TravelStream™ news feed for member riahl on TravelPod's free travel blogs service http://www.travelpod.com/syndication/rss/riahl en-us Copyright ©2009 TravelPod.com Sat, 28 Feb 2009 12:25:15 -0500 http://www.travelpod.com http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/riahl/1/1235841720/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/riahl/1/1235841720/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/riahl/1/1235841720/tpod.html Sat, 28 Feb 2009 12:25:15 -0500 Riahl is in Ecuador

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Quito, Ecuador, Ecuador

For the past month and a half I have been working (and for the next month and a half I will be working) in the community of Mascarilla. Mascarilla is a one of 38 Afro-Ecuadorian pueblitos that lie in Ecuador's Chota Valley. It's about a 10 minute walk to the Panamerican highway from Mascarilla, and if you follow that two hours to the north you hit the Columbian border, or 3 hours south you hit Quito, Ecuador's capital. A rural community of only 1,200 people, it is 45 minutes to the next big city, Ibarra, which has about 150,000 residents. Buses pass every hour, half stop in Ibarra and half go straight to Quito.

The Chota Valley is also known as El Valle de Dolor y La Muerte (The Valley of Pain and Death) for the atrocities committed against African descendents in the region. In 1551, the Chota Valley saw its first black slaves imported from what are now the countries of Guinea, Congo and Angola. Most were traded in Cartagena de Indias, Columbia, which was, during its time, the largest slave market in the region. In 1627, Jesuit missionaries began purchasing slaves to use on sugar plantations throughout the Chota Valley. The expansion of this enterprise is the reason there are so many black communities in this part of Ecuador. Slavery was officially abolished in 1852, but physical and mental abuse, torture, rape, murder and working for little to no payment continued well into the 20th century.

In its present day a majority of men work in agriculture or agricultural production, harvesting avocado, sugar cane, beans, or working in the near-by sugar-processing plant. Women, with some exceptions, work in the home, cooking, cleaning and raising children. Another significant portion of workers are migrants and commuters who work in Ibarra, Quito or Tulcan, because of lack of fruitful employment in and around Mascarilla.

Mascarilla itself is about the size of 2 city blocks. Apart from residential units, Mascarilla has four small corner stores (all of which are just rooms in people´s houses that are converted into a convenient store, selling condiments, sodas, candies, flour, rice and other groceries from their front window), a gym used for playing soccer and volleyball, a health center, an elementary school (75 students, 2nd through 7th grade), a day care center, a small church, a discoteca and GAEN's artisan store and hostel, which has two rooms open for incoming tourists.

GAEN, Grupo Areisenal de Esperanza Negra (Artisan Group for Black Hope), is a non-profit community organization that serves multiple functions in Mascarilla. Their principle project is turning their community into a center of "turismo comunitario" (community tourism). By welcoming incoming tourists they have customers to whom they can sell their hand-made clay masks, each of which is completely original and thoughtfully produced. They also have an opportunity to share their story, their history and their culture.
Turismo Comunitario is part of a larger idea of Cultural Revitalization. Being a self-identified diasporic community, one whose roots have experienced the damage of diaspora, GAEN is eager to bring new creativity and vitality to an otherwise fractured framework. Bringing in tourists and volunteers they have the opportunity to exchange thoughts, ideas and mediums of expression.
Cultural Revitalization, as I understand it, is a process that weaves threads of past, present and future: The past involves the recuperation of ancestral values, sharing of tradition and knowledge. Notable examples are: The Bomba, a genre of music and dance that originates from The Chota Valley, it is an amazing mix of Latin American melody and lyricism with rhythmic traditions that derive from the African continent; Peinados, the way in which they fashion, braid and bead their hair in gorgeous arrays and patterns; and holidays, festivals, even funerals, where they preserve the tradition of coming together as a community, not only as Mascarilla, but as Afro-Ecuadorians, to celebrate or to mourn in union.
The present is GAEN's creative process of encouraging volunteers and tourists to come and visit Mascarilla. It is the process of sharing knowledge, wisdom and learning from one another, and it is also how they create new sources of income for families who are involved in their artisan projects.
And there is the future, which is how grains of other cultures, mediums of expression and ways of life add to Mascarilla's process of cultural revitalization. The idea to make masks did not come from GAEN´s members, it was rather a Belgian volunteer who offered workshops to a group of women on harvesting and working with clay. In their own words, "The project began with a dream that awoke within our hearts. We discovered inside ourselves a hidden capacity to create, that permitted us to express our feelings and our character by means of our hands, molding ceramics, giving form to thousands of faces, different images, all diverse, unique, some incomprehensible. Our character has been recompiled from the wisdom of our ancestors and the livelihoods of our pueblo... we began to realize our greater dream of exploring and celebrating our Black identity and our African roots." New perspectives give them new mediums by which they can express themselves and discover, expand and create their unique cultural identity.
Since their formation several branches and functions have grown of GAEN's trunk. Rather than mention them all I will describe here the organization with which I work most closely and the reason I came here in the first place: the Youth Group.

