History is Written in Plurality

 

 

By: Wambra Medio Digital Comunitario @wambraec

  In partnership with Belen Febres-Cordero and the women who participated in the creation of this series

 

English Version Published on December 13, 2021

Reading time: 42 minutes

 

 

 

Those of us who share our sensations, perceptions, and experiences of well-being and health in this journalistic series of feature stories come from very different paths of life. We self-identify as Afro-Ecuadorian, Black, Runas/Indigenous, Montubias, and Mestizas. We describe ourselves as brave, ethical, feminist, humble, sensitive, outgoing, friendly, spontaneous, strong, confident, determined, responsible, honest, hard-working, goal-oriented, positive, and warriors. We have fire inside us, and we are also full of dreams and smiles. We all speak Spanish, but for many of us, our mother tongue is one of Ecuador’s traditional languages, including Kichwa and Shuar. The youngest one of us is 19 years old; the oldest, 71; and every decade between these extremes is represented by at least one of us. We are leaders, students, heads of household, domestic workers, politicians, communicators, advocates, poets, writers, film-makers, teachers, educators, university professors, entrepreneurs, photographers, embroiderers, researchers, cosmetologists, acupuncturists, podiatrists, lawyers, nurses, midwives, and healers. We are mothers, sisters, neighbours, friends, aunts, grandmothers, daughters, and co-workers. We are all from Ecuador, but our backgrounds and trajectories are highly diverse.

.

Migration Experiences

Some of us arrived in Quito with our mothers and fathers, who had migrated from other parts of Ecuador, often driven by a lack of resources and access to basic needs in their communities, such as nutrition, health, and education. Others, in contrast, were born in Quito to parents who came to the capital city before having us. Either way, migration has been a big part of the lives and identities of both our families and us.

 

“I came to Quito with my mother when I was three years old. We were always together. She worked very hard to get ahead, and always, in all her jobs, my mom was with me.”

Helen, 53 years old, nothing but smiles

 

 

“I was born in Quito, but my mom is from another province in Ecuador’s Highlands. She has always felt like a tiny tree that, because of life’s circumstances, was ripped from its soil.”

Paula, 27 years old

“Even if you were born in Quito, if you are Afro-Ecuadorian, you are subjected to a huge social stigma in the city. This doesn’t happen if you live in a community because you are surrounded by people who look like you, everyone is the same, no one blames you for being Black. Over there, you don’t find yourself, like here, being part of a city that is yours because you were born into it but still only lets you live at the margins. It’s really tough to live in a place that should also be yours but isn’t. It’s a form of constant uprooting, and you have to live with it all the time.”

Jaqueline Gallegos

“I was born in Quito, and I have lived here my whole life, but my mom is from an Indigenous community in Ecuador’s Highlands. We’ve spent so much time over there that it doesn’t feel foreign at all. Quito feels less familiar because I hardly know anyone here. I have always tried to balance both cultures and avoid driving myself insane by believing that I cannot be part of anything else because I am Indigenous. I will not disregard the Mestizo culture completely just because I am Indigenous/ Runa. I believe it is better to know how to adapt to both worlds and to be part of both, but that is a big challenge of being an Indigenous person living in the city.”

Tamia Guamán, 22 years old, Otavalo woman

  

“I was born in Quito, but my parents migrated from a rural community because life was too hard for them there. They had many dreams, goals, and desires to fulfil, and they had to move to the capital city to achieve them.”

Nathy Khipo, 26 years old, Puruhá Indigenous woman

(Click on the arrows to read more quotes)

Some of us migrated to the city on our own when we were still little girls to work as domestic workers in the houses of strangers who were not always kind to us. Although many years have gone by since then, we still remember the fear and confusion we felt as we left our homes behind us, and how much we struggled to get by.

“I was born in a rural community in Ecuador’s Highlands, where I attended school until my mother could no longer pay for it. Out of nowhere, one day, my mom came to my sister and me, changed our clothes and shoes, and led us out onto the street where a pickup truck had parked. It was my uncle. He looked at us and said: ‘OK girls, ask your mom for her blessing,’ which we did. He then ordered us to get on the back of the vehicle, and he drove each of us to a different house and left us there to work as maids. We didn’t know what was going to happen to us. Back then, some parents gave up their little girls just like that. We were just given away.”

Linda Mariana, 71 years old, brave woman

“I was around 15 or 16 years old when my father decided to take me away from the community where I was born and raised and send me out to the city to take care of a family’s children. I was in a place I’d never been before, where I knew no one. At first, I was a bit nervous and felt a little lonely, but being the teenager that I was, I was thinking big. At that age, you want to learn everything, try everything, and there’s no way for you to know what you don’t know yet. I believed I had heaven in my hands, but it was truly quite difficult for me to get ahead in life. Yet, I was able to climb each step of the ladder little by little.”

Anonymous

“I come from an impoverished family. We had very little to eat. Sometimes, we had water with a little something to bite into and nothing else. As soon as I finished primary school, my father told me that he could no longer afford my education and that I needed to go to work to contribute to the household economy, and that’s how I got sent to Quito. I cried and explained to him that I had many dreams and that I wanted to study, to which he answered: ‘You are a woman. You don’t need to study anymore. There’s no money to pay for your education; besides, you will probably get married someday!” But I decided to study. I decided to get ahead despite everything. This is why for me, being an Indigenous woman means to be a warrior and to fight; to constantly fight in every possible way. To clear the path amid so many obstacles and to be able to emerge has not been easy for me.”

 

Margarita, 49 years old, Kichwa Otavalo warrior woman

(Click on the arrows to read more quotes)

Some of us migrated to pursue our dream of attending high school or college.  Although we worked hard to attain this goal and were ecstatic to have succeeded, saying goodbye to all we had ever known and beginning a new life in the capital city was not always easy. The process took some time, but little by little, we began to get used to our new realities, and we learned to love both places.

 

“I came to Quito to pursue a university education. My mom and dad brought me here, but when it was time for them to leave, and I saw them take the bus back home, I felt my heart dry out and shrink like a small raisin. It is extremely tough to adapt to a life of loneliness that only you understand. You open the door, and you have no one there. I was suddenly alone. No nephews or nieces were saying: ‘Hello, auntie.’ No mother was inquiring if I’d eaten yet. I would video call my family and see them all eating supper together at the dinner table while I sat alone on the other side of the phone. It was a horrible experience for me. It got to a point where I would play anything on the computer or the TV just to listen to people talk and try to forget the fact that I was utterly alone. That’s how I coped with loneliness.”

Gennesis Almeida 

Mestiza, humble, sensitive, spontaneous, and very friendly woman

“There was too much male chauvinism, commonly known as ‘machismo,’ in the town where I was born. I constantly saw how women were subjected to a great deal of domestic violence because they couldn’t find a job, so they had to depend on a man to maintain their children. Because of this, I always knew that I wanted to study to then be able to work so that I would never have to depend on anyone. On the other hand, people in my community strongly believed that only men should study and that women were unfit for the task. I remember my parents telling me: ‘You are only good for the kitchen and the pots.’ This was what gave me the strength to pack my things and leave. I was 12 years old when I set out on a journey and arrived in Quito. This city has provided me with everything in every sense. I came here as a child to work, fight, and get ahead in life. I’ve had to put in a lot of effort, and it hasn’t been easy, but I’m thankful for all the opportunities Quito has provided me with.”

