Ecuador: Wednesday and the Mafia

Tuesday was an incredible day of clinic for me. Eye-opening, hands on, emotional, and memorable. I thought that was as good as the trip was like to get.

Wrong, bro. So wrong.

Wednesday.

Wake up at 5:30. Eat (pancakes this time! Delicious, doughy, syrupy pancakes!). Shower. Check in on Eddie (feeling better, going to go to project with Pete). Wait for bus. Board bus. Head back to same community center from Tuesday.

I sat by Lauren from Howard on the bus that day and engaged in another intimate conversation with a fellow pre-med. Every one of those talks I had humbled me that much more. Seeing kids from all over America -- their accomplishments, their goals, their extraordinary personalities -- was as refreshing as it was enlightening. Again, I'll discuss this topic more in a concluding post.

Lauren and I talked for virtually the entire ride, making it seem shorter than it was. Luis parked the bus in the exact spot as on Tuesday and we unloaded the equipment. Instead of a lengthy trek to the school, we were to host clinic right there, at a more than adequate, two-storied building with plenty of rooms and space. Both groups of students went to this spot, as they had on Tuesday, resulting in another mega-clinic.

Outside the clinic building, Ecuadorians hustled and bustled -- they had set up a sort of market/bazaar on the grounds. This market extended to a large green pavilion which sat adjacent to the clinic building. I'll talk more about this later.

Both of these were taken from the doorway of our clinic room. In the bottom pic you can see the pavilion on the right, as well as Albert from Harvard, rocking a traditional feathered fedora and alpaca sweater.

I was stationed at Vitals for that morning, excited at the prospect. All the kids who'd had it before said it was one of the best stations. Very hands-on. I lugged a box of stuff into our room and starting setting up. Our station was on the ground floor of the main building. We shared a room with the education people -- after taking the patients' vitals we would send them to this station -- who had put a tarp as a partition to block out conflicting sights and sounds.

The vitals station really had two stations in one: one manned by the USC/UGA group and the other manned by my group. In our group was Stewart from Harvard, both Nicoles (Penn State and Harvard), and myself. At the USC/UGA station were Sneha from USC, Jasmine from USC, Jack from USC, and Boyd from UGA.

Vitals is the first stations patients see after registering. Two Medlife leaders hosted a registration table right inside the doorway to our room. They would usher in the next Ecuadorian, take identifying information, then send them to one of the two lines for vitals. In the actual vitals station, we would measure each patients height, weight, blood pressure and temperature. Stewart and Harvard Nicole started out taking blood pressure and temperature at our table, each taking both measurements on their own patients.

Penn State Nicole and I thus measured each patients height and weight -- I did height, Nicole did weight. We each donned masks and gloves and rehearsed some useful Spanish terms. Nicole knew less Spanish than I (which was so precious little). I did know words like aqui, which means "here" as in, "Here, step on this scale I'm pointing at." That was about it. 

The patients started rolling in after a short while. Nervous. Excited. Fidgety. Needing to pee. I straightened and smiled pointlessly (hidden by the mask) at the first patient, directing them to the tape measure plastered on the wall, taking off their hats if need be, reading their height (in centimeters) and jotting it down on their file. We even had to measure the babies -- a difficult task, what with the babies crying about the separation and the language barrier and all. 

Jasmine in blue, Jack in gray.

Stew doing his thing.

This one of the many instances where my Spanish ineptitude vexed me. I wish I had been fluent so that I could have had more meaningful interactions with those Ecuadorians, like conversing with them, more accurately directing them, joking with them, wishing them well. Instead, I was stuck with shallow dialogue like "¿Como estas?" often receiving replies in Kitsch that I didn't even understand. I felt like a moron.

Regardless of my inability to exchange words with them, patients came and went and Nicole and I measured away happily. After about 90 minutes of this, Stewart asked if we'd like to switch. I honestly didn't. The blood pressure instruments were foreign, the measurements more invasive and requiring more Spanish. Before I had the chance to say, "I'm fine, you guys can keep doing it," Penn State Nicole eagerly said, "Yes!"

Stew and Harvard Nicole showed us the ropes and gave us the necessary phrases ("Necessito tomar su presión y temperatura, por favor," "debajo de la lengua," and others). I was pretty scared -- my Spanish sounded weak, American; my hands trembled slightly; heart drummed; had someone turned on a heater in our room? But after seeing the first patient, I discarded my trepidation and embraced the opportunity to really work with these people.

