Site Day!

So in case I haven’t mentioned it before, let me give a brief breakdown of my life in training right now. So we got here (here being Tumbaco, a suburb outside of the capital of Quito) in the middle of May and are here for the 3 months of training until our swear-in date of August 5^th. From there we go to our sites and then we finally begin our 2 year service. Before we got here, we didn’t know our sites at all. There have been various interviews throughout our training with our Tech Program Manager and Program Training Specialist (the ones who train us on the technical aspect of our service), various presentations and projects to assess our progress, and other interactive components. From these they got a sense of what we have to offer, what we have experience in, our personalities, what motivates or discourages us, our likes and dislikes, etc. They then used this information to help match each one of us (there are 20 in my Community Health program) to the appropriate sites that they spent months collecting information on, visiting beforehand, and establishing relationships with counterparts in various organizations throughout the country who have asked for volunteers, before we even got to this country. Basically, our team has been crazy hard at work just to try to make our service a productive and enjoyable one (as well as to make sure all necessary components are represented well). So when people asked me before I left where I was going or what I would be doing, there was no way the training staff here were able to tell me without getting to know me first and going through this whole process together. And boy am I glad this is how it went down!

 

In the past, sites have not been revealed to the trainees until towards the end of their 3-month training period. I don’t remember what the reasoning was that they gave for this but for our omnibus, they decided to announce our sites to us halfway through in the hopes that we could start mentally preparing sooner, start researching our area more, and be able to focus in more on specific aspects of our training that might apply more to our future service than others (ie focusing more on the activities we learn about with nutrition and not as hard on HIV/AIDS education if our counterpart would rather us conduct cooking classes rather than Sex Ed classes). Makes total sense to me and I think it was a very good move on our training staff’s part!

So, we had a very specific planned Site Day and it was magical! Monday, June 16 felt like Christmas in all the good ways! The energy around the training center that day was so high and everyone was excited, staff and trainees alike. The staff worked so hard to plan such a special day for us and it showed. The beginning of the day was a brief med session and then we met with our PM and PTS in a closed room while the rest of the staff (language facilitators (LCF), overall managers, etc) set up something special for us outside (it as like waiting for an Easter egg hunt; we knew there was a surprise for us but all the blinds and doors had been closed and we weren’t allowed to peek). During this session, our PM explained to us the vigorous process they go through of finding our sites and counterparts, etc. Then after this, we were finally released to go outside and find where our adventure was to start. In the lawn in the back of the center, the staff had set up a diagram of the entire country of Ecuador outlined with flower petals. All 24 provinces were marked with a little sign and there was happy celebratory music playing from the loud speakers. We were all told to line up and as our training manager called our name, she would call out our site too and one of the LCFs would escort us to our region and welcome us to our new home as we stood there and waited to see who our neighbors would be. I was the second name called and I was so excited about everything and still trying to take it all in (as well as still a little confused as to what we were doing) that I heard my province but forgot to listen to what my actual site was. So I stood there in my little province near the top of the country with just a big smile on my face waiting till I could ask where I would specifically be leaving.
 

I am very happy to announce that for the next 2 years, I will be calling El Quinche, Pichincha my home! A few facts about what this means:

 

-       El Quinche is about a 30-40 min bus ride from my house here in Tumbaco. Aka, yup it’s crazy close to my original stomping grounds and I love this! It will make moving and getting acquainted with my new community so much easier! I already know a lot about the culture here in this region of the sierra and am also used to hearing the accent around here.

-       I am close to the airport. One of the concerns I had been thinking about before was if anyone wanted to come visit me or I wanted to travel out, I was worried about making it to the airport and back. But I’m told the airport is just right down the street.

-       El Quinche is a pretty religious area made up of about 17,056 people in population. Like the rest of the country, Catholicism is the primary religion of the area and there is apparently a pretty famous cathedral in the center of the town where people travel from miles around to visit (kind of like a pilgrimage). If my Spanish translates correctly, in the second week of November, more than 800,000 people make the pilgrimage to the sanctuary of the Virgin of El Quinche (a huge statue). They travel during the night and arrive at dawn to the church of El Quinche. On November 21, there is a big party and celebratory mass with processions on the streets of El Quinche. November should be an interesting time!

