For His Children Ecuador

Ecuador is a country that loves to celebrate. Currently, there are 417 holidays recognized throughout the country, so there are more official holidays than total days in a year. As one American put it, "So you really can say, 'every day's a holiday' in Ecuador."

One Ecuadorian holiday in particular leads me to share my most recent cultural experience. This celebration is called Quito Days, and is a week-long holiday from the 1st - 6th of December that commemorates the greatness of the capital city. Most Ecuadorians seem to spend this holiday inebriated and singing songs about Quito. While I did not feel the need to intoxicate myself during that week, I did have a great time singing songs about Quito. This is because three months prior, I became a member of the city’s Voz Andes choir. The Voz Andes choir performs the week of the Quito festivities and is thought to be one of the city’s biggest highlights throughout the year.

In a choir of 100, being one of five foreigners, I knew I would gain a lot from this particular Ecuadorian experience. After our first two rehearsals I quickly learned that punctuality was not a priority. There were several practices when even our conductor would show up as much as 20 minutes late. Even after the choir voted to impose a 50 cent fine to any one who showed up late, the tardiness continued. I don’t think anyone besides me ever paid the fine.

Another unique aspect of our choir was the Amigo Secreto program. This is similar to Secret Santa except that we were expected to bring our “amigo” a present for every rehearsal. Every rehearsal we all would place our presents for our secret friend on a table with their name on it. During break time, everyone would go look to see if their secret friend had left then anything. It was fun to pick out little presents for my amigo, but not everyone seemed to agree. For starters, some people decided it would be more fun to steal the presents instead of participating. One night when I brought my amigo homemade chocolate chip cookies, I caught one of my fellow choir members picking them up, and walking away with them. I didn’t know exactly who my amigo was, but I did know that her name was Paola, and the man who was walking away with Paola’s cookies was named Rafael. I confronted Rafael and said in Spanish, “Is your name Paola? Because these cookies have Paola’s name on them.” He sheepishly handed them over. On the other side, I was fortunate enough to have a amigo secreto who consistently would bring me little trinkets. It was fun to see what he/she would bring me every week because it was always surprising. But soon the gifts made me think that my Secret Santa was trying to tell me to go on a diet. Some of the presents I received included: low fat crackers, low fat cookies, an apple, a banana, and low fat milk.

One of my most valuable and interesting experiences with the choir was learning all the songs about Ecuador and Quito. Quiteñans have a lot of pride in their city. You could even say that some Quiteñans seem to love their city so much that if they could break off Quito and have it be its own country they probably would. It’s a weird phenomenon kind of similar to what you might encounter if you ever visit the state of Texas.

I really enjoyed learning cultural songs about Quito, but some of them were a little bit strange. For example one song entitled “How Beautiful is my Quito” says:
Quito has the most beautiful women,
Either with blond hair or brown hair
All are pretty
Just like my beautiful Quito.
As I sang these words for the first time, I look around at a sea of 99 brunettes that surrounded me, the only blond, and wondered, “Where are all these blond Quiteñans that this song is talking about?” This pondering taught me a new lesson in Quito culture: Never question songs written about Quito to a Quiteñan. I was given a stern reprimand when I mentioned this to one the Ecuadorian members of the choir who snapped, “Yes there are blond Quiteñans, there are just none here right now.” Folks, I’ve been in Quito for almost 9 months now, and I have yet to see one.

Our actual choir performances were held in the Teatro Sucre which is a beautiful, old theater in Colonial Quito that has recently been remodeled. It reminds me of the Phantom of the Opera with its big chandelier hanging over the audience, plush red velvet seats, and ornate wall carvings. The concerts sold out the day after they went on sale. This could have something to do with the fact that the tickets only cost a “suggested donation” of $2, but none-the-less I was flattered that we would be singing for a full house for all five performances.

Besides the appalling/annoying fact that the orchestra members were frequently late to their own concert, thus insuring that we started each concert around 15 minutes late, I enjoyed singing for Quito. For the life of me, I could not understand why a paid orchestra member would show up late to their own concert (the choir, by the way, is unpaid). Orchestra aside, it was especially fun to sing the Chulla Quiteña. All people from Quito love this song, and during Quito days it will be the only one you hear. I guess we could compare it to Ohio’s love for the song “Hang On Sloopy,” in that it is upbeat and entertaining, and once it gets stuck in your head, it’s there for good.

Even though I work with Ecuadorians every day at the orphanage, I will still consider my time in the Coro Voz Andes my most cultural experience so far. If you’d like to hear parts of the choir performances go to www.HCJB.org and click on “Downloads” to hear sections of it.

Last weekend, I got a little too close to the political protests of a Third World country. Ecuadorans are known for influencing their government without using violence, but it still is scary to be a foreigner trapped by protesters.

My wife, Tesha, and I had three friends visiting Ecuador, so we decided to rent a car and travel through the Amazon jungle and then to the coast. Our beach destination was Montañita, a small surfing town in southern Ecuador.

