the wail

It's amazing how much can happen in a week.

On Tuesday I was frustrated with myself because I had been impatient with the kids. I was annoyed with how they always asked me what time it was and when were we going to the pool, how long were we going to be there, and how many more minutes until we left. Now, this annoyance with the constant questions, especially the constant questions about time, began for me when I started working at camp. Those little questions were the very things that would drive me batty, so I eventually found ways to deal with the questions, telling the kids to ask another kid who had just asked me the same question, or some other similar answer. Also, the problem seemed to leave with the the Adventure campers, leaving me the second half of the summer to forget about such things. The problem had only arisen a few times before while here in El Salvador, and I had written it off as something that didn't need to be solved. But there it was again, staring me in the face. So to combat this problem, I decided to make signs for each of the houses, stating the hours of the pool. I did this on Wednesday afternoon during the kids' homework time when they didn't need any of my help. This helped me stay awake (eliminating a crankiness factor that was present the previous day) and it was fun. So that day, the pool was good. I cracked down on the people running and fighting, having them sit out for two minutes for breaking the rules just once, instead of giving them a warning like I had previous times. It worked and I was happy.

But Thursday, oh wretched Thursday. When I got to the pool, it was locked. I sent the kids to go look for the man who has the key to the pool, but he wasn't at home, which annoyed me, because we had an agreement about which days I was going to use the pool. I was to go and find him when I needed the gate unlocked and he was going to be in one of two places. He wasn't, and I didn't like it. After shooing the kids away from the holes in the fence, telling them that it was wrong to get into the pool that way, they decided that they wanted to wait for him at his house. While waiting, they remembered: Don Fidel has the keys too, and he works at ECAS, the school. So I went to go ask him for the keys. When I got to his office, I launched into my explaination about how I had talked to the other guy last week and he wasn't there, so could I please use his key. I'd barely taken a breath when Don Fidel stopped me. He told me that the day before, the kids had broken the net used to fish leaves out of the pool, which cost $12. At first, I thought he was saying something about trash around the pool, so I explained apologetically that yes, the kids had been eating mangoes near the pool and that I had had them clean it up, but that they hadn't done a very good job. He looked at me funny and just repeated the statement. Then I understood. He asked me who had been watching the kids. "I was," I said. And who was going to pay for the damage? "I will," I said. He seemed a little taken aback that I hadn't hemmed and hawed, looking to pass the buck to someone else, but the truth is, I was responsible for the kids because I was watching them, and these kids rarely see more than a dollar at a time because they always spend whatever money they have almost immediately, so $12 is nearly an impossibility for them. Don Fidel finally gave me the key and told me to return it after we were finished. I gathered the kids together with sadness for their disrespect, and I talked to them before we went into the pool about what had happened and how we needed to respect things that aren't ours. Of course, it didn't help my mood that as I was gathering the kids, one of them threw a rock through the fence and hit the pool storage shed. There wasn't any damage done, but I was annoyed at the kid for being so inconsiderate. But then, things went pretty well at the pool from then on, except for the end. It was time for everyone to get out of the pool and I counted down from ten like I always do, and, like always, there were many kids standing there in the pool, watching me and waiting until I got to a certain magical number (like, say, 3 or 2) before they began to get out of the water. Then, in all of their scramblings out of the pool, things got left behind. This time, I think it was a ball. The owner of the ball stood on the edge of the pool and pleaded with me to let them get the ball, and at least two other voices volunteered to get the ball as well. I chose one of the kids to retrieve it and it was done. But then, another ball suddenly appeared in the water. More voices begged to go get it, but this time I told them that we were going to leave the ball, that if they touched the water they could not return to the pool on Sunday. In their desperation they made a bargain with me. Actually, it wasn't really a bargain. One boy simply accepted the consequences, telling me that he would get the ball and not come to the pool on Sunday. So I allowed him to get in. While he was in the water, another ball flew in. I asked him to get that one too. Meanwhile, most of the kids were still standing around the pool, some of them right on the edge, and troublemakers would push those ones into the pool, trying to get the other person in trouble. I kept telling them to leave, but nobody would budge. They just stood there, looking at me. I was losing my patience. Eventually, through some miracle, the crowd started to subside and there were no more balls in the pool. Two boys were over in a corner where their shirts were and they had a ball with them. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a ball go flying into the deep end. There's no way that was an accident. They smiled and sheepishly pointed at each other, then at the ball, asking to retrieve it. I said no. I had had it with them. They would just have to live without their ball. They tried to bargain with me, saying that they wouldn't come to the pool on Sunday, but I wouldn't have it. So instead, they started throwing rocks at the ball to make it float toward the side of the pool. This made me especially mad because at the beginning of the summer, Don Fidel had told me that he didn't like the kids from the Hogar swimming in the pool because they put rocks in it. At the time I thought, "No, not my kids, they don't do that." I shared this with the boys, concluding aloud that I had thought wrong. They ignored me, continuing to throw rocks and paddle the water to get the ball to float closer to them. In time, they had the ball. But they still wouldn't leave immediately, and neither would three other girls. But in time, they left, and I felt drained. I had been shaken to my core, mad and frustrated like I haven't been in ages. I didn't want to do the pool for the kids ever again. They didn't deserve it, they didn't need it, why should I put up with this disrespect when I don't have to? But, thankfully, after a long evening of decompressing (drinking tea, breathing deeply, and singing in worship) and a talk with Peter, I realized that I didn't want to punish everyone for the transgressions of the few. So today I went back to the pool with the kids (minus the delinquents, of course) and everything went a lot better. I made it clear from the beginning that they were expected to leave the pool area and not just the pool before I got to the number "Zero" in my count-down. When it came time to leave, they exitted on time. I was very happy. Also, I found out of Friday night that another one of the SMs, Mandy, had witnessed the time at the pool when I had felt as though I had totally lost my temper. She said that she thought I had handled the situation very well and that I was extremely patient. She had no idea that at that very moment, I had felt as though I was at my worst! That was encouraging.