 Mercy Sigcho, 44 years old, rural woman

“I was born in a community of 300 people in the Amazon region of Ecuador and migrated to Quito to attend university. I arrived alone, by bus and carrying only my suitcase and my backpack. The history books we read at school always had pictures of a mountain in Quito called ‘Panecillo,’ and I always liked it. It was so lovely to see it in real life. But I felt so lonely at first. I used to think to myself: ‘This city is going to eat me alive.’ Every Friday, I would rush back home, and every Sunday, I felt like not coming back. My mother would say to me: ‘Yanua, you have to leave now. It’s getting late. At what time are you going to get to Quito? Tomorrow you start work early,’ to which I always answered: ‘I’m going. I’m going, just let me sleep for five more minutes.’ But this was just an excuse not to leave.”

Yanua Vargas, 28 years old, Shuar film-maker, proud of her roots

 

“I arrived in Quito in April 2019. I brought a small souvenir box where I carried all my fondest memories: photos, letters, and important things to me, some of which dated back to my childhood. Every time I felt lonely or missed the atmosphere and the people from my town, I would open my little box and see everything I had in it. I tried to do this very few times so that I wouldn’t get too nostalgic.”

María Belén, 20 years old, ethical and feminist person

“At first, whenever I went to visit my homeland and the time came to return to Quito, I would cry. My mom would hug me, and I would cry. But that changed as time passed by. I’m really close to my family and miss them always, but I’ve now accepted that my life is both in Quito and at home. I have my heart divided.”

Valeria Vega, 24 years old, Afro-Ecuadorian woman

 

 

“It was difficult at first, but I have met people who have made me also feel good here, like I belong. It helps a lot to have the right people by your side; you learn to love your new place.”

Jessica Prado

 

 

“I have a love-hate relationship with Quito, but lately, I think it’s a little bit more love than hate.”

Sara Fuentes, 23 years old

(Click on the arrows to read more quotes)

Many of us also came to the city to escape the violence we experienced at home, sometimes at the hands of family members; others, of partners or husbands.

“When I was a child, there was so much violence at home that I ran away. I was walking by the bus terminal when I heard the driver yell: ‘Going to Quito, to Quito,’ and I just hopped aboard. I had never travelled anywhere before, not even to nearby places, but I could no longer bear the violence, so I left. I didn’t have any money on me, not even for the bus ticket, and no other clothes than what I was wearing.”

Anonymous

 

“I came running away from my husband. He was chasing me to kill me.”

Anonymous

“I came here to escape from the cycle of violence that my ex-partner had pulled me into. He was continually bossing me around, telling me what to do. Situations like these are hard to walk away from; you may be terrified to go, and your fears may cause you to doubt yourself. You begin to wonder: ‘How am I going to live? Where am I going to go? How am I going to pay for food? How will I provide for my children?’

You want to leave, but sometimes fear stops you until things get so bad that you say: ‘I will not live like this anymore, submissive. I am not going to die like this. I cannot die like this.’ Then, I said: ‘I have to stand up and say no. I have to live, even if it means I have to eat dirt, even if I have to dress up in a thousand different colours, from now on, I will make it on my own.”

Anonymous

(Click on the arrows to read more quotes)

 

Well-being within our Reach

 

Coming from all these different life experiences, we met to explore what well-being means to us and where we can find it. Of course, we know that having the necessary financial resources to survive and live a wholesome life is essential in the current social system. Yet, we noticed that well-being is not only achieved through economic development or technological advancement, as we have been taught. We also find it in the most subtle sensations, which are not exclusively perceived by the mind but also by our bodies and senses. For example, we smell it in the aromas of the mountain and damp soil in the morning. We see it in nature: in maize, green grass, and the tomatoes that we cultivate. We feel when we are with our hens or in our fields. We sense it in the diverse shapes and sizes of the clouds; the chirping of the birds; and the taste of coffee, berries, and guava. We hear it in the sound of rivers, music, and wind blowing through tree leaves.

Discovering well-being in these daily sensations allows us to identify it even in the hardest of circumstances when there seems to be none. Doing so shows us ways to leverage it and reveals what needs to change in society for all of us to have a genuinely wholesome life. In the context of internal migration, it also connects us to our memories, families, communities, homelands, and roots.

“To me, well-being entails being well in all aspects of life. This obviously includes finance, which is one of the issues that affects Black women daily, and I am no exception. It is especially challenging for us who are the heads of our households and do not have a steady or well-paid job. When this is the case, we cannot be well because we must deal with economic difficulties on top of any other problems or inconveniences. However, I do believe that being outside of Quito, in touch with nature, the river, the birds, and spending quiet and peaceful time with my family brings me well-being. I also feel healthy and at peace when I am at home listening to instrumental music and reflecting with my children that, despite everything, life is beautiful.”

Karina Gallegos, Afro-Quiteña woman

Mother, head of household, defender of human and women’s rights

“Well-being is not something that we have to look for because it is not static. It is like a suitcase that always travels with us. It is always inside us, and maybe that’s why we don’t see it at first, but if we look for it just a little, we can find it. This suitcase is filled with all the memories, lessons learned, and both the good and the bad times of life because we need both to keep moving forward.”

Dánely, 20 years old, Motubia woman

“I love dancing; it makes me feel as if my body has a life of its own. It’s so beautiful. I play a song, and my body just follows it. It’s a wonderful energy. I don’t know how to describe it. It fills me right here, in my heart, and all my body vibrates. It is a sheer delight; it is sensitivity. That is what well-being means to me.” 

Tatiana Guamán, 32 years old, Kichwa Puruwá woman

“I have tamarillos or tree tomatoes, babaco, spinach, corn, figs. I have violets, ferns, lilies, roses, and flamingo flowers that are just blooming. I have rosemary, parsley, onions. I have a lovely hen that looks just like a queen and two rabbits that drive me crazy because when I sow small plants, they sneak out of their cages at night to eat them. I love the soil. I carry the soil. I bring the soil. I move the soil.

I’ve lost my sight. I don’t see at all, but when I feel the ground in my hands, I don’t feel hungry, nor do I sense the passage of time. What I do feel, though, is the earth. The doctor treating me told me that the soil provides me with a lot of energy and is really healthy for me.

I’ve had cancer twice. While recovering, I had more time to myself. That’s when I discovered that the earth is good for me. My grandson got me an amplifier, and I am always happy while tending to my plants and listening to my music. I have beautiful music that he recorded for me. I love music, especially classic reggae. I love romantic music from back in my day, the seventies. I also adore bachata and dance music. I love to dance as well! When I go out to my garden, my neighbours say: ‘Oh nice! Joy just came out!’ My neighbours love me, and I believe that my plants love me as well. I pull the amplifier out and play music for each of my plants so that they can listen to it. I then touch them gently and say: ‘How wonderful! I am filled with joy! I am filled with happiness, and I don’t want, I don’t want to leave this place.’”

Linda Mariana, 71 years old, brave woman

“I love mountains. I always say: ‘They are my guardians; they are the protecting spirits who look after me and bring me back to myself.’”

Nuna Sisari, 22 years old, Kichwa Chibuleo woman

 

“The city where I was born has a special smell that I always remember. It smells like humidity, trees, and wet ground, and it makes me feel great.”

Mishell Rebolledo Zhingre, 21 years old

 

“The sound of birds singing in the morning, walking barefoot over dirt ground, contemplating nature, and sharing food and conversation around the tullpa (wood-burning stove), that’s what makes me feel well.”

Yani, Kichwa-Cotacachi woman  

“To me, the countryside’s green colour represents well-being. It’s a distinct shade of green that reminds me of the place where I grew up.”

Jessica Prado

 

  

“For me, well-being is like a wave of emotions and energy that I feel in my chest and makes me cry. It arrives unannounced when I get good news, read something that amazes me, connect profoundly with people, or see how the light shines brightly over the birds as they fly in the sky.” 

