Good Bye El Salvador

A line from one of the songs I’ve been working on perfectly depicts the way I felt before coming down to El Salvador, “I can feel anxiety bubbling up inside of me till there’s nothing I can be, but small circles of air, I’m floating as you stare.” Ever since the car accident I felt as though my life was just a string of obstacles that had to be overcome. By the end of winter semester all of my passion to go and do was drained. I felt hollow inside. The exhilarating newness of the daily life here in El Salvador has helped to resurrect that passion as I have taken in the moments that make me feel alive, moments like: smoothly surfing the aisle of the bus as the 15 year old driver madly dodges the corner, sliding down slippery rocks, free falling off cliffs and realizing that magical places like the forest in the jungle book actually exist, spiraling in rapid flips through the massive waves of Montecristo like a sock in the laundry machine, feeling like a spectacle in a parade as swarms of men whistle / cat call me on in my run against the shoreline, Fervently teaching my English class the lyrics to “WAR! Huh, YeAh! What is it good for? ABSOLUTELY NOTHING!!!!” deciding that I would be totally ok with never eating another pupusa again in my life, watching a movie in Spanish and understanding every word, giving sponge baths to 80 year old women at the hospital, seeing life through the eyes of the girls at Cipi, taking a deep breath and saying, “Wow. I’m in Central America. Cool.”
I’ve recently been working at Hogar Del Nino, a home for the physically and mentally disabled. I’ve spent the majority of my time there painting murals on the walls, which I’ve thoroughly enjoyed, there’s no better way to spend the afternoon then to paint Disney princesses in the girls room as iron and wine ( a group on my IPOD) lulls me into a methodical trance.
My eye opening experience came when I spent a couple of hours playing with the inhabitants of the hogar home. There was a woman there who latched on to me in a fierce hold. In broken speech she tried to mutter my name as she swung me from side to side. Seriously, she was STRONG. Though her behavior was not any different from any of the others, her history and reason for being there was. She was born a normal human being, growing up like any other young girl would. That all changed the day she witnessed firsthand the brutality of the civil war; she watched each one of her family members mercilessly tortured to death. Those barbaric images were too much for her. Something went off inside her mind. She has never been the same.
I made one other encounter that took my perception of challenges and slapped it in the face. I was reading “La navidad de Clifford” to a boy a couple years older than myself (I would call him a man but I have yet to conclude as to whether or not I am a woman). Like so many of the other people here in the home he tried desperately to communicate his thoughts to me. It wasn’t the language barrier that inhibited me from understanding him, because of his cerebralpalsy he could not speak. I could only assume that he was as challenged mentally as he was physically. But I was wrong. He has a perfectly normal and functioning brain. I am not the only one to have made that false assumption, for the first 18 years of his life he was looked after / dealt with as if he were severely retarded, he lived in a crib, was spoon fed and talked to like a toddler. I cannot comprehend the frustration of having your intelligence imprisoned by the deformity of your body. If I were assigned to that fate I have no doubt that I would spend my days pounding my head against the wall in angry retaliation. But when I met him that day he was grinning like a child on Christmas morning. After all those years of a devastatingly limited education he has learned one lesson that puts him above the majority of mankind, he has learned to enjoy life regardless of his circumstances.
English classes ended on a very hall mark note. On my last day my students threw me a goodbye party. One of my students wrote a letter In English about how much she and the class had gained from my teaching. This meant so much to me as I often belittle my successes by focusing on my faults. It was hard to say goodbye to my students. I’ve feel like I’ve learned so much more than I’ve taught, especially because teaching English is something that I’ll be doing for the rest of my life. I know that its cliché, but I really do just want to make a difference…and I feel that teaching English will help me to make that difference.
I’m finishing this entry with a different point of view as I’ve returned to Provo. As nice as it is to be home, taking warm showers and sleeping on a soft bed, it is weird to be back. El Salvador was my life and now it’s just something that happened to me. Though I am glad it did.

Just pictures part three.

K so I actually do take a lot of pictures.
Picture one: Why I feel like I walk the pages of a National geographic magazine.
Picture two: Typical toilet at the country town. There were like 15 cockroaches and a blackwidow in that little potty shack. Welcome to it.
Picture three: Playing with the kids.
Picture four: A cool shot at the lake.
Picture five: Kids from the village.

