Artisan

The other day as I was waiting for the bus I met Leo, the town artisan. He makes amazing jewelry and he can paint great murals. Check it out: 

Mural on the alcaldia building. It only took him 1 week. 

So that's how you spell maguey! 

This is what they make tequila out of in Mexico. Here? We make rope. 

Funeral

Sometimes I honestly forget that I'm living in a "critical risk" country (according to the Embassy) in Central America with gangs and drugs and corruption. I just don't encounter much of that stuff in my daily life. As a PCV, I'm much more accustomed to artisan groups and futbol games than I am to assassinations. 

But here I am. 

Fredy, the alcalde (mayor) of Osicala, was murdered on Friday, October 18. I've only mentioned Fredy once in my blog, but he was a huge help during my first few days in site. He personally picked me up in San Miguel and drove me to my doorstep. He introduced me to important people who run the municipality, to the newly established tourism board, and to the rich lady who owns half the town. When Osicala had a cultural night in the town square to announce the grant that the town won for adventure and nature, he got up with the marimba band and played the "chish chishchish chish" thing. He even played trompo, a popular game, with the kids! He was very well liked by the community, and he was kind and welcoming to me. 

I've talked to many people about his death. My project manager told me that if I try looking for answers I'm going to go crazy. "These kinds of things just happen in my country." My spanish teacher told me to not talk about it with the locals. "It's not good to look very concerned." My SSC said not to be surprised if it comes out that he was corrupt. "He was a politician after all."

I am concerned. No, I'm not concerned for my safety. I trust my Safety and Security Coordinator. If she says I'm fine, I'm fine. And no, I do not think the murderers have anti-American sentiments. Remember, I live in the country that lost half it's population to the United States in the late 80's. Everyone loves America (Ok, that's an exaggeration because of the deportations and horrible working conditions, but the general feeling is that America is where El Salvadorans live too). 

I'm concerned because these people, from my community to the national level, have been through enough. I can't imagine living through a horrible war, enduring poverty and then when you finally have an alcalde who works hard to develop the community... he gets shot. Really? And that's just "something that happens?" 

It's gotta be so hard to trust anyone. I'm lucky because my canton has had 5 PCVs before me. They get the drill. I come, I organize, and in two years I'll leave. In all reality they'll get another PCV to come do it all again. Every PCV wants to work themselves out of a job, but the community is such a good fit for PC and there's so much work to be done here that I think they'll always have a PCV. It's nice because most people trust me or they're at least open to the idea of a gringa working in their town. 

Events such as Fredy's death rock the community, but it also brings people together. Saturday and Sunday night, all night, community members gathered in Fredy's house to eat, pray and talk. My host sisters spent the night there. They came home at 5am. 

I opted to save my energy for the day long funeral on Monday. I went with Otinia, my community guide. We started the day by showing our respect to the family at Fredy's house. They had an open casket, which I thought was weird considering the way in which he was killed. I was too scared to get a good look, but I did noticed the creative frilling around his head. Probably to cover up some of the gross stuff. 

We then walked with the body in to the town for a ceremony at the alcaldia and then at the catholic church. It was about 5km. In all it was a slow but eventful day. Part of experiencing a new culture is participating in important events. I'm glad I got to see the love and support from my community, even if the occasion was a sad one. 

The casket had a GANA (political party) and El Salvador draped on it the whole day. At Fredy's house. 

The crowd at Fredy's house. 

Walking with the body to Osicala.

The alcaldia building decorated in black and white streamers. 

All the school kids lined the streets with flowers as the hearse came down the road. 

The governor of Morazan getting interviewed. Hey broadcast friends, check out this guy's equipment. 

The church was jam packed. 

Thousands of people came out to line the street to the cemetery. 

I have a farmers tan now because I didn't think to bring my umbrella. The day was beautiful, though. 

Tamales

I learned how to make tamales today! You know how the saying goes- if you can cook you can get married. I had 3 separate people tell me that today when my host mom told them about the gringa making tamales. I think I'll go back to eating crackers then... 

Tamales basically consist of mushy corn mash, tomato sauce, and chicken bits.

You wrap it all up in a palm frond. 

Gotta be careful not to let the mush seep out.

And it should look something like this!

Oh yaaaah fellas, this shexy gringa is ready to marry. 

You line the big pot with more palm tree parts then fill it with water.

