Ecuador: Thursday and more Mafia

I forgot to include this pic one in Wednesday's post. The other kids dubbed this "The End of the World". Clouds consumed a great valley and blotted out any earth beyond. Stew took this one from the bus.

Thursday.

A day of touring. A night of Mafia.

Part of Medlife's mission is giving students a close-up look of the native Ecuadorian lifestyle. We ventured out after breakfast that morning at about 8. All 64 of the students took part in the tour.

The sky was exceptionally clear that day. As a result, the indomitable volcano Chimbrazo could be plainly seen protruding all of its might and fortitude up into the haze of blue and white. The Medlife staff pointed it out to us, which sent the students scrambling over each other as they tried to perfectly frame the jagged mass of earth in their cameras. City buildings kept blocking their/my way, however. The kids naturally turned it into a joke, giving off exaggerated sighs of disappointment when something shrouded the mountain, then squealing in exultation when an ideal opportunity came.

I took this one while were stopped in the city. Apparently, if one climbed to the top of Chimbrazo, they would be the closest to the sun as one could get in the world, due to Ecuador's proximity to the equator.

Stew took this one. I feel it more adequately depicts the breadth of Chimbrazo.

Another taken by Stew. That church on the right is like one of the oldest (or maybe the oldest) churches in Ecuador.

This charade lasted for several miles, until the Medlife staff informed us that we would stop on the way to our first destination so we could take pictures of Chimbrazo.

The place we stopped at was a sort of plaza/park with a church, basketball court, and quaint souvenir shop surrounding it. It did indeed offer a decent view of Chimbrazo. All the students spilled into the plaza and started snapping away pictures with every combination of group standing in front of it -- selfies, girls pic, boyz pic, pics with the staff, whole group pic, couples pic, etc. I snapped a few.

Zoomed in.

Zoomed out.

As pictures were being taken, Eddie, Pete, and I (as well as a couple dozen other kids) decided to check out the souvenir shop. The shop hadn't even fully opened, and the workers toiled hurriedly, bringing out all of their merchandise and putting it on display for us turistas.

We loitered in the plaza for about twenty minutes before the Medlife staff directed us to re-board the bus. Thirty more minutes of driving and we arrived at our first planned stop in the tour.

Luis rolled the bus down a long gravel driveway that lead to a plantation -- a fairly high class one, at that. A woman came to greet us and showed us around while explaining some of the history to us...history that I've since forgotten. Sorry. It's not that I wasn't paying attention to what was being said or found the history bland, I just have been too far removed from that day; I often have trouble recalling such things to begin with (especially when I read books).

I did glean that the plantation was a few centuries old, established in the 1600s I want to say. The founders could not have picked a better spot; the plantation sat on the side of a large hill, enclosed by a thick forest of towering trees. A great valley lay before that vantage, bisected by the highway and dotted with farms of lesser grandeur and acreage. Smooth air drifted into my lungs. The sun shone hot upon my forehead and cheeks and nose. Beautiful day for some touring.

Said valley. Credit Ishaan for all of these wonderful pics. He was on his game. I didn't take too many here.

  

  

I took this one. Skinniest volleyball net I've ever seen. 

We perused the grounds for a bit until the woman led us to the pasture (pastoriza). A baby calf -- eerily resembling a fawn -- grazed in a small fenced area. Most everyone thought it was the most adorable cow they'd ever seen and lined up to take pictures with/of it. Paulo also told us we could go inside the kitchen which lay on that side of the plantation. Pete, Eddie, and I took him up on that. Smoke poured out of that dark room and nearly choked us on our way in. The fumes were worse inside, but bearable. Paulo told us the reason they didn't build a chimney, but of course I forgot that too. I do recall him saying that the women would work in that kitchen for hours on end, exposing their lungs to the constant clouds of toxic smoke -- one of the many reasons why Medlife tried to impose their pro-health presence in this region.

The tour continued through a long barn where cows would be brought, tagged, fed, cleaned, and everything else. Next we saw a crop of strawberries and another fruit that I didn't recognize. The size of the crop seemed formidable, but the tour guide told us they would sell all of those strawberries for only about $15 (Ecuador's national currency is the U.S. dollar). I couldn't believe that. Then again, the USD carries a lot more weight in Ecuador than it does in America. Gas is $1.03, a good lunch can be consumed for less than $4, a new outfit $20. But still, $15?

We went into a greenhouse next. Paulo translated what the woman was saying but still none of us knew what the heck we were looking at -- some tiny plants used for an unknown purpose or sold for a mysterious sum.

Calf.

Strawberries.

Greenhouse.

That concluded the tour. We climbed back aboard the bus and roared off to our next stop -- a true Ecuadorian market.

Luis deftly wound us through the mountain passes and pulled to a stop in the heart of a bustling little city. It appeared the market was in full swing, which had me wondering: Since it was Thursday, did they hold market most days in the week or was Thursday the trading day? I never found out for sure, but my money was on the former.

We hiked up a short hill that offered a great view of a crowded arena where a sort of cow auction took place. Ecuadorians would herd their leashed cows into the enormous circle and advertise them to prospective buyers. Cows mooed and fidgeted, some even bucked anxiously as their masters struggled to keep them calm. One bull even tried to mount a heifer, much to our amusement. The masters didn't find it funny, though. They lashed at the bull with ropes and slapped him the across the face to cool his blood. In the bull's defense, it was hot. The sun beat down on us in our black Medlife shirts, unrelenting and brilliant.

Behold the bovines.

We continued onward, entering a square plaza where dozens (hundreds?) of vendors had set up stalls for food of all kinds -- mango, banana, wheat, flour, pig head, plantains, carrots, potatoes...the list goes on. The myriad of smells left my nose pleased and my stomach teased. I was getting hungry...

Thankfully, Gabriella bought us all bananas to try. One could purchase a bunch of about 10-15 for only $1.50. I gobbled mine down happily, surprised at how sweet and smooth it was. America had nothing on those ripened yellow cylinders.

Best picture I could find of the banana stand. Courtesy of Ishaan.

