Sunday November 19, 2006

Retiro - Retreat

I’m not sure what to write here anymore.  I’ve made notes to myself in a journal and I’ve saved a few things in documents on my computer, but I don’t know what I can or even want to share on this blog.  El Salvador is a beautiful place and yet it is really messed up.  I lack words to express what I feel.  Dean Brackley, SJ, explains it like this: “The people of El Salvador will break your heart, but they will mend it for you also and give it back to you.”

I keeping waiting for someone to hand my heart back to me, all mended.  I don’t think that’s gonna happen, especially not before I leave in less than a month.  There was a speaker in our history class this past Friday, an Englishman who worked in El Salvador as a Baptist Missionary for several years during the war and after.  I explained to him how I was waiting for this mending.  He said, “Ah, but it’s a different kind of mending.  It’s one with scars.”  There it is.  Thanks for pointing this out to me, David.  I know these scars because I have them from other places and people I have met.  They are the internal scars that cannot be seen, but exist nonetheless. 

When you come to die, would you like to be placed in the ground all nice and neat with no scars?  Or would you rather slide in sideways, complete with bruises and bloodied knees and hands as you come to your final resting place, your finals words being, “Wow, that was one heck of a ride!”  This may sound a little extreme, but it fits my line of thinking right now.  I know it is way too late for me to pick the first option; but even if I did have a choice, I would still choose the wild ride rather than the “no scars” option.  What is a life without risk and challenge?  Everyone has scars if they have made a deliberate choice to live.  The Salvadorans I have known here have many scars, but they still laugh and sing – that’s all that really matters.  From those who seem to have nothing, I have learned what life is really all about.  What I have learned from them makes life worth living.  I just don’t know how to articulate it in words.  I think it is something that has to be experienced.  It doesn’t only exist here, but this is where I have found it. 

It is what vocation is all about.  What is it that makes you feel most alive?  My friend, Tom, said this while we were on a little break in Belize this week for Retreat.  “The world needs more people who are fully alive.”  Vocation is not about matching your perceived skill set with a known need in the world.  Rather, vocation is about finding what makes you feel most alive.  In that place where I am most alive, I have found skills I never knew I had.  I am only beginning to skim the surface of my vocation.  Trying to be most fully alive means I will continue living and growing into whatever work my vocation may require of me.  I don’t see that this means settling in one place and doing one job, though that may be what happens to me eventually.  I think vocation is more about allowing oneself to be flexible.  I must constantly challenge myself.  What am I doing and is it right?  This means living with uncertainty, but that can be good.  Being comfortable because I think I have knowledge is dangerous.   Nothing is for certain and our reality is constantly changing – deserving of our evaluation and re-evaluation.  Yesterday’s solutions are not usually adequate for today’s problems.  Knowledge is not finite.  The more we learn, the more questions we should have.

“The day one stops learning, one becomes uneducated.”  A little proverb I remember reading somewhere while studying at Oxford in England. 

Last weekend, on November 11, the UCA held its annual day and night long vigil for the UCA martyrs and all the martyrs of El Salvador.  I had the opportunity to play goal in the final game of the UCA soccer tournament.  Our team won and received a trophy, which I carried around for the rest of the evening.  I even ran up behind Jon Sobrino, SJ, (the famous theologian I quoted in my University of Life blog) still cradling the trophy in one arm and with courage enough to ask him a question I’ve wanted to ask since I arrived here.  I’d seen him several times before and even talked to him, but was somehow always star-struck and tongue-tied.  The day’s events celebrating the martyrs bring much joy and excitement.  I was riding high on a tidal wave of adrenaline from the soccer tournament when I came across Fr. Sobrino.  My giddiness in running up to him must have been pretty comical for him.  But that kind of feeling permeates the air during the celebrations for the martyrs.  In the United States, when we remember our dead, we always seem to do so in a serious and mournful sort of way.  Not that this is bad, there should be a time for this.  But I like the way the martyrs are celebrated here, “with spirit.”

Our dead are dead “with spirit.”  They are not dead that destroy, that kill, or that are easily forgotten, but dead who have continued to be profoundly active and alive in the society to which they belonged, generating human spirit, generating human dignity, generating the capacity for dialogue and humane rationality, generating  critical capacity, a constructive capacity, and generating imagination…  These “dead with spirit,” …have gradually been vanquishing – and with them all El Salvador’s “dead with spirit” – those who murdered them.

José María Tojeira, SJ

Current Rector of the UCA

It is worth noting here that Padre Tojeira, or “Chema” as he is called, was the Jesuit Provincial of this area at the time the Jesuits were murdered.  He lived across the street from them, outside of the campus grounds.  I have heard him describe how he heard shots that night, but didn’t know what had happened until the next morning.  There were a lot of shots being fired around San Salvador during those days.  Padre Chema is very lucky that he was not killed.  Then and now, he continues to speak strongly in favor of El Salvador’s people who are poor and struggling to survive.  Not only Salvadorans, come to think of it, but Guatemalans, Hondurans and all people of the world who struggle to simply live.  I attend Mass at the UCA on Friday mornings, when Padre Chema is the celebrant.  Only a handful of people are at these Masses, but Chema always has something profound to say.  It almost seems as if he is getting ready to tell children a story, as he sits on a little stool at the front of the chapel but moving closer to the people gathered with him.  Sometimes I think this is what it must have been like, with Jesus sitting among his followers, telling stories from their lives and relating them to teachings of the Father.  Or sometimes, as in when Chema was preaching at a Mass in San Salvador’s Cathedral in honor of Romero (the morning after the all-night vigil for the UCA martyrs), I think that this is something of what Romero must have been like.  When Chema was preaching at the Cathedral, we were in the crypt and the place where I sat had a perfect view of Chema with Romero’s grave in the background.  Chema was framed by signs that people were holding up that read:  “We want more Bishops that are of the Poor” and “We do not want a Military Bishop.”  As his right hand stabbed at the air and his commanding voice cut through the air, I almost thought I could see sparks in his green eyes.   Like all but one of his murdered Jesuit brothers, Padre Chema is a Spaniard by birth.  But like his predecessor, Padre Ellacuría, he is obviously Salvadoran now.  His over six-foot frame, pale skin, and green eyes, no longer seem out of place to me and definitely not to the Salvadorans.  He stands with the people. 

