One of the perks about living with a host family is that when they decide to go on outings, they take you with them. One of the perks about living with a host family in El Salvador is that it is warm enough to go to the beach in late November/December. And the other day, I did just that.
Rosa, Eva and I left the house about 6:45, catching a bus to meet up with the rest of the folk who were going with us. We all hopped in a silver van, and took off to the playa. After a couple of hours (we had to go past San Salvador) we arrived at the beach. And what a beautiful beach it was!!! The sand was absolutely gorgeous, the water so clear i could see my feet through the waves. Rosa stayed back with the niños, whom I had (unfortunately for the semi-dry state of Rosa) taught the game of jumping over waves. Eva and I went farther out, diving under waves and attempting to body surf to shore. Being used to the frigid waters of San Francisco, I was amazed by the fact I could swim in an ocean and still maintain feeling in my limbs.
As much as I LOVED being in the water, when it was time to eat I was more than willing to leave for some nourishment, which came in the form of a fish caught only a few minutes before I ate it. Although delicious, it was a bit of an experience to be served a fish that still had it's tail, fins, head, and eyes. For a few uncomfortable minutes, I felt the glassy gaze of the fish, condemning me for eating it. But then I was hungry, so I dug in. The Salvadorans were just tickled that I had never eaten a fish that still looked like a fish before. Half of their meal was spent laughing at me while I tried to navigate this strange new world of ribs, vertebrate, and, yes, eyes. However, after much determination, I finally ate the fish, and with true Salvadoran gusto.
Or so I thought.
"Aren't you going to eat the head??" Eat.... the head. What.
Apparently my expression when asked this seemingly innocent question was hilarious, judging from the reaction around the table. And, giving into peer pressure, I finally began to eat the head. Until I came to something that was small and really hard. "Oooh, yeah, that's the eye." I stopped eating the fish.
After resting for an hour (some rules MUST be followed - and although I am allowed to break the "don't drink a cold drink with a hot meal or else you are going to get sick" rule, I had to follow this one, at the risk of being tackled by Eva, who stands at four foot ten), we went back to the ocean. Eva and Rosa both stayed with the younger kids, so a woman named Blanca and I went a little farther out. A while into our wave frolicking, I felt a bit of a pull. "We're in a bit of a current, so let's start heading back." And that is when it happened. Every teenage girl's dream when they go to the beach.
I was saved by a super sexy Salvadoran lifeguard.
The story is only slightly diminished by the fact that the lifeguard was neither super nor sexy, and I did not need, in this particular moment, any saving. The disappointment of this experience can potentially be attributed to a number of things. Perhaps it was the fact that I, surprise surprise, could actually swim. Perhaps it was because the lifeguard really was not that cute.
Or maybe it was the ridiculously small, bright red speedo paired with the tattoo on the upper thigh.
Whatever the reason, the first statement he uttered as he took our hands served only to annoy me. "You are caught in a current." Yes. I realize this. "And I am here to save you!!" Wait... Excuse me?? And so it happened that I ended up walking next to him back to the shore. Now, at the point I let go of his hand and continued to walk, one might have deduced that the odds were I was going to make it. Not this fine lifeguarding staff. Not one, not two, but the ENTIRE lifeguarding staff ran out into the surf to help us. The water was at this point up to my knees. And of course, the entire beach turned to watch this intense at sea rescue. Upon being returned safely to the shore, the onlookers cheered and applauded. High drama with a happy ending, it doesn't get any better than that.
A few hours later, we headed home from the beach, exhausted, salty, and extremely happy. Leaving the parking lot, we stopped to give someone a lift to San Salvador. He hopped in, thanked us all, and stopped for a moment. "Hey!! The girl caught in the current!!! How are you???" It was one of the lifeguards. Because the humiliation of an unnecessary rescue had to be prolonged for another two hours.
I smiled. "Fine. Really, absolutely amazing. Your lifeguards really are brave, going out into the ocean to save people like me. I mean, we were almost in water up to our thighs." Obviously, this was meant as a joke.
