Berkley Center

Last week during Semana Santa (Holy Week), I got a week off from classes and took the opportunity to travel to Ecuador’s coast. A friend from my university invited me to stay with her and her family in Guayaquil, the country’s biggest city in terms of geographic size and population. After a ten-hour bus ride from Quito, I was dropped off in the hottest, muggiest place I have visited since the beginning of my study abroad. My friends from Quito had always told me that Guayaquil was a completely different type of city, and they weren’t just talking about the weather. Quiteños call people from Guayaquil monos, or monkeys. They claim that los monos are louder, hot-blooded, and snobbish. When you go to their city, expect to get mugged—or worse, killed. Guayacos, on the other hand, mock the rough Quiteño accent and will tell you that the cold weather in Quito has made the people there cold as well.

These words reflect the regional tension/sibling rivalry between Guayaquil and Quito. Aside from the regional-cultural differences between the cities—Quito is tucked away in the central mountains and Guayaquil is on the southern coast—there are historical and political reasons for their envious relationship.

Historically, Guayaquil has been used to working solo. Ecuador gained independence from Spain in 1822. Two years before that, Guayaquil had already won its independence. As an important port city, Guayaquil had an economic advantage that gave it the power to overthrow the Spaniards before the rest of the colony. Once the whole of Ecuador was liberated from Spanish control, Guayaquil was reintegrated as part of the new nation. Nevertheless, the glory of first independence and two years of autonomous rule set the precedent for Guayaquil to be relatively insulated from the rest of the country. Until this day, the city prefers to keep to itself. In the words of my Guayaca friend, “Here, we pay more attention to what our mayor says than to what President Correa has to say.”

Considering his post, Guayaquil’s mayor, Jaime Nebot, enjoys an astounding level of popularity and power. He is a member of the right-wing Christian Social Party and has been mayor of the city since 2000. His name and images of his iconic handlebar mustache are plastered all over the city in a way that is oppressive for an outsider like me. Everything from marketplaces to public swimming pools bear big placards that read, “This site made available thanks to Mayor Nebot.” In window fronts and on the backs of cars, cute mustache stickers smile at the passersby.

The prestige of Guayaquil’s municipal seat probably rivals that of US mayors in cities like New York, but Nebot’s administration is a completely different breed. Nebot labels his achievements to remind his citizens that he has independently transformed Guayaquil into the success it is today. Many Guayacos criticize the national government for holding back funds when it comes to their city. Projects like Guayaquil’s urban renewal initiative are seen as the mayor’s work rather than the president’s. While I lived with my friend’s family in an older part of the city, a new public wave pool was opened across the street. Nebot came to the ribbon cutting, and another one of his signs was raised on site. In return for gifts like these, the people of Guayaquil continue to give votes to their beloved mustache.

Despite his overwhelming political success in Guayaquil, Nebot’s popularity is constrained at a local level. He ran for president several times in the 1990s and lost every time. The Christian Social Party is also a local success, and it is really only popular in the southern coast of Ecuador. The chances of a Christian Social Party member winning future presidential elections or mayoral elections in important interior cities are slim. Repeated failure warded Nebot off from pursuing additional presidential races. For the last fourteen years, however, he has seemed content behind his desk in Guayaquil’s municipal building. The mustache is big in Guayaquil, and its legacy runs deep.