Joined the Dark Side

Okay folks, here's the deal:

 

After 2.5-ish years on Blogger, I have run out of space for photos.  I have to pay $2 and something-or-other cents per month in order to get more storage space.  That's about as much as a lunch here costs, and, as much as I love you, dear readers, I am not prepared to sacrifice my last seco de pollo in Ecuador for you.  A girl's gotta eat.

 

So.

 

I defected.

 

I crossed the line.

 

I joined the Dark Side.

 

If you want to read about the remainder of my time in Ecuador, you can go here, to http://jordanenecuador.wordpress.com
I hear there's already a post up there.

 

*Note that the spelling is slightly different; this time it's the Spanish en versus the English "in."  I'm fancy like that.

 

My WordPress blog isn't as pretty, but it has 3GB of free space for photos - triple the amount than Blogger - which should be more than enough to get me through the home stretch (finish line: December 18th, when I'll be homeward bound).  Also, it's called "WordPress," which sortof makes it sound like when I sit down in front of my computer to write a blog post I'm benching words and doing exercise.  It's a great ego boost.

 

Goodbye forever,

Jordan

For Which Guasmo is Named

This is the fruit of the guasmo tree, for which Guasmo - the marginalized urban sector that's been my home for the past 2.5 years - is named.  Back in the 1970's, when Guasmo was a growing area, these trees were so abundant as to become the moniker for the entire vicinity that now houses over 500,000 people.  40-odd years later, I've never seen one of these trees in Guasmo itself, whose blocks are jammed with houses and whose streets are now (for the most part) paved.  Back then, Guasmo was a backwater estuary community, unincorporated into the Guayaquil municipality and lacking in amenities.  Now, it's a bustling developed area, and practically speaking is a city unto itself.

Today some of the girls I work with accompanied me to a part of Guasmo I am less familiar with.  I'm always amazed at how different the atmosphere can be once you walk the length of a few blocks, the nearly palpable sensation of crossing the invisible barrier from one neighborhood into the next.  Guasmo truly is a labyrinth, in the sense that with every twist and turn of the streets one must also sort out all senses of sight, smell, taste, touch, and sound.

Ironically, the guasmo tree is nowhere to be found in Guasmo.  The one pictured here grows in the city cemetery, an hour away.  The fruit are like spiny pods or nuts, and they smell tantalizingly of some kind of tangy berry; they would be a good ingredient to a mulled cider or wine.  Inside are housed tiny seeds.

 

I may or may not have picked this guasmo fruit up off the ground and put it in my mouth.

 

It's all in the name of science, and being a rebel.

 

Guasmo Love,

Jordan

Photo of the Month

Remember those colored parachutes they used in lower school gym class?

The one pictured above has been through three generations of Peace Corps Volunteers: my sitemate passed it on to me when she ended her service, and I have now passed it on to some newer volunteers.  They recently inaugurated an arts center to work with children in their beachside town. 

Looks like they are already putting the parachute to good use.  Hopefully it will continue to encourage smiles (and photo opps) in the years to come.

Día de los Difuntos

Every year on the 2nd of November, families across the country come home.  The bus terminals crowd over as children and grandchildren who have moved away travel back to be with the older generations in the places they all grew up.

Each hometown is slightly different in the customs its residents observe on this Day of the Dead.  The indigenous populations in and around Otavalo gather the family at the gravesite of a deceased loved one, spread a blanket, and unpack a full picnic, turning the cemetery into a festive, if solemn, outing that unites the entire community.  Cuenca is known for the candlelight vigil that parades through the streets on the eve of the holiday, as well as for offering the best of the foods - colada morada and guaguas de pan (bread in the shape of swaddled babies) - traditionally associated with Day of the Dead.

Guayaquil, in many ways set apart from the rest of the country, does neither of these things.  Perhaps this is due to its large transient populations; many who live here associate elsewhere with "home," and so end up leaving the city for the holiday.  Those who do have their roots here often come from different backgrounds as well, meaning that in the end, there is no one custom for Guayaquilenians to follow when it comes to Day of the Dead. 

Nevertheless, some friends and I made the trip out to the city cemetery on November 2nd to see what was what and to pay our respects.  We encountered more people in the cemetery on that one day than I have seen all the other days of the year put together.  Most families simply tended their loved ones' graves, clearing off overgrowth, touching up paint, and adorning headstones with flowers.  A few had brought blankets and food (eating the deceased family member's favorite dishes at their gravesite on this day is a way to remember, honor, and share with them).  Many families or individuals were lost in prayer or contemplation, standing in front of the burial sites of their loved ones.

I am thankful to have had the opportunity to join these people in reflecting on past presences and memories.  It seems fitting to gather our thoughts with a glance backward, carrying them with us as we prepare to finish out the year and look toward the future.