Hands off MY food!

A few days ago, I ran back to my cabin to make my lunch.  I sliced some beautiful green apples and arranged some sweet juicy strawberries on a plate.  I cut into an orange, a perfect orange, that I had to climb a tree like Tarzan to obtain.  I pulled out all the stops-- even allowing myself a spoonful of peanut butter for the apple and the more expensive kiwi that I bought myself as a treat. Imagine everything you have ever dreamed about as far as the juiciest, tastiest, most delectable fruit.  That was my plate for lunch. My mouth is watering just thinking about all of that crazy deliciousness as I write this post right now.

I gathered up that plate of heaven and walked over to the school so I could eat with the other teachers for lunch.  I sat down and before I knew what was happening, a variety of hands started rushing to the plate.  No inquiries for permission, just hums of satisfaction as the teachers chewed those delicious fruits.  MY delicious fruit.   

"Que rico!" "Soooo tasty!"

My heart sank as it looked at the remnants of the once overflowing plate.  Soon, blood started to boil, and I used my fork to STAB into the last slivers of kiwi (I don't think anyone noticed the ogreish disgruntled attitude) Questions of manners flooded my brain - Did they not know that was MY lunch?  How rude!

Later that night, after my blood returned to its normal temperature, I was hanging out with some boys from youth group.  As we talked and laughed together, two boys opened their personal sized chip bags (the ones that have maybe 10 chips inside).  And you want to know what they did? They walked around the room to the other 3 of us and offered us a snack.  And at their action, cultural values smacked me in the face.  Ouch!

I remembered how the fruit event had led to confusion and frustration.  It had caused  judgement and a lack of understanding towards those hungry teachers.  I was quick to label them as thieves of my scrumptious food and my minutes of delight.  Their approach to food was DIFFERENT than mine.   Back home, we ask politely or assume something is someone else's until they offer (unless we are trying to steal our siblings french fries) -- but that's our food custom.  Here in Ecuador, you bring something to a group, you share.  Automatically.  Your plate is not yours.  Talk about having one of my sweet cultural customs stripped from my hands.  

Now, with my eyes opened a little wider, I am able to see this Ecuadorian value and their custom.  My individualistic (and often selfish) American self can learn a great deal from Ecuador.  This cultural difference - offering what I have to my community, even if it is a bag  of 10 chips or the most delicious of fruit, is kinda awesome. It discourages my selfishness and I need that.  

I need that a lot. 

Here's to learning more things about/from other cultures!

-kc

Have you ever had a cultural hiccup?

Jungle Stories // Eye Monster

I wake up in a zombie like fashion complete with the groaning and slow movement.  I gather all of my school things and struggle to remember how to put socks on correctly.

"Coffee....coffee..." I grumble as I rub my eyes in a stupor and head for the coffee pot.

A little while later, I am in the middle of my English class teaching about family words.  "BABY, SISTER, BROTHER!" we shout as a class.

Suddenly, my eye starts itching uncontrollably.  Three students look up at me and one shouts,

 "Miss Keri! El ojo es rojo! EYE RED!!! Tu eye es big! EYEEEEEE!!!!!"

The bell rings and I sprint to the bathroom.  I look into the mirror and barely recognize myself.

I stare back at a nearly cyclops face with an eye that seems to be on a mission to take over my nose and my other eye.  My sclera has even transformed from its typical cloudy white color.  It is now a  mix between scrumptious tomato and fire engine red.

I try to wash the eye--which is now becoming a size that only Wile E. Coyote has ever experienced.  I run to my cabin knowing this is some allergic reaction.  I throw medicine all over the counter.

"Ben....a....WHAT?"

I struggle to read the medicine bottle with my one good eye.  "I think this is it," I comment as I propel Benadryl into my mouth and chug a glass of water.

3 hours later, I awake in another zombie like state. The eye no longer itches, and I can actually look into the mirror without scaring myself completely.  No hospital visits today.

"How did this happen?" you might ask.  Upon further investigation, the culprit is a jungle moth.  Yes, you heard me.  The powder from the wings of this crazy creature somehow got on my pillow in the morning, caused my allergic reaction, and made my eye so distorted I scared little children.  Score for jungle critters.

love and monkeys,
jungle lady