Sleep Deprived

“The first gift you give to your children is sleep, and you never get it back.”

Brussels - 2056

When Sandra was pregnant with Ainoa, I reduced my working hours and planned eventually to be completely unavailable for work from a month before her due date. Half a year earlier a producer and director combo had signed up for a certain number of class hours with one of my employers, however they became too busy with work and postponed the remainder of the hours indefinitely. Now that I thought to take time off not only did they want to complete their hours, the producer had been feeling limited by his lack of command in English and had decided he would like to take private courses as well. I tried asking if they could wait until November to resume their study. The director had already filled his schedule and would not be attending any further classes. The producer would still be attending but he absolutely could not reschedule. Rather reluctantly, I accepted the job.

We met for one class and then Ainoa was born. When we resumed lessons a week later my preparation was hasty and I apologised for the slip in quality. The producer, a father of two-year old twins, looked at me and said, “You don’t have throw-up on your shirt, but if you aren’t getting any sleep, I believe you are a father,” and then he shared his wisdom about the gift of sleep.

This week, Ainoa has been struggling through the appearance of her two top-front teeth. She is inseparable from her mother and insufferable at night. For a baby who already wakes up three or four times under normal sleeping conditions, her insufferable nights are a marathon of wakefulness for the parents. The other day I crashed and had to rest in bed all day and the net day, Sandra fell in the line of duty and took her turn under the covers with the laptop.

Of all our difficulties here -- a foreign language, a foreign culture, administrative travails and no income -- sleep deprivation courtesy of Ainoa has been far and away the most challenging to overcome.

We woke up this morning at eight o’clock intending to arrive early at the ministry of foreign relations and submit our (finally) completed application for volunteer visas. In a fog of semi-wakefulness we prepared for the day and set out. At a tiny copy shop we bought a large manila envelope for all of our visa documents. Down the street we caught a cab to the ministry. The cab left us a block further than we had requested and we spent ten minutes searching for the correct address on foot, accompanied all the way by Ainoa cooing from the baby carrier. At last we saw it: a large concrete building with metal lettering on the facade. We queued behind seven or eight people at the information desk. When it was our turn I asked where we submit the application for 12-VII visas. “Visa applications are finished for the day,” replied the ministry agent. “We stop accepting new visa applications at 11am.” Was it that late already? We left the ministry and caught a cab back. I looked at the clock: 11:45. Where had the last four hours gone? And thus we were resigned to spend another night and day in Quito, all three of us feeling the pain of Ainoa’s teething.

Ceiling it up

Yesterday we nailed the final supports into the ceiling beams of what will be Oscar’s room and completed this three-day project. The old ceiling had been thin wood paneling nailed to the underside of square beams sagging with rot.

Chota Valley - Ceiling renovation

Oscar designed the new ceiling with three cross-beams pushed up against the rotting ceiling boards: one in the centre of the room hammered in from the outside, resting on the opposite end in the interior wall; and one bolted onto each side wall parallel to the centre beam. These beams support eight wooden planks. Each plank sits on a nailed-in centreboard connected at both ends to two small blocks bolted through the centreboard and nailed to the cross-beams. The planks give a flat supporting surface above them for four pieces of 122 cm wide (and variable length, about 193 cm on average) gypsum boards (drywall). The gypsum boards overlap the two middle planks about 10 cm on either side of each board and are flush against the wall-beam on one end and the centre-beam on the other.

Chota Valley - Putting in the netting

The exposed support wood and squares of grey gypsum above provide a strange mix of elegance and crudity. I can look at the ceiling and appreciate a job well-done but I cannot say that I find the end result aesthetically pleasing. Nevertheless the ceiling provides a more secure barrier against the elemental and insect activity of the area than what was there before.

