13 Things I Learned in 4 Hours, by Brandon Byrne

When Mr. Broyles asked us to write about the most significant experience we’ve had on this trip, I struggled to think of one. I haven’t had a particular cannonball moment, but instead multiple little instances where I learned something new about myself. Ever since I arrived, I have been in a constant state of mental disarray, figuring things out just to have another experience distort my image of what the world truly is. Instead of writing about how I felt, I chose to put a four hour time period under a microscope, and examine every small lesson that I learned during the soccer game that we played in the rain. Some of the lessons are personal to my experience, so I skipped over a couple.

For context, the day went something like this. My battle with asthma has always been a part of my life, but has been heightened here in El Salvador. After running out of my inhaler, I was strongly encouraged by my teachers to sit out the soccer game. While this might have been the safe move, my family is fiercely competitive, and I couldn’t let this experience slip away. After the game, we walked through the rain and back to camp. Alone in my home, I had one of the worst asthma attacks of my life.

2. No matter where you are, or who you are with, there is always beauty hidden beneath all the brambles.

It took us fifteen minutes to hike downhill to the soccer field. Even though the pitch was the most beautiful field I had ever seen, it was hidden behind an overgrowth of trees, bushes, and runoff. Every place or person you meet has beauty, and all you have to do to find it is a little bit of searching.

2. Consistency beats ambition every single time.

Celebrating Mass at the burial site of Ita Ford, Maura Clarke, Dorothy Kazel, and Jean Donovan with Fr. Paul Schindler.

The first five minutes of the game, I sprinted more than I had done in months. I tried to assert my dominance on the field, sprinting everywhere and chasing after every contested ball I could. Those back 85 minutes, however, was the most walking I have done in a while. Luke Burns, on the other hand, kept a consistent pace throughout the game. Never overconfident or cocky, Luke’s slow and steady pace allowed for bursts of energy when needed. His talent was proven throughout the entire game, not just the first five minutes.

3. Some opportunities never return. Capitalize with precision.

Luke and I took a perfect picture. Posing with the kids from the village, the shot was against a beautiful mountain range. In short, it would be one for the ages. When we checked to see the photo, there was nothing to see. I had calibrated the camera wrong. We weren’t too stressed about it, and both agreed to take another one afterward. This plan was viable until the rain started coming in in buckets. We never got that picture, and it will be one of the biggest missed opportunities of the trip. Stuff happens. Sometimes, if you don’t get it right the first time, you’re out of luck.

4. Real leaders do not unload their insecurities onto their soldiers. Inspiration comes from encouragement and action, not mockery.

There was not one point in which Luke Burns yelled at us. At one point, I completely whiffed a crucial cross in one of the last minutes of the game. Luke comes over, pats me on the back, and says, “Great try” with complete earnesty. Yelling doesn’t inspire confidence, it only reinforces diffidence.

5. Ask and you shall receive.

Before the game, I said, in prayer, the exact words “I need baptism to see this place clearer”. In the next two hours, it rained harder than I have ever seen. While this could be just a coincidence, I prefer to look at it as a manifestation of what I put out into the world. 

6. The trip from the top, downward, is a lot faster than the trip from the bottom, upward.

I much preferred the 10 minute hike downward than the 30 minute hike up the hill. 

7. The real loser isn’t the man that misses 20 shots, but the man who misses one shot and subs himself out.

I missed A LOT of shots, but I never took myself out willingly. Try, try, and try again.

8. Health is finite. Time is finite. Tell them you love them.

The asthma attack afterward put a lot into perspective. All alone, all I could think about was how much I missed my family. Tell them you love them.

9. “This Too Shall Pass”

I felt like a God playing soccer in the rain. An hour later, I felt like I was going to die. An hour later, I was beating Luke Burns in a dance battle. If you feel on top of the world, don’t get too overconfident. If you are feeling the weight of the world, don’t sweat it too much.

10. Wearing Wet Clothes Helps No One 

As I was having my asthma attack, I sat in my hammock for 30 minutes before I realized that I was still wearing wet clothes from the game. Freezing cold and coughing like a madman, I stripped down and put on my Dad’s warm, worn down, oversized hoodie. I already had enough problems, and wearing stuff that was making me sick was pointless. Everyone has problems in life, many of which aren’t easily dealt with. With this being said, many of us carry wet clothes that do nothing but weigh us down. Recognize what your wet clothes are, have the strength to take them off your body, and put on the clothes of the people that love you.

