The first day of winter

Think I'm crazy? No, this really is the official "first day of winter" in El Salvador, April 15th, the beginning of the rainy season. Now the real rains aren't expected until about mid-May, but this lead-up month is supposed to be a transition time - showers and thunderstorms, worries from the officials about lightning fires and plugged drainage canals. This is the time the toads come out from their underground dry season holes and begin to make music. This is the time of cloudy skies and hazy days and - maybe - rain.

And sure enough, as I was working on the computer this evening I heard a loud rattling, something more than the wind, and looked out onto (and then went out and danced in) a good, energetic half-hour downpour accompanied by a little thunder and lightning, the first serious rain I've seen since I arrived here on December 27th. The first rain of winter, and it's a great relief in April, the hottest month on the Salvadoran calendar. So welcome, winter!

A house in Suchitoto

I have been thinking about moving away from San Salvador, the capitol city, for a while, because I'd prefer living in a smaller community where it's easier to meet people, and where I don't have to live with razor wire and vigilantes (guards). Last week, while Margaret Jane and I were visiting in Suchitoto, which is a good sized community about an hour north of San Salvador, we looked around for possible houses to rent, toured three, and found one that seems perfect! It's about the same size as the present house in San Salvador (that's pretty big, but we hope to have lots of guests), but all on one level, and it's a classic Salvadoran style of house: adobe, fronting directly on the street, with an internal patio, and the rooms arranged around the patio. No razor wire, no vigilantes (though I'm going to miss Don Francisco and Don Alex). There are homes on either side, the market is just on the other side of the block, I'm about two blocks from the church and central plaza, and across the street is a doctor's office, dentist's office and funeral home: one stop shopping!

Of course, this means I will have to move.... But, happily, Sister Grace DiDomenicantonio has agreed to come help me with the packing and organizing. Grace lived here, at the present Base House, for a couple of years, so she has many friends to visit in San Salvador - and she knows the ins and outs of what's hidden in the cupboards. Around mid-May a couple of guys from Suchitoto will bring their trucks down, and we'll pile everything in, and then comes the fun of unpacking.

Meanwhile the surgical mission arrives Saturday for a week of cataract surgeries at Hospital San Rafael, and I am more than busy getting ready for them. Felices pascuas a todos - Happy Easter to everyone!

Easter joy

For Good Friday services and the Easter Vigil Saturday, we were invited to the local parish church, Sagrada Familia, by our neighbor, Wilma. The celebrations were familiar, but with a definite Latino-Salvadoran flavor. On Friday, the veneration of the cross - the solemn moment when each member of the Congregation comes forward to kiss or touch the cross - must have lasted about 45 minutes - it's a big church, and every single person came forward. At the end of the service, the whole community moved out to begin the procession - this procession, taking place all over El Salvador, was the Entierro, a solemn joining with Mary on her journey to Jesus' entombment. It is the third of the three great processions that weave around the church services during the Triduum - the silent procession commemorating Jesus' arrest on Thursday, the Via Crucis Friday morning, and finally the funeral procession Friday afternoon. We walked for about 1 1/2 miles behind the images of Jesus taken down from the cross and Mary in mourning, each carried by a large group of parishioners. We left at that point, but the procession went on, probably for at least another mile, before ending up with the "burial" at the church.

On Saturday, we began in darkness, as at all Catholic churches, and brought the new light in with the kindling of the fire, lighting of the paschal candle, and lighting of our own candles as the priest proclaimed "Cristo nuestro luz." The readings were beautifully and simply proclaimed, the psalms beautifully sung, and just when it all seemed to be going on a bit too long and I began to get sleepy, the Gloria burst out, the purple curtain that had hidden the area behind the altar was pulled back, and there was Jesus risen, in white robes, flanked by flowers and lights, and all the lights went on and we all clapped like mad.

And so we sang "Resuscitó," Christ is Risen. The flavor and the style of celebration are different in each place, different in each part of the Christian family, but that moment of darkness yielding to light, sorrow and loss to joy, is central in all our hearts.

