“HOLA!” I look up from my plastic table and lean forward on the plastic chair I’m sitting on outside. Jose smiles and takes one had off the pile of fire wood he wears over his back, to wave at me. My smile grows wide as I wave back and I lean back in my chair with a quiet, but happy giggle. “Hola” me dijo.
For the past 8 months in La Montanita, 13 year old Jose has been cat calling me. When I walk by, he whistles. When I’m farther down the street “tss,tss” and “venite mi amor, I ‘love you mamasita!” he calls at me. It’s bad enough when the teenagers and old, married men do it to me. But its even more humiliating and frustrating coming from someone barely through puberty.
On my birthday part last month, Jose had the nerve to show up, hover at my door and finally ask for a piece of cake. There were 2 tiny slices left. I put one on a paper plate and walked over to him. I said “You can have this last piece of cake, but you are not going to hiss at me when I walk down the street anymore.”
He still looked up at me with googly eyes when I walked by, but he stopped saying things. Or at least he was quiet enough that I couldn’t hear him.
Last weekend, he was outside while I was loading up a pick up truck with my soccer team girls to travel to an away game. I asked if he wanted to tag along, free of charge, but he would have to ref the game. He agreed.
Today, he walks by my house and says “Hola.”
Sometimes, I get so frustrated here. I work 2 hours at night, planning a meeting for my girls soccer team so that they will be able to own a pair of cleats… And 3 girls show up the next day for the meeting. I offer to help solicit gifts for a Christmas Party for the town (500 of them!) and my community leaders won’t meet with the mayor for the snacks because he is from a different politic party. Maria knocks on my door asking for $3 and Mario laughs as he tells me that he lost all his drawings from Art Class.
No one gets me. I shouldn’t be here. They don’t appreciate my work. They don’t want me here. No one likes me. I have no friends. They just want money. I’m just a big gringa to stare at.
It’s so easy to think like this. I fear this stuff a lot.
But then people surprise you.
Happiness comes in weird ways.
You reap rewards in ways you never thought of.
It just took a “Hello”. An “Hola” from Jose. And I can’t stop smiling. He gets it. I want to be here.
I lean back and good memories come flooding to my mind…
The girls from my Artesania group who came over to my house this week when I invited them. An hour late, but they all showed up. We spent 3 hours making decorations for the Community House for the Christmas Party. We talked and laughed and listened to music…it felt good. One girl even wrote up a description of the community and our project to show my friends at home, as I asked. I was so proud of her. Together we wrote a Thank You card for our Artesania group leader. The message came from the group and it touched my heart. They do appreciate my work.
Last night, some girls invited me to a bull riding show in a neighboring community. We laughed as a soccer game was played while a bull ran loose on the field. Kids trying to make goals while avoiding getting stuck with a horn. Not the safest game but man, funny to watch. We huddled together as it got late and a whole lot colder than I ever thought it’d get here. We giggle, a giant group of girls, arms wrapped around each other. They do want me here. They do like me. I do have friends.
Esmeralda tries to wash her cup from the coffee I offered her during our Artesania Christmas Decoration making session. “Leave it” I say. “No Jaime. When someone offers you something, you return the favor”. They don’t just want my money.
“Hola” Jose called to me as he waved, smiling. I’m not just a big gringa to stare at.
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
Thursday, December 9, 2010
Espereme!
Last week I had a meeting with my girls soccer team scheduled for 1 pm to discuss fundraising so we can travel to neighboring towns. At 12pm I was to meet with Leo to price the jewelry my Artesania group made for me to sell at the Feria Internacional. And my counterpart had just notified me that there was an important ADESCO meeting at 2pm.
I rushed around the house all morning. I ran to my neighbors house to buy some soap to wash clothes. I soak the clothes in a bucket of detergent, feed the pup, wipe down the tables from the cat pawprints from his nightly adventures (I need to get window panes!), seep, yoga, make breakfast, wash dishes, scrub clothes, hang clothes, feed pup…
I run out the door at 11:45am. I lock up and turn around. I face the neighbors horses in my yard…they have eaten all of my first corn harvest and parts of 2 banana trees. Shit, I left the gate open. Ughhh, I run back to the neighbors – how do I get out the caballos? “You just shooo them”- they demonstrate with hand signals. I run back to my yard. “Vaya, vaya!” I yell. I’m standing far too far behind them for my stick waving to have any effect but eventually they bore and trot out my gate. As I walk out behind them, I notice they reciprocated the favor on my shoe.
It was 12:10pm…”I’m early” I thought. Leo arrives at 12:30, he thinks he’s early. There’s chatting…I look at my watcvh…A few girls from my team are getting to the field…it’s 1:05pm. Still missing half the team. Leo is eating pan dulce and coffee….
All meetings conveniently end up starting promptly at 3pm. I run from one to the other. I give up. I stay at the ADESCO meeting. We need to discuss our upcoming Christmas event. We end up gossiping ¾ of the time. ½ of that time is about me. What do I do when I go to the capital? Am I dating Fidel? Brock? Am I gaining weight? Will I come back after I leave for Christmas?
Today, I think about that question. Okay, not to scare people, yes I will come back. But I just got back from vacation. I was in Belize for 5 days. I didn’t have to speak Spanish…but I did anyway. (Its hard to kick the “No, Gracias” habit towards street vendors). I didn’t have to wear long skirts or closed sandals. I didn’t have to say Salu 300 times a day or deny cold cervezas. I just relaxed.
I swam with sharks. I cave tubed and zip lined through the jungle. I layed on the beach and listened to reggae music. I saw dread locks instead of sombreros and I watched the sunset with Jimmy at my side. I felt the wind and salty sea water on my face sitting on the bow of boats. I heard “Ay whats up mon?” instead of “que tal vos?”. I fell in the sand practicing headstands instead of on cement floors and rocky soccer fields. I ate fresh fish instead of fried tortillas and I drank bottled Belikin instead of bags of water.
After 5 days of tranquility I returned to La Montanita…but this time with Jimmy. If 2 gringos at one time wasn’t enough excitement for my village…the names Jaime and Jimmy sure pushed them over the edge. We played cards for countless horas with the neighbors, ate bean soup and refried beans and beans nuevos and…We had a girls soccer tournament- well I did, he had a 3 hour viewing session. We went to a tourist center for the ADESCO’s end of the year despedida party. We watched movies in my hammock. We put up Christmas lights and stocking my Dad sent me around my house. We shared cups of coffee in the morning…I learned I make it way too strong. He met vaquito, my pup. He met the roosters in the morning at 5 am :D We machete’d up a tree that fell in my yard while I was gone. Well, he did- I had an hour viewing session.
But now, I wake up alone. I sit alone, yet again, at my coffee table. I put on music to drone out the silence…the loneliness. I hear the lines “tears taste the same when they splash on our face” and I think of him. I think of my family and my friends at home. I can’t wait to see them. I see the pictures on my walls. Maddie with long hair. My friends laughing at the bar. Standing with my sisters in the upstate waterfalls. My relatives at my grandma’s 80th birthday…that was 12 years ago??? Where does the time go?
I’ll have been here 11 months upon my first visit home. Could I have really been here 11 months? Do I really have 15 more? Will I make it? Will I come back after Christmas?
This will surely be another challenge. I can’t wait to be home. I couldn’t wait for Belize. For Jimmy to come. But it is hard now. I got used to living alone. I got used to my community. But to have someone here and then taken away is really hard. And now I will have all my friends and family at home within reach. And I’ll have to say goodbye once again. Ughh.
You know, some days its so easy. Alls it takes is a hug from Lili. A “Buenos Dias Corazon” from Jose. A movie in the hammock with Vaquito. The sunrise over the mountains. A walk down the trail to the waterfalls. Someone giving me their seat on the bus. El torogoz birdie perched on the tree outside my window chirping.
But other days its so hard. I want to see Amanda playing tennis… and I want to help her pass math! I want to meet up with Christina and Danielle in DC to have lunch. I want to put up Christmas lights with my Dad. I want to set the table while my Mom cooks dinner. I want to go running with Sam and then sit on the couch with her while she growls at Amanda. I want to see my Grandma on her new bike and eat her salami pie. I want to lay on her shoulder while she pets my head. I want to laugh with my friends at the diner and get dressed up and go out.
I think about my most recent meeting with Intervida. The guy in front of my playing with his machete. The girl to my left breast feeding a baby just 15 years younger than she. The girl to my right sporting prom shoes. The guy behind me passed out, head dangled forward, rocking a hat that reads “CRAZY”. How did I end up here?
I have learned a lot this past year. I have seen a lot and done a lot. But I have missed so much. And it will be so hard while I’m home to realize what I am going to be missing next year. I often forget while I’m down here that life is moving on at home. I forgot that it was summertime at home. I forgot seasons were passing and kids were graduating. I still think it will be February 2nd when I get home. Christina will be in high school and living at home. My friends, all how I left them. I just hope nothing changes too much. And that everyone will wait for me to move back in 2012!
I rushed around the house all morning. I ran to my neighbors house to buy some soap to wash clothes. I soak the clothes in a bucket of detergent, feed the pup, wipe down the tables from the cat pawprints from his nightly adventures (I need to get window panes!), seep, yoga, make breakfast, wash dishes, scrub clothes, hang clothes, feed pup…
I run out the door at 11:45am. I lock up and turn around. I face the neighbors horses in my yard…they have eaten all of my first corn harvest and parts of 2 banana trees. Shit, I left the gate open. Ughhh, I run back to the neighbors – how do I get out the caballos? “You just shooo them”- they demonstrate with hand signals. I run back to my yard. “Vaya, vaya!” I yell. I’m standing far too far behind them for my stick waving to have any effect but eventually they bore and trot out my gate. As I walk out behind them, I notice they reciprocated the favor on my shoe.
It was 12:10pm…”I’m early” I thought. Leo arrives at 12:30, he thinks he’s early. There’s chatting…I look at my watcvh…A few girls from my team are getting to the field…it’s 1:05pm. Still missing half the team. Leo is eating pan dulce and coffee….
All meetings conveniently end up starting promptly at 3pm. I run from one to the other. I give up. I stay at the ADESCO meeting. We need to discuss our upcoming Christmas event. We end up gossiping ¾ of the time. ½ of that time is about me. What do I do when I go to the capital? Am I dating Fidel? Brock? Am I gaining weight? Will I come back after I leave for Christmas?
Today, I think about that question. Okay, not to scare people, yes I will come back. But I just got back from vacation. I was in Belize for 5 days. I didn’t have to speak Spanish…but I did anyway. (Its hard to kick the “No, Gracias” habit towards street vendors). I didn’t have to wear long skirts or closed sandals. I didn’t have to say Salu 300 times a day or deny cold cervezas. I just relaxed.
I swam with sharks. I cave tubed and zip lined through the jungle. I layed on the beach and listened to reggae music. I saw dread locks instead of sombreros and I watched the sunset with Jimmy at my side. I felt the wind and salty sea water on my face sitting on the bow of boats. I heard “Ay whats up mon?” instead of “que tal vos?”. I fell in the sand practicing headstands instead of on cement floors and rocky soccer fields. I ate fresh fish instead of fried tortillas and I drank bottled Belikin instead of bags of water.
After 5 days of tranquility I returned to La Montanita…but this time with Jimmy. If 2 gringos at one time wasn’t enough excitement for my village…the names Jaime and Jimmy sure pushed them over the edge. We played cards for countless horas with the neighbors, ate bean soup and refried beans and beans nuevos and…We had a girls soccer tournament- well I did, he had a 3 hour viewing session. We went to a tourist center for the ADESCO’s end of the year despedida party. We watched movies in my hammock. We put up Christmas lights and stocking my Dad sent me around my house. We shared cups of coffee in the morning…I learned I make it way too strong. He met vaquito, my pup. He met the roosters in the morning at 5 am :D We machete’d up a tree that fell in my yard while I was gone. Well, he did- I had an hour viewing session.
But now, I wake up alone. I sit alone, yet again, at my coffee table. I put on music to drone out the silence…the loneliness. I hear the lines “tears taste the same when they splash on our face” and I think of him. I think of my family and my friends at home. I can’t wait to see them. I see the pictures on my walls. Maddie with long hair. My friends laughing at the bar. Standing with my sisters in the upstate waterfalls. My relatives at my grandma’s 80th birthday…that was 12 years ago??? Where does the time go?
I’ll have been here 11 months upon my first visit home. Could I have really been here 11 months? Do I really have 15 more? Will I make it? Will I come back after Christmas?
This will surely be another challenge. I can’t wait to be home. I couldn’t wait for Belize. For Jimmy to come. But it is hard now. I got used to living alone. I got used to my community. But to have someone here and then taken away is really hard. And now I will have all my friends and family at home within reach. And I’ll have to say goodbye once again. Ughh.
You know, some days its so easy. Alls it takes is a hug from Lili. A “Buenos Dias Corazon” from Jose. A movie in the hammock with Vaquito. The sunrise over the mountains. A walk down the trail to the waterfalls. Someone giving me their seat on the bus. El torogoz birdie perched on the tree outside my window chirping.
But other days its so hard. I want to see Amanda playing tennis… and I want to help her pass math! I want to meet up with Christina and Danielle in DC to have lunch. I want to put up Christmas lights with my Dad. I want to set the table while my Mom cooks dinner. I want to go running with Sam and then sit on the couch with her while she growls at Amanda. I want to see my Grandma on her new bike and eat her salami pie. I want to lay on her shoulder while she pets my head. I want to laugh with my friends at the diner and get dressed up and go out.
I think about my most recent meeting with Intervida. The guy in front of my playing with his machete. The girl to my left breast feeding a baby just 15 years younger than she. The girl to my right sporting prom shoes. The guy behind me passed out, head dangled forward, rocking a hat that reads “CRAZY”. How did I end up here?
I have learned a lot this past year. I have seen a lot and done a lot. But I have missed so much. And it will be so hard while I’m home to realize what I am going to be missing next year. I often forget while I’m down here that life is moving on at home. I forgot that it was summertime at home. I forgot seasons were passing and kids were graduating. I still think it will be February 2nd when I get home. Christina will be in high school and living at home. My friends, all how I left them. I just hope nothing changes too much. And that everyone will wait for me to move back in 2012!
Friday, November 5, 2010
Zapo Verde
"Zapo Verde" literally translates into Green Frog. A lot of community members from La Montana said this to me this week. When pronounced, it sounds like Happy Birthday in English. It is very amusing to my amigos aqui...
I have smiled a lot the past few days. My birthday, lets be honest, really is not a big deal. I turned 23...not a monumental age...and the celebration was not meant to be anything grandiose. I did not tell many people about my birthday but I wanted to use the day as an excuse to sit around with all my favorite community members.
One of my counterparts and dear friends made me a lovely birhtday lunch...sponsored by another pc volunteer and friend...and then we headed to my house for a small cake I purchased. I invited my closest neighbors in the vicinity...totaling about 15 kids. I turned around with cake in my hand and looked into the eyes of 78 toothless smiling little faces.
My other counterpart showed up with a pinata and we all held flashlights as kids dodged the swinging piece of wood in Jose's hands. I took pictures and laughed as the kids ran all over the place. I tried to rescue little Vacito from the trampling feet as best as I could. And I accepted the dirty hands smearing cake cream all over my face. Unfortunately, the small cake only allowed less than a sliver for each child, but no one complained...although I did spend most of the rest of the night picking up paper plates and candy wrappers from every corner of my house and yard.
I spent the rest of the night cleaning, burning trash and packing for a long weekend. I woke up at 3am to shower in the pitch blackness but serenity of the night/morning and soon began my journey across the country. I barely put my phone down throughout the day, reading texts and answering calls from my far away family and friends...and my cheeks are still sore from smiling.
I was thrilled to receive a call from the PC El Salvador country director inviting me to participate in an international event at the US Embassy next weekend. Did I say that I won a Grant to support my Artesania group from the US Embassy? Things are going pretty well.
Excited to continue the night celebrating with my awesome Peace Corps friends...Chelsea wants a shout out for her awesomeness in particular...and will bring more updates next time. For now, thanks to all of you my dear family and friends! I love and miss you all!!!
I have smiled a lot the past few days. My birthday, lets be honest, really is not a big deal. I turned 23...not a monumental age...and the celebration was not meant to be anything grandiose. I did not tell many people about my birthday but I wanted to use the day as an excuse to sit around with all my favorite community members.
One of my counterparts and dear friends made me a lovely birhtday lunch...sponsored by another pc volunteer and friend...and then we headed to my house for a small cake I purchased. I invited my closest neighbors in the vicinity...totaling about 15 kids. I turned around with cake in my hand and looked into the eyes of 78 toothless smiling little faces.
My other counterpart showed up with a pinata and we all held flashlights as kids dodged the swinging piece of wood in Jose's hands. I took pictures and laughed as the kids ran all over the place. I tried to rescue little Vacito from the trampling feet as best as I could. And I accepted the dirty hands smearing cake cream all over my face. Unfortunately, the small cake only allowed less than a sliver for each child, but no one complained...although I did spend most of the rest of the night picking up paper plates and candy wrappers from every corner of my house and yard.
I spent the rest of the night cleaning, burning trash and packing for a long weekend. I woke up at 3am to shower in the pitch blackness but serenity of the night/morning and soon began my journey across the country. I barely put my phone down throughout the day, reading texts and answering calls from my far away family and friends...and my cheeks are still sore from smiling.
I was thrilled to receive a call from the PC El Salvador country director inviting me to participate in an international event at the US Embassy next weekend. Did I say that I won a Grant to support my Artesania group from the US Embassy? Things are going pretty well.
Excited to continue the night celebrating with my awesome Peace Corps friends...Chelsea wants a shout out for her awesomeness in particular...and will bring more updates next time. For now, thanks to all of you my dear family and friends! I love and miss you all!!!
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
A Christmas Miracle
Okay, I know it has been awhile. Perdon. And I actually have a few good stories to share. Espereme. But first things first.
MIRACLE #1:
A local community organization would like to setup a Christmas event for my community. The community will be providing the staff, food, music, pinatas, etc. My counterpart, a sweet lady named Dora, who I am very close with, has asked me to help donate gifts. We are going to put on an event so that the children can come celebrate Christmas and win some small toys.
That being said, if anyone is interested, please send any cheap, small toys, games to the follow address. USPS ONLY.
Jaime Posa & Maria Auxiliadora Sorto Sanchez
Barrio Centro
Municipio de Osicala
Departamento de Morazan
El Salvador
America Central
I have never had a problem receiving mail to this address as long as it is sent USPS. However, it is a little pricey so, con cuidado. If you would like to help out in another way, please email me. Posa.Jaime@gmail.com. There are other options I have in mind and I'd be more than willing to work with you!!!
Suggested items:
Think Cheap! Seriously!!
Decks of Cards
Balls
Stuffed Animals
Bubbles
Marbles
Spanish Books
Grocery Store Toys
Soccer ball pump!
Nothing big, fancy, elaborate or expensive. They won't know or cherish it's value!
