*Before starting, here are a few key details if you did not follow my previous adventures. I go by Catalina, my middle name, in Ecuador because I found that no one could pronounce Halle. I studied abroad for a semester on an ecology program based out of Quito, Ecuador. I lived in El Placer for a month studying trees in the nearby private reserve owned by EcoMinga. You should read my former posts because they are fantastic stories. I hope you enjoy this next part of the series!*
I listen as the rain patters gently on the large heart-shaped leaves outside my host family’s home. The sun is quickly hiding and peeking out behind clouds. I watch as the light changes the color of the magenta bell flowers, a favorite of the hummingbirds, just outside the window. Someone’s rooster crows and a few cars pass on the highway nearby, but otherwise there is a lull in the noise or bulla from the children playing and serenity envelops me. I’m back in the village, El Placer, in the province, Tungurahua, in Ecuador. Most days, I cannot believe I am living in the cloud forest again.
One late night in April, I was restless; I couldn’t sleep, and I wanted a new adventure. In the past two years my thoughts often lingered on my time in Ecuador, the people, and the earth I left behind. I always knew I would return; my host family and friends often reminded me that I have a home in Ecuador. Who can stay away from their home for long?
I started looking at flights. The pandemic, similar to many folks, left me pining for a change in the simple lulls of life in my house, so I decided a two-week visit to see my host mom at the end of the summer might satisfy my travel bug until the pandemic largely passes. Then I thought, I’m going all this way for only two weeks?
Rina, my host mom, is one of approximately 25 women in El Placer who formed the organization, Quinde Warmi, meaning hummingbird woman in Quechua, the most prevalent indigenous language of the Andes, in 2017. The women host students and tourists as they access the nearby reserve, owned by the non-profit organization, EcoMinga, as well as spearhead other forms of ecotourism in the village. This provides the women with a means of financial independence from their spouses as well as connects them to EcoMinga’s conservation efforts. So, instead of visiting for two weeks, I began pursuing the possibility of a 6-week internship with Quinde Warmi and EcoMinga. I reached out to my graduate department, the Joseph Korbel School for International Studies, for funding for this opportunity and to Javier Robayo, the executive director of EcoMinga and my past professor, for a project with the women. Both returned with an exclamatory yes. The major barrier was that the university did not permit international travel due to the pandemic. To overcome this, I submitted a thorough request for exemption with the knowledge from my host family that my travel would cause no harm to the community or myself. I waited for a response for 2 weeks. A few days before I graduated with my undergrad, I received an email with approval.
I arrived two Fridays ago at the Quito airport at 10 pm, an hour later than anticipated. I tapped my foot on the linoleum as I waited for the officer to verify my travel and stamp my passport, then rushed to find my luggage. My host family drove from El Placer, approximately 3 hours, to pick me up because no one in Quito could. Honestly, I don’t think my own family would drive 6 hours in total to pick me up from the airport. I was beyond grateful for their kindness, and I didn’t want them to wait any longer than they already had.
I hauled my stuffed burgundy backpacking pack off the conveyor belt and slung it on my shoulders, almost breaking into a run for the exit. There was a crowd waiting when I walked out. Each searched the arriving passengers for a familiar face. My host dad had texted me when I exited the plane that they were waiting outside to avoid people, so I continued my rapid pace toward the airport exit.
“Catalina! Catalina!” I heard my little host brother’s voice call out above the conversation and noise of the airport. I stopped in my tracks and watched my older host brother, Elvis, my younger host brother, Shuber, and Rina separate from the back of the crowd. I ran towards them, a smile spreading across my entire face. I embraced Rina first, then turned to Shuber picking him up, giggling the whole time, and then Elvis wrapped me in a hug. As they distributed my backpacks among the three and we walked to the car, I felt a deep sense of belonging to this beautiful family who welcomes me whenever I may arrive.
