The hardest thing for me to get used to when we moved to Ecuador wasn't the language or the food or even the crime. The hardest thing for me was (and let's be clear that I'm not trying to offend anyone or critique anyone's way of life; I just want to tell my stories) the lack of what we'd call "social contract" people had for those outside of their own families and circle of friends.
You see, we had to live in these walled communities. There were something like 9,000 homes in Puerto Azul, the ciudadela (little city) where we lived. You had to go through a checkpoint to enter and exit. Our neighborhood had a small shopping center that got bigger and bigger the longer we lived there. There was a market that had tons of American products, a movie store that didn't just sell pirated DVDs and video games; it also had a membership like a Blockbuster in the States would have. There was a school in our neighborhood too. Basically, if you didn't want to leave our neighborhood, you didn't have to.
These neighborhoods--or at least ours did--have their own sets of rules and laws. The people that lived in these communities are usually very rich and/or powerful and the rules don't usually apply to them. To be clear again, it's not that they "think" the rules don't apply to them; in fact, in most cases, the rules just don't apply to them because of who they know or who they're related to. It's a different system than we are accustomed to in the States, but that's just how it is. I'll explain more about life outside of Puerto Azul later; but for now, I'll stick close to "home."
Living in Puerto Azul, it was all about who you were and who you have influence with. The rich all had domestic staff that would come in at dawn and leave at sundown. You could spot them easily, because almost everyone had "the uniform." I remember seeing a maid in the pharmacy one time. She was easy to spot in her uniform, and she was carrying the packaging from a certain brand of sanitary napkins. I could tell she wasn't shopping for personal reasons; she was on a mission. She had the package in her hand and would hold it up to each and every different type the pharmacy had because you could tell that it was very important that she find the exact type she'd been sent to find. It was around this time when my then two-year-old decided to scream out, "Mommy, you have a vagina!!" So I don't know if that woman ever in fact completed her task ;).
After we first arrived in Ecuador, it became clear that Puerto Azul had no type of noise ordinances in place; or if there were, no one followed them. We had these neighbors who lived behind our house. Their backyard faced mine and Don's bedroom. And, boy, did they like to party! They would have a party every six months or so that would last until dawn or later and usually had at least 50 or 100 guests. My God, those parties were loud. On two separate occasions, they had full bands--we're talking 8-10 musicians minimum--with amps, microphones, and speakers that were five feet tall or so. The best part about the speakers is the fact that not only were they at least five feet tall, they were up on tripod-type racks that were tall enough to reach just over the wall that we shared and turned not toward the party but at my bedroom. I mean, God forbid the music be too loud for their guests. We called these people the "Rednecks" for our entire time in Ecuador because they always had some old, rundown, half-put together car in front of their house.
The first party they had during our posting in Guayaquil was about a 12 out of 10 noise-wise. In fact, looking back, it wasn't that bad. But since we'd never been exposed to an all-night party that shook the walls and since I absolutely DESPISE Mariachi music, I thought the world was coming to an end. The good news was that Atticus was able to sleep through it. Don and I didn't get a wink.
I remember going to work that Monday and ranting and raving and having a truly "ugly American" moment. I no doubt offended my many Ecuadorian colleagues and friends with my inability to understand their culture. And, let me frank, I would NEVER want to offend someone about their culture--least of all people I love and respect very much. We all see each other differently; we are all different. That is what makes the world go 'round and makes it so interesting to me. I love learning about different cultures and places, but I am not going to pretend to understand all of their customs and practices, just as I in no way expect them to understand and appreciate mine. That's just the way it is.
And, apparently, having neighbors who had parties that last until dawn or later is just the way Ecuador is. It's very much a night-time culture. One interesting thing is that many of the younger crowd will work all day and go home and go to sleep for a five or six hours so they can wake up to go out when the party starts at midnight or 1:00 AM. That is incredible to me, because it's almost impossible for me to keep going that long. So, starting a party at your house after most of the world would have already gone to sleep isn't strange at all. I remember several times being woken up from a sound sleep by a band, or a karaoke machine, or even soccer game fans screaming from a patio outside. I have to admit that I never, ever got used to this.
The neighbors to my right were the repeat offenders. They'd have a Mariachi band on a Tuesday night during a late dinner, complete with waiters and valet parkers. And just dinner would last until 1 AM. Did I mention that mine and Don's bedroom was on the RIGHT back side of the house? Yeah, we got it from all sides lol. Yeah, in fact, I had a lot of "ugly American" moments in Ecuador. The neighbors on the right (we never did learn their names), had kids who are/were college-aged. They had 10-20 friends over at least three times a week. Those kids would park in front of our house and stay outside by the pool all night long. The best was when they'd break out the karaoke machine and try to sing. And I want to emphasize "TRY." The thing was that it wouldn't have been so bad if it had been at a normal volume. But there was no such thing. It had to be cranked and crackling or it wasn't loud enough. It had to be loud to be completely audible (lyrics and all) through their concrete walls and into ours. God, I hated those people.
