Goodbye

Today was my day to say goodbye to Las Delicias. I nearly cried. And I'm never sentimental! These people, their stories, the glimpse I've had into their lives has really touched me. I also feel overwhelmed with the magnitude of what needs to be done before they can help themselves. I got so many hugs and kisses (despite my very obvious cough!) and drawings. I wish I could stress to them how much they mean to me. I wish they knew how they change the lives of every gringo that comes through Sister Gloria's casa voluntariado. They boys who act up, who say sexually demeaning things to the volunteers, I wish I could stress to them how much it hurts and what wonderful people they are, if only they would see that. And even the children who drove me nuts asking for more premios and lied about their situations to get more handouts, I will miss dearly.

As we drove out of Las Delicias today, another dreary scene met us. More people, more soldiers, more policemen, standing by the side of the road. A woman was murdered today. She was running from the gangs. I know she had two children, one 23 and the other 19. She had a husband. She was alive this morning. She is not from Las Delicias, but she died there. It breaks my heart to be gliding safely over all of this senseless violence.

I'm really torn because I can hardly wait to see my family. I feel ill with anticipation. Tomorrow morning, I will see the country through the window of the bus on the way to the airport. But I have already said goodbye.

I am at loath to leave the people close to my heart in El Salvador. I am frightened for them. I wish I could offer them more support than prayers and love.

Fiona out. :)

Grouchy Neighbors

Most of the group went to Guatemala today for a brief vacation. I stayed with those-left-behind. We were such a small group that we all decided to take a little car to Zaragoza and do what we could with regards to construction. I was doubtful that we would get much done, but the four of us were so enthusiastic, that we dug trenches and built walls all day long, and got quite a bit done. I must say though, I've never been so hot in my life. It was steamy weather, and I'm not used to heavy labor like swinging a pick ax at clods of clay and rock. But I really, really enjoyed it. I knew my labor was contributing to this really wonderful project.

Regardless of all of the beautiful things this day, there was one storm cloud. The alcaldia (mayor's office) of Zaragoza brought a big backhoe and they were ready to help us do some of the digging that it has taken many women and men many weeks to do only a part of. Just as they were about to start digging up the road, the neighbors at the top of the hill (the ones whose cesspool is dripping down onto the daycare center) came tearing down the hill, shouting and swearing that we weren't allowed to dig up that road. Here are the catches: it's not their land (it belongs to the community of Zaragoza) , there is a road 5 meters behind it that comes from and leads to the same place, and the dirt from that pathway washes onto the school each time it rains. I think their mad about being ordered to dig a new cesspool. Regardless, that display of senseless selfishness really left me downhearted. The backhoe promptly left.

Putting a Face on Statistics

Since I've been here with Project FIAT, we've had a woman from the American Embassy in San Salvador come speak to us a couple times to give us the low down as to what's going on in El Salvador. She has talked a lot about gang violence and how it is really terrorizing the country. 2.5 million Salvadorans (25% of the population) live in the U.S., largely because of the terror they face hear. I know the statistics. I'd heard it and done the math. Small population + a lot of violence and death = somebody I know here is affected. But I didn't really believe it.

Until today. I went with my group to Las Delicias. We got there without incident in the morning, but by mid-morning, I started to sense something was wrong. I didn't find out what it was until we started to drive out. The road was filled with somber people walking in the direction of the highway. Eventually, we drove up to a place where the crowds of people had stopped. The police were there. The villagers were there. Everybody just stood and stared. They talked in hushed tones. I turned to ask the driver what was going on, even though I knew. That morning, while we were playing games, coloring, and singing songs, a man from the village of Las Delicias, a gang member, was killed by another gang member. And while I didn't know him personally, the people I love do. While I couldn't put a face to the name, I probably saw him walking along the road in the month since I've been here. The violence here, it's real. And it's terrifying. I'm terrified for the people I've come to love. And now I have a taste of how real the statistics are to the people who live here. I only wish I could extend the veil of safety my North American status gives me here.

Fiona the Vaca

I went with a smaller group of adults to Las Delicias today. That was nice because I felt like I was just there to make an executive decision if it needed to be made. Other than that, I could just focus on hanging out with the kids because the people who went with me were very self sufficient. Milton and I hung out for a while and he practiced his English on me. I was impressed by how far he's come. When I first got here, he didn't speak a word of English to me. His madrina (godmother and the woman who is trying to adopt him) Ana is one of Sister Gloria's volunteers. I think her time here motivated him to learn more English from the volunteers.

