Medical brigades and guinea pigs

Beautiful bus stop

Attempting to ignore the now typical 6am wake up call of kids screaming in protest to a cold bucket shower, I hid in my sleeping bag until Mayki, my 5 year old brother, creeped into my room to ensure that I too was up and ready to scarf down left over potatoes and rice before heading to school. Except I didn't have to go to school. Today I didn't have to go anywhere, a nice contrast to the past couple weeks of healthcare clinics in rather remote but realiably gorgeous communities. After the morning carb-bomb as my friend Danika so perfectly termed it, I leisurely washed my clothes - the first time I've done laundry in over two weeks and the last time I'll be hand washing my clothes for a while.

Mountain-side  looks of confusion

I find hand washing clothes calming and therapeutic, and the company of my grandma only added to my good mood. Perfectly in line with my strongest associations with her - jokester and animal lover - she ran up to me yelling in Kichwa, saying the word for duck over and over again and eventually pointing to the corner before doubling over with laughter. The duck hand a plastic bag attached to one foot, leaving it to travel around the courtyard with a parachute. The whole scene was great.

Añadir leyenda

Yoga, Harry Potter in Spanish, and some sweeping later, I literally sprinted after the bus 'with' host mom. The disparity in leg length between the two of us left me a football field ahead of her, pleading with the driver to wait. I would later be rewarded with beer at 1pm from my mom and her uncle, both of whom adamantly claim not to drink, a fact that evidently goes by the wayside if a wedding is added to the mix. The afternoon passed rapidly as I reveled in the sunshine a little too long, and shopped for going a presents with a canned beer in hand. Shopping companion and fellow Gualsaqui resident Eddie swore it was legal, or at least was confident that no one
would care "no pasa nadaaaa".

The past two weeks were filled with medical brigades, the most interesting and busy time during my three months here with Tandana. Two groups of American doctors , ready assistants, and helpers stayed in Otavalo, piled into a bus, braved some exciting roads and set up clinics in a total of 10 different communities. I usually rode with a group from the local rural health clinic, which saw us squished into a truck, travelling much faster than the bus, and blasting America techno music as we wove our way through picturesque curves and communities.

On the road to Minas Chupa

Overall the burden of serious illness and poor health in the communities didn't feel that strong to me. Access to regular primary care is certainly lacking, as transportation and the ability to dedicate the necessary time prove to be massive and persistent barriers. However within communities there seems to exist the capacity to mobilize when health problems become serious enough to infringe on the daily tasks of life.That being said, the need for dental care was apparent, as was the impact of a pair of glasses on women who embroider clothing for their families and livelihood.

The whole operation of the brigades was tiring but rewarding, both to see quality healthcare and resources being delivered to families in need and excited about this closer point of access, as well as experiencing my surroundings through the eyes of new visitors, which always does a lot to boost ones appreciation for the day to day. Despite the fun and interesting Tandana related tasks occupying my days, my host family continued to provide the most noteworthy moments.

Wedding season is in full swing, so frequency of parents being drunk has increased (ie happened twice) as has discussion of my marital situation aka when the hell I'm going to get myself married  (topic of discussion at least once a day). This dinner "table" (floor?) topic is marginally more palatable  because me being married would make me an eligible godmother to my siblings, one source of their concern

Buying cuyes

Cooking cuyes

 about my 22 yearold single status. Also on the home front was a delicious and particularly stomach stuffing meal of cuy aka guinea pig. I went to the raucous Saturday morning animal market with my parents to by the poor guys (we got 4 for the ten of us). I was bummed they had killed and processed them by the time I got home to following day, as I had hoped to be a part of the whole process and endure killing my own meat, something I think should be a prerequisite if we are going to eat animals. However my worries about missing out on the intense mental toll of butchering the animals were rapidly assuaged when my mom decided to kill the pet pigeon because it was messing with the chickens. It got thrown in with the guinea pigs and smoked just the same. Card games have been traded in for wild relay races, the sun is shining more and more frequently, and though I still can't speak any respectable amount of Kichwa, I'm really going to miss living here.