Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Abba's visit
Last weekend my dad came to visit. It was only when he arrived that I realized how strange it was that I’ve been living in this country for over a year (longer than I’ve lived anywhere continuously since I was 15 years old) and that neither of my parents have been here yet. Though he was really only here for a very short time (not even four days), it meant a lot to me to have him here. In that short time, we managed to fit a lot in – beach, city and of course my site. We only spent the day here in my site, but it was interesting to see the community through his eyes.
By showing someone else where I live and work, it gives me ownership and appreciation over this crazy life experience that I often take for granted. Moreover, it touched me to see how my dad seemed really proud of what I was doing and respected me for it. He often describes these sort of adventures as “goofing off” (Elian is “goofing off in Barcelona,” etc.) and for that reason I had it in my head that that was the conclusion he would come to about my current situation. I do after all have electricity and running water and I have not yet managed to build a bridge or enact some other concrete change, which sometimes makes me wonder if I am just goofing off. Instead, for the short time he was here, my dad was very interested in learning about this country, this community and my life amidst it all. For someone who is not the most social person and speaks no spanish, he sat very patiently as we did the obligatory house visits and even treated my counterpart and his wife to dinner. It was funny because for the first time in my life people said my dad and I looked identical, “like two drops of water” – I am not sure if this is a commentary on my deteriorating looks or just that all white people look the same to them! Just kidding Abba :)
One of the insights into my town my father had that I keep thinking about is how much it is a community in transition. My town (like most other Salvadoran rural towns) is caught between the poverty of their past and the legacy of the Civil War and the riches that emigration and remittances have brought and these two worlds are caught in almost every aspect of the community where one sees mud huts next to fancy, newly built, modern houses, kids without shoes playing with kids with video phones, and oxen pulling carts behind the latest Toyota Hilux pick-up truck.
Indeed, the place I’m writing this piece in is the perfect illustration. I’m in the new house I just moved into, a grand (for rural Salvadoran standards) compound, with three large rooms around an open yard. One of the rooms (not mine) even has air conditioning and there is even a laundry machine (the first I’ve seen in my town), though my new host mother, Teodora, doesn’t know how to use it. At the same time the house shows signs of the poverty she just managed to escape. There are chickens and a cow, flies everywhere, there is still an outhouse, and my host mom often cooks over an open flame instead of the stove. Not to mention my host mom and her sister and brother-in-law are all illiterate. Moreover, she lives in this grand house all by herself, as seven of her nine children now live in the United States (with varying levels of legality), and the remaining two are studying at the university in San Salvador. Indeed, she actually left for the U.S. the day after I moved; lucky enough to actually get a visa, she is off for two months to visit her very pregnant daughter and take care of the baby after the birth.
My host mother left the house in the care of her sister and brother-in-law. Unlike Teodora, this couple is childless and has thus been unable to tap in to the gold rush of the post-war emigration. They live now as Teodora once lived, poor and in a rural community. They are so sweet though and I can tell are at once delighted and baffled at my existence in their world. The little old woman shyly peeked in to my room today and looked in awe over all my things that I had; though all my stuff fits in several big suitcases it far outweighs the little backpacks she and her husband brought along for their two month stay here. I say old because she seems that way, but she is probably in her late 50s. As a side note, beside just saying how alike my dad and I were, everyone kept commenting on how young he looked! But they really do have a point, people here look and act decades older than their American cohort.
I remember thinking before I left for Peace Corps that I probably wouldn’t change much over the course of my time here. I thought since I had previously had opportunities to travel and be exposed to different lives, I kind of “got” how the rest of the world worked. And maybe I haven’t changed fundamentally as a person, but the world I know now is truly different than what I knew before. The experience of living in this community, knowing these people from a world so different than mine, is something I never could have been exposed to in this way outside of this program. Though I miss the U.S. more than ever, I am grateful for the opportunity I have had to learn so much about this little corner of the earth, and through the close study of this tiny community understand so much more about the world at large and my place in it.