After staying a few nights in the jungle, then driving all day toward the coast, we ran into a road block about an hour from Montañita. The highway was blocked by a group of police officers who only would tell us the area of Ecuador where we were heading was blocked because of a “big problem.”

Determined to get to our surfing town, we found an alternate route that would cut off part of the highway and put us back on the road near Montañita. Our side route ended up being a one-lane dirt road that connected several tiny farming and ranching communities and was probably not under the description of roads suitable for our Kia Rio.

We were driving through pueblos of shacks made up of friendly people who did not own any cars to drive on the small “road” and who had never seen a foreigner. I think we became the talk of many towns as we constantly had to stop to try to ask if we still were going the right way. The people we met apparently had no idea they were so close to the beach.

Long story short, after about four hours of rocking through terrain that switched back and forth between dessert and tropical forest, we were thrilled to arrive at the main road only several miles south of Montañita. Our excited arrival, however, was put to a sudden stop when we came to a protest in the road.

Locals had blocked the road with tires, poles and junk which they had set on fire, and it was clear we were not getting through. We felt like we had almost completed the hardest race of our lives and then broken a leg just before the finish line. Another long story short, our determination led us essentially to sneak around the protest through some friendly neighbors’ farms on another tiny road that looked more like the track for the Millennium Force roller coaster at Cedar Point.

Finally, we arrived in Montañita and it was even better than we had hoped for. Unfortunately, one of the girls in our group had to get to the airport the next day, so Matt, the other guy in our group, and I left early the next morning to bring her to a town where she could catch a bus to the airport.

Leaving Montañita was our mistake.

At 6:30 on a gray, misty morning with a temperature that was neither warm nor cool, we set out in our rental car. This morning’s destination was a city called Jipijapa (that’s right, “hippy-hoppa”), a city north of Montañita that we picked because we were told there would be no road blocks. But 15 minutes into our ride, we came upon another road block.

We were done taking risky roads with our Kia, especially because of the misty rain, so I was ready to turn back and tell our friend she would just have to wait to fly out. We decided to talk to the protesters first. Fortunately for her, since it was so early in the morning, and the passionate rioters still were recovering from previous night’s riot festivities, we were able to bribe the protesters to let us through for $2. They moved a couple of tires out of the way and kindly let us pass.

Now I started getting worried. We were one of the only cars on the eerie road — not a good thing to be if you are a foreigner in an area where the police had apparently decided to look the other way. On top of that, we had just enough gas to get us to the next big town that still was half an hour away. We knew if we came across another roadblock and were not able to bribe our way through, we’d be trapped on a deserted road with no cell phone reception or contact with people who did not care to rob us.

Luckily, we made it to Jipijapa with no more road blocks.

Knowing we were likely to have more problems getting back through the road block, Matt and I prepared ourselves to be robbed. We left just enough in our wallets so it would make a thief content, while hiding the rest around the car and in our socks. Cameras and anything in the car that looked like it might be worth something were hidden where it would take a good search to find them. We picked one another’s brains with possible scenarios, trying to stay optimistic while being realistic.

With the music off, no more talking, and my hands shaking on the steering wheel, we slowly approached the protest. We pulled onto the side of the road, a safe distance away from the protest, to park the car and analyze our situation. Our fears were accurate. The riot had grown and there now were at least 60 men. Most of the junk in the road was on fire and, as we walked closer to the blockade, a large mob started cheering as they proudly laid a telephone pole across a bridge. It was about 10 o’clock and the place already reeked of alcohol. The only woman in site was the one who owned the local convenience store and was apparently supplying the protesters with all of their booze.

I started talking to some locals, who seemed only to be watching the protest. I explained to them my wife was in Montañita and I was just trying to return. They showed me a small, muddy road, only partly blocked by the protest, which is used to bring boats down to the beach.

I slid down the muddy path in my sandals to check out the beach. Because the tide was all the way out, we’d be able to drive on the hard sand about a quarter mile down the beach and then go back up another boat-loading road to get back to the main road. It was surprisingly feasible. For $5, the locals would move a tire and a few big rocks out of the way for our small car to sneak through.

In the part of our minds that keeps us in check by asking, “Don’t you think this is a bad idea,” we knew essentially sneaking around a protest might not be very smart. But by now we felt pretty desperate. The other girls in our group would start worrying about us soon and we had no way of contacting them. And swimming to Montañita sounded a bit too exhausting. So we decided to go for it.

The locals casually parted the right side of the blockade and we inched forward, keeping a watch on all sides of the car to make sure we weren’t driving into a trap in which we would be forced to contribute our car to the fiery roadblock.

The mob seemed to be paying more attention to their newly placed telephone poll, but it only took one guy to catch a glimpse of us and say something along the lines of, “Hey, is that bright orange car trying to sneak through our protest?” All of a sudden all eyes were on us.

The mob, led by a few guys waving burning sticks and glass bottles, started a swift, amoeba-like movement toward the car. With all of the protesters in the area yelling various things at us, which we imagine were unfriendly things, I kicked the car into reverse and started our awkwardly slow getaway. Matt kept an eye on the front of our car, while I maneuvered through bystanders behind the car.

