Homecoming

There’s a guy named David who has a little store just across the street from the school in my village where he sells soda, chips and other snacks like that. Nothing big really, probably not all that profitable from what I’d imagine. David was born in El Salvador and lived here until he was 14, moved to Miami for six years until his temporary visa ran out, and just got back here in the village about the same time I did. He’s 20 now and speaks English almost as well as you or I. David doesn’t like living in El Salvador. He misses his friends and family, and that’s a big part of it. Another part of it is that he doesn’t feel safe. People see him as a target. He’s never told me this but it’s not hard to gather from the stories he tells me.

Right after he opened up his store, a guy shows up with liquor on his breath and gives David a piece of paper. I’ll be by once a month to collect $50 dollars from you, it says. Pay up or else. David ripped the paper up and dropped it on the ground as the guy was leaving. That night people showed up at his house and broke the aluminum roofing with a big rock. David got out his gun and shot three warning shots. Maybe they were just trying to scare him, or maybe they were coming to get him. There is a lot of extortion done by the gangs here in El Salvador and people who don’t pay often don’t live very long. David doesn’t sleep in the bedroom in the back of his store anymore. He stays with his uncle instead.

That was the worst, but it wasn’t the only time he’s been messed with. He’s almost been robbed twice in the town down the road. Once for his gold chain while he was eating dinner. His uncle pulled out a gun and got him out of that one. Another time for the money they assumed he was carrying. He gave up a quarter and talked himself out of that one on his own. What did the police do? Nothing. Not that time at least. Though another day they did threaten to take him into the station for smoking a cigarette without having ID proving he was over 18. He started laughing and the cop told him to shut up unless he wanted to get hit.

His eyes get red when he tells me these stories. He looks like he’s about to cry but I know he’s not going to. After spending six years in the States, struggling to learn English and then, at last, fitting in, feeling comfortable, feeling at home, he has to come back to where he’s from everyone is out to get him, take advantage of him and get their hands on the money they assume he has. It’s not just gang members or strangers either. His aunt and uncle have taken care of him, but he’s only talked to his dad once since he´s been here. He showed up drunk in the middle of the day and asked David for money. David offered a $20 bill and his dad pushed his hand away and said he needed $100. He shook his head and said he didn’t have it. His dad grabbed the $20 and walked away. They haven’t talked since.

Sleep cycle

10:00 pm: Lying in my hammock with my headphones on. I’ve read two books in the last three days and tried to start a third but it was terrible. It was a collection of stories by David Sedaris. Dan Ryckert would really hate this book, I thought to myself as I suffered through the first few stories. I hate it too. I’m going to suggest this to him so that we can talk about how much we hate it together sometime. Criticizing bad entertainment with Dan is always a good time.

Betsy left me a box of books in the pueblo when she got sent back to the States for surgery. I need to do that tomorrow, or soon, I think. Walk into the pueblo and stop by her house to pick those up. I don’t remember exactly which house she lived in, but I know the neighborhood and I shouldn’t have to ask more than one person where the white girl used to live. People tend to notice those kinds of things. Especially when the white girl is 5’10 and got ran down by a motortaxi once.

My thoughts are interrupted by a beetle divebombing my head. I backhand it and it falls to the ground, dead, next to the four others I’ve killed the same way in the last 45 minutes. I’ll have to make sure to sweep them out tomorrow or the ants will swarm them. I push off the wall with my left leg, roll to the side and hop out of the hammock as it swings to the top of its arc. A moth swarms my head as I turn off the light and crawl under my mostquito net and into my bed. Just a minute ago as I took my headphones off I could hear the TV in the living room, a handheld radio in one bedroom, and a boombox in the other, the noise nonsensically mixing together, a news anchor talking about murders over poorly edited filming along with the voices of two men singing in Spanish about love, all fighting for my attention. But everything is off now and I can hear a runny nose sniffling in one room and sheets ruffling in the next. The interior walls don’t go all the way to the ceiling and the smallest noises are vividly audible at night.

4:30 am: Dogs barking wildly. I have an urge to get up and kick one of them, but that wouldn’t do much to stop the other 10 in the neighborhood from barking, and even the one I kicked would be making noise again a few seconds after I left. These stupid dogs sleep all day, that’s why they make so much damn noise all night. Maybe a better strategy than kicking would be following them around all day, shaking them awake everytime they try to doze off. That way they’ll be so tired they sleep at night instead of organizing fight club or whatever the hell they’re doing. I can hear the ground rumbling and the gravel path crunching under the weight of cows being herded by the house. So that’s what’s got the dogs going this morning. Not that they need any special reason to bark for hours on end.

5:15 am: Awoken again, this time by roosters. I wish I had snapped more of your necks when I had the chance at the quinceñera. Despite their inability to fly, these heinously loud birds find a way to flap their wings wildly enough to propel their fat little bodies onto a bush, where they then hop up into a tree. Once they get into a tree, they have a competition to see can screech that terrible noise the loudest. Being in a tree allows the noise to travel further.

