Fond Farewells....if you can imagine it

I just realized about 20 minutes ago that this weekend will be my last time in Jayaque.

There is a dance this weekend in Jayaq-city (more specifically Los Sitios, the best city in the world as we say). And so in about 20 minutes, I will make my way on ethe 105 bus from La Seiba for the last time to Jayaque. There is a huge group of us going, about 10 people, to spend the night at Julios house and dance the night away until 2 or 3 in the morning. Then at 5, Colin, a student here, and Trena, one of the directors, will be running 16 miles up and down the huge hill that covers the municipalities of Jayaque and Talnique.

After they get back from their run, the wonderful family we have in the cooperative of about 25 youth and Niña Tere (Julios grandmother) and Fito (who can only be explained by a picture of his smile) are throwing us a Despedida (goodbye party, Im using a lot of parenthesis in this entry). We are going to go to Zapoton, this natural spring/well nearby with huge cliffs to jump 7 or 8 meters into the water, about as high as a telephone pole Salvador tells us. After a day of swimming and eating tomorrow, we will make our way walking to the river in Los Sitios to camp out for the night. Sunday, the four of us gringos (Ryan, Colin, Roe, myself) will make our way back in pickup and bus to set up for our own Despedida in Casa Romero. The 24 of us students will soon be joined by the staff, the becari@s, and about 400 other Salvadoran brothers and sistas.

Projects are pretty much done, I will be working on Roe and my documentary on the women of Jayaque when I return to the states. Its just been an insane past couple of weeks and I apologize for the lack of entries. I just want you all to know that I am coming back Wednesday to the states. We have a retreat Monday and Tuesday (although we all know were going to the beach Tuesday) to "disorient" ourselves, whatever that means, to get ready to come back. Ive found that its not about separating the worlds, however, because we all live in one world, on one planet. Its about meshing it together. Nevertheless, I will still not know exactly what to say or how to say anything about this place quite eloquently or accurately for some time, and I know that. Ideally, I would lvoe to just take a month to rest with my mind that has been working overtime for so long and enjoy the moments and find the life and explore what I need in the states that gives me this same feeling here, life. I want to look into the withinness of it all, and dive further than any surface barrier will allow me.

Thats where I am right now.


Go dance, will ya?

Everywhere is the center of the universe

The campo – an unexplicable experience that shocked my parents when I called them about it last night. How do I put 9 days into a few short words that won’t bore those who try to read it? I do not want you all to have eye problems at the end of these four months (which now is four weeks) because of reading my blog.

But honestly, I couldn’t even really capture it if I tried. It is like attempting to capture the true beauty of the Salvadoran mountains in a photo, you just can’t.

Beth and I stayed with a beautiful family of 10 last week in Las Lajitas, Chaletenango (northern, rural E.S.). The Alemans are completely self sustaining, farming tomatoes, cucumbers, peppers, oranges, mangoes, cocoa, corn, beans, spinach, and other various vegetables. They have 4 cows, 2 horses, and at least 40 chickens and chicks (3 LOUD roosters that cock-a-doodle-doo all night, and it’s not that elegant of a sound). They have chamomile and aloe plants of which they make shampoo and other body ailments to sell.

Self-sustaining. In addition, Josefina (the 29 year old daughter) teaches three grades in elementary school together and they have 2 of the ten siblings (both brothers) in the states sending the little remittances they can while trying to support themselves, pay rent, and repay the $5,000-6,000 it took to get to the states with a coyote.

We learned a lot. I went out early to stay with Edith at her house on Saturday. She taught me how to cook, how to grind the masa for tortillas, and how to wake up. One night, we were talking about her uncle who left for the states and the ugliness he went through to get there and the constant fear he lives in now of losing his job and/or being sent back. I started to lose it as I realized and felt to the core that I will never know, never know, what it feels like to be a person without this piece of paper that has such opportunity attached to it, but such ugliness and injustice in its absence. Paper that could possibly even be produced here in El Salvador, one of the top most deforested nations in the world.

I swam in the Rio Sumpul, the river that ran red from the massacre over 20 years ago during the war. It was a massacre that resulted from: 1. The Honduran military forcing Salvadorans from the Honduran refugee camps back across the border and 2. The fact that someone sold out to the Salvadoran military that the same day there were hundreds of campesinos running to the hills to hide themselves from the army that would just follow them with helicopters and soldiers on foot with machetes and machine guns.

Wednesday I met the Alemans. The celebration for Semana Santa (Holy Week) was wonderful. Now, I don’t consider it a rare or strange thing to walk over an hour to a church service. Thursday I participated in the washing of the feet in Los Posos. Friday, we walked an hour and a half to Carasques for the stations of the cross – which went from 10-1 in one of the the 100 degree dry, windless, cloudless days of April here. We stayed into the afternoon for the Adoration of the Cross, which was probably one of the most beautiful religious moments I have ever seen.

People came up to kiss the cross as they kneeled to the floor and gave a nickel or dime (because we use US money here as of 2001) into the small basket to the left of the cross. I thought of the scripture (and I am not one to do this much, or to write about it at least) where one man gave a good deal of his surplus while a woman gave little of her substance. Who gave more? A nickel of a dime never seemed so much. This is their pride, this is selfless. Some brought up a dollar and asked for change.

Saturday we spent in the Rio Gualsigna, which ran alongside their house at the bottom of the hill. We jumped off this tree with our family and friends, played chicken in the water and got a bicep workout by tossing little girls into the deeper water. A bit of the uglier side of Semana Santa came out as a good sized group of drunk men looked on to the scene. Holy Week here is a time where the country completely shuts down, post offices, buses, schools, etc. Many people have a tendency to take it as a party time, which can result to the traditional tomando (drinking).

Sunday mass was in our community, Las Lajitas, seeing how the four communities shared the different days. We walked 30 minutes to get to mass – which was packed. People stood outside during mass who couldn’t get a seat and chatted. Others fell asleep in the pews. Children marched up to the altar to take a seat and look to the congregation. It was their house. The thing I love about religion here is that it is a part of who we are, who people are. It isn’t something for which we have to be on our best behavior. We bring ourselves, faults and glories and all, to this place to share and be.

