A Good Friday in Otavalo

March 29th
Hotel Riviera del Sucre      Otavalo
 

     This entry comes now from the hostel in Otavalo.  We have been joined by my sister Susan, another sister Jacky and her 11 year-old daughter Aimee.  We are quite the family crowd now, which makes us feel a little more normal in this area of large extended families. The hostel is very pleasant, with a kitchen we can use, a small garden in which to relax and very pleasantly helpful staff. We have traded the nocturnal barking of dogs at Esperanza de Azama for the late night music and traffic of the city, but we seem to be managing OK with that.  It will seem strange to get to a place where we can find silence at night.

      It has, as usual, been a thoroughly stimulating few days here since Jacky and Aimee arrived on Thursday evening.  Alas, KLM mislaid one of their bags containing underwear, Aimee’s cuddly pets, and a bottle of Jameson’s that I was to give to Marcelo. The bag has yet to show up, but the underwear has at least been replaced. 

     On Friday morning, with all of us at Margot and Marcelo’s house (they seem to welcome anybody with open arms), we got up early to go on a field trip with my teacher companion Alvaro, and some of the students from his class.  Being Good Friday, it is a holiday weekend here, and they decided to take us to a village called Peguche which has a park with a 50 ft waterfall.  This is an ancient indigenous ceremonial site where purification rites are held in June every year. “The main legend of Peguche Waterfall, is that inside there is a cauldron of gold guarded by two black dogs and on one side of it sat the devil with a plate of sand, which is exchanged for the gold pan and daily gradually casts away the sand which, when finished takes the soul.”  We weren’t too worried about losing our souls on this day, so we, a group of 14 wandered to the local bus, which took us to Otavalo.  

 From there we walked one or two miles up the hill to the park through back streets, with the great peak of Imbabura towering overhead.  I don’t think Jacky believed me that we were climbing half way up this mountain.

     It was a real pleasure to spend time with some of the kids outside of school time.  They seem so willing to be friendly, and especially welcoming to Emma (who they already know) and Aimee. 

Any thoughts of feeling strained by climbing in the high altitude were rapidly dispelled by the sight of young Paula hiking along with her crutches.  The victim of being hit by a bus two years ago, hers is one of those remarkable stories of people who appear to thrive so well despite additional hardships.

     The park itself is a charming wooded area of eucalyptus trees with various paths that wind their way along the river up to the waterfall.  Pictures tell a better story than any description but suffice to say it was invigorating to be close to so much running water on such a beautiful day.  We spent more time reclining in the park, playing volleyball and soccer, and using up the last carioca spray can left over from Carnival in February. 

     

     We do not have many complaints about being away from home – more about that in a later entry perhaps. We did have an out of the ordinary transition from complaint to appreciation on Friday night however, after we had checked into the hotel.  Susie, Nan and I took one first floor triple room on the corner of the building, while Jacky took the youngsters into the other room.   

It all seemed very pleasant until about an hour later when the young man working the hotel came into our room and asked if he could run an electric cable out over the balcony to a group of people who had gathered outside below.  We soon discovered that the power line was to be connected to a spot light shining on the side of the building (our room in other words), and a very loud public address system through which was broadcast a mixture of much talking and slightly out-of-tune spiritual music.  We were told that this was in preparation for a parade that would pass by sometime after 9:00 in the evening.

     Still unsure about exactly what was to happen, we went out for dinner in the town (where Aimee, a Brit, ate Italian food at a Mexican restaurant in Ecuador) and returned by about 8:30, all somewhat tired.  We did see some of the preparations for the procession, a celebration of Easter in which people walk a route through town past several still-life reenactments of various scenes from the crucifixion. We went to our room, preparing for bed at an absurdly early hour for a Friday night, but that is just how we felt.  The music and talking seemed to get steadily louder, with the three of us making various jokes about being able to unplug the PA system, and wondering just what the procession would look like.

