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.

PC "touches"

My internet addiction is back in full swing. Last night I tried going to sleep but I had haunting visions of the NPR producer canceling our interview or someone posting an unflattering picture of me on Facebook without my knowledge. These are just the kind of things that are insignificant but run through my mind when I'm bored and/or on spazz mode.

It's been a week of spazz mode for me. I've found myself staying up late (like, 10pm) on the internet putting together my next 5-year plan. I've been following the unfolding events in Furguson. I've revised my IRB protocol (6 months running). Obviously, I've also hounded Pinterest for ab workouts and campo proof recipes.

It was such a relief when my project manager made the drive from SanSal out to my site for our mid-service check-in. Peace Corps El Salvador is great in that we get so many "touches" from staff throughout our service. I think the goal is somewhere around six. Normally, you'd be lucky if your PM visits you once.

We ended up talking for about 5 hours and covered a range of topics. Yes, I cried tears of frustration at one point. Silvia, my PM, shared some candy with me and it helped. Overall I came away with a sense of resolve and greater motivation for my next big project: building houses and starting a homeowners association. Just cross your fingers with me on that one.

I'm just so grateful to serve in a PC country that has such an attentive staff.

....Also grateful that El Salvador has beautiful beaches that I get to escape to 3 days a month. Tomorrow I celebrate my birthday weekend with my dear friend Marcia, another August birthday. Later days!

The Stigma

June is the never ending month. I'm ready to get June 2014 done and over with because it's been the hardest time of my service. At the 11 month mark, I've had a lot of "Do I really want to do this for another 16 months" thoughts running through my head. Everything hit me hard and suddenly. Host family troubles, work troubles, trouble all around the country, and an overwhelming dose of culturesickness. I've had mini-melt downs before, but this time was certainly more intense. It seemed to me that if I was going to ET, it'd be now. RIGHT now. The stars were aligned and I had some serious decisions to be making.

I spent a lot of time reading blog posts from PCVs who Early Terminated. Why did they do it? How far along did they make it? Did they make the right choice? How do you KNOW it's the right choice? They all seem like fairly well-adjusted and happy people. Would I be happy if I left El Salvador and my PC family behind?

I checked out the PC manual on Early Termination and I couldn't get over the wording:

"A resignation is a decision made by a V/T that he/she no longer wishes to continue in Peace Corps service." 

No longer wishes. It comes down to the whims of my wishes whether or not to continue with service? The thing is I wish for running water, but I don't always get it. I wish for community partners to collaborate with me, but most of the time that's a bad idea. And I wish that the gangs in El Salvador would stop killing people, but that one isn't being granted either.

Early Termination is what happens when you've used up all your wishes and still, nothing changes.

Given the year of wishes I've made, do I still wish to continue with Peace Corps service? Well, yeah. I do. It's been my goal to be an RPCV for a long time. I didn't take the decision to apply lightly. I had to defend myself to a lot of people, mostly family members, that this is a worthwhile experience and the Peace Corps is a positive force for good. I've even had to convince myself at times that the small relationships I'm making in El Salvador are powerful and inspiring. (For the record- they are.) I've put a lot of time and effort into getting myself here, I definitely don't wish to quit before my service is served.

The truth of the matter is that Early Terminating is stigmatized in the Peace Corps world. It's a quiet, underbelly kind of stigma that no one really talks about but everyone knows. Don't get me wrong- no one, especially not a fellow PCV, would criticize someone's decision to ET. Only you know what's best for you, stigma be damned.

But for obsessive achievaholics like myself, the shame of leaving early is always pulsing in the back of my mind. It takes up the majority of the right column in my ET pro/con list, often disguised in different forms. Disappointment that I couldn’t “make it" and Won’t feel like a real RPCV are just two examples.

If I really wanted to go home, I would've been on a plane within days. PC staff is ready with support and a plane ticket to any PCV who makes the call. No judgement, no last ditch efforts to get you to stay. Just a ticket home.

After multiple pro/con lists, long distance calls, and panic attacks, I made the decision to stay. I thought it was weird that out of all those blogs that showed up in the Google search "Peace Corps Volunteer Early Termination," not a single one was from a PCV who seriously considered Early Terminating but stayed. I want to add this post into the mix. Ask me in 16 months if I think I made the right choice.