This is long, again, so I will wrap it up here. Four weeks to go means many projects in the works. Roe and I are working on a mini-documentary about machismo and the cross cultural effects of it here. I have an art project for Liberation Theology, and two papers to write for Sociology (how Public Health is misrepresented and lied about really in the media) and History (taking both sides of the war). In the mix of all this we have our talent show, my parents are coming for 6 days, a visit to El Mozote (site of yet another campesino massacre during the war), we planned a Casa dance formal (simply anything but clothes, I love a creative opportunity), and two weekends in Jayaque. Still there is the usual classes to take, to give, to plan. Goodbye parties to work out, and home to pack for.

The question posed last night: Will I stay?

Yes, but my question I am trying to figure out now…

How will I stay?

So excuse my lack of correspondence I am anticipating in the coming weeks. I will still write, but know that I am a work in progress and this “progress” is coming back to the States soon. I appreciate your patience and all the support, and know that finding balance comes with challenge, and I am bringing this home with me and to you.

Happy Resurrection Week.

Hechos (facts)

I have been meaning to put these thoughts down in the blog for some time, and I encountered them again the other day.

A month ago Rick Jones from Catholic Relief Services came to talk to our praxis seminar. He’s the director in charge of services in Central America, or at least El Salvy. Here are some facts he gave off.

• 2001 earthquake left 1.8 million homeless
• 2005 volcano and floods left 75,000 displaced
• El Salvador is the second most deforested country in the world
• All rivers/groundwater is contaminated
• The biggest causes of death for children under five are diahrrea and respiratory infections, which result from the contamination of the water and other environmental problems such as air pollution
• 174 women die for every 10,000 births (in the US the stat is 3 or 4 women). Most give birth alone now since midwives were outlawed in order to get people to travel to the clinics, which can sometimes be hours away.
• 50% of the population work 14 hours a day and earn $3-5 per day. Others earn less and others don’t have work.
• The government wants these people to begin to pay taxes, when they don’t even tax the big businesses. There is no property tax or sales tax in El Salvador.
• Because of the lack of taxing, E.S.. loses $950 million a year in taxes that can be used to support the pueblo. Banco Cuscatlan alone could pay at least $25-30 million in taxes, but they don’t because the owner of the bank is a friend of the government.
• Maquila (sweat shop) and outsourcing is going downhill – China is cheaper.
• Cloth, thread and machines are all sent from the states, so the only job offered to the people is the assembly.
• Remasas (remittances) from those who immigrate to the states without documentation (who some call “illegal”, but no human is illegal) make up 18% of the GDP, giving the country $3 BILLION a year. This amount is 6x lager than the forgeign reserves sent to the country.
• Most farmers are over 45, since majority of the 18-45 year old men have left for the US.
• Salvadoran gangs (MS-13 and 18^th Street) actually started in the US, (not in El Salvador) to defend themselves against Mexican gangs. Formed from men with no sense of identity and little more than a 5^th grade education, gives them a sense of identity and power.
• E.S. has implied the Iron Fist Policy and the Super Iron Fist Policy after the first one caused a 25% jump of homicides within one year of its implication. The Super Policy caused a 35% jump. We’re looking at the wrong problems – e.g. baggy pants can get you into jail for 72 hours.
• Jails here are a grad school for gangs. Not only do you get more respect for being in jail, but you’ll come out doing drug. The jails are separated by gangs, sometimes they’ll mix the gangs just so they kill each other.
• EL SALVADOR IS THE SECOND MOST VIOLENT COUNTRY IN THE WORLD NEXT TO IRAQ. There are 57 homicides per every 100,000 people. There is a war in Colombia and we’re still ahead of them in terms of violence.
• There is no internal affairs division in the police, so you cannot imagine how corrupt it is. There were 7 cases in 6 months of extrajudiciary execution.
• Loans…oh geez.
• The country wants to take a $436 million loan from the World Bank/IMF when they could have $950 due in taxes every year if they implied it.
• 40% of the GNP goes to pay off previous loans
• 98% of the GNP goes to pay off loans and SS
• 48% of the wealth in this country is distributed between 6-8 families who make up 10% of the population.

Boda del Ciglo (Wedding of the Century)

I´m going to let the pictures tell this one. I´m still exhausted.


Adam and Amy. Praxis partners. Both crazy and loving every minute of each other. This one really shows the love that exists between all of us. Cheesy, but really true to the core.

Romero vive! Start of the procession from Salvador del Mundo to the cathedral. About a 2 hour walk of celebrating and laughing and dancing and chanting.

Amy, Adam, myself, and Roe. Capturing the moment.

Allison, my CC (community coordinator) and good friend. She´ll be at BC next year for the Graduate School of Social Work, and to hang out.

I have a bag on my head of beans and rice, all in little white mesh baggies to hand out to the guests at the wedding to throw at Gene and Lupita when they leave the church. Casamiento in El Salvador means the marraige of beans and rice. A traditional dish, and a traditional thing to do at a wedding.

Neto and Julio. And the flowers we made. Casa students were responsible for the decoratins at the wedding.

Couldn´t get the flower to balance. This is outside the church waiting for the bride and groom to come out. They were married in the same church where Romero was killed, La Divina Providencia, by Dean Brackley, SJ.

Lupita, the most beautiful bride, ever.

Gene and Lupita and their wedding cake.

The reception was held at a park close to the church. About 400 people came to celebrate with live music, food and friends. The food was prepared by the women down the street from us who own a struggling pupuseria. Here are Ryan and Jenn dancing to the music of Horizantes, good friends of Lupita and Gene and one of the more popular folk bands in El Salvador. When you have people as friendly and giving as Gene and Lupita getting married, you´re bound to have all of El Salvador there to celebrate.

Cara Angry

I lot of things have been running through my mind lately. Let me see if I can get them all to fit in a space small enough so I don´t have to open another web page just to fit them all in. That was a bad joke.

So when I came back from Costa Rica, I felt at ease. As the plane touched down on the dry, golden land of El Salvador, I got the same feeling I get when I land in Boston and in Tampa.

Home again.

After a day, I realized that I was kidding myself for feeling that "homeness" in a way. Something was different - and I discovered this at praxis yesterday. I realized that after being away from El Salvador for almost a week and a half, I had begun to build this bubble... this shelter where I wasn´t going to allow anyone in again to break me. And this "anyone" includes El Salvador. Well this defense shield was shortlived - partially because after I realized this yesterday, I refused to maintain this ridiculous idea. Why should I be defensive? It is better to feel.