At the vigil on Nov. 11, it rained profusely during the nearly two-hour Mass.  Chema and all the other Jesuits got soaked as they walked into the crowd to distribute Communion.  At the conclusion of the Mass, Chema thanked the people for their faith and their continued presence through the rain.  During the Mass at the university to remember the Martyrs on the actual anniversary, Nov. 16, the skies once again opened up.  This time, Padre Chema stepped forward with an announcement:  Everyone would move to the UCA’s chapel and try to seek shelter from the rain.  A friend of mine pointed out that it had not rained on these festivities for the martyrs in the past eight years – why did it have to rain both nights this year?  It is symbolic of where El Salvador is right now.  Life here is such an uphill battle and with rain soaking the people as they trudge along.  But with people like Chema to accompany them, I still have faith that they will continue – that someday they may yet win their uphill struggle.  Chema is prepared to face the rain with them (and so is Dean Brackley, whom I also saw soaked in his vestments the night of the vigil and whose voice now betrays a cold, a week later), but even Chema knows when to seek shelter from the rain.  It seems a dangerous and precarious way to live.  How does one know when to risk getting a cold or when one should retreat for the safety of the chapel?  Ah, but I made the deliberate choice to slide to my grave sideways with the bruises, blood, and scars.  And Dean was right: my heart has been broken, yet again.  But the Salvadorans have lovingly mended my heart and given it back to me, albeit with scars – painful reminders forever part of my heart, of the Savior’s (El Salvador’s) people.   

Friday November 03, 2006

Fall Break – Vacaciones en el otro pais

I wasn’t quite sure what to do with myself for an entire week.  I’ve never had a “Fall Break” before.  With our program, it is understandable why our break comes when it does and that it is for a whole week.  We’ve had enough time here to feel close to our praxis communities and to finish mid-term exams and projects for classes.  We’ve also spent just enough time here to feel dangerously close to burn-out.  It was time for a break.  For all of us, our break meant time away from San Salvador.  Even Monseñor Romero took little breaks away from San Salvador, so why shouldn’t we?  Sometimes, the harshness of life here is just too much.  We are lucky that we can get away – the people we work with do not have such a luxury.  But we return to them with renewed strength.

I went to Honduras with my good friend Meg.  She spent a year working in the University Ministry Office at UDM during her stint with the Jesuit Volunteer Corp.  Now Meg works for Catholic Relief Services in El Salvador.  Her concern is the welfare of migrants and their basic human rights.  She’s been here for a little over a year.  Maybe she didn’t need the vacation as much as I did, but I think it was nice for her to have a little break too.  She has a blog about her experiences here that is quite interesting, but I’ll have to ask her about posting a link to it.  More on that later…

So, Honduras… First we went to the Spanish colonial town of Copán and explored ancient Mayan ruins.  Copán is known among those who appreciate the ancient ruins of Central America, for its wonderful estellas (statues).  There are many estellas of Mayan rulers and the hieroglyphics around the statues, temples, and altars provide clues as to events that took place during the ruler’s reign.  As I looked around in Copán Ruinas, I couldn’t help but think about the violence of the lives I have encountered in La Chacra.  On the way to Copán, we passed through San Pedro Sula – the most dangerous city in Central America.  For all the violence I know exists in El Salvador, there is just as much in Honduras, Guatemala, Nicaragua, etc.  But here I was amidst ancient Mayan ruins, thinking about the violence of modern day life in the same places the Mayans knew.  There was also violence in the lives of the Mayans.  Across thousands of years, the violence still exists, however, despite the realization that violencia exists across time and space; I also know that there is hope - esperanza.  Descendents of Mayans still live today.  The people of Central America have a proud and ancient history.  Their story evolves from the ancient indigenous that dwelled here and proceeds through a cultural shift with European colonial powers.  Now, still young countries struggle to find identities among influence from a new Imperialistic power – us (or do I mean U.S.).  It’s hard to know what help is and what is hindrance.  The people here desire freedom from poverty.  Their history has been tainted by colonial rule that oppressed and treated them as subhuman.  It is no wonder to me that Liberation Theology has taken such a strong hold here.  It is appealing to see Christ as the liberator of the poor.

I prayed in the Mayan cemetery at Copán.  For whatever reason, my temptation to feel hopeless about life in places like my praxis site gave way to a feeling of hope.  All is not lost.  Humans have always found a way to make it through tough times.  Liberation Theology is commonly described in terms of Kingdom and anti-kingdom; a cosmic battle between good and evil.  The darkness exists with the light, but will never overcome the light. 

The people of El Salvador and Honduras do not need my sorrow.  What they do need is my respect of their human dignity and infinite worth as people.  As one Jesuit in Honduras said: “Love is a commandment that must be obeyed.”  He has dedicated his life to the service of people in Honduras and now lives in the city of El Progresso (about a half hour’s drive from San Pedro Sula).  He lives among people whom he knows need to feel loved.  They need to know and understand that their life has worth and that there are people who care for them.  They deserve food, drink, shelter, and health care.  But most of them go without. 

Copán was a welcomed break, but spending time with Ray Pease, SJ and Bob Voss, SJ in Progresso was even better.  During our brief stay with the Jesuits in Honduras, we were able to visit an orphanage and nutrition center that is part of their ministry there.  There were 26 orphans; the youngest was about 8 months old.  At the nutrition center, the children also live at the facility.  For whatever reason, their families cannot provide for them.  So, the nutrition center takes them in and nurses them back to stable health.  They return to their families, but some have to return later.  Of the 24 kids we saw, there were several who were on their third or forth stay.  The Jesuits explained their fight to make such ministries sustainable.  They know they are getting older and are unlikely to be replaced by other Jesuits.  Their parishes will eventually be taken over by the Diocese of San Pedro Sula.  The Diocese often can’t or doesn’t know how to manage much more than limited parish services.  Things like the orphanage, the nutrition center, or the migrant service we also talked with, would be eliminated.  The people who desperately need those services would be left without.  It is a delicate situation. 

I’m glad we were able to spend some time in Progresso.  Like the dirty hands and faces of my students at Fé y Alegría that refuse to loosen their grip on my heart, there are Honduran faces that now haunt my dreams.  Not entirely a bad thing.  I don’t want to ever forget them.  How can I desire rest when I know they cannot?  Despite their poverty and the cruelty of the reality in which they exist, they have given me an unmerited gift.  I have their friendship.  They have little else to offer, so they have given me all that they have.  Makes me smile and cry, all at once.  Isn’t that something!?

Now, it’s back to San Salvador.