He smiled, tossed his scant but willing hair, and said, "Don't worry about it. It is all in the job." Cue: attempt at a charming smile and a badly placed wink.
Well, Salvadoran Lifeguard Man, thank you. But I think I might stick with the illusion of Baywatch.
Monday, November 29, 2010
Thursday, November 25, 2010
Happy Thanksgiving!!!!
Happy Thanksgiving a todos y todas!!! On a day that is very distinctly American (United Statesian?), sometimes it is a little difficult to be away from home and in another country. However, I get to celebrate this day in the next best way from spending it with family - with the Sisters of St. Joseph of Peace, a Sister of Charity, and fellow volunteers!! And, of course, later today we will have the unveiling of how we have creatively tried to make Thanksgiving-y food with ingredients that can be found in El Salvador. At least we will have some pumpkin pie pudding!! Pumpkin pie pudding is just the filling of pumpkin pie; I could not find flour or butter to make a pie crust, and since freezers/refrigerators are not exactly normal in markets, I decided not to bother looking hard for a frozen pie crust. So thank you Mom and Dad and Francisco for making it possible for us to have some semblance of pumpkin pie!!!
Although it is, of course, incredibly important to give thanks every day, it is always nice to have a day specifically set aside for the action. So here are a few things I am grateful for!!
In the US:
Warm showers
Readily available tea
The fact that I can use a roll of toilet paper without shaking it out to make sure there is not a scorpion hiding there
The education I have been blessed to receive
My beautiful, caring friends
My great big wonderful, caring family
In El Salvador:
Papayas that I can pick off trees
Beans!!
All of my students
Sister Peggy!!!!
Sister Margaret and Sister Susan
All of my wonderful fellow volunteers!!!!
All of my new friends
My Salvadoran family, especially for Rosa and Eva
Obviously, this is just a brief list. However, I honestly doubt I could ever list every single thing that I am grateful for. So Happy Thanksgiving everyone!!!! I am sending my grateful vibes from Suchitoto.
Although it is, of course, incredibly important to give thanks every day, it is always nice to have a day specifically set aside for the action. So here are a few things I am grateful for!!
In the US:
Warm showers
Readily available tea
The fact that I can use a roll of toilet paper without shaking it out to make sure there is not a scorpion hiding there
The education I have been blessed to receive
My beautiful, caring friends
My great big wonderful, caring family
In El Salvador:
Papayas that I can pick off trees
Beans!!
All of my students
Sister Peggy!!!!
Sister Margaret and Sister Susan
All of my wonderful fellow volunteers!!!!
All of my new friends
My Salvadoran family, especially for Rosa and Eva
Obviously, this is just a brief list. However, I honestly doubt I could ever list every single thing that I am grateful for. So Happy Thanksgiving everyone!!!! I am sending my grateful vibes from Suchitoto.
Friday, November 19, 2010
Some Salvadoran Stories: The Primero Performance, The Case of the Cosquillas, and The Gringa's Gaffe
Now that I have actually had time to write down and share some of my stories, I realize I have yet to share just some everyday adventures of living in El Salvador. So, now that I have some down time as I sit at the museum in the Center, and have some internet access, I might as well share some.
The Primero Performance
My main job in Centro Arte is to be a music teacher, namely the choir director. While many of my students have grand aspirations of going on an international tour together, I have been working on the smaller goal of making sure we are singing a) together, b) in some sort of known rhythm, and c) a recognizable song. Therefore, when the opportunity arose for the choir to perform a short song at an event to celebrate the earth, I jumped at the opportunity. We had a week to prepare, and therefore ended up singing the chorus to "We Are the World"/"Somos El Mundo" three times. Perhaps not the most musically exciting "concert" ever, nor the most in tune - but it was incredibly beautiful to me. I told my students to be there at 10:30 for the concert at 11 - many of them were at the Center by 9:45. Each one came in "ropa elegante," or nice clothing - for some of the boys, this simply meant tucking their shirts into their jeans, but I thought that they all looked wonderful. After warming up for a bit, we gave our "concert" to maybe the seven people who had bothered to come to this part of the event. But I could not have been prouder!!
