This post is the culmination of my thoughts surrounding two major news stories that broke during my gap year: one from home and one from my host community. During this time, I used writing as a way to process my emotions surrounding these issues, but never finished the words to point of publication. Now, months later, I felt drawn to return to my unfinished pen scribbles and blog post ideas to try to make sense of how I had been feeling. In this case, I completed the post: polishing my original words and adding new insights that can only be gained from time and reflection. 

This piece was inspired by Binyavanga Wainaina’s article “How to Write about Africa” and speaks to my frustrations of travelers’ accounts that erase the complex stories of a country that has come to hold such a special place in my heart. Throughout my gap year, whenever I talked about or shared a picture or post from Ecuador, I tried to emulate the motto of “complicate the narrative.” I believe that I did this well, although I acknowledge that I can always do better. 

Begin by commenting on the mountains. Use vocabulary such as ‘breathtaking,’ ‘beautiful,’ and  ‘stunning,’ --because they are. But don’t mention the indigenous folklore surrounding them; your readers won’t understand.

I know what it looks like. How cliche. But I am going to call it like it is; I went to a developing country and painted a mural.

This mural was my Final Community Project, which was a required part of my gap year program. The goal of this project was to identify a problem we saw in our communities and leave some sort of impact to help address it. We were not expected to “save Ecuador,” but to give back to the communities that had given us so much.

One of the most difficult things I have been forced to confront over my gap year is my privilege. 

I’m white. 

I’m American. 

I’m a native English speaker.

I’m wealthy. 

Well, I have never considered myself wealthy until recently. I knew my family had money; we lived comfortably and never had to worry about putting food on the table. But I also grew up seeing my parents work far harder than they should have to pay for that food, along with everything from our house, cars, and clothes to my high school. So, even though I realized we had much, I understood that a significant amount was achieved from hard work. 

Throughout my life, death has always been taboo. I think much of this feeling comes from being raised in the Western world, where we as a society often hide the fact of dying. We don’t really talk about death, we do everything we can to slow the inevitable process down, and once it does happen, we embalm our loved ones’ corpses to make them look alive-- so you could say we don’t like to look death in the face-- literally. 

One of the highlights of my time in Ecuador has been the multitude and proximity of waterfalls. This fact still often surprises me given that I live in the Sierra, in the country’s Imbabura Province, named for just one of the several massive volcanoes always in the horizon, since my community is nestled amid in the valleys formed by them and neighboring mountains. This dramatic landscape, over 8000 feet in the clouds, but only a few hours shy of the Equator’s fiery belt, creates the perfect environment for both snow-capped peaks and lush waterfalls of icy currents. These waterfalls are often hidden in pockets of dense forest which seemingly transport you to another world where suddenly the thick canopy overhead makes it so you cannot see the mountains for maybe the first time since coming to Ecuador. This change is shocking-- it’s disorienting-- but it’s breathtaking, it’s… beautiful.

As our plane descended 37,000 feet down from the clouds into the capital city of Quito, I was struck with an obvious thought: “this is my first time in Ecuador.” (duh). It was my first time outside the United States, so of course this was my first time in Ecuador. However, as a person with little travel experience, I had blindly expected to feel somehow different when I landed in a different country. Exactly how I would be different- I didn’t know, but I anticipated a change inside of me, (and I’m not only talking about my GI tract). 

As I woke up at 5:45 this morning to the sounds and motion of my co-counselor amid her routine sleep-talk-and-walk show in our summer camp cabin, I knew there was no going back to bed. 

Throughout this week at camp, the question I have been most frequently asked is “When do you leave for Ecuador?” My response was always a bittersweet smile and “two weeks from Saturday.” That response still felt far off. Two weeks and a few days? Anything can happen between now and then; it’s not that soon.