Several other people bought their own bunches and shared. I took another banana off of Albert's hands as we walked on. Past the food square lay the true market. Not a square. Not a plaza. Not a linear "main street" filled with shops, stands, and kiosks. This market was a sprawling labyrinth of all kinds of stalls and vendors that spread across what seemed hundreds of square miles. I gaped at the sheer size of it all. How anyone could navigate this maze on their own was beyond me. 

The Medlife staff appeared to know where they were going, fortunately. We pressed through the throng of buyers and sellers, occasionally pausing to admire some handiwork or craft. The more stalls I passed by, the more I saw goods repeat themselves; every fourth or fifth stall looked identical to one I had just past, selling almost the exact same merchandise, which begged a few questions: How did these shopkeeps ever sell anything? How did they make money offering the same thing as hundreds of others? How did they differentiate their goods from their neighbor's and attract customers? Those questions were never answered and I wonder about them to this day.

We wove our way through the market for what felt like miles until the staff led us onto a busy downward-sloping street. The stalls were thinner here, only lining one side of the street, but people carrying bags, boxes, baskets, and animals traveled up and down the slope. Cars honked impatiently at the pedestrians as they tried to push their way through the crowd.

The road continued down the hill for maybe a quarter mile. At the bottom, another animal market awaited us, this one dedicated to pigs. Not that interesting. As soon as everyone had a chance to see it, we made our back, up the hill, through the maze, and onto the bus. 

This is one of the thousand aisles of stalls in the market. Taken by Stew.

A sample of the goods. Ishaan took these two.

They served us lunch when we were all seated on the bus, then Luis hauled us off to Stop #3.

Another hour on the road and Luis let us out at the start of gravel road that twisted and turned down to a river valley. The morning's events coupled with lunch in the bellies made most of the students lethargic. Oddly, I felt refreshed, practically skipped down the path. A wide plank bridge lacking rails on either side offered us passage across the river. We traversed it and hiked up the other leg of the valley's parabola. The moist air caressed my lungs, while the sun bore on. Students voiced modest complaints about so much walking. I, on the other hand, was glad to use my legs. Not quite exercise but use at least.

The path ended at the campus of a small (and I mean small) school. A dirt square (which doubled as a soccer court, of course) separated two identical school houses -- you couldn't really call them buildings, just rectangular, one-room structures. Kids were in the middle of a game of fútbol but ceased when they saw our group walk up. We greeted them. Most of them were pretty bashful...

...but that didn't stop Lyndon (left) and Harrison (right) from USC from getting a picture with some of them.

The Medlife staff told us this was the first school that Medlife had ever built (keep in mind Medlife is only 5 years old, so the school wasn't ancient or anything, in pretty good shape actually). The head schoolteacher (possibly the only schoolteacher) gathered us 'round and gave another heartwarming speech about how, by constructing this school, Medlife had changed the lives a hundreds of children and she was so grateful for their contribution. I was proud of myself for successfully holding back my tears.

After the speech, Harrison and Lyndon challenged the kids to a game of soccer. I didn't participate in this one, took some video instead. Again, the students who played did not take it easy on the much younger and smaller Ecuadorian kids, one of which captured the hearts of many of the girls because of his small yet brave nature and excessive cuteness. Us spectators kept grumbling at our peers, yelling at them to let the kids score (especially the cute one). They reluctantly headed our cries, and they let Heart Thief score a goal. Everyone rejoiced.

If you look closely under the right arm of the dude (Boyd from UGA) on the right, you can see the blue-capped burglar.

After about twenty minutes, it was time to move on. We took a (perilous) shortcut back to the bridge -- well, most of us. The shortcut was a steeply descending dirt path that zigged and zagged its way down to the river valley, ending at that same bridge. Some less courageous students weren't feelin' it.

The path. It wasn't so bad, honestly. Pretty fun, actually. Taken by Stew.

 Down the path, across the bridge, up the hill, back to the bus, on the road.

Our fourth and final stop was twofold: first we were to look at a typical source of water the farms used for irrigation, then we would go to an actual farm/ranch.

We had to walk a much longer and more inclined way down to reach the river this time. Totally worth it, though. I still don't know how the Ecuadorians quite did it, but they built a dam of sorts that redirected a thin stream of water they would use to moisten their crops. What also confused me was, since this river was so far downhill, how the water got back up the hill where most of the farms were. Didn't get a chance to clarify that. Here are some pictures.

The "dam". (Stew)

The result. (Ishaan)

The students took a lot of pictures down by that dam in all sorts of group combinations. I was in a couple. But soon we moved on, back up the hill. Instead of going to the bus, our guide, the Ecuadorian gaucho, took us to his ranch.

A horse awaited us, being led by the gaucho's son. Michelle jumped at the opportunity to be the first to ride it. The rest of us kept on the path until we reached a cow pasture. The cows inside the fence mooed loudly and often, clearly skittish at the sight of so many foreign people. Some of the cows let out disturbingly human whines, like the wailing of a fitful toddler. Creepy.

A shaggy mule (donkey?) also stood in the pasture, just as nervous as the cows. The gaucho urged us to hop the fence and come play with his livestock. His daughter held the leash to the mule, waving at us with a smile to hop on. The mule was much less excited about that prospect.

Plenty of students lined up to ride the mule but, to my surprise, even more huddled around the cow, yearning to squeeze and tug some leathery udders. I had seen plenty of such farms throughout my North Dakotan life, so none of these attractions enticed me all that much. I did not hesitate to document, though.

Michelle riding the horse, the gaucho straps her in.

Avery and the mule. 

Franchesca and the mule.

Austin and the horse.

The milking crowd.

The sun peeked through the clouds after a time, casting a golden ray of brilliance down upon us. Luis (the photographer) recognized an opportunity to capture the perfect group photo and pleaded with us to scrunch together and smile before the sun disappeared once more.

Unfortunately, most of the sun's magnificence had passed by the time we posed, but the photo still turned out well.

Time to head out. 

For dinner, we went back to that same restaurant from Monday. Instead of chicken we were served juicy steak (once again accompanied by potatoes, rice, and veggies) and Sprite to drink. We ate on the patio despite a stiff breeze and threatening rain (the patio had big heat lamps to keep us warm, though, so it wasn't too miserable). Suji and I talked at some length about our adventures in Skyrim (she was the first girl I had ever met who had played the game -- refreshing.) 