11. It’s okay to be subbed out

You don’t have to play all 90 minutes. Take a break once and awhile.

12. No one wins without passing

Self explanatory

13. When you score, don’t celebrate in public.

No need to. You did your job. Make it look like you’ve done it before.

Carmen, by Billy Eastep

Hello everybody! My name is Billy Eastep and I am 16 years old. I enjoy playing football and lacrosse at Brophy. Today is May 31, 2023, and marks my 10th day in El Salvador. Looking back at my experience on this trip, it is difficult to focus on just one. I decided to reflect on our journey to Tenancingo and meeting a woman named Carmen.

Carmen

Driving to Tenancingo, I caught a quick nap but was awoken by the rumbling tires upon the cracked road. We stopped in front of a small building with a sign that read “Centro de Formación Sebastián”. I took a seat on the plastic chairs that are found all over El Salvador. I devoured three pieces of tilapia with a side of seasoned french fries. I followed that with a Coke and talking with friends. We then headed into town as a group. After glancing at the weathered homes along the dirt street, we entered the church. Here is where I first met Carmen. 

 

She had short, brown hair and stood no more than 5-feet tall. In a soft spoken voice she explained the significance of the tile covering the church floor. Each tile that laid below us depicted a biblical story. We got back to the Centro de Formación Sebastián and I sat across from Carmen in the circle. As conversation began I felt myself dozing off. My head bobbed up and down trying to stay awake from the long day before. That is when I felt a second wind. As if something or Someone was demanding me to stay up. Carmen was asked to tell the story of her father. Although I could see the hesitation in her body language and hear the hesitation in her voice, she insisted on sharing.

Her story began in 1983, in the heat of war, when Carmen was only 15 years old. The Salvadoran government invaded the small town of Tenancingo. While in town, the army forced residents to do certain jobs for them. Carmen’s father was forced to stand guard once a week overnight. Every morning Carmen’s family would be relieved to see their exhausted father home and safe. One night, the guerillas attacked the Salvadoran army in order to liberate the people of Tenancingo. Unfortunately that was the night that Carmen’s father was standing guard. The shooting began at 6:00 PM and Carmen hid with her family in their home. Once the shooting stopped, Carmen and her sister ran to find the post her father guarded. On the way they passed countless bodies and the smell of blood filled the air. As Carmen and her sister arrived at the spot, he was nowhere to be found. That is when they saw the hole. 

Piles of lifeless bodies lay on top of each other with a leg sticking out. Seeing her father’s blue sock on the leg, Carmen knew immediately that it was her father. She and her sister pulled the corpses off of their father. Carmen remembers seeing a man staring back at them, only to see the top of his head blown off. With the town in fear of being shot, Carmen and her sister were left alone with a shovel to bury their father. Together, Carmen, her mother, and her sister escaped town each with only a small bag of clothes.

Although this reality is unfathomable, this is life for many Salvadoran people. Seeing Carmen’s strength to be able to stand and tell her story, I could feel God’s presence in her. I realized that I needed to better show gratitude and was obligated to advocate for change. Blessings like running water and a roof over my head have always been taken for granted. Additionally, I never truly understood the reality and effect it had on innocent people. I am extremely grateful to be living in a country where I am not in fear of my life. 

Squandering the opportunities given to me, I am not only letting down myself, but people like Carmen who would kill for the same chance. Moving forward, I plan to spread awareness of the Salvadoran people by writing and talking about their experiences. The impact Carmen had on me and our group will forever hold a special place in my heart.

Being in True Communion – Oscar Romero’s Living Legacy, by Ben Smith

Hello Parents, Friends, and other blog-readers. It’s day 10 of this trip. Hitting the double digits is both exciting and shocking. At the start of the trip, I was really feeling it. I was excited to be here, but I also really missed the luxuries of Phoenix. Luxuries like a porcelain toilet, hot water, and a real family. I never thought that I would feel this way, yet there I was. 

Prayer at St. Oscar Romero’s tomb.

This trip has been particularly special for me due to one man: St. Oscar Arnulfo Romero, who was assassinated on March 24, 1980. Just over one month ago today, I was confirmed in the Catholic Church. If you are not aware, upon confirmation into the church, the catechumen is called to choose a saint with whom they resonate with on a spiritual level. I chose Romero as my patron saint, due to his unwavering commitment to the people of El Salvador, and unique spirituality. Since my confirmation, I have felt a unique connection to Romero, as I was able to pray to him in a special way. This trip has opened my eyes to the realities of his life, death, and living  legacy, and has only brought me closer to him. 

