summer school ends

So, it's curtains on summer school.
Today was the last day, the graduation ceremony. Once again, i found myself wishing i had my camera. It was just, peaceful and well-attended and generally positive. The police set up very well. They had a nice little stage, a podium, good sound, and were all smiles.
i was on time, but nearly the last to arrive (shocking.events/meetings generally start an hour late). The ceremony didn’t start for another 15 minutes or so. I took this time to slowly enter the area of festivities- the park, of coarse- and say hello to the people standing outside of the seating area. I greeted a few neighbors, said hello to some friends from the mayor's office, and spoke to this cute girl (actually, i think i just winked at her). Warm smiles and firm handshakes: they always makes me feel welcomed.
We got started. Like any Salvadoran event, there was a table of honor. Seated there were honorable people. Obviously, i was standing in the back.
Just kidding. I was invited to sit there but i cant help but make a scene if in such public view, and declined like i always do.
A few people spoke. Someone launched a few rockets into the air. We gave diplomas to each student. There were 5 classrooms of kids. The last to be presented diplomas were a class of kids i spent a lot of time with. The were younger, 10 and 11 years old, and feisty. I got to be so fond of these kids i found myself clapping and smiling for each kid.
Then, i got a diploma. They gave each person that taught a class or helped out a diploma. i got a hell of a cheer from the kids, and found myself walking lightly. i shook hands with my new friends in the police and gave the kids a big thumbs up. Shouts of "frijol blanco" followed me back to my seat. I was pleased.
That was not the end of the afternoon, and does nothing to convey how it felt to be there. You see, that happens a lot here in el salvador. I catch myself frequently thinking "oh man i wish i had my camera," or "i HAVE to write about this." But then, a little selfishly, i am glad that this or that was just for me. Or, i show up to my computer and decide i don’t know how to write about something. How can i make the reader feel what i do? I can't.

The Game.

9:30 Pm.

It's a fantastic piece of time in my el salvador. The town retires. I come to life. Usually having been in my house for an hour or two, i open my front door to a sleepy town that i have to myself. It has become a routine. I open my front door and look at the world. Where the street is usually alive with passengers it rests; where the palm tree sways in the morning breeze it slouches; where i sometimes feel overwhelmed i now feel, mellow.
I'm not alone. Dogs, having been inside most of the day, are let outside to "protect" the different houses. This one fucking dog, the motherfucker hates it when i floss my teeth. To him, it's sacreligious or something. I open my door and lean against my house, like james dean might, and, until i floss my teeth, it's completely ok with this dog. At the the moment i begin scrubbing he goes apeshit. God knows why.
Anyway. I like to brush my teeth in front of an audience. Sometimes, there's Ricardo. He's a twenty something that "guards" the school at night (he keeps the school walls from being a sanctuary for teenagers out to get shitfaced). I like him. And he likes to talk. He must have to be at the school sometime near 10pm becuase we frequently see eachother. It's understood: he runs down his list of loves lost, games won- i nod my head and spit. And listen.
(Excuse me while i retrieve a cold beer. yes, another CRAZY night in el salvador).

And there's the game.
It has happened every night for the past two weeks or so.
There's this kid, Rapha. I met him early on. I like him. He smiles well. Really. This kid smiles and i believe it.
Two weeks ago, there's this banging on the door. I have a thick door. Someone bangs on it and it sounds like "HOLY SHIT LET ME THE FUCK IN," or "JESUS FUCKING CHRIST GET THE FUCK OUT HERE." So, when, two weeks ago, Rapha pounds on my door i hop up out of my chair thinking "this is fucking IT," only to answer the door to nobody. Just a palm tree and a stray dog. Who am i gonna blame? I get over it and go back to whatever nothing i am doing.
The next day, the same thing happens...one minute, im looking at midgets and fire trucks on the internet and the next BANG BANG BANG i think im on a fucking "cops" episode or something, but i open the door and no one is fucking THERE!
But i realize, there has to be someone, someTHING. So i look around. And i see him. Hiding behind a light poll, Rapha's skinny ass, and wonderful grin. How can i be upset? If i was a native of this town and some white-ass kid lived here, wouldn't i pound on his door? Yes, I would.
He looks me in the eyes and reports the score, 1-1. You see, last night i opened the door and did not see him, could not see him. Tonight, he was more careless, and myself more aware, and i noticed him and evened the score, 1-1.
Since then, i've made the record 10-3. About the same time every night, there comes this urgent banging on my door. Whatever i am doing- sleeping, pissing, whatever- i rush to the door, throw it open, and search for Rapha. He's a smart kid, but he's playing against the fact that he passes my house at about the same time every night, and i've come to expect, anticipate, even enjoy and hope for his arrival.
Last night i asked him, "hey, what are you coming from that you pass my house every night at about this time?" The first time that he answere this question, i had to contain my emotion. "I have to see about a girl." His words.

