Perspective and the Theory of Relativity are two important notions to aknowledge in the Peace Corps. By this I mean the difference between seeing your pila as half- empty or half- full can be the determining factor in how your day starts, and that’s before you had even considered the fact that a half-empty pila is a fully-full pila to a man who has no water.
One minute I was standing under the comfort of a plastic tarp that was housing a table of various vegetable offerings, taking a break from the sun and contemplating the purchase of 4 bananas for 2 quarters. The next minute rain was beating down so hard on the temporary roof above that I startled myself and dropped a quarter, sending it pinging and rolling down the river-esque road of Gotera, soon to be in the hands of a lucky winner. I returned the bananas to their respective positions with a snarl. I cursed my clumsiness, the backpack on my back, the 8lbs of dog food piled on top of a week worth of vegetables and powdered milk, as water pelted my pedicured-less toes.
I stood there whining (still not sure if it was silently or outloud to myself) and considered letting my arms drop, tomatoes splattering and potatoes plundering, kicking the box of leche, throwing myself to the ground and rolling side to side in a nina malcriada fit.
It was then that I recognized a pick-up and my friend abruptly came to a halt.
I threw my bags in the back and piled in…wearing a “I’m-a-little-wet-but-it’s-no-big-deal-at-all-Im-a-Cuerpo-de-Paz-way-tougher-than-you-no-sweat grin.” Inside I was all “gracias a Dios”.
Walking in the rain sucks. Squishing wet and smelly people on an unventilated bus with people’s muddy shoes trampling your feet sucks. Slow moving vehicles suck. Pick-ups, good.
We pass an old man bearing a cane taking 2 steps a minute. 1 step behind is a 7 year old child. They have no umbrella, yet they don’t seem to notice the rain. They have no jackets, they look cold, but they don’t wear signs of it on their faces. I have noticed so many people like this in my community. After a certain period of time, do you begin to not feel the rain? Or do you just know how to not let it show?
We slow and ask where the couple is going. “Allinomas”. Literal translate: right over there, no further. Interpretation: they actually may be going right over there, but they are probably going 5 blocks further, up and around the curve, down the bend and a sharp right. As we pull past them, I turn back adoringly, wondering if it is the young child who cares for his old grandpa or vice versa.
There are a lot of things I can quejar about down here. But the truth is, at the end of the day I feel rather foolish about it. Last night I sat up late chatting with Don Jorge at my neighbor’s house. His wife proudly handed me a boiling bowl of vegetable soup and I gratefully accepted. I initially had been sorta rushing to get outta there, truth be told, because I had not been home all day and in my mind I was quite literally starving. As I was eating, one of Jorge’s 6 living in his house grandchildren climbed into his lap in the hammock. “You know these kids have a meal to eat everyday?” Jorge told me. “I work hard to make sure they always have something on their plates. And they still complain. I work hard. I owe some money but I know how important it is to keep them well fed.” He looked at me with pride in his eyes as he lovingly caressed Kilmer’s head.
“When I was a kid, we ate hard tortillas with salt and drops of lime. I was really mal- nutritioned. We lived in a poverty that, hmph, that was poverty. I know how important it is to keep your kids good and fed” He continued and then gazed up at the ceiling.
I sipped on my soup, now feeling a pain in my stomach. I knew that was not his intention, but I cursed myself for all the times I have complained.
Kilmer looked over at me, his cheek still resting on Papi’s stomach, and smiled. Now this family is blessed in many ways, their kind hearts and beautiful family, but I’m sorry, the dimples take the gold. You know, this little boy, he can be a real pain…like all little kids. But it’s like those dimples have a power over me.
Earlier in the day, Karime ratted out her buddy. “You know what?” She told me, eye brows raised and mouth pursed in her most serious composure, “Kilmer pushed Lili over walking home from school today. Yup, and her hand is cut and her knee is cut, too.”
“Hey Kilmer, did you push my friend Lili today?” I asked him that night. “Yea I did!” He told me excited, proud and giggling a little. “And you know what, she’s got a real good cut on her hand!” He was trying to impress his 2 older brothers.
“Okay, Kilmer. Well, now you gotta apologize buddy because you can’t just go around pushing all my friends! I will have none left to play with. So, let’s practice. I will be Lili and you are Kilmer and it’s the next day at school.”
“Hola, Kilmer. Como estas? Vas para la escuela?”
All the kids startled giggling.
But good old Kilmer, dimples in tact, replied “Hola Lili. Perdoname.” And then he collapsed in my lap in hysterics.
“Okay Kilmer, good job. The other option you have,” I told him “is to sing that song…Te Pido Perdon…”
After which we all started singing and laughing on the floor of Don Jorge’s humble abode.
