a few highlights...

Wow. There’s a lot I could say, but given the limited time I’ll just catch up on a few highlights…

So after getting settled in Mariona, we began teaching our afternoon English class to a small group of kids from the area. There are about 10 kids (depending on the day), which for three of us is cake—the only more difficult part is that the ages range from 3-11, which is obviously an inconvenient development gap. Although we planned to split into groups, we find that the kids really have the most fun just being together, and taking part in the kind of creative learning that they don’t get in schools here. Last week I was tickled at how much they enjoyed our “parts of the body” class. After many, many thrilling renditions of “head, shoulders, knees, and toes” we played a game where the kids got to label the parts of the body with post-its. Given that we had a small white board, but no marker for it, we opted to use student models instead. The kids jumped out of their seats when they recognized the English word, and giggled at they put post-its on their friend’s faces. Upon completing the exercise, the orange post-it covered kid would stand grinning as everyone rushed up to take them off so we could start all over. After class they run off smiling, but no one leaves before giving me a “high-five” (which I taught them the very first class-I still have my priorities straight)…my heart gets all warm and fuzzy every time I see them run around yelling “HI-FI!” and slapping each other’s hands.

Spontaneous soccer games with Casa students and the Salvadoran bacarrios usually happen on Thursdays, but I had been so busy (slash maybe a little too timid) to go until last week. I was exhausted, and hesitant to give up my one free weekday afternoon, but I thought “when in Rome” right? Well, when in El Salvador-you play soccer. As the game started I quickly realized how much I missed playing this sport, I was feeling more bonded with some of the Salvadorans in the first half hour that I had in the past month (sports are so universal). Not surprisingly, the afternoon sky started looking a bit ominous, but no one else seemed to take notice. Neither did anyone seem concerned as the rain came down, and I smiled to myself thinking “oh, El Salvador…” But within the next ten minutes the afternoon sprinkle had turned to a downpour, and soon after-a legitimate storm. The game went on. We kicked the ball through puddles, then Rivers in the middle of the field…I rung out my hair and made nervous jokes in broken Spanish about how maybe we should call it quits—but no one was leaving…So I just stood there in a puddle of mud laughing and hoping to God the bolts of lightning kept their distance. It was the highlight of my week.

A while back a group of us discovered a nearby bar/restaurant called “La Luna” that can best be described as a Salvadoran hipster hang out (about as counterintuitive as it sounds) with live music of different genres. Having scoped out their calendar on our first visit, we spotted “Beatles night” and no more needed to be said. So last night we ventured out and took our rightful place as the overly enthusiastic American’s in the front row. Despite the fact that even the band members themselves (all wearing matching Black Beatles t-shirts) pronounced Beatles in phonetic Spanish “BEET-LEZ” they really did justice to a number of great hits. They were more than thrilled to have some gringos in the crowd, and even humored us-upon request, playing the most comical “happy birthday” for two of our friends, with personal shout outs to “Chela y Kati.” We were bummed to leave before they finished (it isn’t a good idea to stay in the city too late) but made a dramatic exit, waving to the lead singer who grinned proudly and said “See-you-later!” into the mic.
This country is full of surprises…

Mariona, and a few thoughts on feet

After two weeks (four visits) at my praxis site in Mariona, I realized that it is far past time to share this beautiful place with all you fabulous people back home.
I was thrilled to be placed in my first choice site for praxis-the two days a week that I will be spending in a Salvadoran community as one of my classes this semester. Mariona is an urban area about 6 miles north of San Salvador. It is home to the largest male prison in the country, as well as about 150,000 people living in 18 small communities.
Myself and two other girls (Arianna and Betsy) are there every Monday and Wednesday from about 8:30-3:30. We are hosted by Oti, a middle aged Salvadoran woman who runs the Meditation Center for the women of the community. The center is an open space for meditation, yoga, and massage—there is no charge, since women in this community struggle to make ends meet as it is. It is Oti’s life work, her gift to the people around her. It is her effort to alleviate some of the struggles of daily life for the people here who (like Oti) have experienced the brokenness of war and the constant struggle of poverty, among other difficulties.
Our first two visits were spent getting to know the few families and individuals who we will be closest with this semester, and this week we started our afternoon English classes that we will be giving the kids (more on that soon) but what I really wanted to write about was yesterday morning. First we dabbled a bit in yoga and a brief meditation. Then the three of us and Aida (Lolo’s wife) learned massage from Oti. Taking time to both give and receive that kind of attention to each other under her guidance was itself a really beautiful experience-but what happened next is something I will never forget.
Aida said that since Oti had shared this with us, she too deserved a massage. I fully agreed, but something deep down in me felt a little awkward about the four of us non-experts attempting to massage my most recent idol. We split up, and I found myself taking my place at Oti’s feet-and here something changed. It reminded me of Holy Thursday at my church when we read the passage about Jesus’ washing his disciples feet, and then do this as a community.