Image of St. Oscar Romero hanging in his old sacristy bedroom.

The first moment wherein I drew closer to Oscar Romero came when we attended the mass at Romero’s tomb, on Sunday, May 28th. The tomb of Romero is in the crypt of the Metropolitan Cathedral of San Salvador. It is one of the most beautiful and largest churches that I have ever seen. However, in contrast to the grandiose nature of the cathedral above, the crypt seems humble. The crypt is a place wherein those who draw strength from Romero come to pray, and stand in solidarity with one another. Seeing people openly weep in the tomb, during a mass, opened my eyes to the reality of Oscar Romero’s living legacy in El Salvador. 

Visiting the Crypt of St. Oscar Romero at the Metropolitan Cathedral of San Salvador.

 

Another moment wherein I drew closer to Oscar Romero came when we visited the site of his martyrdom, on Monday, May 29th. Oscar Romero lived and died on the grounds of the Hospital Divina Providencia, a Catholic palliative care hospital for patients suffering from cancer. He did not have cancer at the time of his death; he simply chose to live in solidarity with the people there after being cast out of the official archbishop housing for speaking the truth. He lived in a small room behind the altar, but the nuns at the hospital soon moved him into a small house. 

The Grotto.

However, due to the vicious political nature of the country at the time, his life in the hospital is not what makes the site famous. On Monday, March 24th, of 1980, Oscar Romero was shot while giving mass, and soon died when the bullet ruptured within his body. Immediately, the doctors at the hospital removed and hid his organs, for fear that they would be taken by the army. His organs were buried in a small grotto outside of his house, and they are still there today. The extreme care and respect that our guide Sister Ruby had for Romero, despite only ever seeing him once in person is a testament to the importance of his legacy here.  This is yet another example of Romero’s living legacy in El Salvador. 

Group photo at the site of St. Oscar Romero’s assassination.

 

I remember in one of our group reflections hearing Jack Dumanski mention that, ironically, they have seen more images of Romero in this country than they have of Jesus. That is the perfect testament to

Altar where St. Oscar Romero was assassinated.

the legacy of Romero. He is El Salvador, as he emulated our savior Jesus Christ during his life. Romero is akin to the savior here, as he was willing to stand up for the people and to give his life for the. The pictures and edifices of Romero once again prove that he has a truly living legacy within this nation. 

 

 

When picking Romero as my communion saint, I was only really aware of his life, and spirituality. However, It is apparent that his legacy is just as important. Thank you for reading my post! Hello to everyone, and I miss and love you all.

-Ben Smith

Edgar Isai Perez, by Charlie Hazen

During my time in El Salvador, I have had the pleasure of getting to know many people and to learn from their stories. Many of these people and stories have been powerful and very meaningful, but I would say the most impactful person I have met was a ten year-old boy named Edgar Isai Perez, in the village of El Junquillo. Edgar is deaf, and he communicates through sign language that he learns at a school he has to drive three hours to get to three times a week. 

 

His story is not an easy one to hear, from being given a very little chance to live when he was born, to being unable to walk midway through his life. However, the joy and happiness he gave off was incredible to me. This boy who can’t hear and has been through so many struggles in his life is one of the happiest and most upbeat people I have met on this journey, and one of the most joyful people I’ve met in my life. Getting to know Edgar was my favorite part of this trip so far, and I will cherish the bond we made for the rest of our lives.

I have struggled on this journey a little, as I do not know much Spanish at all. I have had to ask questions through translators, and I’ve had to ask my Brophy brothers who do speak Spanish what people are saying, especially when we stayed with our host families each night. Along with this, I can be a very quiet person around new people. This made me feel disconnected from the families and people a lot while we were in the campo, because I felt like I wasn’t able to get to know them and create a bond with them, simply because of the language barrier for me. 

When I arrived at the second village, we were greeted with a big celebration, and we danced and had a mini party. One of the first people who greeted me was Edgar. He was very happy that we were there, and he danced with me and the rest of our group. As we went into the Casa Comunal to hear from the village and introduce ourselves, Edgar stuck near me, and a couple of the other guys, and he sat quietly next to us. Once it became his turn to introduce himself, he told his father what he wanted to say in sign language, and his father translated. As we got our room assignments, I was told that I was staying in Edgar’s house with Luke Burns.

