I guess there comes a time in every writers life where they just can't seem to make their writing work. Although I only recently started to take my writing a bit more seriously, the past month or two has been that time for me. Like a doozy of a cold, I felt the first inklings of it coming on right before I left Ecuador. As my A1 students shared their incredible written life stories I realized, once again, how fortunate I was to meet and know them. Being the teacher that I am I promised them my own story, in Spanish, yet I just couldn't get past the first page. As with any cold, my focus was the first to go. I wanted to write down everything, not miss one iota of my experiences in Ecuador. Even more so I wanted to remember the people; my close friends, taxi drivers, students, the children of the streets, the boy killed by a bus, the Colombian empanada lady, Piedad and Andrea, and fellow volunteers in their truest form rather than a nostalgic memory reconstructed from my desk in the US. This posed a problem as there was just too much to do as I closed out my year, so I kept notes-sides of pages, backs of books. Anytime I had a thought I wrote it down and many a bar napkin was filled to the brim. Yet every time I sat down to put these notes together my words would sneeze all over the page.
So I did as any new writer does and set a goal for myself. In my last few blog posts I wanted to move away from the seemingly narcissistic musings of my blogs past and develop a common theme that would connect the vignettes I wanted to tell. It was at this point that I wrote and published the introduction to this venture. In all reality I was doing what I normally do with a cold, ignoring the overarching problem, that of writers block. Who knows what it was, the end of my time in Quito or the integration back into the Bay Area lifestyle but the words were most definitely not dripping out of my nose as mucus does in the middle of a bad cold.
After many false remedies and pages of beginnings with no ends and ends with no beginnings, I awoke last night in the wee hours of the morning and felt the urge to put ink to paper, actually fingers to keyboard. Maybe it was the quiet hours of the morning and the anticipation of the first glimpses of the morning sun or maybe it was the familiarity of returning to a ritual long since past that let the words flow and connect. It was invigorating to finally be able to breath words again.
Not wanting to relapse I am going to take recovery slow. With my original challenge still in tact I am going to delve even deeper into the stories I want to tell. Actually do my background research and maybe even write second and third drafts. I want to tell, not only the story of the Ecuador that I came to know, but the stories of people that can give us all hope. Seeing as this California girl has what looks like a few months of unemployment to tackle, nothing could be better for a writer recovering from her first cold.
July 27, 2010
May 26, 2010
The Happiness of Success
I recently read two things that intrigued me. One was an article about Denmark. Apparently they are the happiest people in the world. The second was Malcolm Gladwell's most recent book, Outliers. He outlines the sociological factors that create a successful person, such as the Beatles or Bill Gates. Both of these concepts, happiness and success have always intrigued me. In fact I even wrote a personal narrative, with the same title as this, in my high school creative writing class. It is the only writing I have kept from my junior high and high school days (this was before I had a personal computer of course). I wrote it at a time when I was not very happy nor was I on a traditional path to success. I've come a long way.
I consider myself to be a happy person. Although they may be extremely different than me, I have a strong and healthy family. My closest friends span the world, from Italy to Ecuador to the Bay Area. I also have been given and created multiple opportunities, all of which allow me to follow my personal dreams on a daily basis. In terms of success, I'd say I've had some of that as well. I've spent the years post high school educating myself; obtaining two bachelors and a masters. I've worked for a national nonprofit where I was the youngest person to receive an award in management. More recently I was honored with a Congressional recognition for my teaching. In short, I've made my loved ones proud.
But this is not about me nor is it about the type of happiness and success that the developed world clings so tightly too. Rather, I want to discuss these ideas from my understanding (biased as it may be) of the developing world, and specifically Ecuador. I plan to take the discussion across a couple of posts (if my computer, who is dying a slow death, can handle it) and interject personal examples from the people I have had the privilege of knowing here. This will serve to conclude my time here, reflect my opinions on my experiences, good and bad, and thank those that have supported me from near and far. I hope to intrigue you even more than the Denmark article and Gladwell's book,coupled with my experiences in Ecuador, have intrigued me.
I consider myself to be a happy person. Although they may be extremely different than me, I have a strong and healthy family. My closest friends span the world, from Italy to Ecuador to the Bay Area. I also have been given and created multiple opportunities, all of which allow me to follow my personal dreams on a daily basis. In terms of success, I'd say I've had some of that as well. I've spent the years post high school educating myself; obtaining two bachelors and a masters. I've worked for a national nonprofit where I was the youngest person to receive an award in management. More recently I was honored with a Congressional recognition for my teaching. In short, I've made my loved ones proud.
But this is not about me nor is it about the type of happiness and success that the developed world clings so tightly too. Rather, I want to discuss these ideas from my understanding (biased as it may be) of the developing world, and specifically Ecuador. I plan to take the discussion across a couple of posts (if my computer, who is dying a slow death, can handle it) and interject personal examples from the people I have had the privilege of knowing here. This will serve to conclude my time here, reflect my opinions on my experiences, good and bad, and thank those that have supported me from near and far. I hope to intrigue you even more than the Denmark article and Gladwell's book,coupled with my experiences in Ecuador, have intrigued me.
 |
| The past and future of Ecuador. |
May 6, 2010
Making it Count
| Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, | |||||
| And sorry I could not travel both | |||||
| And be one traveler, long I stood | |||||
| And looked down one as far as I could | |||||
| To where it bent in the undergrowth; |
| -excerpted from Frost |
Sometimes I worry about my experiences here. I wonder if I am pushing myself enough, speaking enough Spanish, and putting myself in situations that are, at first uncomfortable, yet later allow me to learn more about the culture and language of Ecuador. I worry that my experiences in urban Quito are not authentic enough and I dream of being out in the campo and being forced to speak Spanish because there is no other option. These thoughts have been exacerbated lately by the fact that I will be returning to the US in less than two months and I still have a football field size list of things I want to do, experience and accomplish. That being said I would not trade the past nine months of my life for anything else in the world; I had a dream and I have milked every last ounce out of living it.
