I really do. Which is strange, because from the months of September to February, it rains every afternoon in Quito. Or at least five times in a week. Mornings? Beautiful, sunny, warm, stereotypically Latin American. Afternoons? Think Scotland, Seattle, Vancouver, or Nashville in February, depending on your reference point.
So why, do you ask, do I wish it would rain more? A full answer to that question would require a mind-numbingly boring description of Ecuadorian plumbing: electric shower heads, overflowing water reservoirs on our roof, stopped up pipes and leaking sinks. At the moment, however, our liquid issues have nothing to do with the infrastructure of our house, and all to do with Quito's city waterworks. Apparently (we discovered while I was in the shower yesterday afternoon) the city decided to cut off all the water to our neighborhood for an hour's worth of pipe cleaning. That was yesterday. Now it's today. Tonight, to be precise. Even by Ecuadorian math, that's longer than an hour. Yes, we've called. Yes, they've promised to send technicians. Yes, they lied.
So, I wish it would rain. Because if it does, then maybe our roof-top reservoir will fill up enough for me to finish washing my sheets. Just maybe.
Friday, November 23, 2007
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
This is why I'm here.
About two months ago, two brothers from Ecuador's coast moved into San Fransisco with their mom. She works straight from Monday to Saturday in Quito, but can't afford to send her boys to school this year. The oldest is nine years old and can't spell his name yet.
Luckily, UBECI has a long-standing scholarship program for kids in this situation. Unluckily, it's pretty empty right now. Monica asked me if MPI could help find the money necessary to send both boys to school for the year - roughly $200.
We were a man down at our weekly MPI meeting last night, since Zak got stuck in New York after a plane crashed on the Quito runway. But we also have a friend from the States visiting this week who sat in to see what we're about. When he heard how much it would take to put our two boys in school, he didn't hesitate. "$200? That's it? Here's your $200. Done."
And just like that, the two brothers get to go to school this year.
Luckily, UBECI has a long-standing scholarship program for kids in this situation. Unluckily, it's pretty empty right now. Monica asked me if MPI could help find the money necessary to send both boys to school for the year - roughly $200.
We were a man down at our weekly MPI meeting last night, since Zak got stuck in New York after a plane crashed on the Quito runway. But we also have a friend from the States visiting this week who sat in to see what we're about. When he heard how much it would take to put our two boys in school, he didn't hesitate. "$200? That's it? Here's your $200. Done."
And just like that, the two brothers get to go to school this year.
Tuesday, November 06, 2007
Cultural Erosion
During one sleepless night in Shreveport this summer, I was browsing my dad’s bookshelf when I ran across Bayou Farewell by Post journalist Mike Tidwell. Tidwell wrote about the devastation of Louisiana’s coastline that was taking place long before Katrina and Rita and which continues to suck a football field off of LA's coastline every twenty minutes.
One of the saddest parts of Bayou Farewell deals not with coastal erosion but cultural erosion. In his book, Tidwell points out that along with its coast, much of Louisiana’s cultural heritage is washing away: young people are moving out. Those that stay have little incentive to learn Cajun French. Once those linguistic roots that bind together a culture get washed out, all else - music, art, food - follows quickly.
But this kind of cultural erosion is not restricted to south Louisiana. All over the world, local cultures are losing ground as regions and countries become more interconnected ("globalized") than since before the First World War. In Ecuador, and specifically in the neighborhoods where MPI Ecuador works, community leaders do not speak anymore about preserving local indigenous culture. They speak of rescuing it. Soon, as we Louisianans have to do with our own culture and coast, they will only be able to speak of somehow rebuilding what has been lost.
One of the saddest parts of Bayou Farewell deals not with coastal erosion but cultural erosion. In his book, Tidwell points out that along with its coast, much of Louisiana’s cultural heritage is washing away: young people are moving out. Those that stay have little incentive to learn Cajun French. Once those linguistic roots that bind together a culture get washed out, all else - music, art, food - follows quickly.
But this kind of cultural erosion is not restricted to south Louisiana. All over the world, local cultures are losing ground as regions and countries become more interconnected ("globalized") than since before the First World War. In Ecuador, and specifically in the neighborhoods where MPI Ecuador works, community leaders do not speak anymore about preserving local indigenous culture. They speak of rescuing it. Soon, as we Louisianans have to do with our own culture and coast, they will only be able to speak of somehow rebuilding what has been lost.
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