Well, I am back in Puyo, after taking a long [unwanted] jungle hiatus in Quito for over 2 months. I have to say that Quito is one of those places where after spending too much time within the city limits, you viscerally feel it eating away at you. Some attribute it to constant lead poisoning in the air, the notion that it is at the center of volcanic energy [or vortices for the woo-woo of heart], or that most of its population never leave the city so it's just full of people ready to burst at the seams. I've heard some sayings and seen some graffiti around Quito (largely diffused by some young and creative Quiteños I've come to know as of late) that addresses this sense of latent locura lingering in the Andean city air. "Some are born with luck, others are born in Quito" or "After I kill myself, I wake up in Quito."
This is not to totally cast a negative light on Quito, it most certainly has it's secrets and treasures, but it is so easy to feel trapped by life within the little Andean city and to become blind to the beauty, complications, and different little worlds that exist within the country. For example, it's easy to get in a tizzy over petty social life yet once you leave the reality of the city and become immersed into another, (where, for example, people struggle on a daily basis to not have their children get gravely ill and to keep them properly nourished), you begin to put things into perspective. Not to say that one must feel guilty, but sometimes certain issues become frivolous by comparison. As aware as I have to be on a constant basis about these different spaces, realities, and dreams, I must say that it is difficult at times to keep them in perspective. Spending so much time in Quito somehow left me feeling disconnected with the work I do in the jungle, with the Achuar, despite the fact that I work on planning, organization, and coodinating for this program every day.
So as fate should so thankfully have it, I find myself in Puyo again, embarking on another leg of the Jungle Mama's journey (when I say Jungle Mamas or Ikiama Nukuri, I am referring to the intercultural women and community health program I am working on with the Achuar of Morona-Santiago aka the driving force for being down here...see other entries). We are here to make alliances with the Ministry of Public Health, specifically their intercultural health branch and to broaden the collaboration with community health and safe birth workshops. This trip will be an exciting one for making alliances and taking important steps forward, so I should be writing with more frequency!
Thursday, January 27, 2011
Friday, December 10, 2010
Notes from the Jungle-ground: monkeys, cockroaches, and Achuar viagra
Nov. 5th, 2010
I am sitting in my mosquito net sanctuary writing by candlelight. I hear the creak crack squeak scrak of the jungle outside. No matter how many times I douse my body in the cool water I brought up from the creek, I am still covered in a layer of sweat. There are tiny bugs flying into my face, small enough to fly through the net and get stuck to my sticky skin.
We are here and it feels like always. Normal jungle green hot life. Yet whenever I come here, I am always hit hard by the hum and buzz of life - fertility makes itself known to the five senses. The mother creation is here, in effect, her name is Nunkui - she is a Shuar/Achuar goddess entity that protects over the garden and blesses it with her fertility. I am here to work on a maternal health program and am around beautiful mothers and babies all the time, so it is out of my control at times when the greeness and ache of fertility makes its presence known to me. Plants are growing, bugs chirp endlessly - I am surrounded by the reproduction of life.
The yuca plants were singing to me today as I walked through the huerta - a melody that made me aware of the heat and stickiness.
Thunder rolls in the distance now punctuated by bugs and I am slowly melting into my sleeping bag and mosquito net, trying to fend off the heat in order to fall asleep...
Nov. 6th, 2010
We went to my friend's in-law's farm in the jungle. They chopped down a palm tree and gave us the pollen to eat. It was delicious and crunchy...imagine hearts of palm but crunchier! After I stuffed my face with nearly the entire bunch, I asked what is it called and my friend giggled as she said "it's Achuar Viagra. The Viagra of the jungle! You better watch out this next week!" I nervously shrugged and hoped that she was wrong...if not, Dear God help me.
Nov. 7th, 2010
A green hum
chirp
crack. trrrrrrrrreeeep!
These are the sounds of the jungle.
A flustered chicken walks by, picking fiercely at a discarded termite nest.
My legs are marked with little red spicy bites.
When I come home, will you kiss each one?
Writing by candlelight again
the crickets and cicadas and monkeys make greater poetry
than I ever will
they sing to you of a place
So wet with green
Better than I ever could
I sit here listening to them in my little salty sanctuary
hotter than they will ever be
Where will that little grasshopper jump to?
Upon what branch rests mi mono amiguito?
Is that a bird calling or a bug?
I think if I were a grasshopper, I might jump to you - right into your web.
And become stuck in your glistening net.
It certainly is a better fate than that of the cockroach I just killed -
smote with great precision by the bottom of my flashlight
rigor mortis sets in the pool of cockroach milk.
as the little ants await their midnight gala.
yes, there is creation, birth, and death here!
But this heat is unbearable.
I really must try to sleep.
Sunday, September 12, 2010
Puyo Birth Ponderings
I am currently spending my time in Puyo, a small jungle city that has been the launchpad for entry into Amazonian communities for hundreds of years. On tuesday, I'm leaving early in the morning with the Jungle Mamas team to go back to Pumpuentsa, where we will be giving a workshop on Safe Birthing and Family Health with the women and men we have been working with over the past two years. The goal has always been to train people locally in being able to identify birth emergencies, attendance and delivery, and illness prevention in mothers and babies, with the objective of reducing the need to travel outside of the community to seek health attention (traveling outside of the community for medical attention means either an expensive airplane flight or a 3 hour hike through think primary forest to a hospital).
The program has indeed been successful - we have seen that the majority of births have been attended to and assisted by the people we have been working with over the past year. However, I have been thinking deeply about what we are doing in the broader context of cultural change. Previously, women have always gone deep into the forest to give birth by themselves, without the assistance of a mother or a traditional birth attendant or midwife. If a baby is born irregular-looking, small, or "anormal", it has been the custom to let it die, or leave it in the jungle. Of course, according to our western ideas about when personhood begins at birth (or somewhere in utero), this sounds unacceptable. But imagine what the life of a child would be like in an area where there was no reasonable hope of maintaining a good quality of life, or any type of medical attention (western or 'traditional'). Especially from a culture where people literally explain death as "a cause of nature," (so and so couldn't be saved because nature killed them...essentially a cause of nature). A life where death, like birth, is viewed as a natural process as something that can't necessarily be prevented or intervened with.
As a westerner, myself, engaging in a project that hopes to eliminate maternal and child mortality, there is a lot I have to learn about life and death. Not only how to engage with it on a personal level, but also in an on-the-ground level. I'm working with people who "traditionally" gave birth alone and by themselves, because it is so sacred, no one (not even family) should look at it. And as any person working in development, community organizing, activism, social change (whatever you choose to call it), you should always be aware and open to learning about traditions and what people practice locally while thinking about how your actions will contribute to "change." However, I am working in a community that is literally amidst the process of change. We're talking about change in the sense that the very first road EVER to enter the territory is already under construction. There is enough involvement with community leaders moving in and out of the community that new materials, jobs, ideas, medicines, and illnesses are in constant movement. I'm not working with a stereotypically "traditional" community, but one that has been in the process of grappling with change for years.
My work was made possible by the fact that men and women in the community wanted change - they wanted to learn more about western ways of intervention in birthing - specifically midwifery and illness prevention. Yet there are still times where I feel like I know nothing. It pains me to hear about the very small select women who continue to hide when they give birth, or hearing about a baby dying of diarrhea, despite all that we have taught. Change takes time. Also when we think about how different life conditions are in the jungle from the city, we also need to take into account the different logics behind it, instead of writing these situations of as products of "underdeveloped" or "poverty-stricken" societies.
I am reminded of a chapter I read from an ethnography (perhaps one of the most formative in my early life as a student of anthro) in my Introduction to Anthropology class at Reed College. We read Ana Lowenhaupt Tsing's _In the Realm of the Diamond Queen: Marginality in an Out-of-the-Way Place_ (you should really read it!) called "Family Planning." As an ethnographer, Tsing encountered a moment where she was forced to recognize her cultural differences and concepts of birth in relation to the Meratus people with whom she was working. After the premature birth of a child, the mother didn't recognize her child for various reasons, such as not being ready (too young), etc and it eventually died. As an outsider, this was incredibly difficult for Tsing to deal with - she wanted to (and eventually did) intervene, but was not necessarily conscious of the implications of her actions. She wanted to save the child, to rescue it, but was not prepared to take responsibility for it's life. Tsing goes into more depth about the deep cultural differences, but it made me think about my role in intervention. Yes, culture plays a huge role in if/how/when/why my intervention is successful. It is extremely difficult at times for me to understand how death can be seen as so natural, yet I also see that the people I am working with are changing the ways in which they think about life and death. That illness and abrupt death is preventable - it is their right. So there is some kind of change at work, a change that I am both participating in/facilitating and a change that the people I am working with are participating in/facilitating. It is change from the outside AND the inside. And that is simultaneously the most beautiful and most challenging element of my work.
The program has indeed been successful - we have seen that the majority of births have been attended to and assisted by the people we have been working with over the past year. However, I have been thinking deeply about what we are doing in the broader context of cultural change. Previously, women have always gone deep into the forest to give birth by themselves, without the assistance of a mother or a traditional birth attendant or midwife. If a baby is born irregular-looking, small, or "anormal", it has been the custom to let it die, or leave it in the jungle. Of course, according to our western ideas about when personhood begins at birth (or somewhere in utero), this sounds unacceptable. But imagine what the life of a child would be like in an area where there was no reasonable hope of maintaining a good quality of life, or any type of medical attention (western or 'traditional'). Especially from a culture where people literally explain death as "a cause of nature," (so and so couldn't be saved because nature killed them...essentially a cause of nature). A life where death, like birth, is viewed as a natural process as something that can't necessarily be prevented or intervened with.
As a westerner, myself, engaging in a project that hopes to eliminate maternal and child mortality, there is a lot I have to learn about life and death. Not only how to engage with it on a personal level, but also in an on-the-ground level. I'm working with people who "traditionally" gave birth alone and by themselves, because it is so sacred, no one (not even family) should look at it. And as any person working in development, community organizing, activism, social change (whatever you choose to call it), you should always be aware and open to learning about traditions and what people practice locally while thinking about how your actions will contribute to "change." However, I am working in a community that is literally amidst the process of change. We're talking about change in the sense that the very first road EVER to enter the territory is already under construction. There is enough involvement with community leaders moving in and out of the community that new materials, jobs, ideas, medicines, and illnesses are in constant movement. I'm not working with a stereotypically "traditional" community, but one that has been in the process of grappling with change for years.
My work was made possible by the fact that men and women in the community wanted change - they wanted to learn more about western ways of intervention in birthing - specifically midwifery and illness prevention. Yet there are still times where I feel like I know nothing. It pains me to hear about the very small select women who continue to hide when they give birth, or hearing about a baby dying of diarrhea, despite all that we have taught. Change takes time. Also when we think about how different life conditions are in the jungle from the city, we also need to take into account the different logics behind it, instead of writing these situations of as products of "underdeveloped" or "poverty-stricken" societies.
