Bésame, Bésame Mucho

This photo was taken after much begging from my mother. 

The other night I was thinking about what it will be like to go back home.  In my vision of that first day back, I see my family at the airport, faces lit up in excitement after not seeing me since the beginning of October.  I walk over to them, embrace them and kiss them all on the cheek while they enthusiastically tell me about how much they have missed me and shower me in unnecessary but welcomed compliments.  And then I remember that’s how it is in Ecuador, not the United States. 

                Will my family be ecstatic to see me?  Of course.  But how will they greet me?  My parents will hug me, I’m sure, but what about my younger brother?  I remember the day I left for the airport, my mom had to yell at him to come say goodbye to me.  Both of us were dreading it, because these instances amongst siblings, especially of the opposite sex, are always tricky.  We don’t like touching each other, and to be honest, the last time we probably got up close and personal was back in the day when we would physically fight over something petty.  So there we were, facing each other in the kitchen, gingerly waiting for the other one to make the first move.  We both knew we had to hug to appease our mother, so we awkwardly embraced for a calculated acceptable amount of time and then he ran back upstairs to play his video game (or wipe off the sister cooties). 

In Ecuador, the personal “bubble” that I, as an American, have been accustomed to all of my life is popped.  Every day I walk into my homestay, rushing around to make sure I kiss everyone on the cheek while they greet me with the utmost enthusiasm about how happy they are to see me (even if I have never met them before).  When I first came to Cuenca, I would get frustrated at how impractical this is.  If I walk into a roomful of people who are all sitting down comfortably, I have to awkwardly interrupt their conversation and hastily make my rounds until I have kissed everyone.  Can’t I just wave and say hola?

I know a kiss on the cheek is such a little thing, but I really think it makes a huge difference.  There are two siblings staying at my homestay this week: Valentina, who is 12, and Matteo, who is 13.  They have their fair share of bickering like any other pair of siblings do, but they have no problem getting close to one another to kiss on the cheek.  They even have to share a double bed because there isn’t an extra bed in the house!  I think about family vacations when my brother and I were younger.  We would double up with a parent because just the thought of sharing a bed with each other was horrifying!  Also, Valentina and Matteo always refer to each other as “mi ñaño/a,” a term of endearment in Quichua meaning brother or sister.  I have never called my younger brother anything even resembling endearing. 

   I thought about how many times I have kissed everyone in my host family and how natural it feels.  I had adjusted to it after about the first week, and since then I had never really questioned it.  But looking at it now, how pathetic is it that I am more comfortable kissing people that I have only known for 6 weeks than I am my own brother?  I realize that both are just cultural norms that I have adapted to, but I can’t help but wonder if my relationship with my little brother would be different if we didn’t give in to the standoffish American way.  

I've Got the Moves Like Jagger

The other night, I went with my host parents to a small family gathering at their daughter’s house.  When we arrived, my host dad, Jaime, ushered me to a couch in the family room.  He immediately drew my attention to the music playing in the background.  To me it sounded a little outdated, but I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to be listening for, so I just remained quiet.  I could hear a few guitars playing to a calm but lively tempo.  Each song always had more than one singer, generally a man and a woman, who like the guitars, harmonized their melodies. 

Jaime began to tell me that this is traditional music of the Ecuadorian sierra.  He then told me about the different dances that accompanied each song.  In the middle of my music lesson, his grandson, Matteo, who is thirteen, entered the room.  With iPod in hand, Matteo’s face wrinkled in disgust to the music coming from the stereo. 

“Ew, turn this music off,” he said to his grandfather as he hit play on his iPod.  Maroon 5’s “Moves like Jagger” started to play over the traditional music.  

Annoyed, Jaime asked, “Why don’t you like this music? It’s the music of your country!”

Matteo scoffed, “Who cares! It’s old and boring.  Besides, you can’t dance to it!”  Matteo began to dance like he was in a club showing off his “moves like Jagger.”  When his grandmother, Rita, heard this blasphemy, she entered the conversation.                                                                                                                                    “You can dance to this music.  Watch!”  Rita began to dance a traditional dance to the rhythm of the song in the background.

“That dancing is more boring than the music,” Matteo retorted. 

Angered, Jaime said, “This is the music of your country.  You listen to that other music, but it’s all in English.  You don’t even know what they are saying! How could you like that more?” 

Matteo stared at him blankly for a moment and simply replied, “This music is for old people,” and walked away singing Maroon 5.   

Filled with mixed emotions of humor and awkwardness, I sat there in pensive silence as I reflected on what I just witnessed.  My initial reaction was I had gone back to a time when rock ‘n roll was the music of the devil, except the devil music was American pop.  However, this was so much more than just a generational disagreement.  Jaime didn’t fear that his grandson was living in sin by dancing like an American (although why anyone would want to do that by choice is beyond me).  Jaime, a traditional Cuencan man of sixty plus years, saw a serious lack of patriotism in his grandson. 

The world is shrinking, and with that, cultures are being overcome by one overarching global culture.  Some have even coined it American cultural imperialism.  Ideas, music, and fads are shared on a global scale, hence, Matteo’s obsession with Maroon 5.  While he is only thirteen, his blatant disregard for his country’s historical culture is not uncommon in developing countries like Ecuador.  The older generations see their culture disappearing and they want to protect it as much as possible, at the risk of segregating themselves from the rest of the world.  Younger generations wholeheartedly embrace other cultures, but at the same time forget their own. 

