vivero

A tip to anyone who might be a future Peace Corps Volunteer. When you schedule a meeting for whatever reason, it is almost always more advantageous to have it at someone else's house. Invite ten people and for whatever reason sometimes no one will show up to a meeting, or maybe one or two; however if you schedule the meeting at someone else's house you are way more likely to have at least that person be there plus the one two or three that might have showed up anyway. Also by having it at someone else's house that person will be more likely to remind other people of the meeting and encourage them to go and actually want them to go. Sometimes two or three is enough where one or two is not.

I showed up at Alberto's house at 3. I take the required seat and we talk for a minute about the project we are about to start. He is a big big man but moves in the tattered hammock as it were a part of his body that allows him to hang not but 3 inches above the earthen floor. It's a few minutes after 3.
“Ah the thing is where is everyone else?” Alberto says to me.
“I think Rudy and Edgar are at their houses I'll go get them.” I stand up to go, their houses are within shouting distance so it's no big deal.
“But Don Mateo. We need a saw and I don't have one.” He looks at me with complete sincerity, with the hidden message 'an other day'
“Well do you know someone who has one cause I bet we can find one?”
“No I don't.”
“Ok well I'll ask the guys at the Amate tree.” Alberto swiveled back around in the hammock towards the tv.

“Cousin!” I say outside of Rudy's house. He starts laughing and comes out.
“Cousin! You ready?” He says back. Rudy is a little older than me and wears a Yankees hat.
“Let'g go Alberto's waiting at his house.” I notice some old boards with thin film of old cement on them. “can we use these? And do you have a saw?”
He rubs his chin and looks at the ground. “Yea, we'll take the boards but I don't have a saw.”
“Ok, I'll ask under the Amate.” I walk over to the Amate tree where lots of the men from the community are lounging. There are about 12 guys sitting around or laying around on the rocks from my age to old guys.
“Hey does anyone have a saw, or know where we can borrow one?” They all look towards one in other in confusion and all claim to not have one. I felt a little like Hansel asking the crazy witch in the ginger bread house to borrow a cup of sugar; I was somewhat sure that everyone or at least every other person would have one since so much stuff in the community is made from wood. But I guess a lot of people just use a machete where I would try to use a saw. After a little discussion Juan Pablo was fingered as having one. So I walked over to his house and he happily lent it to me, I walked back to Alberto's house passing by the Amate waving the saw in the air. It was under the same amate tree in June I proposed the project of starting a fruit tree nursery, it went over pretty well—who doesn't like fruit? In August the Fruit Tree Committee and I went in for training on how to start a tree nursery at the Army nursery in San Vicente.

So why does the Army have nursery? El Salvador borrowed a lot of money during the civil war, as part of the debt forgiveness program El Salvador must reforest a certain percentage of the country (98% of it being deforested at the time). The soldier in charge of the nursery was completely hospitable and taught us what we needed to know more or less, and gifted us with 500 plastic bags for planting trees. We decided as a committee to keep it simple and start with only one kind of tree and the next year expand. So our goal for this year is to grow 500 papaya tree, gift one or two trees to every house and sell the rest for a quarter or two to have money to expand the nursery the next year and maybe treat the committee to something for their work. The first step is to make a seed tray, which is what we need the saw for.

Although it was just the three of us making this seed tray it felt great to be building something useful. After fiddling around and deciding how to make it we started cutting the wood, they used a range of baffling techniques to measure and build. After a few minutes of cutting with Juan Pablo's saw Alberto started on about how the saw wasn't sharp enough. “Chepe! Bring me your saw!” He bellowed. His neighbor came out of his house with a hand saw that looked much newer and handed it to Alberto over the barbwire fence, and Alberto started sawing away much faster. I almost don't even bat an eye at stuff like that anymore, what are you gonna do?

After about an hour the seed tray was done. It's not the prettiest thing in the world but to me it's a yacht.

Lather, rinse, repeat.

About four years ago the town I live in had a new school built. In the compound in one of the two buildings that contains classrooms there is one room that has a padlock and is not used as a teaching space. Inside on the floor are sacs of rice, condensed milk, and sugar. On the ceiling are two massive air conditioners. I'm fairly sure these are the only air conditioners within an hour and a half, and if not they are definitely belonging to a group smaller than a dozen. This room was built with the exclusive purpose of housing computers, the school has solicited several government organizations and one NGO but still remains forsaken.