GAEN's youth group was formed 3 years ago as a way for youth in the community to connect with each other, identify themselves as youth and think about how they can help their community. A year later a significant private donation was made by an Italian family, one who had connections to Mascarilla and GAEN, to build a youth center in honour of their son who had recently passed away. In the following months, the youth center was built. It has been sitting, since then, virtually unused. The youth group ages 16-23, with about 45 members (though many live in other larger cities), has lacked the time, connections and energy to facilitate the process of getting it up and running.
As many of you know, I have been involved with the Northfield Union of Youth for a good portion of my young life. I served on the board for 4 years, one of those years I served as president. Besides that, I have done youth planning and organizing at university in Canada with a program called Seeds for Justice, organizing workshops and events for young people in the Peterborough community. And last summer I did similar work with youth in East-Side St. Paul as group leader for Junior Kidventure. Pardon the resumé, my point comes here: it felt as if I would have something that I could tangibly offer this community, using the knowledge I have gained from my experience to help facilitate a process that would end with them having their very own youth center.
Now, since the youth are very busy, some study, work, others study and work, others study and work and work inside the home, they have not had time to have meetings 9-5, 5 days each week. So, on Mondays and Tuesdays I work in the Day Care Center playing with little kids, and on Wednesdays, Thursdays and Fridays I teach English to grades 2 through 7 in the elementary school. Plus I teach breakdance lessons about once a week...just something that's gotta happen.
So between working, doing research to try to pump out a 45 page report by the end of the month and meeting people and making friends in the community I am keeping fairly busy.

...I suppose I'll stop there. Much of the information provided here is based on research I have done for my final report, some academic sources, other information comes from interviews and meetings that I have attended. For further details, see my final report! (I´ll have it done April 22nd)
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/riahl/1/1232419200/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/riahl/1/1232419200/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/riahl/1/1232419200/tpod.html Mon, 19 Jan 2009 22:11:46 -0500 Riahl is in Ecuador

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Quito, Ecuador, Ecuador

I´d like to take a moment to explain something that may not be obvious just from reading my blog entries... I am having an amazing time here.
What I have tried to do with this blog is share a small piece of what I am learning from my experience here, but not necessarily all that I am doing. This is for two reasons: 1) My life in Sangolquí isn´t super exciting. I eat, I sleep, I go to school, I read...honestly, that´s about it. And 2) Though I have had fun doing more touristic things while being here, that is not why I came here in the first place. I am here as an academic trying to learn as much as I can about myself, my culture and my people (oh the irony!). In any case, those of you that know me well know that I am happiest when I am learning the most, and I am learning more here than I ever thought I would.

Anyways, this entry comes after reflecting on some of my previous entries and realizing that they are definitely more thoughtful than fun and I felt I had to explain myself, because I am not that dry of a person...honest!


So, I sit here in the community of Mascarilla, my home for the next three months, pondering the question put forth in my last entry: the question of appropriate action. Soon I will post a community profile, what I am doing here and some more photos...if I can find a computer that lets me.

Thanks so much for reading! As always, feel free to post comments, I will do my best to respond.

Paz y amor
Riahl O
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Quito, Ecuador, Ecuador

An orange glow glitters above several rows of grass and tin-roofed buildings, a man runs frantically to the outdoor restaurant where we are eating, finds the owner and frantically spews an indiscernible sentence "hotel...quemando...extintor." He flees with the restaurant's fire extinguisher in his grasp. My friends and I exchange worried glances. Getting up from our seats, we head to the dirt road and hastily walk towards the tower of smoke that now seems to hang from the night sky over the small coastal town of Canoa.
We arrive to a scattered cloud of strangers, foreigners and locals, and make our way to the spectacle to which everyone is turned: a three-storey hotel of brick and bamboo fully aflame. A man stands on a ladder, reaching towards a window on the top floor. Someone is handing him mattresses from the inside as he throws them to another man on the ground, he drags them far from the burning building. The crowd shouts, "¡Vaya! ¡Vaya!" (Get out! Get out!) to the person who is still inside.
Full of nervous energy, unsure of what we can do to help or who to even ask what to do, we jog in a confused line to the other side of the building. There, in a large dirt field, stands the entire town, matched by a wave of local and foreign tourists who had come to Canoa to enjoy the New Years weekend. Hundreds of people standing and watching, the only other evident source of light besides the flame that rages in front of us is the glow of cell phones and cameras, people trapping the event in their electronic memory. An ocean of water not but two blocks away and a sea of people staring blankly, dumbly, unsure what could be done, or who to ask what to do, paralyzed by indecision. The 7 of us stand with them and watch the hotel burn.

