Carnaval!

It is Carnaval season here in South America and Monday and Tuesday of this week have actually been national holidays so there has been no school. Though there is no Rio-style celebrating here, they have been ‘celebrating’ for over a week now. For the first few days we were in Otavalo, far as we could tell, celebrating mostly consisted of water fights with your friends and foaming each other with giant cans of what looks like shaving cream. It seemed a bit odd but harmless enough.

As the week wore on however, these cans of foam appeared for sale on every street corner, throughout the market, and in every tienda. People with water balloons were now showing up on street corners launching unprovoked water bomb attacks at cars and passer-bys alike. Thursday Troy was foamed in the crotch on the street by a random five year old and on Friday Erin (a fellow volunteer) and I were targeted from across the street and were literally chased down the street by kids with water balloons.

At first we found this a bit odd that it was perfectly acceptable to launch attacks on friends and strangers alike, however we were forced to accept this as the norm. By the weekend, we were leaving the house only when necessary and felt like secret agents, ducking in and out of buildings and under canopies, keeping our eyes scanning doorways, storefronts, and the all too often forgotten rooftops, for people with the dreaded water weapons which by now had increased to water guns of various sizes, buckets, and even the odd hose. Troy’s arm hanging out of an open window of a moving shuttle was invitation enough for a sharp shooting bucket wielder on a rooftop and won Troy a soaking wet lap on Sunday afternoon.
On Monday a group of us decided that if we can’t beat ’em, we might as well join ’em. Erin, Kate, Aviv, Elysia, George and I headed out to the Peguche Waterfall which was promised to be the location of the water fight to beat all water fights. We went armed. With water guns and cans of foam in hand, we set out to meet our fate. Half the fun/challenge was actually getting to the site. This required about a half hour walk along part road, part path, part abandoned railway tracks, along which we were water bombed and foamed from the backs of pickup trucks, kids with buckets and various water carrying implements lining the road, and others also on their way to the falls. Since we came with limited ammo, our attacks were all purely defensive. No need to waste our precious resources instigating fights. We worked as a team and when one of us was attacked, we would respond mercilessly in defence which usually involved foaming, aimed strategically at the face of the attacker, and fleeing in the opposite direction.
When we arrived at the scene of the actual action, it was no holds barred! We couldn’t help but notice that the fact that we were gringos and, for the most part of the female variety, made us particularly appealing targets. At one point people lined the path with buckets, scooping up water from the river and dousing everyone who dared pass. We knew what we were in for but couldn’t turn back now so we bravely marched on. It was at this point that we heard the fateful words “Touristas!”. As all the bucket wielders turned their attention on us, it was all over…
Once soaking wet and foamy from head to toe it only seems fitting that people should start adding flour to the mix, right? Right. Kind of like a tar and feathering I guess. To add insult to injury, a nice doughy mass was created in my hair from the mixture of water, foam, and yes flour.
And of course I can’t sign off without mentioning food… We emerged from the battle grounds into the welcoming aromas of the local vendors eager to fill our cold bellies. I started off with some warm blackberry colada (being soaking wet from head to toe is a little chilly after all) and a cheese empanada, followed by a grilled corn on the cob on a stick brushed with butter and rolled in powdery cheesey goodness. To top it all off, I went for some fried potato balls of goodness and some bbq’d ’meat’, all served gourmet-style in a plastic baggy (as is the norm for street food around here) with a spoon.
It is now Wednesday and all signs of Carnaval have magically disappeared from the streets. It’s a little eerie, the calm that has followed the madness. We can once again walk confidently down the streets. I think I will miss feeling like a secret agent, just a little.

Fuya Fuya

On our quest to eventually summit the snow capped volcanoes of Cotacachi and Cotopaxi, at altitudes of about 5800m, Sunday we began the process of working our way up. We pulled together a group of ten and, together with our guide Claudio, hiked up Fuya Fuya Mountain with its peak at an altitude of about 4200m. Unfortunately the view from the top was cloudy to say the least but we all felt great and look forward to the next step up!

Bienvenido a Larcacunga

While we are based in Otavalo, I will be working as a GVI intern in the small community of Larcacunga. Some of the volunteers also assigned to Larcacunga will be consistent throughout my placement while others will come and go. My role as intern is to support the volunteers in any way necessary, helping them with lesson plans, coordinating and communicating between the teachers, the volunteers, and the GVI program director, inducting new volunteers into the program, and generally providing support for the Larcacunga volunteers.