At first, I felt particularly frustrated with the pace of the culture and honestly, still have to regard this difference. Until I arrived, my life had been non-stop from graduation to moving out of my house to driving my car back from Colorado to California. So, I landed in Quito late Friday night ready to work Saturday morning. The reality is I did not meet with the Quinde Warmis or mamas, as Javier Robayo affectionately calls them, until Monday night. We regrouped in la cancha, the community court where they play soccer and volley, but the majority did not arrive until 30 minutes after the meeting time and from that point, no one knew where to have the meeting. After going back and forth, we decided on the community classroom behind la cancha. When everyone was situated, Ligia, the president, began with the main agenda item: installing hummingbird feeders in the nearby cabana adjacent to the river. Once introduced, almost each women had an opinion about the day this project would happen, exactly where, and how. I was unbelievably surprised and struggled to follow the conversation as smaller conversations broke out between two or three women while commenting on another opinion across the room. Not to mention the room echoed immensely and the children were running, screaming, and playing just outside in la cancha. I was amazed when after thirty or forty minutes they concluded and turned to me. Complete silence fell over the group as Ligia introduced me and asked me my purpose for working with Quinde Warmi. I looked out at the 25 women, a deer stopped in headlights, wondering the same thing.
Two weeks later, I have a clearer idea.
I have picked up nuggets of golden information from a variety of spontaneous conversations over coffee in the evening, in passing on the street, and meeting Rina’s extensive family. At the end of the first week, I attended a workshop presented by the World Wildlife Fund and Javier Robayo, on behalf of EcoMinga. I rode the bus to Merá, a town just east of El Placer with Tito, one of the park guards at the reserve near El Placer. Neither of us knew what to expect because Javier almost never can be expected to provide details. Tito was dressed in his park guard uniform and carried his machete wrapped in paper so as not to inspire fear on the bus. I wore jeans and a blouse, but quickly packed a pair of field clothes when I saw Tito.
On the bus, Tito and I talked about Quinde Warmi, the economy of the village, and the impact of the reserve on the community. He told me that with the presence of EcoMinga, a cultural shift has begun in the community towards conservation and more folks are fascinated by the nature breathing just outside their front doors. Yet, the main way for them to make a living is through agriculture and they continue to destroy the forest to achieve this. Looking out the bus window at the hillsides with patches of naranjilla farms, I began to understand.
The workshop turned out to be of the standard type, indoors at a hostel with lots of coffee and notebooks. Tito and I chuckled about bringing our rubber boots and his machete. Nonetheless, Javier Robayo still found time to scramble out to the porch of the hostel and peer through his binoculars at whatever birds may pass. From my classes to now, he has not changed in the slightest. I met EcoMinga’s liaison to World Wildlife Fund (the non-profit’s largest funder), others working in Ecuador’s national parks, and some Americans studying snakes at EcoMinga’s Sumak Kawsay reserve. I collected information for a conversation with the mamas about their vision, their objectives as an organization, and their future dreams for a meeting at another point. Toward the end of the day, Javier approached me and asked me to pleasesupport the park guards with a project from WWF. He quickly explained, “WWF is providing 10 scholarships to any young folks in the villages such as El Placer along the corridor between Sangay National Park and LLangantes National Park to become certified local tour guides. To apply, they must write a motivational letter detailing their passion to be a local guide and how it will impact their community.” I jumped on the project quickly. How many essays have I written about my own ambition for sustainability? Countless.
When I returned to the village that evening, I approached Santiago, the park guard leading the project. He told me that he expected around 30 applicants just from El Placer. I was amazed.
“How have you been supporting the applicants?” I asked, sitting on his loveseat by myself as four or five other guys, who also work in conservation, squished onto the adjacent couch.
They all shrugged.
Abel, who works for an Andean Condor conservation organization, smiled at me. “I guess just going to their houses to talk with them.”
I giggled. “How about I host a workshop to discuss and review the letters?”