Art and English

I apologize for taking so long to update my blogsite, so much has happened I don’t know where to start. I feel like I may have been a bit mellow dramatic in my last entries so I want to start this off with a list of my favorite things about El Salvador:

-Chocolate covered bananas…Only 40 cents for heaven on a stick.

-Riding in the back of trucks….I now understand why dogs stick their heads out of the window.

-Playing” haz lo conmigo” (do as I’m doing) on the piano for the primary.

-Jump roping on our street as rain pours down through the night… there is no better way to get that hardcore satisfaction.

- Little Kevin from the Orphanage. Oh. My. Gosh. That kid is ridiculously cute.

-Being able to walk through the pages of a national geographic magazine.

Now for some of the things I miss most:

- Warm showers. Be warned dad, I will most definitely be taking a couple of VERY long showers when I get back.

- My soft bed at home…I will be sleeping in. I might even sleep in till 830 in the morning (we wake up super early here).

- Carpet. I’m even willing to vacuum it.

- Kickboxing. Taking a deep breath just doesn’t release my pent up emotions like violently attacking the punching bag does.

- Long runs. Sometimes I just need to get away….miles… and miles……….away.

- My cat Angel. Cats here are so ugly; they look more like large bony rats. I want to cuddle with my white fluffy princess. I don´t care if her hair sheds and gets all over the couch!

- Café Rio. My desire to eat the pork salad is as fierce as the cravings of a pregnant lady.

- My family and Friends. The more I miss them the more I realize how much I love them.

So I’ve somehow managed to skip the debriefing of English lessons each time I’ve written… I’m going to fix that right now. The first day I taught was one of the most disastrous failures I’ve yet to experience. I was told not to prepare a lesson because it was supposed to be a hectic struggle getting the classes organized and I would only have like 5 minutes to teach. “Just introduce yourself and ask them what they want to learn these next couple of months,” I was told. I ended up having a half an hour to teach that day. Twenty five students, most of them adults, sat in my class waiting. I had Zero lesson plans. Zero preparation.

“All right!” I said, trying to pretend like I knew what I was doing. “My name is Miss Freeman and I’m from the United States I’m excited to be here teaching you!” I was sweating profusely. It wasn’t just that I was nervous; it was hot in the classroom, REALLY hot. There was no air conditioning and the closed windows trapped in the heat like an oven slowly cooking our jam packed classroom.

“Puedo abrir las ventanas?”

“No los carros en la calle hacen mucho sonido y no podremos escuchar te, (the cars on the streets make a lot of noise and we won’t be able to hear you)” they responded.

“Oh, Ok. Um, what are your names? Como se llama ustedes?” They went around the room and each said their name.

Their blank stares perplexed me so I asked the next question in Spanish. “What is it that you want to learn in this class?”

“We want to learn English.”

“Well yes, but is there any specific topic that you want me to go over? Places, people, careers?”

“Yes, we want to learn all of that.”

I panicked. I had envisioned an active conversation where we discussed our goals for the class… but they just wanted to learn English… and somehow I was supposed to teach them. Class had been going for about 3 minutes by this point. I wiped the perspiration off my forehead as my mind scrambled for something to teach, something to say, anything to break the horrible silence.

“Do you all know the alphabet in English?”

“Yes. We all ready know that,” an older man said to me.

He already knows the alphabet?! Isn’t this supposed to be a beginning class? They aren’t supposed to know anything!

“Is it going to be like this every day, just talking, or do you have a manual?” he asked me blantatly.

“No, it will be different. Today is a little crazy because classes are just starting. But there will be lessons, and homework and tests, I promise” They just stared at me indifferently. I don’t know how, but class did eventually end that day. I was overwhelmed with relief as they exited the class.

Never again will I try to teach without a lesson plan. I came prepared to the next class which drastically improved my ability to teach. I was soon enjoying myself playing games with my students and watching their progress as they learned English. They are different then most high school classes – they want to be there. Speaking English improves their chances of getting / keeping a job.