Sunday October 22, 2006

Amistad

I’m sitting at a little table in our backyard right now.  I must look somewhat out of place amidst the tropical foliage or so says the look on my visitor’s face; a rather strange looking animal called an ardilla.  It could be loosely described as a grey squirrel.  My friend is gripping one of our lime trees with his little claws and staring at me typing away on my borrowed laptop.  I hope, when reading this, the laptop’s owner will know I have put it to good use.  Most of my classmates have left for exotic locations for our fall break – Belize, Costa Rica, Guatemala, Honduras and Nicaragua.  I will leave on Monday for Honduras with my friend Meg (former Jesuit Volunteer and Campus Minister at UDM).  Right now, I’m alone in the house.  Bob Seger is playing on our CD player in the house.  I’m fondly thinking of Detroit and how exciting it must be there, with the World Series starting tonight.  While listening to Seger, I suddenly thought back to where I was 10 years ago at this time.  I was 19 years old and just beginning my career as an airman in the U.S. Air Force.  I was at school or technical training at the beautiful Presidio of Monterey in California.  While not quite the tropical climate I am in now, I was still thousands of miles from home and in an environment very different from that of an October afternoon in Michigan.  In Monterey I could smell the salty sea air and hear the ocean and sea lions barking in the distance.  Here I smell fresh limes and oranges in our garden and listen to the constant white noise of fans running to dry our clothes. Everyday I look at the San Salvador volcano that dominates the skyline as I step out our front door. (I think my little friend just knocked a lime off the tree or was attempting to throw it at me.  Good thing we don’t have coconuts!) 

Michigan might as well be a million miles from here.  I wonder how I can go “home,” when home is here.  I’m in love with this place and its people.  It’s not the first time this has happened.  I’ve also had love affairs with places and people in California, England and of course, Detroit.  Each of them is special.  I am a sojourner it would seem -falling in love everywhere I go, but never staying for very long.  If we knew how the future would play out, how much fun would the present be?  Living in the moment and enjoying the people that come in and out of my life, that is what makes me get out of bed in the morning.  You never know what each day will bring.  Some days it seems I’m climbing a mountain, maybe that volcano I talked about earlier, but I never do it alone.  Each day I go to La Chacra, I am accompanied by two other students.  We accompany and are guided by all the residents of our little community.  It simply wouldn’t be possible for me to make it in this world alone.  I did try and it wasn’t much fun.  I barely survived to get the t-shirt.

In California, I learned the value of companionship, someone to share my journey with.  I was in Monterey to learn Arabic.  The Presidio is the home of the Defense Language Institute.  Now I’ll admit that Spanish is no where near as difficult as Arabic to learn, but I do have days here when I feel like a two year old and I understand very little of what people say to me.  It is very frustrating.  When I was that young airman first starting out on my military career, I lived with an older airman who was also from Michigan.  Jane was from Flint and a rabid Bob Seger Fan, that’s why listening to Seger now makes me think of her and those months we lived together.  In October 1996, Jane and I were both embarking on military careers that were full of excitement and challenges.  She was learning Russian, so we didn’t study together.  But she took me under her wing and looked out for my welfare.  She was a few months further in her studies than I was and knew our surroundings better.  I spent more than a few weekends hanging out in Big Sur and driving along Highway one with her and her boyfriend.  I did have other friends, but I remember those months as a rather difficult time in my formation as an airman and Jane was always there for me when other friends couldn’t be.  Later, as we went on to advanced studies in Texas.  The two of them married; luckily they were both Russian linguists and could be stationed together.  I attended their wedding and graduation from technical training.  We stayed in touch for a few years.  I sent a small Winnie the Pooh stuffed toy from England to Colorado when they had their first child, a little girl.  Eventually, we lost touch.  I wonder where they are now.

Even as I sit here now, enjoying every minute of my life in El Salvador, I realize there are people here whom I will lose touch with.  I’m sad because I don’t want this to happen.  But it will.  What should I do?  I try to enjoy the days as they come.  I enjoy the friendship of the Salvadorans I know.  I can only enjoy what I have now and trust that it is not really for me to decide how we will end up.  What matters is that we are in each others lives now.  We care about one another now and want to spend time together.  I’m off now to a graduation party for one of the Salvadorans I have become friends with.  A bunch of us will go to Jayaque within the hour to celebrate with Julio.  Chances are I will miss a good portion of the game tonight.  But I am here now and Julio matters to me.  I’ll have to catch the Tigers later.

Ten years from now, I hope I can still listen to Bob Seger and remember Monterey, California, and my friend Jane.  But hopefully I’ll also look back and remember that on the first night of the 2006 World Series, I was with Julio and a bunch of other friends, laughing and singing in Jayaque.

There is a part of the Catholic Mass, just before receiving Holy Communion, when Catholics pray out loud: “Lord, I am not worthy to receive you, but only say the word and I shall be healed.”  In Spanish, the translation is closer to the Latin roots and a correlation with Scripture is more easily noticeable.  When I am at Mass here, I say that I am not worthy to have the Lord enter my house.  I also pray for God’s help that the doors of my house be left open to receive guests.  Casa abierta.  I am not worthy to have Salvadorans enter my house, but they treat me like royalty in theirs.  I hope I can give them at least a fraction of what they give me. With them I feel welcomed and loved.  All I can give in return is my friendship and my heart – mi amistad y mi corazón.  Sounds better in Español.

Tuesday October 17, 2006

Hombres Todo, Off the Bus

On October 7, 2006, my friend Meg and I were on a bus that was stopped at a roadblock by Salvadoran Police.  Roadblocks are common here and it wasn’t the first time I had been stopped.  All the men were forced off the bus, lined up against a wall and searched.  All hombres, including the very young ones.   Nearly 30 lined up and placed their hands on the wall, on the other side of which was the UCA.  All but three or four of the men had backpacks.  They were not terrorists with something to conceal in their packs.  They were students.  Remember that we were stopped just outside the UCA.  When the men were allowed to board the bus again and we were dismissed, many of them left the bus at the next stop – the UCA.  The others stayed on the bus until we crossed town and exited with Meg and I at the University of El Salvador (a.k.a. The National University).  I thought of my two Salvadoran housemates – both are students and both are male.  I tried to discuss what happened with them later.  They both confirmed that they had been forced off their bus and searched before.  Such things happen more often than I would like to acknowledge.  Civil liberties do not exist in El Salvador, not the way you and I enjoy them.  Can you imagine all men being forced off a public bus and searched in Detroit?  

