Un Mes

So, everyone, I’ve been here for a month, and it’s been quite the experience.

This weekend, as you’ve probably read, I elected to stay here instead of going away for another amazing hiking place, which I’ll probably do later this semester. I needed some time to recollect my thoughts, to write this stuff, and to see the city for what it’s worth. The Mercado was an incredible experience, and I needed to understand what San Salvador was like, even though I still have very little comprehension of where things are in relation to each other. It’s weird living in a developing city, where there’s really no tourism industry and where there’s excessive levels of violence. For a person who loves cities and loves that type of exploring the urban environment, it’s rather frustrating with no reliable/understandable system of public transportation and an unsafe space to explore. Furthermore, from what I understand, there isn’t too much for us to see or do in San Salvador. So, even though I feel like I’m stranded here on the outskirts of the city and that we have an arduous daily routine, there really isn’t that much to do here, which is very sad.

It’s a land of incredibly opposite forces pulling at each other: the natural beauty and the human sadness; the North American chains and tiny pupuserias and comedors; the huge, lavish malls that rival some of ours back home and the tin houses that still exist from former refugee camps.
My praxis site is going well, though I have hope for how things will change in the future. I feel right now like I’m just coasting along, happily and naively there in Mariona, so I’m trying to find some other things that would satisfy some questions and desires of mine in terms of understanding the community.

Classes are just okay, really, but I have hope for some of their improvement over time. A couple, like Poly Sci and Literature, are delightful right now, and I feel like I will continue to learn valuable things in those. Other classes have been slow to develop, but I feel that once we get going a little more, they will be just fine (or so I hope).

I miss everyone from home, everyone from school, from last semester, from other programs I’ve done and people I’ve gotten close to. It’s emotionally taxing here but necessary. Community living, as I thought beforehand, is very difficult. Living with 12 other people in one house with common food and responsibilities can be very stressful, as you can imagine. Regardless, I have some great friends on whom I can rely and with whom I’ve become close. This experience forces you to rely on other people who can understand what you’re going through, what you’ve seen, what El Salvador is doing inside you.

I look forward to another three months, that are only bound to get harder and easier in many ways, but that are bound to affect me profoundly. I hope and pray that Salvador will change me.

It's tough, but I came in knowing that. It's meant to be tough. It's what I asked for. But it's good, and it's what I need at this point, and it's where I'm supposed to be.

I hope that everyone stays warm back in the States and experiences God's blessings on you and your families. Paz y amor--

AMDG,
Anthony

Mercado Central

So, today Amy and I went to El Mercado Central (the Central Market), which reminded me very much of Morocco. Most of the others either went away for the weekend or went to hike the place, Puerta del Diablo, where we went a few weeks back. Anyway, this market is in fact a whole area of “shopping” with plazas and churches interspersed, including the Cathedral in which sits Romero’s tomb (La Cripta, the crypt). Before we left, a couple people told us how dangerous supposedly it is, that people get shot or stabbed along with lots of petty crime. We were told that it would be dirty with tons of people, just unsafe in general. The guidebook said nothing about that, and I couldn’t imagine that such a place would be that dangerous in the middle of the day. As I already understood beforehand, petty crime is a problem, such as pickpockets and other minor offenses. Also, simple intelligence says to not look like you have money, as the book also mentioned. I used by travel money belt and just wore a t-shirt and didn’t carry my camera. Amy wanted to call a Casa friend who’s a cab driver to see if he could help us out/accompany us/take us through the unsafe parts in his car, but he didn’t answer his phone. Thus, we set off on a public bus to get down there. We just decided to get off the bus when it ran into traffic and was moving terribly slowly—not from cars but from the amount of people. First impression, wow this is crazy, and yes, it reminds me of the atmosphere of Morocco. As it turns out, there really weren’t that many people for a Saturday afternoon, in my opinion, and I didn’t feel in danger at any point. Only when we walked out a little from the main center did we feel it getting sketchier, which immediately prompted us to turn back around and head toward the shops again. The Mercado is basically loaded with little “kioskos” selling anything from electrical parts, to shoes and clothes, to fresh food, and everything in between. Amy and I really just wandered around, soaking in the sites. We knew we wanted to go to the Cathedral and another church and an artisan market that we were told was close (but in fact is no where near there, according to three Salvadorans we asked), but besides that, we were just there to soak in the culture. Thus, we really walked through the shops, not with an intention to buy much, until we hit the Cathedral, which was interesting and somewhat different than I expected. It was very high and really open, with a large dome up front, and a different architecture outside. But what was more moving was Romero’s tomb, la Cripta. It’s located in the basement of the Cathedral, and it’s at the end of one side, facing the Virgen de Guadalupe. There’s also a pulpit and an altar for saying Mass down there, with a big open space for chairs. It was strange down there, initially because the only people were two kids running around and playing with each other and a small group of people intensely praying. The kids were typical Salvadoran style: no shoes, playing with only what they had, running everywhere, with a typical younger person’s disregard for our societal restrictions on where to play and what to do.
For lunch, we stumbled upon a vegetarian restaurant. Those of you in the States are probably thinking, okay, a vegetarian restaurant: but around here, that’s almost unimaginable. I just chose to enter, wanting to see what it was and also thinking the food would be safer than something on the street, and we ended up eating there. It was very good, with delightful juice drinks as well—fresh carrot and orange, what a great combination. And it was actually all vegetarian, and I had a slice of pizza with soy meat.
The other church we went to see was closed up, but we definitely need to head back to see its beautiful stained glass windows all over the ceiling in this arc shape. Definitely going back.
These types of markets, in my opinion, say a lot about the people and the culture, besides the fact that they're very interesting to explore and experience. It turned out to be very safe, as no one even tried to pickpocket me. I've felt much more unsafe in other parts of the world. Paz y amor a todos ustedes--