A Peace Corps volunteer in a different part of the country is organizing a large shipment of computers from an NGO in the states (around 400), and all the other volunteers in country who are interested in computers for the schools in their communities are collaborating with him. The principle and I decided we could probably manage to raise half the money for the computers and get the other half from the mayors office. One of theses computers costs 86.25 including shipping. One of the comities that was formed at the general assembly was to raise the money for those computers. That's 258.75 in two months—trickier than it seems. A day of working in the corn fields will get you four dollars, a bus driver makes ten dollars a day, and people who work in stores in San Vicente make 3.50 a day. During the second training one of the technical sessions we had was learning how to make shampoo.

“It won't pass.” Julio said looking right at me. A man in his earlier sixties, button up shirt, and an almost clean shave were in not for one hair that in the middle of his check that is almost half an inch long now. “It won't pass.” He says again continuing his forlorn gaze, his brow furrowed and holding his hands completive covered with shampoo slowly dripping into a large bowl full of shampoo that we made the day before. The shampoo continues to slime from his hands and he stares me right in the eyes and says again “it won't pass. It's too thick.” and just looks at me mouth agape I stare right back at his extremely troubled face, I suppress laughter and try to stay calm; I wanted to laugh because how seriously he was taking the shampoo too thick and also because I didn't want to completely disappoint everyone. “I see that.” More time passes of us doing the same thing until he says it again “okay, I said. Maybe we added too much salt. We can add some more water and it might make it less thick. Or what do you want to do?”

He touched the surface of the shampoo gingerly and again and tries pouring it into the bottle again, but it just won't pass. “It will not pass.”

The other group who is also trying to fill up that bottles from an other batch made the day before is having the same problem, as Julio stated the shampoo won't pass into the shampoo bottles. He cleans off his hands and picks up one of the instruction sheets, and goes over every possible step out loud emphasizing quantities and verbs; he asks everyone if the read allowed step had been completed properly, and if so, did we do it exactly as the sheet instructs. While he is rereading the instructions out loud an other member of the computer committee has added water and the shampoo passes. However a little too much water was added it passes too quickly and we fill 20% more bottles than the recipe is suppose to make. Which turns out to be a happy mistake because out customers were equally happy with the new batch.

Although the storm is coming, the tide is already turning.

I am moving to a small house by myself in Sept; the house is an interesting place. So quiet and loud, the roof makes a constant ticking sound I think that comes from it contracting or expanding under the heat of the sun; like your car in the driveway. Under a light rain makes a pleasant sound and under a heavy rain make an equally unpleasant sound. Made of cinder block with the tin roof, lacks electricity, water, and a complete floor (all cement but parts rock like icebergs protrude several inches). I can pass electricity with an extension from the land ladies house but water I will have to walk the 200 ft everyday. In a red plastic chair directly in the center, I sit in the cold-gray heat of the house fiddling with an old shop light trying to fix it. The house is void of all direct light and noise other than the ticking and the neighbors regeaton in the distance. I sit in the gray working to erase it, or at least make it a few shades lighter. The house seems to be empty but the longer I spent in there tinkering the more I realized it is a silent battle ground. A scorpion the size of half a PB and J sandwich, surveys the smooth surfaces of the slanting ceiling; silently sitting passing time until it is that to strike. I stand on a stack of plastic chairs to pass a electric cord from the one large room to one of two smaller side rooms a grass hopper as big as the other half of the PB and J sandwich catches my eye as it boldly stays put as I pass the cord centimeters away from it. I openly express to myself a desire to see the two halves meet. A prodigiously sized lizard sneaks over the wall and under the ceiling. In the same small room to which I am passing the cord lives a small host of bats, maybe twelve. They fly in circles around the room and into the larger room on and off the whole time I am there. I have been assured however that the bats are easily made to vacate by use of smoke “they just hate it” my future lady easily convinced me. So bats, scorpions, lizards, giant crickets? The thing you have to remember is that all these neat “throw ins” are pretty much par for the course anywhere in the boondocks, in fact my least favorite 'throw ins' are rats and I have yet to see one in my hopefully not so gray future. However my current house is quite comfortable in the way of water, electricity, and furniture: a lack of funds will leave me in the plastic chairs for a bit. So what does this palace cost? 30 bones a month. By the time I move in I will have been living under the direct care of a family for 7 months, and I truly loved my time with my families and will continue passing time with them while here. However I look forward to being the only one with veto power in my living space, possibly for the first time.

PS

I am also unreasonable excited about buying beans from one of the many farmers here. They're only 7 dollars for 20lbs that like 10,000 beans for a damn dollar!11!!!!one!!