Maybe we don't talk about it, the stigma of ETing, because after you decide to stay things get a lot better. I mean, common guys, we have a graph about this. They don't call it the "Mid-Service Crisis" for nothin'. I feel like that's a cop out, though. Not talking about ETing just contributes to the sense of "false advertising" that trails the Peace Corps.

The entire month of June sure felt like a crisis, but in 5, 10, 50 years when I look back on this time it won't be because of my total breakdown. Nah, that part sucked. Instead, I'll look back on the great turning point of my service.

My diary/work journal. I keep general notes on every day of my service. I looked back and loved this entry so much. It's totally cool to talk to your future/past self right? 

Busy days!

One thing I love about my community is that there is ALWAYS something to do. I'll look at my blank calendar on Sunday thinking, "Gee, I have a lot of free time." Then BOOM and now I have 15 meetings, intramurals, cooking, art, women's groups, ADESCOs, NGOs, this, that, and more! It's great and it's exhausting.

Today I ran around with the kids from my school for their annual intramural extravaganza. Of course, the boys play futbol and the girls either sit around or some play softball. They never mix and the girls never play futbol. Besides the gender divide, the kids really like having time out of class. And they're getting bastante time off! Three days this week are spent in the cancha playing sports and next week is Semana Santa, which is like spring break but with a lot more church.

Kenny and his friend. The mayor donated the uniforms for kindergarten. 

Two of my 9th grade englsih class students are in *love*

Finally got a pic of Kenny and David. So cute here, so loud when they're at home. 

Kids really wanted me to take a photo...

Me with my 9th graders. I asked the teacher next to me to take the photo, but he made a big deal about finishing his cortido and beans so he could be IN the photo. Guess I should work on my speaking skills some more.

Some girls playing softball. There were so many dust storms. Where's the RAIN!?!

Then I showered up and zoomed into town for a presentation from Asociacion PROESA. I'd like to think that my NGO b.s. meter is pretty accurate at this point, thanks to all the failed projects and false expectations previous NGOs have brought to my community. PROESA seems pretty OK to me. They work with the mayor's office to build capacity for production and local economic growth. I like their mission statement and their output goals are reasonable. They're going to start decentralized meetings across the municipality this month, focusing on the strengths of Osicala's producers (cafe, henequin, artesania, coopertivas, corte conffecion, etc) and how to improve their technical skills and organizational capacity.

I was feeling extra confident today and even read a paragraph of the powerpoint slide out loud when no one answered the presenter's plea for participation. I stumbled on a few words but everyone seemed impressed with the gringa's mad Spanish skills. I'm just here to make people smile :)

Happy Peace Corps Day!

On this day 53 years ago John F. Kennedy established the Peace Corps. All over the world and back home in the US, Peace Corps staff and Volunteers celebrate March 1st as Peace Corps Day. I've never worked for an organization that has it's own holiday. I think it's pretty cool. 

Today I'm starting my 6th month as a Peace Corps Volunteer. That makes 9 months in-country. I'm a little astonished at how quickly the time flew by. As much as I miss bacon and hot showers, I hope the time doesn't go by too fast. I love being a PCV and I don't want it to end. 

I've said it before and I'll say it again, I applied to Peace Corps because I wanted to be a PCV. If that seems simple, it's because it is. PCVs are a special breed of people. There is no other organization that does what we do and lives how we live. It's challenging, and it's awesome. I'm awesome. I'm a PCV. 

I'd be more modest, but it's Peace Corps Day and I'm a PCV. So let me reflect on how great it is to be a Volunteer. Little by little, I'm becoming fluent in another language. I'm bringing new projects into a rural community- projects that will better the lives of community members and open them up to more opportunities. I have so many amazing friends, both unique Peace Corps Volunteers and host country nationals. I'm learning to be more patient and to think critically when things don't go as planned (and things rarely go as planned). I'm integrating into a new culture, taking on new customs and eating food I never knew existed. I'm living a completely different life, and how many people can say they've done that? I'm a new person, really. I even changed my name to fit in. It was so damn hard in the beginning, but the Peace Corps wouldn't be the Peace Corps if it was comfortable or easy. 

Oh, and did I mention that I'll have a master's degree in a few months? An even smaller number of PCVs are Master's International students as well. It is not easy to write your thesis from under a mosquito net, combating the scorpions and mentally blocking out the screeching roosters. But it's doable. And I'm getting it done, one page at a time. 

