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.