My last days in El Salvador

It wasn't all doom and gloom my last days in El Salvador. My host family and PCV friends did a lot to celebrate my time with me and send me off well. Here are some pictures from my last week in El Salvador:

Seder time! I used the time together to tell some PCVs in person that I was leaving. It was really sad, but everyone was supportive. And I love Seder. It's my favorite cross-cross cultural activities we do. Thanks to Hil and Noah!

Me and Maria in all our Kosher glory. 

The next day me and Amanda went for a hike and swam in this waterfall. It was so beautiful! 

Waterfalls were a big part of my service. Only fitting that I climbed one more.

Our guide, Prudi. I've known him through Noah and Hil, and he was an amazing guide. We talked about the future of El Salvador and how he sees things. I really valued his opinions. 

On Wednesday I made pupusas for the community. People were impressed!

Me and Orbe serving up pupusas hot!

I had two despedidas at the school. I was so surprised! Here's me with the 9th graders and my cake, it says Gracias por todo/Thanks for everything. 

Cutting the cake. Then they rubbed some on my face because that's what you do!

They also gave me a t-shirt with all their names and mine on it. Here's me with the boys.

And the girls. 

The next day I had a surprise despedida with the teachers. So much food!!!!

I would have dressed up, but all my clothes were packed. It was so kind of them and they had nice things to say. The school was my little oasis in the community, so I was happy to spend time with them before I left. 

On my last day we made marquesote (a type of sweet bread) so I could bring it home to my family. Here's my host dad whipping eggs.

And we aprovechared the oven and made pizza! It was the best pizza we've ever made. Kati and Xio making food. 

Josefina and my Aysel on Sunday morning, the morning I left my community. 

I immediately started crying when Aysel walked through the door. That was my gut reaction. I wish I could take her with me. 

Otinia was my rock from the beginning. Saying goodbye to her was hard. 

Right after this group photo I sobbed on everyone. Like can't breath, snot nosed sobs. I will never, ever forget them.

Me ringing the bell. It's over :(

My PM, Clelia, and I.  

Irma, my life saving PCMO, and I. 

It was an exciting moment. 

I really wanted to share these photos because this is how I remember my community: selfless, caring people who just want to support me and take me in.

I ask that you keep an open mind regarding my situation. I never want someone to think, "Oh El Salvador, that place is terrible." Please don't generalize and please don't think I resent anything. I have fond memories and abundant love for my community, for PCES, and for my fellow PCVs. I'm thankful for this experience and I'll carry it with me forever.

Goodbye, El Salvador

I left El Salvador.

I spent the past 30 minutes deciding how I should write that out, but now is not the time to be crafty or funny. I think simply is the best way to tell the world that my experience is over, done, terminated. 

It might come as a bit of a shock for my blog followers. Sorry. I've really been avoiding this. My blog has been with me from the start and ending it feels like the final nail in the coffin. I hate that I'm writing this even now, but I want to tell you all what happened and why I decided to leave. 

The month of March was particularly brutal in El Salvador. It was also a devastating month for my community. While we are no strangers to violence, the events of March proved to be different. There was a definite change in how the community saw itself and how we interacted. As if the people of my community haven't suffered enough from the lifelong effects of the internal war, now they're caught up in the "modern" gang wars. 

Simply put, in March there was another security incident that was closer to home (literally, down the street from my house) and more devastating to the community. I use the word devastating again because that's truly what it was. We slid on the scale from "We have occasional incidents" to "Don't leave your house." 

The chambre was outrageous as to why it happened or how it happened, but everyone could agree on one thing: the community just isn't what it used to be. People feel helpless. Really though, once the gangs move in to a community there isn't much you can do, except keep your kids in the house and pay up if you're asked to. 

It's fairly easy to identify gang violence: Was it a brutal murder? Yes. Was the victim innocent? Yes. Did the events of the murder manipulate or intimidate regular community members? Yes. Did it happen in broad daylight? Yes. Will the police help or give you information? No. 

I brushed on the incident in a blog post, believe it or not. That parade was so poignant. It'll stay in my memory for a long time. But the truth is, I didn't understand how the incident was affecting me until a few weeks after. I went through a lot of feelings, and multiple times throughout the day I would flip on how I dealt with the new reality of my situation. I knew the gangs would most likely not target me, because the gangs in El Salvador don't target random people. Their victims are usually family members of rival gangs, businesses that don't pay la renta, or people who stand up to them. I would know I was on their radar if they asked to do something or pay, and no one ever did so I'd feel fine for a while. But then I couldn't be certain that I wouldn't see one of my students' bodies on the side of the road walking home from the cancha, and I'd feel anxious and scared. I didn't realize it at the time, but I spent five straight days in my home after the incident. I knew that home was safe, and if I just stayed at home I would be fine. I planned my financial education and English classes for the last five months of my service at the school so that I would potentially only leave the house on Tuesdays and Thursdays. The school is across the street from my house. 