Belen, 34 years old

“Walking is well-being for me because that’s how I let things go. Walking, seeing, and feeling. I was walking this morning, it was raining, and I thought to myself: ‘Thank you for the rain because I feel alive, I feel wet, and I feel cold.’”

Delia Paillacho, 60 years old

Indigenous woman, palliative nurse, university professor 

(Click on the arrows to read more quotes)

Moreover, we find well-being in our spiritualities and in our cherished memories of special times with our families, ancestors, friends, and pets. We also sense it in familiar, beloved daily sites and activities: kitchens, tables, beds, hammocks, blankets, wood-burning stoves, living rooms, mountains, hallways, gardens. Sometimes, it is in the small spaces we carve out for ourselves, especially when we are the primary carers for others. Finding well-being in these daily sites and activities lets us notice that structural changes which recognize this work and make it equitable are required to achieve a genuinely wholesome life. 

 

Collective collage created in one of the virtual gatherings where we shared our experiences and perspectives

 

“I wouldn’t know how to describe what well-being is for me, but I certainly know how it feels. There are things that cannot be explained, just felt, and well-being is like that. You feel it right here, in your chest. It is like that comfort that you feel when you hug someone you love.  It is like those candid photographs that you cherish because they carry that warmth that you were experiencing the exact moment when you took them. They are real photos of real people.”

Victoria Cuadros, 20 years old, Montubia woman

 

“My grandmother is no longer with us, but her book of poems still smells like her. These pages remind me of all the hours we shared, holding each other’s hands and reciting these verses.  These memories comfort and shelter me.”

Belen, 34 years old 

 

“The rosary image encompasses everything for me because God is essential in my life.  I am a firm believer in God, and He is the force driving me. I wouldn’t be able to get anywhere without Him. He is the one who leads me, who has made every single one of my desires come true, and who has given me the family I have. He’s the first one I come to at every moment,

either happy or sad, because he’s my best friend.”

Male Dueñas, 40 years old   

“Well-being to me is all about connection. It cuts across everything; it’s not something isolated. The guayusa plant is the subject of the photo I shared. Guayusa is an essential plant for people in Ecuador’s Amazon Rainforest because it fosters that connection. Drinking guayusa creates that space for us to come together and talk, laugh, tell tales, listen, and make plans. Guayusa is a symbol of well-being for me because it’s that connectivity.”

Yanua Vargas, 28 years old, Shuar film-maker, proud of her roots  

“My dining table symbolizes well-being because that’s where all of my family and friends gather around, where we exchange good moments, where we share great opinions, where we share food, and where there is always more than one person. Around the dining table, I feel connected to so many people, to so much knowledge, to so much wisdom.  Well-being, to me, means to share and be connected, whether physically or spiritually, because we also remember all the people who have walked through these spaces. Well-being is me being okay with everyone else, and everyone else being okay with me.”

María Eugenia Quiñónez Castillo 

 Afro-Ecuadorian leader and ancestral healer

“For my son and me, the bed is the best and most delicious thing.  Nestled in, warm and cozy, there we watch movies, check our phones, or do any other thing. Together.”

Helen, 53 years old, nothing but smiles

 

“The hallway has become a vital space in my home. When I walk in, the hallway is the first thing I see. As soon as I arrive, my children happily greet me there, always with a  ‘Mommy, mommy!”

Luisana Aguilar

“I shared the photo of my father’s graduation. That was my grandmother’s lifelong dream, and she worked so hard so that her children could study. She was a natural salesperson, and she would go out every week to sell potatoes with pork to bring bread and money for her family. My father wanted to study, my grandfather wanted the same, so it was a shared dream. My mom is also in that picture, and they supported each other as well. That’s how from that relationship among all them, from that common dream, they made it come true. These relationships have also always supported me, allowing me to be the first generation of women in my family to earn a university degree, and I hope to continue. That is what this photograph symbolizes for me. This story of so much love, of so much struggle, of such a beautiful bond. It’s an image that hangs in my living room, representing a whole family life, representing all the  influence on what I do.”

Sara Fuentes, 23 years old

(Click on the arrows to read more quotes)

We also asked ourselves what well-being means in our specific realities as diverse women in Quito. We identified that violence, racism, classism, and discrimination, all of which we endure daily and pose enormous challenges to our well-being in this context. These hardships are even more pronounced for those of us who are older; live with a disability; or identify as Runa/ indigenous, Afro-Ecuadorian, Black, or Montubian. We see these injustices as some of the first and most significant social changes we need to live a wholesome life.

 

 

“Ignorance leads them to view us as insects, as if we were trash to them.”

Manuela

 

“Discrimination against people with disabilities starts at home. Yesterday, a lady told me that her sister, who was having a birthday party, told her: ‘I cannot invite you because you’ll want to bring my niece who has a disability, how embarrassing.’”

Alexandra Andrade, 51 years old, Mestiza woman

“You live with racism ingrained in your life. You’re constantly being observed and judged. When you are looking to rent a room, they tell you: ‘We don’t rent to Black people.’ You go to a shopping mall, and you overhear people saying things about you. You’re in a line at the bank, and they ask you to keep your distance, but they ask this only of you; they don’t say anything to anyone else.”

Marisol Zova, Afro-Ecuadorian journalist

“It is really sad because our roots are from right here. Indigenous Peoples, Black Peoples, Cholos, Montubios, we are all from here, and it is painfully hard to be seen as ‘the other’ in our own land.”

Kaya

 

“Sometimes, people in Quito are astonished to learn that I am Montubian. The other day a girl stopped to look at me and said: ‘But Dánely, how can you say you’re Montubian if you are just like me?’”

Dánely, 20 years old, Montubia woman

 

“Discrimination and racism are so embedded in society, so normalized, that they can tell you straight to your face: ‘No, sorry, I’m looking for people who have a good presence for this job.’ And good presence implies that they have to be White or Mestizo, that they have to look different from you.”

Irma Bautista Nazareno

Coordinadora Nacional de Organizaciones de Mujeres Negras (CONAMUME)

“Yo nací en la Amazonía y cuando me pongo mi vestimenta en Quito, hay lugares en los que me quedan viendo como diciendo: ‘¿En qué momento estos vinieron a invadir nuestro espacio?’”.

Yanua Vargas, 28 años, cineasta Shuar, orgullosa de sus raíces

“Bienestar es que me brinden seguridad; es poder caminar tranquila, en paz, sin miedo y sin tantas inseguridades que a veces una como mujer siente apenas sale de su casa”.

Gennesis Almeida

Mujer mestiza, sencilla, sensible, espontánea y muy sociable

 

“Llevar anaco en Quito es una experiencia bastante dolorosa porque da miedo, es un miedo colectivo que sentimos porque estás como vulnerable.  Es un sentimiento de que capaz alguna persona loca te diga ‘longa’, ’india’, o te mire raro, y no son casos aislados, pasa todo el tiempo”.  

Sara Fuentes, 23 años 

“I was born in the Amazon Rainforest in Ecuador. When I wear my traditional clothing in Quito, there are places where people stare at me as if saying: ‘At what point did these groups come here to invade our space?’”

Yanua Vargas, 28 years old, Shuar film-maker, proud of her roots

“Well-being means having security. It means being able to walk calmly, in peace, without fear and without so many insecurities that sometimes, as women, we feel as soon as we step out of our house.”

Gennesis Almeida

Mestiza, humble, sensitive, spontaneous, and very friendly woman

“Wearing our traditional clothing in Quito is a painful and terrifying experience. It is a collective fear that we have because we feel vulnerable. It’s so scary to think that someone can call you horrible names or look at you strangely at any given moment.  And these aren’t isolated incidents; they happen all the time.”