For once in my two months here, I truly felt in solidarity with the Salvadoran women on the bus.  There was chatter among the women.  We watched, powerless as the men were detained.  Meg made sure I stood up and saw what was happening.  I felt anger swelling within me and they weren’t even men I knew.  But they looked very much like the students that I call my brothers.  They looked like the men that whistle and say disparaging remarks as I walk by, but that didn’t mean they should be lined up against a wall and given to the whims of the police.  Meg warned me when a policeman boarded the bus behind me.  He was standing at my shoulder.  When he finally moved in front of me, I could see that he had a weapon at his hip.  He asked if any of us had been robbed or felt threatened.  My translation wasn’t so good, so I was relying on Meg whispering to me.  The policeman was deliberately being vague with his reasons for searching the bus and detaining the men.  There was an FMLN concert for “peace” in San Salvador that day.  The FMLN was the party of the guerillas during the civil war.  Many of our campo families talked about this concert while we were with them and they planned on making their way into the city to attend.  For Casa students, all political events are forbidden.  Anything political here is inherently dangerous.  Things could get out of hand quickly.   Meg and I suddenly found ourselves caught up in the activities of the day.  There were women on board with red FMLN shirts and we were headed in the direction of the stadium that was hosting the event.  In my observation, the police clearly fabricated a story about a man robbing a woman somewhere along our route.  The story was an excuse for them to detain buses and to search men.  Why just the men?  I still don’t understand this.  There are women who are important members of the FMLN and there were women guerillas, but fewer in number than the men.  El Salvador is a very machismo society.  It’s acceptable to whistle and call names to women along the street, but not to stop and search them.   Not that this doesn’t happen, but that belongs to a darker part of historical reality here.  Another story for another day…

When students gather to protest here, they wear bandanas to cover their faces.  Protests are not allowed.  Protests are a terrorist act.  The Salvadoran government, inspired by our War on Terrorism, is considering a law that would make all terrorists acts punishable by 50 years in prison.  “Terrorist act” is loosely defined or maybe not really defined at all.  Protest in El Salvador and you could be thrown in a prison for the rest of your life.  Even if you were in good health, a Salvadoran prison would definitely take its toll. 

Fifty years for protesting the deliberate shortage of natural gas created by companies that wish to drive up the price.  People need gas to cook their meals and boil water.  It is a basic necessity of life that they would like access to at a fair price.  Is it terrorist to ask for this?  Or to ask for a fair price for tuition and a limit on class size at the National U.?  These are things that students could protest in the U.S.  What would we do if they were suddenly imprisoned for 50 years?  Once we consider these questions, only then can we offer criticism of the ways the Salvadorans choose to react.  Would we act peacefully, or would we be tempted “to take arms against the oppressor?”

We are supposed to be making a deliberate choice to live simply here. But when I reflect on my days, life is anything but simple in El Salvador.  It seems that myself and my classmates have made a deliberate choice to complicate our lives by coming here. 

No puedo darte respuestas,

pero yo voy a caminar contigo,

a buscar contigo y a estar contigo.

I have no answers,

But I go to walk with you,

To search with you and to be with you.

        Ita Ford

(My house is called Casa Ita in honor of this missionary who was murdered in El Salvador on December 2, 1980.)

Sunday October 08, 2006

Fe y Alegria - Faith and Joy

Faith and joy, without prior cause, that is what the poor people of the campo have.  Maybe I’m generalizing, but I see this same sentiment in the people of La Chacra as well.  In fact the faith and joy that the poor people of El Salvador have is contagious.  In spite of the dehumanizing conditions in which they live, they still sing.

Dean Brackley, SJ, is a Jesuit from New York who has lived in El Salvador and taught at the UCA since 1990.  I’ve had the opportunity to spend a little time with him in his nearby parish, a poor urban community called Las Palmas – very similar to La Chacra.  Like La Chacra, students must always be escorted in Las Palmas.  So, I can walk down to the parish with one of the Jesuits from the Theologate (down the street from our house) or I can meet Dean and walk with him.  His community experiences the same gang violence that my community does in La Chacra, but currently, things are a little quieter in Las Palmas.  You see, Las Palmas borders La Zona Rosa – one of the most affluent neighborhoods in San Salvador.  When the violence started to spill over into the Zona Rosa, the military was called in.  So, Las Palmas enjoys peace because it is, basically, a military occupied zone.  As I walked down the street with Dean, I couldn’t help but notice that the soldiers I greeted had U.S. made M-16s over their shoulders.  Dean writes of his experience with the poor here in his book, The Call to Discernment in Troubled Times:

Among them we find striking generosity (“Mi casa es su casa”), humor, and an undertow of stubborn joy – despite the conditions of their lives.  Is this where the new world is beginning?

Like other poor regions, Central America is engulfed in permanent crisis with few prospects for change soon.  And yet, when people gather they sing with enthusiasm:

Todavía cantamos, todavía pedimos,

Todavía soñamos, todavía esperamos.

We still keep singing, we still keep seeking,

We still keep dreaming, we still keep hoping.

If God raised up a victim of injustice to usher in a new world, we do well to look for Christ among the downtrodden today.  That is where we should find hope against hope and the beginnings of a new world.  That turns out to be the case in places like South Africa, Columbia, and Pine Ridge, South Dakota. (pp. 201-202)

For me the beginnings of a new world are right here, in El Salvador.  For others, they will find hope against hope in Detroit’s Cass Corridor.  I think it is important to allow ourselves to be moved by our experiences.  Each day we live is a precious gift, no matter where we live or in what circumstances we find ourselves.  Sometimes, taking a step outside the little box in which we reside helps us to find a fresh perspective and a whole new world appears. 

In the campo, everyone seems to be poor.  The people find many ways to rejoice and come together for celebrations.  I spent a week near Arcatao, in the northern part of the Department of Chalatenango.   After Mass in the Jesuit Parish of Arcatao, it was a 45 minute walk downhill, to a valley where my family lived in a simple house.  I had the opportunity to work with my campo father for a bit in his cornfields.  From where we harvested the corn, my father pointed across the mountaintops to Honduras in the North.  If I have the chance to stay with them again before I leave El Salvador, he has promised to take me on a hike to Honduras.  When we left on Friday, Antonio (my campo Dad), told us we were welcomed at anytime – this was our house now too!