Got back to the hotel. Showered. 

Pete, Eddie, and I had once again been invited to play Mafia with the Harvard group. We accepted and headed to the room.

A few new players joined us that night -- Tanya, Sharely, and Nicole. Lauren played God again, handed us all cards. By some cruel twist of fate, I once more drew an ace -- Mafia, for the third time in a row.

I was ready for it this time.

I put on the best game face I could, prepared myself to lie at any given moment. Lauren put us to sleep, then woke the Mafia. Mayumi, Stew, and someone else opened their eyes with me. We killed Derek(?), and after the townspeople woke, they randomly killed off Mayumi, because "she's always so quiet." Just like that, the Mafia was down to three. 

In the third and fourth rounds, Stew and the other Mafia person (Ryan or Albert maybe?) were both killed, leaving me alone. Nervous, frightened, doing all I could to not let it show. 

I survived for 6 more rounds, scheming, deceiving, bold-face lying my way through each. I killed people at random to alleviate suspicion while at the same time trying to frame others. Keon and Franchesca each nominated me in different rounds, but I had my defense at the ready: "Guys, I've been Mafia two times in a row, lighting does not strike thrice." I tried so hard to be convincing, to believe the lie, and they bought it.

In the end, it came down to 4: Franchesca, Qaren, Sylvia, and I. At that point, I faced a seemingly unresolvable dilemma. Fran and Sylvia were the most dangerous, but if I killed Fran, Sylvia would know it was me and I would be dead. Likewise, if I killed Sylvia, Fran would instantly suspect me. Fran and Qaren had sat by each other the entire game and I think they knew that neither of them were Mafia. If I killed Qaren, again Fran would know it was me and Sylvia would concur.

Unsure of what to do, I killed Sylvia. But, like I suspected, Fran and Qaren then knew it was me, offed me. Game over. So close to victory...

I don't mean to sound like I'm glorifying myself here, but this was a huge moment for me. It was cool because I had gone toe-to-toe with over a dozen Harvard kids and nearly bested them. It was nice because everyone had been impressed and said what an awesome job I had done. But forget that stuff; what made it huge was that, as a result of my play, I earned the respect of everyone in the room -- kids much more cunning and intelligent than I. In that moment, I felt the Harvard kids had accepted me as one of their own. Very humbling. Equally awesome.

We played another game after that, adding a new role this time; if you were handed the Joker, you became the village idiot. The village idiot's goal is to try and get themselves killed -- they win by getting the townspeople to vote them off.

Guess who was village idiot? 

Seth.

I didn't want to have that role, or any role, honestly, just wanted to be one of the regular townspeople and figure out who was Mafia. But after my previous performance, a large bulls-eye had been put on my forehead. I just had to sit back and give a somewhat decent defense as they nominated me in the first two rounds, voting me dead in the second. Seth "wins" in the most lame fashion possible.

Since that game lasted only 15 minutes, we played another. I drew the King this time -- Inspector. I was more disappointed than I was surprised. Just my luck. I played a terrible inspector that round, but we once again implemented the village idiot role -- it was Pete that time. Had Pete not been voted off in 6th or 7th round, the Mafia (Nicole, Jamie, Fran, and Tanya/Sylvia(?)) would have undoubtedly one. Not one of them had died yet, and once Pete revealed his role, they all shrieked in exasperation. We stopped playing with the village idiot after that.

That concluded the night's events. The hour was late. I had project in the morning, so that meant I could sleep in a little (until 6, we'd leave at 7). Pete, Eddie, and I went back to our room and hit the hay.

End of Thursday.

Project Tease!

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.

Ecuador: Tuesday and More Impressions

I hope the previous post, recounting Monday's events, provided you with a clear image of the Ecuadorian people and the conditions we worked in, as well the setup of the clinic. Those details took up a good chunk of space, I know, but from now on the posts should be more concise. Key word: should.

Tuesday.

Another early morning, even earlier than the one previous. To try and prevent another "late departure" like the one on Monday, the Medlife staff served breakfast at 5:30 instead of 6.

I rolled out of bed right at 5:30, not bothering to shower until after I had eaten. Eddie slept soundly on my right -- not unusual since he was always the last of us to wake in the morning. However, when I tried to rouse him, Pete stopped me.

"Yo," Pete said in a half whisper, "didn't you hear Eddie last night?"

Tired and confused, I rubbed my eyes and matched Pete's volume with my reply. "No. What happened?"

"He got up in the middle of the night and puked his guts out. Must've been something he ate."

I grunted and looked at Eddie. His contorted face suggested a rough night. I felt bad. He stirred.

"Eddie?" I asked. "How are you feeling?"

"Terrible," he mumbled. "I don't think I'll make it to clinic today."

I nodded and thought, I don't think you'll make it out of bed today.

Pete and I went to breakfast -- the same offering as on Monday and Sunday. Still satisfying. And full of coffee...

Went back to the room, showered, dressed, went to the lobby, told Martha and Gabriella about Eddie's sickness, waited for the bus like a zombie without any flesh to run after. The bus came quickly (only 40 minutes late!) and we set off for our next destination. I thought we were going back to the same place as Monday. Not so. We were to hold clinic at a school amid mountains.

Pete and I had a lively conversation on the bus, considering the hour and our lack of sleep. Once again, the views from the bus dropped my jaw. Gaping gorges, voluminous valleys, monstrous mountains covered in crops. Sheep and cow grazed side by side. The sun peeked through the clouds occasionally, lighting up the scenery like someone turning the brightness up on their computer.

The bus rolled as we climbed and climbed, elevating about 1200 meters higher than Riobamaba (Riobamba sits at about 2600 m, while the school rests at roughly 3800, or 12,500 feet.)

There is just slightest hint of a rainbow that I failed to adequately capture in the middle of the screen.

To reach the school, the bus had to veer off the main road to traverse some more...precarious paths. One such path had students gasping and grasping for their lives -- the "road" offered just enough width to accommodate the bus; the windows on our left gave us a great view of a sheer 30 ft drop. I like to imagine that Luis, our bus driver, guffawed at his passengers' tension. The dude was a pro and I had complete faith in him. Of course, he tackled the path and we eventually rolled to a stop in a grassy field that appeared to be another community center or market square of some kind, this community being much larger and more populous than Monday's. I took this picture stepping off of the bus:

The Teaser Pic from the last post.

