Trying not to fall off the volcano

I had written a blog at home and saved it on my USB drive to post, but for some reason it didn't save. I'll have to resave it from my computer at home and post it next time I'm on the internet. In the meantime, enjoy the pictures from my adventure.

Thanksgiving 2008

Dia de los Difuntos (Muertos)

November 2, 2008

Development

''If you have come to help me, you are wasting your time. But if you have come because your liberation is bound up with mine, then let us work together.''

-Aboriginal Activist Group, Queensland, 1970's

Technically, Peace Corps is a development organization. In reality it is much more (and much less) than a traditional development organization, but nonetheless, the work can be classified under the surprisingly broad term ‘development.’

I’ve been doing a lot of reading and thinking about what exactly development is and what it should be and it has been somewhat depressing. Mostly I come across methods of development that I think are terrible. I have yet to come across a development theory or practice that I am 100% comfortable with. More and more it seems to me that development is not something that can be done from the outside (rich countries helping poor countries), but rather something that needs to be homegrown. But the idea of not doing anything is also uncomfortable to me.

The first problem I have with development is the word itself. To me, it implies a sense of superiority. The development organization from the rich country is going to develop the backward ways of the poor. We are developed and we know what that means and we are going to show you (or make you) like us. It is worrisome that a word so widely used is so rarely defined. MORE ON THIS…NOT YET CONVINCING

It seems to me that development is too often something that is done to or for a community rather than something that is done by or with the community itself. A perfect example of this happened in my community yesterday.

WorldVision is a global development organization that works a lot in my municipality. I admittedly don’t know much about their funding or their goals or mission, but in my community they work mostly on projects with youth and with small-scale farmers.

So yesterday I was playing dominos with a couple of my neighbors when a guy from my community came by to tell me that there were a bunch of Koreans at Chepe Malo’s house. Foreigners (and Koreans at that) are a very rare thing for a small Salvadoran community, so like my neighbors, I had to go check it out. Turns out, a group of young-adult Koreans were bringing my community silos to store grain. Apparently the silos had to be painted to help prevent rust, and this is what was going on at Chepe Malo’s house.

So this is a good thing right? I’m not so sure. First off, there was absolutely no interaction between Koreans and Salvadorans. When I showed up, a few of the Koreans were interested in talking English with me, but I didn’t see any trying to converse with Salvos. How might a Salvadoran see this? I’m guessing they would see that people from rich, powerful countries really only care to interact with each other. I’m also guessing that this sounds absurd to some of you reading this, but I promise you, the inferiority complex here in El Salvador runs deeper than we can imagine. There was a language barrier for sure, but a smile or nod or any sort of non-verbal communication that expresses interest and friendship would have really went a long way. I saw none of that. There were about 10 silos, 2 of which were being painted by groups of 10 Koreans laughing and talking amongst themselves and 8 of which were being painted by Salvadorans working quietly. And not just quietly, but shyly—in their own community. Doesn’t seem right to me.

Another problem. The Koreans came with a police escort. There are 6 police officers in my entire municipality, I can count the number of times I have seen police in my community on one hand, and this group brought 2 officers for security. What sort of message does this send to a community that prides itself on being calm and safe? I had 3 people ask me why they had security with them. It’s a good question and I really had no answer.

Who were these Koreans? A Salvadoran representative from WorldVision told me that they were children of donors to WorldVision. So, in order to please the donors, WorldVision El Salvador has to escort donors’ children and show them all the people they are helping (developing? saving? converting?). Also, the silos. Where they really needed? They were and are appreciated, but I bet, if it were really researched within my community, people would have preferred the money to go to other projects. So then it seems to me, that in this example of development, more concern was placed on the ‘developers’ than the ‘developees.’ I think that his visit had the potential to do more harm than good. Maybe it did. And I’m not so sure this is an isolated incident in the world of development.

Also, this same day, I had a conversation with a Salvadoran who works for WorldVision. He asked me what sort of projects I’m doing in my community. I told him that I work in the school and that I helped start a bakery, and I mentioned a few other things. He immediately honed in on the bakery and asked me how many beneficiaries. This is very popular development jargon. Essentially, it is believed that the more beneficiaries, the better the project it. It is complete BS. If I buy a bag of Skittles and give one apiece to 50 people, I can claim that there were 50 beneficiaries. I can publish that result in a newsletter to donors. Donors can see that by only spending 1 dollar, I have helped 50 people. My organization must be well-run and deserves their donations.

The system is broken. I am nowhere close to a solution (nor are people a lot smarter than me). But it seems to me that the biggest problem is one of priorities. Development agencies aim to please their donors. I’m not saying that they don’t truly wish to help the poor, but their first concern is funding. I don’t know if agencies can be faulted for that. Without funding, they can’t exist. However, how can we expect… and I don’t know where to go from here—will probably just keep going in circles—but I’ve been meaning to put a blog post up for a while now and this is something I’ve been thinking about a lot lately. I’m planning on keeping a running dialogue (with myself or with my huge audience on the World Wide Web) on my thoughts about this topic. Cheers, and enjoy the pictures below. Actually, no pictures below...just realized I didn't put them on my

'No me llames frijolero' (Don't call me beaner)

An update of random events...

