When I look to my sides I see the people who inspire me.  Thanks Elliot, Sarah, Kate, Elizabeth, Jeremy, Nik & Rachael for that sideways support throughout the Minerva experience.  We all know what happened… who knows what’s next! 

Water

Upon leaving Estero, the last ends of the water purification project were getting tied up.  This easy to read, easy to follow write-up by Philip, the volunteer who engineered and implemented the system, is available through the ‘Water’ link above.  

One of our flagship projects in Estero was working with Estero de Plátano’s scholarship students.  These students come from extremely underprivileged families and want to study to become engineers, teachers and tour guides in their own communities.  They have a lot of dreams and they have a lot of capabilities. As I helped them with school work, visited their professors and principals, motivated them in their home, and oversaw Yanapuma’s financial assistance that attempted to alleviate their family’s burden of providing their teenager with a high school education,  I saw that this program and these students ( Yaritza, Eulalia, Simon, Angel, Eryka, Celeste, Edwin, Maria, Tamara, Grecia & Jira ) really do have unlimited potential.  

My good friend and past and current volunteer in Estero made this video.  Enjoy!

I am in Quito.  Nik is on the Coast.

Received at 5:55 pm :

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Al, we’re on the hill [see photo] (had to evacuate), waiting to see what happens. Everyone is fine, see you soon (hopefully). Also, call your pops, he wants to get in touch with you. Love ya

Nik
Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry

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Carnaval.  In Estero in front of the Women’s Group Comedor.

The river mud was knee deep, contaminated and sucked my silver sandals two feet below ground.  The mangroves in Muisne, Ecuador are treacherous when it is low tide.  Yet, we had Homero to find and shrimp to bring home.    

Upon waking to the glaring beats of salsa romantica at 6:24, I should have been prepared for a little splash of an unordinary Friday morning and thereafter.  Toldo undone, teeth brushed with tap water, face washed with a wipe, the lightest clothes put on with my hands (obviously), I was lista when I opened my window to see Nevir descending the dirt highway in his familiar washed-out pick up truck to start his first collection of passengers of the day.  Jumping into the back of the full grey camioneta, myself and 17 other early risers were off- inching up the hill that cascades into Estero, overlooking the deep grey sand, the jungle covered point, the cement soccer field, the scattered thatched roofs and the vast, sleepy ocean.  The tide was low.  I was busy musing over why a pick up is called a pick up to notice.

The sensation of a beating heart preparing for death (due to ‘mud suction’) was rivaled by a dual sensation of a magnetic force that locked my inner knees together in a triumphant effort to maintain urine inwards.  This killer combo was thrillingly hilarious.  Two hours after being picked up by Nevir, I found myself stuck in Muisne.  Stuck.  My little white feet couldn’t cooperate in the sun-bathing sludge en route to the casa of Homero.  Accompanied by my 34 year old mom, Elsa, we saw our boat driver disappear back down the small inner river after paying him five dollars for the twenty minute ride which didn’t even end at our desired destination because boats do need water and do not need mud to operate.  After intently listening to his directions we were stuck in that knee-deep, contaminated sludge and the information became utterly useless.  Dressed in bright green and turquoise, jean capris and small over the chest purses, we looked too good to be this gross. 

Yet, I certainly had enough energy.  We just came from eating plates of white rice, shrimp pasta, plantains and milk for breakfast at the comedor where the women told us where we could find this Homero.  ‘Up the river, into the river and then down the river’ was where he lived.  She was certainly no TomTom.

Every step was disgusting.  Every step I imagined a sudden sinkage into Earth’s core.  Every step we could not stop laughing as this was the best free amusement I had in my entire seven months here.

We never found Homero.  We found his house, his cute son, his wife, two local workers, and his shrimp pools.  Our parched lips and our now completely black encrusted legs were certainly not surprised and not all that happy to discover it hadn’t rained there in twenty days.  Stealing water is neither fulfilling nor fun.  But my mom and I had a body, health and sanity to upkeep so we waded into the shrimp pools to wash ourselves with a hot, still water that perhaps did more harm than good. 

Homero told me to come Friday morning and he would provide us (the Women’s Group in Estero) with shrimp for the upcoming Carnaval four-day palooza.  The shrimp is mainly used to make ceviche for incoming tourists.  He would give us a good price, if not free.  He would help a group that was doing good for the community.  He would definitely set us up with something good.  He would have if he was there.   However, that cute son and wife of his did give us delicious frutilla juice and then sent one of the workers to collect about 4.5 lbs of shrimp for us. With our plastic bag of shrimp in hand (about a $15 value), we graciously thanked the family and had to head back, without a boat because I had to travel to Quito later Friday afternoon.    

The walk back consisted of nothing more that long sticks to defend ourselves from fierce pack of stray dogs, doing the limbo and mime like moves to meander through a jungle gym of mangrove roots and then waiting on the edge of an ocean for a boat that never came.  Where was our pick up?

Pretty pretty.

Estero made the newspaper folks.  Click right about here or here or here or how about here to read the full article online (in Spanish).