Relatively speaking, in terms of finances and status, maybe this family does not have it so good. But more and more I have learned that, really, the theory of relativity has little to do on one’s happiness in life. The relationships you have with your family and friends, strangers and even enemies for that matter, will be what makes your life what it stands for. Maybe there are people out there who can roll around on the floor at the end of the day with their piles of money, but I think Kilmer and Lili make much better company.
Monday, July 18, 2011
Monday, July 11, 2011
Amar lo que Somos
Love What We Are
Banana = banana. Escuela = school. Bicho = kid
As I sit here writing a Spanish review sheet for my adult English class, much of which is consisted of Spanish words that, in fact, do no exist in the Spanish dictionary, I question my presence for the umpteenth time in this chicken-infested countryside of El Salvador.
It is true that I have less than eight months left to salvage this little community from the disaster of which it is not and I am running out of ganas to do so. Let’s face it, in eight months the students of my adult English class will have forgotten 80% of the words (although most likely 100%) they have learned and will once again not know their culo from their codo (in English that is). So, it dawns on me that while I sit here spending two hours translating banana to banana, biembenidos to welcome (Spanish spelling lessons- much more valuable project) and chucho to dog, I probably could be using my time in a more efficient manner. But fret you not, surely one of my fifteen students will successfully enter the states mojado where s/he will whip out my recently typed up review sheet and say “My name is Jaime”…(afortunadamente, my name works for both genders). And so, my project is deemed effective.
But its every now and then that the “Peace Corps moments” prove to be more important than the small, or sometimes large, successes we find in our community projects.
I headed out west this past weekend for a few reasons. One, because if I headed east I would shortly end up in Honduras and my project scope is El Salvador, two because I was invited to some events at the US Embassy and therefore needed to pass through San Salvador and three because I had plans to visit my best friend Chelsea who coincidentally resides in beautiful Chalatenango, the complete opposite side of the county. Celebrating July 4th and also 50 years of the Peace Corps at the US Embassy was nothing more than magnificent…besides for a rude slap in the face as to what life is like outside of the Peace Corps or outside of the campo. (By the way, for those not understanding, when you think “campo” think “the bush”). But what this entry is really about is my visit to see Chelsea.
We arrived in a beautiful little “tourist” town of El Salvador (when you think “tourist” do NOT think “Disney World”) where I ate the most delicious grilled pineapple and vegetable sandwich of my life and spent the afternoon exploring artesan shops and artwork painted with coffee beans. We spent the night at a quaint little $10 a night hotel, where we slept for approximately 3.5 hours and woke at 4am to catch a ride with the milkman (think milkman) on his little motor boat. At 4:30am sharp we were cruising across Lago Suchitlan where soon after I jerked awake as we nearly collided with our first clients (think livestock). Roberto climbed off the little rowboat, strategically causing it to teeter-totter me back to sleep, and proceeded to milk cow 1 and cow 2. Before I could finish my lovely dream of a Chipotle barbacoa burrito, we were chugging off. Yet again, I awoke as we pulled up a skip-and-a-hop away from Chelsea’s house and I smiled at the lovely site, waved goodbye to the milk man, and headed for her bed (think 5:30am).
We awoke a few hours later and stepped outside to enjoy our home cooked platanos and eggs by the lake. Just as the jealousy sit in that my friend lives on the water and takes a boat to get to her site, the sun reflected off the water, blinding me in the eyes and causing sweat to pour out of my forehead. And so goes it, that every rose has its thorn. We spent the next couple of days teaching her youth how to make recycled jewelry, taking a quick tour of the community and the lake, watching families make cheese and chatting the night away.
To know another community is to get to know your own all over again.
It is time to quote Paulo Coelho…
Amar lo que hacemos es transformor la esclavitud en libertad. =
To love what we do is the transform slavery into liberty.
It can be really hard being here and sometimes I think, what have I done in a year in a half? But I see that we are all doing a lot. And sometimes the “projects” we have do not hold enough to show for all the work that we really do.
And when times get hard, I start to get hard on myself. But I do know, that I am trying hard (keyword here if you have not picked up on it = hard). And that is the most I can ask of myself. So I like to change a little what my good friend Paulo writes and instead say...
To love what we are is to transform slavery into freedom.
We often worry about ourselves…how we look, our weight, our clothes, how much money we’re making, the size of our chest or our biceps or our kankles for that matter.
But it does us no good. If we love ourselves, we release ourselves from this sense of entrapment. To be happy with oneself is to feel this sort of freedom that is so liberating it gives you the power to do anything.
When times start to get hard, I take a look at the bigger picture… At communities like mine and Chelseas and how we each have affected the lives within. At how hard I am trying. About how much of myself I am giving. And I feel good.
So as I often go from journal writer, to blog publisher, to story teller, to spanglish rambler, to motivational speaker, I end on this note:
Put your all into everything you do. Do things will good intentions. Find compassion, share it with others and love yourself. Do what it takes to bring out the best in yourself and love yourself without worrying about your imperfections and what others think of you. I believe you will feel liberty.