A few nights earlier I took an overnight bus from Quito to the Coastal town of Bahía de Caraquez, only 35 minutes from Canoa by motor boat followed by a short taxi ride. Reclined in a back-row seat of an Ecuadorian coach bus, I woke up as the sun rose and looked out the window at people, houses and livelihoods.
Honestly, my feelings have been numbed by my cultural upbringing. My first experience seeing extreme poverty was not as shocking to me as my reaction to it. I felt very little for the people I saw. Though deeply saddened by structures that separate, marginalize and oppress, my spirit seemed indifferent to the people themselves. Christian Children Fund commercials, UNICEF brochures, the Hollywood backdrop of an anonymous "developing country"... Once I saw extreme poverty standing in front of me in the flesh, it was still as if it were on a movie screen, or part of a photograph in a magazine that would disappear as soon as I flip the page to the next article.
I sat and watched the window. Houses the size of my living room, made out of bamboo and sitting on stilts, the endless number of incomplete cement brick homes that seem to freckle all of Ecuador, passing the bus window like frames on 35mm film. But real life differs distinctly from the commercials and pamphlets that sell you charity; here you see people smiling, playing cards, children kicking around a soccer ball, mothers holding their babies on their back, wrapped tightly in a blanket-turned-sling as they sell fruit to passerby. You see real people in a setting you don't expect, in one that makes you not feel for them as victims, but as a reflection of your own humanity, with stories, histories and wisdom. Being surrounded by this unavoidably for the past 4 months has caused me to think about where I come from.
Where I come from you don't have to think about poverty if you don't want to. Everyone seems to live in adequately sized houses. You hear about people who don't have enough to eat, but everyone you know has a full 'fridge and cupboards, even if it came from the sale rack at the local grocery store. Good people read the newspaper and volunteer at the food shelf, they know that poverty exists. But to you it still seems theoretical, almost hypothetical, indescribably distant from the life you know. You continue driving your very own car, coming home to your two-storey house, bathing in unlimited running water and falling asleep with a stomach full of food and job security.
This ocean of wealth in reality stands not far from the deteriorating living conditions of people in poverty all over the world (at home or abroad). Yet everyone stands watching the hotel burn, frozen, unsure of what they should do or if they should do it.
Is the answer to this inequality simply sacrificing water to put out the flame? Or does this understand "the poor" in the same way as our televisions and magazines: passive victims in need of aid from generous foreigners? Is it not our place to intervene in the struggle of others, allowing them to lead their own resistance, shape their own destiny? Or do our decisions and our social location contribute to this inequality? Something clearly has to be done, but who can I ask to know what to do or how to do it?

I stand idle, a dumb look of indecision drawn on my face, and I watch the flame grow.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/riahl/1/1222978500/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/riahl/1/1222978500/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/riahl/1/1222978500/tpod.html Mon, 17 Nov 2008 19:13:15 -0500 Riahl is in Ecuador

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Quito, Ecuador, Ecuador

If you have read the world news lately you may have noticed that Ecuador just passed a new constitution. Created by the administration of the current president Rafael Correa, the constitution won by a large margin: 62% voting "sí". This is Ecuador's 20th constitution and regardless of its landslide victory, contains a number of controversial topics.

A large number of Ecuadorian citizens, including Correa, identify as Catholic. The Church has a powerful voice in Ecuador. Many "hot-button" issues for the Catholic Church involve the open door that now stands for same-sex unions and the right for a woman to have an abortion. Furthermore, the constitution integrates elements of indigenous language and spirituality, recognizing the diverse nature of Ecuadorian people.

The constitution also aims at ameliorating the living situation for the youth of Ecuador (that comprise a majority of the population). It promises free education through University for all Ecuadorian citizens, gives the right to vote to people as young as 16 and allows people to serve as senator (a democratically elected position) at 18.

A worry held by many is that the new constitution consolidates power, giving too much to the president. Most decisions must be run by the president and his "cabinet" before going into effect.

One might consider this a step in the direction of the Chavez government in Venezuela (whose constitutional proposal did not pass, by the way, last year) or the government of Morales in Bolivia or Castro in Cuba. There is no doubt that the constitution, in many respects, takes a decisive socialist direction.

The entire Ecuadorian experience thus far has been coloured by this new constitution. It is a constant topic of conversation at the dinner table and on the news. Everywhere you go you see flags, posters and graffiti rooting for either ¨sí¨or ¨no.¨ I would go as far to say that everyone has an opinion. This provides stark contrast to political discourse in the United States, people are generally much more invested in politics here. There are probably several reasons this is true, though an obvious is that voting is mandatory for all Ecuadorian citizens.

It is interesting to see the opinions of the families with whom the students on this program are staying. The majority voted "no," which is likely due to class. Sangolquí is a wealthy community (as far as Ecuador goes) and a number of our families would be middle to upper-middle class even by United States standards.

Reasons that I have heard for voting "no"? There are the religious quarrels listed above. Some voted "no" because they fear the direct effect that the constitution will take on their family - a few are worried that they will lose their job: the constitution says that people who have been working in the same place for 25 years must move on to make room for young employees, and an emphasis on public schools will cut resources to private schools who already face numerous financial difficulties (note: this is based strictly on hearsay, the government document is thick and convoluted, not to mention in Spanish, thus it is hard to negotiate said constitution and find the truth for myself).

My family was very happy about voting "yes" and shouted "¡Ganamos! ¡Ganamos!" (We won! We won!) upon hearing the results on the news at about 6:30pm the same day the polls closed. My host mother and host father have both praised the rights-based approach that the constitution takes, giving rights to women, gays and lesbians, indigenous peoples and other marginalized groups, as well as the emphasis that it puts on environmental protection (a very important topic in Ecuador, especially considering its economic reliance on Oil).

