A week in Ecuador with SVC broadens perspective

It was 5:15 on Friday morning and I was frantically stuffing my dirty clothing into a washing machine. The evening before I had gone out to raucously celebrate the end of a hellish midterms week but now I was faced with the reality that I needed to get my act together before leaving for Ecuador in a few hours. I crashed on my couch for a few hours, hastily tossed my clean clothes from the dryer into my bag, and made a mad dash for Dillon gym where our group was meeting. I was going on an SVC-sponsored community service trip to the mountains of Ecuador and, though I had been told we were going to do some reforestation and renovation work, I had no idea what to expect.

A few days later in a small Ecuadorian farming village, we were repairing and partially re-roofing a small house, putting a fresh coat of paint on the casa communal, and participating in a village Minga – when many members of the community get together to improve their roads, schools or water system. It was hard work and our collegiate hands, more accustomed to computer keyboards than shovels and hoes, became easily bruised and blistered. The local volunteers working along side us chuckled at our inability to perform simple (at least in their opinion) tasks of manual labor.

After members of our group (including yours truly) had limited success sloppily digging a fifteen yard trench, a local came over and decided to show the Gringos from New Jersey how to get it done. He grabbed a pickax, deftly pierced the ground with several swift movements and carefully peeled away the top layer of sod. In less than five minutes, he exposed the softer under-soil, handed back the pick and went back to work. All that was left for us to do was to shovel away the dirt, and it's hard even for Princeton students to screw that up.

When we finished our work in the village, we spent the remainder of our time up at Lake Mojanda planting native species of trees on a grassy mountain side. Lake Mojanda, created by a volcanic crater and nestled between towering mountains at over 12,500 feet, is one of the cleanest lakes in Ecuador, and positively one of the most beautiful places I have ever been. The deep blue of the lake's water contrasted sharply with the green of the mountains, the light blue of the sky and the magical white of the low clouds that often enveloped us. The lake is on the Paramo, or grass lands, and most of the surrounding primary forest has been cut down for lumber or burned to create more pasture land. Unfortunately, many local farmers and ranchers still believe the myth that burning enriches the soil and that smoke from the grass or forest fires brings rain. The Paramo is the natural habitat of the Andean Condor, a species in serious danger of extinction, so reforestation is vital to preserve its habitat and maintain the rich biodiversity of the area.

In order to plant 500 hundred young trees, we needed first to dig holes that needed to be about 40 centimeters deep. The fastest way to do this is to use a tool we affectionately called "the bludgeon," essentially a very heavy iron spatula the size of lacrosse stick. You hold the bludgeon up with your arms, let it come down with full force and break up the tightly packed earth beneath the high grass. My biceps hurt just thinking about it. The high altitude also left me feeling dizzy so towards the end of the day everything took on a surreal quality. It was not uncommon to see a fellow Princetonian madly jab at the ground for a few minutes with a pick of shovel, stop and throw the tool to the side and then keel over wheezing loudly to the ground. The individual would revive after a few moments of rest and the whole process would repeat itself.

The locals again had the advantage. They worked deliberately and methodically to preserve their energy and were also accustomed to the lower levels of oxygen. Needless to say, one of the local farmers and his young son dug an astonishing 40 tree holes in an single morning, while the threesome of students I was a part of believed they were experts after digging 35 holes in a entire day.

But along with the beautiful scenery and the hard working and gregarious people, there were some aspects of the culture that truly took me aback. While working, a local American volunteer named Tim told me the story of a cattle thief from a nearby village. Apparently the man had stolen two cows from a friend in order to pay for the Christening party of his baby daughter. He was caught trying to sell the cows at market and was then brought to a village meeting to be punished. Tim recounted that the penalty for cattle theft in small villages can be as severe as burning the perpetrator alive. In this case, the thief managed to escape death but was instead bathed in a fluid of poison ivy that caused massive blistering and then whipped several times. Tim, present at the village meeting, tried unsuccessfully to convince the village not to punish the poor man so harshly but left in protest. Though this horror story was troubling, its brutal realities were almost wholly eclipsed by the kindness of our hosts as we went about our daily routine.

After work was over at five, we would all pile into the back of a red Ford pickup truck and make our way back down the mountain to the Mojanda foundation where we were staying. The cool breeze on your face was very welcome after several hours working outside. We would return a little after six in the evening and a couple of us would make a pre-dinner excursion to one of the village's two tiny shops. At the store, run by a hard working man named Gustavo, his wife and three children, we would buy a few rounds of Trago. Ecuador's version of Kentucky moonshine has been known to make a few villagers blind over the years. Served hot and mixed with cinnamon and spices or fruit juice it goes down nice and easy and was the perfect ending to a hard day in the mountains.