It was quite a week.  There is so much to share and yet I don’t know how to communicate what happened.  I harvested corn and then carried it back to my house, across mountains and through rivers.  Then I was able to use a machete to cut the kernels off the cob.  I ground the corn and learned how to make tortillas from the ground corn.  These seem like simple activities and they are, but they filled my days.  There were cows, horses, chickens, roosters, ducks, dogs and cats – all roaming freely around the house.  We took care of them all and they fed us.  After working in the hot sun, it was nice to take a siesta in a hammock in the shade or take a walk and dive in the Sumpul River for a swim.  The part of the river we swam in was cool and the water that rushed over the rocks was crystal clear.  Other parts of the river were a little mucky and made me wonder what the river must have looked like in the 1980’s, when the river was red with the blood of the people massacred there (I have some photos of a mural at the parish retreat center in Arcatao that commemorates the Sumpul River Massacre).  On Wednesday, we hiked for an hour and a half (at a very quick pace) to the town of Carasce for a celebration in honor of St. Francis of Assisi.  Saint’s feast days seem to be a good excuse for a party here.  People came from places all over in the surrounding mountain communities.  We packed into the parish church – named for St. Francis – and celebrated Mass with three Jesuits.  One of the Jesuits regularly celebrates Mass in Carasce, but the people do not have Mass here every week.  Padre Miguel normally celebrates Mass in Arcatao and then rotates traveling to the many surrounding parishes.  The fact that three priests were there for Mass was quite an occasion.  Another of the priests was Jose Maria Tojiera, SJ, president of the UCA.  He is very popular among the people and I thought it was great that he still finds time in his busy schedule to go into the campo to be with the people.   The third priest had spent a number of years with the people of that particular area of El Salvador, but now lives and works in the U.S.  He was back for a visit and was happy to join in the fiesta. 

Mass lasted nearly two hours, but after hiking that long to get there, I guess people like having a long Mass.  If it was 30 minutes long and they didn’t get much of a homily, maybe it wouldn’t seem worth a two hour walk to get there.  Anyway, after Mass, the celebration continued with food and drink in the streets.  There was also music and dancing, but we didn’t stay for too long.  We hitched a ride in the back of a pickup, with the priests, back to Arcatao.  It was a much shorter walk to our house from Arcatao than it would have been from Carasce.  Some of my classmates were staying closer to Carasce and were able to stay into the night, dancing.  They enjoyed themselves with their new campo families.

I’m really not sure how much of what I wrote will make sense to those of you who read it.  My head and heart are still trying to sort out what my campo experience meant to me.  It will take awhile to process, I think.  I will miss my campo family and I know they will miss me.  My campo Mom cried as she dropped me and my partner, Katie, in Arcatao to catch our bus back to San Salvador.  She gave each of us a bag of popcorn at breakfast and told us they were for our bus ride.  As I looked out the window of the bus and ate my popcorn, I wondered if I would ever see my campo family again…  I shared the popcorn with my gringo friends as they boarded the bus and explained that it was from my Mom.  Not that Carmen occupies the same place in my heart as my real Mom, but she is still there in my heart nonetheless.  A woman in her poverty, thought nothing of getting up just a little earlier in the morning to make her two gringa children some popcorn for their bus ride to the city.  That’s what all moms do, even the very poor ones. 

As Carmen cooked our breakfast that last morning, she sang.

The Last Week of September

A little something I wrote before heading to the campo, but didn´t have the chance to post until now...

Another week has flown by and I can’t believe it is almost October!  Of course, it is still very hot here (90s), so that could be a little confusing for my internal clock.  No Autumn colors and falling leaves for me this year.  I will go straight from tropical heat to snow (I hope) when I return to Detroit in December.  I am happy that my relationships are growing and I am getting to know people better here, but I am acutely aware that my time is short.  We will spend next week in the campo and then we have a week off for fall break (Oct. 23-29), so my time in my praxis site is definitely limited.  The kids stop school for the year on Nov. 9^th, so I will only see them a few more times – eight to be exact.  I find myself growing attached to them and I know my heart will break when my days with them are finished.  I see a few of them on the streets of La Chacra, so there is the chance I will see them in Nov. and Dec., but eventually I will leave them for good. 

We have been learning more animals this week and I have learned to skip rope again – I can’t remember the last time I skipped rope at recess!  I’ll admit that I was a bit skeptical at first when my little friends pulled me over to join in the fun.  I wondered how two little girls who were three feet tall could possibly twirl the rope in a way that my six foot self could have a chance at not hitting the rope.  It didn’t work the first time and the older girls milling about at the side of the playground laughed, but the second time I was off and skipping!  Eventually, one brave older boy pulled on my arm and asked if he could join.  I told him to grab the other side of the rope and we twirled together until it was our turn to try to jump.  Usually, the boys and girls do not jump the rope together.  But my making a fool of myself somehow helped a few of the boys to join us.  It was fun!

In the classroom, I struggled to explain the difference between a sea lion and a walrus.  I also wondered why the children of La Chacra needed to know there was a difference.  Was there a chance that they would ever see a sea lion or walrus?  Shouldn’t I be teaching them something more useful?  Chances are that some of them will eventually make the trek to my country and they will need to know more than animals, months of the year, and days of the week.  I think I am beginning to realize that my being here and teaching the children is less about the words I teach them than it is about the relationships we have with each other and the content of our interactions.  We smile and we laugh together.  We hug each other and skip rope together.  A child that usually struggles to pay attention now works to write and pronounce everything I say, because one day I wrote on his paper, “¡Muy bien!” and gave him a sticker.  Another child pays attention because I told her she had pretty eyes.  A simple compliment goes a long way with the children here.

One of my more troublesome boys, a thirteen year old, came running up to our taxi as we were leaving La Chacra the last time we had a praxis day.  He was with his little brother.  He asked when I would be coming back, even though I had explained earlier in the day that I would be gone for a week in the campo.  When I confirmed again that it would be a week and half before we would be back, he looked disappointed but said, “¡Que la viaje bien!” which means: “Travel well!”  This is a common phrase here; but, coming from this 13 year old boy, it meant a little something more to me than usual.

Friday September 29, 2006

Yet another grand adventure!

Just wanted to let everyone know that I will be in the campo for a week starting tomorrow.  I´ll work on posting something about my grand adventures next weekend.  Check the photo album though - I´ve just uploaded some photos from a couple of weekends ago.  I was in Suchitoto, a town to the North of San Salvador.  Suchi maintains it´s colonial charm because the army was stationed there during the war and thus it was not bombed to smithereens like other places around it were.  A little note on geography, San Salvador was the government stronghold during the war, but much of the country to the North was controlled by the guerillas.  Thus, Suchitoto had guerillas all around it.  The department of Chalatenango saw the worst of the fighting and that is where I will be this weekend.  I will start my adventure by celebrating Mass in the Jesuit parish in the city of Arcatao.  Then I will be picked up by a family and I will spend a week with them somewhere in the campo.  I will be near the Sumpul River, which I have blogged about before (University of Life). 

UDM should be pretty exciting right about now - with Celebrate Spirit and the semester kicking into full swing.  Founders week and the visit of the Jesuit Superior General  - bueno suerte!  That means good luck to all of you and especially "los tigres!"