I tend to do this "thing" before I leave a place and people I love - I shut myself off. I become short, quiet, and sometimes it can all even turn cruel. I do it defensively, automatically, unstoppably. I do it because I know I have to leave this place of comfort and love and I don´t want to. It happens a lot when I go home to the fam in Florida. Spring break here signified and solidified this idea in my head that this is over when really, it´s not. I still have seven weeks here.

Going to Jayaque Wednesday made me realize how ridiculous I was being in this defense mode. And I don´t want that life or way of thinking anymore. Its better to feel.

I read this book this past week - Confessions of an Economic Hit Man. I strongly recommend you all read it when (and thats not and if) you can. It´s by John Perkins, a man out of New Hampshire who enters into the corporatocracy - those coporations that are privately owned but secretly work for the government which in turn work to expand the global empire. His job, basically, was to go into developing countries, develop inflated economic plans for them to show the governments that they should invest their money (that they would borrow from the US) to hire US engineers to come in and develop their nations´electricity, streets, buildings, etc. This "development plan" comes with the ideal that the soverign would obviously be appreciated by their citizens for working to develop their nations. The coporatocracy leaves out the fact that the countries they "serve" would gain severe debt, leaving no choice but to sacrifice their canals, oil, and UN votes to the states.

So between reading that book, seeing The Last King of Scotland last night, and Jayaque yesterday - I broke my bubble of defense. I just had to sit in the movie theater last night and cry. Breakdown. A few of us from the house went together, including Edith (one of the becarias - and strongest people I know). When the first images of Uganda came on the screen, she said,

"Oh! Looks like Chalete!"

She was referring to Chaletenango, her home and a department in northern El Salvador. The first images of Uganda were simply beautiful. I know the cinematographer did this on purpose to recognize that what seems beautiful on the outside of a situation does not mean corruptness does not lie within the facade. It was a harsh movie, a true image of reality. I was jumping, shaking and afraid while watching, and Edith leaned over to me saying, "Carita, sola es una pelicula." (Its just a movie.)

But we know its not.

Hate on this planet runs so deep. So deep. Sometimes we can not always feel the love we have for another because it is so profound. Well, I feel that is the same for hate. I cannot feel the hate of the world but only sometimes because if I did, I dont think I would be able to breathe.

Now, I´m just left speechless, but I hope we all go there. Get to the point of being speechless for a moment, then act on it. I hope we all push ourselves to take off this bandaid over our world and really look into the wound that lives and breathes underneath.


Just to finish, today in praxis seminar Beth played Tracy Chapman - Telling Stories. There was a lyric that stuck out to me.

Sometimes a lie is better than the truth.

Is it?

Pura Vida

Puerto Viejo

Amy ziplining in Cahuita-Puerto Viejo

How else can you expect me to title an entry about Costa Rica?

It´s their country´s saying.

So we´re currently situated at Hostel Pangea in San Jose after three days in Puerto Viejo. Tuesday we arrived and settled at Casa Verde (I highly recommend it. $12 a night for 3 people, shared bathroom and shower.) Wednesday we started out on the beach of Playa Negra and took a surf lesson in the afternoon with Johan and Jordan, friends of Topo (aka the surfer of Puerto Viejo, the neighboorhood man...or so it seemed). Stood up my first wave...no big deal... We also met with them Salvador, who we were a fan of automatically because of his name. The three of us and Salvador has lunch, then met up later for reggae night at Johnny´s Place, a bar on the beach. It could have turned out smoothly, with a ton of fun on the side, BUT Amy and Ally both got their money and cameras stolen after all three of us left our purses on the side table while we danced a comfortable 4 ft. away...with not many people in between us. My cell phone and money wasnt touched, which blew me away. Tough night. Didn´t stop us from doing a huge canopy tour zip-lining through the rainforest the next morning. Ally and I rented bikes in the afternoon and biked up the dirt roads to Cocles.

Never a dull moment on this trip, now thinking back on it.

When we were laying on the beach at Cocles, I turned to my right and 30 feet away a man was struggling to get back up on the beach from the water - he was crawling in the sand. I ignorantly assumed he was drunk and shouldnt have been swimming in the first place, and decided not to go check on him for fear of my safety. Thinking back on it, I feel horrible. What would he have done in daylight with a ton of people around? The reason why I´m being so hard on myself is because he ended up being taken to the hospital after a young man running on the beach went up to him. After summoning Ally and I over we found out he had rip tide or even a heart attack.

I question more and more why I didn´t go over to this man in need, obviously struggling. If I want to be a doctor, why do I look away at a time like that? I should be running toward him.

It hurts.

The bus drive to San Jose tonight was 4 hours, again. During this long drive through the cloudy rainforests and little towns that remind me of Antiguo and Santa Tecla, I got to thinking about what I want to do. I need to figure out where I will be a year from now. Getting ready to graduate, obviously, but what else? I want to go to med school, yes, but I want something more than that. I want to use my Spanish. I want to be connected to El Salvador, but also to those 40 million in the US who can´t afford proper health care or insurance. So what? What does that mean?

I´m thinking I want to go back to East Boston. Find somewhere where I can either do some research in my year off about the inner city Boston, including the immigrant population, maybe tie this into health care somehow and from my future based around my ability to serve these people.

I´m really excited about this new idea. I just need to find a launch point in Boston. And if anyone reading this knows of something, I´m so open to ideas and help. Bring it on. I´m ready.

Surfing on Playa Negra with Ally, Jordan, Johan, and Salvador

Growing through Roatan

Busy. Doesn't even explain it all. Right now I'm amongst a muck of trying to upload pictures and plan my trip for Costa Rica tomorrow. Part of my wishes that I was staying here, but I know Ally, Amy and I will have fun. We just have to figure out where we're going. We're thinking snorkeling, surfing, and ziplining would be ideal. We'll see.

Wanted to include a few more pictures. Max came to visit this week, and I can't really describe how beautiful it was not only to have a visitor here - but someone who came to learn, and not to vacation. It was great to see my world that I've been adapting myself to and learning from and growing with exposed to someone from back home - the states home. I learned that the biggest struggle for my parents to come (who will be here in a month) will be the language. But it is important to remember that this weakness is something to love (and love is not a weakness), which is the biggest lesson I've learned here.

