December, 1998 Quito, Ecuador

(Note: I went to Ecuador as part of a volunteer program. Every month, the in-country director of the program would solicit writings from the participants and compile them into a newsletter called Ecuavista. This was written for the December 1998 issue.) ...First of all, the powers-that-be at school decided that we didn't really need that stipend check on time anyway. And, as per usual, I'd been sick as a dog. The proverbial straw that broke this camel's back was when I was robbed on the Trolé (trolley). In one short Trolé ride, I was relieved of my money, my credit cards and my Censo. To add insult to injury, I was robbed on the way to buy desperately needed shoes. Not desperately needed because I was having a fashion crisis, mind you, but because I made a poor shoe purchase before I left the States and my feet were paying the price with blisters and calluses. Needless to say, when I realized I'd been pick-pocketed, I decided that I was thoroughly fed up with this country. I headed to the Policia to do my denuncia. T. came along for moral and linguistic support, but apparently my "irritated-at-Ecuador" vibe was contagious, because she admitted to being mad at the world as well. As we all know, anything involving bureaucracy in Ecuador can be a nightmare. When T. and I arrived at the denuncia office, it looked to be no exception: four people at desks with typewriters and carbon paper (!!!) hammering out the details of each victim's plight. There were an array of signs (none of which seemed to make much sense) directing people to different offices depending on what they had been robbed of - dinero, documentos, carros, etc. And, of course, there was the line of people. Thankfully, the line was moving and the Ecuadorian art form of cutting in line was being thwarted by the police, who were pretty good about keeping everyone under control. This was a good thing, since Trish and I were ripe for a showdown with any poor Ecua-person who dared attempt to meterse in front of us. Finally, we were motioned to a desk. Behind the desk was a middle-aged woman with a friendly face. "¿Profesión?" she asked. "Profesora," I answered. She cocked her head slightly. "¿En dondé?" "SECAP," I said. Her face lit up and she lunged across the typewriter and grabbed my hand. "¡Mi vida! My son! ¡Mi hijo estudia allá!" As it turned out, her son, Byron, was one of T.'s best students. Byron's excellence was fortunate because it allowed T. to engage, genuinely, in another Ecua-art-form: gushing. We chatted for quite a while - much to the dismay of those waiting behind us - and by the time Señora Byron's Mom had finished typing my sob story and expedited all of the paperwork, Trish and I were measurably cheered. We walked out of the building smiling and we were noting our luck when Señora Byron's Mom ran out the door after us. Unaware that we both had our money tucked safely under our shirts, she had seen us put our backpacks (*gasp*) on our backs and had rushed out to save us from certain robbery. She gave us a little more advice, and concluded with an invitation to go on vacation with her. She assured us that she would send more information soon via her son, and she ran back to her typewriter. T. and I looked at each other and burst out laughing. If you had told us that we would have been laughing by 11 am that morning, I would have scoffed. If you had told me that we would have been cheered by the denuncia process - of all things! - I would have rolled my eyes. But such is the way of this country, and nature of the extranjera experience. So if you're having a bad day, or a bad week, just stick it out. Señora Byron's mom will find you soon enough.

January 22, 1998 Quito, Ecuador

Dear Mom: Wow! After having the class from HELL this morning, news shoes are the best news I've gotten all day! It's a good thing that I decided to check my email this morning, I was debating going shoe shopping for brown shoes today as a reward for having survived the six late-teen/early twenties boys in my 7 a.m. class who are trying to kill me. And I do not exaggerate. Last year, there were three and I struggled with them all course long. Now I've got three more abd they're out to get me! I've already separated them, but they are bandidos. They're actually good kids, and their English is great. They're never late (which is my pet peeve), they never miss and their grades are some of the best in the class. So I'm torn. Anyway, the shoes sound great, and given my track record with trying to buy new shoes (I was pick-pocketed on the Trolé on the way to buy new shoes, remember?) it's probably best that you send them to me. My (throbbing) feet are very excited to get them. By the way, the package that arrived in Ecuador on the 20th of December was actually available for pickup that day as well. The problem was that the postal workers never put the little notice in my mailbox. The first I knew of it was when I got my Segundo Aviso about two weeks ago. I was fit to be tied, but the contractor office (where they send me to pick up Express Mail packages) blames it on the postal workers, saying that sometimes they just don't put the avisos in the boxes. Why? This is Ecuador, there are no explanations. Ok, gotta go write some more e-mail! Hope you and Dad are doing well. Love,

life in two languages