Thursday September 21, 2006

Los tigres

What is this about a student throwing out an opening pitch later this month?  That could have been me!  Oh well, I think being here is worth more than even the opportunity to throw an opening pitch at a Tigers game.  Now that’s saying something.

There is a nice hotel in our neighborhood where foreign delegations usually stay when visiting.  They have a TV where we can watch sporting events and have a drink.   A couple of weeks ago, some of my housemates were there to watch the LSU Tigers take on the ND Fighting Irish.  The Tigers lost that one, but my housemates have assured me that they will support my Tigers when it comes to the baseball playoffs.  One of my praxis teamates, George, was born in Detroit and is wearing a Tigers shirt today, as am I.

So, here's to October and nights at the Alicante - Go Tigers!  Or "Dale los tigres" in Spanish!

The Ground Beneath the Cross

When I started this blog, I thought I would try to appeal to a variety of people by toning down my overt religiosity.  Well, that is not going to happen.  I’m not trying to write something that is so faith based that it turns people off, but I don’t know how else to write from here.  This is El Salvador, which in Spanish means: “The Savior.”  I live and work in the capital, called San Salvador.  Even if one was trying to avoid them, it is just not possible - God and Jesus are a regular part of everyday life here.  I am not trying to exclude anybody, but I can only write from my own experience.  My experience is that of an American Catholic, living in a predominately Catholic country.

So I will try my hand at explaining a prayer from St. Ignatius’ Spiritual Exercises that was very influential on Ignacio Ellacuría.  The prayer, known as the colloquy, calls for the person making it to imagine themselves before Christ, crucified on the cross.  In this contemplation, we are to ask ourselves:  “What have I done for Christ?  What am I doing for Christ?  What ought I to do for Christ?” (Spiritual Exercises, 53)  This relates to Padre Ellacuría’s concept of the “crucified peoples” that I have blogged about before (see University of Life blog).  In Ellacuría’s adaptation of the colloquy, we are urged to place our “eyes and hearts upon these people who are suffering so much, some from misery and hunger, others from oppression and repression, and then, before this people thus crucified, to make the colloquy…by asking, what have I done to crucify them? What am I doing in order to uncrucify them?  What ought I to do so that this people will be raised?”  (Las Iglesias latinoamericanas interpelan a la Iglesia de España, Sal Terrae.  No. 826, 1982.  Trans. Kevin F. Burke, SJ)

As is probably evident in my writing, this colloquy has been on mind since I arrived here.  If I am honest, I can say that it has been on my mind since long before I came here.  The crucified people and my involvement in their torment is part of what drew me to El Salvador.  I thought, as a student, I was alone in my contemplation.  However, though the other students in the program may not know what the colloquy is, they are already asking the questions it poses.  I am with 23 other students who are also asking themselves the questions Ellacuría asked.

Of course, El Salvador is not the only place to find crucified peoples – they certainly exist in Detroit.  But, it is very evident to me that the people of La Chacra do not deserve to be living in the conditions which exist there.  No one should be as poor as the people I encounter here, not when I think of the extravagance of my own life and that of other Americans I know. 

In the Tuesday morning edition of La Prensa (a popular Salvadoran newspaper), the front page contains a photo of Antonio Saca and George W. Bush meeting in New York.  Saca is El Salvador’s President.  The article talks about the U.S. deporting people to El Salvador, people who are often violent criminals and are contributing to the issues of security and crime here.  The U.S. has now named a special delegate, just for deportations.  Opening to the second page, there is a second photo of Saca and Bush with U.S. and Salvadoran flags in the background.  The second page headline is that: Bush Admits “danger” in Deportations.  So we know we are endangering the people of another country by sending criminals to them, but it is better to have them out of our country.  This is in the best interest of national security, right?

The two presidents also discussed the war in Iraq, or so says the front page, but there doesn’t seem to be any articles on this subject.  Articles in previous newspapers have educated me about the level of Salvadoran involvement in Iraq.  Salvadoran soldiers are dying in Iraq, but we don’t seem to hear about this in the U.S.  What do we think about this?  Our own soldiers are dying or coming back physically and mentally scared for life, but so are the men and women of other countries – even our tiny neighbor to the South, El Salvador.  Why should El Salvador be involved in the war in Iraq?  Is this simply the price of a supposed friendship with the U.S.?  What do we really do for El Salvador that would cause them to send their soldiers to Iraq?

Most Salvadorans treat me with kindness, but there are a few who see me only as an American and a symbol of all that has contributed to the negativity and violence of their life here.  A man at Mass on Sunday shook my hand during the sign of peace, and told me to say hello to Mr. Bush for him.  To me, it was a wake-up call.  What do I expect to do here in the next three months?  I am here for such a short time and the Salvadorans know.  For them, they either choose to accept my gesture of goodwill to walk with them for a short time or they reject me with bitterness, knowing I can never truly understand what their reality is like.  I will go home to a life of extravagance in the U.S. and they will stay here.

I may choose to live simply when I return to the U.S., but the reality is that my life will never be as simple as the people I spend my days with here.  They are not completely unhappy with their lives here and I cannot judge what is to make a person happy by my American standards.  But my reality is that I have done things that have contributed to the poverty in which these people live.  Children here die of diarrhea.  Many communities have little or no water and none of it is really safe to drink.  While making sure people have access to the basic necessities of life and that children do not die of diarrhea may not be a profitable enterprise, if we, as Americans have the ability to do so, shouldn’t we?

Eyes and hearts upon these people who are suffering so much, some from misery and hunger, others from oppression and repression, and then, before this people thus crucified, to make the colloquy…by asking,

What have I done to crucify them?

What am I doing in order to uncrucify them? 

What ought I to do so that this people will be raised? 

Monday September 18, 2006

My Weekend in La Chacra

We spent the weekend at our praxis sites.  Since the school is closed on weekends, we didn’t spend any time there.  We arrived at the parish around 5 p.m. on Friday, Salvadoran Independence Day.  Padre Luis does not celebrate September 15th.  He told us on Wednesday, when we saw him last, that it was not his “Independence Day.”  His country is not independent – economically or politically… he said some other things, but these are the two I remember.  I thought that was interesting.  He is right.  El Salvador is not independent, though it may no longer be a colony of Spain.  How many Salvadorans consider themselves free or independent?