The stream of patients flowed ceaselessly. I felt my Spanish accent getting better with each phrase. I smiled more genuinely at them (again, pointless, but maybe they saw it in my eyes?), complimented their beautiful babies -- "Su bebe es muy bonita, ¿no?" or "¡Ay! ¡Qué precioso!" -- articulated the most polite Spanish I could. The adults I had no trouble with...but the kids...

I love kids, but suck with them -- I never know how to act, what to say, what to do. A lot of that awkwardness spawns from my fear of acting foolish, looking silly. But as I stole glances at Stew and Nicole that morning, it seemed like every time I looked over there Stew was playing with a different kid, asking "¿Como te llamas?" or "¿Cuantos años tienes?" I saw how naturally he interacted with them despite knowing as much (little) Spanish as I. It was inspiring. I tried my best to replicate it but found it difficult.

It was especially difficult when the littlest ones would bawl and fuss over being examined. I had no idea what to do, how to calm them. In most cases, their mothers would soothe them enough so that I could stick the thermometer under their armpit. But one little guy wasn't having any of that. He squirmed and squalled as tears poured from his eyes. I said "Es O-K, bebe," not knowing if that was helping, understandable, or even correct Spanish. It didn't work.

Then I thought What would Stew do? As you all know, my hair was fairly long on that trip -- my only asset in that dire situation. Without thinking about it, I shook my locks in front of the boy's face, then stared at him wide-eyed and repeated. He didn't laugh, he didn't smile, but he did stop crying. This was a monumental moment for me for two reasons: 1.) It marked the first successful interaction I've had with a fussy kid ever, and 2.) It was also the first time I had ever subdued someone with my flow. 

Stew being Stew, i.e. awesome with kids. Ishaan squats on his right, both Nicoles sit on his left: Harvard Nicole above Penn State Nicole. Taken by photographer Luis. Great picture.

This is Amalia from Harvard. She came into our station after a while since we had plenty to see. Luis snapped this one of her playing with two siblings who suffer from some syndrome or disease I don't recognize. Incredibly touching picture.

Luis was on a roll that day. Another great picture of Sneha with a precious little dude.

At about 12:30, the Medlife staff stopped allowing patients inside to vitals; if they had everyone into the clinic, the doctors and dentists would be there well past five. I estimated that our line alone took the vitals of about 150 people, adult and child. Pretty amazing.

After writing down the measurements of the last patient, I realized how hungry I was and trotted over to the bus to grab a little lunch. Ate happily. Guzzled water. Sighed in satisfaction.

Tiffany and I decided to quickly check out the market/bazaar before heading to our next stations.We had to walk over this rather unstable board to cross a small ditch before entering the pavilion. Inside, dozens of stalls packed into the structure, cluttered with knock-off name brand merchandise of all kinds: toothpaste, padlocks, clothes, hats, shoes, DVDs. There were also hand-made items like rope, towels, sashes, necklaces, bracelets, knick-knacks and other trinkets, and of course tables upon tables offered all sorts of savory foods. I took a few pics.

Neither of us bought anything, just circled around the complex admiring the handiwork. Ten minutes later, we stepped out of the pavilion and saw other students gathering near some Medlife staff. We approached them, asked what was up. Once again, the community wanted to feed us some food. I was pretty full (as I'm sure everyone else was) but went along with the group to a spot where a long table had been prepared for us.

A couple of Ecuadorians served us plates of fava beans piled high, thick cheese slices, steaming potatoes, and chunky salsa of ripe tomato and onion. I tasted a bit of everything, eating more than I intended. The salsa was particularly flavorful. I mixed it with the potatoes and cheese and ate it with a smile.

The meal.

To drink, they served us a (tasty) kind of hot tea -- cinnamon and chamomile mixed with something else. They said it was great for soothing sore throats.

Everyone ate at least a little bit to be polite. After a short while, the head community leader gave us heartwarming speech, expressing how grateful the village is for the work we had done for them and how he felt bad for only being able to thank us with a small amount of food (I assure you, the amount was the opposite of small). Seeing the sincerity on his face tugged at me. For the first time on the trip, it really hit me that what little work we were doing in the clinic was having a huge impact on these people -- we truly were making a difference. For the first time I saw that what these people considered a lot we in America considered minuscule. For the first time I understood that their definition of healthcare encompassed only the smallest of fractions within the American definition. For the first time, I put things in perspective, leaving me honored, thankful, and humbled to serve them.

His speech ended and we all headed back to our stations -- mine was dentist.

