Cow Skinning

I put up 3 post today, so scroll down to see them all. 2 post of pictures, one of words.

Rabbit Skinning and Eating

Immigration

The same guy I wrote about in my last post left this week for the states. He told very few people, and I had no idea my next door neighbor had left until a couple of friends of mine came by Saturday night and told me he left that morning.

I’m not sure of the exact numbers, but a very large percentage of Salvadorans have emigrated and continue to emigrate both legally and illegally to the U.S. and Canada. The sad truth is that there are very few jobs in El Salvador and most of them pay next to nothing (think $5-$6 a day for 10 hours of hard labor). For many Salvadorans, emigrating to ‘El Norte’ often seems like the only way to feed and care for families that consist often of 3 or more kids, a spouse, aging parents and grandparents, and sometimes the parents and grandparents of the spouse. Sadly, the trade-off is leaving kids/spouses/parents/grandparents/etc.

I always felt that I was aware of how difficult immigrant life is, but I don’t think I really had a clue before talking to people here who have lived in the states—even still, I’m not sure I can fully appreciate how hard it must be.

The first problem is getting there. Trying to go the legal route and acquiring a visa entails paying hundreds of dollars in processing fees, trips to the American consulate in San Salvador, etc. If you are lucky you get put on a waiting list that can take up to 10 years. If you are unlucky you are flat out denied and left to lament your wasted time and money.

The most nervous/uncomfortable I’ve been since arriving in country was when I was asked to translate a letter written in English regarding a visa application. I was at the school giving English classes when two women from my community came into the classroom, breathless, asking to speak with me. They told me they had been looking all over for me because they just received a letter from the American consulate and they wanted me to translate it for them. The letter turned out just to be a request for some missing information in the visa application, but seeing the frightening look of nervousness and excitement in their eyes makes me hope that I will never have to be the one to translate a letter of denial.

Because of the difficulty in obtaining a visa, the illegal route (por tierra, mojado, con coyote, ilegalmente, sin papeles, etc.) is much more common. My neighbor is currently traveling via the illegal route. He paid a coyote (someone who ferries immigrants across the border) $6,000 to reserve him a spot in a traveling group of about 10 people. Ask any Salvadoran and they could put you in contact with a coyote and quote you the price. It is common knowledge because it is a thought on everyone’s mind.

I can only imagine how difficult the trip is. Growing up in Arizona, every summer I would hear about immigrants found dead or near dead of heat stroke in the desert because the coyote deserted them or because they simply ran out of food and water. Salvadorans are well aware of the dangers. The trip takes about 15 days. Assuming everything goes smoothly, my neighbors have to wait 2 weeks to hear that their dad/husband has made it safe and sound.

Most of the Salvadorans who have been to the states love to talk to gringos about where they lived and what they saw. I always ask them if they liked it there. Answers vary—some loved everything about it, others missed their families, some complain that the food there is no good. But the one thing every Salvadoran who has lived in the states will agree on is that the work there is very good. So my next question is always where did you work? The most common answers are restaurants, construction, landscaping, farming, and as janitors in large office buildings.

It is humbling to hear people talk about how great the work is in the states when they are doing jobs that, to me, would be miserable. But the opportunity to make more in an hour in the states than they would make in a day in El Salvador makes work seem like a privilege rather than a job.

Cultural Sensitivity vs. Personal Convictions

I was ambivalent about posting this entry. I generally try to make sure my writing is clear and representative of my thoughts when posting on my blog. There seems to be something so final about posting an entry on my blog—like it is a fact or something that I have come to a definite conclusion about. What follows is very much a work in progress, so please read it as such.

This week I had a wonderful conversation with my friend/boss about the disconnect I’ve been feeling in trying to be cultural sensitive while at the same time stay true to my personal beliefs about right and wrong. My thoughts are still quite muddled, so please bear with me while I try to rehash our conversation and my internal dialogue.

The most telling example of where I feel this disconnect relates to a friend of mine in the community. He’s an intelligent, funny, hard-working and active member of the community. He’s a good father and a loving husband. Everyone from the drunken soccer fans to the old women at church enjoy talking with him and feel comfortable in his presence. Also, he cheats on his wife.

Infidelity in El Salvador is not abnormal by any means. It is amazing the number of men who have a wife and family as well as a mistress. Some even maintain a family with their mistress as well as their wife. Though these extra-marital affairs are not openly spoken about (at least not in the presence of women) they aren’t exactly well-kept secrets. It’s the elephant in the room in Salvadoran culture.

My friend’s infidelity presents me with my own internal conflicts. I see him being a good husband and wife, working hard, etc. and I can’t help but like him. But then every few weeks he’ll get drunk and joke with me about going to a brothel. It’s a joke only because he knows I won’t go with him; not because he doesn’t plan on going. And this isn’t a one time mistake that he later regrets—that I could forgive—but it’s a repeated behavior that he deems acceptable.

Intellectually, I can recognize that this is what he’s known all his life. I’m sure while he was growing up many of his male role-models did the same thing. It has been ingrained in Salvadoran culture that men are unfaithful. It has become culturally acceptable. I believe that in the nature vs. nurture argument, nurture holds more influence in determining who we become. In my mind I think that if I were brought up in the same circumstances and by the same people as my friend, I would not act any differently.

Emotionally, I absolutely hate what he’s doing. I know his wife and she’s an amazing person. I hate that he cheats, but I hate even more that he cheats on her. There will be times when I’m hanging out with him and his family, feeling good about life and enjoying his company, when out of nowhere my conscience will start reminding me of what he does when he’s drunk. Despite his good characteristics, it is almost impossible for me to overlook his infidelity.

