There’s no doubt that my exotic white complexion had a lot to do with their initial attraction to me, but now I finally feel like I’ve made a solid connection with each one of my students. I feel the same sense of comfort and belonging here in the school as I did in the gym where I taught kids gymnastics at home in the US. But the satisfaction of winning the adoration of these Ecuadorian children is far beyond that of any other child I’ve encountered because of the immense difficulty I’ve had getting here.

Working with children is no easy task in any situation. It requires relentless spontaneity, wittiness, goofiness, and a good sense of humor- most of which take a good blow when you can scarcely communicate. At the beginning of my apprenticeship, I was sure I would never reach the same level of comfort with these students as I did with my old students in the U.S. I thought I’d be lucky to be able to teach a coherent English class, if anything. But, what I’ve come to realize is that children are probably the easiest people to connect with. A connection made with a child is something so honest and basic that it comes naturally with enough effort and time. I believe children have a special knack for sensing emotions and personalities. They follow a set of fundamental instincts that aren’t subject to the formalities of social rules, allowing them to see past any barriers. And most importantly for me, they are quick to forgive any faults. Turns out, what once seemed like a catastrophic situation was actually just what I needed.

I have only recently obtained the vocabulary and ease of speech and comprehension that I need to interact casually with the kids. I can finally make them laugh (on purpose, that is). I can actually understand the rapid jabber they sling at me from across the room. And we can all enjoy a happily content class now that I have a handle on disciplinary phrases and I can teach them all sorts of fun games.

But working my way up from a state of utter helplessness was definitely a lesson in patience and humility. I rode a rollercoaster of good days and disasters, building both the tolerance and the confidence I needed. I’ve gone from absolute unmanageable chaos to smothering kids in stingy rules, from relationships that are too formal to relationships that are way too relaxed to get anything done, and from static complacency to overambitious ideas. But as I’ve fallen into so many extremes, I’ve risen with a better sense of balance and a more focused path forward. I’ve finally come to accept that the greatest value isn’t found by getting everything perfectly. If you haven’t messed up, you haven’t learned much.

Since I first decided to take a gap year, my ultimate goal has been to make a positive difference in people’s lives. While my goal hasn’t changed, my perspective has had some remodeling. It’s tough to admit it, but I know I’m not Superwoman. I can’t fix every single problem I come across in these seven months, as I would like to do. Great changes come with deep understanding, plenty of time, and experimentation. As of right now, I’m still working on the deep understanding. I simply don’t have the bait to catch those big fish just yet. But, in the mean time, I’m making the most of what I can do. I can introduce my fellow teachers to new teaching methods and disciplinary systems, I can show these students the exciting side of learning that they haven’t seen before, and I can develop meaningful relationships with the people here that will have a lasting impact on them, as well as on me. I may not walk away with a flawless record, but I will definitely take with me a valuable collection of memories and lessons that will leave me better equipped to go after something even greater next time.

This is something that I was accustomed to doing at home. I felt at ease enough with where I was to risk the failure of trying something new. At the end of the day, I could always fall back on all of life’s commodities that kept me going- friends, family, good food, etc. But I’ve realized that I’m not quite as adept at playing the confidence card when I’m this far out of my comfort zone. Although I’ve been here over three months, I’m still hesitant to speak to some people for fear of my lack of language skills and I still have trouble voicing any disagreement. I feel a bit disarmed here surrounded by a culture with different customs, expectations, and ideas. It takes a lot of bravery to take a leap when you don’t even have your footing.

But, I’ve been making a conscious effort lately to push myself to do and say things that make me a little more uncomfortable. After all, I didn’t come here for a vacation; I came here to leave my mark. So I challenged my supervisor when I wasn’t satisfied with what he was asking me to do at the school. I nervously presented my capstone project (in Spanish) to the school staff, explaining the details and requesting their help and support. And I’ve tried to have a more open and in-depth conversation with everyone I encounter, disregarding my own grammatical errors. To my surprise, nothing bad came of any of it. In fact, with every ounce of confidence I faked, I put a little in the bank.