I am reminded of a chapter I read from an ethnography (perhaps one of the most formative in my early life as a student of anthro) in my Introduction to Anthropology class at Reed College. We read Ana Lowenhaupt Tsing's _In the Realm of the Diamond Queen: Marginality in an Out-of-the-Way Place_ (you should really read it!) called "Family Planning." As an ethnographer, Tsing encountered a moment where she was forced to recognize her cultural differences and concepts of birth in relation to the Meratus people with whom she was working. After the premature birth of a child, the mother didn't recognize her child for various reasons, such as not being ready (too young), etc and it eventually died. As an outsider, this was incredibly difficult for Tsing to deal with - she wanted to (and eventually did) intervene, but was not necessarily conscious of the implications of her actions. She wanted to save the child, to rescue it, but was not prepared to take responsibility for it's life. Tsing goes into more depth about the deep cultural differences, but it made me think about my role in intervention. Yes, culture plays a huge role in if/how/when/why my intervention is successful. It is extremely difficult at times for me to understand how death can be seen as so natural, yet I also see that the people I am working with are changing the ways in which they think about life and death. That illness and abrupt death is preventable - it is their right. So there is some kind of change at work, a change that I am both participating in/facilitating and a change that the people I am working with are participating in/facilitating. It is change from the outside AND the inside. And that is simultaneously the most beautiful and most challenging element of my work.
Monday, June 28, 2010
Agua y Vida: Water as a Limitation and Key to Improving Maternal/Community Health
I ask those of you reading this to take a moment and reflect upon your daily relationship with water. Where did your last cup come from? Do you remember the last time you went to a restaurant and they provided you with a nice glass of ice water, free of charge, or even drank from a public water fountain? Or how about the time you came home after a long run and you just grab a cup and fill it with tap water? If you did this in Quito, Ecuador, you would run the risk of infecting yourself with all types of water-born diseases and parasites. If you live in various parts of the Amazon Rainforest, such as the communities of Pumpuentsa and Kurintsa, and drink the water, you ARE ingesting harmful water organisms. But isn't the Amazon one of the last places in the world where the air is still fresh, the soil is pure, and the water exists in a pure abundance, you might ask?
Unfortunately, as discussed in the previous post, river water in most parts of the jungle is dangerous. When it doesn't rain, women often go to the river early in the day to collect water to be used for drinking, cooking, and washing. Both Kurintsa and Pumpuentsa have a water pump system built by the municipal government years ago. They are systems that require diesel oil to power a motor that pumps water from an underground source and delivers it via pipes to only half of the families in each community. Due to a lack of capacity building and education about the systems, people do not know how to repair the system should it get damaged. Last April, a branch fell and damaged a pipe connecting the system. It has not been fixed since then, meaning that 271 people have been without pumped water and thus forced to go to the river to collect it from the stream. At 4 pm, families usually make the journey to bathe and wash clothes in the river. Much of this washing is done with soap full of chemicals, making the water foggy and full of suds. Not to mention the contact made with various human and animal wastes.
A comparison of various water collected from the river. The bottle on the far right is purified water brought from outside, or what most people drink in towns and cities. The water in the pots is collected from the river at one of the cleanest times of day.
It is nearly impossible to improve maternal and child health (let alone health in general) when contaminated water causes so many basic health problems that are easily preventable and treatable. Water is a right. But it appears that some people have more access to these rights than others. Whether they live in the cities and can buy bottled water, have the water truck make weekly deliveries, own filters, or tin roofs, clean water is a scarce resource. Which in the case of the Amazon Rainforest, seems quite ironic, as water itself exists in abundance. As a part of the Jungle Mamas/Ikiama Nukuri women's health program I'm working on at Fundacion Pachamama, our fabulous team is currently working with the communities of Kurintsa and Pumpuentsa to empower them to come up with long-term solutions to these issues. We have been working with people in the trained birth attendant workshops in teaching them about prevention, treating diarrhea (e.g. oral rehydration prep.), prevention, while simultaneously recognizing the interconnectedness with water. In July, we have a community grant proposal writing workshop planned, to arm community members (both men and women) with the capacities necessary to create project plan(s) and seek funds to actively search for their own solutions. Stay tuned for updates!
Unfortunately, as discussed in the previous post, river water in most parts of the jungle is dangerous. When it doesn't rain, women often go to the river early in the day to collect water to be used for drinking, cooking, and washing. Both Kurintsa and Pumpuentsa have a water pump system built by the municipal government years ago. They are systems that require diesel oil to power a motor that pumps water from an underground source and delivers it via pipes to only half of the families in each community. Due to a lack of capacity building and education about the systems, people do not know how to repair the system should it get damaged. Last April, a branch fell and damaged a pipe connecting the system. It has not been fixed since then, meaning that 271 people have been without pumped water and thus forced to go to the river to collect it from the stream. At 4 pm, families usually make the journey to bathe and wash clothes in the river. Much of this washing is done with soap full of chemicals, making the water foggy and full of suds. Not to mention the contact made with various human and animal wastes.
This water was collected from the river at 1:30, before people bathe, wash clothes, etc. in the afternoon.
Bottled and potable water from "outside" the jungle in comparison to its river counterpart.
In the rainy season, this spring provides people with water in Kurintsa. It is unclear as to how clean it is, as the soil could possibly be contaminated with human waste. In the drier seasons, this spring dries up.
An abandoned and broken water pump, installed by who knows what development organization in the 90s. It hasn't worked for years, largely due to the fact that no one taught people in the community how to fix the system.
Local [temporary] solutions for local problems. When we were in Pumpuentsa in early June, we discovered that the community water pumping system had been broken since around the last time we were in the community (April...we didn't break it, btw). The municipal govt has not taught people how to fix the system, so many families have had to collect from the river, OR if they're "lucky" and have tin roofs, they have fashioned systems similar to the one I replicated for us in the community.
Saturday, June 12, 2010
Organic Dry Toilets in Pumpuentsa
Well, it's been a long time since I've updated this blog. I had started this blog entry way back in March, and have decided to finish it, keeping in mind that I have much more updating to do. In the meantime, enjoy!
In March, we worked with Chris to install a pilot organic dry toilet, which separates human waste into two parts: urine is redirected through a funnel to create a nitrogen-rich fertilizer while fecal matter is deposited into a rice sack and covered with ash or dry material, which prevents flies from laying eggs and creating an unpleasant smell. After 6 months of resting in a dry location, the contents of the rice sack are completely converted to re-usable soil material! Seriously, check out Chris' site linked earlier in this entry to see some of the cool projects he has done!
Thursday, February 18, 2010
A spiritual model of healing or: why doctors should learn about culture
There are so many things we take for granted living as men and women in the United States. Does your health insurance cover birth control? In Ecuador, most insurance policies will not cover oral contraceptives even if it is for a properly diagnosed medical condition. Perhaps you or a loved one has had to use emergency contraception, Plan B? In Ecuador, you cannot find it. The closest thing that comes to plan B here is the rigorous prescription of progestin pills (and this is only used by the most "rogue" of doctors). It seems that the heavy influence of Catholicism in Latin America has put restrictions on the access to certain levels of family planning. Enter machismo. I have spoken to many women who have had difficulties with their boyfriends, husbands, and lovers because they refuse to wear condoms; largely having something to do with the idea that condoms take away your virility. Because of this, the incidence of early pregnancy and the transmission of sexually transmitted diseases is particularly high in Ecuador (if you see any sort of STD statistics in Ecuador, you should assume it's higher because most cases go unreported and just as condoms are looked down upon, so are getting blood tests).
At one point since I've been here, I found myself serving as an ally to a young woman (I will refer to her as "Rosa" throughout this entry, which is obviously not her real name) who became pregnant due to a condom malfunction. Living in an extremely traditional and machista family, Rosa feared that her family would beat her and disown her for getting pregnant out of wedlock. The partner was out of the picture as a supportive figure as he preferred to be unfaithful and verbally abusive. If this type of situation were to arise in the US, an abortion would be a feasible option. In Ecuador, however, such procedures are illegal. This forces many women to go underground in search of "rogue" doctors and in some cases people unqualified to perform such procedures. This woman was determined to go to a doctor and have a "procedure." This put me in a difficult position because I wanted to be supportive of her, yet I was concerned about the doctor she was going to visit, so we went together to have a consultation before any procedure. The doctor had excellent bedside manner, was responsible, and most of all, knowledgeable in practice.
Despite knowing what to expect from the procedure, Rosa was very nervous. The procedure went smoothly and she went under with anesthesia. It usually takes approximately 30 minutes for someone to come out from anesthesia, typically experiencing nausea and hallucinations. Rosa had a particularly strong reaction to the anesthesia, and it took her nearly 3 hours to come out. As she was coming out of the anesthesia and could begin to talk again, she was complaining of the inability to see, that she had "gone blind." It was at this moment that I was unfamiliar of how people respond differently to medicine (the doctor had to leave the room to release a patient from the hospital), so I used my privilige to the best of its ability and called my doctor father in the United States. He mentioned that often when people undergo traumatic procedures, they often experience psychological symptoms, such as temporary blindness. He told me briefly of a patient of his who lost a child while giving birth and subsequently lost her ability to see. My father knew that she was very religious, so he asked her to look out in the direction of the window and try to focus on seeing Jesus. After several moments of intense focus and prayer, the woman was able to see again.
I made sure to check to see if Rosa's eyes constricted by flashing a light into her pupils. Sure enough, they constricted, indicating that physiologically, she was "fine." When one is coming out of anesthesia, they often do not have the ability to show much emotion, it is what is typically called "la indifference," so the emotions one would feel about having had an abortion (coming from a machista and Evangelical family) were suppressed. Rosa is a very devout Evangelical Christian (Pentecostal), and I had known from previous conversations that she would often talk of experiences of going to Church and becoming healed by just a touch or a breath of air in prayer. I was left with no choice; either allow Rosa to continue feeling like she was going blind, or to "puppet" an Evangelical laying of hands and prayer healing moment. I should mention here that I do not identify myself as religious at all, perhaps slightly spiritual in that I believe in the power of energy (yes, somewhat woo-woo) and I respect people's various religious beliefs, especially when they are used in healing contexts. So, I felt rather uncomfortable at first with the idea of praying and talking to Jesus. But it was clear that this would hopefully help Rosa in her process.
So I took a deep breath, trying my best to recall some charismatic healing techniques I had read about in various anthropology texts and using what woo-woo knowledge I have grown up with regarding energy healing and meditation, and I put my hand on her heart and her forehead. I have to stray for a moment and mention that I have spent the majority of my academic life reading and problematizing the so-called boundary between anthropologists studying religion and the idea of "belief;" it is a very tricky line to cross. There have been many anthropologists who have indeed "crossed that line," (lines of 'objectivity' are overrated) and have actually had moments of belief or embodied experiences (Michael Taussig and Ayahuasca, Roy Wagner and the human hologram, Thomas Csordas and charismatic healing, to name a few off the top of my head). But at this point, I was not playing the anthropologist role (however this does not stop me from trying to make sense of this experience using what I know, which is anthropology). I was a concerned ally and willing to do whatever it took to make Rosa feel comfortable.
I began to speak to her, asking her to remember that God and Jesus were with her, that they will always be with her and will never stop loving her. I had her focus on each part of her body, starting at her toes, and I asked Jesus to fill her toes with love, strength, and health. I repeated this little phrase for each part of her body, something like this: "Imagine Jesus filling your toes, now your toes and your feet, now your toes, your feet, and your legs with the warmest love, strength, and health. He will always live inside of you. Feel the warmth of love radiating from your heart." I have to say that while I was focusing on helping her through this prayer exercise, my discomfort with "acting" like I was speaking in tongues (because I myself am not Evangelical, nor a "believer") totally disappeared. It was a meditative exercise, so I found myself actually being embodied by a warm sensation - it actually felt like my energy was different. After finishing this prayer/meditative exercise, I asked if Rosa could see. And to my surprise (or not), she regained her vision AND was talking with improved clarity.
