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."