Panaderia

Over the last 4 weeks, about 10 women from my community have been going to the office of a local NGO to learn how to make bread. I went with them a couple of times, and it was a blast. They are very excited about making it. Even more than that, they were excited about how well it sold when they brought it back to the community. The most recent time, last Tuesday, we actually made a profit on what they made in their classes. Obviously you would expect this, but each previous time some of the batches didn't come out right so they couldn't be sold. Now that the classes are over, these women are going go to the NGO office every Tuesday to practice and bring back what they make to sell in the community.

Oh, and I had my doctor's appointment today; I have a brain and he says it's in working order.

My 4 Days in the Capital

Over the past few months I have been suffering from occasional dizzy spells, fainting on three of those occasions. The first time I fainted, I went into the capital for a consultation and blood work. Nothing was found, so we assumed I was probably just suffering from a virus or a bit of exhaustion. After fainting twice more, the Peace Corps Medical Office (PCMO) set up an appointment for me to see a neurologist. The neurologist recommended three tests, all of which I had done last Thursday.

The first test involved electrodes being hooked up on my chest and all over my head to monitor my brain function. I was told to lie down in a dimly lit room and close my eyes. After about 15 minutes, as I was falling asleep, a strobe light was turned on. I wonder if the technician, reading my brainwaves on the computer, could tell how much I wanted to take the strobe light and bash it against the wall.

The second test was a CAT scan. All that involved was me lying on a table that then moved so that my head was inside of the machine. 5 minutes into that, I was injected with something (I assume some sort of dye that shows up in the images) and 5 minutes later, I was done.

My third test was by far the weirdest. This time, I entered a room with two computers manned by a doctor and his assistant who had an inappropriately short skirt and equally inappropriately high heels. Still recovering from the dress code in this office, I was instructed to take off my shirt and shoes and lie down on the table. Again electrodes were connected to my head and chest. I was told to close my eyes, and the doctor began reading off numbers to his assistant. Then, with my eyes still closed, I was strapped into the table with two large velcro straps, one across my chest and the other across my legs. I'm definitely not a paranoid person, but I began to wonder why it was necessary to strap me in. Were they going to shock me so hard I would jump? Was I going to have a seizure? With my eyes still closed, I felt and heard the table begin to move, until it was perpendicular to the floor--eseentially standing me upright. More numbers being read, more data recorded, a few more tests, and I was done for the day. The doctor was out of the country, so I won't get the results until I meet with him sometime later this week.

Because I had a Peace Corps meeting Saturday, I stayed in the capital all day Friday. The capital is great for a day, but gets really boring really quickly. Don't get me wrong, I love having my Quizno's sub every chance I get (for lunch and dinner Thursday, and yes, the employees recognized I had come in twice that day), but San Salvador gets really old really quickly.

When there for medical or offical reasons, Peace Corps puts us up in one of two hotels. This means there are always other volunteers at these hotels. I have yet to meet a mean volunteer, but they definitely range from people I really enjoy hanging out with, to people who bore me a bit, to people who annoy the hell out of me. The fact that we have Peace Corps in common makes it difficult not to be social. So often, I am forced to have conversations with people I'm not very interested in for a lot longer than I would like.

My meeting Saturday went well, and my boss had us over for delicious lasagna, salad, and garlic bread Saturday night. 5 beers and I was done for the night. By Sunday morning I was exhausted and very happy to travel back to my site. Here I am, and life is good. Love to all.

I really do work, I promise

As promised, a post about what I do that resembles work here in El Salvador.

One of Peace Corps goals in its mission statement is to promote cross-cultural understanding. There is a large emphasis placed on just being there, in the community, developing relationships and understanding what it's like to be Salvadoran and providing Salvadorans with a glimpse into what it's like to be American. This means, I can call it working when I play soccer, hang out in front of my house chatting, or eat dinner with my neighbors. As nice as that is, I feel a definite pressure (not sure if it's from myself or from others) to "make a difference."