Engrish

Gray cinder blocks twelve feet high create a wall. Conspicuous as a girl playing Magic: The Gathering the lifeless wall cradles a compound of five blue and white buildings that make up the school; two bathrooms, a kitchen and two long buildings with 4 class rooms in each. Standing in classroom seven, the English teacher hands me a book that say “English” on the cover right above the American flag which colonizes the rest of the free space on the cover. Having recently celebrated the Forth of July I think 'take that red coats!'. He opens to a bookmarked page and explains why he has trouble teaching English. A few years ago the ministry of education decided that all schools needed to teach English to receive money...that's all. So the English teacher who was trained to teach social studies now needs to teach a language he has never received training for in order for the school to receive money.

He drags his finger down the page to 'Exercise G' in the stretched open book, he tells me that this is the lesson for the day; one sentence is the 'instructions' for the lesson, one sentence is the lesson and is complemented by a list of nine nouns. A worn lined notebook full of his own notes and explanations of each of the lessons is also quickly opened, and forced to the page with his explanation of the lesson d'jour. It is clear from the absolutely full pages of his writing in the notebook this guy is trying his hardest to understand and teach everything in the English book.

He translates the 'lesson sentence' in Spanish but translates 'building' as a noun and not a verb and says he doesn't understand the sentence. I explain the difference and he seems like I have just validated myself as a teacher of English and asks me if I want to teach the class alone. I'm somewhat baffled by how to teach the lesson but I agree, and ask if everyone in the class is present, he nods. I look out at the sea of five students who have made it to ninth grade (the last grade available).
“Good afternoon!” I say with vigor.
They smile and giggle a little and look around at each other.
“Good afternoon?” I repeat.
“Good after...'you don't know the significance of 'good afternoon'?” I ask the class, they shake their heads no. I lead them a little and they get it but I have small hope for my lesson that is about to follow.

I reread the two sentences in the book under “Exercise G: Word Substitution” and I write the lesson sentence on the white board, while thinking about how to teach this enigma of a lesson. A...r...e...y...o...u...i...n...t...e...r...e...s...t...e...d...i...n...b...u...i...l...d...i...n...g...a...c...o...s...m...e...t...i...c...s...f...a...c...t...o...r...y...? “Are you interested in building a cosmetics factory?” Was to be my first English lesson in El Salvador, a sentence that I'm sure has never been uttered in this country outside of a 9th grade class. I reread the instructions to get some kind of idea how this is a lesson and how I should teach it to the students and how I should include them in the class; alas the one sentence instructions says “Substitute the word 'cosmetics' with one of the seven nouns” which all make equally bizarre factories like 'contact lens' or 'puppet'.

“Are you interested in building a puppet factory?”
“Yes. Yes I am extremely interested in building a puppet factory with you. Unequivocally yes, I am interested in building a damn puppet factory. But why stop there? Are you interested in building a contact lens factory? Because I don't know about you, but I my friend have the means.”

I say the sentence out loud “Are you interested in building a cosmetics factory?”

Blank stares.

“Are YOU inTERESTED...in BUILDING a COSMETICS FACTORY?!”

Blank stares. I encourage them to say the sentence in chorus with me. The first time I say it mostly alone again. It seems to me they are not interested in building a cosmetics factory. After a few tries they all are saying it in unison, more or less true to how this monstrosity of a sentence should be pronounced. I am confident if an English speaker heard this sentence come out of their mouths no matter the context they would assume an error.

“Who knows what this sentence means in Spanish?” I ask with little hope of getting an answer.

“It means 'are you interested in something a cosmetics factory.” A fifteen year old girl responds. I was somewhat dumbstruck and congratulated her hardily, made sure everyone understood the significance then had each of the five students repeat the sentence out loud with a different word where 'cosmetics' was. Although I had a difficult time explaining what a puppet was as I don't know the word in Spanish is. So I just said it's a doll that pretends to talk, I can only imagine what they thought I meant. After extensive coaxing the get the students to try reading the sentence to the class with the new word they all did it successfully. Around the time the second round of factories was being read a woman came into the class room with a large basket on her head, and an pink apron with white lace around the edges and many pockets for money, she placed her basket on a desk and the kids got up from their desks to get some 'atol' a creamy warm pudding like snack she was selling for a quarter. The real teacher just sat and watched and quietly mouthed the sentences as they were read aloud and reacted to the women selling atol as he would have to the clock moving its minute hand. I stood mouth agape watching how they acted like nothing was weird about this. She asked if I wanted some, I said in my best Spanish “no.”