Certainly, this is not a technique they teach you at medical school. I did find it interesting, however, that catering the healing process to this woman's identity as a devout Evangelical Christian actually helped her when conventional medicine or treatment would have failed. I am not claiming myself to be an energy healer nor an evangelical one at that, but definitely having an understanding of her religious and cultural background helped make her experience in the clinic a less traumatic one. Even if you're not a believer or a practitioner, reading a little bit about other cultures and belief systems could indeed come in handy one day! So go out and do some reading or better yet, learn from and listen to the people around you!
At one point since I've been here, I found myself serving as an ally to a young woman (I will refer to her as "Rosa" throughout this entry, which is obviously not her real name) who became pregnant due to a condom malfunction. Living in an extremely traditional and machista family, Rosa feared that her family would beat her and disown her for getting pregnant out of wedlock. The partner was out of the picture as a supportive figure as he preferred to be unfaithful and verbally abusive. If this type of situation were to arise in the US, an abortion would be a feasible option. In Ecuador, however, such procedures are illegal. This forces many women to go underground in search of "rogue" doctors and in some cases people unqualified to perform such procedures. This woman was determined to go to a doctor and have a "procedure." This put me in a difficult position because I wanted to be supportive of her, yet I was concerned about the doctor she was going to visit, so we went together to have a consultation before any procedure. The doctor had excellent bedside manner, was responsible, and most of all, knowledgeable in practice.
Despite knowing what to expect from the procedure, Rosa was very nervous. The procedure went smoothly and she went under with anesthesia. It usually takes approximately 30 minutes for someone to come out from anesthesia, typically experiencing nausea and hallucinations. Rosa had a particularly strong reaction to the anesthesia, and it took her nearly 3 hours to come out. As she was coming out of the anesthesia and could begin to talk again, she was complaining of the inability to see, that she had "gone blind." It was at this moment that I was unfamiliar of how people respond differently to medicine (the doctor had to leave the room to release a patient from the hospital), so I used my privilige to the best of its ability and called my doctor father in the United States. He mentioned that often when people undergo traumatic procedures, they often experience psychological symptoms, such as temporary blindness. He told me briefly of a patient of his who lost a child while giving birth and subsequently lost her ability to see. My father knew that she was very religious, so he asked her to look out in the direction of the window and try to focus on seeing Jesus. After several moments of intense focus and prayer, the woman was able to see again.
I made sure to check to see if Rosa's eyes constricted by flashing a light into her pupils. Sure enough, they constricted, indicating that physiologically, she was "fine." When one is coming out of anesthesia, they often do not have the ability to show much emotion, it is what is typically called "la indifference," so the emotions one would feel about having had an abortion (coming from a machista and Evangelical family) were suppressed. Rosa is a very devout Evangelical Christian (Pentecostal), and I had known from previous conversations that she would often talk of experiences of going to Church and becoming healed by just a touch or a breath of air in prayer. I was left with no choice; either allow Rosa to continue feeling like she was going blind, or to "puppet" an Evangelical laying of hands and prayer healing moment. I should mention here that I do not identify myself as religious at all, perhaps slightly spiritual in that I believe in the power of energy (yes, somewhat woo-woo) and I respect people's various religious beliefs, especially when they are used in healing contexts. So, I felt rather uncomfortable at first with the idea of praying and talking to Jesus. But it was clear that this would hopefully help Rosa in her process.
So I took a deep breath, trying my best to recall some charismatic healing techniques I had read about in various anthropology texts and using what woo-woo knowledge I have grown up with regarding energy healing and meditation, and I put my hand on her heart and her forehead. I have to stray for a moment and mention that I have spent the majority of my academic life reading and problematizing the so-called boundary between anthropologists studying religion and the idea of "belief;" it is a very tricky line to cross. There have been many anthropologists who have indeed "crossed that line," (lines of 'objectivity' are overrated) and have actually had moments of belief or embodied experiences (Michael Taussig and Ayahuasca, Roy Wagner and the human hologram, Thomas Csordas and charismatic healing, to name a few off the top of my head). But at this point, I was not playing the anthropologist role (however this does not stop me from trying to make sense of this experience using what I know, which is anthropology). I was a concerned ally and willing to do whatever it took to make Rosa feel comfortable.
I began to speak to her, asking her to remember that God and Jesus were with her, that they will always be with her and will never stop loving her. I had her focus on each part of her body, starting at her toes, and I asked Jesus to fill her toes with love, strength, and health. I repeated this little phrase for each part of her body, something like this: "Imagine Jesus filling your toes, now your toes and your feet, now your toes, your feet, and your legs with the warmest love, strength, and health. He will always live inside of you. Feel the warmth of love radiating from your heart." I have to say that while I was focusing on helping her through this prayer exercise, my discomfort with "acting" like I was speaking in tongues (because I myself am not Evangelical, nor a "believer") totally disappeared. It was a meditative exercise, so I found myself actually being embodied by a warm sensation - it actually felt like my energy was different. After finishing this prayer/meditative exercise, I asked if Rosa could see. And to my surprise (or not), she regained her vision AND was talking with improved clarity.
Certainly, this is not a technique they teach you at medical school. I did find it interesting, however, that catering the healing process to this woman's identity as a devout Evangelical Christian actually helped her when conventional medicine or treatment would have failed. I am not claiming myself to be an energy healer nor an evangelical one at that, but definitely having an understanding of her religious and cultural background helped make her experience in the clinic a less traumatic one. Even if you're not a believer or a practitioner, reading a little bit about other cultures and belief systems could indeed come in handy one day! So go out and do some reading or better yet, learn from and listen to the people around you!
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Achuar Territory - Pumpuentsa, Part I.
I have just returned to Quito from spending the past week in an Achuar community called Pumpuentsa. It is so deep "inside" the Amazon, that the only way to feasibly enter it is to board a Cessna plane and fly 30 minutes south from a small aerospace town called Shell. Yes, it's called Shell because of the company. The airline, Aerotsentsak, is an Achuar-run cooperative that serves as the main form of transportation for people living inside Achuar territory and those coming from "outside." I put quotations around these words because in Ecuadorian Spanish, they refer to going "adentro" (inside) upon entering the Amazon, or spending time "afuera" (outside). While many Achuar people have indeed been outside of the jungle in surrounding urban areas (the closest is the barter town of Puyo), one definitely gets a sense of a permeable border; something akin to a membrane. I don't want to imply at all that these communities are bounded, as so many stereotypes of what indigenous communities are like tend to stem from assumptions that they are somehow "primitive," "untouched," "pure," "care-free to the corruptions and problems of the 'modern' world," but it definitely takes a lot of effort to get into and out of the jungle.
We met with the local government and discussed their priorities and exactly why were were there and what we hoped to do while we were in the community. This program has been around for about a year and a half, working with local community members in workshops that trained people in what's called "Home-based life-saving skills." There was great interest and participation last year in the workshops, except for the fundamental issue was that the last resort always required access to a clinic, hospital, or a reliable form of health care infrastructure. The community is located near a river, which serves as their main source of water. The unfortunate problem is that the water is heavily contaminated with human waste, diapers, cans, batteries, and waste from dead animals. Families do not have latrines, so they eliminate their waste in their gardens. When it rains heavily, the waste washes down the hill. We went to visit the community to do individual family interviews to get people's opinions and perceptions of why the water is contaminated, what it is like to be sick in the community, and how people treat themselves with local plants and healing techniques. We visited about 20 families and learned a great deal about the state of health in the community and how people negotiate illness within and outside the community.
The most common and alarming illness and cause of death in both adults and children (mostly children) is diarrhea. In one month alone, two children died of diarrhea. Many families do not know how to prepare oral rehydration solution, or seem to think that giving their child food or water during violent periods of diarrhea will only make things worse. When discussing water contamination, most people do identify water as one direct cause of diarrhea. When asked about whether people treat or boil their water before drinking it, most women say that it takes too much time to boil when they have so many house-related responsibilities, and most men argue that its taste is inferior to that of the river. It is easy for development workers to say "well, you should just boil your water then," but this has so far not convinced people to start boiling water. People often explain away causes of illness due to diarrhea as a result of shamanismo, witchcraft, and/or malaire, all pertaining to the idea of the source of illness as an agentive human force. I'll provide a more in-depth discussion of shamanismo and malaire in an upcoming post...
There will be more soon! There is so much for me to digest and put into coherent and concrete descriptions, so I will be tackling this in chunks.
Be well!
Friday, January 29, 2010
Putting James Cameron's "Avatar" in dialogue with the indigenous Amazonian struggle against oil extraction
A few weeks ago, I helped ( (I was the sound girl! And helped with various photography and script transcription/translation elements...aka production monkey) to document a trip from Puyo, an amazonian barter town, to Quito, the capital city of Ecuador. This trip consisted of various indigenous leaders from Andoa, Huaorani, Shuar, and Achuar nationalities of Ecuador.
We left in a bus early in the morning and interviewed people on the bus about their personal and collective experiences fighting for the rights of their territories that are at risk and currently being exploited by oil extraction companies.
Listen to the radio piece and watch the video (listen to the video carefully and you might recognize a familiar voice!) here!
We left in a bus early in the morning and interviewed people on the bus about their personal and collective experiences fighting for the rights of their territories that are at risk and currently being exploited by oil extraction companies.
Listen to the radio piece and watch the video (listen to the video carefully and you might recognize a familiar voice!) here!
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Overdue Updates
I can't even begin to recant all that has gone on here in just over a month. I apologize for not being as diligent as I had promised with these updates, but things have been both insanely busy and emotionally intense. Now for the mundane details of my life here:
I am sharing a beautiful house in a barrio in Quito called Bellavista. It is located on the eastern part of the city valley, and it overlooks Mt. Pichincha and the whole of downtown Quito. It's very safe, and most people would say it's a barrio where you can find many pelucones (Ecuadorian slang for uppercrusties). I'm sharing a house officially with 4 other people (all from the US), though the house is beginning to feel a little bit like a hostel (we will see how long this lasts). My room is very tiny, fitting a double bed, a dresser, and one nightstand, yet despite the size, I am paying a ridiculously low rent. It's a 15 minute walk and busride downhill to work (about 25 minutes coming from work because it is steep and uphill). The house is also an office for a green business that works with Kichwa communities to produce Guayusa tea (pronounced way-you-suh), which is an herb that boosts energy.
Work at Pachamama is excellent; there is never a dull moment or activity. I will dedicate an entire blog entry to the work I'm doing and going to be starting this year, because it is really interesting and covers all sorts of interesting issues. To be brief, I will be working primarily on two projects: Jungle Mamas, which will blossom into a health program for indigenous Achuar women in a community called Pumpuentsa in the Amazonian province of Pastaza. This program was started by a midwife from Berkeley, California, who upon having many discussions about childbearing with the women in the community, found that there was a huge interest in learning about midwifery and non-local birthing techniques. The traditional way women have been giving birth in this community has been by themselves; when it is time to give birth, the pregnant woman walks into the jungle by herself and comes back a day or two later with her child, oftentimes still connected to the umbilical cord. Last year, the project consisted of training women in these communities in Home-Based life-saving skills techniques that also incorporated local knowledge. The problem with this form of treatment was that the last resort in the treatment process always required visiting a healthcare professional or a clinic. The only way to access or leave Pumpuentsa is via airplane, which makes it difficult to leave the community if you don't have the resources to do so. So the training was taken off as a priority (however there are people in the community who have been trained and do actually serve as health providers).