AMDG,
Anthony

Praxis Weekend

My praxis weekend. Although it was quite eventful, I had a lot of fun just hanging out with the leaders of my praxis experience. I actually stayed with Lolo, the only male member of the Cooperative. His wife, Aída, and he have two little girls: Karen, 3 years old, and María José, who’s about one and a half. When the three of us (Stephanie, Jenn, and I—our praxis group) arrived at Oti’s house, it was around 5 pm, and we just sat there talking with everyone and helped a little to make pupusas. Normally, pupusas aren’t very good for my system, as many places make them with lard and/or a lot of oil and grease. For those of you who aren’t familiar with this typically Salvadoran and I believe Honduran delicacy, they’re basically stuffed tortillas grilled on a flat surface, if you can imagine that. We have very thick tortillas here, unlike the Mexican ones found in the states, and a little smaller. I think they use the same base for the tortilla that they do for the pupusa (and if not, they’re very similar. Anyway, they basically cover the filling in the “masa”—the starch base—and grill it off. The filling can be anything from beans and cheese, pork, squash and beans, and many other sorts of combinations. They’re extremely popular here, pretty much the national food; there are pupuserias everywhere, literally. Every Thursday night we go for pupusas as a group at a place down the street. But, these pupusas made in house by Oti and Aída and the woman Jenn was staying with, were the best ones I’ve ever tasted. They also made by hand the curtido (a coleslaw-type stuff that goes on top of pupusas) and the tomato salsa stuff. Wow, was that a good meal. After dinner, we sat around and talked, watched all the children fight and cry, laughing the whole time, and then Lolo, his family, and I went back to their house. After a short time on the couch, Aída and the girls went to bed, and falling asleep, I chose to do the same. Let’s just say I got a lot of sleep that night: a lot of time I needed.

The next morning, when I awoke about an hour and a half before we had to be at Oti’s to head over to the Cooperative, Aída was in the kitchen cooking and commented a couple times whether or not I had slept well and/or woken up early. I told her that I’m used to waking up early and can do so when I so choose, and she responded that most of the other students who had stayed there before woke up late. From there, we had a nice discussion about eating and foods and the necessity to try everything, together with Lolo when he joined us for breakfast. We had some scrambled eggs, beans, fried plantains, and some good coffee for breakfast, and I loved it. It’s a shame that people don’t like different foods, we agreed. It was the first time—and definitely not the last—that I felt that I was eating something special, that they always didn’t eat this way. Oti and Lolo, as with many other people in this community, are pretty middle-class by Salvadoran standards. It’s pretty common in any class, even houses with dirt floors, to have TVs and stereo systems, but Lolo and Oti and most of the people we visit have concrete floors and relatively clean houses. Anyway, we all discussed this upon arriving home, and it’s been a constant topic of conversation about Salvadoran hospitality. Because we’re guests, they will pull out all the stops, all the bells and whistles, when all we really want is just to experience life for how it truly is.

