Today I’ll start with the happier news so that it can be enjoyed more easily than it would be after anything sad. Arcelio has been hanging out with us more and has really opened up since the first few days. He sings about random things like how delicio
us the mangos are and how it’s time to pack our stuff on the roof. He sometimes calls the girls names they won’t understand, like bugs (though nothing bad). We worked this morning after waking up too early, but only for about 2 hours, moving bricks, shingles, and rocks. Diana found a huge toad and was attacked by giant ants. Afterwards, we played soccer with Arcelio and Marvin. It was so hot. However, the small pool saved us. After lunch, we left for El Congo, another village built by the Church, like El Maizal, only having already been established for nearly three years. There are 4 such villages. We stopped for licuados (fruit blended with milk) on the way at a restaurant overlooking a gorgeous lake nestled inside of the volcanic mountains covered with beautiful forests. It looked much like Lake Tahoe only smaller and with fewer people. The restaurant also had the cleanest bathroom I’ve seen yet in this country.
When we got to El Congo, the first thing we saw was Arcelio’s house. It started out like those in El Maizal, but he did so much work to the house I could hardly believe it even after being told so. He added a new patio to make the old one part of the house, an extra wing to hold a guest room, larger kitchen with water storage, a bathroom, then painted everything very nicely, planted a mango tree out front, fenced everything in, and grew a side yard with grass and a prize-winning garden. Most of the houses have beautiful gardens, and there are a lot of chickens and dogs in the street. Arcelio has two cute kids between 5 and 8 and a green parrot that he made a cage for. His house looks great, despite its humble beginnings. Father John, the priest there, was a very cool guy from Los Angeles, also serving as a missionary for 3 years. He’s funny and charismatic and feels very approachable. He gave us a tour of the facilities, and I saw a locust for the first time in an adult classroom there. It was most of the length of my hand, then tall and wide. It was very calm. In Spanish, the word for locust, langosta, is the same as the word for lobster.
Here comes the depressing part. John told us about El Congo and more about the country. El Congo only has 4 toilets that use water, and right now one isn’t hooked up to a water main, so it has to be flushed with water from a barrel in the bathroom. Of the families in El Congo, there are only about 3 that have members who have graduated from high school, and only about 3 families are living above the national poverty line. The government won’t say what the poverty line is now because they’ve reduced it so much to make it look like there’s a lower poverty level. Two years ago, the poverty level was set at $315 a month for a family of 5, which is roughly equivalent to buying each member a leg and thigh (no wing) of chicken for each member for each meal. At that time, 48% of the population was living under this line. There are minimum wages, but a terrible system of them. In the maquilas (sweat shops), the minimum us $190 or so per month, but there are no hourly specifications, so the factories force 55-60 hour work weeks. In the countryside, the minimum wage is $3 a day. Nobody can get an education because the families can’t buy school supplies or pay for bus fares and still eat. In El Congo, John set up a system so scholarships paying for school and giving a tiny bit of spending money help students pay for school. The government had some plans for a better education system, such as required reading and scientific calculators, but never created a way to pay for these things, so it just doesn’t happen. In El Congo, the (assistant?) teacher is about to turn 18 and is finishing up 8th grade herself. They have computers there that were donated, but can’t afford desks for them, let alone the $2000 to pay for an internet satellite because they’re too far away for normal lines. There are classrooms for adults, too, where these adults learn two grades per year up to about 9th grade. They set up a system where they give school supplies for free to keep the kids in school and fed. John also mentioned immigration in a new light: people coming into El Salvador from the neighboring countries. El Salvador has the most stable economy in Central America, so other people sneak in looking for work that Salvadorans have trouble getting. They have no idea what to do because they can’t handle the immigrants, but also hold a value of Central American solidarity.
On to Padre Germán. I don’t know if I have all the facts straight, so bear with me if I’m wrong. He used to be a Catholic seminarian or even priest. The Pope came to his country and he lined up with the other seminarians to kiss the pope’s ring. He thought about it while waiting and realized that it was ridiculous and against his own theology, so he shook the pope’s hand instead. They exiled him (I think to El Salvador because he was in South America). At one point, he was working for Oscar Romero, and eventually the Death Squads came after him (after Romero’s assassination his name couldn’t even be mentioned). They told his family that if he was still in the country, they would kill him the next time they saw him. His family snuck him out (I think to Guatemala) the next day. This is the priest working with us in the sun, singing with us, and there to protect us from the gangs.
The Church here is so different from the US. Back home, the church gives people a sense of community and morality. Here, it is a living thing fighting against all odds to lift its people out of poverty and create a new life for the nation. It is socially active and makes real, tangible differences wherever it touches its hand. It’s absolutely amazing.
Now for the random thoughts. I saw a bus with a sticker of Jesus on the back window with busses going through his palms instead of nails. The people are all so happy despite the obscene poverty. There are lots of skinny dogs in the rural streets that have no owners. I’ve just witnessed the dethroning of Mexican hot chocolate, being replaced by a water-based hot chocolate of all things that was nothing short of incredible, especially after milk was added. Mercedes made it like coffee with fresh cocoa beans. We had to go to the pharmacy down the street and they had an armed guard out front, too. On the way back we saw a male prostitute dressed as a woman on the corner, which apparently is the normative view of homosexuality here because it’s so common. Also, we found out that Mercedes is probably only getting $5 a day to be here with us, and that’s coming from her older sister Doña Blanca. I hope she at least gets to eat for free from what she cooks us. She works more than I do, harder than me, and does it all with a smile on her face, but it would take her over two days to earn what I made in a single hour. Our night guard Duglas probably doesn’t make much more. He’s 27 and has a 5th grade education. He wants to go to the US to find a better job. They are better people than us. We complain about making minimum wage while they only make enough to eat beans, rice, and tortillas most nights. We lock our doors to protect our belongings, while they lock theirs to protect themselves from gangs. We complain about high gas prices while they are getting mugged on the bus because they can’t afford a car. But they’re still the most alive, caring, and happy people I’ve ever met. Padre Julio is one of the most upbeat and lively priests I’ve ever seen, and his church is in an area filled with poverty and run by the gangs. These people have truly shown me that happiness comes from who you are, not what’s in your wallet.
Were you there when they crucified my Lord?
