Email from Ecuador

Two months into my time in Ecuador, and the job I was sent to do is slowly coming into focus. My role is to protect the cloud-forest on Mojanda – about thirty miles north of the capital city Quito – from tree felling and burning, while at the same time encouraging tourism to the lakes formed by the crater of an ancient volcano.

Around the lakes are beautiful Paramo grasslands, interspersed with patches of high altitude cloud-forest. A peak on one edge of the crater measures 4263 m.

The lakes are the main source of drinking water for villages in the area, and are well-stocked with trout. Unfortunately the area has also acquired a reputation among Ecuadorian bandits as a good place to 'hit' tourists. It is so remote that police patrols are rare, and there is no means of communication. There have been a spate of robberies, and four women have been raped.

I have been organising patrols from my community to visit the lakes at weekends.

Having assembled my patrol, I drive them up 1:4 potholed roads in a temperamental 1974-vintage Land Rover. Our first job is to pick up litter dropped by tourists. Some have picnics at the lake, and leave food, cups and plates as souvenirs of their trip – there is simply no culture of putting rubbish in the bins.

Last week I had a meeting with an 80 year old man who owns a massive tract of land around the lakes. He is sympathetic to the association's aims and wants to cooperate in some kind of reforestation initiative. The catch is that he wants to make money out of tree planting by growing 2000 pine trees, cut them down after 15 years and sell them for lumber.

As pine trees are not a native species and will acidify the soil, I tried to talk him into planting indigenous trees and felling only half of them. While this will still leave him with a fat profit, it soon became clear that negotiation will be a slow and painful process.

I have also floated the idea of a local community market. It makes sense that farmers living nearby could sell their produce without having to travel into town. There is a big prospective purchaser here in the shape of the school meal programme, which spends US$500 a month on food. But there is so much resistance to change and so much haggling to do that the idea may never take off.

I am now the proud owner of a small white chicken. Chicken ownership, of course, offers huge advantages over car ownership. The running costs are much lower, and a chicken offers the unparalleled bonus of providing eggs for breakfast.

Sadly, my chicken is currently too small to lay eggs, but she should fire up in about two months. It's an economy model: small enough to park anywhere, and available from my neighbourhood dealer at a big discount over the list price.

Naturally, chickens (and cars) are but a tiny component of Ecuadorian economics, which is switching to the dollar. Cash machines have been modified to deliver only dollars and all public benefits are given in dollars.

Essentially, the government is using every means it has to drag the reluctant Ecuadorian citizens into a dollar economy. The problem is that many countryfolk haven't seen dollar bills before, and are wary of accepting them in payment. Forgery is supposedly common, and legend has it that the forged banknotes come from Columbia.

My neighbour Umberto is suffering from a curse. He says the locals don't like him. His mother went to a shaman in October to try and remove the curse. It cost her the price of two chickens, but the family still seems cursed.

His mother never married, and has children by four different men. For this and other reasons, the family is unpopular and forced to live on the margins of the community.

The curse is said to reveal itself in illness: the children often say they feel unwell, although there are no outward signs of sickness. I attribute this to a poor diet. The family has no secure source of income, though Umberto takes casual work when he can in construction, or for a while, in catering.

He lost his catering job for reasons he did not want to divulge, but I know from employing him in my vegetable garden that he's less than reliable.

Umberto learnt early on that the easiest way to get money is to touch the nearest gringo for some cash. A regular ruse is to ask for a loan for food. Sometimes, though, he'll ask me for a job for payment. Most times, though I pay him, the job isn't done. At best he'll farm out the job to one of his younger brothers or sisters.

One of the jobs he does do is steal electricity from me. The family has no electricity supply – they use candles most nights. But sometimes they run a 30 m cable from my outside light. Naturally Umberto doesn't do this himself. It's installed by the two youngest brothers, aged five and seven.