Good Friday Walking

Tonight I rest tired feet after walking in both Good Friday processions.  First comes the Via Crucis, Stations of the Cross.  It's a fairly short procession in mileage, perhaps half a mile, but slow and in its Good Friday version very elaborate.  We all walk, men in the middle, women on the sides, following the statue of Jesus carrying the cross that, in turn, is carried by eight men.  The stations, beautifully decorated, come about one per block - but because I was in the middle of the procession we often stopped for one station when I was looking at the altar for the previous one.

There was a long pause at the 4th station, where Jesus meets his mother - a long pause so that the statue of Maria Dolorosa, Our Lady of Sorrows, could come up and bow before Jesus (women carry the statue of Mary).  She's followed by St. John, carried by men.  Then at the 6th station Veronica (women again) comes out to wipe the face of Jesus and, in a little magic trick, reveals his image.  They all fall in line - Mary, John, Veronica - as we complete the stations, stopping at each station for a reading, a short interpretation, and prayer.

Finally we all came into the church where Jesus, Mary, John and Veronica took their places in front of a purple curtain that hides the altar (it will be dramatically pulled away during the Easter Vigil tomorrow night):

This procession took about two hours, from 10 to noon, in very hot sun.  Water sellers were doing a brisk business - I was glad I'd remembered my water bottle.

Then after a moving Celebration of the Passion and Veneration of the Cross - and a quick supper - I returned for the Santo Entierro.  I've never gone on this procession before, but this was the year for walking.  This time the men - I hope it was a new group, but I'm not sure - were carrying a heavy wooden coffin topped by a glass case holding Jesus, dead.   For quite a while, hearing a motor noise, I assumed there was a truck of some kind doing the carrying, but when I drew closer I discovered that this was a rolling generator following along behind so the coffin - and Mary following behind - could be brilliantly lit.  We walked from the church, over several alfombras (carpets) of bark and colored salts that had been created in the afternoon to be walked over by the procession:

It turned out to be a long walk - from the church, over several alfombras, then down along the road that leads to the hospital and the graveyard (we paused and prayed at both places) and back up the hill into Suchi's El Centro, and back into the church, where Jesus came to rest.  As we were getting close to the church, I began to worry about the men carrying Jesus, who looked almost spent - but they made it.  Then the coffin was placed on a rolling base and slowly steered down the aisle.  It was almost too big to fit, and at one point there was an ominous crunch, some quick consultations, and a bit of redirection accompanied, of course, by "dé le!" - the ubiquitous Salvadoran male language for directing cars, trucks, or stuck floats. 

The procession was probably about 3 miles in total, a good walk and a slow walk, which is good for me!  As I walked, I thought how much I will miss these processions next year when I'm back in the U.S.  Politely sitting in church - much as I love creative liturgies in the U.S. - doesn't have the same body power as walking in noonday heat and evening darkness with your friends and neighbors, following Jesus.

El Último de Doña Licha

My friend Martha's mother died the day after Christmas, after several months of increasingly painful suffering.  I think her given name was Maria Louisa, but I knew her as Doña Licha - people here in Suchitoto called her Niña Licha, but I haven't yet managed to get comfortable with addressing a woman of my own age, more or less, as a niña, child.  I used to meet Doña Licha in better days when she was on the way to market, and we'd stop and exchange hugs.  Martha sometimes brought me tamales her mother had made.  And one day, when our medical mission team was visiting Suchitoto, as we do on each mission, Doña Licha came to our house to have her ulcerated leg treated by Dr. Jon Dykstra, a specialist in wound care.  Here they are, Doña Licha in blue on the left:

Jon bandaged her leg and gave her some medication for it: the bandage didn't last long, because it was itchy, but the medicated cream was great - soon I was seeing her again on the way to market, and this lasted for several months until she began to suffer from pain in her hips, back, legs and soon everywhere.

The customs of death are very beautiful among Catholic families here.  The funeral mass and burial almost always take place the day after the death.  Then for eight days the house is transformed into a shrine with flowers and santos and a photo or two, and friends and neighbors and family come by each night to recite the rosary and sing - or just to stand by and be present.  On the 9th day, this season of intense mourning closes with a memorial Mass, and then everyone gathers for El Último, the last night of mourning, and some stay with the family all through that night to the next morning.