____

Tomorrow (an hour away) i will go to San Miguel. San Miguel is a city about an hour away from here. I will go and participate in the largest "carnival" outside of Brazil. I'll write about it when i get home.

be well.
Me.

the gusts of wind outside sound like surf landing on a beach.
at this moment, it's calm, but then arrives this urgent noise that when considered is only gone once again.

all i know is that i know SO very little, and dont deserve to ever...

today was great. summer school in her third day. in the morning, we played sports. the boys all went to the soccer field and played ball for the two hours. ours was a more difficult task. we had 20 girls, one basketball, one female police office who had never played basketball, and some white kid. all i could do was, was stand there, at least for the first few moments. for some reason, my life here caught up to me, and in that instant. all of a sudden, i was in el Salvador, trying to be, me, and i was surrounded by 11 year old girls and a middle-aged cop. so we made do. and had a great time. we formed two lines; one line took shots while the other rebounded. all i could do was watch. palm trees swayed, and little girls laughed and blushed at the gringo, and it all just hit me, how fucking unique is this? standing in el salvador, and looking on the brighter side, with the ocean in view, and in company of the optimistic.
shooting hoops got boring. obviously. so we played a few games. i was the ref. but i also played on a team, but i only scored once. we won, 4-2.
an hour later, im teaching english. the students are 10. there are 12 of them. they have the biggest eyes. and im such a unique sight, all they can do is watch me. we sing in english. i dance. we laugh our asses off. there's a kid with a black eye. i tell him life will be ok. he believes me.
and it's all so much. there are so many slow moments, but they're all so fucking filled with substance, i just dont know if i can take it.

and then i go home. and wind down. yes, there's a lot to digest, but tomorrow is another day in el salvador, and only a few hours away.

my day job

An uneventful day.
Like most.

I got up and drank coffee and looked at the news.
I then headed to another "town," only it's still part of the same jurisdiction.
Ten minute bus ride. I always enjoy the bus in the morning. Fewer people, no heat, a more lively ride. Yes, lively. A packed bus, in the afternoon heat, is much less animated.
Ok.
I get to the town about five minutes before the agreed upon time, which makes me about an hour early.
No matter. i watch kids and dogs and life fill the street outside the local school. im more unknown in this town, but recognized. little kids gaze at me. adults discreetly glance. i smile and wink. kids laugh. adults mostly smile, genuinely, and wish me a good day.
I am waiting for two different groups of people. One is the ADESCO. An ADESCO is some fucked up acronym for a local, civic development group. I have been working with this group since my arrival here six months ago. They represent the most intangible progress i have made as a volunteer. The ADESCO has roughly 100 members, but i work with the "board" of 7 leaders, called the "directiva." This community-formed group was created 15 months ago, but had not yet successfully obtained the legal documents and government recognition to be able to directly solicit aid from NGO's(domestic and international), government agencies, and whoever the fuck. Part of the problem was a breakdown in communication with the mayor's office. The other issue was, well, they were happy enough collecting a little money from the public and not developing projects. The other interest of this ADESCO, their primary reason for forming, was to manage the town's water. The water source is pumped in from a different jurisdiction, and has to be paid for. My mayor's office in my town, which also has to govern the surrounding towns and unfortunately neglects them, could not handle this task. Thus, the ADESCO was formed. After nearly a year, the group was not just content to manage the water system. They wanted to legalize themselves and solicit MONEY and HELP. That's when i showed up, having been trained how to help ADESCOs. We quickly told the mayor's office to get their shit together, and within four months of my arrival we were published in a government index as a legal ADESCO.
Since then, we've been slowly working with a few different organizations to address the most pressing issue this town faces: there not enough water, and what is available is contaminated with high levels of fluoride.......
.....a week later. we have met with a local NGO, a Spanish NGO with an office here, and we've established a relationship that im hoping leads to something. but that's all i want to say about that. a little glance into the "work" that im doing here. "to be continued."

one more thing

i wanted to congratulate america on her new chapter, on her election of a brilliant man to the presidency.