Chota Calling - Volunteers

Chota Valley - Back view

Chota Valley - Putting in mosquito netting

Which brings me back to the house. Since our little trip to Lita, we’ve made good progress. The supplies we grossly overpaid for (we got a little too eager when talking to a greenhouse-installation contractor on the adjoining property) were delivered and we’ve been setting up the wooden frame for the mosquito net which will guard our rear veranda from the tiny biting flies so prevalent in Chota. We’re halfway finished with the new ceiling in Oscar’s room: three large wooden beams, the two on the side of the room attached to the wall with bolts and the middle beam placed through holes in the walls on either side; smaller wooden boards running between the beams in four places with three sheets of 122cmwide gypsum board (a.k.a. drywall) suspended on those boards. It’s a lot of work to get everything up where it needs to be and a pain because most of it is above shoulder level, but with half a day’s effort more the ceiling should be complete.

The water company finally came, a month after we had paid for service, to set up the water meter. They knocked a hole in the brick and cement pillar served formerly to hold up a gate and installed the meter there with cement. The pressure is a bit weak but we’re happy to have this essential utility installed at last!

Chota Valley - Side view

And so, we have Oscar’s ceiling to finish, the mosquito netting to put up, and a dry toilet to design and install and then we’ll be ready to move into this temporary house while we construct our cob house. “Fixing it up” has taken a month longer and about $500 more than we had originally planned for, but at least we’ll have a building to protect us from the bugs and the elements, and most importantly, somewhere we feel comfortable with Ainoa.

This update has been a long time coming, and yet I wanted to write so much more. Buying supplies, driving to-and-from the land in Chota, working on the house, helping cook dinner and taking care of Ainoa require almost all of my time and until recently I didn’t know how to fit updates into that schedule. Now I’ve made a habit of writing a little every day and even if the writing isn’t always good or the subject interesting, at least you should have some idea of what life for us is like here and how we are progressing in our project. Updates will be done in a more regular fashion in the future -- and with construction on our house starting soon and a room opening up when Oscar leaves in June, invitations to come and visit/volunteer with us!

Kafkaphony- May 2013

Meanwhile we managed to take care of some administrative business during a trip back to Quito. We signed up for healthcare with Ecuasanitas at $127 a month, which includes $25,000 life insurance, plus $7 per person per month for dental coverage and $5 total per month for ambulance coverage, which makes $146 per month to cover us three. I filed for an Ecuadorian replacement for my US license and I thought I would be taking the theoretical and psycho-sensory tests a week and a half later. I also thought that drivers are permitted only 90 days after their date of entry driving with a foreign license.

Quito - scenic view of the old city

I recently returned to Quito to enquire about the state of my application. On my first visit to the ANT office on the other side of the city I lost myself in the city streets and arrived an hour and a half after leaving the notorious driveway at Andres and Caroline’s house. When I finally arrived I queued in line for the license desk and upon consultation I was told to take my query to the international license branch on the second floor (first floor, for my European friends). Happy was I to see that the international license branch was almost empty. Happy was I to be seated by an agent almost immediately after stating my business. I explained my situation to her, she left for a moment to verify the status of my application, she returned. And then she shattered my happiness. My visa, she explained, only had two weeks left on it. The ANT would not issue me a driver’s license for such a short time. I kindly asked her to explain what the hell she meant by saying that I only had two weeks left on my visa. She pulled the copy of my visa approval from my application file and showed me the date listed as “REGISTRATION OF VISA”: November 25, 2012. The Visa was for 180 days and, she elucidated, my visa would expire on May 24. I protested. I showed her my passport with the actual Visa in it and handwritten thereupon, in the line “Date of Expiry,” 03/AUG/2013. She demurred. Why would the ministry of foreign affairs assign two differing dates? The date of expiry is 180 days from this date here, November 25, 2012, on this paper. I contested. November 25, 2012, is the date I applied for a visa at the Ecuadorian embassy in Brussels, and consequently the date the visa was approved. 

