Operation Integration

Image1: Omnibus 102 swears in
Image2: The beach at my site
Image3: My new neighborhood


Well, thats it. Training is over and we are officially Peace Corps Volunteers. We had our swearing-in ceremony at the US Ambassador’s mansion last Wednesday and by Friday we were all in our sites attempting to settle in.

As nice as it would be to arrive at our site and immediately get right to the heart of our work, it doesn’t quite work that way. The PC stresses the importance of integration, or becoming a legitimate member of our community, as it is directly linked with our level of success as volunteers. The people of our communities have to be able to recognize our faces, accept us, and more importantly - they have to trust us. Otherwise, we are just a bunch of weird-looking foreigners with silly accents and strange clothes trying to convince them how to live their lives. Somebody explained it to us by saying that being a PC Volunteer is like putting on a chicken suit and standing in Central Park saying, “no really, I’m here to help!” To avoid the chicken suit scenario the PC recommends that for the first 3 months of service we do not leave our sites and that we attend every community event possible. That is, every soccer game, every family party, and every town event. The night after I arrived to my site, I was presented with my first opportunity to integrate.

I had been in town all day running errands (ie: looking for a fan, even though its “winter” its 80+ degrees around the clock, buying toiletries, and interneting.) I got home after dark (which is about 6:45 p.m. here) not really expecting anyone to be there because my host mother had mentioned to me that she had plans. I opened the door to the house and there stood my host mother with her hair done up, purse in hand, bright red pants and lipstick to match. When I asked her where she was headed she informed me that it was BINGO night and that I was going too. Not really knowing what to expect, I ran to my room, grabbed a couple bucks and was ready to go.

Luckily, BINGO night was less than a block from our house. We walked into a large recreational facility that had tables and chairs scattered all over. Music blasted from two loud speakers at the front of the room. Aguchita (my host mother’s nickname) and I grabbed a table near the front and sat down. Soon after, and older couple came by with the BINGO cards. They were 2 dollars a card so I bought one, and Aguchita bought two. We waited patiently for more people to show up. Little by little the room began to fill up. Families walked in, bought cards, and sat down. I slowly began to realize how seriously these people took their BINGO. Sleeping children were carried into the loud room by their parents and set in chairs. Women were in dresses, nice pants, and open-toed heels, while the men had nice button-up shirts with their hair slicked back. I looked down at my flip-flops, black capris, and blue t-shirt. I suddenly felt underdressed. …For BINGO. I wrote it off to being foreign and hoped that the rest of the crowd would too. I looked at my BINGO card which said the event was suppose to start at 8:30. It was now 9:30 and people were still trickling in. By 10:30 I got the impression that we were waiting for the whole town to show up because the room was only half full and the DJ was still stalling. Finally, at 11 p.m. (Latino Time in full effect) we were ready to play some BINGO. The two dollar card I had bought had four games of BINGO on it. I looked over it and realized that the prizes were much better than I had imagined. For just a normal BINGO any given game, the prize was ten dollars. For a blackout, the prizes ranged from 100-200 dollars and a cow. Since there were about 2,000 people there, I quickly wrote off my chances of winning but thought that this was a good way to get to know people nonetheless. As the second game began to wind down, I realized that I was a “G54” away from winning 200 dollars. As much as I wanted to win the prize, I thought about the idea of having to yell “BINGO!” in a crowd of 2,000 people and go up and receive the money. What would the 60 year-old women who have invested 30 years and hundreds of dollars think when some random young foreign chick went up to get the money? I said a silent prayer that “G54” would not come up. I had to sweat for about 3 more numbers when a young man about 3 tables away from me yelled “BINGO” and went up to receive the money. I let out a sigh of relief.