However my thought process begs me to ask the question, what is an authentic experience? Some may say that an authentic experience means being hours away from the nearest phone, speaking Spanish only to find that the local Kichwan dialect is more prevalent, that your literacy program for women falls flat on its face because the men of the town believe the women belong at home, that you are taken in and made a permanent member of a large local family, that you need to play futbol everyday to fit in, and that you teach English to people who actually need it. These are all experiences that fellow volunteers have had and some wear as badges of honor and all ones that I have not as well as ones I expected to have. I can call people via Skype from my bedroom, I speak English more than I do Spanish and of course more than Kichwan (although I do know a few key phrases), I've not started any programs to only see them fail, my family consists of more Americanos than it does Ecuatorianos, I can count the number of times I've played soccer on my right hand, and I teach English to people that are interested in learning it not ones that necessarily need it. Does this mean I have not had an authentic experience? Of course not. In the past week alone I was invited to and attended a high school prom in the extreme south of Quito where I danced with not only young drunk students but one drunk headmaster as well. I've been taken suddenly, along with my 3 compañeros, to the most famous street food vendors in all of Quito by a former student who drives one extremely cool 1970's refurbished van and then traded off singing English and Spanish songs at karaoke for the rest of the night. And my eight dedicated morning students performed a play of epic proportions (there was a duel with machete's and ketchup) in front of some fifty plus people; I've never been prouder. Authentic, yes, as I never could have dreamed any one of them. To say no discounts too many peoples lives.
 |
| Señora Romo. A very authentic woman and one that I learned much from. |
April 26, 2010
A Budding Romance
I met someone the other day. A most unlikely of meetings as I was not in the best of moods. You see my school's administration had just decided to move me from a very nice classroom to one in the old building. A classroom that contains the stench of sewage, most likely because it is next to the dumpster, and three missing windows. A much better classroom than the other they said. I of course smelled a rat, literally and figuratively.
Upon storming across the courtyard and into the new room there he was. I had no time to be upset as the grin and puppy dog eyes on this particular boy put a smile on my face like no other, something my students promptly made fun of me for. At this first meeting I asked him his name, Mateo he said, and with a shy grin he reluctantly left.
A day passed and then another without any Mateo sightings. I thought I would never see this handsome fellow again and started to put the dreams of playing soccer together in the courtyard out of my head. Suddenly he appeared bright eyed and grinning in my classroom once again. While my students were working he hummed me a song while I drew him a card with his name on it. We were getting to know each other in the most strangest of circumstances. Yet once again he just up and left with no promises of a return. Although this time I thought I heard someone calling his name.
The next day I tried not to show my disappointment when Mateo was not in the classroom, I mean who hangs out in an empty classroom anyway. Acting, or trying to act, aloof is not one of my best traits and my students took the opportunity to make fun of me once again, this time asking me where my boooooyfriend was.
A couple of days later Mateo was back wearing a crisp uniform that most Ecuadorians are accustomed to wearing. This day he walked proudly into the room, looked my students up and down and then placed a candy on my desk. With a quick bow of the head he left once again, this boy was after my heart. My students quickly proclaimed that I officially had an Ecua novio, or boyfriend. No, I said, it can't be so, we hardly know each other, with a sly smile on my face.
That same night as I was strolling across the courtyard to meet my fellow teachers, who weren't asked to move classrooms I might add, I was blind sided by one of the strongest hugs I've ever received. It will come as no surprise to any of you that the person giving the hug was, of course, Mateo. I bent down and reciprocated and asked when I would see him next. Tomorrow he said. Bring the soccer ball I replied.
Upon storming across the courtyard and into the new room there he was. I had no time to be upset as the grin and puppy dog eyes on this particular boy put a smile on my face like no other, something my students promptly made fun of me for. At this first meeting I asked him his name, Mateo he said, and with a shy grin he reluctantly left.
A day passed and then another without any Mateo sightings. I thought I would never see this handsome fellow again and started to put the dreams of playing soccer together in the courtyard out of my head. Suddenly he appeared bright eyed and grinning in my classroom once again. While my students were working he hummed me a song while I drew him a card with his name on it. We were getting to know each other in the most strangest of circumstances. Yet once again he just up and left with no promises of a return. Although this time I thought I heard someone calling his name.
The next day I tried not to show my disappointment when Mateo was not in the classroom, I mean who hangs out in an empty classroom anyway. Acting, or trying to act, aloof is not one of my best traits and my students took the opportunity to make fun of me once again, this time asking me where my boooooyfriend was.