This country and the people within are not the only ones who will bring you growth.

It's all alright - as the woman in Amatapec told Amy when she was saying how she doesnt understand when people say they've had bad days. "I wish they would just open their eyes and see that it's all alright."

The house played a joke on Maxito:

Lupita and Gene are getting married, and they need 1000 beans counted for the wedding as part of a Salvadoran tradition. If its any more or any less, it's a bad omen for the marraige. He started doing groups of 5 and recounting them. He got to thirty before I couldn't take it anymore. Everyone laughed though. Wednesday night we said you had to count 1000 grains of rice. No go.




Roatan, Honduras. Island off the north coast in the Carribbean. Beautiful sunsets happen on cloudy nights.









The plane we took to get to Roatan. Looks like fun, eh ma? (Actually really great and smooth flight)

Take me to the water.

So I havent written in quite a while. Probably because A LOT has been going on.

Its funny how there are waves of business, when looking back on everything - most of the time I feel like I couldn´t be busier.

So two weekends ago, we had our optional Ignatian silent retreat. 36 hours in silence while still surrounded by 23 of the 24 of us was as close to privacy as I can get, so I took that opportunity with open arms. I´ll be the first to say that I´ve been questioning my religious views - not faith or spirituality (...there is a difference) - since I´ve been here. But after the retreat I figured that its okay, not all the answers have to come to me at once. It´s not going to just take one weekend to think about all of these things, it´s a lifetime of thought and change, just like everything else is in this world.

Oh, and Ryan fell through a roof.

Ryan is my praxis partner, full of life and we joke because it was probably hardest for him to be silent on this retreat, but he did it (more or less) until he fell through the roof he was walking on and ended up with 10 stiches in his head and a pretty bruised and scraped armpit, chest, and ego. He just read that too, so he´s vouching for it.

So that meant I was on my own Monday for sewing academy and class in Jayaque. Drug class.

It was a HORRIBLE DAY. I cannot emphasize it enough. Sewing academy was painless, but the kids just did not listen. Well some did, 3 out of 17, and the other 14 decided to play, talk and disrupt. It was just body breaking, really. To try to lead a discussion with 17 kids ranging from 8 years old to 16. Worst, I thought I was at an advantage after staying up until past 1am planning what to draw on the board, different scenarios to act out, and drawings for visuals. I felt like a failure. I wanted to walk out when the recess bell rang, and I don´t mean to go out to play. But I couldn´t, of course. I know myself better than that. I know that I´m going to beat myself up for not getting through to every single one of them, but I have to think about the fact that there are a few who were listening, a few more on and off, and no one else is there to give them this space to be open and ask questions. I do not know them, but I love them.

Tomorrow Ryan will be there and we´ll split up the groups.

The rest of the week went well. Wednesday in Jayaque was fabulous. We spent all day by the river in Los Sitios with Julio, Neto, and Julio´s nieces and nephews. We swam in the river and made chicken noodle soup for lunch over a fire. It was a gift. Not everyday is going to be difficult. We´re not always going to be stuck in one mood of happiness or angst, hopefulness or hopelessness - and its nice to know that things will change.

This weekend was fantastic. We went to Belize in order to renew our 90 day "tourist" visas - because student visas are just too complicated.

Here is what I sent Dad in an email this afternoon. Pictures will follow later in the week if I can, but the next two weeks coming up will be busy. Max is flying in tomorrow to visit for a few days, then Amy, Ally and I will be travelling together to Costa Rica for our week break - finishing out the weekend in Jayaque next Friday, Saturday, Sunday for the outdoor dance-club that I have heard so much about.



So Belize...

We literally JUST got off the bus back from Belize this weekend. It was an incredible time. We left Thursday at 6am, drove 8 hours through Guatemala to the northern coast (Carribean) and hopped a 30´ boat (all hull, no luxury, all smiles, no complaints) to Punta Gorda (or PG to those familiar), Belize. It was quite different because English is spoken there primarily over Spanish. Its a mostly Mayan culture, with many Afro-Belizians as well. So there are 2 Mayan languages, 1 Creole language, English and Spanish all spoken there. It was crazy to use English the whole weekend with the natives. Belize is a totally different country, has more of a Carribbean island feel than a Latin American country.

Ally outside the main cabin in Belize

So once we got through customs (which as a hut of a joke) we hopped on a old school bus turned charter to Blue Creek Rainforest Lodge. We were foretold the accomodations were going to be pretty rustic, so I was expecting difficult and dirt with cramped space, but that wasn´t anything close to the truth. We pull up to the village before we take the short hike into the jungle and are greeted by 20 kids, all asking us in English to take our bags. It was heart wrenching to say no, but we had to for whatever reason we told ourselves. You just can´t say yes. After the 10 minute walk on the trail, we arrived to the lodge. Finally. And what we saw was breathtaking. This perfectly blue, clear river created from the natural water given off by the HUGE limestone mountains further up. There was a main cabin where the bathrooms and kitchen were, a huge deck in front with a big ole dock to jump off and plunge 10 feet into the water with fish below waiting to gently nip at you. Not bad though, only got it once or twice. We stayed in the smaller cabins for 6 people, built a bonfire in front of our cabins, and swam our hearts out. Friday we went on a "jungle climb" 1200 feet straight up to the top of the mountain. It was rigorous, but we were in the shade for the most part, covered up by the trees.

Top of the jungle climb. 1200ft straight up.

Termite on the tongue

We found a huge termite nest on the way up and William, our guide, told us that he has eaten termites before for "just the experience" of it, which is how he lives his life, and they taste like carrots. So I tried a few, and found out he wasn´t joking... about these termites, anyway. Friday afternoon we went exploring through the cave at the base of the river which is within the mountain, and swam through the dark tunnels there. To get up to the base, we climbed all sorts of muddy, limestone-spiked rocks and swang off rope tied to the trees. Belize left me with many bruises on my legs, but I loved it.

I never want to stop climbing.

