Anthrodoodles Update #4: A note on literature

Potential doodle style for video 1

I really only have one goal for Anthrodoodles: to share with the world why I think anthropology is cool. I don’t have a more sophisticated way to phrase that; I simply want to give someone a glimpse of why I’m so into it, and I recognize how self-indulgent that is, but you should know I have made my peace with it. More specifically, I want someone who isn’t from an anthropological (or even academic) background to engage with the material and walk away thinking, well, that was kinda cool. I don’t expect them to suddenly ditch their life plans to become anthropologists; I just want them to know that this field exists and has something to offer.

But it’s really important to me that the videos are educational, above all else. If I’m going to be adding to the already-overflowing bathtub of flotsam content that is YouTube, I want it to have educational value. One way I’m giving the video some academic flavoring is by peppering in anthropological literature relevant to the discussion. I’m still trying to figure out the best method to do this: direct quotes in the script, citations in the graphics, or just a bibliography in the video description? Some people might appreciate having a thorough breakdown of sources, but others may be turned off by its pedantic format.


But citations also matter for this video project because of the voices I’m choosing to include in the discussion. Inspired by Dr. Zoe Todd’s article listed below, I’ve been intentional about highlighting Black / Indigenous / POC / women scholars who have written extensively about the nature-culture divide or human-nonhuman relationships, but are much more susceptible to being excluded from dominating discourses in academia. Here is a list of some of the articles that have guided my script-writing process so far:

Martin Odei Ajei (2007)“Africa’s Development: The Imperatives of Indigenous knowledge and Values”
Marisol de la Cadena (2015)“Uncommoning Nature: Stories from the Anthropo-not-seen”
Kiatezua Lubanzadio Luyaluka (2016)“An Essay on Naturalized Epistemology of African Indigenous Knowledge”
Juanita Sundberg (2014)“Decolonizing posthumanist geographies”
Zoe Todd (2016)“An Indigenous Feminist’s Take On The Ontological Turn: ‘Ontology’ Is Just Another Word For Colonialism”
Vanessa Watts (2013)“Indigenous place-thought & agency amongst humans and non-humans (First Woman and Sky Woman go on a European world tour!)”

(If you are interested in reading any of these articles and are unable to access them, please definitely do not under any circumstances message me via the contact page in the top menu because I will definitely NOT email you the pdfs).

Personally, I really like being pointed to articles in discussions, academic or not. If an idea is brought up, it helps to know the corresponding concepts and names attached to that idea, right? But relying so heavily on only the most directly relevant literature has its downsides. For the entirety of my undergrad, I only ever read anthropology journals and books. It seemed fine at the time—necessary, even, for the sake of enriching my research project—but now that I’ve graduated and have started reading other things, I see that I was severely lacking in perspective because of how selective I was in what I deemed “relevant.” Anthropology can’t exist in a vacuum, and so much of what makes anthropological reasoning valuable comes from how it interacts with other disciplines, gets interpreted through a wide range of different mediums, and comes to life through stories and experiences that exist beyond academia.

So I reexamined my reading list, and I began to read fiction for the first time since high school. And I’ve never enjoyed reading so much in my life. My newfound obsession with novels is the closest I’ve come to being hooked on anything besides, well, anthropology. Lately it’s like my hands don’t know what to do with themselves unless they are clutching onto a book, as if I owe the book an unbearable debt that can only be repaid by giving it all the time I have. I’ve been told by several friends that it’s quite common for people to get more into reading when they’re not in school; I’m happy that this is how I get to spend my time before I start grad school (though this time around, I’ll be sure to have a more diverse bookshelf while in school).


As always, thanks for reading & I’ll see you next week!

Favorites from September and October

Anthrodoodles Update #3: A snippet from my script

Today’s Sunday Monday update: I finished the script!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I mean, kinda. It needs a lot of touching up here and there—better transitions into citations, more concise descriptions of anthro jargon, fewer run-on sentences, and a bunch of other things that if I continued to list here you’d shake your head and say honey, that is not what “done” means.

But a week ago I just had the essence of the thing. Now the thing has life. It breathes and stirs in the autumn wind along with the foliage paving my driveway. It exists.

To prove its existence on the interweb, I’m sharing a chunk of my script below, just to put it out there. If you have any thoughts or suggestions or questions or secrets you’d be willing to share with me, I’d greatly appreciate reading them 🙂

. . . . .

Let’s begin by looking at our definitions of nature and culture as we use them colloquially.  If you simply Google the definition of “nature,” you get something like this:

the phenomena of the physical world collectively, including plants, animals, the landscape, and other features and products of the earth, as opposed to humans or human creations. 
— Oxford Languages

. . . Basically, everything in the physical world, except for humans, and anything humans have touched.  In our lexicon, the term “nature” essentially refers to the environment around us, but it usually never includes us.  There are aspects of our lives that intersect with natural elements, sure, but that’s more like crossing over into the sphere of the natural, or the natural into the sphere of the cultural—stepping into extrinsic territory. And as soon as humans are present in the “natural” sphere, it’s assumed that humans have altered the landscape and made it less “natural.” 1  We have a romanticized view of nature as this wild, eternal realm that reflects a prior, untouched way of the world, sans humans.