I was able to join in on one Rosario after I returned from Guatemala and the small house was crammed so full of people that you would not imagine it could hold any more.  When Maria del Carmen and I returned for El Último, there were people sitting in rows of chairs in the street outside the house and more people inside.  Martha and her sister Orbelina invited us to come in through the side door which usually leads to a yard full of chickens and ducks and dogs and a green parrot.  All the animals were elsewhere (I wonder who does the duck-sitting?), the yard was swept and neat, and huge, really HUGE iron bowls of tortillas were waiting.  Martha and Orbe and a few friends had worked all morning to make an unimaginable number of tamales, the traditional food served in El Último, and soon we were sitting with tamales and cookies and coffee or hot chocolate.  Meanwhile, in the main sala of the house, the singing and prayers continued, as they were to do all through the night.

What a rich religious tradition this is!  The rosary is beautifully at the center of these nine days of prayer and mourning, and all around the edges of that murmur of ongoing prayer people share memories and condolences, connect with the family, remember Doña Licha.  For over a week the family is held and upheld, even as they work so hard to prepare everything.   It may be a relief to come to that 10th day when the house can slowly come back to normal - but as Martha said to me, it will also be very lonely. 

Una Vida Libre de Violencia

There's a motto that you see all over Suchitoto - it's stenciled on many, many houses, the outline of the national bird, the torogoz, sitting on a flower (Suchitoto means bird-flower in Nahuat) and underneath these words: En esta casa queremos una vida libre de violencia hacia las mujeres.  In this house, we want a life free of violence against women.  (It's not on my house, alas, but only because the outside got repainted in December and I haven't been able to find anyone who could stencil it again for me).

This motto - it also appears on a big billboard at the entrance to the town - is up on our walls for the sad and necessary reason that there's far too much violence against women in El Salvador, and in our beautiful, apparently tranquil town of Suchitoto. For the wider perspective, there's an excellent recent article on Femicide in Tim's El Salvador Blog, and every day the terrible stories show up in the newspaper and the news shows.

Recently, over the long August holiday weekend, brutal violence almost took the life of a woman I know, a woman who's part of the fabric of Suchitoto, living and working here with her family and among friends.  I don't know the details, except that the assailant was not a stranger, but Luz was stabbed many, many times and only survived thanks to heroic immediate work in the Suchitoto hospital and long weeks of intensive care in the capital.  She's been in a coma through the past month, and has just begun to emerge, facing terrible pain and months of slow work to return to life.

I am praying for Luz, and for all the women, for my friends and neighbors, that here in El Salvador we may begin to find a path out of the brutal violence that haunts every woman's life and every woman's nightmares.  Una vida libre de violencia: this should be the birthright of every woman, man and child.  Until that day, the work continues.

Vacation pause

I haven't blogged much these last couple of weeks because I've been working hard on our PazSalud report to our donors (done, printed and mailed!) and connecting to my CSJP Sisters.  I've been blessed to be present when our Sister Cecilia Marie Gri went home to God at 98, dying as she lived with clarity, grace and the deepest faith.  I was delighted to join the community yesterday in celebrating our 7 Jubilarians, who've given a collective 395 years of ministry.  And today I head south, driving to northern California with my sister Kathy to visit cousins and have a vacation.  So I'll be back in July, and meantime here's a couple of Suchitoto photos:

From the Corpus Christi procession -

and from a celebration of art and artists at the Centro Arte para la Paz -

A dash of tropical color as I set out on a rainy Northwest June morning.

Adaptable Adobe

Back a long time ago when I was working in historic preservation in Albuquerque, New Mexico, we found Albuquerque's many historic adobe buildings really challenging because they were such shape-shifters.  A new generation in the family?  Add another room at the back of the house.  Too many leaks in the east wing?  Let it return to the earth.  It was hard to say what part of the classic adobe houses came from which period, what part had been added, what part had been changed.  That, of course, is the beauty and delight of an adobe building.

It's equally true here in Central America, and in Suchitoto.  I walked down the street the other day and came on men putting two parallel brick pillars into the wall of a delapidated adobe house.  What could they be planning?  A couple of days later, the arch appeared, linking the pillars, and it was clear that they were creating a new door. 