In any case, the new constitution passed and now Ecuador waits to see which de jure policies will translate into de facto realities.

I have translated the preamble below to share the flavor of this constitution.



Preamble

We, the sovereign nation of Ecuador

Recognizing our millennial races, composed of women and men of diverse backgrounds,

Celebrating the natural environment, la Pacha Mama (Mother Earth in Kichwa - the primary indigenous language of the Andean region), of which we are a part and which is vital for our existence,

Invoking the name of God and recognizing our diverse forms of religiousness and spirituality,

Appealing to the knowledge of all cultures that enrich our society,

As heirs of social struggle for liberation, facing all forms of domination and colonialism,

And with profound obligation to the present and the future,

We decide to create

A new form of citizen coexistence, in diversity and harmony with nature, with the intent of attaining a better form of life, el sumak kawsay; ("sumak" is the Kichwa word for beautiful or marvelous, while Kawsay is the word for existence, costume, culture and life)

A society that respects, in all its' forms, the dignity of people and communities;

A democratic country, dedicated to the integration of Latin America -the dream of Bolivar and Alfaro - peace, solidarity and with all communities and people of our earth; and,

In exercise of our sovereignty, in the City of Alfaro, Montecristi, the province of Manabí, we give ourselves the present.






p.s. photos to come for both new entries...this internet cafe does not have the program necessary to upload my pictures.
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Quito, Ecuador, Ecuador

Another trip brought us to the north end of the country, to a near desert landscape known as the Chota Valley. It is a string of Afroecuadorian communities (I say this not simply because the majority living there are Afroecuadorians but because there is a specific historical and political history that has established this region - and the region of Esmeraldas- as a community for Ecuadorians of African decent) that line the Río Chota - Chota River. Our visit took us to an intergenerational artisan market and a hopeful youth center and they told our group that they were anxious for volunteers. I have recently decided that this is where I would like to do my community placement during the next semester, so I will leave a more detailed description about the community and all the people I meet for future blog entries!


I also have many more pictures coming for the previous entries. I just need to find the right internet cafe that has the program I need :)
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/riahl/1/1224973800/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/riahl/1/1224973800/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/riahl/1/1224973800/tpod.html Mon, 17 Nov 2008 19:09:59 -0500 Riahl is in Ecuador

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Quito, Ecuador, Ecuador

A couple mornings ago, I woke up, took a shower, packed and popped a little blue pill called "doxycycline" to prepare for our trip to the Orient. "El Oriente" is the eastern third of the country: a vast, sparsely populated rainforest full of diverse flaura and fauna. Each trip is organized by one of our three professors and this trip was put together by Enrique Tasiguano, our Kichwa professor, with the intention of meeting and getting to know several indigenous cultures in the region.
Our first visit was to an animal refuge. We took a look around the area and were introduced to a series of animals that are native to Ecuador, ones that no longer have the agricultural significance they used to as foreign animals such as sheep, pigs and chickens were introduced during the colonization process. Though I felt like a tourist (more on this later), the compound was pretty much that of an ethical zoo, so there was all the excitement of seeing pretty creatures (you may or may not have seen how I get around cute animals) without any guilt surrounding the endorsement of their mistreatment (see pictures).
Next we proceeded to a botanical garden on the edge of Puyo, the provincial capital of Pastaza, quite large for cities in this area. Upon entering a sturdy grass-roofed hut traditional of the Shwar people, an indigenous group living in the northern portion of the Orient, we were greeted by a middle-aged man from California. He had immigrated to Ecuador upon marrying his wife, a Shwar woman, and now works in this garden, giving botanical tours to visitors and selling products there from: such as medicines, lotions, jewelry, bags and more. We split in to two groups: one went with the Californian and one (my group) went with a young Shwar man who also works at this garden. Our tour took us on a path through a portion of rainforest as our guide pointed out plants such as Sangre de Drago, Uña de Gato, and many more, naming its properties and what its uses are. We ended our visit in their "gift shop" as many students purchased skin cream, bracelets, necklaces and general remedies to minor ailments.
The next day we proceeded to the house of a Shwar Shaman (healer). The Shaman considered his home a place of education, his sons his pupils, passing on his knowledge and wisdom of traditional healing practices. Here we were taken on a similar botanical tour as one of his sons pointed out which plants were used to make medicines, which were traditionally used to make poisons (to be put on the tip of a needle and used in a blow gun, for either hunting or for war), and which are used to make allawaska. Allawaska is a sacred substance similar to LSD that sends those who take it on a spiritual journey. A shaman takes it before he makes his diagnosis; it allows him to see into the person's body, revealing what is ailing his patient.
It was amazing to see the knowledge held by those we met and the intimate connection they seemed to maintain with their environment. As they pointed to a plant and listed the ailments that can be cured by extracting its sap, or by boiling its bark, or by masticating its leaves, I was reminded of my little blue pill. On the side it reads DAN 5440. I was prescribed this medicine by an "expert" with whom I have no personal relation, I proceeded to a store that had acquired this medicine, having no personal connection with he who stood "behind the counter" and I proceeded to consume this medicine daily, having no idea what it is made out of, where the ingredients come from, who put these ingredients together...very little at all about what I was putting into my body. I wondered...who has the more strange or shocking concept of medicine and healing?

