11/11/11 was a memorable day, except not for something worth remembering

Someone asked me what I’d do to make 11/11/11 memorable. I had no idea since I wasn't doing the expected like having a baby or a wedding. All I knew then was that it was a Friday, my day off, and I could do the special but repetitive things I do most Fridays. Go for a morning run, Skype and later join some girlfriends for a coffee. I even received an email from a journalism community asking if I wanted to document the day in any form. I didn’t have time, so I declined. But now, I’m forced to document something that doesn’t need time creating or researching. I call it my official “induction into Quito”.

On Thursday Nov 10th after my classes I went out for a coffee with a friend. She had cancelled our date on “The Day of the Dead” and she wanted to make it up to me. So she picked me up after my lesson at 8pm and we headed off. We debated staying in, but she felt that I haven’t had a chance to see Quito in the night [I live just outside of Quito in Cumbaya], and she wanted us to eat at one of her favourite spots. She’s an architect so she thought to take me to a place where the decor is as impressive as the food.

From this point on everything goes lighting speed or in slow motion depending on my mind. We went to La Mariscal, the tourist centre of Quito [locally known as ‘gringolandia’] and it was buzzing. I don’t particularly like this area and crowds just enhance that feeling, so I was happy the restaurant we went to only had a few patrons. We sat, and made our orders, starting with the amazing fresh fruit juices they serve here. I asked for a moraa/Guanabanna [soursop/blackberry] mix.

Guanabana fruit on sale at a roadside stall
EstherWambui/Photos

All this time, my handbag was on the edge of my chair on the right, and my jacket hung at the back of the chair. I remember going to the bathroom to wash my hands, coming back, and getting some hand cream from the handbag. A few minutes later, I wanted my lip balm and as I stretched my hand into the bag, I hit an empty space. I thought my handbag had fallen, but at the same time I thought I should have heard or felt that. A few seconds later, and one look under the table and I knew my handbag was gone. A friend’s purse had been stolen the same way and I’ve heard her story many times.

Here is the story as recounted by the only waitress who saw the thief. Apparently, an attractive young woman with dark hair [as if that were some unique feature in Ecuador] had come in a few minutes prior and sat at the table behind me, facing me, meaning the farthest place from me. I didn’t even know she was there. She ordered a glass of water and a few minutes later, she told the waitress she had to go call a few friends. That was it. All I ever “saw” of her was the solitary glass on the table, and the last I saw of my beautiful red handbag and all its contents; both valuable and sentimental. I can replace most of what was taken except a few weeks of lecture notes on the voice recorder and all my press cards, from three countries. In Quito you learn to never carry important documents on you, but unfortunately misfortune pounced on the day I had taken my documents to make photocopies.

On this memorable day of 111111, I lost a ‘little bit of myself’ with the loss of my handbag, and in the process, my love affair with Quito was prematurely tainted. But in all that I’m thankful to God that I wasn’t harmed at all. Some people I know here haven’t been so lucky. I strongly believe the thief had some help from the waitress either getting my purse or getting out of there without anyone noticing including my dinner partner who was facing that side.

Loosing my entire handbag with all the items in it has taught me a lesson about what is really valuable in life.

It’s the day of the dead in Ecuador, but maybe only for the long dead

November 1 is "Dia de los Difuntos" [Day of the Dead] here in Ecuador and most of Latin America. This is a time of respecting and remembering the people who have passed away. On this day, family and friends gather together at cemeteries to honour those who have died, with love and laughter. They make "guaguas de pan" or bread people and a special blackberry juice called "colada morada". Then they eat and drink together “sharing” with their ancestors.

"guaguas de pan"
Photo Courtesy of Regina Marchi

This is a major holiday in Ecuador, and it so happens that tomorrow is the celebration of the founding of Cuenca [city], and in observance, all schools and businesses are closed, giving us a five-day holiday.

I am told that on the Day of the Dead, entire families, particularly in rural areas go to the gravesite to clean graves; they pull weeds and whitewash or replace crosses .In urban or wealthier areas, this would involve unlocking the grates, whitewashing tombs, and placing fresh flowers and religious cards.

This is a day I definitely wanted to experience with the locals, but it did not happen. Initially, I had two options. Either travel into the country for a ceremony at a friend’s ancestral home, or go to a cemetery just outside of Quito with another friend. I chose the Quito option. But early in the morning, my friend said she couldn’t go because her mum didn’t feel well and they wanted to stay home. That was it. I was going to miss out on this one because no matter how brave and adventurous I am, I would feel very creepy observing complete strangers remember their dead family/friend. It may also be intrusive for them, particularly since I couldn’t resist taking pictures.

Lots of families gathered inside a cemetery
Photo courtesy of chanatrek.com

Later, I talked to my friend whose mum had been unwell. And here is the story. Last weekend, a death hit too close to home. One of her mum’s closest friends had suddenly died of a brain aneurysm; a healthy woman in the morning, gone by afternoon. So she explained that for her family, there was little to celebrate on this Day of the Dead.

This got me thinking: It may be okay to joke and laugh about the good and the bad of our long dead relatives, but it's very hard to do so with the recently departed. I remember as a child minding how loudly my grandfather spoke. Yet, I remember my long gone grandfather with fondness, and ponder at how such a cynical person could be married to the sweetest woman I know. I can look at his picture and smile at his very tall frame always clad in shorts and a trench coat, despite the weather.

On the other hand is the recenty departed. Earlier this year, I lost my eldest brother-in-law and a short while later a mother-in-law passed on closely followed by one of my closest friends. The pain of their loss is still very fresh to all who loved them. I know their families and close friends are still grieving, still unbelieving and daily waking up to another day of life minus their loved ones.

I’ve always resented that some cultures treat death like total end, a fullstop to a life; walking away after the funeral, never to return. But I am also learning that celebrating the dead doesn’t mean all dead. It means those that we have buried and allowed to go, those with whom we have created a little distance. It means the ones whose memory brings a smile to our face instead of unbearable pain, indescribable grief and fresh tears to our eyes. Often in this life, our loved ones die and it appears they always die too soon. Therefore on this day, I choose to celebrate my loved ones while they are still physically around.

In loving memory of Ndegwa Mwangi, Mama Karuga and Grace Muchonde.

Rest In Peace special friends till we meet again.