Saturday morning we woke up early to walk into the village and go to Williams house for a food and craft demonstration. We made tortillas (different from Salvadoran tortillas), chocolate drink and wove fans from palmettos. The chocolate drink was great, straight from the cacao plant. We ate the fruit (tastes like "Starburst" as someone put it - tarty, sweet, and smooth fruit), and next toasted previously dried seeds, ground them up and made them into a paste. For a sweeter chocolate they dry the seed with the fruit still on it, but you have to add a ton of sugar either way.

Saturday afternoon we just chilled and swam more, climbing rocks, laying out in the sun and just enjoying nature. Yours truly became obsessed with fan making, so I went hunting for more palmetto leaves. Don´t compare me to Martha Stuart though, or I´ll show you my machete.

OH and Friday night we went on a jungle hike and saw some tarantulas, scoprions, toads, fish and shrimp.Colin, Roe, Anthony on the way up

Casarse

GENE AND LUPITA ARE GETTING MARRIED!

March 25

For those who dont know, Gene Pulumbo is our history teacher (NY Times Correspondent for El Salvador) and Lupita is the cook from Casa Silvia.


WOOOO

I'm living, and you're living, let's just do it together.

So I'm pretty sure I'm out of my muck.

I had a great day yesterday and a fabulous lunch this afternoon.

Last night, Cara Caponi (Casa alum from last semester who goes to BC) called to say hello to Allison and me. It was perfect. It couldn't have come at a better time really. And I know you're reading this, Cara, and I'm not trying to be a yoyo (brown-noser). But even though it was during dinner, a dinner that I was supposed to help clean up, I was relieved by my community and able to talk.

She told me that other Casa alum are reading this, some whom I don't even know, so I just wanted to take a second to say...ummm...where are you?

But anyway, I've been feeling lately that I'm so go go go and have not been able to offer thought to anything. I feel as though I'm just explaining things and not having emotions about them - minus the machismo thing. But even that, I feel as though I'm slacking. It's just a lot. It's a lot to be able to express through words and through language how exactly life is.

I wish you could see my face.

Last night we had our five week evaluation of the program. Not the classes or the praxis sites, the program. It turned into something other than an evaluation, it was more of a relfection. To be able to have that space, that ability to feel open to talking about how were were feeling/thinking or not feeling/thinking is so appreciated by me and valued. It's one thing during orientation to have this feeling, "Oh, now I'm going to open up to try to start out open and on the right foot with everyone." It's a way of getting yourself out there, maybe a way of showing that you do not want to be left behind or whatever. But when that feeling stays, it's something beautiful and different. Last night we were all able to discuss different subjects, different view points, different places we were in our life - all the while leaving behind the criticism and disrespect and closed hearts. We just embraced one another with the utmost care. It helped me feel more alive.

Machismo was brought up a lot. A self-defense class was recommended, as well as an open forum on the topic and and recommendations of how to deal with it, where to go if you feel threatened, etc. Fact is - we're helpless. It's difficult to accept. It is the first time in my life when I can feel true oppression. This is solidarity. Solidarity does not by any means alway share to be positive - a "let us rise above this mood". It can be a sulk, a frustration, a sense of hopelessness. I'm losing a lot of hope right now, but it's still there somewhere. I just can't grab it.

I can feel my heart breaking right now.

Something I want to share is also something I'm a little nervous about sharing openly with those in the states. I'm scared. Things are not getting less violent here. There was an article in the newspaper last Friday about these men, possibly gang members, who are going around Santa Tecla and Antiguo Cuscatlan (the town in which we live) and abducting women and raping them. Kevin and Trena have always been careful and emphasized the importance of the rules we have in place for security. You cannot walk alone here, ever. Many of us are already nervous about walking between houses at night by ourselves - even though we have a vigilante (William) to protect us - but he's not always in view because it's dark. But he's there to escort us. If we call his name he'll be there in 30 seconds. Thats all besides the point. The thing is, the thought has crossed my mind that there could be a possiblity (however microscopic it is) that we may not make it through this semester. We may have to come back.

There are moments during the day where I think "I'm done with this." But then immediately I cringe and know I'm not. You cannot be "done with this". What does that even mean? Another event that happened yesterday - three ARENA deputies were killed in Guatemala, one day before the father of one of them was about to be given the honor of "Son of the Country". This man was also the father (not the son) of the death squads during the war and the founder of the ARENA party - which currently controls El Salvador. He is thought to be responsible for the assassination of Oscar Romero, a man well known and respected by many in Central America, including Guatemala.

Things are thick. And deep. And wounded. It's gut and heart wrenching to not know what will happen in the next three months. And it's not the type of exciting, anxious gut and heart wrenching - it's the nervous, scared kind. I can't stay indoors forever, we have to confront our fears. I have to teach my students about life.

I'm teaching a life class in Jayaque. It's a group of 15 students who go to school in the morning from 7-12, but are required by the director to be there in the afternoon for missing school, smoking, starting fights - for their deliquincies. But these children are charged - in every sense of the word. Yesterday we came up with themes for the class, after I explained to them that Ryan and I are there for them, to give them answers to the questions they have that go unanswered in school and at home. We will talk about drugs, gangs, sex, violence, families, homosexuality, music, love, life. I cannot let my personal fears effect my ability to effect my new amig@s when they havent even been given the chance to know how to feel this way.

Salvadoran skiing

The challenge

Magma.

How cliché.

I climbed a volcano today

That is Saturday, because by the time I get to an internet café it will be Sunday, and I don’t want to steer you wrong on my schedule. What a shame that would be.

The weird thing is, that will probably be the first and only time I climb a volcano, at least that volcano (Izalco). The last time it erupted was 1966 (or 76…because sesenta y seis and setenta y seis sound VERY similar). It will also be the first and only time I meet some Jehovah’s witnesses near a volcano. Yes, pay attention.

So every month Casa and the Romero program (the becari@s’ program) do an activity together. So all of us who wanted to go (about 30) went to Mr. Izalco – as I will call him because he was still steaming). It’s a national park, one that you will probably find in all of your guide books… which is probably why we saw more gringos there outside of our little family. The guides there volunteer one day a week – VOLUNTEER – and take people down the mountain, up the volcano, down the volcano, and up the mountain again. The rest of the days they study. All of the guides are probably in high school. It’s a four hour hike in total and the route goes like I just said. The national park is situated in the middle of this beautiful lush green mountain. You have to go down these rustic “steps” (meaning logs situated at the end of a dirt plateau) to get to the basin of the volcano, which is a ring of old lava rocks. Then you climb up the STEEP volcano. I don’t know how I can say it better, but the pictures explain a lot. With every step you take you may fall, and the steps of those ahead of you are the once you look out for, because those steps could send small rocks of medium sized boulders down your route.