As I held her feet in my hands, I starting thinking about what that act really signifies.
We usually think of feet as smelly, something useful-but not particularly beautiful, not something worthy of much thought or attention. But in a way, they really are. Our feet carry us, our weight (literal and figurative) rests on our feet…they move us. I thought about Jesus tending to the feet of his closest friends, and what that was really saying.

To me it recognized shared suffering:
“your burden is my burden, I take that weight in my hands”
It recognized beauty: “to me, no part of you is ugly or unworthy”
It said: “I will care for the parts of you that even you yourself have forgotten or neglected”

It was suddenly the most beautiful way to care for another person. A part of me wanted to start running around the world to touch everyone’s feet (yes, I recognize how absurd that sounds)
But at the time it just seemed right. Like maybe so much of the brokenness we feel is hidden there, and maybe healing could start their too.

As we finished, Oti stood up, embracing each of us and thanking us. Thanking me.
I am continually at a loss for words in this place where people thank ME after sharing everything they have with me. She had exemplified for me what my own faith has tried to get across to me for twenty one years: “so you should do as I have done for you.”
It wasn’t just words, or nice ideas…it was tangible.
It was in my fingers, I could feel it in my Toes.
And she had thanked me. How could I respond to that? I thought…
I’m still thinking…

wash, rinse, and repeat: life without a washing machine

To keep some kind of diversity in my blog entries, I thought (and trust me, there was plenty of time for thinking) I would share the joys of hand washing laundry with those who might not have the pleasure of this learning experience. Upon embarking on this exciting journey, I imagined, as I often do at times like this, my life as a movie. It looked something like a split screen consisting of my former and current experiences “lavando la ropa”

On the left: American Maura casually tosses a large pile of clothes in the washing machine.

On the right: Salvadoran Maura carries the ominous pile to the pila—a large outdoor split sink (one side filled with clean water, the other used to actually scrub each article of clothing and rinse) soaks the load in a sudsy bucket, and picks up wet article of clothing number one.

Left: American Maura proceeds with her day…gets a snack, calls a friend, picks up her room

Right: Salvadoran Maura scrubs, repeats, rinses, repeats (and tries to ignore the fact that she’s already broken a sweat)

Left: American Maura tosses wet laundry into nearby dryer

Right: Salvadoran Maura scrubs, rinses, rinses…wonders if those left over bubbles could possibly have been her imagination, and considers pouring the clean water over her head rather than the bubble-happy layers of skirt before her.

Left: American Maura goes for a run, takes a shower, and returns to fold the dry laundry

Right: Salvadoran Maura scrubs, rinses, and decides that a few remaining bubbles might even help keep the clothes clean longer-thus postponing future clothes washing.

Left: American Maura completes a variety of simple and/ or relaxing activities.

Right: Ten bucks to whoever can guess one of the two things Salvadoran Maura is still doing.
Anyways…you get the idea.

Contemplating the pros and cons—I came up with the following
Bonuses:
-Both the washing and (especially) ringing out process are a real arm workout! In four months I’m going to have the Michelle Obama arms that all of the magazines talk about (although with my daily intake of tortillas and rice-the rest of my body might not look like hers)
- in this process, I find I never lose the match to each sock—don’t you hate when that happens? I hang dry each one next to its proper mate on the line outside without fear that it will soon join the dismal pile of loners.
-I also decided that this process likely serves as birth control in this country-if I lived here and had to do this for more people than just myself, I would seriously debate having any children at all (just kidding…kind of)
But in all seriousness, the entire process can actually be a nice meditation—and when done in the early hours of the morning, a fine time for a solo sing along (at least I thought so) There is a really valuable and enriching aspect of completing the process.