MIRACLE #2
One of my schools is looking to set up a computer lab. There is an organization that Peace Corps is currently working with that sells cheap computers to schools and institutions here. If you would like to help out or have any ideas for projects, please contact me: posa.jaime@gmail.com
MIRACLE #3
Okay, my Birthday is next week and Christmas is coming up. I would ask that if you have any desire to buy/send me something, do it in the name of my community. Please contact me or my sister Danielle first if you are thinking about it so I can make sure there are no duplicates. Here are my thoughts:
1. You help out with one of the above projects.
2. My girls soccer team would LOVE some uniforms, so we could have a full set. I was thinking it would be awesome to get their names on the back...but we'll see about that.
3. We also need a soccer ball pump and whistle. Any other accessories you have lying around. But again, contact me!
4. I would love to set up a women's exercise class. Yoga Mats would be ideal. Plus healthy snacks as rewards/motivations. And to remind them, chips are not a good dinner plate!
Feel free to email me at anytime. I love to hear from you!
My next blog will have some interesting updates and stories. Te Prometo!
lots of love
MIRACLE #1:
A local community organization would like to setup a Christmas event for my community. The community will be providing the staff, food, music, pinatas, etc. My counterpart, a sweet lady named Dora, who I am very close with, has asked me to help donate gifts. We are going to put on an event so that the children can come celebrate Christmas and win some small toys.
That being said, if anyone is interested, please send any cheap, small toys, games to the follow address. USPS ONLY.
Jaime Posa & Maria Auxiliadora Sorto Sanchez
Barrio Centro
Municipio de Osicala
Departamento de Morazan
El Salvador
America Central
I have never had a problem receiving mail to this address as long as it is sent USPS. However, it is a little pricey so, con cuidado. If you would like to help out in another way, please email me. Posa.Jaime@gmail.com. There are other options I have in mind and I'd be more than willing to work with you!!!
Suggested items:
Think Cheap! Seriously!!
Decks of Cards
Balls
Stuffed Animals
Bubbles
Marbles
Spanish Books
Grocery Store Toys
Soccer ball pump!
Nothing big, fancy, elaborate or expensive. They won't know or cherish it's value!
MIRACLE #2
One of my schools is looking to set up a computer lab. There is an organization that Peace Corps is currently working with that sells cheap computers to schools and institutions here. If you would like to help out or have any ideas for projects, please contact me: posa.jaime@gmail.com
MIRACLE #3
Okay, my Birthday is next week and Christmas is coming up. I would ask that if you have any desire to buy/send me something, do it in the name of my community. Please contact me or my sister Danielle first if you are thinking about it so I can make sure there are no duplicates. Here are my thoughts:
1. You help out with one of the above projects.
2. My girls soccer team would LOVE some uniforms, so we could have a full set. I was thinking it would be awesome to get their names on the back...but we'll see about that.
3. We also need a soccer ball pump and whistle. Any other accessories you have lying around. But again, contact me!
4. I would love to set up a women's exercise class. Yoga Mats would be ideal. Plus healthy snacks as rewards/motivations. And to remind them, chips are not a good dinner plate!
Feel free to email me at anytime. I love to hear from you!
My next blog will have some interesting updates and stories. Te Prometo!
lots of love
Sunday, October 10, 2010
Happiness
I woke up shivering this morning. I tossed and turned for a little bit. I thought to myself… I’ve rested enough that it’s time to get up. But I don’t want to untie myself from the cozy ball of my blankets. I’m still cold. And I have to pee. I want my sweater. And I want my latrine. I turn and look up at my “ceiling”. There is a little bit of light peeking through the crack in the middle, but not enough to illuminate the room. I estimate it’s 5:30am. I pull back the mosquitero, climb under, and slip on my flip flops. I reach for my phone from the shelf where service hits and look at it from beneath squinting, sleepy eyes. 5:26am. I pull my sweater over my head and head outside.
It’s so quiet at this time and I smile when I look around me. It’s been 8 months. Will this view ever get old? Will the backdrop of the mountains and the pearly white waterfall in the distance ever seize to inspire me? Will I forget the way the clouds blanket my neighbor’s farm at dawn? Will I miss the sound of crickets, birds, roosters and cows? I barely hear them anymore. It’s just music in the background now. It’s just so quiet. Well…it was. There goes Carolina’s music echoing from down by the futbol field. “And still I see no changes…” is now rapping through La Montanita. Pues, Tupac, ya tenemos a black President.
I turn on the water faucet with my small coffee tin in hand. Shit, no water. Good excuse not to shower today? It’s so cold! My mind flashes to my US bathroom. Less than 3 months until hot water…
I scoop some agua up from the water basin. I peer down into it. No mosquito larva? Cool. Luckily, I cleaned the pila Thursday. I put the water on the stove and wait for it to boil. I can already smell the coffee and I haven’t even opened the bag. I wonder how crack addicts do it.
Its 5:45am. I have 2 meetings today… First one being at 10am- girls’ soccer team practice. I’m still so proud of them for playing their first game without me being there. Sustainability! (INSERT: Request for friends and family at home to send an old soccer cleats you have lying around. 80% of my team plays barefoot…if you think that’s impressive you should see the “field”. Not exactly the Pville turf.) Second meeting, Artesania. I’m so happy that at least 20 youth have been showing up every Saturday. We are learning how to make a lot of cool stuff and I hope to start selling in the next few months. (INSERT: Let me know if you would be interested in buying!) I’m really proud of them for also managing their own fundraiser. Man people can be shy here. Selling raffle tickets to a bunch of strangers started out as a terrifying day. But I was really proud of my girls who ended up selling over 60 tickets. Anyway… I have 2 meetings today… I should start planning. But I’m still cold and my eyes are still sleeping. My hammock is just swaying there taunting me. I pull my blanket off my bed, wrap it around my shoulders, put on some socks (Is it really this cold? December in New York?) and grab “Buddha” (the book) off my table.
“You’d be better off with an honest living that doesn’t depend on another man’s sweat”
…I read after 20 minutes of hammock time. I think about my future. In a year and a half, I return to the states.
Wandering down the streets saying hello to friends and sharing many cups of coffee will be esoteric. A workday consisting of running the soccer field will be non-existent. And trying to find a job that is not 9-5pm is unheard of. I worry about my future. I think about this statement above. I want to work hard and I want an honest job. I want to appreciate life. I like to believe money is not that important… but than again I’ve never lived poor. I’ve never really struggled. Even now, lets face it, I have privileges my community does not. I want a job I love, I want to say “who cares what it pays if I love it” but I also want to support my family. I want to be able to give them everything. Will it be possible?
I underline this part of the book and head outside. Again, I am taken aback by the site before me. Am I crazy? Too much of a visionary? Will reality someday hit me and I won’t see the beauty in all that is simply before me? Whatever. Right now, I am happy. I take a deep breath and stretch my arms up to the sky. Ah I am so lucky. I want to feel this way forever.
It’s so quiet at this time and I smile when I look around me. It’s been 8 months. Will this view ever get old? Will the backdrop of the mountains and the pearly white waterfall in the distance ever seize to inspire me? Will I forget the way the clouds blanket my neighbor’s farm at dawn? Will I miss the sound of crickets, birds, roosters and cows? I barely hear them anymore. It’s just music in the background now. It’s just so quiet. Well…it was. There goes Carolina’s music echoing from down by the futbol field. “And still I see no changes…” is now rapping through La Montanita. Pues, Tupac, ya tenemos a black President.
I turn on the water faucet with my small coffee tin in hand. Shit, no water. Good excuse not to shower today? It’s so cold! My mind flashes to my US bathroom. Less than 3 months until hot water…
I scoop some agua up from the water basin. I peer down into it. No mosquito larva? Cool. Luckily, I cleaned the pila Thursday. I put the water on the stove and wait for it to boil. I can already smell the coffee and I haven’t even opened the bag. I wonder how crack addicts do it.
Its 5:45am. I have 2 meetings today… First one being at 10am- girls’ soccer team practice. I’m still so proud of them for playing their first game without me being there. Sustainability! (INSERT: Request for friends and family at home to send an old soccer cleats you have lying around. 80% of my team plays barefoot…if you think that’s impressive you should see the “field”. Not exactly the Pville turf.) Second meeting, Artesania. I’m so happy that at least 20 youth have been showing up every Saturday. We are learning how to make a lot of cool stuff and I hope to start selling in the next few months. (INSERT: Let me know if you would be interested in buying!) I’m really proud of them for also managing their own fundraiser. Man people can be shy here. Selling raffle tickets to a bunch of strangers started out as a terrifying day. But I was really proud of my girls who ended up selling over 60 tickets. Anyway… I have 2 meetings today… I should start planning. But I’m still cold and my eyes are still sleeping. My hammock is just swaying there taunting me. I pull my blanket off my bed, wrap it around my shoulders, put on some socks (Is it really this cold? December in New York?) and grab “Buddha” (the book) off my table.
“You’d be better off with an honest living that doesn’t depend on another man’s sweat”
…I read after 20 minutes of hammock time. I think about my future. In a year and a half, I return to the states.
Wandering down the streets saying hello to friends and sharing many cups of coffee will be esoteric. A workday consisting of running the soccer field will be non-existent. And trying to find a job that is not 9-5pm is unheard of. I worry about my future. I think about this statement above. I want to work hard and I want an honest job. I want to appreciate life. I like to believe money is not that important… but than again I’ve never lived poor. I’ve never really struggled. Even now, lets face it, I have privileges my community does not. I want a job I love, I want to say “who cares what it pays if I love it” but I also want to support my family. I want to be able to give them everything. Will it be possible?
I underline this part of the book and head outside. Again, I am taken aback by the site before me. Am I crazy? Too much of a visionary? Will reality someday hit me and I won’t see the beauty in all that is simply before me? Whatever. Right now, I am happy. I take a deep breath and stretch my arms up to the sky. Ah I am so lucky. I want to feel this way forever.
Thursday, September 30, 2010
November Rain
Sometimes when I’m writing these blogs, I forget that they are public. I am writing what is on my mind without the intention of offending, pleasing, entertaining, confusing or scaring anyone. I am just writing what’s on my mind. Today, my mind is heavy. So I don’t know how this blog will end up.
I feel like this:
You see that glass of anisette before you? Now you just see anisette. I, on the other hand, because I need to be inside everything I do, see the plant it came from, the storms the plant endured, the hand that picked the grain, the voyage by ship from another land, the smells and colors with which the plant allowed itself to be imbued before it was placed in the alcohol. If I were to paint this scene, I would paint all those things, even though, when you saw the painting, you would think you were looking at a simple glass of anisette.
-Paulo Coehlo, Eleven Minutes
24 year old Maria* was intriguing from the day I met her. She boasted about her 5 year old daughter who is excelling ambitiously in school and just won a dollar for dancing the best at Student Appreciation Day. Maria is beautiful without trying and so animated when she speaks that sometimes you have to remind yourself to blink. She shows up to meetings on time and participates willingly. Maria greets me by my name everytime she sees me. But just the other day I learned about a new side of Maria. She was orphaned at the age of 3 and moved houses a lot with her only sister, growing up without a home. She fell into the hands of an abusive boyfriend who is now the father of her child and owner of her house. She desperately wanted to continue her studies and to be a professional and now she needs to get permission from this man to leave her house, and who knows what awaits her when she returns.
6 year old Saira lives with her grandma and family of her 3 year old cousin, Katie. She doesn’t know her father, who left for the States while her teenage mother was pregnant. The same mother now lives 2 hours away and seldom comes to visit. Saira calls her mother by her first name. Katie is the baby and cute as a button. While Saira is washing dishes, Katie is playing with new toys her grandma brought from the market. When grandma comes home with 2 new pairs of shoes, and Katie likes Saira’s better, Katie gets those shoes. Katie whines and cries for the shoes loudly, but Saira weeps. Saira is quiet and often falls out of the picture. But her eyes light up when you acknowledge her.
I had all of my students write down 3 things they like on the back of their name tags. Many read like this:
-I like to look for firewood for the house
-I like to clean the house (coming from a young boy)
-I like to wash dishes
-I like to spend time with my family
-I like to help my mom
I smiled reading them. I don’t see little Joanna anymore. I see a 7 year old girl, proud to contribute to the family work. I don’t see Erick, but an innocent boy who does not know what “machismo” is and is happy to help with household chores. I see kids who are appreciative, hard-working and beautiful; each in their own way.
I think about how I saw my community when I first, first walked in. I saw a broken road, heard noisy farm animals and smelled burning trash. I felt the dirt floors I walked on and did not understand the language that passed through my ears. I thought to myself, how different this place is.
But now, I see my community. I didn’t see it before. I see the suffering, the struggles and the hardships. I see the longing, the hope and the aspirations. I see the kindness, the warmth and the selflessness. I don’t see Maria and Saira anymore. I don’t see my students or my canton. I see much more. When Maria greets me, I see a strong woman who is lost and asking for help. I see strength and determination in her eyes but I can feel the weight of the chains pulling her back. When Saira runs up and throws her arms around me, I don’t see a 6 year old child. I see a heart throbbing for love. I don’t feel her hug, I feel her relief. I think about people from back home and realize how similar this place is.
It is raining non-stop for day 6 now. I have not seen the sky since last Friday and the past 2 days I have not even been able to see the tree tops. Classes are canceled til Monday. The country is alternating between Red and Orange Alert, while evacuating thousands of people and clearing countless landslides. My road is flooded and my washed clothes still hang sopping wet on my lines. The rain pounds hard on my tin roof, but I don’t hear it.
*The stories are real but the names have been changed.
I feel like this:
You see that glass of anisette before you? Now you just see anisette. I, on the other hand, because I need to be inside everything I do, see the plant it came from, the storms the plant endured, the hand that picked the grain, the voyage by ship from another land, the smells and colors with which the plant allowed itself to be imbued before it was placed in the alcohol. If I were to paint this scene, I would paint all those things, even though, when you saw the painting, you would think you were looking at a simple glass of anisette.
-Paulo Coehlo, Eleven Minutes
24 year old Maria* was intriguing from the day I met her. She boasted about her 5 year old daughter who is excelling ambitiously in school and just won a dollar for dancing the best at Student Appreciation Day. Maria is beautiful without trying and so animated when she speaks that sometimes you have to remind yourself to blink. She shows up to meetings on time and participates willingly. Maria greets me by my name everytime she sees me. But just the other day I learned about a new side of Maria. She was orphaned at the age of 3 and moved houses a lot with her only sister, growing up without a home. She fell into the hands of an abusive boyfriend who is now the father of her child and owner of her house. She desperately wanted to continue her studies and to be a professional and now she needs to get permission from this man to leave her house, and who knows what awaits her when she returns.
6 year old Saira lives with her grandma and family of her 3 year old cousin, Katie. She doesn’t know her father, who left for the States while her teenage mother was pregnant. The same mother now lives 2 hours away and seldom comes to visit. Saira calls her mother by her first name. Katie is the baby and cute as a button. While Saira is washing dishes, Katie is playing with new toys her grandma brought from the market. When grandma comes home with 2 new pairs of shoes, and Katie likes Saira’s better, Katie gets those shoes. Katie whines and cries for the shoes loudly, but Saira weeps. Saira is quiet and often falls out of the picture. But her eyes light up when you acknowledge her.
I had all of my students write down 3 things they like on the back of their name tags. Many read like this:
-I like to look for firewood for the house
-I like to clean the house (coming from a young boy)
-I like to wash dishes
-I like to spend time with my family
-I like to help my mom
I smiled reading them. I don’t see little Joanna anymore. I see a 7 year old girl, proud to contribute to the family work. I don’t see Erick, but an innocent boy who does not know what “machismo” is and is happy to help with household chores. I see kids who are appreciative, hard-working and beautiful; each in their own way.
I think about how I saw my community when I first, first walked in. I saw a broken road, heard noisy farm animals and smelled burning trash. I felt the dirt floors I walked on and did not understand the language that passed through my ears. I thought to myself, how different this place is.
But now, I see my community. I didn’t see it before. I see the suffering, the struggles and the hardships. I see the longing, the hope and the aspirations. I see the kindness, the warmth and the selflessness. I don’t see Maria and Saira anymore. I don’t see my students or my canton. I see much more. When Maria greets me, I see a strong woman who is lost and asking for help. I see strength and determination in her eyes but I can feel the weight of the chains pulling her back. When Saira runs up and throws her arms around me, I don’t see a 6 year old child. I see a heart throbbing for love. I don’t feel her hug, I feel her relief. I think about people from back home and realize how similar this place is.
It is raining non-stop for day 6 now. I have not seen the sky since last Friday and the past 2 days I have not even been able to see the tree tops. Classes are canceled til Monday. The country is alternating between Red and Orange Alert, while evacuating thousands of people and clearing countless landslides. My road is flooded and my washed clothes still hang sopping wet on my lines. The rain pounds hard on my tin roof, but I don’t hear it.
*The stories are real but the names have been changed.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Independence Day
Tomorrow, the 15th of September, marks Independence Day for El Salvador. Today, I finished celebration #2, and am awaiting #3 tomorrow. As much as I am enjoying this time, seeing my community have pride in their country, I can´t help but think back on my past celebrations of Independence Day in the US. Sitting on the front of the boat with high school friends and my Dad up at the wheel, the Macy´s fireworks sprinking down upon us.
My days pass as usual. Moments of ¨what in the hell am I doing here¨ and moments of gratitude for this opportunity. I quickly looked away as we passed a dead horse, splayed in the middle of the road on our way back from town. I thought about how precious life is. I ignored the graffiti´d walls of the nearby canton and acted oblivious to the whistles from the men lurking in front.
But I turned and smiled at Naun as he yelled ¨Salu Nina Jaime!¨, as I hopped off the back of the pickup, passing a quarter to the driver and grabbing my basket off the dirt road. As the truck left me in the dust, I hesitated upon opening the fence to my little farmhouse. ¨I am so lucky.¨ I thought with a smile as I looked out at the view of the mountains and a trace of a waterfall in the distance. What a beautiful world.
I find myself having numerous moments like this. Moments that make me take a deep breathe and inhale all that is wonderful around me. Moments that make me close my eyelids and take a moment to appreciate everything before me. Moments where I smile from the beautiful thoughts that come to my mind from my precious community in the mountains. Even moments that brings tears to my eyes, but I´m not quite sure why.
I open my tiny square window in the morning to let in some light. I watch silently as Lesli and cousin Kilmer, my 6 year old nieghbors, splash happily through the giant puddles the nighttime rain has left. Their giggles make it impossible for me not to crack a grin and the buckets of ground corn they wear on their back seem weightless. This country holds so many stories...
With the news of a flight available to send me home for Christmas, I find myself spending most waking hours thinking about it. What will I do? What am I going to wear? What should I bring home? Will I remember to throw the toilet paper INSIDE the bowl? I actually started convince myself that this trip was going to be next week, instead of about 4 months away. I am more than ecstatic to see my family and friends, to shower with hot water, to eat a toasted bagel and new york pizza, to curl up on a couch with a blanket, to go running with Sam, to watch a tv...in English...and a show NOT being a soap opera...but mostly, to see my family and friends. I miss everyone so much.