i just had lunch with my surrogate family in celebration of the election. we had a whiskey- a jack daniel's actually- and a wonderful beef stew. we talked politics, and everything else, like we usually do. this, the closure of the campaign and the beginning of a new chapter, had particular significance, and was very fine. after lunch, we sat in the sun on the balcony. summer has set in here; it's dry and warm and beautiful. and before the sleepiness of a sunday afternoon sets in, i write to you right now, to anyone reading this, to wish you a happy day.

just be ok, everyday

we all have our own standard operating procedures. one reason i came to el salvador, selfishly, was that i was unhappy, dissatisfied, with my SOP. actually, it started well before my journey here. i can remember being unsatisfied with something undefined and intangible as early as high school, so much so that i left the country- at 17!- to seek out, to seek up.
after six months here in el salvador, not only was i still dissatisfied, i was even more so than when i showed up. since my over thought at anything is already debilitating, this really upset me.
then i had a conversation with madeline, and she said something so simple and resounding, that i had to sit down to really absorb it.
she told me, "billy, its ok to JUST be a descent human being."
and so, for the first time in a long time, i fought back the restlessness and loneliness that accompanies anyone that leaves the familiar for the unknowing solitude that is this experience, and told myself that, yes, i am a descent person, and that is enough.
but how can that be? now is the time decency alone will do nothing, right? wrong. human decency, as a foundation and basis for our thoughts, considerations and actions, must please a cathartic wish to help others, and therefore must help ourselves!
so, friends, i decide, here and now, to resolve to be a descent human being. may it grant me the standard operating procedure, the way of being, that finally allows me to find myself, that in turn grants me the possibility of being a successful peace corps volunteer.

the street lamp across the street went out this evening. i noticed the change in light through the window and poked my head outside to see the stars looking back at me. my town is well-lit and i don't mosey to where it's dark to go star gazing, not yet anyway.
WTF am i talking about? somebody stop me.
another day translating today. more intense. i spent more time with the doctors in the afternoon, seeing many patients that we (yea right, we) could do little for. one woman started to cry. she couldn't see the eye charts and the different lenses were not helping. so i took her hand and asked her how old she was.
"82."
"No, i don't believe you. 50, no mas." we both had a good laugh at that. and we got her a pair of strong reading glasses so that she can read her bible. she told me that god blessed her by bringing me to her. what do you say to that? "no, really, it's nothing." i wish she could comprehend how important our little meeting was to me. she's seeing the doctor and im getting a reality check. jesus, these woman from the country come in dressed in hand made dresses, tiny woman that cant read and that have worked all their lives and don't ever seem upset and i have problems? yes, it's me. i wish our world had a happy medium.
fuck im tired.
tomorrow im going back one more time. these canadian doctors and nurses are heroes. they come from up north this time of year, and it's hot as balls in el salvador, 10 miles from the coast. the building is unairconditioned, they're using their vacation time to go down and help truck loads of people.
and in the middle of the madness is this goofy lanky kid cracking fart jokes to old men.
one old man asked me how well his vision would be with glasses. i told him well enough to look at pretty woman from across the street. he looked at me, unsure of what he had heard, and i was tired and couldn't hide a half smile, so he laughed, and i laughed.
what the fuck am i talking about? i told you to stop me.
anyway, i got on here to say that the street lamp went out becuase it's still fucking windy and i actually really like it and bla bla bla fart jokes bla bla.
Good. Night.

i wrote about the change in seasons here a few days ago, three days ago. The NEXT day, rain gave way to wind. It has been blowing ever since.
It's like a new country for me. Palm trees that just, sit there, now blow in the winds like sails on a boat. My house doesn't rock, but the roof might blow away. And the clouds, the clouds that used to sit in the same spot in the sky for hours now race towards the sunset, colors of red and pink and blue.
Beautiful.
Today was fun. I got up and had coffee (soon to be fresh from the hillside) and then went into Usulutan City on the 7am bus. The coffee puts me in the perfect mood for the dangerous and fantastic bus ride down the hill. I sat near the open door in back and watched the lush hillside fly by, opening up to a sweeping view of the ocean.
I met my good friend Betsy (who had a cup of coffee waiting, the darling) and we were soon picked up and taken to the government center. Waiting for us were one other volunteer, 20 canadian eye doctors and nurses, and a few hundred squinting salvadorans. In what felt like an hour, i talked to countless people and helped translate between Dr. and patient. I helped the nurses organize, and told a lot of jokes, the most popular being: "what do you call a guy with a broken condom? Dad." yes, the best jokes translate into any language. it was a good time. people who had never seen an optometrist were talking to experts and receiving perscription glasses. Some people were so stunned at having eye sight that all they could do was embrace the closest gringo. some lady kissed me. i held hands with another woman who was a little spooked by the whole thing, until she was given eye sight, at which point she practically ran out of the place to enjoy the day.
And a beautiful day it was. Windy as hell. Im going back tomorrow and friday, and im looking forward to it.