I had a bit of a breakdown in the following weeks. My fellow PCVs, who were concerned albeit annoying, kept asking me questions like if I felt safe in my community or what our safety and security officer was doing for me. I didn't have answers for them and that made me even more frustrated with the situation. I'M the one who has to deal with this, so why don't I have any answers!? It all kept coming back to the line, what is the line? When will Peace Corps tell me that the violence in my community has crossed the line? 

I found out the hard way that there is no line. Every PCV has their own line, and we crossed my line in March. I was going crazy. My subconscious was talking to me, but I didn't want to listen. I'd hear a mango fall in the middle of the night and my mind instantly would go to "Were those footsteps? Who is it? Why is there someone outside my window?" But it was just an overripe mango. 

I talked it over with my Project Manager (actually, I sobbed while she talked) and I came to the conclusion that it was my time to go. I really, REALLY did not want to be the one to make that decision, but ultimately I did. I didn't want to leave, clearly the past 22 months proved that I could integrate and live in El Salvador, but I also couldn't stay in my community. Sure I could have lived as a hermit for the next five months, but who knows what would be left of me when it came time to COS in October? Because there was so few months left in my service I wasn't offered a site change, but I was too many months out to Early COS. I was left with the dreaded early termination exit. Yeah, I was a little peeved how that went down. I didn't want to leave, but I also couldn't go on living in my site and keep my wits about me. I took the best option available to me, and that happened to be ET. Now that I've had some time to reflect, I know that the ET distinction won't mean jack squat in one year, 5 years, 10 years time and I ultimately made the right decision for me. 

I originally asked for 2 weeks to say my goodbyes, because I always feared there being an incident that would pull me out quickly. We settled on one week, but I realized that even a week was too much time. My first night back in site after meeting with my PM I heard noises outside my window and my subconscious immediately triggered bad things. I spent a solid 45 minutes straining my ears to figure out why there was a person outside my window at 2:00 am. In the morning I found it it wasn't a person at all. The horse got loose and was eating the mangoes. It's embarrassing, but kind of shows you where my mind was at. Those damn mangoes... 

And what's worse is that I wasn't alone. My host family and people all around me were scared, too. The difference between me and the next guy is that he is surrounded by all his family and friends. Even though I love my host family, I was ultimately alone. On my last night in site my host family and I were watching a movie when we heard three loud blasts. All it took was one look between my eldest host cousin and her uncle, and she got her brothers and sisters up and left the house. We don't know what those blasts are, but we don't want to find out either, so the best thing to do is lock yourself in your house. I knew in that moment that I was doing the right thing for me. 

I'm grateful I had the privilege to leave that situation. 

I spent a week in San Sal filling out paperwork and doing final medical appointments. On my last day  of service, April 23, 2015, I rang the "Close of Service" bell. I had hoped I'd ring it with my COED13s after the full 27 months, but you know, my service didn't go as planned. Come to think of it nothing really happened like I thought it would, but I don't regret a thing. I wouldn't change a single moment of my PC service because then it wouldn't be my service. I can't imagine PC without strict security rules, or my ridiculous ADESCO, or even amoebas. I didn't pick El Salvador, but I'm glad I ended up there. I can honestly say I integrated into Salvadoran culture, maybe even more so than if everything was smooth and secure. I can hear the crotchety placement officers of Peace Corps past ringing in my ears, "If you aren't flexible then you won't make a good Peace Corps Volunteer." 

Well, I think I was a good PCV. And now my service is over.

Modern roofing

This past week I did my third VRF (Volunteer Reporting Form... at least I think that's what it stands for). Every six months we're supposed to sum up what we've accomplished and how many lives are forever changed. Well, at least that's what it feels like. I spent a lot of time on this one and I tried to explain just how working with community partners has affected my time spent here. Yikes.

On the other hand though, this means I've spent 18 months in-site and I've been in-country a total of 618 days. Que fast. And what exactly do I have to show- work wise at least- on these VRFs? The insecurities are seeping in...

Some PCVs are the camp types. They love camps. I love that they love camps, but I think I'd go insane if I tried to do one myself. I'm more of the slow burn kind of volunteer- I'm always around doing something, even if the doing is glacially slow. Sometimes I wish I was a camp person so I could feel that whoosh of accomplishment, but alas, I am more campo than camp. Oh, but hey! It only took me 18 months to get these financial education classes going! Imagine what I could accomplish if I extended another year.