A couple of days later Mateo was back wearing a crisp uniform that most Ecuadorians are accustomed to wearing. This day he walked proudly into the room, looked my students up and down and then placed a candy on my desk. With a quick bow of the head he left once again, this boy was after my heart. My students quickly proclaimed that I officially had an Ecua novio, or boyfriend. No, I said, it can't be so, we hardly know each other, with a sly smile on my face.
That same night as I was strolling across the courtyard to meet my fellow teachers, who weren't asked to move classrooms I might add, I was blind sided by one of the strongest hugs I've ever received. It will come as no surprise to any of you that the person giving the hug was, of course, Mateo. I bent down and reciprocated and asked when I would see him next. Tomorrow he said. Bring the soccer ball I replied.
 |
| Mateo, the son of the Tienda owner. |
April 15, 2010
Mis Alumnos Son Mis Maestros
After six years I seem to know how to do this thing called teaching decent enough, yet my nerves still drench me on the first day of any class with a chilly sweat, the continual fixing of my clothes, a persistent check of my notes, and nasty thoughts of incompetence. During year one of my teaching career these nerves dilapidated my teaching and stayed well beyond their welcome. Now they start to disappear upon the first glimpse of just one student’s genuine smile, something that typically takes a week, sometimes two. This year, teaching in a new country, in a different setting, with a new subject, a few things have changed. The nerves are still there but my experience has taught me how to accept them and move on. I try to start to connect with my students and set up the structures of a hard working classroom the moment the clock strikes the hour. Wait, who am I kidding, the moment the clock strikes twenty after; we are on what my students call Ecua time you know.
The first day of my third teaching cycle, this past week in Quito, started as any other, a crazy, yet nervous, teacher in the front of the room trying to get her students to know one another and how the class was going to work. Usually there is an abundance of blank stares and glances from one student to another stating the obvious, boy, we are in for a long ride in this class. You all know the glance as we’ve all had “that” teacher. It takes about a week, sometimes two, before I have the students on board with the operations of a lively discussion based, curriculum driven, and community building course. This time around it took less than a half hour. What I did different in those first thirty minutes I’m not even sure of but in both my classes, two very different entities, somehow I had them hooked. They were laughing as if they were the oldest of friends, a phenomenon at best. Then I started to get questions, not the, “teacher, when do we have break or may I go to the bathroom” questions but ones about the subject matter, things you can tell they have been wondering about since the last time they took an English course. I realize that they feel safe, already, and I wonder what it is that I have done to make these first moments so magical for both my students and myself. I’d like to say it was my charismatic attitude but I think the drive of my students outweigh any teaching abilities I may have.
In my morning class most of us know each other but even the newbie’s are not playing the timid game this day, with questions flying faster than a cheetah can run. The class is comprised of the old and young, the language gifted and the struggling learner yet somehow we are instantly a group. They hang on to every word I mutter and work together better than the 1992 Olympic basketball Dream Team. I believe chance has played a card in this classroom, as personalities do not clash and the craving for knowledge is insatiable in everyone. This teacher knows what she has in front of her and begins to exploit it almost immediately. Six months ago most of these students were beginners and on this first day eight English language learners deconstructed quotes by Nietzsche (an Ecua favorite), Plato and Darwin (an Ecua hero). I’m in absolute amazement as I watch them listen, respect, perform, and question. They take care of each other, knowing full well that they are only as strong as their weakest link, which is Joseph a gentleman in his early 70’s who takes these classes to “keep his brain alive”, as he states.
My night class is different, the closest to a California suburban school as you can get here in Ecuador. There are four students that would be written off by some teachers I know within seconds. One young man wearing a permanent beanie and earphones, another larger man with a demeanor that would scare anyone walking down a street at night, a teenager with the letters PUNK tattooed on the fingers of his right hand, and a middle aged woman with the spit fire of a dragon. Experience tells me not to write any of them off; that the beanie wearing music lover most likely is an amazing poet, the large menacing man really is a gentle teddy bear, and the punk rocker just wants to be heard. And the spit fire? Well I know her needs the best as she reminds me of myself, all she wants is to be respected for what she is, an intelligent independent woman, so you boost her up and make her the classroom president (a must in any Ecuadorian classroom). Although this class does not have the ability, yet, to deconstruct philosophers nor do they have the collective curiosity for information like the other class, they do want to learn English. And, on this first day they show you the lengths they will go to do just that, by working together and performing short plays that have us all rolling on the floor laughing.
I look forward to the next ten weeks and know they will not all be as invigorating as the first. Challenges are ahead. In the morning I will push the limits to see how far the students can go in their learning, this will frustrate some. At night we will all battle the exhaustion of adding on a 2 hour English class to a full days work. I’ll pull out all the stops; work every trick up my sleeve and even so we still may get tired, frustrated or bored. But we won’t stop, not after the potential was set by smiles, laughter and questions within thirty of meeting each other on the first day of class.
