June 2009 Archives

by Sean Brady

The morning after landing in the beautiful country of El Salvador, We all got on a bus to make a six hour drive to the villages of La Hacienda and El Junquillo in the state of Morazán.  Although I got some motion sickness on the ride, it was a great way to get to know the rest of the guys a little more before we embarked on an experience that will surely change our lives.

After struggling to get the bus up hill after hill, we arrived on the road in between the two villages.  We were immediately greeted by some members of the El Junquillo community and they walked us down to La Hacienda.  Once the community of La Hacienda saw us they started to sing us a welcome song.  This was such an exciting moment for me because this is the first time I have been out of the United States and the first time I will interact with people of not just from another country but from a country that had been virtually destroyed by Civil War and injustice.

After we walked into the chapel in La Hacienda we all introduced ourselves and then proceeded to play games with the children as an ice breaker.  I participated in a game where I had to race another kid by sucking a 4 foot string in my mouth like spaghetti.  After choking a bit on the string and uncontrollably laughing, I finally beat my opponent and was rewarded with soda.  This surprised me because a Coke in these villages is a huge luxury and they offered me not one, but two cans of Coke.  This is a simple example of the hospitality of the people in these communities.

Another example was the hospitality shown to me by the family I stayed with. My house father was named José Rosales.  He and his family welcomed Luke and me, complete strangers, into their house with open arms.  There house had two small rooms and they gave one of their rooms to us and had their whole family, which had five members, to sleep in one room with two beds.  This was extremely eye opening for me.  Here is a family that is very poor and is living on only basic necessities and are not only open but excited to allowing strangers to take half their house for two days.

Through my experience in La Hacienda, I became closest with José, my house father.  He was the one who helped Luke and I get comfortable in his house.  That night he came into our room and asked us how we liked the community and if we felt at home.  After a small conservation, he began to tell his story of the Civil War.  He was a guerilla fighter in the war and had participated in many battles, in which he was injured three times. 

He had four operations because one of his wounds left him with an open stomach.  This tragedy was heartbreaking.  What also surprised me was that he shared his story with us and even showed us his scars.  He truly embraced us as not only his friends but also as his children with arms wide open.  Even our mother came in a tucked us in at night.

I tried to put myself into his shoes.  Before this trip, if I had complete strangers in my house I probably would not give them my room, I would not share my stories of events as graphic as war, and I would definitely not tuck them in, and this is exactly what they did.  What always surprised me was that after the earthquake that occurred in the middle of the night, my house father got up to check on me.  I of course slept through the earthquake even though I was wildly swinging in my hammock, but still it was the thought that he came to comfort us just in case we were frightened that made me feel at home because my actual parents would have done the same.  These experiences allowed me to realize and appreciate the hospitality and kindness of these people.

I would like to thank all my family and friends, especially mom, dad, Patti, Poppi, and Alli, for taking the time out of your day to wish me luck in El Salvador. Your comments put a big smile on my face.

            Love, Sean B

As the trip begins to wind down and we spend more and more time in the city, I cannot stop thinking about Morazán. The time spent in the villages of La Hacienda and El Junquillo  is something that just keeps lingering in the back of my mind and I wonder when it will stop, if ever. From poverty to hospitality, everything we experienced there was to an extreme. When I went to Peru, I felt that I experienced a level of hospitality that I had never encountered, but we were building a home for a homeless woman. There, we were taking up beds, eating food, playing soccer, and not to mention making them haul luggage up hills. It amazes how the poorest of the poor so willingly give up what little they have with a smile on their faces.

The thing that has stuck with me the most was the children of El Junquillo. Not to take anything away from the kids in La Hacienda but that group was considerably older that those in El Junquillo and were a bit shyer. Those little kids were the cutest, funniest, and hyper children I have ever seen and they were a blast. I remember on the night of the dance, after two sleepless days in La Hacienda (hammocks), I felt absolutely miserable and as I walked through the gate leading to the school I was swarmed by screaming seven and eight year olds. My first instinct was to say ¨Niños estoy cansado, no más¨, but then Mr. Broyles came in the back of my head, chanting ¨throw yourself into this experience, boys...¨. 