There are currently myself and five volunteers assigned to Larcacunga. The Larcacunga school is a national school with a school director and one teacher. There are apparently 44 or so kids on the roster, though this week we maxed out at about 34. Chicken pox is apparently a factor. The kids are aged 4 to 12 in grades one through seven. There are about 3 first graders, 8 second graders, 8 third graders, 8 fourth graders, 6 fifth graders, 2 sixth graders, and 8 seventh graders. There are two classrooms located in separate buildings. Grades 1 thru 3 share a classroom, and grades 4 thru 7 share a classroom. Our volunteers plan and deliver lessons each day to the first, second, and third graders while the teacher, Senorita Nancy, teaches the older grades. The director, Senorita Lucilla, floats between them all.

We (GVI) have only just recently re-entered this school and the teacher was also only recently hired so until about a month ago, the director was teaching all of the grades herself. This boggles my mind and as I was helping the seventh graders with long division on Tuesday, I tried to wrap my head around the fact that they had actually learned something like long division with only a seventh of the teachers attention on a daily basis.

A typical day puts me on a local bus at about 7am. The ride is about 20 minutes and takes me just outside the City to 4 Esquinas (the 4 corners). This is literally the end of the line where the bus turns around to head back into town and is located at the intersection of four dirt roads. From here, we walk for about a half an hour up one of the dirt roads (and I do mean up!) to get to school. Along the way, we pass lots of locals on their way down to either attend school in town or go to work or to the market or wherever. In this rural area, the folks are very friendly and we are always greeted with a Buenas Dias, as was the case in Guatemala, however here they say it one time for every person they meet! It is adorable. Some of the kids also want to shake all of our hands, and on one occasion a group of little boys gave us flowers. Too cute. This week, we had torrential rains for three of the five days and the climb was basically slugging through mud. I am enjoying the daily forced exercise routine though! On the one clear day we did have, the views were amazing and actually getting to see the lush green surroundings and the volcanoes and the valleys that surround the school was beautiful!

We, and the children from the surrounding ’acreages’ as I call them, arrive to school at about 8am. They are then served a drink of colada which kind of looks like warm milk only with a lot of sugar and sometimes some oatmeal in it. Classes get going at about 8:30 and run until 10:30, at which point lunch is served. The local moms take turns coming to school to prepare the lunch meal. The government supplies (usually, and especially now as it is election time) some staples such as rice and sugar and on occasion other interesting things like canned meatballs (??) and sardines (mmm mmm). GVI supplements the government food program, through the donations of the volunteers, with meat twice a week, lentils and fresh fruit and veg daily. On Monday afternoons we do a big shop for the week’s food at the outdoor market in Otavalo and on Tuesday mornings we ride up to school in the back of a pickup truck with all the groceries. Unfortunately it was raining this Tuesday morning…

Recreo after lunch lasts for about a half hour during which chasing the kids around is usually a big hit, not to mention nature walks which usually culminate with bouquets of flowers to be displayed proudly. Classes wrap up for the day at 1pm and we send the kids home with full bellies and a piece of fruit for the road.

The walk back down to Otavalo is again filled with greetings from the few people we pass. But this time it is “Buenas Tardes”.

No bodily functions stories, just thought I´d share a day in the life. Buenas Tardes :)

Just above the Equator

We have been in Ecuador for one week now and have been learning the ropes and the ins and outs associated with not only being in a new City but also a new country, now in South America. From the currency and food, to the language and the expressions, to the clothes and the constantly changing weather, not to mention the internet access (or lack of Wifi anyway), it is all new! It has been fun getting to know a new place and meeting the group here with which we will be working for the next while.

Dudes are dudes!

I learnt a valuable lesson today in school and that lesson is that dudes are dudes. No matter what country your in, what the age group and no matter the culture you have been raised in, dudes are dudes. I know this because today in front of a group of 4 boys at the school, I dropped an eraser on the floor, turned around, bent over and dropped a huge fake fart. Well these kids were in stitches and for the next 10 minutes, myself and another male volunteer (Aaron from Colorado and yes he is a Bronco fan), had a great time as we, along with the 4 aforementioned boys, had a great game of fake farting (may have been 1 or 2 real ones in there somewhere but who´s counting) and couldn´t stop laughing. As I said, dudes are dudes. Anyways, it was a great way to end the week of school. And just so you know, the kids here call a fart a soupi. If your a dude, no matter how old you are a "soupi" is still funny as all get out.