My sudden inspiration came from our most recent journey in the Amazon. After an amazing retreat in the depths of the jungle, we met with Tyler Gage, a social entrepreneur, in Tena on the way back to Quito. Tyler started a tea company, called Runa, which sells the traditional Kichwa tea – made from the guayusa leaf – to a rapidly expanding market in the U.S.  He and his partners have constructed a farmer-friendly system of businesses, not-for-profits, and associations which put the power and the profit back in the hands of the locals. He explained to us the intricacies of the whole system and the unique path he took to get where he is today (which involved taking time off from college at Brown University to spend time in Latin America). But what left the biggest impression on me was nothing that he could have articulated to us.

In person, Tyler radiated with an astounding confidence and enticingly cool composure. I sensed that he was completely comfortable with himself and what he was doing, which put me at ease around him, as well. It was as if his confident energy had invaded my own thinking, making me equally confident in him. I would have trusted just about anything he had said. And indeed, I did. While driving in his white truck over a bridge across the Napo River, Tyler turned around with a spark in his eye and asked, “Hey, do you guys want to jump off this bridge?” To my surprise, without even giving it a second’s thought, I immediately said yes.

Just to put things in perspective, this bridge was significantly high, and I’m usually scared just to jump off a little boathouse into a lake. But, in the contagious can-do spirit, I began mentally preparing myself as he threw the truck into reverse and parked just before the bridge. We all watched as Tyler and his friend stood towering over the specks of people below and leaped into the air without hesitation. By this point, I was literally shaking with fear and anticipation. But, I told myself that I simply had to do it. You just don’t pass up the opportunity to jump off a bridge into the Napo River when it presents itself. So, after a few minutes of standing on the edge in contemplation, I mustered up some of that fake confidence and I threw my body out into the air without my mind’s permission. It was both terrifying and exhilarating. When my head bobbed up out of the water, I felt the most amazing rush of accomplishment. At that point, I decided that’s the kind of confidence I want to have – the kind that is so convincing it could make a complete stranger jump off a bridge.

Confidence is quite a peculiar idea. It doesn’t come to exist until you allow it. And as soon as you don’t, it dwindles away. It’s really just a conscious decision to behave as if you knew you were completely capable of the task at hand. So, all that hinders me from boasting the confidence I need is the doubtfulness of my own thoughts, and, that, I can change- or, at least, for now, fake it.

When considering how I could help people, I never gave much thought to who I should help nor how difficult it could be to make that decision. I assumed that helping anyone would have to be, well, helpful. But when you choose to help, you’re forced to decide who should benefit from your support, whether that is a conscious decision or not. And to make sure you’re helping – and not hurting – the person, certain aspects should be taken into consideration when deciding: Does this person want my help or am I forcing it upon her? Is this person in the position to receive my help responsibly or is there a threat of some problem, such as corruption, arising? Will this person remain dependent on my help hereafter or will this enable him to help himself? Many people are tempted to help others when the opportunity is conveniently presented to them, like giving a beggar on the street some change or donating to the organization that comes knocking at the door. But in such a case, it’s easy to overlook the fact that those people may not be the best candidates to receive the help; it may be better spent elsewhere. And your donation may actually hurt more than it helps.

The second question gets a bit more complicated. There are several aspects of the “how” factor that can change the outcome significantly. At our last monthly Training Seminar, we collectively narrowed down a list of principles of “good” development into three categories that can be used to evaluate the potential outcome of any development initiative. It should take into account context- natural environment, culture, and social relations. It should respond to local interests and perceived needs- locally supported, based on effective observation and listening, and creating options, not obligations. And finally, impact and consequences should be taken into consideration- sustainability, social justice and equity, and investing in capacities toward self-sufficiency. Many well-intentioned attempts to further “develop” an area seem like great ideas at first glance, but upon application, they fail to meet these requirements.

