This morning as we were getting ready to catch the bus to Otavalo, our host's mother, Zoila, asked if we wanted a ride. We said yes and piled with alacrity into the car which Carlos was driving. We met another guest of the family, this time from Lithuania rather than France. Her name is Vilia and she looks to be very young--twenties or thirties at most.
From Otavalo, we climbed into a full bus headed for Cotacachi, where Cristhian Guaján, a leather maker, works. The trip took 45 minutes, although it is only 8 miles, and we arrived early because we wanted to explore the town. About 9,000 people call this lovely little town home. It's clean, pretty, higher than many of the other towns, "tranquilo" (Cristhian's description) and very appealing. Everyone was very friendly and helpful in getting us to the center of town where there is a big church in the central plaza. We called Cristhian to say that we were there, and he met us on the church steps and walked us to his home and workshop. He and his wife and sister were in that day, all of them work in the shop.
They were very welcoming and very patient as they showed us around and answered many, many questions from us. When we asked if they had questions for us, Cristhian wanted to know why we were here, doing these interviews, volunteering our time to find out more about their lives. When I explained we wanted to help them better their lives, he was very impressed. He said, "That is unique. Many people buy things but don't know anything about the sacrifices made to do the work. It is unique that you want to listen to us."
Cristhian is 29 and Johanna is 30. They've only been working for five years, three of them for Minga Fair Trade. He met Chris Keefe in the market here in 2012. Already, they have three helpers in this busy workshop, with more available when the orders are large. We were astonished at how many pieces go into a wallet (their best selling product)! He pulled out the template for one wallet and there were nearly a dozen pieces to it, not including the lining. He cut the pieces with an X-acto knife, then showed us how they were sewn together and stitched at the edges to prevent fraying.
March is a busy month--right now they have so many orders they work day and night--sometimes all night and drawing in their mothers and aunts as well. Cotacachi is a big center of leather production, and nearly every shop has leather goods. We wonder how all this works, but Cristhian says people know to come to Cotacachi for leather, so there's work for all. An interesting fact, given our northern desire to limit competition as much as possible.
Cristhian and Johanna have two little booths in the Parque San Francisco. When we arrived, we found Johanna's sister and aunt there watching things for them. It's a sweet little market under the flowering trees, with birdsong and not much traffic noise. The sun filters through the trees, the volcano makes frequent brief appearances above the clouds, and it's just about a perfect place in our opinion. Someone said to us that people from Otavalo find it so tranquil that they compare a stay here to a stint in jail. But for us, this is great.
We see that the market is open from 7 a.m. till night, and Johanna puts all her stock in a big cart and pulls it to the market. She packs it the night before, unpacks it to be ready by 8 a.m., sells all day until nearly 10 p.m., packs up what's left and pulls it home in the cart. We are reminded of our own work in the U.S., except that her hours are much longer than ours. We asks if she has a day off, and she says no, the market is open 365 days a year. Wow! They have two small boys, 8 and 6. Cristhian says the sales at the booth are not much--just enough for daily bread. The export sales cover their other needs. He hopes that someday, his work will be known all over the world, not only for his sake but for that of the young men working for him.
We take family photos before leaving and promise to send them. They give us their e-mail and invite us to visit them any time. As we catch the bus back to Otavalo, we are suffused with good feeling and a sense of wonder. Here, thousands of miles away are our younger brothers and sisters. We're so happy we came.
Tonight, I received a huge gift from my Feminine Power Mastery teachers--learning how to love myself, as it so happens, I am much better able to love others. Thank God for the possibility of growth, no matter what my age.
Wednesday, March 11, 2015
Wednesday, March 4, 2015 Chilling Out in Otavalo
Wednesday is Skype with Minga day--also a day to write up reports, at least in the morning. In the afternoon we encountered a typically South American phenomenon--the slippage of the gears of time. We arrived for our appointment to interview the country rep here and discovered they were not home! They had been invited to a friend's house for lunch and it had run overtime.
Our host apologized when he arrived twenty minutes later, and again when two artisans arrived simultaneously with our entering the front door. This was the precious, precious couple who make the sweaters for dogs. They had brought a sample sweater and a whole bunch of adorable animal ornaments, knitted in bright colors and whimsical designs. One of them was something like a cow and something like a dog. I asked what it was, and they said a bear! When I looked puzzled, they explained it was a panda bear. That made sense of the black and white. When we asked them how they had gotten the idea of a panda, Luis replied, "From my imagination." He has quite an imagination! So we Googled pandas for him to see.