We filed out of the bus and were each instructed to grab a box of equipment pertaining to our station -- we had to trek what I later estimated to be about 5 blocks, slightly uphill, to reach the school. Not knowing the distance, I grabbed a fairly heavy box and lugged it alone. My forearms and biceps did not hesitate to voice their objections to this idea.

I half set, half dropped my box to the earth when we finally came to a halt inside the school grounds. A fairly high cement wall with a black metal gate surrounded the sloped compound -- it rested along the side of a mountain. Simple, one-storied rectangular buildings with gray walls, black roofs, and black bars across the window panes, lay in a somewhat organized fashion, creating rows of unequal altitude that lined the walkways (one could almost call them streets) of the campus. The walkways were a mixture of green grass and brown mud, with makeshift steps worn into the earth that allowed the students to gain access to the elevated row of buildings. Stray dogs approached us, tails wagging earnestly, probably attracted to the myriad of foreign scents their noses were telling them about. 

The students adhered to an informal but comfortable-looking dress code -- green track jackets with the school's name and logo stitched over the heart, with matching sweatpants. Surprisingly, many of the girls also wore these suits, although some (the youngest ones, interestingly) still displayed the brightly pastel outfits of traditional dress. The lower row of buildings looked out upon back-to-back, truncated, cement soccer courts. Both courts had games going in full swing -- older kids (probably in high school; the school held class for all grades, I presumed) played on the more more proper court while younger kids went at it on the other, which also doubled as a volleyball court, as evidenced by the handwoven net looming over the pavement. 

The high school court. I don't think school was in session on this day -- they were just waiting for the clinic to start. Students and mountains looked on as the competition heated up. 

Some sort of PA system had been set up near the soccer courts, with a voice blasting away Spanish way too fast for me to comprehend any of it. The grounds smelled of mud, dew, and, faintly, sewage. Most of all it smelled of imminent rain.

(Indeed, throughout that day the weather totally sucked. In the beginning it was nice, mildly sunny and breezy. But as the day went on, capricious rains and biting winds plagued us. I came prepared, however, wearing pants, a sweatshirt and a windbreaker on top of it all. A prudent decision.)

I had been assigned education again that morning, this time working with Pete and Ryan from Harvard. Luckily, Ryan could actually converse with people in Spanish, although he was not fluent. Furthermore, we were to only educate/treat kids at this clinic (the adults we would see Wednesday), and obviously the kids spoke more plainly than their elders. Ryan had no trouble talking to them.

We set up the apparatus as Pete and I formally introduced ourselves to Ryan. A genuinely nice guy, Ryan. Most all of the other Medlifers were, something I'll talk about later. Once ready, we waited patiently for the kids to gather 'round, grab a seat, and learn how to brush their teeth.

Great picture taken by Ishaan from Harvard (he literally just uploaded it to Facebook). The kids and their parents huddled together to watch the tooth-brushing video. Some people might describe the kids as "adorbs." I agree.

This is one of mine. Not really comparable to Luis's but I still like it. At that altitude, the residents were subjected to some harsh winds and fickle rains, hence the extensively bundled nature of the kids in this picture. 

Throughout that morning, the kids came in groups of 20-30, most likely according to their age/grade, starting with the youngest (as above). Teachers would herd them in and sit them down while Pete, Ryan, and I smiled on. We'd say "Buenos días," and they'd respond with a child's hallmark shyness, letting out a (somewhat) collective "Buenos días." Their teacher would smirk at their timidity and urge them to say it again, louder, and prouder, "BUEN-OS, DEE-AS!" I had to laugh to keep my heart from melting.

This was another aspect of their culture that fascinated me: their kids were just like our kids in America. Energetic but shy, curious and questioning, adventurous and fearless, using the same childish mannerisms, speech inflections, and behaviors that I've seen thousands of times in the States. I first noticed this when playing soccer on Monday; whenever one of the kids received the ball and starting dribble across the field, his teammates would instantly shout his name -- "Juanito! JUAN-EE-TO!" -- and yearn for the ball. Any of you who played soccer, basketball, or football at a young age should recognize this playtime nuance. Observing those traits in the Ecuadorian kids made me fully understand what I'd only read about in my various Bio and Psych classes -- we humans are products of our environment. Our genes only differentiate us so much; what really causes us to diverge from each other is our cultural and ecological upbringing, like identical blocks of marble sculpted by different artists.

When we played the videos for them, every kid, no matter their age or gender, fixed their eyes on the projection, completely rapt by the dentist before them and his perfectly articulated Spanish. I couldn't believe how well-behaved they all were. Maybe they had never seen a video like this before, or a projector, or a computer, and all of the technology captivated them. Hard to tell, but whatever the reason, I was pleasantly surprised and respected their culture that much more.

After a couple of hours, the last group -- sixth graders -- finished watching the video. They told us (Ryan) that they had already brushed their teeth, however, thus they remained in their seats and begged us to play another video for them. We (Ryan) tried to tell them the other videos were meant only for adults and that they wouldn't have any fun watching them. They were unconvinced and commandeered the computer in an attempt to play another video. I laughed as I watched them struggle to use the track pad, but they learned quickly and I had to prevent them from clicking on the pap smear video. Then, an idea struck me.

"Mira," I said to them as I pulled up a fresh canvas of Microsoft Paint. I showed them how to use the track pad to paint with the colored brush and create drawings. They practically slapped my hand out of the way and started going to town. It amazed me how fast they picked up the concepts -- they even taught themselves how to use shapes, the fill-in bucket, and the eraser. I would occasionally show them how to use these tools more effectively, but they became a self-sustaining group within minutes. I stood back and enjoyed the show...and took pictures.

One of my favorites taken while on the trip. The MS painters. Very cool. Currently my Facebook cover photo.

Ryan watching the kids create on the projector. I like this picture a lot too.

I also snuck some pictures of the kids brushing their teeth.

The better of the two I took. Luis took some better ones.