If not, think…
Vaca = cow, Chavo = friend, Hot dog (replace New York Accent with spanglish) = hot dog (aka hot dawg).
Banana = banana. Escuela = school. Bicho = kid
As I sit here writing a Spanish review sheet for my adult English class, much of which is consisted of Spanish words that, in fact, do no exist in the Spanish dictionary, I question my presence for the umpteenth time in this chicken-infested countryside of El Salvador.
It is true that I have less than eight months left to salvage this little community from the disaster of which it is not and I am running out of ganas to do so. Let’s face it, in eight months the students of my adult English class will have forgotten 80% of the words (although most likely 100%) they have learned and will once again not know their culo from their codo (in English that is). So, it dawns on me that while I sit here spending two hours translating banana to banana, biembenidos to welcome (Spanish spelling lessons- much more valuable project) and chucho to dog, I probably could be using my time in a more efficient manner. But fret you not, surely one of my fifteen students will successfully enter the states mojado where s/he will whip out my recently typed up review sheet and say “My name is Jaime”…(afortunadamente, my name works for both genders). And so, my project is deemed effective.
But its every now and then that the “Peace Corps moments” prove to be more important than the small, or sometimes large, successes we find in our community projects.
I headed out west this past weekend for a few reasons. One, because if I headed east I would shortly end up in Honduras and my project scope is El Salvador, two because I was invited to some events at the US Embassy and therefore needed to pass through San Salvador and three because I had plans to visit my best friend Chelsea who coincidentally resides in beautiful Chalatenango, the complete opposite side of the county. Celebrating July 4th and also 50 years of the Peace Corps at the US Embassy was nothing more than magnificent…besides for a rude slap in the face as to what life is like outside of the Peace Corps or outside of the campo. (By the way, for those not understanding, when you think “campo” think “the bush”). But what this entry is really about is my visit to see Chelsea.
We arrived in a beautiful little “tourist” town of El Salvador (when you think “tourist” do NOT think “Disney World”) where I ate the most delicious grilled pineapple and vegetable sandwich of my life and spent the afternoon exploring artesan shops and artwork painted with coffee beans. We spent the night at a quaint little $10 a night hotel, where we slept for approximately 3.5 hours and woke at 4am to catch a ride with the milkman (think milkman) on his little motor boat. At 4:30am sharp we were cruising across Lago Suchitlan where soon after I jerked awake as we nearly collided with our first clients (think livestock). Roberto climbed off the little rowboat, strategically causing it to teeter-totter me back to sleep, and proceeded to milk cow 1 and cow 2. Before I could finish my lovely dream of a Chipotle barbacoa burrito, we were chugging off. Yet again, I awoke as we pulled up a skip-and-a-hop away from Chelsea’s house and I smiled at the lovely site, waved goodbye to the milk man, and headed for her bed (think 5:30am).
We awoke a few hours later and stepped outside to enjoy our home cooked platanos and eggs by the lake. Just as the jealousy sit in that my friend lives on the water and takes a boat to get to her site, the sun reflected off the water, blinding me in the eyes and causing sweat to pour out of my forehead. And so goes it, that every rose has its thorn. We spent the next couple of days teaching her youth how to make recycled jewelry, taking a quick tour of the community and the lake, watching families make cheese and chatting the night away.
To know another community is to get to know your own all over again.
It is time to quote Paulo Coelho…
Amar lo que hacemos es transformor la esclavitud en libertad. =
To love what we do is the transform slavery into liberty.
It can be really hard being here and sometimes I think, what have I done in a year in a half? But I see that we are all doing a lot. And sometimes the “projects” we have do not hold enough to show for all the work that we really do.
And when times get hard, I start to get hard on myself. But I do know, that I am trying hard (keyword here if you have not picked up on it = hard). And that is the most I can ask of myself. So I like to change a little what my good friend Paulo writes and instead say...
To love what we are is to transform slavery into freedom.
We often worry about ourselves…how we look, our weight, our clothes, how much money we’re making, the size of our chest or our biceps or our kankles for that matter.
But it does us no good. If we love ourselves, we release ourselves from this sense of entrapment. To be happy with oneself is to feel this sort of freedom that is so liberating it gives you the power to do anything.
When times start to get hard, I take a look at the bigger picture… At communities like mine and Chelseas and how we each have affected the lives within. At how hard I am trying. About how much of myself I am giving. And I feel good.
So as I often go from journal writer, to blog publisher, to story teller, to spanglish rambler, to motivational speaker, I end on this note:
Put your all into everything you do. Do things will good intentions. Find compassion, share it with others and love yourself. Do what it takes to bring out the best in yourself and love yourself without worrying about your imperfections and what others think of you. I believe you will feel liberty.
If not, think…
Vaca = cow, Chavo = friend, Hot dog (replace New York Accent with spanglish) = hot dog (aka hot dawg).
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