A second archway -probably a tall window - has now been put in to the left of the new door.  It'll be fun to see what shape this old building has after all the work is done. 

Living in a village

One of the very good things about living in a village - well, really a small town - is that it's pretty clear who can do what.  Need an electrician, un electrista?  Felix would be your man.  For minor plumbing problems and any other small things that crop up, Alcides can handle it.  Chamba is the guy to call for car trouble.  And when the refrigerator goes on the blink, as ours did, quite predictably, on Good Friday?  It's time to call the other Chamba, Martha's cousin Chamba Rivera.  Here he is, at work (and as you can see by his striped shirt, he is a Barçelona football fan, like just about every other Salvadoran):

He spent about two hours, repaired the motor driving the fan that sends cold air down to the refrigerator from the freezer, cleaned out the refrigerator from top to bottom, and charged us all of $25.  Priceless!  The ice cream and roast for Sunday even stayed frozen in our ice chest. 

And, as a special bonus, I learned that Chamba is a nickname for Salvador - go figure!  I have no idea how anyone gets to Chamba from Salvador, but I'm glad to know the connection.  Nicknames here are often surprising to the anglo ear, like Chepe from José or Chui (Chewy) from Jesús.  But then Chuck from Charles or Jack from John aren't so obvious either. 

I'm just glad that Chamba, Señor Salvador Rivera, is so very good at his work, and glad to live in a village where it's easy to find out just who to call for any likely disaster.

Viernes Santo

Viernes Santo, Good Friday, is the holiest of days here in El Salvador.  In Suchitoto, we began the day with the Stations of the Cross at 10 am, walking from the Capilla de la Cruz, about a mile to la iglesia Santa Lucia.  The heat was punishing, but that didn't stop the Suchitotense: we were a goodly crowd, walking slowly from station to station, each lovingly set up in front of a house or store and carefully decorated, following the image of Jesus carrying his cross.  The high point for me was the time - at stations IV, V, and VI - when St. John (on his own platform) comes to bow before Jesus, goes back to a side street and returns with Mary who bows before her son as he bows to her.  A little later, Veronica comes with her towel to wipe the face of Jesus, and the three of them become part of the procession, following Jesus on the way of the cross.

When I read the accounts of the crucifixion, it's the terrible aloneness of Jesus after he has been arrested that strikes my heart.  Here, following the stations, we become his friends along the lonely way to death, with his mother and his friend and a woman who reaches out to comfort him.

Later, after the Viernes Santo service and Adoration of the Cross, another procession left the church, this one for the Santo Entierro, carrying the dead Jesus to his resting place.  The Santo Entierro procession walks over alfombras, carpets, that have been specially created just a few hours or even minutes before, created to be destroyed by the feet of the men carrying the body of Jesus.  Last year the alfombras were all swept away in a rainstorm before the procession arrived.  This year, happily, they were completed, the procession passed, and then the blessed rain came down, cutting the heat of a day as hot as any I can remember.  

Tomorrow we celebrate the rising.

Silencio

Tonight I left Margaret Jane (who returned to El Salvador on Tuesday - hurrah!) and Patti sleeping peacefully and walked the three blocks to the parque central where everyone, except Margaret Jane and Patti of course, seemed to be gathered.  In the church we finished the hours of adoration of the eucharist and went out into the parque to wait for the procesion del silencio to begin.  It took a while, but finally Padre Juan Carlos emerged to lead the procession, followed by a man dragging chains, and then by men carrying the image of Jesus, bound and blindfolded.  It took a while, too, for the noisy crowd to quiet down, but by the time we had turned a couple of corners this huge crowd had become completely silent and I could hear the noise of the chains dragging against the cobblestones.  We walked - two rows of men in the middle, two rows of women on the outsides - holding candles, silent, walking with Jesus toward prison and torture and condemnation.

My Salvadoran friends and neighbors must connect this long, silent walk with Jesus and their times of walking with family members and friends who were in danger during the Civil War, who might be picked up and questioned and never seen again.  Perhaps also with the family and friends who've been threatened, extorted, or killed by gangs.

Elections

I learned that the blissful silence in our next-door disco last Saturday was owing to Sunday's elections for legislative deputies and mayors in El Salvador - no liquor sales are allowed for three days before an election and I gather there's no fun to a disco that can't sell booze. 