While walking to their house, Edgar tried communicating with me by pointing to things and making signs, and I understood a lot of what he was telling me, even though I do not speak sign language. I was able to make signs back and he understood what I was saying. This was the first time I was able to have a conversation with someone in El Salvador one on one that wasn’t a Brophy student or teacher. While staying at his house, he did not leave my or Luke’s side, and I felt like I was able to get to know him so well, even though we still had a language barrier. 

While staying with Edgar’s family, his father, mother, and little brother, we would draw together in my notebook, he would show me things around his house, and we would play soccer together on a team, playing against Luke and Edgar’s brother, and it felt as if we had played together on a team together for years. In the community center, he would sit next to me and try to talk to me as best he could, and we even jammed out during the dance on the last night we stayed in El Junquillo. He would steal my hat and we would try to throw it so it landed on each other’s heads, and we just overall had fun being in each other’s presence.

Edgar and I built a strong bond that I was not able to make with other kids or adults in the village. Even though he spoke sign language and I did not, we were able to still communicate together with some signs I learned from his father, Antonio, and from the motions that he made. His friendliness and radiance towards me helped me to feel comfortable and myself in the campo with my lack of Spanish comprehension, and I felt that we made a bond that I will remember for a lifetime.

El Jardín de Los Inocentes, by Jack Gallagher

Why does anyone or anything else need to die?

El Jardín de Los Inocentes moved me deeply. I committed the names and ages of the children on the memorial plaque that I sat in front of to memory. Their ages ranged from 3 days to 9 months. Each of the 140 children (out of the 1,000 total people listed) were killed on December 10, 1981, in a small convent at the Massacre at El Mozote.

I looked at those names and I prayed. 

I prayed for their continued safety in heaven and for the everlasting life there that they deserved here on Earth. 

I asked them to pray for me, too, and to give me guidance during these deeply moving times. 

I got up from the farthest left plaque and went to sit on my own under a wooded arch after we sang the song Banderas de Libertad

I looked down to the ground under this arch to find it, like the rest of the garden, to be sprouting with the life it was once so deprived of. 

I saw the ants, spiders, and many other things I would normally consider creepy-crawlies roaming around on the abundant foliage. All things I would normally squash.

But, instead, I sat still.

I let a fly crawl all around my shirt in peace. 

I thought to myself, what right do I possibly have to take anymore life in El Mozote? In that garden?

I left the bugs alone and imbibed the roses as I walked to another arch along the back wall with a flat stone in front of it.

I sat down and again admired the life around me that had come to heal the pain. 

I found a firefly wing that had been broken from the children’s mural sitting next to me. With it,

I found a fragment of the Holy Spirit that came to inspire me.

I found a mirror that enabled me to literally reflect on myself and see via my own eyes what I was processing. 

I stared, calmly, quietly, solemnly, at myself wondering what level of demonization and corruption must have existed in this war for other human beings to commit such atrocities to one another. 

I stared thoughtfully at my own blurred reflection that I had not seen in nearly a week and knew that the blurriness around me was not just because the mirror was dirty. It was because I need to define and clarify who I am and what I am going to do with my knowledge to guarantee that atrocities like this one never happen again. 

I take some solace in hoping God and those poor children will watch over me. 

I know I must keep telling the stories of these people. 

I have to help history dispose of this rhyme. 

I know I can’t do it alone. 

I know I won’t ever have to. 

 

Eyes of Love, by Alec Bansal

Hello, everyone! Today is May 31st, 2023, and we are currently at FUNDAHMER in San Salvador, which is our home away from home during our experience. Over the course of the past ten days, my experiences – living in el campo, witnessing the site and memorial of El Mozote, traveling across the country with fourteen of my classmates, participating in mass at St. Oscar Romero’s crypt, and so much more – have left me with an array of emotions, and have  stimulated a variety of thoughts. This morning, I would like to write about an encounter that has left an indelible mark on my heart. 