And all the pride that is being spread this week in the name of El Salvador´s Independence Day, makes me all the more homesick. I am so proud to be here during this time and I am also really proud to be an American.
Some other more light-hearted news:
I believe I have acquired myself a new dog. A mangy street hound, also known here as a chucho, has set up shop on my patio-like-area. One day I was doing some cleaning and came across what used to be (before some insect munched it to pieces) a bag of Barro´s dog food. I threw it into the yard, where my new chucho came-a-running. Terribly ugly, I thought, he´s kinda cute, and threw him some more of Barro´s old junk I found. He hung out for awhile, but as the day passed he set out to look for Tramp and the junkyard dogs. Last night, I walked out to find chucho curled in a ball in the only spot my patio roof wasn´t leaking from a massive storm that hit us last night. I smiled. I kinda like my new dog.
My days pass as usual. Moments of ¨what in the hell am I doing here¨ and moments of gratitude for this opportunity. I quickly looked away as we passed a dead horse, splayed in the middle of the road on our way back from town. I thought about how precious life is. I ignored the graffiti´d walls of the nearby canton and acted oblivious to the whistles from the men lurking in front.
But I turned and smiled at Naun as he yelled ¨Salu Nina Jaime!¨, as I hopped off the back of the pickup, passing a quarter to the driver and grabbing my basket off the dirt road. As the truck left me in the dust, I hesitated upon opening the fence to my little farmhouse. ¨I am so lucky.¨ I thought with a smile as I looked out at the view of the mountains and a trace of a waterfall in the distance. What a beautiful world.
I find myself having numerous moments like this. Moments that make me take a deep breathe and inhale all that is wonderful around me. Moments that make me close my eyelids and take a moment to appreciate everything before me. Moments where I smile from the beautiful thoughts that come to my mind from my precious community in the mountains. Even moments that brings tears to my eyes, but I´m not quite sure why.
I open my tiny square window in the morning to let in some light. I watch silently as Lesli and cousin Kilmer, my 6 year old nieghbors, splash happily through the giant puddles the nighttime rain has left. Their giggles make it impossible for me not to crack a grin and the buckets of ground corn they wear on their back seem weightless. This country holds so many stories...
With the news of a flight available to send me home for Christmas, I find myself spending most waking hours thinking about it. What will I do? What am I going to wear? What should I bring home? Will I remember to throw the toilet paper INSIDE the bowl? I actually started convince myself that this trip was going to be next week, instead of about 4 months away. I am more than ecstatic to see my family and friends, to shower with hot water, to eat a toasted bagel and new york pizza, to curl up on a couch with a blanket, to go running with Sam, to watch a tv...in English...and a show NOT being a soap opera...but mostly, to see my family and friends. I miss everyone so much.
And all the pride that is being spread this week in the name of El Salvador´s Independence Day, makes me all the more homesick. I am so proud to be here during this time and I am also really proud to be an American.
Some other more light-hearted news:
I believe I have acquired myself a new dog. A mangy street hound, also known here as a chucho, has set up shop on my patio-like-area. One day I was doing some cleaning and came across what used to be (before some insect munched it to pieces) a bag of Barro´s dog food. I threw it into the yard, where my new chucho came-a-running. Terribly ugly, I thought, he´s kinda cute, and threw him some more of Barro´s old junk I found. He hung out for awhile, but as the day passed he set out to look for Tramp and the junkyard dogs. Last night, I walked out to find chucho curled in a ball in the only spot my patio roof wasn´t leaking from a massive storm that hit us last night. I smiled. I kinda like my new dog.
Thursday, September 2, 2010
Doble de Posa
Double Posa has officially ended and I am back to being the sole gringa in La Montana. Having my sister here for a week was an experience that I will undoubtedly remember forever. As I hand wash mounds of ropa, shaking away shards of glass and scrubbing out mud stains, I reminisce on the excitement we shared in just 7 short days. I’m filled with beautiful memories of our time together, yet overwhelmed with the current absence of her presence. My shelves are now filled with foreign food and unread novels, but my second coffee cup is empty at my table in the morning. I am so very grateful for everything my sister brought me, but it was HER that made our time so special and not the tangible amenities she spoiled me with.
I woke up at 3:30am and hitched a ride with my neighbor / landlord at 4am to the town center. I hopped out at 4:30, not a street light around, leaving behind a bottle of water, umbrella and banana in the car; 3 very missed items on a long bus ride in the rainy season. At 5am I waited for bus #2, still in absolute darkness, waiting for the door to open so I could choose my temporary bed for the next 3 hours. Que lastima que a friend recognized me and started up a rather un-entertaining conversation for me at the ass crack of dawn. About an hour into the trip, I politely said “please stop talking so I can go to sleep” and promptly passed out on the window pane. I awoke to the chanting of “terminal oriente, el terminal, terminal!, opened one eye to a slew of buses out the window and slowly prepared myself for bus #3.
I treated myself to a nice breakfast without 1 egg, nor 1 bean, reveled in an ice coffee and an air conditioned restaurant and reminded myself of the few things to be grateful for in the capital. Next, a cab to the shuttle, which was probably 3minutes away and yet cost me 4 dollars. I paid the same price to travel 3hours in the bus from my department to the capital. Again, que lastima. Then, I waited for the 10am shuttle to the airport, which would have been quite a pleasant little trip since I was the only one in there, had it not been for creepy looks and smiles from the driver via the rear view mirror.
Needless to say, I was ecstatic to see my sister emerge from the baggage claim area. My first visitor and family member I had seen in over 6 months, I was shaking from head to toe with excitement. I, for one moment, shared with the Salvadorans the excitement at seeing a gringa and just about whistled. Her backpack bulged like Santa Claus and side by side may have been bigger than her, and yet she came with just the clothes on her back. Fortunately, we had a rental car and I realized just how different the country is with your own set of wheels. The car itself is a long story on its own, but maybe Danielle will like to share that with you….
We headed off for la playa Tunco (that’s a beach) where we enjoyed the sun with friends for a couple of nights. Avoiding bolos walking down the beach, hooka nights and bar dancing, ice-coffee mornings at Dale Dale, learning to hammock and loving Anonas.
Leaving the beach was hard, physically and emotionally, but I was ecstatic to show my sister the community I live in. Albeit we had a few detours, and a 5 hour trip became more of a 9, we made it safe and sound.
We spent Sunday shopping at the morning market. We got some great CDs for 1 dolar, (can you pronounce “dolar” correctly yet?) and made a show haggling for some machetes. Danielle got her first “tipico”, eggs and beans, for lunch and then we crammed the bus to head back to my community.
I introduced Danielle to about 20 families and 20 conversations started the exact same way. “Pero como se parecen! Casi gemelas. Ella es la menor?” Yes we look alike. No we’re not twins. And No, I am not older. I wasn’t convinced that this was an insult…until someone asked if I was her mom.
I then took Danielle to our Adult Literacy Class…and she received a hand-made bag from one of the members (where’s mine?) She purchased the first hammock made by our community members :D and enough jewelry from my Artesania leader to allow him to leave work for the day and hike us through the mountains to the waterfalls. We house visited a bunch of families…of which one killed, roasted with spices and delivered to my house a full chicken. Try the “huevitos” the lady insisted. Questioning whether or not I was about to bite into the chicken’s balls entered my mind but I pushed it out as my cook watched me smiling.
My sister and I spent some quality time talking in my house, which ended in Danielle passing out in the hammock and me going for a walk to buy some stuff to make lunch. And soon we headed out for our next destination. We had to drive across country because I had another few days of training with a bunch of volunteers. She made the most of the time there, although I wish we could have spent the time doing other stuff together. But still, I was happy many of the other volunteers got to meet her.
Parting was hard, and almost a week later, I still gravely miss having my sister around. I still see her awkwardly approaching the hammock, certain its about to topple. I miss the nutella-choco-bananas. I’m still making-up car stories to the villagers. I had to put up 2 extra clothes lines to dry all the clothes we wore. My bed feels bigger than ever. I have yet to convince Freddy that Danielle does not want a long distance relationship with him. 5 community members are making hammocks because they think she will buy them all. After I answer the questions “when did she leave” I have to answer “when is she coming back”. And I long for internet connection in my house so I could flip through the pictures of our time together. It would be easier if the community would stop asking about her! Especially the police…..
I woke up at 3:30am and hitched a ride with my neighbor / landlord at 4am to the town center. I hopped out at 4:30, not a street light around, leaving behind a bottle of water, umbrella and banana in the car; 3 very missed items on a long bus ride in the rainy season. At 5am I waited for bus #2, still in absolute darkness, waiting for the door to open so I could choose my temporary bed for the next 3 hours. Que lastima que a friend recognized me and started up a rather un-entertaining conversation for me at the ass crack of dawn. About an hour into the trip, I politely said “please stop talking so I can go to sleep” and promptly passed out on the window pane. I awoke to the chanting of “terminal oriente, el terminal, terminal!, opened one eye to a slew of buses out the window and slowly prepared myself for bus #3.
I treated myself to a nice breakfast without 1 egg, nor 1 bean, reveled in an ice coffee and an air conditioned restaurant and reminded myself of the few things to be grateful for in the capital. Next, a cab to the shuttle, which was probably 3minutes away and yet cost me 4 dollars. I paid the same price to travel 3hours in the bus from my department to the capital. Again, que lastima. Then, I waited for the 10am shuttle to the airport, which would have been quite a pleasant little trip since I was the only one in there, had it not been for creepy looks and smiles from the driver via the rear view mirror.
Needless to say, I was ecstatic to see my sister emerge from the baggage claim area. My first visitor and family member I had seen in over 6 months, I was shaking from head to toe with excitement. I, for one moment, shared with the Salvadorans the excitement at seeing a gringa and just about whistled. Her backpack bulged like Santa Claus and side by side may have been bigger than her, and yet she came with just the clothes on her back. Fortunately, we had a rental car and I realized just how different the country is with your own set of wheels. The car itself is a long story on its own, but maybe Danielle will like to share that with you….
We headed off for la playa Tunco (that’s a beach) where we enjoyed the sun with friends for a couple of nights. Avoiding bolos walking down the beach, hooka nights and bar dancing, ice-coffee mornings at Dale Dale, learning to hammock and loving Anonas.
Leaving the beach was hard, physically and emotionally, but I was ecstatic to show my sister the community I live in. Albeit we had a few detours, and a 5 hour trip became more of a 9, we made it safe and sound.
We spent Sunday shopping at the morning market. We got some great CDs for 1 dolar, (can you pronounce “dolar” correctly yet?) and made a show haggling for some machetes. Danielle got her first “tipico”, eggs and beans, for lunch and then we crammed the bus to head back to my community.
I introduced Danielle to about 20 families and 20 conversations started the exact same way. “Pero como se parecen! Casi gemelas. Ella es la menor?” Yes we look alike. No we’re not twins. And No, I am not older. I wasn’t convinced that this was an insult…until someone asked if I was her mom.
I then took Danielle to our Adult Literacy Class…and she received a hand-made bag from one of the members (where’s mine?) She purchased the first hammock made by our community members :D and enough jewelry from my Artesania leader to allow him to leave work for the day and hike us through the mountains to the waterfalls. We house visited a bunch of families…of which one killed, roasted with spices and delivered to my house a full chicken. Try the “huevitos” the lady insisted. Questioning whether or not I was about to bite into the chicken’s balls entered my mind but I pushed it out as my cook watched me smiling.
My sister and I spent some quality time talking in my house, which ended in Danielle passing out in the hammock and me going for a walk to buy some stuff to make lunch. And soon we headed out for our next destination. We had to drive across country because I had another few days of training with a bunch of volunteers. She made the most of the time there, although I wish we could have spent the time doing other stuff together. But still, I was happy many of the other volunteers got to meet her.
Parting was hard, and almost a week later, I still gravely miss having my sister around. I still see her awkwardly approaching the hammock, certain its about to topple. I miss the nutella-choco-bananas. I’m still making-up car stories to the villagers. I had to put up 2 extra clothes lines to dry all the clothes we wore. My bed feels bigger than ever. I have yet to convince Freddy that Danielle does not want a long distance relationship with him. 5 community members are making hammocks because they think she will buy them all. After I answer the questions “when did she leave” I have to answer “when is she coming back”. And I long for internet connection in my house so I could flip through the pictures of our time together. It would be easier if the community would stop asking about her! Especially the police…..
Monday, August 9, 2010
The Beauty of Rain
“CALIFORNIAAAA, Here we coooooome!” I really appreciate the torrential downpours on my tin roof during moments like these. Nothing feels better than belting the words to The OC’s theme song in bed at 7pm on a Friday night. Especially when you know no one can hear you.
Unfortunately, being that it rains everyday, usually twice now, I have gotten really used to singing at the top of my lungs in the comfort of my own home. The problem is, I forget sometimes that its NOT raining. And I don’t have window panes. I was mid-lyrics of “No es amooor, lo que tu sientes…”, sung an octave too high for me and arms outstretched in yoga’s volcano pose. My head tilted just far back enough to meet the eyes of my neighbors peering through my window with a bucket of my clothes on their head. Oh how I wished it were raining at that moment. If they didn’t think my squeaky Spanish was bad enough before, they sure didn’t appreciate my version of Aventura’s “Obsecion”.
That reminds me of 2 other things. Recently, I had been starting to feel better about my Spanish. Using new verb tenses, throwing in the occasional “figese que” and definitely using “si” less. Then I started teaching. The schools here are very different than the US. There are no windows, doors remain open, and there is no hand-raising. Sometimes I pause writing on a board with a marker that doesnt work, look at the kids running around outside, hanging from the rafters, bathing in the pila and wonder if I’m at Mountain Creek Waterpark or a school. Man does sound travel easily. I have started to become a little naseous by the sound of my own screaming Spanish voice by the third class of the day. So surely me “singing” an off-high-pitched bachata was not well-received by the eardrums of my latin friends.
The other thing: why my clothes were balancing on their heads. I have fought off many-a-money-borrower of my community. But my neighbor keeps coming back. The other day, after 20 mins of me saying NO, she started bawling. It was hard to keep denying $1 when someone is crying on your doorstep. So I decided instead of lending money, which is a bad precedent to set…and often is not so much lending as giving…to pay her the $1 to wash some of my clothes. I think it was a win, win for both of us. Big sheets on small-wash-rock thing equals a crappy morning for me.
What’s a not so crappy morning? Hiking to 3 of the most beautiful waterfalls I’ve ever seen. The morning started by a pick-up truck ride to the neighboring town, of which my friend and I were the bread slices to a cow sandwich. We hopped off smelling slightly like dung and met some Salvo friends (also with their own special scent) who would lead the way. An hour up the cerro de San Lucas, we got a beautiful view of the mountains. Actually looking out at the range where I did the last hike (Perquin). One of the guys with us was in the army so he brought along a great pair of binoculars. It was cool to look down at all the communities: a bunch of scattered cantons appearing to contain of much of the same- mangy chuchos scavenging chicken bones, half-naked bichos playing with marbles, men hacking the milpa with machetes and women washing clothes and dishes at home. This is what you see looking in on the outside. Living there on the inside you see Lili’s smiling eyes when you place her on your lap, you feel Otinia’s soft grandma hands on your back when you hug her goodnight and you smell freshly cut herbs on Justo’s clothes from a day of honest work.
Moving along, we pushed through coffee fincas, talking about the higher profits the men await in November. Opposed to the $4 days they see now, chopping corn from 5am-1pm, they look forward to coffee season where they will make $6. We frowned as we came upon a large slice of land where many of the few pine trees in the area have been chopped away, adding to the country’s devastating deforestation levels. It was hard to be depressed for too long, though, as we stumbled upon the first waterfall. It was a beautifully placed fountain in the green hills, fruit trees growing all around. Sungano, zapotes, mango, limon, coffee, maiz…it was a great location to be midday. And with the sun high, bathing in our clothes was just what we needed.
We spent another few hours hiking the mountains and finding 2 other large falls. Saul threw a fruit at Javier, hitting him in the back and splattering rotten pulp all over my shirt. Saul #2 always stayed 10 steps ahead, clearing the path with his corbo. I wondered as he glanced back over his shoulder if he was trying to impress Glenda. I climbed up through one of the waterfalls, blindly, since the water was pounding me in the face. I swallowed a good deal of it trying to breathe…and also from laughing. Glenda finally decided to jump in the little water pool after I convinced her it wasn’t deep and I wouldn’t let her drown. She didn’t let go of my hand the whole time… and by the way I was giggling and splashing with her I was shocked when I stood up and realized I was a big girl.
The day that can arguably be one of my favorite in country at this moment, ended as my blog started: Rain. Nearly at the bottom of the mountain we felt the first drops hit. By the hike down we had dried off from our little swim and my camera was full of our day’s memories. The drizzle abruptly picked up with the crack of a lightning bolt and Glenda looked at me with raised eyebrows and said “corramos!” We waved goodbye to our friends, grabbed hands and sprinted off, laughing and splashing mud in all directions.
Unfortunately, being that it rains everyday, usually twice now, I have gotten really used to singing at the top of my lungs in the comfort of my own home. The problem is, I forget sometimes that its NOT raining. And I don’t have window panes. I was mid-lyrics of “No es amooor, lo que tu sientes…”, sung an octave too high for me and arms outstretched in yoga’s volcano pose. My head tilted just far back enough to meet the eyes of my neighbors peering through my window with a bucket of my clothes on their head. Oh how I wished it were raining at that moment. If they didn’t think my squeaky Spanish was bad enough before, they sure didn’t appreciate my version of Aventura’s “Obsecion”.
That reminds me of 2 other things. Recently, I had been starting to feel better about my Spanish. Using new verb tenses, throwing in the occasional “figese que” and definitely using “si” less. Then I started teaching. The schools here are very different than the US. There are no windows, doors remain open, and there is no hand-raising. Sometimes I pause writing on a board with a marker that doesnt work, look at the kids running around outside, hanging from the rafters, bathing in the pila and wonder if I’m at Mountain Creek Waterpark or a school. Man does sound travel easily. I have started to become a little naseous by the sound of my own screaming Spanish voice by the third class of the day. So surely me “singing” an off-high-pitched bachata was not well-received by the eardrums of my latin friends.
The other thing: why my clothes were balancing on their heads. I have fought off many-a-money-borrower of my community. But my neighbor keeps coming back. The other day, after 20 mins of me saying NO, she started bawling. It was hard to keep denying $1 when someone is crying on your doorstep. So I decided instead of lending money, which is a bad precedent to set…and often is not so much lending as giving…to pay her the $1 to wash some of my clothes. I think it was a win, win for both of us. Big sheets on small-wash-rock thing equals a crappy morning for me.
What’s a not so crappy morning? Hiking to 3 of the most beautiful waterfalls I’ve ever seen. The morning started by a pick-up truck ride to the neighboring town, of which my friend and I were the bread slices to a cow sandwich. We hopped off smelling slightly like dung and met some Salvo friends (also with their own special scent) who would lead the way. An hour up the cerro de San Lucas, we got a beautiful view of the mountains. Actually looking out at the range where I did the last hike (Perquin). One of the guys with us was in the army so he brought along a great pair of binoculars. It was cool to look down at all the communities: a bunch of scattered cantons appearing to contain of much of the same- mangy chuchos scavenging chicken bones, half-naked bichos playing with marbles, men hacking the milpa with machetes and women washing clothes and dishes at home. This is what you see looking in on the outside. Living there on the inside you see Lili’s smiling eyes when you place her on your lap, you feel Otinia’s soft grandma hands on your back when you hug her goodnight and you smell freshly cut herbs on Justo’s clothes from a day of honest work.
