It's unbelievable how quickly I have made a life for myself here in Ecuador. I have a place to live and a family to come home to. I have my university, to which I quickly grew accustomed. I have made great friends within my small group from Boston College and as the days pass, I am slowly adding to my list of Ecuadorian companions. When I look around, people and places are starting to feel familiar and real, instead of like snapshots from a vacation.
My rawest and most rewarding experiences here have occured within my service component. Twice a week for four hours each day, I volunteer at La Macarena. (I know, it's going to be in your head all day, but trust me, this place has absolutely no connection to the song that shares its name.) It is a daycare for children up to age 5 and a home for kids whose mothers are incarcerated. Selling drugs is a popular way of making money here, and for desperate and poor mothers, sometimes there are no other options. Drug trafficking, however, is not at all tolerated and getting caught guarantees years in jail. As you can imagine, that leaves plenty of children without mothers, money, or homes.
La Macarena is in an area of Quito called Montesserin, and I take another 25-cent bus to get there. It's a modest building with a small porch and a backyard full of donated toys and a small jungle gym. It runs more like a nursery school than a daycare, with all the children split up into five small classes by age with one teacher.
The teachers and workers at the center (all of which happen to be women) are called "tía," which means aunt. They are truly unbelievable women with an impressive and unspoken power over all the children. They also show the children more affection than many will probably ever see in their lives. They are simple and kind, but strong: the kind of women who make you feel relieved that there are still good people roaming the earth, and fighting for the right causes.
I have been assigned to work with Tía Teresa who runs the classroom for 3- to 4-year-olds. I quickly discovered that the 3-to-4 age range is adorable for all of humankind, and I immediately fell in love with my new miniature friends. Tía Teresa is a silly and warm woman, probably in her 40s. She likes to gasp and tell the children how wonderful and cute they are, always with a smile on her face. Her classroom is a little messy, but it works, and is decorated eclectically with children's projects and foam cut-outs.
When I arrive at noon, the kids are napping and are usually woken up at 1:30 p.m. In the meantime, I giggle quietly with Teresa (so as to not wake the tiny breathing bodies that are sleeping on the floor) or help her with projects. This week, I was in charge of designing, decorating, and copying this year's Christmas cards. (I asked if it was a little early for Christmas and she seemed surprised at my question. They prepare well in advance here.)
Once the little ones are woken up, and have rubbed all the sleep out of their eyes, Teresa sprays some water in their hair and brushes it carefully and makes them wash their faces. It's usually around this time that they notice I am there, and I am bombarded by hugs, kisses, and cries of "Tía, Tía!" Most are too young to understand the concept of different languages, and they get so confused when I ask them to repeat something or tell them that I don't understand. This is probably the place where my Spanish will improve the most.
When everyone is clean, all the classes meet in the main room to eat. Juice is passed around in metal cups, sometimes with fruit salad or a cookie. I sit among them, encouraging them to finish all their food, usually with at least two of them sitting in my lap. There are about 30 students at La Macarena, around 10 of which sleep there every night. The others are children who live in the neighborhood or whose parents needed a less expensive nursery school option.
After the food comes my favorite part of the day: free play. I pretty much just run around the backyard and the kids follow me, or we all sit and play a game. Two girls, Alison and Estefania, are usually holding my hands as we go from the play house to the swing set to the slide. Estefania likes to take blades of grass and pretend to brush my hair, while Alison cooks for me in her "kitchen." I run in and out of the soccer game that the 5-year-old boys organized, or head over to the swing set when the kids yell "Tía, empújame! ("Push me!") I caused quite a scene when I brought my camera to take these pictures. Everyone wanted a photo and they would all swarm around me after it was taken to see the result, giggling and smiling about silly faces and teasing each other for looking a certain way.
Soon the children start to leave, one by one. Parents pick up their little ones intermittently, until all who are left are the ones who will sleep there. I haven't yet figured out the pattern of who stays and who doesn't. Sometimes there are new faces at the center when I come, and I wonder what happened that week that made them have to come there. There are a few girls who stay sometimes, but other times go to their real homes. The irregularity of their lives is sad, making me want to help them substantially. They tell us that the best thing we can do is play with them, hug them a lot, and help them to lead as normal of a life as possible. I look forward to getting to know everyone at La Macarena better, and I know that these beautiful, tiny, brown-eyed Ecuadorians will leave a lasting impression on my heart.
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