A couple people went out to the village to do health assessments and a few more people went with the nurse Carmen Morena. When all the various groups came back for lunch, I was told that they met a man with his cow along the way. He wanted them to convey a message for me: "This cow is named Fiona after Sister Gloria's helper. Tell her for me."

Sister Gloria has a little girl named after her in Zaragosa. I'm not nearly as cool, so I'll totally settle for a cow. I'm actually quite honored! I hope Fiona and I meet before I go!

Immaculate hearts

We went to the orphanage (Imaculata Corazon de la Reina Maria) again today after we went to the cathedral for mass. I've found this portion of each tour to be the hardest for me. The kids have their physical needs taken care of. They have food, they're safe, they go to school, nuns to take care of them, and volunteers to visit and entertain them. But they don't have families. And most or all of them are old enough to understand that they are "abandonados." There is a little boy, not much more than a year old, with beautiful, black salvadoran eyes and silky blond hair. His mother gave him up and then committed suicide. They talk about it right in front of him. If he doesn't understand now, he will soon. Someone told me he is the child of a prostitute. That may be why his hair is blond (unknown gringo dad).

I saw Darci again today. She was really shy. But then I got out my camera. "Quiero una foto con usted!" (I want a picture with you!) She beamed at the tiny image in the photograph when I showed it to her. We didn't talk much again today because she seemed really sad and angry. I wonder why.

Nancy, force that she is, got the supplies together a couple weeks ago to remodel the nursery. She repainted all of the walls and then we hung designs up all over the room. It makes the nursery seem so much lighter, safer somehow. Less like an institution.

The kids were really excited to see me again. I feel like I don't deserve it. I've been to see them three times, and each time, I fool around with them for a couple hours and then take off again. I don't deserve their adoration. They deserve what my little brother Mario has: a family to love them, even if it is not the family of their blood.

Little Ana comes to me readily though I'm not sure she remembers me. She gestured when she saw me and pointed to my backpack. We went through its contents until she found the camera she was looking for and then we had a photo shoot. But she didn't smile for the pictures. She can't be more than two. She deserves something to smile about.

Darcy and Ana

Darcy

Baby Ana

Staff Road trip (Pan-American Highway)

Two days ago, I was talking with a couple staff members, and we realized that we had a day off. (Woot woot!) Not wanting to waste a moment, and because I've been insufferably close to Guatemala, I suggested that we take a road trip. Nancy, the queen of Zaragosa, and Hermana Belin, the Spaniard, got right on it. This morning, we staff members and the engineer we convinced to come with us got up at five and left the house for Antigua, Guatemala.

Immigration was an interesting little flick in which we went through a little bureaucratic stint in El Salvador and then drove over a bridge and did it again in Guatemala. After a time (during which I slept soundly), we could see Guatemala City, but from above, which I've never done. Thrilling! And then I proceeded to do a little blabbing about the history and culture of Guatemala to all the people in the car. I was totally shocked to find out (from Nancy) that Guatemala is actually richer than El Salvador. I might have exaggerated my memories of Guate in my mind...

We finally got into Antigua around noon and went to one of my favorite restaurants. And then we went on a little whirl through the nunnery. Our crazy, mismatched group (a Gringa student, a Puerto Rican teacher, a Portuguese teacher, a Salvadoran driver, a Gringo engineer, and a Spanish nun) attracted a lot of attention with our obnoxious cackling (I think we were thrilled to have a break) and bizarre collection of accents in Spanish--because we were all speaking Spanish but with various levels of success and having learned to speak Spanish in various parts of the world.

After MORE shopping (it seems to be a favorite with these tour groups) we went to Hermano Pedro's church. I love going to churches in central America. They are so beautiful and I always feel so reverent because there are always people praying fervently. This was no different. I lit a candle for Papa, said a prayer, and went outside to putz around and talk to more people. I was just so happy to be talking to Guatemalans again.

On the way home, Hermana Belin and I chatted tons about the Catholic church, and canonization, and the Congo, and Cameroon (she's worked in both places), and Hermano Pedro. At the border, we went through the same process as earlier, only reverse. The one difference was once entering El Salvador, they searched the car. As they were doing so, I saw this guy with a potted plant take off into El Salvador and leap into the back of a pickup truck. If only the US-Mexico border were that easy to sneak over! Haha. Awesome day, but I'm wiped.

