Jungman 2 Jungle: Getting there and the first day

To get to the jungle, one must ride a 12 hour bus, overnight, to the Cuyabeno Reserve. If you are the type of person who enjoys riding in hot buses for from 9 pm-9 am on poor roads with Spanish polka blaring in your ears the whole time, then this would have been right up your alley. I am not that type of person.
As I have mentioned before, Ecuador is a loud country. Contrary to the practice of most any airline that conducts overnight flights, the bus conductor seemed to think that blaring loud music all night might help people sleep, or make the journey somehow more pleasant. He was obviously quite mistaken.
Finally though, we did arrive at the reserve. After the passport checks by M-16 toting soldiers (What, in case someone tried to make off with a monkey?), Jairo issued us ponchos and life vests, and we took boarded the motorized canoe for the short trip upriver to the lodge. I was mostly thankful to be off the bus and in the fresh air. As we started off into the river, we passed though a canopy of trees growing in the middle of the water, with myriad vines hanging down. At this point, Neil rightly observed, “We are legit in the jungle.” Legit. Jungle. A start to a most excellent day.
During the boat ride, we observed some colorful butterflies and enjoyed watching Meliton (the boat driver, remember, if you haven’t read it yet, read the cast of jungle characters in the previous post) deftly handle the canoe with one hand and whack unwanted branches and vines with the machete in the other. We were greatly entertained.
We arrived at the lodge and settled into our rooms, with a few bats that resided there as well flying around to greet us. Fortunately, the bats were really not much of a problem. We were out of the room during the day when they slept, and they were gone for an evening of eating mosquitoes by the time we retired after dinner. Only in the early morning when they returned did we ever cross paths. We got along pretty well with our winged roomates.

I didn't mention this before, but from the moment we arrived in the jungle, it was raining. But of course, this is the RAINforest during the RAINy season, so we really should not have been surprised. Rain or shine (more rain than shine) we carried on with the plans for the day which included a hike through the jungle with Jairo stopping along the way to point out medicinal plants and other useful jungle oddities. Jairo honestly could probably survive in the jungle for a month without any supplies, just living off the land. We made "jungle rope" with some incredibly strong vines, we ate ants that live inside trees (they tasted like lemon), we found plants that do just about everything including help cure cancer, we even made jungle hats (see picture).

The whole time it was somewhere between steady rain to pouring, but I would still place it among my top 20 lifetime hikes. I really can't begin to describe all the interesting stuff we saw, but it was awesome in the true sense of the word.

Jungman 2 Jungle

We returned on Monday from the Cuyabeno Reserve in the Amazonian Basin after a 4 day trip to the jungle. It was a truly breathtaking experience; a wonder to behold the complexity of God’s creation. I am going to write about the jungle in the course of several posts. First though, I must make mention of the cast of characters.

Will and Neil: If you’re reading this, you probably know at least one of us, so I think no introduction is needed.

Jairo (prounced Hi-ro): Our English-speaking jungle guide, and one of the most knowledgeable guides I could imagine. He could describe the unique features of dozens of plants and had a remarkable knack for spotting even nearly impossible-to-see animals.

The Danes (Knut, Jacob, Jacob (whom henceforth shall be known as Juan Pablo), and Nicholas: 4 Danish guys our age who drink more than anyone I’ve ever met. Apparently, Denmark is ranked as the most drunk country in the world, and these guys even considered themselves light drinkers. Their stories were absolutely hilarious, as it seems all there is to do in Denmark is drink. Usually, every story ended with Juan Pablo saying, “Oh, we were so drunk that time.” Only it wasn’t like the American stories where people try to top each others drunkenness. These guys would blow any Americans out of the water (or the vat of beer, as the case may be). 30 drinks per head in a night was just a good time. They were fascinated by Neil’s and my stories of wild animals, adventures, wide open spaces, high legal drinking ages, ethnic minorities, car ownership, and violence in the States, as in Denmark these are all practically non-existent or unheard of.