Our third and last visit took us to a Kichwa speaking community/artisan market a ways out of the town center. Enrique makes sure to bring his guitar on every visit and trip, as we greet our new friends with songs in Kichwa (that which we have learned in class) sometimes also tacking on the Spanish translation. It is an interesting dynamic being a white person from the United States learning an indigenous language of the region. The ugly web of racism has stigmatized speaking Kichwa. Though it has a strong presence throughout the Andes, there are many who know it, but refuse to speak it in public for fear of the severe prejudice they might experience. Enrique, who has taught Kichwa for the "Trent in Ecuador Program" for many years, has told us that he has seen people's minds change about learning Kichwa; that as people see Gringos taking time to learn a language that many white and mestizo Ecuadorians pay little attention to (with notable exceptions) it gives some hope that maybe there is importance in learning this language - a language that is so important to the preservation of culture and indigenous Kichwa identity.
One of the paradox's of this trip is that the longer I stay here the more connection, or longing for connection, I feel for home: Northfield, Minnesota. As I learn more and more about Ecuador, I wonder if I know that much about my own country and my own context. For example, I am learning Kichwa and I cannot say a single word in Dakota. But these are the kind of contradictions that made me want to come here in the first place. With every mental struggle I learn more about myself and more about what I don´t know about myself and where I come from. But also...developing my Spanish will help me connect with a significant population of Minnesotans and Northfielders, opening up new possibilities to answering some of these tough questions.
Upon the completing our songs we continued with introductions. Enrique is a fan of experiential learning and makes sure his students take advantage of opportunities to speak Kichwa... "ñuka Riahl kani, ¿kinkinka?" -My name is Riahl, and yours?- "ñuka estados unidos manta kani" -I am from the United States- "ñuka Sangolquipi kawsani, Kichwata sumak yachanapi Trentpa yachani" -I live in Sangolqui and study Kichwa at the University of Trent. Stuggling, the words awkwardly fell from my mouth. But in the case of the dynamic mentioned above, the cliché "it's the thought that counts" takes on new meaning. Language, as they say, is the backbone of culture. There are things that can be communicated in Kichwa that cannot be communicated in English or Spanish. Learning that language, for me, perhaps opens up a new door of communication and does not assume that people will learn English or Spanish if they want to communicate with me. (This is all a much longer conversation that can be applied in multiple-contexts...so I´ll leave it at that.)
After introductions in a large circle, we started to survey the variety of goods that they made. Braclets, necklaces, keychains and balsa wood carvings, all had been created of materials harvested in their own back yard. We got a chance to converse with those we met and found out random details about their lives and shared random details about our own. We were only there for a few hours when it was time to go. So many amazing people people so little time!

A short group discussion back at our hostel concluded our scheduled course of events, we then had the next two days off from school to do as we please. 10 of us headed to Tena (another large city on the edge of the Amazon) with the intention of rafting through the rainforest. Arriving and finding a hostel, we made plans for our rafting trip, but still had a day to kill. With this day we decided to go caving.
Taking a short bus over to a neighboring town we showed up at what looked like what was once a fancy resort. A large cave with a river running through it fed directly into an enormous swimming pool with two giant water slides leading to it. A restaurant/bar sat on the side and accommodation stood further in the distance. Neither of the slides were working, the bottom of the pool was covered in algae due to the natural water source, and there were only a small handful of locals there, not nearly busy enough to fill the place.
While in Ecuador, I have noticed many similar images, many more extreme than this example. Facilities that were built with dreams of a bustling tourist haven, shut down for lack of business and left perfect for nothing more than perhaps shooting a horror flick - paint peeling from the hot sun, pools full of rain water and algae, and various creatures and insects scurrying about every corner and crevasse.
Once we arrived we stored our things and met our cave guide. Barefoot and in our swimsuits, we climbed (and swam) through the cavern as our guide told us the story of Umalli.
Umalli is a historical figure, a Kichwa rebel who led the fight against the Spanish as colonizers started to reach this part of the Orient. Planning and organizing attacks, he would fight fervently, consistently returning to this cave for hiding. This pattern continued for a long time, until the Spanish caught on to his strategy. Upon this discovery a bloody battle took place within the mouth of the cave. When chances were looking dim, Umalli and his family took refuge deep within the cave, covering themselves in the mud to better camouflage themselves. The Spanish searched the pitch black rock cleavage, and could not see Umalli and his family even when they stood right before them. They only discovered by chance when they used their swords to poke the surrounding area, making contact with his skin he squirmed making enough noise that they knew where he was. Nowadays, Shaman will take allawaska and go into the cave in pitch-blackness; they will see and interact with the spirit of umalli.
I realized the oddity of our presence in a cave that has such sacred importance, and found it odd (though perhaps not surprising) that a construction as such was formed around a natural phenomenon with such historical and spiritual significance. Though, the tour was quite enjoyable. We stopped at a waterfall midway through the cave, taking turns jumping into the water that was a good 16 feet deep. Proceeding to the back of the cave we climbed up rocks covered in slippery mud, making our way to the opening through which the sun shined. We arrived back in the rainforest, barefoot and shirtless and we made our way back to the front side of the resort.
The next day we woke up bright and early for our rafting trip. Taking several pickup trucks, we arrived beside the river, got our equipment and began our extensive safety training before entering the river. Setting off on our journey we encountered some rough level 3 (6 feet in height) waves right at the start. These more turbulent waves were nicely spaced out with long stretches of calm riverway, and even the biggest whitecaps where exciting but not dangerous. It turned out that the only time that we took our safety lessons into consideration was when we were pushed in by the guide that accompanied us in our raft. This happened well over ten times. Sometimes randomly, sometimes in the form of "¿Quieres jugar un juego?" -Want to play a game?- and before we knew it he had flipped the entire raft.