My host father spoke to me in depth last night about the different types of help the community has received from different people and organizations in the past. Judging from our several conversations about development, I would say that my father is one of the most pro-active advocates for progress in Zuleta. So, it was interesting to hear his opinion on the different projects. He first spoke of the help of a local organization, originally created by the descendent of Galo Plaza Lasso, the Spaniard who took over this portion of the land from the indigenous inhabitants many generations ago. Needless to say, there is a history of tension between the Plaza Lasso family and the locals. The way my dad sees it, the organization of Galo Plaza looks down on the people of the community. They support the community not out of generosity, but haughtiness, expecting endless praise and recognition in return. The people here often refuse help and donations from the organization for this reason. While I can’t say for myself if it is true, what really matters is how the community perceives it.

He then told me about the community’s government system. The president of Zuleta became very popular by recently installing every home with electricity and a telephone line. While many people were thrilled to receive all this for free, my dad was frustrated that the president seemed to be rewarding such idleness. These people could have obtained electricity and a telephone line by simply doing it themselves, but they had no interest until they were told it would be done for them. He told me that receiving things without earning them is a sure way to form a bad habit. He went on to say that, on the other hand, the Ecuadorian government provides them with tubes to install running water themselves. Through a community effort, everyone works to receive the benefits. This way, he says, they can feel justified in accepting the help without becoming dependent or idle.

Now, when I hear about a project, invention, or donation, I instinctively run it down the checklist of “good” development principles to decide whether or not it really has a chance at making a lasting impact. We have to be critical and realistic when assessing different development options. Given the amount of money, time, effort, and responsibility involved in making a social impact around the world, it makes sense to manage it like a business. The only difference is that the profit is measured in the lasting changes you make.

My first try didn’t go so smoothly. My swift motions spooked the cow, making her sprint off, knocking over the bucket of milk the old man had just collected. Luckily, he was patient enough to let me try again on another cow, this time holding her on a leash and carefully walking me through the process. It looks so simple when he does it, like he just pulls a lever and out pours the milk. But I soon found out there’s a lot of technique involved. Once I got a rhythm going, it took me almost fifteen minutes to fill up about an eighth of the bucket (although a lot of the milk ended up on me or on the ground). I thanked him for letting me try and let the professional finish up the rest.

Once we had all the milk, we carried it back down the mountain to a small cheese factory at the far end of town. There, we poured the milk into a measuring bin and the girls told the man working how much it would cost. I watched as the man recorded the amount and the price in a log- the fee to pay at the end of the month I presume. Then, I asked him if he would show me around the factory. After some uncertainty concerning our intentions, we convinced him of our genuine curiosity. He led us through a building hardly larger than my bedroom and briefly explained the process of making the cheese. He works a shift from 8 a.m. to 4 a.m. to make one fresh batch. When it’s done, they sell it to small stores and restaurants (not large supermarkets) because they will buy it for a fair price. At the end of our tour, he gave us a block of cheese right off the shelf to take home.

I couldn’t help but think it so strange that the milk I just took by hand was going to be made into cheese the next day by this man, then sold to a family in another little town nearby in a few months. The whole progression is so simple and personal. It’s hard to imagine businesses like this still exist when almost everything in the United States today is mass-produced to be sold around the country or even around the world. Could you imagine tracing your cheese back to the exact cow that produced the milk that made it?

This method of small business ensures that everyone who puts in the effort profits from the production. The small farmer with his two cows gets paid for his portion of milk every month. The family that owns the cheese factory gets paid a fair price for their products. The storeowner makes a modest profit from the sale of the cheese. And the consumer is satisfied with a quality product at an affordable price. No expansion of large buildings or loud machines could ever deliver such benefits all around.

This was only the second time I had met with my advisor, the director of the school here in Zuleta, Señor Moya. Our first encounter over our welcome lunch, while filled with several entertaining exchanges about food and the weather, didn’t yield much clarification about my apprenticeship. I’m still not incredibly clear what his expectations are of me, but I know I’m going to be teaching English and physical education. Señor Moya is an enchanting fellow with a good sense of humor and a warm personality, but he’s not very direct. Even today, when I probe him about petty logistics and such, he responds with a deer-in-the-headlights look followed by hasty assurance that I really shouldn’t worry about it. This sounds great right? Who wouldn’t want such a laid-back boss? But with my evident control issues, I simply cannot function without a complete and accurate outline of all the facts. When I need to know certain critical details- like the school’s schedule or whether or not I need to have six lesson plans ready by tomorrow- this lack of clarity can be a bit exasperating. However, I’ve come to accept this obscurity as just another aspect of my work here, as sure as the shriek of the roosters waking me up every morning at the crack of dawn. And I’m hopeful that working in the school with Señor Moya will help me to let go of my overbearing desire to be in control.