   Suddenly it seemed, the cross street right in front of our balcony was filled with hundreds of people.  We could have acted like the Pope and waved at the crowd, but fortunately we had the good sense to remain still.  Just 12 feet below us was one of the last of the crucifixion scenes being acted out – Jesus, very dead, with wounds painted on his body being attended to by his mother Mary.   

Prayers were said, chants responded to, songs were sung, and then the procession moved on down the street to the next part of the story.  Only now did we begin to realize just how big the procession was, for it took about 45 minutes for the entire procession to pass by, albeit stopping and starting quite frequently.  We had the most perfect view of people bearing crosses, carrying effigies, a coffin, and a brass band playing a mournful but moving lament.   

     As with a lot of travel experiences, the fact that this was so unexpected made it all the more incredible to watch.  I only hope that the sight of six gringos gazing down on the parade from the balcony  didn’t somehow upset the meaning of the procession.

     We did get to witness the resurrection.  After the last of the procession passed by, the small group remaining by Jesus applauded as he arose from the slab on which he had been laying, mostly uncovered in the cool air, for about an hour.

     We did sleep well that night, although the occasional Formula 1 car could be heard accelerating aggressively up the street, perhaps reassured that at least one previous visitor to the street had found a way to cheat death.

Darkness and Light

March 27th

Esperanza de Azama

     Margot received a phone call from a household in the neighborhood this afternoon.  She went out quickly, returning ten minutes later with the news that a woman had just died after being hit in the head by her husband with a gardening tool. Whether or not the man will face legal justice remains to be seen, but it appears that cultural norms are on his side. 

     Meanwhile, we are learning more about the number of children here who are victims of abuse – some of whom I see in class each day.  A longer entry here would differentiate between the various forms of abuse – mild or major – sexual or non-sexual, but it is present enough for Margot to seek help in knowing how to help the children and adults involved.

      I am well aware that more than a handful of my students in Maynard are victims of maltreatment in all forms.  One difference however is that we have a team of counselors and other professionals on hand to at least begin to acknowledge and address the problems, even if in some situations the effects are complex and long-lasting.  Here, there is little or no such care, other than what may be offered by caring people such as Margot who have extremely limited resources to know how to move forwards.   Behind some of the smiles and endearing demeanor reside dark secrets that must often go unattended.  I am not naïve enough to be surprised by this, for of course humanity has a universal knack for harboring evil in places mundane and spectacular. 

     Most of us succeed in passing each day without having to confront such matters directly.  As tourists, we can admire the mountains, the colorful markets and the richness of visions, sounds and smells to which we willingly expose ourselves.  This is by way of reminding the reader that this is more than a tale of oddities and curiosities.

     The next day, Nan’s first grade class went to visit the family and to see the body laid out.  The woman’s grandchild is in this class.  Nan and Emma went along too.  It is truly hard to imagine such a visit happening at home.

     On a more cheery and leisurely note, we have been able to enjoy something other than being at school and contemplating the darker side of life.  My sister Susan arrived here about ten days ago, spent a day and a half with us, and disappeared to the Rhiannon Community between here and Quito to help them out with some guidance counseling.  She returned five days later with interesting tales of a community at work and a Shamanic ceremony that lasted from midnight to about 9:00 in the morning. Perhaps she will publish her story one day.

     At the weekend, Nan, Emma and I took only our second trip away from Otavalo – a twenty-minute ride to the Laguna Cuicocha on the flanks of the Cotocachi volcano that overlooks our home.  The laguna, like Quilatoa that we visited in February, is a caldera, the remnants of a volcano crater that last erupted 3000 years ago.  Even on a somewhat cloudy day, the majesty of the place was very moving.  We took a 30 minute ride on a boat around the two islands in the shape of guinea pigs in the middle that give the laguna it’s name – cui is guinea pig.  A five-hour hike around the lake is a possible, though I will save this for another day.  We contended ourselves with a shorter wander and a couple of bags of chips from the store before catching a taxi back home.