It was a beautiful thing to see my friends and neighbors dressed up in their Sunday best - it was Sunday after all - to vote.  Martha said that, after all, it is a fiesta day - and that's what voting should be everywhere where we are privileged to vote in free and open elections - which these mostly were, from all accounts.

The results were cheerful for ARENA, the largest party on the right, and dismal for the FMLN, the main party of the left.  Arena gained some seats in the legislature, the FMLN lost a couple, and lost several important mayoralities as well.  The vote was much lower - at about 50% of eligible voters - than it had been three years ago.   And Suchitoto will continue to have an FMLN Mayor - Pedrina Rivera will be the new Alcaldessa. 

For a fuller analysis, see Tim's El Salvador Blog.

Travelogue with complications

Today began and ended splendidly.  The middle was questionable.

Rose Young and Donna Quaife, (that's Donna in the rocking chair and Patti Moore and Rose with me in the dining room)  both of them sterling members of our 2011 medical mission in San Rafael Cedros, are visiting our Base House here in Suchitoto for a couple of days, and we began the morning happily with pancakes, bacon, and a good long walk down to Lago Suchitlan - about 2 miles, but all downhill.  Had a coke, enjoyed the breezes, took the little shuttle bus back UP to Suchitoto Centro.  Back at the house, we connected with Patti Moore, who'd been studying Spanish while we larked, and made lunch from last night's arroz con pollo - a Rose and Susan joint project - with avocado, tomato and watermelon on the side.

Then we all hopped in the car for a visit to Ilobasco and San Sebastian, two towns famous for their crafts.  I decided it would be fun to go via Cinquera, the next town to the east of Suchitoto, knowing that it would be a slow, but scenic, dirt road.  Slow it was, scenic it was (especially watching cattle crossing this river), and somewhere after Cinquera a bug announced that it had gotten into my digestive tract and wanted to get out PRONTO.  Never before have I had to find a pooping place along the side of the road, but alas, that was necessary.  I don't think too many cars passed and I hope none of them were from Suchitoto.  Ten minutes later, another urgent call - this time we were in a small town, and I pulled over and dashed into a little government office, which - thank you, God - had a very helpful guard and the cleanest bathroom I've ever seen.  Ten minutes later we pulled into Ilobasco and my final port of call in a Pollo Compero (another kindly guard - I must have looked as desperate as I felt).  And then the bug was gone.  I did hobble over to the nearest pharmacy for a Cipro, but I'm pretty sure I didn't really need it. 

And so we all went on - my three most understanding and helpful friends who were only laughing a little and my recovered self - to the Moje shop where we had a great time (Moje is an organization that gives crafts training and employment to youth who would otherwise be likely candidates for gang membership - they sell beautiful crafts in clay and wood).  And we went on to San Sebastian, famous for its weavers, where we visited Nohemy's shop and watched one of the weavers at his hard and demanding and beautiful work.

We drove happily back to Suchitoto (all on paved highway this time) with purchases and photos, headed to La Balanza for pupusas and Salvadoran enchiladas - a great, full day, and somehow even catastrophes are not so bad when you share them with friends.

Photos by Rose Young

Blissful silence

I'm back in Suchitoto and my friend Patti Moore is visiting here for some weeks while she studies Spanish at the Pajaro Flor school.  Since we got off the plane on Thursday, and maybe before, I've been warning her about how awful Saturday night would be - disco night, when the music gets cranked to the max and people shout over the loudspeakers.  I talked about ways to survive the 5 hours of sheer noise, and how one of us could camp out in the interior bedroom, the other in the study - rooms furthest from the disco - with iPods on, and, and, and....

And here it is 10 pm on Saturday night and there's nothing at all going on next door.  No noise.  Nada.  I almost don't know what to do....  Sleep?  ah yes, perhaps.

The more things change...

The more things change, the more they stay the same.  I wouldn't generally agree with that somewhat cynical proverb, but, alas, it's proving true of the disco next door. 

We've had a lovely stretch of peaceful, quiet nights, even on the weekends.  The disco's owner was in San Salvador with his mother for a long time as she recovered from being shot in early December, and then the word came that the whole family had decided to emigrate, I suppose to the United States.  And the disco stayed dark and blessedly quiet.