The Case of the Cosquillas
For anyone who might be wondering what the strange word written above might be, I will gladly inform you. To have "cosquillas" is to be ticklish. I have the misfortune to have a grand case of the cosquillas. Which, perhaps, would not be such a travesty if every single boy skating in the skatepark we have here at the Center had not figured it out. During the fall, in which it is extremely warm and sunny but leaves fall, the volunteer in charge of the skatepark for the day had to sweep the pista (the cement, basically) so the leaves wouldn't get caught in the wheels of a skateboard and send some poor kid flying. Which would make for a very unhappy child, some very unhappy parents, and, ultimately, an incredibly miserable volunteer. On this particular day, there happened to only be boys in the skatepark, between the ages of 10 and 15. This age of boys tends to be incredibly sweet and incredibly annoying, combining to create a frustrating endearment. As I swept the pista, they would sneak up on their skateboards, tickle me, and then zoom past laughing. Once or twice, yes, I can understand how the voluntaria's reaction could be funny. Hilarious even. But after every single one of these kids had done it several times, it began to get a bit old. Well, for me, the one with the dreadful case of cosquillas. I may have started to use my broom to sweep them away sometimes... without putting them into any serious sort of danger. Somewhere in the middle of the cosquilla finding, sweeping frenzy, the boys began to feel some guilt. Soon, they began skating past, giving me flowers instead of finding cosquillas. Which was incredibly sweet, until I realized they were picking them from the plants we have specifically told the kids not to touch because they need to grow a bit more. So an end was put to their incredibly gallant behavior, in the best interest of the new flowers in Centro Arte; they will just need to find a new way of being charming.
The Gringa's Gaffe
One weekend, Rosa went to visit her family in Copapayo for her nephew Samuel's graduation from kindergarten. She told me she would return early on Sunday morning, and then start working - she is a teacher and the principal in the school in El Sitio; there are no secretaries, so she not only has to do all her lesson plans, corrections, and whatever principals need to do, she also needs to do all the paperwork. It is insane. So, I decided to wake up early and go buy some bread from the panderia (bread shop) that I live next to, and we could have some pan and café to start the day. Sunday arrived, and I woke up at 6 to be one of the first customers of the day. The pan from this panderia is DELICIOUS. It sells out quick, so you have to get there early if you want to buy some. By 6:15, I was entering the door of the shop, which is really a stand behind their front gate and in front of their house. When planning the buying of the bread, I had talked to one of the other volunteers who lives in La Chacara, and remembered her telling me each piece of bread cost a quarter. Therefore, I brought two dollars to buy eight pieces of bread so everyone who lived in my house could have two pieces. When the lovely woman came to ask me how much I wanted, I responded "Dos dolares de pan, por favor." Two dollars of bread please. The lady looked at me a little funny, before going back to where the bread is made. I saw her and her husband empty out a fifty pound bag of flour. "Wow," I thought, "I really AM here early!! I hope they aren't still making the bread... maybe I should have come later?" Soon interrupting my musings was the realization that they were filling this bag with the bread I had just ordered. As they handed me this large bag full of my order, I was too embarrassed to correct my mistake and say I had only wanted, in fact, eight. I soon realized that it was 5 for a quarter, rather than 1. I now had five times the amount of bread I wanted. However, rather than pointing this out, I brightly said "¡Gracias!" handed over the two dollars, and then went next door to sit and wonder at the sheer amount of bread I had been presented with. Rosa ended up not coming home until that night, but I carried the bag around with me, and offered it to anyone around town who looked like they could use a good piece of bread. Surely there have been more intentional ways of breaking bread, but this is one that I will remember for a long time.
So there you have it!! Just a few stories from "a day in the life."