     Our ‘home’ switches frequently between a state of buzzing with activity, or an island of tranquility.  The extended family and other volunteers come and go.  Margot’s son Eric occasionally likes to play reggaeton music at a volume that a thriving nightclub would be proud of.  Rucco the dog likes to ‘chat’ with distant neighbors, sometimes in the middle of the night, while the children provide their own entertainment.  Emma and Nicole plus an assortment of other girls from the neighborhood may be found practicing dance moves or watching Youtube videos. In the evenings, various gatherings of people assemble in the spacious kitchen, sampling assorted leftovers from lunch.  Margot, the indomitable workhorse somehow finds time to engage in conversation before doing some extra work around the house late into the evening.  Much as this lifestyle is a refreshing change from our own life with a family of three, it is pleasant to find the moments when we can sit in the courtyard, watch the occasional hummingbird hover by, and breath in the tranquility of the moment.

     The water supply has been intermittent during our day, though it is hard to tell when it is due to the work being done on the main lines in the street, or when, as Margot says, it is because the guy who controls the main valve is feeling pissy.  Fortunately it is rarely off for more than a day, but there are times when we have to manage with buckets from the concrete barrel outside.  On this weekend, the three of us did take advantage of the showers at a swimming pool in Otavalo, along with the luxury of dropping a week’s worth of laundry at the ‘lavanderia’ in town.  Washing by hand is not difficult, but it is really time consuming.  A lady does come in to do laundry, charging $1.25 for a dozen items. How many of the rest of us would work at that rate? Curiously, the town lavenderia is directly connected to a bar.  Whether this is to provide a place to wait while the clothes are being washed, or to provide a place to wash clothes after drinking too much was not immediately clear.

      Susan returned from her sojourn to the Rhiannon community on Saturday evening and shared with us her experiences of participating in a Shamanic ceremony.  We do have a contact to visit a Shaman during our stay here, so stay tuned for news about that.  On Palm Sunday morning, about eight of us piled into Marcelo’s car (the last time I rode in the boot/trunk was a good 30 years ago) and drove into Otavalo.  Emma went to church with the family, while Susan, Nan and I watched a Palm procession, and wandered the market where Susan and I each found a good hat. Every good journey needs an appropriate hat.  

       Over a leisurely breakfast overlooking the market, we decided to take a trip out to a 400 year-old hotel and monastery some ten miles out of Otavalo. The Hacienda Cusin is a much more expensive hotel than any other we have found, but we were able to amble around the gardens and appreciate the flora – much of it unknown to me.  Apparently Simon Bolivar, the great liberator of much of South America stayed here during his expeditions in what became Ecuador in the early 1800’s.  I don’t suppose he paid over $100 a night for the privilege, but presumably he too enjoyed the tranquility of the adjacent monastery, and the towering peaks of Imbabura overlooking the valley. It was almost spooky to walk around these gardens and barely see anybody else there aside from a couple of gardeners and an armed security guard equipped with a Kevlar vest. We settled for a light lunch – the waiter seemed to hope we would have a more hearty midday meal in true Ecuadorian style, but we were not up for it. We took our taxi back to Esperanza de Azama, appreciative of the visit, but grateful that we had not actually chosen to stay in this somewhat elaborate inn.

Thoughts on the Death of Chinua Achebe

March 23rd

Esperanza de Azama

     I awoke this morning to read the news that Chinua Achebe, the Nigerian writer, had died in Boston. He was one of a few writers who truly opened my eyes to the depth and complexity of racial and cultural mixing, and helped me to keep these eyes and mind open as I experience the World around me.  Conflict resides around us everywhere in both the non-human and human worlds, conflicts for us to unravel and strive to reach some higher understanding of our existence and place in the Universe. Achebe was able to tear away at the fog that surrounds our complacency about the World we live in.  I thank him for that, and for the richness of his great literature.  With countless quotes to choose from, here is my offering: 

“When suffering knocks at your door and you say there is no seat for him, he tells you not to worry because he has brought his own stool.”