Quito - Virgin of the Apocalypse

I reflected that the efficiency of the administration at the embassy in Belgium seemed ironic in the present moment, but I didn’t say that. We continued like this for half an hour before I gave in. Very well, I said, but could she give me the maximum amount of time I was allowed to drive in Ecuador with a foreign license? Only 70 days? Was she positive it isn’t 90 days, as I had been told by traffic police and is listed on the US Department of State website for travellers visiting Ecuador? Oh, she is positive? And is there anything I can do between now and when I come back with a new visa, as she suggests I do, to continue driving? No? Despite that I’ve bought a car, that the administrative approval for a new visa might very well take months, was there nothing I could do? No. And if two weeks is now too short a period to issue me a visa for, could she tell me what the minimum period was, so I could be sure to know for how long at least I had to renew my visa? There is no minimum? There must be a law, or a rule the ministry follows when considering cases? No? Each case is decided by a panel and the panel determines the minimum? And does the panel have a general rule for minimum duration of visa? No? Is two weeks too short? Yes? Two months? Maybe? I see. Goodbye, señorita. I left the ANT completely dejected.

The following day, after talking with Caroline and then with Valentine’s nanny Rita about the best strategy to pursue, and with Sandra who convinced me I was after all right about the expiry date, I returned to the ANT. This time I arrived in twenty minutes. On the second-floor I was escorted into the back offices of the international license branch and seated before a high-level official. He took one look at my application and said “Oh yes, I remember you from yesterday.” I explained my case to him and he began to offer the same protest which had been so sour to me the day before. I interrupted immediately and explained politely but firmly that every foreigner who enters the country with a visa has to register hat visa with the ministry of foreign affairs within the first month of their stay in the country, during which process the ministry activates the visa and registers an expiration date starting from that activation. The date of registration for a visa on the other hand has no relation to the expiration date and, I continued, how little sense it would make to apply for a visa while abroad only to loose time off of your permitted stay for each day you remained abroad. He listened, we discussed, and then he took my passport and application, I imagine to a panel, for review. 

Quito - scenic view of Guapulo

Three minutes later he returned and explained that the agency had interpreted the date of application as the date of activation and therefore had assumed May 25 as the date of expiry. If, however, what I said was true -- and he would verify immediately with an e-mail to the ministry of foreign affairs, so if I could provide him with a phone number to contact me at several hours later -- then the panel would reconsider my application in light of this new development. But, he wanted to know, why did you want a drivers license now if you’ll have to apply for another license and pay the administrative fees again in two months when you have a new visa? How else, I calmly questioned, am I to continue to drive during these two months? What do you mean, he asked. But I’m only allowed to drive 70 days with a foreign drivers license. What? Or is it 90 days -- I don’t know, your colleague yesterday told me 70 but I’ve heard 90 from police officers and I’ve seen 90 online. No, no, he said, with a foreign drivers license you’re allowed to drive for 6 months -- 180 days, exactly the length of your visa. Oh. Could I have a print out of that law, please? Sure I can? Thank you, have a nice day.

The way back - May 2013

Near Lita - Caña guadua house

Near Lita - View from 2nd floor of Caña guadua house

We followed the pickup Pablo was in about 5 minutes further east on the highway to a small dirt driveway into which the pickup turned abruptly. We followed, parked and climbed out of the car. Several baby pigs squealed as they sprinted past us to their pens. We continued down the path to where we were flanked by two large enclosures: a guinea-pig farm and a chicken farm. Pablo asked the staff in the guinea-pig farm to gather two of their older guinea-pigs who were no longer very useful in breeding. 

Near Lita - Caña guadua walls
and ceiling beams

Caña Guadua - "Windows"

Meanwhile we continued over a small bridge and emerged into a clearing. In the center of the clearing was a two-story building. From the stone and cement foundation up, the house was built entirely of caña guadua, a large, wide-tubed plant in the bamboo family. Caña guadua can grow up to 25 meters long and is quite a stout building material, as we now saw before us. Caña guadua pillars hold up a caña guadua floor, serve as walls, and meet ceiling rounds of caña guadua where structural parts of the building are bolted together into a huge caña guadua clot above the second floor walls. Pablo explained that this was a center for rehabilitation -- I can only image that means for people who have served time in prison, as Pablo’s organisation also works to provide education to incarcerated folk -- and therefore everything had been built quickly, easily, and cheaply. Caña guadua satisfies all those criteria, the only lengthy part of building with it being the curing of the wood which takes about 25 days . 

