Art and... a carnival?

This week we started the Art and Gender Empowerment classes. We were awarded over $2,300 to buy art supplies for a drawing and painting class. You might think that is a lot of money, but trust me, we can spend it. For the classes I had envisioned our core 20 students, participating in fun gender charlas and learning shading techniques from Leo. A very quiet and organized affair.

OH, HOW NOT SO.

About 50 children, jóvenes, and adults showed up to class with about 10 more "looker-ons" who stood in the door ways and watched. It was a bit of a carnival. Free art supplies! Everybody run to the casa comunal!

The first class was intended to be an introduction to a more formal experience. You can't miss more than 3 classes, you can't be late, and you can't use your cellphone. I mean, common. The materials are expensive and we have grant requirements to fulfill (i.e. GENDER CHARLAS). We need some order!

Leo, being the ever patient and inclusive being that he is, insisted on passing out full sized layer paper and shading pencils to everyone who showed up. They were supposed to replicate a drawing Leo had done so we can split them into levels. Although I was pleasantly surprised by some students, others were simply too young to participate. Things like sitting still, not tracing Leo's art, not braking the pencils... These are concepts that are far out of their reach. I also had about 50 people screaming my name because their brand new eraser was "too small", poking me to get another pencil because fíjese que they lost the first one, and pulling my shirt to ask me to draw for them. That makes 100 little hands grabbing me. Obviously, personal space means nothing here. I had to take a few minutes outside before I could continue with the grabby hands.

Rules! Order! Expectations! 

Getting started on the drawing. Some blank stares. 

Ana, one of my 9th graders, is actually really good! (She rolled her eyes when I told her that. So sassy.)

Erik, too. He's taking on the advanced drawing on the nice easels the grant money bought.

We had some adult men show up. I hope they stick with it because they'll make a great addition to the gender charlas we WILL eventually start. 

It was a pretty overwhelming experience. In the midst of it all, a representative from the ARENA political party showed up and donated refrigerio (mini orange sodas and crackers) to the class. He even ran out and bought enough for 50 people. He didn't give a stump speech, thankfully, but I still felt a little weird about accepting food from a political party. We have the mid-term elections coming up in March and the parties are already getting ruthless in my community.

Selfishly, I wish we had a smaller group. Preferably teenagers and young adults. Preferably those who respect my personal space bubble. I'm genuinely interested in gender empowerment and equality here. For example, as the class dragged on a large group of young men showed up in the cancha to play fúbol. I got the same panicky feeling I always get around groups of men that at any second they were going to say something inappropriate towards me. I never used to feel this way before El Salvador, but now it's a daily fear for me. I know that after a wildly under-planned class I could not handle a rude piropo from this crowd.  And that is why I want to work on gender here. Because women should not have to feel hunted like this. I know I can't change that part of the culture, but I can at least get a conversation going among young men and women.

(In case you were wondering, I didn't hear any piropos. But I'm not so optimistic to think that nothing was said amongst the group.)

Leo asked me how I was doing and I started freaking out about the charla schedule. We're all off now! How am I going to work with all these people!? We have responsibilities to uphold the stipulations of the grant!

He just smiled and said, "Yes Ale, but we have soda." He drained his mini soda and got back to helping the kids perfect their 2D apples on a branch.

I couldn't help but laugh at the simplicity of it all. Soda and some time to draw. Everyone was welcome. It was crowded and hectic, and yet all so simple in the end.

I know the group will eventually tapper off. This always happens when something is new and free in the community. I guess we'll just have to see how it all pans out. In the meantime, enjoy a soda.

Children everywhere!

The theme of this week has been children! Children everywhere! Poking me and screaming my name! Ahh, the future.

On Wednesday we celebrated the end of the school year with my 9th graders. I am so proud of them! In March I had them draw the outline of their hand and answer five simple questions: What is your name, How old are you, Where do you live, What are three words to describe yourself, and What is your favorite food? I ask the question verbally and they write the response. It's incredibly difficult, but I'm not really an English teach and at the time it seemed like a good pre-test.

Everybody, every single student, improved. Even if it was just by adding a few words where there was nothing before. I'm especially proud of one student who earned a 100% and two full sized Snickers bars.

Woo! Guess this means I'm a good teacher, right? ;)

We also had cake and they took turns one-upping each other with thank you speeches. We've come a long way since my little outburst in March. I'm genuinely sad to see this group go. I know for certain one student is going with a coyote this month to the US. When I asked him how he felt about it he said he was sad, and kind of left it at that. I wonder if he's ready to leave his family, perhaps forever. I know that if he wants to go, he's going to go. I just wish him the safest future possible. The challenge for the kids who stay in El Salvador is to either pass high school or get a job, all while avoiding the gangs. I think it's a difficult time to be young in this country.

In a few weeks I'll have more photos from graduation. I'm a guest of honor because I'm giving them diplomas. This means I have to wear a dress and something other than Tevas, and maybe do something other than throw my hair in a scrunchie (I legitimately use scrunchies here). We'll see what I can put together.

Me and the class. Notice the map of America in the background? Thanks Jodi!

Felicidades clases...! Con amor, Ale...! (I have no idea why they did this ...!)

With the cake. I got the fancy kind with fruit in the middle. 

Wednesday was also the last day of school. In El Salvador, school goes from January to November. I took the last minute opportunity to donate five soccer balls to the school. I got the balls donated from One World Futbol Project, a great organization that donates indestructible soccer balls around the world. I agree with them that you can never underestimate the power of play. I really think the soccer balls will add some fun to las días en la cancha next year!

Some of the 9th graders helped me out with the donation. 

Immediate play! 

The 4th grade girls with a ball. We played hot potato for about 20 minutes with it!

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.

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. 

10,000 views!

My Hard Corps Life just passed 10,000 page views!

Thank you so much to my friends and family who are interested in what I'm doing over here in El Salvador. I truly love this experience- the good days and even the lonely nights. I'm learning so much more than I ever thought I would. I'm going to come back to the USA feeling like a rock star!

Annnnd thank you to all the perspective PCVs who are finding my blog in their Google searches and keep coming back! You guys are ahead of the curve by finding real life experiences from PCVs in the campo. Thanks for reading!