So what am I doing to make a difference? The most exciting (and most difficult) project I'm working on right now is a panaderia (bakery) for my community. At least two times a day, trucks come through the community selling bread, never lacking business. It would make sense that we bake our own bread and keep our money within the community. Unfortunately, starting a panederia is turning out to be more difficult than I had anticipated. I am writing a grant proposal to USAID to provide us with about 2000 dollars which will buy ovens, mixers, and pans. The grant stipulates that the community must contribute 25% of the total cost (labor, location, materials, etc. count), so I am also working to organize some fundraisers so we can meet that 25%. The exciting part is that an NGO offered to provide bread-making workshops for women in our community. I went to one of the workshops on Tuesday, and it was a blast to see the enthusiasm they had for making the bread---and it was pretty damn good bread too. Hopefully this project will pan out (pun intended) in the next 2 months.

A smaller, but currently much more enjoyable project that I'm working on is teaching English in the school to kindergarten through 3rd grade. I don't have a curriculum I'm following, so pretty much I just wing it and teach basic vocab, but I always do it in the form of some sort of game: simon says, competitions, 'head, shoulders, knees, and toes' etc. The kids as well as the teachers love having a break from their normal methods of teaching (lots of writing on the board and copying word for word into notebooks).

Finally, we recently held a vote to elect what essentially is a student council that will also work in the community. Our first meeting is going to be this week, and I'm hoping to organize social projects as well as fun activities for the youth in the community through this group. We've talked about planning trips, having cleaning campaigns, and working on a library. It's a great group of kids, and I look forward to working with them.

Well that's all I feel like writing about work. I worry is sounds a bit bland, but it's actually a blast--maybe just a bit indescribable. Love to all.

Just one more...

I promised last time no more soccer posts until I write about my work, but this story is a little too ridiculous to not tell. It's short.

Our last game of the season, two weeks ago, was meaningless for us, but very important for our opponent. A win or tie for them would save them from relegation. But if our oppenent, 'Team A', lost, then another team, 'Team B', would be saved from relegation. Before the game, representatives from both Team A and Team B approached us. Team A was willing to offer 100 dollars if we would agree, before kick-off, that we were going to throw the game. Team B, knowing this might happen, had sent a representative to match any offers Team A might give us for us to win the game. So we could have decided to take a sure thing (100 dollars from Team A to lose the game) or to play to win, rejecting Team A's offer, but still receiving 100 dollars from Team B if we were victorious. I'm proud to say, our team decided to play to win.

Unfortunately, the ref was very obviously paid off by Team A. He called a decent game until we went up 1-0. All of a sudden, every call was against us, and a clear goal was called back by some phantom foul. Finally, a PK was called against us (another phantom call) and the game ended a 1-1 tie.

Salvadoran soccer, gotta love it.

Hold onto your hats...

…because this post is going to be a long one.

We’ll start with soccer. Today is the last game of the season, and my team has saved itself from relegation. We are currently in the third division and we will continue there. The way the Salvadoran professional league works, is there are 5 divisions, and the top team from each division moves up and the bottom team drops down a division. For a while were tied with three other teams for the bottom spot in our division, but we fought our way back in the last four games and are now assured to stay put in the third division. Second division gets publicized in newspapers and some games are shown on TV, so maybe we’ll win third division next season and move up, but I’m not counting on it.

Last week we had an away game against our cross town rival. Not only that, but our goalie and another player from last year had switched to their team in the off-season. This was a big game and we needed a good result to not be relegated. We had beaten them earlier in the season, so they were playing for pride. We brought two big trucks of supporters, and they had a bunch of fans as well. The field is completely surrounded by a chain link fence that is only about 3 yards beyond the boundaries. People lined up around the entire perimeter of the field pressed up against the fence—many of whom were drunk and belligerent. This scene would have scared me shitless 8 months ago when I first arrived here in El Salvador; last week, it made me as excited about soccer as I have been since college.