My role in this project will be developing over the next month or so, but for the time being, I will be conducting a lit review of health-related projects conducted among the Achuar people and in the Amazon region in general. I have already made contacts with anthropologists who have conducted medical anthropology-related fieldwork in the area, and have even met some who have collaborated on public health programs among the Achuar. From this lit review and list of contacts, we will be able to not only have a better idea of how projects like these have been received and carried out among the Achuar, but it will also serve as a useful way of informing people in our network of partnerships. Unfortunately, it is not often that the Achuar get to use the information collected about them in studies for themselves, which is one of the reasons why the NAE (Nacionalidad Achuar de Ecuador, Achuar Nationality of Ecuador) have been increasingly opposed to social science investigation in their territories.
After the lit review and meeting with the project coordinators from the community in the jungle (and the community itself), we will be doing some fieldwork and interviewing families about their general perceptions of illness and health, numbers of deaths, births, etc. in the community, among other interesting information that will be useful in the design and implementation of an intercultural health program. I am especially excited about this aspect of the work, because it is very rare that people talk with individuals and families about identifying local needs and healing techniques when creating sound healthcare programs. There is going to be a lot to learn, and I still have much reading and relationship-building to do before everything magically turns into a health program, but I am working with such a wonderful team of people that the collaboration will be fruitful.
The other project I am helping out with is called the RED transfronteriza de territorios indigenas (the transborder network for indigenous territories). Pachamama is currently working with transborder indigenous nationalities from Colombia, Peru, Ecuador, Bolivia, and Brasil to work for the right to libre de transito, or the right of free border crossing to indigenous peoples whose territories are separated by national borders. It is a long and complicated process to get governments to recognize the territorial rights of these people to cross borders (especially when you have border "safety" issues, like the border between Colombia and Ecuador). Feel free to check out the website and radioprograms here and here.
I've been sitting on a really powerful and intense experience about women's health I had to advocate for on New Year's. I hope to have it ready in a few days. Please stay tuned, because it is one of the experiences I have had here so far over the last four years that I think has impacted me the most on a personal and professional basis.
I am sharing a beautiful house in a barrio in Quito called Bellavista. It is located on the eastern part of the city valley, and it overlooks Mt. Pichincha and the whole of downtown Quito. It's very safe, and most people would say it's a barrio where you can find many pelucones (Ecuadorian slang for uppercrusties). I'm sharing a house officially with 4 other people (all from the US), though the house is beginning to feel a little bit like a hostel (we will see how long this lasts). My room is very tiny, fitting a double bed, a dresser, and one nightstand, yet despite the size, I am paying a ridiculously low rent. It's a 15 minute walk and busride downhill to work (about 25 minutes coming from work because it is steep and uphill). The house is also an office for a green business that works with Kichwa communities to produce Guayusa tea (pronounced way-you-suh), which is an herb that boosts energy.
Work at Pachamama is excellent; there is never a dull moment or activity. I will dedicate an entire blog entry to the work I'm doing and going to be starting this year, because it is really interesting and covers all sorts of interesting issues. To be brief, I will be working primarily on two projects: Jungle Mamas, which will blossom into a health program for indigenous Achuar women in a community called Pumpuentsa in the Amazonian province of Pastaza. This program was started by a midwife from Berkeley, California, who upon having many discussions about childbearing with the women in the community, found that there was a huge interest in learning about midwifery and non-local birthing techniques. The traditional way women have been giving birth in this community has been by themselves; when it is time to give birth, the pregnant woman walks into the jungle by herself and comes back a day or two later with her child, oftentimes still connected to the umbilical cord. Last year, the project consisted of training women in these communities in Home-Based life-saving skills techniques that also incorporated local knowledge. The problem with this form of treatment was that the last resort in the treatment process always required visiting a healthcare professional or a clinic. The only way to access or leave Pumpuentsa is via airplane, which makes it difficult to leave the community if you don't have the resources to do so. So the training was taken off as a priority (however there are people in the community who have been trained and do actually serve as health providers).
My role in this project will be developing over the next month or so, but for the time being, I will be conducting a lit review of health-related projects conducted among the Achuar people and in the Amazon region in general. I have already made contacts with anthropologists who have conducted medical anthropology-related fieldwork in the area, and have even met some who have collaborated on public health programs among the Achuar. From this lit review and list of contacts, we will be able to not only have a better idea of how projects like these have been received and carried out among the Achuar, but it will also serve as a useful way of informing people in our network of partnerships. Unfortunately, it is not often that the Achuar get to use the information collected about them in studies for themselves, which is one of the reasons why the NAE (Nacionalidad Achuar de Ecuador, Achuar Nationality of Ecuador) have been increasingly opposed to social science investigation in their territories.
After the lit review and meeting with the project coordinators from the community in the jungle (and the community itself), we will be doing some fieldwork and interviewing families about their general perceptions of illness and health, numbers of deaths, births, etc. in the community, among other interesting information that will be useful in the design and implementation of an intercultural health program. I am especially excited about this aspect of the work, because it is very rare that people talk with individuals and families about identifying local needs and healing techniques when creating sound healthcare programs. There is going to be a lot to learn, and I still have much reading and relationship-building to do before everything magically turns into a health program, but I am working with such a wonderful team of people that the collaboration will be fruitful.
The other project I am helping out with is called the RED transfronteriza de territorios indigenas (the transborder network for indigenous territories). Pachamama is currently working with transborder indigenous nationalities from Colombia, Peru, Ecuador, Bolivia, and Brasil to work for the right to libre de transito, or the right of free border crossing to indigenous peoples whose territories are separated by national borders. It is a long and complicated process to get governments to recognize the territorial rights of these people to cross borders (especially when you have border "safety" issues, like the border between Colombia and Ecuador). Feel free to check out the website and radioprograms here and here.
I've been sitting on a really powerful and intense experience about women's health I had to advocate for on New Year's. I hope to have it ready in a few days. Please stay tuned, because it is one of the experiences I have had here so far over the last four years that I think has impacted me the most on a personal and professional basis.
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Putting Life into a Box
My 12-VIII volunteer visa was approved today. I picked it up from the Ecuadorian consulate in San Francisco today, with it's shiny holographic stickers and stamped seals indicating I have a legal pass to live the next two years of my life in Ecuador. I doubt I'll stay two years, because reality, student loans, and the job market wait for me on the homefront, but I am rapidly preparing myself for perhaps the biggest and most significant moves of my life. I've always gone to Ecuador, it's kind of become "what I do," but this time, I'm going on my own terms, totally on my own, and I will have to survive. This is both exhilirating and mortifying. I've always had the security deadline of coming back home to start school in the fall, but this time my life to come back to resides on the Equator.
It's been an interesting process trying to deal with student loans, navigating health insurance policy changes (and what type of coverage I will get down there), and trying to figure out how much money I will be living off of for the next year. Most of my expenses will be paid by the organization I'm working with, but everything else is coming out of my pocket (savings). It's a gamble. I'm taking this experience because I know it will ultimately provide me with the direction and experience I need to keep pursuing my passion for being a conscious and active human being in the fight for global health equality. I'm leaving in less than a week from now and I already feel that I am a completely different person from who I was the last time I was about to leave for a two month trip to Ecuador. Ecuador, it's people, and the many life-altering, beautiful, and intense experiences I've had over the years has left a permanent and lasting mark on who I am. I physically carry a little bit of Ecuador with me wherever I go, within my body and my heart. I am getting an overwhelming feeling that this trip will provide simultaneous senses of completion and beginning; helping me to come full circle on all of the ways it has shaped me in the past in order for me to make new and big things happen.
I feel as if I am placing life at home in the US and the Bay Area into a little box, tying it up, and putting it on a shelf for awhile. I might get to open it up and share its contents, but for the most part, it is on hold. There is another one waiting to be filled in Ecuador, so that I can bring it back home with me to share with others.
It's been an interesting process trying to deal with student loans, navigating health insurance policy changes (and what type of coverage I will get down there), and trying to figure out how much money I will be living off of for the next year. Most of my expenses will be paid by the organization I'm working with, but everything else is coming out of my pocket (savings). It's a gamble. I'm taking this experience because I know it will ultimately provide me with the direction and experience I need to keep pursuing my passion for being a conscious and active human being in the fight for global health equality. I'm leaving in less than a week from now and I already feel that I am a completely different person from who I was the last time I was about to leave for a two month trip to Ecuador. Ecuador, it's people, and the many life-altering, beautiful, and intense experiences I've had over the years has left a permanent and lasting mark on who I am. I physically carry a little bit of Ecuador with me wherever I go, within my body and my heart. I am getting an overwhelming feeling that this trip will provide simultaneous senses of completion and beginning; helping me to come full circle on all of the ways it has shaped me in the past in order for me to make new and big things happen.
I feel as if I am placing life at home in the US and the Bay Area into a little box, tying it up, and putting it on a shelf for awhile. I might get to open it up and share its contents, but for the most part, it is on hold. There is another one waiting to be filled in Ecuador, so that I can bring it back home with me to share with others.
Sunday, August 16, 2009
Machismo in Ecuador, Part I.
I have spent much time living on and off in Ecuador over the past four years. If there’s one thing that I am constantly reminded of when I am here is my existence as a woman. I’m not just talking about the common cat calls and intensely inappropriate things said to women walking down the street on a daily basis, but I am also highly aware of my status as a gringa foreigner and how my experience of machismo in Ecuador, while uncomfortable, is quite different and (yes) privileged compared to what Ecuadorian women face in their daily lives. Earlier in the year, I wrote a blog entry about my experiences of machismo, which at that point, only really consisted of cat calls and the fact that it is unsafe to walk around alone at night. This blog entry turns away from my own personal encounters with machismo and more directly focuses on the machismo that is experienced regularly by Ecuadorian women and how my position as a gringa in a machismo society presents several ironies and inequalities for women living in Ecuador. I will discuss this issue over a series of entries, as it would be hard to digest in one sitting. Bare with me, as these are relatively rough thoughts and rants. By no means am I claiming to be an expert on this issue, but living in a social climate where it is so prevalent forces me to think about it constantly. Please feel free to comment, disagree, or add something.
To give some back ground as from where I am making my claims. I have worked in the Kichwa community of Esperanza and surrounding communities in the province of Chimborazo with the NGOs, Ayuda Directa and CEMOPLAF (Center for Medical Orientation and Family Planning). Over the past several years, I have also worked and interned with doctors and public health workers in the areas of family planning and agronomy. I have learned quite a bit about the different alternatives to family planning, especially since we work in an area with highly religious populations. Hence, in order to maintain cultural competence in medicine, healthcare providers have had to recommend various types of birth control to accommodate their patients religious beliefs while simultaneously serving as a useful form of family planning. Sounds great, right? Covering cultural competence in healing practices. You would think that this would seriously help families who want to have less children (the average family size is about 5-7, though some number up to 12) and potentially help those who are living in poverty. The problem, however, is a bigger cultural phenomenon. In order for CEMOPLAF to provide a family planning program that is efficacious, both partners must be willing to engage. Enter machismo. A generalized family situation usually consists of the men and fathers working out of the community in cities (rural-urban migration) during the day or for parts of the week, while the women and children work the land (currently, almost all farming done in agricultural communities is done by women), raise their children, cook, and maintain the house. Trying to do this when you have six children of different ages to take care of without the help of a spouse gets tiring. I’m not saying that men don’t help their wives take care of children, but it is typical for the women to do all the work (‘la casa es su hogar’).
I can’t begin to count how many women have come up to me in the communities I have been working in asking me if I could provide them with some form of pill that would keep them from having children. These questions come in secrecy and usually start out with “I am tired of having so many children. It’s just that my husband wants to keep having children. He doesn’t want to use control. I am so tired. Can you help me?” If a woman wants to use a condom, or receive a depo provera shot and her partner/spouse does not agree with it, birth control is typically out of the question.