About a month ago a women from my class told me, “If I don’t improve my English in these next couple of months than I will lose my job, and so will she, and so will she and so will she.” I just about fell over. I came here with zero training, no manual, no worksheets, I have no equipment to work with (not even air conditioning), and very little time to plan my lessons - how is it that I am the one teaching them when they so badly need to learn?! In spite of the fact that I was enjoying myself the stress of the situation would often weigh me down.

Fortunately I have a companion teacher now. She is a third grade teacher and has had a lot of experience teaching ESL. I’m learning so much from watching her and her methodology for teaching. This is great since I am planning on getting my ESL endorsement and teaching English to highschool immigrants. I know that this is terribly cliche, but my greatest desire for the future really is just to make a difference, and teaching English seems to accomplish that desire.

I’ve been reading a book called “Hear my Testimony,” by Maria Teresa. She reacounts the history of woman’s suffrage throughout the civil war. The stories of torture and abuse of the Salvadoran women / people are so intense that I often have to put the book down and just tremble for a couple of minutes until I regain the courage to continue reading. It is fascinating for me to read these stories because they took place in cities that we visit daily and in a time that was not so long ago - some of the incidences even occured during my life time. Now, when I see the forlorn gaze of the older lady sitting on the bus, I wonder what ghosts could be haunting her.

In the novel Maria Teresa describes the conditions of detainment center for female political prisoners. The women were plagued with boredom because for months they would have nothing to do but sew. The description of the women’s prison was disturbingly familiar to the description of the girls orphanage where I visit. The girls are locked in the rooms and though they do have school, their only other outlet is sewing. Trying to give them some kind of an additional outlet I´ve been teaching art lessons to the girls and just playing cards with the boys…and it seems to be going well. I truly love working there. When I am talking with the girls, it isn’t about me anymore, their problems in life of developing an identity in a world that is so hopeless and chaotic, make my struggles seem pale in comparison.

Maybe I can be a clean freak - Insights from the orphanage

I am not proud of the following statement, but I must admit, I have always been a slob. My world seems to dangle on a string as my belongings spiral through a blurry haze of lost keys and misplaced assignments. The creative artist within me has absorbed all of my habitual ability – when it comes to keeping my bed made, putting my dishes away and finding the floor in my bedroom I am hopelessly handicapped. However, my experience here has given me some major motivation to change my ways. The streets, the homes, the buses…everything is littered with trash and covered by a sticky film of filth. We went to an American couple’s house for dinner the other day. I cannot tell you how nice it was to be in a house that did not smell like mildew and to use a toilet that was not only clean it even flushed and had toilet paper! Being at their house was like heaven. It also made me realize how much I miss Clorox and a good vacuum cleaner. I’ve seen what happens when a country is run by a group of people who share my low sanitary standards…. I’m cleaning out my car when I get home.

My emotions here vacillate between self pity and extreme gratitude. There are times when I will feel frustrated because of the heat or a personal fault, but then my eyes are opened by the heart wrenching images of reality surrounding me. Images Like the girl at the orphanage crumpled in defeat with angry tears streaming down her face. She had just learned that her uncle had sold all of her belongings - her keepsakes, her clothes, even her bed – she had absolutely nothing to return to. My feelings of self pity disintegrated that day as I walked away from the orphanage awed by sympathy.

I am often awed by sympathy at the orphanage. The boys are young between the ages of 5 and 12. They always meet us at the gate shouting, “Gringos, gringos, gringos!” I am then submerged in a sea of sweaty, smelly bodies clinging to me relentlessly. So many of them just want to be held. Some of the younger boys have completely captivated me by the innocence of their kindness and the eager expression on their adorable faces. I was at the zoo with Daniel when I splashed some water on my face to cool myself down. Wondering if I had smeared my makeup I asked him if my eyes were black, “No,” he said, “they are beautiful.” That little Romeo melted my heart.