The first day of my third teaching cycle, this past week in Quito, started as any other, a crazy, yet nervous, teacher in the front of the room trying to get her students to know one another and how the class was going to work. Usually there is an abundance of blank stares and glances from one student to another stating the obvious, boy, we are in for a long ride in this class. You all know the glance as we’ve all had “that” teacher. It takes about a week, sometimes two, before I have the students on board with the operations of a lively discussion based, curriculum driven, and community building course. This time around it took less than a half hour. What I did different in those first thirty minutes I’m not even sure of but in both my classes, two very different entities, somehow I had them hooked. They were laughing as if they were the oldest of friends, a phenomenon at best. Then I started to get questions, not the, “teacher, when do we have break or may I go to the bathroom” questions but ones about the subject matter, things you can tell they have been wondering about since the last time they took an English course. I realize that they feel safe, already, and I wonder what it is that I have done to make these first moments so magical for both my students and myself. I’d like to say it was my charismatic attitude but I think the drive of my students outweigh any teaching abilities I may have.
In my morning class most of us know each other but even the newbie’s are not playing the timid game this day, with questions flying faster than a cheetah can run. The class is comprised of the old and young, the language gifted and the struggling learner yet somehow we are instantly a group. They hang on to every word I mutter and work together better than the 1992 Olympic basketball Dream Team. I believe chance has played a card in this classroom, as personalities do not clash and the craving for knowledge is insatiable in everyone. This teacher knows what she has in front of her and begins to exploit it almost immediately. Six months ago most of these students were beginners and on this first day eight English language learners deconstructed quotes by Nietzsche (an Ecua favorite), Plato and Darwin (an Ecua hero). I’m in absolute amazement as I watch them listen, respect, perform, and question. They take care of each other, knowing full well that they are only as strong as their weakest link, which is Joseph a gentleman in his early 70’s who takes these classes to “keep his brain alive”, as he states.
My night class is different, the closest to a California suburban school as you can get here in Ecuador. There are four students that would be written off by some teachers I know within seconds. One young man wearing a permanent beanie and earphones, another larger man with a demeanor that would scare anyone walking down a street at night, a teenager with the letters PUNK tattooed on the fingers of his right hand, and a middle aged woman with the spit fire of a dragon. Experience tells me not to write any of them off; that the beanie wearing music lover most likely is an amazing poet, the large menacing man really is a gentle teddy bear, and the punk rocker just wants to be heard. And the spit fire? Well I know her needs the best as she reminds me of myself, all she wants is to be respected for what she is, an intelligent independent woman, so you boost her up and make her the classroom president (a must in any Ecuadorian classroom). Although this class does not have the ability, yet, to deconstruct philosophers nor do they have the collective curiosity for information like the other class, they do want to learn English. And, on this first day they show you the lengths they will go to do just that, by working together and performing short plays that have us all rolling on the floor laughing.
I look forward to the next ten weeks and know they will not all be as invigorating as the first. Challenges are ahead. In the morning I will push the limits to see how far the students can go in their learning, this will frustrate some. At night we will all battle the exhaustion of adding on a 2 hour English class to a full days work. I’ll pull out all the stops; work every trick up my sleeve and even so we still may get tired, frustrated or bored. But we won’t stop, not after the potential was set by smiles, laughter and questions within thirty of meeting each other on the first day of class.
March 10, 2010
Epilogue: Perdido en la Amazonia
And now my personal stories of the Amazon are finished. Some of you may have gotten a giggle from the thought of me trying to talk to a drunk skinny Spanish speaking tall man, others a reminder about an important life lesson taught by monkeys, and still others recalling the confusing times of having two roads in front of you. These stories were all personal and contained life lessons that everyone must encounter, but I think there is something even more important and more pressing than the personal life stories of a girl such as me. I originally stated that I was writing to convince not to entertain or educate and that is what I intend to do directly now.
You all know that as an individual, I am personally committed to the field of education and limiting the effects of poverty worldwide but as part of the human race I can not ignore what has happened and what is happening to the Amazon. This place is not only a metaphor for life, for innovation, for progress but also a reality of life and of death. Every choice that a person who lives in the developed world makes has an effect on the Amazon, a place that encompasses only 3% of the planets land mass but houses over 50% of its species.The gas in the car you drive now or the 30 minute hot steaming shower you just took may well have been from the 5 hectares in the Amazon that was just cleared of its trees to install a new oil pump. When trees are removed from the Amazon people, very poor people, are displaced, as are animals, types of animals that you can't even begin to imagine, not to mention the ecosystems that die. These are irreplaceable effects that we can control.
Don’t get me wrong, I have and do enjoy certain comforts of life. In fact the last car I bought was a CRV, I am more than guilty of staying in hot showers for a very, very long time, and if given $100 to spend on anything I wanted I would most definitely buy things that I don't particularly need. However, now that I've been to the Amazon and I've seen its power and its grace I realize how connected all of our decisions are to the rest of the world. I see how very small this very large world is. Now, I ask myself a single question every time I find myself consuming or wanting to consume. It's a big thinking question, one that doesn't necessarily have just one good answer. I'll write that question down here if you like but if you read it you might not like the answer you come up with. Are you sure you are ready?. Are you sure you can handle it, trying to find and actually sticking to your answer is not an easy task?
Okay, here goes:
Do I really need this?
For me the answer lies in a concept I will borrow from economics, that of opportunity-cost. When you choose to do or buy something that will make your life simpler yes, you may be gaining time, but time for what? How many of you actually use that time for good rather than fill it with more things to do? Not to mention the opportunity-cost of those that are in the "other" world, those that are supporting your actions through their low-paying and strenuous jobs and that you rarely think about. I’m not saying conserving the Amazon is the only answer, although it plays a big part, but I am saying it is a symbol of something much bigger, a symbol that we are all connected, every single one of us. You, of course, need to answer such a question on your own.
