rounding the corner

My mom left yesterday, after a four full days of Ecuador. We spent Saturday night and Sunday in Ambato, where my host-family's extended family lives, and it was such a gift to see my mom interact with the people who have become my closest friends here. The next week or so is packed with homework and papers and a final project, but it is sweet to do homework in another language and realize how amazingly crafted our brains are to learn and discover. Here a few fotos from my mom's visit.

T-minus one week untill Pecos arrives!

Happy Thanksgiving to all those stateside. May we enjoy our homes and families and give thanks to the One who shows us His love through them.

Islets

This week I read an essay from my first semester at Westmont for a intro to literature class with Dr. Delaney. I was delightfully embarrassed by how presumptuous I was. The essay was about my own story as seen through the lens of a character named Asher Lev from the book My Name is Asher Lev by Chaim Potok. The essay reminded me of how brave I assumed to be when I entered college and how I had not yet learned to look at details; at the end of the essay I plainly stated that I wanted to be a missionary. A part of me has come to despise that word over the last "almost" four years. And so you ask, what does this have to do with the Galapagos Islands, since I just returned from a five day trip to these colorful and oddly beautiful pockets of land.
Well, I am not entirely sure either.
On Saturday our group of 24 hiked the Sierra Negra which is the tallest volcano on the main island of Isabella. It's not that tall, a little over a thousand feet from sea level, but it provides a perfect view of the other islets and their tip-tops. To arrive at la cumbre (peak), we walked through four completely different habitations (which I am sure J Borden would have enjoyed). Before entering the plain of oxidizing volcanic rock -our final destination- we wandered through what seemed liked the East African bush. My eyes kept looking for life among the red dirt and crispy, naked trees. At this point my feet were covered in blisters because the dust found a home within my Chacos and decided to dance with the delicate edges of mis pies (feet). The ironic part is that I know nothing of Africa or its turmoil, expect what I read from BBC news or Lisa's blog. And the fact that I have a pair of nice Chacos only highlights my naivety. My guess is that this terrain in the middle of the ocean only hours from the lush beach is nothing like Africa. Especially since two miles earlier we were picking ripe guavas and filling our stomachs with pink nectar. I walked though, and thought about Africa. I also thought about that silly essay. We are all youthful once and full of big dreams. I am still both of these things (grateful for this fleeting time), and as my senior year finds its way to a close I am increasingly aware that those uneducated and misinformed dreams found in my first semester writing are not going to leave me.
There is this grand tension, you know. I cannot read the news about Zimbabwe or Guatemala and not wonder what our responsibility is, and in that same instant I am reminded of my smallness. I am reminded of how I am learning we can only do small things with great love, thank you mama teresa. Sometimes I wonder about my conscious choice to pursue a future, in which I will never ganar plata (be rich), because it is real and raw and obvious that money provides basic life necessities, secures children's futures, and stabilizes families and societies. Oh but it is not everything, it is not even close and these green and privileged hands of mine search to show that life can be different. They search to hold orphans, to bless my closest friends and strangers, to live in a simple house with a simple job, to grow plants, to be quiet and in the ordinary, to travel far and long, to rest, to make food and share meals with my family, to just be caught up in this life. I am learning that to see change, people have to live differently in the places they are found. Where shall I be found? I don't think mama T would give me an answer. And so, roaming around these vibrant islets without anything to do except walk, breath, and observe highlighted this sweet tension that I am assuming I will find myself in until I have long passed on.

oh, and we laughed a whole lot while we enjoyed the playa (beach), el agua, and the volcanoes that are still fairly untouched in the galapagos. yes, we laughed until our bellies hurt and tears streamed down our faces.

oh the places you'll go, by bus.

Today, after some ceramics, I rode the bus during sun-set .
I was squished in between a dad-like native and the window pane.
Tonight, after sharing empanadas and hot chocolate,
I sat on the midnight trole with some sweet friends-
the girls from the States and Iván.
I liked watching them smile and laugh together.
I am going to miss bus rides.

