Article and photography by Jessica Audrey Clayton ’09
W
HEN THE FIRST CORNER OF THE RURAL
Ecuadorian road turned from cornfields into a brand-new mansion, I assumed it a weekend escape for a wealthy Cuenca resident. The contrasting splendor of another ten houses in the fields of the next town soon squashed my initial idea. Bumping through the rickety mountain roads of Southern Ecuador, I could tell something crazy was happening. The crazy happenings, as it turns out, are funded by an immense culture of migrants flowing out of the region and sending money back. A mention of the Western Union that sprung up in a farm town when at dinner in Cuenca triggered number of off-hand comments about the flashy mansions and shrinking rural populations. My curiosity peaked, and a thesis project was born. During my time in Ecuador I had developed an odd sort of confidence. After too many whistles, giggles, and “eh, gringita!” shout-outs, a few months solidified my place as a foreigner. By ignoring the gringa stereotypes and using my Spanish and people skills, my foreign status separated me from social stratification, allowing me to relate to all parts of Ecuadorian society. Four hours in a street-side internet café and one certificate in research methods later, I headed back toward the rural mansions, surveys in hand. Two minutes after arriving in town my confidence deflated. A first attempt to turn a friendly conversation into a productive questionnaire brought a sturdy “no!,” under-breath mumblings, and sharp glances from those nearby. A few more failed attempts and the town square became a market. Surrounded by roasting pig and corn, lunchtime had already arrived, and as people began to eat, they became more likely to talk. Time passed all too quickly while I collected my data. Wandering through stalls of food I searched for heads of households who were not busy shucking
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