I of course have a couple of suggestions to help you along:
You could perhaps watch a new movie, although biased, about the indigenous people of the Ecuadorian Amazon and the oil companies...I hear it even won some awards at Sun Dance last year.
Much rather read, check out these cool suggestions from a guy called No Impact Man.
Or you could spend your summer months getting involved like my friend and coworker did this past summer in the Brazilian Amazon.
Want to spend some money? You could get yourself some rainforest trees. How cool is that? "Yeah, I own some property. It's in a rainforest." Great opener, I'd continue to talk to you.
And, If you can get yourself to Quito, one of the cheapest South American cities to fly into, you'll only have to shell out $200 for a 4 day all inclusive trip into the Amazon to see for yourself what I keep jabbering on about.
The answers really are endless. What it really comes down to is choices. Everyday you are handed a million choices, most of which are designed to make your life easier. Today I challenge you to make a harder one. I promise you it is worth, if not for you than for those that have less than you and those that will come after you.
And that's all I have to say about that.
You all know that as an individual, I am personally committed to the field of education and limiting the effects of poverty worldwide but as part of the human race I can not ignore what has happened and what is happening to the Amazon. This place is not only a metaphor for life, for innovation, for progress but also a reality of life and of death. Every choice that a person who lives in the developed world makes has an effect on the Amazon, a place that encompasses only 3% of the planets land mass but houses over 50% of its species.The gas in the car you drive now or the 30 minute hot steaming shower you just took may well have been from the 5 hectares in the Amazon that was just cleared of its trees to install a new oil pump. When trees are removed from the Amazon people, very poor people, are displaced, as are animals, types of animals that you can't even begin to imagine, not to mention the ecosystems that die. These are irreplaceable effects that we can control.
Don’t get me wrong, I have and do enjoy certain comforts of life. In fact the last car I bought was a CRV, I am more than guilty of staying in hot showers for a very, very long time, and if given $100 to spend on anything I wanted I would most definitely buy things that I don't particularly need. However, now that I've been to the Amazon and I've seen its power and its grace I realize how connected all of our decisions are to the rest of the world. I see how very small this very large world is. Now, I ask myself a single question every time I find myself consuming or wanting to consume. It's a big thinking question, one that doesn't necessarily have just one good answer. I'll write that question down here if you like but if you read it you might not like the answer you come up with. Are you sure you are ready?. Are you sure you can handle it, trying to find and actually sticking to your answer is not an easy task?
Okay, here goes:
Do I really need this?
For me the answer lies in a concept I will borrow from economics, that of opportunity-cost. When you choose to do or buy something that will make your life simpler yes, you may be gaining time, but time for what? How many of you actually use that time for good rather than fill it with more things to do? Not to mention the opportunity-cost of those that are in the "other" world, those that are supporting your actions through their low-paying and strenuous jobs and that you rarely think about. I’m not saying conserving the Amazon is the only answer, although it plays a big part, but I am saying it is a symbol of something much bigger, a symbol that we are all connected, every single one of us. You, of course, need to answer such a question on your own.
I of course have a couple of suggestions to help you along:
You could perhaps watch a new movie, although biased, about the indigenous people of the Ecuadorian Amazon and the oil companies...I hear it even won some awards at Sun Dance last year.
Much rather read, check out these cool suggestions from a guy called No Impact Man.
Or you could spend your summer months getting involved like my friend and coworker did this past summer in the Brazilian Amazon.
Want to spend some money? You could get yourself some rainforest trees. How cool is that? "Yeah, I own some property. It's in a rainforest." Great opener, I'd continue to talk to you.
And, If you can get yourself to Quito, one of the cheapest South American cities to fly into, you'll only have to shell out $200 for a 4 day all inclusive trip into the Amazon to see for yourself what I keep jabbering on about.
The answers really are endless. What it really comes down to is choices. Everyday you are handed a million choices, most of which are designed to make your life easier. Today I challenge you to make a harder one. I promise you it is worth, if not for you than for those that have less than you and those that will come after you.
And that's all I have to say about that.
March 2, 2010
Another detour…A Pinch of Prevention
Starting in 2000 I began volunteering at the Red Cross, first as an intern in the
From this I have come to believe in two things that guide my actions and thoughts when responding to natural disasters such as the Chilean and Haitian earthquakes, the floods in Peru, the hurricanes that will hit the Caribbean and east of the American continent soon and any other natural disaster that may come in one day or twenty years from now. First and foremost, natural disasters are the biggest threat to the stability of any countries people, economically and socially, no matter the current economic and social status of said country at the time of the disaster. And number two, prevention and preparedness efforts can and will reduce those effects.
Our current outlook on prevention must change. Right now there is no ownership over prevention and preparedness. Much like the US's current health care system, we prefer to pay for things after the fact even when we know it would be cheaper to prevent it, especially with disasters. That being said there are many individual and innovative programs out there in all fields, engineering, business, education, design. Who will step up to coordinate these projects, small businesses/nonprofits, and individual ventures? If they operate alone they will not gain the impact that is needed. If they become a part of a larger organization they risk getting lost in a bureaucracy (which I have seen too many a time).