But today I walked past the door and there was a big sign advertising a Saturday night discoteque, to begin at 9 PM en adelante - from 9 PM on.  Sure enough, it's different music and different voices, but the disco is going again, and I'm about to put on headphones and listen to the next installment of West Wing.

I will just hope it's only going to be Saturday nights, and than en adelante will end before 2 AM. 

On the other hand, if I'd been in Seattle, I'd have been spending the week buried in snowdrifts, en adelante.

Feliz Navidad a tod@s

Christmas this year was a quiet retreat time for me - as quiet as a retreat can be when all of the boyz in town are setting off firecrackers until 3 AM! Very different and very valuable to have this as a time for meditation and prayer - with a fair bit of church interspersed. I wouldn't want to celebrate this way every year, but I'm glad I did find that solitude of spirit amidst the firecrackers. Speaking of the firecrackers: my wonderful landlady said that yes, she would get the front of the house painted before my guests arrived on the 26th, and yes, her husband and a helper showed up on the 23rd to put a bright and fresh blue coat of paint on the house. I rejoiced until I got up on Christmas day and discovered that the kids setting off the firecrackers on Christmas eve had been unable to resist the lovely fresh blue canvas my house represented, and had put a fair bit of inoffensive graffiti on the wall. Happily, it all washed off fairly easily, leaving the paint job just smudged enough to (maybe) make it less interesting on New Year's Eve. Quiet time is now officially over: I met Andrea Nenzel and her sister Judith Knight at the airport on Monday. They're here for a couple of weeks of sightseeing and relaxation and - in Andrea's case - time to see a few old friends from her days here in 1985-87 at the Calle Real Refugee Center. Today we visited with Dina Duvon, one of the wisest women I'll ever know, and explored Suchitoto. Tomorrow, another visit, more exploration, all at a quiet pace with great companions - what more could one ask?

Viva Santa Lucia! Viva Suchitoto!

First and most important, I'm happy to say that my neighbor made it through surgery after being shot, and is now out of danger.  I don't know much more, but that is good news. 

And then today is the vigil of the feastday of Santa Lucia, Suchitoto's patron saint, and it has been wildly full of events.  The Barrio Santa Lucia started the day with loud firecrackers and their morning procession to church.  In the afternoon I went to the Mass honoring Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe (her procession, with all the children dressed in traditional outfits, happened yesterday).  Today's Mass was followed by another procession - yes, it does get a bit confusing - this one honoring Santa Lucia.  Down my street they came, first the altar boys with cross and candle, then the brass band, then the priest and a fiesta princess, then a statue of Santa Lucia (not the one in the church which is very old and very beautiful) carried by women, then about 75 people in the procession and finally, bringing up the rear, the Barrio Santa Lucia float, with its waving princess.

What could be better than that?  Fireworks, that's what.  After the procession and Santa Lucia make their way back into the church, it's time for the fiesta to begin.  They'd been set up in advance, both ranks of rockets and a number of figures (there's a representative one here) lavishly dressed in fireworks.  I found what seemed like a great place in the crowded plaza to watch, trying to avoid the hot pupusa stands and not stand too near to the works (it's a scene that would give U.S. fire marshalls instant anxiety attacks).  I hadn't paid enough attention to the wind, though, and the first barrage of fireworks came right in my direction - and CLOSE, so I was brushing cinders off my shirt and out of my eyes.  Then came the toros - men who put on "bull" frames that have been wired with firecrackers and run through the center of the plaza in an explosion of flames and small rockets.  They lit up various figures - a butterfly, a woman, a campesino - each of which had its own drama of sparks and flames and rockets.  And finally, they touched a match to the stage center and it went in a whoosh of colors.  More rockets.  And now there's a big dance going on next to the Alcaldia (City Hall) - just far enough away so I probably can get to sleep.

¡Que viva la fiesta!  ¡Que viva Santa Lucia!  ¡Que viva Suchitoto!

The best of times, the worst of times

Today began so beautifully, with the firecrackers at 4 AM giving notice that it was time for our neighborhood, el Barrio Calvario, to gather for our procession to the church to make our "ofrenda" to Santa Lucia.  We gathered outside the home of my next-door neighbor, Dinora, and drank coffee and ate pan dulce while we waited to begin.  I talked with Martha about how beautiful these celebrations are, how I wish we had such fiestas in my own country.  We walked and sang and carried our candles into the church, where we placed them below one of the santos or at the entrance to the santísimo (the sanctuary).  We participated in the Mass that began at 5:45, and afterwards I walked home, thinking about the possibility of a nap.

