Mariona 2.4.11

Two full days each week, I spend my time in Mariona. Mariona is the location of my praxis site, and my time there is deeply connected to one of the pillars of this program, to walk with the people of El Salvador. While at Mariona, I am with two other Casa students and a family of Salvadorans. We arrive at around 9AM, depending on traffic, and we leave at around 3:30PM. I spend those six hours each time speaking in spanish. We make mistakes. We struggle. And we laugh a lot. From day one, these people have told us that their home is our home.

Mariona, is home to the largest prison in El Salvador called La Esperanza. Gang violence is a significant problem in the area. Consequently, we spend our time primarily within two households (in a small row of houses just off of a big street). The kids in these families are rarely, I mean really rarely, allowed to play outside. This means that we often are not outside either. And while in the late afternoon heat of this country, indoor time is often a blessing, this time is also an experience in the reality of these people. Gang violence and the speeding trucks and buses near their house are enough to confine them inside. And leaving my privileged life in the States, where I am able to walk where I want to walk, I now spend time aware of those walls in Mariona, I feel the restlessness that can accompany sitting, I feel the difference in a smaller home, I begin to challenge the comfort I've claimed in my large spaces. My large spaces. My comfort. Their home. My home.

For the rest of the semester and my time here, I will continue to learn from these people. This is an outline of what that classroom looks like:

Mondays: Generally, we stay in Mariona at the house of a couple with two children. They are all amazing, and so very beautiful. He is a candle maker, to make money. And he also is a gardener, again, to make money and support their family. He doesn't consider himself "employed", because neither jobs are careers. When in Mariona we will learn how to make candles with him and also how to make some native Salvadoran foods with his wife. Much of our days with them are spent talking. Learning about their lives during the Civil War, their faith and their everyday struggles.

Some Mondays throughout the semester, we will travel with him to rural artisan cooperatives, which he voluntarily aids in their business. In the late afternoon, on the Mondays when we are not visiting cooperatives, we will have creative time with local neighborhood kids (about 9 of them between the ages of 4 and 11), which can be music or crafts or dancing or games. This week, we played "charadas" or charades and "vaya pescar" or go fish. The kids loved it and so did their parents.

Wednesdays: Each Wednesday we will work with this man's aunt, who lives down the block from him. She practices massages and energy workshops as well as meditation. She has taken classes to learn this practice, and invites people in the community to join her workshops in order to work through the traumas they experienced during the Civil War and also the daily traumas they deal with in living in poverty. After lunch with her family, we visit for awhile and then teach an english class to those same nine children from the community.

This classroom is unlike any I have ever visited. The family, in their generous love, completely makes the work what it is. They are so welcoming and friendly, and willing to talk openly about their struggles and the state of their society here.

Tonight I will spend the weekend in their homes. I leave at 4PM and will return Sunday afternoon. And love continues to grow in my heart.

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.

Casa Silvia

Nice group photo after our first pupusa dinner

Mural at my home in Casa Silvia (Silvia was one of the martyrs killed while serving the people of El Salvador during the Civil War)

My bedroom, a very necessary place to rest.

There are people at the root of those profits 1.20.11

Home in La Valencia

Today we visited La Valencia. We drove our little van, packed with 30 people, 5 per row, as far as it would travel. Then we hopped out of the van, and began to walk. We walked up the volcano for about 20 plus minutes until we reached a home. We stopped at that home and the family came out to meet us, really two child

ren came out to meet us. One was 6 years old, the other about 10 years old. Our host in the community explained their role in the coffee production.

We learned that the family receives one dollar for every 25 pounds of coffee that they gather. One dollar. And the 6-year-old child also works, in order to support the family. They said she is one of the best workers. She had dirt on her face and “New York” spelled across her shirt. She had a sweet smile that could be seen through that dirt.

And so for the first time, I saw the reality of the coffee trade. I had heard stories before of families such as this family. I had understood the value of fair trade. But I had not seen this little girl’s face. I had not seen her home. I had not walked the same path that her family walks to get water.

Something in me hurt. Not my legs from walking. Not my shoulders from sunburn. Not my stomach from my new diet. Instead, my heart hurt and my mind as well from trying to process this experience. I needed to know more. I asked about who buys the coffee. I learned that this family sells to a man who comes to their community to buy what they have collected. Beyond that man, details were unclear. Our Casa community coordinators believed that this man would have been some sort of middleman, who bought the coffee directly from the growers, and then sold it again. It is unclear to me, for now, who else is involved. But from the family that I visited, it is clear that they primarily interact with this one man. Once they have sold the coffee to him, they would begin to collect the crop again, until he returns.

Who is there to tell them that they deserve more than one dollar for every 25 pounds? It is certainly not this middleman. And who am I to buy coffee for nearly twice that much in every cup from each coffee chain, now knowing that that grower will not receive my dollars? This family does not see that profit, or the power that comes with a sustainable income, which could begin to relieve their poverty. Instead, their pockets and their stomachs turn to other sources of income when coffee just is not enough.