Sara Fuentes, 23 years old

“There are people who discredit you, insult you, or look at you with contempt, even without knowing you. Gazes express different things: scorn, hatred, disgust.  Very few convey respect. Some see themselves as superior, so they downplay, devalue, and treat Indigenous people as inferiors. This leads to feelings of anger and helplessness. Some people just push you to pass through; they don’t ask for you to allow them to pass. They treat you without any respect.”

Margarita, 49 years old, Kichwa Otavalo warrior woman

“Other Black women sometimes assume that because my skin is lighter than theirs, my life is easier. What a wrong idea! Or they think that because we live in Quito, our life is better and easier, but it’s not like that. There is also a lot of discrimination here, and we have to fight against it every day.  I often feel that it’s me alone against the entire city. Then, I remember my grandmother’s words when someone wanted to treat her unkindly. She used to say: ‘Aren’t I human, just like you? The same red blood that runs through your veins runs through mine. What is this huge difference that you see between you and me?’”

Karina Gallegos, Afro-Quiteña woman

Mother, head of household, defender of human and women’s rights

(Click on the arrows to read more quotes)

In this context so hostile, unjust, and painful—in which our very humanity is constantly overlooked or questioned—we experience well-being when we learn to recognize and love our identities and when we engage in activities that connect us to our roots. We also experience well-being when we represent who we are through different elements that characterize us and are present in our daily lives, such as our language, clothing, hair, and name.

“Society has made us all believe that the Kichwa language and the customs and knowledge of our Peoples are useless. Even the Runa/Indigenous Peoples have been persuaded of this. I think this is why many of us have felt ashamed and tried to hide our origins at some point, just to feel like we belong.

As a little girl at school, I used to feel ashamed of my origins, of being ‘Indigenous,’ as we were called. I didn’t like my mother coming to school wearing our traditional clothing. I felt ashamed in front of my classmates because my mother didn’t wear the same clothes as theirs did. In a way, I understand the confusion from my classmates because I never dressed the same as my mother. I wore a skirt like the rest of the kids. I didn’t understand many things at the time. I only wanted others not to know who I was. I thought my mom didn’t realize how I felt until she once confessed that she noticed my embarrassment: ‘You didn’t need to say anything; only with your attitude, I could tell how you felt.’ I was a child who didn’t know where she came from, who couldn’t recognize herself, who didn’t understand the reasons behind her mother’s and her origins. My identity was vanishing, and with it, I was vanishing too because I was attempting to conceal my true self. My grandparents must have been crying, wherever they were.

I am sure that many children still need someone to guide them and help strengthen their cultural identity. I would have loved it to be different when I was a child because it could have saved my mother and me many difficult moments. In my teens, everything changed for me. Finally, I decided to go to school dressed in my own clothing. When I began college, I had the opportunity to learn more about my cultural identity and to empower myself with the help of friends who came from processes similar to mine. To this day, I have not stopped wearing my traditional clothing to go to college and anywhere else. I feel very proud because I no longer hide my identity. It feels so good! Another thing that fills me with great joy and pride is that I have legally changed my name to a Kichwa one. This is something I will never regret.”

Yani, Kichwa-Cotacachi woman

“Well-being is that we all recognize one another as human beings of equal value; that people stop denying our culture, our language, and our very existence.”

Yanay Lucila Lema, 47 years old, Otavalo woman

 

 

“People see that you are wearing your traditional clothing, and they automatically start calling you ‘María,’ even when that’s not your name. In that context, ‘María’ has a racist connotation because they don’t even bother to call you by your real name, with respect. They feel entitled to call you whatever they want. You simply become ‘Maria, the Indian.’ It’s racist and sexist at the same time. That’s why, for me, my own name is so important, and it represents well-being, because I am the one who decides what to be called.”

Killari Guamán

“For me, well-being means recognizing who I am, and my hair plays a crucial role in that sense. Hair has been a symbol of resistance for me. In women’s hair, enslaved people wove the maps to escape, and they kept the gold nuggets to pay for and sustain their freedom. Hair also has to do with knowing yourself in a very particular way. It has to do with recognizing yourself, wearing it naturally, and knowing that you can look beautiful regardless of existing stereotypes. It has also been a very significant part of our fights. When you see, through history, these Black panthers, you couldn’t even envision their fights without their natural hair. This has marked the role that hair plays in my life as a way of resistance, but also of re-existence, and as a symbol of unique forms of beauty. We are not part of the majority but rather search for our own identity. Hair says a lot about me, and it says a lot about this fight. I look myself in the mirror and say: ‘Today we’re killing it!’, and my hair says:  ‘Today we’re killing it!’ as well.”

Jaqueline Gallegos

“My parents gave me two names: one in Kichwa and one in Spanish, so I could decide which world to embrace. It has been difficult to merge the two worlds because you don’t want to feel like you are betraying your culture, but at the same time, you enjoy many things that are not from your culture, so it’s a complex process. It’s hard to find the strength to say: ‘I can choose because that’s my right and because no one else can tell me what I should like and what is right or wrong.’ I think that’s the hardest thing I’ve ever had to go through. However, I had my family’s support; they helped me define myself as I am now, and I started to change. I decided to let my hair grow. The hair of an Indigenous person is significant because it gives you that elegance that you can display. In my case, letting my hair grow and cutting it in a straight line represents who I am because I had always cut it in layers, but not anymore. Learning Kichwa has also been a major turning point in my life. It helped me understand what I want, how I want my family to be, and who I want around me. It is one of the lights in my life.”

Sisa Carolina Guamán, 27 years old

Determined Kichwa Otavalo-Kitu Kara woman

“I was always by myself at school. My classmates used to say: ‘We don’t want to hang out with you because you’re Black and you don’t comb your hair.’ But I didn’t mind that. I always loved my hair. Ever since I was a little girl, I used to run out of the house with my natural hair and say: ‘I’m late, I’m late, I have to go,’ but it was only to avoid combing it. I love my hair.

I look myself in the mirror and say: ‘How beautiful I am.’”

Daniela Churos (Britany Muñoz), 19 years old

 

 

 Afro-descendant feminist teenager 

“All our clothing holds significance. Our identity is represented in each piece. Our traditional skirt (called anaco) and the embroidery in our blouse represent agriculture and flora and fauna in our land. Our hat represents ancestral wisdom. The red colour of the bayeta (textile that we wrap around our shoulders) represents the blood we have shed to be a bit freer. The chumpi, or sash, represents the strength of Indigenous women. All our identity is there, and we carry it on our bodies every day.“

Nathy Khipo, 26 years old, Puruhá Indigenous woman

“Toda nuestra vestimenta tiene significado, en cada parte está representada nuestra identidad. El anaco y los bordados representan la agricultura y la flora y la fauna de nuestra tierra. El sombrero, nuestra sabiduría ancestral. El color rojo de la bayeta es por la sangre que hemos derramado para ser un poco más libres. El chumpi, la faja, representa la fuerza de la mujer indígena. Todo está ahí y todo llevamos con nosotras, todos los días, en nuestro cuerpo”.

Nathy Khipo, 26 años, mujer indígena Puruhá  

(Click on the arrows to read more quotes)

 

 

Expanding the Meanings of Health

Activity through which we shared health experiences and perspectives during one of our in-person gatherings

We also explored the concept of health. First, we noticed that health is not only inside hospitals for us. As well-being, health is present in our daily lives. We also believe that being healthy requires much more than not having pain. Following the teachings of ancestral knowledges and practices, many of us perceive health as something that does not only concern our physical bodies but also our minds, spirits, and affects.  As such, our vision differs from the separation between reason, emotion, and spirituality present in other current approaches to health.