They had come to Romel to ask a question about their order. Spanish is not their first language--neither is it the first language of the person who sent the order. So Romel said I could help them all figure it out, because my first language is not Spanish, either. That's not the way he said it, actually--he said because I wasn't good at Spanish, and neither was the sender of the order, I would be able to understand the bad Spanish. I had to laugh. I did figure it out, though, with the help of a second e-mail which had been sent to clarify the first.
Afterwards, we interviewed Romel for three hours, until he said his head might explode, then returned via bus to our host family in Ilumán. This was a long day with a lot of brain gymnastics. It was so wonderful to see Luis and Maria getting ready to send their first order to the U.S. They are so eager, making samples as requested as quickly as they can. I am glad we can help them, as are they, I'm sure.
We're gradually beginning to understand some of the difficulties in communication, as Romel shared with us that he "doesn't have the gringo mind." We are digesting that information, wondering if we know all of what it means. For sure, things are more fluid down here--we schedule an interview and something else precludes or delays it. Everything from the driving to the daily routines seems to direct us (and everyone else) to go with the flow. Albert said (in the midst of a very heavy unexpected traffic jam) you just have to be "tranquilo." A not uncommon phrase when we are apologizing for something is "No te preocupes"--don't worry about it. In the U.S., we might be very worried indeed, but here, it's not something to disturb anyone's peace.
I personally can learn a lot from this typically Ecuadorean attitude.
Our host apologized when he arrived twenty minutes later, and again when two artisans arrived simultaneously with our entering the front door. This was the precious, precious couple who make the sweaters for dogs. They had brought a sample sweater and a whole bunch of adorable animal ornaments, knitted in bright colors and whimsical designs. One of them was something like a cow and something like a dog. I asked what it was, and they said a bear! When I looked puzzled, they explained it was a panda bear. That made sense of the black and white. When we asked them how they had gotten the idea of a panda, Luis replied, "From my imagination." He has quite an imagination! So we Googled pandas for him to see.
They had come to Romel to ask a question about their order. Spanish is not their first language--neither is it the first language of the person who sent the order. So Romel said I could help them all figure it out, because my first language is not Spanish, either. That's not the way he said it, actually--he said because I wasn't good at Spanish, and neither was the sender of the order, I would be able to understand the bad Spanish. I had to laugh. I did figure it out, though, with the help of a second e-mail which had been sent to clarify the first.
Afterwards, we interviewed Romel for three hours, until he said his head might explode, then returned via bus to our host family in Ilumán. This was a long day with a lot of brain gymnastics. It was so wonderful to see Luis and Maria getting ready to send their first order to the U.S. They are so eager, making samples as requested as quickly as they can. I am glad we can help them, as are they, I'm sure.
We're gradually beginning to understand some of the difficulties in communication, as Romel shared with us that he "doesn't have the gringo mind." We are digesting that information, wondering if we know all of what it means. For sure, things are more fluid down here--we schedule an interview and something else precludes or delays it. Everything from the driving to the daily routines seems to direct us (and everyone else) to go with the flow. Albert said (in the midst of a very heavy unexpected traffic jam) you just have to be "tranquilo." A not uncommon phrase when we are apologizing for something is "No te preocupes"--don't worry about it. In the U.S., we might be very worried indeed, but here, it's not something to disturb anyone's peace.
I personally can learn a lot from this typically Ecuadorean attitude.
Sunday, March 8, 2015
Tuesday, March 3, 2015 Compelled by Compassion
This morning we traveled with Minga's country rep to Martha Constante's house in Ibarra. When her husband retired thirty years ago from the police force, she set up her business making hand knit sweaters in her home. There are now hundreds of women who have benefited from this decision. She says she keeps thinking about retiring, but the same thing keeps her working that got her started--the women in financial need who come to her door begging for work.
