Story Time

I was just explaining to a friend that the only time I blog is when I have a story to tell.  It has to be something that sticks with me, I said, something that shakes me in some way.  Though quite honestly, it’s usually pretty safe.  “Intellectual analysis” has been my predominant way of learning for years, but expressing how these experiences really affect me…. THAT is what this semester has been.  Yes, I “work” teaching English classes in communities on the volcano.  Yet the things that I know are most challenged there.  In a sense, I learn far more than I could ever hope to teach.  Yes, I “don’t have” a lot of things like TV, internet, and hot showers in my house.  Yet I have the incredible opportunity to build relationships with people who inspire me to live intentionally and to be the most me…. the most fulfilled and liberated me.  It’s scary and beautiful.  This journey here is such a multifaceted one for me, and it is unfair to present it in any other way.  Saying that El Salvador is great just doesn’t cut it.  It is more than I could have expected in ways that I never anticipated, and it’s a little uncomfortable sometimes.  But it is real.

During a little cita a few days ago, a friend suggested that I read the following poem, Wild Geese by Mary Oliver.  It really spoke to me at the time, and it continues to do so.  In case you’re wondering, it’s now on my wall… I hope it speaks to you and wherever you are on your journey.

 

Wild Geese

You do not have to be good.

You do not have to walk on your knees

for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.

You only have to let the soft animal of your body

love what it loves.

Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.

Meanwhile the world goes on.

Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain

are moving across the landscapes,

over the prairies and the deep trees,

the mountains and the rivers.

Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,

are heading home again.

Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,

the world offers itself to your imagination,

calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting–

over and over announcing your place

in the family of things.

–Mary Oliver

 

Hasta la ultima gota…

Pit, pat.  Drip, drop.  What noise does your rain make?  Does it whisper sweet dreams as you fall asleep to the comforting rhythm?  Does it shout in it’s loudness, in the thunder that accompanies, and keep you awake?  Does it call to you, asking you to come play in the puddles it creates? Does it celebrate with you as it brings refreshment to your most important crops?  Does it make a splash into your open containers to be used throughout the day, en vez de a tiring trip to get water another way?  Does it speak words that break your heart, as it unknowingly but deliberately begins to cover and saturate and rise?  Does it run past you, without saying a word, bent on having it’s way with your home, your family and your friends?

Just like the rest of life, rain seems to be inevitably complicated.  We can’t live without it, but sometimes it’s the death of us. Literally.  The communities where I spend time are particularly vulnerable to threats of landslides as a result of heavy rains.  Yesterday we only visited Las Lajas (El Plan de Cocoa) for a short time…. just long enough to see little David and his mom, who cautioned us about going up to Blanca’s. Even so, we walked all the way to Blanca’s house in the rain…. to sit in a little room with an oven burning newspapers and plastics to keep warm and cook tortillas.  In the afternoon we caught word of a meeting at La Casa de La Mujer in San Ramon. Who knew there would be media galore, the vice president of the republic, and governor of the department of San Salvador?  There is supposed to be a lot more rain today, though so far it’s been fairly light.  With the rain that has already fallen, though, the volcano has been saturated…..so it apparently wouldn’t take a lot more to for danger to become reality.  Whereas it’s common to see water and trash from further up come flowing down the roads, replacing that with huge rocks and trees could be devastating. This isn’t a theory, it is a reality.  A landslide of that nature occurred in 1982, on a Sunday morning, and is estimated to have killed between 500-600 people in a nearby zone.  This isn’t history, it is the present.  The officials present quickly left the casa to request that people, particularly in Las Lajas, evacuate their homes and go to La Casa de La Mujer.

Okay, well, that’s fine right?  They’ll just wait it out in the shelter, getting the basic necessities, and eventually return to their homes and their “normal” lives.  Unfortunately, no.  The thing is, no one wanted to leave their homes.  And no one did.  They were supposed to evacuate Sunday as well, but only a handful of people left then.  This time, it’s even more serious.  In the past the Army has had to force people to leave, but what does that say about the country?  It seems to scream that there is no trust in the government.  Why would people leave their warm beds and store of food and all things familiar to sleep on a cold floor with no food, taking the chance that their homes could be robbed?  Last time there was no food, why would that change now?  Todavía there isn´t money for all this “stuff.”  There isn’t money to construct the safe apartments the government promised months ago.  There isn´t money to take care of the people who hold the economy up with the strength of their backs as that same money pushes back down on them, waiting for them to collapse.  I think a government has a responsibility to protect it’s people, before anything else.  The rain doesn’t listen to our calls for help, but our governments should.  I have some hope that they will help from the action I saw yesterday, but perhaps I am naive.  I will be keeping the communities of Las Lajas, La Valencia, Las Nubes, and other zones affected in my thoughts hasta la ultima gota and beyond…. I hope you can do the same.