i am BEAT. not even gonna proofread this badboy. hope it makes sense.

good night :)

Summer School.

In the U.S. it’s for us slackers. In El Salvador, it’s more like summer camp. The school year here ends November 5th. For two weeks, a majority of these kids will head to the coffee fields with other members of their families and cut about a shitload of coffee, every day. They’ll get paid about $4 or $5 a day. I’m planning on joining them for a day or two.
Beginning Nov. 17, the kids that don’t have to continue cutting coffee will come and hang out with the Police and the Gringo. It’s a cool program, the National Police from nearby Usulutan will be using our classrooms to talk about subjects like self-esteem and leadership. Im planning on teaching dick and fart jokes in English. I’m actually planning on teaching some songs we can sing together. I’m looking forward to it. This will take place for two hours each morning for three weeks. In the afternoons, we’ll be heading to the soccer field and basketball court to play some ball. We have been committed a few coaches and refs from the national soccer league to assist. We’ll practice for a few weeks, and then have a tournament. Girls and boys will play separately. And it’s free!
That's all. Just thought you might like to know.

sunday evening.

I’m sitting in my house, watching the light outside my window change. It’s that time of day where the sky is filled with brilliant color, contrasted by the somber and darkening landscape. It’s like the day is falling asleep, her eyelids docile, slowly closing. It’s calming.
But the town doesn’t sleep. Soon, the day’s forgotten purchases will be remedied by the willing; children are sent to buy eggs and tortillas, the sound of their footsteps echoing on cobble stones. They are purposeful- the last of this year’s rainstorms quickly approaches.
It’s hard to imagine an evening without a dramatic rainstorm. My town is surrounded on three sides by volcanoes. This lets the marching thunderstorms arrive with little warning. The calm before the storm is almost tangible, broken by rolling thunder and lightning that fills my house like a flash bulb. It’s captivating. The rain has a suddenness, and an ensuing urgency that makes me stop whatever I am doing, just to listen. Sometimes it rains so hard I wonder if it will ever stop.
But it always does, and with little celebration. After it’s over, I am always compelled to open my door and see if the town is alright. As if the rain and wind and thunder would do away with everything, leaving me behind. But it’s still there.
I can smell the rain approaching.
This almost daily occurrence will soon change. El Salvador has two seasons. She’s approaching the end of her rainy season, what the locals call winter, only to see six months of rainless summer. I thought that by this time I would be ready for the change, but im not. Everything is green- the volcanoes, the palm trees, the endless corn and coffee fields. Soon, they’ll be harvested, the rains will stop, and, well, I don’t know. Because I had only been here for two months during the previous dry season, I did not really notice the transition to the rainy season. And those first few months in El Salvador were no departure from the year and a half I spent waiting to come here. For reasons I cant fully explain, this change in season will be the first time that things will really change for me in a long time. The transition from trainee to volunteer was uneventful. This new time, this new chapter, has been a long time coming, and I feel emotional towards it‘s arrival, but more so towards the departure of what has been a difficult and yet necessary and rewarding time in my life.
I think I’ll open my door, and pay my respects.