Normally, we spend Mondays at our praxis sites, but we have a day off today.  I needed the day to catch up on homework and laundry, as I’m sure my classmates did also.  This morning, I spent two and a half hours doing laundry.  Doing laundry by hand is part of our experience of trying to live in solidarity with the poor of El Salvador.  Most Salvadorans cannot afford the luxury of a washing machine.  Washing laundry, cooking and other tasks involving cleaning are how many Salvadoran women spend their days.  It is amazing to witness women raising families in the environment where I live (a rare middle class neighborhood) and in La Chacra.  The women here work very hard.  When I walk down the street past a papusaria, I wonder what the women I see have done already before coming to work.  They slave over a hot grill to make tortillas and papusas to sell.  What work awaits them when they return home?  Some of them work all day in the home and then go to work in the textile factories at night.  These women get off around 3 a.m. and then have to find their way home through dangerous streets in the dark.

Anyway, sorry for deviating from the topic – my weekend in La Chacra.  Well, we didn’t spend a lot of time in La Chacra.  We spent Friday night in the parish house and woke up early Saturday morning to drive to Padre Luis’ home in the campo.  We rode with P. Luis’ youngest sister, Patricia, whom we met the night before.  Patricia had air conditioning in her car, which we thoroughly enjoyed.  Padre drove separately, so he could drive a family from La Chacra.  Padre has only been in the parish at La Chacra for about seven months, so he is still building confianza and relationships there.  Taking this family to his home and showing them where he comes from helps him to do both.

We spent the day near the northern part of the Province of La Libertad.  From where Padre’s family lives, it is not far into Chalatenango or Santa Anna.  We went to a river and enjoyed part of our afternoon there.  On a walk that involved crossing the river on a very dodgy bridge, Padre pointed out the routes campesinos use to go to Chalate or Santa Anna.  The four children of the family with us played in the water.  So did Padre Luis.  George and I skipped stones.  Clarissa missed out, but enjoyed a siesta in a hammock back at the house.  We ate breakfast and lunch at Padre’s house, all together as compañeros.  The father of the family, Rodrigo, invited us to visit their home in La Chacra.  I look forward to doing so.  All together, it was a nice day.   We headed back to San Salvador around 3:30 p.m.

We went out into the La Chacra community after dark, around 6 p.m.  It is a place that is scary and can be very dangerous after dark.  We all know those places we would rather not go after dark, right?  Well, here we were being led by Padre Luis, into a place we would rather not go.  The past month of building confianza with Padre comes in handy here, as the three of us students look at each other and decide to trust him.  Padre says in English: “Come, we go to church.”   What church was he taking us to?

As we walk through the streets, barely able to see anything, children call out to us.  All of us encounter some of our students who run to greet us and ask us what we are doing.  When will we come to teach them English again?  We stop at Lito’s house (one of our guides our first day) and visit his Mom briefly.  Lito’s little nephew smiles up at me from the step of the house.  He interrupts a conversation Padre is having with Lito’s Mom and tells him that I teach him English.  I can’t remember the little boy’s name, but I am flattered that he remembers mine.  I am touched by the impression I have left on my students after only a short time with them.  Lito’s Mom will not let each of us get away without a hug.  When it comes my turn, she also gives me a kiss and thanks me for teaching her grandson.  It is not uncommon for Salvadorans to kiss each other and visitors on the cheek, but it is still something I am not quite used to.  I am also very tall in comparison to Salvadorans.  So when women kiss me, it is usually on the neck because they can’t reach my cheek.  We continued through the streets of La Chacra.  When some drunken men called offensive things as we walked by, I stifled a smirk as I felt the still fresh wet spot on my neck from Lito’s Mom.  It is a world of contrasts here – love and hate; deep affection and lust.  The streets at night teeter precariously between the hustle and bustle of everyday family life and the violence of gang warfare.  I know this may sound strange to hear, but experiencing life here, it is not hard to see how the young men end up in gangs or how they fall to the lure of escape promised by alcohol and drugs.  The men that whistle and say things to us on the streets are not entirely to blame for their demise.

It starts to rain as we come to a house that has been converted for use as a church.  We arrive during the homily and wait outside.  Everyone notices our presence.  At the end of Mass, the priest invites us in to introduce ourselves.  Padre Luis leads us in and introduces us as his three friends.  We then have the opportunity to address the community ourselves.  This was even more intimidating than walking here!  Of course, the community welcomed us with hugs, kisses, and kind words.  We walked back toward the parish house, this time joined by a Spanish nun who lives in the community and the celebrant of the Mass.  Padre Eduardo is a Jesuit who lives in La Chacra and works at the UCA.  He is the director of the Monseñor Romero Center.   After we cross the bridge, P. Eduardo says goodbye to us and walks to his house, alone up a hill along the river.  The nun walks with Clarissa under an umbrella and parts company with us only after she delivers Clarissa safely to the gate of the parish grounds.  She too, departs alone into the dark streets.

On Sunday, we meet yet another priest.  Padre Luis is a diocesan priest of San Salvador, but he introduces us to another one of his Jesuit friends.  Padre Ricardo Ortiz is a native Salvadoran, but now lives in Guatemala City, Guatemala.  He is almost blind.  We attend Mass at 9 a.m. and P. Ricardo gives the homily.  It is long, as are most Masses here.  The priest usually gives a homily that lasts at least 30 minutes.  My Spanish isn’t that good, so I’m usually lost within the first five minutes.  I get less out of the homilies then I receive from being with the people and taking part in the Mass with them.  I think my heightened awareness about community and solidarity (and what these two concepts mean to me); play an important role in how I view the celebration of a Mass here.

After Mass, we share breakfast with the two Padres.  Then we pile into a truck and head out to meet more people in La Chacra.  In total, there were seven of us in the cab of the truck, just as many in the bed, and a mini van packed with people.  I never did count how many people there actually were – alot.  Padre Luis told us Friday night that we would be attending a retreat for youth on Sunday afternoon, but we weren’t sure what that meant.  Now we were fueling up at a petrol station.  The guy driving the truck was topping up the oil.  We started to wonder where we were going, because we seemed to be preparing for a long journey.  Turns out that we are going to the beach along the Pacific Ocean, in the province of La Libertad.  When we went to the Costa del Sol a couple of weeks ago, that was in the province of La Paz.  So we knew we had at least an hour’s drive ahead of us.

It was a nice little break at the beach and it wasn’t just for young people.  It seemed that entire families where there.  The women prepared a fantastic meal for us: corn, tortillas, carne asada, rice and salsa.  We even had Coke and Pepsi, which are a rare treat here (though I prefer to drink Salva Cola, which does not carry the nasty baggage that the two big name American companies have).  It is fun to watch the people, who are very poor, piling food in front of Padre Luis.  Padre would accept the food graciously and then pass some of it off to someone else on the side.  The same sort of thing happened to us, but we are starting to learn the delicate balance between accepting graciously and telling the people that we are full and can eat or drink no more.