     Just last night, we were in conversation with Margot, about the status of indigenous people here in Ecuador.  Only four years ago was legislation passed to eliminate official discrimination within the Constitution, and as we know all too well, cultural discrimination survives a great deal longer than what any law may say.  Margot is a mestizo – a mixture of European and Indigenous heritage.  She described how as a child she would play frequently with indigenas in her neighborhood, much to the ongoing strong disapproval of her father.  There is apparently still a great deal of mistrust between different groups of people here.  So where have we heard that story before?

Margot looking out for the welfare of others.

     I am still learning much about the history of ethnic, racial and cultural differences here.  Since independence in 1830, there has been an ongoing movement to create a unified national identity, but driven largely by the power of the mestizos (among whom the power elites originate) to create the ideals that other people should follow. Mestizos are essentially people of mixed racial ancestry, but are now colloquially understood to be non-indian.  Needless to say, the indigenas and afroecuadorians often had a different view of what cultural identity should be about, and this has led to confrontations in some areas, in particular the major cities of Quito and Guayquil.  Otavalo is hardly a hotbed of ethnic and racial segregation, but based on conversations with Margot and a little of what we see, indigenas children are far more susceptible to poverty here, even in a world where there is considerable economic growth for so many other people.  

     At the school here, there is a small mural on a wall overlooking the assembly area representing three children of different racial backgrounds. Underneath are the words, “Somos diferentes y nos respetamos indigenas, negros y mestizos somos hermanos porque somos equatorianos.”  On the surface at least, the children do not appear to care about their differences which is reassuring. It is just a shame to acknowledge that the bonds of pure childhood are all too often subjected to the more powerful cultural and economic forces of the world into which they are growing.

     While we were talking last night, Emma, Nicole (daughter of Margot), and an indigenas friend of Nicole were goofing around like any group of teenage girls might. As a parent, it is at least reassuring to witness three girls of very different ethnic and cultural backgrounds relating just as new friends. 

We're In First Grade

 

Tuesday, March 19, 2013

We have started our third week at the Escuela de Esperanza de Amaza. Mike mentioned that after the first three days at the pre-school, Emma and I moved over to the secondary school, into the first grade classroom. This class is a better fit for us because the teacher, Margot (not the same Margot with whom we live), provides much more structure to the day. There are 17 students in her room and they’re all indigens, meaning indigenous to this land. All of the children are very friendly; some of them shy, but others not shy in the least. Some of the girls love to hug us, so of course we hug them back. It can be really easy to communicate love and acceptance without saying a word.

 

The First Grade Class, with Emma, Nan and Señiorita Margot (and perro)

Hugging Sayana and Graciela

Señorita Margot gives us tasks that help her teach. Last week, they were working on modes of transportation. Margot had the class brainstorm different ways to travel, and they came up with seven. She asked us to draw a poster of the seven modes: autobus, carro, avión, barco (boat), bicicleta, helocóptero, y caballo (horse). So we made a big poster and drew all the things by hand. I think it turned out pretty well, actually. The next morning, some of the older kids helped us finish the coloring and labeling. Margot was very pleased with the result, thankfully.

This school relies heavily on drawing as a means to learning. They can hardly rely on computers for homework, as most residents of the community don’t have them. Indeed, the school itself hardly uses their own computer lab, for unknown reasons. I’m not sure that they have a copier, either. Emma and I discovered this last week because Margot asked us to make worksheets for the children’s homework. Yesterday, using ink stamps and a ruler, we made 85 sheets of all the vowels, 17 for each one. We actually finished them all that day, and Margot was so grateful that she gave Emma a big hug when we left that afternoon! We’ve made many other worksheets, using smaller ink stamps, to help the children with counting and letters. As you might imagine, Margot has quite a library of stamps, with all sorts of images that contribute to the lessons. Emma and I have become good at stamping.