 

“Health is always interlinked with emotions and spirituality. You cannot separate one from the other. The problem is that Western medicine doesn’t always consider these factors. It only regards you as a physical being that needs to be cured. Of course, that is important, but we need to go beyond this. We must also consider the person’s state of mind, how they feel, and what affects them. This is crucial because what we feel inside is often reflected externally.”

Killari Guamán

 

 

“Health means having reasons to laugh.”

Mishel Rebolledo Zhingre, 21 years old

 

 

“Health is closely linked to emotions and relationships.

When you are around nice people, your soul emanates light, and this is good for your health.”

Kaya 

“For me, life is built on a fulfilling form of being, and that is part of understanding yourself as healthy. You can hardly be healthy and whole without embracing your fights and identity, without recognizing who you are and what you are. Health, then,  has to do with our fights and the physical, emotional, and spiritual well-being that comes from our deep-rooted ways of living and relating to our grandmothers, ancestors, Orishas, and own Gods. We understand health from there; from being whole, from being complete, from recognizing ourselves in the people behind us and also in those ahead.”

Jaqueline Gallegos

“Health means to have happiness in your heart.”

Anonymous

 

 

“Health means to wake up every day and say: ‘Today I feel good. Tomorrow I will feel good.  Every day I feel good and have the desire to live.”

Gennesis Almeida

Mestiza, humble, sensitive, spontaneous, and very friendly woman

 

 

 

“Health means getting out of bed and feeling happiness inside your soul; health is the manifestation of that happiness.”

María Eugenia Quiñónez Castillo

Afro-Ecuadorian leader and ancestral healer

“For me, health means being at ease with myself; it means not having to worry about what will happen tomorrow; it means feeling physically and mentally well. I experienced this kind of health in the first four months of the pandemic. Although the world was in chaos, I experienced peace, tranquillity, and equality during that time. I know many people may think I am crazy, but the pandemic provided me with a level of health I had never felt before. I was able to stay home with my children and, for the first time, we completely forgot about debts, rent, how we were going to pay for utilities, and all that comes with having to find money to cover our basic needs. The crisis brought on by COVID-19 made people realize that money and material things are of little use, and I felt that, at last, we would all be under the same conditions. I felt we were all vulnerable, despite some having a lot and others having very little or hardly anything. But once that period ended, we started to go back to how things were. I was not happy because I realized that everything would go back to how it had always been before. Discrimination, racism, and classism returned with greater force, becoming even more evident. It was at that moment that I had to land again into this ailing world full of injustice.”

Karina Gallegos, Afro-Quiteña woman

Mother, head of household, defender of human and women’s rights

(Click on the arrows to read more quotes)

From the teachings of our ancestors, many of us also conceive health not as individual but as collective. This entails that for us to be healthy, the people around us and the environment we live in must be healthy as well. To achieve this, we need to examine how we relate to ourselves, each other, nature, and all aspects of life, including death.

Some of us consider that we need to start by questioning how we interact with ourselves. Dánely, for example, believes that health means “learning to love and respect yourself,” and Carla adds that, for her, this self-love has been linked to attaining her aspirations and goals, such as studying journalism, which she has wanted to do since she was a little girl. However, we recognize that this is very difficult to do in a society that teaches us that we have less worth than others. 

We also see our health as being intimately related to the health of others. Being well allows us to establish harmonious relationships with those around us and collectively contribute to health.

“I love embroidering. Embroidery teaches us that we are all part of a tapestry and that the stitch we sew today will support the stitch of the person next to us. Doing so will allow us to create a beautiful design together. Sometimes the stitch is loose, sometimes the stitch is crooked, but in the end, it looks good, and that is what we should strive for; we should create our own stitches and also contribute to the stitches of others.”

Sisa Carolina Guamán, 27 years old

Determined Kichwa Otavalo-Kitu Kara woman

“What gives me great happiness is putting my mind and heart into serving others.”

Raquel Chuquimarca, 44 years old

A person devoted with heart, soul, and life to work in favour of her community

 

“Health is being at ease with myself. If I am good with myself, then collectively, I will be in better condition to take care of others.”

Marisol Zova, Afro-Ecuadorian journalist

“Health is a fantastic tool to enjoy the journey that is life, to attain happiness, to find love, to reach fulfillment, and to be of use to others.”

Delia Paillacho, 60 years old

Indigenous woman, palliative nurse, university professor

 

 

“To help feed a child in need who has a disability as I do, that is health to me.”

Alexandra Andrade, 51 years old, Mestiza woman

 

 

“Health is spreading joy to everyone around me.”

Linda Mariana, 71 years old, brave woman

“I felt relaxed and happy every time I arrived at my job as a nurse’s aide. I wanted to dance, and I felt at peace there. I’m not sure why I felt that way; I believe God blessed me with the gift of serving others.”

Anonymous

“I can’t say that I alone am fine. That’s part of being well, but it’s also critical that my family is well.” 

Tamia Guamán, 22 years old, Otavalo woman

“To live in community is to live in collectivity; it’s like having a large family because if you need something, everyone helps you out. In the city, everyone is more individualistic; each person lives in their own world. Being a Runa or Indigenous person for me is not to seek benefit for just one person, but for everyone, therefore reaching a balance between all of us and also with everything else that surrounds us.”

Nuna Sisari, 22 years old, Kichwa Chibuleo woman

(Click on the arrows to read more quotes)

 

Food is another essential factor connecting us to our communities, memories, and ways of life.  For us, health is directly related to the territory and the conservation of nature, food, and ancestral knowledge.

To be healthy, we need to maintain close contact with nature, and we need nature to thrive as well. Nevertheless, it is not always easy to keep this contact while living in the city. In addition, following the dominant Development Model, there are extractive projects in several of our territories. They damage the land and make us sick. Therefore, to be truly healthy, we need economic and structural changes that support other ways of life.

“When I come back to Quito from my homeland, I bring the sack of things that my mom sends with me. The food she sends me itself is not so important, but rather the gesture and the fact that she knows everything I need, including things that I didn’t think I wanted. She sends me simple things that almost no one values. She sends me our tiny little meals and some of the food I grew up with. Sometimes we don’t truly appreciate what we have until we feel homesick and miss those ingredients and the moments when we were sharing them with our loved ones.” 

Valeria Vega, 24 years old, Afro-Ecuadorian woman

 

 

“My Rina (my grandmother) has always been very concerned about what I eat. She is an incredible cook, so she often prepares traditional dishes from my town and sends them to Quito, where I freeze them. Then, when I eat them, I feel so happy because I feel like I still have a little piece of home here with me.” 

Victoria Cuadros, 20 years old, Montubia woman

“Processed food available to us now does not contribute in any way to our health, nor does it benefit society, as it continues to support the power hierarchy of transnational companies that continue to get richer instead of encouraging local consumption. This causes greater child malnutrition in rural areas, even though this is where food is produced, demonstrating that something is seriously wrong. We need to appreciate more the value of local consumption and methods of food production that do not harm the natural environment and do not cause devastation.”

Cristina Cabezas, 22 years old, Kichwa woman

“My parents gave me two names: one in Kichwa and one in Spanish, so I could decide which world to embrace. It has been difficult to merge the two worlds because you don’t want to feel like you are betraying your culture, but at the same time, you enjoy many things that are not from your culture, so it’s a complex process. It’s hard to find the strength to say: ‘I can choose because that’s my right and because no one else can tell me what I should like and what is right or wrong.’ I think that’s the hardest thing I’ve ever had to go through. However, I had my family’s support; they helped me define myself as I am now, and I started to change. I decided to let my hair grow. The hair of an Indigenous person is significant because it gives you that elegance that you can display. In my case, letting my hair grow and cutting it in a straight line represents who I am because I had always cut it in layers, but not anymore. Learning Kichwa has also been a major turning point in my life. It helped me understand what I want, how I want my family to be, and who I want around me.