They all nodded vigorously. “That would be a great help, thank you!” Santiago confirmed enthusiastically. A warm tingling sensation spread from my chest knowing my skills would support these people for whom I cared so deeply.
On Sunday, I held two workshops, each with about 8 people. We gathered in white plastic chairs in what I could only describe as Santiago’s front yard which is more like a covered dirt lot where he parks his motorcycle. I led a discussion on the intrinsic connection between the community and the environment as well as each individual’s roll in this system. Almost all mentioned littering, polluting the river, and deforesting the mountain for agriculture. I taken aback by their awareness and desire to do better.
The following week, I learned even more as I read through and edited each of their letters before the due date on Friday. Most noted the destruction they have caused by clearcutting land for agriculture. One boldly stated, “I have come to realize that I do not need to destroy the forest to make a living but rather can earn an income through sustainable tourism.” My heart filled with their desire to make a difference in their community and conserve the cloud forest.
As I spent more time with Rina and visiting some of the other women in the village, I made another key observation about Quinde Warmi and the mamas’ lack in inspiration and motivation. In El Placer, and other rural areas in Ecuador I would imagine, the women work more than full time caring for the children, their husbands, and keeping the home. They cook for approximately 6 hours each day so their families may eat fresh food, wash clothing for 5 or 6 people on average, clean the house, and watch over the many children who range in age from 2 to 11 years old. As I’m writing this, I watched Rina carry two overflowing baskets of clean clothes, towels, and sheets into the small house.
“That’s a lot of work for you!” I called out.
She nodded her head and laughed, “It’s best that I don’t sleep!”
In addition, many of the mamas work on their farms picking naranjilla so their family may have an income. For the majority, this organization, which although is purely theirs, is more of a hobby or an additional source of income than their main priority. Growing up with two full-time working parents, I imagined a different reality. However, their culture is simply more traditional and these women must care for much larger families and the families of others, so their time is actually quite limited for Quinde Warmi. Due to this, I realized the importance of involving the women in the community who are my age and do not have spouses, children, or household obligations in order to uplift, support, and inspire the mamas. This project is in the works as I befriend and involve more of the younger women in El Placer. Don’t worry, I’ll keep you posted.
The foremost project that I am working on with the mamas is their hummingbird feeders, as was discussed in the first meeting. The week after the meeting, we held a minga, Quechua for a community volunteer event. In the last two years, the organization built a cabana close to the river for tourism purposes. A short trail off the main drag (when I say drag I mean dirt trail everyone takes to get to their farms) encircled by brilliantly colored flowers, lush undergrowth, and crawling vines leads to a rustic abode lined with wooden benches, a railing made of varying branches at different angles, and a metal roof to protect from the constant drizzle. Trees weighed down by the thick moss, sprouting bromeliads, and presently dormant orchids surround the cabana and along with the background roar of Rio Pastaza create a tranquil ambience.
During the minga, we constructed a trail through the nearby forest to the confluence of the two rivers which during days with minimal rain, is a wide beach with black sand and massive boulders, but a turbulent beast of water on rainy days. The drastic change between the two may also occur in a matter of hours; I couldn’t believe it. As I joined the group cleaning the trails, armed with my camera, some of the mamas insisted that I just take pictures and don’t help with the actual trail-building. I protested, borrowed one of Rina’s machetes, and followed. Because the forest is so dense, each person has their own machete to cut branches, leaves, and vines that may obscure the trail and make it passable. As I began to help them, I was bewildered by the strength and precision it takes to wield a machete, successfully. One of the younger mamas who hosted a fellow classmate in the past laughed at me as I attempted to clear some tall grasses.
“No Cata, it doesn’t work like that. You must work like this!” She exclaimed as she easily and cleanly slashed through a thick branch about waist height and turned to me. I looked at her incredulously. As if I could ever. I haven’t given up learning, but I have turned more towards my camera as my weapon of choice.