These are the stories I did not have time for at school. I had homework to finish and meetings to attend. I assumed that I understood the stories of these people and the value in fair trade that would keep them from living in poverty, as this family in La Valencia lives without a fair price. But when that home with a tin roof and the children working long hours stood before me, I realized how little I understood, not of the logistics in my head, but of the hurt of this family. Solidarity is becoming more real to me. Walking with these people is real, and learning of their hurt, and feeling it in my own heart is real as well. It is a hurt I will carry with me now when I use my dollars. There are people at the end of those dollars, at the root of those profits.

Forgiveness 1.16.11

"I know it is hard to forgive after so many attacks... let there not be resentment in your hearts."

-Oscar Romero

I am overwhelmed by the kindness of the Salvadorans. They invite us into their homes, with tin roofs, mud walls, and dusty dirt filled floors. They feed us, with tortillas, with fruit, and with cookies, even chicken. They share their stories, their hungry stomachs, their daily work, and their struggle for education. They share their histories, their poverty, their martyrs, and their faith. They expose their fears and their pains, even to the point of tears. And yet through all of that pain, they hold us in their hearts. They welcome us with open arms.

We have spent the past week of orientation visiting each of the Praxis sites where the Casa students will be working throughout the semester. We have visited small rural communities, urban schools, and medical centers hearing stories and learning more about the work that we will be doing. Every Monday and Wednesday we will leave for our Praxis sites at 7:30AM and work with these communities until 5PM. This work is one of the cornerstones of our time with the Casa de la Solidaridad program and the people of El Salvador. It is this time spent with the people that will take the theories that we are learning in our classes and allow them to become experience.

At La Valencia, one of the Praxis sites, I stood as a North American, holding my Nalgene, comfortable in my Chacos, aware of my privilege. And I wondered, and I wondered, and I wondered, how do the people of this community welcome me? How do they forgive my country's role in their history? How do they forgive me through their pain that they share so openly? Am I not the tax collector in their community? I take more than I need, letting them have what is left over after my wants have been fully met. Yet they love me and they invite me into their homes. And through that love they invite me into transformation. I have so much left to learn from these people about what it means to live as Jesus lived. As they welcome us with open arms, vulnerable in their sharing, and strong in their faith, I am invited to learn what it is to forgive, and to love.

The beginning 1.12.11 (afternoon)

I take with me, 45 minutes of sleep. 40 pounds of luggage. 21 years of life. 15 years of school. 2 and 1/2 years of college. I board the plane to El Salvador for 4 months. I should be sleeping. But I am not. When there is a fleet of clouds to wonder at out my airplane window, how could I? And below those clouds, the ocean, because I am going far away. There is plenty to worry about in my mind. Will my spanish be good enough? Will I miss home? Will I make friends that I can trust throughout this experience? Will I feel lost?

Yet my heart is not in these questions. I ask them only because I feel as though I ought to ask them, not actually because I am unsure of the answers. When I wonder if I ought to be worried, if I ought to be afraid, I find myself simply smiling. I know better. I have been here before. No, not on a flight to El Salvador. But here in this space, with a comfort in my heart that I cannot claim on my own. I have smiled in this same way before. I am familiar with this comfort in my heart, the comfort that surfaces in the times when I think I ought to feel most unsure and most afraid. I know this feeling well, and from it I have learned that God is with me. I have not boarded this plane on my own. I do not face adventures and challenges such as these on my own. Instead I hold close the love and support of each one of my family and dear friends. They are near, though I am far. With their love, I am not afraid. And God goes with me.

Casa de la Solidaridad Mission Statement

From the Casa de la Solidaridad Student Handbook

“The search- for self, for wisdom, for love, for truth, for justice, for

God - is strenuous and unending. We need good companions in order to

persevere in it. In good company, in a community of conviction, the

quest never loses its relevance, its urgency, or its savor.” - Kay Ashe, OP

The mission of the Casa is the promotion of justice and solidarity through the creation of a meaningful academic experience by integrating rigorous academic study with direct immersion with the poor of El Salvador. The program draws inspiration from the lives of the six Jesuits, their housekeeper and her daughter who were murdered at the University of Central America (UCA) on November 16, 1989 and from all the people of El Salvador who suffered during the civil war, especially those who were killed in their struggle for solidarity and social justice.

We invite you to immerse yourself in the "classroom" of the people of El Salvador. Dedicated to fostering "men and women for others," Casa de la Solidaridad is a unique living and learning environment. Here you can develop your intellectual potential, strengthen your ethical and spiritual values, and learn to become a socially responsible global citizen.

OUR DAILY LIFE INCORPORATES:

Living in Community:

We choose to live in community in order to share with and learn from others.

Living Simply:

We choose a simple lifestyle, uncluttered by materialism, in solidarity with the marginalized of our world.

Focus on Learning with an Emphasis on Justice:

We choose to integrate rigorous academic study with the experience of the marginalized of El Salvador in the hopes of

committing ourselves in the world to justice.

Cultural Sensitivity:

We choose to live in the context of another culture and context, honoring and learning from Salvadorans whom we are visiting.

Integrating Faith:

We choose to invite our spiritual journey into our daily experiences as we seek to understand the world with which we live.

Students are constantly invited to reflect on these components as the experience evolves. Weekly community and spirituality nights are an essential part of the program which provide space to reflect in an intentional and ongoing manner.