Near Lita - Where the supports meet.

We explored the facility, took some pictures, then headed back to the pickup. As we passed the guinea-pig farm, a staff member came out and handed us a thick plastic mesh bag with two guinea-pig in its bottom. “These are for Ana Lucia,” Pablo said. “And what’s she going to do, keep them as pets,” I asked sarcastically, not sure that she would be happy with what came next for the guinea-pigs. “No, she’ll kill them,” Pablo answered flatly. “Are you sure? Because I’m not so sure she will be able to,” I contested. “You don’t know what Ana Lucia is capable of,” Pablo persisted, “she’ll kill them.” I

Near Lita - River-stone Foundation

pressed. “Why don’t you kill them, Pablo?” He looked away. “I could never kill a guinea-pig,” he answered sheepishly. “But you have no problem eating them?” “Jamie, I know it's not quite all logically correct… but let it be, it’s who I am.” I shrugged, and decided that I should at least know how to kill a guinea-pig so I could explain the method to whoever accepted the task. I asked the staff member who had brought the two guinea-pigs to us. “Well,” she began to explain, “there are two ways.” “What’s the easiest?” I asked. “You hold it by the back of the neck and cut right here,” she said, gesturing across the throat,

Near Lita - Caña Guadua steps

“and hold them up while they bleed out.” “And what’s the other way?” “You smash their nose into a rock and their eyes pop out.” “You have to be precise with that, don’t you?” “Yes, but if you do it correctly they die instantly.” I nodded, satisfied that I could ensure a quick death for the two unfortunate guinea-pigs. Really though I shouldn’t have been worried, as I’ve since learned that almost everyone in Ibarra knows how to kill a guinea-pig.

Our trip wouldn’t have been complete without giving a ride to a family at a small strip of restaurants all the way back to Ibarra, or running into a storm and then a landslide which covered the mountain highway with a layer of football sized rocks. By eight p.m. we had finally arrived back in Ibarra, safe and with no damage to the pickup.

Encounter with the Awa - part II

Rio Verde Community - Scenic view from village

The next village was only 5 minutes further along the dirt road, practically at its end. What a different village this one! The shoulder of the hill had been completely leveled here and five sturdy wooden buildings stood in a row on the side of a dirt playing field. At the far end of the field was a tiny playground with a swing-set. Beyond that was the schoolhouse. Pablo had taken us to this village, he said, to ask a favour of us. One of the young women here had wanted to continue her education after completing the village schooling. Her parents had separated when she was younger and neither of them would now sponsor her. The village head-person wouldn't sponsor her. Finally, her grandmother had stepped in to assist her.

Rio Verde Community - The Road Up

The young woman had gone to Quito to study at a beauty school and then returned to Ibarra after her graduation. Young adults who leave the village to study in big cities seldom return to the village, Pablo explained, but this young woman had wanted to come back. So now her grandmother had asked Pablo if he could put in a small beauty salon for her. Nothing overly complicated, "but most of the girls here reach a certain age and get pregnant and that's it for their education. I think if we build a little room for this young woman to give manicures in it will show the girls in the village that they can do something more, they can become professionals if they want to." "As long as I get a manicure I'll help," I joked. Pablo gave me a serious look. "No, Jamie, I don't think she's actually going to give many manicures, but if the people in the village want to, they can come see what it would be like, they can have some excitement, and they can fill their imaginations with different possibilities."

Rio Verde Community - New Construction

Before introducing us to the grandparents, Pablo led us around the premises, again with me acting as his surrogate photographer. The buildings here are all in much better condition and there are two new facilities, a row of immaculate toilet stalls and an assembly hall. I wondered who had built these facilities and why they weren't going to help with the beauty salon. A sneaking suspicion arose in me that Pablo had a way of testing potential volunteers by subjecting them to travails. I recalled his story about the 6-hour hike with the activists from Quito. While I was considering this, Pablo brought us into the school building, where class was just letting out. "Friends, I'm going to ask you to stay for just a moment. I have something I want to talk to you about." With this he called the students back into the classroom, where all thirty-or-so of them sat back down. "Here with me today is a friend of mine, Jamie," he pointed to me, "from the United States. He is an English teacher. I was wondering," he continued, "if you would like to learn English?