7 am: With the animal chorus at full blast, I normally only get a few minute of sleep here and there after the roosters start crowing. This happens everyday, but for some reason I’m still determined to stay in bed until 7 trying desperately to sleep. Taking deep breaths, counting each one. Imagining myself floating through the air, deep asleep. Shoving foam earplugs as far as they can go into my ear canal. Putting one ear against the pillow and covering the other with my arm. It almost works. Maybe if the roosters weren’t in trees. Or if the world’s mangiest dogs weren’t 5 meters outside my window. I’ve been telling myself lately I’m going to start getting out of bed at 5:30 to exercise. That way I’ll be getting something done instead of laying here pissed off everymorning. At least the people are easy to get along with.

Why do gringos like to read so much?

I’ve been reading a lot lately. More than I ever did in the states. Work type stuff is kind of slow down here. Even defining what is or isn’t work is a bit blurry. I’ve been explicitly told that for my first few months here, my main focus should be getting to know people, becoming a part of the community, and gaining trust so that I can actually get some people organized and make some things happen here. I’m working with a group that functions as the local community board to set up a water committee to be in charge of administration and maintenance of the water project under construction in the village right now. I’m not quite quick enough with my Spanish to participate much in the meetings yet; there are usually somewhere between two and four people talking at any given minute. Instead of jumping into the arguments, I participate more by talking to people individually before and after the meetings. They have a running joke that I’m Jimmy Carter’s nephew, and that the former president is going to attend one of our weekly meetings sometime soon. I was pleasantly surprised that this group of middle aged Salvadoran men knew their US history so well.

Somehow my taste buds know when it’s Friday and they beg me to feed them a delicious, cold beer. Drinking is a part of life in rural El Salvador, but only for those who get trashed at 8 in the morning and beg for quarters the rest of the day to keep the buzz going. Social drinking doesn’t exist from what I can tell. It’s all or nothing. Different story in the capital, of course. Just like in the states, rural and urban lifestyles are wildly different.

At first I swore I was going to find my own house here in the village as soon as possible. I’m starting to re-think that a bit as I realize how good I have it where I’m living now. They’re not always mouth watering, but I get three meals a day prepared for me by Niña Blanca. I always have someone to hang out with, between Lucho and his cousin 18 year old cousin Alex, who also lives there. I have a hammock in my room and mango trees out back. There is a TV with cable, which I’m really looking forward to for when the World Cup starts. Also, they have a washing machine. I kind of wanted to leave that last part out in case any of my Peace Corps friends are reading this, because I know they will hate me for it. Washing clothes sucks here. It takes hours to wash everything by hand, and the clothes get worn and stretched out quickly. Who would have thought that there would be a washing machine in a house without running water? Anyways, I’m not sure exactly how long I’m going to stay with the family, but it’s definitely going to be longer than the mandatory two months. For the very least, until the World Cup is over.

I got sick for the second time since arriving in El Salvador last Friday. Another bout of what is formally known as Gastrointestinal Illness. No amount of anti-diarrheal medicine could help me and I was horribly dehydrated. I could barely summon the energy to get out of bed and walk to the latrine at the end of the first day, and on my 11th trip (yes, I counted) I got dizzy, stumbled into a wall and threw up four times in a row. My vision got blurry and I felt cold in the midday sun although I was sweating, and I heard Rosa wonder aloud if they needed to take me to the hospital. I mumbled that the hospital wasn’t necessary, but a cup of water would be nice. I felt a bit stronger after chugging a couple powerades, got some antibiotics a bit later after a trip to the city by bus during which I successfully avoided pooping in the aisle, and felt significantly better each following day as the medicine did its thing to fight what was diagnosed as a bacterial infection in my stomach. My apologies to anyone who is disturbed by such frank discussion of bowel movements. It’s so common amoung Peace Corps volunteers here that we no longer have any filter when it comes to talking about it.

As I said earlier, I have been reading a lot lately. This fascinates Lucho and Alex. Why do gringos like to read so much, they ask me? It’s boring, they say, gives you a headache. I haven’t come up with an answer that satisfies them yet, so they keep asking me every few days when they catch me sprawled out in my hammock with a book.

Here’s a quick rundown of what I’ve read lately. I brought a couple books, inherited a bunch from volunteers who finished their two year service and headed home, and I’ll probably ask some of you to send me more eventually.

The Idiot by Dostoevsky - didn’t like it at all, it was my first shot at one of the great Russian authors and I was bored with it the whole way through. The main character was pitiful and impotent.

Shogun by James Clavell - Over 1,100 pages and I wanted it to be longer. I’ll definitely read more by him at some point. Interesting historical fiction based in Japan. It has love, fighting and culture clash. Good enough that I had a dream about it the night I finished it.

An End to Vandalism by Tom Drury - Based in small town Iowa. Reminded me a lot of visiting my Grandparents in Paullina when they lived there. Didn’t really seem to have a point but it was compelling anyways. Mom, I think you would like this one.

City of Thieves by David Benioff - Really quick read. Great characters and dialogue. I read this one in just a few hours. Based during WWII in Russia.