This brings up a difficult issue for public health workers and their female patients. How do you work towards changing this culture of machismo, that doesn’t give space for womens voices over their bodies? Not to mention the ethical issues and questions of power that would be brought up if an organization or institution attempted to change the culture. It’s difficult and highly problematic to mandate birth control in families (look at China, for example, in source list below), so how do you get men to become more open to listening to their wives when they say they are tired of giving birth to so many children? If you have any ideas, please comment below. Seriously, I’m quite interested. The best thing solution I can think of, which CEMOPLAF is currently working on, is to educate upcoming generations about sex and family planning. CEMOPLAF is working with a group of adolescents (PROGRAMA Adolescentes Indigenas) weekly to dispense information and to get youth more comfortable talking about sex. These youth then move out to other communities and teach other adolescents about family planning and sex. The point is to get people more comfortable open to discussing relationships, which could potentially effect the future of machismo.
My next entry will cover machismo in the domestic environment, the various ironies and inequalities experienced by young women and men growing up in the same house, and how it is complicated when a gringa is thrown in the mix.
Interesting factoid: 63.1% of indigenous women in Chimborazo experience their first pregnancy between the ages of 15-19. (CEMOPLAF 2008).
Additional sources if you are interested in healthcare, power, politics, and where women and their bodies are placed among these three topics:
Davis-Floyd, Robbie E. Birth as an American Rite of Passage. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1992.
Greenhalgh, Susan. “Controlling Births and Bodies in Village China”. American Ethnologist 21.1 (1994): 3-30.
To give some back ground as from where I am making my claims. I have worked in the Kichwa community of Esperanza and surrounding communities in the province of Chimborazo with the NGOs, Ayuda Directa and CEMOPLAF (Center for Medical Orientation and Family Planning). Over the past several years, I have also worked and interned with doctors and public health workers in the areas of family planning and agronomy. I have learned quite a bit about the different alternatives to family planning, especially since we work in an area with highly religious populations. Hence, in order to maintain cultural competence in medicine, healthcare providers have had to recommend various types of birth control to accommodate their patients religious beliefs while simultaneously serving as a useful form of family planning. Sounds great, right? Covering cultural competence in healing practices. You would think that this would seriously help families who want to have less children (the average family size is about 5-7, though some number up to 12) and potentially help those who are living in poverty. The problem, however, is a bigger cultural phenomenon. In order for CEMOPLAF to provide a family planning program that is efficacious, both partners must be willing to engage. Enter machismo. A generalized family situation usually consists of the men and fathers working out of the community in cities (rural-urban migration) during the day or for parts of the week, while the women and children work the land (currently, almost all farming done in agricultural communities is done by women), raise their children, cook, and maintain the house. Trying to do this when you have six children of different ages to take care of without the help of a spouse gets tiring. I’m not saying that men don’t help their wives take care of children, but it is typical for the women to do all the work (‘la casa es su hogar’).
I can’t begin to count how many women have come up to me in the communities I have been working in asking me if I could provide them with some form of pill that would keep them from having children. These questions come in secrecy and usually start out with “I am tired of having so many children. It’s just that my husband wants to keep having children. He doesn’t want to use control. I am so tired. Can you help me?” If a woman wants to use a condom, or receive a depo provera shot and her partner/spouse does not agree with it, birth control is typically out of the question.
This brings up a difficult issue for public health workers and their female patients. How do you work towards changing this culture of machismo, that doesn’t give space for womens voices over their bodies? Not to mention the ethical issues and questions of power that would be brought up if an organization or institution attempted to change the culture. It’s difficult and highly problematic to mandate birth control in families (look at China, for example, in source list below), so how do you get men to become more open to listening to their wives when they say they are tired of giving birth to so many children? If you have any ideas, please comment below. Seriously, I’m quite interested. The best thing solution I can think of, which CEMOPLAF is currently working on, is to educate upcoming generations about sex and family planning. CEMOPLAF is working with a group of adolescents (PROGRAMA Adolescentes Indigenas) weekly to dispense information and to get youth more comfortable talking about sex. These youth then move out to other communities and teach other adolescents about family planning and sex. The point is to get people more comfortable open to discussing relationships, which could potentially effect the future of machismo.
My next entry will cover machismo in the domestic environment, the various ironies and inequalities experienced by young women and men growing up in the same house, and how it is complicated when a gringa is thrown in the mix.
Interesting factoid: 63.1% of indigenous women in Chimborazo experience their first pregnancy between the ages of 15-19. (CEMOPLAF 2008).
Additional sources if you are interested in healthcare, power, politics, and where women and their bodies are placed among these three topics:
Davis-Floyd, Robbie E. Birth as an American Rite of Passage. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1992.
Greenhalgh, Susan. “Controlling Births and Bodies in Village China”. American Ethnologist 21.1 (1994): 3-30.
Monday, June 15, 2009
Thesis Reveries
I'm going to take a risk today. While I think the blogosphere often serves as a space for annoying rants and discussions that go nowhere, I remain somewhat in awe of the ability to create an accessible space for sharing information, engaging in productive discussions, and pushing the limits. I sit here as a recent college graduate who, for the past three weeks, has been thinking about the ways in which I can continue putting the fruits of my education into [some/good] use. Having emerged from a liberal arts education into the midst of an economic recession has a tendency to produce much anxiety within me and many of my peers. I have spent numerous hours searching job postings on and extending the feelers through personal networking and the interweb.
While all of this is to be expected, I can't help but reminisce over the conference-style settings of my college classroom experience, where the success of the class and intellectual pursuit is contingent upon everyone bringing something (be it a question, a critique, or in some cases, a hands on experience) to the table. That, and the fact that I spent an entire year (more than that actually), researching and writing a thesis that is currently bound and collecting dust in a brick tower in Portland, Oregon (all allusions toward an ivory tower intended). While there is hope in the future that I will chop it up into pamphlets and essays that are accessible to diverse communities, I am feeling like I would like to revisit it and put it into the web 2.0 context.
As I will be going back down to Ecuador early July, I think it might serve as a way to put some of this material to use and up for discussion. While travel writing is often successful at describing a place, people and is easily accessible, yet much of the time, it tends to lack direction and a focus. Writing a thesis (we hope) has direction, but is often inaccessible. What I'd like to do here is to continue exploring themes that came up in my thesis, while simultaneously making some of that information accessible. I realize that this exercise might just be a shot in the dark as a way of resisting post-college stagnance, but if there's a small chance that people read it and do learn something, then it's worth it to me.
I'm going to get the ball rolling by posting the title and abstract to my thesis:
Title:
Fuera de la Oscuridad: Shifting Subjectivities among Evangelical and Catholic Kichwa through Discourses of Illness and Modernity
Abstract:
While all of this is to be expected, I can't help but reminisce over the conference-style settings of my college classroom experience, where the success of the class and intellectual pursuit is contingent upon everyone bringing something (be it a question, a critique, or in some cases, a hands on experience) to the table. That, and the fact that I spent an entire year (more than that actually), researching and writing a thesis that is currently bound and collecting dust in a brick tower in Portland, Oregon (all allusions toward an ivory tower intended). While there is hope in the future that I will chop it up into pamphlets and essays that are accessible to diverse communities, I am feeling like I would like to revisit it and put it into the web 2.0 context.
As I will be going back down to Ecuador early July, I think it might serve as a way to put some of this material to use and up for discussion. While travel writing is often successful at describing a place, people and is easily accessible, yet much of the time, it tends to lack direction and a focus. Writing a thesis (we hope) has direction, but is often inaccessible. What I'd like to do here is to continue exploring themes that came up in my thesis, while simultaneously making some of that information accessible. I realize that this exercise might just be a shot in the dark as a way of resisting post-college stagnance, but if there's a small chance that people read it and do learn something, then it's worth it to me.
I'm going to get the ball rolling by posting the title and abstract to my thesis:
Title:
Fuera de la Oscuridad: Shifting Subjectivities among Evangelical and Catholic Kichwa through Discourses of Illness and Modernity
Abstract:
In this study, I argue that indigenous Kichwa in Ecuador use both illness and conversion narratives as practices and ways of understanding a new type of subjectivity that emerges from discourses of modernity and medical pluralism. Drawn from fieldwork and library research over the course of two and a half years in the Highland community of La Esperanza, this project explores how social change is largely understood in terms of religious transformation, and how the resulting conversion to Evangelical Christianity has produced a shift in the ways in which people conceptualize and approach healing alternatives as a medically plural system of values. This thesis examines the ways in which structural inequalities and power asymmetries are inscribed onto and experienced within Kichwa bodies through illness, and how these experiences are influenced by and rearticulated through religious language and metaphors of social and self-transformation.
New Beginnings
Having recently become a part of the ever-increasing pool of [f]unemployed college graduates, I have decided to put some time and energy into blogging again. This time, it won't just be about travels and working with NGOs, but ponderings, rants, and things generally pertaining to Ecuador and its many social movements. This might even become a space for further exploring concepts I didn't get to address in my thesis.I'll keep you posted!
Thursday, January 1, 2009
New Years in Quito
New Years is arguably one of the most celebrated holidays in Ecuador. And of course, as a person who studies a discipline fascinated with rituals, I felt like a little kid in a candy store. Those who don't immediately take off for a 4 day vacation to the beach in Las Esmeraldas (Northern coast of Ecuador) have plenty of things to keep themselves busy with in preparation for the New Year. Most things either shut or slow down during the days leading up to the holiday, so that people can work on preparing their viejos: life-sized dummies that serve as representations of themselves and the aspects they dislike about their lives. People usually put them outside of their houses or businesses, in clothes they typically wear. Sometimes you see them sitting in cars, lying in the street, or tied up to the hood of the vehicle. As soon as the clock strikes midnight, they then light the viejos on fire and stuff them with firecrackers. As the fire diminishes slightly in size, people jump through the fire (I've seen this before for Saint days throughout the year) as an action that brings good luck.
If you want to have a good New Year, there are a few things you should do. If you wish for wealth, you must wear yellow underwear. If you wish for love, you should wear red underwear. If you want to travel, you need to run around your house (or jump up and down) while carrying suitcases. Eating 12 grapes at midnight is also a must. All throughout the day, people were selling imense quantities of grapes, masks, and viejos at nearly every street corner.
My personal favorite was seeing men dress up as viudas, widows. It's long been a tradition for men and boys to dress up like women and to go out begging in the streets for money from people walking down the street or driving in their cars. They're supposed to be raising money to support their families because their husbands just died, but often its to raise funds for the night's portion of booze. I visited a friend of mine in Cumbaya, a suburb in the valley just outside Quito, who was hosting a viuda-fest. He told me to meet him on a street corner by a store called "Rose". When I arrived via taxi, I could see about 50 young people hanging out on the corner of a busy, traffic-congested street (picture a drag race kind of gathering only with reggaeton blasting from all cars...all puns intended). There were about 10 young guys dressed up as promiscuous girls running between oncoming traffic to knock on drivers windows and ask for change. Usually they did a little dance and blew kisses at the drivers, saying something like "Happy New Years, precious." Usually the women and girls stand on the sidelines and cackle hysterically as the viudas put on their hilarious act. The best men dressed in drag are usually the ones who get more money. You don't usually see the women going from car to car asking for money, because it's supposed to be a moment for the unordinary (i.e men dressed in drag), not that women routinely go from car to car, but it's supposed to be absurd. My friend grabbed me and said that I should ask for money with him (of course! How absurd! A white woman from the United States in Ecuador asking for loose change from strangers!!). I certainly felt ridiculous running from car to car asking for change, recognizing the hilarity/awkwardness of my position, but it was ultimately very fun, especially running and grabbing onto an 18-wheeler with 10 guys dressed in drag. Priceless. In a country where homophobia runs especially high, it was really interesting to witness such a ritual where gender-bending is legitimized. Of course, there is the possibility that they're only performing for the sake of being absurd, but I'd like to leave a little more room for ambiguity.