Viernes Santo

Holy Friday in San Salvador: we went downtown, to el centro, for the big procession, which includes (from top to bottom):
Vivid alfombras (carpets) made of colored sand and grains that will be erased as the procession passes over it. The one at top, by the FMLN, shows President-elect Mauricio Funes and Barack Obama with Oscar Romero and Rutilio Grande - and it includes a U.S. flag.
The police were working hard on their alfombra as we passed by - no separation of church and state as in the United States.
We stopped at the 6th station of the cross, where Jesus meets Veronica, who wipes his face with her towel. Jesus with his cross is carried by a huge platoon of men; the icon of Veronica is carried out from a side street to "meet" him; when they meet, Veronica bows, and the image of Jesus' face is revealed.
Men carry the heavy cross on this long, slow procession (it goes on for about 4 hours); women carry the female figures - Mary, Veronica, Mary Magdalene.
The penitentes who are the organizers of the procession wear purple robes and hoods - disconcertingly reminiscent of the KKK robes to a North American viewer.
Some penitents walked the via crucis barefoot and blindfolded; others crawled on hands and knees, also blindfolded, with family or friends moving pieces of cardbord to keep their knees from being shredded.
This final alfombra was created by a youth group.

Semana Santa in Suchitoto

On Saturday I very happily picked up Margaret Jane Kling at the airport. Margaret Jane is a CSJP from New Jersey who was in El Salvador during the war years, working along with Andrea Nenzel at the Calle Real refugee camp. Margaret Jane and I drove up to Suchitoto, where we are spending the first days of the semana santa with Peggy O'Neill. We've done some eating, walking, talking, relaxing, and enjoying - Suchitoto is a beautiful town, and Peggy knows every corner and every child. Here are Peggy and Margaret Jane, relaxing happily in Peggy's living room.

Talking

Living and working in a country when your grasp of the language is several city blocks short of fluent is hard. It's hard on the Salvadorans who need to communicate with me, and it's hard on me. A friend who has learned English as a second language (and is now fluent) said that in earlier years talking English for any length of time made her very tired. At the end of any extended communication (or miscommunication) I feel wrung out, sweaty, exhausted. All my brain cells have been working overtime to produce results that are so much less agile than I'd like them to be.

Like any native speaker, I'm used to opening my mouth and having my own language roll out without much need for conscious thought or effort. In Spanish, at this stage, I stumble and bumble.

My friend Pat - a language teacher - reminded me that plateaus are a natural part of the learning process, and not a sign that I'm stuck forever. I know this, at least intellectually, but I'm eager for the work of May, when I will be studying Spanish for 4 weeks in Antigua Guatemala. Hope to reach a plateau a little higher than the one I'm now stuck on.

Being a language learner when you have to depend on your very imperfect grasp of the new language to meet your daily needs and talk to people is a humbling and spiritually potent experience. It's an experience of powerlessness, inability. Something I am honored to share with immigrants in my native land.

Comasagua deliveries

Today I had the wonderful task of delivering new prescription glasses for children and adults in Comasagua - these are for people whose eyeglass needs couldn't be met from our collection of 5000 glasses, mostly children with moderate to severe myopia. The glasses were made by Dave Cohen of Hoya Vision Care in Tacoma and delivered to me while I was in Bellevue. The children's glasses were a special delight, carefully packaged in cheerful cases. For some children, those with especially complex prescriptions, our doctors recommended - and Dave made - two pair of glasses in case one gets lost or broken (kids being kids).

One of those colorful cases went to Nubia, who I met with her mother, Maria Esther, at the Health Clinic. She has her new glasses on in the photo above. Thanks to generous support from friends and community, I was able to restock the family's pantry with a big box of staples - rice, beans, corn flour for tortillas, oil - and provide a few dollars to make the next weeks a little easier. We walked to Maria Esther's house with the food, and I learned more about Nubia's family. Maria Esther cares for her 90-year-old grandmother, who has a heart condition and can't leave the house. (I almost had a heart condition myself after climbing the steps to the house in full sun with 25 pounds of red beans in my hands, so I understand.) Nubia has a 5-year-old sister, Jackeline, and a 15-year-old brother who's in school, I was happy to learn. Nubia is also in school, and her mother assured me that she'll stay in school and not work outside the house.

Maria Esther goes down to Ciudad Merliot to work every day, where she makes her living ironing clothes. It's hard work that keeps her thin and tired, but it's all she has to support this family that depends totally on her. She told me about being involved in a bus accident, all too common in El Salvador, and worrying about how her family could survive if she was hurt or killed. Fortunately, she wasn't.

My own grandmother used to make her living taking in laundry and ironing back during World War I, and was the only support for her three children, so I felt a strong sense of connection with Maria Esther - one of so many women in El Salvador who could tell similar stories of carrying heavy burdens. Thanks to all of you who are helping to make this one family's burden a little lighter.

I delivered the glasses for adults to Dra. de Larios at the Unidad de Salud clinic, and took the kids' glasses up to the Centro Escolar Estados Unidos de America (that's the United States of America Center for Studies, in case you were wondering). Carlos Blanco, the Principal (shown above in a huddle of students) happily received them and will get each pair to the rightful owner.

Could there be a nicer errand?