They have two daughters, one of whom works with her mother in the business. Anita's degree is in engineering. They joke that she is an engineer in an international business (Martha exports to many countries in Europe and to Japan as well as the domestic and South American market. The other, Aleja, is still in school. I found myself liking this woman more and more as she described the many challenges they face--the government taxes any yarn that is made from fibers that are not natural, and then they add insult to injury by buying up all the yarn available in Ecuador and exporting it to China, according to Martha. There is also the matter of copyright. Ecuador has no copyright laws. Their designs are always being copied, and they then have to create another sweater. They make about 30 new designs per year. Materials are triple what they were 30 years ago, but they can't raise their prices that much or they'd be priced out of the market. Sometimes the profit they make on a sweater is so small, they can't do more than pay the artisans.
Martha is an organizing genius. She has a file of 1,500 names of women who have knitted in their homes in remote villages for her. (The business started with only three knitters). She wants to give as much work to as many people as she can. When orders are low, she breaks them into very small lots so that each woman can have something to eat. She has a book with everyone's name in it, how much material they have been given, what the completion date is to be, pickup date, and how much the finished sweaters weighed, as well as the number of sweaters made and the payment for each one. It is big, fat, and hand-written.
She brings the materials to each village to the supervisor she has trained, shows the supervisor how to make the design, and the supervisor takes care of getting materials to the women in her village, quality control of the finished work, and collecting them for Martha and her daughter (they both drive out to the different villages in different cars, to cover as much area as possible.) They bring them back to their home where Martha and one other woman take care of all the finishing--zippers, buttons, tags, etc.
The day we were there, a tiny woman, Guillermina, who Martha says is her oldest and shortest worker and her friend because she has worked with her the longest, brought her finished sweaters in to be weighed (they have learned to weigh the wool when they drop it off and again when the sweaters return, to avoid supplying materials which don't get knitted into sweaters for them). About three feet high, Guillermina sparkled, which is the only conceivable word to describe her. She has to be in her seventies!
Martha is really serious about giving work to women in need. She prefaces everything by saying, "This is not for my sake--this is for the women." Sometimes she doesn't have enough money for gas to get out to the villages to deliver materials and pick up sweaters. This is a big challenge for her to keep the business going.
In addition to providing work for women in need, Martha and her daughter rescue stray or injured dogs. Martha has 20 of them on her property. They are well cared for, and she tries to find homes for them all, but she cannot bear to leave them in the sorry state they were in when she found them. One little darling followed us up and downstairs. She was not in the big pens, Martha said, because she was smaller than all the others and she was afraid they would pick on her.
She has such a big heart that she can't bear to see anyone in need. In spite of the many and difficult hurdles she must get over every day, her motto and watchword is "siempre adelante." Always forward. Anita remarks that her mother is quite "terca"--stubborn, and can hardly be coaxed to rest. This occasioned a discussion about taking care of yourself as well as others so that you can continue to care for others. She knows this, but it's hard when so much need arrives on her doorstep, ringing the bell. She intends to go on doing this work as long as possible because it is so important.
When we asked for advice she would give to anyone starting a business like hers, she says you have to love the women. The challenges are huge, but the rewards are just as great when you can help them succeed in life and care for their families.
Her husband, Jorje, is in his seventies. He drove us (in a mildly terrifying fashion) up to the big lake behind Ibarra, to the new park built from the old airstrip and back to the city center for lunch. He is as cheerful and as generous as Martha. Although Martha is younger than I am, I found her very inspiring. It's important not to quit in this work, not to stop trying to make a difference. Yes, it is hard, but it is making a difference for so many people, for whom the extra few dollars mean survival. I'm inspired to keep pushing forward. You never know, you see, if you quit, whether you would have succeeded if you had just kept on for one more day. Siempre adelante, mis amigos, siempre adelante.
They have two daughters, one of whom works with her mother in the business. Anita's degree is in engineering. They joke that she is an engineer in an international business (Martha exports to many countries in Europe and to Japan as well as the domestic and South American market. The other, Aleja, is still in school. I found myself liking this woman more and more as she described the many challenges they face--the government taxes any yarn that is made from fibers that are not natural, and then they add insult to injury by buying up all the yarn available in Ecuador and exporting it to China, according to Martha. There is also the matter of copyright. Ecuador has no copyright laws. Their designs are always being copied, and they then have to create another sweater. They make about 30 new designs per year. Materials are triple what they were 30 years ago, but they can't raise their prices that much or they'd be priced out of the market. Sometimes the profit they make on a sweater is so small, they can't do more than pay the artisans.