So then, what is culture?

Whereas nature exists free from human interference, we think of culture as a uniquely human creation, arguably the [hallmark of humanity] in the Western canon.  We use culture as a dynamic and diverse identity marker comprising different languages, different ways of life, and different world views that define different social groups.  So, while nature is a universal and fixed entity that exists outside of us, culture is the part of the world where all humans belong, taking different shapes and forms across communities and constantly changing throughout history.

But if we’re defining culture and nature by the presence of humans, or lack thereof, we face the age-old philosophical question: what does it mean to be “human”?  To be less abstract, what I’m really asking is, should all humans be grouped into the category of “culture,” just on the basis of their humanity—and should all nonhumans be excluded from being a part of our societies by that logic?  If so, who gets to determine the parameters that set us apart from other beings, such as personhood, agency, and social relationships?  And if we go back to the fact that it was just some guy in France 2 who established this binary of nature and culture over three hundred years ago… Why should that be the norm today?  

1 Spence, Mark D. 1999. Dispossessing the Wilderness: Indian Removal and the Making of the National Parks. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
2 The guy in France is René Descartes, who I mention earlier in the video

. . . . .

And then I go on to discuss why a lot of anthropologists think the nature-culture divide is silly and dumb and no fun at parties!

Okay that’s all for now, see you next week & thank you for reading

Anthrodoodles Update #2: One Frame In

We have made it to Week Two of updates for Anthrodoodles!
Today, I’m very happy to announce that:

  1. The video is not ready
  2. But! Hear me out,
  3. The script is also not ready

I can explain. You see, as all self-employed (?) creatives do when they’ve set an arbitrary deadline on a project that has yet to exist, I asked myself, “Wouldn’t it be fun if I started a second thing before I finish the first thing and created more work for myself and gave myself less time to work on both of those things?” and emphatically replied, “Yes, yes it would!”

So while I was chugging away at the Nature-Culture script, an inner voice crept up and cajoled me into starting a second script against my will, and my attention had to be poured into an introductory video for Anthrodoodles. Now I have two incomplete scripts.

Just a detour, not a derailment. The intro will eventually need to get made, as a kind of “Welcome to Anthrodoodles, here’s the kind of content you’ll find here!” message. So in a sense, I’m actually ahead of schedule—overachieving, even! But we’ll focus more on just the Nature-Culture video for the entirety of next week because gosh darn it I just wanna get this first video started (although the phase after scriptwriting is voiceover recording which is easily my least favorite phase).

But since you came all this way to read this blog post today, I will give you a sneak peek of the animation style I’m picturing for this project by sharing the first and only frame I’ve illustrated, to be used in my introduction video:

Graduation in the age of corona

In this shot, I was thinking I’d briefly cover my background and say something along the lines of recently I got a degree in Anthropology blah blah blah. I actually prefer to have the voiceover recorded and laid out and edited before I start storyboarding and piecing together the visuals with the script, but I just needed a visual affirmation that this project is real. Every time I look at this, I convince myself a little bit more that this video will get made.

So I’m not even going to think about the fact that the two hours I put into this single shot will translate to 1.7 seconds in the video.

Baby steps, folks. The babiest of baby steps, but a step nonetheless.

Anthrodoodles Update #1: Coming Soon!

It’s been 3 months and 15 days since I graduated from college, which means that for roughly 107 days, I have been telling anyone who will listen that I am starting a video project where I discuss topics in anthropology that I find interesting and break them down for a non-anthropologist audience to enjoy and see how cool anthropology can be, presented in the form of silly little drawings.

“Sounds great,” you say. “So where do I find these videos?”

A crippling silence fills the room. Emerging from the stillness in the space between our bodies, the silence responds on my behalf: nowhere. My gaze clings to a speckle of dust left on the floor, too weak to confront your eyes stained by disappointment.

. . .

Over the past several weeks of trying to get this project off the ground, I have come to a profound discovery: it’s kinda hard to make stuff inside your brain make sense in someone else’s brain. But earlier this week, as I was wallowing in defeat over the continued nonexistence of my video project, my partner—who has a personal research blog of his own, and who is much better about posting regularly than I am—suggested that we strike up a deal: we must both commit to posting an update on our projects every Sunday, and hold each other accountable, no matter what. Even if we have only a tiny morsel of progress to report, we must post something.

I don’t wanna say I’m a competitive person . . . But few things are more intolerable than having your pride wounded by someone who has outlived a deal longer than you, right? So that is what has brought us here, to my very first update.

I am still in the research + scriptwriting phase. All I have to show for the hours I have poured into this project is the screenshot below, of the five drafts of this script I’ve created (four of which I have abandoned and none of which have yet to see the light of day):

Since I don’t have the actual video to share with you just yet, today I am posting a play-by-play of how the video will turn out. It’s kind of like how movie studios release the trailer way before they’ve finished making the film, probably just so that they no longer have the option to back out of the project and pretend like the idea was never born. So grab your popcorn and put on those 3D glasses and enjoy this poorly outlined teaser for my new series, anthrodoodles!