The game was a blast and I played phenomenally. Some highlights:

Our goalie, trying to stop their first goal, dove into the post headfirst. When people helped him up, he promptly stumbled backwards and crumpled to the ground. After a few minutes, people sat him up again and his eyes started to wobble and go back in his head like he was going to pass out again. 5 minutes later, he got up, ran a sprint to show he was okay, and played the rest of the game. This never would have happened in the U.S.

About 15 minutes later, I beat a defender and was taken down by another one right outside of the penalty box. We scored on the ensuing free kick. In the second half, I scored the go-ahead goal with a shot from about 15 yards out. The crowd went nuts.

With about 10 minutes left in the game, they were correctly awarded a penalty kick, but my team was certain we were being cheated by the ref (which is always the case if a penalty kick is called against us.) One of our fans/coaches came onto the field to pull back some of our players, but couldn’t restrain from calling the player who used to play for my community a traitor, which started a bit of pushing, but was quickly broken up. They scored to tie it 2-2 with only 10 minutes left. Two minutes later, their goalie came out to collect a ball coming into the box. When he hit the ground, the ball squirted loose, was collected by our player, and put in for the go-ahead goal. The ref, however, admitted he did not see the play, and asked the goalie what happened. Of course the goalie said he was kicked (which he was not, I was right there) and the ref called ‘no goal.’ Both teams went nuts, fans came onto the field, and the game was ended as a 2-2 tie with about 7 minutes left still to play. Even I yelled a bit at the ref, which made me feel like an asshole later.

One would have to be masochistic to want to be a ref in El Salvador. They work by themselves, no lines-men, and are verbally abused no matter how good or bad they are and usually by both teams. They are generally terrible, but nevertheless, they are working in extremely difficult conditions. It seemed like a perfect formula for violence—booze, tons of emotion, a lot of testosterone—but there was never even a hint of violence. Even when people were yelling at the ref, they were not threatening. The pushing match earlier in the game was quickly broken up by both sides. Leaving, opposing fans and players shook hands and exchanged pleasantries. It was fun.

I was going to write about other happenings, but this has already gotten too long. Later in the week maybe I’ll write a bit about work. I promise, I actually am doing some work.

Love to all.

My day with Chino

Chino is a nickname given to whoever has ‘slanty’ eyes. In our community we have 3 chinos—chino the bus driver, chino grande, y chino pequeno. Chino the bus driver is exactly what his name suggests, chino grande is the older and bigger chino on the soccer team, and chino pequeno is the younger and smaller chino on the soccer team. Makes you wonder why all nicknames aren’t so straightforward.

Let me describe a bit chino grande. The very first day I visited my community I played soccer in the evening. On a field full of sticks and rocks and other players wearing cleats and kicking at anything that moves, chino was running around barefoot, and not backing away from any challenge. At first glance, it was apparent that he was the biggest, fastest, and toughest one out there. Basically, chino is a badass and I was more than a little intimidated by him.

Chino is also one of the mainstays of the group of guys that drink at the corner by my house at night. He’s the one, who whenever he sees me outback washing the dishes, invites me to come over and sit around telling jokes and riddles with him. He’s the one who was offended that Eddie turned down his third helping of radish-onion salad.

In El Salvador, ‘confianza’ is king. ‘Confianza’ translates into confidence or trust. Distrust is so prevalent in this country, it is extremely important to develop confianza and to display it in any way possible—even if that means choking down your third helping of radish-onion salad (Eddie).

Now on to my day with Chino. On Wednesday I was doing some cleaning and other chores around my house. Around lunchtime I went out back to wash some dishes and Chino called me from next door. I went to talk with him, and he was dying to hang out—he was definitely bored, and maybe a little drunk. He suggested we go to Chepe’s house (Chepe is the leader/most respected person in the community) to get some eggs from some sort of fowl (smaller than a chicken, and the eggs look like quail eggs) Chepe keeps. I said sure, and we went over there. Of course I assumed that Chepe would be there, he wasn’t. The door was open, so we walked through his house, which I felt very uncomfortable doing without him being there, looked for some eggs out back in the coup—also uncomfortable—but didn’t find anything. He then asked if I like lifting weights. I said sure, so we walked to another person’s yard and did curls using the cement and steel weight laying out (this, isn’t uncommon and wasn’t uncomfortable—just going into someone’s house when they weren’t there seemed wrong).