Moving along, we pushed through coffee fincas, talking about the higher profits the men await in November. Opposed to the $4 days they see now, chopping corn from 5am-1pm, they look forward to coffee season where they will make $6. We frowned as we came upon a large slice of land where many of the few pine trees in the area have been chopped away, adding to the country’s devastating deforestation levels. It was hard to be depressed for too long, though, as we stumbled upon the first waterfall. It was a beautifully placed fountain in the green hills, fruit trees growing all around. Sungano, zapotes, mango, limon, coffee, maiz…it was a great location to be midday. And with the sun high, bathing in our clothes was just what we needed.
We spent another few hours hiking the mountains and finding 2 other large falls. Saul threw a fruit at Javier, hitting him in the back and splattering rotten pulp all over my shirt. Saul #2 always stayed 10 steps ahead, clearing the path with his corbo. I wondered as he glanced back over his shoulder if he was trying to impress Glenda. I climbed up through one of the waterfalls, blindly, since the water was pounding me in the face. I swallowed a good deal of it trying to breathe…and also from laughing. Glenda finally decided to jump in the little water pool after I convinced her it wasn’t deep and I wouldn’t let her drown. She didn’t let go of my hand the whole time… and by the way I was giggling and splashing with her I was shocked when I stood up and realized I was a big girl.
The day that can arguably be one of my favorite in country at this moment, ended as my blog started: Rain. Nearly at the bottom of the mountain we felt the first drops hit. By the hike down we had dried off from our little swim and my camera was full of our day’s memories. The drizzle abruptly picked up with the crack of a lightning bolt and Glenda looked at me with raised eyebrows and said “corramos!” We waved goodbye to our friends, grabbed hands and sprinted off, laughing and splashing mud in all directions.
Monday, July 26, 2010
The 2 Continents
¨You don´t feel weird wearing that dress¨. My counterpart´s daughter casually asked me as she swayed back and forth in the hammock. I looked down at what I was wearing. It goes to my ankles, it doesn´t seem inappropriate. Is a brownish-red a bad color on me? ¨No, why? You don´t like it?¨ I questioned.
¨Well you can see right through it.¨ I was pleased she waited until 4pm in the afternoon after I had paraded around town to inform me of this. In her defense, she thought that wearing see through clothes was normal in the US. In my defense, its very dark inside my room so I was unable to tell that I was essentially walking around naked.
¨Wow! Look how fat you are!¨ My other counterpart said to a lady approaching, selling tamales. This is literally how what she said translates. The sentiment translates a little different but I still can´t get over this part of the culture here. Imagine if you said that to a girl at home?
..........
This week began the first week of the classes I am teaching at 2 schools. At one school, I teach English to 4-6th grades on Mondays- 3 hours in the afternoon. At the other school I teach Art to 2-9th grades which involves 5 hours in the afternoon on Tuesdays and 5 hours in the morning on Wednesdays. I thought it would be nice to leave Thursday and Friday free…
However, since my counterpart is away, I also transformed myself into her position, teaching her Literacy class to adults from 4-6 in the evenings this week Wed-Fri. Throw in 2 town health meetings lasting over 2 hours, hand washing 2 weeks worth of clothes, grocery shopping in the nearest town, writing a grant proposal for resources for our Artesania group, longer that wanted unexpected house visits… and I successfully left myself 5 mins per day to relax.
One positive of the fact that I have passed out by 8pm the past 3 nights is that I easily woke up at 5am each day and had an hour or so to work out before the heat. Most importantly, less people were out at 5:20 to see me go running. If you didn’t know, people don’t just run here. Unless you’re a 7 year old bicho running after a passing bus (which they often can out run on a packed day) or are leaving your neighbor’s yard with an uprooted banana tree, there will be no running.
So while there were not many people out at 5:20am, there were enough to make me question several times whether I wanted to keep on running. Unfortunately, the people who ARE out at this time are mostly the men heading out to the fields to chop hemp plants for the 1,405 time in their lives. You can compare me running by for them to someone falling down the stairs in high school for you. There is just no better amusement to a monotonous day.
I’m not kidding, 4 out of the 5 men I passed were hysterically laughing and he who was not I assume began to after the utter confusion finally dissipated when I was out of sight. Throw in a handful of wandering (and equally as bored) dogs, women heading to grind the corn who know me, calling “Para onde va?” and a bus passing on a narrow curve and you have an interesting morning run. For the dogs, I learned to slow down when approaching, casually, but swiftly, grab a rock and telepathically send an amiable greeting. For the women, I stopped for those who beat me to asking where I was going before I could yell “adios!”. And for the bus…well I’m typing this write now…
When I returned to my house, I put on some instant coffee and got to work on the laundry. I was down to the last shirt, my knuckles raw from scraping against the cement, when the water stopped falling. I looked down into the pila, at the water that was life (half empty or half full?), and wiped the sweat from my forehead. I decided to move on to cooking breakfast and writing my Agenda for the Literacy class, in order to give the water some time to fall back into my life. The water never came back, but fortunately the pila was Half Full, and I had a bucket’s worth to just barely cool myself and get me “clean”.
As for my first 3 days for teaching, I am happy. It was exhausting, some games & lessons were more or less a failure, but kids laughed. I laughed. They learned. I learned. Well, kinda. It’s been a very long time since I have had a geography course, and I hadn’t intended on teaching one. However, I was trying to explain why I am here and using the school as an opportunity to explain myself, the Peace Corps and US culture to the kids.
We started out with a trivia question: How many departments are in El Salvador? 14! All the kids yelled. Correct! Wow this is great. We Continue. What I proceeded to find out was that there are 2 continents in the world, 1 being Charamo- the town Leslie lives in. I was happy to find out the kids know where I am from: New York……which is a pleasant little place located in La Union (the eastern most department of El Salvador). Canada and Los Angeles are 2 of the most popular states, with Honduras close behind.
I decided to confuse the kids even more: In the US, we don’t eat 4 tortillas at every meal; hardly ever actually = WTF? stares. Dogs live and sleep inside the house = jaws dropping. We don’t drink out of plastic bags = yells of MENTIRA! (translation: LIE!)
Eventually, we moved on. I think that little culture exchange session actually got their attention. Granted I may have scarred some for life by the tortilla comment and others now think New York is a far away land that inhabits aliens. But I think it was good. Hopefully they will be excited for next weeks classes when we begin practicing art…with no resources :/
¨Well you can see right through it.¨ I was pleased she waited until 4pm in the afternoon after I had paraded around town to inform me of this. In her defense, she thought that wearing see through clothes was normal in the US. In my defense, its very dark inside my room so I was unable to tell that I was essentially walking around naked.
¨Wow! Look how fat you are!¨ My other counterpart said to a lady approaching, selling tamales. This is literally how what she said translates. The sentiment translates a little different but I still can´t get over this part of the culture here. Imagine if you said that to a girl at home?
..........
This week began the first week of the classes I am teaching at 2 schools. At one school, I teach English to 4-6th grades on Mondays- 3 hours in the afternoon. At the other school I teach Art to 2-9th grades which involves 5 hours in the afternoon on Tuesdays and 5 hours in the morning on Wednesdays. I thought it would be nice to leave Thursday and Friday free…
However, since my counterpart is away, I also transformed myself into her position, teaching her Literacy class to adults from 4-6 in the evenings this week Wed-Fri. Throw in 2 town health meetings lasting over 2 hours, hand washing 2 weeks worth of clothes, grocery shopping in the nearest town, writing a grant proposal for resources for our Artesania group, longer that wanted unexpected house visits… and I successfully left myself 5 mins per day to relax.
One positive of the fact that I have passed out by 8pm the past 3 nights is that I easily woke up at 5am each day and had an hour or so to work out before the heat. Most importantly, less people were out at 5:20 to see me go running. If you didn’t know, people don’t just run here. Unless you’re a 7 year old bicho running after a passing bus (which they often can out run on a packed day) or are leaving your neighbor’s yard with an uprooted banana tree, there will be no running.
So while there were not many people out at 5:20am, there were enough to make me question several times whether I wanted to keep on running. Unfortunately, the people who ARE out at this time are mostly the men heading out to the fields to chop hemp plants for the 1,405 time in their lives. You can compare me running by for them to someone falling down the stairs in high school for you. There is just no better amusement to a monotonous day.
I’m not kidding, 4 out of the 5 men I passed were hysterically laughing and he who was not I assume began to after the utter confusion finally dissipated when I was out of sight. Throw in a handful of wandering (and equally as bored) dogs, women heading to grind the corn who know me, calling “Para onde va?” and a bus passing on a narrow curve and you have an interesting morning run. For the dogs, I learned to slow down when approaching, casually, but swiftly, grab a rock and telepathically send an amiable greeting. For the women, I stopped for those who beat me to asking where I was going before I could yell “adios!”. And for the bus…well I’m typing this write now…
When I returned to my house, I put on some instant coffee and got to work on the laundry. I was down to the last shirt, my knuckles raw from scraping against the cement, when the water stopped falling. I looked down into the pila, at the water that was life (half empty or half full?), and wiped the sweat from my forehead. I decided to move on to cooking breakfast and writing my Agenda for the Literacy class, in order to give the water some time to fall back into my life. The water never came back, but fortunately the pila was Half Full, and I had a bucket’s worth to just barely cool myself and get me “clean”.
As for my first 3 days for teaching, I am happy. It was exhausting, some games & lessons were more or less a failure, but kids laughed. I laughed. They learned. I learned. Well, kinda. It’s been a very long time since I have had a geography course, and I hadn’t intended on teaching one. However, I was trying to explain why I am here and using the school as an opportunity to explain myself, the Peace Corps and US culture to the kids.
We started out with a trivia question: How many departments are in El Salvador? 14! All the kids yelled. Correct! Wow this is great. We Continue. What I proceeded to find out was that there are 2 continents in the world, 1 being Charamo- the town Leslie lives in. I was happy to find out the kids know where I am from: New York……which is a pleasant little place located in La Union (the eastern most department of El Salvador). Canada and Los Angeles are 2 of the most popular states, with Honduras close behind.
I decided to confuse the kids even more: In the US, we don’t eat 4 tortillas at every meal; hardly ever actually = WTF? stares. Dogs live and sleep inside the house = jaws dropping. We don’t drink out of plastic bags = yells of MENTIRA! (translation: LIE!)
Eventually, we moved on. I think that little culture exchange session actually got their attention. Granted I may have scarred some for life by the tortilla comment and others now think New York is a far away land that inhabits aliens. But I think it was good. Hopefully they will be excited for next weeks classes when we begin practicing art…with no resources :/
Thursday, July 22, 2010
Thank You Friends & Family
Peace Corps El Salvador has a monthly newspaper that goes out to all the voluteers serving in this country. I decided to submit this piece after being in my site for 1 month. (It was published, but don´t be too impressed--most people get in.) Anyway...That was a very hard month, but the letters and support from my friends and family got me through it. I´m sure I´ll have these letters for the rest of my life and I wanted to thank you all for always giving me so much support.... and not just the letters, but the gifts, the packages, the emails, the calls...the facebook ¨like photo¨ thumbs up, and all. I´m here for El Salvador, for the people, for Peace Corps, for myself... and I´m here because of you. If you´re not quoted in my article, please don´t be offended! I´ve read them all and continue to read them all!
Here it goes...
Never Pass Up the Opportunity to Use the Toilet: Advice from a Newbee
“Be careful in the different country.” My Grandma wrote this to me in a letter that I read on the plane here, as I took one last glimpse of the lights and buildings of NYC with tears in my eyes. I believe she still thinks I’m in Africa, I know that she tells people her granddaughter is saving babies and every time we talk by phone she is flabbergasted that the connection is possible… but I love and miss her very much.
Before coming here, my older sister collected letters from all my family and friends who wanted to tell me how they felt about my upcoming adventure. Every few nights, I take one out. I smile at some, at others I laugh, and at most, I cry. I’ve been in country for almost 3 months now and barely have 1 month at site, and I already can see that these letters will be part of what keeps me here…Even if the last piece of advice in my Mom´s was “if you think you’re gonna crack, come back.” I am fortunate to have so many special people in my life and it just reminds me that the relationships we make and build will be the foundation of our future. The tortillas as we know them will cease to exist when we are back in the states but the bonds we have built with our communities will come with us.
I wonder if Maria from my high school volleyball team knew just how easy it would be to ¨meet amazing people and learn from them¨ or if Leah has also experienced ¨spreading enough love that it makes the overhead compartments burst open.¨ I feel so lucky to be where I am already and can only hope that I can give to my community what they have so quickly given to me. Granted at times I wonder if Gary was right when he said ¨I think you are kinda crazy for doing this¨. But I know that if I didn´t I would have just as much regret as my manager from my former internship who confided in me, ¨I always wished that I had done that¨. And many others have said, in words not so eloquently as Matt´s, ¨I think it´s really groovy that you´re taking this adventure¨.
¨Push yourself to the limit!¨ My cousin agrees with me that it is often the times of biggest sacrifices that bring the greatest rewards. When we fully exert ourselves, we truly find who we are. And if I ever feel like I just no longer have the will power to go on, I´ll have to remember the obligation my best friend Lisa made me make to Whinnie the Pooh Bear: “Promise me you’ll always remember you´re braver than you believe, stronger than you seem and smarter than you think”.
My father´s advice was not quite as deep, but nonetheless, words of wisdom. He once told me “Never pass up the opportunity to use the toilet.” After my first experience using newspaper to wipe, I have also added “never pass up the opportunity to steal a little toilet paper for later” to the quote. But after the sight and smell of overused latrines, stories of people hanging off the back of pick-ups, and others who have just gone for it in their pants in public, I can now really appreciate a good toilet.
“The luxuries will be few but the rewards will be abundant” warned Patrice, a long time family friend. Luxuries in the sense of hot water, pasta dinners, air conditioning, clean feet and bug-less rooms, yes, there are limitations in Peace Corps El Salvador. But I have already been rewarded more than I deserve. The cool breeze that passes through the mountains bringing a taste of the waterfalls and allowing breakfast to fall from the trees onto my lawn each morning is just one specialty of my site. As I was picking up the mangos this morning, I smiled at little Marjorie when she called ¨Buenos Dias, Nina Jaime¨ over the fence as she was collecting firewood from her yard. I am still trying to convince my counterpart that I am fine living on my own and she does not need to move into her chicken shed so that I can live in her house. And as my friend John is sitting in his ¨cubicle at 4:31pm in Washington D.C.¨ waiting for the work day to end, I will be sitting listening to Juan play the guitar with his friends singing along, waiting until the night brings a tranquility that only the occasional bravo barking dog can disturb. There seems to be no limitations to the rewards.
I have a lot to look forward to in the next two years and when times are challenging I will take out these letters that contain so many important reminders, as well as the hearts of my family and friends. Right now, I am focusing on that little aspect of ¨confianza¨ with the community. So where am I at?
Well, I use “estaba” at least 5 times as much as I use “estuve”. I alternate between “si” and “mmm” whenever I don’t have a clue what someone is telling me. And where the eff is ¨figense¨ in the dictionary?” I hope that despite my days of incoherent blabbering, my canton will see my passion to be here, as I run alongside the men in uniform on the soccer field, present a gift to Marjorie´s third grade class as Madrina, and make lopsided tortillas and exploding pupusas with my counterparts. Because one piece of advice I have noted myself from one of my favorite authors, Paulo Coehlo is that “There is one language in the world that everyone understands. It’s the language of enthusiasm, of things accomplished with love and purpose…”
Here it goes...
Never Pass Up the Opportunity to Use the Toilet: Advice from a Newbee
“Be careful in the different country.” My Grandma wrote this to me in a letter that I read on the plane here, as I took one last glimpse of the lights and buildings of NYC with tears in my eyes. I believe she still thinks I’m in Africa, I know that she tells people her granddaughter is saving babies and every time we talk by phone she is flabbergasted that the connection is possible… but I love and miss her very much.
Before coming here, my older sister collected letters from all my family and friends who wanted to tell me how they felt about my upcoming adventure. Every few nights, I take one out. I smile at some, at others I laugh, and at most, I cry. I’ve been in country for almost 3 months now and barely have 1 month at site, and I already can see that these letters will be part of what keeps me here…Even if the last piece of advice in my Mom´s was “if you think you’re gonna crack, come back.” I am fortunate to have so many special people in my life and it just reminds me that the relationships we make and build will be the foundation of our future. The tortillas as we know them will cease to exist when we are back in the states but the bonds we have built with our communities will come with us.
I wonder if Maria from my high school volleyball team knew just how easy it would be to ¨meet amazing people and learn from them¨ or if Leah has also experienced ¨spreading enough love that it makes the overhead compartments burst open.¨ I feel so lucky to be where I am already and can only hope that I can give to my community what they have so quickly given to me. Granted at times I wonder if Gary was right when he said ¨I think you are kinda crazy for doing this¨. But I know that if I didn´t I would have just as much regret as my manager from my former internship who confided in me, ¨I always wished that I had done that¨. And many others have said, in words not so eloquently as Matt´s, ¨I think it´s really groovy that you´re taking this adventure¨.
¨Push yourself to the limit!¨ My cousin agrees with me that it is often the times of biggest sacrifices that bring the greatest rewards. When we fully exert ourselves, we truly find who we are. And if I ever feel like I just no longer have the will power to go on, I´ll have to remember the obligation my best friend Lisa made me make to Whinnie the Pooh Bear: “Promise me you’ll always remember you´re braver than you believe, stronger than you seem and smarter than you think”.
My father´s advice was not quite as deep, but nonetheless, words of wisdom. He once told me “Never pass up the opportunity to use the toilet.” After my first experience using newspaper to wipe, I have also added “never pass up the opportunity to steal a little toilet paper for later” to the quote. But after the sight and smell of overused latrines, stories of people hanging off the back of pick-ups, and others who have just gone for it in their pants in public, I can now really appreciate a good toilet.
“The luxuries will be few but the rewards will be abundant” warned Patrice, a long time family friend. Luxuries in the sense of hot water, pasta dinners, air conditioning, clean feet and bug-less rooms, yes, there are limitations in Peace Corps El Salvador. But I have already been rewarded more than I deserve. The cool breeze that passes through the mountains bringing a taste of the waterfalls and allowing breakfast to fall from the trees onto my lawn each morning is just one specialty of my site. As I was picking up the mangos this morning, I smiled at little Marjorie when she called ¨Buenos Dias, Nina Jaime¨ over the fence as she was collecting firewood from her yard. I am still trying to convince my counterpart that I am fine living on my own and she does not need to move into her chicken shed so that I can live in her house. And as my friend John is sitting in his ¨cubicle at 4:31pm in Washington D.C.¨ waiting for the work day to end, I will be sitting listening to Juan play the guitar with his friends singing along, waiting until the night brings a tranquility that only the occasional bravo barking dog can disturb. There seems to be no limitations to the rewards.