The girls at the orphanage are troubled teenagers who come from abusive backgrounds. Most of them have been sexually active since they were children. About 20 out of the 90 girls are pregnant. Some of the “moms” are only 12 years old. Considering their background I had expected them to be tough and reserved, resistant to opening up - their pleasant demeanor took me by surprise. They are eager to talk us because we are something new to them. They spend the majority of their days locked up in rooms repeating the same monotonous schedule.On e of the girls said, “I don’t want to go home they abuse me. I don’t want to be here because they lock me up. There is really no where I can go that I want to be.” Drained of hope and purpose they wait out their time at the orphanage in static indifference of their lives.

I’m hoping to be able to instill some kind of purpose for them. So far we’ve just been getting to know the kids but this week we start our empowerment lessons. The boys have been mesmerized by my blind contours (I draw their faces without looking at the paper) so I’m going to try teaching some basic art lessons. The girls do only one kind of exercise and it is ridiculously boring. I will not stand for a boring workout routine. It is time for me to teach them some better exercise methods …I’ll have to have restrain myself from turning my workout tips into a cross country boot camp. Also, a lot of the girls are struggling with their personal hygiene. As a form of defiance many of them refuse to shower. We will be giving them some lectures on the importance of staying clean, wearing the occasional makeup and doing their hair. Hopefully giving these kids some kind of talent or outlet will make a difference or at least provide spontaneity to their otherwise mundane lives. I hope to build personal relationships with as many as I can, even the simple power of knowing that someone cares can make the biggest difference.

I have watched these children drowning in self doubt because they have led lives void of love; no one has been there to believe in them. This insight has made me truly grateful for all the love that I have been given in my own life. I am overwhelmed with gratitude for the great number of people who have cared for me… especially my parents. In a life full of change and dynamic inconsistencies there has always been one thing that has carried me through any struggle I have faced – I know that my parents love me. I consider it my greatest blessing to be a recipient of such great love…. Know that I love you too.

This picture is CLASSIC. We were caught in a tropical storm called agatha and the only umbrella I had was this tiny little midget sized umbrella I bought at the dollar store five years ago. The thunder was so loud that day it set off car alarms. I was drenched to the bone, cold and miserable. About 5 minuets after taking this picture I discovered that I had lost my wallet which had 50 dollars, my drivers lisense, student ID and debit card. It was not a good day. I came home peniless and sick from being in the rain for 7 hours. All I wanted to do was to take a warm shower, drink some hot coco and hibernate in my soft comfty bed. Instead I got to get back to a cold shower, a hard mattress, and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. All that needed to happen to make it the quintessential, "No good, very bad, horrible, horrible day" was for my cat to have died back home. Im sure my dad would not have minded at all if that had happened.

In picture number one I am enjoying my Salvadorian rain storm.

Picture two is a small village we are doing community work at. I always feel like I am walking through a national geographic magazine when we visit there.

Picture three is a picture of me with "Hannah Montanna."

Picture 4 is of me with the orphan boys.

Expect the next blog in the next couple of weeks. Then you can read about:

-The progress with English lessons

-Art and exercise lessons with the orphans

-Any other adventure I feel is worth sharing

2 years would be a long time!

(So after my first 2 weeks here I´ve decided that 2 years on a mission would be VERY LONG. Way to go missionaries, you are amazing. )

Hola! I’m not going to have time to address everything I said I would… but this is what I’ve got so far….

It’s been 2 weeks and I’ve lost the unconquerable - “I’m an adventurer who loves cold showers and sleeping on cot’s , I should go sign up for Survivor ” – attitude that dominated my first blog. My hand aches from the hours of pick hammering rock – I can hardly unscrew the lid on my water bottle, it feels like red ants are marching through hot sauce that somebody has thrown all over my shoulders (I’m sunburned), I’m frustrated with the language, ( Spanish is going fine… but the students like to speak English around the house and that is NO BUENO!) and I’m surprised I haven’t lost one of my organs during the continual bouts of explosive diarrhea (Having diarrhea in a house where the toilets usually don´t flush can create some major contention.) Sometimes I just want to take a nice warm shower, curl into a ball in my comfy bed and hibernate in my air-conditioned bedroom at home (Instead of taking a freezing shower and then sweating to death on the cot here in El Salvador).