Anthrodoodles #1: The Nature-Culture Divide

  • A jaunty jingle performed on the ukulele and edited on Garage Band begins to play in the background
  • The title appears in big bold letters: the nature-culture divide!
  • Act I: The origin story (aka “the inciting incident”)
    Descartes, the gift that keeps on giving
    The film’s central characters, “nature” and “culture,” are introduced
    Haeckel’s beef with amoeba sheds light on the shortcomings of Western positivism
  • Act II: An unexpected obstacle
    A big twist results in a battle of epistemologies!
    A bitter confrontation with the inescapable fate of humankind in the 21st century
    leaves the audience feeling stranded at a point of no return
  • Act III: Resolution
    New perspectives lead to new pathways
    An emotional journey brings the audience home
  • Fade to black
  • fin

That’s all I have for now—a fetus of a dream. But I’m gonna make it happen. I’m going to work as hard as I can to make it happen, and I will have an update here every Sunday to show for it. But let us keep our expectations under moderation. In the wise words of my wise friend Chadwick: Dreams take time.

I will see you next Sunday.

My Illustrated Ethnography

Here is a short animation about my research, in which I share one example from my honors thesis as well as some of the cool theories and concepts that guided my analysis.

My research is called, “Ecuadorian Women and Pachamama: Understanding Everyday Life in Cangahua through Narratives,” and it’s all about how women in a rural Andean community find agency and meaning in their feminized roles under the patriarchal and colonialist gaze, examined through narratives that reveal their intimate relationships with food, their community, and the land on which they live.

Presented at the UCLA Lemelson Anthropological Undergraduate Honors Conference on June 8, 2020.

Subtitles included.

Field Note #7 — Being Lonely and Shifting Focus

Kichwa word of the day: fakchaman = "cascada" / "waterfall"

Hi, how’s it going?  Day 18 here after a week-long hiatus.  I’ve got the usual setup: sitting at my desk cocooned in my sleeping bag, watching my cup of tea get cold, sheep grazing on the hills outside my window, and of course, having the looming shadow of perpetual loneliness settle in just in time to keep me company for lunchtime once again.  Just your typical Saturday afternoon.

By this point I don’t even try to hide it: I don’t think I’ve ever been this lonely my entire life.

It feels rather contradictory that an Anthropologist should feel lonely in the field, doesn’t it?  It’s like an accountant who goes home at the end of the day and slumps down in their seat and thinks, “Man, I wish I got to see more numbers today 😦 ” or something like that, I mean I don’t actually know what accountants do but this is the first analogy that came to me and we’re gonna run with it.  It’s been hard for me to justify this feeling—it’s our job to be around people all the time, building relationships and becoming intertwined in people’s lives.  How can someone spending hours of their day studying human interaction feel so deprived of human interaction?

But alas, that’s where I am right now, and it’s where I have been for the past two weeks, and probably where I will be for the rest of the field season.  Turns out it was not Malaria or food poisoning that I needed to worry about here; it was the incurable malady of missing home.  It’s not like I haven’t been homesick before.  I get homesick even in Los Angeles, just six hours away from home.  But loneliness?  I can’t remember ever feeling lonely while traveling solo; if I have felt lonely, it obviously wasn’t enough to deter me from wanting to go out there on my own again.

But there’s a big difference between those trips I’ve been on and what I’m doing right now. I’m not a traveler this time—I live and work here.  It’s not so much an adventure as it is everyday life, something that is so easy to navigate when the conditions are right but when they’re not, it’s damn near impossible to adjust to.  While on a backpacking trip you’re practically fueled by the unfamiliarity of it all, eager to find new clever ways to be challenged by novelty, during fieldwork you’re trying to rebuild the familiarity that normally keeps you afloat in daily life, in order to integrate into the community as best you can, while still trying to maintain your perspective as a researcher—as an outsider.

Gosh, what a gloomy way to start a post.  I want to be honest with you about this whole process, but at the same time, being mopey is not what we’re about here on A Grain of Nice.  My tagline is field notes of a hungry optimist, for goodness’ sake; I have a reputation to keep up.  So don’t worry.  I have my moments, but I’m learning to coexist with my loneliness—as in, I’ve accepted that I can’t overcome it, but I’m not going to let it get in the way of me living my life.  And life’s been pretty good here.  This has been a big week in particular. Below are some snapshots of the colorful life in this community, starting with photos from the Fiestas de la cosecha San Pedro, San Pablo, y Santa Isabel. 

Note: This summer festival should not be confused with the Inca tradition of Inti Raymi, or “Sun Festival,” celebrated in Peru.  These communities suffered both the Inca conquest and the Spanish conquest that destroyed their cultures and dispossessed their peoples—so these festivities actually represent the resistance to the empires that tried to take over their land, and celebrate their prehistoric ancestors and Pachamama, or “Mother Earth.”

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A parade lasting the entire day on 7/14/19 celebrated many indigenous communities with their own songs, dance, and clothing.

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A young boy dancing in zamarros de chivo—special pants made of leather and sheep/goat wool.  It’s typically worn by the indigenous cowboys/girls of the Andean haciendas.

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These girls were sitting on the back of a pickup truck covered entirely in beautiful roses, throwing petals into the crowd.  They’re wearing traditional indigenous attire: felt trilbies, white embroidered blouse, and the golden beaded necklace called gualcas.