Another popular teaching aid is to sing songs. Like at home, the younger kids really get a kick out of singing, clapping along and gesturing the lyrics. Last week Margot asked us if we could sing some children’s songs in English. We chose a few favorites, and decided to start with the Alphabet Song. Then Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star came to mind because it has the same melody, so we added that one to the list. I also thought it would be good to translate it into Spanish just for fun (we have a great translating program on the computadora!). Interestingly, the Spanish version is not exactly like the English one. It says:

“Little star, where are you?

I want to see you shine,

In the sky and in the sea,

A diamond, it is true,

Little star, where are you?

I want to see you shine.”

In class the next day, we began the lesson by reciting the alphabet, and Emma wrote the letters and words on the board. I sang it in English a few times, then Margot sang the equivalent in Spanish. The children didn’t seem to know this song very well, and neither did they seem too interested in learning it! Twinkle, Twinkle followed naturally, when I said (in Spanish) that we know another song with the same melody, about a star in the sky. This time, we sang the Spanish version first. Most of the children didn’t know this one either, so it helped to have the Spanish words written on the board. Margot created gestures for the words and the kids enjoyed that. We all performed this song many times, it being the preferred version to the alphabet one. Margot asked me to sing it in English, so I did that a few times too. It can be very difficult for some Spanish speakers to pronounce certain English sounds, like “twinkle,” or “world.” I know the feeling: do you realize how difficult it is to pronounce “restaurante”? (not "restront", but with two rolled r’s and a compound vowel sound). In the interest of time, we stuck to the Spanish version, which was much more fun for everybody. 

Erika, Azucema, Santiago, and Naomi peeking from behind

Most of the kids in our class know our names now. When we arrive in the morning, they are already assembled. They see us enter and they all yell “Buenos Dias, Nancy Emma!!” What a treat to see their happy faces welcoming us. Several of the children feel comfortable enough to come up and lean into our laps to say something, or to ask questions like “Is your house big?” One girl named Graciela is very outgoing. The other day, she came up to me and held my hand in hers, examining my rings and veins and skin. She noticed a scab where I’d scraped my knuckle on something, and asked what it was. I said “en Ingles, es un ‘boo-boo.’” I pointed to some more on my ankle and said “boo-boo.” She got it right away, looking for scrapes on her own arms and legs, repeating “boo-boo!” each time. I wonder if she told her family that evening what a boo-boo is.

Perhaps this week, we can teach the class Wheels on the Bus. The kids could relate to this one because we just studied modes of transportation, and because everyone here rides a bus. We can find out if there’s a Spanish version of this song, too. I’ll let you know next time.

Another Day in the Life of School at Azama

March 11^th-18th

Esperanza de Azama

Rucco at home.

     Routine.  We haven’t really had much of a regular routine since we arrived at the end of January, but our second week here in Esperanza de Azama has now provided one.  We wake up soon after 6:00 with the sun, unless the dogs or roosters have woken us already. Breakfast is self-serve, usually tea, a platter of fruit and a bread roll.  Emma and I, both Celiacs, were of course delighted to learn that at least one bakery in Otavalo makes bread rolls from maize (corn), edible for us, so we no longer have to rely on dwindling gluten-free supplies from home. We then have an hour or so to read, write, or, as on a couple of mornings, prepare posters for the classes at school.  The house has a small but charming courtyard where we can sit and watch for humming birds, or get on with the business of preparing for the day. 

     Our commute is a thirty-yard walk from the house to the school next door, past a small field of corn.  We have two minutes to admire the view of mountains over the nearby greenhouses that supply flowers for the North American market before stepping through a small iron gate into the school compound.  Just inside the gate is a stone water trough at which children are usually washing hands or brushing teeth for the start of the day. Nan and Emma head across to the 1^st grade class while I go to the 7^th grade room.  I pass a small kitchen, about 8’ x 10’ in which a woman is usually preparing food and drink for the day, typically stirring a large pot over a stove, and assisted by a handful of older students.