meet

Standing in the dusty street, facing the lion's share of the town's adults I drew breath and addressed the crowd sitting on half painted rocks under the 'amate tree'. A week had passed since the end of the second training period. Second training was geared more toward learning technical information that could be applied in the towns where volunteers live. Three days had passed since I met with six members of the 'directive' where I presented five ideas to them and they chose the three they liked the most, and each of the projects chosen was accompanied with a member to lead it. The directive is eleven people in the town most directly involved in the towns development and the government. Long sleeves and pants donned to garnish respect but invite much more sweat than respect. Screaming children, animals, people standing around joking, ranchero music, and other meeting goers battled for attention as well. I introduced myself, hopping the gesture was not necessary seeing how I've been to every house in the town at least once. “Today, we make committees for projects. The directive has thus started committees, but each committee has a need for five or six more members from the town. Leader of group, going to present the idea.” Then the members of the directive representing each project explains it to the general assembly, in good Spanish. While presenting the projects the president of the directive is standing behind me with his back facing the crowd joking with someone, I can count maybe a dozen people who are consistently paying attention to the presenter. The second presenter frequently reminded everyone to pay attention, especially when an suv pulled up idling loudly behind him and the driver chatted with the president of the directive and a few others. The members of the directive on the third project were not prepared at the meeting so I presented it to the assembly, while I was doing so a town drunk who resembles Bilbo Baggens and an Ewalk staggered up to me shook my hand and started explaining something about a small banana tree he had once seen; I grabbed that little bear's shoulders and said as through my teeth 'later', he stumbled away and I continued. After all three idea had been presented we begun the rather sloppy process of getting twelve to sixteen people from the audience to sign up for one of the committees. The representatives from the three committees quickly recruited those most willing and then browbeat a few more to complete the committees. The hope was that these committees will be sufficiently more agile and more self managing then the larger assembly general...vamos a ver.

Guyler Gets a Job!

Waking up at five in the morning is my habit. Doing so Monday of the past week was no more difficult than other days, in fact it was easier. The daily activities of the men in the town were somewhat obscure to me as I have not been to the fields to work; experiencing what farm work was like here in the boondocks of El Salvador had been tickling my interest for some time. What else had been tickling me (although not my interest but my sense of manliness) was the constant assumption of my inability to do hard work, so I also felt the need to prove my physical strength the way I imagine most brash ruggedly hansom young men need to as well J. When I told people in the village I would be going to the field I received skeptical looks, and questions like ‘you can?’ So at five I sprung out of bed and began the morning rituals, keeping my eye on the kitchen to see if we were going to get breakfast. Although I have been living in this house for eight weeks I never noticed if the men get breakfast before they go to the fields. As we got closer to being ready it seemed certain there would be none, so I stuffed two granola-ish bars into my pocket and waited outside. JP (the father of the host family) gave me a looking over and told me to put on long sleeves, an unpleasantry due to the heat here I was hoping to avoid.

I suppose he knew I didn’t have any work clothes so led me back into the house and gave me a fetching tan long sleeve shirt to don, that had a patch on the right breast pocket that said “TruGreen”. I remember seeing those trucks in the states, after they visit your house they leave tiny flags around the grass informing all literal animals of the marvelous transaction that has occurred; an exchange of all tactile functions to purely a visual function. Donning my new finery I sling my gallon of water of my shoulder, attire my head with a hat, stuff my work gloves in my pocket, JP hands me my cuma, and we are off on the morning commute. On the way out of town we stop by ‘a store’ (someone’s living room) and JP picks up twenty five cents worth smokes for the day (4). We walk along the street for a while and everyone we pass (a substantial number considering the time), takes a quick look at me, smiles, and makes a comment about how it’s good I’m working, and ask when I will work for them. A trail spikes off to the right and we begin what will be a half hour hike up a small mountain to get to their field. On the way there, a parade of leaf cutter ants crossed the road. I had seen them on TV before! A thick line of them marched to a plant designated for food, or was returning to the nest with their prize on their back like a small sail boat with green sails. I stop to take a picture. JP seems somewhat amused that I think it’s interesting, and tells me what they call them. Several locations along the trail have remarkable vistas. Of the valley below with its picturesque patchwork green farms, meandering river, low clouds tucked in the valley hiding the base of the volcano in the distance. The family field has a perfect view of this.

