A Love Letter

Life has been up and down and full of twisting, muddy roads this past month. I have begun running quite a bit, ostensibly training for my first marathon, to be run in southern Vermont towards the end of May. So my days have been full of early-morning runs in these breathtaking Andean mountains, with towering volcanoes standing watch over me. I have been feeling alternately awed by cultural differences and wisdom; amazed by hospitality; alienated and alone; surging joy at the uniqueness of this experience; and the deep pulse of life that flows through this fertile land where I am privileged to be at this moment in my journey. 

My life here has begun to establish a certain rhythm. Running; playing with my baby “brother” Dylan and watching him grow…his first steps, words, watching him dance and play instruments; teaching English once a week on an organic farm to a group of cute kids; lots and lots of bus rides and runs and conversations with my other “gringuita” (North American) friend Mary; conducting interviews and waiting for interviews that never happen; trips to libraries to get books and articles; increasing my grasp of Kichwa everyday; washing my laundry on a stone slab in the yard; taking the pigs on walks with Magui; reading; bucket showers; going to futbol games; running in the rain to catch the bus to the community where we live, and trying constantly to convince the bus drivers that we gringas actually do live there; the women at Jambi Mascaric slowly warming to me as I help them with embroidery projects and help serve food for symposiums on local development.

Then there are the stories that are a bit less routine, but which point to the kind of world in which I find myself submerged: inside yet outside.

My friend Mary and I went to Ibarra (the capital of the province in which we live—Imbabura). We went to rock climb and to get some resources from the department of intercultural health at the provincial office for public health. Of course the rock wall was closed, and we needed to go through an elaborate bureaucratic process of submitting letters of request to the Minister of Health—just to read the books in the office, let alone check them out. After all that, we hopped on a city bus back to the bus terminal. Since we don’t know the city well, I asked the bus driver to specifically let us know when we arrived at the terminal. After about an hour of driving through the city and then through various small villages, I asked him why we hadn’t arrived yet. He laughed and apologized, saying he had forgotten. I will take you there right away, he assured us. Subsequently we stopped in a field, a herd of cows walked by, a sketchy man with a slingshot and sort of a sick grin walked by, and the bus driver hopped out and said he was going to get lunch. Mary and I could do nothing but laugh, and sit and read, reclined in the empty bus in the middle of a cornfield.

There was the day that Mary and I were running in a community far from ours and a beautiful auburn dog ran out and started growling menacingly at us, snapping his sharp teeth and running alongside us. He kept running with us for miles, and over time became very friendly. We grew fond of him over the course of the run, and named him Yura (“tree” in Kichwa). He followed us all the way into my house, and we showed him excitedly to my family. Then he followed Mary to her house, before finally wandering off. People in our community still ask us frequently if we ever saw our beautiful dog again. The answer is, no.

I went to see a yachak (traditional healer) who works at Jambi Hausi (“House of Health”)—an intercultural health center in Otavalo. His little room was full of animal skins, bottles of herbs and tinctures, candles, images of saints, and mysterious objects of all kinds. It was very dark and he stared directly into the single flame of the candle on his table. He asked what my problem was, and began to pour some liquids on the crown of my head, and into my hands, instructing me to rub them into my abdomen and arms. He said an incantation under his breath and gave me a thimbleful of some pink floral liquid to drink. After that he simply said I should go. I asked if there was anything else I needed to do. No, he said, you’re cured now. I walked out of there feeling slightly dizzy and a bit giddy, and incredibly relaxed. The most at peace with myself and the world that I had been in weeks. Am I cured? I guess that remains to be seen. But I would say it’s a good start, at least.