The Primero Performance
My main job in Centro Arte is to be a music teacher, namely the choir director. While many of my students have grand aspirations of going on an international tour together, I have been working on the smaller goal of making sure we are singing a) together, b) in some sort of known rhythm, and c) a recognizable song. Therefore, when the opportunity arose for the choir to perform a short song at an event to celebrate the earth, I jumped at the opportunity. We had a week to prepare, and therefore ended up singing the chorus to "We Are the World"/"Somos El Mundo" three times. Perhaps not the most musically exciting "concert" ever, nor the most in tune - but it was incredibly beautiful to me. I told my students to be there at 10:30 for the concert at 11 - many of them were at the Center by 9:45. Each one came in "ropa elegante," or nice clothing - for some of the boys, this simply meant tucking their shirts into their jeans, but I thought that they all looked wonderful. After warming up for a bit, we gave our "concert" to maybe the seven people who had bothered to come to this part of the event. But I could not have been prouder!!
The Case of the Cosquillas
For anyone who might be wondering what the strange word written above might be, I will gladly inform you. To have "cosquillas" is to be ticklish. I have the misfortune to have a grand case of the cosquillas. Which, perhaps, would not be such a travesty if every single boy skating in the skatepark we have here at the Center had not figured it out. During the fall, in which it is extremely warm and sunny but leaves fall, the volunteer in charge of the skatepark for the day had to sweep the pista (the cement, basically) so the leaves wouldn't get caught in the wheels of a skateboard and send some poor kid flying. Which would make for a very unhappy child, some very unhappy parents, and, ultimately, an incredibly miserable volunteer. On this particular day, there happened to only be boys in the skatepark, between the ages of 10 and 15. This age of boys tends to be incredibly sweet and incredibly annoying, combining to create a frustrating endearment. As I swept the pista, they would sneak up on their skateboards, tickle me, and then zoom past laughing. Once or twice, yes, I can understand how the voluntaria's reaction could be funny. Hilarious even. But after every single one of these kids had done it several times, it began to get a bit old. Well, for me, the one with the dreadful case of cosquillas. I may have started to use my broom to sweep them away sometimes... without putting them into any serious sort of danger. Somewhere in the middle of the cosquilla finding, sweeping frenzy, the boys began to feel some guilt. Soon, they began skating past, giving me flowers instead of finding cosquillas. Which was incredibly sweet, until I realized they were picking them from the plants we have specifically told the kids not to touch because they need to grow a bit more. So an end was put to their incredibly gallant behavior, in the best interest of the new flowers in Centro Arte; they will just need to find a new way of being charming.
The Gringa's Gaffe
One weekend, Rosa went to visit her family in Copapayo for her nephew Samuel's graduation from kindergarten. She told me she would return early on Sunday morning, and then start working - she is a teacher and the principal in the school in El Sitio; there are no secretaries, so she not only has to do all her lesson plans, corrections, and whatever principals need to do, she also needs to do all the paperwork. It is insane. So, I decided to wake up early and go buy some bread from the panderia (bread shop) that I live next to, and we could have some pan and café to start the day. Sunday arrived, and I woke up at 6 to be one of the first customers of the day. The pan from this panderia is DELICIOUS. It sells out quick, so you have to get there early if you want to buy some. By 6:15, I was entering the door of the shop, which is really a stand behind their front gate and in front of their house. When planning the buying of the bread, I had talked to one of the other volunteers who lives in La Chacara, and remembered her telling me each piece of bread cost a quarter. Therefore, I brought two dollars to buy eight pieces of bread so everyone who lived in my house could have two pieces. When the lovely woman came to ask me how much I wanted, I responded "Dos dolares de pan, por favor." Two dollars of bread please. The lady looked at me a little funny, before going back to where the bread is made. I saw her and her husband empty out a fifty pound bag of flour. "Wow," I thought, "I really AM here early!! I hope they aren't still making the bread... maybe I should have come later?" Soon interrupting my musings was the realization that they were filling this bag with the bread I had just ordered. As they handed me this large bag full of my order, I was too embarrassed to correct my mistake and say I had only wanted, in fact, eight. I soon realized that it was 5 for a quarter, rather than 1. I now had five times the amount of bread I wanted. However, rather than pointing this out, I brightly said "¡Gracias!" handed over the two dollars, and then went next door to sit and wonder at the sheer amount of bread I had been presented with. Rosa ended up not coming home until that night, but I carried the bag around with me, and offered it to anyone around town who looked like they could use a good piece of bread. Surely there have been more intentional ways of breaking bread, but this is one that I will remember for a long time.
