The music of rain on the tin roof is interrupted by my mother:

“There’s a tarantula in the kitchen!”

Each word grows louder, and the pitch grows higher.

I sigh. Typical evening in the jungle.

I wake Abigail up, and we groggily make our way to the living room.

Not the kitchen. Technically, they are the same room. But this is my way of saying we are a safe distance away from the spider.

There it is- looking like it would bite my head off. I would totally die of a heart attack if one of those climbed into my loft at night, I think silently.

“Get a tennis ball, a broom, drag that chair over here, and open the front door,” Dad said.

Five minutes later, we are standing on the porch with our camera.

“Hockey-puck it!” Mom suggests.

“Well, it’s dead,” my dad starts.

“Just one of it’s tricks,” Mom says. “Hit him with the broom!”

We look at each other and I think to myself, Yep, typical evening in the jungle.

 

Blessings,

Madeline Studebaker

Sunday, December 10^th, 2012

 

name: Studebaker, AlkuShalom

height: 6 in. (aprox.)

weight: 4-5 lbs.(aprox.)

age: 1 month, 10 days

eye color: brown

other details: Dark brown. Thick, brown eyebrows and beard. White   goatee. Brown chest. Wears brown socks w/ white tips on small feet. Lives at Antioquia Academy, in  Pununo, Ecuador. Cries loudly at night. Eats puppy food, bought at a small store in Tena. Is not potty-trained.

 

Hopefully, you realize this isn’t a person I’m writing about.

It’s our adorable puppy from Sugar’s last litter. (Sugar is the Davalos’ dog.)

He was the 4^th of five puppies….

 

First his strong, brown sister was born. She has a black face.

Second, his brother Frosting. He’s white with brown and black spots all over him. I think the Davalos’ are keeping him.

Then, his brother, who is black with a brown chest and belly, came.

Like I said, AlkuShalom was born 4^th.

Last, the runt. She is light brown, and probably the cutest. Definitely everyone’s favorite to cuddle.

They all had blue eyes when they opened, but now they are darker brown or black.

 

Your probably wondering about AlkuShalom’s name.

We tried Rover and Pluto and Beethoven….

But AlkuShalom it was.

Alku is dog in Kichwa.

Shalom is the Hebrew word for peace.

 

AlkuShalom is curled up in my lap as I type.

He’s wrapped in my t shirt from this year’s Youth Birding Competition.

And, I’m sorry, his breath is awful. It smells like he ate a whole can of tuna. But he’s sweet.

Even if he keeps us up all night.

 

-Madeline Studebaker

Wednesday, December 5^th, 2012

“Look, if you teach us the Chicken- Dead Fish dance, you can dare us anything you want,” one of them said.

“Dare us anything that won’t end up hurting someone. Just stay within boundaries,” I added.

The Dance Teacher thought about it for awhile, then smiled. “Okay,” she agreed.

It was pretty funny to watch her dance like a chicken/dead fish. And for the record, it was a girl at school who came up with the name. Not me.

Then, after that, I heard “Well, what do we have to do? The dare?”

I looked around nervously. “Within boundaries,” I added again.

Everyone nodded.

“Okay, here it is,” She breathed in. “Let’s go dance like chickens in the middle of la cancha!”

Dance? Like a chicken? In the middle of a soccer field? While, I don’t know, like 40 people are playing a soccer game?!! I thought. That’s so not cool. But, it’s not going to hurt anyone…

As three of us stepped onto the soccer field, the 4^th said “I’ll film it”.

That was the last thing I wanted to hear. The girls and women sitting at the basketball court were going to see, and the people playing soccer.

How much worse could it get?

My mom waved her camera at me from the group of women.

Oh yeah. Facebook.

I swallowed, and we ran- not exactly to the middle- but we ran.

And we did the Chicken dance. Two whole verses.

“I don’t wanna be a chicken! I don’t wanna be a chicken!” she sang.

“Chicken, chicken!” said the Dance Teacher.

“I’m going to die!” I screamed.

And we ran back to the basketball court as fast as we could.

So All May Know,

Madeline Studebaker

Wednesday, November 28, 2012

Until recently, we had a mirror hanging up in the girls’ bathroom of our cabin.

And I was happy when it fell off of Abigail’s bunk bed.

Because I hated that mirror.

There were lots of reasons I could give you if you asked me why I disliked it.

It was extremely small. It had a 6 inch diameter.