By showing someone else where I live and work, it gives me ownership and appreciation over this crazy life experience that I often take for granted. Moreover, it touched me to see how my dad seemed really proud of what I was doing and respected me for it. He often describes these sort of adventures as “goofing off” (Elian is “goofing off in Barcelona,” etc.) and for that reason I had it in my head that that was the conclusion he would come to about my current situation. I do after all have electricity and running water and I have not yet managed to build a bridge or enact some other concrete change, which sometimes makes me wonder if I am just goofing off. Instead, for the short time he was here, my dad was very interested in learning about this country, this community and my life amidst it all. For someone who is not the most social person and speaks no spanish, he sat very patiently as we did the obligatory house visits and even treated my counterpart and his wife to dinner. It was funny because for the first time in my life people said my dad and I looked identical, “like two drops of water” – I am not sure if this is a commentary on my deteriorating looks or just that all white people look the same to them! Just kidding Abba :)
One of the insights into my town my father had that I keep thinking about is how much it is a community in transition. My town (like most other Salvadoran rural towns) is caught between the poverty of their past and the legacy of the Civil War and the riches that emigration and remittances have brought and these two worlds are caught in almost every aspect of the community where one sees mud huts next to fancy, newly built, modern houses, kids without shoes playing with kids with video phones, and oxen pulling carts behind the latest Toyota Hilux pick-up truck.
Indeed, the place I’m writing this piece in is the perfect illustration. I’m in the new house I just moved into, a grand (for rural Salvadoran standards) compound, with three large rooms around an open yard. One of the rooms (not mine) even has air conditioning and there is even a laundry machine (the first I’ve seen in my town), though my new host mother, Teodora, doesn’t know how to use it. At the same time the house shows signs of the poverty she just managed to escape. There are chickens and a cow, flies everywhere, there is still an outhouse, and my host mom often cooks over an open flame instead of the stove. Not to mention my host mom and her sister and brother-in-law are all illiterate. Moreover, she lives in this grand house all by herself, as seven of her nine children now live in the United States (with varying levels of legality), and the remaining two are studying at the university in San Salvador. Indeed, she actually left for the U.S. the day after I moved; lucky enough to actually get a visa, she is off for two months to visit her very pregnant daughter and take care of the baby after the birth.
My host mother left the house in the care of her sister and brother-in-law. Unlike Teodora, this couple is childless and has thus been unable to tap in to the gold rush of the post-war emigration. They live now as Teodora once lived, poor and in a rural community. They are so sweet though and I can tell are at once delighted and baffled at my existence in their world. The little old woman shyly peeked in to my room today and looked in awe over all my things that I had; though all my stuff fits in several big suitcases it far outweighs the little backpacks she and her husband brought along for their two month stay here. I say old because she seems that way, but she is probably in her late 50s. As a side note, beside just saying how alike my dad and I were, everyone kept commenting on how young he looked! But they really do have a point, people here look and act decades older than their American cohort.
I remember thinking before I left for Peace Corps that I probably wouldn’t change much over the course of my time here. I thought since I had previously had opportunities to travel and be exposed to different lives, I kind of “got” how the rest of the world worked. And maybe I haven’t changed fundamentally as a person, but the world I know now is truly different than what I knew before. The experience of living in this community, knowing these people from a world so different than mine, is something I never could have been exposed to in this way outside of this program. Though I miss the U.S. more than ever, I am grateful for the opportunity I have had to learn so much about this little corner of the earth, and through the close study of this tiny community understand so much more about the world at large and my place in it.
Thursday, April 23, 2009
one year in and none the wiser
Here's the latest piece I wrote for El Camino, the Peace Corps newsletter, which I'm now editor of. Thought you might enjoy it!
---
The first time I saw a scorpion, I screamed like a little girl. I was in middle of brushing my hair, and looked into the mirror to see the creature’s evil eyes staring back at me from the top of my head, its tail poised high and ready to strike. When no one came to my rescue, I took a deep breath and made myself pull it together, laid my head on my bed and prayed to God that it would crawl off. After five minutes, it did, and I ran to get my host mom to help kill it.
The second time I saw a scorpion, I only whimpered to myself as I slowly crawled out of bed and inched away to get the venom, which I used to thoroughly douse my sleeping space until the insect was unequivocally dead, at which point I fell asleep on the couch, far away from the departed enemy.
By the third time, I reacted like a campesina. Reaching for my venom without a second though, I killed the pest before it had time to blink and then swept it outside with a broom.
As I saw my latest scorpion, it got me thinking about all the little quirks of living in El Salvador and the strangeness of getting used to things I could never have predicted. These days, my mouth waters when I smell fresh quesadilla baking in my host mother’s oven and I crave frijoles y tortillas, even if I have spaghetti in the fridge. My group has just passed our astonishing one-year mark, meaning that for the first time, perennial events are not a surprise, but a return. This time, Semana Santa is no mystery, but a recurring holiday. So this year, when they burn Judas in my community, I will understand that Judas, does not mean Jew, as I thought last year. Though those kids wearing Halloween masks, running from house to house are indeed impersonating the evil Jews who reject Christ, even if they have no idea what a Jew is. As my town slips into the bone-scorching heat of April and May, I will have the rains of invierno to look forward to, not that they offer much respite, but at least the countryside will regain its green glow.