So there you have it!! Just a few stories from "a day in the life."
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
Celebrando los Martires de la UCA
Another event to remind me that, always, la memoria vive!! This past weekend, on Saturday, was the vigil for the anniversary of the martyrs of the UCA, the Catholic University here in El Salvador. In 1989, six Jesuits, their housekeeper, and her daughter were murdered. Now, twenty one years later, their memory is still celebrated, and in grand style!
I knew I wanted to attend the vigil, so I was able to catch a ride in with Sister Peggy when she drove into the capital for her class. There were two completely wonderful things about this - one, I was able to spend time with Peggy and attend her class (which is AMAZING - liberation theology. Each time I attend a class I learn about six different things), and I also didn't have to take a bus into the capital. These completely awesome things outweighed the horror of having to wake up at 4:30 in order to catch a ride with her. SO incredibly worth it. Once in the capital, I was able to stay in the Casa de Solidaridad, the Santa Clara University study abroad program in El Salvador. It was wonderful to see all of my Santa Clara friends, as well as friends I have begun to make through visiting the capital and Casa students visiting Suchitoto.
Saturday morning, the preparation for the day began at 6:30am. On the day of the vigil, two main things happen - a soccer tournament, and the creation of the alfombras. Soccer tournament is pretty self explanatory, even if we heathen Americans decided to call it "soccer" while determinedly calling a sport that has almost no use of feet in it "football." But alfombras might not be familiar to people; it was not familiar to me.
Alfombras are giant mural like pictures on the ground, but are constructed of colored sand. Each group creating an alfombra is given a space on the ground in the UCA and have their own designs. I went to help begin the alfombra of Casa de la Solidaridad with the students from the United States, and also with Salvadoran students from a sister program with the Casa. After a hearty breakfast of pupusas and café, we chalked out the grid for the alfombra, drew the figures in chalk, and began mixing the sand and the color. After a while of this, I decided to go to the cancha, or the soccer field, and check out how the tournament was going. I was lucky enough to be able to arrive just in time to see the boys team from Casa play their first game in the tournament. Unfortunately, they lost in a shoot out, which made for an exciting game, but was a bit disappointing to lose. Next, we switched sides to watch the women's team play.
One of the women's teams from Casa ended up being short one player; and this is how I ended up playing in a soccer tournament in San Salvador. Of course, not being prepared for playing in a soccer tournament, I was in no way properly attired. However, I find that sometimes sports are like theater - the show must go on! And through this sentiment (firmly instilled in me from, I am pretty sure, conception) I found myself running about a cancha in the UCA, in a borrowed shirt, rolled up pants, and no shoes. As I discovered about thirty seconds into the game, flats are not the ideal shoe for running about kicking a moving object. Usually the shoe ends up going flying along with the ball. So, I decided to kick them off, leave them at the side line, and continue. And found that playing barefoot is fun! We won the first game, and went on to win the championship. Yay Casa Futbol!!!
After the tournament, we returned to the alfombra. The people at the alfombra had been working all day, and so our design was close to being complete. All of us footballers jumped in and grabbed some sand to finish the design. Around 3:30 or 4, thoroughly exhausted and incredibly dirty (a mixture of dust and sand and dye can do that) we headed back to la Casa de Solidaridad for showers before the vigil began.