The final straw came with those neighbors one day when I was at home on my day off. That insipid little girl next door (probably 18) decided to crank the karaoke up during the day. I heard every lyric to every song through our concrete wall, over the central air conditioner that sounded like a plane landing, and she drowned out the volume on my television. This was after I hadn't been able to sleep the night before because of her and during my child's nap time. Yeah, I went a little crazy. I tore out of my house and went ring her doorbell. One thing you should also know about Puerto Azul (and most of the houses in Ecuador) is that not only did we have patrolling guards in the neighborhood and checkpoints to enter and exit, but we also had these tall, metal, usually spear-tipped gates that had a door to the street. But, as apparently that wasn't enough, we had barred windows and a large metal gate in front of our front doors as well.
So when this girl came to the door, I never did see her face because there were too many metal bars in the way. She knew I was American and spoke English to me. All the rich people speak English. I didn't realize that at the time and was prepared to use my less-than-mediocre Spanish to tell her exactly where she could stick that karaoke machine. The fact that she spoke English threw me. So I just asked her in a VERY strong, Southern accent if she could "Please turn down the radio, because my child can't sleep." She was very taken aback and immediately lowered the volume. That was that. So I thought.
A few days later, I went to the Puerto Azul salon to have my hair done and my eyebrows waxed. All you fair-skinned people know how bad you look when you have your eyebrows waxed: you look like you just stepped on a rake. Well, I walked back to my house in the heat looking like I'd been tortured. When I got to my gate, this woman I'd never seen before approached me and asked if I spoke Spanish. I said yes. She proceeded to tell me that it was her beloved daughter who'd answered the door. She went on to tell me how much I'd upset her precious child and how her daughter was going to the U.S. to college (that's when she started to cry) and that she now was scared to have any friends over for fear of making too much noise. That's when the woman got nasty. I didn't understand everything she said (as I tried to cover my red, swollen eyebrows out of shame) but I did understand the part about, "This is how we do it here." After that, the next door became known in my family as "Snowflake," a precious, perfect thing that is unlike anything else.
The Rednecks' best party ever was the one they had a few months before we left. This was when their beloved son was turning 30. We knew this because there were signs all over the neighborhood that directed people toward the party. And, just so you know, these signs stayed up where they'd been left at least until we left Ecuador. Don and I heard the band setting up around 5:00 PM, and we knew we were going to be in for a long, loud night. So, we decided to call for reinforcements. We called our back-up nanny and asked if she could spend the night. We explained the situation to her and told her we were going to go out to avoid to volume. We had dinner and drinks at the local Chili's and took a cab home at around midnight. The party (along with the 12-ft high speakers aimed at our room, the rock band, and the 100 guests) was just getting started. Don and I drank ourselves stupid until 4:00 AM, trying to just pass out so we could get some sleep. Well, when Atticus woke up screaming because the walls were shaking, we had had enough. Don and I headed to the guard shack at the front of the neighborhood. The guards were amazed that we were complaining about the noise and didn't want to do anything. Don started screaming at them that "Eso es fucking ridiculo!!!" They understood that and went to investigate. Of course, nothing happened. My guess is that someone slipped them a $20 and told them to go. When minimum wage in a country is $12 a day, you can get someone to do just about anything for $20 lol. Can't blame them.
That's when Don and I headed to the Rednecks' house ourselves. I pleaded with the "lady" of the house that our small son was screaming and scared and to please turn down the music. She told me, with a face I will never forget, that she didn't care about me or my child and that HER beloved son was having a party. She told me she'd turn it down "ya mismo." Now, "ya mismo" is a term in Spanish that I don't think can be translated. It can mean anything from "in just a second" to "in two weeks." For us, it was two hours. That was a really "ugly American" moment but also a really ugly Ecuadorian one. That woman and her family didn't care who they were offending or bothering because it was their party, their time. One good thing did come of that confrontation, though. See, as that horrible woman was telling me that she didn't care anything about my screaming child, the biggest cockroach I have ever seen crawled up the sidewalk, over her shoe, and up her pants. I, sweet Southern girl that I am, didn't say a word. Karma is a bitch to bitches; and I bet about 30 seconds after I left, that bitch got hers.
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