I have a lot to look forward to in the next two years and when times are challenging I will take out these letters that contain so many important reminders, as well as the hearts of my family and friends. Right now, I am focusing on that little aspect of ¨confianza¨ with the community. So where am I at?
Well, I use “estaba” at least 5 times as much as I use “estuve”. I alternate between “si” and “mmm” whenever I don’t have a clue what someone is telling me. And where the eff is ¨figense¨ in the dictionary?” I hope that despite my days of incoherent blabbering, my canton will see my passion to be here, as I run alongside the men in uniform on the soccer field, present a gift to Marjorie´s third grade class as Madrina, and make lopsided tortillas and exploding pupusas with my counterparts. Because one piece of advice I have noted myself from one of my favorite authors, Paulo Coehlo is that “There is one language in the world that everyone understands. It’s the language of enthusiasm, of things accomplished with love and purpose…”
Monday, July 12, 2010
Country Roads
“Hibiclens has antiseptic activity and persistent antimicrobial effect with rapid bactericidal activity against a wide range of microorganisms”
…reads the box of my shower contents.
Moldy clothes from weeks of rain, tiny bugs that creep through my mosquito net to spend the night at my side, a 4- hour “bush-whacking” hike across the Honduran border, open wounds from playing futbol on a tick infested and rock covered cancha, and being in El Salvador
…reads my list of possible causes.
My neck has a lump that makes me wonder if the large spider that perches above my shower is a Black Widow and my underarms look like they have hosted a small population of mosquitos for the past week. There is a hole in my foot, my right knee is, lets just say unpleasant to look at, and my ankle is not stuck between 2 boulders but at times I still find myself planning how to amputate it. I’m effing itchy.
So I finally made my way to the capital, Hibiclens’ed my body and pray that the skin infection will soon pass with the help of 2 sets of pills and lots of soapy shower time. I miss my wounds healing. Oh the things you take for granted.
I did get some time to appreciate the small things this weekend as a group of us hiked from one volunteer’s site to another in the Northern part of the county. Hagan lives in a really chill little pueblo where teenaged boys wearing Orange County Chopper shirts sit on the corners to stare you down as you pass. Even a gang full of gringos feel insignificant in the eyes of these guys. Donkeys greet you at every feeding ground and caballeros ride by the pupuserias, leaving behind a trail of their cigarette smoke in the night. It was a tough site to leave, but our hiking shoes were eagerly awaiting the scree and our lungs- the pine filled air ahead.
The walk was long but the time passed too quickly, as I sit here longing the view of the San Miguel volcano as a peak among layered mountains. Green fields to mucky soil, red land to blue swimming holes; Overgrown maguey to hidden pineapple plants, star fruit to trail mix; donkeys and mules to long-lost Cantifla. The trip was never lacking moments of precious surprises. When my face got too sweaty, there was a river to dunk my head. When Joanna got bored we stumbled upon a vertical incline. Brock prevailed over a nearly-lost maimed finger. And we were guided to salvation by Hagan’s unrelenting machete and Jim’s overflowing camel pack.
After just a few bruised elbows, burnt belly-buttons, purple midsections, wet pants and bumpy armpits, we were there. Jim lives in a cabin built on a cliff by the volunteer before him, where light comes in the form of starry nights and sun sneaking into the cracks in the wood in the morning. Maybe it was just one night for me but it made living without electricity too serene to seem difficult. His host family entertained us through pull-up contests with Broccoli and nearly more yummy plates of beans and rice than cute giggley children…but it was anyone’s game. When we knew it was time to rest our legs…we heard the waterfall crashing in the distance, so we set back out for one more conquest.
And yet now I lay here defeated. In a hotel bed with nothing to show for myself except my itchy infection. I’m closing my eyes and unsure if the music is coming from my Mom’s cassette player from her room in New York or the humming from my viajeros in northern Morazán, but its saying “Take me home…”
…reads the box of my shower contents.
Moldy clothes from weeks of rain, tiny bugs that creep through my mosquito net to spend the night at my side, a 4- hour “bush-whacking” hike across the Honduran border, open wounds from playing futbol on a tick infested and rock covered cancha, and being in El Salvador
…reads my list of possible causes.
My neck has a lump that makes me wonder if the large spider that perches above my shower is a Black Widow and my underarms look like they have hosted a small population of mosquitos for the past week. There is a hole in my foot, my right knee is, lets just say unpleasant to look at, and my ankle is not stuck between 2 boulders but at times I still find myself planning how to amputate it. I’m effing itchy.
So I finally made my way to the capital, Hibiclens’ed my body and pray that the skin infection will soon pass with the help of 2 sets of pills and lots of soapy shower time. I miss my wounds healing. Oh the things you take for granted.
I did get some time to appreciate the small things this weekend as a group of us hiked from one volunteer’s site to another in the Northern part of the county. Hagan lives in a really chill little pueblo where teenaged boys wearing Orange County Chopper shirts sit on the corners to stare you down as you pass. Even a gang full of gringos feel insignificant in the eyes of these guys. Donkeys greet you at every feeding ground and caballeros ride by the pupuserias, leaving behind a trail of their cigarette smoke in the night. It was a tough site to leave, but our hiking shoes were eagerly awaiting the scree and our lungs- the pine filled air ahead.
The walk was long but the time passed too quickly, as I sit here longing the view of the San Miguel volcano as a peak among layered mountains. Green fields to mucky soil, red land to blue swimming holes; Overgrown maguey to hidden pineapple plants, star fruit to trail mix; donkeys and mules to long-lost Cantifla. The trip was never lacking moments of precious surprises. When my face got too sweaty, there was a river to dunk my head. When Joanna got bored we stumbled upon a vertical incline. Brock prevailed over a nearly-lost maimed finger. And we were guided to salvation by Hagan’s unrelenting machete and Jim’s overflowing camel pack.
After just a few bruised elbows, burnt belly-buttons, purple midsections, wet pants and bumpy armpits, we were there. Jim lives in a cabin built on a cliff by the volunteer before him, where light comes in the form of starry nights and sun sneaking into the cracks in the wood in the morning. Maybe it was just one night for me but it made living without electricity too serene to seem difficult. His host family entertained us through pull-up contests with Broccoli and nearly more yummy plates of beans and rice than cute giggley children…but it was anyone’s game. When we knew it was time to rest our legs…we heard the waterfall crashing in the distance, so we set back out for one more conquest.
And yet now I lay here defeated. In a hotel bed with nothing to show for myself except my itchy infection. I’m closing my eyes and unsure if the music is coming from my Mom’s cassette player from her room in New York or the humming from my viajeros in northern Morazán, but its saying “Take me home…”
Friday, July 9, 2010
The Man with the Wire
There is this guy that stands on the side of the road holding a piece of wire. He is there pretty much every time I ride the bus to town. He is just standing there, his feet planted in the same exact place everytime I go by, with the wire rather carelessly dangling in his hands. It is attached to something, I assume, but nothing appears to be happening. As we bump on by, he turns, squinting with his eyebrows in a perturbed arc, as if questioning what in the world we are doing passing by on this motorized vehicle. I stare back, mimicing his expression. I assume we will have this staring contest for many months to come.
There are many types of plastic bags here. There are the typical grocery store bags, that you occasionally have to pay a couple centavos for... and maybe a few extra if a little child tears it from your hand and fills it with your groceries before you can beat him to it. There are the large black ones you get when you want to hide your packages from the campesinos so they don´t ask you for some remesa money. But the most intriguing of plastic bags are the small, transparent zip-lock without the zip-lock ones. They come in 3-5 different sizes of small, but are NOT interchangeable. The tiny-small ones can only be used for Charamusca...aka frozen kool-aid. I once tried to use a medium-small one and got laughed at by a 6yr old who eerily resembled a kid from the Kool Aid commericals Dane Cook rants about. The medium-smalls are only used for bagged fruit & snacks. Anything from sliced mango topped with salt, lime and hot sauce to enchiladas that are really just deep fried tortillas with shredded lettuce on top is acceptable. The large-small ones are often where you find your soda being poured or agua de coco. If you are at a classy food stand, you get the straw placed in opening. But, most of the time you bite the bottom corner off. You spit it out on the person sitting next to you and then drink 20oz of soda in 30 seconds so you dont have to worry about falling asleep on the bus with a bag of soda spilling out on your lap and onto the person you just spit the corner on by accident.
There is a box of random pieces of old, useless items sitting in the corner of our Community House. There is an empty bottle of liter soda. Some rusty wire. A shoe. Some leaves and probably a family of bugs camping out. At first, I thought ¨cool, there first garbage can in La Montana.¨ But then I watched as a member of my class of adults belched and then dropped his large-small plastic bags of empty soda on the floor. Modesta brushed her hand across the table to get rid of some pieces of thread from our hammock project and her son ripped out pages from his notebook and let them sail across the room, to land just outside the box of useless items. Next week, Dora would grunt as she swept the accumulated garbage out into the landfill-of-a-futbol cancha... only to be the first one to drop some more basura at the start of the next class.
There is a fear in Peace Corps that if we give someone something, they will forever depend on Americans to hand stuff over to them. I usually refrain at all costs from setting this precedent. Yet, my refrigerator is full of gifted bananas that will surely go bad before I get the chance to overdose on Potassium. Last night I made the mistake of eating dinner before I visted 3 families and then had to eat 3 more... Which leads me to the lady who fixes my clothes for free. After the 4th reparation to my pants, I reeeeally feel like I should be paying. A couple days ago I walked through the community with just books in my bags and walked home with a brand new bottle of Avon lotion, half-full bottle of body oil and a tube of antibiotic cream. Maybe its because I have bug bites, cuts, scrapes, scabs and unidentified marks forming a Connect-the-Dots puzzle from a Highlight´s magazine on my legs... and a likely staff infection on my foot...but still.
There is an ever present knot in my gut that grows everytime I see a soda can tossed out the window. My curiosty about the wire man is still there but the lift in my eyebrows has subsided. I am very careful about the choice and usage of plastic bags... and readily accept any gift that comes in them, as long as I make a mental note of their name and repay them with a smile and promise of future visitation.
There was a spider sitting on the wall by my ¨kitchen¨ for the past 2 weeks. My first 2 weeks in this house, I beat with my shoe everything that moved, which more often than not turned out to be a leaf. But this guy was different. I had grown so accustomed to the spider watching me peel potatoes that I didn´t want to kill it. But it wasn´t the most pleasant sight to eat my breakfast next to. So, when it would get too close for comfort, I would slap the wall below it...sending it scurrying up to the window. But sure as the exponentially increasing mosquito bites on my body, the spider would be there the next morning. Last night I walked into my house and stopped at the wall by the kitchen. The spider was gone and in its place a little scorpion. Him, I didn´t have a problem wailing with my shoe. This morning, the wall was bare. I was eating some cereal topped with rotten banana and I turned to the barren cinder blocks.
I missed the spider.
There are things about this country that I will never understand. There are things I have accepted. And there are things I have come to love. That parts my favorite.
There are many types of plastic bags here. There are the typical grocery store bags, that you occasionally have to pay a couple centavos for... and maybe a few extra if a little child tears it from your hand and fills it with your groceries before you can beat him to it. There are the large black ones you get when you want to hide your packages from the campesinos so they don´t ask you for some remesa money. But the most intriguing of plastic bags are the small, transparent zip-lock without the zip-lock ones. They come in 3-5 different sizes of small, but are NOT interchangeable. The tiny-small ones can only be used for Charamusca...aka frozen kool-aid. I once tried to use a medium-small one and got laughed at by a 6yr old who eerily resembled a kid from the Kool Aid commericals Dane Cook rants about. The medium-smalls are only used for bagged fruit & snacks. Anything from sliced mango topped with salt, lime and hot sauce to enchiladas that are really just deep fried tortillas with shredded lettuce on top is acceptable. The large-small ones are often where you find your soda being poured or agua de coco. If you are at a classy food stand, you get the straw placed in opening. But, most of the time you bite the bottom corner off. You spit it out on the person sitting next to you and then drink 20oz of soda in 30 seconds so you dont have to worry about falling asleep on the bus with a bag of soda spilling out on your lap and onto the person you just spit the corner on by accident.
There is a box of random pieces of old, useless items sitting in the corner of our Community House. There is an empty bottle of liter soda. Some rusty wire. A shoe. Some leaves and probably a family of bugs camping out. At first, I thought ¨cool, there first garbage can in La Montana.¨ But then I watched as a member of my class of adults belched and then dropped his large-small plastic bags of empty soda on the floor. Modesta brushed her hand across the table to get rid of some pieces of thread from our hammock project and her son ripped out pages from his notebook and let them sail across the room, to land just outside the box of useless items. Next week, Dora would grunt as she swept the accumulated garbage out into the landfill-of-a-futbol cancha... only to be the first one to drop some more basura at the start of the next class.
There is a fear in Peace Corps that if we give someone something, they will forever depend on Americans to hand stuff over to them. I usually refrain at all costs from setting this precedent. Yet, my refrigerator is full of gifted bananas that will surely go bad before I get the chance to overdose on Potassium. Last night I made the mistake of eating dinner before I visted 3 families and then had to eat 3 more... Which leads me to the lady who fixes my clothes for free. After the 4th reparation to my pants, I reeeeally feel like I should be paying. A couple days ago I walked through the community with just books in my bags and walked home with a brand new bottle of Avon lotion, half-full bottle of body oil and a tube of antibiotic cream. Maybe its because I have bug bites, cuts, scrapes, scabs and unidentified marks forming a Connect-the-Dots puzzle from a Highlight´s magazine on my legs... and a likely staff infection on my foot...but still.
There is an ever present knot in my gut that grows everytime I see a soda can tossed out the window. My curiosty about the wire man is still there but the lift in my eyebrows has subsided. I am very careful about the choice and usage of plastic bags... and readily accept any gift that comes in them, as long as I make a mental note of their name and repay them with a smile and promise of future visitation.
There was a spider sitting on the wall by my ¨kitchen¨ for the past 2 weeks. My first 2 weeks in this house, I beat with my shoe everything that moved, which more often than not turned out to be a leaf. But this guy was different. I had grown so accustomed to the spider watching me peel potatoes that I didn´t want to kill it. But it wasn´t the most pleasant sight to eat my breakfast next to. So, when it would get too close for comfort, I would slap the wall below it...sending it scurrying up to the window. But sure as the exponentially increasing mosquito bites on my body, the spider would be there the next morning. Last night I walked into my house and stopped at the wall by the kitchen. The spider was gone and in its place a little scorpion. Him, I didn´t have a problem wailing with my shoe. This morning, the wall was bare. I was eating some cereal topped with rotten banana and I turned to the barren cinder blocks.
I missed the spider.
There are things about this country that I will never understand. There are things I have accepted. And there are things I have come to love. That parts my favorite.
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Flexibility
“Are you flexible? How well do you work without structure or direction?” I remember when I was applying for the Peace Corps and these questions were asked during the interview. What my recruiter was trying to tell me was that if I am not EXTREMELY flexible, I will never make it through 2 years of service because there is absolutely NO structure and nothing will go as initially planned. I still don´t know if I can make it 2 years without Haagen Dazs Coffee ice cream at least once a day…but I have learned to accept the local Neveria´s offerings. So, Yes, I can be flexible. In other ways too…
Saturday I was supposed to meet with my Artesania group to discuss our Business Plan. I woke up early and had it all planned out…spent the time to lookup all these technical terms in Spanish. Low and behold, come 2pm…3pm…4…no one showed up. It was semi-expected since it was pouring and people don’t like to leave their house when it rains. I don’t blame them since it takes me about 20 mins to walk 20 feet through the swamp that used to be the road to the Community House. Can someone send me a pair of boots?
But since my meeting was a complete failure, I did get to watch the entire USA-Ghana game… I got to watch the 4-6 open shots on goal the US had and every single one miss. About halfway through the game, the storm picked up and the signal went from fuzzy to barely visible and I got a headache as I scooted my plastic chair up inches from the screen and frantically tried to distinguish between static dots and the ball. I heard the “GOOOOOOL!!!!!” about 10 seconds before I could actually see who it was that scored in the overtime and my heart raced in that time before it plummeted in my stomach when I saw Ghana cheering in a huddle. Well, at least I won’t get anymore headaches from sitting in front of that television…
Sunday morning was spent sweeping out my house and throwing water. A peaceful Yoga session interrupted by 17 neighborhood children walking into my house, attempting a Half Moon pose and wandering back out, bored and confused. Organizing the hundreds of books, notebooks, magazines, papers, folders I’ve accumulated in 5 months. Fixing the plastic walls of my shower. And waiting for the rain to stop. Eventually, at 3:30pm, it subsided and I decided I was going to get my garden started. Phase 1: make organic compost. The real reason I decided to start the garden on this particular day was that my bag of fruit and vegetable peelings was near overflowing and the fruit flies had begun to form their own army. So Nina Edith lended me a few machetes, a shovel…and 5 of her children…(all under the age of 12 –but hey, it was voluntary) and we went to work in my hard. At first I felt bad that these 9 year olds were machete-ing my overgrown lawn but then I saw their faces light up when I said we needed to collect animal poo poo, so I let them go at it. It was a sight to see… 5 little smiling girls and boys, sprinting into my neighbors yard, bare-handed, scooping up cow and horse dung. And running back to me like I was their proud Mama. I did kinda feel that way…
And Yesterday I woke up early to head into town. I had to use the internet before my interview with the Mayor. I got my research done and walked into his office where I waited almost an hour. Then our meeting started. I asked 1.5 questions before someone else walked in to get him to sign something. Followed by another 7 people and 13 more phone calls before I got to question 10. When I asked how his relationship was with my community he took his glasses off and rubbed his eyes and head for 11 seconds before he said “figese que…” which roughly translates into “I’m going to kinda bullshit you right now because, the thing is, I’m going to say what you don’t want to hear”. I assumed this was coming since he is from a different political party that the majority of my community and so he refuses to work with us. As it sounds, it was another very successful meeting.
After that, I took the bus to one of the schools my community uses, where I was supposed to help with a Computer Class. Waited another 30 mins for the teacher Not to show up and then decided to call it a day. I headed home by foot, initially, but after a few minutes the sky unleashed some more fury so I hopped on a passing bus. I jumped off at my counterpart’s house, where the teacher that was supposed to be teaching my computer class was sitting having a cup of coffee. I asked him what happened and he said “figese que…”
I, too, welcomed a cup of coffee and got comfortable in my plastic chair. For the rest of the day I would surrender to the Salvadoran ways and tomorrow I would get back to trying to find a way to organize work in a structure-less society.
Saturday I was supposed to meet with my Artesania group to discuss our Business Plan. I woke up early and had it all planned out…spent the time to lookup all these technical terms in Spanish. Low and behold, come 2pm…3pm…4…no one showed up. It was semi-expected since it was pouring and people don’t like to leave their house when it rains. I don’t blame them since it takes me about 20 mins to walk 20 feet through the swamp that used to be the road to the Community House. Can someone send me a pair of boots?