To be honest, I haven't done much to celebrate today. I woke up, hand-washed my clothes, make some coffee, played hide-and-seek with the kids. I chatted with my host dad and then I swept the dirt from my room. It's hot today, about 100 degrees. I'm sitting here drenched in sweat, but I wouldn't have it any other way. I'm a PCV after all, and just being here is awesome. 

The Peace Corps Wormhole

At the risk of jumping the shark on my PC blog, here is what they don't tell you about Peace Corps. I'm gonna explain this the only way I know how- with scifi. 

Peace Corps service functions as a wormhole. Not to be confused with blackholes or buttholes, a wormhole is described by this nerdy website as

"a theoretical passage through space-time that could create shortcuts for long journeys across the universe. Wormholes are predicted by the theory of general relativity. But be wary: wormholes bring with them the dangers of sudden collapse, high radiation and dangerous contact with exotic matter."

It all starts like this- you're so proud to get your official PC invitation. Finally months if not years of applications and medical appointments pay off and you begin the intensely emotional process of detaching yourself from your current life. Everyone goes about this differently, but based on my unscientific case study of our COED 2013 group the future PCV's final months in America boil down to overindulgence in comfort food and stocking up on that special brand of soap you use. You say your goodbyes, whisper outlandish promises to your significant other, and pay your credit card bills. This is it, hunny. We're going in!

If this was a low-budget scifi film our spaceship would be slowly approaching a blueish swirly thing that looks kinda like this:

Oooooo, hyperspace.

We're sucked in to the wormhole, lured to the edge with promises of life-changing experiences and a great résumé builder. You get to Pre-Service Training and suddenly you lose all personal control over your life. You don't get to decide what you do during the day, what you eat for lunch, when you go to bed. You're at the mercy of the training manager and your new host family. And everything is different: the food, climate, language, customs, safety procedures. Bathing is even different. You struggle to communicate basic things like "Please, don't put that moldy bag in with my nice clothes!" You get diarrhea more than a couple times. You break down crying when you hear 'One More Night' by Phil Collins because your mom likes Phil Collins and the fact that no one here knows what he's even saying makes you feel lonely. You're so damn lonely.

You experience all these low times with equal parts happiness. It's exhausting to sob on the phone with your best friend, convinced you'll never be loved like Gerry loves Holly in P.S. I Love You, then the next day you have an amazing dance party with your fellow PCT's and make plans to go to the beach. The acting director visits your country and you cry some more, but this time you're filled with purpose and resolve.

Scientific "tubey part" 

Swear-in. Move to site. Meet some people and climb a mountain. We're in the tubey part of the wormhole, the part where you get all integrated into the host community, and you start to think "Woo, the PC wormhole is great! What a perfect shortcut through the turbulent post-graduation downward spiral into a desk job! It's gonna spit me out into my dream job! I have a higher calling because I'm learning Spanish!"

But the PC wormhole shortcut  is dangerous. Where, exactly, will it spit you out? The question isn't where, constable, but when.

Blorgons! Just go with me on this one, OK?

Fast forward a few months into service. Life is different. Peace Corps is said to change people, gain more patience and appreciation of this and that. But you're still you, right? The wormhole is just transporting you through the boring stuff, but it's not changing your fundamental building blocks?

Well, let's see. You listen to Alanis Morissette unironically. You've watched every episode of the recent NBC comedies. You read hundreds of pages of George R. R. Martin's Game of Thrones in one sitting. You keep peanut butter hidden in your room. You miss fluoride in your water supply and deli meat in your supermarket. You can't remember which bug bites you put the hydrocortisone cream on last, so you just slather it on like lotion. Your diet has gone to hell. Your shoes are covered in cow crap. You spend 3 hours writing one blog post. The highlight of your week is talking to your parents.

None of these things are necessarily bad. It's just that your idea of a "good time" changes. And reflecting on how different the "good times" are now makes you feel weird, like suspended in time. But only two years and you'll be back to your American life- strip malls, parking tickets and all.

The sudden collapse? Spending days on end alone in your room because you feel like you can't be yourself here, not like you were before. The culture is too conservative, you're not confident in the new language. You just want to share a cheeseburger and beer with your best friend.

Chewie, are we ever gonna get home? 

