literally take your breath away. The first hour and a half or so was painful, but not excruciating. However, once you pass the midpoint (which we did after about 2 hours), things become a lot less pleasant.

The altitude is enough to make you gasp for breath after a minute’s worth of climbing. What’s more, it get’s frigid and windy enough to chap your cheeks scarlet. This day was particularly unpleasant because it was drizzling the whole way up. Once we got 3/4 of the way there, though, the drizzle became a shower. Fog hovered over us like a fat, school bully laughing at our misery. Though we were over 4,000 meters above sea level, the thick mist prevented us from seeing anything 10 feet beyond the last cliff.

It was at about 4,400 meters (just 200m shy of the final summit) when I called it quits. I was having no fun at all, and I was pretty sure that my face was frost bitten. And so, the very nice and very lovely Max (Gilberto’s daughter’s husband) led me down the mountian. We made it in record time, probably because I was so elated not to be ascending any higher.

Down at the bottom of the mountain, I considered for a minute regretting my decision. But when three of our friends didn’t show up hours later, I reconsidered. It turned out that three volunteers had made a wrong turn on the way down the mountain. While the rest of us watied in confusion, Juan and Christian circled the roads surrounding the mountain in a desparate attempt to find them. When they still hadn’t appeared by nearly 3 in the afternoon, part of the group decided to go home, while the experienced hikers remained in order to start a search party.

The volunteers ended up missing for over 24 hours. I later found out that they went down the wrong side of the mountain, and ended up in the forest. Sleeping under the shelter of a few large rocks, Gage, Jocelyn and Angela remained calm. They were found around 1pm the next afternoon, but by that time panic had already proliferated through the hostel.

For the fact that Gage, Angela and Jocelyn are alive and well, safe and sound, we are all incredibly grateful. Grateful as well we are for the people who spent the entire night searching tirelessly, without food or rest, so that they could bring our friends home safe. Juan, Christian, Pablo, The Red Cross, and the National Police of Ecuador spent countless hours without sleep for our friends. And now the only thing left to do is cherish their safety and remember our own.

dance floor packed

On the path to the waterfall

At the waterfall

PAIN

Lying in my bed with eyes half open (so please excuse any spelling mistakes that I don’t catch). Last night was the most physically painful night of my life (that I can vividly remember. I suppose, however, that physical pain is no match for emotional pain, and so I could have bigger problems.

It all started at about 8pm last night. I had a big dinner and was starting to feel nauseous. Things quickly took a turn for the worse as I grew weaker and queezier, barely able to propel myself up the stairs. So when I got to my room, I immediately went to the bathroom and there I threw up little by little about eight times. When I thought I was all through, I went to bed, still wreathing in pain, and cold as ice. The three or four layers of blankets on my bed were not doing their job because I had chills like I’ve never had before. Without warning, I felt something shooting up my esophagus. I darted to the bathroom and barely made it in time. The second wave of vomit was so large and unexpected that I couldn’t manage to keep it all in the toilet. I slinked back to my bed feeling freezing, dehydrated, and throbbing all over.

It’s nearly 7pm now, and this is the first time I have the strength to sit up and use the internet. Since I barely slept a wink last night, I have been lying down in bed all day, fading in and out. It’s about dinner time now. I am planning on having some soup, since food hasn’t appealed to me enough to eat anything yet.

The view from the top of the bridge before bungee jumping

The view from underneath the bridge

Hump Day

Frustrating day today. I was just tired. Sometimes you just don’t feel like teaching but you have to do the best you can. And then, when it’s all said and done, you feel like you could have done better, like you could have been more energetic, or you could have thought of more creative and fun ways to teach the material.

In any case, I did the best I could, and the kids are DEFINITELY learning. We’ll see how they do on the mini quiz I’m giving tomorrow. To see who is willing to study, I’m giving them a vocabulary quiz that requires rote memorization. They will either know it or they won’t (but I hope it’s the former!).

At a salsa club in Ban~os

Showing Jake a thing or two on the dance floor

BASKETBAAAAALLLLL

Basketball, more than anything, makes me go crazy. At one point in my life, I could securely call myself a basketball fanatic. To do this day, when I step out onto the court, I become another person. It’s as if Amber Wantman’s basketball-playing alter ego is on a mission to avenge every wrong that has ever been done to the real Amber, and she will claim her vengeance through basketball.

So when Don Gilberto proposed that we form a basketball team last week, I of course was first on board. A few days ago, Gage (Swat class of 2011), Don G and I all went to El Coliseo (“colisseum,” sports complex) to find the guy and challenge him to an old fashioned showdown. Well, my patient readers, ask and you shall receive.

The basketball game was a lot more of a challenge than we had expected. Strolling into the court, our group of 5 and one half girls (the half being yesterday afternoon’s casualty, a sprained ankle during pregrame practice to be more specific) were expecting to see a group of 4 foot 6 inch girls that couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn.

