Encounters to Remember Pt. I

-Riding in the back of a pick up truck up a mountain on the way to Zacamil.

The pick up truck

-Meeting Graciela, a 16 year old resident of Las Nubes, a rural community that we visited. She has a one year old child. The child was probably born when she was 15, and thus she was pregnant at the age of 14. I was buying outfits for my homecoming dance in high school when I was 14, and going to the movies with my friends on the weekends. While we were with her, she didn't smile and she didn't laugh. She didn't look happy to see us. She didn't look happy at all.

-Visiting the bedroom of Elba and Celina Ramos, two women who were murdered along with the six Jesuits killed at the University of Central America in 1989. The room that we visited was the room in which they were killed. We stood where they died. Our friend Julio, explained to us that their bodies were found with Elba, the mother, holding Celina, her daughter, as if to protect her.

-Eating pupusas at a local restaurant in Antiguo Cuscatlan. One of the items on the menu was the "Gringa", a term typically used to describe those of us from North America, but used there to describe the food we might eat. Our waitress laughed out loud, kindly and even with embarrassment, as she had to introduce this special on the menu to an entire table of "gringos". Quite funny.

-Meeting a woman, said to be about 70 years old, in another rural community that we had visited. She seemed to be about 4 feet tall, but her arms managed to embrace even the tallest among us. Her smile, with few teeth to bare,spread across her face. When our group requested to take a photo with her before we departed, she agreed. But first she retreated into her house. Gone for only a few minutes, she was immediately missed. When she returned she brought with her shoes. She had been barefoot, but for the photo she chose to wear shoes. She has dignity, a dignity rooted in a cultural very different from my own.

-Washing all of my clothes by hand for the first time, and enjoying it.

-Attending a mass in the crypt (where Archbishop Oscar Romero is buried), the basement of the cathedral in San Salvador to commemorate the anniversary of the martyrdom of Silvia. Silvia was a religious sister that worked with the people during the civil war in El Salvador. She was a dear friend of Otí, one of the women that I work with twice a week at my praxis site. The homily given by the priest ended with calls from the pulpit to remember the martyrs, each call was met with a massive community of Salvadorans responding in full strength. The passion in his message I could understand, even while my spanish abilities would not allow for direct translation. And the emblem of fellow martyr, Oscar Romero, was on the stole of that priest.

The altar in the crypt.