Wednesday night, Mami Yani had found out that her mother had died. She came to our room at around 11:00, crying and sobbing. In her absence, the new tia, Tia Elsie was to act as house mother. Things actually went pretty smoothly, except for the part where the kids took major advantage of her, making lots of noise, lot listening, fighting with each other, but nobody died and the names of the perpetrators were noted for the day when Mami and Papi would return to the house. Friday we went to the funeral, my first here in El Salvador. After lunch we all piled on the bus and drove to an Adventist church in Santa Tecla, about half an hour away. I saw Mami and hugged her, passing on the message that Mami Tita was praying for her. The casket was at the front of the church, and occasionally people would go up and look at the deceased, lifting a small wooden door to peer at the glassed-in figure. Once the kids realized that they, too, could look inside, they crowded around the head of the casket, jostling each other for a good position. I cringed, and fortunately, they were sent away so as not to create a spectacle out of the dead. We sang a few hymns a cappella and there was a short homily given by the pastor. I caught words here and there about "the hope we have in Heaven" and how "we will all be reunited when Jesus comes," but I couldn't help drifting off into the recesses of my mind, finding sorrowful sympathy in my memories of Brandon Moor's funeral last year. The sun streaming through the window lulled me into a melancholy sleep, and I awoke at random intervals, feeling sheepish for sleeping at such a time. After the service, we once again loaded up the bus and made our way to the cemetery. Once there, we walked through the graves, tall, colorful and ornate, making our way to a back corner where the graves were covered with simpler tiles and whose head-stones rose no higher than four feet above the ground. We gathered in the shade for another short service, singing a few more hymns and hearing a few more words from a different pastor. Then the flowers were taken off of the coffin and there was a time for the family to pay their last respects. Tia Elsie was holding a large arrangement of flowers and crying, so I stepped forward to take the flowers from her, hoping that it would help in some way. I stood there solemnly with the flowers and listened as Mami Yani wailed, clutching the coffin, pressing her face against the glass cover, saying, "Mummy, Mummy!!" and sobbing uncontrollably. It was so odd, to have just heard words of hope from the pastor yet still hear Mami weep with such despair. I can only recall having heard such a hopeless cry once before, and I remember thinking how dark it must be to be on their side of the world. I thought a similar thought then at Abuela Yani's grave, almost a full year after the first such thought crossed my mind, and I was filled with such pity for Mami Yani.

loose ends

My mind is wandering. It cannot seem to find a resting place on any topic. There are events that I need to recount, but there is no over-arching theme to these events. For this, I apologize but also acknowledge that such is life.