I picked up two of the kids and put them over my shoulders telling them ¨Americanos eat children! ¨, and began running. A herd of children all screamed and followed trying to retrieve their captured comrade clinging on to my chest and legs. All I could think of was how much I loved it when I was their age and a big guy would horse around with us, and by the looks on their faces I think that was exactly how they felt. I still remember the face of the teachers´ assistant who played soccer with us in elementary school. 

Those two kids that I picked up randomly would stay glued to me the entire night and the entire next day. The funny thing about it is I never knew their names and they never knew mine, and while I wish I had gotten their names I still have their faces plastered to my brain. When we left for the hike to the bus, those two insisted on holding my hand for the mile walk, something I can´t forget. They were so happy just to be with us and the Mr. Johnson quote entered my head, ¨Those kid won´t be hungry once you get down there, they´ll be full off you¨. At the time it sounded like another out-there Johnson quote, but as I am finding more and more often, the man is right.

When we finally reached El Mozote, it was like getting hit by a truck. As we stood and listened to Fidelia Amaya tell the story of her mother´s survival of the massacre, all I could think of was the people we had just left. It was people like those in the villages that were slaughtered.  Of the more than 900 people killed, 140 were under the age of 12, The thought of what occurred there made me sick to my stomach. Reading the book on the massacre was difficult, but seeing it for myself was ten times harder. Those thousands killed were finally given a face in my mind and it was a revolting thought. 

When we went to the Garden of the Innocents, the feeling in my stomach got even worse as I read the long list of names with their age next to them. I saw two and three day old babies, three year olds and four year olds. How was that necessary? How can any human look into the eyes of a newborn and say, ¨Combatant¨? Worse than that, throw that baby in the air and impale it with a bayonet?

To think that the 70,000 known civilian deaths, innocent deaths, were carried out by men supplied and trained by the United States government has caused me to seriously question the greatness of our nation. I always knew that America has its dark chapters in foreign policy, but before it was just a bullet in a history presentation--"America intervenes in Latin America." But this? America, the nation of morals, funding one of the largest human rights violations in Latin American history, all in the name of defending democracy? The fact that a tragedy on the scale of El Mozote was only one of hundreds just like it truly shows just how unimportant the value of a human life has become. This idea will be something that will be on my mind for some time.

To Mom, Pop, Jordan and Dallas I love you guys up to the moon and back again and I can´t wait to see you all.

With love,

Connor

By Kyle Underseth

At about 8 o'clock p.m. on May 25^th, our Brophy-El Salvador group arrived in a new world, both literally and metaphorically. As we gathered our bags and headed out the airplane door, we were all hit with a wall of humidity. For many of us, we had never been in a country that was 85 degrees with 85% humidity. We walked out of the airport dripping with sweat. This struggle with the weather would prove to be a metaphor for our new struggle to cope with the morbid and depressing truths that we would hear in the upcoming days.

            The unexpected weather was enough to single handedly make me feel uncomfortable in this new place. I should have realized it would rain every day, due to the humidity, but I didn't. As we drove to the FUNDAHMER hostel, the organization that coordinates the trip, it started raining after a few minutes. At that point, I laughed to myself considering I had brought one sweatshirt. I had a feeling I was going to truly be living in solidarity with the people. For the rest of that night, it continued to rain. I remember falling asleep to the sound of rain drops hitting the roof of the hostel, one of my favorite things to listen to.