Luckily, the mob didn’t seem too interested once we showed we were leaving and we were able to quickly turn the car around and get out of there.

We drove away defeated. Our new goal was to at least make contact with the girls, and we couldn’t figure out any way to do that besides somehow getting to Montañita. The girls expected us to be back two hours ago, and we figured they’d start panicking soon.

Parking the car, walking around the protest, and hitchhiking to Montañita was out because we couldn’t risk leaving our rental car in a protest area. Our next option was to pick one of the many fishing villages to the north and try to rent a boat to take us to Montañita.

The town we chose is called Salango. Although we had never been to Salango, I felt comfortably familiar with it because of a book I read, “The Voyage of the Manteño,” about an American’s re-creation of an ancient balsa raft journey from Salango, Ecuador, to central Mexico.

From the book's description, we’d be able to find friendly people, anxious to help with anything concerning the sea. Sure enough, that’s what we found.

Alejandro, a man with a boating company, would rent us a boat we could take on an hour ride to Montañita. Once we got near the surf of Montañita, we’d anchor the boat outside of the waves’ break zone and I’d swim to shore and find the girls. We hadn’t decided whether we’d bring the girls and our bags with us and leave Montañita, or just let them know that we hadn’t been kidnapped.

Before we left for our sea voyage, we decided to eat lunch at a restaurant owned by Alejandro’s brother. Over lunch, I brought up the book and the conversation became fascinating. The brothers wore proud looks on their faces as they described the day when they helped the author push the 60-foot balsa raft from the sand, past the surf. One of their family members was even one of the main characters who sailed on the raft. As they talked, the story — which I had read on the beaches of Malibu, Calif., to feel more in the setting — came to life in its real beach town.

Then, in our one moment of luck all day, my cell phone rang. We picked up just enough reception to receive a call from Tesha, let her know we were OK, and decide they would stay in Montañita and we’d stay in Salango for however long until the protest was over. We hung out for the afternoon, making friends, sharing stories and deciding maybe that area of Ecuador isn’t so bad after all.

Our new plan was to return to the road block around midnight that night, when, with some luck, there would be few enough protesters for us to bribe our way back through. If there still was a large crowd, we’d stay the night in Salango. We decided to check out the road block about an hour before sunset to see whether things were getting better or worse. So, with some advice from our new friends and a little bit of praying, we nervously drove back to the protest zone.

Our dramatic story suddenly lost its drama. As we drove past the area of the block, there was hardly even a sign of a riot beside the burn marks in the road and four bitter, old men sitting on the bridge. I really thought I was dreaming and refused to give Matt a we-made-it high-five for the next 15 minutes, until we were parked in Montañita.

We parked our car, changed into our bathing suits and sprinted into the ocean where the girls were surfing. After a romantic kiss in the waves, I borrowed Tesha’s board and caught a victory wave.

As I paddled out for a second wave, I got stung by a jellyfish all over my shoulder and neck. After all we’d been through, a sting was not going to be enough to put a stop to surfing the last minutes of the end of our stressful day.

I think if that jellyfish knew all I’d been through that day, he wouldn’t have stung me.

-Pete

This morning our Scorpion danger color level inside our house increased again. It had been at red-orange for a week after we found 4 scorpions in 3 days. With no scorpion sitings last week, the danger color decreased to orange. However, this morning, the danger color leaped to firetruck red when I put on my sock and felt something kind of like a Lego on the bottom of my foot. Luckily, the scorpion was already dead. (Unless it was just holding its breath so it didn't have to smell my foot.) I think the scorpion must have either crawled into my sock while the sock was laying on the floor waiting to be washed, or crawled into my warm sock, between being taken out of the dryer and matched and folded. Either way, I don't plan to go into the laundry room at night.
-Pete

There are very few moments in our lives that we get to see something come full circle. I know there are times when I wonder if I'm making any sort of impact with the orphans who we work with every day. There are some good deeds of which we never get to see the outcome, but recently I’ve experienced a full-circle-story firsthand.

This story begins in 1956 when five missionaries, Nate Saint, Ed McCully, Jim Elliot, Peter Fleming and Roger Youderian, set out to the jungles of Ecuador to teach the gospel to a tribe called the Waorani, also known as the Aucas. Anthropologists describe the Waorani as the most violent tribe in all of history. Three out of four of the males died from being speared and almost none of them lived past their forties. This is due to their tendencies to not only kill other tribes in the region but within their own groups as well. The Waorani were also known to kill any foreigner who set foot in their territories.

Becoming some of the most famous martyrs of the 20th century, the missionaries were speared to death by the Waorani after making contact with them. Amazingly, however, a wife and a sister of the five men decided to continue the project and returned to the Waoranis. This effort was primarily carried out by Rachel Saint, the sister of Nate Saint, and Elizabeth Elliot, Jim’s wife, who went to live with the Waorani.