Just as I was about to turn the corner onto my street, the peaceful scene was shattered.  I didn't hear a bullet, but I saw my neighbor Dinora come running, crying out that "they killed the Niña Julia."  (Niña is in this case a respectful way to name an older woman).  Julia runs a little restaurant on the corner that's part of the mercado building; her son owns the disco behind our house.  We quickly learned that she wasn't dead, but was seriously wounded; the police arrived to carry her to the local hospital, where her wounds were beyond their capabilities; she was sent on to Hospital Rosales, an hour away in the capital.  I am praying for her to live.

How could such a horror happen in the middle of our fiesta, in the middle of this little town that's usually an oasis from the violence that seems worse every day in El Salvador?  No one knows exactly; there's speculation that she didn't pay the renta (protection money).  It's said that the shooter was an adolescent boy.  I don't know if the bystanders knew who he was, and if they did know, I don't know whether they'll tell the police.

With little trust in the police and even less in the courts, ordinary Salvadorans have no solution to the violence that has become so everyday here.  And they have reason not to trust the police and the courts: just this past week, a judge refused to let a witness appear in a facial mask and refused to have him use voice distorting equipment.  The next day two of the witness' relatives were killed.

My Salvadoran friends will go on, living their lives as best they can in as much peace as they can find, fearing for the future of their sons and daughters, and I will go on accompanying them.  And praying for the life of the Niña Julia.  And praying for peace.

Fiesta!

It's fiesta time in Suchitoto, 12 days of daily processions, celebrations, parades, floats, bands, fireworks, dances that lead up to the grand patronal feast of Santa Lucia on December 13th (though I suppose it really should be a matronal feast).  Each neighborhood has its day to get up at 4 in the morning and process to church by candlelight for the 5:45 am mass - ours is tomorrow, and I won't need to set my alarm clock- the firecrackers will let me know it's time.  Each neighborhood also creates a carroza - we'd call it a float - that circulates throughout Suchitoto, visiting each of the neighborhoods, in the evening.  Here's yesterday's offering, from Barrio Concepción - they outdid themselves by creating TWO carrozas.  During the day there are special activities - today Barrio San José offered a celebration for the old folk, which I missed, and a kid's fiesta, and later fireworks and finally a dance.  Their carroza was preceded by Alcides who carried the long forked stick used to hold up the electricity lines so they wouldn't topple the display and followed by a small but marvellous brass band (clarinet, horn, trombone, tuba and a couple of drums). 

I especially enjoyed today's festivities because today we heard one of my favorite Gospel passages, where Jesus says that John the Baptist came fasting and we called him crazy, while the Son of Man came eating and drinking and we called him a glutton and drunkard....(Mt.11, 16-19).  I'm pretty sure that Jesus would love the way people celebrate here in Suchitoto.  I surely do.

Giving Thanks

So much to give thanks for!  Friends and family and community, work that I love, health that lets me do it, God's daily gifts and blessings.

Today we shared Thanksgiving dinner with Peggy O'Neill, four delightful norteamericanas (Diana, Laura, Molly and Millie) who volunteer at the Centro Arte para la Paz, and Xiomara, a young Salvadoran staying with Peggy while she goes to high school.  Thanks to a store that knows about gringo necessities, I was able to find a frozen turkey and cranberries; my favorite bakery provided pumpkin pie; and I spent a glorious day cooking (Margaret Jane spent a day perhaps somewhat less gloriously, but infinitely more usefully, cleaning up after me). 

We ate and talked and remembered our families in the United States and prayed together the beautiful Thanksgiving prayer that Carmel Little sent out for all the Sisters and Associates of St. Joseph of Peace.  I sent everyone home with bags of turkey and there's still more leftover turkey (and roast vegetables, mashed potates, etc.) than I can imagine using.  Thank goodness for freezers!  I can't imagine cooking like this on any other day - and I can't imagine not creating a Thanksgiving feast.