On such trips it is easy to feel like a tourist. One of many foreigners, mostly white, speaking English as we walk in groups or take the bus together. Even on our planned trips we visit communities for such a short time that it is hard to develop any sort of real connection. But there is much to gain still, learning from a variety of experiences. Our tour of the botanical garden, our visit to the artisan community and even our visit to the cave revealed various livelihood strategies that involved turning passion into business. In these cases (excluding perhaps the last as I am unsure of the political process that preceded the construction of the resort) an economic system that is oppressive to the many has been used as a manner of facilitating a cultural exchange, where people come and pay and learn about something that is sacred and deeply culturally important. But the question arises, what is the product being sold? Does their indigenous identity, and the exoticism with which it has been traditionally associated, become the product that is exchanged? A product exchanged within an exploitative system full of middle-men (usually whites or mestizos) who mediate the trade process. But these communities and people are not helpless victims. They pursue livelihood strategies as agents of change, negotiating and consistently resisting an oppressive system while maintaining cultural roots and perhaps building global connections. So what is my place? I will gladly support a community run artisan market, and try to share as much about my culture as I am receiving about theirs. But the broader question still remains in everything I do...how does my identity negotiate every cultural exchange that takes place and what can I do as an ally to contradict and challenge oppressive structures?
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/riahl/1/1222891440/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/riahl/1/1222891440/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/riahl/1/1222891440/tpod.html Sun, 05 Oct 2008 16:06:29 -0400 Riahl is in Ecuador

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Quito, Ecuador, Ecuador

This last weekend our group left Sangolquí for our first fieldtrip. Our 5 hour bus ride took us through a beautiful Andean landscape of green mountains and amazingly steep agriculture. Driving on a precarious mountain road (that they call a highway), always close to the edge, taking corners with ambitious speed, the ride drew its fair share of adrenaline. However, once accustomed to the nature of the trip, realizing the bus driver had probably done this hundreds of times before, I took in the scenery.

Seeing the rural landscape is much like watching a movie, even when it is right in front of your eyes. People live on steep plots of land, maintaining subsistence through crops of root vegetables and tending to a mix of cows, pigs, chickens, donkeys, llamas, alpacas or sheep. Many live in houses that look almost like an extension of the earth: one cannot even see the walls because the grass roof extends from the top of the abode all the way to the soil beneath. The people in this region are primarily of indigenous decent; most wear brilliantly (often neon) colored ponchos to protect from the cold nights, white pants or wool skirt, and the women often sport a darkly shaded fedora, which has developed as a symbol of indigenousness throughout Ecuador.

Once completing our journey through this landscape, we arrived at our "hostel." We were there for only a short amount of time when we were informed that we were staying on an hacienda.

Haciendas are a prominent colonial institution in the history of many countries in Latin America, particularly those in the Andean region. Historically, indigenous peasants worked the farmland of the hacienda, with grueling hours and abusive conditions imposed by the hacendado, the white (creole) or mestizo land-owner. Indigenous peasants, then known as indios or natuales, would be tied to the land by a mix of violence and intimidation, lack of resource and debt bondage, owing money to the hacendado for use of the land (though only the bear minimum) but never earning enough to buy their way off the land and start their own livelihood. Such practices are now illegal but haciendas of this sort existed until the late 20th century throughout the Andes. Though the situation on this particular hacienda was not the same as those prominent throughout history, it was still very evident that it was a colonial institution. This hacienda, looking like a normal farm in the middle of the Andes, was opened up as a hostel to solve the owner's financial troubles. Employees of the hostel were mostly white or mestizo, while those working the farmland where of a distinctly darker skin tone and likely identified as indigenous. What appeared to be several families lived in a small cement house, about the size of my living room at home, working to produce animal products from a variety of fauna (most of those listed above.) To be in the presence of such an institution was an even more opaque example of the colonial legacy to which I have referred.

The next day we proceeded to the last remaining indigenous market. Others throughout Ecuador have been dispersed or over-run with tourists, but the market in Zambagua is attended by mostly rural dwellers from surrounding regions, conducting many exchanges with a combination of cash and barter transactions. Wandering through the many stalls of everything from hand-woven clothing and accessories to reebok and nike shoes (how they obtain their inventory I have no idea) to freshly cooked food to live animals it was clear, as it is everywhere I go here, that I am a foreigner.