Keon (far left) and Michael from Harvard (on Keon's right) showing the kids how it's done.

Lunchtime came, meaning I had to shut down the computer the kids were still toying with. Reluctantly, I did so, and Pete, Ryan, and I got some grub. I wasn't that hungry, ate light, downed a bottle of water, and headed to my next station -- the doctor.

Medlife photo of the doctor station. 

A bunch of other students filled the room, most of them USC kids. I grabbed a face mask and introduced myself to some of them. They had already eaten, and their presence left me nothing to do but observe, which I did with great interest. A nurse managed the fidgety line of kids at the door of the classroom. Two doctors worked on either side of the room. I observed the doctor with the least amount of students around her. She sat on a kid-sized chair in front of a matching table cluttered with various apparatus, calling out the names of the next patient in line. The little ones would then shuffle over to the doctor's mini-station, some shy, some afraid, some smiling, some with parents at their sides, and some (the babies) slung over their mother's shoulder.

The kids would sit down and the doctor would ask them questions I didn't understand. She gave them each a physical, checked their throats, ears, heartbeats, and lungs. The babies she would lay on a bed next to her and examine there. Most of the kids had parasites from unclean food and water. Another common ailment was a facial fungus or bacteria of some kind (I never really learned what it was), spawned from intense UV rays, unforgiving winds, and abundant moisture (from being among the clouds). 

One poor baby was severely dehydrated, so much so that, as she wailed at the doctor for separating her from her mother, she did not produce any tears. I nearly produced some for her. 

After about an hour of observation, the line of kids ended and the doctors packed up their things. I still had time to kill so I wandered around the campus, looking for stations that could use some help. I ended up at the pharmacy, where Michelle from Canada and Pete sat on tiny benches and filled out prescriptions for the kids, at the guidance of bus driver Luis, not photographer Luis. I knew there was more to him than his mad driving skillz. Dude was a pro. 

I offered my assistance. They were running low on child-vitamin rations, so I went to work making little baggies of ten candy vitamins, complete with a label -- written in my neatest, most legible hand -- that read Vitaminas niñas. Tomar una cada día. (Child Vitamins. Take one every day.)  

This is what the pharmacy looked like; I don't have any photos of the one I helped out at. From left to right, Tri from USC, a dude from Georgia whom I never caught the name of, and Matt from USC. Also, more adorable children.

Chloe from Penn State sauntered into the pharmacy after a while, offering her services. We still needed bags of vitamins and labels, so I had her write the labels while I filled the bags. The four of us talked and smiled at the stream of kids until that stream slowed to a trickle and stopped. Clinic was over at that point since pharmacy was the last station patients would attend. We packed up the pharmaceutical stuff and made our way off the campus, lugging boxes and bags once more. Fortunately, a pickup truck awaited us outside the school's gate. We happily filled it to the brim with the heaviest of our burdens.

On the jaunt back I fell in beside Mayumi from Harvard (whom I hadn't met until then) and felt compelled to strike up conversation. Naturally, she was super nice. 

We loaded up the bus and set off back for Riobamba. Pete and I climbed on last, forced to sit in the back. I ended up not minding. We were seated very near to Sylvia, Michael, Ryan, Keon, Preston, and Avery, who were discussing riddles and games involving riddles. Pete and I listened and contributed to the discussion a little, until Michael claimed he and Ryan had a telepathic connection. Sylvia, Avery, Pete, and I were all intrigued and implored him to demonstrate. 

Michael said he could communicate with Ryan the name of a famous actor/actress, using only sound of his voice and the snap of his fingers as a means of telepathy...

...I had planned on showing you guys the video I took of this right in the blog, but after hours of thwarted attempts and resulting frustration, I gave up, Instead, here is a link to the Google Drive page where anyone can watch, I think. You may actually need a Google account to access the page but I'm not sure.

https://docs.google.com/file/d/0B1Jjz4RntXksU1ZnVlJtSTk0TFU/edit

Anyway, if you can't watch the video, I'll try and describe it. One of us spectators would come up with the name of a celebrity and would discretely pass it along so everyone but Ryan knew what to listen for. Michael would then "communicate" to Ryan the name of the celebrity, using phrases like "This game is not called snaps," "This game is called snaps," "Concentrate on that image in your head," and sometimes snapping his fingers a certain number of times. After a while, Ryan would say something like, "Okay, yeah, I'm seeing that image." He would then go on to describe the actor/actress and make a consistently accurate guess. 

We onlookers gaped at every right answer, then furiously speculated on Michael and Ryan's methods. Does the first statement deal with gender? Are the snaps related to syllables? After numerous trials with various names (we even tried "Galileo"), we picked up on more and more of their subtleties, until at last Michael revealed the process, something I'm not going to do here (in case I do it to you!).

While I was still bewildered by Snaps, Michael and Avery introduced us to other riddle games that we attempted to solve. Definitely the most fun I've ever had on a bus ride.   

Back at the hotel, we had a little time to freshen up before venturing out in the city for dinner. I took advantage, indulging in a pleasantly warm shower. Pete and I also checked in on Eddie. He looked gaunt and pale, not the least bit healthy. The Medlife staff had provided him with some bottles of Pedialyte to restore all he had regurgitated, though he had barely drank any of it, couldn't keep it down. We wished him well and went down for dinner.

The group gathered in the lobby once more and went for a stroll (or maybe we took the bus? Damn my memory!) to a local establishment that felt like an authentic Ecuadorian restaurant. I dined with Pete, Nicole, Chloe, Tiffany, Suji, Michelle, and Lauren from Howard. The food was excellent, although familiar. Ecuadorians must grow tons of potatoes and rice, because virtually every plate we ate was a slab meat accompanied by rice and potatoes, with some third accessory food (usually either vegetables or beans/lentils). Don't get me wrong, though, the food was delicious. 

I stole this from Nicole's Facebook album, since my picture of this dish did not turn out nearly as well. Mmm...

In addition to the carne, arroz, y patatas, we also were served an Ecuadorian orange soda. I don't have any pictures of it but it was extremely sweet and more lightly carbonated than its American counterparts. In between bites, we discussed everyone's clinic experience from that day, reality TV, and Justin Beiber (Nicole was a big fan, unfortunately). A much better dinner experience than Monday night. Those guys were so much fun.