While our group visited the village of El Junquillo, I had the opportunity to stay with an amazing host family: Horacio Garcia (father), Antonia Ramirez (mother), Yanira Garcia (older daughter), and Alexia Garcia (youngest daughter). Our time in El Junquillo consisted of many different discussions and activities, but my favorite was the dance on the second night (05/25). Although this typically is not my preferred activity, one moment continues to stick out to me. During our group discussion back here in San Salvador, I reflected:

“I think the one [experience] that has had the most significant impact on me was my interaction with Alexia, specifically at the dance on the second night of our stay in Junquillo. Alexia is the child of my host parents, and she was born blind. After talking to Horacio on the first night, I learned that there are no treatments or cures for her vision, even in other countries like the United States. Despite her inability to see anything, nor the hope of eventually being able to see, she is the happiest person that I have ever seen or met in my entire life. During the dance, I noticed that she was up dancing with her mom and two other very young girls. I decided to ask to join in and I am so glad that I did. Not only was her mom happy, but somehow her smile grew even larger when I touched her hand and joined their dance. Her pure joy immediately flew into me and gave me an immense sense of happiness and fulfillment. I am very grateful that I took this leap of faith. Meeting Alexia, getting to know more about her physical condition, and having the opportunity to spend some time around her gave me an entirely new perspective. 

To me, she exuberates joy, love, happiness, gratitude, and God. In reflection of myself, I often allow little issues or problems to throw me off and affect my attitude. Alexia was born with a condition that is more serious and life-altering than anything that I have yet to endure. She is a sign of hope and an example to look upon when grave hardship arises. It is beyond inspiring and admirable to me how positive, happy, and strong she is.”

Additionally, I think that one of the most challenging aspects of immersing myself in el campo was the language barrier. However, in instances like this with Alexia, this barrier, or any other, is no longer a hindrance and can not block the overwhelming joy and happiness shared by both of us. Moreover, I am sincerely grateful to the Garcia family for welcoming us with open arms during our stay – despite the fact that we had never met and spoke very little Spanish . I am blown away by their, and my other two hosts’, kindness to sacrifice their beds/hammocks for our comfort. 

Thank you for reading about one of my most memorable experiences during my stay in El Salvador. I am excited to share many more stories and insights with you all when we arrive home.

Mom, Dad, Asha, and Harley- I love and miss you! I can’t wait to see you all soon!

-Alec Bansal ‘24

The Universal Language, by Wilson Bryant

We made some really good friends in the first village. Some of the guys taught a few Salvadorans to play American Football with their rolls of toilet paper. Jack Ghallager explained the concept to them, and the others demonstrated. The way they were able to form a connection by sharing their passion was something to see. Bearing witness to this, I said, “I play a sport, too. I should teach them how to play hockey!”  

At the time, I hardly knew any Spanish. Explaining hockey in Spanish was hard enough, but what’s even more embarrassing was having to point to certain objects to get my point across. In short, my attempt at explaining hockey to them was the equivalent of a dumpster fire. As I lay in my host’s hammock later that night, I thought to myself, “having an intellectual conversation in Spanish is out of the question, and I can’t explain how to play a game. Since I have my violin, I have one shot at communication.” I decided that I would use my gift of music to make connections with the Salvadoran people.

In our second community, we had some time to kill in between the presentations that the village had for us. I played the “Negro National Anthem,” better known as Lift Every Voice and Sing. Before beginning our pilgrimage, I knew this would be a cultural immersion. And along with the cultural presentations we would receive, the Salvadoran people would also like to learn about us. Playing Lift Every Voice was my way of sharing my culture.

One day, I was alone in the community center with three people: Merery Santo, Kendy, and Rudy. It’s raining outside, I have my violin, and they’re all on their phones. Golden opportunity,“¿Quieres aprender a tocar violín? [Do you want to learn to play the violin?]” I asked. They all said yes. With my Spanglish, I taught them to hold the violin, hold the bow, play each string, and play in staccato and legato. Most musicians are very protective when it comes to their instruments, and this was the first time I let another person play my violin. I felt not only that I could let my guard down, but that they wanted me to trust them. As Merery Santo, Kendy, and Rudy played with unfamiliarity, I focused on the joy in their eyes and in their smiles. It didn’t matter how they sounded. In that moment, I saw the beginnings of beautiful relationships.

After the rain had stopped, a man walked into the community center and asked to play my violin. I remember seeing him before. He was the violinist of the band that welcomed us. As he tore up a solo for us, I noticed the condition of his violin: the fingerboard was caved in, and you could actually see the wood. He held the bow further up, completely ignoring the classical bow hold. But none of that mattered. I handed him my violin without question.