Pretty much the most chivo thing I’ve done. Ever. (Chivo = sweet/cool/awesome)

The whole way down the mountain, Sarita (Julio’s nice) and I held hands. I have to admit, as much as I love the girl and as much as I feel like I want to grasp on to every friendship I am given with the Salvadorans, I am not graced with jumping down a mountain holding a 10 year old’s hand. Plus, after an hour…your hands can get pretty sweaty. But who am I to complain? I climbed a volcano today and she wants me to be her friend. I’ll hold her hand forever. Also, I think that the greatest feeling I have comes from when any Salvadoran uses the “vos” form with me. It’s like the tu form of the verbs, very informal. It signifies a confianza and a friendship. Also signifies my heart beating a little faster.

So we finally get up to the top of the still-steaming Mr. Izalco, and there is no possible way to describe the view so I won’t even try. Someone noted that we were higher than the birds. And there were clouds brushing up against us. How lucky. How incredibly blessed am I and are we to even have this view on this earth.

The way down was something else. Salvadoran skiing was the name it was given. We slid down on the rocks most of the way down. Many of the areas had smaller rocks and even coarse sand and pebbles to dig your feet in, sit your butt back and just glide all day long baby. Yes, of course I was nervous at first – I am my mother’s daughter – but you just gotta let go sometimes! Yes I fell – I fell all over the place… going up, walking around the edge of Mr Izalco… but I did not fall on the way down. Actually, I lied. I fell on my arse. But that wasn’t when I was skiing down the rocks.

So when we finally got back (after having to go back up that beautiful, gracious, easy, not steep mountain….I’m lieing), we were greeted by a picnic lunch and more fun times and views in the park. Also we were encountered by some good ole witnesses of Jehovah. A couple from the US and a couple from Spain. Nice people, and I didn’t pass judgment on them until after they walked away – so I guess that I’m a better person for that? No, not really. They told us about this weekly magazine they put out in over 350 languages! It addresses the pressing issues and questions we face in our world in a global sense. For example – the problem of teens and the internet. Our teens are so lonely, that they are spending hours upon hours online! What are we missing in the home? They told Colin, Patricio and I about how they asked a global audience how they feel about this issue, got a ton of responses, and were able to consolidate these answers for your reading pleasure into only four pages! How gracious of them. Sorry I’m being so sarcastic, but….crazy. I don’t even know what to say. This woman, Cindy, told us, “We’re all humans. Humans are the same, we’re all the same. We all face the same problems in our lives!” Do we, Cindy?

She gave us a copy of this book they wrote. They polled the WORLD! The whole world, and asked them the top 19 questions they had (why 19 and about what I had no idea until she gave me the book – What the Bible Really Says.) and took all these questions and wrote this book. Colin asked, “If everyone has the same questions, how do you find the answers?” I’m just going to stop there. I’m not going to find the answers to the problems and questions I have to these people, just as they are not going to find the answers they are looking for in El Salvador with their fancy attire.

That’s another thing that’s been bothering me lately. I can dress like those people, I can travel back and forth, I can choose what I want to eat, where I want to sleep, what cycle to set my washing machine on at home, what dog food I will buy. How can I feel like I’m closer to the Salvadorans than I am to most of the US population?

That’s a question that will go unanswered for the time being.

Last night, a bunch of us gringos took our chances and went to the El Salvador v. Costa Rica fútbol game. My first game. We had our directions from Julio where to sit. Not in the $3 section. So we sat in the $6 one. Two words: Culero, urine. Everywhere. So the cheap seats are obviously the home to the crazy fans – the ones who rip shirts off people if you are not wearing blue or white. One guy was wearing orange. Bad idea. With the amount of guards and shields there you would think you were in a civil rights riot. And you almost were. We all separated on the buses on the way there and another group decided to venture into the $3 section. When they entered, the whole section (one quarter of the stadium) started chanting “CULERO!” (ass-grabber…without going too far into the total context) and other words and threw bags – once filled with water, now with urine – at them. And beer, and food. The whole nine yards as we say for American football. Costa Rica was not liked as well, and their anthem was greeted with backs turned and “the finger” up. There were probably 30 gringos in the whole stadium of over 100,000 and 15 of them were Casa students. Also, there were probably 30 women too. I tried to venture to the baño, not the best idea. The woman working at one of the grills told me that I had to use the men’s, because the women’s was further into the general section, and very dangerous. So we waited for all the men to leave and she and Zac stood guard at the entrances to this cubby with a hole in the ground. On the way back, taunting. “Ay! Gringa!” “Do you want to come home with me?” “Toquela!” (touch it/her) So my posterior was grabbed once – only because I couldn’t smack him/his hands away faster. I dared not smack the man or turn around. I am furious and enraged with the situation and the machismo culture, but I’m still a part of it. It is getting more trying and emotionally draining to be a woman here. But I have my supports. I have my respect. And I have really long blogs.

Beth, myself, and Roe playing a game of "Make a face when I tell you the situation to react to. Loooong bus ride.

Dancin in the moonlight/strobe light/traffic light.

Roe and I dancing on the bus.

Ryan and I....self-explanatory

Feliz dia de amistad (Happy friendship day) a tod@s. First and foremost.

Yesterday was a real day. Troubling. Great. Lively. Let´s start....

Troubling...
Yesterday on the drive on the microbus to praxis, we saw an accident. Ironic because Amy and I were talking the day before about how we had to yet see a car accident in El Salvador - rare thought to have because they all drive like maniacs. Massachusetts driving is a warm up to this. So we are on the autopista and see a few cars stopped, one old blue sedan flipped up on its side. Worse, two women laying in the road amongst a few male onlookers just STANDING THERE. One of the women was laying in a fetal position on her side in the middle of the road. Not moving, breathing, living. The other woman was face up in the median - blood flowing out of the side of her head, splattered on her shirt. My heart is ripping open all over again as I type this. I find myself with this instinct to stop, go back, help, CPR, anything. But I couldn´t, and that was the hardest thing to accept. We just kept driving, living amongst ourselves. All during the rest of the day yesterday it really haunted me. I saw Salvadoran women all over the place and thought ¨It could have been you. You´re alive, though.¨ How horrible.