Now is the time for a shift in priorities especially with two of the most devastating earthquakes in recent time still on our collective minds. Whose responsibility is it to lead such an effort? The government, NGO's, the free-market? Any bright ideas or organizations you know of already working on this?
February 23, 2010
Round 3: A Touch of Mariposas At The End of The Journey
This morning I woke up before the sun, a teacher’s habit really. This particular day I am lucky because I have company. For about an hour I listened as the monkey’s howled and the birds sang their morning songs until those same sounds woke up my traveling friends and the day was forced to start. Today is the last full day before we are supposed to leave. Right now I am watching my friends as they paddle up the river for one last canoe trip. A part of me wants to see and be apart of the river one last time, to feel my muscles tense while paddling against the stream. But a little voice is telling me to stay behind. It’s that damn cricket, Jiminy, telling me to record the Amazon in the only way I know how, to write it down. So many times I’ve ignored that voice and my memories have been lost to the creative happenings of my imagination or wiped away completely. So I sit at the top of the wooden planked stairs and I give one last wave to my friends before I let the pen meet paper and I disappear into a different world completely.
In the past three days we’ve taken multiple four hour trips up and down the river, learned to make pan de yucca in a small river banked village, raced each other in the ultimate of swimming contests across the widest span of the Cuyabeno, played Marco Polo with a few of the local indigenous kids, searched for pink river dolphins only to find a breathtaking sun set between the vines and trees, fished, unsuccessfully, for piranhas, found the red eyes of crocodiles by flashlight, canoed over and under fallen tree trunks, and took a night hike that had us acting like scared little seven year olds. The week, as promised, was packed with small Amazonian adventures that not one of us took for granted.
And last night as we laid on the patio, under the brilliant night stars, listening to Mariana sing Quichuan songs from her childhood and sipping our cold Pilsners we reflected on all these small adventures and what they have meant to each of us. It was the type of setting that didn’t need a lot of words; most things were said through our thoughts, the words of Marianna’s songs or the night talk of the animals. As we sat I started to think about the future for the first time in a long time. I wondered what I would be doing this same time next year, not worrying about it, just thinking about it. Realizing that I most likely would be back in the daily grind and wondering if now, after experiencing the Amazon and Ecuador overall, I could actually and finally make it work. I wondered if the feeling of always waiting for something to happen could be dissipated by rereading the words I am writing now, gazing at framed pictures of my adventures, or examining the knick knacks I have picked up along the way. I wondered and I wondered until the clouds covered all the millions of stars above us and it was time to retire to our netted beds.
As I’ve been writing this, two butterflies have been intently circling me and the book that I have been reading. One is a bright orange butterfly with perfectly symmetrical purple dots at the ends of its wings the other a small brown, gray and yellow one. They flirt with me for a bit, coming close then fluttering away. As I return to writing they also return, with one landing on my shoulder and the other on my foot. At first I sit still so as not to scare them away but as they get used to my body I am able to continue to write without them leaving. This is what I wanted in staying back from the final canoe trip. The silence of being the only person in the jungle, sitting on the edge of one of the most powerful rivers I’ve known, watching fish jump and birds fly with butterflies accepting me into their world. And then I start to wonder again, only this time I’m thinking of a different life, one of service, one of not returning to what was my home and of taking on the challenge of making a real and meaningful impact. I think of the things I would be giving up and I realize that the mindset of sacrifice is wrong when the return is a contentedness that may not be obtainable in the other option. It's a life few I know have chosen, I imagine a little lonely at times, but filled with the knowledge that you are giving to something that is far greater than yourself. A life where you wouldn't need to reread your written words or gaze at framed pictures of the Amazon because you are experiencing those things almost every day.
And suddenly, just as my friends return from their trip, I have two very different lives set in front of me. The only thing that can be done is stay another day, in this most magical of places. And I do exactly that.
In the past three days we’ve taken multiple four hour trips up and down the river, learned to make pan de yucca in a small river banked village, raced each other in the ultimate of swimming contests across the widest span of the Cuyabeno, played Marco Polo with a few of the local indigenous kids, searched for pink river dolphins only to find a breathtaking sun set between the vines and trees, fished, unsuccessfully, for piranhas, found the red eyes of crocodiles by flashlight, canoed over and under fallen tree trunks, and took a night hike that had us acting like scared little seven year olds. The week, as promised, was packed with small Amazonian adventures that not one of us took for granted.
As I’ve been writing this, two butterflies have been intently circling me and the book that I have been reading. One is a bright orange butterfly with perfectly symmetrical purple dots at the ends of its wings the other a small brown, gray and yellow one. They flirt with me for a bit, coming close then fluttering away. As I return to writing they also return, with one landing on my shoulder and the other on my foot. At first I sit still so as not to scare them away but as they get used to my body I am able to continue to write without them leaving. This is what I wanted in staying back from the final canoe trip. The silence of being the only person in the jungle, sitting on the edge of one of the most powerful rivers I’ve known, watching fish jump and birds fly with butterflies accepting me into their world. And then I start to wonder again, only this time I’m thinking of a different life, one of service, one of not returning to what was my home and of taking on the challenge of making a real and meaningful impact. I think of the things I would be giving up and I realize that the mindset of sacrifice is wrong when the return is a contentedness that may not be obtainable in the other option. It's a life few I know have chosen, I imagine a little lonely at times, but filled with the knowledge that you are giving to something that is far greater than yourself. A life where you wouldn't need to reread your written words or gaze at framed pictures of the Amazon because you are experiencing those things almost every day.