Martha is an organizing genius. She has a file of 1,500 names of women who have knitted in their homes in remote villages for her. (The business started with only three knitters). She wants to give as much work to as many people as she can. When orders are low, she breaks them into very small lots so that each woman can have something to eat. She has a book with everyone's name in it, how much material they have been given, what the completion date is to be, pickup date, and how much the finished sweaters weighed, as well as the number of sweaters made and the payment for each one. It is big, fat, and hand-written.
She brings the materials to each village to the supervisor she has trained, shows the supervisor how to make the design, and the supervisor takes care of getting materials to the women in her village, quality control of the finished work, and collecting them for Martha and her daughter (they both drive out to the different villages in different cars, to cover as much area as possible.) They bring them back to their home where Martha and one other woman take care of all the finishing--zippers, buttons, tags, etc.
The day we were there, a tiny woman, Guillermina, who Martha says is her oldest and shortest worker and her friend because she has worked with her the longest, brought her finished sweaters in to be weighed (they have learned to weigh the wool when they drop it off and again when the sweaters return, to avoid supplying materials which don't get knitted into sweaters for them). About three feet high, Guillermina sparkled, which is the only conceivable word to describe her. She has to be in her seventies!
Martha is really serious about giving work to women in need. She prefaces everything by saying, "This is not for my sake--this is for the women." Sometimes she doesn't have enough money for gas to get out to the villages to deliver materials and pick up sweaters. This is a big challenge for her to keep the business going.
In addition to providing work for women in need, Martha and her daughter rescue stray or injured dogs. Martha has 20 of them on her property. They are well cared for, and she tries to find homes for them all, but she cannot bear to leave them in the sorry state they were in when she found them. One little darling followed us up and downstairs. She was not in the big pens, Martha said, because she was smaller than all the others and she was afraid they would pick on her.
She has such a big heart that she can't bear to see anyone in need. In spite of the many and difficult hurdles she must get over every day, her motto and watchword is "siempre adelante." Always forward. Anita remarks that her mother is quite "terca"--stubborn, and can hardly be coaxed to rest. This occasioned a discussion about taking care of yourself as well as others so that you can continue to care for others. She knows this, but it's hard when so much need arrives on her doorstep, ringing the bell. She intends to go on doing this work as long as possible because it is so important.
When we asked for advice she would give to anyone starting a business like hers, she says you have to love the women. The challenges are huge, but the rewards are just as great when you can help them succeed in life and care for their families.
Her husband, Jorje, is in his seventies. He drove us (in a mildly terrifying fashion) up to the big lake behind Ibarra, to the new park built from the old airstrip and back to the city center for lunch. He is as cheerful and as generous as Martha. Although Martha is younger than I am, I found her very inspiring. It's important not to quit in this work, not to stop trying to make a difference. Yes, it is hard, but it is making a difference for so many people, for whom the extra few dollars mean survival. I'm inspired to keep pushing forward. You never know, you see, if you quit, whether you would have succeeded if you had just kept on for one more day. Siempre adelante, mis amigos, siempre adelante.
Saturday, March 7, 2015
Monday, March 2, 2015 The Magical Art of Tie-Dye
What a wonderful day we've had. We returned to Peguche first thing in the morning to view the tie-dye process at Carlos Pastillo's workshop. Carlos and William, one of his workers for the past thirteen years, were ready for us. Carlos was a bit disappointed, because he had a large order to dye and only one helper had showed up, the other two sleeping in for some reason. However, he and William kindly demonstrated the cold-water dye process and the hot-water one as well. We were totally fascinated with the demonstration.
We had no idea how heavy the work is in tie-dye. They fill a 40-50 gal. metal tub with water and 50 pairs of pants (their most popular product). It weighs a ton! The water comes directly from the Peguche waterfall, which is a couple of miles away. They have a cistern in the ground to catch it. The water is heated by natural gas, which comes in cylinders. The gas becomes frozen (as any camper can tell you) when a good portion of it has been burned, so they dip it in the tubs to thaw it out. We needn't have worried, but it was a strange sight to see that gas cylinder bobbing in the boiling water.
