Otorrinolaringologo and kechwa...

... are just two of the fun words I have learned so far. The first is, of course, otolaryngologist which in the U.S. we conveniently shorten to “ENT,” but there is no Spanish abbreviation so we have to say the whole word. Kechwa is the language spoken by indigenous people in and surrounding the mountain town of Otavalo where we have been staying since Wednesday. Amy and I are rooming together in a basic but nice hostel where we have a room and bathroom to share.

Last week we got a tour of the area, visiting members of the indigenous community who still work by weaving clothes and reeds. One couple in their 70’s makes a living weaving lovely wool scarves, ponchos, hats, and other goods. They are some of the last people in the region to still perform the entire process for the wool goods themselves; they shave the sheep, card the wool, spin it, dye it, and then weave on a loom. I took a turn spinning the wool, with moderate success (photos to come), but it was tiring, and I can’t imagine spinning for eight days straight to make one spool of yarn.

On Thursday we visited a clinic called Jambi Huasi where western medicine and traditional medicine is practiced together. I really appreciated the effort to incorporate both methods into the treatments there. We learned about the different approaches of the Yachac and the Frigadora, both indigenous healers similar to shamans. One of the most interesting practices to me was the use of a guinea pig (“cuy” in Spanish) to diagnose illness. The cuy is shaken all around the person (alive, and held by the neck) to absorb the negative energy of the illness, then skinned, and the place in the pig’s body where there are dark spots indicates the location of the person’s problem.

We also visited the hospital in Otavalo, which reminded me immediately of the hospital in Kosovo. Both included all of the departments of a hospital in the United States, but lacked the sterile feeling and bright lights that we are used to, and seemed generally understaffed and undersupplied. As these are the only two hospitals I have been in outside the U.S., I do not have much of a basis for comparison, but it did seem to me that the similarities outweighed the differences. My favorite part was a visit to the birthing room, which is equipped with a bed, a birthing stool, rails on the wall, and ropes hanging from the ceiling for women to keep their balance while delivering babies standing or squatting. The women there are attended by midwives instead of doctors, and while there is a surgical delivery room across the hall for emergencies, the birthing room certainly seemed like the more friendly place to labor and give birth.

Our education regarding the medical services available in Ecuador has also included receiving some of the treatments offered. Yesterday I went to the Yachac at Jambi Huasi for “una limpia,” or a cleansing treatment. It consisted of lots of herbs and oils in icy water rubbed all over my face, neck, arms, and hair. Although I was scheduled for a half hour, the whole treatment lasted under five minutes, and at first I was a little disappointed. The smell was so strong it made me cough, and I couldn´t open my eyes for a minute afterward because they were stinging. But then, as the air began to dry off my face, it felt warm and cool at the same time, like VIck´s or icy hot. The sensation was invigorating, and people were telling me for hours afterward that I looked so happy!

Tonight, we visited a local Curandera (another type of indigenous healer) who performed a more extensive cleansing ceremony on another student, a young woman named Vanessa who has become one of my friends here. Whereas the herbs and oils were sprinkled on me from the bag in my treatment, the Curandera actually took large swigs of the solutions and spit them on Vanessa, who was then instructed to rub them into her skin. There was music and chanting, and the Curandera danced around her patient, tapping her with leaves and grasses and even lighting the mat under Vanessa’s feet on fire with homemade whiskey. It was exciting to watch, and yet I could not help but note what seemed to me like paradoxes, including the Curandera’s persistent cigarette smoking before, during, and after the ceremony, her casual clothing (jeans, a T-shirt, and sneakers) under her traditional beads and headdress, and her taking pictures of us when we first arrived. But these details were interesting in their demonstration of the mix of indigenous and modern culture that seems to predominate in the communities here.

These experiences have all served as exposure to the health beliefs and practices of the patients we see in our community health “brigades,” which I will write about soon. In the meantime, I want to wish everyone a safe and happy Fourth of July!

Buenas noches
Jess