It is one of the lights in my life.”

Sisa Carolina Guamán, 27 years old

Determined Kichwa Otavalo-Kitu Kara woman

(Click on the arrows to read more quotes)

 

Finally, we think that we should reassess how we relate to all aspects of life, including death. Some of us see death as a natural component of the cycle of life. As such, we consider it necessary to question not only how we live but also how we die and approach this process. 

 

“People in the city have a huge fear of death, but the connection between life and death that nature teaches us is truly beautiful. Nature teaches us that, in the end, life and death are the same. When something dies, something else lives. An animal dies to nourish you, but it’s life for you. In turn, when you die, you become life for the earth and worms. It can also happen that you invest a lot of time sowing the land. Then it rains too much and, zas! Just like that, all is gone. I raise my chickens knowing already that at least half of them will die, and you can’t suffer because of that because if you do, you will suffer all the time. For me, it’s crucial to keep that in mind and to remain connected with those cycles of nature. As young people, especially Millennials, we are used to having everything fast and our way, but nature doesn’t care that you are a Millennial.”

Paula, 27 years old

“Death is my friend! It is part of the normal cycle of life. From the moment we are born, we begin to die. Nobody ever said we would live forever. Our passage through life is so short; as soon as life comes, it goes. If we had this in mind, we would know how to optimize our time better. We could try to make everything more pleasant for everyone: ourselves, our family, and our environment. We could be more helpful, more affectionate. We could be and do a lot of things if we just remembered the fact that we are finite.”

Delia Paillacho, 60 years old 

 Indigenous woman, palliative nurse, university professor

 

 

“Sometimes at funerals, the person who passed away doesn’t have any relatives, but still there are always people attending the service, bringing food, and taking care of those who are there. I’ve always thought this is beautiful because even if they are not directly related to you, they are there for you. That sense of community remains until the very end, at every stage of life.”

Mishell Rebolledo Zhingre, 21 years old

“Time is cyclical; it’s always going away, and it’s always returning. We, along with everything else, are part of that process. The beginning of life is a transformation of matter and energy. It lasts for a period of time, which is life, and then it returns to what it was. How are we born? Well, we come from the earth. We are made of earth, and we have the four elements within us. When we die, we just return to that state. It is just part of the cycle, and the cycle never ends. You don’t disappear. Your body turns back to the earth and becomes what it is meant to be. It becomes the origin of a new life.

When I die, my body will become earth again. Plants and trees will be born from it, and a bird will live in that tree. And so, in a way, I will become part of that tree and that bird. I will die, yes, but my life will not end there, as I will become the origin of new lives as well. Why does death have to be painful? Of course, absence hurts, and we have been taught to be sad, but actually, death is a beautiful transition. You don’t disappear; you start living everywhere. That is why in Kichwa, we don’t have the word “goodbye.” We simply say: ‘Until the next life.’”

Killari Guamán

(Click on the arrows to read more quotes)

Who Do We Count On?

We consider that radical social and structural changes are required to achieve a truly wholesome and healthy life. Yet, we feel that government support to achieve these changes is limited. In light of this pitfall, some of us have ventured into politics to try to change things from within. For example, Mercy and Helen hope that their work prevents others from having to go through the difficulties they have faced.

“I spent my childhood in the countryside, where there was a lack of many things –such as health, education, and basic services – but authorities never remember the people of the rural areas, so I decided to help through politics, but good politics, honest politics. I lived scarcity in every sense: food, education, clothes, shoes. I never owned a pair of shoes. We would attend classes barefoot or with whatever my parents could get for me; usually, something that someone had given to them as a handout, which they would pass on to me. I don’t want other people to live with that scarcity, lack, and inequality. This is why I am now a leader in my community. If it’s in my hands, I want people to live a better life than I did. I want the country’s resources to be distributed equitably. I want enough employment opportunities for everyone. I remember that if we managed to sell our products, they would pay us whatever price they pleased. That was a violation of people’s rights, especially rural women’s rights, and I intend to prevent this from continuing to happen. That’s what I have always taught my children. I always tell them: ‘If you want to do something and have good results, do it properly, with love and affection, and be honest and responsible.’  This is what makes me feel good as a woman, to contribute, even with a grain of sand, so that someone is in a better place, to see that I could support, share, and help. Those are the days when I feel at my best.”

Mercy Sigcho, 44 years old, rural woman

“I love being around people and feeling like I can do something for others. My mom keeps telling me: ‘Volunteer work is for retired people, people who can afford it or have a good income, people who have time and have everything. You have none of those things.’ And so I respond: ‘I have a brain. I have legs. I have arms. I have much willingness to serve.’ I got into politics because I believed it was a way of being involved in something bigger, and that’s what I’m trying to do. Working in politics is very demanding. It is hard to have the door slammed in your face, not be listened to, and be called lazy or what have you. Some of us who get into politics only want to help and do something for others.”

Helen, 53 years old, nothing but smiles

(Click on the arrows to read more quotes)

We have also sought support from our closest communities, with whom we coexist daily. Many of us have found this support in our families, friends, neighbours, and colleagues.

​

“I don’t think that this country or its legislation can help me at all. Human rights are respected only when it suits the government; if not, they just walk all over you. Because I’m a woman and I’m Black, some consider me worthless.  I don’t have equity. I don’t have equality. I’m often treated as if my voice has less value. I don’t trust anyone outside my family and close people. They, in contrast, are everything to me.”

Daniela Churos (Britany Muñoz), 19 years old

 Afro-descendant feminist teenager

 

 

“I don’t feel like I have received any support from Ecuador at all. I have felt more support from the people who have been close to me. I thank my community for being so cheerful and for teaching me how to laugh even in the bad times.”

Dánely, 20 years old, Montubia woman

“I’m very grateful to my little nieces, those tiny beings, for being those small philosophers who make me feel like a child again, who make me momentarily forget all of my problems to run and play. I am also deeply grateful to my mother for always being by my side, singing, and talking, because although sometimes she doesn’t tolerate my rebelliousness, she listens to what I have to say, and she understands me.”

María Belén, 20 years old, ethical and feminist person

 

 

“My family is my well-being and my life. They have always been my magical elves, believing in me when I can’t.”

Valeria Vega, 24 years old, Afro-Ecuadorian woman

“My mom is one of the women I admire the most. She has worked hard and given her life so that I can be where I am.”

Carla

“God gave me four angels: my four children. They are always watching over me and calling me to check that I am alright. When we’re walking down the street, they take me by the hand, they hug me, and they give me lots of love. I have grown with them, I have learned to fight, and it has been the five of us for everything. Every weekend morning, they all climb on my bed, and we talk and hug. When we have had any problem, we have hugged each other and cried, always together.

I always dreamt of each of my children shining. I would always say to them: ‘When someone becomes a famous artist, everyone in the audience is sitting there with their mouths open. All eyes are on that person. That is where you have to get to, and I will be in the audience telling everyone that those are my children, proud, sticking my chest out.’ And that’s exactly what happened. I’m proud to have raised my children and to see each of them shine. Although you may not scream, ‘That’s my son!’ ‘That is my daughter!’ you know in your mind and heart that they are your kids; that they are the result of your sacrifice; and that God has been there all along, accompanying you, taking care of you, guiding you, and making you a wise mother and woman.”

