Francisco

This is Francisco, one of our two vigilantes (guards) and the one who rescued me when I was trapped between the locked front gate and the locked front door. The gun is part of his working uniform. I don't know whether it's loaded or not, though I suppose it is. I do know that when Francisco thinks a situation could be dangerous, he does what I'd do - he calls the police.

After he rescued me, we had a couple of great conversations (en español) about life. Francisco's brothers and sisters mostly went to the United States 30 years ago, and they've prospered and raised families there. People think he should have lots of money because he has all these relatives in the U.S., but they don't come home any more, and all he's ever gotten from any of them was a pair of snakeskin boots and a fancy watch one brother gave him.

Francisco doesn't want to live in the U.S. His life here is not rich, but it's full and real. When he's not protecting us, he goes down to the Alcaldia (City Hall) where his wife has a food stand, and he helps her. They have two teenage children and love them. He's involved with his church and he's part of a group for lisiados, wounded veterans from the civil war - both sides, he says, because no importa which side you were on when you got wounded. He just managed to buy a little bit of land in Apopa that has a ramshackle house on it, so it sounds like he will be spending his precious few hours of time off beginning to build his new house. Buen hombre. A good man.