When I pulled my backpack and two duffel bags out from under the bus and wandered helplessly into the hot, humid, night in Santa Clara I could only dream about speaking Spanish, making friends, and fitting into the community. That was the end of April in 2010.
When I heard the big news I excitedly rushed across town for a visit. My host family, Clever, Maria, and their son Steven, had just returned home with a new baby boy. When they told me the new baby's name I was as speechless as the newborn was: Joseph Adrian Huatatoca Grefa. That was February 2011.
When I heard the motorcycle pull up outside of my house I thought it was Rolando coming to hide from his girlfriend/ wife. Pleasantly surprised, I opened the door to greet my host family, but when Clever asked me to do him a "huge favor" I was a little apprehensive. Former huge favors have included: unknowingly moving a box containing a 12 foot boa, overseeing the high school's booth at the town fair, and Giovanni continually asking for a fifty cent loan to buy more moonshine. Clever's question was much different, and one of the best I have heard in Ecuador – would I be his son Joseph's godfather? That was May 2011.
Joseph and his older brother Steven were baptized on June 26th; the ceremony itself was almost exactly what I expected. As we stood for fotos (Spanish for photos) I couldn't have been more proud. The day was an incredible honor, and when Clever invited my guests Christina, Nick, Rene, and me over for a little lunch we graciously accepted.
A few moments after we arrived at the house the little lunch placidly transformed into a feast of epic proportions. Steven's godparents, my guests, and I were seated at a table in the center of 40-50 guests. I assumed the the first plates brought out containing an entire chicken, leg of guanta (a jungle rodent about the size of a small dog – the annoying yippi kind) and potatoes were to share with the whole table. However, like many assumptions in Ecuador I was wrong – the giant plates were intended for each of the guests of honor with the size of the plate correlating to the responsibility in the baptism.
Just like the plates the party was huge. Claudio was the master of ceremonies and DJ, there was an incredible amount of food, and I was gifted five cases of beer, which I graciously accepted and subsequently (and inline with cultural tradition) re-gifted to the guests around the fiesta. We danced, and danced, and like all Kichwa parties, danced some more. The music, which is an acquired taste, didn't stop until the single digits of the morning.
Despite the improvements of my new language, there was no way I could express the honor and gratitude I experienced that evening. I am incredibly fortunate to call Santa Clara home – even if it is just for eight more months – and know I will always have a home and a special family at that curve at the edge of the jungle.
