Eight Months, Twelve Hours

Reading: Absalom, Absalom! by William Faulkner

Sobralia rosea

Many of us who join Peace Corps immediately after graduating from college can quickly point out the similarities of the life style of a PCV and college student. There is a close-knit community between PCVs, much like students on a college campus. More so, we have a lingering sense of the fleeting nature of our time here as we are shuffled in and out of our host country in omnibuses that bear resemblance to graduating classes. And like every good college student, when PCVs find themselves in the final lap of their service, they are faced with the overwhelming feelings of “senioritis” juxtaposed with wistfulness.

After successfully sending Mary Rae off to the states, I was able to spend the afternoon with another PCV friend of mine. We leisurely chatted about the only topics we know how to talk about while in the Peace Corps: things we miss from the states, frustrations with our community, and PC gossip. Somewhere in the conversation, it really started to hit me – I only have eight months in this country. Granted, eight months sounds like a really long time. However, it is very little compared to the 27 months with which I started. Even more, it is a whole four months less then the year that I have been repeatedly telling everyone that I have left here in Ecuador. And, it is one month away from the ¾ mark of my service. Meaning: Omnibus 105, we have officially made it to our “senior year.”

Travel Updates

Reading: How We Are Hungry by Dave Eggers

What do you do when a friend from the states visits and you have some vacation days to use? Explore all of Ecuador!

So far this has included:

Hiking the rim of Quilotoa

Inti Raymi

Reading: The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao by Junot Díaz

Andean flute players, Cotacachi

When you google image search “Ecuador,” the first picture that pop up aside from the maps is an idyllic scene of an indigenous market. The second – traditionally dressed indigenous children riding a llama. It’s a justifiable assumption that first thought to come to mind when one thinks of Ecuador is a picturesque Andean scene, with snowcapped volcanoes and high-cheeked, fedora-wearing people (the general American population does not remember that Ecuador is home to the Galapagos). To be fair, it is a rational supposition, given that a third of the country could more or less be accurately described as so.

One of the perks of being in the Peace Corps is that, as a volunteer, we are often placed in the less known and less visited (and consequently, less idealized) parts of the country. That is to say, neither Chimbo nor Paccha fit the above description. Which is probably why neither make it on the typical “backpacker’s map.” Justified for the former and a shame for the latter.

Opt. Dup Zuck

Reading: Drift: the Unmooring of American Military Power by Rachel Maddow

My very sparse sala

It often feels like every month is a celebration of something. In the States, we love to dub whole months in honor of groups, ideas, or causes. Here in Ecuador, we love to commemorate children, mothers, fathers, founding of towns, founding of churches, founding of foundings. While chatting with my host dad the other evening, he explained to me with a childlike animation how we were now entering the time of fiestas here in Paccha. He then proceeded to list off some sort of celebration in every month, minus the month of April. That is to imply that eleven months of the year Ecuadorians are partying. April sucks.

So in true form, I am going to christen June my personal month of visitors. As I have managed to have someone come visit me in Paccha every weekend in June. That theme will continue into the following week as Mary Rae is coming to pasear three whole weeks on the equator with me. Our party itinerary will include, but is not limited to: Inti Raymi, the Incan fiesta del sol, and a good ol’ ‘Merican Forth of July.

Beyond Sustainability

Reading: Días y Noches de Amor y de Guerra by Eduardo Galeano

One of the hardest situations for many of us Peace Corps volunteers to find ourselves in is explaining that we are not and cannot be the savior with an unending supply of money. The modern day White Man's Burden is not just one of fostering development but combating past missteps of handout aide. It is a situation, for those of use on the ground, that so often involves crushing some one's dreams and hope right before our eyes. More so, it is something that we have become hardened and accustomed to. In fact, many of us interested in development see it as a necessary evil that is simply part of the line of work. And we justify it in the name of sustainability.

But this is not a story of that.

This is a story that beings at site visit with a scared and intimidated volunteer and a child unaware of the harsh realities life had thrown her way.