Silence. Some of the students stared blankly ahead. A few girls close to Pablo fidgeted excitedly. Pablo tried again. "This is an opportunity to learn English. Are any of you interested in seeing what Jamie's English classes are like?" Some nods this time. "Well, what do you say?" "I think we're interested," said a student who looked like class representative. More nods. Murmurs of agreement from around the room. "OK, in that case, Jamie," Pablo said from across the room, "can you tell them something about your courses?"

All thirty heads turned to look at me.

Rio Verde Community - First year school rooms

“I’ve taught English in Japan and Brussels,” I began. “I teach because I like to communicate. I teach because helping people learn to communicate in a new way brings me joy. My class will not be one where I stand in front of a board,” I walked over to the chalkboard and pantomimed picking up a piece of chalk and drawing, “explaining everything to you, while you sit and listen. No.” I began to walk around the class, walking up to students’ desks. “In my class you’ll do a lot of talking, you’ll make a lot of mistakes, and you’ll learn how to communicate in English.”

“Say something in English,” interrupted Pablo.

“In English? OK. I look forward to working together with you all in the next trimester, and I hope you enjoy learning English!”

Pablo stepped forward from his nook between two desks.

“Well, that was really difficult! Thank you, Jamie, and thank you for your time, friends. Enjoy your afternoon.”

We walked back across the playground and football field amidst the students, who were      looking at me with a mix of curiosity and excitement. At the building next to where we had parked an older woman was waiting for us. “This is Jamie, this is Oscar,” Pablo introduced us immediately. “And this is the woman I was telling you about. Her granddaughter is the hair dresser.” The woman stood next to her partner. Both looked to be in their late fifties. Their faces were handsomely refined by wear, and they held themselves with a dignity I hadn’t noticed in the other villagers. The man’s button-up shirt and belted trousers might have looked pretentious amongst the casual style of everyone else, had this outfit not seemed to fit him as casually as a second skin. The woman invited us up a steep set of stairs.

Rio Verde Community - First coat of paint in the salon

Their lodgings are a simple set of beds in a room of wooden boards. A construction style with no insulation, just cut and fitted boards, screws and nails. I was strongly reminded of the buildings I had seen in southeast Asia, in Laos and Myanmar. The grandparents had some ideas about how to arrange the room to turn it into a beauty salon: put in a few boards to make a new wall here, place a mirror there, cut a hole in the wall here and cover it with a loose metal mesh to make a window, add a few shelves there. After explaining this they deferred to Pablo, who deferred to me. I took measurements, discussed some ideas with Oscar, and assumed responsibility as the “head decorator” for this project. We’ll be travelling back soon to decorate.

We said goodbye to the grandparents and set out on the long, unpaved mountain road back to the highway. Before returning to Ibarra, however, we had one more stop to make. What had been the entire purpose of this journey, what we had almost completely forgotten about. 

Encounter with the Awa - May 2013

Rio Verde Community - Village Square

Shortly after our arrival and shaking hands and exchanging greetings with all of the male adults and many of the children, a meeting was called to order and Pablo was asked to attend. As his friends and guests of the village, we sat in too. We occupied part of the short wood benches fit against the walls of the assembly hall along with about half of the attendees, while the other half sat in plastic chairs arranged in loose rows facing toward the “front” of the hall. The assembly chairman, the village headman and Pablo did most of the speaking, although participation was open to any villager who spoke up. The subjects brought up were villager participation in foundation sponsored projects not being enough to justify funding to the Swiss sponsors; the construction of a new permanent kitchen and