-       Quinche comes from the Mayan language with “Quin” meaning Sol and “che” meaning Monte or Monte del Sol (translation: mountain of the sun).

-       My counterparts are Dr. Pedro Viteri and Dr. Janeth Nunez and the agency I’ll be serving and collaborating with is the Health Center in El Quinche.

-       From what I am told, my host family is an adorable little family of three: young 30’s couple and their 10 month old baby (who will be almost a year by the time I arrive). My host mom is also a nurse at the health center. We have to live with or host families for the first 6 months at site to help us with integration, etc. But, if there is an opportunity to move out into independent housing and it is within our means on our budget, we are typically allowed the option of doing so.

-       Some of the requests for work that my counterparts have made of me initially are:

o   Morning talks of health and prevention to the attending population

o   Home visits and health promotion to nearby communities

o   Work with moms on nutrition education and hygiene

o   Healthy school programs

o   Implementing health fairs and health promotion agendas

o   Primary work: charlas (like a chat or talk to students or members of the community) on nutrition, basic services, and healthy practices (both intramural and personal)

o   Secondary work: organization projects of the subcenter (Health Center)

Of course this could all change when I get there and the end of my service might not look anything like the beginning. But these actually seem pretty broad right now and I’m pretty enthusiastic and open-minded to the possibilities that await me!

I could not be more excited about my placement and am amazed and grateful at how well my placement suits me personally thanks to the hard work of our training team! The week after next is our site visit week where I will be stepping out of my comfortable American bubble at the training center and traveling with my counterparts to my site, all alone. I am terrified (understatement) but I am also excited to explore my new home and get into set-up mode so I can finally feel like I’m doing something here!

The country of Ecuador

Our training manage announcing the names

Our LCF escorts

 

A little nervous while waiting

And my continent is...

My view from the top

 

This is my home! 

 

My fellow Pichincha-ers

Dance party!

 

Mi yo torpe

Anybody who knows me or has traveled with me knows, I am unbelievably clumsy in other countries. I don’t know what it is but something about that foreign soil just brings it out of me! I was hoping this just translated to temporary travels to other countries but apparently no, moving to another country applies as well – and evidently means a higher frequency of incidences. So at the suggestion of a friend, I decided to start a list. One month in, here goes:

-          Dog attack (see previous blog post)

-          Splinter infection (as it turns out, I was unable to remove one of the splinters from the Ilalo adventure. After giving it a week to work itself out, it started to get infected and I figured a call to the doc was in order. A few days later he got to digging with the biggest shot needle I’ve ever seen and pulled out a thorn about half the width of my fingernail)

-          Tree attack (there’s a ramp coming out of the kitchen at the training center that is ridiculously slippery. There are about 3-5 victims a week, sometimes more, to this literal slippery slope. A week or so ago my number was up and as I began my descent I descended a little farther than I anticipated, tried to grab a tree for stabilization (I’ve got to stop dong that) which decided instead to add a few stripes to my arm)

-          Glass! (this one was fun! It was embarrassing and painful…not to mention sticky. Some of the groceries here apparently aren’t too fond of shopping baskets but rather prefer to only provide the sizeable shopping cart (what can you expect from a place called Mega Maxi). I only needed a few items so I figured my arms would suffice. Wrong. As I was juggling the contents in my arms trying to reach for a box on the shelf, the glass jar of honey at the bottom apparently slipped out from beneath my arm and shattered at my feet. Panicking, I tried to pick up the jar as best I could thinking the bottom had just broken out. Not so much. The bottom had in fact shattered and picking it up only resulted in a stray shard of glass slicing the side of my finger. Honey and blood do not mix well when carrying an armful of carefully selected items and trying to find your phone in your zipped up purse to call your friend to come help you. Not to mention I have no idea what the words for “clean up on aisle 7” are in Español)

-          Who needs toenails anyways? (walking in Quito the other day I managed to kick a curb I didn’t see was raised when walking. Hurts for a second, move on…until you then kick a metal pole with the same toe, followed by another something or other in the road. Cut to 2 days later doing a team building activity where you had to walk in a line with balloons connecting you. I managed to kick my already weakened toenail against the girl’s shoe in front of me. Apparently her flats were just hard enough to finish the job the street things had started in Quito; and 3 times was just enough to rip the top of that nail right off! Fortunately the purple nail polish disguised the blood just enough to not gross anyone out too much. Unfortunately my toenail clippers were at home and I had to wait about an hour or 2 to completely finish the job by hand)

And yes, if you haven’t noticed, this would be 5 incidences in 6 weeks. Here’s to two years…if I make it that far!