I cleaned off a few of the girls' plates before we made our way back to the hotel. I honestly can't remember what we did when we got there. I want to say Pete and I hung out in the lobby for a while and talked to some of the other kids before we retired to our room. 

We found Eddie right where we left him, in a sickly heap on his bed. He said he was feeling better. I felt so bad for him, missing out on a day of clinic complete with cute-kid-interaction, formation of new relationships with students, and healthcare experience. Sad. Poor Eddie. 

I think we turned in early that night, hoping to catch up on some sleep. Pete and Eddie had project the next day; the project group didn't leave until 7, so they could sleep in until 6:30! So late!

So ended Tuesday.

Ecuador: Monday and First Impressions

As I continue my recollection of Ecuadorian events, please bear in mind that I failed to act on my intentions of keeping a journal while there. By the time we were back in our rooms at night, I was thoroughly exhausted, and had to wake up at 5 the next morning (I averaged about 5.5 hours of sleep per night). Thus, I write this blog based on memory alone. I apologize for this imprecision.

Anyway...

Monday morning was an early morning. Breakfast was served at 6 and we were to leave at 6:30, so Pete, Eddie, and I woke at 5:30 to shower. We enjoyed the same spread as we had on Sunday morning. I made sure to take an extra scoop of instant coffee in an attempt to erase the weariness from my eyes. 

We corralled in the lobby at 6:30, expecting to leave any minute but instead waiting for over 60. This lack of punctuality set a tragic tone for the rest of the trip: people no longer trusted the statements of "We'll be leaving right at X in the morning," and thus fulfilled their own prophecy by showing up to lobby late from then on. 

When we did leave, the landscape offered pleasant scenery. Acres upon acres of farm land created a patchwork quilt that covered the hillsides. The impressive amount of agriculture eerily reminded me of the plains of North Dakota, albeit with formidable and drastic changes in elevation. As the bus climbed higher, clouds lingered in valleys and rested on the sides of mountains. We traveled so high that at some points we would be above an entire plain of clouds. It looked like...well, see for yourself!

Infinitely better than anything Grand Forks can offer.

I sat by Avery from Harvard on the bus (super nice girl). We engaged in a lengthy discussion as we absorbed the beautiful vistas. After about a 2.5 hour drive, we arrived at our first clinic of the week. Though, one could hardly tell it was anything at all. Going into the trip, I didn't know exactly what the clinics would look like, how they would be set up, so I can't say I was surprised at what I saw. But I didn't really expect it, either.

Instead of tents, huts, or organized units unambiguously labeled "Doctor" or "Farmacia", the bus pulled up to what I can only describe as a community center in the midst of the sporadic farm houses. This "hub" consisted of two buildings, one with two floors, a separate bathroom with several stalls, a dirt-floored volleyball court, and a large soccer field. The buildings had the same simple architecture as most other structures -- a bare-bones, rectangular design of cement, dull paint, and uniform windows. One building housed two rooms, one fairly large. The other building, the two-storied one, had three rooms on the ground floor, and I believe (I'm not sure, since I was not assigned to work an area up there) three rooms on the second floor. The rooms were unremarkable, just cement-floored areas that were clearly built for function rather than visual appeal -- something I appreciated (this design reflected their rural lifestyle -- pragmatic, practical, and simple. These people didn't work for glory, glamour, money, or success; they worked to survive. I respected the hell out of that. I'll probably talk more about this later.) Each room had been cleared out to make room for clinical activities.

The setup of the clinic (and all clinics that week) was as follows: 

Students were split into two groups -- USC and UGA kids were sent to one clinic and the Harvard kids plus the kids from miscellaneous schools (me) were sent to another. The clinics contained 8 different stations: Registration, Vital Signs, Education, Tooth-brushing, Doctor, Dentist, OBGYN, and Pharmacy. Students were assigned to one station for the morning session and one station for the afternoon. Native Ecuadorians first signed in at the registration table, receiving a piece of paper that served as their patient file. The Medlife leaders (who spoke fluent Spanish) ran this table, marking down the patients' names, ages, and destinations (doctor, dentist, OBGYN, or some combination of the three). After registering, the patients would saunter to the vital signs station (los vitales), where students would measure their height, weight, temperature, and blood pressure, recording each data on the patient's file. Once measured, the adults and kids went to the education room, where they were shown videos, and given corresponding pamphlets, on various healthcare and hygienic topics, such as malnutrition, fungus, diabetes, hypertension, and breast cancer. 

The kids saw only one video -- how to brush your teeth. After watching this, the kids went to the tooth-brushing station, where students would hand them all their very own toothbrush, slather some fresh paste on it, and demonstrate how to properly brush one's teeth. All the kids would practice with them, probably brushing their teeth for the first time. While the kids did this, the adults would watch those more maturely-themed videos, and afterwards kids and adults alike would line up to see a physician. Since there were only at most 2 doctors and 2 dentists and 1 OBGYN at each clinic, Ecuadorians were forced to wait extensive periods of time before actually being examined. Once they were examined, the physicians pointed them to the pharmacy where students would fill out their prescriptions and send them off with a smile.

An adorable Ecuadorian about to brush her teeth. Taken by Luis, the Medlife photo guy.

Another one taken by Luis. This is a sample of what the lines were like.

I wore shorts and a T-shirt that day, and as soon as I stepped off the bus I became strikingly aware of how foolish that decision had been. It was maybe 50 degrees Fahrenheit, with gusting winds that chilled me to the marrow. I felt like a stupid, proud, white-skinned American who ignorantly dressed down, expecting to work in vacation-like conditions. 

As I surveyed the Ecuadorian citizens for looks of judgement, I surprisingly found none. In fact, I thought I saw the hint of smiles, a twinge of excitement on each of their faces. I took solace in this, but still felt dumb as I observed their dress. Women (as can be seen above and will be seen later) wore a very traditional outfit: a brightly-colored wool shawl draped across their shoulders and an equally bright, below-the-knee skirt, each trimmed with a woven pattern, sometimes floral, always intricate. I couldn't tell the exact number but each woman's unnatural thickness hinted a number of layers hidden under those shawls and skirts. Most wore a boot of some kind -- galoshes mostly -- and multiple pairs of knee-high socks. To top it off (pun), each woman wore a more mutely-colored fedora. When I say "women" I mean "all women" -- the precious little girls would don their miniature version of the adults' garb, fedora and all. So cute.