Anonymous

  

“My mother’s support has always, always, always been very important to me. To her, I owe probably everything I am now. My mom has always been essential in my life. She is my strongest support. In her, I recognize the courage it takes to be a woman, and I also see how hard it is to be one.”

Tatiana Guamán, 32 years old, Kichwa Puruwá woman

“The people around me are real people, people who are there for me in good and bad times. People who have always been there to support and encourage me. You keep people like them here, right in your heart.”

Jessica Prado

 

“I am grateful to my mother for her teachings; to my family for always looking out for us; and to my son for his behaviour, love, and respect. I am thankful to my friends for being with me without ever asking anything in return, and to my neighbours for allowing me to join their chat and assist them, which is part of the solidarity that I have.”

Helen, 53 years old, nothing but smiles

 

“I thank my family for never denying me their warmth, for offering me the sincerest of comforts, for feeding me with what I love, for teaching me to be generous by being generous with me, for showing me their tenderness and sensitivity, for embracing my shortcomings, and for consoling my vulnerability. I thank my friends for their patience, for the endless laughter, for accepting my most strange and spontaneous side, for lending me their warmth and love, for honouring me with their affection, and for allowing me to give them mine.”

Mercy Sigcho, 44 years old, rural woman

(Click on the arrows to read more quotes)

 

We also count on community support networks, many of which we have created ourselves. These networks have become even more robust and necessary because of the pandemic.

“I love being able to work with women on the issues that interest all of us. We have created a women’s group. We work on certain aspects, such as improving self-esteem, preventing gender-based violence and abuse, and providing support for small businesses so that women can become self-sufficient and don’t have to rely on a partner to survive. We have opened a space we never had before where we can speak in confidence and share everything we feel, everything we carry deep inside us, knowing that everything we discuss in this group will never leave this space. I believe that this is crucial for us because, as women, we need to unburden ourselves and be with one another. There is so much to do, and so many  people in need, that it is impossible to say ‘no.’”

Raquel Chuquimarca, 44 years old

A person devoted with heart, soul, and life to work in favour of her community

“Since I was a child, I have loved planting seeds of connectivity in people and helping them develop their lives and work projects. A friend comes to me and says: ‘You know what? I have this business idea.’  Then, other friends tell me they want to start selling something else they have made.  So I connect them, I link them. I tell them: ‘Look, let’s create a chat forum to buy and sell products,’ and just like that, we start working together. From that point on, they do everything themselves and find a way to make it work. Many projects have been born this way: talking and looking for ways to solve needs. I thank life for giving me these gifts that let me help others.”

Rocío Santos, 59 years old

Mestiza, entrepreneur, goal-oriented, friend, healer

 

 

“In this country, they write a lot of things, but they hardly ever do anything; that’s why I created my own foundation to help people with disabilities, like me. It’s challenging. We have no resources or a physical location, but we get around and do everything we can to help. Sometimes, people who hear about our work help us, and we deliver food kits to families who have nothing to eat.”

Alexandra Andrade, 51 years old, Mestiza woman

“During the pandemic, we noticed that there were families who had nothing to put in the pot. The municipality started providing small food rations, but Black families are big, so it wasn’t enough. That’s when I started writing everyone, and whoever had a little more, donated. We made some big baskets. Some people lent their cars. ‘Sister, I am willing to distribute tomorrow.’ ‘I can do it on such and such a day.’ ‘I can do it at such and such a time.’ And that was how we came together in the gathering process. It was so beautiful. I have learnt this ever since I was a child, as our little house disappeared with all our animals in a fire. My mother was just about to give birth, and a fellow woman tore down an awning and made diapers and dresses for the baby, small things like that. We have spiritual wealth. Often, you may not have material things, but someone comes along and tells you that they have just killed a chicken or that they have brought a piece of bread for you to eat. That’s our wealth: our intelligence, solidarity and concern for each other. That’s the solidarity that characterizes our Peoples.”

Irma Bautista Nazareno

Coordinadora Nacional de Organizaciones de Mujeres Negras (CONAMUNE)

“Throughout the pandemic, we witnessed a government that was totally distant from all the social, economic, educational, and health issues that we were living. We observed a government that did not care. However, I was pleased to see that people began to stand up and say: ‘If others don’t care, let’s care for ourselves.’”

Marisol Zova, Afro-Ecuadorian journalist

 

 “To deal with this situation, we have to rely on collectivity. Human beings are forgetting how to be collective, empathetic, and listen to each other. We often think: ‘They got sick. That’s scary. I don’t want to visit.’ Instead, we should say: ‘Look, try this recipe or this plant that we use in ancestral medicine,’ or ‘This helped me, and I will share this with you.’ We could maintain a physical distance without creating a social one.” 

Yanua Vargas, 28, Shuar film-maker, proud of her roots

“During the pandemic, we realized that there was a great deal of individuality in my family. We knew nothing about each other. We started sharing about ourselves over the dinner table, and that’s when we began to get to know each other; at that point, we recognized that no one knew much about anyone else. My parents didn’t know what I was studying or which semester I was in. I didn’t know what my father did for a living. After that, we started sharing more about one another in the dining room, where we had breakfast together, lunch together, dinner together. This made us realize that, despite everything, a parent’s love is always unconditional. That is why the dining table became my favourite place during the pandemic.”

Sisa Carolina Guamán, 27 years old

Determined Kichwa Otavalo-Kitu Kara woman

 

 

“I believe that the implicit message that the pandemic left us with is that we should return to the world of family and strengthen the ties between mothers, children, grandchildren. We were so isolated, so disconnected, everyone was going in and out of the house, and we hardly shared anything.”

Delia Paillacho, 60 years old

Indigenous woman, palliative nurse, university professor

(Click on the arrows to read more quotes)

 

We also rely on our different spiritualities, which give us the courage to continue even in the most difficult of times.

“God has been so good to me. He has allowed me to fulfill so many of my dreams. The best thing that has happened in my life has been finding Him and understanding that my disability was not the end of my life but something I could use to bless others.”

Alexandra Andrade, 51 years old, Mestiza woman

“When I have problems, I close my eyes and say: ‘I have this problem. I need you to hug me.’ And I hug myself and comfort myself with an embrace of my own arms, but I imagine that it is God who is hugging me.”

Anonymous

“I have a happiness that lives within me. I believe that it partly comes from spirituality, which allows us to feel joy even during the most difficult times. When it’s time to cry, of course, we cry; but first, we laugh.”

Irma Bautista Nazareno

Coordinadora Nacional de Organizaciones de Mujeres Negras (CONAMUNE)

“I have held onto God tightly. I have prayed so much, and I know that nothing will defeat me as He will always give me the strength to keep going forward, so I am always confident. Being with Him, holding His hands, has been my everyday life.”

Anonymous

 

 

“On the path of life and the search for meaning, I learned to recognize God as liberation, as the promoter of justice. God became my support, my cheerful disposition, and my companion in moments when I needed someone the most.”

Margarita, 49 years old, Kichwa Otavalo warrior woman

 

 

“Now I am happy because my beautiful Lord has cured me of cancer twice, and I was never alone. He was always right next to me. One day, I was sitting here, playing a beautiful song about Christ, and I closed my eyes. Then, my beloved Jesus came, but since the house was dirty, He just left.”

Linda Mariana, 71 years old, brave woman

“God has helped me to keep moving on. Sometimes, you question so many things. You ask yourself: Why am I here? What am I good at? What can I do? But thanks to God, now I say to myself: ‘You have a purpose. You have a reason to live.’”