Rebel Radio: The Story of El Salvador’s Radio Venceremos - A history of the underground radio station of the rebel forces during El Salvador’s civil war of the 80’s and early 90’s. Told by a shifting group of narrators. It’s hard to know what is true and what is propoganda, but it felt authentic nonetheless.

What is the What by Dave Eggers - Sudanese refugees treck across three countries, live in refugee camps and some eventually are moved to the United States. The refugee parts were the heart of the book, but my favorite parts of the book were the descriptions of the awkwardness of their lives in America.

The Night Gardener by George Pelecanos - Crime fiction about cops and criminals in NYC. By the guy who wrote The Wire. Definitely going to read more by him.

A Thousand Splendid Suns by Khaled Hosseini - Not my favorite book ever, but it was alright. Doesn't exactly inspire the urge to visit Afghanistan.

Hasta la proxima, mis amigos. Cuidense.

Cast of Characters

It’s hard to write about my life down here at times because most of what I have to say revolves around people, completely unknown people to anyone who would be reading this. So I figure I’d introduce you all to some of the people I spend most of my time with here in El Salvador.

Niña Blanca: The matriarch of my host family. She is short, thin, and as her name suggests, light skinned. Her hair is black with gray streaks and whenever she tells a story her eyes get really big behind the petite glasses she wears; when she gets to an important part in what she’s saying, she draws out the words, pronouncing them slowly and nodding her head.

Lucho: A 23 year old Salvadoran who normally wears a well groomed beard and loves to cuss in English. My first week here he spent most of his time text messaging his three girlfriends, but lately that seems to have slowed down a bit. Lucho is just his nickname; his real name is Luis. He’s one of Niña Blanca’s sons, and spends most of his days listening to music or watching TV. I watch Heroes in Spanish with him most weeknights at 7. His favorite character is Sylar.

Rolando: The health promoter of the village I live in; Rolando is also raising chickens to sell the eggs as a secondary source of income. He often speaks with quick, abrupt noises like 'hhhut' or 'hheee' and walks with just a hint of a swagger. The definition of the noises seems to depend on the context of the situation. He usually wears cologne and sleeps in the remesa house next door to where the rest of the family stays. (A remesa house is a name for an especially well constructed home by Salvadoran standards, built with money sent back from a family member working in the states. One of the other brothers in the family works in Atlanta and built this home for when he retires and moves back to El Salvador.)

Violin: I'm still not quite sure on the spelling of this name, and I don't know if he is either. This is the second Luis, and he's probably the reason the two go by nicknames. His name is pronounced vee-o-leen. He's the smallest ten year old boy I’ve ever seen, and is alternately charming, mischevious, helpful or annoying. My main partner in crime for our mango exploits, he isn’t part of my host family but spends most of his time there anyways. He and the other kids are constantly picking up and examining anything they can find in my room, from bookmarks to batteries and everything in between. I stopped wearing my digital watch after a few weeks of being here. I've never worn one regularly and am not sure why I thought I would here. He was mesmerized by the illumination feature on the water and I lent it to him. He’s been wearing it every day since even though it slides up and down his forearm like a hula hoop. It still scares him whenever the watch gets wet and he once asked me if he would have to repay me if the water ruined the watch. I've explained to him that it is water resistant, and even spashed some water on it myself to show him I wasn't worried, but he's still not convinced.

Eva: The Salvadoran woman from the capital I’ve been dating. I met her at the beach a couple months ago during training and visit her in San Salvador every few weeks when I get a chance. She is tall for a Salvadoran, has short black hair (though she tells my its been dyed blonde since last time I saw her) and light skin. She insists on picking me up from the bus terminal when I get into the capital, which saves me a lot of time and hassle navigating the bus system through the city. She’s seven years older than me, a former beauty queen who now acts in television commercials (though she avoided my question when I asked her what was being advertised in the commercial she did last week), and lives a radically different life compared to anyone I know in the village. I had dinner with her at her Aunt’s house last time I went and saw her. The tamales were sweet and had dates in them. Tamales from the village are always salty with chicken. I ate the first one quickly and accepted a second one to be polite, though I got a bit of a stomach ache afterwards from being so full. She lives with this aunt, and guards do foot-patrol of the neighborhood at night with shotguns. Her aunt feeds the guards beans on occasion, mostly out of goodwill and but also because she knows she'll be rewarded with extra vigilance on their behalf. Eva and I text message a few times a day but rarely talk on the phone, mostly due to how much trouble I have understanding Spanish through the muffled reception of my Samsung.

Katy (Pronounced Kat-e) : Niña Blanca's 5 year old granddaughter, a sassy little diva who squints her eyes when she giggles (which is often) and is usually seen running around with her friend Goldie or hanging out with her mom in the small family store that she runs in a building a hundred meters or so from the house. She yells my name when she sees me, though sometimes it comes out Cabo and other times Kay-oh. Lately she's been begging me to swing her in my hammock several times a day. I usually relent and bounce her around like popcorn on the hammock until my arms are sore. Her giggling is interrupted every time she bounces up into the air or rolls side to side in the hammock as I swing and shake it; it sounds similar to when someone is saying 'ummmmm' and another person is patting their back to a beat, knocking the air out just for a second and changing the tone.