The field itself seems as much rock as soil. We put our water in the shade of a boulder. JP pulls a file out of his pocket and starts sharpening the cumas. I smash my two granola-ish bars in my mouth. It’s still cool out but I’m sweating none the less. Once they are sharper he unceremoniously hands me back my cuma gives me no instruction on what to do and starts working. The area we are working in is to be where the beans are planted, and it is alarmingly steep. While standing on the hill I reach my arm forward with the cuma the end of it touches the ground; I estimate how steep it is 45 degrees? 50? 60? I look over at JP to get an idea of what I am supposed to be doing. All it seems to be is slashing the bottom of the plants in front of him with he cuma and tossing them behind him and advancing upward or to the side. I give it a go. Difficulties include; thorny plants, woody plants with stems up to half inch thick, and constantly being afraid of falling backwards and tumbling to a certain hospital visit. It’s not particularly hard or easy, but to be fast? Experience is required. After half an hour JP’s son (Alfredo) could be heard singing Ranchero music wonderfully loud coming up the trail to joins us. The side of the hill protects from the sun for quite a while. After an hour and half of chopping, Alfredo’s wife can be seen walking towards us.
I take my cue and walk up to the small flat area where she is heading. “Breakfast” they both start saying. In the two months I’ve lived there I never noticed that she comes all the way up here everyday with breakfast! Breakfast goes for about an hour (unusually long as I learned from later days), it’s the same food I get at the house—beans, eggs, and tortillas. JP sharpens my cuma again and it’s back to work.

By its rustic appearance I doubt how sharp it could be and rub my gloved thumb down the blade, I don’t know what I was hoping to learn by rubbing my leather clad thumb over the blade, but I can deliver to you the facts of what I did learn.

Fact 1- It is sharp.

Fact 2- I am an idiot.

Fact 3-It’s sharp enough to cut through leather.

Fact 3.5- It is sharp enough to cut through leather and my thumb.

That would be too much if they knew what a stupid thing I just did. Pretending nothing was wrong I let my wound weep and dye the thumb of the glove; later I would tell them a thorn went all the way through the glove. They seemed pleased with that explanation as it made their work seems harder.
The day got hotter, the work got harder, the Matt got slower. Despite frequent sharpening I slowed to close to what seemed like half the pace of Alfredo and JP, and was quite pleased when they called it a day 12pm. Despite my pleasure with the day ending early, the length of the work day came as a mild shock, it did not quite fit in with me preconception of the poor working endless hours. But it makes sense, they own their land (they don’t actually but they use it, and no one bothers them about it (they call themselves ‘colonist’)), they’re self employed and apparently they make enough to get by without working late into the unbearable heat that comes around one o’clock so why should they? Self employed people get to make that choice.
We make our way back and I almost finish off the gallon of water I brought. On the road back to the town my soiled appearance and cuma in hand tells people what I’ve been up to. Although I did probably slightly more than half the work of either JP or Alfonso they tell everyone “Works, hard! Like a professional. Seems like he has done it forever.” Even though I know it’s not quite the truth I’m happy to have others believe it.

Alfredo and I. (I don't think he is reallythat short)

Simply Cashews.

When I was doing my census the other day a family gave me some hot cashews they had just cooked. They were a little burned, and some were still soft, but boy were they good! They informed me that they had just picked them from their cashew tree, and cooked them. I made up my mind to collect as many as I could. I asked my counterpart and my host brother if they would like to go collect wild cashews and they were up for it, and knew a great spot to go look. The next day we set off for the hills!


This is my host brother.

Two marañóns and one stash.

These are marañóns (or cashew fruit I suppose), and the little nub on top is the cashew. Before I came here I had now idea there was a whole fruit attached to these little wonders. I had so much hope that this would be one of the best fruits I’ve ever eaten; it’s super soft, has no seed inside, and looks like something from Willy Wonka’s health food store. Alas the flavor of the cashew fruit is something like old strawberries, and is not too tasty—in other words the only one of my friends who would like this fruit is Joe. I don’t really like them but I still eat them because I just want them to be good so badly!

The spot we went to go looking for cashews is not more then 15 minute walk from the ‘center of town’ and there are hundreds of cashew trees here. We scour the ground beneath the trees for the seeds or shake the trees and pull the seeds off the fallen fruit. After an hour and a half we filled this bag, about 18-20 lbs I’m told.

I was expecting to toast them in a little pan and from them to shrink and change color to look like a cashew but they lit a fire and just threw them in. The burn wonderfully fast and seem to spray flame.

After they are done cooking they look like this.

Then we smash them with a hammer and get this tasty morsel.