Anyway, from what we understood beforehand, that morning we were going to a gathering of many of the “socias.” Evidently, when we arrived, there weren’t as many women as were expected, but either way, the festivities began. I didn’t really know what to expect—actually, I was thinking it would be a question/answer session or some function for us to get to know the women members of the Coop who we don’t normally see. But, it was actually a women’s group, of sorts. We did a few activities, while seated around a singular candle and pieces of different-colored cloth. The first was just a reflection on the candle, cloths, and what everything meant to us. The second one was sort of a discussion on being women in this, Salvadoran society. It was very interesting both from a man’s perspective and as a foreigner, but it really wasn’t awkward. Some of the women felt a need to apologize directly to me after comments, as if I were a representative of all men. To my surprise, I had some stuff to say, specifically about my mother and sister and their strong qualities and my mother’s teaching of my sister—sort of how I grew up in my house and how I see Salvadoran society thus far. There’s a strong sense of machismo, which people tend to say all the time. It manifests itself anywhere from spousal abuse to disgusting comments to women on the street and anywhere in between. The last exercise was supposed to have them get in touch with their bodies and feel something at every part, like an emotion tied to places. Surprisingly, I had something to say about that, as well. It’s very difficult to enunciate emotions and strong feelings in Spanish without a broad vocabulary for such things, and that barrier along with the normal difficulty in putting into words such things made talking difficult—but actually much easier than I expected. Those women there were such a strong group of people, very much in touch with their rights and their roles, and they emphasized the need to support each other and to spread the message to women not as fortunate. It’s such a shame to see the way many man in this society comport themselves and treat their opposite sex, but these women really give one hope for a better future. I really saw the inner-workings of what is a grass-roots attempt at greater rights.

That afternoon, we did some more house visits, to a women who used to work very closely with the praxis students in Mariona, and to an elderly women whose husband died and left her to care for their eight children. This elderly woman, as she didn’t have many teeth (if any at all), was very difficult to understand, which was a shame because her story was a very moving one that said things about Salvadoran life.

That evening, I had dinner back at Lolo and his family’s and then went to bed relatively early again, especially because we had to leave at 7:30 am the next morning for 8 am mass. Oofa.

Mass that morning was okay, nothing great, really from what I thought. The pastor was a younger man from Spain (evident from his accent), and his message wasn’t really anything new. From some of the masses here, I’ve noticed that there really isn’t such an emphasis on writing out sermons and homilies but rather having some idea of where you want to go and just heading down that road. He took some very cheap shots on the US, which sort of made me angry, and he didn’t really say anything novel. Perhaps this is what the Salvadoran community needs, in terms of motivation and continued praise and encouragement. Who knows, but either way, church was okay. For some humor in the middle of the service, a dog walked down the front aisle and was just chillin in the middle of it for about 15 minutes. He walked around a little, scratched his fleas, but no one did anything. Just an interesting cultural observation.

On the bus ride back, a couple interesting cultural differences hit me again. The buses are many times very crowded, with people having to stand in the aisles (that’s nothing new). But, because strollers are very uncommon in most places, women are forced to hold their children all the time, even when standing on the shaky buses. However, when Aída was carrying María José, a women next to her offered to hold her baby, and Aída gratefully accepted. It didn’t really seem to me like a question/answer, more eye-contact and understanding. They both knew that it would be a bigger problem for the woman sitting down to stand up and try to change seats to allow Aída to sit down, so they just understood each other. It hit me then that most women in the States would probably prefer to hold their baby than allow a complete stranger to do so on public transportation, but this is just another sign of how everyone here is interdependent through necessity. Also, on that ride home, the bus just pulled into a gas station, and the driver hopped out to fill it up.

That morning, all of us (Stephanie, Jenn, I, and our families) prepared for and cooked a steak lunch outside on the charcoal grill. Wow, was that a good meal, as I hadn’t had steak like that in a while, definitely since before I arrived. It was such a delightful treat, probably that we didn’t deserve. After lunch, we sat and chatted again and shared some good laughs before going home around 2.

Upon arriving home, everyone shared their different stories of their unique praxis weekends. Some had good times, moving experiences, difficult nights (Patricio slept in a very poor house with big roaches, Roe and Colin experienced an awesome outdoor dance party, and there are so many more stories). I realized even further that although I’m enjoying my praxis site, I’m really not being moved that much or experiencing anything novel. It’s very fluffy and fun and nice and packaged. We don’t hear much about gangs or severe poverty or terrible violence (which apparently is plaguing Mariona very badly, restricting our ability to visit parts of the community), or even immigration.

I have a couple more memories/reflections on praxis that happened after the weekend in this past week. On Wednesday, we visited the parents of a priest who was martyred in the late seventies. He was a relatively famous martyr, and these parents lost all four of their other sons as well—three in the guerilla forces and one in a wrong accusation by the government during the war. However, it was very difficult to understand the father, who had Parkinson’s disease, and although the mother was a bit more intelligible, her sentences were a bit disjointed. Later that day, we had lunch at a woman’s house, a person we had met that past weekend. Towards the end, her son showed up to eat. He was in his last year of high school, headed to college next year. He said he played piano and then ran next door to get a small keyboard, and he was really good. He also talked a little about gangs and their effect in his area and with his friends, which was extremely interesting, as we really haven't heard that much testimony about their presence.

Anyway, we'll see with praxis. It's up and down, and I think it's gonna get better at certain times. Paz y amor--

AMDG,
Antonio