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.