This has been a trying week, and I have never realized the power of family and community until now.
As most of you probably know, I have been ¨dating¨ an Ecua, Panelita (aka Little Brown Sugar), off and on for the past eight months or so. His father was diagnosed with liver cancer a mere two months ago and then Tuesday night, his father passed away. I had known he had been battling this and Panelita was by his side the whole time. Going to other cities to buy medicines that might help him, taking him to doctors appointments in Loja... Panela was really stepping up to the plate to help his father.
There are seven kids in the family, and Panela is the only male here in the country, the rest are in Spain. Therefore, Panela had to basically take care of everything. His one sister Silvia came back from Spain and was helping out too. It was bizarre because his mother was helping but was definitely in the background, demonstrating the machismo culture that is still strong here.
Tuesday night he called me to tell me that they took him to the hospital, that he was having trouble breathing. And then later that night he passed away. I never thought this would really affect me, but I have been almost haunted by the funeral events.
I attended everything, because not only am I his girlfriend, but I am very good friends with the family, especially his neice Belén who I give classes to in the school.
So that next day, they did the traditional viewing, however it was at their house. They had taken down the door to his room and had put his coffin along with the plastic flower arrangements and fans, to keep the body from decomposing. The heat was unbearable, and normally they have a viewing for three days but had to bury him the next day because it wouldn´t withstand the heat. With the viewing, they set up tents in front of the house and people come to just sit and watch the coffin. I think the idea is to be with the family and comemorate the dead. I went and stayed four hours, just sitting there. It was pretty creepy because the body was just about 10 feet away from me. Belén asked me if I wanted to see the body, as people were arriving, opening the casket and looking inside, and then moving on. I politely declined.
I got to know his dad, he was a surly fellow and had his ¨vices¨ as you could say. Apparently he was a heavy drinker and gambled a lot, especially on roosters which he raised for cock fights. But he was always polite to me, slightly hitting on me everytime I saw him....like father like son.
So after sitting with the family Wednesday night, Thursday they had the mass and burial. I rushed to the mass after giving classes, which was said without any microphones since there wasn´t any electricity. Once it was over, everyone marched with the body to the mosoleum in Yantzaza. Very few are buried in the ground, most are placed in these brick walls they construct. Belén was so distraught, I carried her up the hill. I felt so helpless, I wanted to do something but there was nothing I could do. The whole family was a wreck.
We got to the spot where they were going to put him, and everyone gave one last look. There were tears everywhere; it was really, really difficult for me to be there. I have only been to one funeral, of my grandfather, and this was just as hard if not harder for me to witness. It was harder in the sense that this cancer had gotten to him so quickly, I think many were surprised at what had just happened. Also what really hurt me, was that they tried so hard to keep him alive, only for him to die a mere two months later. They had given him so many remedies, even snake soup which one señora had said cured cancer.
The heat was so great, many people were huddling under what little shade was there. One thing that was mildly amusing, however, was amongst all this grief, the Bon Ice man managed to sneak up and sell his popsicles. Bon Ice are these ice pops sold for 10 cents and you see a Bon Ice man everywhere, in these silly blue jumpsuits. But they had followed the funeral procession and proceeded to sell popsicles at the burial! I was like this is unbelievable.
After the burial, they invited me back to their house for lunch. When someone dies, people give bread and rice to the grieving family. They had received so much food, and had hired a señora to cook for them that day. But there was definitely a lighter air to the house when we got back. It was still really sad and depressing, but in a way I think all were relieved. Relieved that these 36 hours had come and gone, relieved that the dad is no longer suffering and is at peace. But the best part was that we had not even been home two hours, and they were giving away the roosters his dad raised for the cock fights. Those things were SO annoying, constantly crowing and making whole lotta racket. A couple people had come to the house and were taking the roosters away in rice sacks and some in the special cases he used to carry them. Some of the sisters were mad that they weren´t selling them, but Panela said that his dad asked they give them away. Papi wasn´t even buried three hours and they were already giving away the roosters.
I was incredibly exhausted after all that had happened. It was just so much for me to handle, and most of the time I had no idea what to do or how I could help. But in the end I think just being there really helped.
Panela and I are a lot closer now. We spent the day together, went to a motorbike race in Zamora and then the farm animal competition, because the province is in fiestas (56 years of provincialization). But yesterday we were driving around and he just stopped the car and started crying. I realized how much I love this community and its people and in a way, don´t know how I am going to leave them.
It was an experience I would never wish on anyone, and one that I am definitely going to remember for the rest of my life. I am so grateful for the friendships I have, both here and in the US, and most of all for my family that is constantly supporting me.