School Kitchen

     The school day starts at 7:30 announced by an air-raid style siren, and goes on until 1:00 with a 35 minute break at around 10:20.  The structure of the day is quite traditional, officially broken up into forty-minute periods that include math, writing, English, science, social studies and Quichua, the indigen language here.  In practice, the day is often less structured, depending on how the teacher wants to proceed.  At some point around 9:00, two of the younger children deliver a small vat of a hot, murky looking drink that I have yet to try, but which the kids seem to enjoy. They each have a mug by their desk and the teacher ladles out portions as they work.  Another delivery of snack bars arrives at about the same time, ensuring that the children do not go entirely hungry for the day.  As is typical even in the ‘rich’ North America, there are all too many children who are not provided with sufficient breakfast at home to start the day.

     The three of us largely act as assistants in each class.  Nan and Emma spent much time last week creating multiple copies of worksheets for the kids by hand, there being no functioning copier in the school.  A job that might take 5 minutes at home can take several hours. We do also get involved directly with the children.  Alvaro Mosquera, the 7^th grade teacher, is quite happy to get me involved with the class, especially with the English and math lessons.  This week, we worked on the names of animals and fruits, and the use of that, them, these, those (demonstrative determiners apparently), here, there and everywhere. I tried out Old MacDonald had a Farm to three different classes, although I suspect that the only part that really sunk in was the e i e i o.

1st grade students show their work

     The challenges of education are all too apparent, perhaps more obvious than usual to me because I have a chance to observe here as much as to participate.  I read through the English workbooks, and find notes that the children are covering some quite sophisticated English with sentence structure in both present and past tense, and a wide range of vocabulary.  However, it is readily apparent that most of them struggle to use anything more advanced in the spoken form than “Good morning, how are you.”  It appears that the children are very adept at copying material from the board, but have very limited comprehension in this area. Given that for many of them, English is their third language, I am not surprised, but it is a reminder once again of just how inefficient education can be, and I’m not just referring to Ecuador here.

     The tone of the class is mostly very friendly and relaxed.  The 7^th grade class is more like a small hallway than a full room, but despite the cramped quarters, the children seem to get along with each other very well, and I see very little aggravation, though no doubt it does go on.  The teachers we have seen tolerate a state of casual standard, with children chatting, moving around the room and being more distracted than certainly I would tolerate in my own class.  It is hard to escape the sensation that it is sometimes more important to get through the day unscathed by the teaching process than it is to present a fully challenging curriculum.

7th Grade classroom

     Getting to know the children has been the most rewarding part of the experience here. They are certainly very engaging and interested in our presence.  Emma of course is a big hit with many of the kids who want to play football with her during recess.  At the end of the week, three of the girls made each of us hand-stitched bracelets with our names on.  I have been working on a biography project with the 7^th grade class in which they fill out information about their interests and ambitions. Most come from very large families, at least five children if not more.  They range in age from 10 to 14, and, musically, reggaeton is the common choice (a blend of reggae, rap and dance music that apparently evolved in Panama and Puerto Rico). Some have high professional ambitions, one wants to move to Mexico to be with his sister, and another wants to work in construction. Many wrote that in their spare time after school, they either play football, or like to study. When asked what kinds of changes they want for their community, responses range from wanting a swimming pool, to a new road, to a bigger and better school.  In short, they are probably like children everywhere, keen on socializing, eager to impress and with a wide range of ambitions that may or may not have much to do with their actual abilities or real opportunities.

Emma teaches taekwondo

     More about the lives of people who live in this community in the next post.

School at Esperanza de Azama

March 4^th – 10^th

     The differences strike first. Most of the kids look different. They certainly all speak a different language.  The manner of the teachers and how they cope with behavior is not the same. There are no computers or other high tech gadgets in the classroom.  Lunch is served in each classroom by students taking it in turns to bring food to the rooms.  Kids sweep the floors – there do not appear to be any custodians – neither do I ever see pencils or pens abandoned on the floor. There are no bells, only a siren that sounds the beginning and end of each day, and each end of the recess period.  Paraprofessionals are non-existent, there is no library, gym or assembly hall, and on the plus side, there are no snow days (Maynard has had five or six already this year!).