Through conversation at the market I found out the following information: live chickens cost about $5 each, live sheep cost $50 each, a large pig might cost $120 and an alpaca or lama would cost $150 - the American dollar is the national currency in Ecuador.

After spending a solid two hours exploring the market, we went to a Volcano by the name of Quilotoa. Quilotoa is an enormous crater in the earth that houses a beautiful lagoon surrounded by a steep mountain panorama. Distinctly one of the most beautiful things I have seen in my life. We hiked down to the center in about 1 hour to spend time on the beach of the lagoon. Our group arranged for horses, mules and donkeys to meet us at the bottom to carry us back up. Once we determined it was time to head back to the bus we were greeted by a group of young children, each with an animal at their side, encouraging us to mount their caballo to start the trek up the mountain. Each young person hiked the entire way up, at the pace of the horse upon which we rode, while whipping the steed whenever it slowed down or stopped. Both the horse and the child were clearly exhausted during the trip. I was able to have a conversation with the young boy who was accompanying me. Only 12 years old, he works at the Lagoon whenever there are tourists; making as many as three trips back and forth a day. When he is not doing this, he is painting pictures and selling them in the local craft market. When I asked if he traveled with his family he laughed, "No, just me" he said. Many youth have no choice but to work at such a young age, their family relies on their income to maintain some sort of livelihood. We continued our hike (much more of a hike for him than me) as I taught him various phrases in English, by his request. He was amazingly mature, as I suppose you would have to be to take on such responsibility. Speaking to him did not make me think of the needy third-world child, the image we see in movies and commercials: the helpless sufferer, the passive victim. This boy found active strategies of maintaining a livelihood for himself with energy and ambition, his countenance vastly contrasted said stereotype. However, I knew that he had very little resource to move out of what is likely a labour-intensive and uncomfortable living situation, and for feeling like I was exploiting his position so that I could save my legs the hassle of hiking, I left Quilotoa with a stone of guilt resting in my stomach. But... I also knew that I was providing him with much needed income, which he would not have if I were not using -and paying for - this service. My time in Ecuador is teaching me that one cannot see the world, or anything that occurs upon it, in black and white.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/riahl/1/1220993640/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/riahl/1/1220993640/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/riahl/1/1220993640/tpod.html Sat, 13 Sep 2008 20:33:53 -0400 Riahl is in Ecuador

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Quito, Ecuador, Ecuador

Last Friday we met the families with whom we will be living for the next three and a half months. We spent the afternoon waiting in the lobby of a Country Club on the edge of Sangolqui. Come evening, families entered one at a time, our name was called as we joined them and sat for dinner. Before we were served, the students put on a short presentation about Canadian (and United States) culture. This included introductions, interactive camp songs and a line dance finale accompanied by yours truly on the banjo. It was about a half an hour total, and we only had about three days to prepare. We were able to extract a few laughs (regardless of our broken Spanish) and it seemed the families enjoyed getting to know our group a little better.

After finishing our performance I went to join my family at the dinner table. I sat with my host mother Irlanda, father Patricio and their two siblings Andres (5 years old) and Allison (9 years old). They were joined by Irlanda´s sister and her son. We spoke a lot about me: what Minnesota is like, how long I´ve been playing the banjo, why I´m interested in breakdancing as well as what I think of Ecuador and what there is to do in Sangolqui. Frankly, I had trouble wiping the stupid grin off my face. It was there partly because I felt so happy to be in the company of such nice people, and partly because I was so surprised that I could actually speak Spanish.

My host family has been so accommodating, always asking how I am, how my day is going and insisting ¨Estas en tu casa¨ (you are in your house) whenever I ask permission to do something. They (or perhaps I should say we) live in a quaint house only several blocks from downtown, about a ten minute walk to school and only blocks away from many of the other students. Their house is connected to another where Patricio´s brother, my host uncle, his wife and daughter live. Patricio is an architect and has his own office attached to the house, Irlanda works at home raising two adorable kids and cooking amazingly delicious food (I´ll have another entry where I will describe the diet here, it is way different than I thought it would be!)

Our first weekend spent in Sangolqui has been quite an introduction. We entered just in time for a large celebration: streets full of people, live music, cowboy parades and lots of beer.

My largest dose of culture shock so far came during the Fiesta del Torros. On Saturday afternoon we drove to the edge of town to a large plaza. The plaza was three stories tall, built in 3 days out of scrap pieces of wood, tied together with large pieces of blue cloth and packed with about 4 thousand people. In the center of the plaza was an enormous lawn upon which there was nothing but a 15 by 10 foot cage and a 10 foot by 10 foot wooden stage. One by one, bulls were released into the middle of the plaza allowed to run about in the middle. Besides the five cowboys who rode about in the center, there were about 100 bystanders from the crowd. Primarily drunk young men, these people jumped in the middle to test their bravery by running about, taunting the bull and seeing how close they could get without being tossed about violently by the horns of an angry bull. Some left with nothing more than more adrenaline in their veins and a drunken sense of accomplishment, others left with bruises, scars and other injuries for actually being caught.