It’s a tricky situation, both arguments have consequences.  Only time will tell what the outcome of a globalized world will be.  While I do enjoy a good Maroon 5 song just as much as Matteo, the thought that one day the culturally rich music of the Ecuadorian sierra could be forgotten is really disheartening.  I don’t think it’s bad that Matteo loves Maroon 5; I think it’s great that he is able to have access to American music.  However, although American’s also have access to other cultures, how many American’s enjoy music from countries like Ecuador? Sharing ideas on a global scale has the potential to be so powerful, but only if information is shared both ways.      

 

If Only Disneyworld was in Boston...

If Only Disneyworld Was in Boston…

I wouldn’t exactly call it racism, at least not the racism that Americans are accustomed to, but there is a definite stress on skin color in Ecuador.  Despite the fact that many people in Ecuador are “Moreno” or tan skinned with dark hair and dark eyes, almost all of the mannequins and advertisements in clothing stores are blonde with blue eyes.  The 4 year old child in my homestay has only blonde baby dolls.  I found it exceptionally odd that the term “negro/a” is actually a term of endearment for the darkest person in the family, because to be dark in Ecuador is not revered nearly as much as it is to have features attributed to a “white” person (i.e. lighter skin, blue eyes). 

At first I thought I was just making an observation about something pretty minute within Ecuadorian culture.  However, I knew I was on to something after two separate occurrences with relatives of my homestay family.   

The first encounter was with a nice elderly woman named Yolanda.  She was in her early seventies but still lively as anyone.  When she learned I was from the United States, she mentioned that one of her children lived in Boston.  I replied that I thought Boston was a beautiful city, to which she responded (in Spanish of course!) “Yes, I like Boston a lot more than the other cities, like New York and especially Miami.  Those cities are filled with immigrants; Boston is beautiful because it has a lot more white people.”  Mind you, Yolanda did not speak a LICK of English, yet she prefers Boston over a city like Miami where Spanish abounds, and she would be able to express herself to her hearts content. 

Shortly thereafter, I befriended a 6 year old girl named Antonella.  When I told her I was from the United States, her face lit up and the first question out of her mouth was about Disneyworld.  So we started swapping stories about Disneyworld, and I asked her who her favorite Disney character was.  She thought it over for a minute and finally responded Jesse from Toy Story.  I asked her why, and she matter-of-factly responded, “Because she’s the whitest one.”  I further prodded, asking her what she meant by that, and she rolled her eyes like it was obvious.  “Jessie has red hair and big blue eyes and she’s a cowgirl, like a REAL American.” 

I think I found it so odd because skin color is such a touchy subject in the United States, but here people talk about it like they’re talking about what they had for dinner last night.  Here, if you’re whiter, you’re prettier, if you’re darker, you’re a plain Jane Also, because everyone is so different in the United States, different cultures are constantly recognized to not risk discrimination (going along with the Disney example, think about the Princess and the Frog movie).  If people openly talked like this in the United States, it wouldn’t be tolerated at all, but here, it’s more of a fact than a personal opinion.  

"Ayyy Mamacita!"

One of the biggest points that my school’s study abroad office addressed before we came to Ecuador was the “machismo” attitude of Ecuadorian men.  Machismo is a phenomenon not only limited to Ecuador, but is prominent in almost every Latin-American culture.  I think the best way to describe machismo is by telling you about my morning walk to school every day. 

On my way to school, I walk by two buildings that are currently under construction.  Now I understand that construction workers back home aren’t given the most conservative stereotype, but every day like clockwork as I walk to school I am whistled at, kissed at, and told I’m beautiful by these men.  I realize when I explain it, it really doesn’t sound so terrible; who wouldn’t like being called beautiful on a daily basis?  EXCEPT: there is nothing I can do about it.  Responding to the attention only makes the situation worse.  Women are expected to assume a submissive role and just absorb the comments powerlessly. 

Women here are first and foremost, objects to be scrutinized.  On one walk through the city, I was with 2 other American girls, and a man approached us, pointed straight at one of us and stated that she was the prettiest one, and went on his merry way.  If I wanted to be rated on my looks, I’d enter in a beauty pageant thank you very much!  I recognize that women are objectified even in my beloved United States, but never before have I been expected to be submissive to men to that extreme.    

Sometimes it’s not even in an obvious manner.  In my homestay, our nightly ritual is bread and tea as a family.  I was already seated at the table with my “dad,” but “mom” was in the bathroom.  He got up and brought out the tea kettle to pour me a cup of tea when she came out of the bathroom.  She looked at him funny, and she insisted on pouring the tea, to which he replied, “I’ll be the waitress tonight.”  I realize it was to be taken as a joke, but the fact that it’s so tacitly understood by the two of them is what I found so striking.  Don’t get me wrong, they are happily married and very respectful to one another, but in their daily routine, Rita does “wait” on Jaime. At home, my dad sets the table, does the laundry and the dishes just as much as my mom does.  And I can guarantee if my dad “waited” on my family, there would not be any objections coming from my mother! 

But in all seriousness, I really did take for granted the gender equality that exists in the United States.  What I learned most from this experience is that there is a fine line between valuing the family unit and gender inequality.  Jaime really does respect Rita, and the way they run their household works for them.  However, I think the expectations in a typical Ecuadorian household allow men to have a superior attitude toward the women population as a whole.