Friday in Latacunga

This morning I slept in. 


The rain has been incessant here since Monday, but this morning brought a change in weather.  I was finally able to do laundry and, looking around at the clotheslines in my neighbors' yards, it seems everyone had been waiting for this break in the precipitation. 


I have been slow to register my passport with the regional government, so I went for a walk just now to visit the migration office.  It almost felt like fall, the air smelled cleaner than usual and the equatorial sun was obscured by just enough cloud cover to keep it from punishing pedestrians with its usual strength.  People were out in the streets (rather than hunkered in their storefronts or scowling under awnings) and the Saturday market seemed to have arrived a day early.  People never smile at me here, but today was different.  Usually (and of course there are exceptions) when I make eye contact with someone on the sidewalk, my ever-weakening smile is met with the same cold expression: unimpressed and uninterested.  The men usually (and again, there are exceptions) offer only crude whistles and smirks that have admittedly worn down my nerves over the past few weeks.  Today, though, smiles were returned and morning saludos were exchanged. 


When I arrived at the migration office, they read my documents, scrutinized my photos, and asked some questions that I could not answer.  The nice gentleman then told me that he couldn't do anything with my papers today (although he most certainly could have), and that I should go enjoy my weekend and come back next week.  On any other day, this would have been annoying.   But today, as with everything else, it was different. 


I walked down streets I had thus far ignored, finding little gems that I didn't know existed.  There is one street near my apartment that houses only floral shops.  Old ladies cut and arrange roses for crazy cheap prices, and the whole street smells of fresh flowers.  The cemetery, located at the end of this row of flower shops, is surprisingly clean, tranquil, and quiet.  With the sun coming through the palm trees and the street noise dampened by the cemetery walls, it felt like a strangely welcoming retreat from the city.  I found pretty courtyard restaurants hidden behind the trashy Chinese merchandise stores that I had never before bothered to look past.  People milled slowly in the parks which normally seem either frantic or deserted.  And on my way home, walking under make-shift scaffolding and past women selling meals I'll probably never buy, I felt for maybe the first time okay with my role in this place.  I won't ever fit in, I won't ever disappear.  But with each week that passes, more people know my name and recognize my face.  Each week I learn an answer to a question that the previous week had robbed me of sleep.  And each week I remember at least a few things that I love about my home, things this place will likely never know, and my emotions vacillate between gratitude, guilt, and confusion. 


One of my students, a professor of English at the university, mentioned in our conversation class something that I feel should be relayed here.  For reasons such as greed, exploitation, and internal corruption, the country of Ecuador may never have the opportunity to realize its potential as an independent and productive nation.  The Ecuadorian people may forever be trapped by lies that tell them they do not have the technology or resources to be better.  And yet these people are able to find sustaining joy in the fact that most of their families live under the same roof, that they can grow their own food, and that most of their children are able to attend school.  This student of mine expressed sympathy for those Americans, Europeans, and Canadians who experience daily stress and misery in spite of the fact that they have everything.  She wonders why people who have so much seek refuge in substance addiction, medicines, or suicide.  She expressed pity for those people who, having never known true desperation, have to manufacture their problems.  Although these notions can be argued and explained away, her comments deserve reflection.  It's an interesting set of ideas based in a perspective very different from my own.


In short, this morning was a good one.  And, as much as I find myself missing people, dogs, and things back home, Latacunga is fine by me for a little while longer.