it's 5:58 am. im laying in bed, half awake, thinking about the english class i will be teaching in 63 minutes. and about the fresh coffee i will be drinking in 19 minutes (when we were younger, our father would report to us or answer our questions with a smiliar precision. as if everything were an arrival or take off from the airport).
i get up. i bathe out of a "pila," a tile tub that is filled once or twice a week, and out of which i also use water to wash dishes, clean the casa, and do everything else short of consumption. the water is cold. COLD. but this isn't peace corps serbia, and i'm not suffering. i've come to like bathing like this. i hold the full bucket above me head for ten seconds, enjoying the last sleepy moments of the morning, before dumping over my head the cold life source that one so easily takes for granted. i dump two more full buckets over my head, and this just to get started. you see, this is a true luxury where i live. in what the people here call the summer months of october through april, we will get very little rain and will have much less water. i will be bathing using probably half a bucket. maybe less.
now that i am dressed, i can plan the rest of the english class that starts in 45 minutes, but first, the coffee. i boil water, turn off the burner, and add two big spoon fulls of ground coffee. i let it sit for six and a half minutes (that was for you, dad) and then pour the coffee through a strainer into my favorite mug that came with me here. and there you go. fresh coffee.
i finish my lesson plan by drawing a "family tree," a diagram with my family members names and their relation to me in english and spanish. i will use this diagram to both share some personal family history and teach the names of words like mother, brother, sister in law, etc.
i open my door and greet the day. or it greets me. or both. a little differently each morning. today it is raining and the world is grey, but the sky in the east is brightening, a yoke blistering in the somber dawn.
i have ten minutes. it's a five minute walk to school, and an inevitable collection of one minute conversations with neighbors, shop keepers, even strangers. today is no different. i am stopped by people who bless me, joke with me. people that give me sweets or fruits or grave advice. i accept it all the only way i know how, with a smile.
the rain comes down harder, seemingly fighting the day break. i walk into class. two students are sitting quietly, studying notes from another class. one looks up and smiles. "good morning teechair."
soon, we are joined by the rest of the senior class, a collection of fairly fantastic people, brought up in the relentless life of war, development, and everything in-between. I begin by announcing that i know that they have a test this morning in their next class and that they should study for most of our time together, and that we will learn some english for the last ten minutes of class. it ends up being the last 15 minutes. i talk about my family, my sisters and parents and grandparents, and of ireland and cancer and happiness and struggle. i have their complete attention. i teach them how to say niece, and we talk about brothers in law. the bell rings, and i tell them not to cry but that i will not be here thursday, and then tell them not to cry but that i will be here friday. i say "later" and walk out of the room but am followed close behind by the laughter and then more laughter as those who did not get the double joke are repeated it until otherwise.
i make the same ten minute walk home, this time accompanied by a rain and an advancing daylight that that have compromised with drizzle and sunbeams. a rainbow over the valcano. another morning in el salvador.

Frijol Blanco

It's another perfect evening. The sun is setting. I walk up the street and turn around to see the last, fading image of the ocean(it's an hour away by car, but visible at my altitude on clear days). Indifferent, stray dogs pass by without even a glance. The people are much different. Eduardo, one of my better friends here, greets me with a growing grin that lights up his two year old face like a bonfire. I pick him up and toss him into the air. He screams in delight. I tossle his hair, and speak to him in english. I call him eddie. I tell him the girls will be after him in no time. He watches me walk away, probably wondering why people always come and go at no notice, a novice in our mobile world.
Now it's twilight. The park seems to have been built for this hour of the day. The trees loiter like the unemployed. Their shadows hide the town's aspiring lovers and thoughtful populace. The lights hover like little suns, the bugs their own galaxies.
At one end of the park gather a group of adolescent boys. To the stranger they are the hardest to reach. They are at once somber and suspicious. But i am less a stranger, if not a mystery.
"qué pasa?" one of them says. This is an invitation to sit and talk. I study their faces and realize i recognize most of them. Students, workers, all of them quiet individuals by day, a bustling and raucus collective at night. We chat. Someone asks why i am here. I tell them about the peace corps and about me.
"Y habla Ingleis?" they ask. We continue talking in Spanish.
"Do i speak English? Yes."
"And you have a wife and some girlfriends?"
"no. Neither."
This continues until someone asks my name. Mine is a common one, even here. And boring to the unadoring. So they ask my nickname.
"I don't have one."
They prompt me for one anyway, but i object. "How can someone give themselves a nickname? It has to come from his friends."
We experiment with a few possibilities. It's now very dark, but our laughter fills the void of warmth left by the vacant sun. Someone says something that i don't understand, and someone responds, "no, i know like ten kids named 'bean.' "
Someone adds, "Frijol blanco," white bean. Everyone laughs. I laugh. Not that fitting-in laughter, but that full laughter that is meant for friday nights with friends.

---
Two months pass. This evening, sitting in my house, i celebrate my acceptance into this town, into this life, at each calling of my nickname by the passers by:
"HOLA FRIJOL BLANCO."