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And of course, fiesta food.  Fluffy golden llapingachos (fried potato pancakes) and a hearty bed of mote (peeled, boiled corn kernels) topped with crispy, succulent, slow-roasted pork.

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7/17/19 — Papa José took me out for a spontaneous day trip to Cascadas de Peguche, an indigenous ceremonial site nestled in the mountains of Otavalo.

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A quiet prayer in the Socavón de la Purificación, or Cavern of Purification, before washing our faces with the rushing mountain water below these rocks.

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We were going to go through this tunnel behind us, but we both agreed we were too hungry to go on.  We’d been trekking through the mountain for a couple hours by this point.  Despite being in his seventies he definitely had way more energy left than I did.

And now, the moment you probably weren’t waiting for, but should have known was coming because this is my research diary—we have a research update:

During the several days that I didn’t write, I was at a low point of going to bed every night feeling like I shouldn’t be here. In addition to wishing I were back home, I was grappling with impostor syndrome and a tremendous amount of self-imposed pressure about being productive—literally, having some sort of product at the end of the day to prove I did something worthwhile.  I was making zero progress, felt like I was a failure, and basically doubted if I could really do this. 

If you’ve ever talked to me in real life—even for just five minutes—you’d know that my entire conception of who I am is based on what I study.  For the past three years, it’s the one thing about me that has remained constant, reliable, absolute.  But it’s risky to build your identity around just one thing, because what happens when it suddenly isn’t enough to hold you up?  Who are you then?  What do you have left? 

So I was in a funk for a while.  And not the groovy Isley Brothers kind.

But then there was one night where I gathered enough energy to not stay curled up in bed on the phone with mom, telling her I want to go home.  I give credit to my friend Rayce, who told me to “get the ball rolling” instead of just feeling sorry for myself, and my fellow cohort members who reminded me in a Zoom call that it’s okay to change directions, and more importantly, it’s okay to let yourself have fun.  I found myself ravenously brainstorming all the ways I could make this better for myself and filled up three pages of my notebook, most of which turned out to be illegible.  I had to accept that things weren’t working with my current topic, a hard pill to swallow when 20% of my data collection period has already gone by—but when I took a step back and reevaluated what I’ve been seeing here every day, the answer was clear.

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The cohort (actually just half because of our scattered ass timezones).  There are thirteen of us in the program and we’re stuck with each other for two years, and I couldn’t have asked for a better family to go through this with.  On the very first day we met, our TA said, “You can’t operate in a vacuum.  You need to figure out who your neighbors are.”  He was absolutely right.  You just can’t do this shit alone.  And what defines neighbors?  If I can be up at 11:00 PM in Ecuador talking face-to-face with friends in Texas, Malawi, Armenia, Peru, Tijuana, San Diego, and the most exotic of them all, Arizona—then they are my neighbors, no matter where they are. (Photo credit to Callie)

I realized the only thing I wanted to do was to study people and their food.  That’s what I had wanted from the start, but I let the idea go thinking it would be hard to gather interactional data on it.  But after spending some time here, it turned out to be the only kind of data that I’ve been able to write about.  

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Sharing my notes taps into a new level of vulnerability that I’m not very comfortable with, but we’re gonna give it a try.

That’s right.  I couldn’t seem to find any data that fit my focus—but it was actually the focus that didn’t fit the data all along.  Sometimes the one who’s meant for you is the one who’s been standing right in front of you this whole time.  I just had to open myself up to it and give it the chance it deserved.  I’m keeping my original project, exploring themes like modernity and tradition, urban and rural, girlhood and womanhood—but with food as my lens to look into these aspects of everyday life.  I’ve been testing it out for a few days now and I’m the happiest I’ve been this whole trip.  Being busy with work is a great distraction from loneliness, and now that I finally feel like I know what I’m doing, I’m excited about being here again.

Plus, I’ve got a little side project going: asago yachay hulspa parlashun Kichwa (Learning to speak Kichwa little by little).  75% of what my host dad says to me is in Kichwa now because he’s quite confident that if I hear him speaking it enough I’ll eventually be able to understand him completely.  So far I can ask to buy seven eggs (kanchis lulun) or compliment someone’s cooking (kamba yanushka mishki mishki) or let people know that it’s raining outside (tamyahun) and honestly, I think that pretty much covers all I would ever need to function in this society.  (The spelling is probably way off, sorry about that.)

But check this out.  There’s this little discovery I made that got me super excited, and maybe it’ll excite you too, if you’re one fellow Linguistics nerd out there lurking about:

When José was teaching me the aforementioned phrase, I was able to figure out what he was trying to say before he translated it into Spanish.  Did I just instantly develop fluency in Kichwa?  No, but I recognized that the Kichwa verb “parlashun” sounds an awful lot like the French verb “parler,” meaning “to speak.”  You guessed it, they’re false cognates—similar in sound and meaning, even though the two languages belong to different etymological families.  I can tell you’re begging to know, how could this happen?  It stumped me as well.  Could it just be mere coincidence?  Perhaps.  But I did some excavating (See that? Little Archaeology humor there, not that I’m an Archaeologist, no no) and it’s possible that the French word got brought into Ecuador during the French Geodesic Mission of the 18th century, when French and Spanish scientists passed through this particular region to figure out the shape of the earth.  And think about it—for a word as ubiquitous as “speak,” for a bunch of white dudes trying to communicate with indigenous people in a foreign land, it’s very likely that the word was passed around and eventually adopted by the people here, right?  But if anyone has any other theories on this, let’s discuss! I’m desperate for human interaction, remember!!!?