In 1969, a Polio epidemic broke out among two enemy Waorani groups who were visiting Rachel Saint and her Waorani group while she was still living among them on the Twaeno River. The situation became precarious because the two enemy groups had settled very near each other and Rachel’s group and could not move because of the sick. Rachel knew they needed medical attention, but was afraid to allow any outsider to come in to help due to the growing tensions between the three factions. However, after 12 people died of polio, a doctor named Wally Swanson (or Dr. Wally) decided to come in to help, against Rachel’s warnings. He was the first non-native male who was not speared as a result of meeting and working with the Waorani. Dr. Wally was even able to convince the Waorani to allow him to airlift the really sick natives to his mission’s Amazon hospital in the village of Shell, a feat thought to be impossible. The doctors and medical teams slowly gained the trust of the Waorani over time when the Waorani began to understand that the medical care they received was helping them to get better. What could have been a disastrous massacre between three warring groups ended up saving all of them through the care and determination of medical teams who came to help. From that point, after the polio outbreak was over, the Waorani killings drastically dropped. The generation of Waorani that survived the Polio epidemic became the first generation to live long enough to see their grandchildren, something no Waorani in history had been able to do.

This story relates back to Pete and me because during our time here we have become friends with Dr. Wally. We house-sat for him during our first three months here, and since his return we have occasionally shared meals together. Over dinner last Tuesday, we heard Dr. Wally recount this story. There was a touch of pride in his voice as he explained how he felt so privileged to have been the doctor during this time. Dr. Wally now is 80 years old and is still sharp and always looking to help people.

The story for us ends with For His Children, the orphanage where we work. After Rachel Saint left the Waorani in 1994, she lived the remainder of her days in Quito. Dr. Wally also moved to Quito after about 30 years in the jungle. They ended up living right next door to each other on a 4 acre shared property. Rachel Saint's nephew, Steve Saint, who worked with the Waorani as well, built both of the houses. When our orphanage directors were looking for a permanent residence, they met Rachel, who was then very old. Rachel was trying to sell her place and our directors were interested in it, but it was well out of their budget. They were just about to purchase another place, when Rachel called them and said she and Steve Saint had decided to sell the property to the orphanage directors for the low price that they could afford. She told them that it was her wish to keep the property with people who would continue to spread God’s love.

Now that we have moved out of Dr. Wally's house, we are staying about 200 feet away in the orphanage's Group House where Rachel once lived. It is incredible to think that we are connected to so much history. We also had an opportunity to go to the jungle recently, where we stayed only 10 miles from where those 5 men were killed. The area is now very peaceful, but it was somewhat unsettling to ponder on the events that had occurred 60 years ago in that jungle.

If you would like more information on these stories, there are several books written on it, including Elizabeth Elliot's "Through the Gates of Splendor," which describes her experiences. There was also a movie made by last year called, "The End of the Spear," which is not entirely factual but presents a good picture of the time. In the movie, they even mention Dr. Wally.

Tesha

Tesha and I have increased the danger color level for scorpions in our house from Yellow to Red-Orange. We've found 3 in the past 3 days. There are tons of different species of scorpions and they have a lifespan of 4 - 25 years. It makes me wonder how long they've been living under our refridgerator.
-Pete

I am sitting in a little internet cafe in a surfing town called Montanita. Pete and I had no plans to go on any trips but suddenly, I found out that my old college roommate, Danielle, was coming to Quito for a month. She came along with my other friends from college, Dannee and Matt. I went to Argentina with both Danielle and Dannee, so we have travel experience together. I wasn´t sure what to expect when I heard they were coming in town, but soon after their arrival they asked us to travel with them. Without even having to ask, our boss, Clark, offered to give us the week off for traveling. Thus, what started out as a regular week in Quito, quickly became a road trip adventure through Ecuador. This could not have come at a more opportune time. Pete and I were both experiencing what we like to call the "six month hump" and were feeling a little homesick, and this unexpected visit has seemed to revive us.

After renting a car for the week, we decided to go back to Tod Swanson´s place in the jungle, which we previously went to in July (see our blog). It was great fun, swimming in the Napo river, seeing all kinds of scary bugs, hiking in the rainforest (in pouring rain), tubing down the river, and once again going to the jungle reserve where we saw all kinds of animals. It was great to be in a warm climate again but the best times were had laughing with old friends. From the jungle we travelled south to the beach. Our orginal destination was Montanita, but as fate/luck would have it, they closed the roads due to provincial protests to Montanita and we were forced to stay in a gross, dirty town called Playas for the night. The next morning, determined to make it to Montanita, our Mecca if you will, we took little dirt back roads for 3 hours where we passed villages that may have never seen white people before. It was a grand adventure but when we got within 3 miles of Montanita we found that the roads were blocked again. But by this point there was no stopping us from achieving our destination we took some more back roads, including a very scary muddy downhill to finally get to Montanita. The town is everything we hoped it would be, a beautiful, quant surfing town. Our hostal costs $10 per person and we have ocean front with balconies with hammocks. The weather has been cloudy, but this has not stopped us from surfing until our heart´s content. Tomorrow we return back to Quito and back to work, but I feel revived and I miss our kids (all 45 of them).

There are more stories of this adventure, including meeting local celebrities, and riots but that must be saved for another blog.