Hiking Ilalo

Being that I’m in the Sierra/Highlands region of this gorgeous country, volcanoes and mountains are a very common thing in these parts. And where there’s a mountain, there will be climbing! I was spontaneously asked one morning a few weeks ago if I would like to join 3 others from my group on a little hike up this mountain. Knowing that I have plans to hike Machu Picchu while I’m here and understanding that this is not your grandma’s excursion, I decided to accept every opportunity I was given as a means of conditioning for the mack daddy! So off I went…to apparently face my death!

What I didn’t take into account was the steepness of this mountain, the various terrains it had to offer, and the goals of my hiking partners: to just keep going! Not only was I braving this adventure in my tennies (as I did not have the time to buy nor the room to pack a pair of hiking boots before departing the US of A), I also have the balance of about that of a 2 year old. But you miss out on 100% of the opportunities you don’t take so, with inhaler in hand, I set out on this total incline adventure with 3 of the most fit and athletic people I could have possibly picked to go with. There were many stops, there were many breaks, there were many hours of pure “will it ever end” torture. We hiked through about 7 different terrains and I fell about 8 times (one time of which resulted in me grabbing a bush for stabilization…which turned out to be a thorn bush that left about 10-12 splinters in my hands). We got lost a time or two but eventually made it back about 5-6 hours later. The breathtaking view at the top was completely worth it!! Here are a few pics from the day (and for some reason they loaded top to bottom so the first ones are on the bottom):

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

That One Time That Dog Tried To Get To Second Base

Anyone who knows me knows that I am an animal heart. Animals are my passion and working with them was my dream for a long time pre-PC. Dogs in particular are God’s blessing to mankind. Then there are Ecuadorian dogs. Ecuadorian dogs are a completely different breed of creature! Honestly I was surprised to find that there were actually a variety of dog breeds here. In my experience in foreign countries, the dogs are usually a nice blend of mutt, are typically pretty scraggily, and a lot of times not very well taken care of. But here, though there are a few scraggily strays for sure, a lot of the dogs are fairly domesticated and some even have sweaters and haircuts! Though they may sometimes appear cute, don’t be fooled: they aren’t. Like the children around here, dogs don’t receive much proper discipline. For whatever reason, no one seems to mind when their dog is barking up a storm for no reason and you rarely hear someone tell their pet no (btw, the word for pet here is “mascota”, one of my favorite Spanish words; it literally means the family mascot). Case in point, our demon dog, Pinky. From day one of my arrival, this dog has not stopped scratching, itching, scooting, rubbing, or biting her backside for whatever reason is ailing it. Lucky for me this sneaky little snot seems to prefer my room and has, on more than one occasion, snuck in and made herself at home when I wasn’t looking. Disgusting doesn’t even begin to describe it! But the worst part of all is the barking! Omylanta so much barking!! If you go into the bathroom and shut the door, relentless barking. If my family goes into their room and shuts the door (common situation), occasional relentless barking. If any of the 7 or so dogs in my compound start barking, Pinky gladly joins in or sometimes even tries her pipes out at singing (equally as loud). For whatever reason, no one in my family seems to mind (although I have no problems with the word no!), dogs will be dogs.

Then there’s my neighbor’s dog. Now this, this dog might quite possibly be the spawn of Satan himself. From day one, this dog has terrorized me from behind his beat up chain length fence and the make-shift door formed by a couple 2x4’s held together with practically dental floss. This vicious guard dog is the head honcho of the canine cul-de-sac crew and whether you’re friend or foe, he has your number! To top it all off, this lovely creature just happens to be named Oso (or Bear in English). Cut to May 24^th and that’s where the story begins.