High radiation? You start to get sick of spending time with yourself. Symptoms include boredom, anger, apathy, and guilt. This kind of radiation doesn't create super powers.

And dangerous contact with exotic matter? You might think this is amoebas or other diarrhea inducing creatures, but you'd be wrong. The PCV's most dangerous threat is the person they become in the two-year long wormhole.

You see, Peace Corps service breaks you down to your most basic self. People here think of you as the gringa with silly nerd glasses, 6th in a line of other PCV gringos to come to their village and, ultimately, leave.

You start seeing yourself as a one-dimensional stranger, and it's scary. You forget what you used to do for fun or what you'd talk about with other people. Ya know, before the biggest news you had was that the papusa lady upped her prices. Three for a dollar? Gimme a break!

You don't like the wormhole anymore. You don't completely understand what's happening to you, but you want to go back to your old life, back to what makes sense and what's comfortable.

They don't tell you about this stuff. Sure, they say "PC isn't for everyone. You have to be a really strong person to make it." But they don't tell you why it's so hard. Why it really sucks sometimes.

I hope this wormhole spits me out put-back-together and whole. I don't even care where or when. I just wanna feel whole.

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.

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!

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

Immersion Days

Sunday, August 25

Annnnnd I'm back! I have a lot to update you on! Hope you're ready for a ramble because I don't have a lot of time to write but I want to include as much detail as I can remember: 

Today I got back from Immersion Days which is a four day long trip where PCTs visit PCVs currently in site. The goal of Immersion Days is to overwhelm you, make you feel isolated and lonely, and in all likelihood make you poop your pants. I'm sure PC Washington wouldn't agree with that description, but I'm here to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth and they want you to poop your pants. 

Let me explain. This past month (one month down, 26 to go, YEAH!) has been more or less comfortable. Yes, the latrines and bucket baths have been a downer for me, but many other PCTs haven't had to live the campo life like me. Our host families are very careful when they cook our food, and really try to not get us sick. Didn't work too well for me, but the intestinal infection wasn't thaaat bad. I was expecting it to be a lot worse. Trainee life is structured with classes and community contact visits (interviewing influential people in your community). Plus, our SanAn group does the workout classes during the week so we never have down time (whether we like it or not). 

Immersion Days is supposed to toughen you up and test your willingness to serve under conditions of hardship, but what I did this past weekend felt like vacation. Me and Amanda (another PCT) were sent to visit Ariel, a youth development volunteer in Las Palmas. Right now there are only youth development PCVs in El Salvador. My cohort is the first COED PCTs they've had since the security downsize! Anyways, we arrived in Las Palmas and enjoyed milkshakes and burritos with a few other PCVs and their PCTs (lots of acronyms, sorry). It was heavenly. 

Relaxing!

Me and Amanda stayed with Dr. Oscar, this incredibly kind man, and his equally incredible family. We had showers (freezing, but with water pressure!) and, GET THIS, a flush toilet. I slept on a bed that I could roll over on and not fall off! I didn't even need my mosquito net! 

Dr. Oscar and me with Whinnie, his dog.

Me and Amanda with Dr. Oscar and family. 

Beans on beans on beans. 

Friday morning we took a bus up the mountain (literally, above-the-clouds mountain) to meet other PCVs who were doing a charla at the school on volunteerism. There were lots of kids and they were all screaming and loud. Being in that school reinforced my opinions on children. But it was fun to play Simon Says with them as one of the dinamicas (games that break up the boringness of lectures). 

Amanda y yo leading Simon Dice. 

View in the mountains. 

Amanda, Ariel, me. 

I helped teach an English class, went to an Internet cafe, haggled for a new bag, and ate more pupusas. It was a fun weekend! Nice try Peace Corps, but you don't scare me!!!

An added bonus- PCVs have the uncanny ability to attract gringos, and that's how we met Joe, a British guy biking from Cancun to Chile. He was awesome! 

New friends!

I just hope he had a relaxing time during his stay in Las Palmas and had a safe ride to the next stop in his journey. Joe if you're reading this- please be careful and let us know how you're doing! 

Sunday morning we woke up at the buttcrack of dawn to eat quesadillas with Ariel's host mom. Quesadillas here are cheesey bread, and they are delicious. We got to watch them get made in a wood burning oven. 

Shout out to my dad! I really have to get the recipe! 

All in all, Immersion Days was a success. I can't wait to get my own PCT in July!