But life goes on in El Salvador. Life after the war. Memories are hard to tell sometimes, but the work ethic goes on, the family life goes on amidst parents leaving their children for the states, amongst domestic abuse and gang violence. I can´t keep repeating myself, because then it becomes less real and more of a statement. Who wants to live through words anyway?
Great....
From the trip on the bus ride we went straight into Los Sitios and to Neto´s house with his beautiful family. We laughed and joked and taught each other slang. Neto is studying English at the national university - and loves to repeat. Taught him ¨baller¨and ¨ballin out of control¨. Monday night he started saying ¨No you didnt¨like that attitude-filled woman you see in a cat fight. Fantastic. He´s wicked smaht. After a delicious lunch of noodle soup, beans, rice, tortillas, and chicken (always fresh...) we went back to the cooperative. Oh, and Neto´s grandfather is an evangelist. We visited the church earlier in the day and he read us the bible and told us the story about how after buying the land for the church, one member made 3 trips to the states to save up enough money to build the church, nothing else for himself. Even if you don´t believe in evangelism, you can´t help but have the utmost admiration for someone who gives everything they have into something they believe in.

Lively.....
The bus ride home after the day was something else. A dance party really. It started with Nedly, the driver, playing a sweet latin love song - and me asking Ryan to dance on the moving bus. He, Roe and I rotated as dancing partners. Then Nedly put on some reggaeton and it just turned into an all out shake-fest. The crew from Las Delicias, Tepecoyo, and Colon were astounded when they got on the bus and saw us but then they just joined in. Some becari@s were on the bus and dancing too.

Last night eight of us went out to a club for some reggaeton and salsa dancing. The night started with a somba drum line out of no where and ended up with some crazy "elevated" dancing....aka maybe dancing on some railings with Tita and Beth. No worries, nothing like "those videos", just some good ole salsa dancing with good friends and fufurufo salvadorans on the side (fufurufo - high life/snotty/lots of hair gel and European clothed men). I'll post pictures so you believe me and don't lose respect for me as soon as I get them from Jessica.

Again, feliz dia de amistad. Treasure and enjoy your friends and the love they give you, it's not all about flowers and candy today/yesterday/tomorrow.

Enjoy life to the Max.

I´m running late for lunch, thats why the writing of this entry has progressively gotten more vague and less interesting. But pictures will help to explain.

Ryan, Paty, and Patricio. After Paty was like "Hey Ryan! Come over here!" Girl knows what she wants.

The Ignacio "Nacho" Martin Baro Cooperative in Jayaque

Zac, myself and Patricio. Bus is still moving.

Making our own reggaeton beats... to "Total Eclipse of the Heart"...

Last night at dinner. Heart eating contest. Look at the looks of disgust.

Back To School

I taught my first class in Spanish yesterday. What a trip.

Also, I can sew paper skirts for you if you would like.

More to come...

Pupils and Pepinos (Cucumbers)

I wish that you all could feel the vibe I have going right now. It’s Sunday “morning” (1pm) and I’m listening to the Eagles on a full stomach of banana pancakes and fired potatoes. And I made cinnamon apples – just to throw that in there. After the day I had yesterday, a day such as today is welcome.

Friday afternoon Chris and I went to Usulutan. He had invited me earlier in the week to go with him to the HIV/AIDS conference there with him. It took three buses and a ride in the back of a pick up truck – weaving in and out of cows – to get there. Presidio Liberal, the name of the rural village where we stayed, was about a three hour journey that placed us among sugar cane, cows, bare feet, and refugees from the war. I believe most of them are squatters on the land they “have”, and many are retired combantants from the guerilla side. So that’s a background….

When we arrived Friday, they were all just finishing their section on STDs for the day, and we were invited to have some food and play fútbol (soccer….) with them. Knowing how much I play soccer, you can bet I was an all-star. Yeah, I’ve never played in my entire life. And I was wearing flip-flops of course. So for the rest of the day after everyone left, Nery and Tobias (the leaders) and Chris and I did a couple of home visits to Presentación and then to Marina. Marina lives in a one room house with her mom. Her husband was killed and her property stolen by another woman. We rested in the two hammocks that swung from the ceiling and Chris and I tried very hard to listen to her mumbling Spanish while being distracted by the ridiculous Salvadoran TV.

A PSA popped up saying “Don’t litter, it makes the tourists not come”. Talk about blunt, among other things…

Anyway, this is dragging out so I’ll get to the conference. By the way, the whole thing was at the village preschool, where the four of us slept Friday night. It started Saturday at 7:30. They began with a review of the STDs they had learned the day before using “hangman” as a refresher for the names of them. Then we started talking about HIV/AIDS (VIH/SIDA in español). We talked about the difference between the two, the progression of the disease, how it works, testing, treatment, and prevention. We played games to keep our energy up and acted out different scenes according to the topic we were discussing. We were read scenarios and broke up into small groups to discuss. Needless to say that I got some great ideas on how to teach me classes in Jayaque starting tomorrow.

One of the people/subjects that amazed me was Marina and her reaction to condom usage, abstinence, and fidelity - all topics that we discussed for the prevention topic.

On the topic of abstinence…

The question was posed, “Who has it easier in the choice of abstaining from sex?” The response was “Men, because they have the ability to choose to have sex or not.” My immediate reaction – and women don’t? I guess not, according to Marina. It broke out into a conversation that men have sexual urges, like wild beasts, that they are not able to contain and women need to respond to this, they don’t have the choice.

On the topic of fidelity…

We were given a scenario where a man has multiple lovers, leaving his wife at home all the while to take care of their children. He gets sick and finds out he is HIV positive, and so are his wife and three children. One of the questions for our small group was, “Why did Antonio act in this manner?” The response by Oswaldo - a brilliant 24 year old who knew all the answers to questions on AIDS: “He was innocent. He didn’t know any better. He is a product of his society and he didn’t know he was getting his children sick.”