The first step is to remove the gummy substance coating the fabric by boiling it for ten minutes. The fabric then turns white instead of sand color. There are about seven big tubs which they fill near to the top with a hose from the cistern and begin to heat the water to boiling. When the pants are completely white, it's time to empty the water, which takes tremendous strength. The full tub is so heavy they can't lift it very far, so they put it on its side on the cement floor and let the water run out and into the drain. The use their rubber-booted feet inside a big laundry tub of cold water to rinse the boiled pants. Then they pour the water out, wring the pants very tightly by hand and begin to fold and then tie the folds very tightly. It takes a lot of force to tie them so tight, (their arms look like brown steel) and a memory for what the tying pattern produces when it's unfolded that is remarkable in the extreme. Even so, Carlos noted that there is always some unexpected thing that has happened with the tying, so no two designs are the same.
They know exactly how many spoons of which color to mix to get the exact shade desired. Then with the cold water process, they add salt to the dye and paint the folds with a regular 3-inch paintbrush. They made two beautiful sarongs or "kangas" in this way by painting several colors on each side of the flattened circular bundle they had tied. It was like watching a magician to see them open the dyed fabric! He noted that with the cold-water process, that although the salt helps, the pieces have to be dried in the sunlight in order to fix the dyes.
With the hot-water process, they fill the tubs again with clean water and the mixed dye, then fold and tie the pants one by one. There are about fifty patterns of tying they know by heart, some of which have names, like "disastre," "churro," "rayas," and "chinguas." After about ten minutes in the boiling water, the dye is permanent. They take the pants out that they've dyed, untie them and retie them in another pattern and boil them in another color for ten minutes. In this way they can use about fourteen colors at once. When they are taken out and untied, they have shrunk (that's the reason they are cut two sizes too large). They are then dipped in a fixative solution containing salt and a commercial fixative. The pants are wrung when they are taken out of the second dye bath, and we could see the color coming out with the water. But after they've been in the fixative, the water comes out clear. When they are fully opened and hung to dry, it was jaw-dropping to see the beautiful and intricate patterns created. It was like science magic.
When they're dry, Sulema irons them. Then each pair of pants is stamped with a bleach solution to make white patterns on front and back. The stamps are made of molded white rubber and usually have some type of Galapagos animal on them. There are also stylized suns, geometric patterns and other designs they create--about 30 stamps that we saw. The finished pieces are hung for the bleach to dry and then they're packed in big bunches and delivered for export. We had no words to express our awe at the amount of labor, water, and natural gas that this process takes.
Carlos noted that the government wants to encourage the use of electricity, because it's cheaper, so they are planning to raise the cost of a canister of gas from the current price, $2, up to $25. This would likely put him out of business. He's worried, but, "¿Que haces?" What can you do?
Carlos' hope is that his art (and it is exactly that) can get well-known in countries all around the world, so that he can take good care of their children and his workers can get ahead, too.
We decided when the process was complete that we would wait for Saya to come home from school so we could take her picture. We walked about the town of Peguche and visited a store called "El Gran Condor." This beautiful shop is part museum. As soon as we walked in, the receptionist asked if we would like to see the traditional weaving process, including carding, spinning and dyeing the wool. Of course we did, so she demonstrated all the different parts of that process. The shop is a cooperative of about 15 families, and the quality was so much higher than anything we've seen--anywhere--that we were again astounded. For that quality of weaving and finishing, we would have expected to pay twice as much in the U.S. or Ireland.
Returning to the Pastillos' house, we worked a bit on reporting the morning's work and Saya returned. We added her photos to a slideshow (complete with Andean music) Vincent had created while I typed up the report of our visit. They were able to download it onto their computer. They seemed just as fascinated with that process as we had been with the dyeing, and thrilled to have that record of their work and their family. We were just as thrilled as they were.
It is just astonishing how many different gifts and talents there are in the world, and how amazing it seems to us when we share them. Don't miss the pictures--they are out of this world.
We are going everywhere in the buses now, the only gringos on board, ever. The cost is 25 cents each, and the buses are clean. They only really get crowded at four to five in the afternoon, when the kids are getting out of school. It's quite a neat system!