           The next morning we headed out to Morazán. It took about 5 hours to get there, but it gave me time to think and relax about what was going to happen there. The first night seemed to be pretty typical; light rain, a bit cold, and bugs everywhere. However, it was the next night where my true bravery was shown (sarcastic). There was a storm that had swept in during the afternoon and was at full force by evening. While we were dancing in village chapel, a lightning bolt hit within a mile of the building. Immediately following it, there was an explosion of thunder. At the time, I didn't know it was lightning because I didn't see the bolt, so I jumped behind a pole, crouched to the ground, and grabbed a support column and said "that sounded like a bomb!" After everyone got a good laugh at my response to the thunder, I ran back to my adobe house built by my madre, Basilia. We got to the house just before the rain started to intensify. After Bryan Saba and I got ready for bed, I slipped into my hammock. Have you ever slept in a house with a metal roof during a lightning storm? Well, I hadn't until that night and I still remember my heart jumping every time I heard thunder or saw lightning. Because I couldn't sleep, I grabbed my journal and started writing. There are words that don't make any sense because I would slide my hand across the page every time I heard the thunder or because random drops of water would drip on me from the ceiling throughout the night. Despite the terrifying storm and my incredible lack of manhood, I eventually got to sleep. The next night, at about 2 in the morning, there was a 7.1 magnitude earthquake in Honduras. Even miles away, in LA Hacienda, we felt the tremors from the quake. I heard some of the kids talking about how the hammocks they were sleeping in started to sway back and forth and how they weren't sure what was happening. Throughout the trip, the rain continued to fall every day.

            With the odd weather came amazing hospitality. I specifically remember the first night in La Hacienda when it was raining. I was so nervous the house would fall down because the rain was coming down so hard. I'm pretty sure my house in Arizona would have for sure. However, Basilia convinced me that everything would be fine. She then tucked me into bed and made sure I was comfortable. Day after day, I experienced people from the villages going out of their way to make sure we were comfortable. It humbled me and made me question how the United States could fund a war that harmed the most caring, hardworking, and intelligent people. I don't understand how entire pueblos were wiped off the map and nobody took the blame for what happened. Nothing had been as real as the last few days; listening to stories, meeting people, and seeing places where massacres happened. Although our government funded a civil war here that destroyed Salvadoran society and killed more than 70,000 civilians, the people of the villages still treated us with such hospitality. They took us in with no hesitation and shared some of the most heart-felt stories I have ever heard.

            Thus far in my experience, I am not sure what I am feeling. I would get goose bumps and shivers during war talks and my body would tense up. I have now been in a country for seven days that I had no previous knowledge of, despite the book we read before coming. It breaks my heart that everyone in the world cannot have the opportunity to spend time with my madre, Basilia, or Anita Ortiz, who told us a story of losing all five of her brothers in the war. I am extremely grateful for the chance I have been given to make a change in the future. I guess it's hard to explain what I am feeling because I am in a different country experiencing some of the saddest events of my life.

            I miss you and I love you Mom, Dad, Sam and Kelly! =]

by Michael Weinberger

 I have always seemed to always have this profound love and heart for children.  Whether it is my brothers and sisters, my nieces and nephews, or the children of good family friends, I can definitely say that my ability to connect to children and my unending interest is by far the best trait that I carry along with me.  This was most certainly the case during my stay at the village of La Hacienda.

            The one word that comes to mind when I think of the children that we met, is happiness.  Happiness is something that has bothered me for a while.  What does it mean to be happy?  How do I become happy?  Wait, am I happy?  These questions were answered within the first 24 hours of being in the village of La Hacienda.  Happiness looked at me straight in the eye as we walked up to a large group of people during our entry to the village of La Hacienda.  The children were holding up welcome signs, giggling and laughing, so happy to be in our presence.  The people of the village then gave us a welcome ceremony, where the children and people of both villages, Hacienda and Junquillo, had all gathered up and played games with us, sung, with us, laughed with us.

