I won’t lie to you (or myself) and pretend
that I have the same kind of stamina I had in college. Staying at a bar until closing or pulling an
all-nighter sounds completely unappealing to me. I mean, I am almost 25 here, what can you
really expect? Just when I thought those
days were behind me, I moved to Ecuador.
This country has other plans for me.
A few examples of how I need to step up my game to match the
Ecua-endurance I have been encountering:
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| Kiki, myself, and fellow PCV Sarah at our party |
The first was a party held at my house here
in Galera. The party was a Despedida/Bienvenida; the “bienvenida” was to welcome me to my new
home, and the “despedida” was to say
goodbye to the volunteer, Kiki, who I have replaced. The whole town was invited, and Kiki and I
made signs to hang at the bus stop so that everyone would know about it. The party was advertised to start at 9pm, so
that should have been my first clue. People started showing up around 10pm,
when the music started. Drinking
commenced, followed by dancing, followed by “dinner” served at 2am, and cake
served at 4 am. The party ended around
6, when the music stopped. Might I add, the people left until the end of the
party were not youthful teens and twenty-somes, there were middle-aged parents,
grandparents, and kids as well. I took a
two hour nap until I heard the music starting up somewhere else in the
neighborhood.
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| The Mariachi Mujeres of Galera |
My second story is about the seemingly
benign holiday we had last weekend: Mother’s Day. Día de las
Madres. In
the US, at least for my family, Mother’s Day is fairly quiet. Taking Mom out to lunch, maybe a movie,
giving a small gift or sending flowers… Appreciative but simple. Surprise! This is not how it’s done in
Ecuador. I had told my host sister who
is a member of Galera’s women’s group that I would help the ladies with the
town fiesta that was happening. On
Saturday night, I was hanging out my window and talking on the phone (better
reception that way!), when my sister, Monica, walked by and invited me to a
meeting at 10pm to talk about the festivities.
It was already 9, so obviously I was already showered and in my
PJs. I agreed to go, even though I was
already tired, so at 10pm I put jeans on and walked over to the president’s
house. Conveniently, the president of
the Junta Parroquial (who is my
official counterpart in town) is married to the president of the women’s
group. Talk about a power couple!! So Monica had me writing down the names of
several women in our town and the surrounding towns which belong to our parish,
or parroquia (might I also mention
that for extra fun, the power went out for about 30 minutes, so I was writing
by the light of my phone and moths were dive-bombing at my face and hands). Meanwhile, the four ladies in attendance
changed into mariachi costumes, I assumed to practice for some sort of
performance at the fiesta the next day.
Imagine my surprise when, at 11:15, Monica said “¡Vamos Daniela!” (actually, she said “bamo”, on account of that endearing coastal
accent) and I asked “¿Vamos… Adónde?”
I have learned that you should ask an Ecuadorian where they are taking
you and how long you will be gone; otherwise a “walk on the beach” results in a
3 hour octopus hunt and a very sunburned gringa. I’m not sure whether they just don’t tell you
because they think you won’t understand, or if they assume you already know, or
if they believe you don’t have any other plans you need to get back for. Always better to ask. So in response to my question, Monica just
said “Estero,” and walked down the
stairs. She was referring to Estero del
Plátano, another small town about 15 minutes
away. Without further explanation, I was
led to my counterpart’s Land Cruiser where he and some of the local guys were
installing some huge speakers in the back, connected to some power source which
I’m pretty sure was at one time a boat motor, or part thereof. When the speakers were hooked up, we piled in
the car- all 12 of us- and headed out. I
was so tired I started to doze in the front seat, but I was sitting in the lap
of a stranger so I tried to keep it together a little bit. Estero del Plátano came and went, and we were still driving. I decided not to ask, as it would have
absolutely no effect on our destination.
So we drove on, to a town called Quingue. Quingue has a party reputation; as my host
mom
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| My host mom and sister, one of the mariachis |
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| A lively round of musical chairs! |
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| At the Mother's Day fiesta in Galera |
says, they are a bunch of borrachos
(drunks). So when we pulled up to a bar,
I wasn’t entirely surprised. I figured
out that the ladies’ mission was to serenade the moms in our parroquia for Mother’s Day, and we were
in Quingue to surprise one of their mothers at this bar (Quingue, by the way,
is NOT in our parroquia). So they sang a song, the mom was
surprised/moved, and we squeezed back into the car. Next stop, Estero. We pulled up in front of a few ladies’ houses
outside of town (it’s almost 1am at this time), hook up the speakers to two
microphones, and the mariachis woke these poor women up to sing to them. I thought that was it, we would head back to
Galera, and I would sleep. Boy, am I dumb.
We made several more stops in Estero, each time piling out of the car,
the ladies sang a song or two, then we piled back into the car (did I mention
it was raining?) and drove on to the next stop.
Eventually we made it back to Galera, where we hit up pretty much every
woman’s house to do repeat performances. I just tried to imagine how my mom and
other mothers I know in the US would have reacted to being awoken in the wee
hours to be serenaded. Maybe I’ll try it
for Mother’s Day 2014?? Anyway, we
finished around 5am, just as the roosters were cockadoodledoo-ing. I got to sleep for a few hours before the
neighborhood music started up and my host mom was knocking on my door. I opened up and wished her a happy mother’s
day. Her response: “¿Estás chuchaqui (hungover)?” Nope, just sleepy! She laughed, and told me to head
back to the presidents’ house because the ladies needed my assistance in
tracing and cutting out 150 foam hearts for the fiesta. They, of course, had
been up and bathed and had bathed and fed all of their children.. Where do they
find the time?? So I do the hearts, head home for an omelette and a shower,
then over to the cancha (soccer
field) in the middle of town to start set up for the fiesta. My host brothers were sitting around drinking
while I was eating lunch, and one (who had been in the mariachi entourage the
previous night) asked if I had slept yet.
I said “Sí, un
poquito. ¿Y usted?” He
said he had not, yet there he was drinking and laughing, not showing any sign
of lethargy.. Did I mention that he had spent the whole day before working his
construction job? Also he’s in his mid-30s, so obviously I felt like a gigantic
wuss right about then. So I went to the
fiesta where all the mothers received a foam heart, courtesy of yours truly,
with a number on the back that made them eligible for a raffle. There was music, dancing, some games, and
even snacks! The mariachis performed again (in case anyone was able to sleep
through the serenade the night before), and I called it a night around 8pm so
that I could talk to my own mother back in the US. Through the phone, she could clearly hear the
music playing out on the cancha. I can’t tell you what time the party actually
ended, but despite the music blaring, I was finally able to fall asleep around
10pm.
And so now I know why it’s nearly
impossible to find energy drinks or decent coffee in Ecuador.. the Ecuas don’t
need the caffeine! They have some sort of internal mechanism that keeps them
from getting tired when there is fun to be had.
When there isn’t fun to be had, you will find the majority of the town
sleeping in hammocks. Moral of the
story: Being a well-integrated volunteer requires that I tap into my
inner-college freshman and remind myself how to function with sleep
deprivation.