After I get over this bug (hopefully it's not altitude sickness), I'll finally be off to Esperanza. I'm aiming to leave Quito by Sunday.
Happy New Years!
If you want to have a good New Year, there are a few things you should do. If you wish for wealth, you must wear yellow underwear. If you wish for love, you should wear red underwear. If you want to travel, you need to run around your house (or jump up and down) while carrying suitcases. Eating 12 grapes at midnight is also a must. All throughout the day, people were selling imense quantities of grapes, masks, and viejos at nearly every street corner.
My personal favorite was seeing men dress up as viudas, widows. It's long been a tradition for men and boys to dress up like women and to go out begging in the streets for money from people walking down the street or driving in their cars. They're supposed to be raising money to support their families because their husbands just died, but often its to raise funds for the night's portion of booze. I visited a friend of mine in Cumbaya, a suburb in the valley just outside Quito, who was hosting a viuda-fest. He told me to meet him on a street corner by a store called "Rose". When I arrived via taxi, I could see about 50 young people hanging out on the corner of a busy, traffic-congested street (picture a drag race kind of gathering only with reggaeton blasting from all cars...all puns intended). There were about 10 young guys dressed up as promiscuous girls running between oncoming traffic to knock on drivers windows and ask for change. Usually they did a little dance and blew kisses at the drivers, saying something like "Happy New Years, precious." Usually the women and girls stand on the sidelines and cackle hysterically as the viudas put on their hilarious act. The best men dressed in drag are usually the ones who get more money. You don't usually see the women going from car to car asking for money, because it's supposed to be a moment for the unordinary (i.e men dressed in drag), not that women routinely go from car to car, but it's supposed to be absurd. My friend grabbed me and said that I should ask for money with him (of course! How absurd! A white woman from the United States in Ecuador asking for loose change from strangers!!). I certainly felt ridiculous running from car to car asking for change, recognizing the hilarity/awkwardness of my position, but it was ultimately very fun, especially running and grabbing onto an 18-wheeler with 10 guys dressed in drag. Priceless. In a country where homophobia runs especially high, it was really interesting to witness such a ritual where gender-bending is legitimized. Of course, there is the possibility that they're only performing for the sake of being absurd, but I'd like to leave a little more room for ambiguity.
After I get over this bug (hopefully it's not altitude sickness), I'll finally be off to Esperanza. I'm aiming to leave Quito by Sunday.
Happy New Years!
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Fotos y Novedades
For most of you, these pictures are old news (from last summer). I cannot figure out how to connect my flickr photo set directly to the blog so you don't have to follow the link, but oh well.
I've spent the last couple days catching up with people here at Ayuda Directa and doing some website translations (the site is in four languages, so it's quite a bit of work keeping things updated once news of projects and communities rolls in).
Since I left Ecuador in late August, Ayuda Directa, Cemoplaf (Medical Center for Orientation and Family Planning), and DINEIB (National Direction of Intercultural and Bilingual Education in Chimborazo) have collaborated to extend the gardens project into 13 schools in the region (we have yet to make everything final, so it could be more or less, depending on the individual school). I want to make a semantic correction to my past posts. Before, I referred to the gardens as 'huertos', which only refer to the physical plants that are grown in a space. They are actually called Chakras (as mentioned briefly in another post). The chakra is a Kichwa concept that refers to an energy space where different organisms coexist (plants, animals, humans), all bound together by spiritual and sacred energy forces. The chakra is a place of great biodiversity, as it is divided into various sections. The chakras that have been created so far in Esperanza, Lupaxi Bajo, and Gahuijon include a natural fence made of native trees (with a temporary man-made fence), a section for tubers, medicinal plants, seed germination, greens, and a small green house area (for trying out new varieties).
The organizations and teachers met in September and December to start the process. When I head out to Esperanza in the next several days, I'll be looking forward to seeing the fruits of everyone's efforts (and maybe eat some fruit too). I'll also get to see who was elected to be on the cabildo (local government) in Esperanza. The elections were yesterday. Most of the men running are good friends of mine and a bunch of us at AD. They sent one of the AD coordinators a text announcing the elections, and invited him to come vote in the election. A very smart political strategy and a nice gesture; a way of letting this individual know that he is considered a part of the community.
I've spent the last couple days catching up with people here at Ayuda Directa and doing some website translations (the site is in four languages, so it's quite a bit of work keeping things updated once news of projects and communities rolls in).
Since I left Ecuador in late August, Ayuda Directa, Cemoplaf (Medical Center for Orientation and Family Planning), and DINEIB (National Direction of Intercultural and Bilingual Education in Chimborazo) have collaborated to extend the gardens project into 13 schools in the region (we have yet to make everything final, so it could be more or less, depending on the individual school). I want to make a semantic correction to my past posts. Before, I referred to the gardens as 'huertos', which only refer to the physical plants that are grown in a space. They are actually called Chakras (as mentioned briefly in another post). The chakra is a Kichwa concept that refers to an energy space where different organisms coexist (plants, animals, humans), all bound together by spiritual and sacred energy forces. The chakra is a place of great biodiversity, as it is divided into various sections. The chakras that have been created so far in Esperanza, Lupaxi Bajo, and Gahuijon include a natural fence made of native trees (with a temporary man-made fence), a section for tubers, medicinal plants, seed germination, greens, and a small green house area (for trying out new varieties).
The organizations and teachers met in September and December to start the process. When I head out to Esperanza in the next several days, I'll be looking forward to seeing the fruits of everyone's efforts (and maybe eat some fruit too). I'll also get to see who was elected to be on the cabildo (local government) in Esperanza. The elections were yesterday. Most of the men running are good friends of mine and a bunch of us at AD. They sent one of the AD coordinators a text announcing the elections, and invited him to come vote in the election. A very smart political strategy and a nice gesture; a way of letting this individual know that he is considered a part of the community.
Sunday, December 28, 2008
The Joys of Airtravel
As long as there is a good chunk of time and enough resources to get there (thank you Reed College), I seem to keep finding my way back to Ecuador. This will be the fourth trip in three years and I fell pretty lucky to have had at least three of them paid for by grant money.
I got on a plane at 12:45 am Saturday, Miami-bound, only to arrive to a canceled flight to Quito. My heart sank as the indifferent American Airlines receptionist casually waived me off with a "looks like your flight's canceled, hon. Go talk to the ladies upstairs." I actually managed to get the very last seat in an earlier flight, reducing my 11 hour layover to a manageable 8. Since then, I've kept myself entertained watching the droves of missionary groups undoubtedly headed for Latin America. You can spot 'em wearing vibrantly colored t-shirts (neon blue, green, and yellow are haute couture these days) with some sort of crafty, group-bondy slogan like "Missionary:Possible" or "Jesus in Peru" with _insert bible passage here_:XX. For some reason, they always look confused. Maybe it's the group mentality of being in an airport; I think it's the shirts.
I'm headed back to Esperanza to do some more thesis fieldwork and to see how the community and school gardens are doing. Apparently, the school district of Chimborazo liked the project idea so much, that they have since been working with Ayuda Directa to get the program started in 15 other schools in the province. A lot of exciting things await.
If any of you actually do read this, I think I'll keep it updated for the next several weeks.
Now for that flight to catch!
I got on a plane at 12:45 am Saturday, Miami-bound, only to arrive to a canceled flight to Quito. My heart sank as the indifferent American Airlines receptionist casually waived me off with a "looks like your flight's canceled, hon. Go talk to the ladies upstairs." I actually managed to get the very last seat in an earlier flight, reducing my 11 hour layover to a manageable 8. Since then, I've kept myself entertained watching the droves of missionary groups undoubtedly headed for Latin America. You can spot 'em wearing vibrantly colored t-shirts (neon blue, green, and yellow are haute couture these days) with some sort of crafty, group-bondy slogan like "Missionary:Possible" or "Jesus in Peru" with _insert bible passage here_:XX. For some reason, they always look confused. Maybe it's the group mentality of being in an airport; I think it's the shirts.
I'm headed back to Esperanza to do some more thesis fieldwork and to see how the community and school gardens are doing. Apparently, the school district of Chimborazo liked the project idea so much, that they have since been working with Ayuda Directa to get the program started in 15 other schools in the province. A lot of exciting things await.
If any of you actually do read this, I think I'll keep it updated for the next several weeks.
Now for that flight to catch!
Monday, June 30, 2008
Llashna Tagmari - And so it is.
Part of this entry is a little dated, but I added some extra bits. I'm in Quito now, after spending about two weeks in Esperanza. The first half week was dedicated to organizing a three-day summer camp for 55 children in Esperanza (part of the nature of non-profits is getting sucked into other random projects). We spent way more time than necessary trying to contract a bus that could leave the province (we went to Salinas de Bolivar, a small community consisting of cooperative businesses, specializing in artesanal chocolates, cheeses, salamis, sweaters, soccer balls, porcini mushrooms, salt). To make a really long and frustrating story short: trying to navigate through a mestizo-dominated Ecuadorian bureaucracy to make it possible for indigenous children to enjoy an end-of-school educational trip is absolutely despicable. We had an amazing time in the end, and it was a beautiful way of building relationships with the kids and their families.
And now for something completely different. About 99% of the comuneros in Esperanza are Evangelical, while the remaining 1% are Catholic (this figure was given to me by one of the few Catholics in the community). This is a little shocking, for the entire province of Chimborazo was swept by Evangelical missionaries in the 70's and 80's. Before Evangelical conversion, Kichwa communities were Catholic.
I've been going to church regularly most every Sunday(as a part of getting to know the community and for my own academic interests). Services start anywhere between 4 and 4:30 pm (things are rarely punctual in Ecuador) and usually an average of about 40 people attend services.
The most special oculto service I've attended was just outside of Riobamba. A few of the pastors and comuneros from Esperanza have begun a church planting project, that is in the process of building a sister church to the one in Esperanza (Oculto "Cristo El Rey"). It was a thursday night, and the entire community had chartered a bus, "El Llin Llin", that made the dangerously steep treck up the mountain to pick everyone up. Additionally, we squeezed ourselves along with 15 other little kids in the bed of the AD pickup truck. The sky was clear and the air was freezing cold, as we played underneath a billowing plastic tarp to keep warm (nevermind about the risk of suffocation).
We arrived at the oculto, which pretty much consisted of hardly half-finished brick walls, a straw floor, a few lightbulbs, and open fire. There was no roof, so we were free to see the milky way and the towering snowy summit of Chimborazo in its ominous volcanic glory. We were lovingly greeted by everyone in the community (there were also people from surrounding communities in the church). The customary greeting is to shake hands with everyone you meet, accompanied by good morning, good afternoon, or good evening (this pretty much exists everywhere I've been in Ecuador...both in el campo and the city, though it's usually in Kichwa in this setting). We all sat down on a warm bed of straw and had a bowl of chicken quinoa soup to warm up.