For those of you who were wanting more information on ´mi Manuelito,´I will tell you what I know. He left to go live with his mother, and a few days after my return to El Salvador he and his sisters were able to visit the hogar. It was in the morning, during my time for work when I saw him for the first time, and we were able to talk for a few minutes. Then after I was done with my work, I was returning my rakes to the storage area and happened to be walking alongside Manuel as he was going towards the gate to leave. We talked some more, but this time about how we both had been so sad that we hadn´t gotten the chance to say good-bye to each other. It was nice to know that he had missed me too. I stood there with two other SMs, Jessica and Elisabeth, as we each said our good-byes. I was beginning to cry, but tried not to show it. I hugged Manuel and his sisters, Lisseth and Deysi, and waved good-bye. They walked away without looking back. I turned back toward the office when I couldn´t hold my sobs in any longer because I didn´t want him to hear me cry. Jessica and Elisabeth comforted me and cried with me as we talked about the three kids. Deysi had lived in Jessia´s house, and since Deysi was the oldest, she was able to speak frankly with Jessica about her new situation. Deysi had confided that she didn´t feel exactly safe, but when asked what the worst thing was about it, she said it was the boredom. I figure it´s a good thing if the worst thing in your life is simply boredom. At least they´re not being abused and seem to have a good life.

Another bit of news is the final decision on my new job description. I now work with Maestra Sandra, who is the pre-kinder, kinder, and prepa teacher in the mornings. If she has a student worker assigned to her in the morning, then I help out with the kids in the classroom, but if she doesn´t, then I am to watch the library section of the building, checking out books and making sure that nothing is destroyed or stolen. Wait--a job where I´m supposed to do nothing? Sounds good to me! This week, however, has been less than wonderful because it has been dedicated to the organization of everything. The library and classrooms were recently moved, meaning that we had many boxes of books and many boxes of junk to go through. Let´s just say that it´s not my favorite activity. One day I took a ´break´ from sorting things to sweep, just because I couldn´t take the mental work anymore. There´s something therapeutic about sweeping, and I would rather sweep any day than sort through a box full of toys, art supplies, and miscellaneous materials, deciding which things to keep, which to throw away, and where to put everything. The hard decision comes when you know that something could be used, but you don´t know if it will be used. Then, in the afternoons I work in my house, delegating chores to the kids for the first hour or so and then helping with homework. After homework, I take all the kids to the pool on Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday. I´m not sure I like this arrangement because then the kids that work from 3-5 can´t ever go during the week and neither can the older kids, who have school in the afternoon. So I´m still doing the Sunday afternoon pool thing to let the other kids have a chance to use it.

Recently, a new music teacher at ECAS (the school right outside our gates) has been working on putting together a band--drums, guitar, bass, etc. Ian and I sort of got roped into playing in it, but it has been pretty fun. The first week we practiced almost every day, and that got annoying, so we´ve cut back to twice a week, and that´s livable. I love getting the chance to play my bass and improve my skills. Eventually, Ian and I are supposed to teach the songs we learn to other kids so that we can leave a band for after we leave. This band is to then go around and perform at local churches, so that´ll be cool.

Highlight of the week, as far as kids go--the other day Moisés was walking with me, and he said to me, "I have a secret," so I bent down for him to tell it to me, half-expecting it to be a trick so that he could shout in my ear or something like that. But instead he said, "Te quiero," which means, "I love you." Awww. So sweet.

In other news, I went to Immigration on Friday and picked up my final visa card--no more trips to San Salvador to wait for hours and do lots of paperwork! I now have permission to stay in the country until October, but I really won´t be needing that.

The Return

This blog entry is dedicated to the return of many things: my return to the United States, my return to El Salvador, and the return of the piojos.