I'll make a Beggar out of You

We went to Zaragosa today, but it was raining, so we huddled under the roof of the community center. I had a bag of toothbrushes, and they went like hot cakes. I've been thinking about something sister Gloria said to me though. She was once talking with a priest from one of the villages she visits, and she said that he was unhappy because she was creating a village of people with their "hands out," always asking for more. She hasn't been in Zaragosa for long, so it is not as bad as some of the other places she usually visits, but I was struck today by the amount of demanding and lying to get toothbrushes and also by the amount of thank-yous (almost none). I'm wondering, is it right to give out so much? Are we taking away pride and the confidence to do things for themselves?

As we were huddled under the roof, we made phantom of the opera masks and covered them with glitter and feathers and sequins. I was having the time of my life because THEY seemed to be enjoying it so much. Also, the people with whom I was working were all boys, except one little girl named Lupe. And they still had so much fun with the glitter, feathers, and sequins.

Darcy's Family

After attending the service at the national cathedral this morning, (once again packed, but this time, I sat near the front. I could actually understand some) we went shopping (I spent a record low of $4) and then to an orphanage an hour away.

When we got there, a little girl met me at the door. "You're back?!" She asked me incredulously. The thing is, normally each volunteer only goes to the orphanage one time because we only go on Sundays and by the next Sunday, they're gone. Because of my internship, I'm here longer, so I broke the norm for the orphanage kids by coming two weeks consecutively.

"Haha. Simon. Y tambien voy a regresar la semana proxima." I told her I was coming back the next week as well. Her eyes brimmed and she ran up and wrapped my arms around my waist. I don't deserve that, but I am so happy to have brought her joy.

Later on, as I was chatting with my orphan friend Darcy, we started talking about siblings. We discovered that the only difference between our siblings was that I had one more brother than she did. She told me her younger sister was there at the orphanage with her. When I asked where the others were, Darcy looked at me with her huge eyes and said, "No sé. Ellos ya fueron." (I don't know. They're gone.) Then she smiled and ran away from me. I wonder what is going on inside her shorn little head.

PAR-TAY!

In Las Delicias, one of the projects Project FIAT has sponsored is a clinic for children up to age 12 and expectant mothers. Apparently, before having the clinic, they only had one doctor in the area once every 15 days, and even then only for a half a day. As I understand it, the clinic and the traveling nurse who works for the clinic have made a huge difference in Las Delicias.

Anyway, a group from FIMRC (Foundation for International Medical Relief of Children) were working with the clinic in Las Delicias, and collaboratively, they organized a health fair at the community center. Sister Gloria donated the decorations and we had spent the previous day getting ready.

Because we were giving out free food, maybe 200 people showed up. The first portion was an information session. They had representatives from different organizations give talks on how to eat properly and what a food pyramid is and how to read one. During the second portion, everybody wandered around getting food. We had a couple hundred sandwiches prepared and laid out and decided to hand them out to the passers-by. Within 10 or 15 minutes, they were all gone. I wasn't surprised. But I've never seen adults and children alike so happy about PB&J.

To put this into perspective, there is a grandmother in Las Delicias who has taken her two abandoned granddaughters under her care. However, the three of them didn't have a place to live. Finally, an elderly couple offered to take them in. One week, when volunteers were delivering food to that family, the husband broke into tears and thanked God. They hadn't had food in the house for three days. And these were the people who took in the homeless grandmother and her granddaughters. The inherent goodness of people amazes me.

Richer in Death than in Life

I led a group to Las Delicias again today. When we got there, the people greeted us in a somber mood. In a couple moments, I found out why. A village representative for Project FIAT came running up to me to let me know that last night, one of the old women of the village had "died of fright" during the thunderstorm. The only family she had was her 65-year-old daughter with whom she had lived in a small shack. Luis--the representative--then asked me if members of our group would like to go to the dwelling to attend the wake. I translated for the group, and most of them wanted to go. I decided to stay with the people who had chosen not to.

I soon found out why we had been asked to go. Luis wanted me to ask the members of our group to pitch in and purchase a $22 coffin for the deceased woman as she had left her daughter with no money. Knowing village politics and that if we gave them money for this, the requests would never stop, I asked to be taken to the president of the village committee so we could discuss the matter. I ended up having a brief meeting with the president and the secretary who tried multiple routs of soliciting money from us. In the end, it was decided that they would take the normal route and ask the villagers to pitch in and together, they would buy a coffin and pay for the funeral.