The vigil began at 5pm. Crowds of people gathered at the UCA, admiring the alfombras, and walking to the plaza to start. At the plaza, candles and sheets with songs were handed out. As we lit candles, banners with the pictures of the martyrs began the procession, and we all began to follow, forming this river of light that seemed to stretch on forever. As we walked in this procession, I thought of the the eight lights that had been put out in the UCA twenty one years ago, and turned to look behind me. From the eight lights that had been extinguished, look how many lights were now lit. Voices had been physically silenced, but the message lives on. It was incredible to be a part of the experience, and to join with Salvadorans to celebrate the lives of people I had heard so much about through my Jesuit school experience. In high school, we studied Monseñor Romero, and as a part of that unit looked at these six Jesuits, Elba, and Celina. At Santa Clara, in front of the mission church, we have crosses with the names of all the UCA martyrs. Therefore, to be at the actual vigil was an amazing experience.
After the procession, we gathered again in the plaza, this time for a mass celebrated by the current Jesuits at the UCA. This, of course, included the amazing Jon Sobrino, who also gave the homily. I had the luck to meet up with Korla, Christy, Alex (volunteers with me in Suchitoto) and Alex's Salvadoran brother, David. After the mass, we all went to find food before the concert/dance began. Since this would go until 2 in the morning, we decided we definitely needed sustenance. We got into a line for the food that was provided, which included tamales, pan, pan dulce and café. After eating, we went back for the concert, and met up with several of David's friends, including a man named Angel who happens to be Rosa's cousin!! Small world, no?
We took a van kindly provided by the Casa back to the houses; by the time I got to where I was sleeping, it was a little past three. I ended up returning to Suchitoto at 6am, as I had work in the museum that day, but I am so incredibly glad I had the chance to experience the vigil. The more time I spend here, the more I love this country!!!
Sunday, November 14, 2010
La Memoria Vive
When I first came to Centro Arte para la Paz, I noticed the phrase "la memoria vive" kept popping up. "The Memory Lives." This is the name of a large sculpture in the Center, as well as the name of the museum that opened my first week here. "Huh," I thought to myself, "that sounds poetic... I like that." However, as I spend more and more time in El Salvador, I have come to realize just how true a phrase this is, how aptly it describes this country.
Living with Rosa has exposed me to several Salvadoran customs, and she has been generous enough to include me in her family's celebrations. The first event I attended with her family was All Souls Day. This is a HUGE day in El Salvador. Everyone goes to the cemeteries together, to paint loved ones' graves and to decorate them with flowers. When I say everyone, I really mean everyone. The entire town of Suchitoto, and many people from the surrounding communities, had come to the cemetery to celebrate and give remembrance to those beloved who had departed. Every year people do this, turning each tomb into a piece of artwork.
Rosa, Korla, Jhoana (Rosa's niece) and I left early to meet up with Rosa's mother (Doña Cruz) and one of her nephews, Samuel. Together we walked to the cemetery, the steady stream of people growing as we came closer, swelling into a river of people carrying flowers, cans of paint, brushes, and other supplies to decorate the graves. The vendors of flowers (which came in bunches, crosses, and wreathes) became more numerous and more vocal as the entrance came into sight. Laden with our own flowers, we joined the mass of people walking into a cemetery in a festive mood. This, to the extranjera's (foreigner's) eyes, seemed to be a strange juxtaposition. However, once we passed the entrance, I saw how beautiful a day this really was. The graves gleamed, each with fresh coats of paint, people draping flowers on the resting places of loved ones, turning what I normally imagine as a dreary, lonesome place into a place full of life and great splashes of color.
With Rosa, Doña Cruz, Korla, Jhoana and Samuel, I visited Rosa's grandparents, her great-grandparents, her great aunt and uncle, and a memorial for those killed in the Copapayo Massacre in 1983. Rosa's family is from Copapayo, so I thought we were paying tribute for those of her town who had fallen. On this memorial, a plaque with all the names and ages of those who had died. As we began decorating, Rosa pointed out two names next to each other, Claudio and Marisol. "This is my brother and my sister," she told me. Next, she pointed out a list of ten names, with the ages of 16 - 7. "And these are my cousins," she said, before placing and arranging flowers upon the grave. I watched as she and her mother tenderly decorated this memorial, celebrating the memory of family who had died in such a horrible event. It was incredibly beautiful and touching, doubly so because they had been generous enough to share it with me.