Despite being beat by a 9 year-old-girl in a potato sack race, the enthusiasm inside that small adobe building forced me to be happy, forced me to express a smile that I did not know I was capable of expressing.  However, it was one girl that forced such a profound experience upon me that really answered a lot of questions that have been stirring through my 17 year old mind.  The family I was assigned to had a mother by the name of Gil (Gilberta).  Not only did Gil's generous hospitality force me to smile constantly, but Gil had a daughter by the name of Rosalina who was able to put a sense of joy into my heart that still has not gone away since my departure from her adobe house three days ago.  Rosalina was my pal, my companion.  With an exception of very few moments, I can always say that Rosalina would be following me around, talking to me, laughing at me, but most importantly Rosalina seemed to keep me calm.

 It is easy to say, having just gotten out of junior year, that staying calm really isn't something that I was too aware of.  Though her presence in and it of itself was able to make me open up in so many ways, it was a certain discussion with her that took place that summed up the reason for why I am sitting here in El Salvador right now.  I was lying on the hammock talking to her about her about normal subjects.  She is 9 years old, enjoys language, and insists that she could beat me in soccer any day.  Switching from subject to subject, and feeling pretty proud of myself through my Spanish that I was able to keep up with, I finally thought to myself, "Is Rosalina happy".  I been pondering the question there silently, until stopped swinging the hammock back and forth, and that is when I look up at her and simply stated "Rosalina, te gusta La Hacienda?" ("Rosalina, do you like La Hacienda?").  She looked up at me with that confused and dazed look on her face as she replied, without hesitation, "Si, como no." (Yes, of course). 

            For some reason, this answer that this nine year old girl, who has probably never been more than five miles away from home, gave me an answer that kept me up the entire night.  Here is someone who has been affected by the injustices of her own government, here is someone who has been living in a house made of mud, here is someone that doesn't have more than three pairs of shirts, but most importantly, here is someone that is happy.  The obvious statement here would be for me is to say that happiness is not materialistic.  But then I asked myself the question, "How is happiness gained if certain necessities and needs aren't even met?", "How is it that I find a way to come home and look upon the negative as this adolescent girl from a foreign country goes about her business as if the negatives in life don't even exist?"  Through this conversation and the reflections that I had following it, it brought up something that I believe is so vital to understand. 

            We all remember our childhood.  Having the new "skate shoes", spiking your hair up differently every day, thinking completely freely.  No stress.  We put way too much pressure on ourselves.  In today's modern society we tend to completely over-complicate the concept of happiness.  The lesson that I learned from Rosalina, is a lesson that I needed.  Happiness comes and goes as we want it to.  We control our internal happiness.  I truly believe that as Americans, living in the richest country in the world, we shouldn't be worried about happiness all that much.  Rather, we should be worried about the level of gratitude and appreciation for what we do have.  Just that in it of itself and the vision of the lesson I learned from the young Rosalina, is enough to make me happy. 

In conclusion, these children are happy along with the whole village, as I came to learn that despite the circumstances the community was extremely kind and caring, something that continues to perplex me.   The sense of community is what makes a person happy, not the internal needs that we all need taken care of.  You will not ever see an adolescent in these villages that doesn't have such a smile that can light up the world.  They will talk, they will pray, they will dance, they will joke, and most importantly, they will be as happy that no matter what circumstances they are under due to injustice, whether they become aware of it or not, it is something that you just cannot take away from these children.  We have a choice in life.  We have a choice to worry about being happy, to worry about becoming aware of a certain climax that we will reach that will make all our worries go away.  Or, we could accept the circumstance that we are in, deal with the cards that we have been dealt, and thank God every single day for it. 

            Happiness is everywhere.  It is found through a spouse, a lottery ticket, a car, a new child, or even sporting event.  The happiness that I have found is contained in a house made of mud and steel that contains crying dogs and countless roosters.  This happiness that I witnessed can never be taken away from Rosalina and the children of La Hacienda, and it most certainly cannot be taken away from our memory.  

            To my family:  I love you all and miss you dearly, I am enjoying this trip greatly and soaking it up.  Pray.  See you soon.