Field Note #6 — Making the Unfamiliar Familiar

Kichwa word of the day: mishki = rico / delicious! I use this one a lot.

To start today’s post I am sharing with you this photo of my Papa José.  At first I was just taking photos of the adorable guaguas de pan, shaped like little babies and horses and usually shared on Día de los Difuntos in November.  But then he came over and wanted me to photograph him cradling the guaguas (Kichwa for “baby” or “child”), and how could I refuse such a sweet moment?

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Sometimes you can just see the kindness in someone’s eyes.

OK, Day 9, let’s catch up.

I had a couple rough nights in my first week.  I had what I would diagnose as a magnitude 4.6 breakdown recently where I crawled into bed after a long day and opened up my messages and felt the tears getting ready for takeoff as I began writing to my mom.  I wish I could say it was because of the tremendous ethical pressure of ethnographic research or the fatigue from jet lag and corn harvesting but really, it was just that I missed home and the realization that I was going to be 6,000 km away for the next two months crashed down on me all at once as I asked myself,

Do I really want to pursue a profession where I have to leave everything to work alone in an unfamiliar environment for long periods at a time?

I’ve asked myself this question a million times, never to reach a solid answer.  On any given day, rain or shine, I’m likely oscillating between wanting to trek through every crevice of the earth on my own or spend the rest of my life at home as my mom’s personal chauffeur even though I’m not even that good at driving. 

But we’ll get into this topic some other time.

I’m somewhat back on my feet now.  I received some good love & support from friends without whose kind words I would have booked a flight home set for next Tuesday; I got over the sickness after getting cleaned by an egg; I became friends with a girl who works at the picante; I even decided I should go out and run for the first time since the high school mile test even though I am in no shape to handle the altitude or any other aspect of this form of exercise.  It was absolutely excruciating.  I felt my body shutting down as my lungs forgot the mechanics of respiration, and I had to walk most of it because the wheezing made me think I was actually not going to make it home.  But I liked the view so much that I ended up being out for a full hour, and a big chunk of that I spent meditating on a small mound between the quiet, deep ridges.  So I’ll probably go running again, maybe, who knows.

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Perdóname for the phone quality but you get the idea.

Yesterday, I helped my host mom and sister cook dinner.  By that I mean I chopped green plátanos (plantains) and carrots and turned a bowl upside down to make things fall into a soup pot.  I like to think of myself as the extra set of hands that is not necessary but is still there so they might as well put it to work.  But my usefulness was definitely put to the test last night.

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Enough soup for seven people?  Barely.  After we all got seconds there was almost nothing left in the pot.

Now I’d like to think my knife handling skills are pretty alright.  I’ve done my fair share of julienning in my previous life back when I was nineteen and pulled out of university because I believed it was my destiny to become a professional chef (ten points to whoever can guess how that turned out!).  But the one thing I stay away from is cutting things not with a cutting board but with my hand.  That has never made sense to me, I don’t care if your grandma who’s the best cook in the world does it, my grandma does it and I’m still not a fan.  The only time I found an actual legitimate reason for cutting by hand was when I worked at Subway and got quite good at slicing up avocados in the palm of my left hand, but that was only because they’re paying 75 cents extra for that shit and they deserve a little show.  Other than that, if we have a board meant for cutting, is it not our moral duty to use it as it was intended?  So when I saw Mama Rosita and Mary slicing away at the plátanos in the air, I thought, that’s cool, but I’m gonna go ahead and use this kitchen counter over here.  The end result, after all, is the same.  We’ll both end up with diced plátano verde, everybody wins.  This is a rare case where it is about the destination, and not about the journey.

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Is there anything more badass than a lady in the kitchen?  In the back is Mary slamming her hand down on the butt of a knife to remove corn kernels from the cob, and Mama Rosita is risking her entire left dexterity to do the same.  Gnarly.

They quickly caught on that I was taking my time laying down neat little planks to cut into smaller pieces.  “No no, like this,” Mary said as she held the plátano vertically with one hand and began to swiftly slice into it with the other, creating a tic-tac-toe grid on the surface of the fruit.  She tilted the plátano toward the bowl and gently pushed her knife through horizontally.  I watched as perfect cubes elegantly slid off her knife.

“Ohhhh,” I sang with an exaggerated nod, pretending I was doing it wrong because I just hadn’t seen her do it, and not because I was actively trying to avoid amputating my hand today.  But now I felt her eyes watching me—I had to give it a try.  I gulped and made my first incision.  As it turns out, the firm and bulky plátano verde is all talk and no walk—it’s rather elastic and flimsy under pressure.  When I tried to get my knife through it, it just kept following the knife downward, the blade inching its way very close to my fingers, so close that eventually the plátano would likely split in half and so too my thumb.  Holding my breath I slowly sawed my way down, millimeters at a time, before I heard Mary laughing beside me: “You said you’re Japanese, right?  I thought Japanese people were good with knives.”  