Last weekend was full of new experiences. It started off with buying my first animal. A little black lamb for my friend, and Mary’s little host sister, Mishari, who will be baptized next weekend at the age of 7. She is a dear girl, and Mary and I really wanted to buy her something special for her baptism. So at the suggestion of our Kichwa professor, we bought her a lamb. We went very early in the morning to the famous Feria de Animales (animal market) in Otavalo, and bargained until we bought a beautiful little female sheep. We hope that Mishari can learn responsibility by raising her, and also make some money for her education by selling the wool, and eventually maybe selling her babies. Walking around the market with that lamb was an experience in itself. I don’t think I have ever gotten so much attention in my life. Bystanders commented to each other, “Look at those gringuitas with that little lamb! How cute!” Dozens of people reached out and petted her head, or grabbed her little hoof, or asked how much we paid and if they could buy her. “A little black sheep!” people exclaimed. It was a rush. We finally got home, only to discover that our sweaters were covered in ticks from our new friend. We stripped down to check for them burrowed around our necks and other places, mercifully finding none. We showered and changed clothes, and left our little lamb to graze in my backyard. Early the next morning, Mary brought Magui (Mishari’s mom) and Mishari over to show them our big surprise. They were honestly delighted, and so were we. Mishari has begun caring for her, and has named her Lucera.

This past weekend was also Carnaval, the holiday before Lent begins. Mary and I decided to take in the local flavor in a few different ways, going to Peguche for their big “Indigenous Carnaval” celebrations, which included a concert of the best traditional Andean musical groups. On our way to the concert we met a new friend, Paúl, who actually lives near us in Cotacachi. We were wandering around Peguche with him before the concert and a truck full of men and another truck full of baskets of fruit rolled by, and Paúl excitedly explained to us that they must on their way to do a “pedido de mano”—part of the local Indigenous wedding ritual. We ran after the trucks, and got to watch as the men played music in the street and danced the traditional circle dance in the street. After that, the tons and tons of fruit started being paraded into the house, and the “novio” (groom) came last--a huge fluffy sheep with a pink bow in his hand.

At the concert itself I got to see something I never thought I would see, something which may not translate to those of you who are not living in this context. But the traditional dance of the Indigenous culture of the Northern Andean highlands is something I refer to as the “shuffle dance”—it consists of shuffling one’s feet and circling around in groups, going one direction, and then switching directions in the circular rotation. To say it is mild-mannered is an understatement. But at this concert, people went wild, in a sense, flooding the stage area while the Andean bands played, and creating a crazy shuffle dance mosh pit, in which those of us engulfed could hardly breathe or move.

This was fun, but we also wanted to see a bit of a different culture, so Mary and I took the short trip to the valley called El Chota, which is the home to a primarily Afro-Ecuadoran population. There the Carnaval festivities were in full swing, with a dusty arena full of stands selling food and alcohol and cans of foam which people spray on people as part of the tradition of “jugar Carnaval” (playing Carnaval). Particularly as obvious foreigners, we were targeted. We were bombarded with foam, buckets of water, water guns, had paint smeared on our faces, and dye poured on us. But we decided to play along, and we danced for hours in the warm rain, covering ourselves in mud in addition to the paint that left only our “ojos claros” (light-colored eyes) visible. It was really fun.

Our final stop on our tour of Carnaval festivities in the province of Imbabura was back to Peguche on Tuesday for their flower ritual, known as Tumarina in Kichwa. Here we were greeted with a beautiful carpet of multi-colored rose petals, but also a full-on war of eggs being cracked on people’s heads, flour thrown in people’s faces, buckets of water and industrial hoses, flower petals, and countless bottles of sprayed foam. The shuffle dance was in action, and a brass band played along, as the procession turned into a screaming sprint and people tried to escape the youth who had perched themselves on roofs with buckets and hoses to wet all the passersby.

