Home.

It doesn’t have the same meaning in Spanish. You can say “casa”, but to me, that describes a physical structure or location. “Hogar” is household. Something a little closer might be “mi patria”, which is homeland, and has a bit of pride behind it. The dictionary tells me “homesick” in Spanish is “nostalgica”, which doesn’t quite cut it for me. But when I think of the word, “home” in English, it’s an emotion, a sentiment, an entity, a feeling that’s hard to describe. In my mind, it has no connection to a place, but instead, to people, and how I feel when I’m surrounded by them. In fact, I don’t even think of the US when I think of home. Being here is the first time I’ve felt such possession of mi patria, as everyone refers to it as “my country”. “Do they serve the food like this in your country?” “How do they greet each other in your country?” “I have heard they are very fat in your country.” Por ejemplo.

I have just started to feel a sense of home in Tumbaco with my wonderful host family, and now I will start all over again in a few short weeks. I visited my new home of Pujili last week and practiced the art of flexibility, while the Universe attempted to test my patience. One morning, I was inches (centimeters maybe) from my first cry in Ecuador, but, with the help of a sweet old lady, I quickly snapped out of it. I will try to relay the events preceding without whining.

As much as I love dogs, everyone knows, I’m a cat person at heart, mostly due to my fondness for tranquility. I also tend to worry. Way. Too. Much. And worry even more when I’m unable to plan ahead for the outcome. That’s not to say that I don’t love change or that I have a fear of the unknown, just that I like to imagine the future and weigh all the possible consequences. And, so far I’ve been lucky enough to have a host family who takes very good care of me and takes every precaution to keep me healthy.

Monday, all of the counterparts came to the training center to attend some workshops with the trainees and then take them to site on Tuesday. My counterpart decided he wanted to leave Monday night since my new site is so close. Okay, I can do that. I’m a Peace Corps volunteer, my middle name is flexible. Monday afternoon as we were getting ready to leave, my counterpart informs me that he will be searching for a new host family, I will no longer live in the small apartment with the teachers and the toddler as my site paperwork indicates. Okay… I can do that… but where will I stay this week and how will I get my assignments done with a family? I’ll stay with my counterpart and his family for 2 days, then test out a new family for 2 days, then come back to my counterpart’s house for 2 days. Okay… I can do that… with a little more hesitation.

My counterpart’s house is beautiful, in the center of the town, and he has the nicest family in the world. The water in the shower was not just hot, it was scalding, and I let it burn my back for a good 30 minutes. They have a maid who is a great cook and I stayed in the 8 year-old little boy’s room, who would read me Disney stories in Spanish before bed.

I get to my potential new house and it is COLD, I sleep in my potential host mom’s room who loves that her mattress feels like sleeping on cement, with at least 5 blankets. I get up in the morning and take a shower in COLD water as I couldn’t figure out the heat, my teeth chattering so hard I thought they would break. I desperately wanted to blow dry my hair (and my entire body) when my potential host brother (11 years-old) came into my room (without knocking) to say that I needed to come eat breakfast. I sat down and my potential host grandmother fed me a burnt scrambled egg from her chickens in the back, unwashed fruit, and instant coffee in water. As I was halfway through, they needed to leave as my grandmother needed to walk the grandson to school. The second she left, the 3 small, yappy, grumpy dogs began barking and trying to bite my feet and persisted for 10 straight minutes. I started to get that overwhelming feeling in my chest and throat and just as my eyes were about to well with tears, my host grandmother came back in, yelled at the dogs, and told me that when I was finished, she would also walk me to school so I wouldn’t get lost. And she did. One block away. Arm in arm. Thank goodness for the silly kindness of old people.

Over the next couple days, I learned how to maneuver the shower, I had really good, productive days with the awesome teachers at my school, I accompanied my potential family (who are so sweet) to Catholic mass at the gorgeous church in my town, I scaled the 584 steps of the Sinchaguasin mountain to get a picturesque view of my city, a friendly person at the municipal office gave me several maps, I helped put makeup on the girls of the dance team and watched them win a folkloric dance competition, I went to a spontaneous reggae concert, I tried 2 new fruits, I climbed down and then up the famous Crater Lake, Quilotoa, and I felt wanted and needed by the people of my community, who expressed their hope and anticipation.

I think that I’ll end up feeling right at home.

El Danzante headpiece. Traditionally 200 pounds. This one was obviously not.

Folkloric Dance Team

My Vanna White skills, showing off Pujili

Quilotoa

Super cansados after hiking back up from the lake

Magnificent.