A short, English, Allie recap which is actually just the headline translated:

Estero de Plátano, Nature’s Blessing

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Part of me welcomes the really positive publicity that my hometown received.  Yet, the reason why Estero is Estero (safe, humble, indigenous feel, friendly) is because it is not a tourist town and has remained untouched from outside influences, thus preserving its simple, serene lifestyle.  Yet as beautiful as the way of life is, the underlying, undeniable thread that strings through the whole village is poverty.  By welcoming tourism into Estero, the people have an opportunity to grow businesses that appeal to Ecuadorians and foreign travelers alike; thus capitalizing on a once nonexistent form of income.  With any type of development there are trade-offs, trade-offs and more trade-offs.  I would be disheartened if Estero turned into a Mompiche (a nearby  surf town overpowered by tourists).  I would also be disheartened if the standards of living in Estero staggered and swayed at the level they are now.  

HELPING HANDS

Seven sun-burned, bug bitten gap year students (a term used to describe recent English -from Great Britain that is- high school graduates who take a year off before pursuing university) arrived in town late January to collaborate with the construction of a kindergarten classroom in Estero’s ocean front school, Viña del Mar.  Referred to as the LEAP group, these volunteers travel to three Ecuadorian communities in a span of ten weeks and typically do projects that require physical labor. 

This is an opportunity for leaders in Estero and the community to organize together in order to accomplish this project.  Whereas simple organization skills stream through my veins and about 99.78% of all Americans, the rhythms of marimba and salsa are forefront and really flowing strong in theirs.   Their veins are a lot more fun and because of that, collaborating with our Estero friends is ever challenging.  Yet, they benefit; as do the LEAP group.  I view it as a means of ecotourism.  Families host these volunteers and receive $10 a day for comida and cama.  In exchange, the volunteers have the ability to practice Spanish, learn a new culture, enjoy a new place and do good every step or misstep of the way. 

After saying farewell to the first LEAP group, the second group replaced their fellow Europeans this past Sunday to try and finish the small, cement classroom before they ship out March 9th.  They are energetic, hardworking and appreciative and they have come to the perfect place.

 A few new words:

Manos : hands

Kindergarten : jardín

WOOD IS GOOD

The Artesenal Group is well underway with the construction of a community hostel. Despite the fact that Estero is on the Pacific coast, the hostel is being constructed a bit inland. In reality it is all but a 6 and a half minute stroll to the ocean but this makes very little sense, as tourists, whether foreign or Ecuadorian, come to Estero for all but one thing: la playa. Yet the hostel has a very natural and homey feel which is indicative of how it is entirely hand made with very little carpentry machinery. It has 6 small, sensible rooms and two showers and baths. This project was made possible by a government funded program based out of Esmeraldas called “Desarrollo Comunitario” which signifies community development. As Carnaval, South American’s biggest five day party is gearing to start March 5th, the hostel doesn’t appear as if it will be completed as it still lacks beds, doors, windows and the actual organization of running a hostel which will by far be the most challenging part. The role of Nik and I in this project has been minimal; we pitch in with physical labor yet play an insignificant role in decision making, suggestions and the overall planning process. Perhaps next year’s fellows will be more involved in assisting the group with the business aspects of the hostel. As I have said before, it is always better when the work, decisions, mistakes and successes are in the hands of the people who live there as this will ultimately be a source of income and pride for their own community. Hopefully with the help of a huge volunteer group (see post above) we can polish off this humble adobe in an exciting and professional manner. Call me at 095102021 if you’re interested in a room or two; the water is cold, the roosters loud, the people are great and the views are spectacular.

Received: January 29th 2011: $40.00. Amount left to be paid on the Women´s Group loan: $319.52.

The Place.  The Traditions.  The People.  The Food.  

A few simple facts to coordinate with the photographs.

The place: Estero is located in Esmeraldas which is known as the Green Province.  It is full of lush, plush and lovely forests, streams, mangroves, jungles, mountains, and waterfalls.  Many parts of the province are still extremely isolated as roads only arrived in the late 1970’s.  The lack of outside influence has helped preserve the traditions and culture in the region.

The traditions: Although slightly fading out, Marimba is an exotic and sensual dance that I witnessed in Estero during the fiesta for the community bank.   I know this isn’t exactly a tradition, but their customary form of drinking is much better than what I was accustomed to in the United States.  It is social and it is shared.  Nobody ever buys a beer for themselves.  You buy alcohol to open, to pour and to serve to your friends and yourself while taking turns drinking from the same little plastic cup.  This is a tradition I will need to bring back to Union’s campus, as it is much more fun. 

The people: The majority of the Esmeraldas’ population is Afro-Ecuadorians.  They are believed to have arrived in Ecuador after slave ship wrecks in the 1600s and as well as escapes from Columbian sugar plantations in the north.  My best friends and the general population in Estero are a mix between indigenous and afro-ecuadorian descent.  And then there was the pale girl.

The food: The whole coast of Ecuador is known for its amazing seafood plates which are the local fisherman’s fresh catch of the day.  My favorites are encocados de camaron (coconut encrusted shrimp) as well as ceviche mixta (a cold soup of fish, concha and shrimp with hint of lime and fresh vegetables).

Déjame que te cuente por Jorge Bucay