Downers:
-being a foot taller than the average Salvadoran, the leaning over the pila takes a toll on ones back.
-remember all of the fun things American Maura did during this process? Given that I’m still scrubbing and rinsing, things like this blog have fallen lower on my to-do list.
-Remember when American Maura’s clothes were dry? Yeah, then add 4-24 hours (depending on the fabric)
-Don’t get me started on TOWELS.

Spanish word of the day: puchica: an exclamation like “no way!” or “that’s cool” (pronounced with an emphasis on the CHEE—pu-chee-ca)
i.e. if someone where to tell you “Maura went to her first hip hop class yesterday” the appropriate response would be “¡puchica!”

an adventure in the clouds

Yesterday was its own little adventure as we headed off to visit two more praxis sites where some of our students will be spending their time. For our group this was really the beginning of witnessing “la realidad” that is lived here every day. We spoke with some women who had formed their own Christian community in the town of San Ramon, and although they had very little, they talked about how the gospels called them to serve their wider community with whatever they had. So we followed an older man named Gustavo, who treks up to the community of Las Nubes (the clouds) on a nearby mountain to visit those in need who live rather isolated from assistance. It was incredible to hear the way he spoke about this mission, and how Jesus was a great philosopher because of what he took the time to see, and whom he chose to walk with.
One of the women who we stopped to visit was a tiny, beautiful, toothless 81 year old woman named Mercedes. She was a mother of eleven; when we asked her who else lived there she said “it is just me and God here now.” I walked on thinking about what that meant for her. It meant that when it gets dark (not long after dinner) she was in that tiny home by herself (with no electricity or running water of course), that her daily needs were her own struggle, and that (as it was abundantly clear) this random visit from a group of strangers was the highlight of her day. We laughed when she told us that the three students who will be coming back to visit her will have to repeat their names every time, because not only do they look like the last ones who came, but all 23 of us look the same.
We heard a lot of families share their struggles, and many times (not surprisingly to you all, I’m sure) I found myself holding back tears--not always out of sadness, but because the overwhelming faith they had. Making these visits as a group (which we’ll only do once) is still an odd feeling—but I am continually amazed at how open the people we have met are to us. We talked the other day about how it is hard to accept such wonderfully prepared meals from people who we can see live with so much less than us, but a friend of mine quoted her mentor who once said “to accept a gift is to honor the giver” and that is very true here. So I’ve come to accept those gifts that many might not associate with my daily choices in the states (black coffee? Sure! red meat? Why not!?), wishing that my never ending “gracias” could somehow get across how grateful I am-not just for what they are giving me, but what they are teaching me.
At times I wonder how many of these stories I will hear over the course of four months, and how hard it might get to continually keep my eyes open to what is here, as Gustavo challenged us to do. When talking about this at lunch another student quoted Mother Theresa when she said
“let your heart break so fully that the whole world falls in.” I liked that.

The trip down the mountain became its own adventure as it began to rain, and then pour. We huddled under families little roofed homes and talked, but finally had to cut our visits short. Getting onto our mini-bus (parked half way down the mountain) we had a comical encounter with fire ants that involved a little dancing, much flailing of shoes, and bare feet hanging out of windows while others poured bottles of water on them in an almost baptismal fashion.
We only got about a minute down the rocky road before we had to get out of the mini-bus because the roads were in no condition to be navigated with the weight of 25 people in one vehicle (especially as we saw other cars stuck on the sides of the road). So I left my fire-ant infested book bag and skipped down the road in my soaked skirt, loving every second of it.
Today we visited the site where Romero was killed, the Cathedral where he is buried, and a public hospital. This isn’t really something I think I could write about, but I am very eager to share in person when I’m back in the states.

Spanish word of the day: bicho/bicha—a friend or child, ie. “homeboy/girl” aka my new favorite word
Mystery of the day: the powdered milk in our house disappeared
Confession: I was relieved
Stay tuned…tomorrow we visit my praxis site! Also, my house is looking into both salsa and hip-hop lessons…I’m posting this so I don’t punk out.

Un abrazo a todos <3

noticias de una gringa feliz

Buenas a todos!
Well here I am! It is hard to believe that it has just been a few days that I've been in this beautiful country, it is hard to sum up all that has happened already! One word best sums up the view as we flew into San Salvador-GREEN. As I stared out the window with a ridiculous grin on my face I remember thinking to myself ¨I´m here, I did it!"
I moved into my new house, Casa Ita (after Ita Ford) the smallest of the three student homes, with all women. There are eight of us, including two Salvadoran scholarship students (baccarias) and my Community coordinator, Annie (a Casa alum, a mentor and friend for us). I am already amazed at the sense of community between my housemates, and all 23 of us Casa students.

my corner of our lovely little cuarto (and the door to our deck!)