As we arrived, we pushed through the thick crowd of people that surrounded the plaza, making our way to a rickety ladder and climbing to the second story with my host mother, aunt, brother, sister, cousins and their friends. We took a seat and watched as random people put their masculinity to the test, throwing garbage and rocks at enormous bulls and then running for either the cage, the stage or climbing up the inner wall of the plaza trying to escape the reach of the bull. Some strategies worked better than others, but I preferred mine: staying in the stands. One by one the cowboys would round-up the bull with their lassos, putting them back in their pen before releasing another larger, angrier bull. After about a half an hour we heard a crack, one of the lateral boards holding up the story above us split from the pressure. We quickly moved to another section of the Plaza while two young men secured a couple of 1x8 boards in a triangle shape to reinforce the cracked pillar. Once this small project was complete we calmly moved back to our seats and I tried not to think about it.

I was surprised at myself, it was a scene that I could not stop watching. About once every 15 minutes the bull would get a hold of someone; I found myself covering my mouth as my jaw dropped, unable to pry my eyes away from the scene, others screamed loudly. Some men would get up quickly afterwards, receive a cheer from their friends and continue to run about the center of the plaza, taunting the bull. Others ended unconscious and were carried to the side by a group of slightly more sober individuals. This festival continued for three days: Saturday, Sunday and Monday. Rumor has it that three people died on Saturday alone.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/riahl/1/1220225640/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/riahl/1/1220225640/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/riahl/1/1220225640/tpod.html Thu, 11 Sep 2008 16:53:43 -0400 Riahl is in Ecuador

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Quito, Ecuador, Ecuador

I flew into Quito last Friday with no complications. I shared the flight from Houston to Quito with two other Trent students and upon our arrival in Ecuador we were picked up by Maria, our non-academic co-ordinator.

By this time it was about midnight. We drove through the city observing the baron urban landscape. I was reminded of my trip to Nicaragua - densely packed businesses on every stretch of blacktop protected by brick walls and steal gates lined with a combination of spikes, barbed-wire or broken glass to avoid the risk of robbery. Much brighter than Managua, but it definitely isn´t Minneapolis. The metropolitan stretches for miles to the East and West, with few skyscrapers and a rich diversity of people, architecture, perspectives and emotions.

The first week is our week of orientation: going over safety concerns, cultural differences, details in our class schedule, warning us about street dogs and telling us to bathe regularly. Apart from this we have plenty of time to wander the streets of Quito, in search of Vegetarian food and crafts made in Ecuador. In total there are 17 students, about half of which are from Trent while the other half are from other Canadian Universities. I am one of 5 boys and I am the only person in the program who is not from Canada.

On Sunday morning the group went to visit a small living community on the Edge of Quito called ¨Pumaski.¨ We were greeted with a song and a short lesson in Quichua, one of the indigenous languages spoken in the Andean region. After this, we took a short hike to observe the harvest of a sacred plant called Pencan. Resembling an enourmous Aloe plant, Pecan has many uses. The leaves of the plant can be made into anything from the roof of a house to a belt or a pair of sandals and it secretes a delicious nectar that is rich with Calcium and other vitamins. As one of the young men cut into "heart" of the plant resembling a pre-historic over-growth, he spoke to it. He thanked it for its sacrifice, for giving him nutrients and sustenance. From the time one begins to harvest the "blood" of this plant, it produces 8 liters of nectar a day for three months until it expires.

After returning to their living quarters, we feasted on a 3 course meal of quinoa soup, salad and a rich chocolate cake. The entire meal was vegan, oil-free and created from local, native plants. The entire community is very conscious of what they consume, honoring what they take and taking only what they need. Normally this lifestyle is associated with isolation, but it was incredible to see this beating heart on the edge of an enormous metropolis, living sustainably while maintaining strong links with the community, hosting events and teaching Quichua lessons to those interested. I felt warm to be in the presence of such communal wisdom.

Later that night, Carlos, an Ecuadorian friend of mine from Trent, took me and a few others out to see another perspective on the city. We went to the top of a large hill (of which there are no shortage in the Highlands) upon which stood an enormous statue of the Virgin Mary. From there we were able to see the whole city at night; a stretch of lights spanning through a valley that winds through colonies of mountains on both sides. Quito is quite beautiful to look over. I had the opportunity to do this again when visiting Old Quito, climbing to the top of a mammoth Basilica, standing in a tower over looking a never ending river of densely packed cement-brick buildings.

Touring Old Quito brings about conflicting emotions. Full of churches, museums and a wide array of colonial architecture, there is not doubt that it is beautiful, but it a sight of ominous beauty. Though intricate, colorful and sometimes epic, it is still deeply rooted in a painful history of conquest and genocide. The living history that plagues the American continent seems easily, yet shamefully, hidden in the United States. Here this specter is more opaque, and being a white person, wealthy enough to obtain a higher education, travel abroad and explore far-away places, I cannot consider myself entirely separate from this colonial legacy.
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