It had little flowers in its design. Ugh…

It was hanging up too high – I had to stand on tiptoe just to see into it….

The list would go on and on if you pressed. But there is another reason.

Because I didn’t like what it showed me.

Sure, I could put on earrings, and maybe even a necklace.

And yeah, I could fix my hair.

I could wear lip-gloss, if I really wanted to.

But I can not change what shines through my eyes.

Now, some people can fake emotions really well.

I can’t.

You can see a lot of things, if you’re really looking.

Pain/hurt.

Boredom.

Anger.

Confusion/doubt.

Good things too, I hope.

But still… My attitude is like a mirror of what’s inside.

So I try to mask it.

But no matter how hard I try, the attitude that people see is like the product of my feelings.

Whether or not these are things I want you to see.

Ouch.

 

So All May Know,

Madeline A. S.

11-19-12

 

“How much is it to borrow a pair of mud boots?” I asked Ms. Eunice.

“Un dolar,” she answered. “One dollar. What size do you need?”

The 34s fit the best, even with the legs of my pants shoved inside them.

 

Dad and I walked to the buffet-style breakfast at Ms. Eunice’s Hostel.

Coffee, pancakes, watermelon, bacon, apples, bananas, juice….

Mom was teaching, and Abigail wasn’t feeling too well, and I was skipping school. But the trip to Campo Cocha was still going to be fun.

Breathe in. People here are your friends. Breathe out. People don’t make you nervous. And, most importantly, remember to smile. I told myself. Breathe!

“Good morning!” I heard from behind me. It was Rebecca, one of Deborah and Thomas Moore’s translators.

I smiled. “How are you doing?”

 

After breakfast, we headed to the three canoes at the Misahualli beach with the medical team.

“Good morning, Mari,” I whispered.

16 year old Marisol smiled. 

She’s so lucky to be one of the translators for the team today, I thought.

We put on the life vests, got into the boats, and took off.

It was about 30 minutes before we landed.

In a ½ foot of water.

Another 30 minutes away from Campo Cocha.

 

When we got there (they got the canoes unstuck), we walked over to the church. Everybody set up stations and got out medicine.

It was about 9:00 when I was assigned my job.

I’d been waiting and waiting for this part. What am I supposed to do? What can I do? Will I be able to help at all? I wondered.

 

Rebecca and I were supposed to play with the younger children and make sure they all got parasite pills.

We must have handed out 70 pills and 70 cups of soda.

We must have drawn 70 smiley faces on 70 hands.

Do you know how hard that sounds?

Not too hard.

Do you know how hard it is?

Extremely hard.

Where is that little girl? That kid’s running away from me! Am I really that scary? That little boy tried to get back in line! Good thing this is a permanent Sharpie. Did she really just spit that out at me? Eeewwww….. I thought.

I was pretty busy.

 

“Are you guys getting hungry?” Ms. Deborah asked us.

“Yes, ma’am, we are!” I answered for both of us. Lunch was sandwiches, chips, cookies, and coke.

It was good to have a break.

 

It wasn’t long before we went to the school to see if there was anyone left.

There were three teenaged girls, and 6 other boys.

And the pills must have been nasty.

 

When Rebecca and I got back to the church, we taught a few songs to some 5-7 year old girls.

They giggled and played and talked…

I gave them each a Silly Band, and they really liked those.

I also got to see one of the girls I met the first time we went to Campo Cocha. Her name is Kasela, and I hope you will include her family in your prayers, as well as the rest of Campo Cocha.

 

Soon, the pastor rang the bell and we attended church.

We sang, shared why we came to Ecuador (and Campo Cocha), and prayed.

It was really nice.

 

On the way back, we accidentally smashed onto the shore again.

But that time we got some good pictures of the sunset.

 

Blessings,

Madeline Studebaker

11-12-12

 

“I’ll be in the bodega getting the laundry!” Dad yelled though the rain as he ran to the large shed.

Nothing exciting ever happens around here, I sighed. We were at home between classes, and the Spanish book I was reading was boring.

Only 5 minutes later, my dad and Julio (the school’s ground keeper) were standing on our porch. 

“I think he cut himself with a machete,” Dad explained.

Julio showed us all the fresh gash from the machete on his hand.

Abigail gasped, Elijah ran in circles, and I tried to stay calm.

“Bro, you need stitches! This is deep!” Dad said. Then he turned to me. “Get  the peroxide.”