What we got, however, was a group of 5 footers (some taller) from the age of 13 to 15, that could sprint like mini mopeds. Our group, having the altitude to our disadvantage, was panting by the third minute of the first quarter (running time). What was worse, the girls scored the first three unanswered baskets on us because our defense was so discombobulated. Though I went over the positions of a two-three zone before the game, some of our girls were still confused as to when and on what side to set up defense.

So Coach Amber’s failings aside, I was extremely pleased with the game in general. In fact, if the refs hadn’t been so one-sided, and had our three point shooter not been encouraged to keep taking shots (despite not being square to the basket and heaving from three feet outside of the line), I am confident that we would have one our game.

And so as the clocked ticked away the seconds of the fourth quarter, our girls went nose to nose with the 14 year-old Otavalans. Their three point shooter would make an occasional three, and their post players would finess their way to a layup. But as our untrained yet extremely athletic team began to catch onto their plays, we stole passes and converted some layups.

In the final minutes of the game, we found ourselves down by four only to be greeted by a full court press. Breaking it with haphazard cross court passes, we motored up the court, and hit a shot off the board. As the Otavalans came back down our end of the court, I stole a pass and headed up the court to tie the game. Crossing past two girls, a benevolent force of some kind endowed me with super speed, and propelled me to the basket to make a left-handed layup. As the final seconds ticked down, we all thought we had achieved greatness. But in a fit of casual apathy (and exhaustion), we let an Otavalan jack a three pointer. To our dismay, the missle bammed off the backboard and swished down the net.

Though it was a crazy way to lose, it somehow made sense that after all of the illegitimate refereeing–the respective lack and excess of fouls called for us and the Ecuadorian girls, as well as the failure to call travel or charge or even out of bounds properly–a backboard three point shot by a girl who had been missing all game would prove to be the icing on the cake of an absolutely wild night of basketball.

To be Continued… (I have heard that next Tuesday is Rematch Day)

Amazing Day

Today was the first time I had a class of kids to myself. In reality, however, 5 kids is quite a small “class,” but I certainly felt like a teacher. From 2:45pm on, I taught two 90 minute classes, with recess in between each class. First I taught the kids translations of verbs, and then we conjugated them. I also played a game on the board where I wrote vocabulary in English, and then divided the class into two teams. One representative from each team would face off wherein the first student who slapped his pencil onto the word I called out would win. When I was in high school learning Spanish, we used to play this game with fly-swatters or yard sticks, but here in Otavalo we work with what we have.

Later on we went outside to play “Simon Says.” We practiced verbs, using commands like “run,” and “play,” wherein the kids had to act out or mime the verbs I called out. We made believe, for example, that we were jumping rope or shooting a basketball when I called out “Play!” For “read,” I had the kids unfold their hands like they were opening a book.

Teaching is certainly draining. I have realized that I tend to personalize a lot of events in my life, and so for example, if a kid does not understand something, or is not catching on as quickly, I feel bad out it, and obligate myself to impart the knowledge unto him. Yet sometimes as hard as I try to compel certain kids to learn, they just don’t get it as well as I want them to. I know that there is only so much I can do in a 90 minute class when I have to cover what seems at times like an unreasonable amount of material… And so I have to constantly remind myself that it’s not my fault that some kids are just slower than others, or perhaps some kids have been given better foundations than others, and I can’t control that. Furthermore, it’s impossible for every kid to get a scholarship, and as hard as I try, there will always be people who just don’t clear the bar.

On a positive note, when I teach the advanced kids I am totally refreshed. They are like sea sponges that just suck up knowledge and love the taste. When I teach someone a new concept and they understand it, but even better, enjoy it, I feel like I am doing something great.

Jake and I at the hostal in Ban~os

store fronts with mountains in the background

Castles in the distance

Raging Rapids

Weekend in Ban~os

Bungee jumping. Amazing. Hot springs were not what we expected, but an open mind is a happy mind.

The weekend in Banos (pronounced Banyos in Spanish) started off with at 3 in the morning with a 5 hour car ride. Having went to bed at 11pm, I was not so chipper at 2:55 when Juancho knocked on my door and told me that we were leaving. Groggy car rides aside, I arrived at Banos feeling more or less refreshed.

After a delightful breakfast of soft “pan integral” (wheat bread) and cheese from Holland, the volunteers, Juan and Anita decided that it was time for a dip in the real ban~os (the hot springs). When we got there, however, we were surprised to find out that the ban~os didn’t exactly match our expectations.

So when I thought of Hot Springs, I imagined going on a beautiful hike and stopping to take a dip in a bubbling gust of water that was spurting from in between a crack in the ground. What we found, however was 4 pools that were simply next to the waterfall, wherein the water was diverted from said spring. The only turnoff was that people were crammed into the pools like sardines in an aluminum can. I lied. Another turnoff was that the hot pool was made of cement the color of rust, and so the warm water inside had a distinctive yellow color.

