¨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 :/
Monday, July 26, 2010
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.
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