And suddenly, just as my friends return from their trip, I have two very different lives set in front of me. The only thing that can be done is stay another day, in this most magical of places. And I do exactly that.
February 4, 2010
Round Two: “I am sorry, but I got us lost” also known as, A Bit of Monkey Business
“Stop!” Mariana says and makes a motion much like an Army sergeant would to look out for the bad guys. But this is no Army patrol, this is a stroll through the Amazon jungle and it’s time to look up because they, those rambunctious animals that are our closest neighbors, are there. Ten, twenty maybe even thirty of them jumping, no flying, from tree to tree. Talking to each other; no doubt announcing the presence of the humans so far below. The three and a half hour quest, including a brief unplanned trip off the beaten path finally gave this girl a glimpse of something she has always wanted, monkeys, real, out in the wild, monkeys, not to mention a reminder of a lesson of life that she learned a couple years ago.
As the trek started I didn’t know where to look; up, down, left, right, diagonal even. Missing anything was not an option for me as we delved, with our goulashes on, into the jungle for the first time. As with any group hike there were only two good places to be. In the front with Mariana, our guide, and her knowledge, not to mention machete (you have to worry about those killer frogs) or in the back of the group where you can take it all in on your own time. Again, I didn’t want to miss a thing so I glued myself to the side of Mariana as if my life depended on it. The deeper we went the more we saw. There were thousands of trees, short ones, tall ones, walking ones, crying ones; 12,000 species of them to be exact. Some are familiar, others, like the Walking Palma and the Bamba, which could rival any California Sequoia, are not. I think I am seeing it all but I quickly realize that Mariana’s trained eye from a lifetime spent in the Amazon is much better than my own as she points out numerous camouflaged frogs, killer ants of all sizes, trees oozing with poisonous white sap, vines that grow from the ground up, freshly dead snake carcasses, termite nests disguised as massive rocks, bird after bird and that elusive blue butterfly that people pay millions to obtain.
As we progressed I felt a familiar tug inside. Something was missing, and I couldn’t put my finger on it. I felt a little disappointed but I didn’t know why. I backed off from the front of the group and escaped to the back where I could disappear into my thoughts and figure out what exactly it was that was bothering me. I quickly realized this was a feeling from my past, a feeling that I’ve rarely felt since I started, several years ago now, to live my life the way I wanted not the way I thought others wanted. It was the feeling of always wanting more but never seeming to get it, a feeling of not being content, of waiting for things to happen, of being a little trapped.
And at this point in my journey I wanted more from the Amazon, I wanted monkeys. This wanting started to consume me. I stopped looking at the other things and spent my time searching the trees for any sign of the little rascals. I day dreamed of making one my pet, of it becoming my best friend; you know creating all those anthropomorphic Disney like fantasies in my head. I was obsessed with seeing the monkeys and moved back up to the front of the group to let Mariana know, using a whiny voice that would make any Ecuadorian lady proud. And just as I was whining away the two of us heard something and I saw a large gray ball of fur scurry through the brush. A monkey I proudly declared and looked to her for confirmation. She nodded her head no but lead us off the path to follow whatever it was. A few minutes go by and there is nothing. My mind starts to wander back to the day dreams of monkeys, disregarding everything else around me. Five or ten minutes pass and I am forced to realize that my surroundings had changed, the brush had started to get thicker and the path seemed to have gotten smaller.. My instincts as an avid hiker told me we shouldn’t have left the path in search of the monkeys but my love of adventure, and those monkeys, kept me from saying anything. And then, of course, Mariana declares, in a sort of dejected tone, that we are officially lost.
It was at this point that I realized how narrow minded and selfish I had been in my quest to see monkeys. It had gotten us lost, in the Amazon, a stretch of land that goes through nine countries. I felt bad and forced my thoughts back onto the other wondrous things the Amazon had to offer, as Mariana cut through the thicket and found our way back to the trail. And, just as my mind started to fully take in all those other things again and the monkeys were forgotten, I saw Mariana’s arm motion to look up, and there they were. I was ecstatic but, as I looked around at my travelling companions and Mariana, I realized I was even happier at the smiles they had on their tired faces.
I think the Stones say the lesson learned much better than I could:
As the trek started I didn’t know where to look; up, down, left, right, diagonal even. Missing anything was not an option for me as we delved, with our goulashes on, into the jungle for the first time. As with any group hike there were only two good places to be. In the front with Mariana, our guide, and her knowledge, not to mention machete (you have to worry about those killer frogs) or in the back of the group where you can take it all in on your own time. Again, I didn’t want to miss a thing so I glued myself to the side of Mariana as if my life depended on it. The deeper we went the more we saw. There were thousands of trees, short ones, tall ones, walking ones, crying ones; 12,000 species of them to be exact. Some are familiar, others, like the Walking Palma and the Bamba, which could rival any California Sequoia, are not. I think I am seeing it all but I quickly realize that Mariana’s trained eye from a lifetime spent in the Amazon is much better than my own as she points out numerous camouflaged frogs, killer ants of all sizes, trees oozing with poisonous white sap, vines that grow from the ground up, freshly dead snake carcasses, termite nests disguised as massive rocks, bird after bird and that elusive blue butterfly that people pay millions to obtain.
