I am that girl who refused to bring non-athletic shorts to Ecuador because my friend told me that women in Ecuador do not really wear shorts. I am that girl who brought boots, stylish flats, and heels to a city that makes San Francisco look flat because Ecuadorian women only wear these types of shoes. I am also that girl who starts to anxiously bite her nails when someone is five minutes late, who plans every meal the day before, and who has planned the next fifteen years of her life. By some miracle of God, however, I have managed to forget my intolerance of inefficiency and fear of traveling without plans.
I left the States by saying “adios” to my American identity. I prepared to morph into an Ecuadorian. Once I arrived, I learned that my blonde hair and blue eyes could be perceived as German since a disproportionate number of Germans can be found in Ecuador. I shrugged when the syllabi for our classes never appeared and again when a class was abruptly put on hiatus.
Following Latin American hygienic norms, I have dutifully put on my eyeliner and dryed my hair before my 8 a.m. class (well, most days). I have happily leapt off a bus in a small beach town without the slightest clue of where I was going to stay that night. I have even suffered through a string of bureaucratic inefficiencies without losing any nails.
However, no matter how hard I try to pretend to be naturally 30 minutes late (Ecuadorians exist in a creative time zone), comfortable as I sweat in my stupid jeans hiking up hills in leather boots, or ravenous for yet another serving of plantains, I am not fooling anyone. Not a day goes by without someone asking “where you from” on the street. The combination of blonde hair, jeans sans rhinestone decorations on the back pockets, my accent, my perpetual baseline confusion, and, most telling, my English exclamations (Ooh! Huh? Ee!) give it all away.
Despite my best efforts to disguise the fact that I’m not Ecuadorian, I have recently realized that it is not the worst thing in the world to be a gringa. Although I still only look at the “gringo book” (Lonely Planet Guide) when I’m with my gringa friends, it has actually been immensely helpful. The buses actually do leave on time and had it not been for the timeliness of a gringa friend, my bus would have left for Quito without me. My very obvious hiking boots and backpack have contributed to invaluable comfort and ease, even if they have also served as a giant indication of my foreignness. More importantly, I have realized that Ecuadorians genuinely like North Americans and they embrace my gringa-hood with open arms and kitchens.
Two girls in one of my classes asked me if I felt that “gringa” was an offensive name. I answered, honestly and perhaps based on perceptions formed in the States, that I did. They were both surprised and explained that people do not use it in a derogatory way; “gringa” is solely a means to identify, respectfully, someone from the States. With 18 distinct indigenous groups living in a country roughly the size of Nevada, it is not surprising that the Ecuadorians feel very connected to, and proud of, their roots and culture. They extend the same attitude to foreigners. “Gringa” is no more offensive in Ecuador than “British” is in the States.
Although I’m beginning to reconcile being “gringa,” I’m still going shopping next week to buy a pair of jeans with some bling on the back pockets.
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