Add more palm parts to lock in the moisture. Let cook for 1-2 hours. 

Open em up...

...and enjoy!

Kids love tamales! Here's my host niece after chowing down.

I'm sorry

That last post was rough. Here's some cute animal pics! I don't think they have worms....

Travieso (translates to naughty) and the gato. Awww. 

They had never seen their reflection before!

I seen some things

***Don't read this if you're squeemish. Like, for real. Just don't.

I saw the grossest thing of my life today. Well you see, there's a man in my canton who has cancer in his leg so the ADESCO is raffling off a baby cow to raise money for a prosthetic. Me and a young female member of the directiva (those are rare in ADESCOs)  went house to house selling the tickets. It was a great way for me to get to know people and whatnot.

So I'm feeling pretty happy that I'm out of the house and doing some good in the community. We stopped at her friend's house first. She was supposed to walk with us but her brother's wife had to go into town and what had happened was... Yeah, she wasn't coming. My counterpart cold called some local organizations to ask for donations and I waited outside.

The old man of the family came in from the fields, sat down in the hammock and asked for his breakfast. I tried talking to him, but he wasn't interested in the sweaty ginga. So I just sat quietly and looked around the place. They have chickens, dogs, a cat, and a turkey. A turkey! Have you ever seen a live turkey's face up close? They are so ugly! It gobbled at me and I got scared. I mean, it looked like Freddy Krueger.

There were three puppies, all different ages. The youngest was a scrappy little thing with fur missing. It was skinny and looked like it had fleas, so I kept stomping at him to make him go away. I'm reading the letter the hospital wrote about the young man's cancer and how expensive the prosthetic is, and I hear little vomit noises coming from the floor.

I look down and the youngest puppy had thrown up, maybe about 5 feet from me. I was digusted, of course, because it's gross. But then I noticed the long white worms wriggling around in the poop brown vomit. They were really long worms, like from the tip of your middle finger to the base of your palm. And they were actively wriggling around on the dirt.

Then the puppy ate his worm vomit.

At this point I have the watery mouth signal that I'm going to throw up too, so I grab my backpack and head outside to the street. After a while my counterpart called me back in. The old man told his daughter that the dog threw up, so she should clean the floor. The 2 year old girl who has been sitting next to me THE WHOLE TIME is still drawing on last year's calendar, like it's totally cool that the puppy has worms. She'll probably play with the puppy later today.

I feel sick just writing this. Oi. But I tell you hwhat- I am going to wash all my fruit and vegetables 10 more times tonight.

It’s a small world after all

The other night I had a visit from Saul, a young man who applied for a scholarship to study in the US with the help of the last PCV. When I met him, Saul had a Green Bay Packer’s polo on. I let the fact that its cheesehead paraphernalia slide because he was so totally Mid-Western!  Turns out he studied in Wisconsin for two years. He went to the US with zero English but now he speaks fluently. I hope the same thing happens with my Spanish!

Saul told me some funny stories about fitting in to American culture. He’s been to Chicago. Of course he took pictures at the bean!

I asked him if he ever went to Door County and he was all like, “You know about Door County!?” To which I replied, “No, YOU know about Door County!?” He went in fall with his host mom and ate at Al Johnson’s with the cabras on the roof. It was so surreal to talk about the lake and state park with him. It’s both of our favorite places on earth.

Saul studied business in the US and is back in El Salvador working at a hotel in northern Morazán. Actually, he works at the Peace Corps approved hotel in northern Morazán so you know it’s gotta be the nicest hotel in town.

His American host mom is visiting in March and I can’t wait to meet her. It’s crazy to think how small the world really is!

Let’s take a walk

In Spanish the verb “caminar” translates to “to walk.” So when my host sister told me that the local school in San Lucas was going to “caminar” for International Physical Education Day (because apparently that exists),  I was willing to participate. I figured it’d be a good way to introduce myself to the youth and school teachers. I put on some yoga pants, a dry fit shirt and my tennis shoes. I asked my host sister if this was appropriate to wear, primarily because I didn’t know if my bubble butt was too provocative in the stretchy pants. “Sure,” she said. “You can caminar in that,” she said…

This is how I found out the hard way that “caminar” is the Spanish verb to describe all kinds of walking, including the kind of walking you do at a 60º incline up a mountain. If I knew we were climbing a mountain I would’ve worn my mountain climbing boots! Because I have those.

