Hello loves. I thought not to write tonight- homework & packing to do (we´re spending this weekend at our Praxis sites) but now it is POURING RAIN and I´m thinking it might be nice to just stay put/dry for now. The irony is that I have my towel with me so we´ll both get wet and then what?! Drip dry, I suppose!
Last night, the rain came hard and fast and flooded our house. I was in another house doing homework so only have a second hand account, but here the haps: the water came so fast that the gutters overflowed into the house! The most fantastical was the veritable curtain of water that separated the kitchen from the courtyard (¨like a waterpark!¨says Leslie) and the 3-inch deep lake in our comedor (dining room) ! WOW! Only one or two bedrooms were flooded, and it was dried quickly enough to save everyone´s stuff!
When I asked Katie how she was doing (her room had been sufficiently watered), she answered¨I´m happy for the people of Las Nubes!¨ Las Nubes is a very, very poor community set upon an active volcano. The people there depend upon the rain for their water. When it doesn´t rain, they have no water. For them, the rain is a great blessing. I imagine they get flooded too (no one lives in wholly closeable houses). As I listen to the rain, whose sound soothes me at night, whose drops fill buckets (both for drinking, bathing, washing, and for preventing flooding) I think of the people I´ve met here, and wonder how they´re bearing the rain, hoping it is blessing them and thinking it is blessing me, because it brings me back to la realidad.
I want to understand. I want to give everyone clean drinking water and a safe, warm, dry place to sleep. I want to take a hot-water shower and forget this place, these people, these sufferings. And, I hope I never forget.
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Thursday, September 10, 2009
life & death
A brief explanation about Praxis: Every Casa student spends 15-20 hours a week in a (economically poor) Salvadoran community- learning, talking, listening with the people there. I go to San Ramon every Monday & Wednesday afternoon with 2 other students. We spend the mornings hanging out with the kids at a pre-school called ¨Nuevo Amanecer¨(New Dawn!). I am with the ¨maternos¨-- babies from 18mo-3 years. We then go down the street to have lunch at a comedor (a small open air cafeteria of sorts whose proceeds fund a soy program that provides residents with soy milk as a nutritional supplement). In the afternoons, we go to Anita´s house. From there, we go with a Salvadoran guide (Aurelli on Mondays, Blanca on Wednesdays) to visit the houses of, and talk with local residents.
Anita, who is our main point of contact in San Ramon, and whose house is opened to us weekly, is one of the co-founders of a group of Catholics who call themselves ¨El Pueblo del Dios in Camino¨ (roughly, the village that walks with God). Years ago, a new and quite strict priest came to lead their local church. He shut down all the church´s social service projects and took quite a domineering stance-- a my way or the highway kind of thing. After several failed attempts to have an open, mutually beneficial discussion with the priest, Anita and some other women in the parish decided to gather together every week outside of the church so they could worship and learn in a way that felt congruent with their beliefs (in God, service, solidarity, community, compassion). A group of people followed them and they transformed a space in Anita´s garden into a meeting place that can sit at least 50 people. They hold a collaborative, open, community centered service every Sunday, with different members planning the readings, teachings, and food each week. They are still unrecognized by the Church and so run into snags with baptisms, communions, and confirmations, but seem to have found creative ways to work it out (with the help of other churches, etc.) In Anita´s presence I know great faith, tranquility, and a deep strength that I have not before encountered. It seems that she has weathered much in her life, and from it become somehow more solid, grounded, and compassionate. More on various aspects of Praxis later...
---
On Monday we arrived at Anita´s house to learn that her father had just died thirty minutes before. She told us just after we came in the door, and softly cried a few tears. Then, she motioned for us to follow her. She led us back to a small bedroom, where her dead father lay and said, ¨Come. See.¨ She stood by his body with us while we took in this just recently breathing old man. He was lying face up, and looked like he was sleeping. His body was tiny & withered, his chest caved in. He was covered from shoulders to ankles with a light blue fleece throw blanket that had Care Bears on it and the words ¨Follow Your Dreams.¨ His son and grandson sat at the foot of the bed stroking his feet. A staticky radio played Salvadoran folk music.
