El Pobre Angelito

Thursday evenings are long ones for the girls of the Manna House; from Apoyo Escolar we head to two different English classes, and then reconvene at 7 for our rousing hour and a half of women’s exercise (which was pretty hysterical tonight; think 23 women, most STILL wearing sweaters, ages ranging from 5 year old Marjorie who tagged along with her mom to a 68 year old grandma who wore her shawl the entire workout). We staggered into the house tonight at 9:15, only to be greeted by the boys deep in a game of, you guessed it, RISK and sprawled all over the dining room table. After maneuvering some of their little soldier pieces over to the side, we proceeded to scarf down Mark and Eliah’s dinner, all the while being completely ignored by the guys who were so enchanted with their world domination strategies that they just couldn’t be bothered. And there you have a very telling example of life in the Manna house, the boys are playing RISK and the girls are eating.

After dinner we decided to put in Home Alone, which Jos got for her birthday (along with an exorbitant amount of chocolate). Translated horribly into Spanish as “El Pobre Angelito” (The Poor Little Angel), we’ve been talking about watching this movie ever since week two when Jocelyn realized she’d forgotten to bring it down with her. As the movie screened from the projector, popcorn popped in the microwave, and water boiled on the stove for hot chocolate, we all were transported back to our respective childhoods and the anticipation of Christmas fell around us all like a blanket. Yet, as Jos so correctly reminded us, we have to get through Halloween first :)

Holly

(the new sketch on my bedroom wall)

Rosa (or: Home)

(Today's Guest Blog comes from Mark Hand, who just completed his first meal as Head Chef this past weekend! Nice work on the mushroom etouffee (and thanks to Jocelyn for being sous chef...)

"When I traveled to New Orleans a few months after Katrina, my friend Lindsey and I spent an afternoon driving around gawking at the damage. At the end of the day, I was spent; I needed home. Not Shreveport, necessarily, but some place of refuge – a bookstore, a coffee shop, a Scottish pub.

Home doesn’t have to be a physical place, I've learned. Today I went home to a person – Rosa – who for me personifies that concept in a way that I hadn’t realized.

Rosa, mother of one of UBECI's co-founders, is about about sixty-five and served as my first mother in Ecuador. When I arrived in August 2007 I knew limited Spanish, immediately landed a level three sinus infection, and was fitfully processing the previous six months as a social worker in Shreveport as I prepared for my team coming in September. Rosa listened, carefully. She also did enough talking to make me realize that this tiny old woman who guts her own guinea pigs, uses every drop of water at least four times before giving it to the pigs and is just now learning how to read, might be one of the sharpest, wisest, most determined human being I have ever met.

And for me, she is home. Not having visited in about six months, I had developed that Catholic knot of guilt in my stomach that starts to form when you haven’t visited your grandmother in too long. So when Fabián failed to show up for our meeting this morning, I swallowed hard and pointed my nose to Rosa’s.

Thankfully, Rosa did not berate me for not showing my face more often, and seemed genuinely grateful to see me and take a break from feeding the pigs. We talked about Obama (“Have you heard about his family? He used to be poor, like us!), the Rafael Correa flag outside her door and what I thought about the new president, the dwarf beans from her son in Italy that she is going to try and plant soon, and the old grandfather who se fue a otro mundo (“went to the other side,” loosely) three months ago. We laughed at the social work stories I told her over a year ago, and she asked if I could find her the telephone number for Ecuador’s Vice President. He’s handicapped, and Rose thinks if she could get him on the phone, that maybe he’d know how to help her handicapped son, too. If he knows what’s good for him – or if he takes the time to get to know Rosa - he probably will."

Mark

(Rosa and a guinea pig)

Happy Bird Day!

That’s how the kids at Apoyo Escolar pronounce Happy Birthday, which they couldn’t say enough times to Jocelyn, who turned 23 (gasp!) today. From Melissa’s handmade birthday card, oddly depicting Dana in a house with “feliz cumpleanos” smashed in the bottom corner, to Dennis’ gift of an old giraffe stuffed animal, to Carmen’s thousand hugs and extremely wet finger painted present, I’d say Jos had a pretty sweet day. Just wait until she opens house presents tomorrow :)

Holly

(The birthday girl waiting for the Ecovia in Quito. With some mushrooms.)