I was right though. Climbing the mountains (two, we climbed two mountains) was a great way to bond with the school’s staff and prove that this gringa is adventurous!

I asked this kid to take my picture by the stream and he looked at me like, hunny you have no idea what you got yourself into. 

The school's director, Alex, helping me get to the waterfall without cracking my head open. 

I was so excited I opened my mouth to laugh. I'm pretty sure that water hasn't been boiled for 3 minutes... 

They asked me to be an ad for El Salvador. Bienvenidos!!

Really though, it was beautiful. 

Look at these billy goats. Most of them were on their cell phones while they were walking. Meanwhile, I'm about to pass out. 

My host sister and the gym teacher. Sorry Kar, I mean PE teacher. 

I'm definitely "walking" here again. 

Me and my host sister. 

The water that runs in my house is from this waterfall. Now I call that mountain fresh! Har har har. 

Top of cerro San Lucas. Cerro means hill in spanish, but it's the biggest hill I've ever seen. 

There's a flag at the top. We did it!

This is not a photoshop. I don't even know how to do the photoshop. 

A picture for my dad, because he hates heights! 

My new/other host family

I had made the request during my site placement survey to live with an intergenerational family. I like the idea of having the wisdom of grandparents and the spunk of young kids in the same house. Luckily, I got what I asked for.

I’ll tell you about my host family as if I inserted myself into the family as a daughter.

My host parents are old. They’ve got to be in their 70’s. They have a bunch of kids, but I think most of them live in the US. My host dad recently broke his foot, so he’s either hobbling around in a boot or riding the family horse. My host mom is very traditional and evangelical. All the evangelicals that PCTs lived with in Nuevo Cuscatlán were a little on the crazy side, always trying to convert them or damn them depending on their mood. I was nervous at first when I met my host parents, but they seem down to earth. Either way I’m going to do my best to avoid the 4 hour long masses. They live in an adobe house about 15 ft away from the fancy remeza house I live in.

My sister-in-law and her 2 year old daughter live with them. She’s young, I don’t think she’s more than 17 or 20. But I’m horrible at guessing ages here so who knows. She’s always cleaning or cooking and rarely leaves the home, so I’d describe her as traditional. She’s sweet though and I think we’ll be friends. Her daughter is gorgeous with the biggest caramel brown eyes you ever did see, but she’s always falling off of chairs and slamming her head on the concrete floor. I want to put her in a bubble.

My house is equivalent of the kids table. My host sister is in her late-twenties, and her son is in fourth grade. He’s hilarious. I have no idea what he says because he speaks really fast and slurs his words together, but I’m glad he likes me. Also in the house is my 15 year old nephew. His mom lives in the US. I don’t know when he saw her last. He’s graduating from the 9^th grade AND turning 16 next week. He’s a good kid and he taught me how to play dominoes. My other host sister in her mid-twenties studies at the university in San Miguel during the week and comes home on the weekends. She wears teal eyeliner and pencil skirts around the house. I never know what she’s saying either, but we get along.

It’s like living with roommates! Except one of my roommates has a kid. But he’s cool, so it works out.

I really like my house and my family. I get full rein of the kitchen because my sister usually eats with her parents. And get this- I have a toilet and shower and sink. Water runs in the house! My bedroom window opens up to the outside. Today we’re getting doors installed on my room and the bathroom, so it’ll be even better. I’m going to the big city on Tuesday to buy a bed and dresser. Overall it’s a pretty good set up. I think I’m going to be really happy here.

Home sweet home!

Back in action

A full week has passed since I moved to my site. It’s 8:30am on Saturday, October 12, 2013, but it might as well be noon because everyone in my house has been up since 5am. And that’s “sleeping in” around here…

I have 8oz of painstakingly brewed organic coffee from the mountains of Morazán, my home department. I bought it on a whim at the super because homegrown coffee is a rarity here. Turns out Salvadoran coffee is very bitter, but after months of drinking that instant crap I wouldn’t remember what real coffee tastes like.

I had no idea drip coffee takes so long to make…

Coffee, check. Booming Evangelical Jesus-y music, check. Host mom making tortillas in the kitchen, check. Looks like I’m ready to write a few detailed blog posts about how I got to be here.

After the swearing-in ceremony on Thursday, October 3 we were whisked away to a hotel in San Miguel for one last night together before our community guides came to take us away. I mean, move us to our new homes. We ate delicious nachos and danced to catchy gangsta rap. It was a good time.