Anita stroked his hand and face, and cried softly. I cried, too. After a few minutes we left and sat in the big open meeting room where they hold Sunday services. Anita spoke for a while about her father´s liver cancer, but I didn´t catch much of what she said. Soon after, Aurelli, our afternoon guide came and took us to visit people in the town.
That evening, I went with Trena (Casa Director) and 2 students to the vela (wake) for Don Fernando. Trena says driving at night is dangerous because of gang violence, so we could only stay for an hour or so. We brought 7 small bags of pan dulce (cookies, cakes, sweet breads) and walked into Anita´s house, which was full of people. We came during the middle of the service, which was held in the meeting room. People overflowed into all parts of the house. In the middle of the room was a simple and elegant wood coffin held up by two saw horses and surrounded by flowers, candles, and pictures of Don Fernando and family arranged in the shape of a cross.
I sat on a small stoop off the main room in a long row of people, facing a another long row. I couldn´t see the main event, but could loved being able to watch the people all around me. Dress was casual Salvadoran- jeans, skirts, short sleeved shirts for the younger folk & men, ruffled shirts and skirts for older women. People sit very close to one another in Salvador and this was no exception. Kids wandered through the house and someone tuned a guitar behind me. A woman was speaking about life, death, & resurrection. Then, the singing began. Gustavo (a local wonder-man I will write about another time) led the group with his voice & guitar. We sang 4 or 5 songs; from what I could understand, they were about life, death, God, heaven, relationships. Everyone seemed to already know the words. I was deeply moved by the honesty of the lyrics-- the chorus of one song was about the joy of having thousands of friends in life, all of whom would see you off at the time of your death.
After the songs, people were invited to speak... one man stood up, said something that I think was about the great man that Don Fernando was, and then encouraged everyone to join him in an upbeat, hand-clapping song of tribute. We did. Anita thanked everyone for coming and then the food came- coffee, tamales, and pan dulce for everyone. I got to help cut the tamales, which were then served to people wherever they stood or sat. People talked and hugged and ate-- it reminded me of a typical social gathering (without music). It was markedly different than the hushed tones and somber conversations of the funerals I´ve attended in the States. Aurelli was there and lit up with a huge smile when she saw us. She waved us over and introduced us to her husband, whom she then regaled with lively stories of our time walking San Ramon together (only 2 afternoons at this point)! She laughed and teased and then her husband explained to Katie and I how many different Spanish words there are for shoes.
When we were talking about who from the Casa would attend the vela, Trena explained that anyone, even those who had never met Anita or her father, was welcome. Salvadoran vela´s are not the private, closed, quiet affairs we know- there is an implicit open-door policy. All are welcome. Laughter is welcome. Socializing is encouraged. Food is served in the presence of the dead. Life happens around the coffin. Life & death seem more closely linked here. On the walk around San Ramon when Don Fernando had just died, Aurelli shared the news with the people we visited. They all seemed to take in stride. They were not unmoved- they expressed sadness and concern for Anita, but no one was the least bit shocked. And I remember distinctly noticing this lack of shock or surprise. I think that Salvadorans are more familiar with death than we are. It seems like they live with a greater awareness that death may come any day, that it will, in fact, come to us all. Death seems to be a natural part of life... not separate, something to forget or deny, something to embalm, or cover in make-up, but another part of the day. In just five hours, a vela was arranged- the State came to inspect and sign papers, the whole town was notified (most of them have no phones), chairs, food, flowers, photos, candles, plastic-wear was gathered. Life made room for death. Death was acknowledged while life happened.
Trena explained that the vela would last all night-- some people would leave, some would stay, and the next day Don Fernando would be buried in Tepecoyo where he had lived (about a 2 hour ride from San Ramon). On Wednesday, Anita told us about the burial. They had rented a bus, she said, but needed a second one and several borrowed cars to get everyone to the gravesite. Hundreds of people were there. (A bus that would for us hold 50 people often carries 100+ here). She was sad, grieving, and happy, too. Her dad was in heaven and his friends had come to see him off.
