The Ugly Piece of Beautiful

I decided to go for a hike today. The skies were clear, the sun was shining and I hadn't worked out since Tuesday. What better way to enjoy the weather and burn off the lemon pie I ate last night than with a hike up La Loma de Guayabillas (Guyabillas Hill). After a thorough dousing of bug repellent (I was devoured the last time I went), I grabbed my water bottle and my book and was off.

The walk to Guayabillas from my house is pretty much a straight shot. You spend the entire trip walking directly towards "la loma" and the surrounding mountains. It's a beautiful vista. The tops of the mountains shrink and grow as the crowds gently brush against them. Every now and then you catch a glimpse of a lone tree on the ridge line before it once again fades into the mist. Further down the mountainside, the sun and shadows dance around each other, casting amorphous shapes onto the slopes checkered with fields and farms. Yes indeed, it was another beautiful day in our mountainous paradise.

As I drew nearer to Guayabillas, I noticed a family walking towards me. Oddly enough, they were tromping their way through the knee-high grass instead of using the wide, well-bricked sidewalk just feet away from them. Strange, but hey this is Ecuador and you don't ask questions. By the time I actually reached them they had managed to find their way off the grass and onto the sidewalk so, okay then. I continued on, shaking my head...and then stopped dead in my tracks. Now I could see why the family had wisely chosen the grass over the sidewalk.

There, ten feet in front of me on the sidewalk, was a dead dog. It lay on its side, it's body bloated and stiff from hours in the Ecuadorian sun. It's legs were rigidly stretched out in front of him as though he'd been shot and stuffed and put on display. Swarms of flies converged on it's white matted fur and crawled lazily in and out of it's now empty eye sockets. Instinctively, I turned my head away and practically launched myself off of the sidewalk.

The cooling breeze that had just moments ago been the perfect touch to a perfect day, now carried the scent of rotting flesh with each gust. I lengthened my steps willing myself to move past it before my curiosity got the best of me and I turned for another look. I didn't move fast enough.

There it was again. No more than three feet away. A huge rotting carcass heaped in the middle of the sidewalk. Even at that proximity, I couldn't tell what breed it was. A terrier? A spaniel? A mutt? Regardless, I know it deserved a long, full life with a loving family who would grieve his passing instead of the undoubtedly pitiful existence it had experienced as an Ecuadorian street dog.

I averted my eyes again and hurried on towards Guayabillas. But now when I looked at the mountains rolling and dipping in their endless wave of green and shadows, I saw that dog. Suddenly my little piece of beautiful had turned ugly. It had been tainted by a grotesque reminder that not everything here was sunshine and hillsides.

I spent the rest of the afternoon thinking about that dog. Even as I made my way up Guayabillas and the city of Ibarra majestically rolled itself out beneath me, my mind kept flitting back to that image.

It's crazy, isn't it? The way we get so caught up in making out the world the way we want to see it. We seek that which is beautiful and pleasing and makes us feel good about ourselves and I'll be the first to say that we should be grateful for those things. But when do we ever think about the other side? The other half? The people and the situations and, yes, the animals whose existence in our "paradises" we dismiss or ignore because they might make us realize changes need to be made. That might force us to realize that perhaps the world in the little bubble we've constructed for ourselves isn't the world as it truly is.

At some point you have to take your eyes off the mountains. At some point the grass runs out and you can't step off the sidewalk. What then?

Toro-bol

Yesterday was one of those days when Ecuador smacked me square between the eyes. Here I was finally starting to think, "Yeah, I got you, Ecuador" and then smuh-ACK! I was blindsided right outta left field.

After living anywhere for long enough, you adjust. All of the differences and strange little idiosyncrasies that just seemed so weird at the beginning become just another part of the daily grind. But then, just when you've fallen into a happy little routine, you come face to face with a brand new bit of ludicrous-ness that you just weren't prepared for.

CECAMI is a community school run by the municipal government of Ibarra. That makes me a employee of the city. This past Friday was the annual municipal workers "field day," if you will. We all walked, drove, bussed or taxied it out to La Plaza del Torros to spend the entire day eating concession stand food and participating in the festivities. Having never been to such a soiree before and only being able to understand part of my boss's explanation about the schedule of events due to my limited Spanish, I had no idea what these "festivities" were going to entail.

It all started off innocently enough. One of the bigwigs in the municipal department spent a solid 30 minutes getting the crowd warmed up by leading them through a series of motivational chants and dances. The concession stands were doing a lucrative business and, in spite of the drizzle, everyone seemed in high spirits. (I believe this was largely due to the amount of alcohol being imbibed at this time. Please note, it was well before noon.)

Recall that the name of the stadium was La Plaza del Toros. I originally dismissed this as being nothing more than a name. I mean there are lots of parks and stadiums and such named after animals, right? Not a big deal. I've visited a park called Bear Mountain before and needless to say I didn't encounter a single grizzly.