Waking up Friday morning was rough for more than one reason. Everyone was nervous to meet their future guides. Bags packed and tummies turning, we waited.

My two community guides couldn’t be more different. One is an older woman with bite and charisma. She’s sweet and matronly, but isn’t afraid to speak up. The other is forceful and sarcastic, obviously accustomed to getting things done. I’m definitely going to have a hard time balancing the two.

My "host mom" also came to the hotel for training on “How to live with a grino.” I’ve since found out that she’s 26 years old, so I now call her my host sister. She's awesome, and she let's me do my own thing.

Freddy the Alcalde of Osicala picked us up. He speaks decent English, so we talked about my life in the US during the drive. He drove me straight to my door, which is pretty difficult considering the road is made out of boulders. We unpacked my thousand pound suitcases (no weight limit, yey!) and ate cake with the 20 family members who received me. I don’t remember most of their names, but they’re nice. The welcome was genuine and warm.

Later that night we went to the quinceñera (called ‘fiesta de rosa’ here) for the ADESCO president’s daughter. There was a live band, and the MC presented me to the party. I was doing a pretty good job of meeting people and smiling when the birthday girl brought me out on the dance floor. I danced awkwardly, being extra careful to avoid the 15 year old boys swinging their hips my way. I wished the birthday girl good health and presents, then told my community guide we should hightail it outta there.

That’s how I started my life as a Peace Corps Volunteer. 

It's official!

We had a beautiful swearing-in ceremony on October 3, 2013. It felt so freaking amazing to raise my right hand and take the same oath as thousands of Foreign Service workers, military, congressmen and women, and of course, Peace Corps Volunteers did before me. Ya know, the one where you swear to uphold the constitution of the United States of America so help you God. It’s an archaic little oath, but the significance is not wasted on me. Ever since I got the motivation to become a PCV some 3 or 4 years ago I’ve worked my butt off for this day. I applied to the Peace Corps, fully aware that they might place me in the boonies of some blistering desert or possibly in the desolate remains of the Soviet bloc. You never really know with Peace Corps, and that’s what makes applying such a special time.

I’m so fortune to be in El Salvador. My country staff is the best in the world. I really have nothing to compare them to but I’m willing to bet they beat out every other country staff in devotion and love for their PCVs. Asiha represented the PCTs in a speech that made us laugh and cry. I think she did a good job thanking the staff and our host families for helping us the past ten weeks. I feel ready to move to my new home because of them.

The best part of the ceremony was when Ambassador Mari Carmen Aponte spoke. She is the realest, most down to earth person I ever met. She started her speech in Spanish (the whole ceremony was in Spanish) but switched to English to really drive home what she wanted to say to us: Most people go through life asleep. They wake up, they go to work, they come home, make a frozen pizza and go to sleep. She told us we only really wake up when we spend our time in service to others. So thank goodness all these twenty-something PCVs are waking up early in life!

I feel like that’s a perfect description of why I’m proud to be a PCV. I want to take full advantage of my health and my youth and all the different qualities that make me me. I’m the kind of person who can learn a new language, climb a mountain, try new food, make new friends in a foreign culture. I can spend my days working to better the lives of people in my community. Why? Because I caught on to my internal drive, energy, ambition- whatever you want to call it- fairly early on and decided to act on it.

(Also, I don’t have any student loans. Thanks mom and dad!)

Not everyone knows that they’re sleeping through life. Or maybe they do, but like a bad dream they don’t know how to wake up. I really think there’s truth in what the Ambassador said. Service comes in so many forms, from helping out a friend in need to Mother Teresa. I think Peace Corps ranks somewhere in the middle of that scale. If I do anything during my service, I hope I can inspire people at home to take charge of their lives to do some good.

I want to be awake for life. Don’t you?

The Ambassador's speech 

So cheesed!

Me and the Ambassador

SanAn with Clelia

Securrrrity!

I had a feeling I wasn't supposed to say where I live online, but I did anyways. We all did! We were so excited to tell the world about our new homes we forgot about all the crazies who might want to find us. 

I changed the posts that have my canton's name. I'm going to get a PO box when I get to site and I think that's vague enough that I can post it on my blog. Don't ask me when I'll get my address please, it'll be at least a few weeks. This will give you more time to add things to my care package :)