After lunch, the adults of the community sing songs and do a charismatic type of retreat.  Not really my sort of thing in English, so it was… interesting in Spanish.  I spent some of the time walking on the beach, since there was no pressure for us to stay for the retreat.  It was nice to soak up the sun and the salty sea air, but I found myself wishing Padre had better prepared us for what we would be doing this weekend.  I really wanted to dive in the water!

We arrived back at our houses around 5:45 p.m., the last group to return from our praxis site.  One of my housemates was celebrating her 21^st birthday, so I came home to ice cream and cake.  Later, we all went out for a drink and shared the stories of our weekend.

Also included in weekend details: I was delighted to learn that the Wolverines had crushed the Fighting Irish (one of my housemates comes from South Bend), but sorry to hear the Tigers had lost.  I hope Fr. Stockhausen did well with his shot at throwing the opening pitch!

Thursday September 07, 2006

One Day of Life

Wednesday, 06 Septiembre 2006

I wake up with the same anxiousness every praxis day.  I wonder what the day will bring and pray to God for the courage to undertake whatever God wants of me.  I dread going to school, where I am the “teacher of English.”  I never knew teachers could dread going to school – I thought it was only the students who could have such feelings.  I feel woefully inadequate to teach the children of the Fe y Alegria school anything.  I think it is the students who teach me.  I have four classes, but today I only teach the first two.  Preschool for four year olds, from 8:00 – 9:10 a.m.  We learn days of the week, months of the year, and several animals.  I write on the board, not because the four year olds can read, but because their teacher also sits in the class and wishes to learn English from me.  The “th” sound is very difficult for Spanish speakers, so that’s how we went into the topic of animals.  I was trying to explain making the “th” sound by placing the tongue against one’s teeth and somehow that lead into the sound that a snake makes.  It took me awhile to figure out what the children were talking about, but my trusty dictionary helped.  My two companions, George and Clarissa, had to drag me from preschool – “animales” were a hot topic and neither the children nor the teacher wanted to let me leave.  I went to my second class, a group of fourth graders, and we also covered days of the week.  With the older kids, I only have forty-five minutes per class period.  We cover less material, because they are practicing writing and I have to check their papers.  These children are very affectionate and a few of the girls make me paper hearts with “sarita” on them (Sarita is my name in Spanish).  We go to recess at 9:45 a.m., so I only had about 30 minutes with the 4^th grade this morning.  I’m at recess for about 15 minutes, when Padre Luis shows up to pick our praxis team up for a special trip to his home in the “campo” (campo is the Spanish word for countryside – basically, anything outside of the city).

As I have explained before, we are never outside of the Fe y Alegria school in La Chacra without an escort.  Sr. Mark sends us out of the school with a hug and a kiss.  Padre Luis has arranged for a truck and driver to pick us up.  We meet Ramon and his Toyota pick-up immediately outside the school.  On our way to Padre Luis’ family home, we drive through Aguilares and I am reminded that this is one of the places that Padre Rutilio Grande, SJ, ministered.  Outside of Aguilares, we turn at a fork in the road and a sign shows that we are headed toward El Paisnal.  In my mind, I was thinking: Padre Grande was traveling between Aguilares and El Paisnal when he was assassinated, is this the same road?  We stop along the road, among fields of corn, and there are three crosses.  I know immediately where we are.  Padre Luis starts with the story, a story I have heard many times before, about Padre Grande and his relationship with the poor of this area and his friendship with Monseñor Romero.  On March 12, 1977, less than a month after Romero became Archbishop of San Salvador, Padre Grande was killed.  Romero was already manifesting a deep compassion for poor people that helped him to speak out about the injustices they faced.  But Padre Grande’s murder gave Romero more courage – his homilies became more daring and radical, starting with the funeral Mass for Padre Grande and the two peasants who were killed with him (a young boy and an old man).

On the monument with the three crosses, by the roadside, is the refrain of a popular song in El Salvador.  We sing this same song everyday, before lunch and dinner.  It is a prayer with many verses that tell the story of Rutilio Grande and the Salvadoran people.  We only sing one verse and repeat the refrain twice.  I had grown tired of singing it before meals, but Wednesday night would bring new respect and insight into the singing of these words:

                        Vamos todos al banquete

                        a la mesa de la creación

                        cada cual con su taburete

                        tiene un pueste y una mission.

                        Come, let us go to the banquet,

                        to the table of creation.

                        Each one with your seat,

                        you have one place and one mission.

In El Paisnal, we pull up outside a church.  I am not surprised.  Padre Luis asks me in Spanish:  “Sarah, you know this place?”  I reply in Spanish: “Yes, Padre.  I know.”  The other students also have a feel for where we must be.  We walk inside the church, a simple place made of concrete with bright murals on the walls and several quotes from Romero.  At the front of the church, before the altar, are three graves.  A boy, an old man, and a priest between them.  Padre Luis greets his “gran amigo,” who had been praying near the front of the church.  They talk for a bit in Spanish and then Padre’s friend speaks to us in English, he is Maryknoll missionary from Ireland – a lawyer.

We leave El Paisnal and drive another half hour into the countryside, to Padre Luis’ home.  We meet his father, some of his sisters and one of his brothers.  We spend most of afternoon sleeping or eating.  We lounge in the living room, gazing at the walls and listening to Padre Luis as he points out photos of his Mom who died three years ago and a sister who died 14 years ago with Cancer.  We play with dogs and have limited conversations with one of Padre’s nephews who captures a lizard type creature, so we can have a closer look.  We eat lunch, the three of us students sitting inside with Padre Luis as he explains that this is the house where he was born, literally.  I am uncomfortable that the rest of his family sits outside, but then Padre invites Ramon (our driver) to our table.  Padre’s nephew joins us as well and then Stevie Wonder comes on the radio.  I’m feeling more relaxed and I start giggling.  Padre Luis looks at me and I look across the table at George (George is from Ohio & attends Boston College, but he was born in Detroit and has an affinity for Motown music).  I look back at Padre and say: “Es Stevie Wonder.”  Padre laughs and starts singing before the words start.  He knows the song too.  It’s “Superstition.”  It was bizarre - sitting in the campo in the home where Padre Luis grew up, eating a fine meal his sister prepared and listening to “Superstition.”

Padre has a siesta in a hammock after lunch and so do we.  At one point, he caught me falling asleep on the couc