Planting

The four of us stood nervously outside of the school, waiting for the head teacher to come out and start the ¨charla¨, or tree planting session. We could hear the buzz of excited young voices behind the cement walls, and an occasional curious head would pop up in a window to see what the ¨gringos¨ were up to. I was to teach the youngest class, consisting of kids from 5-8 (my host sister, Rubi, included). Having led hikes for kids as young as these, I mentally prepared myself for an onslaught of noise and activity as soon as I entered the classroom, and I wasn´t disappointed.
I said my customary ¨Hola, buenos dias!¨, and we were off. The activities and games I brought helped to keep some order, though the overwhelming enthusiasm of the kids, combined with some unruly and off the wall boys and flavored with my limited spanish created an atmosphere comparable to that of a circus. ¨Habla con sus manos!¨ I repeated over and over again, only to have Fernanda, my language facilitator, explain to me later that I was telling the kids to literally talk with their hands (you know, ¨talk to the hand...¨).




It was with relief and some trepidation that I led my students outside to begin planting. There were some immediate scraps as mostly the girls fought to hold my hands, with the unlucky content to grab a part of my jacket or pants. The kids watched (or ran around, or climbed the fence, or....)as Betsy and I hacked at the hard earth to create holes for the Aliso and Kishwar saplings, and stood back as the students eagerly threw in handfulls of abono, or compost, ripped the plastic bags from the trees, and had them tucked snugly into their new homes before you could say cuy. 16 trees later the enthusiasm levels were as high as when we started.
As soon as we had entered the classrooms, the teachers had pulled a vanishing act, and once finished planting they didn´t reappear. My new friends pulled me over to the grass and into a game of ¨lobo¨(?), where we held hands and twirled in a circle chanting something that ended with ¨que estas haciendo?¨ (what are you doing?), whereupon the ¨lobo¨ would answer something like ¨I´m boiling the water¨. Once the lobo answered ¨tengo mi cuchillo¨( I have my knife), the circle scattered and the lobo chased his or her dinner around the field, much like tag.
Finally, Fernanda called to us that it was time to continue our language lessons at Kendra´s house, and 15 minutes later we were able to extract ourselves from the hugs and leave, with a fence full of faces and calls of ¨ciao¨ to send us off. I left with half the energy I arrived with but gained a village of friends.

This left me wondering what my permanent site will be like. Yesterday, Friday, we learned where our lives will be unfolding for the next two years. The facilitators and trainers had decorated the floor of our communal classroom in Ayorra with a large map of Ecuador, which we slowly began to occupy as our names and sites were read to applause and cheering. ¨Sierra, sierra, sierra...¨ I silently chanted in my head, until I heard my name and town. I wasn´t familiar with the location, and continued my silent plea while I followed a facilitator down the walkway covered with rose petals and...to the left, to a point about as far away from the Sierra as you can get. Right on the coast, actually. So much for the extra fleece I bought in the market a couple of weeks ago. I´ll be living in a town of about 250 people located about 45 minutes from the beach and near a nature preserve, where I´ll be working part of the time. The realization of two years of hot and humid conditions is taking a while for me to wrap my head around, though before coming into this I knew there was a possibility of the next two years being warmer than I´m used to. Only time will tell how this works out. Whatever the case, I try to keep the words of my fellow PC trainee, Kendra, in my mind: ¨I´m in Ecuador. That´s what´s important.¨