Minutes after the pep rally ended, the ring was suddenly filled with a group of men waving pink and red blankets. And, sure enough, there was Mr. Toro. Okay, fine, so clearly there was going to be a little matador-ing going on. While I wasn't thrilled at the prospect of aggravating a poor animal, I had seen and heard of this before and it was nothing new.

Thankfully, this activity only lasted for about five or ten minutes and the following activity simply involved a bunch of grown men running up a greased plank of wood to try and grab a ribbon secured at the top. Silly, but again, not a huge deal.

Once all of the ribbons had been "won," the ring was cleared and two teams of men entered the ring to play what appeared to be a basic game of futbol. It's Ecuador so I knew futbol was going to come into play at some point. Nothing weird there.

What I wasn't expecting was after five minutes into the game for a live, raging bull to be let loose in the ring with the soccer players. While the rest of the crowd roared with excitement, I felt my jaw completely unhinge itself and began to desperately send up prayers for divine intervention for those crazy souls in the ring.

The game quickly dissolved into chaos with players still desperately trying to move the ball across the "field" while also keeping an ever-watchful eye on the bull who kept charging the men at a moment's notice. I'll admit it was a bit comical at times to watch the way the players scrambled to haul themselves over the nearest wall to avoid getting a solid headbutt from the bull. The problem was that the players didn't always make it out of the way in time. Over the course of the three (yes, three!) games of "toro-bol" that were played, there were at least five times that some poor guy got headbutted or worse by the bull. It was terrifying to watch the men being knocked around and trod on by the bull with not a soul to save them. And yet each time, the players got up, dusted themselves off and kept right on going. At one point one of the players took his shirt off and you could see the huge, red, soon-to-be-killer bruises covering his torso.

I have no doubt that a large part of this insanity had to do with the "machismo" culture here in Ecuador. The more cracked ribs and plate-sized bruises you can show off at work the next day or use to impress your girlfriend, the better.  All I can say is that when the finally whistle blew to signal the end of the "toro-bol" championship and all of the men where still alive and un-gored, I remembered what it was to breathe again.

I'm still not entirely sure what the purpose of our little "field day" was. Usually companies and organizations host these type of events to encourage cooperation, friendship, and trust between co-workers while giving them a chance to let their hair down a little. I don't know that watching grown men being chased by a bull quite did that for me.

Let's do it again!

Tomorrow morning at 8AM I start my next five week teaching cycle at CECAMI. Tomorrow I get to do it all over again.

I've been on vacation this past week so I've had some downtime to reflect on my first five weeks of teaching. Out of the 24 Basic students that I taught, 15 passed my class and 9 didn't. I don't think I've taught long enough to properly determine what this says about my teaching--but I'm definitely proud that more of them passed then failed. That has to mean I'm doing something right, right? And I found, for the most part, that those who failed to make the 70% necessary to pass the class were those who were largely unmotivated and generally uninterested in learning English to begin with and who only showed up because their parents were forcing them to on pain of death.

Slackers aside, I can honestly say I am enjoying teaching. I always knew I wasn't cut out for a desk job and these last five weeks of teaching, plus the two I did in Quito, have simply proven that point. The classroom just might be the place for me. (Disclaimer: This perspective may have changed after the next seven months.) I know that wherever I end up I need a dynamic and challenging work environment. One that allows me the freedom to think and create and affords me the possibility of having a positive impact on someone's life.

I'm certainly beginning this next cycle with more confidence than I did the first one. I know the school, I know my students, and I know more grammar now than I did before (not alot more, but it's something). Having said that, everyday I continue to learn right alongside my students. Everyday I find what works and what doesn't, what my students enjoy and what draws blank stares, what to do when a tarantula enters the classroom and what not to do. And everyday I am that much better for it.

I think the one thing that surprised me the most from my first cycle was just how much I ended up caring for my students. As we said our goodbyes on that last Friday of the cycle, I became increasingly distressed as I found out which students would not be returning for another module. I have discovered that when you teach, you don't just impart knowledge to your students, you impart bits and pieces of who you are. And when they leave they take those little parts of you with them. Now that I know this, it's even more important that what I give to them--all of those little bits and pieces--are bits and pieces that will shape them into not only better English speakers, but also better people.

Here in Ecuador my students call me "teacher." Not Amanda. Not Ms. McCarther. Just "teacher." I think some people might find this impersonal but I think it's a wonderful thing. It reminds me of my purpose here, of the fact that I have people who I have a responsibility too. It reminds me of the significance of the relationship between teacher and student and all that it entails. And it reminds me that I belong here. That I am part of a wonderful little learning community that is actively working towards making a difference in this big, wide world of ours.