But since my meeting was a complete failure, I did get to watch the entire USA-Ghana game… I got to watch the 4-6 open shots on goal the US had and every single one miss. About halfway through the game, the storm picked up and the signal went from fuzzy to barely visible and I got a headache as I scooted my plastic chair up inches from the screen and frantically tried to distinguish between static dots and the ball. I heard the “GOOOOOOL!!!!!” about 10 seconds before I could actually see who it was that scored in the overtime and my heart raced in that time before it plummeted in my stomach when I saw Ghana cheering in a huddle. Well, at least I won’t get anymore headaches from sitting in front of that television…
Sunday morning was spent sweeping out my house and throwing water. A peaceful Yoga session interrupted by 17 neighborhood children walking into my house, attempting a Half Moon pose and wandering back out, bored and confused. Organizing the hundreds of books, notebooks, magazines, papers, folders I’ve accumulated in 5 months. Fixing the plastic walls of my shower. And waiting for the rain to stop. Eventually, at 3:30pm, it subsided and I decided I was going to get my garden started. Phase 1: make organic compost. The real reason I decided to start the garden on this particular day was that my bag of fruit and vegetable peelings was near overflowing and the fruit flies had begun to form their own army. So Nina Edith lended me a few machetes, a shovel…and 5 of her children…(all under the age of 12 –but hey, it was voluntary) and we went to work in my hard. At first I felt bad that these 9 year olds were machete-ing my overgrown lawn but then I saw their faces light up when I said we needed to collect animal poo poo, so I let them go at it. It was a sight to see… 5 little smiling girls and boys, sprinting into my neighbors yard, bare-handed, scooping up cow and horse dung. And running back to me like I was their proud Mama. I did kinda feel that way…
And Yesterday I woke up early to head into town. I had to use the internet before my interview with the Mayor. I got my research done and walked into his office where I waited almost an hour. Then our meeting started. I asked 1.5 questions before someone else walked in to get him to sign something. Followed by another 7 people and 13 more phone calls before I got to question 10. When I asked how his relationship was with my community he took his glasses off and rubbed his eyes and head for 11 seconds before he said “figese que…” which roughly translates into “I’m going to kinda bullshit you right now because, the thing is, I’m going to say what you don’t want to hear”. I assumed this was coming since he is from a different political party that the majority of my community and so he refuses to work with us. As it sounds, it was another very successful meeting.
After that, I took the bus to one of the schools my community uses, where I was supposed to help with a Computer Class. Waited another 30 mins for the teacher Not to show up and then decided to call it a day. I headed home by foot, initially, but after a few minutes the sky unleashed some more fury so I hopped on a passing bus. I jumped off at my counterpart’s house, where the teacher that was supposed to be teaching my computer class was sitting having a cup of coffee. I asked him what happened and he said “figese que…”
I, too, welcomed a cup of coffee and got comfortable in my plastic chair. For the rest of the day I would surrender to the Salvadoran ways and tomorrow I would get back to trying to find a way to organize work in a structure-less society.
Thursday, June 24, 2010
Your Fly is Open
I really want to get my yard into shape. Another thing that happens when your gone for 3 weeks, is your yard becomes a jungle. Besides the fact that I cant walk to the letrine without getting covered in moisture from the tall grass, I want to plant a garden.
I was inspired during pre service training 2 last week to make a garden after visiting the sites of other volunteers. Organic composting. Growing my own food. Eating healthy. Setting an example for the community. I´m in.
So my landlord-neighbor was walking by and I asked if he had some tools I could borrow to fix up my lawn. Sure he said with a smile and walked off towards his house. I went back into mine and continued my yoga (also in 3 weeks, you lose all flexibility you gained from the first 2 months of yoga). Just as I was reaching up into the sky, balancing on my left leg in tree pose, I saw Don Emilio returning with 2 large tools in hand. A horse and her colt. Less labor for me I thought. Although, I have to admit, I was semi-excited about hacking the crap out of my lawn with a machete. ¨Just make sure they don´t eat the yuca plants and baby mango trees¨ Emilio warned me. Right, because 1. I can distinguish between the roots of a yuca plan and the weeds that are rampantly growing across the entire manzana of my yard and 2. if that huge caballo walks over there to the mango tree, I´m going to know how to call him away in campo-spanish-horse language, while simultaneouly beating him with a stick.
Don Emilio brings me to my next train of thought. If there is one thing about El Salvador that will be sure to impress any of my visitors (my first is on her way: my older sister Danielle!!- August)…its the zippers on pants. If you are running late for your flight, Danielle, and wearing jeans, have no fear, there is NO NEED to zipper up here. It´s simply accepted that we don´t zipper our flies. If they are in the front, the back, the side, they stay open. After chatting with other volunteers, we still haven´t come to the conclusión as to why the population of El Salvador wears their flies undone, but some of us have opted to assimilate and forgoe the effort of zipping up before heading out into civilized society.
Lastly, we are knee deep into the Winter here. Winter here means rain and frogs. That´s the only way to describe it. I may have said this already, but a frog here is not a frog. It is the size of a squirrel and impeccably more annoying. They don´t really move. They just sit their fat asses at your door step and croak all through the night. They even show up in your shower, sitting their behind the curtain…making you feel uncomfortable as they watch you in the nude. It POURED the other night. I mean, Emilio´s house had a lake out front. And guess what, that meant infinitely more fat toads. The wáter and the amphibians spilled over into my yard, and I swore, as I lie in my bed reading that I was perched on top a lily pad, and surely into the night I would morph into one of those disgusting critters. It didn´t help the fact that all these Little nats were flying around my head lamp, just watiing for me to stick out my tongue and suck one up. I didn´t, but if it would scare them away for the night to let me sleep in peace, I´d consider having them as a midnight snack.
That being said, hope you´re excited to come Danielle! We´re going to have a great time. It´s sooo relaxing here :D
Maybe some of you are actually interested in my WORK here and not my interesting observations of life in the campo. Well, you´d be pleased to know that, as often happens, my meeting with an NGO to help out with my Artesania de Jewelry got canceled. But hopefully he will come through next Wednesday. We´re trying to get our group organized so that we can start a business out of it. Training was helpful as that I plan on sitting down with the leader of the group this week to make our business plan.
I have made 2 appointments for next week to interview a local NGO and the Mayor of my Municipality to discuss their work and projects. I will be starting classes next week at both schools that the youth of my canton attend. At one, I will teach physical education- sports (others besides soccer- they might be flabbergasted to know they exist), yoga, stretching techniques and the importance of being healthy, other fun games. And at another the Director wants be to teach art which I´m pretty stoked about. Still working on the soccer team for the girls…the men dominate the soccer fiel d on the weekends so its been hard to organize time there. And the community wants to start a fish Project where everyone has their own Little pond. I know NOTHING about how to go about doing this so we´ll see when that happens. Also have to start writing a grant proposal for some Money that has been offered to our business group. Before I tell my community about this, I´m going to try to get them to do some fundraising of their own. However, if any of you at home has old sports equipment laying around…balls, softball gloves, bats (is there a way to send that?) feel free to send them! Also, drawing-art supplies.
I miss everyone at home IMMENSELY. Now that I´m back in my community without the other volunteers, the loneliness returns. I miss home, I miss my home…and while it´s nice when I refer to my community as ¨home¨, its a Little scary. I think about everyone at home all the time. The weirdest things remind me of my family, like the tea bags that my friend sent me make me miss my Mom. And sleeping with the teddy bear my Little sister gave me makes me miss my friend and Mr. Bear. I love and miss you all! Come visit!
I was inspired during pre service training 2 last week to make a garden after visiting the sites of other volunteers. Organic composting. Growing my own food. Eating healthy. Setting an example for the community. I´m in.
So my landlord-neighbor was walking by and I asked if he had some tools I could borrow to fix up my lawn. Sure he said with a smile and walked off towards his house. I went back into mine and continued my yoga (also in 3 weeks, you lose all flexibility you gained from the first 2 months of yoga). Just as I was reaching up into the sky, balancing on my left leg in tree pose, I saw Don Emilio returning with 2 large tools in hand. A horse and her colt. Less labor for me I thought. Although, I have to admit, I was semi-excited about hacking the crap out of my lawn with a machete. ¨Just make sure they don´t eat the yuca plants and baby mango trees¨ Emilio warned me. Right, because 1. I can distinguish between the roots of a yuca plan and the weeds that are rampantly growing across the entire manzana of my yard and 2. if that huge caballo walks over there to the mango tree, I´m going to know how to call him away in campo-spanish-horse language, while simultaneouly beating him with a stick.
Don Emilio brings me to my next train of thought. If there is one thing about El Salvador that will be sure to impress any of my visitors (my first is on her way: my older sister Danielle!!- August)…its the zippers on pants. If you are running late for your flight, Danielle, and wearing jeans, have no fear, there is NO NEED to zipper up here. It´s simply accepted that we don´t zipper our flies. If they are in the front, the back, the side, they stay open. After chatting with other volunteers, we still haven´t come to the conclusión as to why the population of El Salvador wears their flies undone, but some of us have opted to assimilate and forgoe the effort of zipping up before heading out into civilized society.
Lastly, we are knee deep into the Winter here. Winter here means rain and frogs. That´s the only way to describe it. I may have said this already, but a frog here is not a frog. It is the size of a squirrel and impeccably more annoying. They don´t really move. They just sit their fat asses at your door step and croak all through the night. They even show up in your shower, sitting their behind the curtain…making you feel uncomfortable as they watch you in the nude. It POURED the other night. I mean, Emilio´s house had a lake out front. And guess what, that meant infinitely more fat toads. The wáter and the amphibians spilled over into my yard, and I swore, as I lie in my bed reading that I was perched on top a lily pad, and surely into the night I would morph into one of those disgusting critters. It didn´t help the fact that all these Little nats were flying around my head lamp, just watiing for me to stick out my tongue and suck one up. I didn´t, but if it would scare them away for the night to let me sleep in peace, I´d consider having them as a midnight snack.
That being said, hope you´re excited to come Danielle! We´re going to have a great time. It´s sooo relaxing here :D
Maybe some of you are actually interested in my WORK here and not my interesting observations of life in the campo. Well, you´d be pleased to know that, as often happens, my meeting with an NGO to help out with my Artesania de Jewelry got canceled. But hopefully he will come through next Wednesday. We´re trying to get our group organized so that we can start a business out of it. Training was helpful as that I plan on sitting down with the leader of the group this week to make our business plan.
I have made 2 appointments for next week to interview a local NGO and the Mayor of my Municipality to discuss their work and projects. I will be starting classes next week at both schools that the youth of my canton attend. At one, I will teach physical education- sports (others besides soccer- they might be flabbergasted to know they exist), yoga, stretching techniques and the importance of being healthy, other fun games. And at another the Director wants be to teach art which I´m pretty stoked about. Still working on the soccer team for the girls…the men dominate the soccer fiel d on the weekends so its been hard to organize time there. And the community wants to start a fish Project where everyone has their own Little pond. I know NOTHING about how to go about doing this so we´ll see when that happens. Also have to start writing a grant proposal for some Money that has been offered to our business group. Before I tell my community about this, I´m going to try to get them to do some fundraising of their own. However, if any of you at home has old sports equipment laying around…balls, softball gloves, bats (is there a way to send that?) feel free to send them! Also, drawing-art supplies.
I miss everyone at home IMMENSELY. Now that I´m back in my community without the other volunteers, the loneliness returns. I miss home, I miss my home…and while it´s nice when I refer to my community as ¨home¨, its a Little scary. I think about everyone at home all the time. The weirdest things remind me of my family, like the tea bags that my friend sent me make me miss my Mom. And sleeping with the teddy bear my Little sister gave me makes me miss my friend and Mr. Bear. I love and miss you all! Come visit!
Sunday, June 20, 2010
Back to my Site...
Where is the House I left Behind?
Arrived yesterday at approximately 5.27 pm at my site in Morazan. I jumped off the bus, watched the cobrador drop my 2 backpacks into a puddle of mud as I opened the fence to my house and sighed as the bus drove off into the distance. 3 weeks I was away for training. Do you know what happens in 3 weeks? Scorpions come out from the woodwork and successfully place themselves in unsuspecting areas so that just when you turn the page of a suspenseful book you look up and gasp in horror at a stinger and two claw- like appendages in your face. Spiders create an obstacle course of webs stretching from doorway to window to refrigerator to chairs so that by the time you have walked through 17 and swallowed a couple pieces more, you have stopped noticing they are there. Clothes mold. Flip flops. Pillows. A stove burner (I didn’t know that was possible). Towels. Tables. Everything grows fungus. Dust coats everything so that you feel like your house has been abandoned for years. Swarms of mosquitoes make it impossible to use the latrine without getting bitten at least 3 times on the most difficult part of your body to scratch in public. Your pila grows green algae and larvae, requiring you to clean it thoroughly with bleach in the dark of night so that you have some clean water to wash the mud off your hands from the suitcases…
It is not the same as the lively little house I left behind. It is dirty. It is gloomy. And it is quiet. Barros toys are tossed on the ground. Dirty and smelly but still with his teeth marks. There is no music, since my iPod decided to break after downloading about $200 worth of music and videos. And my friends are not here. After 3 weeks of training, surrounded by other volunteers, and a beautiful weekend at the beach with my friends…. My house is suddenly a very different and unfamiliar place.
Just as quickly as I entered, I left. I walked down the dirt road to Doras house, knowing that her cute little grand children would be sure to cheer me up. And even before I got there, at least 3 families stopped me with bright smiles upon my return. Jaclyns father actually got up from his hammock and walked over to the fence, as opposed to his usual wave to welcome me. Marjorie and Caterine called my name from the hill above my house and I could even make out the smiles of their limited teeth supply in the dark. My dear little Karime road up on her grandpas horse…a 3 year old clinging to his back- picture perfect. We shared stories and hugs at Doras until my yawning become way too uncontrollable to have pleasant conversation any longer…and I headed home. It started pouring and I hoped that the awkwardness of my time gone was being washed away. I pictured the dust, the mold, the spiders and scorpions cleansed away. Barros belongings tied up away in a bag, awaiting a new recipient. And the rain became my new music to lull me asleep. I am ready to start working in my community!
Happy Fathers Day
I took some time to reflect today about my Daddy…I don’t know about your dad, but mine is really talented. He can perfectly remove the stems of strawberries so that alls I have to do is dip them in sugar without worrying about a little leaf sneaking in. He can give horsey rides and play hide and seek better than any 5 year old…even if it means winning by falling asleep in the basement. He can build pools and swing sets, drive motorcycles, boats and planes, cook breakfast and grill steaks. Most importantly, he can always make me laugh. Maybe at times it has come down to the “pull my finger” trick… but he always can. And I miss him a lot today. I love you Dad! Happy Fathers Day.
Arrived yesterday at approximately 5.27 pm at my site in Morazan. I jumped off the bus, watched the cobrador drop my 2 backpacks into a puddle of mud as I opened the fence to my house and sighed as the bus drove off into the distance. 3 weeks I was away for training. Do you know what happens in 3 weeks? Scorpions come out from the woodwork and successfully place themselves in unsuspecting areas so that just when you turn the page of a suspenseful book you look up and gasp in horror at a stinger and two claw- like appendages in your face. Spiders create an obstacle course of webs stretching from doorway to window to refrigerator to chairs so that by the time you have walked through 17 and swallowed a couple pieces more, you have stopped noticing they are there. Clothes mold. Flip flops. Pillows. A stove burner (I didn’t know that was possible). Towels. Tables. Everything grows fungus. Dust coats everything so that you feel like your house has been abandoned for years. Swarms of mosquitoes make it impossible to use the latrine without getting bitten at least 3 times on the most difficult part of your body to scratch in public. Your pila grows green algae and larvae, requiring you to clean it thoroughly with bleach in the dark of night so that you have some clean water to wash the mud off your hands from the suitcases…
It is not the same as the lively little house I left behind. It is dirty. It is gloomy. And it is quiet. Barros toys are tossed on the ground. Dirty and smelly but still with his teeth marks. There is no music, since my iPod decided to break after downloading about $200 worth of music and videos. And my friends are not here. After 3 weeks of training, surrounded by other volunteers, and a beautiful weekend at the beach with my friends…. My house is suddenly a very different and unfamiliar place.
Just as quickly as I entered, I left. I walked down the dirt road to Doras house, knowing that her cute little grand children would be sure to cheer me up. And even before I got there, at least 3 families stopped me with bright smiles upon my return. Jaclyns father actually got up from his hammock and walked over to the fence, as opposed to his usual wave to welcome me. Marjorie and Caterine called my name from the hill above my house and I could even make out the smiles of their limited teeth supply in the dark. My dear little Karime road up on her grandpas horse…a 3 year old clinging to his back- picture perfect. We shared stories and hugs at Doras until my yawning become way too uncontrollable to have pleasant conversation any longer…and I headed home. It started pouring and I hoped that the awkwardness of my time gone was being washed away. I pictured the dust, the mold, the spiders and scorpions cleansed away. Barros belongings tied up away in a bag, awaiting a new recipient. And the rain became my new music to lull me asleep. I am ready to start working in my community!
Happy Fathers Day
I took some time to reflect today about my Daddy…I don’t know about your dad, but mine is really talented. He can perfectly remove the stems of strawberries so that alls I have to do is dip them in sugar without worrying about a little leaf sneaking in. He can give horsey rides and play hide and seek better than any 5 year old…even if it means winning by falling asleep in the basement. He can build pools and swing sets, drive motorcycles, boats and planes, cook breakfast and grill steaks. Most importantly, he can always make me laugh. Maybe at times it has come down to the “pull my finger” trick… but he always can. And I miss him a lot today. I love you Dad! Happy Fathers Day.
Monday, June 14, 2010
Malas Noticias
RIP Barro Zeus
I have now come to terms with the fact that Barro, my little puppy, has passed away. So I am saying goodbye and would like to share it with my friends...who mostly never got to meet him, but seemed to also revel in his cuteness with me. He became very ill for the 3rd time and this time he couldn't pull through. He passed away in the night last week, the 8th of June. I came home to him vomiting and severely dehydrated and skinny after 3 days without food. He looked up at me, his eyes barren, tried to take one sip of water, and had little energy left for anything else. He crawled to a nearby bush and I covered him in his towel. It started to rain and when he didn't come inside, I knew he was saying goodbye. I am very sad that he is no longer with me, but I'd like to think he had a happy little life with me. The truth is, he suffered a lot and perhaps it is better this way. May he rest peacefully now.
a Barro, con carino...
Tengo un dolor del corazon,
Porque no estas aqui conmigo.
El tiempo que tuvimos fue corto,
Pero siempre estaba contenta contigo.
Se dice que duermes en el cielo de perros,
como en el pie de mi cama dormiste.
Espero que sigas sus amigos alli,
como cualquier lugar you fui, tu fuiste.
Pieno que tuvieras una buena vida,
pero sufriste un poco en realidad.
Ahora, puedes descansar en paz...
muchisma gracias por tu amistad.