In all seriousness though, the hot springs were an experience I would not want to forget. Jumping from the freezing pool to the boiling pool was one of the most exhilarating, body-shocking activities I’ve done in a while. And what’s more, learning to make the best of experiences that don’t meet your expectations definitely builds character.

Bungee Jumping Day 2

Day 2 started off with a tour of “Las Cascadas,” or the waterfalls around Banos. Beautiful doesn’t even begin to describe the sights.

More memorable however, was the insane adrenaline rush of falling off a cliff. This was the experience created by bungeeing backwards into the open sky. Of course no one had to go backwards. In fact, I was the only one who chose to do so out of the volunteers that jumped. After we were all harnessed up, the bungee jumpers climbed onto a tiny platform that extended out over a bridge. As we climbed up there, we could see the soaring ocean rapids, seemingly hundreds of thousands of feet below us, as well as the distant mountain peaks, which were miraculously at eye level. I, however, would not let myself look at the sights for long while up on the platform. I simply turned around, faced the man who counted down my departure, and impelled myself to inch my heels off of that platform.

Before I knew it, I had lost balance and felt like I was on a trust fall where no one was going to catch me. The sheer terror on my face has been captured in several unflattering pictures (coming soon), and I know that my scream was the kind of horror that was uncontrollably hell raising.

The waterfall was diverted into pools of different temperatures

sardines

The waterfall was diverted into pools of different temperatures

sardines

The waterfall was diverted into pools of different temperatures

sardines

The waterfall was diverted into pools of different temperatures

sardines

The waterfall was diverted into pools of different temperatures

sardines

New Sheets (woot woot.)

Friday Morning

*Bedbugs gone!* Sheets have been changed. Itchyness already dissipating. (Heyoooh!)

If you need anything (si tienes cualquier duda), the family at the Hostel will gladly take care of you. Nancy, Gilberto’s adoptive daughter, cooks all of our delicious meals here in Otavalo (last night was pastel de chocolate!!! SO GOOD), but is also here to answer our questions, calm any of our doubts, or unclog our toilets and change our sheets if necessary.

One day, I plan to wake up at 4:30 in the morning, like Nancy does, and go running. She is such an admirable woman (I know how that sentence sounds, but it’s true). A day in the life of Nancy would include waking up at 4:30am, leaving to run at 5, and returning around 6. From 6 on she would prepare breakfast for 13 volunteers, and anywhere between 5 and 10 family/staff members. She will blend juice from fresh fruit, boil and chill water to keep the supply up, cook eggs 3 different ways according to how the volunteers like them, and I don’t know at all when she has time to rest. Nancy cooks all of our meals, and is in charge of fixing up our rooms if need be, so I believe she will get off of work around 8:30 or 9 (depending on when the dishes from dinner are done). She told me that she goes to bed around midnight, and doesn’t believe that getting more than 5 hours of sleep per night is necessary or even healthy, and so 15 year-old Nancy (who looks older than she is and acts older than she looks) is the most hard-working girl I have ever had the pleasure of knowing.

Teaching Day 2

Thursday was a tough day. Yesterday I brought up the idea that it would be better to split our students up into two groups with 2 teachers each rather than have one larger class with a lead teacher and three helpers. Except for a couple doubts, most seemed to agree (including Anita, the full time tutor and summer educational adviser).

English went well. (I actually taught an alternative class today, because we separated the younger kids from the main bunch). Q and Francine, however (the English teachers), thought that things went SO much better with smaller separate classes.

Yet there is an organization problem that still needs fixing for Tuesdays and Thursdays when we have to teach computation. …

Update 7/15/09 Wednesday

Yesterday we decided to forgo computation for now. While we realize that it’s really important to teach the kids how to use a computer (after all, this is one of the most relevant skills they can learn in the modern world), we also feel that it’s necessary to seize each and every second we have with our students in order to prepare them for their English and math tests that they take every week. The fact of the matter is that computation is not included in these tests, and the kids need 80% correct in order to be granted a scholarship, and so the kids that need more time and attention when it comes to understanding math and English are missing an hour each week of English and math. The way things are now (one computer for every 10 kids), we see computation as more of a disservice than a service to the class.

The Solution

Those students who score an average of 80% or higher on their tests (los becados) will come to the hostel the week after their final class. Here, they will receive one-on-one attention with a volunteer and a computer. What could be better than that? (I can think of a few things, but this solution is good while we have limited computers).

FLEES (pulgas)

Today is Thursday morning at 7:30am. I have bedbugs. No, not kidding. Well, technically I think they’re flees. Oh well, just going to have to hope they haven’t invaded my enitre set of clothing, and have only sabotaged my sheets because I don’t think we can actually wash all of the blankets. So my mission today (aside from teaching English in Mojanda and advancing with the permanent school project) is to get new sheets.