I wish it would rain

I really do. Which is strange, because from the months of September to February, it rains every afternoon in Quito. Or at least five times in a week. Mornings? Beautiful, sunny, warm, stereotypically Latin American. Afternoons? Think Scotland, Seattle, Vancouver, or Nashville in February, depending on your reference point.

So why, do you ask, do I wish it would rain more? A full answer to that question would require a mind-numbingly boring description of Ecuadorian plumbing: electric shower heads, overflowing water reservoirs on our roof, stopped up pipes and leaking sinks. At the moment, however, or liquid issues have nothing to do with the infrastructure of our house, and all to do with Quito's city waterworks. Apparently (we discovered while I was in the shower yesterday afternoon) the city decided to cut off all the water to our neighborhood for an hour's worth of pipe cleaning. That was yesterday. Now it's today. Tonight, to be precise. Even by Ecuadorian math, that's longer than an hour. Yes, we've called. Yes, they've promised to send technicians. Yes, they lied.

So, I wish it would rain. Because if it does, then maybe our roof-top reservoir will fill up enough for me to finish washing my sheets. Just maybe.

St. Luke Slava

A post from Shirley Maraman Ivanji, a Shreveport native living in Serbia.

On Oct. 31, my husband and I went to my Kum's house to celebrate his Patron Saint St. Luke's slava. The Kum, in Serbian culture is a combination of what we would call a best man and a godfather. The actual translation is godfather, but he is so much more. This is what I have been told and gathered from the locals: The Kum is someone who is there for you forever. Not just the day of the wedding. The best man can be a man or a woman and the bride has hers and the groom has his. A person whose Kum has died or who is not living close to his Kum is a sad person indeed.

The slava is a Serbian Orthodox tradition. The family celebrates their Patron Saint every year. Each family has their own Patron Saint, taken from the father. A married woman will take the slava of her husband. This tradition has been called the heart of Serbia - it is specific to the country.

Everyone brings a gift. Usually, it is wine or liquor for the host and flowers for his wife. Flowers here are truly beautiful...huge blooms and wonderfully scented.

The family will invite their closest friends and relatives to this party and they feast on traditional dishes. The ceremony begins with the lighting of the slava candle and a prayer. The most important of the foods served are "slavski kolač"-"the slava cake" a yeasty bread that is served by bringing it to the table whole and then tearing it into pieces by hand and Koljivo (also called žito) which is made of boiled wheat flavored with ground walnuts, nutmeg and honey. The Koljivo is served in a bowl which is taken around to the guests on a tray with a small spoon for each guest. You make the sign of the cross and take one little spoonful of the Koljivo. You put your used spoon in a glass of water on the tray. Each guest is approached one at a time. Red wine and rakija (homemade brandy) are served to drink. Red wine symbolizing the blood of Christ.

At this particular slava, we ate sarma (minced meat, rice and spices in cabbage rolls) and a freshly roasted pig. The host's Kum was presented with the pigs head as a token of the respect he has for her:

The pig's head is considered a delicacy and is reserved for the guest of highest honor.

My Kum is not a particularly religious man, so there was no priest at this gathering. From what I understand, many people do have a priest conduct the service at their slava. My Kum's daughter lead the prayers and read from the Bible.

After these ceremonies were completed, it was time to eat, drink and be merry. Music is an important part of the Serbian culture. People here love to laugh and sing. There was even dancing in this small room with 12 guests!

When I was watching all of the goings on, I couldn't help but think of how similar it was to celebrations I've been to in Louisiana...particularly South Louisiana. When I lived in Shreveport, I often visited friends in Abbeville, New Orleans, etc. and good food, laughter, music and dancing are an integral part of those celebrations as well.
Of course, in Louisiana, we feast on crawfish and beer and dance to the Zydeco music of Clifton Chenier!

And the closeness of the family unit is also a part of both of these cultures. My Kum's son lives in Austria, but he made sure to call during the celebration to wish his father well and to send his regards to the guests.

Cultural Erosion

During one sleepless night in Shreveport this summer, I was browsing my dad’s bookshelf when I ran across Bayou Farewell by Post journalist Mike Tidwell. Tidwell wrote about the devastation of Louisiana’s coastline that was taking place long before Katrina and Rita and which continues to suck a football field off of LA's coastline every twenty minutes.

One of the saddest parts of Bayou Farewell deals not with coastal erosion but cultural erosion. In his book, Tidwell points out that along with its coast, much of Louisiana’s cultural heritage is washing away: young people are moving out. Those that stay have little incentive to learn Cajun French. Once those linguistic roots that bind together a culture get washed out, all else - music, art, food - follows quickly.

But this kind of cultural erosion is not restricted to south Louisiana. All over the world, local cultures are losing ground as regions and countries become more interconnected ("globalized") than since before the First World War. In Ecuador, and specifically in the neighborhoods where MPI Ecuador works, community leaders do not speak anymore about preserving local indigenous culture. They speak of rescuing it. Soon, as we Louisianans have to do with our own culture and coast, they will only be able to speak of somehow rebuilding what has been lost.