After constructing the trails, we hung 8 hummingbird feeders in different locations around the cabana so potential tourists could sit and watch as the vibrant green, violet, and azure hummingbirds flit from feeder to flower. In traveling to different ecotourism communities during my previous time spent in Ecuador, many had this feature, so this project has great potential.
My work with the organization has been supported significantly by spending time immersed in the culture, so I’ve taken up a few hobbies to do just this. For one, I started attending a dance class on Tuesday and Thursday offered for free to the community as a means of exercise. The first night, Rina said, “Let’s go, Catalina, to the rumba dance!” I am not leaving out details, that is a direct translation of her statement, and I didn’t ask any questions, just took her arm and left. We arrived at la cancha to a group of women lined up following the lead of the instructor at the front, dancing vigorously to a steady rumba beat. Rina sat down on the concrete benches along the side and I joined her. We watched for a moment and I was astonished how easily the group moved together, almost as if it was choreographed. It looked so exciting and I wanted to join, but knew I could barely hold my own on the dance floor here. On second thought, I decided I should seize the moment; I’m only here for a short time in Ecuador and maybe I’d learn a little more about how to dance rumba. I jumped up and turned to Rina, “Let’s dance!” She nodded and took my hand.
We danced trying to follow the instructor and I watched one girl in front of me who was particularly synchronized. I danced every move with vigor, swaying my hips, and attempting to match the rhythm with my feet. After we returned home, one of Rina’s friends showed us a few videos she took. I wish I hadn’t seen them. Here I was existing as if I don’t look so much like a gringa. Many folks here say I seem somewhat Latina with my dark eyes, hair, and olive complexion; sometimes, I could pass. But I was so wrong. Watching the videos, I cringed and laughed with embarrassment. My arms and legs are excessively long and thin and my movements jerky and angular in comparison to the smooth, precise movements of the other dancers. Rina and I go every Tuesday and Thursday, however, and my concern for fitting in has faded with every class as I enjoy each moment just as it is.
Another aspect of the culture that I’ve really taken to is their community mindset. There are 3 or 4 mingas that happen each week to enhance the infrastructure of someone’s farm, build a pond for sport fishing, or clean up the trails in the forest and many community members participate. At our minga, mostly the family members of the mamas attended because we already are a significant amount of people. But it seems as if Elvis, one of my older host brothers, works at a minga once a week, leaving at 6am for long laborious hours on a project benefitting a non-related community member.
The women are accustomed to sharing food, medicine, or anything else with neighbors or family to meet the needs of each other. One morning, our upstairs neighbor peered through our open window into the kitchen. She had her smallest child balanced on her hip who was sucking on her fingers and watched through big brown eyes above full baby cheeks.
“Good morning,” she greeted us as we ate breakfast with a wide smile. “Pass me a piece of bread if you don’t mind. My son wants one and I’m all out.” Without a thought, Rina pulls out a piece of bread from the basket on the table and hands it to her through the window.
“Gracias! I’ll see you later,” she waved and climbed back upstairs.
Through the pandemic, the discrepancy between a community and individual mindset became apparent in the U.S. It’s refreshing and liberating living in a community that believes supporting and sharing with others makes life that much sweeter.
All in all, it has taken some time to adjust to the slower-moving lifestyle, the mamas’ needs, and diving deeper into the simple moments of each day. I desperately miss spending long days in EcoMinga’s Cerro Candelaria reserve and observing the transparent butterflies, flashy rainforest birds, and tumultuous waterfalls, but listening and working with the community to conserve the unmatched biodiversity is crucial. Without this cultural shift toward a lifestyle more in harmony with nature, the mountainsides will be stripped, and this beauty will be lost. It is extremely difficult work, as if I were pushing a 5-ton boulder by myself; yet each day, we move one millimeter closer. This project is just the beginning and I look forward to laying the groundwork and allying with community members to change perspectives and conserve the magnificent richness of their cloud forest.