As we progressed I felt a familiar tug inside. Something was missing, and I couldn’t put my finger on it. I felt a little disappointed but I didn’t know why. I backed off from the front of the group and escaped to the back where I could disappear into my thoughts and figure out what exactly it was that was bothering me. I quickly realized this was a feeling from my past, a feeling that I’ve rarely felt since I started, several years ago now, to live my life the way I wanted not the way I thought others wanted. It was the feeling of always wanting more but never seeming to get it, a feeling of not being content, of waiting for things to happen, of being a little trapped.
And at this point in my journey I wanted more from the Amazon, I wanted monkeys. This wanting started to consume me. I stopped looking at the other things and spent my time searching the trees for any sign of the little rascals. I day dreamed of making one my pet, of it becoming my best friend; you know creating all those anthropomorphic Disney like fantasies in my head. I was obsessed with seeing the monkeys and moved back up to the front of the group to let Mariana know, using a whiny voice that would make any Ecuadorian lady proud. And just as I was whining away the two of us heard something and I saw a large gray ball of fur scurry through the brush. A monkey I proudly declared and looked to her for confirmation. She nodded her head no but lead us off the path to follow whatever it was. A few minutes go by and there is nothing. My mind starts to wander back to the day dreams of monkeys, disregarding everything else around me. Five or ten minutes pass and I am forced to realize that my surroundings had changed, the brush had started to get thicker and the path seemed to have gotten smaller.. My instincts as an avid hiker told me we shouldn’t have left the path in search of the monkeys but my love of adventure, and those monkeys, kept me from saying anything. And then, of course, Mariana declares, in a sort of dejected tone, that we are officially lost.
It was at this point that I realized how narrow minded and selfish I had been in my quest to see monkeys. It had gotten us lost, in the Amazon, a stretch of land that goes through nine countries. I felt bad and forced my thoughts back onto the other wondrous things the Amazon had to offer, as Mariana cut through the thicket and found our way back to the trail. And, just as my mind started to fully take in all those other things again and the monkeys were forgotten, I saw Mariana’s arm motion to look up, and there they were. I was ecstatic but, as I looked around at my travelling companions and Mariana, I realized I was even happier at the smiles they had on their tired faces.
I think the Stones say the lesson learned much better than I could:
“You can’t always get what you want.
But if you try sometimes well you might just find you get what you need.”
A monkey, not in the Amazon but in a tienda a couple hours out of the Amazon.
January 14, 2010
A Detour: Teaching, Earthquakes and Haiti
- I have been to Haiti. Just for a day, but what I saw solidified my belief in helping others.
- I have been in and have been rescued from a 7.2 earthquake. It created an empathy inside of me for those that must depend on others.
- I have worked and volunteered for the Red Cross for 10 years. There I have seen first hand what people, rich and poor, go through during a disaster. I wish it on no one.
I am also a teacher, one that has decided to lead rather than follow.
As a teacher you carefully pick and choose what and how to bring in topics to your classroom. Some teachers will always stick to their plan, teach the Pythagorean theorem or the Civil war because that is what they know how to do. Others will preach everyday, essentially using the classroom as their pulpit to spread the ideals they think are right. Both work, but both leave little room for the development of a person, as a human being, in the interconnected world we live in today. What happens in the classroom when Johnny's parents get divorced or Sally's house burns down? Or a new student arrives from New Orleans after a flood or the world watches as 3 million people are affected by 60 seconds of the ground shaking? In some classrooms, actually in most classrooms, nothing. And it is at that exact moment of nothing that one of the greatest learning opportunities is missed.
Like it or not we are a connected people. I sit here writing this in Ecuador, about 4,000 miles from where you will read it. I just watched a TED video from India. Tomorrow I will Skype with my friend in Italy. My world is big, and it is in the classroom that I have learned to make that big world into something small, something that I can handle and be a part of. It is in the classroom that I have learned what humanity is. Where listening and compassion have closed the gaps between the rich and the poor, where action has spurred opportunities. These things only happen when you teach, children and adults alike, to have conversations.
These conversations have to be steeped in the lessons of the Civil war and they need to have the rational of the Pythagorean theorem behind them to be successful, thus plans are good. But they also need passion based on personal opinions and solidified beliefs, thus the pulpit is good too. And both need a purpose. When our big world is rocked by an earthquake that has close to 3 million of our poorest people suffering bring it to the classroom. Discuss the implications, have a conversation about responsibility, about poverty, connect yourself to the world by connecting to each other. Don't be afraid of differing opinions, of hurting someones feelings or hitting a raw emotion, those are what bring life to the room. If you are in a math class, calculate the cost of recovery, if you are in government class discuss the responsibility of the varying governments, in English, read the poetry of the country, in science examine the geographical data of the quake and its aftershocks. Show each other how to respond, how to be human and be a part of a world that values each other equally, that believes in the progress of the human spirit. These conversations are like newly planted seeds. They breed ideas and solutions but most of all they bring life to an otherwise dull drum of an existence. The implications of not doing so surround us every day.
Not sure where to start? Check out these ideas from the NYT Learning Network or send me an email, I obviously like to have meaningful conversations.
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