So, this is an update (perhaps too long) on what I have been doing this past month. As to what has been happening within me intellectually, emotionally, and spiritually, I hope the patience of beginning this slow process of training my body for a marathon is helping me train my mind and heart in the quiet patience that is deep love and openness to the world. Falling in love with the world in all its richness, with its contours and shadows, is a slow process of opening, of trust and hope. In the quiet rhythm of feet on hard-packed dirt, there is time and space for reflection: on who I am, what is important to me, and on what I carry on this journey. A friend recently wrote this to me in an email: “I've been faced with all the fears…that have followed me like (mostly unnoticed) shadows for so long.  I've been following them down though and - lo and behold! - there's actually Love at the bottom and Love all the way through.” This is such a beautiful reflection on what I myself have been finding, in waves of joy, hope, exhaustion, loneliness, and then, love. Loving the world for what it is, loving myself for who I am, loving others for who they are. Searching deep down through the fears and finding that love is there—all the way through, cradling it all.

To close, I want to share an excerpt of a Rumi poem that has been resonating these past weeks:

This is love: to fly toward a secret sky,

to cause a hundred veils to fall each moment.

First, to let go of life.

In the end, to take a step without feet;

to regard this world as invisible,

and to disregard what appears to be the self.

-Rumi

two of the students in our English class at the farm

the new puppy at my house (Ines rescued him)

women working in an embroidery workshop at Jambi Mascaric

my Ecuadoran family--my friend Ines and her son Dylan (not pictured: Kairik and Rodrigo)

Mary, right after buying the lamb

Magui and Mishari walking home with the new lamb (in Magui's arms) and their dog, Chiquitin

just the beginning of the Carnaval festivities in El Chota. After this, we left our cameras safely in our rooms, so we have no photos of the true aftermath of paint and dye and water and foam and mud

people running to escape soaking at the Carnaval flower ritual in Peguche

a little history, some ritual, and of course food!

I have been in Ecuador just over two weeks, and have so many amazing experiences to share!

Highlights include finding a great yoga class, some beautiful museums, a translation project for a book published by Fundación Pachamama in Quito, participating in a PAV training (Pasos Alternativos a la Violencia/Alternatives to Violence Project), my housemate Annie's birthday party (Annie's party was at this wonderful cafe owned by a cooperative of Amazonian Indigenous families), a ritual bath in Cotacachi for the autumnal equinox, a village planting festival in La Calera, ...and I am starting a women's spirituality circle in Quito!

A History Lesson
But first of all, a quick and very incomplete historical panorama, based on what I found the most interesting while visiting the Ecuadoran National Museum in Quito during my first week. I thought it might provide some helpful historical perspective on the situation and practices of Ecuadoran Indigenous communities today.

The first settlements in Ecuador were around 8500 BC, with the dominant cultures of the Las Vegas on the coast, and the Inga in the Andean highlands/Sierra. Agricultural production began in about 6000 BC, with the cultivation of corn, kidney beans, pumpkin, achira, and cotton. In the Sierra, people cultivated local plants such as potatoes and quinoa, as well as crops that originated in other parts of Ecuador, including ají and peanuts. They also raised llamas, alpacas, and guinea pigs. Trade soon became prevalent among the various groups, as evidenced by the ceramic trope of the "basket man"/canastero/mindala. The many examples of this figure in pottery show that a special position of trader (who traveled with a basket on his back) had become central to society. The most prevalent items in trade were spondylus shells. The conch shell was also an important symbol of male fertility & was used as trumpet, however the spondylus princeps was truly sacred, associated with the vulva (because of its red color, shape, shine) and with fertility and rain. Spondylus was considered the favorite nourishment of the gods, and shamans wore spondylus as a sign of fertility and closeness to the divine. Although in this early period some confederations and centralized power developed--such as the Kingdom of Quito founded by the Quitus, the Puruhaes, and Cañari, as well as the Shyri Dynasty--the societal organization was dramatically shifted by the Incan invasion in the late 15th century, followed closely by the invasion of the Spanish. Contemporary indigenous groups to some extent reflect a blend of all of this: pre-Incan, Incan, and Spanish colonial traditions.