Soaked and Loving It

When it rains, it pours. That overused little phrase takes on a special meaning when you live in Ecuador amidst the rainy season. Because let me tell you something: it POURS. Everyday. Torrentially. Enough to knock out all our power on a weekly basis, which wouldn’t be such a problem if my bathroom wasn’t in the dead center of the house, making it absolutely pitch black at the most inopportune moments.

Anyway, I digress. Which, for those of you who have been reading since this blog’s first post, shouldn’t come as much of a surprise. Thinking about everything that we’ve got going on in the next few weeks, however, brings me right back to that little expression about rain. Not only are have the English and Women’s exercise classes absolutely taken off (five new people in each class this evening!), but our Apoyo Escolar course is also intensifying and growing every day. We’re getting ready to celebrate all the October birthday’s this week at a special Friday fiesta, planning our celebration dinner with all the kids and their families for the first week of November, and figuring out what the reward excursion will be for our students with perfect October attendance.

Add to that Seth’s fantastic new ideas about marketing (water-bottles, stickers, tee-shirts, an MPIE cookbook, and two different calendars) and we’ve all been running from room to room, printer to computer, house to programs, literally all day. Dana also moved in to the house (or apartment I should say) this weekend (FINALLY!!!), Mark’s getting ready to head out to the Galapagos next week, and my family gets in to Quito this Saturday for what will be a fantastic week long fall break. Now, if only we could find the time to clean the house...

Holly

(the boy's obsession with Risk continues. 3 games, 2 days. they can't stop)

Humitas with Pepita

Today’s entry requires a bit of backstory, so bare with me, I promise it’s worth it. And if not, I invite you to come on over to Ecuador and demand your 10 minutes back. We’re all dying for visitors down here :)

So the backstory: at the Minga we participated in a couple of weekends ago, we worked side by side with a woman named Pepita. While she didn’t get down and dirty (aka wet) with us in the river, she was with our group the whole time both weekends, stomping bottles and sorting plastic and glass. Pepita lives close to the river with her husband and 2 kids, on the same property as her husbands brother and his family, and we walk past their houses every day on our way to Apoyo. The families invited us over for lunch after our last exhaustive Minga, and at this lunch it came out that Pepita knows how to make humitas.

For those of you who have never eaten a humita, let me just extend my sincerest sympathies to you. Humitas are, um, AMAZING. I don’t even have the right words to describe them; cornmeal-pancake batter-tamale-pieces of warmed heaven-cake wrapped up in a corn shuck...They’re really great. There’s a little place in Sangolqui that sells them right on the street, steaming over a huge pot of water and jumping out at us every time we head to MegaMaxi (yes, that is the unfortunate name of the ‘buy-everything-here’ super store) for more spicy mustard. When Jocelyn and I asked the woman selling said humitas how she makes them, we were royally snubbed when she responded, “Oh, usteades no pueden” (Oh, you girls wouldn’t be able to do it). Great, thanks for nothing humita lady. If we weren’t so addicted to your delicious treats we would totally stop talking to you. Now, would you please bag up 10 humitas, we’re going to be hungry later.

ANYWAY, the second Pepita told us she knew how to make humitas, we (Jocelyn, Serena and I) begged her to teach us. And so today, armed with two huge wheels of Queso Fresco (Fresh Cheese...don’t ask), we arrived at Pepitas house ready to learn. And oh let me tell you, did we learn. From 3 to 7 we shucked choclo (Ecuador’s version of corn on the cob), ground kernels, mixed batter, spooned meal into shucks, added cheese, and steamed the flavor into 120 humitas. It was awesome.

(Jocelyn takes a turn at the choclo grinding)

Also awesome was getting to talk to Pepita all afternoon, giving us a chance to practice our Spanish and try out different verb tenses (she’s very understanding). We’ve been invited back any time we’d like, and as we left, our arms filled with bags of humitas for the lucky boys, and Pepita waved us off with “Ciao, mi hijitas” (Bye, my dear little ones) it really felt like we were a part of the community. Just goes to show that true relationships take time, but those that come do are undoubtedly sweet.

Have a good weekend!
Holly

(batter and eggs, getting ready to be slurped together by Serena's stirring skills)

(Rolling out each Humita by hand)