In the six months that we’ve spent in Ecuador so far, every day we’ve noticed differences between the US and Ecuador. Since we don’t have time to write articles on every little difference, and since you probably won’t find these in a history book, we decided to write an article listing some of the tidbit facts about Ecuador.

We live about 5 miles south of the Equator, just into the Southern Hemisphere. On the Equator you can actually balance an egg. A few feet to the north of the Equator water flushes one way (clockwise). A few feet to the south of the Equator water from the same toilet flushes the other way (counterclockwise). Exactly on the Equator the water goes straight down. Seriously.

Because the altitude of Quito, the capital city where we live, is about 9,300 feet, there are not many insects here. I think they have trouble surviving in the thin air. Instead, as something needs to pollinate all the flowers, there are tons of hummingbirds and butterflies. The hummingbirds here are about 2 times larger than the ones in The States. One type of hummingbird that we see in our backyard has a tail that is about 8 inches long (4 times the size of its body).

Ecuador is a pretty small country in size (about the size of Ohio), but it varies as greatly as any country in its terrain. You can start on the Pacific coast of Ecuador, drive three hours inland (east) and be at a mountain that reaches 20,000 feet. Traveling another three hours east gets you to the Amazon jungle.

In Ecuador, Caucasians (gringos), not Hispanics or Blacks, are considered colored (colorado), because of the way our cheeks get colored red in the sun.

Forty-seven percent of the work force in Ecuador is “subempleado” - I think we call it “underemployment” in English. This means that almost half of the work force is in “under-the-table jobs,” such as selling ice-cream on the street, working unofficial labor jobs in maintenance and other fields, selling crafts or pirated DVDs on buses, etc... Whenever we take a bus ride, we have the option to buy something from a vendor who boards the bus, gives a quick sales pitch, checks to see if anyone wants to buy something, and then moves on to another bus. We’ve been offered roasted peanuts, cough drops, ice-cream, yogurt, pirated DVDs and CDs, gum, soda, Spider-Man masks, newspapers, toothbrushes, shoe insoles, candy and even soup. Since minimum wage is only about $250 per month, a lot of Ecuadorians are likely to make more money working unofficial jobs. The negative is that many workers and their families end up without the benefits that come with salary jobs, such as healthcare. Another result of the “underemployment” is a 12 percent sales tax.

Ecuador uses the US dollar. They gave up their “sucre” in 2000 to take up the US dollar to help with their economy and inflation. Politicians in the country are divided between those who are ready to bring back the “sucre” and show that their economy can run without the help of other countries, and those who want the stability and reliability of the US dollar.

It’s pretty common here to see way more people in a car than seatbelts. We’ve seen up to 13 people in the bed of a pickup truck. I think Britney Spears recently got in trouble in the US for driving with her kid on her lap. In the US, Britney could lose her children over something like that. Sadly, in Ecuador, it’s normal for a child to sit (sometimes stand) in the front seat on the lap of the driver or passenger. We’ve even seen babies on motorcycles.

Parking in Ecuador has its differences. Sidewalks make good parking spots. It’s not permitted by law, but you can park on most sidewalks that seem fitting to you. In the center of town, where parking laws are more enforced, they don’t use parking meters, but they do have some system: If you don’t already have a parking card in your car, you have to find a guy, who will be walking around on the sidewalk, somewhere, and buy a parking card from him. You put the parking card in your window and write in the time that you were there. Being a country that suffers greatly from corruption, you can imagine how honest people are when filling out their own parking cards. Tesha recently got back from Portland, Oregon for a friend’s wedding. In Portland, you use your credit card for the parking meters. I think Ecuador has awhile before they’ll be using those meters.

Ecuadorians greet with a kiss on the cheek. Sometimes they greet with a kiss the very first time they meet; other times they shake hands to meet and then kiss to greet once they know each other. It took a little while to get used to this, and to figure out when to shake hands and when to kiss. Still, early one morning, while I (Pete) was half asleep, I walked outside and ran into a female volunteer I know. At first I was really thrown off when she kept bringing her face closer and closer, but then I remembered that I was in Ecuador.
Another thing about greeting in Ecuador is that they individually greet every person in the room. In the US, when we show up at work, we give one general “Good morning” that goes out to everyone. Here a person will go around the room and greet up to 20 people individually. Even when we meet with Tesha’s running group on Saturday mornings, when people show up, they will go around to each of the 10 or so people who are stretching to give a kiss or shake hands and say “Buenos dias” to each person.”

