Too soon?

Right now I'm digesting a stack of pancakes, belting "Try A Little Tenderness" by Otis Redding (my go-to pick me up song), and deciding whether or not it's too soon to make a blog post about my tragic week.

I think it'd help me process it all if I got some of the facts out. So here it goes...

Behold! A meeting was finally planned for me, my community, and Habitat for Humanity for last Friday at 9am. A late afternoon call on Wednesday left me with one day to invite my 2,000 person community solita. Sheesh. So I draw on my dormant PR skills and make a plan.

300 invitations in the hands of our future (kids at the school)
5 posters in high traffic areas
Invite the mayor, always a good idea
Forced help from my English class, sewing workshop, and art class
Word of mouth
A smile :)

I was the first person in line on Thursday to meet with the mayor. He wasn't in the office, but the secretary said he'd make it and bring 50 chairs with him for the comfort of the public. Woo.

I had a stroke of genius at the school and I asked the kids to color in the clip art picture of a house on the invites. Boom! I got the kids attention. Move on to putting posters up around town.

Habitat calls to change the meeting to 1pm. BECAUSE OF COURSE. Set a track record running back to the school to change the time on all the invitations. Annoy some teachers and confuse the kids. Smile.

Realize there's still about 40 invites out there from morning passerbys that won't get fixed. Feel bad, but keep going. They can buy some coffee at Otinia's challet? Economic development. Heyo.

Have my English class change the time on all the rest of the invites, hand 5 to each of them and let class out early so they can do my bidding. Run to the sewing workshop. Thank Niña Conchi for all her great work and dedication. Also, get the women to invite their families/friends/neighbors to the meeting. Double win.

Come home for a quick lunch but discover a large red ant infestation on my desk. Larva are wedged into my PST notes and Big Red Book of Spanish Verbs. Grab the Raid and spray 'til everything is dead. Use a towel from the mountain of dirty laundry to clean up the carcasses. (The place still stinks of Raid). No time to eat, run to art class.

After I moved all my books. Mas larva.

Make a key chain in art class. Get mad at the three boys playing with lighters during class, but don't have the energy to tell them off. Out of invites and too exhausted to invite another human. Call it a day and hope for the best.

What happens on Friday is a weird, uncomfortable, and kinda embarrassing series of events. Over 250 showed up to the small house we were meeting at. That is about 300% more people than I could have ever dreamed for. (Full disclosure- I have no idea how to do percents. It was just a LOT of people!) I thought I would be smart and change the hour for noon so we'd be ready to go by 1pm. It's a clever move because hora salvadoreña (the art of showing up 45 minutes late to everything) is really annoying for organizations and professionals.  But people were streaming in at noon sharp, and we didn't have chairs and the sun was moving at an angle to destroy our patch of shade. Uh oh.

Just me, all alone, trying to entertain the masses. Begging the neighbors to borrow chairs for the elderly. Burning my lily white skin in the scorching sun so my guests could stand in the shade. I find the number of one of the five bodyguards to the mayor and ask him as politely as possible when the chairs will show up and if the mayor can get a move on. No dice.

This picture just does not do justice. We were surrounded on all sides.

As people started showing up I was foolish enough to think they were coming because they believed in me. All the invitations said was that Ale la Voluntaria was going to present a housing project to the community. A housing project. A "free houses for everyone" project? No, but that was what everyone was expecting. No wonder the crowd was so large. Then, of course, there was a group of bolos who came to blow kisses at me and call me mamacita. Because even when I'm being a professional bringing development opportunities to the community, I'm still just a piece of meat to them.

No time to get pissed off. Carry on.

Anticipation is at a boiling point when Habitat shows up right at 1pm. They bring their voices, handouts, and a banner. I introduce them to the excited if slightly irritated crowd as an opportunity, a possibility, a great new contact. It only takes about 10 minutes for the message to sink in that Habitat does not build free housing, but they do offer to build beautiful and greatly discounted homes with zero interest rates.

Chaos. Uproar. About 100 people stand up and leave. The other half sticks around for a few more minutes then trickle off. One man has the gall to tell Habitat off for not working for free. The representative, clearly hearing this before, tells him about two types of poverty: poverty in the pocket and poverty in the mind. He didn't seem to care. Another man comes up to me and asks what my plan de trabajo is to find free housing. I tell him that it's not my goal to build free houses at all, never was and it never will be. This was my plan. Bringing this opportunity to the community, volunteering to design individualized payment plans with the families, and leading financial management classes. He wasn't impressed.