There was no way to recover from that.  Good thing I let go of my dream of becoming a professional chef a while ago.  Despite getting roasted I had a wonderful dinner with my family, as always.

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Sopita con picuda (barracuda), maíz, yucca, plátano verde, zanahoria

Now, onto big news!  As you may know, a week had gone by in the field site without me collecting a single piece of data from my primary participant, but now we actually have a project!!!!!!!  Samara and I still have not met up in person yet but we have a blossoming online relationship where we discuss research matters, and she has been absolutely wonderful throughout this entire process.  Just yesterday I transcribed, translated, and coded her first audio diary entry!  The diary, in which she records herself talking freely about a prompt that I give her or about any topic of her choosing, is one of my favorite methods I’m using in my ethnography because it’s an intimate yet minimally obtrusive way to look at micro-scale details like word choice, sentence structure, and manner of speaking, as well as macro-level thematic content such as what’s going on in her life, what she’s feeling, what types of things she finds worth talking about, etc., all to illustrate what everyday life looks like for this one girl.

I’m just glad research is starting.  I think I needed this tangible proof that I’m headed somewhere. Granted, we’re facing several more weeks of data collection so hopefully from this point on we see more productivity—not that I don’t absolutely love just sitting on the floor talking to Mama Rosita or going to the nearby city to go shopping with Mary or learning Kichwa from Papa José.  Those are the moments I value most.

As for the question I posed earlier in this post, I’m probably not going to figure it out any time soon.  But if there’s one thing I’ve started to understand since entering my field site, it’s this: Maybe the environment eventually stops being unfamiliar. You find a new family, you build friendships, you rely on the support of those waiting for you at home—and somewhere along the process you realize you’re not working alone at all, that you’re not that far from “home” after all.

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Field Note #4 — Being Sick in the Field

Kichwa word of the day: sumak kawsay = buen vivir / good living

Okay Karma, you got me good.  In my previous post I bragged about how I managed to escape the wrath of altitude sickness, and it’s almost as if as soon as I hit “Publish,” my body decided it’s time—bring on the headache, the fatigue, the light-headedness; take away her usually insatiable appetite, and for the love of god, do not let her get any sleep. 

You win this round.  Since getting sick my diet has consisted solely of Airborne tablets, hierba luisa (lemongrass) tea, and sopitas made by my host mom and sisters.  

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Sopita de borrego (lamb).  Homecooked meals have a healing property in them, you can fight me on this.

Today, I was supposed to go to Otavalo with my host family for a wedding ceremony; I had been looking forward to it since I got here. But this morning at 5:45 AM I crawled out of bed, tired and frail and snot dripping from my hose, to tell my host mom I was too sick to go with them.

Word spread fast; soon the entire family was standing around me.  Qué te duele?  It was my clogged nose, my stuffy chest, my tired eyes, but mostly my head.  My host sister nodded, handed me a dollar coin, and pointed to my host dad José.  “Give this to him.  He is going to clean you.”  Clean me?  Clean me how?  Clean me where?  I followed José up to the roof; it was still dark out, and I shivered in the thin night air as I stuffed my hands into my pockets and sat myself down on a plastic crate.  I looked up at him.  In his hands were an egg and a lit cigarette.  Closing his eyes, he inhaled—chest heaving in the air—and puffed out a big cloud of smoke onto the egg.

I could describe in vivid detail what happened next, but there’s a sacredness to this ritual that I wouldn’t be able to do justice through my writing.  I don’t feel right writing about it—not so much because it might be a secret performance, which it very well may be, but more so because any attempt to explain it and make sense of it would be futile.  I’m starting to learn that not everything has to be written into my own language, to be analyzed or shared, even though as a researcher it’s tempting to use every experience as data.  But I can tell you that by the end of this cleaning ritual, my headache was gone.

So it looks like today is going to be spent mostly in my bed, and my only task is to just get over this damn illness—delaying the start of my research even more.  It’s hard to find the balance between self-care and productivity.  I know I’m doing what’s best for myself—but still, I’d be lying if I said I felt good about taking the day off.  Prioritizing my wellbeing in the field doesn’t feel good the way a kale smoothie or an hour of cycling does at home; it just feels kind of pathetic, like I’ve come all this way just to lie in bed and go through an entire roll of toilet paper blowing my nose.  

But it was a good few days before the sickness really took over.  The other day my host family taught me how to harvest corn.  

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My adorable host family!  We spent a few hours out here, gathering three full bags of corn to be turned into the fermented corn drink chicha.

How to harvest corn:
  1. Create a puncture in the husks from the top, then slice through all the way down.
  2. Pull apart the husks to reveal kernels inside.
  3. Gently twist the ear a couple times to detach.

I had an absolute blast tearing these bad boys open.  Opening up the layers and layers of dry husk to find beautifully packed rows of golden kernels is what I imagine delivering a baby is like.  You don’t know what it’s going to look like but you can feel it in there, waiting for you, and the moment it reveals its face the whole world stops for a minute to watch and you just want to cradle the precious thing in your arms forever.

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Qué precioso! Organic native corn, untouched by Monsanto’s grimy corporate hands.