The men dressed more plainly. Many of them also wore fedoras and shawls, albeit in more conservative colors like brown, gray, deep crimson, and maroon. Most wore unremarkable work pants, sweaters, and boots, with layers underneath each. The boys wore hooded sweatshirts or sweaters, sweat pants or khakis, galoshes or work boots, and just about every one of them wore an American-looking baseball cap. I thought that interesting.

I also thought the mean height interesting. At an even 6 feet, I towered over everyone. I remarked about this to one of the other students who said it was most likely because of their less than ideal nutritional standards as kids, stunting their growth in the future. That made me sad to think about.

The bottom half of the women's outfits. Very cool.

In truth, most everything about their culture fascinated me, I had to quell my desire to ask all the questions swimming in my head. Instead, I hugged myself and shivered as each of us were directed to our designated areas in the clinic. I had been assigned to man the education station with Derek from Harvard. We introduced ourselves on our way to the station. Once we got there, a Medlife leader briefly -- so briefly -- told us what we were to do. Derek and I filled in the blanks (for the most part) and set up the computer/projector needed to display the videos (the computer had a password lock on it, but I hacked it! It was "medlife".)

We evaluated our apparatus with pride after expertly setting it up, but pride turned to angst when we realized neither of us spoke Spanish. The point of the videos were to educate the citizens, but with "education" comes "explanation", something neither of us were capable of doing. Derek spoke better than I -- he could give a two sentence introduction on each video in a thick American accent -- but we doubted it would be enough. We waited, anxious and timid, as Ecuadorians old and young filed into our room, grabbing chairs and mumbling in a dialect that differed from the little Spanish we knew (other kids later told me it was indeed a different language, Kitsch).

Once everyone was settled in, Derek "explained" to the kids the tooth-brushing video they were about to watch. Blank stares. I played the video and observed the crowd. A sort of reverent awe lit up the kids' faces, with some confusion mixed in there as well. The video ended, and we (Derek) asked if anyone had any questions. Someone did, and Derek and I exchanged baffled looks -- neither of us had any idea what was being said. Luckily, a Medlife leader, Gabriella, walked in at that moment. Derek and I quickly redirected the question toward her and she answered. She also said the kids were to brush their teeth now, so we watched as all the little ones filed out. A few adults remained. Derek and I decided we should show them some more videos. After only two, the audience had diminished significantly, and by the end of the third we sat alone in the room, unsure what to do.

(Keep in mind that on this first day of clinic, things were not as ordered as I made them sound in the above paragraphs. Quite the opposite actually. Students were given little direction on their responsibilities and the infrastructure of the compound made it difficult for organization. After this clinic, though, things went much more smoothly.)

The downtime allowed us to talk a bit. Derek was a gamer, like myself, and we enjoyed a hearty discussion on Dead Space and League of Legends until another Medlife leader, Martha, came in and showed us the informational pamphlets that needed folding. Both eager to contribute, we hunched over tables and desks in silence, furiously trying to master the necessary folding technique and creating hundreds of pamphlets in the process.

Martha folded with us, and once she surmised we had created enough, she instructed us to hand out one of each kind to every adult at the clinic. Derek and I deliberated on how to go about that task in the most efficient way, eventually deciding that, since it was lunch time, the best course of action would be to (shame on us) dump the chore onto the afternoon education group.

Thus came time for our first meal in rural Ecuador. I had mentally prepared for this moment in the days leading up to the clinic, fully expecting to not eat well or eat too much of something exotic that I wasn't used to eating. At first, I thought the former would happen. The Ecuadorian community leaders brought out a heap of corn cobs and fava beans (probably the most popular bean in Ecuador). I happily tore away at a cob, intermittently popping fava beans in my mouth (I was unaware at the time that to properly eat a fava bean meant peeling a thin skin off of it and eating the meat inside. Skin and all, I ate my share. They tasted like lima beans, only better.) 

The supply diminished as more kids entered the "lunch room" and I thought the meal would end shortly. Then another Ecuadorian brought in a plate of thick cheese slices (their cheese is different than ours: similar to feta in appearance and texture, but salty and sour in taste. Delicious.) I snatched up a slice and experimented a fava bean-cheese combination with great success. I felt satisfied, although my stomach disagreed, and thanked the natives for their generous spread.

But still, more came.

Apparently Medlife had its own cache of food for us to eat. The leaders handed us ham and cheese sandwiches, Ruffles chips, bananas, Oreos (a dangerously good half vanilla, half chocolate kind), and bottles of water to wash it down. Everyone ate their fill, gracious and smiling. I met more Harvard kids during that lunch -- Jamie, Andres, Keon, and Michael -- and by the end I was content and ready to get back to work.

For the afternoon, Pete and I were slated to man the tooth-brushing station along with a few others (I think Nicole from Penn State, Jamie from Harvard, and Ryan from Harvard...maybe someone else. Don't remember.) Turned out, however, that all of the kids had brushed their teeth that morning, leaving us with nothing to do. We cleaned the station and put the equipment back on the bus.

  

I wandered to the other stations, seeing if any needed a helping hand. None did. The only stations that had any activity were the doctors, the dentist, and the pharmacy, each fully stocked with students. Pete, Eddie, and I hung out after that, mingled with some of the other kids. I met Austin from Harvard, and listened as he and Derek discussed various anime shows (I, too, watch anime). Pete, Eddie, and I also talked to Keon more, though I can't recall what we talked about. Overall, the down time gave us a great opportunity to get to know our fellow group members. We took full advantage. 

After a couple of hours, we went and played soccer with the kids. The sun had been dipping in and out of the clouds for about an hour before we commenced the game, but it came out in full force when we stepped onto the field. Since Ecuador lies on the equator (Ecuador, equator...you see?), and since we were elevated about 3600 meters (~12,000 feet), that sun was HOT. Most intense UV exposure of my life. Needless to say, my forehead got a little red from that...