One of the nicest things to become accustomed to is the ease with which we can slip into Spanish now. Though in many ways my Spanish is really not what it should be, my mouth can now form the words before my brain translates them. I even find myself occasionally translating back from Spanish to English when talking to other PCVs (saying the nonexistent word “capacitation” where we would have once used the word “training” is a favorite Spanish-ism of Peace Corps Volunteers). Other signs of our thorough adaptation is our instant reactions of “permiso” when trying to get by someone (even though it’s another English speaker we’re trying to pass), or instinctively putting the toilet paper in the basket (even if it’s at the Sheraton, whose plumbing can handle the extra volume).
But one of the strange things is that no matter how long I’m here, I always still look as if I walked across the border this morning. Sure, all my clothes may have been bought locally and 99% of my body mass may now be made from pupusas, but my light coloring marks me as a gringa before I can even open my mouth to say buenas to someone. And though the cobrador is just trying to be helpful when he offers to point me to my next stop, or the fruit seller is just curious where she asks me if I speak Spanish, some part of me feels frustrated that they can’t don’t think that I look even a little guanaca now.
As much as I pride myself in finally being able to prattle off the names of all the bichos in the park or the exotic fruits in the mercado, I am surprised by how much of a foreigner I still feel in my site. This isn’t to say that I don’t have friendships here or don’t feel comfortable in my role as a Peace Corps volunteer. What I mean, is that as much as I care for my site and the people, I (and I think they) will always see me as an outsider. As much as I love trying to understand and learn about their outlook on the world, I am still fundamentally starting from a far different perspective, one that is inaccessible to them. At times, this barrier seems insignificant, at other times, insurmountable. When I feel frustrated with it, I try and remind myself that this experience of being the “other,” is one of the most important lessons I will learn as a Peace Corps volunteer. By removing ourselves from our cultural comfort-zone, we can better understand where we come from. By living as the perpetual outsider, we can better understand who we are.
Every circle we traveled through, we have to readjust ourselves and our surroundings to create harmony in our lives. The challenge here is especially hard because our communities are used to emigrants, not immigrants, and our backgrounds are so divergent. But it precisely because of the difficulty of this experience that makes it so worthwhile. While I cannot share many parts of myself with my friends in site, I learn so much from them. And for now, I can at least sleep easy knowing that I can calmly kill any scorpions that cross my path.
One year in… One to go!
---
The first time I saw a scorpion, I screamed like a little girl. I was in middle of brushing my hair, and looked into the mirror to see the creature’s evil eyes staring back at me from the top of my head, its tail poised high and ready to strike. When no one came to my rescue, I took a deep breath and made myself pull it together, laid my head on my bed and prayed to God that it would crawl off. After five minutes, it did, and I ran to get my host mom to help kill it.
The second time I saw a scorpion, I only whimpered to myself as I slowly crawled out of bed and inched away to get the venom, which I used to thoroughly douse my sleeping space until the insect was unequivocally dead, at which point I fell asleep on the couch, far away from the departed enemy.
By the third time, I reacted like a campesina. Reaching for my venom without a second though, I killed the pest before it had time to blink and then swept it outside with a broom.
As I saw my latest scorpion, it got me thinking about all the little quirks of living in El Salvador and the strangeness of getting used to things I could never have predicted. These days, my mouth waters when I smell fresh quesadilla baking in my host mother’s oven and I crave frijoles y tortillas, even if I have spaghetti in the fridge. My group has just passed our astonishing one-year mark, meaning that for the first time, perennial events are not a surprise, but a return. This time, Semana Santa is no mystery, but a recurring holiday. So this year, when they burn Judas in my community, I will understand that Judas, does not mean Jew, as I thought last year. Though those kids wearing Halloween masks, running from house to house are indeed impersonating the evil Jews who reject Christ, even if they have no idea what a Jew is. As my town slips into the bone-scorching heat of April and May, I will have the rains of invierno to look forward to, not that they offer much respite, but at least the countryside will regain its green glow.
One of the nicest things to become accustomed to is the ease with which we can slip into Spanish now. Though in many ways my Spanish is really not what it should be, my mouth can now form the words before my brain translates them. I even find myself occasionally translating back from Spanish to English when talking to other PCVs (saying the nonexistent word “capacitation” where we would have once used the word “training” is a favorite Spanish-ism of Peace Corps Volunteers). Other signs of our thorough adaptation is our instant reactions of “permiso” when trying to get by someone (even though it’s another English speaker we’re trying to pass), or instinctively putting the toilet paper in the basket (even if it’s at the Sheraton, whose plumbing can handle the extra volume).