Back from Ibarra and to the Galapagos

This weekend I celebrated the foundation of a small city called Ibarra with some girlfriends from BCA and our two Ecuadorian friends, Gaston and Chicky (that is not his real name but it works). There is something about leaving the city with a backpack and a handful of carefully selected songs for the car ride that calms me down. The three of us girls piled in the back of Chicky´s new, white, mini-SUV early Saturday morning. I was last to get in meaning that the window seat awaited my tattered blue jeans and heavy heart. I realized as I sat quietly listening to the mixture of Spanish and English words that this small act of sitting, while a good friend drives, and looking is one of my favorite things. Ibarra is north of Quito and north of Otavalo, which is known for its artisan work. Arriving to Ibarra is like approaching a valley, and in this case a very white valley that encircles a lake named Yahuarcocha. I am forgetting now but I think Yahuar means lake and cocha means blood in Quichua. Gaston told me that after a battle between different groups of ¨indios¨ the blood and bodies that were shed were thrown into this lake. This provided a stark contrast to the petite white buildings and the dancing that would happen between the five of us later that night. Another reminder that sorrow is never far from joy.
The streets in Ibarra are cobblestone and they wear it well. Wobbly and old, I felt them welcome my feet as I walked and talked with these people who have become dear to me since our arrival. I wondered if I would ever be in this city again, I hope so. Especially if Jess and Alli are down to eat ¨biscochas¨ and sing Alanis Moursette and Juanes in the same period of time.

This Friday we leave for the Galapagos! What the sweet Sierra has lacked, I am sure the beach and clear, blue water will provide. Until then, peace.

a little video

right now I am sick, that is just fine
it is good to rest and sleep
and make videos for the people I love

Hello rain and routine.

I know, I know. It has been a little while since I have written.

Right now I am sitting at the kitchen table, listening to the cars and city moving below our third-story apartment. I just made scrambled eggs with some veggies that I bought from this "hole in the wall" vegetable market. It is right by house and a sweet man with sunken, dark eyes and old hands works there. I bought a cucumber, tomato, onion, and some limes for fifty cents. These simple earth-grown staples and bread have given me my weeks breakfast. Pecos and I talked about the value of living close to those who are poor, living on what you need and not what you want and I like this idea. I like to pretend that I understand this concept or am comfortable with the beauty in only having my daily bread, but I am still learning. I also told him that I miss scolding-hot showers and he reminded me that to practice poverty I better get used to the fresh, cold water. Thanks Pec.

Yesterday was the first real rain of the winter. I like the weather here, it reminds me we are constantly changing. For instance, I woke up to the hazy sun, stumbled through the morning on a high from its rays, entered the afternoon and felt my skin moisten to the water-carrying clouds, and then sat in my Spanish grammar class and watched the giant droplets dance with the concrete. A sweet Ecuadorian mama told me to expect these showers in the afternoons. I take rest that God softens our rough shells with his grace poured out (bienvenidos lluvia).

This is my second week working at the women's jail with the niños. I work on Mondays and Fridays. I am not sure how to write about these experiences yet, I have not processed them and think I will keep the details tucked away. I do know that I am enjoying being loved by these 3 and 4 year olds who have not yet learned the primary colors and are good at saying Spanish cuss words. Pray for them (hopehopehope). I see so many of us in their tiny hands.

About a week ago we watched the big game between Ecuador and Colombia, we lost. But not to worry because we play Uruguay soon and we have the upper hand. My uncle gave me a sweet, yellow camiseta (shirt) to embrace my membership into this culture of fútbol. The picture is from this afternoon. Paola painted my face too.

More to come, peace in the places you are found.

la selva (Aug 19-23)

they wash clothes,
a yellow shirt in an orange bucket
sand and rock mingling
between their toes
at the edge of the bank

these black-topped heads
are comfortable
in the clean, gray water
they live here,
brother and sister

they play in this Napo river,
rub its mud on their bellies,
and let the sun set on their skin;
clean laundry smells different here

entering their shared canoe,
they paddle home