Friday, March 6, 2015
Sunday, March 1, 2015 Old Dogs Can Learn New Tricks
Today is laundry day, among other things. We spent most of the day typing up reports and writing up interviews. In the morning, something happened that helped me understand many of the failures I have experienced in a new light. I feel hopeful that change can happen, now that I see the pattern. It is one common to many women, as we have been taught to ignore our own needs and take care of others'. This doesn't work very well, as the compassion necessary to take care of others comes from the felt recognition of our own needs. I'm committed to changing that pattern in my own life and helping others change it (if they wish) in theirs.
So many of the people we have interviewed this week have shown me how beautiful life can be, even in the face of poverty, when there is hope. What a gift this is, this hope that blossoms from mud and ordure! The fact that change can come, even so late in one's life, is powerfully inspiring. Perhaps there are still things I can contribute, still gifts I can give. There is a wide space opening out to me. I am grateful. And if failure and pain was what it took to get me here, they are worth it.
So many of the people we have interviewed this week have shown me how beautiful life can be, even in the face of poverty, when there is hope. What a gift this is, this hope that blossoms from mud and ordure! The fact that change can come, even so late in one's life, is powerfully inspiring. Perhaps there are still things I can contribute, still gifts I can give. There is a wide space opening out to me. I am grateful. And if failure and pain was what it took to get me here, they are worth it.
Saturday, Feb. 28, 2015 To Market, To Market. . .
Today we took our first bus ride (by ourselves) in Ecuador. Pretty easy. Every time we ride the bus, we are the only gringos on it. By the way, "gringos" here is not pejorative in the way it would be closer to home. It merely means "white people." Our destination--the famous Saturday market in the Plaza de los Ponchos in Otavalo. It is billed as the largest indigenous market in South America, although I don't know if that's true. Certainly one city block is filled with stalls, and all four surrounding streets away from the square for at least two blocks and some of them more.
Our first stop was to talk a little bit to José Cuaical. José lives in Tulcan near the Colombian border. He's a stonecarver. We found him to be of a very gentle spirit. One type of help he needs is buying tools for his stone-cutting. Blades for the cutter, for example, are non-existent in Ecuador. He hopes that he can get help in acquiring what he needs for his workshop.
We spent five hours going from booth to booth, looking for unusual items that we think might be attractive in the U.S. We got a lot more than we bargained for. We met some very interesting people and made connections with an older couple whose three children were born in the U.S. and thus live in Chicago. We also met El Tigre. The reason for his unusual nickname is that he is one of four or five "Rafael"s in his family--himself, his son and grandson and various cousins and nephews. So he picked that name and has been marketing his ponchos, hats and gloves under that name--for 45 years in this market. He is a teacher of weaving for the past 25 years, and his whole family is involved now in the weaving business. They weave on the traditional wooden looms and even do some backstrap weaving, which has all but disappeared in Ecuador, we've been told. He also taught the indigenous language--Kichwa or Qichua--for five years in Brazil. He has been keeping a notebook for years which he gladly pulled out to show us--even a newspaper article about his longevity in the market. He was a charming fellow and allowed us to take photos of his designs to see if Minga would like them. We wished him good luck as we parted. I was very impressed by his pride in his heritage and knowledge, and also his cheerful determination to continue on until he had to stop--he's 79.
It is such a hard life here, making crafts for the market--there is so much competition and so few truly unique designs, as most of them copy whatever they see in the market. There is one whole block devoted mostly to friendship bracelets. Then the customers bargain and bargain until there is hardly any profit left. We watched one couple at José's booth give him such a hard time about prices, which were quite reasonable. Finally they left without buying anything. I felt sad that people who work so hard and travel so far get such poor treatment, and ashamed that this couple was American. They obviously planned to sell the stones for a higher price in America, and they wanted them dirt cheap.
The whole world of commerce sometimes seems to me to be heartless. What do people really need? Food, shelter, clothing, friendship, medicine, an honorable occupation. So much of our time in this world seems to be about getting the lowest price, gaining the most money, which is then spent on frivolity, or worse, invested in schemes to make more money and have a bigger pile of it than the next guy. People here are so hopeful that they can sell their art and crafts and be able to feed, clothe and educate their children. I hope with all my heart that they can, and I work for that, too. But it is a very small corner of the big market which seems almost demonic in its impersonal grinding of everything and everyone to the lowest common denominator--the dollar. Ah me, I need to spend some time in quiet, I'm not usually this gloomy.