It is common to see llamas in Ecuador, especially in the countryside. We have a llama on the orphanage property. It takes care of the lawn mowing. One of the children named it Luisa Daniela, a rather elegant name for a llama.
-Pete

Tesha and I made a video of the kids of For His Children. You can see the video at:

http://youtube.com/pgrangaard
or
http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=-1244099250424732410&hl=en

Let us know what you think.
-Pete

Today I (Pete) started Ecuadorian drivers ed. I can drive legally in Ecuador with my US and international licenses, but to be covered by insurance, which is not mandatory in Ecuador, I need an Ecuadorian license.
The last time I did drivers ed, I sat in the back of the classroom with my other 15-year-old friends and we made faces and played catch because our in-class teacher was legally blind. She would say, "I know you're probably doing something back there, but I just don't know what."
The first thing I did today, before any in-class training, was behind-the-wheel practice. I guess they figure that most people have already driven, whether legally or illegally, here. For the record, I wore my seatbelt when I drove - my instructor did not. He did wrap his seatbelt around the handbreak once to look like he had it on when he saw a policeman.
In-class training was fun. I could understand almost everything the teacher said, and I even understood his jokes, but I stood out like a big foreign exchange student with my Northern-European complexion. Any chance of blending in was lost when the teacher wanted me to teach him to pronounce my entire name, Peter Blake Vanderlinden Grangaard. But it was funny for all, and it gave classmates a conversation starter to talk to me afterward. A couple of college-age guys were especially welcoming and willing to help me if I need it.
I'm sure the class will be a great learning experience, and it will give me lots to write about.
-Pete

You know what I think would make a great joke at my funeral? For people to show a slideshow of all my ugliest and weirdest pictures (preferibly the ones where I have red eyes) and display these pictures to the song, "Every Breath You Make." I just think it would be hilarious to see all these creepy pictures of myself while hearing Sting and The Police sing, "Every step you take, every move you make....I'll be watching you." There's a rumor that Sting wrote that song for an ex-girlfriend after she had a restraining order put against him. (Gives the song a different twist, huh?) I think that'd be pretty funny... and that gives all of you readers an insight to my twisted sense of humor.

I know its bad luck to think on one's funeral, especially at such a young age, but I thought about it a lot of the way home from the jungle. I thought about the orphanage and the legacy Clark and Melinda (the orphanage directors and founders) will leave behind when they die. To think that they probably have the best-run orphanage in Ecuador, maybe in all of South America is a great thing. It makes me proud to work for them. Then, I thought about Tod Swanson, the owner of the lodge we stayed in the jungle, and the nature preserve he's building. I thought about how long after he's gone, botanists, biologists, and nature lovers will still enjoy discovering the Amazonian Rainforest through his nature preserve. Maybe someone will even make an important scientific discovery there. It's neat to think that these people, Clark, Melinda and Tod, make the world better with the lives they lead, and it makes me want to find my own niche where I too can make a lasting difference.

Thinking on these things brought John Mayer's song, "Bigger than My Body" to mind.
Someday I'll fly, Someday I'll soar
Someday I'll be so much more
'Cuz I'm bigger than my body gives me credit for
'Cuz I'm bigger than my body now

Tod, Clark and Melinda have all made themselves "bigger than their bodies" because they're leaving behind things that will continue to make the world a better place long after they're gone. I hope that someday that song will be fitting for me as well.

It’s amazing how close the jungle is to Quito. The drive takes about 5 hours, but it’s less than a hundred miles away as the crow flies. Quito is in the mountains, and both the native and modern cultures are mountain cultures, so it is amazing that the jungle can be so close. From our home on a clear day, we can see the giant, snow-capped mountain, Antisana, which separates us from the jungle. People normally think of the jungle as being a low altitude place, but I guess when the Amazon River flows all the way from here across Brazil, it has to start pretty high.
For our recent trip to the jungle, we stayed right on the Napo River, which flows into the Amazon. We stayed for three nights in screened-in wooden huts with roofs of palm leaves. Tesha and I were lucky enough to get one of the elevated huts, with chickens roaming around it, so we didn’t have too many bugs (just a few big spiders, a cockroach in the magazine I was reading, and a small scorpion). Our hut was close to the cliff that dropped down to the river, so we enjoyed falling asleep to the sound of the light rapids.
The area of the jungle we stayed in is 10 kilometers from the section of land found by a scientist to have the highest amount of plant species in a single hectare in the world. The plant life looks like what you’re probably imagining the jungle to be – countless types of plants growing everywhere they can, while trying to defend themselves with thorns, giant leaves and poisonous bark. We saw all sorts of poisonous spiders, scary bugs, a corral snake (one of the most poisonous snakes in the world), monkeys, a neon pink dragonfly, and butterflies of every imaginable color. We saw butterfly after butterfly, yet rarely saw the same pattern twice. Around our huts we saw a tarantula bigger than my hand, a moth the size of my face, and a stick bug the size of… well, a stick.
We went to the jungle with a volunteer group that came down to help out at the orphanage. One of the days was dedicated to helping the community there by building a Sunday-School room at a small church and building a fence for a nature preserve. Tesha and I went with the fence building group because most people wanted to build for the church. We were told that our job would be the easy one and that we would be “stringing” part of a fence together. So after putting on our shorts and shoes, we headed off to our jobsite to find out that we would be hauling 8 foot logs on our shoulders ¼ of a mile into the jungle. Once we got into the thick of the jungle we dug holes and set the mini telephone poles in the ground for the fence. If this doesn’t sound that bad to you yet, imagine that we were walking through undeveloped jungle and making our own paths, while carrying posts that will root and turn into trees, and fighting fire-ants. After awhile, one of the Ecuadorian natives asked Tesha why we were all wearing shorts. We went and found boots and pants after he explained that he would probably be dead by now from poisonous spider and snake bites if it weren’t for his pants.
Even though we slept in huts, the jungle trip has been our most comfortable trip. The luxury of riding a private bus, knowing the people around us, and trusting that our things will be safe is more comfortable than staying in a nice hotel.
You can see pictures of our jungle trip at: http://community.webshots.com/user/peteandtesha
-Pete

Well we actually went to Canoa a month ago but then we got too busy to blog about it. Luckily I journaled the trip down so here is our second trip to the beach from my journal.....