A poem for my little guy. Since I did not get to give him a proper burial... and his home is not here, at the San Vicente training center but in my site in Morazan, my plan is to have a little curial for him when I get back. With this poem.
The next few months I will focus on myself and my community...perhaps it was too soon for a puppy. So don't be sad for Barro, because he was always sick and now he is not in pain. And don't be sad for me, because life goes on!
And I promise my next entry will not be so depressing!
I have now come to terms with the fact that Barro, my little puppy, has passed away. So I am saying goodbye and would like to share it with my friends...who mostly never got to meet him, but seemed to also revel in his cuteness with me. He became very ill for the 3rd time and this time he couldn't pull through. He passed away in the night last week, the 8th of June. I came home to him vomiting and severely dehydrated and skinny after 3 days without food. He looked up at me, his eyes barren, tried to take one sip of water, and had little energy left for anything else. He crawled to a nearby bush and I covered him in his towel. It started to rain and when he didn't come inside, I knew he was saying goodbye. I am very sad that he is no longer with me, but I'd like to think he had a happy little life with me. The truth is, he suffered a lot and perhaps it is better this way. May he rest peacefully now.
a Barro, con carino...
Tengo un dolor del corazon,
Porque no estas aqui conmigo.
El tiempo que tuvimos fue corto,
Pero siempre estaba contenta contigo.
Se dice que duermes en el cielo de perros,
como en el pie de mi cama dormiste.
Espero que sigas sus amigos alli,
como cualquier lugar you fui, tu fuiste.
Pieno que tuvieras una buena vida,
pero sufriste un poco en realidad.
Ahora, puedes descansar en paz...
muchisma gracias por tu amistad.
A poem for my little guy. Since I did not get to give him a proper burial... and his home is not here, at the San Vicente training center but in my site in Morazan, my plan is to have a little curial for him when I get back. With this poem.
The next few months I will focus on myself and my community...perhaps it was too soon for a puppy. So don't be sad for Barro, because he was always sick and now he is not in pain. And don't be sad for me, because life goes on!
And I promise my next entry will not be so depressing!
Thursday, May 27, 2010
It´s here. The raining season has officially started. And no one needed to tell me, ¨Gringa, es invierno. Va a llover todos los dias!¨ Instead, the clouds have dumped bucket upon bucket for the past week and there is an ever present puddle on the left side of my fridge. Those misty mornings turned into torential (why can´t i spell anymore?) downpours, washing away my poetic moments of cloud watching at 6am.
You can compare the sound that echos in my cement house with tin roofing to 50 drums being banged simultaneously, inches from your face. Its loud. Anyone who has tried talking to me on the phone while its raining can guage for that.
Besides for the hours I go questioning if I have lost my hearing, the only other major downside of the rainy season is the fact that your clothes don´t dry. I urge anyone down here NOT to wait 2 weeks to wash nearly all of your clothes...its a struggle to find something to wear right now. My clothes have been on the line, inside my house, for 3 days, and show no signs of drying.
So, being that I have to pack all these clothes to go to San Vi for the next 3 weeks, I decided to lug them into the nearest town to find a drying machine. After much skepticism from everyone in my canton, I finally stumbled upon a Lavanderia. With a drying machine!! I was shocked to see it. After 4 months of handwashing, I had begun to believe the whole world used a stone and their strong hand to clean their ropa. I shall head back there shortly, to see if it is true. That clothes CAN dry in the rainy season.
Besides for the rain, I´d just like to reflect on Awkward Moments. Is there every a day without them?
My counterparts granddaughter decided the other day, that she was craving some milk. Breast milk that is. And after much whining, her mom finally gave in a whipped out her right side. Mind you, the little girl is 3 years old. But she was satisfied when she soon realized her mom was not lying. ¨Y Usted tampoco?¨ She asked me. No, me neither.
I have given in to spitting on the floor. I brushed my teeth the other night in my bedroom. I brushed and I spit toothpastey water all over my floor. It was kinda nice. Liberating.
Vendedors on the bus can sell ANYTHING. I giggle to myself everytime they come on and I hear their pitch. ¨Think 1 dollar is too expensive for this pen, well I will give you 2 pens. Still too much, well I´ll give you 3!¨ But nothing excites the ppl more than when he brings out the highlighter.
And now I head back out to get pelted by the rain.
You can compare the sound that echos in my cement house with tin roofing to 50 drums being banged simultaneously, inches from your face. Its loud. Anyone who has tried talking to me on the phone while its raining can guage for that.
Besides for the hours I go questioning if I have lost my hearing, the only other major downside of the rainy season is the fact that your clothes don´t dry. I urge anyone down here NOT to wait 2 weeks to wash nearly all of your clothes...its a struggle to find something to wear right now. My clothes have been on the line, inside my house, for 3 days, and show no signs of drying.
So, being that I have to pack all these clothes to go to San Vi for the next 3 weeks, I decided to lug them into the nearest town to find a drying machine. After much skepticism from everyone in my canton, I finally stumbled upon a Lavanderia. With a drying machine!! I was shocked to see it. After 4 months of handwashing, I had begun to believe the whole world used a stone and their strong hand to clean their ropa. I shall head back there shortly, to see if it is true. That clothes CAN dry in the rainy season.
Besides for the rain, I´d just like to reflect on Awkward Moments. Is there every a day without them?
My counterparts granddaughter decided the other day, that she was craving some milk. Breast milk that is. And after much whining, her mom finally gave in a whipped out her right side. Mind you, the little girl is 3 years old. But she was satisfied when she soon realized her mom was not lying. ¨Y Usted tampoco?¨ She asked me. No, me neither.
I have given in to spitting on the floor. I brushed my teeth the other night in my bedroom. I brushed and I spit toothpastey water all over my floor. It was kinda nice. Liberating.
Vendedors on the bus can sell ANYTHING. I giggle to myself everytime they come on and I hear their pitch. ¨Think 1 dollar is too expensive for this pen, well I will give you 2 pens. Still too much, well I´ll give you 3!¨ But nothing excites the ppl more than when he brings out the highlighter.
And now I head back out to get pelted by the rain.
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Living in the Desert
This Friday marks the last day at my site, for 3 weeks. Our group is heading back to San Vicente for 3 weeks of training.
While I´m excited to see everyone again, it´s going to be weird to go back to the training classes. Where days are structured, there is a lot of speaking English and I live with my host family.
I´m worried my Artesania class will fall apart while I´m gone for 3 weeks, but I do have a lot of faith in my community.
I run out of things to say in my blog, and I fear that this is because the novelty has begun to wear off. I still pause and watch the cows in the morning, and now the newly born baby horse, on my way back from the letrine. And I still enjoy yoga in front of the misty mountains just before 7am. But less and less mangos fall from the trees. The exhilaration from being on the back of a pick-up is gone. And I can safely say my taste buds have gone numb to eggs, beans and pupusas.
I have a long list of projects that my community wants to work on when I return in the end of June. Hopefully that will bring some new excitement.
In the meantime, I live vicariously through emails from home and photos on facebook.
It´s weird to think of summertime in NY without being there. I am desperately nostalgic. The May weather. The flowers and rain. The end of school. Parties in my over ground knee-deep pool :) Train rides to the city with half of pleasantville. Hot morning bagels. Cold afternoon ice coffee. Dinner with friends. Sun bathing... on pavement in NY.... or Martha´s Vineyard! and I can´t even begin to think about the chicken fingers at the diner (preferrably at 4am)...
But ah, alas, I am still in El Salvador. Where the weather ranges from really hot and humid, to slightly hot and humid. Where you complain about the dry weather, because the dust burns your throat and eyes. And you complain when it rains, for you can hardly walk in the mud. Where there is no variation in the food, and no parties for anyone except the bolos. Where coffee grows nearby in the mountains, but the only thing people drink is ¨NesCafe Instant Coffee¨.
So I think back to the reasons I joined. And bit by bit it comes together. I think of another Paulo Coehlo line, ¨Maybe the desert was created so we appreciate the date trees¨.
While I´m excited to see everyone again, it´s going to be weird to go back to the training classes. Where days are structured, there is a lot of speaking English and I live with my host family.
I´m worried my Artesania class will fall apart while I´m gone for 3 weeks, but I do have a lot of faith in my community.
I run out of things to say in my blog, and I fear that this is because the novelty has begun to wear off. I still pause and watch the cows in the morning, and now the newly born baby horse, on my way back from the letrine. And I still enjoy yoga in front of the misty mountains just before 7am. But less and less mangos fall from the trees. The exhilaration from being on the back of a pick-up is gone. And I can safely say my taste buds have gone numb to eggs, beans and pupusas.
I have a long list of projects that my community wants to work on when I return in the end of June. Hopefully that will bring some new excitement.
In the meantime, I live vicariously through emails from home and photos on facebook.
It´s weird to think of summertime in NY without being there. I am desperately nostalgic. The May weather. The flowers and rain. The end of school. Parties in my over ground knee-deep pool :) Train rides to the city with half of pleasantville. Hot morning bagels. Cold afternoon ice coffee. Dinner with friends. Sun bathing... on pavement in NY.... or Martha´s Vineyard! and I can´t even begin to think about the chicken fingers at the diner (preferrably at 4am)...
But ah, alas, I am still in El Salvador. Where the weather ranges from really hot and humid, to slightly hot and humid. Where you complain about the dry weather, because the dust burns your throat and eyes. And you complain when it rains, for you can hardly walk in the mud. Where there is no variation in the food, and no parties for anyone except the bolos. Where coffee grows nearby in the mountains, but the only thing people drink is ¨NesCafe Instant Coffee¨.
So I think back to the reasons I joined. And bit by bit it comes together. I think of another Paulo Coehlo line, ¨Maybe the desert was created so we appreciate the date trees¨.
Thursday, May 20, 2010
A Journey
A Journey:
I was headed to Jocoro, normally about a 2 hour bus ride from my site, to visit a friend who is a volunteer there. He has art classes and I would like to have the same at my site, so I was excited to observe. I waited out front of my house for the bus, but a pick-up came first. There were people in the back so I decided it was safe to hop on.
Since the closest spots to the cab were taken, I clung for dear life on the back corner of the truck, clenching my bag between my legs and occasionally daring to lift a hand to readjust my dress. In the nearest pueblo we lost most of the passengers (by choice, they didn´t fall) and I was starting to get comfortable. By this I mean I had lost feeling in my thighs, my backside was numb and my neck was stuck slightly cocked over my right shoulder. But I had the best seat in the back of the truck. Just then, it started to rain. Luckily, the driver pulled over and let me get inside the car. I was hesitant, but there was a little old lady in the front so I figured it was safe. Also fortunate, I could get a right practically all the way to Jocoro.
Once there, or at the diez y ocho, I waited in the pouring rain for the bus to take me to Brian´s site. Many people asked for my umbrella, and while I was slightly ashamed to be the only one sheltered by the rain, I wasn´t about to give it up. I was in a dress! I quickly boarded the bus, leaving behind a slew of dripping Salvadorans at my heels, only to sit down next to a lady who was either drunk, crazy or I had hit one too many bumps in the back of that pick up. The 10 min bus ride consisted of me buying some weird fruit filled marshmallow that was placed on my lap by a cute 6 year old boy that I coudln´t turn away, desperately trying to avoid eye contact with the lady screaming profanities in my direction, and taking only the minimum breaths possible to keep my blood pumping, as I´m pretty sure someone on the bus had pee´d themselves.
I was entralled when I finally reached my destination, despite my very dirty feet, wet dress and the awkward taste that coated my mouth after the marshmallow ¨treat¨.
The art class and visit were what was expected. Now that I´ve reached the point of my journey... let me get on to the travel home.
Seeing it was 3:30, I knew I had to catch the very next bus from the diez y ocho, for the last bus from the pueblo to my canton was at 6. I patiently waited, as someone who I thought was a nice young man, advised me when the next bus was coming. He worked for the bus route and was explaining how soon all the buses would use tickets, to be more accurate, blah blah. And certain as the sun sets, the conversation ended with him hitting on me and me feeling extremely awkward and without an emergency exit route. When the bus pulled up, I practically cried in relief and spent most of the bus ride praying I never encounter that man again. Note: do not wear dresses while traveling ever again.
The second bus, on the way to my pueblo, I sat next to another seemingly nice ¨lady¨ (well she had a mustache). She lived in my pueblo and was a kindergarten teacher there. We talked for a long time and I concluded she was very nice... but was also questionably hitting on me. She gave me her number, and I took it, just glad I didnt have to give her mine. We pulled up at the pueblo at 5:58 and she watched me longingly as I sprinted for the next bus......which pulled away just as I arrived. I took out my phone, ready to call my new ¨friend¨ when I remembered I knew someone who lived on the corner. The problem was really that my dog was alone in my house. The guy on the corner was the first genuine Salvadoran encounter I had all day, and he, gracias a dios, had a friend with a pick up who was heading to my canton.
And so the story ends as it started. Me on the back of a pickup heading to my house. This time, I was surrounded by approx 30 men coming home from the fields, and I was in no mood to talk, or should I say be harassed. I stood in the corner, looking up at the sky, thankful that I would make it home before the last ray of light.
I hopped off at my counterparts house, not wanting the herd of men to see where my house was located, and then ran home to my Barro. He had successfully eaten everything in the garbage, including half a styrofoam plate, a new sponge from my shelf and had finished chewing up the sandal he had started on yesterday, but he did manage to poop (solid!) only inches from the door. And so I was happy. I collapsed on my bed at 7pm.
Whoever said, ¨Its not the destination, its the journey¨ must have served in peace corps el salvador.
I was headed to Jocoro, normally about a 2 hour bus ride from my site, to visit a friend who is a volunteer there. He has art classes and I would like to have the same at my site, so I was excited to observe. I waited out front of my house for the bus, but a pick-up came first. There were people in the back so I decided it was safe to hop on.
Since the closest spots to the cab were taken, I clung for dear life on the back corner of the truck, clenching my bag between my legs and occasionally daring to lift a hand to readjust my dress. In the nearest pueblo we lost most of the passengers (by choice, they didn´t fall) and I was starting to get comfortable. By this I mean I had lost feeling in my thighs, my backside was numb and my neck was stuck slightly cocked over my right shoulder. But I had the best seat in the back of the truck. Just then, it started to rain. Luckily, the driver pulled over and let me get inside the car. I was hesitant, but there was a little old lady in the front so I figured it was safe. Also fortunate, I could get a right practically all the way to Jocoro.
Once there, or at the diez y ocho, I waited in the pouring rain for the bus to take me to Brian´s site. Many people asked for my umbrella, and while I was slightly ashamed to be the only one sheltered by the rain, I wasn´t about to give it up. I was in a dress! I quickly boarded the bus, leaving behind a slew of dripping Salvadorans at my heels, only to sit down next to a lady who was either drunk, crazy or I had hit one too many bumps in the back of that pick up. The 10 min bus ride consisted of me buying some weird fruit filled marshmallow that was placed on my lap by a cute 6 year old boy that I coudln´t turn away, desperately trying to avoid eye contact with the lady screaming profanities in my direction, and taking only the minimum breaths possible to keep my blood pumping, as I´m pretty sure someone on the bus had pee´d themselves.
I was entralled when I finally reached my destination, despite my very dirty feet, wet dress and the awkward taste that coated my mouth after the marshmallow ¨treat¨.
The art class and visit were what was expected. Now that I´ve reached the point of my journey... let me get on to the travel home.
Seeing it was 3:30, I knew I had to catch the very next bus from the diez y ocho, for the last bus from the pueblo to my canton was at 6. I patiently waited, as someone who I thought was a nice young man, advised me when the next bus was coming. He worked for the bus route and was explaining how soon all the buses would use tickets, to be more accurate, blah blah. And certain as the sun sets, the conversation ended with him hitting on me and me feeling extremely awkward and without an emergency exit route. When the bus pulled up, I practically cried in relief and spent most of the bus ride praying I never encounter that man again. Note: do not wear dresses while traveling ever again.
The second bus, on the way to my pueblo, I sat next to another seemingly nice ¨lady¨ (well she had a mustache). She lived in my pueblo and was a kindergarten teacher there. We talked for a long time and I concluded she was very nice... but was also questionably hitting on me. She gave me her number, and I took it, just glad I didnt have to give her mine. We pulled up at the pueblo at 5:58 and she watched me longingly as I sprinted for the next bus......which pulled away just as I arrived. I took out my phone, ready to call my new ¨friend¨ when I remembered I knew someone who lived on the corner. The problem was really that my dog was alone in my house. The guy on the corner was the first genuine Salvadoran encounter I had all day, and he, gracias a dios, had a friend with a pick up who was heading to my canton.
And so the story ends as it started. Me on the back of a pickup heading to my house. This time, I was surrounded by approx 30 men coming home from the fields, and I was in no mood to talk, or should I say be harassed. I stood in the corner, looking up at the sky, thankful that I would make it home before the last ray of light.
I hopped off at my counterparts house, not wanting the herd of men to see where my house was located, and then ran home to my Barro. He had successfully eaten everything in the garbage, including half a styrofoam plate, a new sponge from my shelf and had finished chewing up the sandal he had started on yesterday, but he did manage to poop (solid!) only inches from the door. And so I was happy. I collapsed on my bed at 7pm.
Whoever said, ¨Its not the destination, its the journey¨ must have served in peace corps el salvador.
Monday, May 17, 2010
Poems, Propositions & Please Send Mes
First, a Poem I spontaneously wrote this morning...
Misty Morning
Looking out the window on a misty morning.
Everything is very still and quiet.
Nothing moving except for a few leaves on the nearest tree.
A blanket of undefined clouds weaving in and out of the coco trees.
I can´t help but want to just sit and watch all morning: The nothingness.
That makes me think of everything.
Until the rising sun burns it away.
The fog creates a calm feeling in me.
A sort of peaceful serenity.
Like the warmth of your bathroom, the moment you step out of a hot shower.
Barely able to make out your contour in the misty mirror.
The feeling is that that I get from leaning over a steaming up of coffee,
The moment when my body has just gotten up
but my mind is not yet awake.
The warmth of the rising heat enveloping my face.
The cloudy treetops, the dream-like opaqueness of the scene captured by my tiny window lense:
It reminds me of the split second of sky diving when I passed through the clouds.
A feeling of gentle coolness that relaxed my whole body.
For one moment, the adrenaline subsided and I was floating in the exhalations of my breath on a cold day.
If I close my eyes I can be in that moment. All those moments.
If I open them to the scene before me, I wear the same complacent smile.
And if I look, I can find those moments everywhere.
Next, a proposition...
Walk Slowly
The next time you have an opportunity to do so, walk slowly. I mean, mentally concentrate on it. Walk at least half the pace you usually do. Instead of thinking about your destination, pay attention to your surroundings. Listen to the sounds of your surroundings. Hear the interaction of your feet with the ground. Notice the buildings or trees you are passing by. Smile at people. See children laughing or couples hugging. Smell the different aromas of the area. The food or the flowers. Enjoy these moments. It will slow things down. It gives you an appreciation for the world. For me, it is extremely calming. Try it!
Back to My Regular Thoughts...
