mixed feelings

As I sit in the living room, listening to what appears to be some mixture of love songs and Spanish-Jazz playing over the sounds of Elsa cooking, I’m hesitant to say that I feel like I’m at home, but although it’s nothing like the life I’ve left, or the houses I’ve been in before, in all honesty, it’s gotten to the point that this “casita” has become my home. For the past three weeks I’ve woken up to the same scenes, the same smells, the same food. I’ve gone to work, I’ve gotten to the point where I’ve seen and eaten the same lunches over again, and I’ve even grown accustomed to the some-what lumpy bed that barely contains my stature. In all, good or bad, this is my home for now, and over the past week I’ve been dealing with the realization that this is going to be what I call my home for another two months.

Don’t get me wrong, things are still going really well- the past week I began to get into a rhythm with my schedule, prepared what I feel like is everything I will need for the upcoming month of “blood pressure awareness,” and put the final touches on my proposal for my growth standards investigation; yet, as the novelty of living in a new place began to fade, and stresses from Medical school applications, constant translations, and a bit of sleep deprivation began to build, I guess you could say, I just began to miss home. I began to miss the comfort of having milk and cereal for breakfast opposed to “huevos and pan;” I started to miss being able to just relax- sit on my front porch and people watch, and not necessarily take everything in for the first time; and honestly, I really started to miss those closest to me: my family, my friends, and most of all, my best friend; my fiancé, and the person I feel incomplete without, Caity. This past fall (in addition to the past 4 and a half years), being together and studying abroad in Spain opened my eyes to a level of happiness, and excitement, and love for every second of life that has since been something I’ve brought to everything I try and do; but here, without her, I’ve begin to realize how much I never want to take her presence in my life for granted- and how much I can’t wait to change the world with her at my side! Along those lines, this time away has given me a chance to reflect on all of the people around me who have supported me up to this point- and more than anything, it’s made me realize how lucky I truly am. For this, although it doesn’t even begin to do justice, I want to say thanks.

There’s really no way to describe how lost you can feel when you’re surrounded by people who you can only express your feelings to in limited terms. Salutations, small talk, and discussing the world cup matches are great- but at some point, the basal level forms of expression only scratches the surface of how you really feel, which over time, becomes increasingly frustrated or, as I have found, just exhausted at times. In the end, being on my own has significantly reassured all of the feelings, and excitement, and determination I had before I got the plane a few weeks ago, and for this, I cannot even express my gratitude, but with 60 or so days left on my journey, I guess it’s good that I’m starting to feel “at home” in one way or another; becasue right now, I'm missing mi propia casa a bit.

To sort of change gears, things this past week at the clinic have been going smoothly. Monday I traveled with Paola to two of the pre-schools to conduct inventory of ALL the things the schools currently have. From chalk boards, to chairs, to broken pencils; we counted, separated, judged, and recorded any and everything that was of even the most miniscule value. Interestingly, one means of categorizing the materials was based on who donated them to the school. Often times, the teachers weren’t exactly sure if it were the parents of the children, the Rotary Club Foundation, or other non-profits that had helped in the past that were responsible for the majority of the necessities, but I was caught off guard by the donations deemed to be from el ministerio de la educación. Sadly, these "gifts"/ obligations usually consisted of things of very minimal worth, including: plastic chairs with rickety legs (some of which were only 75% in tact), stuffed animals that were “new,” as to say newly donated, (which appeared to have been left over from foster homes or garage sales), and some old books with numerous pages missing and/or covers tattered past the point of recognition. In all, it was an eye-opening experience that changed my perspective on what resources were truly at hand here in Ecuador, and at the same time, made me grateful for the public education I was able to access throughout my youth, in spite of whatever negative connotations might be associated with it back in the states.

Tuesday to Friday, my life involved a handful of translations varying from: donor letters, certificates of appreciation for other volunteers that were leaving, yearly updates on children in the schools, and even having to translate a list of 100+ pieces of dental equipment that a group of American dentists will be bringing in late August (needed for some sort of customs formality I think). By the end of the week, these tasks, along with the finalization of my proposals for the upcoming months, left my head spinning, aching, and- thanks to the homesickness I mentioned- a bit out of sync.

The best way to relax, I found, was in keeping myself distracted. And even though it isn’t the first thing that comes to my mind when I think of “relaxation,” this past week marked the start of my summer rugby training program, and the start of any sort of formal exercise for the first time since I landed. Given that my body has more or less adjusted to the altitude here, and any worry of passing out or having a heart attack had subsided after last week’s rugby practice, going on a jog every other day and doing some push-ups actually felt pretty good towards the end of the week. Not to mention that it gave me something productive to occupy my time during the somewhat lonely nights, in between coming home from work and waiting to eat dinner and drink coffee with the family. In fact, I even got to know the neighborhood in ways my parents hadn’t even explored; which, Friday night, came back to bite in more ways than one.