As I watched and listened to this discussion, it struck me that the $22 coffin wasn't much money to us gringos, even for me. But for the president and the other members of the village committee, it was a struggle to come up with the money. The second thing that struck me was that the deceased woman, through the generosity of her neighbors, was suddenly rich in death the way she had never been in life. She was laid to rest under a white, satiny shroud in a beautiful, child-sized coffin in which she fit perfectly.

The New Group

The Canadians, Chicagoans, Baltimoreans, and Philadelphians arrived here in the past 24 hours. The house was eerily quiet after the last group left and I missed them terribly. This new group is exciting and very different--a little more mellow because the adult-to-teenager ratio is higher.

I went today with the Canadians to the guardaria because one of them paid for the entire project in the name of her daughter who died four years ago of drowning. She has chosen to call it Guarderia Angel Mia. Here's the website if you want to check it out: http://www.angelmia.ca/ It really is quite a neat project and I found it very touching to be there when Mia's mother saw the guarderia for the first time.

I had great fun with them today watching them run around in the muck and get excited about seeing all sorts of things for the first time. I felt vaguely more qualified and quite a bit less stressed even though I have a bizarre, random allergy attack (I don't know what to). The kids were adorable and I really enjoyed chatting with them. We ended up arguing furiously about the world cup and who really should have won. I said Germany. They said Spain. We called a truce and agreed to disagree.

Catedral Nacional

This morning, we all flocked (in a big yellow school bus) to the national cathedral of El Salvador. The body of Monseñor Oscar A. Romero is buried in this church. I have since learnedthat here, the title "monseñor" is used for all catholic priests as a term of respect, as in "my señor." I kept hearing about "Monseñor" Romero, but I knew he had been Archbishop of El Salvador when he was killed. Someone finally told me the truth. We arrived at the service late. Right before the Archbishop and his crew made their procession into the church. As a result, I had to sit in the back and understood very little of the service. The church was packed. I saw lines of twenty or m

ore people on either side of the church waiting for confession. Every available seat was taken.

And there were hundreds of people there. They all sat silently and willingly through the Archbishop's hour long homily while I marveled at their reverence and fidgeted in my seat.

After the service, I saw Romero's gravesite. I bought a tall, beautiful white candle for 15 cents from a woman outside. I entered back into the basement and lit the candle behind t

he grave and said a short prayer for my dad. What I wouldn't give for him to see where I am now.

CONSTRUCTION! (I.E. digging around in the dirt)

As usual, there was great confusion and last minute changing of minds the night beforabout where everybody was going. But as it turned out, we were all going to go to the construction site at Zaragosa together. They are building a guarderia which is a day care center in the name of a little girl who drowned. It is funded by her mother (who is coming to visit on Tuesday).

I was so flipping excited. As much as I loved working with the kids in Miguel's village, I really, really needed a break. Friday, I had 31 kids and their mothers in the rain, standing ankle-deep in water, waiting to be entertained. I've never been so excited about construction in my life.

I ended up digging all day and moving some blocks around and working really much harder than my body was prepared for. But I loved it.

The men were great to work with, and being in one place with the entire group was great.

A couple kids suffered from hyperthermia. I don't blame them. It was so hot and humid it could have happened to anyone. I ended up digging out my old emergency medicine skills and Connor's blood pressure went back to normal and I really felt much better. I was reminded again why I find health care so rewarding.

I can't really move much because I'm so sore and I have a bizarre collection of maybe 20 bruises on my legs, but I am satisfied because the day was great.

Weak Heart

Today, I went to Miguel's again to work, and Ayo, Addie, and Theresa went along. The morning was great. Especially because I knew we were only going to have a half day--we had afternoon plans to go to the University of Central America to have a tour of the museum and learn about Oscar Romero and the UCA martyrs.

So today, before lunch, Miguel came and told me I had to go with him to go to an Alcaldia. I had no idea what that was and I didn't want to leave Ayo and Addie and Theresa alone. We argued for a while, but apparently it was okay, according to Miguel, so finally, I gave some instructions and left. When we got to the Alcaldia, we met a whole bunch of people who seemed to be so official or at least think of themselves at such. I was introduced with great flair, and then somebody noticed my marker-y, glue-y hands and decided that I needed hand sanitizer. A river of it. I tried to follow the conversations as best I could and what I understood was that there was a little boy with a heart problem and the doctor was supposed to go see him. And maybe the medic too. After a while, I gathered (I think) that the medic was me! I have no idea what the purpose of this lie was. At all. Anyway, we drove to the kid's house and ended up walking into the woods quite a way because most of the road was washed away from the last storm. We saw the kid and his mom pushing him in his wheelchair walking toward us on the road, and as they approached, it became apparent how awful his condition was. His lips and eyelids were blue, and his fingertips were swollen and tinged. His head and body were large, and his arms and legs pencil-thin.