And the scenery, holy moly. Each time I looked up from the stalks towering over me, I was captivated by the sheer beauty of the Andes.  We were tucked deep in the Arias Pamba, surrounded by lakes and farms and the volcán Imbabura.  Nearby was the Parque Cóndor, home to Ecuador’s endangered national bird (today happens to be National Condor Day!). 

Climbing on the back of the pickup truck, Cesar, my host cuñado (brother-in-law), closed his eyes and faced the wind: “The air is so pure here.”  We all took in a big whiff of the mountain breeze and nodded.  Coming from some of the most urban areas in the world (Tokyo, Los Angeles), it is impossible to not be taken aback by how delightful the air tastes and feels when the atmosphere is free of human influence.  

After our morning harvest we visited a brother in Otavalo for more breakfast (this is a family of nine siblings so there’s a lot of family to meet).  He brought out sugary black coffee with beautifully dense croissants and slices of cheese.  He also prepared hard-boiled eggs for us, but I was feeling quite full so I politely declined, only to be peer-pressured by everyone at the table raving about how good these farm fresh eggs were—so of course, eventually I had to take one.  And it was a marvelous egg.  As my advisor Dr. Loyd once told me: say “yes” to everything.  On this day I said “yes” to this hard-boiled egg, and I’m glad I did.

Oh, and remember how I said I was going to make dinner for everyone?  It turned out to not be Taco Night because I couldn’t find tortillas with the right masa and size for tacos at the grocery store—but instead we had Quesadilla Night!  I had a lot of fun running around the kitchen like a madman trying to serve up enough quesadillas for seven people.  They’d never had quesadillas either so they were mesmerized by me laying down the tortilla onto the butter-coated flat iron skillet and piling on handfuls of shredded mozzarella.  I stuffed the quesadillas with chicken and a beef sauté made by my host sister, paired with pico de gallo, sliced avocado, and of course, ají.  I think it was a hit!

As for an update of my research . . . It is Day Five at my field site and I have not yet met up with Samara, my primary participant, because she was out of town and now I am sick.  Still not much progress made.  But if any of my advisors see this, don’t worry, don’t drop me! I set up my data collection timeline for eight weeks, even though I’m here for ten, meaning I have up to two weeks of leeway.  See?  Turns out I do know how to plan in advance.

. . . But if I don’t recover from this illness soon I’m going to lose my mind.

 

Field Note #3 — Finding a Sense of Family Abroad

Kichwa word of the day: Kayakaman = see you tomorrow!

We made it to the Andes!  It’s my second night at the field site, and aside from the distant barking of stray dogs and the muffled hum of motorcycle engines rushing through these narrow streets, the entire parish is quiet.  “Everyone’s asleep by now,” my host sister told me at about 8:00 PM today as she served me a generous mound of fried potatoes.  “But our family, we don’t sleep.”  

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My window view of the neighborhood at daytime.  To the right is the bull ring where they host the annual Fiesta de Toros, mid-July.

I’m adjusting to life here pretty well.  I sleep burrito’d up in a sleeping bag inside my bed with wool blankets because I’m a weenie in the chilly night air, and I have set up a nice little study desk where I get to write for several hours a day and call it “work.”  Luckily I haven’t been stricken with altitude sickness despite being 10k feet up in elevation here, but I did try to go on a walk around the neighborhood this morning and had to come back after just thirty minutes because I couldn’t breathe sufficiently enough to even make it to a panadería and buy an empanada.  Defeated, I settled for eating the banana chips I got on the plane for breakfast.

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My study desk.  The sunlight keeps this room so bright and warm, it’s the absolute best place to sit and write and drink instant coffee out of a metal cup.

It’s been a slow start, to be honest.  I thought entering the field would have more flare and drama, that I’d be overwhelmed with that we’re not in Kansas anymore type of feeling.  I imagined my inner Mead would awaken as soon as I set foot in this community and I’d be running around the parish asking all these questions and have two hours of recorded footage to edit by now. 

But instead of being a researcher, it just feels like I’ve been adopted into this Ecuadorian family (they actually use the term hija adoptiva) that sees me as the clueless chinita who’s just trying to navigate her new world, learning how to wash dishes their way and trying to keep up with their banter.  My first two days of being here have consisted of watching telenovelas with my host sisters, crossing the street to buy household necessities like dish soap and 3-in-1 men’s shampoo, and eating lunch and dinner with the family and joining in on their mealtime conversations.

An example from today’s dinner:
Fernandito: Where does your boyfriend live?
Me: I don’t have one.
Fer: You don’t have one?! ((all eyes around the table turn to me; it’s normal for kids here to marry in their teens))
Mary: She’s looking for an Ecuadorian one. ((everyone laughs.  I shrug and laugh along, afraid to contest))
Fer: ((talking about the two sisters and me)) You three are the only ones in the family without a boyfriend.