My boss brought up the idea of universally human morals—morals that stretch across borders and cultures. We both expressed the hope that there are some things that are undoubtedly right or wrong. If this were the case, it would allow judgment without having to take culture into account. That is, one could not be pardoned because he/she did not know an action was wrong.

We both wanted to identify fidelity as one of those universal human morals. It seems that a cheating husband must know that his infidelity hurts his wife, whether it is culturally acceptable or not. But I sit here and I don’t know what to write next, because I’m not sure whether or not he knows his cheating is hurtful to his wife or if this is even something that is thought about. Culture is so influential in human development I wonder if something that to me seems so obviously wrong can be insignificant in the eyes of my Salvadoran friend. I wish it were something I could discuss comfortably with Salvadorans and expect truthful answers, but I’m not sure it is.

So this is where my internal conflict remains. I’m not sure I can accuse my friend of doing something he knows is wrong because I’m not sure he feels it’s wrong (or at least as wrong as I feel it is.) And even if he does know it’s wrong and hurtful but does it any way, where does that leave me? It leaves me conflicted I guess.

So where does cultural sensitivity fit in to all of this? It seems I should fight against things I believe to be unjust. I feel I should criticize my friend for betraying his wife and kids by getting drunk and going to a brothel. But cultural sensitivity and acceptance would dictate that I am a foreigner and it is not my place to change a culture that is not mine. Me imposing on others what I believe to be right and wrong feels a lot like missionaries going door to door trying to change people’s religious beliefs—something I am strongly against.

I give up on this blog post. As I wrote at the beginning, it’s an incomplete thought that I’m working through. I thought I’d put it up so someone smarter than I am could send me all the answers. I’m waiting…

Conflict

The rain has begun. The first day I was quite happy; by the 5^th straight rainy day I was cursing the same God I had been praying to for the rain to begin.

Like most weather, the rain is a blessing and a curse. It means cooler days, greener landscape, and the start of the planting season (very important in community that relies on agriculture for its well-being.) The rain also means laundry doesn’t dry and begins to smell musty, the dirt roads and pathways become mud pits and, most dangerously, the rain means flooding.

My house is located on the corner of the main road through my community (small dirt road), and a side road (smaller dirt road) to a group of houses down below. The natural run of the water is down the side road. At the end of last year’s rainy season, the people living down below built a cement ramp essentially blocking the water from running down the side road towards their houses. Not much was thought about the ramp until last week when it became apparent that without an exit for the water to run, a lake was forming on the main road. By the end of last week the lake covered the entire road for a stretch of 30 meters and a depth of 3 feet. The bus could no longer pass, horses and cows had to be coaxed/dragged through the water, and people were climbing through barbed wire fences to go through my yard and my neighbor’s yard in order to get to the other side. Obviously something had to be done.

On Friday, with the heaviest of the rains falling and the lake rising, a group of men gathered to help me and my neighbor build walls of mud to prevent the lake from overflowing into our yards. As we were standing around looking at our finished work, a woman passed by saying that if we weren’t man enough to break the cement ramp then she would do it herself. In the machismo culture of rural El Salvador, this was more than enough to get the wheels spinning. With much fanfare and lots of self-satisfied and manly grunting and back-slapping, it was decided that the cement ramp would come down at 8am the next morning.

I was very much in favor of draining the lake. Standing water brings mosquitoes and flies which bring Dengue Fever and Malaria. I was also in favor of banging sledgehammers and picks and shovels in a muddy, manly mess. My excitement for the next day came crashing down when a couple of the residents from down below came to my house to ask for help in preventing the destruction of the ramp. They told me they built the ramp to prevent the flooding of their houses. I told them we definitely have to figure out a solution, and that I would try to organize a meeting with the ADESCO (town council) before any action takes place. I ran around the rest of the evening talking to ADESCO members about planning a meeting. They all reassured me that it was all talk, and no one was going to destroy the ramp. They, of course were wrong.

The next morning at 8am sharp (the first time in my year in country that something has started on time) a group of 15 people showed up to bust up the ramp.

I watched (didn’t participate) as the ramp was busted, the lake was drained and people were happy. The people living down below didn’t show up, but everyone kept looking over their shoulders to see if they would arrive. Salvador is a violent country, and even though everyone knows and respects each other in my community, the possibility for violence can never be ignored.

I’m now in a position of trying to be the peacemaker. Both sides, as normal, are recruiting me to their side. There is no doubt that the ramp had to be busted, but I think something should be done in order to fix the side road so that it doesn’t flood. According to the ramp-busters, all that happens is the side road gets a bit muddy. According to the people living below, the water reaches waist level during the worst of the storms. Obviously, the truth lies somewhere in the middle. We shall see what happens.

More than anything, I was amazed at the lack of conflict resolution skills. Neither side directly contacted the other side to talk. The ramp-busters brought out as many people as possible to do a job that really only took 4 people. They encouraged everyone to at least move one shovel of dirt so no one could claim they had no part in it. The people down below are now saying that they are just going to rebuild the ramp. And the ADESCO, which I would expect to take charge of the situation, only claims that the people down below would refuse to show up to a meeting anyways, so why try.

I’m looking at this as a good opportunity. I’m certain we can figure out a cheap way to fix the side road and I’m hoping to get the ramp-breakers involved in helping the people below. I’m looking forward to easing some tension. “Just easing the tension baby, just easing the tension.”

**************************UPDATE********************************

I wrote this yesterday morning. This morning I woke up to see the people from below re-cementing the ramp. What will happen? We shall see.