They took us to his house where we talked with his mom and they asked me to read his medical records. I had no idea why. I still don't. I was THRILLED that I could understand all of it but HORRIFIED at what I was reading. The kid is seriously in bad shape. I signed a couple papers and it sounds like I may see him again next week. Maybe with a real doctor this time? And after looking up an Alcaldia in a dictionary, I know it is the place where a mayor works, or the mayor himself. I think the pompous guy I met at the door was the mayor! As confused as I was, I felt really privileged to have a glimpse into his life and to be able to read the struggles he's had over his nine years of life. I hope I see him again!

The Wimpy Security Guard

Ok so I went yesterday to somebody's house (one of the workers from the volunteer house). The house had been damaged by the mudslides and Villanova raised the money to rebuild it. The job of the moment was painting. Sky blue. Inside and out.

So yesterday, I took four girls and I ended up translating and working with 20 neighborhood kids on crafts and the girls alternated with me and did work on the house. They did a great job.

But last night, I was talking to two guys from Miami, and they were relatively unhappy with where they had gone (a construction site) and they didn't want to go to the other site to work with the kids in the daycare center, so I convinced them to go with me and and they got themselves on my list. Of course, I felt responsible and hoped they would like it, especially because there would only be five of us total.

I can guess they liked it because they signed up to go again tomorrow, but I know that the village loved them. "They play basketball, right?" ... "Where do they come from?" ... "They don't even need a ladder to paint!" ... "Can we play with the "African gringos" at lunch?" I almost died laughing.

On the way there, we stopped at a paint store and there was this security guard standing outside. I was sitting in the front of our little car, and Ayo and Addie (Miami guys) were sitting in the back with another woman from their delegation (Theresa). My window was down, but the back windows were up and they are tinted, so the security guard couldn't see the guys. They really wanted to take a picture of him with his big gun, but were afraid that he would react negatively. "He might think it's a gun!" (Meaning the camera)

When Miguel got back in the car, I asked if they could go take a picture with the guard. The guard had only seen me, the small redhead in the front, so he seemed his usual cocky self at first. Then Ayo and Addie stepped out of the car when I said they could go get the picture. The guard's face changed. He looked vaguely terrified. Ayo and Addie TOWERED over him. I took the picture, internally cracking up with the boys flanking (and dwarfing) him.

It was a good day.

P.S. I got sunburnt today like NOBODY'S business. And it was cloudy! And I stayed in the shade! Seriously.

¡Mi Cumpleaño!

Today was move-in day for the US volunteers. They came from the airport in droves: first the Philadelphia and Baltimore groups, and then Montana followed by Miami. When everybody was safely in the compound, we totaled 39 people. Holy smokes this is going to be an interesting week!

As I understand it, the groups are composed of various high school youth groups and their chaperones and some "freelancers" who signed up individually for this time slot. There are also 3 or 4 trip leaders (that's me). Apparently, that is supposed to mean that I know what's going on. That is very rarely the case. Especially because quite a few people have been here more than once, and the closest I ever came was a two hour layover in the San Salvador airport. But I'm good at pretending!

I didn't really tell most people about my birthday. This is unusual for me because, as bad as it sounds, I love my birthday. But Sister Gloria found out somehow and after supper, I was served a huge, coffee icing-covered chocolate cake. I think she may have guessed at the flavor, but I couldn't have been more thrilled.

Getting Here

The trip here was interesting. I'm trying to remember when I've done an entire trip alone like that. I know I've changed my ticket and stayed somewhere longer countless times. But a whole trip by myself...this was first time. My mom and I got up at four (gotta love airports) and got to the airport a couple hours early. My flight left on time (that's not normal, is it) and we got to Texas on time too. When I got to El Salvador, I must have had an airport deity watching over me because I was through customs in five minutes.

The moment I got outside, I was hit in the face by a blast of hot, humid, smelly air. Welcome to El Salvador, I thought. After a few minutes, I saw a man holding my name on a sign and I went towards him. He introduced himself as Miguel and said he worked for "la Hermana Gloria." I assumed this was the woman who had organized my trip here. On the way to the volunteer house, Miguel and I talked merrily about the world cup and he told me that yes, it is going to be this hot and humid every day. Phew!

After my orientation in the volunteer house (so many things to remember!), I went to bed (a.k.a. really, really early).