Sometimes though, the task of helping people do well seems almost impossible. Then I remember what my friend Loreta Rafisura said--"Every day, I pray. Then I do what's before me. The rest is up to God." That is the way I need to walk in. Everything else is fantasy.
Our first stop was to talk a little bit to José Cuaical. José lives in Tulcan near the Colombian border. He's a stonecarver. We found him to be of a very gentle spirit. One type of help he needs is buying tools for his stone-cutting. Blades for the cutter, for example, are non-existent in Ecuador. He hopes that he can get help in acquiring what he needs for his workshop.
We spent five hours going from booth to booth, looking for unusual items that we think might be attractive in the U.S. We got a lot more than we bargained for. We met some very interesting people and made connections with an older couple whose three children were born in the U.S. and thus live in Chicago. We also met El Tigre. The reason for his unusual nickname is that he is one of four or five "Rafael"s in his family--himself, his son and grandson and various cousins and nephews. So he picked that name and has been marketing his ponchos, hats and gloves under that name--for 45 years in this market. He is a teacher of weaving for the past 25 years, and his whole family is involved now in the weaving business. They weave on the traditional wooden looms and even do some backstrap weaving, which has all but disappeared in Ecuador, we've been told. He also taught the indigenous language--Kichwa or Qichua--for five years in Brazil. He has been keeping a notebook for years which he gladly pulled out to show us--even a newspaper article about his longevity in the market. He was a charming fellow and allowed us to take photos of his designs to see if Minga would like them. We wished him good luck as we parted. I was very impressed by his pride in his heritage and knowledge, and also his cheerful determination to continue on until he had to stop--he's 79.
It is such a hard life here, making crafts for the market--there is so much competition and so few truly unique designs, as most of them copy whatever they see in the market. There is one whole block devoted mostly to friendship bracelets. Then the customers bargain and bargain until there is hardly any profit left. We watched one couple at José's booth give him such a hard time about prices, which were quite reasonable. Finally they left without buying anything. I felt sad that people who work so hard and travel so far get such poor treatment, and ashamed that this couple was American. They obviously planned to sell the stones for a higher price in America, and they wanted them dirt cheap.
The whole world of commerce sometimes seems to me to be heartless. What do people really need? Food, shelter, clothing, friendship, medicine, an honorable occupation. So much of our time in this world seems to be about getting the lowest price, gaining the most money, which is then spent on frivolity, or worse, invested in schemes to make more money and have a bigger pile of it than the next guy. People here are so hopeful that they can sell their art and crafts and be able to feed, clothe and educate their children. I hope with all my heart that they can, and I work for that, too. But it is a very small corner of the big market which seems almost demonic in its impersonal grinding of everything and everyone to the lowest common denominator--the dollar. Ah me, I need to spend some time in quiet, I'm not usually this gloomy.
Sometimes though, the task of helping people do well seems almost impossible. Then I remember what my friend Loreta Rafisura said--"Every day, I pray. Then I do what's before me. The rest is up to God." That is the way I need to walk in. Everything else is fantasy.
Thursday, March 5, 2015
Friday, February 27, 2015 Homestay in Ilumán
We met some of our other house mates, Francis and Sonita from France. They are clients of Carlos and they buy and sell his hats very successfully at an 8-week Christmas market. They are both very friendly, kind and cheerful. Francis does not have much Spanish--French, German and a little English instead. Sonita was born on the island of Reunión in the Indian Ocean (near Madagascar, we looked it up). We looked up each other's home towns on Google Maps.
Sonita has two daughters going to school in France, the third daughter, the oldest is taking care of them--Sonita keeps up with them via Skype. One of her daughters is undergoing treatment for cancer, which is very worrisome for Sonita. I am finding it quite disconcerting to be chatting along in Spanish and have Francis or Sonita stop me and talk in English, French (of which I have not one word) or German. As I was beginning to learn Spanish, the German I learned in high school and college came to me more readily than Spanish, and now it is coming at me out of context. My brain gets stuck in "Spanish gear" and I can't think of an English or German word which I know perfectly well. It's like learning to drive a manual transmission--lurch to a halt, step on the gas, car dies. Press the starter and try again. Plus the French pronunciation throws me off. They are very patient and kind and full of humor, so we are getting along well despite the lack of a common language.