Poco a Poco

The juxtaposition of beauty and suffering in Salvador is something that I am still struggling with and only beginning to understand.  It is something I see every day at Praxis, whether in nature or in the relationships that we have begun to form in La Valencia.  The concept of real life reflected in nature has really struck me.  Everyday we walk through San Ramon to the road that takes us up the volcano to La Valencia.  As we walk, I’m usually looking down… to avoid the gaze of unfamiliar men on the street, to hop over the abundant “presents” that dogs and cows tend to leave in the middle of the road, to step over trash and plastic bags and containers and clothes, to avoid tripping on the uneven road, to make sure I step on the right rocks at certain junctures of the journey.  But I rarely look up.

The other day, however, I looked around a little, because the road seemed cleaner than usual.  I came to realize that all the trash was just moved to the side of the road, to include a torn apart refrigerator.  I continually ask myself, what is happening here?  La tierra seems to be the one thing that provides for the people here in El Salvador, the one thing to be relied upon when other people fail, yet it is being treated like a dumping ground.  Then I finally look up.  Just as I can see all of the suffering of the country when I look down — as the trash takes on the identity of the maras, immigration issues, the fear that the violence here propagates, machismo, pobreza — I can also see the beauty of this country when I look up.

On the journey up towards Blanca’s house, the home furthest up the volcano that we visit, I can’t help but notice the overpowering presence of greenery.  There are banana trees, bamboo, and trees I’ve never seen before with names I can never remember.  In one word: gorgeous.  On the trip down, the little road is like a mirador, where I can see out over the city and view another Volcano in the distance.  The beauty here is overwhelming, if you care enough to find it.  It truly is a matter of looking up.  I’ve met so many beautiful people here thus far, who have shared their stories with other students and to me– to strangers more or less.  Furthermore, the extent to which people are striving to organize and improve the lives of others is also inspiring.  I think Anita, at El Pueblo de Dios en Camino, is a perfect example.  She is full of strength and love and a deep desire for justice.  Here in Antiguo, the becari@s living with and around us are, to me, not only becoming great friends, but they also represent hope in this chicito country.  Coming from the campo to the city has to be a tremendous challenge, and as a result, I’m so impressed by their ability to thrive and their willingness to share their lives with us as students.  Even more, young men like Henry, Jorge and Roberto, the teenage sons of Veronica in La Valencia, continually compensate for the cat calls men make in the streets.  These young men practically redeem all Salvadoran men in my mind: they help their mother with dishes, they wash their own laundry, and they are very concerned with their studies.  It may seem small, but it’s very different.  These people and experiences help me to realize that poco a poco I will be able to learn and understand more.  Beauty and suffering coexist, and it is up to us to find the beauty and acknowledge the suffering.  And to live amongst it all.

Machismo and Mia Hamm

So, I’m sure you’re wondering, what is machismo? Why do I care? and what in the world does it have to do with Mia Hamm? These are all valid questions, and I’ll start with the first. My first month in El Salvador has been characterized by the juxtaposition of beauty and suffering, seen in the deep and loving hearts of Salvadorans but also very real problems– from alcoholism and gang issues to lack of opportunity and machismo. Machismo is an element of culture that exists in much of Latin America, but it makes a prominent appearance in the daily life of Salvador. An amazing Salvadoran woman at my praxis site described machismo as the maltreatment of women by a man who believes he is superior in some way. This is possibly an oversimplification on my part of a deeply rooted cultural issue, but it lays out the basic concept. The embodiment of these feelings ranges from a man beating his wife, or not allowing her to leave the house (in the case that he is able to economically provide for the whole family), to the comments made in the streets by men as a woman passes by. It all appears to stem from this sort of need to subjugate women.

