So I got back from El Salvador on Friday after being there for ten days and have been putting off blogging about it for a couple days now. Before I left I thought that blogging would be the first thing I would do when I got back, but I just haven't been motivated. Because the thing is. No matter what I write, how much I say, how many adjectives I use, how many stories I tell, and how many pictures I upload no one will ever know what it was like besides the people that were there. It's tough. Everywhere we went. In the countryside and in the urban areas, the people we met with were so happy to see us. Bursting. And they were glad to tell their story, no matter how painful it was, because we would be able to carry their stories back to the United States. That was the task given to us: tell others about what is happening here and maybe it will get better. The sad thing is, most people in the U.S. don't care about El Salvador. It's small, the size of Rhode Island and it doesn't make a big impact on the world, economically or politically. The twelve year civil war, which killed over 75,000 people, made many afraid of the country. I don't even know that many Americans would be able to point out El Salvador on a map or even tell it's general location. So I don't know what to say about El Salvador. I was there for ten days. I got two mosquito bites on my ass and many more elsewhere. I went to villages labeled as having "extreme poverty." I stayed with a family who only had running water for a couple hours out of everday. I went to the bathroom in a latrine. I saw bugs I didn't even know existed and did things I never thought I could do. I hiked up a hill over 1,000 meters high and made it to the top panting and sweating and on the way down saw where the guerilla army hid during the civil war. I was in the forsest where the Salvadoran government had napalmed the guerrillas with U.S. leftovers from Vietnam. I met the woman whose daughter had been brutally murdered for standing up for human rights, a spike shoved up her vagina, as a last cruelty to her sex. I took a picture of the hills and river that villagers stumbled and raced across, in hopes that they would survive another massacre by government death squads. I cried. I listened to a woman as she cried and told of the pain she still feels when she thinks of her two and a half year old daughter being killed by a soldier. When she spoke openly of her faith in God and forgiveness, I felt free. I prayed for her husband, father, mother and 70 other members of her extended family who also died at the hands of the military squads. I felt relieved to get back into an air-conditioned van. I ate beans....a lot. I met some of the bravest people I will probably ever meet. I was inspired. I laughed. I saw babies and children who will never know what it is like to grow up without poverty, violence, and struggle. I walked over the broken shards of metal and the burnt bits of tin that was once a woman's house. I felt anger when I learned the fire could not be put out because the town only has running water two days a week. I was helpless as she lamented the fact that she lost everything. I stank. An old woman looked curiously at my notebook and told me my handwriting was well-made. That she wished she could read the English letters. I was humbled. I gave hugs. I received many more. I complained. I rejoiced. I ate fruit straight from the tree. I ate the national flower of El Salvador. I saw monkeys in cages in a backyard. I stuck my toes into the black sand. I saw the clothes Archbishop Romero was wearing when he was assassinated for being a defender of social justice and human rights. I saw blood gushing from his mouth on the altar. I saw the altar on which he was sacrficied. I took pictures. I talked. I slept on a bed and I slept on the floor. I talked about poop, my own and others, a lot. I took my malaria pills. A doctor at the Pan-American health organization told us there was no malaria in El Salvador. I saw kids walking miles to school without complaint. I met people who desperately wanted to go to college. I was ashamed. I felt lost in translation. I walked in a cloud. I met people so beautiful that their spirit shone from the inside out. I heard lies from the government. I ignored the barefoot and homeless begging for a dollar on the streets of San Salvador. I marveled over the number of Pizza Huts in the city. I heard famers in the countryside tell of their struggle to make a living. I watched a Latin American version of Dancing with the Stars. I talked about American Idol. I sweat. I felt hope. I saw beautiful beaches and houses made of plastic. I watched Troy with Spanish subtitles and saw women washing their clothes in a stream. I wondered how I would ever tell others about what I'd seen. I wondered if I wanted to. I tried.
No comments:
Post a Comment