Again, due to both groups attending the same clinic, the dentists' station was crowded with students (not all of the kids came to community offering). Two dentists worked in the room, one male and one female, each with their own chair and tool kits at the ready. One student assisted them with retrieving apparatus at their behest, like gauze, forceps, picks, anesthetics, etc. Another student would clean the used tools in a tub of alcohol. Melody from USC sat with the male dentist, translating what he was saying to us observers.

I had nothing to do but watch, along with several other students. The male dentist was very actively describing his procedures and the state of each patient's mouth, however, livening up the observation. Many of the patients required teeth to be pulled. The dentist would apply a local anesthetic to the gums and rub their cheeks to promote the numbing effect. Then he'd grab a pliers and yank the tooth out. Some teeth were so rotten that he couldn't even grab it with the pliers without crumbling the tooth. For these teeth, he had to hack away at the rot and pick the tooth out piecewise. It was pretty gross but interesting. 

The anesthesia could only do so much, however, and a lot of the time patients experienced the pain of having their teeth chipped out of their mouths. Seeing this provided another cultural insight: these Ecuadorians were tough. They sat there, pain clearly written on their faces, but no gasp or scream came from their mouths. Fists clenched at their sides, their backs straightened at dentist's pokes and tugs, but they all endured it like champs. Even the kids refused to scream or cry. They suffered the procedure and strolled out of the room,  bulky wads of cotton stuffed between their jaws to stem the bleeding. I could only look on with admiration and respect.

This wasn't my station but it was the best picture of the dentist I could find. Tri from USC stands on the left and few students observe on the right. One has a pen and paper -- he's writing down the doc's diagnosis and prescriptions.

I lingered in the dentist station for about an hour before deciding to roam around and see if any other stations could use an extra hand. None did. Disappointed, I joined the other wanderers and mingled for a bit, until one of the Medlife staff, Paulo (I think his real name was Paul but people called him Paulo), rounded up the idle students and told us to follow him; we were to go on a tour of the village. I fell in behind him, excited to be doing something.

About 15 of us followed Paulo down a pathway through the village. He tried his best to explain what we were seeing. Most of it was self-explanatory. Primitive grass and mud huts served as some of the villagers's homes, but thankfully the majority of those huts only housed animals, not people. Most residents had small brick rectangles with tin roofs to dwell in. Livestock like pigs and cows grazed inside their crude fences of log and twig and brush.

 

This was an interesting sight. Paulo told us that this tree grew a key
ingredient in the formula for roofies. 

Smells of grass, hay, and manure blew past us as we continued on the path that led us to the point of a hill. The view from here was spectacular.

 

We took a respite on that hill -- the climb left a few breathless. People snapped photos, surveyed the scenery, inhaled the mountain air, all the while basking in the comforting sunlight. A farmer approached Paulo, motioning us all to follow him down the (rather steep) hillside to see a his crops. We cautiously obliged him -- well most of us. Some didn't feel like braving the descent and decided to remain up high.

The farmer eagerly showed us his crop fields while Paulo translated. He grew potatoes and fava beans (¡sorpresa!) as well as other plants. Afterward we jumped on a new path and trekked a short distance to the farmer's house. 

He pointed to a water spout with several stones plopped around it, explaining to us that this was where they would wash their clothes as well as grind wheat into flour. They weren't all that primitive though. Electricity wires ran to their roof from a nearby pole, and inside the house sat a small TV set. The house itself was tiny (by American standards; it was actually a good size dwelling for Ecuador, I think). But the residents inside seemed happy, especially the kids.

The Dwelling. The wash basin can be seen just to the left of that women in the middle.

Jamie from Harvard with their kids. 

We explored the grounds a bit before hiking back up the hill -- a lofty chore. I drew in as voluminous breaths as I could out of necessity. My quads begged me rest a while, but I climbed on until the top. All in all, it actually wasn't too bad -- I think I was finally starting to adjust to elevation. Some of the others didn't fare so well, but eventually everyone made it back up, and we found three more kids awaiting us. 

Stew being Stew, again. Apparently they had that cross there because a long time ago, a church stood on top of that hill and they would hold services there. Really cool.

One of my favorite pics. 

We lingered for a while until Paulo told us it was time to head back.

Clinic was still in full swing; long lines snaked along the walls, coming to a head at doctor and dentist's door. The Ecuadorians waited patiently for their names to be called. Students conversed with them, played with their kids, trying to shorten their wait. Some students mingled with each other. I went into the pharmacy to see what was up.