He held my violin as he would hold his. I pulled up a chair and watched in awe as he went to work. The man had a bluesy playing style. He literally slid his fingers on the fingerboard for each note. A father, Antonio, noticed the music and came in. He queued up his favorite song on Apple Music and asked if I could play it. Again, I fell face first into the experience and said yes.

This trip has taught me many things, but what I learned from this specific experience is that everyone has the ability to communicate. We all have different gifts and different ways of doing so, but we’re all able to bridge any gap that may exist with others. In my case, I found a way to convey my messages of affection in a universal language that everyone could comprehend, and I’m so glad I did.

Gratitude in the Rain, by Jake Krotonsky

As I sat on the ground, soaking wet from the rain, I had never felt more uncomfortable yet grateful. We had just finished an intense soccer match in the most beautiful field I had ever seen, when all of a sudden, a heavy downpour began. We all played the rest of the soccer game in the rain and I felt pure bliss. We were able to connect with the people of the village without having to worry about a language barrier. All of this fun quickly came to an end when the last whistle was blown and we were told to go back to our houses. 

I walked back to my house, which was the furthest, with Jack and Alec, because Josh was still in the community house recovering from an ant bite. As I walked with the two of them, we joked and laughed about how fun playing soccer in a foreign country in the rain was. We soon approached their house and the two of them left to go and dry off. I said goodbye to them and kept walking down the path. I soon realized that it was raining so hard that I could not see the end of the path.

A large sense of panic quickly swept over me, and the realization hit. I was in a different country, spoke very little Spanish, and had only walked to the house I was staying in a few times. I had the same feeling you get when you are left alone by a parent in a mall and have to find the security guard, except in this case, there was no security guard. As I continued on the treacherous path, I saw a metaphorical light at the end of the tunnel. The mom we were staying with left the porch light on, and I was able to cross the path back to the house. I was overwhelmed with gratitude that I was able to safely get back to the house. 

After I walked down the short and slippery path down to the porch, I was soaking wet and did not want to get the house wet as well. I took a seat down on the porch floor and began to reflect into the rain. In that moment, while I felt alone, cold, and scared, I felt gratitude. I sat there reflecting for another 45 minutes when a large lighting strike occurred. It struck so close and I knew so because the thunder came directly after the light. It was so loud that it woke up the mom sleeping in the hammock inside the house. After a few moments she noticed me and saw I was sitting on the ground. Thankfully, she brought me a plastic chair that I could never have been happier to sit in. Although I had no idea what she was telling me I used my favorite word that I know in Spanish, “Gracias!” 

Corre/Run, by Jack Dumanski

Hello everybody, my name is Jack Dumanski and I’m reflecting on my experiences so far in El Salvador. Currently, it’s the morning of the eighth day of our immersion and we’ve already had the opportunity to visit several different communities. In these communities, we’ve learned about different cultures of indigenous people in the countryside, or El Campo as it’s called in El Salvador, and in the process we have lived our lives as they do. Last night we were asked to reflect on the moment that impacted us the most so far, and I had to choose between a plethora of memories that will forever stay in my mind. However, I was able to finally choose a specific time where I felt I had the most impact on the community, and at the same time, the community had the most impact on me. 

This moment occurred in Junquillo, the second community we visited. We visited this community for two nights on days three and four of our immersion, and my memory was on the first night that we stayed in the community. When we first arrived at Junquillo, we were greeted by many different families by name, but one big family as a whole. The community was all connected by its culture and Salvadoran blood that they shared. That being said, all of the children were essentially brothers and sisters. We walked into the community and met children like Anthonhy, Carlitos, Naun, Naomi, and Edgar, children with unrelenting smiles and infinite energy. Because of this, I never wanted anything more than to give these children even more happiness. 

When nighttime came on the first day, the sky was dark and everybody was tired. The house where I was staying was a taxing uphill climb which only added to my already immense tiredness, and my body wanted to be checked out for the rest of the night. In the dirt field outside of the community building, the same children with the same smiles and energy came up to me. Children in these communities can’t fully say with words what they mean because of the limited vocabulary of a child, and combined with my lack of Spanish knowledge, it’s difficult to communicate. However, something we both share is the ability to understand pointing fingers. When Anthony pointed to my shoulders and signaled me to bend down, I immediately knew what to do. All he wanted was to ride on my shoulders and feel as tall as I am. Once he was on, he yelled, “Corre!” which I knew as “Run!” and I did just that. Suddenly, my legs didn’t feel the tension they did while carrying my luggage up the broken concrete trail up to my house. Suddenly, I could feel as if I was gliding through the air with Anthony. Suddenly, I had as big of a smile as he and all the other children did while watching on. 