I gathered peroxide, rubbing alcohol, and Abigail got cotton balls from under the sink. 

I admit, when I looked at all that blood it made me a little queasy. 

How deep is it? Does he need stitches? Well, something exciting is happening, but I didn’t plan for it to mean—

My thoughts were interrupted by my father.

“I said, go tell your mom what happened,” Dad repeated himself. I guess I wasn’t listening.

Abigail and I ran to the school, where Mom was teaching English to some 1^st graders.

“Mom,” I said. “This is kinda an emergency… Julio cut his hand with a machete… and he’s bleeding at our house. Dad said to come get you.”

But I was thinking: Julio’s at our house, bleeding everywhere, and dad wants you!

“Cecelia, take over,” Mom said as we left.

Mom walked to the office. “Roberto, Julio cut his hand, he’s bleeding and may need stiches.”

Boy, my mom is a lot better at paraphrasing than me.

So we walked over to the cabin, and Roberto found out what happened….

Julio had been cutting bamboo when boom! The machete slipped. Then he went to the bodega, and asked my dad “Doctor?”.

“No….” Dad said, confused.

“Doctor?” Julio asked again, this time showing him the cut.

“Oohhh…” Dad said, and took him to our house.

After he translated, Roberto called a truck and Julio was on his way to (ouch) stitches.

 

Madeline Studebaker

11-4-12

People are always asking “What do you want to be when you grow up?”

I want to be the kind of person that can say “I want to be whatever God calls me to be, whenever He calls me to be it.”

That sentence is not an easy one.

Because I know what that means.

Sometimes it means doing what you’ve always wanted to do.

Like if you felt like being a preacher was the coolest job ever, and then God said something like “Be a preacher for Me.” That would be awesome.

But, other times it means letting go.

Letting go of dreams.

Letting go of fears.

Letting go of everything you know, except the peace of knowing that

God’s will is the only thing that matters.

Like if you didn’t know what you wanted to be, and then God said something like “Be a missionary for Me.”, and you said “Uh, I don’t know what I want, but I know what I don’t want. And I don’t want to be a missionary.” That, for me at least, would stink.

And it does. 

Right now, I don’t know what God’s plans are for me except that

He wants me to love Him and follow Him.

With all of my heart.

With all of my soul.

With all of my mind.

As I let go.

So All May Know,

Madeline Studebaker

11-2-12

Wednesday was a bomb. I messed everything up.

We were all excited about the ‘government people’ coming to the school. They were coming to make us a real school, Eulalia said.

And they were bringing their cameras!

We waited expectantly though six and a half periods. It seemed like forever, but it was only about 5 hours.

In the middle of the seventh period, one of the girls said “They’re here!”

“And they’re a little late,” I whispered to the back table. 

But we’re in Ecuadorian time, remember? Being 20-30 minutes late isn’t a big deal here.

We all went into the big room in the middle of the school and sat down. The  Department of Education people came in, and talked with the teachers a little.

A few adults spoke. It was in Spanish, so I didn’t understand it all.

After that, some of the 3^rd graders stood up and welcomed everybody to the school.  One of the teacher’s daughters welcomed them in Kichwa, Brian welcomed them in English, and Yaritza welcomed them in Spanish. This is what the 7^th grade girls translated: “Welcome to our school. We work hard, we do our homework, and we don’t cry.”

After that, our Kichwa teacher said “I’ll give you a 10 if you sing Nuka Ayllu.”

Our nervous class of seven walked to the front of the room. We had just been taught Nuka Ayllu that morning! How could we sing it in front of the government people and the school??!

As soon as we started to sing, I cringed.

It was not as pretty as the teachers (or anyone else) had hoped.

Nuka ayllu, nuka ayllu

Mamami, yayami….

“Can we start over?” someone asked.

Our Kichwa teacher nodded, then put her face in her hands.

Nuka ayllu, nuka ayllu

Mamami, yayami

Nuka hatun wawki

Nuka uchilla wawki

Llulluku, llulluku

That was all, after two and a half months. And songs don’t get much simpler.

It means:

My family, my family

My mother, my father

My big brother,

My little brother,

Baby, baby

It was awful – perfectly awful.

And not just because we were off- key.

Our poor Kichwa teacher was having to sing it softly because we didn’t even know the words.

I’m pretty glad they brought in the camera after our song. If that had appeared on TV, I would have died.

Next, we were told to go play soccer. We guessed they might want to film some of the game, so we played extra hard.