Anita, who is our main point of contact in San Ramon, and whose house is opened to us weekly, is one of the co-founders of a group of Catholics who call themselves ¨El Pueblo del Dios in Camino¨ (roughly, the village that walks with God). Years ago, a new and quite strict priest came to lead their local church. He shut down all the church´s social service projects and took quite a domineering stance-- a my way or the highway kind of thing. After several failed attempts to have an open, mutually beneficial discussion with the priest, Anita and some other women in the parish decided to gather together every week outside of the church so they could worship and learn in a way that felt congruent with their beliefs (in God, service, solidarity, community, compassion). A group of people followed them and they transformed a space in Anita´s garden into a meeting place that can sit at least 50 people. They hold a collaborative, open, community centered service every Sunday, with different members planning the readings, teachings, and food each week. They are still unrecognized by the Church and so run into snags with baptisms, communions, and confirmations, but seem to have found creative ways to work it out (with the help of other churches, etc.) In Anita´s presence I know great faith, tranquility, and a deep strength that I have not before encountered. It seems that she has weathered much in her life, and from it become somehow more solid, grounded, and compassionate. More on various aspects of Praxis later...
---
On Monday we arrived at Anita´s house to learn that her father had just died thirty minutes before. She told us just after we came in the door, and softly cried a few tears. Then, she motioned for us to follow her. She led us back to a small bedroom, where her dead father lay and said, ¨Come. See.¨ She stood by his body with us while we took in this just recently breathing old man. He was lying face up, and looked like he was sleeping. His body was tiny & withered, his chest caved in. He was covered from shoulders to ankles with a light blue fleece throw blanket that had Care Bears on it and the words ¨Follow Your Dreams.¨ His son and grandson sat at the foot of the bed stroking his feet. A staticky radio played Salvadoran folk music.
Anita stroked his hand and face, and cried softly. I cried, too. After a few minutes we left and sat in the big open meeting room where they hold Sunday services. Anita spoke for a while about her father´s liver cancer, but I didn´t catch much of what she said. Soon after, Aurelli, our afternoon guide came and took us to visit people in the town.
That evening, I went with Trena (Casa Director) and 2 students to the vela (wake) for Don Fernando. Trena says driving at night is dangerous because of gang violence, so we could only stay for an hour or so. We brought 7 small bags of pan dulce (cookies, cakes, sweet breads) and walked into Anita´s house, which was full of people. We came during the middle of the service, which was held in the meeting room. People overflowed into all parts of the house. In the middle of the room was a simple and elegant wood coffin held up by two saw horses and surrounded by flowers, candles, and pictures of Don Fernando and family arranged in the shape of a cross.
I sat on a small stoop off the main room in a long row of people, facing a another long row. I couldn´t see the main event, but could loved being able to watch the people all around me. Dress was casual Salvadoran- jeans, skirts, short sleeved shirts for the younger folk & men, ruffled shirts and skirts for older women. People sit very close to one another in Salvador and this was no exception. Kids wandered through the house and someone tuned a guitar behind me. A woman was speaking about life, death, & resurrection. Then, the singing began. Gustavo (a local wonder-man I will write about another time) led the group with his voice & guitar. We sang 4 or 5 songs; from what I could understand, they were about life, death, God, heaven, relationships. Everyone seemed to already know the words. I was deeply moved by the honesty of the lyrics-- the chorus of one song was about the joy of having thousands of friends in life, all of whom would see you off at the time of your death.
After the songs, people were invited to speak... one man stood up, said something that I think was about the great man that Don Fernando was, and then encouraged everyone to join him in an upbeat, hand-clapping song of tribute. We did. Anita thanked everyone for coming and then the food came- coffee, tamales, and pan dulce for everyone. I got to help cut the tamales, which were then served to people wherever they stood or sat. People talked and hugged and ate-- it reminded me of a typical social gathering (without music). It was markedly different than the hushed tones and somber conversations of the funerals I´ve attended in the States. Aurelli was there and lit up with a huge smile when she saw us. She waved us over and introduced us to her husband, whom she then regaled with lively stories of our time walking San Ramon together (only 2 afternoons at this point)! She laughed and teased and then her husband explained to Katie and I how many different Spanish words there are for shoes.