Meliton: Our motorized canoe driver. Neil and I sat in the back of the canoe closest to Meliton, who only spoke Spanish. On the first trip downriver, he informed us that we were lucky to have him along, as he would make sure that Jairo would not tell us anything false or embellished. He was there to keep Jairo in line, he claimed. Meliton then proceeded to mislead and lie to us about everything in the jungle, constantly trying to trick us. Neil understood more of what he said than I did, and translated Meliton’s absurd comments for the enjoyment of the group.

The cook (name unknown): A very important person to have around, although his portions were never quite large enough. Maybe because he himself was a rather diminutive man?

2 dogs (names unknown or nonexistent): A big, rather sweet, black Rotweiler that hung around camp and another unidentifiable breed that was mostly blind, but made a good effort to attempt to knock me off the camp walkways into the water on a few occasions. Both incessantly clamored around the table for scraps, and due to his size, the Rotweiler could be quite pushy. I also learned last night from the Danes (who we met back up with in Quito) that the smaller dog killed a boar that they ate for dinner the day we left. I would have loved to seen that!

Yes I am working

You may have noticed that few of my posts so far have actually pertained much to what I came to Ecuador to do, namely to research men in microfinance. The reasons for this are as follows: first, the research up to this point simply has not been as interesting (a) as adventures and oddities of life in Ecuador or (b) as I had hoped for. I guess point (a) is to be expected a little, but I had been somewhat disappointed by point (b). The other reason is that it has taken a long time to figure out what end the research was serving.

When we arrived in Latacunga a few weeks ago, the head of the office there told us point-blank that FODEMI prefers not to lend to men, but to lend to their wives instead. Then he gave us quite a bit of evidence as to why they had good reason to operate this way. This all came as a bit of a surprise, seeing as I had been gearing up to study men in microfinance since November.

We went ahead with our interviews in Latacunga and learned a lot about the way a microfinance organization functions. We also found some possible weaknesses in FODEMI's current system. For FODEMI, we have drafted what amounts to a sort of consulting report that we are submitting to them. Hopefully, they will actually use some of our suggestions.

Back in Quito, things started to get more interesting. We had a couple meetings with Jorge Moyano, the CFO of Diners Club here in Ecuador and one of the people behind starting Fundacion Amor y Esperanza's microfinance program. When we first met with Jorge, hardly anything had been planned yet. He and Pancho Sola had met once to discuss the future possibility of a microfinance program. He asked Neil and I to prepare a presentation outlining what we learned at FODEMI and our suggestions for how to start a microfinance program for Amor y Esperanza. Quite an exciting, and daunting, charge to be asked to form the intial ideas for a new microfinance program that was going to be started with the help of numerous bank executives here in Quito. We prepared a presentation and presented to Jorge, who actually thought it was great.

Things really came to a head last night. We met at Jorge's church with him, Pancho and Pity Sola (directors of Amor y Esperanza), the VP of one of Ecuador's larges banks, a local businessman (in the chicken business of all things), and a marketing expert. Throughout the meeting last night, three of the other men gave their short presentations, but Neil's talk was the centerpiece. He did a truly outstanding job, and I think really impressed some people who certainly know many times more about business, banking, aid organizations, and microfinance than we do combined.

Through much debating and discussion, a bare outline for an organization was mostly verbally hashed out. The vision is to create a Christian microcredit organization, based on Biblical principles that will reach out to the poor, Christian and non-Christian alike. There is a lot of work to do before it can get started, but it looks like this is really going to happen. The various businessmen are going to contribute their expertise to starting the organization, and Neil and I are creating a very preliminary business plan. Tons of obstacles remain. One of those is raising startup funds. Jorge though boldly stated that night that this was really not a big problem, as we just all needed to pray and God would provide. I hope so. Also, I ask for your prayers that this organization would be come a reality, that it would get the needed funds, and that it would successfully help people improve their lives here in Ecuador.

God bless.

Noise Pollution

This is Beasley. Beasley is one of two beagles that lives with my family in Atlanta. Beasley is a pretty good dog, but every now and then he will start barking. Being a beagle, he barks very loudly.

