A UNIVERSITY STUDENT

My daughter Mariuxi, who has given me my first two grandchildren, and I, while horse riding in Pallatanga

My last year of High School started in early May 1962, and as I’d promised my mom it was a great academic success,having finished that school year with an A+ average and then graduating with honors in March 1963. Immediately after, I started my preparation for the tough entrance test for the School of Architecture at the U of Guayaquil. In early May 1963, about 350 hopefuls took the test. Only 13 of them were admitted, and I was one of them. I felt proud of myself, as it was the beginning of the fulfillment of one of my most cherished dreams. I’d always wanted to be an architect and I was willing to do anything in my power to reach my goal.

Little did I know that to become an architect in those days you had to have enough financial support from yourself or your family (no government support available), as it was a full-time commitment, with classes and workshops throughout the day and evening, plus you needed to buy all kinds of books, tools and materials. Stubborn as I’ve always been, I decided to complete my first year of architecture school, which I did, and very successfully, but this effort almost exhausted the savings I had made in my book selling tours to Manabí.

In February 1964, I decided to visit my parents in Pallatanga for the carnival holidays. In those days, following a decades-old tradition, carnival was still an occasion many local families used to get together, to chat about everything, to eat traditional dishes— including those made with turkey, chicken and pork, most especially the delicious carnival tamales made with corn meal and pork meat— to sing and dance very old carnival folk songs while drinking canelazos, a cocktail made with the locally produced aguardiente (liquor made from sugar cane), cinnamon and lemon juice, and served hot, as to help warm the body up during the cool nights. Spraying one another with water and a lightly perfumed white powder called carnival talco was also part of the fun. These were strictly family parties and used to last for three to four days and in some instances, for a whole week. They were a once a year event most families anxiously waited for, and they did not end until the host family for the next year carnival party was decided upon and committed.

It was during one of these events that I met this very attractive, fair-skinned, blue-eyed girl with almost-blonde hair. She was about 5’6” and 19 years old. We danced, nonstop, for several hours, while my parents and her parents, who had been friends for years, engaged in their own partying, apparently oblivious to what we, the young ones, were doing, planning and talking about.

She and I had known from our very young years, but we had not seen each other for at least eight years. During this time, she had become a very beautiful woman, so this night it seemed to me that I had seen her for the first time. Since our ages, (21 and 19, respectively)we were somewhat allowed to drink while within the families, we began to get a bit inebriated and I started to talk about “escaping from the crowd.” I wasn’t entirely serious, but she certainly believed me and took it seriously. Before I knew it, I was asking her if she was interested in “being intimate.” Such is the intoxicating magic of lust (which, I later learned, is entirely different from love). As the liquor flowed, so did the conversation, and soon we were planning a grand escape together. The plan was simple (in theory): she’d run away from her home the following night and we would meet at a certain point, to get on a bus and get away to Riobamba. Reckless as we were proving to be, we didn’t even think about what we’d do once we got there. Clearly, I hadn’t thought this all the way through. And as it turned out, she was unable to leave home the following night because she could not find the right moment to do so, but she did run away the evening after, on February 20. We slept together at an old nearby mill, where a friend allowed us to use his bed for the night. But at this point, her parents had noticed she had escaped. They had in fact, notified the police and many of their relatives, who started to look for her (and for me) around the town, and it’s safe to say they weren’t looking to congratulate on us for our newfound “love.” We knew we were in big trouble, and at about three in the morning we managed to get out of the mill thanks to the very dark night, and headed to the only other place we could consider ourselves relatively safe at: a peasants’ house at Azazan, which was part of my father’s farm, and it was here that a peasant and his family provided us with shelter for the rest of the night.

I sent a message to my uncle Antonio, who lived relatively close, asking him to come and see me. At this point I felt the need to discuss the situation with someone adult and rational, and try to find some kind of way out, unscathed. The whole thrill of it had almost worn off by now, quite frankly. Three or four hours later, Antonio came to see me, with a message from her family: We’d have to get married and there would be no problem (he also said that my parents had considered the situation as well, and thought it best if we married and went to live with them). That same night, we got married. I suppose I did it more to protect our families than a genuine desire to wed this perfectly nice young woman, whose name was Nancy. Then again, it’s possible I wasn’t thinking at all or I was just using the wrong head to think. After all, I was only 21! After the marriage ceremony, peace of mind returned to the two families, but not to me…

It was only about a week later that reality hit me. I suddenly realized the kind of mistake I had made; my sudden infatuation with this girl had blinded me from reality. What I had just done was completely out of context from my long term plans: becoming a professional, overcoming the hardships of poverty and truly making something out of myself. Married, penniless and living in Pallatanga, I would have to become a farmer, working from sunrise to sunset just to survive, and that was simply not what I had in mind. Not wanting to give up on the relationship just yet (doing so would have made me feel like a failure and my mother raised me better than that), I talked to Nancy and explained to her that I would have no choice but to go back to Guayaquil to continue my studies until I could find a good job and bring her with me to the big city. She was shocked at first, but then she was very understanding and graciously accepted my decision, even if it meant she’d have to stay at my parents house for as long as necessary while I was away.


In March 1964, I was married, (almost) penniless, and without any possibility of continuing my architecture studies, so I had no choice but to look for a job and change my career plans entirely. I now had a wife to provide for, after all. So I accepted my big brother Pepe’s advice and decided to enroll in the School of Economics, where he was attending for the third year while working full-time. Pepe had a good job, was married, and was already the father of three children and provided me with shelter and even pocket money until I found a job. His assistance during these difficult times was extremely important to me; I appreciated it then and I still very much appreciate it today.

In the middle of this chaotic situation, I was able to set my priorities straight, and began to prepare myself for the entrance exam to the School of Economics (not an easy feat). I was convinced that I’d find the solution to the rest of my problems once I took care of this one. I’d have to solve my chain of problems one at a time.

At the end of April 1964, I was one of the 600 hopefuls who took the entrance exam for the School of Economics of the U of G. The test consisted of two written exams and three oral exams, which would be taken only by those who passed the written tests with (at least) a 70% score.


In my next posting: THINGS TAKE A DRASTIC TURN