As I had started every day before, my jog around the barrio involved a quick stretch, talking to the front gate guard Jaime, and then heading up hill; other than being a little unusually over-cast and a bit windy, this Friday seemed to be nothing out of the ordinary. My customary route involves trotting through the main street that our conjunto is on, dodging the empty bottles and loose rocks that line the gutters and making my way between cars and school buses as they head to their destinations. For the most part, the first ten minutes or so of the jog is fairly easy, with a slight incline and some decent scenery ranging from a water treatment plant to a campo with cows and wild grass. Then, abruptly, at the end of the road there is a fork that splits into two paths: one, being what looks like a drive way (and thus I’ve yet to find out what it really is); and the other, a steep inclined road that traces the profile of the mountain separating the valleys on either side of Quito. Immediately when I arrived at the foot of this “hill” the first time I knew I had a goal- make it to the top, and since, have tried to climb a little by little, to at least a height further than I had the days before. On this Friday evening, when I arrived at the base of the road my legs were a bit shot after a week of doing this customary run, but after painstakingly convincing them to carry me past the bus stop, past the street vendor, and past the old abuielita I say hola to every time I crawl up the precipice, I made it to a point where the incline subsides and I felt satisfied with my progress. Amidst catching my breath and trying not to roll down the hill, I distinctly recall the red-ish orange sunset that greeted me as I looked down into the valley, peered onto Tumbaco, and stood (actually hunched over) in the presence of the most amazing view of Quito I’d seen yet; represented by the gleaming edifices of ten story buildings nestled between two protruding peaks of densely vegetated mountains on either side. After catching my breath and taking a mental picture, it was time to carry on.

Down the hill I jogged, passing the people I’d seen struggling to walk up it along the way, and reaching the road in probably 1/16th of the time it took me to ascend. With all the momentum from hill, it was almost (but not entirely) easy to make my way through the rest of my customary jog, as I followed along the path that brought me to the hill and then made a left down the street I suppose is known as, calle cinco, due to the scribbled graffiti on the brick wall that lines the corner. Down 5th street, the scenery is a bit more rural, with sprawling fields to the left, and the road being composed of individually placed river rock that has since formed an uneven, but charming, pathway to lead the few people that call this area home to their front steps. I made my way down this route as I had the Wednesday and Monday before, focusing on my footing as not to fall, and taking the streets back south to my home where I could eventually rest. Today though, as I approached the first turn in my path, I saw an oddly cute puppy, wearing an orange sweater and sniffing around in the tall grass alongside the road. As I passed it, it ran in front of me, sprinting down the path and away from my sight; that is, until out of the silence, I heard a quick bark, that transitioned into a chorus of furious yelps and growls that barreled down on me from behind a set of bushes to my right. Within seconds -or however long it took me to turn my head and see what was the matter- a pack of four dogs, one that used to be white before living on the streets, a black-matted lab, and two fierce looking canines that if I had to guess were probably boxers, were sprinting the 5 or so meters that separated us towards me. Before I could even react, two of the dogs had already latched onto the side of my leg and back of my knee, only lessening their grips following a few kicks and yells. They retreated to where-ever it was that they came from, as I sprinted off in a direction towards home, hoping that I wouldn’t accidently set off again whatever animal instinct caused this reaction in the first place.

Once out of sight, I slowed down and assessed the damage to my leg, quickly realizing that, although pretty bloody, there had been no significantly life threatening damage. Relieved, I headed home, only stopping to pick up a stick in case I ran into any other trouble along the way. For the rest of the evening, I got to experience the Ecuadorian health care system from the patient’s perspective; first coming home to clean the cut with hydrogen peroxide and whatever Jorge could find me, and then heading to the emergency clinic at the Universidad San Francisco de Quito. There, I was able to take all precautionary steps (a.k.a get a shot and a schedule of the next 4 shots I’ll need over the course of this month) to make sure I don’t transform into some rabies-crazed zombie while here.

For all the mothers or fathers or future wife that may be reading this, since this some-what hectic evening, everything has been fine, my leg looks to be healing, and other than the hospital bills and new-found desire I have to throw rocks at every dog that barks at me the wrong way, it wasn’t that bad of an experience. And as I sit here now, looking at the teeth marks that’ll probably stay scarred with me for the rest of my life, I realize it could’ve been a lot worse, and if it’s any consolation, at least this way I’m covered in case any other animals decide they want to see what gringo tastes like.

I hope all back home is going well and that everyone reading this (and even those that aren’t) is having a happy Fourth of July, and more importantly, a happy blood pressure awareness month!

Sinceramente
drew