Despite the shoddy light system (I kid you not, the lightbulbs were hanging from open wires), there was somehow enough electricity to outfit three 4 ft. tall speakers, two amplifiers, a sound board connecting to 3 mics, and an electric bass, guitar, and piano. One of the four pastors was revising and studying his sermon on a laptop. The sermon began with everyone singing psalms with verses alternating from Spanish to Kichwa. Each person clapped along to the rhythm of the music, but without dancing, and usually looking fairly disinterested. Some individuals swayed from side to side and closed their eyes. The pastors, on the other hand, reminded me of battling rappers (close your eyes and enjoy that visual imagery for a moment), for each one held a microphone and danced around with various hand gesticulations taking turns between the Spanish and Kichwa verses.
The sermons were very emotive, each pastor drawing comparisons between daily life in Esperanza and biblical times. The most expressive pastor (the one with the laptop) drove home the message that although Jesus was poor, he always made sure to wash the feet of those who entered his house. He said it was important for people to take this message and always have a glass of water ready or some food available for a guest that enters their house. Much of the sermon was conducted in Kichwa, but his gesticulations were very well-rehearsed and my Kichwa is getting a little better, to the point that I could follow his narrative.
People are very willing to discuss their faith here, but it isn't until you talk to them for awhile that they begin to open themselves up and discuss things that Evangelicalism usually prohibits (like shamanism, for example). I spoke with one comunero who knew a great deal about curanderismo, a sort of traditional style of healing (which now often falls under the less- stigmatized name of naturalist healing). He told me that guinea pigs (cuy) function similarly to MRI and X-ray scans. Whatever illness an individual may have can be detected by looking at the body of a live guinea pig, after anointing it in oil, blowing cigarette smoke over it, and passing it around the body of the sick person. Some people cut open the guinea pig, and whatever part of it "looks sick" is said to be the part affecting the person. This isn't really used that often anymore in the community, but when it does, it's usually pretty underground (because Evangelicalism prohibits "the old in favor of the new," or so it is often put).
And now for something completely different. About 99% of the comuneros in Esperanza are Evangelical, while the remaining 1% are Catholic (this figure was given to me by one of the few Catholics in the community). This is a little shocking, for the entire province of Chimborazo was swept by Evangelical missionaries in the 70's and 80's. Before Evangelical conversion, Kichwa communities were Catholic.
I've been going to church regularly most every Sunday(as a part of getting to know the community and for my own academic interests). Services start anywhere between 4 and 4:30 pm (things are rarely punctual in Ecuador) and usually an average of about 40 people attend services.
The most special oculto service I've attended was just outside of Riobamba. A few of the pastors and comuneros from Esperanza have begun a church planting project, that is in the process of building a sister church to the one in Esperanza (Oculto "Cristo El Rey"). It was a thursday night, and the entire community had chartered a bus, "El Llin Llin", that made the dangerously steep treck up the mountain to pick everyone up. Additionally, we squeezed ourselves along with 15 other little kids in the bed of the AD pickup truck. The sky was clear and the air was freezing cold, as we played underneath a billowing plastic tarp to keep warm (nevermind about the risk of suffocation).
We arrived at the oculto, which pretty much consisted of hardly half-finished brick walls, a straw floor, a few lightbulbs, and open fire. There was no roof, so we were free to see the milky way and the towering snowy summit of Chimborazo in its ominous volcanic glory. We were lovingly greeted by everyone in the community (there were also people from surrounding communities in the church). The customary greeting is to shake hands with everyone you meet, accompanied by good morning, good afternoon, or good evening (this pretty much exists everywhere I've been in Ecuador...both in el campo and the city, though it's usually in Kichwa in this setting). We all sat down on a warm bed of straw and had a bowl of chicken quinoa soup to warm up.
Despite the shoddy light system (I kid you not, the lightbulbs were hanging from open wires), there was somehow enough electricity to outfit three 4 ft. tall speakers, two amplifiers, a sound board connecting to 3 mics, and an electric bass, guitar, and piano. One of the four pastors was revising and studying his sermon on a laptop. The sermon began with everyone singing psalms with verses alternating from Spanish to Kichwa. Each person clapped along to the rhythm of the music, but without dancing, and usually looking fairly disinterested. Some individuals swayed from side to side and closed their eyes. The pastors, on the other hand, reminded me of battling rappers (close your eyes and enjoy that visual imagery for a moment), for each one held a microphone and danced around with various hand gesticulations taking turns between the Spanish and Kichwa verses.
The sermons were very emotive, each pastor drawing comparisons between daily life in Esperanza and biblical times. The most expressive pastor (the one with the laptop) drove home the message that although Jesus was poor, he always made sure to wash the feet of those who entered his house. He said it was important for people to take this message and always have a glass of water ready or some food available for a guest that enters their house. Much of the sermon was conducted in Kichwa, but his gesticulations were very well-rehearsed and my Kichwa is getting a little better, to the point that I could follow his narrative.
People are very willing to discuss their faith here, but it isn't until you talk to them for awhile that they begin to open themselves up and discuss things that Evangelicalism usually prohibits (like shamanism, for example). I spoke with one comunero who knew a great deal about curanderismo, a sort of traditional style of healing (which now often falls under the less- stigmatized name of naturalist healing). He told me that guinea pigs (cuy) function similarly to MRI and X-ray scans. Whatever illness an individual may have can be detected by looking at the body of a live guinea pig, after anointing it in oil, blowing cigarette smoke over it, and passing it around the body of the sick person. Some people cut open the guinea pig, and whatever part of it "looks sick" is said to be the part affecting the person. This isn't really used that often anymore in the community, but when it does, it's usually pretty underground (because Evangelicalism prohibits "the old in favor of the new," or so it is often put).
Sunday, June 29, 2008
La Siembra
Last week, I began working with the community of Lupaxi Bajo and Alberto, an agronomist from CEMOPLAF in effort to create several types of community garden spaces. It was nice to actually begin the process after having met several times with the community throughout the past month. Lupaxi Bajo is a small agricultural community residing on the side of the Panamerican Highway (la pana). Most everything in the region is planted on the steep inclines of the Andes, giving the horizon the appearance of a neverending quilt consisting of shades of green, yellow, orange, and red. Because of the uneveness of the terrain, certain families have very small amounts of land to grow enough produce to sell in the markets (primary source of income) let alone to feed their families. To address this problem, one family has donated a bit of their extra land in effort to create a community garden where everyone would be responsible for its maintenance and benefit from its produce. The garden fence will be comprised of native plants and trees.
In addition to the community garden, another plot of land was prepared for being a semillera, or a plot of land that would solely be used as a self-sustaining seed supply. This would prevent the community from having to purchase expensive seeds at the end of the agricultural cycle. I couldn't believe how quickly the soil was transformed from a 10 m x 15 m uneven plot of weeds to a terraced seed supply. We planted cilantro, parsley, beets, onion, zanahoria blanca ("white carrot,"I think it's dicon), and mashua (a tuber not grown in the US). I learned a pretty sweet relatively natural method that helps preventing pests from eating seeds and contaminating the soil. Apparently, if you scatter ash from the kitchen (usually from burnt wood or paper) onto the soil before and after planting the seeds, the little plants will grow healthily.
I've been learning a great deal about the local agricultural practices here. Plants within each garden have a special place and energy balance, called a Chakra (it's Kichwa, not New Agey). Each community has a locally specific Chakra and secrets for planting seeds. Sometimes crops are planted together, for example: quinoa and potatoes, raddish and zanahoria blanco, habas (I guess the equivalent is cassava beans) and potatoes. In this chakra, medicinal plants (mostly native) will also be grown, ordered into categories of illness.
The project in Lupaxi Bajo is a sort of pilot project for one we will be working on in Esperanza later this summer. I've been working with teachers in Esperanza to work towards integrating a school garden into the curriculum. The school system in the sector is based on a bilingual model called Yachaypak Kukayu Pedagógico (KUPEDs) or the Senderito de Saber (SENSAB), which roughly translated from Kichwa is "sharing the hunger of knowledge". This model is especially designed for Kichwa communities, with the understanding that they are living in a plurinational country (not to be confused with the term "multicultural," which holds the negative connotation here of "separate but anything indigenous is primitive and backwards"). As a side note, indigenous activists all around the country are fighting for official governmental recognition of Ecuador as a plurinational country in the constitution that is in the process of being rewritten. The KUPED model places equal importance on learning both Spanish and Kichwa, with learning experiences occuring both inside and outside the classroom. Additionally, the source of knowledge is not supposed to originate solely from the teachers, but from students themselves and their families (a "self-evaluative process").
Most theoretical models, as well-intentioned as they may be, often lose their value in practice. Unfortunately, many teachers do not place equal weight on the inside/outside bilingual model so ideally set forth in the KUPEDS. This occurs for various reasons. Because corruption is high, many schools do not receive adequate funding for books and educational supplies. Additionally, many of the teachers live in urban centers and are of mestizo ethnicity and so do not place as much emphasis on learning Kichwa (racism is just as bad here as it is at home). I've talked with many people in the communities and even teachers who have expressed their frustration with the problems of the system, and it seems pretty terrible. Only within the past few weeks working with teachers amidst trying to plan a summer camp and navegating the ludicrous Ecuadorian bureaucracy have I too become frustrated with the prejudiced system. Some teachers are totally on board with the KUPEDs, but are limited by their educational superiors from fully implementing them. If the director of a school doesn't support the importance of learning Kichwa in the classroom, anyone (teacher, parent, student) is bound to have difficulty changing the system. But I guess this is usually the case when one has the power over many. I am seeing a growing intolerance for this type of behavior, and slowly but surely, people are beginning to stand up for themselves.
This is where the gardens project comes in. I was surprised to find that the idea already existed within the curiculum, it just needs to be brought into reality and treated with importance. The first week of being in Esperanza earlier in the month, I found that one teacher had already planted a small garden. So what's being done now is to actually kick start this project and to continue motivating teachers and students. Most things are understood in the communities in terms of cycles. Using this idea within the curriculum, each community will create a calendario agrofestivo, which consists of a circle divided into pie sections, codifying the schedule of planting particular vegetables, the locally-specific knowledge for doing so, and secrets that have been used by los viejitos (older community members).
I think I've written enough for the time being. Things are awesomely busy here.
Desde Ecuador con mucho amor!
In addition to the community garden, another plot of land was prepared for being a semillera, or a plot of land that would solely be used as a self-sustaining seed supply. This would prevent the community from having to purchase expensive seeds at the end of the agricultural cycle. I couldn't believe how quickly the soil was transformed from a 10 m x 15 m uneven plot of weeds to a terraced seed supply. We planted cilantro, parsley, beets, onion, zanahoria blanca ("white carrot,"I think it's dicon), and mashua (a tuber not grown in the US). I learned a pretty sweet relatively natural method that helps preventing pests from eating seeds and contaminating the soil. Apparently, if you scatter ash from the kitchen (usually from burnt wood or paper) onto the soil before and after planting the seeds, the little plants will grow healthily.
I've been learning a great deal about the local agricultural practices here. Plants within each garden have a special place and energy balance, called a Chakra (it's Kichwa, not New Agey). Each community has a locally specific Chakra and secrets for planting seeds. Sometimes crops are planted together, for example: quinoa and potatoes, raddish and zanahoria blanco, habas (I guess the equivalent is cassava beans) and potatoes. In this chakra, medicinal plants (mostly native) will also be grown, ordered into categories of illness.