Just this past weekend, I was invited by Rosa to go with her to Copapayo for the anniversary of the massacre. On Saturday, after work, we hopped on a bus to get to her community. One has never truly ridden a bus until one has ridden a bus in El Salvador. The doors remain open, people crowd in and jump off, and music is played throughout the ride. We were lucky enough to be treated to an 80's mix, and one has not relived the 80s in music until one has heard it in Spanish. Total Eclipse of the Heart. Lady in Red. Ghostbusters. Yup, we rocked out to Ghostbusters on a bus in El Salvador. Be jealous.
Upon reaching Copapayo, I was introduced to the rest of Rosa's family - her sisters and brothers, her mountain of nieces and nephews, and her father, who told me not to be fooled by his aged appearance but that he was actually another nephew. So I called him "Sobrino" for the rest of my stay. After being warmly greeted, I was immediately sat down by the family in order to eat some dinner. I was provided with pupusas, café, tamales, and (of course) beans. While eating this sumptuous meal (and marveling at the fact I could be eating while chickens, pigs, ducks, and dogs roamed freely about), Doña Cruz brought forth her daughter Marisol (who is my age) and proudly announced that her daughter had cooked all of the food before us. She then turned to me and said, "You need to stay for longer. We need to teach you how to make pupusas. And tamales. Then, you can be ready to marry!" I thanked her for the offer, but told her I needed to return to the Center because Sister Peggy needed me to give classes. She waved this off. "Don't worry," she said. "I will call her and let her know that you are giving ME classes. Then you can stay!" It took some convincing, but it was eventually decided that I would return to stay for an entire weekend, and learn to make pupusas. Watch out, Mom and Dad. When I come home for Christmas, I may be deemed "ready to marry" by my Salvadoran mother.
By the time Rosa and I had finished eating, it was time to head over to the vigil. We bundled up (I think I now have Salvadoran blood - anything below 70 is freezing), and headed to where the mass would be held. An altar had been set up, with the names of all those who died in this community behind it. Community members provided the music, and the homily was comprised of people's testimonies of the event and of people sharing their thoughts. This included Ramón la Suisa, a Swiss who fought on the side of the guerillas during the war. He is absolutely adored by the town of Copapayo. He was kicked out of the country for being illegal three times, but returned each time smuggled in a pick up truck. Now that El Salvador has an FMLN president, Ramón has been given pardon, and is now a citizen of El Salvador. So it was interesting to hear the thoughts of someone who was not Salvadoran, per se, but had really made the country his own, had believed enough in the cause of the guerillas to leave his home country and fight. Not the homily I was expecting, but it was incredibly beautiful to see people sharing this common pain, being there to share it even almost thirty years after it happened. After the mass, the altar space was taken up with musicians to play a concert for the rest of the night.
La Memoria Vive. The Memory Lives. Here, it seems as if everything is steeped in memory. The memory lives because the people refuse to forget.
Living with Rosa has exposed me to several Salvadoran customs, and she has been generous enough to include me in her family's celebrations. The first event I attended with her family was All Souls Day. This is a HUGE day in El Salvador. Everyone goes to the cemeteries together, to paint loved ones' graves and to decorate them with flowers. When I say everyone, I really mean everyone. The entire town of Suchitoto, and many people from the surrounding communities, had come to the cemetery to celebrate and give remembrance to those beloved who had departed. Every year people do this, turning each tomb into a piece of artwork.
Rosa, Korla, Jhoana (Rosa's niece) and I left early to meet up with Rosa's mother (Doña Cruz) and one of her nephews, Samuel. Together we walked to the cemetery, the steady stream of people growing as we came closer, swelling into a river of people carrying flowers, cans of paint, brushes, and other supplies to decorate the graves. The vendors of flowers (which came in bunches, crosses, and wreathes) became more numerous and more vocal as the entrance came into sight. Laden with our own flowers, we joined the mass of people walking into a cemetery in a festive mood. This, to the extranjera's (foreigner's) eyes, seemed to be a strange juxtaposition. However, once we passed the entrance, I saw how beautiful a day this really was. The graves gleamed, each with fresh coats of paint, people draping flowers on the resting places of loved ones, turning what I normally imagine as a dreary, lonesome place into a place full of life and great splashes of color.