After all of this, we walked back to my house. Chino wanted me to come with him to his house to watch a movie. A lot of the guys here get pirated porn movies and watch them, and I assumed that’s what he meant. I said, not today, I have to finish cleaning up my house. He said, c’mon, it’s a good movie, lots of action (which I took to mean sexual action) and again politely declined. Eventually, he mentioned Jackie Chan, and I realized it was a legitimate action movie, but I still declined. Finally, he started saying I don’t have confianza in him. He said he considers me a good friend; we play soccer together, tell jokes and riddles, hang out, but obviously I don’t trust him. I said that’s ridiculous, of course I trust him, but I want to finish my chores around the house. Of course he offers to help me so we can finish and go to his house. I accept, we finish, and we head out to his house.

The DVD player wasn’t working, so he put on some music to ask me if I liked it. First CD was Technotronics ‘Pump up the jam’ which if you have ever heard this CD (think early 90s) you will know it is fantastic and of course I liked it. Second CD was ‘musica romantica.’ So I’m sitting there with the biggest badass in my community listening to love songs and he’s watching me to see my reaction and whether or not I like the music.

From there, he asked me if I like bananas. I said yes, so we chopped down a banana tree (surprisingly easy, at least for him) so he could give me a branch with some 50 bananas on it and then walked back to my house carrying a 40 pound branch of bananas on my back.

The weirdest part of the entire day is that none of it was weird. I learned that people go through Chepe’s house all the time and he has no problem with it. That’s why he leaves his door open. The eggs he keeps in the coup in he back is up for grabs to anyone, and that’s why there were none. Sitting around listening to Spanish love songs, not weird either. And chopping down banana trees—just plain cool obviously.

This past weekend

Erich, a friend of mine who has finished his service, had his despedida (going away party) Friday night. I had a meeting with the development committee in my community Friday morning and was planning on taking the bus into the capital after the meeting.

First, let me write a bit about these meetings. The committee is a great group and they accomplish a lot in various cantons and caserios within the municipality. Also, the meetings never fail to be hilarious to me. In the December meeting I went to, people were talking about the exploitative ways of large corporations. Furthermore, they were saying, chain restaurants like Pizza Hut and Pollo Campero are overpriced and unhealthy. This, I could agree with, but of course they didn't stop there. Furthermore, they said, according to a study done in Costa Rica, pregnant mothers who eat at Pollo Campero run the risk of giving birth to a gay son, or a daughter that gets her period at a very young age. Yes, someone did actually say this. Myself and the two other volunteers at the meeting just looked at each other all with the same expression--'Did he really just say what we think he did?'

At the meeting last week, the man in charge went over the results of a survey that was given the previous month having to do with the upcoming elections. I am very pro-survey as a way of getting opinions from people who maybe do not speak up as much at the meetings. To give you all a proper idea of what types of questions the survey consisted of, I will give you an example. I think it was question 6: Do you want a peaceful or violent election? Amazingly, 100% of the people chose peace. Question 7: Do you want a candidate that wants to work with the Development Committee or one that will cut our funding? Now what do you think the Development Committee had to say about that? 100% in favor of a candidate who wants to work with them.

After the meeting I got a ride into the capital--which was awesome not having to take a bus--and I spent the night drinking too much and having a good time. I came back to my site Saturday afternoon to find that a note had been slipped under my door. Before even picking it up, I knew it was a love note. Only love notes, and usually those written by junior high or high school girls, are folded in such an impressively complex way. Needless to say I was flattered. These blue eyes get 'em every time.