(Sorry, I have no plans of extending. I love my host family and my community, but I'm ready for the next chapter. The above statement is just to see if my mom still reads my blog posts.)

This week is Semana Santa so everyone from students to health promoters to executives in the capital have the week off. My whole host family is home together so we've spent it making tamales and watching beach soccer. Now, usually I hate watching soccer for obvious reasons (IT'S BORING). But I gotta tell you- I love beach soccer. It's shosrter than a normal game, the field is a sand pit, and the players can do cooler tricks with the balls in their bare feet. El Salvador is actually amazing at beach soccer, and there's an intense rivalry between the US and El Salvador. The biannual international competition is being hosted in El Salvador and I'm so proud of my host country! Plus, these players aren't so bad to look at.

We also took the time off to put lamina on my roof because it was raining on me during the few rainstorms we've had. I suggested putting up a tarp, but my host dad wouldn't have any of that. A simple hour long activity turned into an all day tare down. And I cannot lie- I was absolutely disgusted. Mounds and mounds of dust, 30 years of it to be exact, came raining down as my host dad removed the ceramic tiles. Mild surprise turned to horror as I realized that THIS was the culprit for my recent sinus infections. That stuff is in my lungs?!

My host dad balancing on the baras.

My host mom sweeping up for the third time. Seriously, think of this times three. 

Even though I had my stuff covered with the tarp I originally bought to put up on the ceiling, the dirt was everywhere and I had to wash everything. I stupidly left my shoes uncovered and they were literally filled with the stuff. There's nothing I hate more than washing my blanket by hand, and I nearly cried when I found dirt stuck in my loofa.

My host mom felt bad for me because I'm not used to "this kind of work." Ok lady, I'll bite. I'm not used to it! I hate it! I miss my appliances and modern roofing and clean bedsheets. Dear lord, what I would do for a new mattress and clean bedsheets.

On the bright side, there is much less dust and dirt falling from my ceiling and I believe I'm protected for the rainy season. I made my host dad mango popsickles this morning to say thanks. I may not be used to dust and back breaking work, but I appreciate when others are willing to help me out. Can I put that on my VRF?

Green thumb

Every weekend I go down to the garden to check on the plants. No, I'm not the one doing the daily watering. That falls to my host dad, and he seems to like taking care of the plants. I'm more of the emotional support rather than the green thumb.

But hey! The climate is so perfect for growing here we don't even need luck! While I'm sweating buckets the plants are growing at ridiculous speed, and every week I'm closer to my grilled zucchini and basil pesto.

Calabacines.

Albahaca.

The green beans are up to my shoulders, which is equal to one Otinia. 

Last night, so frustrated with trying to explain what a zucchini is, I Googled it for the whole family. We looked at recipes, full grown plants, and translated it (calabacin). We did the same thing for basil, because THAT was hard to explain as well. They'll probably be ready just before I leave for Italy. What a nice send off :)

Woo Leo!

Yesterday I went to an inauguration for a new tourism store in the pueblo that will sell local artisan's work. Of course my highly esteemed counterpart, Leo, had a huge presence in the store. He also teaches groups of women and youth how to make handicrafts and lamps out of henequin, a fiber stripped from maguey plants (aka agave) that is plentiful where I live. Actually, Osicala is the maguey capital of the country. Betcha didn't know that!

I'm very proud of Leo. He was a great counterpart during the art classes. I'm happy that the pueblo and more organizations are noticing him and including him in projects.

A bunch of different government and NGOs showed up for the inauguration. I mainly showed up to support Leo and Dana, another PCV who helped with the store. Oh, and I assumed there would be refrigerio.

They're still working out some details like who's going to work in the store, and how the artist will get paid. But as soon as that's figured out, I'm sure it'll be great for economic development. The store is beautiful, Leo's work is amazing, and it was a fun day.

Leo talking about his work. 

A slew of organizations.

Cutting the ribbon. 

Dana and Leo, def getting photobombed by Lucio.

Me and Mayra with our pieces of ribbon. How cool?

"You're all safe here"

Tell me something you know about El Salvador.

I bet many of you were thinking about child immigration or gang violence, and well, you wouldn't be wrong. The two are tied together- kids leave because it's not safe, young gang members are deported from the US, thus making it not safe. It's like a wheel.

This week we had another incident in my community and it'll probably never be solved or understood. The gossip was rampant, but now it's dying down. I'm hearing more of "Asi es la vida" than frivolous chambre.

This week we also celebrated inter-murals with the school. They don't have P.E. class, so they only get one week out of the year to play together outside. We make a big deal out of it. There's a parade with madrinas and posters, and some students have uniforms. It's supposed to be fun and unify the school.

Madrina Marilu with the 6th grade boys team.