December 27th I started my trek home, taking two planes before arriving in Sacramento, but they almost didn't let me leave El Salvador because my visa had expired. I tried to explain to them that I had already paid for my visa and I just didn't have the card, but the guy just wouldn't let me go. Finally, after three times of repeating the same thing and some silent prayer, the guy just waved me through with a bit of resignation, the look on his face saying, "Fine, just go, OK?" To make a very long story short, I got home safely, spent a lot of time with my family and my boyfriend, Peter, sang at my cousin's wedding (it went well), and cried my eyes out because everyone was leaving for school before I had to go back to El Salvador. Throughout my stay at home I just felt so incredibly loved. It was wonderful. However, the most impressive experience occurred during the first 48 hours of my stay in the States. Actually, it is a composite of four experiences: on my first plane ride I decided to watch the in-flight movie, Batman Begins, but throughout the movie, the large man in front of me would put his hand behind his head, his elbow resting on the wall of the plane, blocking my view of the tiny 5-inch screen at intervals and driving me completely mad. I tried clearing my throat loudly several times, but the guy just didn´t get the message. I finally gave up, and tried to pretend that it didn´t bother me that he didn´t care about my ability to view the movie. My second experience occurred on my second flight (which I happened to share with Lisa Hwang and her parents), when I sat in front of a little girl and her mother. As I listened to them talk, I heard the mother explain to her daughter that she had two boxes of toys to play with for now, but in a little while she was going to get a whole new batch of toys. The statement astounded me. A whole new batch of toys? What extravagance! I was used to receiving toys one at a time when I was a child--I cannot begin to fathom getting a whole BUNCH of new toys all at once. It seems to me that that would cheapen the experience. Each of the toys could not be cherished as individuals, but rather, the group as a whole would get old very fast. That was my one experience with any kind of culture shock. My third experience occurred on the same flight. I sat beside a woman and her son who were returning from the funeral of their daughter and sister, Ashley. I had been late arriving to my flight, so I was still in a rush, putting away my things and situating myself in the seat as the mother began to talk to me, asking me if I was headed back to school. I answered her questions and asked some of my own, trying to show my genuine interest, but all the while busying myself with my belongings. It was then that I discovered she had just lost her 19-year-old daughter to a car accident. I genuinely felt for her, wanting to talk to her, to help her however I could, but for some reason I just couldn´t pull myself away from the ever-important task of putting my backpack away. I thought that I would talk to her more after I was all settled, but by that time, she had stopped talking to me, and I didn´t want to bring up a painful subject if she didn´t want to talk about it, so I remained silent. Then, finally, the fourth experience in this compiliation occurred after opening Christmas gifts on the night of December 28th. After we had all opened our gifts, my mother started talking, asking us kids if we thought we would like to always to gifts this way, each person getting a gift for everybody else. I asked what the other option was and she informed me that a family we know simply draws names and each person gives and receives only one gift. My jaw dropped open--only ONE gift? But that´s...so...little! I didn´t want to give up getting oodles of gifts to get only one. What if one of my siblings drew my name and couldn´t afford what I wanted? These four experiences showed me how selfish I am. There I was on the first flight, annoyed about a stupid movie, while a woman was grieving the loss of a loved one. And then, even though I had been surprised at the extravagance of the little girl´s pile of toys, I wasn´t willing to give up mine. How silly and self-centered I must be.

The return to El Salvador was difficult. I cried once I arrived in my room. Even though it was hard to leave the States again, it was a bit easier than before because the crying and sadness only lasted one day instead of a week, as it did the first time. Also, even though I was sad to leave, I didn´t really want to stay in the States. I knew I couldn´t. I knew I had to return here, even though it was difficult.

The first full week after my return here, Piojo Week began. At least a full day was spent in each house, shampooing the kids, washing all of their clothing and bedding, and having a huge nit-picking party. It was great. The only down-side was that the kids only got to go to the pool on Thursday, and since school starts for them on Monday, there will be no more chances for swimming lessons. The beginning of school marks another change of job description for me. At first, that new job description was Full Time Grounds Worker, but now it is changing, and some kind of teaching position may be involved. Nothing is really set in stone yet. So, as the possibility approaches that I may not have any more raking in my future, I will include this side note: Whenever I pick up leaves off of a paved surface, I think of Heidi Sargeant. That is because whenever I pick up leaves off of a paved surface I use my foot to brush the leaves together. This reminds me of the times when Heidi told me that she used to be the fish-kicker on a fishing boat when she was younger. So as I kick leaves, I kick fish, and I pretend that I, too, am working at sea.