I paraded through the entrance of the school with a gracious smile plastered on my face as I exchanged glances and hellos with all the new faces. After a brief, yet unnerving, introduction in front of the entire school, I followed Señor Moya into his classroom, where he teaches the superego of the student body- the seventh grade. I had yet to hear any proposition of my work for the day, so I tagged along with him, hoping to stumble upon some hint of my assignment. As he walked around the room, he chattered away using a whole glossary of verbs and nouns I didn’t know, lulling me into my typical befuddled stupor. My Spanish- while it has improved vastly over the past month- is not quite at that level of relaxed communication that everyone else here seems to boast. I try my best to get by with every other phrase I pick up on, but I’m often left trailing behind every word like a lost puppy. When I absolutely can’t understand something, I force myself to utter those demeaning words of bewilderment- “No entiendo.” But, I’ve decided this is my absolute last resort. If I said this as often as I really wanted, conversation would come to a screeching halt and I’m fairly certain no one would want to talk with me. I figure it’s better to listen and try to go along with the theme of the discussion, filling in blanks as best as I can. (When in doubt, I usually talk about being cold. Everyone here seems to bring up the chilly climate in every conversation, so it’s a justifiable transition.)

As Señor Moya addressed me in front of the class, I put forth every effort into understanding what he was saying. But I figured I must have missed something important when he handed me three whiteboard markers, gave me an encouraging nod with a grin, and strolled out the door nonchalantly. I just stood there for a few minutes in silence absorbing the reality of this daunting situation, trying to throw together some desperate plan of action as the students swarmed me with questions and rummaged through my bag. I had been left in charge of thirty rambunctious students without any direction, without the day’s schedule, without an adequate Spanish vocabulary, and without a clue as to what I was supposed to do. But, I knew I couldn’t stall forever. Sometimes you just have to grab the reigns and steer that horse somewhere, even if you don’t know where you’re headed. So I scrounged through my flustered thoughts to find something I knew: a silly introductory game from gymnastics class. With the first spurt of laughter in the room, I breathed a deep sigh of relief. And from there- although it was far from painless- I managed to make it through the rest of the day on a little spontaneity, a positive attitude, and a prayer. I have a feeling I’m going to need a lot more where that came from.

Physical appearance doesn’t hold much significance here. No matter what I wear or how I present myself, I can’t escape the label of a “gringa” (a common term for non-Ecuadorians- basically, an outsider easily identified by skin, hair, clothing, speech, etc.). Humor requires a whole new level of comprehension. The jokes I would try to make often don’t translate well and I’m always laughing alone, ignorantly as our Ecuadorian friends make comments that go flying over my head. Manners are of a different breed here. I get stared down when I absent-mindedly put my napkin in my lap instead of leaving it on the table. It’s completely normal to borrow people’s things without asking and to show up for a meeting thirty minutes late. And after two weeks of this new language, I’ve obtained the vocabulary maybe comparable to that of a second-grader. So, it’s rather difficult to engage in a conversation of much sustenance.

Left barren of so many delicacies of interaction, I’ve had to adjust my tendency to care so much how other people perceive me. As most of my friends and family can attest, this is not that easy for me. I no longer have total control of the impression I make or the image I get across. Come to think of it, I guess I never really did; only now, it’s painfully obvious. I’m becoming more comfortable looking and sounding like a complete fool in front of large audiences (who usually don’t hide their entertainment) and I fully embrace my naïveté with humility. In this rigorous learning environment, there is little room for pride.