I woke up in Suchitoto this morning and it felt natural. The only things that kept waking me from time to time during the night were lemons dropping from the lemon tree onto the tin roof over my tiny bathroom (sounds VERY alarming) and a cricket that sounds all too much like my alarm clock - by tonight, I'll be tuning him? her? out. Didn't hear the cocks crowing or the morning buses going by, woke up to the sounds of the doves (and roosters).

I talked to a lot of friends this morning, and so far have found only one, our friend Armando, whose home and crops were seriously damaged in the torrential rains and floods of October. Suchitoto was spared the worst of these rains, though I'm sure all the roofs were leaking after ten days of rainfall. The damage is very visible in the roads here, and I would expect that they are far worse in parts of the country where the rains were heavier.

I also learned that one friend from this area is on her way to the United States, and I am praying that she will get safely through the grave dangers that migrants face in Guatemala and Mexico and will make it through the border, though I'm also very sad to think of the damage and loss her going causes for the family she left here. I wonder if people who get angry about illegal immigration into the United States ever think about how desperate people become because of lack of money and lack of opportunity in their own countries. I wonder what they would do in similar circumstances?

Roof work

Recently I told our landlady, Higinia, that the walls in one of our bedrooms were damp and that I thought it might have something to do with the little lemon trees that were trying to grow up from the tile roof. Time for roof cleaning! On Sunday Augustin appeared at my door and spent most of the day cleaning and repairing the roof. It's a two-layer roof, with a layer of lamina (the tin or plastic ridged material used everywhere here for roof coverings or house sidings) on the bottom and a layer of clay tiles above. Augustin looked under the clay tiles and found lamina with holes in it, replaced that, and cleaned out all the tiles and gutters filled with dead leaves. He also cut back the lemon tree, so today there's more sun in the patio.

With all that work to do, I thought Augustin might need some good tools, and brought out our "manly" tool box - reformed from its previous status as a wussy toolbox with additions found by Mitch Costin - a regular on our eye surgery mission. But all he needed, it turned out, was a big spoon (a trowel, actually) and a broom. The tile roofs are labor intensive but technologically very simple - and in this climate, very efficient.

I was away in the afternoon and came back afraid I'd find a total mess. Instead, Augustin had carefully swept the dead leaves and soil into one heap and the pruned leaves into another. There was a third pile of many, many lemons - but the lemon tree is still full and seems to respond joyfully to pruning.

This morning I was cramming dead leaves and soil into our compost bucket for the Monday organic pickup, and realized I had far more than I could put out. And then I looked at the pile again and saw....compost. That combination of leaves and ashes and dust has been sitting in sun and rain every day, ideal conditions for composting. So right now Martha is putting this lovely compost into our garden and bundling up the pruned branches. I know that before she leaves the patio will once more shine with cleanliness.

La vida política

I drove back to Suchitoto in the late afternoon yesterday to find a couple of policemen directing me away from my usual route to the Centro Arte para la Paz where I park the car. I turned the corner and found a few more policemen at the next corner. Several corners and several policemen later I was finally able to get to the Centro Arte by making a wide swing around the center of town, noticing on the way several FMLN buses parked. Of course I had to find out what was going on, so I walked back via the Parque Central and noticed that the street that goes past the Alcaldia (City Hall) was set up with a stage, lots and lots of FMLN flags, and a covered area for dancing. A normal enough sight in this city that for the past 24 years has been voting FMLN (this is the party of the left, formed by an alliance of five smaller political parties in 1981, in the early years of the civil war). But the event wasn't normal, and that's why the police were out in force. The FMLN 's central committee has named Pedrina Rivera as the candidate for Mayor in the elections coming in March, 2012, and many in Suchitoto were upset that they had not been consulted and that the current and very popular FMLN Mayor, Javier Martinez, would not be up for re-election. The flags and banners and stage were set up for Pedrina Rivera's opening speech in the campaign, and supporters had been bused in to make the event look festive and popular.

I didn't stay around to witness the event - it seemed like one of those fights in the family where you'd just as soon the guest didn't witness it - but I learned from the paper today that there had been protests and a scuffle, plastic bottles and pop cans had been thrown, and there was enough shouting to drown out the official words. And then, perhaps to everyone's relief, the sky broke open with thunder and lightning and torrential rains and the rally was at an end.

This morning when I walked over to church, the banners and flags were torn and tattered. It had been a hard night in Suchitoto.