I spent the past weekend living with a family at my Praxis site, La Valencia, where I spend two days a week as a part of the Casa program. The community is about a quarter of the way up the San Salvador Volcano and a forty minute walk from San Ramon located at the skirt of the volcano. I was met in San Ramon on Friday afternoon by the woman I mentioned previously, her oldest son who is seventeen, and two little cousins. As we were walking through San Ramon on our way to Valencia, we walked through the market. This is usually a very uncomfortable experience for me, even when accompanied by Salvadorans and my praxis partner Greg. Everyone seems to be very curious, and many men seem to assume that it’s a good time to practice their English as the gringa walks by. The language the men use is something I’ll never get used to, but I also think it’s good to know how it feels to be objectified. It happens daily to Salvadoran women here, made into sexual objects, taken for granted as providers, and under appreciated as nurturers. In any case, I happened to look up one of the streets as we were passing by (probably hoping that there wasn’t a car coming), and noticed something very striking. While it is not uncommon to see Barcelona soccer jerseys, I saw this young boy of perhaps twelve walking up the street in none other than a Mia Hamm jersey. The irony was overwhelming. In a place that struggles so much with machismo, there was this young boy wearing the jersey of an inspirational female athlete– the heroine of many young girls, including my childhood self. Who am I kidding, she was the reason I wanted to go to UNC Chapel Hill for a couple of years. I seriously doubt that he knew of Hamm (it was probably just a fútbol jersey to him), but she represents the opposite of what machismo says a woman should be. She has been a professionally successful woman, and even more unheard of, a successful woman athlete.

While many men may see a young woman coming to the cancha to play fútbol as a search for a boyfriend, there are also signs of hope. The woman with whom I stayed has three teenage sons. If only all Salvadoran men were like these young men. They help their mother and respect her, and when they aren’t studying they are helping their father in his work. They even told me the other day not to take to heart the things men here say to me, and to not let it affect the way I view myself, not to let it affect my autoestima. We played volleyball and soccer much of the weekend, and they never treated me any differently because I am a woman. I was simply a player to them, and they respected me as a good player at that. Placement based on capacity not gender, I would have to say, is progress. Young men like these give me hope that even in a country plagued by machismo, maybe there is some truth in the idea that the Mia Hamm jersey belongs here. That it is not completely ironic.

TOMS Galore

So yesterday was an incredibly challenging day for me, and it was mentally and emotionally exhausting as no school day can replicate. Why?  I went shopping, yes, that favorite exploit of ours…. yet yesterday was so different.  I couldn’t help but think how I didn’t actually need any of the things I was getting.  In fact, I tried to convince the gifter (my granny) of this same fact, but she would have none of it.  When I tried to call in the reinforcement of my father so that he would encourage her not spend so much money on me, he told me to let her do what she wants.  The fact that we now are giving pairs of TOMS to children somewhere (I wish we could track the shoes, it would be so awesome to have an interactive map!!) is absolutely enthralling. On the other hand, the fact that I now own a multiple pairs of TOMS (though I plan to wear them all the time), is not so comforting. And my granny’s reasoning? “Well, they’re just $40.” PRECISELY. They are JUST forty dollars, and so much can be done with just forty dollars, maybe not at the mall, but certainly in terms of food and water and other resources. Now don’t get me wrong, I love TOMS and the ethos of the company….

What I don’t love is how we are so wrapped up in consumerism that we don’t recognize the value of a dollar, and thus we can’t appreciate it.  Now that I can see it a bit more clearly, I am frustrated because I feel like I am stuck in some sort of irreversible cycle.  I want to buy local and organic, but it’s really expensive… I want to own less clothes, but the majority of my fellow students have recently stepped out of a J. Crew catalog… I want to have less stuff, but quite frankly, I don’t even know where to begin (especially when members of my family try to buy my affection)

Oh, but wait. The irony of the day has not even come.  After going to dinner, I drove my granny back to her house and ran upstairs for a moment.  About that time, I heard her shout out to her husband, “Don’t go in there barefooted,” referring to the bathroom of a not too shabby home. In this moment came a stream of images, to many of the children who didn’t wear shoes or wore little flip flops everywhere in the campo of El Salvador, or the men who played soccer barefoot because their shoes were work shoes. Yet we are concerned about walking into a bathroom barefooted. Sure, I guess we should wear shoes in the bathroom, but at that moment I felt like I was living a life full of contradictions.  Too many shoes when others have none, overpriced dinners, rampant consumerism without regard or even recognition, and here I am in the middle of it.