I often feel out of place here sporting my noticeably different clothes, my lack of confidence in everything from casual conversation to the local bus routes, and my overwhelmingly distinctive height (of which I’m brutally reminded every time I fail to dodge a five-foot tree on the sidewalk- I’m convinced this must be a cruel joke.). But, the longer I’m here, the more I surprise myself. I never would have believed before that I could feel so comfortable living in another family’s house, debating politics in a country I’d heard virtually nothing about just months ago, speaking and thinking in a language I once only knew in textbooks, making my way around the city that is becoming increasingly more familiar. I can sense this year, this country, and this experience becoming an essential part of my identity. I’m beginning to realize how much of myself is congruent to all that surrounds me. I may not be able to express myself in the same ways I once did, but I haven’t lost anything; I’ve just discovered a whole new chapter to my identity.

After a quick shower (to conserve the hot water), I get dressed and join my family for “desayuno”- breakfast. I struggle to get by with broken conversation as I consume a piece of bread with guayacuyó marmalade (my new favorite!), a scrambled egg, a mug of hot chocolate, and a tall glass of juice so fresh I can almost taste the tree. My madre loves to talk to me over breakfast. She has the kindest demeanor and a soul-filled laugh so sweet I can’t help but to giggle along- even though I don’t understand what’s funny most of the time. I admire her for her strong work ethic- typical of many Ecuadorians I’ve observed- and her incessant optimism. She told me that she wakes up every morning at 5:00 a.m.to begin preparing the restaurant downstairs for opening. She somehow manages to do this, to get her two children ready for school, and to cook us all a hearty breakfast before I even see the light of day. When I return from classes in the evening, she is always busy either tending to the restaurant or to her children.

I can see the exhaustion in her eyes by the end of the day, masked by her jolly expression. But, it never stops her from getting up and doing it all over again the next morning. To begin the day and get going with my schedule filled with classes and seminars, I meet Chloe outside my door at 8:00 a.m. and together we head for the bus stop. Her padre accompanied us the first few days, informing us in his Argentinean slur of all the dos and don’ts of public transportation in Quito. He told us again and again to pay attention to everyone around us, to keep our cell phones in our pockets, and to cradle our bags in front of us like a babies. He warned us that many thieves on the bus try to slip things out of bags and pockets and he pointed out that if we were to have to surrender our bags, wewould still have our phones in pocket to call someone to pick us up. Not bad advice. But I have yet to witness any real threat around me on the buses. In fact, I’ve seen more people willingly give money and food to the crippled roaming the aisles. I receive a lot of help and advice from kind strangers as I walk by- warning which streets I shouldn’t stroll and informing me where to buy my ticket for the metrobus. As a whole, the people here seem to be incredibly
pleasant and supportive of one another.

Slowly but surely, I’m becoming accustomed to this new life- new language, new family, new friends, new surroundings, new schedule, new food, new me. This transition has been one of the toughest challenges in my life. I remind myself daily of my favorite Ecuadorian expression- “cosas de la vida,” or things of life. No matter what obstacles are thrown my way, I know I’ll get through this
experience stronger and wiser than ever before.

In addition to my yearning to learn and grow, I feel a deeper purpose to take that knowledge and use it as power to make a targeted difference – to leave this world better than I found it. My bridge year in Ecuador opens the door for me to learn about all sorts of things- the Spanish language, Ecuadorian culture, pertinent global issues, etc. But, the main goals I wish to get out of my experience concern both internal and external analysis. Through my personal journey, I hope to figure out just what it is I have to offer the world. I want to become more in touch with my strengths and weaknesses as a person and a leader and to become confidently aware of my purpose. I want to enter my freshman year of college with a specific objective in mind, and then shape the rest of my life around that. I no longer want to feel “in the dark” about the direction in which I’m headed.

During my time in my host country, I would like to not only observe, but to participate in, a new culture and lifestyle. I plan to seek out the similarities between this and my life in the U.S. instead of solely focusing on the differences. I know I will discover ways in which we are all connected in this world- the universal human qualities that draw us to one another and inspire us to reach out.