I was home baking banana muffins. Peter was doing a tour of one of our ministry sites with a group of 15 students from Boston College. Anna was at the after-school program for the day.
I had just opened the oven when I got a call from Peter. He told me to pack a bag with clothes for 2-3 days, my passport, and all my valuables. I was kinda pissed off because I had already told a neighbor that I was coming over with muffins.
About 30 minutes later, all three of us were in a van with the Boston College students on the way to the retreat house where they had been staying. I passed out my under-baked muffins to everyone while we sat in traffic. I was still pretty confused, but I had a bit more information by that point. The president of Ecuador had declared an internal armed conflict against the country's gangs, and those gangs were basically preparing for war with the government. There had been some violence in multiple major cities, including Quito.
That night, the Boston College faculty mentors announced that the group would be flying home as soon as possible. Even though we had been told to bring all our valuables and our passports, I didn't realize until that moment that we might have to leave too. Evan, the executive director of Rostro de Cristo, and Kati, our in-country program coordinator, told the three of us that they'd give us a decision timeline by the end of the next day.
At 2pm the next day, Evan asked us to gather for a meeting.
At 2:16pm, I texted my sister, "I feel like they're about to tell us we have to go."
At 3:39pm, I said, "I was right."
Evan told us we'd be flying out in a few days, so we'd still have some time to go back to our house, gather the rest of our belongings, and say goodbye to our neighbors.
Later that evening, he told us that Rostro couldn't guarantee safe transportation back to our house. He said that since we couldn't go back, there was no reason for us to linger in the city. We'd be flying home the following evening.
That's how I found myself here: on January 30th, in my Pennsylvania hometown, sitting on my parent's couch, hundreds of miles and multiple countries away from the life we were building in Quito for the last five months.
I expected to feel differently when I found myself back in this living room. It was always going to be bitter, but I thought it would be a little more sweet. I was supposed to feel enlightened and hopeful about humanity. I feel enlightened in a way, but I'm falling short of hope most days. I'd say my dominant feeling is guilt, which is multi-faceted.
I feel guilty about leaving without saying goodbye. We were building relationships with these people based on a promise that we would be in Ecuador until the summer. We told many lonely friends that we'd spend time with them. Some of those people don't have phones, so we couldn't tell them where we went after we were gone. We couldn't contact all of the kids that we taught and make them understand why we left. I worry that disappearing the way we did will cause our neighbors to think differently about our friendships. That they'll feel forgotten.
I feel guilty because we could just leave. We have so much privilege. As soon as things got bad, we booked price gouged tickets on a plane and flew out of the situation. Our neighbors do not have that option. So many of their lives will be completely disrupted due to the new dangers, and we will never have to experience that. My guilt doesn't help anyone, but I can't help feeling it anyway.
I feel guilty because I'm disappointed. I'm disappointed about the things that we were supposed to do and couldn't. I'm disappointed that I won't get to practice Spanish everyday. I'm disappointed because I was promised an entire year in that beautiful city, and I only got four and a half months. I'm disappointed because I feel like someone poured water on a bonfire that we were building just as it was about to catch a flame. Just as we were about to find our groove. But then I think about how privileged it is to feel disappointed when parents are wondering how they'll protect their families tonight. Then I feel guilty about my disappointment.
Being home feels like trying to fit into a sweater that I've outgrown. It's itchy and uncomfortable and scratching my throat. I'm a new person living in an old life, and I don't know how to act in it anymore. After Ecuador, it's hard to imagine anything feeling impactful enough to satisfy my new standard of fulfillment.
I don't mean to sound ungrateful. I'm thankful that Rostro could bring us home safely. I'm thankful that my parent's can support me in this abrupt transition. I'm thankful to my friends for welcoming me back so warmly. Truly, I'm not ungrateful; I'm just sad.
Rostro is looking into other service opportunities for the three of us to finish out our year. One option might be living in San Diego for a few months with a group of sisters who work on the US/Mexico border. I will give updates when I know more.
I wish I could offer more happy thoughts, but that wouldn't feel true to me. Instead I'm just gonna offer a prayer.
The Guest House by Mewlana Jalaluddin Rumi
This being human is a guest house
Every morning a new arrival.
A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.
Welcome and entertain them all
even if they are a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture.
Still treat each guest honorably.
She may be cleaning you out for some new delight.
The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing and invite them in.
Be grateful for whoever comes
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.
Oremos por Ecuador.
Chao for now,
Grace <3
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