To quote my dad, “This too will pass.” Alo-vera and peptobesmol are my best friends. My body will recover – it always does. I’m determined to get this Spanish speaking dilemma resolved. I’m going to be reading a whole bunch of books in Spanish, have 24 hour English fasts and I’ll continue to speak with any native that I get the opportunity to speak with. Puedo hacer eso!

I do not at all regret my decision to have come. My whole life I’ve known that I have been blessed beyond reason…. But this is the first time that I have been able to witness firsthand the magnitude of my blessings. I’ve seen 90 year old tooth-less women living in tin shacks, amputees without legs begging on the side of the highway, and hundreds of other people who have endured life void of the “luxuries” that we take for granite every day. The heart wrenching poverty and slime of this third world country overwhelms me with gratitude for my wonderful, wonderful life. I now have the opportunity to repay humanity (and Christ) for my innumerable multitude of blessings I’ve been given by trying to give back to the world.

This is my favorite picture of all the pictures I have taken so far. The names of these ladies are Rosa and Mercedes. I met them while they were waiting in line for their eye examination. I asked Rosa ( the lady in pink) how she was and she informed me that she was sick. She told me that she could not see, hear, and that she had a pain in her heart. Still, she was an incredibly sweet and upbright lady to talk to. You can see her kindess eminating through her smile. When we did the eye examination on Mercedes she couldn’t even count the number of fingers placed right in front of her face. I don’t know that she has ever owned a pair of glasses.

About 6 months ago there was a terrible earth quake that destroyed the crops and almost all of the homes of san – Vicente. Hundreds of people died. These people were simple farmers… after the earth quake they lost everything. They didn’t even have a shack to call their own. We’ve been working with a company called habitat to rebuild 50 of the homes so that they can move onwards with their lives.

5 hour bus ride with no air conditioning. 6 hours of digging without any shade. 90 degrees and humid. It. Was. HOT!!!!!

My grandparents owned a cabin on the shore in California so I’ve spent many years developing an intense appreciation of the ocean and its sublime beauty. But the water is Northern California is FREEZING, though it never stopped me from getting in, I’ve always craved plunging through the warm waters of a tropical shore. I was even willing to let my future fiancé (whoever he is) buy my ring at claires so we could save money for our honeymoon and go somewhere tropical and exotic. That said, you can understand how I was absolutely ecstatic to finally submerge myself in the balmy waves. Seriously, I almost cried.

A big reason why ¨You should be jealous.

I got sunburned... of course.

Estoy Aqui!

Sorry It’s taken me so long to get started on my blog! I’ve been figuring out this whole blogging process, but now that I’ve kind of got it, I’m quite addicted. I’ve got way too many thoughts in my head – blogging is a good way to release them.
Surprisingly I was able to navigate the airport, by myself, without a single problem(Those of you who know me and my history with flights can appreciate what a miracle that was) well I guess I did have a couple of problems on the plane, the large couple I sat next to did not have a good sense of humor about my over active bladder… but it was still an incredibly enjoyable flight. I stared out the window as the plane flew over Central America. The sinking sun burned a vibrant red against the billowing clouds. Later, large bolts of lightning exploded right in front of my face blinding the night with spasmodic flashes of brilliant light. I’ve never even seen anything more beautiful. It was as though I was drifting through a dream – a sensation I’ve experienced frequently since coming here.
After arriving at the house where we will be living for the next four months I was given a tour of the place. The house is dirty (something I can totally handle), broken down, and yet absolutely beautiful. I have to take cold showers (when the showers work), sleep on a cot, use a pillow that feels like a bunch of rolled up socks, brush my teeth with a water bottle ( all the water here is contaminated) and throw away the toilet paper after I’m done using it (toilets don’t flush ) … but I LOVE it all! I am SO THRILLED to be here!
I no longer have to worry about ridiculous professors, updating my facebook status, continually checking my cell phone, dating a bunch of idiots, straightening my hair or any other kind of issue / complication that has consumed my attention for the past many years. Finally, I have time to escape the frenzied blur of my over-demanding schedule. It’s wonderful to be concentrating on someone besides myself, because it’s not about me anymore, it’s about the people I’m serving.
Speaking Spanish is going surprisingly well; I was even able to comment in Sunday school and relief society without getting too nervous about it. So far the only time I really have a hard time understanding the people is when they try to speak to me in English (most of them don’t speak very well)…but that’s ok because I’m going to be teaching them English this summer. The first class starts tomorrow. I am so excited!
That’s it for now. I’ll update the trip in about a week, look forward to hearing about:
- Giving eye examinations to children in need of glasses
- Building houses for flood victims
- My first English class
- The CRAZY thrill of managing the buses here
- Multi stake dances
- THE BEACH!!!!!
- Feeling like a super model (I’m going to have a very big head when I get back, the boys LOVE American jgjBlondes)
- The differences between American and Salvadorian prices.
- And other insights from my utterly profound opinion.
- Hasta Entonces…. Adios!
To the left is the house we´re staying at.
Below are the ¨servants quarters¨
The last picture is the view from my window.

