Andrea Gardiner - Guinea Pig for Breakfast: A Rich Tapestry of Life and Love, Tragedy and Hope in Ecuador

For my girls Tamara Rachel and Emily Megan, the most
precious gifts from God.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

I opened my bleary eyes in confusion as Tamara rushed into our bedroom waving a cooked, whole guinea-pig she had extracted from the fridge. Want meat, want meat Mummy she cried. I am not at my best at six o clock in the morning, and being woken in such a manner did not help matters. Surely you cant want guinea-pig for breakfast, I moaned into my pillow.

Living in Ecuador was never dull, that was for sure. Every day brought new surprises and challenges. My children were more used to eating green bananas and chicken feet soup than a good old cheese sandwich, or baked beans on toast. They rode their great-grannys horses bareback, and swam in the village river. They sucked oranges fresh from the trees in the garden, and watermelons grown on our farm. They wondered why I freaked out if they wanted to get on a motorbike like the other children around them did, and did not run in long grass for fear of snakes.

Sometimes everything seemed so alien and weird to me; life seemed unsafe and very unpredictable. I felt like I had no control over what happened to my family. I wondered if I were being utterly irresponsible for bringing up my daughters in this environment.

Sometimes life seemed amazing. Sometimes we had the chance to change a life, to touch the untouchables, to be Gods hands for precious children everyone else had forgotten.

When I visited Seora Clemencia who has a grotesque tumour obliterating and distorting half her face, my baby gladly went into her arms, too young to be bothered by a sight most people flinched at and turned away from. She smiled her beautiful smile up at Seora Clemencia, and gazed straight into her eyes, making Seora Clemencia feel special and loved. It was a moment made in heaven. It was a moment that made me glad I kept going through the tough times. It was a moment that made me sure it was not time to go home.

I sat bewildered and afraid in the small car negotiating its way through the turbulent streets of Quito. Angry citizens were flocking into the streets throwing stones and setting up road blocks with burning tyres. The Police were out in equal force spraying tear gas that caused panic as people dodged and ran, choking as the irritant gas stole their breath.

The then President of Ecuador, Lucio Gutierrez, was in the process of being kicked out. The people were angry with him and the corruption of his government. It was havoc; shouts, bangs and screams filled the air.

This is not exactly the reception I imagined as I set off for my big adventure on the equator. I thought as we negotiated the riots. I wanted to be able to quietly get on and use my medical skills to help the poor. I had come to love the sick children and do all I could to make them better. I was not expecting my life to be in danger in the process. Martyr missionary stories were all very well, but I was not that brave. I was just an ordinary person who wanted to give something back. I wondered how those around me carried on as if nothing unusual was happening; until it struck me this might in fact be usual for Ecuador. A shiver went down my spine as I feared I had bitten off more than I could chew. I wished I understood the Spanish being gabbled around me, and what was really going on. I felt so disorientated and isolated. I really hoped to arrive in safety soon.

Welcome to Ecuador! exclaimed my hosts Carmen and Jorge with great warmth and affection as I finally arrived at my destination. Dont be alarmed, they reassured me as they took in the shocked expression on my face, Here Presidents rarely last longer than a year in office. Lets go up on the roof so we can see what is happening.

From the roof we had a perfect view of the airport. There, to my amazement, we witnessed the President fleeing the country in a helicopter as protestors invaded the runway and tried to stop him escaping. What kind of a place is this? I wondered to myself. It is like something out of a movie, not real life. I have prepared so many years to come here, have longed to able to come back and be useful, but nothing could have prepared me for this. How am I ever going to be able to attend patients if the country is constantly in uproar? Maybe coming here is one big mistake.

I was surprised and relieved - to see how quickly everything returned to normal. Maybe God did have work for me to do after all. The Vice-President, Alfredo Palacios, took power. He was a medical doctor, and putting their faith in him the doctors in the public sector, who had been on strike for the previous nine weeks in protest at not being paid, went back to work. I gladly settled into life in Quito, studying Spanish with a private tutor in the afternoons, and enjoying family life and watching fantastic Latin American soap operas on the television in the evenings. Gradually I began to relax and enjoy my gentle introduction to Ecuadorean culture.

Carmen cooked me wonderful Ecuadorian food typical of the mountain regions. She made warming soups with potato, cheese, corn on the cob and beans. One dish I really enjoyed was boiled broad beans and sweet corn served with cheese. We had beef and chicken and plenty of potatoes and bananas. She also used her liquidiser to whisk up amazing fruit juices and milkshakes from the abundance of fresh fruit grown in Ecuador.

She taught me that Ecuador has several climates; the cold mountains, the tropical rain forest and the hot, humid coastal plains. Each region has its own produce and traditional dishes. The mountain people grow potatoes, broccoli, carrots, apples, plums and beans, and enjoy cooking guinea-pig and pork. The coastal people grow manioc, bananas, and maize, and eat an abundance of fish and shellfish. The jungle people grow bananas and peanuts. They eat fish caught in their rivers, and hunt wild animals such as guatuso (an animal similar to a large rabbit), forest boar and sometimes monkey.

Jorge was a wonderful grandpa who had worked most of his life for the French Embassy. He had an ancient falling to bits Renault which amazingly he still managed to keep running most of the time. He was generous and helpful to a fault. He was very proud of his traditions and typical dishes.

When some American vegetarians came to visit he cooked them a special barbeque of succulent steaks and tasty chicken. He thought being vegetarian meant liking vegetables, and could not grasp that anyone would actually not eat any meat. His hospitality demanded he keep pressing it on them, and out of politeness they really had to give in and look like they were enjoying it.

He then regaled them with stories from his childhood, growing up in a small village in the mountains. He recounted how he used to slit the necks of bulls and drink the warm blood as it gushed out to make him manlier. I loved hearing his tales, he told them with such gusto and enthusiasm but I have to confess I did not translate that story entirely accurately for the vegetarians.