But one of the strange things is that no matter how long I’m here, I always still look as if I walked across the border this morning. Sure, all my clothes may have been bought locally and 99% of my body mass may now be made from pupusas, but my light coloring marks me as a gringa before I can even open my mouth to say buenas to someone. And though the cobrador is just trying to be helpful when he offers to point me to my next stop, or the fruit seller is just curious where she asks me if I speak Spanish, some part of me feels frustrated that they can’t don’t think that I look even a little guanaca now.
As much as I pride myself in finally being able to prattle off the names of all the bichos in the park or the exotic fruits in the mercado, I am surprised by how much of a foreigner I still feel in my site. This isn’t to say that I don’t have friendships here or don’t feel comfortable in my role as a Peace Corps volunteer. What I mean, is that as much as I care for my site and the people, I (and I think they) will always see me as an outsider. As much as I love trying to understand and learn about their outlook on the world, I am still fundamentally starting from a far different perspective, one that is inaccessible to them. At times, this barrier seems insignificant, at other times, insurmountable. When I feel frustrated with it, I try and remind myself that this experience of being the “other,” is one of the most important lessons I will learn as a Peace Corps volunteer. By removing ourselves from our cultural comfort-zone, we can better understand where we come from. By living as the perpetual outsider, we can better understand who we are.
Every circle we traveled through, we have to readjust ourselves and our surroundings to create harmony in our lives. The challenge here is especially hard because our communities are used to emigrants, not immigrants, and our backgrounds are so divergent. But it precisely because of the difficulty of this experience that makes it so worthwhile. While I cannot share many parts of myself with my friends in site, I learn so much from them. And for now, I can at least sleep easy knowing that I can calmly kill any scorpions that cross my path.
One year in… One to go!
Earth Day 2009!
To celebrate Earth Day in my community (a place where people do not take very good care of the earth...), I organized a parade with the school. In addition to creating banners with pro-earth slogans, we had a competition to see which grade could make the best dress out of garbage that they collected. Before the competition, the mayor and future mayor spoke, in addition to someone from the Ministry of the Environment. The results were absolutely wonderful, I was so impressed with the creativity they children put in. Here are a few examples of the results and photos from the day. And in case you're interested, the winner is the girl with the blue eyes and the umbrella, though it was very close call!
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
jewelry making workshop
One of the recent activities I organized was a jewelry making workshop for the women in my community. It was really successful and we're hoping to follow it up with another one too and to form a group of artisan jewelry makers. Young women came from far away, including my friend Cristina, who brought her baby and her 8 year old little sister to take care of the baby while she made the jewelry (see above).
Sunday, April 12, 2009
fiestas patronales! part 2
(read the post below first)
One of the many pilgrims to my town was my host mom from training, Nina Juanita! It was so wonderful to see her, she is such an amazing person. I was so touched because she introduced me to her friends as her "hija," or daughter :). She just came back from five months in the U.S., where she went to visit her son who is living illegally in Houston. When he picked her up from the airport, he told her he had a "surprise" waiting for her at home. When she got there there was a new woman holding a 3 month old baby girl - his wife and daughter! Of course, like almost all Salvadorans in the U.S., he had married a fellow Salvadoran. She spent the rest of her visit being the baby's nanny, but she sounded quite happy about it. It was great to reconnect with Juanita, and I felt proud to her show her my adopted community and the life I had built in El Salvador.
fiestas patronales!
So after almost a year in my site, I finally experienced our "fiestas patronales," which are the patron saint festivals. Every town has a patron saint, ours is the Virgin of Dolores, whose week is the week before Semana Santa (holy week).
Our patron saint festivals are a really big deal because the town is a pilgrimage site, and people come from all over the country (and even Guatemala and Honduras) to ask favors of the virgin. As the pictures above show, they wait for hours in lines to enter the church and pass in front of the virgin. The town changes completely in this week, and is full of a million food stands and really old rides (like the ferris wheel above) that are probably condemned in the U.S. and are now brought down to El Salvador to use in these festivals. They are terrifying to go on, not because the ride itself is scary, but because it really could fall apart at any minute. The whole thing is quite the event and it's amazing to see the town transform like this, and then just ask quickly all the vendors disappear and we are back to being the sleepy, little town in a forgotten corner of the country.
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