Crazy bus, crazy bus, riding on the crazy bus!

First of all, let me start by congratulating anyone who understands the Arthur reference in this blog title, you clearly had an awesome childhood. To put it lightly, riding the bus here in Quito is not my favorite pastime. We are lucky enough to have private transportation on the Center bus to the downtown Center every morning but in the afternoons we have to ride back public. 

There have been many interesting experiences on the bus thus far but here are a few recent gems. One day, I was riding the bus by myself back to the Center and my seat was facing away from the door. I had my headphones in and was drifting in and out of sleep when I heard the most horrifying and alarming scream I have ever heard in my entire life. Honestly, I thought someone had gotten shot. I jolted awake and turned to see what was going on, terrified something truly horrible had just happened. Oftentimes, the bus will begin moving or closing it's doors before everyone is fully in. On this particular day, a woman about my age had just made it onto the platform, but her hand got stuck as the doors slammed shut. The bus has two parts so the driver didn't notice right away and she continued her bloodcurdling screams until the driver finally stopped and opened the doors. Luckily, there was a nurse on board and she was able to assess the situation. In my expert medical opinion, it looked like her fingers were broken but the nurse didn't seem too worried. Everyone else in the bus was silent while I debated how long was appropriate before I could put my headphones back in - Mother Teresa over here. The woman and I ended up getting off at the same stop and while she was still clearly in pain, I think she'll be just fine. Or she died. Who knows?

My second story is far less dramatic but equally seared into my brain. Again, I was riding the particularly crowded bus back to the Center standing next to a seat with a seemingly normal looking man sitting in it when all of a sudden this guy takes two dollar coins, presses them together, and begins pulling stray beard hairs out of his face! GRRROOOSSSSS! After 20 minutes, he had a handful of beard hairs which he promptly dumped on the floor, right before he fell asleep and left me with this image forever. 

Last but not least, one of my favorite bus stories. A few weeks ago I was heading home when the bus pulled up to the station and revealed an enormous group of Ecuador soccer fans. I was reluctant to get in but I didn't feel like waiting 15 minutes for the next bus to arrive so I shoved my way through the crowd and about 10 minutes later I managed to get a seat. The fans were mostly young men and they were having a blast singing their team's fight songs and celebrating a day off work. I tapped the shoulder of one of the guys in front of me and asked what team they were playing. This was an invitation for everyone else to sing louder, ask me a million questions about where I was from, what I was doing in Ecuador, and whether or not I was single. It was all in good fun until we arrived at a bus stop across the street from someone wearing a rival jersey. Some of the guys began yelling out the window and when the seemingly innocent bystander began to engage and yell back, they threw empty soda bottles and garbage at him and he began filming the bus. Just what I need, my face plastered on the front of some newspaper with the title "Gringa Incites Hate Crime." Unfortunately for my "new friends" a police officer also happened to be at that station (apparently things get pretty crazy when these two teams play each other) and before we could make it to the next stop, five police cars had circled our bus and we were forced to pull over. 

The guy sitting in front of me didn't seem too worried but he asked if I would pretend to be his wife so he wouldn't get arrested. So romantic. I politely declined and nervously laughed as the doors opened and three police officers boarded the bus and began telling anyone wearing a jersey that they needed to leave. My "almost future husband" made one last attempt for my hand in fake marriage but since I didn't even remember his name, I wasn't about to go to jail for him. The rest of the passengers cheered as the bus was cleared, mainly because it freed up about 20 seats, and we went on our merry way. I assume those guys eventually made it to the game but I will never know. As we drove away into the sunset, I waived farewell to my almost-Ecuadorian lover. We would have had beautiful delinquent children.

Lice, Lice, Baby

Has it really been over a month since my last blog post?! Yikes. As you can probably tell by the title of this post, I had the good fortune of contracting head lice here in Ecuador...winning! Before this nightmare began, I was blissfully unaware that head lice is actually quite common here. It all started during Girls Program when the mom of one of my girls came in during shower hour and began combing through her daughter's hair with a fine-toothed comb. When I asked her what was going on, the other girls began yelling "Piojos! Piojos!" I grabbed my phone and typed the word "Piojo" into Google Translate and sure enough...Lice. 

No one but me seemed remotely phased by the situation. In America, when someone gets lice, that student is banned from school for a week and every parent in their class gets an alarming letter sent home warning them to CHECK YOUR CHILDREN! Here, honestly no one cares. We continued on with our day and I made a mental note to keep a safe distance from this particular student. Fast forward two days later, we had some time to kill before library so I let a few of the girls braid my hair. Real smart, Kel. About halfway through the second braid I realized my horrible mistake. I turned to look who was playing with my hair and sure enough, ol' lice head was tying her rubber band around my braid and using her lice-filled brush to comb through my hair. NOOOOOOOOOO!

I immediately jumped up and sent a prayer to the hair gods that I would dodge a major lice-filled bullet but about 12 hours later my head started itching and I knew without a doubt that I now had lice. I walked into the doctor's office and tried not to cry as the nurse examined my scalp. As soon as she found one, she wrote down the name of a special shampoo and sent me on my way to the pharmacy. I was grateful the other volunteers were willing to cover my classes, probably because they didn't want to be anywhere near me, and I rode the bus 45 minutes to the mall where I bought myself some new combs and a special new shampoo.  

Just to prove how different we treat lice in the United States than they do here, the other volunteers wouldn't come near me and I was "jokingly" forced to sit at a separate table for dinner LIKE A LEPER! Thanks, a$$holes. I begrudgingly understood that no one else wanted to share in my misery so I didn't mind taking some extra precautions. The following day I asked Maria, one of our cooks, to please look through my hair and HELP MEEEE! She was so sweet and patient as she combed through my hair. I think she could tell that I was not-so-subtly freaking out because she kept telling me not to worry and reassuring me that lice were not a big deal. Easy for you to say, YOU DON'T HAVE BUGS IN YOUR HAIR! Madre Cindy walked by and let me know that it was safe/encouraged to keep going to class because "half the kids here have lice anyway so you don't have to worry about giving it to them." As sad as this is, it makes sense because most of these families don't have running water and their living conditions are less than ideal. 

After Maria finished combing through my hair, she washed all of my sheets and clothes in extra hot water and I deep-cleaned my room for the next two hours. The following week I diligently showered twice a day, changed my sheets every morning, and begged numerous people to please check my diseased head. Caitlin, a former volunteer, suggested I ask my Girls Program girls to check my scalp because they do it for each other and their tiny fingers are great at finding lice. She was right. Four days in I sat on the floor of the art room as three of my girls eagerly looked through my hair, seemingly elated that I was just like them. The sisterhood of the traveling lice. Caitlin reassured me that getting lice "is actually a compliment because that means the kids hug you and love on you enough to transfer it. Sucks to be popular ya know." Caitlin, my angel. 

I have been lice free for a few weeks now and I have definitely learned my lesson. Now that I've had it, I can recognize a child with lice from a mile away. It's like when you're in the market for a new apartment and suddenly, "for rent" signs become the only thing you see. I see kids casually itching their heads every day here but that doesn't mean I'm going to wear a bag over my head and refuse to give them hugs. I treat all of the kids the same, lice and all, and as with everything else here in Ecuador...lice.goes.on.