Recess - Girls standing around chatting - Really?

Field Trip to collect botanical samples - OK, blackberries

Albaro monitors sample collection

Communal hand washing

     We are trained to look for differences, both culturally and academically, which is perhaps why they are so readily apparent to initial attention.  As our first week has progressed however, I am struck as much by the commonalities with schools I have seen in four separate parts of the World – the UK, Nigeria, USA and now Ecuador. Some kids want to learn while others are less keen.  Socializing is a fundamental pre-requisite for activity in school, and every child needs the careful attention of good educators to foster potential creativity, academic growth and social development.  We didn’t really need to come to Ecuador to know this of course, but, as with learning the value of a great meal, or stunning work of art, it helps to see beliefs affirmed by direct evidence.

     We knew little about exactly what our role would be here, which perhaps sounds a bit irresponsible, but that’s how it was.  Sure enough, on the first day, we were assigned to work with the pre-school class.  With just half a dozen kids there, there was little to do for four volunteers and three permanent staff. Normally there are closer to 20 or more kids present, but a widespread sickness kept many away. The kids are enchanting of course, but perhaps the best lesson I received on this day is a still deeper appreciation for the good skills required to work/play with this age group all day long.  I love kids, but feel largely helpless when it comes to knowing how to be creative and constructive with this age group.  I lasted one day.  Nan and Emma lasted two more. These are children who may otherwise lack much in the way of early childhood development other than to be with working parents, or left with very little to do.  It is a vivid reminder of the value of rich experiences for children this age (without of course having to push an intense academic curriculum at such a young age). 

    Fortunately for us, there is an equal need for volunteers to work in the elementary school next door that serves children from grades one to seven. I am now working with Albaro, the 7^th grade teacher, while Nan and Emma finished up the week in the first grade class.  It is a small school – about 120 children in seven classes around a central courtyard area. The facilities seem a little sparse at first, but the kids do have workbooks and textbooks, and some equipment to use.  They are certainly more careful with pens and pencils than kids in Maynard where, even on a bad afternoon, I can pick up a dozen nearly new pencils from the hallway floors after school. In one drawing activity where we gave out new pencils from the donations we brought, the kids had to pull out their knives to sharpen the pencils, something that takes a good five minutes by the time everybody is done. So we went out that afternoon and purchased enough sharpeners to satisfy the class for just three bucks.

     It is something of a switch for me to go from being in full control of my own classes (sort of) to being the assistant, but it is a great opportunity to reflect on teaching practice and to observe another teacher at work.  Albaro has a comfortable relationship with the eighteen kids in the class.  He allows them to chat more, and the climate is quite informal.  Other kids wander in and out from time to time.  There is even a small pack of docile dogs that wander in and out of the classes, like supervisors checking up on activities in the classes. Albaro likes to put on traditional Ecuadorian, or old time jazz music. He also plays patriotic songs from time to time.  The kids I asked say they don’t really like it, but they tolerate it just fine.

     Friday was International Women’s day. I don’t recall it being celebrated much at school in Maynard, but it is a big deal here.  The day before, kids are making cards, mostly for their mothers.  On the day itself, a short ceremony is held in the central courtyard in which the 7^th boys recite statements honoring women, and then they give out roses to each of the girls and women teachers in the school.  For the next hour our class held a party for which Albaro supplied cake, drink and other snacks for the kids.  There was music and dancing too – two of the kids danced the longest to win the last portion of cake. Even I, long noted for quite limited dancing capability was enticed to dance with two of the girls.  Emma did her best not to be too embarrassed, but it was hard.  No, I could not see this happening in Maynard.