Autumnal Equinox
On Wednesday (September 21) I took the bus to Cotacachi to participate in a ritual bath for the Autumnal Equinox. After switching buses in Otavalo, I arrived in Cotacachi, and wandered around looking for Jambi Mascaric (the Indigenous women´s health center run by UNORCAC). I finally found it, and saw three trucks full of people outside, even though I had arrived 2 hours after the official meeting time. I ran up and asked if I could come along, and was directed to the last truck, which had plenty of room in the back. After about a minute, the trucks roared off. I gripped the bar that extended over the truck bed, trying to keep my balance. We zipped along bumpy dirt roads until we were way out in the campo. Then we suddenly arrived, and everyone spilled out of the trucks. We began hiking in a snaking line down into a ravine, along a narrow path strewn with loose rocks (one of which caused me to fall on my hip, and split open my left middle finger--but it's almost fully healed already!). Finally, we arrived in a meadow with a stream. There the women laid out a cloth on the grass and covered it with rose petals, bread, and fruit, and surrounded it with branches of yerba buena. After the ritual space had been established, three women spoke in Kichwa, and then a representative of the Red Cross spoke briefly in Spanish (they support these ceremonies through their intercultural health program). A shaman from Bolivia then took the lead, speaking about how the time of the woman was beginning with this equinox, transitioning out of the part of the year when male energy dominates. There was a clay bowl of smoking palo santo, and it was passed around, as everyone bathed themselves with the smoke. Then a man dug a hole in the ground, and offerings of bread, fruit, and flowers were thrown in and buried. After all that, the ritual bath itself began. Stripping down, being beaten with yerba buena branches, and having alcohol spit on my face were all included in the process. As unappealing as that might all sound, it really was a deeply moving experience. After everyone had their bath of cold water and alcoholic mist, some closing words were said and we all trekked back up the ravine to the grassy patch by the side of the road where the trucks were parked. There blankets appeared, laid out on the ground in a long line, and giant containers of potatoes, corn, beans, and hardboiled eggs were poured down the middle of the blankets. We all gathered around on the ground to share this communal meal, grabbing handfuls of potatoes and corn, and drinking chicha from shared gourds.

After this amazing day, I met up with Dana, a PhD student from the U.S. who is doing research on political consciousness and organizing among women in Cotacachi, and we went to our friend Magi's house. Magdalena is one of the primary leaders in her village (Calera--more on that later!) and an extremely wise and intelligent woman. She has been interviewed by many scholars and anthropologists and even conducts her own research! (She and Dana do research together). Dana and I waited in Magi's dusty courtyard while she was in a community meeting that was running really long because of some conflict over a volleyball court. We waited for hours, which gave us the opportunity to get to know Claudia, another one of Magi's many friends--a French doctor who has worked for years in Latin America with Médicos del Mundo (Doctors of the World) and Doctors Without Borders. Finally, after dark had fallen, we set off with Magi to do another ritual bath. This one was a lot more intimate, just Magi, her adorable daughter Mishari, Mishari's friend, Claudia, Dana, Magi's friend Doña Blanca, and me, bathing in a beautiful, effervescent spring near the village. I know that I will never forget hiking down the muddy path in my slippery flip flops, a tattered yellow umbrella in one hand and a plastic bag filled with fruit and bread in the other, moonlight casting the only light on the dark path and a gentle rain falling steadily, until finally arriving at a grassy clearing next to a bubbling spring. There Magi led us in prayer, lit the aromatic Palo Santo, and lit candles, which she placed on the natural rock ledges that frame the cascading water. After the bath we shared some food and then hiked back to Magi's house where she generously plied us with more food, and Doña Blanca regaled us with stories until late in the evening.