My 9th grade girls.

3rd grade boys reppin Baca.

We walked up the highway that runs through my community. 

Talking with the students. 

When we made it to the cancha, the teachers explained to the kids that they are safe here. It was such a weird juxtaposition- these little kids with their posters and the dark cloud of violence hanging over them.

These pictures show a sea of faces, but they're individuals to me. I know these kids and I feel invested in their future. I don't want to say "Asi es la vida" because they deserve more than that. They deserve true safety and support.

I wish I knew how to make that happen.

Show me your team!

 Here's something I bet you didn't know about El Salvador: the people are more resilient than you can could ever imagine. Try to remember that when the statistics and dark clouds obscure your perception.

My two little neighbors who were madrinas eating their panes. 

Check out last year's inter-murals here.

Putting time in

I really wanted to come back to the campo after going to the beach.

That might seem like an odd statement coming from me, but it's true. I hadn't left my site in what felt like a million years and so when I finally did I felt hurried and sweaty and tired. After a 5 hours stint waiting for the micro to arrive, I came home and nearly kissed the gray cinderblocks. Home sweet home!

So what have I been doing the past few months that I so desperately wanted to come back to? Have a look:

English class is... going. I realized that I actually love teaching, but I hate dealing with kids. I don't really have a good vibe with the new class. There are too many students crammed in to the small classroom, and they feel like they have to be there and so that makes it boring. Part of that was a mishap with the Directora, when she came in to my class and warned the kids that if they miss my class they won't be allowed to enter their other classes all day. I'm grateful that she values my time and is trying to impress that on to my students, but damn! I don't want kids getting kicked out of math class because they couldn't make my extra, apart from normal hours English club/class. Math is important, learning colors in English is not. It really isn't! One hour of English a week is not enough to really learn anything, but I do it because some kids want the exposure to something new. The other 80% of class though has been acting up and I'm getting real impatient.

I hope that the Directora approves my financial literacy classes to start next month. Understanding money and how it works is so much more useful than my not-really-English-class. Literally, no one cares if you can say "yellow" and "green". What's much more time worthy is learning how to save and budget money, even if it's a few dollars a month. Those skills alone will be relevant for life.

Of course, even of the Directora approves my classes there is a strong possibility that the kids won't show up. But I'm prepared for that. In fact, a part of me expects for this to fail. I really hope it doesn't though. Keep your fingers crossed.

One day I was coming to English class and I saw the 3rd graders playing COED SOCCER (whoa) with the soccer balls I got donated at the end of last year. It was a real pick me up to see them play. 

I attended the graduation party of my old host sister. She graduated college, which is a huge deal. She is the first in her family to go to college and I'm very proud of her. I think she's a good role model for other youth in the community. I came over before the party to help with all the balloons and paper mache. Sooooooo much paper mache. It was fun though because I got to spend some valuable time with my sobrina Aysel.

Everyone called her liscenciada all day, which means college graduate. It was fun!

I got to hang out with Aysel and take lots of selfies!

My adorable old host parents. My host dad walked my sister down the aisle for graduation, so he has a matching tie. I was so proud that my host mom tried out a new dress for the occasion. So fierce! 

There was a religious mariachi band, too! And I mean religious. Part of the deal is that they lead culto during the party. It was very them.

My host mom was overjoyed to see me. 

We also planned an elaborate surprise birthday party for my current host sister. This literally took weeks to plan and I don't know how but we kept it a secret! I think she knew something was up when Orbelina made bread early and her mom cooked a full meal and put it in tuperware. Me and the other bichas schemed a "trip to the waterfall" to get my host sister out of the house. I said I wanted to take a break from walking in the shade of the school and I snapped this pic right before my host family showed up in the back of a pick up truck. Surprise! We're going to Apalipul! The waterpark was actually really nice, and had lots of slides and a deep pool. I was of course the only one in a swimsuit, as the typical dress for swimming here is jeans and a t-shirt. We ate cake and rice and tortillas, and came home tired but happy.

Look more surprised! 

My host fam. Happy birthday! 

With the cake.

In February I planted seeds my dad sent me last year. I now have basil, zucchini and green beans growing alongside the green peppers my host dad planted. Before he went to health promoter school, he used to sell whatever he could grow in the market. That's what he lived on. I believe him because all of our plants are growing well! He and the neighbor kid made a bamboo/garbage/old door garden to keep the chickens out. 

We started the seeds in a big bucket. This was the end of February.

Then we built this! With old soda bottles, bamboo and the door. 

Zucchini coming in strong! 

These were my great grandfather's green beans. How cool that they're now in El Salvador!?

The basil, slow but sure. 

The door serves a new purpose.