The teaser pic from last time. On the lower left you can see the soccer field. Those clouds cleared after a while.

The soccer was fun, though, despite the fact that after every 20 feet of running I was out of breath. The kids showed their competence and played fearlessly. Whenever I play anything with kids, I tend to take it easy on them. Some of my group members, however, displayed some differing behavior. They really went hard. It was funny in a somber way.

It felt good to exercise. The altitude did a number on my lungs, but also left me feeling refreshed. We finished playing and apparently Ecuadorians have similar dining habits to hobbits for another meal awaited us. They brewed a hearty soup  of chicken, vegetables, rice, and potatoes. Most everyone was full and didn't eat much, so I finished off a few soups to appear polite. Bad move. After the soup, they served another bowlful of potatoes and a local delicacy -- guinea pig. I forced down the potatoes and cautiously approached the new meat (carne nuevo). Whatever kind of bone I had didn't have much meat on it, but what little there was tasted good, like a juicier, slimier form of turkey. 

The time had come to board the bus. We loaded all the equipment and started boarding, but not before playing with the kids one last time. Students snapped last minute pictures with them, taught them high fives, knuckle-bumps, and one student, Preston from Harvard (a.k.a. "Brotein"), arm-wrestled at least five kids at once. The Ecuadorian kids were one of the best parts of the trip.

One I took from the bus. Half of Avery can be seen on the far left.

Credit Andres for the photo (I stole this from his Facebook album; hope he doesn't mind). Preston (middle) post arm-wrestle.  Up top (left to right) are Sylvia (Harvard), Keon, Eddie, and Austin. Love this picture.

Alas, the fun ended and we lethargically set off back for the hotel. Pretty much everyone napped on the bus after clinics. I can't remember what I did. I want to say I sat by Eddie...

Anyhow, the last thing on my mind was food when we pulled up to a small yet modern mall to eat dinner. The place we ate at had a refreshingly contemporary ambiance. High ceilings, welcoming staff, a polished, jet-black bar, and a patio that had a stage of sorts for live music, though no music played that night. We (Eddie, Pete, Avery, and I) sat in relative silence compared to the rest of the table, eventually served another chicken soup (paled in comparison to the one from earlier). Fatigue had dulled my conversational skills. The main entree came shortly after -- chicken slathered in a zesty lime sauce, with rice, potatoes, and a countable amount of vegetables (literally like 6 carrot sticks and 5 green beans).

I somehow managed to finish my plate and the rest of Avery's (I really hate wasting food). The mall contained a supermarket, where several students went to stock up on water, Oreos, and other goodies. I didn't buy anything that night; I had eaten more food on that day than I had anticipated eating the entire week.

We finally got back to the hotel around 8 (I think). Rumor had it that there would be some sort of karaoke that night at 9. I took a much-needed lukewarm shower and donned what I thought were appropriate clothes for karaoke. Instead of having a karaoke machine set up in our hotel's dining area, as Pete, Eddie, and I had hypothesized would be the case, we took a stroll through Riobamba to a bar dedicated to karaoke. 

We entered the bar around 9 pm. Empty, square, and small. Booths lined the stunted walls. Kitchy tables and chairs sat in the middle of the floor. A lone support pillar stood imposingly in the exact center of the room, flat screen TVs dangling from it, facing the booths. Two Ecuadorian men manned a neon-lit bar along the back wall. The opposite wall held a tiny square stage in one corner, where a microphone waited to be used. Three large projector screens hung from the three non-bar walls, showing some of the most objectifying music videos I've ever seen (apparently the Latino culture has different standards for the amount of clothing a woman can wear in such a video. Although, I never watch American music videos; they could be just as bad/worse.)

Students grouped together and rearranged some tables to accommodate their size. Harvard huddled around one booth, USC formed an elongated table in the adjacent corner to the stage, UGA split between two booths, and the miscellaneous schools (Pete, Eddie, Tiffany, Suji from Virginia, Lauren from Howard, Nicole and Chloe from Penn State, Keon randomly, and me!) planted them(our?)selves into a booth opposite the Harvard group. 

  

Kids ordered drinks (karaoke lubricant) and sipped them over light (but loud) conversations. I don't remember what we talked about, but I had fun swapping stories and jokes with those guys.

After about 30 minutes, the karaoke started. Three USC girls took the stage and sung (wailed) some Backstreet Boys song. I and many others felt like dancing, so we quickly cleared the "dance" floor of tables and grooved. The Harvard group took the stage next -- all 22 of them. It was pretty fun to watch and hear; some of them had really good voices, others sang in a more comical fashion. Performance scores of each singing group displayed on the main projector in the front of the room. I wouldn't find out until later that the Harvard kids were subtly competing with the USC group. 

We danced and sang for about an hour, until Tiffany approached me about the possibility of singing a duo. My stomach turned at the thought, but I still didn't mind the prospect. I agreed after a time and we looked through the catalog to find a suitable ballad. Much to our chagrin, however, the catalog was 90% Latino songs (don't ask me why I was surprised by that), and the songs that we did know (e.g. Radiohead -- "Creep" and Jason Mraz -- "I'm Yours") were less upbeat than the tunes kids had been enjoying that night, and we certainly did not want to be killers of the buzz.

Unfortunately, as we tread through the swamp of indecision, the Medlife leaders announced it was time to leave. Tiffany and I exchanged looks of disappointment as we shuffled out the door with the rest of the kids. 

Back at the hotel (11 pm or so), Eddie, Pete, and I plopped on our beds like corpses. We had a short discussion on the night's events, commenting on the overall dancing talent (which was considerable) of the collective group. Due to our late start the previous morning, Medlife had instructed us to wake a half an hour earlier (5:30 instead of 6) for breakfast Tuesday morning. With a slight air of contempt I set my alarm accordingly and passed out. End of Monday.

This post took a lot more time and words than I thought it would, but that was mostly due to my description of the clinic, the Ecuadorian lifestyle and landscape, and other introductory details that I will only mention once. The following posts should be much shorter and more adherent to a journalistic style. Again, sorry this took so long to write.

I'm such a tease!