The project in Lupaxi Bajo is a sort of pilot project for one we will be working on in Esperanza later this summer. I've been working with teachers in Esperanza to work towards integrating a school garden into the curriculum. The school system in the sector is based on a bilingual model called Yachaypak Kukayu Pedagógico (KUPEDs) or the Senderito de Saber (SENSAB), which roughly translated from Kichwa is "sharing the hunger of knowledge". This model is especially designed for Kichwa communities, with the understanding that they are living in a plurinational country (not to be confused with the term "multicultural," which holds the negative connotation here of "separate but anything indigenous is primitive and backwards"). As a side note, indigenous activists all around the country are fighting for official governmental recognition of Ecuador as a plurinational country in the constitution that is in the process of being rewritten. The KUPED model places equal importance on learning both Spanish and Kichwa, with learning experiences occuring both inside and outside the classroom. Additionally, the source of knowledge is not supposed to originate solely from the teachers, but from students themselves and their families (a "self-evaluative process").
Most theoretical models, as well-intentioned as they may be, often lose their value in practice. Unfortunately, many teachers do not place equal weight on the inside/outside bilingual model so ideally set forth in the KUPEDS. This occurs for various reasons. Because corruption is high, many schools do not receive adequate funding for books and educational supplies. Additionally, many of the teachers live in urban centers and are of mestizo ethnicity and so do not place as much emphasis on learning Kichwa (racism is just as bad here as it is at home). I've talked with many people in the communities and even teachers who have expressed their frustration with the problems of the system, and it seems pretty terrible. Only within the past few weeks working with teachers amidst trying to plan a summer camp and navegating the ludicrous Ecuadorian bureaucracy have I too become frustrated with the prejudiced system. Some teachers are totally on board with the KUPEDs, but are limited by their educational superiors from fully implementing them. If the director of a school doesn't support the importance of learning Kichwa in the classroom, anyone (teacher, parent, student) is bound to have difficulty changing the system. But I guess this is usually the case when one has the power over many. I am seeing a growing intolerance for this type of behavior, and slowly but surely, people are beginning to stand up for themselves.
This is where the gardens project comes in. I was surprised to find that the idea already existed within the curiculum, it just needs to be brought into reality and treated with importance. The first week of being in Esperanza earlier in the month, I found that one teacher had already planted a small garden. So what's being done now is to actually kick start this project and to continue motivating teachers and students. Most things are understood in the communities in terms of cycles. Using this idea within the curriculum, each community will create a calendario agrofestivo, which consists of a circle divided into pie sections, codifying the schedule of planting particular vegetables, the locally-specific knowledge for doing so, and secrets that have been used by los viejitos (older community members).
I think I've written enough for the time being. Things are awesomely busy here.
Desde Ecuador con mucho amor!
Friday, June 13, 2008
Esperanza to Quito
We´ve returned to Quito for the weekend to gather our thoughts, materials, and a few extra volunteers. This past week was filled with meetings with directoras de educación, community governments, agronomists, and public health workers as we begin to work on the Huertos Escolares program (school gardens). The goal of this project is to work with local school teachers to come up with an integrated curriculum, where children will learn about nutrition and what is in the food they eat, while simultaneously growing and caring for plants rich in nutrients. Medicinal plants will also be cultivated in the gardens, utilizing herbs native to the region. Each section of the garden will be organized by nutrient or illness to be treated (parasites, cold, muscle aches, etc). So far, each community we have met with has expressed enthusiasm for this project, some even additionally asking for help in creating smaller gardens for each family.
I´ve been incredibly impressed by how many people I have met working on this project so far have jumped on board, offering their time and expertise to make it possible. I can certainly say that I would be nowhere without them. Things are beginning to unfold, as we have a set list of communities, and seeds to plant...the only thing that we have yet to take care of, and is likely going to be the most difficult, is designing each particular garden and figuring out what can grow where, as the terrains are extremely different. As we are high up in the Andes, most of the plots of land are on either steep or uneven terrain, making water runoff a concern.
I´ve also been working mornings at the CEMOPLAF clinic (roughly the Ecuadorian equivalent of planned Parenthood) in Cajabamba. I worked here last summer, but I would definitely say things have changed. I´ve been working in the clinic with a reed alum, who is also completing her residency as an opthalmologist. One day last week, one of the CEMOPLAF gynecologists informed us that we would have to take over the clinic for a day because she had an important meeting in Quito that day. In one day, we underwent a crash course in gynecology, what to prescribe for various infections, how to perform pap smears, administer depo-provera injections, and to take care of other family planning issues. Fortunately the resident was a licensed GP, so we weren´t totally out in the dark.
In those first two days, we had to tell two very young women that they were pregnant. Neither of them were married, and explained that they had no one to help them take care of their potential children. They both asked for abortions (one essentially begged), and we had to tell them that there was nothing we could do for them, because abortion is illegal in Ecuador. The only thing we could offer was a birth plan and if they did decide to go get an abortion at some underground establishment, to immediately come back for a checkup and to start on a family planning program. The province of Chimborazo (we´re located in Cantón Colta or Colta County) is home to Ecuador´s largest population of indigenous Kichwa Catholics and Evangelicals, so going home to one´s religious community pregnant without being married brings about a great deal of potential conflict and strife for the pregnant woman.
One of the women in the communities we work in recently gave birth to a child out of wedlock. The baby was healthy, but due to various pressures, the mother let the child die. It is relatively known by people in the community what happened, but when asked about what happened or how the mother is doing, people shrug their shoulders in effort to avoid discussion. This is only the second time this has happened in that particular community, but it is a fairly common problem in this area. Women who have their first sexual experience in this province have often received little or no sex education or information about family planning (due to community restrictions, although thanks to CEMOPLAF, this pattern is changing) and often become pregnant. I can´t imagine how difficult it must be to be told that there are no safe options for receiving an abortion.
I´ve been incredibly impressed by how many people I have met working on this project so far have jumped on board, offering their time and expertise to make it possible. I can certainly say that I would be nowhere without them. Things are beginning to unfold, as we have a set list of communities, and seeds to plant...the only thing that we have yet to take care of, and is likely going to be the most difficult, is designing each particular garden and figuring out what can grow where, as the terrains are extremely different. As we are high up in the Andes, most of the plots of land are on either steep or uneven terrain, making water runoff a concern.
I´ve also been working mornings at the CEMOPLAF clinic (roughly the Ecuadorian equivalent of planned Parenthood) in Cajabamba. I worked here last summer, but I would definitely say things have changed. I´ve been working in the clinic with a reed alum, who is also completing her residency as an opthalmologist. One day last week, one of the CEMOPLAF gynecologists informed us that we would have to take over the clinic for a day because she had an important meeting in Quito that day. In one day, we underwent a crash course in gynecology, what to prescribe for various infections, how to perform pap smears, administer depo-provera injections, and to take care of other family planning issues. Fortunately the resident was a licensed GP, so we weren´t totally out in the dark.
In those first two days, we had to tell two very young women that they were pregnant. Neither of them were married, and explained that they had no one to help them take care of their potential children. They both asked for abortions (one essentially begged), and we had to tell them that there was nothing we could do for them, because abortion is illegal in Ecuador. The only thing we could offer was a birth plan and if they did decide to go get an abortion at some underground establishment, to immediately come back for a checkup and to start on a family planning program. The province of Chimborazo (we´re located in Cantón Colta or Colta County) is home to Ecuador´s largest population of indigenous Kichwa Catholics and Evangelicals, so going home to one´s religious community pregnant without being married brings about a great deal of potential conflict and strife for the pregnant woman.
One of the women in the communities we work in recently gave birth to a child out of wedlock. The baby was healthy, but due to various pressures, the mother let the child die. It is relatively known by people in the community what happened, but when asked about what happened or how the mother is doing, people shrug their shoulders in effort to avoid discussion. This is only the second time this has happened in that particular community, but it is a fairly common problem in this area. Women who have their first sexual experience in this province have often received little or no sex education or information about family planning (due to community restrictions, although thanks to CEMOPLAF, this pattern is changing) and often become pregnant. I can´t imagine how difficult it must be to be told that there are no safe options for receiving an abortion.
Saturday, June 7, 2008
A Princess in the Tower: or Why Machismo is the Scum of the Earth
Today I was reminded of how my identity as a female takes on a meaning different than from what I am comfortably used to in my happy liberal existence on the West Coast. That´s right, I´m not just a human being who happens to be walking down the street, but I apparently bear similar physical properties (and perhaps mental in the eyes of some) to that of a slow-cooked shawarma (a delicious and popular snack in La Mariscal, the part of Quito I´m currently living ing). I was walking with a friend to go to an art exhibition put on by a formerly exiled feminist artist (her work is amazing. Check it out: http://sandrafernandez.info/default.php), when a man of about 75 years of age drove by, licking his lips and saying "how tasty" in our direction. Nearly moments after that, upon entering the museum, another gentleman decided it would be ok to stroke my arm as he passed by. I could feel myself boiling with anger, yet I didn´t have the desire to make anything else of it. I shrugged off the disconted at having been so disrespected and continued to enjoy the rest of the day.
La Mariscal, (un)affectionately known as Gringolandia, is the place to go if you´re between the ages of tall-enough-to-reach.-the-bar and 50, providing a garden-variety bars, discotecas, fancy cafes, and kitschy tourist shops. It´s also the hippest spot to go if your a pick-pocket, as there are many gringos around with pockets wide open (I actually met someone who got $1,000.00 stolen out of his pocket yesterday...oops). Having street smarts in a place like this is a necessary skill. If one lacks them, they will learn them quickly here.
Walking back from a movie, a friend and I skillfully dodged being accosted by another individual. Rather pissed off and racing with adrenaline, we returned to our abode, or the tower as we have come to call it, where we find ourselves kept safe and sound behind 5 locks (that´s the norm for most houses in Ecuador, btw). It was 9:30 and we were stuck behind these infernal bars of safety, knowing that our identities as females made us vulnerable. I hate feeling like a victim just as much as I hate describing myself as such. But, plainly put, it sucks when you become aware of the fact that your actions and your sense of agency are suddenly limited by the world around you. I am grateful for the fact that I am priviledged enough in that I don´t usually come across this type of sexism, yet it´s experiences like these that make social/racial/gender inequalities much more of a reality. I´m stuck in a rut, because I know that my experience of machismo as a priviledged white woman is perhaps different from that of an Ecuatoriana (because our politically correct selves can´t pretend that this power dynamic is invisible), and as problematic as that may be, I still feel anger for having my personhood (and that of others)diminished.
La Mariscal, (un)affectionately known as Gringolandia, is the place to go if you´re between the ages of tall-enough-to-reach.-the-bar and 50, providing a garden-variety bars, discotecas, fancy cafes, and kitschy tourist shops. It´s also the hippest spot to go if your a pick-pocket, as there are many gringos around with pockets wide open (I actually met someone who got $1,000.00 stolen out of his pocket yesterday...oops). Having street smarts in a place like this is a necessary skill. If one lacks them, they will learn them quickly here.
Walking back from a movie, a friend and I skillfully dodged being accosted by another individual. Rather pissed off and racing with adrenaline, we returned to our abode, or the tower as we have come to call it, where we find ourselves kept safe and sound behind 5 locks (that´s the norm for most houses in Ecuador, btw). It was 9:30 and we were stuck behind these infernal bars of safety, knowing that our identities as females made us vulnerable. I hate feeling like a victim just as much as I hate describing myself as such. But, plainly put, it sucks when you become aware of the fact that your actions and your sense of agency are suddenly limited by the world around you. I am grateful for the fact that I am priviledged enough in that I don´t usually come across this type of sexism, yet it´s experiences like these that make social/racial/gender inequalities much more of a reality. I´m stuck in a rut, because I know that my experience of machismo as a priviledged white woman is perhaps different from that of an Ecuatoriana (because our politically correct selves can´t pretend that this power dynamic is invisible), and as problematic as that may be, I still feel anger for having my personhood (and that of others)diminished.
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