Life is good. Where as before, i knew few, and no one was willing to greet the unnamed stranger, i am now greeted by many people i know, and many people i do not. Time passes like it always has- too quickly- but is more enjoyed.
And my work is progressing nicely. Maybe sometime soon i will write about it.

joke of the week

i wrote this a few months ago but didn't finish it, or post it...

the sun goes down. outside, it's much like denver: breezeless, mild, beautiful. i wander up the street towards an intersection that joins the town park and what you might call a convenience store. This is my favorite place to pass the time. The shop is run by a family of five, all likeable people and all liking the Gringo. I enjoy the father the most. We talk shop. Some nights, we talk God (i trust him enough to have already told him i am actually not a Christian). Other nights we talk politics (i told him i like Obama because he's half honkey and all donkey). Tonight, all i say to him is a joke someone told me a month ago. This, like most fantastic jokes, translates perfectly in any language.
"What do you call a guy with a broken condom?"
"Dad."
He starts laughing to a point where i can't help but laugh too. Someone else walks up and he is told the joke, and he too starts laughing like an idiot in the middle of town. We attract a crowd.
The next day, i can't pass an hour without someone mentioning the joke. Someone asks me for another joke. I can't come up with anything, but i happen to be a little gasy. So i extend my index finger and request that the unsuspecting kid pull my finger. I don't expect him to do it. But he does, and with no idea of the consequesnces. I proceed to fart like a horse. This kid's life will never be the same.
An hour later, back at the convenience store, the mom (the store is run out of someone's house) is telling some lady how the Gringo tore ass when some kid pulled his finger.
I can't maintain this.
And i can't leave my house without little girls covering their shy faces with one hand, and extending one finger towards me. They don't say anything, and they're not really pointing. But i get the message.

bits and pieces

My phone rings. It's long distance. It's probably Bill. I hope it's bill, but i still answer in Spanish.
"Hola?"
"So, kid, do you want Tiger, or the field?" It's Bill alright. We share a gambling vice, featuring the Father-Son bet for a dollar. The U.S. Open, held over Father's day weekend, is like our supper bowl sunday of the Big-Bill Little-Bill dollar bets. Like i always do, i posture and pretend there may be a decision to be made, but i know Tiger is my man. I tell him so.
"O.K. kid, you're gonna owe my a buck." Maybe. Maybe i would pay every buck in my possession just to be with you today, talking trash and passing the day. Your day.

happy father's day, dad. i love you so much, and am honored to call you father.

__________________


so, i am now part of a softball team. how cool? i have not played organized baseball for, for 10 years? Eight years. Whatever. And i have never played softball. This will all change a week from today.
It started two weeks ago. A knock on my door. I open it. Shockingly, there stands a salvadorean. She looks at me with almost squinted eyes. And it's dusk. Clearly, i am the whitest person she may ever see in her life. I feel honored. Anyway, she asks me if i would like to play softball.
"Does a Bear shit in the woods? I mean, si, si si si, softball, si si." She tells me she will come by in a few weeks and let me know. Surprisingly, last night, she does just that. Again she asks me if i want to play softball. I skip any eloquence and just nod my head. (i feel like im spelling half this shit wrong. sorry about that. i would spell check but my give a shit is broken). She tells me to be ready this morning, which i am, and when she shows up we walk to the edge of town and catch the bus to Usulutan. Usulutan is the big ass city 30 minutes away, and it is a beautiful 30 minutes. We get there, walk a short distance, and arrive at a park that ends up being THE field. I watch several games, and am very surprised at how well they play. My friend Maria wins her game, and then we sit together and watch the men play. At one point, they actually turned a double play.
A FUCKING DOUBLE PLAY?
Yes.
After the game (which included not 1 but 2 fights), i approach the winning team and ask if i can join. Someone tosses my a jersey. And smiles. "Next week. We play at 930. We have extra gloves."
I try and thank him but cant. Instead, i walk away with a grin on my face.
But i think i wave.
they understand. im just really excited to play softball. and to be a part of a team.

____________________

LOS GRINGOS ANDAN CON FIRPO!

First, the soccer game.