Dánely, 20 years old, Montubia woman

 

 

 

“I have always dabbled in meditation; I have been restless in that sense. This has helped me strengthen my spirit and not be afraid because we are all beings endowed with light by the Almighty God. I am infinitely grateful to life because I can say: ‘You demanded from me, yes, you pushed me against the wall, but you also gave me the courage I needed to succeed, and you made me grow.’”

Delia Paillacho, 60 years old

Indigenous woman, palliative nurse, university professor

(Click on the arrows to read more quotes)

And we count on our own resilience, strength, and perseverance. 

“As a girl, I was constantly told that I was misbehaving because I said whatever I was feeling and thinking. It was like I had a fire inside me. I felt those words like rejection, like something was wrong with me, and like I wasn’t good enough. They kept saying that I had to change, and I kept asking: ‘But why do I have to change? Why can’t I just be me?’ I felt miserable, and I cried and cried and cried until I got tired of crying and said:  ‘This is who I am. This is my essence. People may accept me or not; I’m fine either way. I will continue to grow, and I will learn to love what others don’t approve of me.’”

Victoria Cuadros, 20 years old, Montubia woman

 

“I am my own therapist.  I am the one who teaches myself how to live.”

María Belén, 20 years old, ethical and feminist person

“Life throws you challenges that you have to overcome. I have always found a way of not allowing adversity to stop me from moving forward. People’s affection helps you keep going. I have also been driven by the desire to always to keep learning and improving. I am a nurse. I opened a pharmacy, a stationery store, and a bazaar. I then learned cosmetology, podiatry, and facial acupuncture. Soon after, people in my neighbourhood created a chat room where they buy and sell things, and I linked these businesswomen to work together. In addition, I was able to get sponsorships for projects aimed at helping the elderly, and we managed to do wonders with that. I am also a lawyer. I do handicrafts, make soaps, and organize fairs where I exhibit my work. I do so many things because you either think and do, or you do and think. There is no other way; there is no turning back in life.”

Rocío Santos, 59 years old

Mestiza, entrepreneur, goal-oriented, friend, healer

“I’m a cheerful person. Even when I’m sad, I’m joyful. I don’t know how I manage to do that.”

Helen, 53 years old, nothing but smiles

 

 

“I thank myself for how strong I am, for the immeasurable desire I have to accomplish my goals, and for this beautiful heart that I have.”

Gennesis Almeida

Mestiza, humble, sensitive, spontaneous, and very friendly woman

 

 

“I strongly identify with trees, for I consider myself a person with strong roots and a very resistant trunk. I have been hit pretty hard by certain things, but none of them has ever brought me down. I have travelled and sowed so much in my life that I feel like I have spread seeds all over the world.”

Delia Paillacho, 60 years old

 Indigenous woman, palliative nurse, university teacher

“To me, being an Indigenous woman means being a warrior, a courageous woman in a society where we are belittled and undervalued. Being an Indigenous woman means having the strength and the guts to move forward in life.”

Nathy Khipo, 26 years old, Puruhá Indigenous woman

 

 

“I am very grateful to have learned not to surrender and to know that conditions will impose limitations on me, but I decide how much strength I will use to keep going.”

Mercy Sigcho, 44 years old, rural woman

 

 

“I am a positive person. I realize that not everything is going to go well all the time, but amid adversity, I know that better times will always come my way. I am strong-willed and sure of what I want. I am a feminist in the making who believes there are no differences between men and women. I believe in equality and justice. I’m full of dreams, goals, and purposes. I do not stall and always look for solutions rather than drowning. I am determined and would prefer to die trying than not to try at all.”

Daniela Churos (Britany Muñoz), 19 years old 

 Afro-descendant feminist teenager

“My life is magical, and, besides being magical, it is a miracle of God. I am a woman who has risen from the ashes. I thank God because He allowed the strong spirit within me to awaken and say: ‘Here I am!’ so that I could turn into the great leader I am today. I am also grateful for challenging myself, getting to know myself, and asking myself: ‘How far can you go? How far, María Eugenia?’”

María Eugenia Quiñónez Castillo

Afro-Ecuadorian leader and ancestral healer

 

“When you are a Runa/ Indigenous woman, you are powerful. I certainly feel that you are of great worth because you learn to recognize your value even when others don’t. Because of the discrimination that my family has faced, my mother has always told me: ‘You can’t let others abuse you, you can’t let them scream at you. You have to stand up, be strong, and make concrete decisions.’ Being a Runa/Indigenous woman means owning that strength of character and voice.”

Sisa Carolina Guamán, 27 years old

Determined Kichwa Otavalo-Kitu Kara woman

(Click on the arrows to read more quotes)

Finally, as demonstrated with this journalistic series of feature stories, we count on words to convey our embodied, lived experiences, and to articulate alternative ways of life. 

 

 

 

Extending our Conversation

In “The Book of Embraces,”  the journalist Eduardo Galeano wrote: “In the house of words, there was a table of colours. Colours were offered in large fountains for each poet to take the shade they wanted: lemon-yellow or sun-yellow, sea-blue or smoke-blue, seal-red, blood-red, wine-red.”  In the same way, around the tables that we shared when we met, we nourished each other with what we needed.

 

Table where we shared personal objects representing well-being during one of our in-person gatherings

 

 

 

“To me, health is well-being; it is to know how to live within yourself and how to relate to everyone, including people who do not share your views. Health is the ability to listen to yourself and others; to question what you need to be well; and to open yourself to find the answer to this question in different spaces and with diverse groups that help you complement and expand your perspective.”

Yanua Vargas, 28 years old, Shuar film-maker, proud of her roots

Like Yanua expressed in the statement above, those of us who came together to create this journalistic series of feature stories asked ourselves what we needed to live a wholesome and healthy life. We combined our answers to broaden our collective framework.

We explored our experiences with everything that transits within and around us, including our affects, senses, emotions, intuition, and memories. We also considered the spaces we inhabit in our daily lives and the pictures and objects we hold dear and brought with us in our migration journeys. Doing so allowed us to access the wisdom present both in our minds and bodies.

Focusing on the subtle and intangible sensations often overlooked, we discovered new ways of experiencing and defining well-being and health. These are more relevant to our realities than the existing approaches, concentrating primarily on objectivity and reason.  In this way, we learned that well-being and health are collective rather than individual for us. We also noticed that sharing diverse perspectives can help us reconsider how to relate to ourselves, each other, our environment, and all aspects of life, including death.

This process raised new questions, such as: How can we continue to expand how we define not just well-being and health but also other concepts like ‘communication,’ ‘migration,’ ‘identity,’ and ‘community’? What new kinds of societies could we build if we listened to all the different voices inviting us to consider alternative ways of approaching these concepts? What do we need, and who do we count on to achieve these new ways of life?

With these, our words that heal, we invite you, our reader, to join us at our table to continue exploring these and similar questions and keep imagining and tracing new ways of writing history – and life – in plurality.

 

Image of the table that we shared during our virtual gatherings

 

“The words we have shared here are words with a spirit that reflects a collective feeling. We have told stories that may seem different but are the same. The message that I most want to highlight from everything we have said is that there is hope for another way of approaching well-being, health, and life as a whole. There is a more comprehensive vision of well-being and health, which can lead us towards a different way of feeling and relating to ourselves, each other, our environment, and all aspects of life, including death. Let’s not just stay with what we think with our minds.  Let’s also open our hearts and dare to share what we have in our bodies and spirits. Before accepting one alternative as the only truth, let’s consider various options to see what new paths and horizons they can help us trace as a group.”

María Eugenia Quiñónez Castillo

Afro-Ecuadorian leader and ancestral healer