When we were talking about who from the Casa would attend the vela, Trena explained that anyone, even those who had never met Anita or her father, was welcome. Salvadoran vela´s are not the private, closed, quiet affairs we know- there is an implicit open-door policy. All are welcome. Laughter is welcome. Socializing is encouraged. Food is served in the presence of the dead. Life happens around the coffin. Life & death seem more closely linked here. On the walk around San Ramon when Don Fernando had just died, Aurelli shared the news with the people we visited. They all seemed to take in stride. They were not unmoved- they expressed sadness and concern for Anita, but no one was the least bit shocked. And I remember distinctly noticing this lack of shock or surprise. I think that Salvadorans are more familiar with death than we are. It seems like they live with a greater awareness that death may come any day, that it will, in fact, come to us all. Death seems to be a natural part of life... not separate, something to forget or deny, something to embalm, or cover in make-up, but another part of the day. In just five hours, a vela was arranged- the State came to inspect and sign papers, the whole town was notified (most of them have no phones), chairs, food, flowers, photos, candles, plastic-wear was gathered. Life made room for death. Death was acknowledged while life happened.
Trena explained that the vela would last all night-- some people would leave, some would stay, and the next day Don Fernando would be buried in Tepecoyo where he had lived (about a 2 hour ride from San Ramon). On Wednesday, Anita told us about the burial. They had rented a bus, she said, but needed a second one and several borrowed cars to get everyone to the gravesite. Hundreds of people were there. (A bus that would for us hold 50 people often carries 100+ here). She was sad, grieving, and happy, too. Her dad was in heaven and his friends had come to see him off.
Sunday, September 6, 2009
it's always ourselves we find in the sea
Yesterday we (Casa students from the US and the becarios-Salvadoran scholarship students) went to the beach to play! And, play we did! We swam in the bath-warm water, played/heckled those playing a barefoot soccer game, and basked/burned in the sun. We Casa kids ran immediately into the waves, while the becarios generally preferred to stay on the sand. It turns out that they don´t have much experience swimming, so the undertow and crashing waves can seem pretty scary. Even for the strongest of swimmers, going out far is dangerous because of the powerful undertow.
I noticed that my ability to speak Spanish was better in the ocean! The saltwater must´ve been good for my brain because on land I am quite the bumbly, jumbly mess in Spanish. (And, I am learning!) In the water, everything was easier... my Spanish was smoother, my pain was way almost nonexistent, and I learned that splashing is the perfect cure for language differences, my own awkwardness, and Salvadoran pena (fear of being known).
One of my favorite parts of the day was watching a Salvadoran family play in the water. Three adults & two kids were helping an older woman, fully dressed in Sunday church clothes, make her way into the waves. And, make it she did! She got in to about thigh level, laughing and splashing in her long pink lace-trimmed skirt. It was stunning!
And now, a poem that reminds me to breathe & remember to bring my beach-awe with me into the rest of life...!
maggie and milly and molly and may
went down to the beach (to play one day)
and maggie discovered a shell that sang
so sweetly she couldn't remember her troubles, and
milly befriended a stranded starwhose rays five languid fingers were;
and molly was chased by a horrible thing
which raced sideways while blowing bubbles: and
may came home with a smooth round stone
as small as a world and as large as alone.
For whatever we lose (like a you or a me)
it's always ourselves we find in the sea
-ee cummings
I noticed that my ability to speak Spanish was better in the ocean! The saltwater must´ve been good for my brain because on land I am quite the bumbly, jumbly mess in Spanish. (And, I am learning!) In the water, everything was easier... my Spanish was smoother, my pain was way almost nonexistent, and I learned that splashing is the perfect cure for language differences, my own awkwardness, and Salvadoran pena (fear of being known).
One of my favorite parts of the day was watching a Salvadoran family play in the water. Three adults & two kids were helping an older woman, fully dressed in Sunday church clothes, make her way into the waves. And, make it she did! She got in to about thigh level, laughing and splashing in her long pink lace-trimmed skirt. It was stunning!
And now, a poem that reminds me to breathe & remember to bring my beach-awe with me into the rest of life...!
maggie and milly and molly and may
went down to the beach (to play one day)
and maggie discovered a shell that sang
so sweetly she couldn't remember her troubles, and
milly befriended a stranded starwhose rays five languid fingers were;
and molly was chased by a horrible thing
which raced sideways while blowing bubbles: and
may came home with a smooth round stone
as small as a world and as large as alone.
For whatever we lose (like a you or a me)
it's always ourselves we find in the sea
-ee cummings
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