These family meals are my favorite part of the day.  See, I live upstairs of a small restaurant (called a picante here) run by my host mom and sisters, so these ladies know how to cook.   Food here is simple but so rich and flavorful, consisting of rice and potatoes paired with fresh salad and some type of protein like tilapia or chicken, always seasoned just the right amount. Tonight’s dinner was rice and french fries with tuna-cucumber-tomato salad and ají, the dankest hot sauce known to man.  There’s just something about eating with this family that fills up both my stomach and my heart with pure, unfiltered, 100% organic goodness, so I try my best to be a part of these mealtime interactions.  I’ve taken up the role of washing dishes after each meal—at first they would say, “Just leave it in the sink,” but after insisting enough times I think I’ve finally secured my position as the family dishwasher—and never forget that washing dishes is where Anthony Bourdain started. And when I’m done with the dishes, they tell me siéntate and I join them for more conversation until someone decides it’s time for bed.  No matter how tired I am or how much writing I have left to do, I’ve made a commitment to never lock myself away in my room and miss out on family time.

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I took this photo a year ago, not knowing whose kitchen it was.  Now I live upstairs.

Tomorrow, it’s my turn to make dinner for the whole family.  I was telling one of my sisters about Mexico and how I only ate tacos on my trip, and she told me they don’t have tacos around here—so tomorrow’s gonna be Taco Night baby!!!!  I’ve also promised to make them Japanese food, but those ingredients are going to be a little harder to find.  My mom told me to bring Japanese condiments, and I should have listened, you were right ma.

Aside from bonding with the family, I did one research-related thing today! I started learning how to use a stabilizer.

Now you might be thinking, shouldn’t you know how to use your equipment before you show up at your field site?  Fair point.  This thing is pesado as fuck and took up 1/4 of my suitcase space.  I’ve never had luggage only 1 kg short of being too heavy to check-in; you should have seen the look on the guy’s face at the COPA counter when I tried to haul this suitcase onto the scale.  To bring such a big, heavy, expensive piece of equipment without even knowing if I’d actually be able to maneuver it was pretty dang risky.

But listen.  I’m more of a learn-as-I-go kind of gal.  I figured it wouldn’t be that hard to learn, and I’d get acquainted with it just by using it.  I watched a couple of YouTube videos back home and these guys made it seem pretty straightforward.  It’s like a tripod, but you move it around and stuff.  No biggie.

But oh.  Ohhhh no.  This is one ugly mean tripod.  This is like using a tripod that has a dumbbell glued to one end and you’re trying to stabilize it while you’re sitting on one of those pirate ship rides at amusement parks that go back and forth and upside down.  It’s designed so cleverly that it’s stupidly hard to use.  Stabilizers are serious business and I wasn’t prepared for it.

It’s not so much the physics of it that’s giving me a hard time.  If you set it up right—which, for me, currently takes about fifteen minutes—the stabilizer will, you know, stabilize.  But my biggest problem is that the whole rig is just so gosh darn heavy that I can’t film longer than twenty seconds at a time.  My right arm has to hold up and steer this bulky metal rod and the DSLR perched on top of it, while my left hand just gently holds it in place, and from an anatomical standpoint this distribution of weight and muscle labor just does not make sense.  By the time I’m about to hit the button to stop recording, my right forearm is quivering and the footage itself looks like a scene from Cloverfield.  At this point, I’m thinking I’d be better off without it.

But I want those steady shots.  I just have this very particular vision for my ethnographic film and I’m too stubborn to give up because I know these shots could be perfect.  All of the YouTube tutorialists insist that this is a slow process that relies on building muscle memory, and I’m working muscles I’ve never had to use before, so it makes sense that it would take time.  But after about an hour of practice today, I ended up a cramp in my neck, my right shoulder, and my right forearm, so it’s going to be a painful process.  Who knows.  Maybe I’ll get the hang of it and come home super jacked (on my right arm only) at the end of the summer, or maybe I’ll have no luck with it after all.  

 

Field Note #2 — Packing for Fieldwork (Sketchbook)

My flight to Quito is less than a week away what the f

… And I have not yet figured out what to bring to the field.  As per usual it looks like I am leaving my packing to the eleventh hour.  I’m convinced I don’t know how to do it any other way.

But this time, I can’t get away with just stuffing a couple of (hopefully clean) shirts and shorts into a backpack a few hours before take-off.  I need to be prepared.  I gotta anticipate for stuff.  I have to plan in advance. 

But planning in advance?  Not really my style.

In fact, over the past seven months of writing my proposal and drafting a “data collection timeline,” I have been contradicting myself with a voice in my head preaching that nothing is going to go according to plan.  After hearing it from my advisors so many times, I’ve come to understand that that’s pretty much the mantra of anthropological research: things just won’t go the way you think they will. 

You have no idea how much comfort this brings me.  I’ve talked to members of my cohort about this and the lack of control over how our projects will play out seems to make them anxious—but for me, it’s relieving to not have the pressure of having it all figured out and instead have freedom over where our projects will take us. I’m a total sucker for this romantic idea of stumbling upon data serendipitously, much like bumping into a potential love interest at the grocery store and dropping an apple and having them pick it up for you and say, “I believe this is for you.” 

But this is a risky game to play in research.  Maybe this approach works for finding a partner (unconfirmed) but the IRB needs a little more structure than that, and sometimes you have to play by the rules.  So I guess that means it’s time to get packing even though it’s super early—four whole days before departure!

But not today.  Today, I am avoiding the crippling sense of panic creeping up on me about how unprepared I am for the field—for all of this—and decided to just doodle about it instead.

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