July 8 2007

We are off to Canoa with new friends! Pete and I have made friends with a group of college interns who are here for the summer. It is so much fun to hang out with people our own age who speak English. There are 8 of us total who are going on the trip. We are going to a beach town that is famous for surfing so hopefully we'll be able to get in some good waves.

July 9 2007

Well after an all-night bus trip we arrived at Canoa around 7 am dazed and tired. Canoa is a small town with dirt roads and a laid-back feel to it. After finding a semi-shady hostel and having leisurely breakfast complete with LOTs of coffee we set off to explore Canoa's beaches. The weather was a bit cold but the water was warm and we had fun exploring the beach, climbing on rocks and collecting sea shells. Later after lunch we rented surf boards and boggie boards, but I guess this isn't the season for good surf because it was pretty tame. The boys still had a good time trying to surf (with Pete helping to teach them). We enjoyed a delicious dinner of lobster for only $10! After dinner we tried to stay up and hang out at this local pub which was really neat but in the end we all went to bed around 9:45 exhausted from the lack of sleep the previous night.

July 10 2007

Well it was pretty cold and cloudy this morning so after breakfast we decided to play soccer on the beach barefoot. We had a great time until I ran into our friend Ryan's shin with my toe and my big toe was bent back all the way. It hurt SO badly but I tried to be brave and said I'd take 5. Five minutes later however it was hurting worse than ever and I was biting my lips to keep from sobbing. When Pete and the others came to check on me a half an hour later I was crying and my toe had swollen to twice its normal size. Pete gave me a piggy back ride to our hotel (which hurt really bad too to have my foot being jostled around) where we ran into the hotel owner. He looked at my foot and was immediately concerned and said I should go visit the town doctor. I decided this was a probably a good idea so that I could get some pain medicine or something so Pete and the hotel owner took turns giving me a piggy back ride to the "doctor's office." I felt ridiculous being carried by a 50-something Ecuadorian through the dusty street of Canoa, not to mention that people kept coming out of their houses to look at us but he wouldn't let me walk. The doctor's office turned out to be a cinderblock house and an old lady came out. She turned out to be the "doctor," except she wasn't a doctor at all, more like the town midwife. This naturally made me apprehensive but she assured me that she knew what she was doing.

When we got into the sparely decorated house, five children popped up out of no where and gathered around to watch their grandmother (I'm assuming) examine my toe. After gently poking it, she took out some Vaseline and proceeded to rub my foot down. This might have felt comforting had it not been for the fact that my foot was still caked with sand and so it hurt quite a lot to have someone rubbing sand into your foot. Then, without warning, she took my injured big toe and yanked it. I couldn't help it. I screamed bloody murder. She was trying to explain to me that she was trying to put it back into place but I told her, "No thank you I am done here and I will go to a real doctor." All this time it seemed like more and more kids showed up at the house. I was being scrutinized by about 10 little kids now who were laughing as I was crying. The lady told me that "oh the doctors will only give you pills for the pain. That’s all they do." Well right now that sounded pretty good so we paid the lady $5 for injuring me further and left, Pete carrying me all the way to the hostel. Now, as I said before, the hostel was semi-shady, not one of the nicest I've ever stayed in but it felt like home when we arrived. Pete had actually brought some of his pain meds that his orthodontist prescribed for his mouth pain and that seemed to do the trick. I was sad that I was out of commission for the rest of the trip but it felt good to sleep.

August 9 2007

My toe is almost completely healed up now. I saw the orphanage's doctor when we got back to Quito who said that I had severely sprained it but it was not broken. So for the past month I have been deprived of running which I really missed and this is my first week back to normal work out routine.
-Tesha

Last Saturday I summited Rucu Pinchincha, the 15,500 foot mountain that towers beside Quito. (That's about 1,000 feet higher than any mountain in the continental US.) I went with a few American friends who are serving as interns in Quito for the summer. Pichincha is high enough so that, even as it sits on the equator, it has snow on the top. The top was cold, but much worse, it was very difficult to breath. Our last 150 yards took us half an hour to ascend because we'd take about 6 steps through the steep, soft, sandy terrain and then have to stop to catch our breath. On the way back down, the same 150 yards took us less than 2 minutes. I've felt exhausted from pushing myself physically many times before, but this was a much different feeling - feeling fine throughout my body, yet not having the air to tell myself to keep going.
The top looks sort of like Mordor from Lord of the Rings with its dark, jagged, unfriendly looking rock. It was cloudy at the very top, so I hope to go up again on a clear day. From below the clouds we got a great view of Quito and the surrounding area. I never realized how big the city is.
-Pete

"I have drunken deep of joy, And I will taste no other wine tonight."
Percy Shelley

In our last three months in Ecuador we have endured cold showers, seven hour bus rides through the jungle without air conditioning, kids throwing up on us, and the Ecuadorian government refusing to let us become legal. However, these things seem trivial when compared to something I like to call the "warm fuzzies." The warm fuzzies are little reminders of why we are here, and they have made our time here worth while. The first time when one of the kids, Angel, cupped his grubby little hands to my face and said, "Te quiero Tesha," or "I love you, Tesha," I thought my heart would burst. That was only the beginning.

