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.

"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.

The new new Ale

Ok, I'll admit it. I've been avoiding my blog. After the Great Housing Catastrophe of 2014 I was feeling pretty down. I spent a lot of time in the hammock reading historical fiction. I ate a lot of graham crackers. I didn't even care to call any fellow PCVs to chit chat. I just needed some time to myself. After previous setbacks I would freak out. What just happened here? What did I do wrong? And why doesn't anything seem to work!? I didn't want to freak out again over the failed housing project, so I hibernated. I didn't immediately react or lash out. I just... laid low.

At our Mid-Service Conference I talked to my project manager to get some advice on how to move on. The thing is, not only were people in my community mad that the project wasn't free, they were specifically mad at me for advertising a "promotion".... not a project. (Nomenclature regarding "project" seemed to be a major issue for us. I believe that a NGO devoting time and resources to a community for a set period of time is a project. They believe getting these resources for absolutely free is a project.)

My initial reaction was to clear my name. Shout my intentions from the mountain tops. "I worked hard to bring you this! It is an objectively good deal!" But my PM put the kabosh on that right quick. Culturally speaking, bringing up the housing project and trying to explain away the confusion would imply guilt on my part. I hemmed and hawed for a bit, then resolved to never mention the project again.

The Mid-Service Conference itself was quite an event. Four days of technical training and reflection at our typical spot in the mountains of Perquin, supplemented by tons of hot food and coffee. It was FREEZING to me, like 60 degrees. The warmest thing I own is a black cardigan and it was buttoned up at all times in that terrible frozen tundra. I was also rocking socks and sandals.

We had a session about earthquake safety, which was incredibly ironic because we had a 7.3 earthquake the night before. I still have a bad reaction to earthquakes. For my midwesterners, the best way I can describe the horror of an earthquake is when you're about to make a left hand turn just as the light turns red and you narrowly miss an incoming car. (Pretty sure mom won't let me drive when I visit in December.) That moment of heart racing, wide-eyed uncertainty, the "Is this the end?" factor... that is what an earthquake is still like for me. And the one we had a few weeks ago was a full 2 minutes of terror. I don't care what people say- it is wrong and unnatural for the earth to move like that. I'll stick to snow storms and tornados, thank you very much.

I had a week of hard work on my capstone which, by the way, is ridiculously difficult to write in the campo. Roosters, cows, screaming children, heat, loud ranchera music, children's vomit... There are a lot of distractions. I enjoyed a quick beach trip with some PCVs, headed to San Salvador for my Mid-Service Medical which was simply exhausting. I spent 7 hours rushing from appointment to appointment, but mostly I waited outside the doctor's office and threw shady looks at the receptionist who always disregards la hora de la cita. I'm proud to say that at 25, I still have not had any cavities. And that's saying something after living 15 months in El Salvador!

I came back to site on Tuesday ready to return to my campo life (i.e. hammocks and no traffic). Unfortunately, I didn't get to enjoy being home. A security incident occurred earlier in the day. A big one. The next day I was back on a micro to SanSal.

I'm not going to get into the specifics. It can suffice to say that I was freaked out, but after speaking with my Safety and Security Officer, and the Medical Officer, and my project manager, I calmed down significantly. I am safe. I am not a target. Please don't go off the handle. I've lived here long enough to know when I'm ok, and I am.

I'm deeply saddened by what happened, and I feel helpless in the face of violence here. I did have some kind of a revelation, though. Since we got here we've been told to keep our expectations low. Community organization is difficult here, perhaps more so than in other countries, because many people are so scarred from the recent war. They've compartmentalized so many personal tragedies that they're numb, defeated, and tired. I never really understood what it meant to live a life in which there is a persistent, underlying threat of violence. It's exhausting, and it consumes your thoughts and changes your behavior. Perceived or real, violence is a part of this country. My host sister tells me "Only God can save my country," and I don't think that's religious mumbo jumbo. I think she really means it. I understand why people aren't as bummed as I am when meetings are cancelled or projects ruined. They've got bigger problems to deal with. So once again, I realize how important it is to bring joy and happiness en vez de projects and training.

On the bad days I used to fantasize about PCES closing. Hey, I'll admit it! I often wondered what it would take to close us down like Honduras was. But now that I had a moment that made me honestly think about packing my bags, not because of a run of the mill mid-service crisis, but because of something I couldn't control or decide... well, it just seems foolish that I ever entertained such thoughts. I don't want to leave, especially not suddenly. I would feel ripped in two if I never had the chance to thoroughly thank my host family and those important to me for welcoming me, helping me, and loving me. I need to give parting gifts and donate all my possessions. I need to hug Aysel tight and have a good cry before I can leave her. How terribly stupid of me to hope for the worse case scenario.

Yes, I get angry when projects fall through (there's been too many to count), I hate bolos and piropos, and I really hate it when we don't have electricity and water at the same time. But I also love pupusas, salsa music in the streets, and the whole body hugs only Otinia can give.

I'll likely never live this kind of life again.

I feel like the new new Ale. New the first time because I've come to terms with my work and purpose in El Salvador. New the second time because I want to make every day count. From here on out every month is the last month of my service. The last November, the last December. The new new Ale is going to cherish every moment she has left.

Help stop the violence

When I hear "violence prevention" I tend to think about the annoying, nasally man who passed out graphic anti-meat pamphlets on the quad saying "Help stop the violence."I will never forget this man's voice as he was a permanent fixture on my numerous campus tours. I don't remember what I ate for lunch yesterday, but I certainly remember this man's voice. Sheesh.

I never thought I'd actively work to prevent violence, but here I am in one of the most violent countries in the world (if you believe the US State Department). Isn't this a good place to start?

Sure it is!

My ADESCO is currently working on three projects that aim to prevent violence in the community, all of which I'm proud to be helping out. We're starting up a painting club for youth, a women's group to learn a trade, and building two lighted bus stop shelters in the busiest desvios. The idea is to keep the kids off the street, put the mothers in a better economic position, and chase the bolos away with light like the blood-sucking vampires they are.

Of course, no one said "Hey! Let's do some projects that prevent violence!"That would be too simple and organized. What really got my ADESO moving was a huge kick in the butt from the microfinance institution currently dangling a lump sum of money in front of their faces. I swear, I saw dollar signs in their tiny black pupils.

Now unfortunately, writing about my work activities on this blog has proved to be a sure fire kiss-of-death. Remember that women's savings group? I was asked to stop coming to the meetings. Or the #feria2014 we had in my site way back? The ADESCO absolutely fell to pieces after the reina was crowned. So I won't say anything too positive, too reassuring, or too concrete about these projects. Such is the work of a PCV.

But if these might work out? And they might prevent some of the violence in my community? Then I guess it would be alright with me.