Six in the morning. Six-hour ride. Six hundred theories as to what we might find when we get there, and most of them coming from rumors we've heard and documentaries we've watched. We arrive at the little bus station, collect our luggage from under the bus, and walk in. We've been told that a Teodoro will find us. Considering we are the only white people in the station, we should be easy to find.
A couple hours go by.
A girl with a baby on her hip and a toddler holding her hand walks up to us. She introduces herself as Teodoro's niece. Teodoro was finishing some work. By the time we make it to our destination, it's dark and all I know is I'm in a village connected to itself and the rest of the world by one road, no one here speaks English, and the sounds of the jungle envelope me.
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This picture saves me a lot of typing and you a lot of reading, because instead of
going on and on, I can just say: THIS is the jungle, and THIS is why I love it |
Fast forward 5 weeks. I'm enthralled by everything Quichua. I try to learn everything they do, even though I do it poorly, just because I think it's so cool. I am completely happy and comfortable here. Their traditions, their language, their music, their everything-- I want to know about it. I am enchanted by their life.
My last night in Ecuador. I find myself in a crazy party in a bright gymnasium with cinder block walls and concrete bleachers. On the wall is painted a mural of a traditional bamboo-walled, palm leaf-roofed house, and the phrase, "Nukachik Kawsay", which means "Our Life." Ecuador may be a developing country, but most of the people do not live in these half-outdoor homes drinking chica made of yucca that they planted, harvested, husked, carried, washed, steamed, mashed, chewed, and mixed themselves-- which is what was depicted in the mural. But this miniscule segment of the population does so.
Chooses to do so. They have
fought to maintain their way of life, their language, and their tradition.
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| Javier, my host family brother, coming to pick us up |
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| Irene, my host family sister, helping collect chontacuro for dinner |
Because of their pride and passion in being Quichua, I
came to have as much respect and enthusiasm for their culture as they do. When I arrived, I had been dead set on improving my Spanish, but as time went on I wanted to know more and more words in Quichua, even though it took away from my Spanish time. I began trying to put together all the pieces of the puzzle and was on a quest to get my questions about the Quichua people answered. The stories I tried to collect now were about the history of the community, the way those Quichua were related to the other Quichua in the area, the interactions they had with the other indigenous races, and the physical and legislative battles they had fought to keep their land, which the government was all too willing to pass off into the hands of the oil companies.
Sumak Kawsay means Beautiful Life. These past two months I have learned a lot about what makes life beautiful. My hosts' pride in and passion for their life invigorated me and inspired me. There, I learned that attitude is what makes life beautiful. There was just one thing missing in Kawsay there, and that is God. God is not a huge part of their lives there, and I really missed that. This past week working at a Bible camp in Mexico and the people I met there showed me that life just gets even more beautiful with God in it.
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| Me and Jonah with two of our buddies in Mexico |
Sumak Kawsay is love, I learned. Loving God, Loving Others, Loving Life.
8.5.12 Liv