The warm fuzzies come in different shapes and sizes but they're mainly due to kids that we work with. Every morning when we arrive at the orphanage there is one little boy named Fabian who runs up to me as fast as his little two-year-old legs can carry him. While he is running, his chubby face spreads widely in a smile and he yells, "Tesha, Tesha!" as he runs. I scoop him up in my arms and he hugs me tightly. It is one of the best feelings to be loved by a child.

Another time that's sure to give me the fuzzies is when we come in the evenings for music. As part of our program at the orphanage, Pete and I come two to three times a week to teach and sing songs with the kids. We sing in both English and Spanish, and we've been amazed at how fast they learn! My favorite song to sing at music time is "Old McDonald" because the kids love to choose the wildest animals for Mr. McDonald's farm. Inwardly I laugh as together 15 toddlers and I sing "Old McDonald had a tiger" and then we all roar as loudly as we can. Sometimes, after music, when we're tucking the kids into their beds, I hear them drifting off to sleep singing softly, "E-I-E-I-O."

Many times after music, we arrive at our house just as the sun begins to set. Sometimes, Cayambe, the third highest peak in Ecuador at almost 19,000 feet, is just visible through the clouds. This produces a different kind of warm fuzzies which is more of awe for such a majestic mountain. Recently, it was an unusually brisk evening and we could see Cayambe clearly from our balcony. Pete and I took a blanket out to the balcony and watched the sun set turning the mountain beautiful shades of red and purple.

Living in Ecuador with its many inconveniences, causes us to remember that the small trinkets of joy that we get from working with kids or witnessing the beauty in nature are some of the most rewarding experiences in life. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow said it best when he wrote, "Tell me not, in mournful numbers life is but an empty dream! For the soul is dead that slumbers and things are not what they seem. Life is real! Life is earnest! And the grave is not its goal; Dust thou art; to dust returnest, was not spoken of the soul."

Today was a day mixed with sadness and relief as one of FHC's children, Teresa, died today. Poor little Teresa (or Teresita, "Little Teresa," as she was called by her tias) lived only to be six months old. She went to be in paradise with her heavenly father early this morning after spending the last two months in a children's hospital here in Quito.

Teresa was one of the first babies that I got a chance to work with. Teresa's biological mother was very young and "fell down some stairs" causing her to go prematurely into labor when she was still only about 7 and a 1/2 months pregnant. I used parenthesis for "fell down" because there is some debate over whether or not the mother purposely tried to do something to end her pregnancy early. Shortly after Theresa was born, weighing only 3 pounds, her mother abandoned her at the hospital. So as a result, Teresa was born with many problems. For starters, she was diagnosed with hydrocephalus (excess fluid in the brain), and sepsis (an immune system response to an infection, causing severe inflammation, faster breathing, faster heart rate, and a higher body temperature). Teresa spent the first three weeks of her life in intensive care and was brought to FHC needing 24-hour supplemental oxygen and a feeding tube.

In my first month at FHC, I accompanied Teresa and her tias on many doctor's visits. It seemed like if Teresa wasn't sleeping or eating she was going to the doctors. She was still on supplemental oxygen but started to be able to eat from a bottle. She was a sweet baby girl who loved to be held. We had high hopes for her until about a month and half-ago when she developed pneumonia and had to be taken to the hospital again. We didn't get to visit her in the hospital, but we felt comfortable knowing that FHC sent a tia to be with her 24 hours a day while she was there. This is why I wrote in the first sentence that is Teresa's death comes as sadness and as a relief, in that she had suffered so much for someone so who lived such a short time.

Teresita's little body is being kept at FHC today and tomorrow for her memorial service. I had the strange experience of unexpectedly walking into the room where they are keeping her body. I've seen the dead body of my grandma at her viewing service, but I've never seen a dead baby before. It was so sad and surreal at the same time. What struck me were her tiny little eyelashes. She looked like a little sleeping doll, except that Teresa had long, beautiful eyelashes that you could tell were real.

So that is Teresa's story. I felt that someone should tell it in honor of her memory. At least I know that while she was a FHC, she was given the best care available by the tias here. I know nothing can compare to a mother's love but the tias tried their very best to love that little girl. Please pray for these tias when you think of them because Teresa’s death is difficult for them right now, and rejoice that this little girl has now gone home to a place where she will suffer no more.