With Rosa, Doña Cruz, Korla, Jhoana and Samuel, I visited Rosa's grandparents, her great-grandparents, her great aunt and uncle, and a memorial for those killed in the Copapayo Massacre in 1983. Rosa's family is from Copapayo, so I thought we were paying tribute for those of her town who had fallen. On this memorial, a plaque with all the names and ages of those who had died. As we began decorating, Rosa pointed out two names next to each other, Claudio and Marisol. "This is my brother and my sister," she told me. Next, she pointed out a list of ten names, with the ages of 16 - 7. "And these are my cousins," she said, before placing and arranging flowers upon the grave. I watched as she and her mother tenderly decorated this memorial, celebrating the memory of family who had died in such a horrible event. It was incredibly beautiful and touching, doubly so because they had been generous enough to share it with me.
Just this past weekend, I was invited by Rosa to go with her to Copapayo for the anniversary of the massacre. On Saturday, after work, we hopped on a bus to get to her community. One has never truly ridden a bus until one has ridden a bus in El Salvador. The doors remain open, people crowd in and jump off, and music is played throughout the ride. We were lucky enough to be treated to an 80's mix, and one has not relived the 80s in music until one has heard it in Spanish. Total Eclipse of the Heart. Lady in Red. Ghostbusters. Yup, we rocked out to Ghostbusters on a bus in El Salvador. Be jealous.
Upon reaching Copapayo, I was introduced to the rest of Rosa's family - her sisters and brothers, her mountain of nieces and nephews, and her father, who told me not to be fooled by his aged appearance but that he was actually another nephew. So I called him "Sobrino" for the rest of my stay. After being warmly greeted, I was immediately sat down by the family in order to eat some dinner. I was provided with pupusas, café, tamales, and (of course) beans. While eating this sumptuous meal (and marveling at the fact I could be eating while chickens, pigs, ducks, and dogs roamed freely about), Doña Cruz brought forth her daughter Marisol (who is my age) and proudly announced that her daughter had cooked all of the food before us. She then turned to me and said, "You need to stay for longer. We need to teach you how to make pupusas. And tamales. Then, you can be ready to marry!" I thanked her for the offer, but told her I needed to return to the Center because Sister Peggy needed me to give classes. She waved this off. "Don't worry," she said. "I will call her and let her know that you are giving ME classes. Then you can stay!" It took some convincing, but it was eventually decided that I would return to stay for an entire weekend, and learn to make pupusas. Watch out, Mom and Dad. When I come home for Christmas, I may be deemed "ready to marry" by my Salvadoran mother.
By the time Rosa and I had finished eating, it was time to head over to the vigil. We bundled up (I think I now have Salvadoran blood - anything below 70 is freezing), and headed to where the mass would be held. An altar had been set up, with the names of all those who died in this community behind it. Community members provided the music, and the homily was comprised of people's testimonies of the event and of people sharing their thoughts. This included Ramón la Suisa, a Swiss who fought on the side of the guerillas during the war. He is absolutely adored by the town of Copapayo. He was kicked out of the country for being illegal three times, but returned each time smuggled in a pick up truck. Now that El Salvador has an FMLN president, Ramón has been given pardon, and is now a citizen of El Salvador. So it was interesting to hear the thoughts of someone who was not Salvadoran, per se, but had really made the country his own, had believed enough in the cause of the guerillas to leave his home country and fight. Not the homily I was expecting, but it was incredibly beautiful to see people sharing this common pain, being there to share it even almost thirty years after it happened. After the mass, the altar space was taken up with musicians to play a concert for the rest of the night.
La Memoria Vive. The Memory Lives. Here, it seems as if everything is steeped in memory. The memory lives because the people refuse to forget.
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