Marathon

I´d like to thank everyone who donated money for service in El Salvador through my marathon. You are all the reason I finnished that dang 26.2 mile run. Allow me to explain my reasoning for calling it a ¨dang marathon.¨

Being addicted to my ipod I have seriously forgotten how to run with out music blasting in my ear. For about 5 months my head phones didn´t have a single problem. Then without any foreshadowing whatsoever, they stopped working... on the first mile of the marathon!!!!! I was so upset when this happened I could have hurt someone (fortunately I restrained this violent impulse). ¨Great,¨ I thought. ¨How in the world am I supposed to finnish this now?¨ For me Music = Motivation. Running with out motivation = hobbling in apathetic misery. You can see my problem.

Screw this. I´m just running a half marathon!¨...But then I remebered all the pledges that had been donated. I vacillitated in my decision to finnish the marathon or just call it quits for a couple of miles before finally deciding (with reluctant determination) that I was just going to have to endure to the end - to the very end. My reputation was on the line, too many people knew about it. It was either cross the finnish line or leave the country (OK I guess that was the plan anyways.)

Intinally my goal had been not just to finnish the marathon but to finnish with a decent time. That goal changed. ¨I´ll cross the finnish line, but I´m taking my sweet time about it,¨ I concluded bitterly. I certainly did take my time. I tried talked to people next to me (though they didn´t always seem to apreciate the company, for some reason they were concentrating on just running), I dipped my head in the river 2 of 3 times (A cop watched me do this and informed me that if I was thirsty they had water just a 1/2 mile down the road. ¨No, I just wanted to get my head wet,¨ I informed him. ¨Oh, ¨He looked at me like I was a deranged hobo,¨Are you ok?¨) I stopped at every drinking station, and paraded down the street dramatically as I acknowledged the crowds on the side who werecheering the runners on.

Granted, I was running slowly, but just the same I was AMAZED at the people I saw running next to me! There were moms with chunky layers of cellulite dripping out of their miniskirts, men with pot-bellies bulging out of their muscle tees, and frail looking 85 year old cancer patients.... these runners were PASSING ME UP! It was incredibly inspiring (in a self-loathing kind of way.)

The ultra marathons I´ve run in the past helped me significantly. At mile 17, when everyone was complaining that they had 9 more miles to go, I thought 9 miles that´s nothing! 9 miles is so much better than 34 more miles.

Eventually I did finnish. It ended up taking 4 hours and 10 mins. Although I had taken the run easy I still felt nauseated and weak upon finnishing. I could hardly walk back to the car. I was actually baffled by my exhaustion. When I ran my ultra marathons I felt slightly drained at mile 25, but not at all exhausted. How in the world had I gone on and ran an additional marathon then, when I could hardly even walk to the car after the running the salt lake event?
The answer to that question is in the power of the mind. In the past I had told my self that I had to make it for 50 miles. Knowing this, I didn´t break down until about mile 45. My knowledge of the task I had ahead of me altered my normal physical capacity. If I have to run a 13 miler I´d break down at mile 10. A marathon, mile 23. A 50 miler mile 45. 100 miler… Ok I´m breaking down just thinking about that. But seriously we are capable of so much, we don´t break down until we tell ourselves to. The only reason that marathons are so hard is because people believe that they are.