"Otavalo!"

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We woke up that morning and had breakfast with Andrew and his mother in their house in the Valley- one of the wealthier parts of Quito; a house that reminded me very much of our own in Nairobi. We spend the early afternoon at the country club pool with his sister and younger cousin. This was our last indulgence before going to Otavalo. After watching the disappointing results of the World Cup, with Andrews neighbor cheering and waving his Italian flag, we took a bus to Otavalo.

The two-hour bus ride was what I imagined it to be. The bus accumulated more passengers, as it got closer to our destination. Every time I woke up from a quick nap, I saw a significant amount of new passengers, all wearing their Otavalo Indian outfits. Women with their long hair wrapped in pastel and gold and the men in their felt panama hats.

The bus monitor screaming “Otavalo!” over the constant pounding of the engine abruptly waked us up. As we shakily got up, still in a daze from our sleep, the monitor was already throwing our bags out of the luggage compartment and onto the dusty road. The bus sped off, leaving us shrouded in a cloud of dust and disorientation.

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Photos

Supplies are in!
The volunteers sorting out school supplies