It’s no surprise that once I let Anthony down, more children rushed up to me and my shoulders. I now knew my priorities. There was nothing that was going to stop me from giving these children the happiest time of their lives, and I would allow all the children in the campo to have the same experience even if it came at the expense of my health (in fact, it did affect my health later on, but the moment was simply too precious not to savor). For a short time after, other Brophy students partnered up with Junquillo kids and we began to run after each other and try to ram into each other, and each time a smile and laugh came from everyone. It was at this moment that I realized that this experience was more than just my own. I felt that for the first time, I became completely immersed into Salvadoran culture, and in every moment following it, I tried to live as passionately as I did in my nighttime run with the beautiful children of Junquillo. In some ways, I wasn’t surprised when I experienced similar love from all of the other people in the communities, not just Junquillo. 

Everyone in El Salvador has the same permanent love for everybody, and it’s shifted my view on how humans can live with each other with care and compassion in comparison to criticism and condescension. My El Salvador experience is far from over, and it definitely won’t end when I come back to America, but my worldview has already changed so significantly that I can’t imagine what I would have told myself to expect beforehand. I miss each and every person that’s reading this, and each and every one of those who isn’t, and I can’t wait to finish my El Salvador experience and spread my newfound knowledge to every person who will listen. 

Coffee and Family, by Billy Wickers

This trip has been challenging in the best of ways. I have been disappointingly homesick and worried for the first few days of this wonderful experience. One way that I was worried about was a possible lack of coffee in El Campo. I was wrong! A nice hot cup of very sweet instant coffee was served at just about every meal. As silly and even stupid as it is, coffee means a lot to me. It is something I’ve watched my mom make my dad every morning out of love. It is something that has helped my sisters and I bond even deeper than any before. If all four kids are in the house (which is rare) there is a 1000% chance the Wickers will be at Lola once or twice. Swing through Dutch, Starbucks, and so many other places. I literally reflected about the wonderful experiences I have had with coffee present and the list was a little too long.

None will top the cup of coffee I was given in El Junquillo. After a long but enthralling game of soccer, a total and torrential downpour struck us all, washing me away of so much, including the mask of confidence I put on that morning. I was missing home extra on our walk back home. Reliving all the times I’d ran from the rain in Phoenix, Trout lake, Mt. Rushmore, the Outer Banks, and so many other beautiful places, but I didn’t run from this one, I wallowed in it and felt all I could. 

 

Ben Smith and I were staying with a lovely and kind old woman named Victorina. She lovingly told me and a small group of other boys that she didn’t care to learn our names, so I became El Pes, Ben Grande Perro, Brandon El Toro, and Hesed El Leon. 

Victorina showed us all so much kindness, but one small gesture stood out to me. When I was sopping wet, feeling alone and distant, under the pouring biblical rain that sprung seemingly out of nowhere, I made my way back to her house, sat on a hammock, and sulked, until she knocked on the door, she walked in holding two small cups of coffee. One for me and one for Ben. My first instinct was to ask Ben if I was able to drink it or not (I did not need diarrhea on top of all this). Ben reassured me that it was boiled and I was able to drink it. I took my first sip, and the beverage was PIPING hot and I promptly burnt my mouth. But I felt so warm. I changed out of my wet clothes and thought and thought. 

After some time I hoped the coffee had cooled, so I mustered my courage and took a second sip, the same feeling as the first sip. That was all I drank of the small cup of steaming coffee. But it filled me with so much more than caffeine. I was reminded of how much love I hold in my heart for everyone, and I realized how much love this old woman held for me and Ben after only knowing us for a day. This woman, Victorina, had close to nothing, but she shared with me all she could in one small, simple act of kindness that will stick with me forever. I can confidently say I have had at least one cup of coffee in the 45 states I’ve been to and not a single one will compare to the two sips I had at Victorina’s. Kindness comes in so many different forms and sometimes it doesn’t take any effort. This is a lesson I have learnt and will continue to. This experience has moved me deeply and we still have four more days!

Your sons are gifts to us all!

PS Mom and Dad please share this with my loved ones!