Diary of a Turno

C558 is a turno. One lucky person sitting in this hot, crowded Ecuadorian migration office is holding a slip of paper with "C558" printed on it. When a loud BEEP interrupts the telenovela blaring on the TV in front, the entire room will inhale and glance at the board, praying it's their turno. Person C558, assuming they haven't lapsed into a coma during the wait, will release a small cry of joy as they proceed to Module 11.

Ecuadorian bureaucracies are something else. I mention it because I feel as though I spend huge amounts of time at their mercy. Since arriving, I have needed to visit at least two of the following per week: post office, migration office, electric company, water company, bank, private mail company, _________ (some unforeseen office, which a well-meaning person will tell me it's urgent I go to without providing adequate physical directions [how to get there] or conceptual directions [what my goal will be when there]).

The picture at left was taken by a friend in Quito's migration office. In addition to getting a visa, registering our passports, attending security briefings, and completing multiple (inconvenient) trips to banks and embassies, we apparently need documentation to prove we're Ecuadorian residents and not tourists. My friend snapped this photo as I realized I was turno C592... still 34 turnos away.... at a rate of 4 turnos per hour. We left.

Swimming: the old, fat, south american chapters

12 year old Kim, who could kick 22 year old Kim's butt

Swimming and coaching are the most recent additions to my Ecualife. Colegio Bolivar is a large high school about a 5 minute walk from my house. They have a beautiful, recently-remodeled 6-lane pool. Marco (my brother/neighbor/best friend) took me to the pool last week. What do you know? There was a club team practicing, and Marco knew the coach. Although I actually intended to swim alone, it was decided that I would practice with the oldest group (ages 12-15) to get some exercise, as well as help coach.

The past few years, I have been fortunate to get my chlorine fix by working/traveling with Denison Swimming + Diving. But I haven't done a "practice" that someone else created or swam in a group setting in a long time. I'm now the out-of-shape old person sharing a lane with teenagers, with little knowledge of Spanish swimming vocabulary. I also lead drills, watch the kids' technique, and try to help. It's pretty much hilarious. Here are some actual excerpts from my first swim practice in 3 1/2 years:

Coach: The first set is butterfly. Kimberly, you're going first.
Me: Oh, hmmmm.... I can't do butterfly. Bad shoulders. It's a perk of retirement.
Coach: The first set is freestyle.
*my lane of 12 year olds cheers*
Coach: No, you all are still doing butterfly. Only Kimberly does freestyle.
*my lane of 12 year olds emit sounds of disapproval*
12 year old: I wish I was old.

Group of 12 year olds whispering in my lane: Do you think she speaks Spanish?
Me: Yes, I speak Spanish.
12 year old: Oh shit. I mean... oh crap. Wait... how did you learn Spanish?
Me: School. I studied hard.
12 year old: Can you help me with my English homework?
Me: I don't speak English. 

That pool I love in Ohio.

*after 6 sets*
Coach: Have you all done 8 sets?
12 year old: Yes, we just finished.
Coach: Kimberly, have you all done 8 sets?
*lane of 12 year olds looks hopefully at me*
Me: Totally.
Coach: OK you're done for the day then.
Me + Lane of 12 year olds: YAY!

Familia & Day in the Park

<-- a favorite pasttime of N + M is to coat my face in makeup designed for 5 year olds (big, chunky glitter, hot-pink hues) before we go out in public.

I like Sundays. Chaos reaches all-time lows, traffic is lighter, and I feel slightly less likely to be mugged on the streets. Often, friends invite me to tag along on their family outings. Togetherness is serious business here; "individualism" is not a godly virtue like it is in the US.  Consequently, the news that I am a young, unmarried woman living ALONE often evokes horror and pity: 

"Pooor Kimberly, living all alone, and not even a mother to cook for you, or a husband to keep you company... poor thing, you will spend Sunday with my family." 

But anyway. I spent a recent Sunday in nearby Parque de la Familia ("Family Park") with my adoptive family.The park is about a 20 minute drive up a nearby mountain. Although Ambato is your average Ecuadorian city-- 99% concrete, super polluted, not-at-all-attractive, and extremely utilitarian-- Parque de la Familia is the exception. It is by far the most beautiful, expansive, public space I've seen anywhere in Ecuador. It's like a little Eden overlooking concrete chaos.

And, not that I ever like to brag about friends, the park was designed by an Ecuadorian Fulbrighter. Victor Hugo Molina did his graduate work in landscape architecture at the University of Arizona. [Fulbright is "bilateral" educational exchange program, which means Ecuadorians also get to study in the U.S. under Fulbright grants.] I met Victor and his wife and children at their home in Ambato a few weeks ago. Besides the best (or maybe just the most american) cup of coffee I've had since arriving, they were delightful company and had great things to say about Arizona's new immigration law. Meeting new and interesting people is my favorite part of living here.

(Above picture: Yes, the treacherous black shadow looming over the park is yet another actively erupting volcano here in the always-pleasant Ecuadorian ring-of-fire. On clear mornings, it's first thing I see upon walking left out of my front gate).

Nighttime View/ Independence

This is the city of Ambato from my apartment, which now features 3 plastic chairs and a string of Christmas lights. I'm making friends. It feels good to have people sit in my chairs.

