Aftershocks

It's been a strange week.

One of those weeks where it's all you can do to get yourself dressed and out the door for work in the morning. Forget packing a lunch, or laundry, or tidying up, or making a healthy dinner.  One of those weeks at work where it feels like it's all you can manage to have some semblance of a lesson planned, where you hope the kids don't notice that you're winging it, and you haven't quite ironed out all of the details of the lesson you are starting in 5 minutes. One of those weeks where your body certainly is where it's supposed to be, answering emails, attending meetings, up in front of the classroom or behind the conference table, monitoring the patio during recess... but your heart and mind are somewhere else.  My heart was on the coast. My head was in the headlines.

It was a week that felt like it took place in grayscale, despite the crisp brightness of the days. It was a zombie week, in no small part because of lack of sleep.

Several nights this week there were aftershocks strong enough that I felt them here in my apartment in Quito.  The first thing I noticed, and what woke me up, was the sound of hangers banging and knocking into each other in my closet. Then I realized that my apartment was vibrating, shaking from side to side.  One of the tremors felt like a roll - I remember feeling it from the foot of my bed moving towards the head. Being on the 10th floor makes it kind of feel like you're in a swing. I remember thinking in my sleep-addled state, what is it that I'm supposed to do?  Should I be doing something other than staring wide-eyed into the darkness and feeling my heart rate accelerate?

Luckily, the tremors weren't severe and didn't cause any damage close to home. But it was hard to go back to sleep afterwards. My apprehension turned itself into dreams. First, an evacuation dream of my apartment, then my apartment turned into a school, and I had to evacuate hundreds of children from many floors up.  Almost all of my anxiety dreams are some sort of school-based scenario. It's something we often take for granted as teachers, but when it comes down to it, we spend our working hours responsible for the very lives of our students. It's an overwhelming thought if you think hard about it.

A friend of mine said that this week felt like the week after a terrible bus crash last year in which half a dozen Colegio Americano teachers were severely injured. There's a surreal feeling, especially when everything in your daily life remains almost exactly the same. You try to maintain stability and constancy for the sake of the kids. You clean all of the non-perishables out of your pantry and put them in the collection bins. You put together an emergency kit to keep next to your bed. For the kids, you try your best to model optimism, empathy, action, strength. Steady as she goes. But still, you feel helpless.  You know that the lives of the people affected by the tragedy will never be the same. You know that out there, there is nothing but disaster, devastation, destruction, uncertainty, hunger, desperation, heartbreak, fear. You know that for the people who lost family members, friends, homes, businesses, neighbors, life will never truly be back to normal.

And yet, as always in times of crisis, there are opportunities to be truly moved by the selflessness of others.  As Mr. Rogers says, look for the helpers.

Ecuador jerseys were everywhere this week, bright yellow beacons of solidarity and hope. In the Supermaxi, there was hardly a can of beans to be found, because they had all been swept up in a whirlwind of donations by citizen shoppers. Carts were lined up in the checkout aisle full to the brim - one with water, another with cans of food, others with toilet paper, diapers, rice, cooking oil, pots and pans. Employees were hurriedly restocking the shelves with all of the emergency items, not even unpacking them from their bulk containers, because they knew the customers would be buying them in bulk to send to the coast. As quickly as the red-aproned workers could stock the shelves,  the relief supplies were whisked away into shopping carts and onto the conveyer belts and then sorted back into boxes to be transported to the coast.

There are collection stations across the city and the country, called puntos solidarios, or solidarity points. Many, many tons of food and clothing have been donated. So many people wanted to go and help out that officials had to send out warnings that the affected areas had reached capacity and couldn't sustain more volunteers. Rescuers have recovered 113 people alive. Millions of dollars have been donated by individuals, foreign governments, and international and local organizations.

There is a long, hard road ahead. It will take years to rebuild. But, to echo the sentiments of just about everyone everywhere around here, from radio ads, to posters, to newspapers and social media, Ecuador will come through this stronger than ever before.  Fuerza, Ecuador.