A few highlights...
On our second day, after resting up and getting settled, we headed off to the UCA, to see the museum dedicated to the Jesuit martyrs, and the rose garden where these brave men those their lives. Anyone who knows me well is probably imagining the amount of geeking out that this event meant for me, and you couldn't be more correct. I packed up my camera and eagerly walked down with my new friends, ready to document this incredible moment! But things were a little different than I imagined.
Walking onto the UCA campus was breathtaking...I will literally be walking under palm trees and past the most beautiful flowers on my way to class each day! My inner hippie was doing summersaults. But when we stepped into the museum things changed, it felt a lot more real for me as I looked at the last articles of clothing these men wore, and pictures of them throughout their lives. A Salvadoran woman, Gris, led us out to the place where they were killed, which has been made into a rose garden. Just then, it started to rain lightly (which happens often here) and something inside me didn't want to take pictures at all, it was real in a way that didn't need to be documented at all...being present to it was more than enough.

The other day I met a man named Lolo at dinner, who is from Mariona, the community where I will be spending two days a week. I have been having a lot of trouble with what El Salvadorans call "pena" it is somewhat of a shyness, a littel bit of anxiety, but mostly-what Annie explained to us, a "fear of being known" when it comes to speaking Spanish. But I finally got up my courage to attempt being a part of a group of students talking to him, and he was adorable! After openly sharing about his family, daughters, and much about his country and its struggles, he said something that I will never forget...he said that every year students come to his community-whose people do not speak any English, and the students sometimes hardly speak Spanish. But they always manage to communicate, he smiled and held his hand to his heart and said "porque hay una lingua del corazon, que rompa las fronteras"--"there is a language of the heart that breaks down barriers" At which point I teared up, smiled back, excused myself, and promptly decided that this man will be my new friend.

Another night we went out for Pupusas (what someone in my group described as a Salvadoran hot-pocket, but better) and were serenaded by a mariachi band--MY LIFELONG DREAM! The pupusas were delicious, even if I could feel my arteries slowly dying. Later we walked to a nearby overlook, and looked out on the beauty of the city at night. It was dark with just a sprinkle of lights around the base of a huge mountain. Every once in a while a flash of lightening would light up a bit of the sky--and taking pictures that we knew couldn't quite capture how exquisite it was. It was so peaceful!
Yesterday we visited two of the service sites that some of my friends will be spending time (as part of orientation we will see all eight sites, so that when we share experiences there is a point of reference) There was a heck of a lot of hardcore hiking, but later on we trekked out to a local swimming hole with tons of kids, water has never felt so wonderful!

And for all of you who are trying to picture my adjustment to this country, here are a few new things on the Maura-radar:
-They weren't kidding about the showers here--I stepped in on my second morning here and appreciated that they didn't even pretend I had options. There was only one knob, one temperature. One refreshing way to start the day! Maybe its just because the honeymoon phase of being here hasn't worn off, but I stand in the cold showers with the dumbest goofy grin on my face every time.
-Pedestrians here have NO right of way, so I opted out of a group run through the streets given that I'd rather avoid being the kid that got hit by a car during orientation week. Instead I headed down to the dirt track at the UCA with some friends, and enjoyed the scenic mountain/Burger King view without fear of crazy taxi drivers. For those of you concerned with my getting lost, there is one comfort. This town is one entire incline, so I've learned one thing-home is up, school is down--so side street names are my new challenge!
-Living without a cell phone or regular internet has been a rather liberating feeling, and I don't mind not being able to flush toilet paper--however, I am still morning the loss of fresh milk :( I have not gained up the courage to try the powdered milk quite yet. Call me a coward, but I am afraid of disappointment.

There is so much more I could say, but this has gotten much longer than I imagine anyone has time to read. I miss home, and my beautiful family and friends...but I am so happy here, and grateful for all of the "confianza" that you have sent me here with.

Spanish word of the day: lobo--balloon
random reminder of home: this internet cafe is currently playing "papa don't preach," and earlier I outwardly sang along to "last christmas" (luckily only us gringas are here)

Hasta pronto mis queridos amigos!

Maura