This is the machismo of El Salvador and so many countries of Latin America and Spain. It is extremely common and popular for a man to have multiple lovers, work hard, drink hard, and beat his wife. This is the society here. Many men “don’t know any better.” It has been so hard for me to feel comfortable with this, or even know how to act. I am looked at like an object here. Men raise their eyebrows, whistle, cat call, everything. I know that I am now an object. I know that I am a strong woman who has her own dreams and thoughts, but so many women here don’t know that. There is no outlet here for them, no way of knowing their importance in society. They keep their families together, they organize their communities. Many molested women run to the convent for a safe haven, to become a nun. But they are so psychologically destroyed that they can’t fufill their duties as a sister.

On our way back, after having a heart-wrenching conversation on the bus with Nery about machismo and walking through the disgusting gazes of the men in the Centro of San Salvador, I was about to lose it. But then Chris and I met Wilfredo – just a man waiting for the same bus on his way to a 7pm-7am shift as a mechanic. We asked the typical questions we do to most Salvadorans – tell us about your job and family. He said that he has 3 daughters and a wife. He had pictures of them in his wallet which we got to see. I asked if his wife stayed at home or worked. To which he responded “She is the queen of the house.” A breakthrough. I asked if she had a crown. He commented, “Yes, I put it there.” Thank you, Wilfredo. He’s on his way to Canada in 3 months, as soon as he hears from his informant. He’ll work for a syrup factory for a year, then he gets to bring his family up. “Felicidades,” I said (congratulations). He thanked us, and said that it was truly a gift from God. “If we had a more balanced and equal economy in place, a more just system, no Salvadoran would have to leave.” How true.

The president here also is the head of the association of private enterprise here, and the businesses don’t have to pay taxes. The cycle is so complex and vicious that its not comprehendible.

So there’s the weekend. The picture I included is Dora, 16, with her protected cucumber... notice the balloon in the back. Quite an experience, and now these 14 salvadorans will be able (after the next 3 weekend sessions) to be able to go into their communities and spread the word on HIV/AIDS and STDs, a taboo turned truth.

A few facts:

• Global funding for HIV/AIDS in El Salvador has been cut. All 26 million of it. Why? Because the government declares this country as middle class and refuses to admit that there is poverty here. Smart, eh?
• The number of REGISTERED cases of AIDS in El Salvador as of 2005 was 15,609. The estimation for 2010? 81,904. Think about the unregistered cases…

Lo que será, será

This is a picture of Martin y yo. I was his pet last Wednesday for a home visit. He had a puppy named flash and I decided to be ridiculous and but the leash on my jeans. Then he decided to take me on a walk...through a JUNGLE....and pointed out 15 different trees and listed off their functions like a regular biologist.


I'm going to an HIV/AIDS clinic training session this weekend.

Pretty lucky.

Sister Peggy and her theology of liberation are growing on me. I mean, I liked the whole idea of liberation theology before I came, but just thinking about it and learning the context and the text of it all just makes it that much more tempting to think about and love.

Today in class we had to create a new metaphor about liberation theology, instead of the one we read about - liberation theology is a tree. The poor are the roots, the trunk is the pastoral workers and the branches are the theologians. Not a great metaphor because it places the theologians at the top of the tree. The group I was a part of decided to draw something without distinctions of parts or function. We drew the circulatory system. Thats right, I'm still pre-med. Our logic was that the circulatory system has so many parts, none better than the other, and it's so continuous. It also needs the whole body to function, to help it filter itself, and to feed the body. And even though it's a system, it's not the whole body. Liberation theology, as we learned today, is not trying to be a different sect of theology, but rather an incorporation to all sects. If you don't know what liberation theology is, maybe Google Gustavo Gutierrez.

Se la pica - The High Life

The subject line is a phrase that you'll only find in Salvadoran slang. I don't know why I chose it, maybe I will by the end of this.

I think I have been putting off writing something new because of last weekend and because of the funk that I am in now.

I left Thursday afternoon for NYC and got back to El Salvador, the place that I called home before I left, on Monday morning. My flight was at 4am. I don't know if this is home right now to me.

Tuesday - the first day that I could think after getting some sleep - felt like the first day all over again as I walked to classes at the UCA and tried to catch up with my amig@s. This weekend was praxis weekend here, a weekend where everyone except for myself and Anne (who was sick) stayed at their praxis sites.

In Jayaque, there was a dance on Friday night, which was more like an outdoor club. And it was right in front of Julio's house. Roe, Colin, and Ryan told me that the house was shaking as soon as the clock struck 9. Things were falling off the shelves and as they opened the door, they saw a huge array of disco balls and lights and a community of people who immediately turned around to gawk at the gringos. Like a magic door. Saturday they spent at other houses in the community, walking around and collecting fruit, hiking, learning. Sunday they came home. And this is all I know. How do I feel about that? Ok.

I did something great this weekend, I grew with my family. I said goodbye to my inspiration, my Grandmother. It was a difficult weekend, but somewhere during the time that we were gathered at the cemetery - among the words shared, the bagpipe music played (Danny Boy and Amazing Grace) - there was a moment of peace that came over me. I just looked around at the day and could not help but just be okay.

And I went ice skating. I know thats a change of pace from the previous paragraph, but it was amazing to just be out there with the family on the lake behind her house in our dress clothes and be ridiculous.

I guess this funk that I can't explain is the one that I think we all feel from time to time. Just a loss of emotions and words. I'll be alright though.

Sociology and I had a breakthrough today. The topic began on that of our true self. Does it exist? A few words:

• We are constantly changing. It is natural for humans to never be satisfied, thus we are changing from day to day, minute to minute. A true self is a static identity. If it exists, we have reached the end. Can our life go on without a search?
• We learn what ourself is or trueself is by language. We use this language to build a sense of meaning for ourselves. We did not build this language. Whatever we think we are is built with a language that we did not build.
• Without language, we wouldn't me talking about identity.
• When we are given a theory, reality has changed. Then we're stuck in a theory.
• How do I know who I am? Because I have my memories. But something may happen in the next 5 minutes that changes these memories and they may get into a totally different light.

Yeah.

So it is pupusa night so I must be going to get my dose of lard and beans and cheese. I'm ok with the beans and cheese. Se la pica.