Since I cook my own food, I get to make weekly trips to the local grocery store about 5 or 6 minutes walking distance away (this store isn’t exactly my favorite place in the world, but it serves its purpose). This particular day was the first time I had gone to the store (or really anywhere) by myself. My house is inside a little gated community with about 7 or 8 housing units lining either side of a driveway. Usually there are people out doing whatever or kids playing together or at the very least, front doors open while women clean the house, etc. Ironically enough, that was not the case this day. As I walked through my gate carrying my bags, I started to walk all the way down my street like usual (my house is at the very end). And that’s when it happened. Normally when I pass in front of Oso’s house (incidentally the one right next to mine), he runs back and forth barking his head off. But that day was different. There was a bit of barking but then all of a sudden he stopped. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed the “door” being nudged open, ever so calmly actually, and within a matter of seconds, this escapee was charging at me ready to attack. – Here in Ecuador, one of the first strategies we were given in order to handle aggressive dogs (because apparently they’re common enough for us to need the warning) was to either bend over and act like you’re picking up a rock or to hold your fist in the air like you’re about to chuck a rock. They say you never actually have to throw the rock but that the action is enough to scare the dogs away. I have my own reserves and issues with the way these dogs have been conditioned like this…but that’s for another day. – So here was Oso coming at me like I had just kidnapped his favorite family member. Though the thought of the rock trick had crossed my mind (despite my opinions on the issue), somehow in that split second I realized this probably was not my best option. Immediately I slung my bags at him as my only means of self-defense (good thing it wasn’t a day I needed eggs). He got the hint and turned to run away back into his gate. What I didn’t take into account was the kilo of raw ground beef and the 7 or 8 pieces of raw chicken in the bags with which I had just hit this dog. Oso, however, did not miss a beat and as soon as he realized the nature of the “weapon” he decided he wasn’t quite finished after all. Even though he had turned his back on me, I still wasn’t quite confident enough to turn my back on him and run away behind my gate. This proved to be quite helpful as all of a sudden Oso turned and came back for round two. Unfortunately by now he was even more determined…and went for the jugular! Though I don’t, by any means, consider my barely 5’8” frame tall in the US, here, this makes me a near giant. It gets a bit old to be honest (especially on bus rides when standing in the aisle). In that moment, I have never been so grateful for my height as this dog was about 3 or 4 inches short of what could have been a much greater disaster. As it were, the only contact made was right below my shoulder as I attempted, again, to beat him off with my bags (old lady style I’m afraid), all the while hollering trying to get someone’s, anyone’s, attention, not knowing how long this could potentially go on. As it turned out, this apparently did the trick as Oso once again retreated, this time giving me enough time to take the few steps to get to my gate. Interesting thing about disasters in a foreign country, your first communicable instinct isn’t exactly the local language if it’s not your own language. And so, as I was mentally trying to process what the heck just happened, the first thing I physically did was to run to my room, grab my Spanish-English dictionary, and look up the word for “bite” so I could tell the first person I saw what had just happened (well, that is after figuring out myself what had just become of this minor attack). First came my host sister who had apparently either heard the screams or could somehow sense something was up as I walked back to my room almost in tears of terror. She then ran to grab my host mom once she saw my face (and possibly even the bite-mark holes in my, coincidentally, favorite shirt I was wearing). Next came my mom out of her room (at which point I had just learned she was actually home). And finally, by the time I emerged from my room ready to declare, “perro muerde” practically the entire neighborhood was standing outside my gate wondering what the heck this new gringa was freaking out about. The other trainee, Spenser, who lives in my neighborhood was doing his laundry on the roof when he heard the commotion. He was now among the neighborhood crowd at my gate and as soon as I saw him, I lost it! Finally here was someone with a familiar face, who would understand, and who spoke better Spanish than me even under normal circumstances. I immediately pulled him inside my gate and began explaining to him through sobs (like a child…oh it was a proud moment for sure) just what had happened as he tried to relay everything back to my now incredibly worried and slightly confused mother. Peace Corps has plenty of protocols that volunteers and trainees must follow when practically anything and everything happens. With any medical issue whatsoever, there is a duty phone we must call to report any problems (even if you’re simply sick with a stomach bug and just can’t make it to work). While Spenser was hard at work conversing with my mother, and she was speed reading the packet of “What to do”s PC had given her, I grabbed my phone and called the duty officer to explain my situation. It was an interesting phone call, one that began with the Dr. on call asking me if he could call me back (which, sensing my reluctance, he quickly explained was so that I wouldn’t have to waste my phone minutes (we pay individually for if sending a call or text) on the call if it ran long) followed by him asking me if the dog had been vaccinated and explaining what the protocol was to make sure he didn’t have rabies (aka keeping this monster alive for 10-14 days). I was not particularly thrilled by this news but after understanding I was probably not going to die from this incident, I hung up the phone and proceeded to do as he directed.