November 12 was Ambato's independence day. Besides having the day off, I watched a parade (morning) and fireworks (night) from my porch. I've now attended 3 parades in 3 different cities in a span of 9 days, so I consider myself an expert. Ambato's independence parade was a bit weak... mostly high school marching bands and girls with batons. And it only lasted 2 hours-- SO short in Ecuadorian parade time.

Throughout the weekend, there were also free concerts in the open-air theater adjacent to my house. The first night was death metal. The second night was off-key evangelical praise music. I found both rather excruciating-- too much screaming and no dancing at either one. Living next-door to an outdoor theater also makes your stoop a public urinal. And in an extra-fun twist, the city shut off my water for 24 hours with no warning (Viva Ambato!). My neighbors, of course, saw the water thing coming, and laughed when I knocked on their door to ask why I couldn't shower.

Mama Negra Highlights

La Limpieza/ The Cleansing Part 1: These Juacos or witches are praying I am spared from the wrath of nearby Volcano Cotopaxi. If, like me, you've lost all notion of "personal space," it's really quite a nice blessing. Also pretty Catholic, despite the antlers and facepaint.

La Limpieza/ The Cleansing Part 2: This man spit-sprays sugercane alcohol all over me. As the Juacos leave, it's customary to give them change as a sign of gratitude for the cleansing (and presumably to help offset the cost of spraying several thousand people with alcohol).

Here's a brief recap the Mama Negra (literally "Black Mama") festival in Latacunga, which was by far the weirdest Saturday of my life. I also recommend reading Chandra's full account of Saturday's festivities here.

La Mama Negra herself.

As mentioned previously, no one knows exactly where this huge carnival-esque phenomenon originates. My googling and informal interviews indicate that Mama Negra is a combination of things:

- A ritual to ensure Latacunga isn't flattened by Volcano Cotopaxi... again.
- A reenactment of the first time local indigenous people saw Black slaves, who the Spanish brought to work in nearby mines.
- A celebration of the expulsion of the Moors from Spain in 1492.

It's like Carnival meets Where the Wild Things Are.

Mama Negra kicks off with an enormous parade that lasts several hours. Pretty much every man, woman and child in a 100-mile radius marches, plays in a band, dances, or performs as a character. There are lots of men in dresses. And it's interactive-- the crowd does not merely watch, but participates.

Alcohol is central. Everyone in the crowd can expect to receive at least one spontaneous "cleansing" (see my experience above). Characters also approach you and shove bottles of cane alcohol in your face, which means "drink." Turning down alcohol at Mama Negra is considered rude and contrary to the spirit of the festival.

Volcano Cotopaxi

Mama Negra is ambiguously religious. Throughout the parade, men carry these enormous altars with whole roasted pigs, bottles of alcohol, other assorted dead animals... and, a picture of the Virgin Mary.

Mama Negra might be an overtly racist, disgusting interpretation of "blackness." The central spectacle of the parade is the appearance of "Mama Negra" herself-- a white male in blackface and women's clothing, spraying milk onto the crowd from her "breast." Other central characters in the parade include The Moorish King, The White Angel, and some swamp monsters (see photo of me, some fellow Fulbrighters, and a few characters above).

Lenin Moreno, the Vice-President of Ecuador. Sitting in the crowd. Love it.

So, now you know about Mama Negra, kind of. If you found this post hard to follow, and aren't sure what to make of this festival, I'm right there with you.
 

At Least 3 Readers Will Appreciate This

For a seriously good laugh regarding the recent deer-in-campus-commons incident at Denison University (my alma mater), I recommend Betsy Fischer's interview with an eyewitness.

Happy Birthday

To my sister Jenny, who is 20 today, who can make me laugh just by glancing in my direction, who is basically the peanut butter to my jelly, who I want to be when I grow up, and who will hopefully smile upon reading this.

Life-Altering Decisions

There are many huge, complex decisions one must negotiate while building a life in a new culture. The personal and intellectual growth that comes from figuring out who to trust, what to love, and where to go is interesting and important. But that's not what this post is about. Instead, I want to explain instead some of the small, trivial decisions which actually occupy my brain most of the time:

Ordinary view in Ambato

Issue: Long, crowded bus rides.
Options: 1.) Stand. 2.) Sit. But, with the person who didn't get a seat's crotch in your face, trying to inhale shallowly through your mouth, since the crotch in question is radiating a dead-animal-esque odor.

Issue: Laundry.
Options: 1.) Wash by hand in concrete pit. Pros include a bit of exercise, saving $5-$10, and the satisfaction of knowing you are capable of being like all the locals. Cons include the sneaking suspicion that nothing actually gets that clean, a backache, and clothes that (without the heat of a dryer) always fit awkwardly loose. 2.) Take to laundromat. Pros include ease, fresh smells, and the shrinking power of a dryer. Cons include having to carry your laundry several blocks to a laundromat that is only open 1 in every 4 times you go, while locals chuckle at your inability to wash by hand, and the loss of $5-$10 (which will buy several multiple-course meals).

Terrible Brazilian telenovela I was once addicted to.

Issue: Entertainment.
Options: 1.) Purchase a TV, entertain yourself, and submit to the 4 ridiculous telenovela-filled stations since there's no cable hookup in your apartment. 2.) Don't purchase a TV. Perhaps enhance intelligence by reading a book, but lose touch with local/regional news, and- bummer- the internet isn't fast enough to stream video.