(Not related to anything above, nor to one another.)
Thought 1. I was watching Friends on my iPod the other night (after reading)...the episode where Joey is reading The Shining and he puts it in the freezer when he gets scared. Also, Little Women when he gets sad. And I thought of my trip to Vietnam with my sister. Danielle, remember when you were reading American Psycho (and me The Art of Happiness... say something about us? lol...) and you got so disturbed, that you threw it out? Not just left it behind the many places we had hip-hop-ed to and from. Or gave it to someone else. You had to throw it out. And then I thought of the Friends episode (and you) again when I got sad putting my Kindle in my drawer in the morning. I have an obsession that has led to starting at least 5 books at once. Have any ¨must read suggestions¨?
Thought 2. My older counterpart started laughing as she walked with my the other day. ¨I forgot to put on a bra!¨ She proclaimed. Umm, since when does that matter here? I thought to myself.
Thought 3. I took out a deck of cards to play with some little kids. My instincts immediately went to Egyption Rats Screw. I´m sure Kim, Jackie, Lisa, Cate´s do too! I think its fortunate that I would never be able to describe how to play to a group of little spanish-speaking kids. The community may never feel the same about me!
Thought 4. I texted my friend Jordan the other morning ¨How long is it unacceptable to stay in my hammock for?¨ I thought back to college. Freshmen year. Kristen, remember when we would stay in our beds, all day, side by side watching Americas Next Top Model ReRuns? The only time we left was to make repeated trips to the dining hall. Where I would eat chicken nuggets, sandwiches (patiently waiting for that very very slow lady to mayonaise), rice and more, while you had your vege platter. Only to return back to our cocoons in our below freezing dorm room?
WISH LIST
Supplies for an Arts & Crafts class
Dog bones
Yoga books, CDs, DVDs, music and other exercise materials
Yoga pants & tank tops
Misty Morning
Looking out the window on a misty morning.
Everything is very still and quiet.
Nothing moving except for a few leaves on the nearest tree.
A blanket of undefined clouds weaving in and out of the coco trees.
I can´t help but want to just sit and watch all morning: The nothingness.
That makes me think of everything.
Until the rising sun burns it away.
The fog creates a calm feeling in me.
A sort of peaceful serenity.
Like the warmth of your bathroom, the moment you step out of a hot shower.
Barely able to make out your contour in the misty mirror.
The feeling is that that I get from leaning over a steaming up of coffee,
The moment when my body has just gotten up
but my mind is not yet awake.
The warmth of the rising heat enveloping my face.
The cloudy treetops, the dream-like opaqueness of the scene captured by my tiny window lense:
It reminds me of the split second of sky diving when I passed through the clouds.
A feeling of gentle coolness that relaxed my whole body.
For one moment, the adrenaline subsided and I was floating in the exhalations of my breath on a cold day.
If I close my eyes I can be in that moment. All those moments.
If I open them to the scene before me, I wear the same complacent smile.
And if I look, I can find those moments everywhere.
Next, a proposition...
Walk Slowly
The next time you have an opportunity to do so, walk slowly. I mean, mentally concentrate on it. Walk at least half the pace you usually do. Instead of thinking about your destination, pay attention to your surroundings. Listen to the sounds of your surroundings. Hear the interaction of your feet with the ground. Notice the buildings or trees you are passing by. Smile at people. See children laughing or couples hugging. Smell the different aromas of the area. The food or the flowers. Enjoy these moments. It will slow things down. It gives you an appreciation for the world. For me, it is extremely calming. Try it!
Back to My Regular Thoughts...
(Not related to anything above, nor to one another.)
Thought 1. I was watching Friends on my iPod the other night (after reading)...the episode where Joey is reading The Shining and he puts it in the freezer when he gets scared. Also, Little Women when he gets sad. And I thought of my trip to Vietnam with my sister. Danielle, remember when you were reading American Psycho (and me The Art of Happiness... say something about us? lol...) and you got so disturbed, that you threw it out? Not just left it behind the many places we had hip-hop-ed to and from. Or gave it to someone else. You had to throw it out. And then I thought of the Friends episode (and you) again when I got sad putting my Kindle in my drawer in the morning. I have an obsession that has led to starting at least 5 books at once. Have any ¨must read suggestions¨?
Thought 2. My older counterpart started laughing as she walked with my the other day. ¨I forgot to put on a bra!¨ She proclaimed. Umm, since when does that matter here? I thought to myself.
Thought 3. I took out a deck of cards to play with some little kids. My instincts immediately went to Egyption Rats Screw. I´m sure Kim, Jackie, Lisa, Cate´s do too! I think its fortunate that I would never be able to describe how to play to a group of little spanish-speaking kids. The community may never feel the same about me!
Thought 4. I texted my friend Jordan the other morning ¨How long is it unacceptable to stay in my hammock for?¨ I thought back to college. Freshmen year. Kristen, remember when we would stay in our beds, all day, side by side watching Americas Next Top Model ReRuns? The only time we left was to make repeated trips to the dining hall. Where I would eat chicken nuggets, sandwiches (patiently waiting for that very very slow lady to mayonaise), rice and more, while you had your vege platter. Only to return back to our cocoons in our below freezing dorm room?
WISH LIST
Supplies for an Arts & Crafts class
Dog bones
Yoga books, CDs, DVDs, music and other exercise materials
Yoga pants & tank tops
Friday, May 14, 2010
Happy Birthday Mom!
This week has been my hardest yet down here. For one thing, it´s my Mom´s 50th Birthday and I´m not there to spend it with her. You never really appreciate things until they´re not right there with you do you? I wish I had spent more time with her while I was home. Happy Birthday Mom. I love you. I miss you every day. I read your letter all the time, and cry everytime.
Every single person that meets me down here asks to see the picture of you. ¨Y la foto de su mama?¨ You´re more important here that I am! They say you look like a doll. They can´t believe how young you look. And how beautiful you are. You stole all my thunder! And they haven´t even met you. They haven´t laughed at your corny jokes or eaten your special chicken dish. They haven´t seen you play softball or go bowling. They didn´t see you rub my back at night when I would cry about leg pains. They don´t know that the reason I don´t mind sweeping my house everyday is because I think about how you told me ¨its good exercise¨. They know you´re beautiful, but they don´t even know how special you are.
I hope you have a really good day and I hope that lots of happiness always finds you. I love you mommy.
The other reason is because I thought my dog was dead. 2 nights ago, he started vomiting. He tried to walk to the door, but fell. He was shaking, even his head was trembling. He wouldn´t eat or drink. He was just lying there, crapping himself. I thought for sure he would die. An hour into his seizure, a scorpion ran by on the floor. As I frantically tried to kick it away from Barro without getting stung myself, in sandals half falling off, since Barro had eaten the strap of one, I wondered if maybe he had gotten stung. Or maybe it was something he ate. WHY does he have to eat poop, balloons, leaves, bugs, FROGS? Or maybe he had eaten ant poision. I don´t know. But I was hysterically crying watching him suffer. There was no vet, let alone a person down here than actually CARED about animals. So I wrapped him in a blanket and sat on the floor with him (and his falling feces) on my lap, crying my eyes out on the cement floor. After 2 hours of desolation, I used my last 10 cents of saldo on my phone, and called my counterpart. In the middle of the night, she came over with her granddaughter who shortly fell asleep in my hammock. It was really nice of her to come, and I was really glad for the comfort of company. Unfortunately, she told me Barro had ¨Ojo¨. A sickness only cured by witch doctors. I was NOT allowed to bring him to the AgroServicio aka ¨vet¨. Instead, she took a chicken egg, rubbed it all over his head and body. Gave him a bath in alcohol covered leaves that made him smell really bad and attracteed A LOT of bugs. And told me to crack the egg, dig a hole outside, and bury it. For the disease was now out of his system and in the egg.
I don´t exactly believe that the chicken egg saved Barros life. But 2 days later, he can walk again, is not vomiting, ate some food this morning (still has a rancid lime green diarrea) and is alive. I hope that he will be okay. And now he will be staying on a tight leash. It was hard to think I was losing my best friend and roomate here. As big of a pain in the ass he is, I love him.
The other reasons, are the normal homesickness. I miss life back home. I want to share stories with Danielle, probably about guys or going out, laughing on the couch. Maybe looking in the mirror about whose stomach is fatter. Are you still detoxing? I want to watch Christina from across the rooming, typing on her computer. So concentrated that she can´t hear me talking to her. I want to help her get ready for college. Tell her about my experiences and get excited with her about how much fun she will have. Are you sure you wanna go to Maryland and not Florida? I want to hug Amanda...I want her to be a baby again when I would rock her to sleep on the blue chair or make her say bad words with my friends. Oops. Or at least I want to watch her grow up. 7th grade! Thats when everything starts getting bad... I had my first boyfriend...but we didn´t hug til 8th grade dont worry. I DONT wanna be there to help with math, but I DO wanna be there to see your 100s! Not even kidding, Justin Bieber is on in the Internet Cafe right now! I wanna be watching him on YouTube with you in my room :( I want to be with my Dad, eating strawberrys that he has cut the stems off of for me. Or sitting on the couch while he cooks me eggs and then watching Goodfellas for the 70th time together. I want to do situps on the floor with my Mom. Go grocery shopping with her and be really excited for juice on sale but spending way too much on Warm Delights and Chocolate Chip Cookies and then hiding them in unsuspecting places in the house. I want to sit in Grams house, watching her cook dinner, smelling the sweet tomato sauce, and afterwards re using the tinfoil for the 15th time. I want to be with my family.
But I´m building a family here. I have started an Artesania group. A guy in town makes really awesome jewelry out of natural seeds that grow here and he wants to teach people. I am in contact with an organization to request materials or funds for our group. Once everyone can make stuff, we are going to try to sell them at tourist fairs or larger pueblos. People are really excited about it. We have a group learning to make hammocks. Including me. Does anyone at home realize how comfortable these things are? I haven´t been to a house yet that doesn´t have one down here. Anyone want one at home? I am also going to give art, gym/yoga and english classes at the school. I´ve been observing classes this week at 2 schools the children attend here. And I´m helping teach adults reading, writing and general education. It´s nice now to walk through the community and hear these people, who I call friends and hope to call family soon, say Hola Nina Jaime, instead of stare and whisper Gringa, like they did before. It also helps playing soccer on the guys team every Sunday, but I´m pretty sure the group of teenaged guys would have accepted me before I did that anyway...
And I just read an email from our Peace Corps Country Director here. In it was a section about rebuilding the Guinea program. It made me think about how different things would have been if I actually ended up there. I was told I would have contact with home once a month. No water. No electricity. FRENCH with a local dialect. Learning 2 languages! A desert with hardly ever rain. The ivory coast. Could I have done it? I don´t know. Maybe there´s a reason I ended up here. But maybe I could have. Everything is about your attitude. It´s all in your mindset. You can do anything you really put your mind to. And I´ve learned here that its not about whether you have a mud hut or house of cement blocks. Its not hard to take bucket baths and you get withstand eating beans everyday. What matters is people and relationships. I could have survived Peace Corps Guinea. Maybe I would have turned out more like Bear Grylls, than the slightly less high maintenance form of myself that Ive become... but I think I could have done it with the help of the people of Guinea around. I´ve been asked how to change the world? Is it possible... I don´t know. But what´s the hurt in trying. HOW is the question. For me, this is it- people. Loving people. Seeing the beauty in everyday, even if it means finding it. Appreciating what you have, even though it may be less than others, or not much at all. Doing things that make others happy... and will... without a doubt, make you happier in return. Holding the door for someone. Saying hello, or ¨Salu¨ to people who pass by. Maybe you can afford to give back in bigger ways. Do things with good intentions. Follow your dreams- its one of the HARDEST things to do. But if you do what makes you happy, it will rub off on others. Think that we were all born the same, we all want to be happy, and we all deserve to be happy. So have compassion. Don´t let little things make you angry, and don´t be angry at other people. It does nothing for yourself. Guinea would be hard place to live. But people there deserve to be happy...and people there are just as sweet as the people here in El Salvador. So as much as I miss home, I will keep appreciating the little things here. The greenish blue bird that sat on my tree this morning, singing me a morning tune. The baby horse that Barro and I watch frolick behind his mama...never 3 steps away. The easy access to freshly fallen mangos, papayas and avocados. Doing yogo infront of the misty mountains in the morning. Hugs from little kids I barely know and even kisses on the cheek. Living Life.
Every single person that meets me down here asks to see the picture of you. ¨Y la foto de su mama?¨ You´re more important here that I am! They say you look like a doll. They can´t believe how young you look. And how beautiful you are. You stole all my thunder! And they haven´t even met you. They haven´t laughed at your corny jokes or eaten your special chicken dish. They haven´t seen you play softball or go bowling. They didn´t see you rub my back at night when I would cry about leg pains. They don´t know that the reason I don´t mind sweeping my house everyday is because I think about how you told me ¨its good exercise¨. They know you´re beautiful, but they don´t even know how special you are.
I hope you have a really good day and I hope that lots of happiness always finds you. I love you mommy.
The other reason is because I thought my dog was dead. 2 nights ago, he started vomiting. He tried to walk to the door, but fell. He was shaking, even his head was trembling. He wouldn´t eat or drink. He was just lying there, crapping himself. I thought for sure he would die. An hour into his seizure, a scorpion ran by on the floor. As I frantically tried to kick it away from Barro without getting stung myself, in sandals half falling off, since Barro had eaten the strap of one, I wondered if maybe he had gotten stung. Or maybe it was something he ate. WHY does he have to eat poop, balloons, leaves, bugs, FROGS? Or maybe he had eaten ant poision. I don´t know. But I was hysterically crying watching him suffer. There was no vet, let alone a person down here than actually CARED about animals. So I wrapped him in a blanket and sat on the floor with him (and his falling feces) on my lap, crying my eyes out on the cement floor. After 2 hours of desolation, I used my last 10 cents of saldo on my phone, and called my counterpart. In the middle of the night, she came over with her granddaughter who shortly fell asleep in my hammock. It was really nice of her to come, and I was really glad for the comfort of company. Unfortunately, she told me Barro had ¨Ojo¨. A sickness only cured by witch doctors. I was NOT allowed to bring him to the AgroServicio aka ¨vet¨. Instead, she took a chicken egg, rubbed it all over his head and body. Gave him a bath in alcohol covered leaves that made him smell really bad and attracteed A LOT of bugs. And told me to crack the egg, dig a hole outside, and bury it. For the disease was now out of his system and in the egg.
I don´t exactly believe that the chicken egg saved Barros life. But 2 days later, he can walk again, is not vomiting, ate some food this morning (still has a rancid lime green diarrea) and is alive. I hope that he will be okay. And now he will be staying on a tight leash. It was hard to think I was losing my best friend and roomate here. As big of a pain in the ass he is, I love him.
The other reasons, are the normal homesickness. I miss life back home. I want to share stories with Danielle, probably about guys or going out, laughing on the couch. Maybe looking in the mirror about whose stomach is fatter. Are you still detoxing? I want to watch Christina from across the rooming, typing on her computer. So concentrated that she can´t hear me talking to her. I want to help her get ready for college. Tell her about my experiences and get excited with her about how much fun she will have. Are you sure you wanna go to Maryland and not Florida? I want to hug Amanda...I want her to be a baby again when I would rock her to sleep on the blue chair or make her say bad words with my friends. Oops. Or at least I want to watch her grow up. 7th grade! Thats when everything starts getting bad... I had my first boyfriend...but we didn´t hug til 8th grade dont worry. I DONT wanna be there to help with math, but I DO wanna be there to see your 100s! Not even kidding, Justin Bieber is on in the Internet Cafe right now! I wanna be watching him on YouTube with you in my room :( I want to be with my Dad, eating strawberrys that he has cut the stems off of for me. Or sitting on the couch while he cooks me eggs and then watching Goodfellas for the 70th time together. I want to do situps on the floor with my Mom. Go grocery shopping with her and be really excited for juice on sale but spending way too much on Warm Delights and Chocolate Chip Cookies and then hiding them in unsuspecting places in the house. I want to sit in Grams house, watching her cook dinner, smelling the sweet tomato sauce, and afterwards re using the tinfoil for the 15th time. I want to be with my family.
But I´m building a family here. I have started an Artesania group. A guy in town makes really awesome jewelry out of natural seeds that grow here and he wants to teach people. I am in contact with an organization to request materials or funds for our group. Once everyone can make stuff, we are going to try to sell them at tourist fairs or larger pueblos. People are really excited about it. We have a group learning to make hammocks. Including me. Does anyone at home realize how comfortable these things are? I haven´t been to a house yet that doesn´t have one down here. Anyone want one at home? I am also going to give art, gym/yoga and english classes at the school. I´ve been observing classes this week at 2 schools the children attend here. And I´m helping teach adults reading, writing and general education. It´s nice now to walk through the community and hear these people, who I call friends and hope to call family soon, say Hola Nina Jaime, instead of stare and whisper Gringa, like they did before. It also helps playing soccer on the guys team every Sunday, but I´m pretty sure the group of teenaged guys would have accepted me before I did that anyway...
And I just read an email from our Peace Corps Country Director here. In it was a section about rebuilding the Guinea program. It made me think about how different things would have been if I actually ended up there. I was told I would have contact with home once a month. No water. No electricity. FRENCH with a local dialect. Learning 2 languages! A desert with hardly ever rain. The ivory coast. Could I have done it? I don´t know. Maybe there´s a reason I ended up here. But maybe I could have. Everything is about your attitude. It´s all in your mindset. You can do anything you really put your mind to. And I´ve learned here that its not about whether you have a mud hut or house of cement blocks. Its not hard to take bucket baths and you get withstand eating beans everyday. What matters is people and relationships. I could have survived Peace Corps Guinea. Maybe I would have turned out more like Bear Grylls, than the slightly less high maintenance form of myself that Ive become... but I think I could have done it with the help of the people of Guinea around. I´ve been asked how to change the world? Is it possible... I don´t know. But what´s the hurt in trying. HOW is the question. For me, this is it- people. Loving people. Seeing the beauty in everyday, even if it means finding it. Appreciating what you have, even though it may be less than others, or not much at all. Doing things that make others happy... and will... without a doubt, make you happier in return. Holding the door for someone. Saying hello, or ¨Salu¨ to people who pass by. Maybe you can afford to give back in bigger ways. Do things with good intentions. Follow your dreams- its one of the HARDEST things to do. But if you do what makes you happy, it will rub off on others. Think that we were all born the same, we all want to be happy, and we all deserve to be happy. So have compassion. Don´t let little things make you angry, and don´t be angry at other people. It does nothing for yourself. Guinea would be hard place to live. But people there deserve to be happy...and people there are just as sweet as the people here in El Salvador. So as much as I miss home, I will keep appreciating the little things here. The greenish blue bird that sat on my tree this morning, singing me a morning tune. The baby horse that Barro and I watch frolick behind his mama...never 3 steps away. The easy access to freshly fallen mangos, papayas and avocados. Doing yogo infront of the misty mountains in the morning. Hugs from little kids I barely know and even kisses on the cheek. Living Life.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)