Farn

talk to you later and if for some reason this happens to be my last blog, it has been fun.

have a HEART day

We spent four beautiful, relaxing, sunny days in El Remate; a sleepy little town on Lago Peten Itza in northern Guatemala. Actually Troy spent four days relaxing, reading, and writing and I spent three days discovering that relaxing is an art I haven't altogether mastered, and one day relaxing, reading, writing, and lying in the sun, evaluating the progress I had made. We arrived in Quito, Ecuador yesterday afternoon and met up with six GVI volunteers and the Ecuador project manager. Troy and I will be shuttled off to Otavalo this afternoon. We look forward to learning more about our role here and exploring what will be our new surroundings.

Hope you all get to squeeze the one that has your heart today.

What we didn't say.

We are on our last day of "vacation" in El Remate and have loved our relaxing time here. It has given us time to talk and really reflect about our experience so far. We have thought about our blog and what we have shared with you all to date. We have blogged about our weekends (and don't get me wrong, they have all been great), we have blogged about food (and don't get me wrong it has all been great), and about the fun times we have had with the people we have met (and don't get me wrong they have all been great). You see, words come easy to describe these types of experiences.

On the other hand, we have found it difficult to describe and express our day to day surroundings in the small community we came to know, the experiences we shared by being a part of it, and the impact it had on us without somehow sounding inappropriately shocked or disrespectful toward the way of life we would describe. It is difficult to strike the balance between wanting to share our experiences with the world and wanting to respect the privacy and dignity of those we cross paths with. I find the people here amazing, well weathered by their way of like and am often tempted to try and capture in pictures what I see as simple and beautiful. And while taking photographs would speak volumes, we have hesitated to do so outside the school as I can only imagine my reaction if someone felt it a novelty to come to my hometown and photograph my life. However, in trying not to cross boundaries, I believe that it is in not expressing these things that we have erred on the side of conservative., highlighting our weekend adventures and not quite sure how to put into words the rest.

What we have not blogged about is the conditions we have seen here, the personal stories that have pulled our heartstrings, and the simple lives and displays of strength that we have witnessed, specifically in the people and the children of Itzapa.

Though we only scratched the surface of getting to know the kids, getting a glimpse of what it means to grow up in rural Guatemala has been eye opening to say the least. Funny how what is initially shocking becomes accepted as the norm once a significant amount of time is spent getting to know a place. We have not written about the houses that the children live in, often a few sheets of plywood or concrete block walls built up around a dirt floor and tin roof shared with extended family and livestock alike, or about the distances some of the rural children walk to school each day. We have not written about the racism experienced by indigenous people which, in some cases, results in refused entry to public school. We have not written of the family situations we have been made aware of, only to say that these kids are tough. Nor have we written of the malnutrition we have witnessed and what that does to the children’s skin and faces, only to say that they are light and easy to throw into the air. We have not written about the way that some of the children don’t eat their snack so that they can take it home for their moms, only to say that for some it could be their most substantial meal of the day. We have not written of the young kids we passed each day, machetes in hands, following behind their livestock on the way out to the fields, set to put in a days work. Nor have we spoken about the sanitation, or lack thereof, the streets ripe with the smell of refuse and supporting the stray dog population.

And yet, in the face of all these obstacles, I think the kids we met here continue to show up for GVI school incredibly early each day, because they get to be kids and the people there make them smile. Simple enough. Sure, there are the incentives that encourage the parents to send the kids to this ’extra’ school over and above national school, like the food and fertilizer programs in place, but I like to think that it is the opportunity to check their responsibilities at the door and be a kid that keeps them showing up early and eager.

Helping increase the odds of academic success, giving these kids a chance to laugh and smile and letting kids be kids. For that we count our time in Itzapa as time well spent and are proud to have been a part (no matter how small) of positive change.

We have not written about these things as it is these realities that are difficult to put into words. It is difficult to do justice to and pay adequate tribute to those who, without even knowing it, inspire us to truly appreciate the things with which we have been blessed.

We will keep this letter received by one of our students as a reminder that even the seemingly small things just might matter to someone:

"Profe Troy and Seno Nicole,
Thank you for coming here and teaching me, you have tought me a lot. It has been fun to be in your class and I enjoyed when you would sing and dance in class. I am sorry for the times that I didn't pay attention to you. I hope that you and Nicole return soon and when you do, my families home and my arms will be open for the both of you. Safe travels and may god light the way on your remaining journey."