Rio Verde Community - Assembly

dining hall; a project to raise chickens (which apparently had gone fine in another village until the first big festival and then all the chickens and eggs were eaten); and finally a plea to the village adults to learn how to sign their names, important now that banks and government agencies will be changing their regulations as not to allow fingerprints. The meeting was long and I found my attention wandering. Eventually we were asked if we wanted to share any words with the assembly, which I found strange as Pablo had invited us in order that we might learn more about the organisation that will be sponsoring our volunteer visas. I thanked the village for including us in their community, and Oscar simply introduced himself. Lunch was next and one of the female teachers brought us a plate with cooked yuca piled high upon it, and a small dish full of salt. As I finished the spaghetti I had prepared in case vegan food was not available and tasted a yuca, I began to regret having brought food -- the yuca was the most delicious I’ve ever tasted, soft and moist, delicate yet not floury and full of flavour.

Rio Verde Community - Outside the kitchen

Not much happened after lunch except that, as I followed Pablo and two male villagers to photograph the newly constructed chicken coop (as Pablo had forgotten his camera he appointed me his surrogate photographer for the day), one of the men pointed to a white speck on a distant mountain. “Do you see?” he asked. Neither Pablo nor I saw. “That’s where I live,” he explained. Pablo and him discussed for a moment and then Pablo elaborated. “Every day he and his kids walk two hours from there to come to the schools here. They have to cross the Rio Verde but there is no bridge, so they take their clothes off and cross. Almost everyone in the community has to make a daily trip like his.”

Rio Verde Community - Inside the kitchen

Our inspection of the village facilities finished, we said our goodbyes and set out. I asked Pablo how he had come to work with these people. "Do you want the truth or a lie?" he asked back. "The truth, always," I said. "A long time ago I was part of a revolutionary group in Quito," he began. "After a time, the government decided to start brokering deals with some of the groups. People who agreed to the deals became wealthy. I didn't want to make a deal with the government, so they began to harass me and my family. That's when I moved to Otavalo and began working with indigenous peoples to have their rights legally protected. I worked with a group of shamans to have their practice recognised as culturally important. Our efforts were successful and meanwhile Otavalo as a region was prospering. Eventually the groups that had been marginal when I first came were doing well without my help and I decided to leave. I took out a map and looked for the most isolated communities. That's how I found the Awa."

"I wanted to ask you about the contract. There's a lot of reference to drug prevention, both use of and trade in. Is that language included in order to receive funding from government anti-drug programs?"

"No. I don't take any money from the government, I don't want any of the government's money. All of the money we use here comes from our Swiss funders."

"And do you have much help from local activists?"

"Jamie, I've got to tell you that I really don't like activists."

"Why not?"

"The activists have a lot of ideas but when it comes down to action they fall short. Environmental groups come here with two-year projects and when the two-years are up they leave the community with all sorts of problems. Conflicts over power, conflicts over money. Sometimes they leave systems without teaching the community how to use the system and in the end the land is destroyed. Lumber companies, development companies, large agricultural companies -- someone comes in and is able to buy the destroyed land for very little money because the community is fragmented and desperate. That's why I don't like activists, Jamie."

Rio Verde Community - Chicken Coop

We walked for a few minutes in silence, and then he continued. "Three years ago I found out about a group of urban activists in Quito. They dressed like punks, did a lot of a pro-environmental graffiti... I had a lot of hope in them. So, I invited them out here. At first they arrived and stepped into the forest and said, 'Oh, look at all the nature -- it's so wonderful, so beautiful!' We hiked for six hours to one of the villages. When we arrived they couldn't get off their feet fast enough. 'I can't stand all these bugs!', 'What an uncomfortable place!', 'The toilets here are disgusting!' I invited them back to help with some projects here. Not a single one of them came."

Back at the pickup I changed into the fresh pair of clothes I had packed and felt some eyes

Rio Verde Community - Inside the Dining Hall

watching me. I turned around and saw a young girl standing inside of the little wooden hut next to the pickup truck. We had some extra food, so I offered her a banana. Pablo's colleague looked at me. "She doesn't need any of those," he said, and gestured to behind the low wooden wall. I gazed over. There were several bunches of bananas cut straight off the tree; there must have been at least 50 bananas. I grinned sheepishly and waved goodbye.