My Praxis Project: Family in Las Nubes

I will let the video speak for itself, but this is a project I did for my Praxis Seminar class in which I read some of my poetry to tell a story of some of the most important people in my life, here in El Salvador. Enjoy.

Nina Tancho

Gustavo

Hector

Daniel

Thanks for watching,

Antonio

Last Hours in Las Nubes: Showered in Flowers

I just spent my last praxis day in Las Nubes.

I was, and am,an emotional wreck right now. I am writing this last blog post somewhat frantically and trying to get my thoughts together.

I woke up this morning at 6:45AM at the request of Suly. The CC's were making breakfast. They made us French toast and coffee.

I thought to myself "okay, that's it! This is going to be a great day!"

And a great day it was, but not in the usual "happy-go-lucky" kind of way.

Today was bitter sweet. I arrived to El Pueblo de Dios en Camino and walked in the front door for my last time. We sat in a circle and Hector presented us all with cards he had made. The art contained actual pieces of flowers from Las Nubes and wrote on the back a personalized letter.

I broke down. I remembered all of our moments together. All the times we walked up the volcano and how much I was going to miss that. It killed me.

I composed myself and we began our walk up the Volcano. Mary Catherine, my praxis partner, bought flowers to give to all the women in Las Nubes for Dia de la Madre (Mother's Day). We had these beautiful yellow flowers that we distributed throughout the day.

The day was marred with tears. Victoria and Niña Tancho wept with us as we realized it would be our last time together. Victoria will not be able to make it to the Despedida (our final mass with everyone).We played mika (tag) with daughter Victoria and Marvin for the last time and shared mangoes off the tree. We ate lunch at Juana's house. She also won't be able to make it to the Despedida. We ate carne asada and rice and salad and drank coke.

She told us how much we meant to her. How every year, with every group, her love expands. We are the latest part of that love. Again I teared up.

The end of the day provided us with the opportunity to have one last hang out session with all the kids. We all met  up in the cancha (field) outside of The Santos Family's house. So many of the children were there.

Victoria
Marvin
Jennifer
Brenda
Ivonne
Rosa
Gladys
Elgar
Cesar
and Daniel

We shared pan dulce and drank more soda. We played Bachata music from Rosa's phone and danced and ate and played soccer together

for the last time.

Even with all this joy I couldn't shake the pain of knowing that this was our final day on the volcano, as a group, as a family, in the way that we know now.

I was smiling and laughing but on the inside I was bawling like the boy at the 5th grade dance who asks the girl of his dreams to dance... and gets rejected.

3:40 came around and we knew the time had come to walk back down the volcano. We were saying our goodbyes when Daniel came up to me with his fist out and said "Puedo?" (Can I?

I looked at him and realized he had the yellow petals in his right hand and wanted to throw them in my hair like all the other kids.

In all the commotion I had failed to realize that Daniel wasn't able to reach my head, even if he threw the petals as hard as he could. He is three years old and about 2 foot short.

I bent down on one knee and said "si, Daniel" (in a near whisper). He gently dropped the petals on my head and laughed as hard as I've ever seen. He grabbed another flower top and did it again. I started crying. Tears of joy. The closest thing to God I know.

Greg Boyle recounts an eerily similar, if not identical, story of a man who only wanted to lay flowers on his head and thank him foe being him. He calls these kinds of moments "don't move" moments.

We are constantly moving all the time. We sometimes move so fast that we miss these moments of pure love, until we're forced to simply be. I was called in that moment to slow down. To do more than slow down. I fully ceased moving.

And my eyes were opened to Daniel's beautiful smile and beautiful gesture.

Don't Move

Love
Toñito

Saying Goodbye: Siempre Estará En Mi Corazon

It is May 9^th. I have exactly one week left in El Salvador.

I knew this time would come, and to be honest I’ve been dreading it for quite some time.

When I posted my first blog post back in January I was anxiously awaiting my departure. Nervous, and excited and overwhelmed.

Now I am anxiously pacing. Wondering how to make the best of the little time I have left in El Salvador. A place I have called home for the last 4 months. Where a huge piece of my heart will remain after I depart. Where family, friends and mentors reside.