The home, living quarters and workshop are quite a lot bigger than we imagined. It seems Carlos and his mother, Zoila (SOY-la), live here with Carlos' two boys, Sebastián and Miguel. Carlos' wife died of cancer two years ago, and Zoila mothers them. Zoila's uncle started this business many, many years ago. They transported everything to market by burro! It was a very hard life. Zoila still works in the business, but Carlos is in charge. They sell to many different countries and have dozens of styles of hats they make in leather, wool and straw. They also offer hospitality to many visitors, including us. Tomorrow Carlos is going to Otavalo to ship an order to a customer in Canada. Carlos and his mother both are extremely energetic people--they run everywhere. They are very concerned that we get the proper food (I am lactose intolerant to a certain degree, and Vincent is a vegetarian). We told them they didn't have to trouble themselves, we would eat anything, but they have put together quite a menu of possibilities for us.
I spent some time on the phone and the internet today making sure our mortgage would be paid, as we haven't tried the mail service yet and don't know if we want to. It was a day of catching up with small things. We went out for a walk in the town plaza and looked for chirimoya. Unfortunately, I was remembering the wrong fruit and we got some (somewhat sour) maracuyá instead. It's an interesting fruit--to open it, you smash the rind on a wall or a table, it cracks open and you scoop out the jelly-covered seeds from the center. The taste is similar to tamarindo.
I'm thinking a lot today of family and friends back in the U.S. As we tool around the country meeting ever more new people, I am missing the old friends, the grandchildren, Elspeth. Vincent is also missing hearing English spoken. He signed up for Netflix because of it, then immediately cancelled. One thing we are NOT homesick for is snow! We are hopeful that when we return in April, we will see all of you, but no frozen water anywhere. Water is much more pleasant not frozen or boiling!
Sonita has two daughters going to school in France, the third daughter, the oldest is taking care of them--Sonita keeps up with them via Skype. One of her daughters is undergoing treatment for cancer, which is very worrisome for Sonita. I am finding it quite disconcerting to be chatting along in Spanish and have Francis or Sonita stop me and talk in English, French (of which I have not one word) or German. As I was beginning to learn Spanish, the German I learned in high school and college came to me more readily than Spanish, and now it is coming at me out of context. My brain gets stuck in "Spanish gear" and I can't think of an English or German word which I know perfectly well. It's like learning to drive a manual transmission--lurch to a halt, step on the gas, car dies. Press the starter and try again. Plus the French pronunciation throws me off. They are very patient and kind and full of humor, so we are getting along well despite the lack of a common language.
The home, living quarters and workshop are quite a lot bigger than we imagined. It seems Carlos and his mother, Zoila (SOY-la), live here with Carlos' two boys, Sebastián and Miguel. Carlos' wife died of cancer two years ago, and Zoila mothers them. Zoila's uncle started this business many, many years ago. They transported everything to market by burro! It was a very hard life. Zoila still works in the business, but Carlos is in charge. They sell to many different countries and have dozens of styles of hats they make in leather, wool and straw. They also offer hospitality to many visitors, including us. Tomorrow Carlos is going to Otavalo to ship an order to a customer in Canada. Carlos and his mother both are extremely energetic people--they run everywhere. They are very concerned that we get the proper food (I am lactose intolerant to a certain degree, and Vincent is a vegetarian). We told them they didn't have to trouble themselves, we would eat anything, but they have put together quite a menu of possibilities for us.
I spent some time on the phone and the internet today making sure our mortgage would be paid, as we haven't tried the mail service yet and don't know if we want to. It was a day of catching up with small things. We went out for a walk in the town plaza and looked for chirimoya. Unfortunately, I was remembering the wrong fruit and we got some (somewhat sour) maracuyá instead. It's an interesting fruit--to open it, you smash the rind on a wall or a table, it cracks open and you scoop out the jelly-covered seeds from the center. The taste is similar to tamarindo.
I'm thinking a lot today of family and friends back in the U.S. As we tool around the country meeting ever more new people, I am missing the old friends, the grandchildren, Elspeth. Vincent is also missing hearing English spoken. He signed up for Netflix because of it, then immediately cancelled. One thing we are NOT homesick for is snow! We are hopeful that when we return in April, we will see all of you, but no frozen water anywhere. Water is much more pleasant not frozen or boiling!
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