What does this have to do with Ecuador, you ask? I have increasingly come to realize that Ecuador is many things: beautiful, Catholic, a place to find cheap food, safe by Latin American standards, and LOUD. There are dogs in Ecuador, too, and they bark as well. However, there is a fundamental a difference in how dog owners handle their dogs in Ecuador. When Beasley gets to barking at the mailman, the UPS truck, another dog, or nothing in particular, someone in our family goes out in the front yard and takes him back inside, usually involving a short chase (which gets shorter as he grows older). People in Ecuador do not bother to corral their barking dogs. No, they'll let their dogs up onto the roof (many buildings have flat roofs) or out into their tiny yard and let the dog bark all night. They would never think about shutting up a dog that carries on, constantly, from 11pm-4am. I know this because there is a dog that barks all night at one of the buildings right outside my bedroom window. Did I mention that I am a light sleeper?

Also, people honk constantly here. In the US, or maybe particularly in the South, people don't honk much. Unless they are rude, people usually only honk when its very necessary to get someone's attention on the road. You all know this, most of you are from the South. I think people in Ecuador honk for the sake of hearing their horn. Cars will be driving along a flat, open road, free of traffic, and they wil honk. Honking is also sometimes as substitute for stopping at an blind intersection, as in "I'm coming through here and not stopping, so I hope you hear my horn." While American juveniles might get their kicks from racing their cars at high speeds on weekend nights, I think some Ecuadorians enjoy driving up and down streets honking their horns. They may actually be competing in some way, I do not know.

Also, too many people get hold of loudspeakers in this country. In Latacunga, a truck drove around a couple times a day with speakers pointed in 3 directions, dispelling some mostly incomprehensible gibberish. It reminded me of the German trucks roaming the streets of occupied Paris spewing propaganda such as "Amerika ist kaput." I'm pretty sure it must have been the local Latacungan public information minister, or the Ecuadorian communist party (if there is one).

On the note of loudspeakers, a few weeks ago, around mid morning in Quito, I heard another voice over a loud speaker. I thought at first that we must be near a mosque and that all of Quito's three dozen Muslims (the country is 98% Catholic) were being called to prayer from a minaret. I don't know any Arabic, but whatever was being said could have been in Arabic as far as I as concerned. It sure didn't seem like Spanish. Then, a few days later, I passed by the source of this cacophony. A woman rode around the neighboorhood in the back of a truck yelling into a megaphone trying to sell various fruits. It was only then that I was able to make out what seemed to be the word "naranja," ("orange") at the end of her still undecipherable. I am quite tempted to buy all this woman's entire stock of produce if she only woudn't ride around all morning shouting Spanish/Arabic into her loud speaker.

Maybe I am too easily annoyed by Ecuador's noisiness, or maybe I am just too accustomed to the quiet of home. Obviously though, I think my enjoyment of peace and quiet is very at odds with the realities of life in Latin American cities.