Zack has been here for 3 weeks now. It's been a great visit and my community has been verywelcoming. I'm amazed at how much the people in my community truly seem to enjoy receivingvisitors--not just to Las Trancas but to their homes, their church, their soccer games, their dinnertables, their hammocks, etc. Just this week Zack has taken naps on hammocks at two seperatehouses. Serendipitously enough, sleeping in another person's hammock is in the top three best compliments one can give a Salvadoran-- ranking right up there with finishing your lunch and asking for seconds.

One day last week we went with a neighbor of mine to plant beans (hence the title--also a pretty great song by the band Molotov) and 'bend' corn stalks. The bending corn has something to do with how the plant absorbs water, althoug I'm still a bit unclear as to why it's necessary..other than the fact that it requires the use of a machete. Bean planting was one of the hardest things I've ever done. Basically, you walk up and down the middles of rows of corn. Every foot or so you jab your machete into the ground, drop in 4 beans, and cover them up with dirt. Walking up and down bent over the whole time for just an hour left me with a terrible back ache for two days. I can't imagine what it must be like to work all day every day in that manner. It begins to make sense that one of the guys we worked with carried a bottle of 'guaro' (moonshine) in his sack of beans. Pain medicine.

Bending corn gave Zack a rash, or at least that's where he claims he got his rash. 'I got a rash, man'

The 15th is independence day in El Salvador. We went and took pictures of the parade. Hot, but nice. I'll post pictures soon.

That's about all to report here. Zack and I are off to Costa Rica tomorrow to see Eddie. Very much looking forward to the trip. Life is good.

Giving Zack a good cultural experience

My buddy Zack is here for a two week visit. He arrived to San Salvador from Santiago, Chile this past Thursday and we made it to my community Friday evening. Zack's Spanish is quite good and he's an experienced traveler so I wasn't too worried about him being a high-maintenence visitor, but I think the culture shock has been pretty significant. Having been here for over a year, I sometimes forget what a different reality I live here compared with my friends and family--even the ones who have or are currently living abroad.

Friday night when we arrived to my house, we dropped our bags off and went next door to visit my neighbors. Immediately the kids were holding Zack's hands and giving him hugs. The 5 year old girl sat down with her new set of paints to paint him a picture (what of, we still haven't figured out). Zack pointed out that the conversation--which for me felt like a pretty normal chat--referenced God every other sentence. From there we went to visit another family, more little kids, and a little fewer references to God.

Zack's real introduction into rural El Salvador was yesterday. We woke up and went to Catholic Mass. Though neither of us are Catholic, it's nice to be at the church where everyone is happy and singing and all dressed up. It's gives me a warm fuzzy feeling of community.

In the afternoon, Zack and I hopped onto the cattle truck loaded with men heading out to the soccer game. The game was held in a very rural community in the middle of huge fields of caña (sugar cane). I have always been warned that caña fields are dangerous, and I can now see why. To get to the game, we drove on a dirt road surronded on both sides by 10 feet tall caña plants. No houses, no police, and nowhere to go. If someone popped out to rob us (which happens and is the reason why the fields are dangerous) I'm not sure what we could have done.

Regardless, we made it to the field fine. This community might possibly be the poorest and most rural community I've seen so far in El Salvador, and the field reflected it. Sticks, tumbleweed, rocks, holes and dirt took the place of the grass that I knew in the states and am growing less and less accustomed to here in El Salvador. Still, all but two or three of the opposing teams players were shoeless.

Zack and I played in the second game and we made a pretty dynamic duo up top, at least for the first half. At the start of the second half I noticed that the people watching the game were all looking towards where the cattle truck. I couldn't see what they were looking at, but after a couple of minutes they called the game and we were told to grab our stuff and get on the truck. Apparently a couple of the guys we were with got drunk and started insulting some of the people they were drinking with. Those people then went back to their house to get their machetes and that's when we decided it was time to get out of there.

I've learned in situations like this that the best thing to do is read other people's faces; I know that if I see fear on other's faces then it's time for me to get nervous. Thankfully, no one was really too worried, so I wasn't either. Nonetheless, I've never had to end a soccer game early for fear of a fight with machetes.

The ride home is where Zack really got initiated into male Salvadoran culture. The two drunk guys responsable for our sudden departure, decided to start talking to Zack. Drunks are generally kept in check when they are harassing people, but these guys are giants and no one really dares to keep them in check. For the entirety of the 40 minute drive home these guys were telling Zack who in the truck was gay (which was just about everyone) who has a big penis (which were only the two of them) and that Zack should get drunk with them and find women to sleep with. Zack is probably the best sport out of anyone I know in situations like this. Still, I was exhausted just listening to them; I can't imagine having to try to respond to their ridiculousness.

