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.
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
Sunday, October 26, 2008
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.
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.
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
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.
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.
Friday, August 22, 2008
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.
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.
Thursday, July 31, 2008
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.
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.
Sunday, June 15, 2008
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.
____________________
"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.
____________________
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
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.
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.
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