Habitat cuts me a deal- a housing project for 7 families. A fund pays for half the house, the family pays $40/month for 13 years to cover the rest. If the applicant dies before 13 years the debt is paid. An architect oversees the project. It only takes 6 weeks. This is a great deal and I know it, but not a single person stayed to speak with Habitat. No one, not a single person in over 250 people, directly expressed interest. I spent my first year beating my head on a concrete wall trying to convince people that development is a good thing and organization is the key. I vowed to stop that nonsense. I just can't change people's behavior, conceptions, and bad habits. Do I really want to do the same thing with this project? Ultimately I see my role as the "connector" between the community and NGOs, so I technically fulfilled my goal. But then why do I feel so crappy?

It might be too soon to write this blog post. I feel numb, pissed off, confused. I hate poverty in all its forms. I hate that I'm in the position again to convince people that I'm right when I very well could be barking mad. I'm angry that I spent months contacting Habitat and it all culminated like this. I wish I had a working community organization to partner with. I feel defeated, I want to retreat and go away.

But that's just how I feel now. Maybe someone is interested, maybe seven people are interested. It's too early to tell how this will turn out. I'm taking the chaos in stride. I'm hoping for the best, preparing for the worst, expecting nothing in particular.

Joy

I'll hit the one year mark as a sworn-in PCV this Friday. It's amazing how quickly time has flown. My little mountain community has been welcoming, loving, and absolutely unforgettable this past year. When I was weathering a bad patch (aka the month of June) I was given the advice to surround myself with people who love and support me, and essentially forget the haters. Making that change has made all the difference. I now have a grant awarded to my youth group and I'm making moves on the housing project with Habitat for Humanity. I'm helping the people who have helped me and that makes these projects feel extra special. 

This month we have Mid-Service Conference, which really is an opportunity to reflect on not only why we're here but why we stay here every day. (Don't think for a minute that I've forgotten hot showers, furniture that doesn't swing, and our privacy bubble culture. I miss those things dearly, but I know I'll get them back some day.) The answer to these questions is different for every PCV. I believe my reasons have shifted. I actually don't clearly remember what I was thinking last October when I arrived here. Was I going to do sustainable development work? Maybe. I might still accomplish that. But honestly I'm more focused on bringing joy to the people of my community. I think joy can be as simple as dancing with the kids or spending the afternoon with a housewife catching up on the latest gossip. It's the saluds I say 1209382 times a day and the misshapen tortillas I make with my best friend. I wish I could describe joy better. After all, it is my middle name. I guess it's something to do with making someone else's day brighter just because you want them to feel happy and loved. 

El Salvador has survived a particularly brutal and sad past. You meet people and you see it in their eyes. They're still grieving and recovering. I could sit people down in a charla and lecture them to check off my project indicators, but I've realized that that is not why I, Ale la Voluntaria de Cuerpo de Paz, am here. And it's sure as hell not why I stay. I stay because I love my community and the people in it. I have more joy to bring during my last year.

Me and Cio making tortillas. It's actually fun when we make them together! 

I asked David to draw me something pretty, so he drew himself. 

And Aysel wanted to show off too! 

Independence month is over!

The month of September is officially over! Woo! This means no more independence day celebrations! I had a great time learning a little more about my host country, but sheesh, I'm glad to take a rest. (Figurative rest- I have a capstone to write, housing project to lead, and about $2,000 to deal out.) 

The last celebration was yesterday at the crowning of the Independence Day queen. There were candidatas from each grade. I think I bought votes for all of them, my favorite kids twice. I ate enchiladas, yuca, and cena typica. I also tried chicha, a fermented pineapple drink. It wasn't that bad! It's no whiskey, but I'll take it. I didn't want my host sisters to think I enjoyed the barely alcoholic beverage too much. I got a reputation to uphold here!

All the money from the votes (5 centavos cada voto), the food, and the dangerous elbow flinging flea market go to the school. Honestly, we need every cent. None of the teachers have been paid since the school year started in January because of the government turnover or something equally annoying. Kids are supposed to get some food every day too, but we haven't been getting the payments. I've already decided that when I leave, I'm going to throw a huge flea market with all my useless crap. I've bought so many organization containers and office supplies here. Someones gotta want that! People are already asking me what I'm going to do with my bed. Well folks, after I'm done SLEEPING IN IT I'll raffle it off to raise money for the school. I truly care about these kids and watching the Black Friday like bum rush is always worth a laugh.

Wendy representing the 4th grade.

One of my 9th graders selling me chicha. NBD.

Not bad! Kinda like... fizzy tart juice. 

Marjory reppin' the 7th grade.

Um... I danced to entertain the kids. It's always a crowd pleaser!

I got the candidatas involved to try and spread the fun, but they were so penosa! 

I did not venture inside the classroom with the flea market. I feared for my eye sockets. 

So serious! The candidatas in a row.