The next game, I once again found myself one chip away from a prize. This time, it was only a regular BINGO and a ten dollar prize. I needed ‘B10.’ I was nervous but again figured there was no way I would win in a game of this many people. “B10!” The caller yelled out. Dangit. I quickly tried to think of the least conspicuous way to claim my money. While I was thinking, my host mother glanced over at my card. “BINGO…?” She asked as she looked at it again. “BINGO!!!!” “RIGHT HERE!! BINGOOO!!!” My host mother held up my arm and my card simultaneously. Everyone turned to look. So much for being discrete. I sat there for a moment with what I am sure was one of the most uncomfortable looks I have ever had on my face. “Well? Go up and got your money!” My host mother half instructed, half scolded. I walked to the front of the room and the caller went over my card to make sure that I hadn’t made any mistakes. I prayed that I hadn’t misunderstood a 60 for a 70 or a ‘B’ for an ‘I.’ I hadn’t. The caller handed me my prize and I quickly went back to take my seat. My host mother patted me on the back and smiled.

The next day was Sunday which happens to be the day that the whole family gathers at our house to play cards. Aunts, uncles, cousins, brothers, sisters, and grandchildren filled the house. I was way overdue for doing laundry so while everyone played cards and watched TV, I asked Aguchita if it would be okay if I washed clothes. She said it was fine and told her 17 year-old granddaughter to help me. “No, its fine, I can do it.” I said. But the granddaughter insisted and said she wanted to help. Her 9 and 3 year-old sisters decided that they wanted to help too. I felt weird as they dug into, and began to sort three weeks of my dirty laundry. The American in me wanted to politely brush them out of my personal space, but I took a breath and let them continue. Plus, it was nice to have some help. When my clothes were finished washing we all went out to hang them on the line. The 3 year-old (who they call ‘China’ because she looks part Asian, yeah, they are a lot less PC here) grabbed the clothes pins and handed them to us as needed. She handed me a clothespin and I went to hang up a shirt when I felt a little sharp pain on my foot, followed by another, and another. I quickly shook my foot and lifted it to investigate. Half a dozen tiny red insects scurried away. Fire ants. Part of me was annoyed because my foot hurt, while the other part was really excited because I had only seen them on the Discovery Channel and always wondered what a bite would feel like. I asked the oldest sister if they were in fact fire ants and she confirmed. Anyways, with the sisters’ help, a job that would have taken me 3 hours easily, took about an hour-and-a-half. We ended laundry day with a brief English class where I taught then words like short, table, spoon, and crazy.

Today was suppose to be my first day of work. I had been trying to get a hold of my counterpart (the French woman) and her secretary for the past few days with no success. When I finally got a hold of the secretary this morning she informed me that my counterpart was out of town until next Monday. I was confused about what I was suppose to do if she was out of town, so I decided to go into the office and see if I could help. I talked to a few teachers and administrators but they told me in the most polite way possible that they really didn’t know what to do with me. I decided to take the opportunity to get to know the town and some people in the community if possible. I started at the market because I knew my host mother would be there. The market is pretty big and I came in through a door I hadn’t before, so I was a little turned around. I ended up in the area where all of the fresh seafood is sold. There were fish that were literally the size of a newborn babies. Maybe bigger. As I walked through the room each fisherman greeted me individually. I felt like Belle in the opening scene of Beauty and the Beast. The men told me how beautiful I was and offered me deals on their shrimp, crab, and lobster . They insisted even when I explained to them that I was just passing through, and not really looking to buy anything. Despite the fact that I had no money, I walked out of the fish market today with a free fish, a new 80 year-old friend named Pedro, and a marriage proposal. I now know where to go if my self-esteem is ever low.

Though there were times during training when I wanted nothing more than to not be surrounded by 40 other volunteers, I have to say now that I am already missing my friends a little. I know this is what I signed up for, but it will take some time to get used to starting the process of making friends all over again. That said, I am very happy to be here and excited for the challenge that is ahead of me. I look forward to starting work (next week) and beginning my life as a volunteer. I hope that everything is great back home. Keep the emails coming!!!



P.S. for those of you that have skype I am working on finding an internet connection fast enough to handle it. I will let you all know as soon as I do.

P.P.S. I have a new address. It is: Jennifer Eik
Casilla 13-02-27
Bahía de Caráquez
Manabí, Ecuador