Reborn

by Tim Ghazzawi (United States of America)

Making a local connection Ecuador

“The ground shook and the walls shook. Everything shook,” she said. Then pointed to a building in the distance. Her name was Charlie. At least, I think her name was Charlie. She ran a smoke shop in town called Cosmic Charlie’s and sold tobacco paper, bongs, pipes, and other drug paraphernalia. Her store hadn’t opened yet when the earthquake hit but her house was leveled, she told me. The building in the distance was the only one that survived. In 2016 over 600 people died when a 7.8-magnitude earthquake struck northwest Ecuador. Thousands more were injured. The tiny beach town of Canoa, where Charlie lived, was near the epicenter. In response the government dispatched police officers and aid workers, set up food and water distribution centers. A state of emergency was declared and the nation mourned. The wrinkles in Charlie’s face ran deep. Her skin was brown and taut. Her voice raspy in the honest kind of way. She wore a simple plain t-shirt and cargo shorts. If I had to guess, I’d say she was in her sixties. I never asked why she’d moved from the U.S. to Canoa. I let her story about the earthquake wander without interruption. When she finished, Charlie slumped back behind her counter and lit a cigarette, and I knew she was done sharing for the night. Until I arrived in Canoa, almost four years after the devastating earthquake, my journey along Ecuador’s coastline had been narrowly focused on finding the best waves to surf and smoothies to sip. While listening to Charlie that first night, it became clear that my stay in Canoa warranted so much more than that. A look beyond the ocean and sand. A reimagining of the piles of rubble that now shared space with what’s been rebuilt of its boardwalk and shore. And so Canoa became about the little things: The next day I passed a man proudly repainting the sign of his reopened hostel with the bold yellow, blue, and red of Ecuador's flag. I bought a pair of sunglasses from a persistent yet friendly street vendor who followed me down the boardwalk wearing his entire livelihood on his body. A string of glasses hung from his neck and a pile of bucket hats stacked atop his head. The salty Canoa air carried with it the scent of coconuts, pineapples, and limes which burst from the beachfront cabanas that served them. At night, reggaetón sprang from behind their bars and overflowed into the sandy streets, the pulsing drumbeats inviting me in on the fun. Over the weekend, Ecuadorian families from near and far poured into Canoa for a sunny reprieve. I listened to one of them sing her karaoke heart out while a live band performed a few doors down. Perhaps most encouraging about Canoa’s recovery had nothing to do with its beachfront. A community center was recently constructed downtown. Multiple basketball courts and soccer nets were installed there. So too was a play area and a plaza for small events. I couldn’t help but smile as I watched kids shoot hoops there one night. These were local Canoa residents, they had to be, enjoying the town as young people anywhere would love to enjoy theirs - alongside friends in a community designed and safe for them. The night before I left Canoa, a bar owner told me that she’d fled the town for months after the earthquake. Tremors were still common and she was still scared. “We’re a work in progress,” she admitted, though she also said there was no rush. “It’s not our style,” she said and poured my drink. In the little things, Canoa’s style felt just right.