That night I stayed with Dana in her cute new apartment in Cotacachi, and set out the next morning to meet as many people as I could. I visited UNORCAC, Jambi Mascaric, the Cantonal Assembly, and the Red Cross, where I met Enrique Cachiguango, an amazing man who is the director of the intercultural health program in Cotacachi. He shared his life story with me, and assured me that when I was ready, my spiritual teacher would appear. He told me he was on the path to wisdom, not knowledge, and wished me the same, admonishing me not to learn but to experience, not to understand but to know, not to think, but to feel. Enrique also talked about interculturality, the act of facing "the other" and how difficult it is. As he said, it is one thing to talk rhetorically about interculturality, and quite another to actually live it. For Enrique interculturality is like a marriage, where the two partners must accept each other as they are, for life; is not a one-time encounter, it is a mutual change.

Here are some photographs of the ritual! 

this cloth was laid out first. we all got to eat some fruit after the bath.

digging a hole and making offerings

praying over the offering

burying the offerings of fruit, bread, flowers

ritual bath

setting the table

communal meal after ritual bath

beginning the ritual with Magi

Tarpuy Raimi/Fiesta de la Siembra
The next two days were spent in Calera, rejoicing in the festival of planting and the town fiesta. I stayed at the beautiful home of Ines Bonilla, which is right in the center of town. This was good in that it was central for the festivities, but that was less of a perk late at night when music was still blaring through the cracks in the house and into my rock-hard bed. The festivities began Friday afternoon with a parade down into town. There were various candidates for town queen/reina, and they each rode in decorated trucks, while a number of community groups performed dances as they paraded. A band played, and there were periodic stops, when the community leaders who headed up the procession stopped and did a circle dance. From what I understand at this point, the circles are a symbol of the equinoxes and solstices of the year, and the foot stomping is as an invitation to Pachamama (loosely translates to Mother Earth) to participate in the celebration, and to be fertile once again in this agricultural cycle. Once we got into the center of town, there were more festivities. Food was for sale everywhere: colada morada, corn on the cob, fried dough. And there were a few little amusements set up, like a mini-ferris wheel, a carousel, and lots of foosball tables. Various groups of youth performed dances and skits that reflected often-humorous themes of their culture and ancestral traditions, such as a marriage, agriculture, and drunkenness. That night we also traipsed over to a field on the edge of town, where a man began to dig in the soft ground, searching for the chicha and food that had been buried the year before. When we finally found it deep down in the earth, it was mostly gone, which Ines said was a good sign and meant that Pachamama had been fertile and hungry. The next day there was another desfile (parade) from the highway where one turns to reach La Calera, into the center of town. This one was smaller and all on foot. Large baskets of fruit were carried in, and the character Aya Uma (a two-faced creature with 12 horns, said to represent the cycles of the year and be the spirit of the mountain) danced with us. When we got to La Calera, there was also a ritual planting of maize, more dancing, food, and music. Here are a few pictures to give a better sense of what went on. (I actually took maybe hundreds of photos, primarily because I offered to make a book of photos for the town to have a record of their 2011 fiesta. So, soon on the agenda is to find a photo place in Quito that will make a book for me to give to the town leaders!)

Cotacachi, as seen from Dana's apartment

preparing the communal meal in La Calera (that's Magi in the blue sweater!)

Truck decorated, and ready for the parade

one of many decorated trucks

Wilson, the town president, and one of the contenders for Queen

digging for last year's chicha

gathered around a fire watching the lone man dig for chicha

cooking mote (hominy) for the communal meal

the band, and some cows

Ritual Planting

Planting and Dancing!

Aya Uma leading the parade

Photos of Quito
Those are the primary updates for now, but I want to share a few more photos. I am feeling very glad to be here, and that I am learning so much already. But hopefully as Enrique shared with me, I will know and feel and internalize wisdom, absorb stories and landscapes, more than I try to acquire or commodify knowledge.

my haul from the Friday produce market

Happy Birthday, Annie!

At the Fundación Guayasamin

Guayasamin is probably the most famous Ecuadoran visual artist, and is one my favorite painters in the world!

another view of Guápulo Church

enjoying the view

view from Parque Itchimbia

the coolest abandoned house in La Floresta

a statue store that burned down in my neighborhood