I am with a good friend, maybe the coolest kid i have met here. He puts up with my shit, laughs at many of my jokes, and likes beer. He's a shoe-in for at least a future groomsman.
He and i are pulling up to the stadium in a cab. I quickly survey the scene outside the car.
Mother of God.
Madness.
There are two types of people, defined by the colors they are wearing. Everyone adorns themselves with one of two colorful jerseys, identifying their loyalties. Everyone but me. This is the national title game of Salvadorean soccer, and the team from my region is playing, defending their title from the year before. Before i exit the taxi, i decide that i will have to buy a FIRPO jersey, mostly to improve my chances of staying alive. I say a quick prayer, overpay the driver, and slip out of the car.
The first thing i do is almost get hit by a car. This only draws the attention of about 1000 people. A good start. We quickly walk towards the stadium. I buy my jesrsey just as it begins to rain, again, forcing me to cover my newest, proudest pocession with my rain jacket. Next, we must find the box office or wherever it is we can buy tickets. But this isn't the Pepsi center. I don't see any valet parking, nor any signs announcing ticket sales. What i do see are people multitasking: singing and drinking; fighting and drinking; casing the passing gringos and drinking. And then, a police officer. I ask him where we can buy tickets. He escourts us personally, after recruiting two coworkers. This changes everything. I can now observe what's going on around me without assuming what i am looking at is the last thing i will see in this world.
And what a sight. People are tailgating, only instead of sitting beside their cars, they're sitting anywhere they can. We're not ever inside the stadium, yet i can already feel the electricity of 30,000 people.
We find the ticket office.
SOLD OUT.
"Hey Gringo. Need a ticket?"
"Dos. Give me the best you have."
He does. We pay 40 a piece, 10 more than face value. Again, we have an escourt, as our friend walks us to the main entrance and we get in without any problems. At this point, i am a wonderful mixture of relieved and excited. We walk through a tunnel at a minor descent (shouldn't we be walking up? where are these seats?), and then i can see the field, or a part of it. The grass is so appealing i can't take my eyes from it. And then we're in the stadium, surrounded on all sides by screaming fans- the game is starting.
We're almost ON the field. Puzzlingly, the best seats are in a general admission section. That is, the best seats are not assigned, but offered at a first come first served basis. And it's surprising empty. Rather that complain, we pick the two best seats in the house: mid-field, about 8 rows up. I'm now wearing a ridiculous grin as i observe every corner of the stadium. They crowd is doing organized chants and waving signs. I look above us and i am surprised to see many faces looking back at me. It seems these people are surprised to see two gringos, and still making up their minds about it. Thank God, we're sitting in a part of the stadium exclusively seating FIRPO fans. With their eyes still on me, i unzip my jacket, showing the FIRPO Jersey, and shout: "LOS GRINGOS ANDAN CON FIRPO!!! (THE GRINGOS ROOT FOR FIRPO!!)
Everyone cheers. And i cant stop smiling. I look at my friend, "where the hell are we?" Truly, it felt like we were visiting another planet. And we are the guests of honor.
We drink beer, trade more manick glances, and watch as our team wins in the last two minutes of the game, 1-0.
More madness. I'm hugging strangers covered in body paint and beer. We're singing "We are the Champions" and dancing in the rain. Yes, we are the champions.

What else have i got for you. This all happened last weekend, 10 days ago. Just a few days ago, i spent another night in the capital, in San Salvador, this time with a larger group of gringos and a smaller group of Salvos (about 29,950 fewer). But we have a good time. We exchanged stories about our first month in our sites, and i learned that most people have very similar situations, but the outlooks vary greatly. Get it? i heard the same story many times, but with a different mood, a different outlook. And i realized: it's all about perspective.

And there's my work here. At this poing, still, the work is about getting to know the people with which i will be living the next two years of my life, and how i might be able to help them improve their living conditions.
But it's also about the exchange, the cultual exchange, and i'm finally GETTING that, both it's importance and relevance.

From El Sal, with love.
Me.

thanks for listening

ok. i have just under forty-five minutes to write this. Let us see what kind of damage i can do.