Amalia and Derek stood chatting with each other while Franchesca and Sylvia worked the pharmacy with a few other kids. I joined them, and we discussed funny nicknames and came up with some outlandish ones for Amalia. Good people.

They formed a massage train. Left to right, Franchesca, Sylvia, and Derek. Albert's stylish head pokes into the pic, too.

It came time to pack up, so I helped out several stations and carried equipment back to the bus. Students boarded. The bus rolled. I sat by Lauren again but she and I were pretty tired from the clinic. I popped in my earbuds and played Vampire Weekend's Modern Vampires of the City for about the 20th time on that trip. 

Riobamba came. We unloaded. Pete and Eddie lay in our room. I greeted them, then showered. We went to dinner. A fairly fancy local place. Eddie, Pete, Avery, and I took a smaller table, since the other students had already filled the bigger ones.

We talked about the project Pete and Eddie worked at (something Avery and I would do Friday), what Avery and I did at clinic, how the trip was going so far. The conversation drifted to childhood memories, focusing on gruesome injuries we had either sustained or dealt. Scars were shown, stories swapped. The food came. Steak, rice, potatoes, and veggies. Eddie ate very little (still in recovery). I ate for him. I traded my carrots (Avery loved them) for Avery's green beans. The waiter served us pitchers Coca-cola to wash it all down. Another satisfying meal.

As we unloaded the bus once more near our hotel, Michael approached Pete, Eddie, and I, asking us if we wanted to come play a game called Mafia with them in their hotel room. We all agreed. I thought I had heard of Mafia before, but never played.

We arrived at Stew and Michael's room at around 9:45. Virtually the entire Harvard crew had packed into the room already -- we were the only non-Harvard kids there. They greeted us and Michael explained the rules.

Everyone got a card. If you had an ace, you were Mafia. If you got the king, you were the inspector and if you got the queen, you were the doctor. Everyone else was a townsperson. The point of the game is for the Mafia (with our large group, there were four in total) to kill off all the townspeople without being found out; likewise the townspeople tried to deduce who the Mafia were and kill them all.

Someone played God: they ran the show, telling people to "go to sleep"  (everyone closed their eyes) at the start of every round, then telling the Mafia to wake (the Mafia would open their eyes) and asking them to choose someone to kill. The Mafia would then use eye contact or silent hand motions to pick a victim. After they agreed, God told them to sleep. The inspector woke up then, and God asked them to choose someone to "inspect"; they would pick a person and God would tell them if they were Mafia or not, silently. Then the doctor woke; they could save one person from dying (including him-/herself, but you couldn't save yourself two rounds in a row). 

Everyone woke then, and God revealed who the Mafia had chosen to kill. Based on this evidence, the townspeople (including the incognito Mafia/inspector/doctor) would deliberate on who they thought was Mafia. A player could nominate another player to be killed, but a third person had to second that nomination  in order to make it official. If multiple people were seconded, the nominees were given the chance to defend themselves and explain why they were not Mafia. After these defenses (lies, some of them), God would ask the players to vote on whom to kill. They voted, the round ended, and everyone went to sleep once more.

Michael's explanation went much more quickly than what I just wrote, leaving me somewhat hazy. And also terrified. I was in a room of brilliant minds, playing a game that required deduction, perception, and a stoic poker face. I was even more terrified when I looked at my card -- ace. Mafia. Crap.

Lauren played God and the game commenced. The other Mafia were Keon, Michael, and someone else (don't remember). I'll try and not go into too much detail here. Long story short, I made a foolish move in the third round and defended Keon who was accused of making movement during the Mafia's choosing of a victim. The townspeople figured us both out and killed me first, Keon next. I felt like a moron. The townspeople won that one.

Andres took this during the first game, after he, Ryan, and Pete had been killed. Ryan posed. Hilarious.

We played a second game. I felt I had a better handle on how to play the game this time. Lauren handed us cards -- effing Mafia again. I was little more confident and we did a decent job that game, but I was killed off after being put on the spot and forced to lie. I blushed, fidgeted, looked really nervous. They killed me and won the game eventually. That was it for the night, sadly (these games took over an hour to complete). Despite my awful play, the game was incredibly fun. I so enjoyed watching these kids argue, deduce, accuse, debate, lie, scheme, and reason. It was awesome to see how their minds worked firsthand.

I wanted to play another to try and prove myself a little more, but it was late and everyone was tired. Pete, Eddie, and I walked back to our room and tried to sleep (playing Mafia really turned the cogs of my brain; it was hard to wind down). Sleep came.

End of Wednesday.