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.