Sunday Morning Church, en espanol

For the first time in Ecuador, I went to church this Sunday morning. The church is called Iglesia de la Republica and Jorge Moyano, one of our contacts with Amor y Esperanza, invited us. It’s the same church a family friend (Dirk Cameron) used to attend in Quito, and is literally a 5 minute walk from our apartment. Unlike most churches in Ecuador, this was NOT a Catholic church. I’m not sure if it was associated with any denomination, but it seemed like it might have been a non-denominational Bible church. It was an incredibly welcoming place. We probably stuck out a little, especially seeing as I much too white to be Ecuadorian and was wearing a coat and tie unlike anybody but the ministers and the old men (always better to overdress than the opposite though; for example, wearing a tux to a pool party is funny, but swim trunks and flip-flops at a black tie wedding are simply distasteful). A guy around our ages greeted us and told us all about the church. Later we found Sr. Moyano and met his family. The people I met there seemed to be filled with a great conviction of God’s loving presence in their lives. Jorge even took Neil and me aside with his wife after the service and prayed for us and for our work.
Going to church non-English language services is always an interesting experience. I’ve been to a Catholic service in Bayeux, France, and a non-denominational service in Sao Paulo, Brazil (I also went to an Anglican service once in the Bahamas, and at times I thought we weren’t speaking the same language). I could understand some of the speakers pretty well today, but unfortunately the woman giving the lengthy sermon was not one of them. I did thoroughly enjoy the service. The service began with the classic worship song “Lord I Lift Your Name on High,” only in Spanish. I sung a little in Spanish, but mostly in English. It reminded me very distinctly of spring break in Brazil, where practically every song we sang at the service also had English lyrics with which we were familiar. While attempting to sing the Spanish was an interesting experience, the words carry little meaning to me, unlike the words in English. I also found myself focusing more on the pronunciation of some unfamiliar words, rather than the purpose of the song, namely to praise the Lord. So I opted for English, where the words and their pronunciation are instinctive, leaving the mind and heart to praise God.
Not understanding some of the service gave me time for my own reflection and prayer, however my mind wandered at time as the service went on. As I have grown older and gone to other churches besides the St. Lukes and Northside, I have come to think that the one-hour service must be a distinctly Methodist tradition. I grew up on one-hour services, and I think after about an hour and eleven minutes, the Methodist’s mind begins to wander, unless of course there is communion in which case more time is allowed before the mind’s ship makes port at La-La Land (thus I can manage the somewhat longer services at Christ Church in Charlottesville).

Haggling

Haggling has been on my mind lately, as we went to the artesians market in a Quito park this morning. I've come a long way in my haggling since my experiences at Otavalo on my first Saturday in Ecuador. Most noticibly, my vocabulary and verb usage is now nearly flawless when bargaining a price. I've learned other tricks, too. I never look too interested, even if something really catches my eye. Sometimes I even chat for a minute and say I'm going to look further. Occasionally, such as was the case of the hammock I bought for $10 today, I explain that I really don't think I need it; that I don't know where I could put it. If I have to ask how much it is, I try to not make an offer until hearing the line, "Pero, por usted mi amigo, hay una discuenta" (But, for you my friend, there is a discount). I quickly decide on a maximum price I'll pay (usually around 75% of the quoted price), and then the fun begins!
I always make a lowball offer, usually around 50% of the offered price. This brings a little shock to the vendor's eyes, and is followed by a head shake or an brief mention of the good's high quality or excellent craftsmanship. I concede, and raise my price, as little as I possibly can, usually $1. In the end, I usually get my target price, and sometimes beat it.
I really enjoy haggling. It's like a fun game to me, and there are a few cheap items I've bought here simply for the fun of haggling them down to half their quoted price or less.
Yet, as I've managed to bargain down the prices, I've wondered how I should feel about trying to pay these vendors as little as possible. Some of them are obviously rather poor. As I bargained the woman for the hammock yesterday, I was trying for $8 while she was holding steady at $10. Then she looked at me and said something about being poor, I didn't quite catch it but I heard the word "pobreza." At that, I felt rather guilty and consented to pay $10. It's a bit of a paradox. I'm here to address methods of helping microentrepreneurs, yet I am perfectly willing, as a consumer, to whittle down their profits as much as I can.

An Aggie in Ecuador

This post is really for my cousin, Jennifer Emerson, so I hope she reads it.

I always like meeting Americans here, particularly those from my region of the country. I was on the bus today and heard a couple guys speaking English, one of whom sounded as though he could easily be from Texas or the South. I found out that they were working with the Peace Corps down here, and that one was from a small East Texas town (the name escapes me now) and had graduated from Texas A&M about 4 years ago. He was actually wearing a National Student Leadership Forum t-shirt, which is an annual Christian leadership conference in DC. I loved running into a fellow Texan, even if he was an Aggie.

Child Protesters

On Tuesday, as we walked the two blocks from our hotel to the FODEMI office in Latacunga, we were surronded by throngs of schoolchildren costumed in an eclectic array of colorful outfits. They were apparently parading schoolchildren protesting children's labor. I wasn't really aware that 8 year olds were big into protesting for economic and political justice (I thought they were more into protesting their parents to see PG-13 movies), but apparently these kids were. We got to the office, found no clients there to interview, and returned to the street to take a few pictures of the scene.

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