Training is over. I am now a Peace Corps Volunteer. It is thrilling. By that i mean WTF am i doing? I have left the lowlands of San Vicente for the lush, green rolling hills of Usulutan. The name of my town is YouDontUnderStandShitAboutTheRealWorldFentonVille. Fenton is my last name (mystery solved!), the rest means i have been seperated from the other gringos in my group and have been sent out into El Salvador with my MedKit, my Peace Corps Certificate Diploma Thing, and some basic instruction on how to help a few people and not get killed in the process.
Thanks for listening.
Yes, i signed up for this, yes i wanted this, yes i expected this, yes i am scared a little shitless (mostly because the other day i realized, in my heart, that i really am going to stay here for two years).
Let's see. I live in a small town near the capital city of Usulutan. Usulutan is both the name of the dapartment (think State), as well as the capital city (New York, New York?). Usulutan is hot as balls. Thank you baby jesus that i live in the hills. My town is a 30 minute climb into said hills. Said hills are beautiful. BEAUTIFUL. Green. Rolling. Vegetation. Trees. This country is largly deforested. Said baby Jesus (think 2 pounds, 8 ounces, still omnipotent) gave me a very cool little town in these here hills. There are about 8 thousand people. There is a very nice little central park, various places to get food (including pupusas ((think quesadillas, only with the cheese INSIDE the tortilla, without the fold, get it?)), the official foodstuff of El Salvador), and a population of people that are very interested in my well being (and by well being i mean every single little thing i do. for example: there are two 11 year old kids watching me type this. they speak less English than baby jesus but find it thrilling to watch me type. Frankly, i'm honored. If only the women back home were this interested in my daily activities, i, well, i would not be here. I would probably be Brad Pitt. Thanks for listening.).
For now i am not really working. And it is the toughest work i have ever done. Not really working means hanging out with people while they laugh at me and we get to know eachother. Not really working means learning how to do nothing really well, and by that i mean accustom myself to the rhythm of life here. It is slower. No, it is more deliberate. And no one is in a hurry. And no one ever feels akward but me. I live on a main road connecting two parts of town(which i love) and i leave my door open when i am at home, attracting both people i know and people i do not. Actually, i don't know anyone, even the people i have met, but they know me. You know? (sorry, poor attempt at humor((i said the word "know" 8 times)), thanks for listening.) Anyway, the life rhythm and akward thing: many of the people i don't know accept my silent invitation and come into my house and sit there and we look at eachother and i feel akward and they don't and it kind of goes on like this sentence. what i'm saying is that life here is, different, slower, deliberate, fuck-whatever you want to call it. and i like it. and i am getting used to it. Like when my neighbor came over to look at me this morning, i greeted him with a sincere smile and made coffee and he looked at me and i looked at him and it was nice. Then, he said it was good to see me and that he hoped i would have a good day, and left. i felt like i had taken the same quiz for the 17th time, and passed.

and i did have a good day, thank you neighbor. i went to a lagoon and a very cool little town, located farther up in the hills, and visited a friend (he's a volunteer as well- we met half way between our sites). we exchanged stories, talked shit to eachother, had lunch, hiked a mile up a volcano and sat at the side of the beautiful green lagoon, walked back down via a little short cut that almost got us very lost, but not before enjoying the INCREDIBLE views every 3.5 minutes. and it dawned on me. how cool is this? yes, every day there is something hard. every day i miss my previous and patiently waiting life (which ((shhh, dont tell the author)) has ended and will never return, thanks for listening.)

then we had lunch and i drank a beer and had a cup of coffee and took the two busses to get back here and went to the local school and talked to the principal and then i came here and the fifty minutes are up.

Thanks for listening.

Immersion Day

Tomorrow, my class of 40 trainees will travel to different parts of the country to stay with volunteers already serving. I will travel by bus to Ciudad Barrios, a city of 40, 000 in the North Eastern part of El Sal. This will be my opportunity to witness the life of a Municipal Government Development Voluenteer, and also consider what kind of site I might request. On the outset, i am excited to be traveling to a bigger city. Many of us will be working in small, rural towns, and i welcome the opportunity to first see what it will be like to work in a more urban area, especially since i have considered requesting a rural site.

that's it.

Love,
me.

Playing Tag under the half moon

I am sitting with my friend Isabel, watching her son Moises play on the playground with a friend from school. they are slowly joined by more and more children. it must be eighty degrees but it feels cool compared to this afternoon. this is my first time in the park, and i am slowly taking it all in. we are about a five minute walk from where i live. there are dogs running around, some trash scattered about, and in the distance, the volcano sits against the sky, lit by the half moon.
Out of nowhere Moises almosts runs into me, "Mica, William!"
Tag. Im it.
The children all gaze towards me. They have heard that there is a Gringo in town, but this is the first time they have seen me. They watch me, without expression. Slowly, I rise, and look at each of them. I let out a bellow and start at them like Godzilla, the biggest fucking Gringo they have ever seen.
Mayhem.
They all scream gleefully and run around the playground while i chase each of them in turn before tagging someone else. The parents are laughing. The thoughtful Gringo turns out to be a big kid.

This is not my first night here, but it is the first time that i am accepted; the first night that i am included by the community; the first night that i walk home.