After a while, and they still hadn’t shown up, we got a little lazy. We had just finished talking about how horrible the Nuka Ayllu song turned out, when the boys’ team made a goal.

That did it.

I stood in the middle of the soccer field and yelled “WHAT WAS THAT??!”.

Whatever it was, the camera man got it all.

The boys making a goal and me screaming like a lunatic at my best friends.

Embarrassing!

Soon, we got called in to Science class.

“Clear the table and sit down; the camera is coming!” Keri said.

As the red light on the camera turned on, my brain function turned off. I shut down, completely.

“What are we learning about today?” Keri asked.

Jadyra raised her hand. “Energy!”

“Yes.” Keri said. “Madeline, do you remember what we talked about yesterday?”

“Ah… no…” I said. I sounded pretty unintelligent. Mom says they probably won’t put that part on the TV because it will make the school look bad. Better  than being on television and looking… well, you know.

School letting out was the best part of the day.

“Worst day of my life!” I said to my friends.

We walked over to Abigail, who was holding an upside-down cup on top of a book.

“What are you doing?” we asked.

“I caught a orange-tailed lizard!” She said, as the book fell from her hands.

“Aaaahhh!” we screamed.

We slammed the plastic cup over the run-away.

“Quick, where’s his tail??!” Saida asked, looking at where a tail used to be.

“There!!!” Jadyra pointed to the orange piece of lizard.

We all screamed, again.

“They’re filming in there!” Eulalia said.

“What?” Junior said, coming around the corner of the school.

“Aaaahhh!” we screamed at him.

“Aaaahhh!!!” he screamed back.

And the tailless lizard escaped.

-M 

10-30-12

“Hey guys!” Tyler yelled in the direction of our cabin. “You want to see these ants on fire?”

Ants? It took me a minute to register. But it finally clicked: A few days ago, when they cut down a broken tree, ants started marching out of the tree and all along the path. They are pretty big, and they have the annoying (and sometimes painful) habit of climbing up pants’ legs and clamping down their jaws.

Anyways, Tyler and Antony were standing on the edge of the path, dumping gasoline all over the trail of ants.

“Stand at least 20 yards away from the gas and fire!” my dad shouted as Abigail and Elijah ran outside.

“Should I even get up?” I asked nobody in particular.

“Yeah, you should probably check it out. What if they blow something up?” I answered myself.

So, there we were, looking at an angry mob of ants and Tyler.

“Ready?” Tyler asked.

Whoosh! The gas caught on fire. So did the gas-drenched insects. And it came within half an inch of Tyler’s foot. If you don’t know me really well, or this is the first of my blogs you’ve read, maybe you’re thinking I would have screamed with terror, or prayed, or have thrown water in Tyler’s direction. But, if you are unfortunate enough to know me, or if you have read some of my blogs, you might guess that I stood in my front yard laughing. And that’s exactly what I did. I laughed my head off.

After he did a little dance to insure that he was flaming-ant free, Tyler happily shared his success with everyone on school campus.

Sadly, ants still cover the path, although they might have decreased by about 5% in that spot. Well, maybe 4%.

So All May Know,

Madeline Studebaker

10-20-12

    A few days ago, we went with Tyler and Keri to Misahualli. Mom, Keri, Abigail, Elijah, and I went to Ms. Juanita’s store, and picked up some eggs, fruit, veggies, and we all got some juice. We walked to the square, and sat on a metal bench, and drank our juice. Then some monkeys came around. They were really cute, especially the baby. As soon we had opened our mouths to say “Awww…”, one jumped up and grabbed a juice bottle, right out of Elijah’s hands! Elijah was pretty shocked. He hadn’t expected that. From Abigail or me, maybe, but not from a cute little monkey. The thief sat in the middle of town, right in front of everybody, and opened the bottle. Then, she smiled like some evil plot had entered her head. She climbed up the covered bus-stop and laughed. A monkey laughing at you can be scary. They have friends. There must be 20 monkeys in Misahualli, and they work as a team. The Juice Thief unscrewed the bottle, and dumped the remaining goodness. She didn’t drink it, she didn’t even smell it. She dumped it. While we were busy retelling the episode, (and Elijah was sticking his tongue out at the thief) the other monkeys attacked. They took more juice, one took a tomato, and one fought me for my wallet. They laughed. Not like “Wah-ha-ha-ha” but little squeaks and chatters that let us know they were making fun of us.