The rest of the day was a fun period of icing and nursing my wound while Spenser kept me company, doing laundry (because apparently, according to my mom, this was a necessary thing to do after being bit by a dog), and finally getting to see my fellow gringos who wonderfully sympathetic and supportive. It took much nursing over the following days and even weeks after. As it turned out, Spenser’s dad is a holistic doctor and after hanging out with his family one night a few weeks after, I received a nice herbal treatment with the prognosis that my shoulder had, apparently, been slightly dislocated in the incident (a diagnosis that made sense to me as there had actually been a considerable amount of bruising and it had been difficult to carry my bag on that shoulder and even reach up to hold the bar on the bus). Apparently when Oso jumped and made contact, he punched my shoulder with his teeth knocking it slightly out of whack. A few rotations, forceful pushes, and an arm rub or two, it was back where it needed to be and I could continue the healing process.

So what happened with the dog after this incident? Well, as for Oso, he’s still alive and well (shocker). I have since been given many stories as the fate of this creature. I was first told he would be killed (after the weekend was over). When that came and went I asked again and was informed something about municipality. A week or so after that a woman came into my room one night asking if she could take a picture. This then turned into a bit of a town hall meeting of sorts in my room as my host mom, brother, neighbor, her granddaughter (Samantha), and Samantha’s mom (who took the picture) were all standing around in my [slightly messy] room discussing what I could only assume was the fate of this dog. As it turned out, I apparently was not the first victim of this demon seed’s teeth but had actually been the third! Samantha had been one of the ones attacked before a few years ago when she was bit in the face (at about 4 yrs old or so). Apparently the picture of the latest incident – aka the shoulder of yours truly – was for the judge, lawyer, police, whomever is handling the case (slightly unclear to me). A few weeks after this I was told by Spenser’s mom that apparently Oso’s owner is none other than my mom’s sister who is now mad at my mom for going over her head after the incident and going straight to the municipality to report the incident. This has apparently fueled an already ongoing feud between my mom and her sister as now municipality is involved and, I’m told, it would cost about $600 to put this dog down (don’t ask my where the connection is in all that, I have no idea). Talk about your family drama! This is the stuff Telenovelas are made of folks! It’ll be interesting to see what happens although I’m willing to bet this fluffy German shepherd/chow type mutt is still alive and well when I COS in two years. Welcome to Ecuador!

Chibuleo/Ambato - Tech Trip 1

 

Last week we went on our first tech trip to Chibuleo, a small, indigenous mountain Paroquial in the Region of Ambato. The place was beautiful but waay too cold for this Georgia Peach! (None of these posted in order.)

 

 

Yachag (Healer) Juanito

 

Using plants as a cleaning tool

 

Strawberry/Coconut milkshake juice

Me and Sandrena (GF buddies!)

The city of Ambato...and yes, we walked that all the way up

Chibuleo countryside

So cold and windy

Totora Loma

My host kid for the week, Dalilah (Dah-LEE-lah)

The interparroquial of San Juan where Yachag Juanito lived

Temazcal

Explaining to us his practices and something about God I only barely understood (in the traditional dress for men)

And his grandkid was riding the dog...

 

Diagnostic practice with a cuy (guinea pig)

We won't go into detail what happened next

Preparing for the cleaning practice.

Rubbing plants over the volunteer after reading her energy through the smoke of a candle

And blowing fire off the plants at her