Really though those guys are harmless, the machete incident was more bulla (noise) than action, and soccer was fun. It was a good day and a great introduction into rural El Salvador.

Quinceñera

I want to be a Latin girl about to turn 15. And really, I’m only half-kidding.

In many Latin American countries a girl’s 15 birthday (called her quinceñera) is a right of passage into womanhood. It’s a cultural and religious tradition often times celebrated more extravagantly than any other event in the girl’s life. This past Saturday one of the more active and well-known families in my community celebrated their twin daughters’ qinceñera. I’m pretty sure this will go down as the party of my two year service in the Peace Corps.

First, the preparations. Every Saturday for the past two months, the twins and their friends whom they had chosen to be part of the ‘court of honor’ have received dance lessons. When Nathalia was here visiting me she and I went to one of these lessons. I figured I could learn some basic dance steps. Oh no. These lessons aren’t to teach basic steps but rather to practice a choreographed, hour-long show that the twins and their 20 chosen friends would perform at the quinceñera. The choreographer was hired from the nearby pueblo and he was a sleazy twenty-something man who took himself a little too seriously and acted a little too cool.

About two weeks before the festivities, the twins walked around the entire community passing out invitations. The invitation was a very pretty two page announcement complete with a list of some 40 contributors, the 20 members of the ‘court of honor’, the 2 flower girls, the 2 girls in charge of passing out roses, the 2 girls in charge of confetti, and the two priests who oversaw the religious ceremony—yes, there were two priests. Thinking back, I might be the only person who was not mentioned on the invitation. Maybe my community integration isn’t as great as I had thought.

At 2:30 the Mass began. It was basically a normal mass with a little bit of an extra sermon on the importance of the quinceñera: that the girls were entering womanhood and must maintain their faith and support to the church, must make responsible and mature choices under God’s guidance, etc.

After mass the party was moved to the family’s house. Let me try to set the scene because that truly is the most amazing aspect of the whole party. Part of a field next to the house was cleared out months ago to make room for the party. Hundreds of plastic chairs and tables had been rented and decorated. A discomovil (mobile disco) had been contracted to provide music and entertainment. The discomovil consists two DJs in charge of music, a huge tent equipped with strobe lights, disco lights, speakers and a movie theatre sized screen and projector to show photos and movies. From the dance floor you felt that you were in a club except for the fact that the dance floor was dirt. The cake was three levels and had a fountain in the middle. The oldest guest at the party was a toothless 90 year old man who doesn’t talk much but laughs jovially at just about anything. The youngest guest was a 9 month old girl who is also toothless and also doesn’t talk much, but she doesn’t laugh jovially very often at all. I like the old man more.

I felt as though I were at a bar mitzvah or wedding in the states except for the fact that there were cornfields on two sides of the party a chicken coup on one side and an adobe house on the fourth side. On the other side of the adobe house you could hear cows mooing. Also, half the male guests had machetes attached to their belts. Yeah, I guess you don’t really see that at bar mitzvahs in the states.

At about 4, the twins made their grand entrance, accompanied by their brother who was visiting from the states, their court of honor, their flower girls, and of course the sleazy choreographer. The procession went immediately to the dance floor where they presented the first half of their choreographed dances. It was basically two dances, one done to Strauss’s Blue Danube Waltz and the other done to some Latin singer repeatedly crooning the word quinceñera in various pitches and volumes. The two dances and the presentation of presents (a ton of presents) took about an hour, and then food was served. All 300 or so guests received a plate of chicken, rice, salad, tortillas, and a soda that was prepared and served by the family and friends. Amazing really.

After dinner, the real party began. The male half of the court of honor had changed from their shirt and jackets into black t-shirts which could only mean one thing: it was time for ‘el mix’ (and yes, the second half of the choreographed dance really was called ‘el mix.’) ‘El mix’ was a exactly what its name advertises, a mix of salsa, ranchera, cumbia, hip-hop and traditional Salvadoran dances. It was amazing.

Once the dancing began, it took me only about 15 minutes before I was on the dance floor. After the last party (a wedding about 2 months ago) I had promised the sisters of a good friend of mine that I would dance with them at the next party. They didn’t forget and I couldn’t back down. We danced mainly in a big group for about an hour or so and I actually enjoyed myself (I know, I can’t believe it either.) Over the course of the night I danced with girls ranging in age from 8 to 50. It was ridiculous and great all at the same time.

At about 8pm it started to pour. At first everyone just crowded under the tent and onto the dance floor. After about 10 minutes of rain a small river or water and mud was running through the dance floor and only the hardcore dancers remained—I was not one of them. I went inside the house and hung out with the family and friends.

I finally left the part around 9:30 or so. I heard the music stop around 10:30. I heard the people drinking out in front of my house leave or pass out around 12. Good times.