I could’ve said the same things about Secaucus, or Baltimore, and while this is undeniably true for both places I am struggling at the moment to feel good about leaving.

I’m amazingly excited to see my family, my mama, dad, my brothers, Uncle Joe and Aunt Mo, Patty and Steve, Gaga and Pop, and everyone I said goodbye to all those months ago.

I’m excited to get back to Maddy, and enjoy our summer, together.

I’m excited to see all my friends, from Secaucus, St. Peter’s and Loyola.

And I’m excited to sit in Gaga’s living room with a cup of coffee, in Pop’s recliner—National Geographic in one hand and the remote in the other.

There’s a lot to be happy for. Going home is going to feel great. But I can’t shake this looming feeling of sadness as I prepare myself for reintegration into the States.

Yesterday I broke down. We were sitting at the mesa in the dining room for lunch yesterday, all of Casa Ita. Franny, my Salvadoran mother, had made fish and beans and vegetables and rice.

Franny is one of my favorite people in the world. She travels every day from her home to the Casas around 3 hours just to cook for us and be part of our family. She’s got personality. I love it. There are some people who automatically show everyone love and affection. Franny is NOT one of those people. You have to work for that kind of relationship. Over time she breaks her tough exterior and reveals one of the sweetest caring and cariñoso woman I’ve ever known.

Norelby, my Salvadoran housemate asked us a question. “Have you liked living with us?”

I thought to myself “C’mon Nore, you know the answer to that! Por Supuesto!”

But as she asked it I looked around the table and watched as all of us looked for the appropriate words to respond. We all knew the answer. Nore knew as well. At that moment I realized we all just needed to hear it.

Randomly, and without any prodding, one by one we told Nore, Nady, and Franny what they meant to us. I started off “Estoy agradecido…” ( I am grateful…) and then the tears started flowing. I thought of everyone. Nady’s willingness to laugh at any one of my dumb jokes, even if she understand them. Norelby’s unbelievable wit and sense of humor. The stories we shared with each other. The joys and hardships we shared. They are my sister’s.

Then I looked at Franny. I thought of how far our relationship had come. How I was afraid to approach her at first. How she eventually let down her guard and let me into her life. How she smiles, ever so slightly, when Tom and I are being idiots. She is my Mother here. She takes care of me and hugs me and feeds me without ever asking for thanks.

These kinds of memories can be applied to all of my Salvadoran family here. Neto and Papa Julio, Clara and Gris, Samuel and Nelson, Issac and William, Hector and Anita, Daniel and Rosa. Family.

So when I say “Estoy agradecido…” and the following words don’t come to me, it is because they don’t suffice. They can’t do my experience justice. That is the limit of this blog. You all get to see what I can express. I love that I can share with you what I have seen and lived. But at the end of the day I can’t show you everything. Some things can’t be contained. They can’t be restricted to mere words. So when I return and I seem to lose the ability to speak when recounted a story, and tears begin to well up behind my eyes, forgive me and know that whatever I’m thinking about, even if you don’t understand what it is, has changed me, has shaped me, has made me.

I will always carry El Salvador with me. I’m not gone yet, but I will be soon. And when I’m back I will be happy to be reunited with all of you. My loved ones. I will take what I have learned here, what I have felt here, and as best I can share with you the gift that has been this country.

In closing I’d like to share a few words that came to mind as I left Praxis.

“And now my feet, my feet

are tired

and my arms, my arms

desire

to hold, to hold

this country

in my heart, my heart

Forever.”

Thank you for reading.

Antonio “Toñito” Medina

Clash of the Titans: Metapán vs Aguila

This past Sunday May 6, 2012 Casa Ita went to its first Soccer game at the Antigua Cuscatlan Stadium. 

To give you some context of the magnitude of this game let me inform you that it was the National Championship. The stakes were high, our excitement was palpable and the game was on!

Metapán vs Aguila... the clash of the Salvadoran Titans

We departed the Casas and arrived at the crowded stadium just in time to watch mayhem ensure.

Street vendors lined the entrance to the stadium and made it seem that their particular jersey was the most authentic. They accosted us to know end. 

There were middle aged men sitting on the street making cat calls at the women as they walked by in Jersey's and short shorts. Machismo at its finest.

Scalpers aggressively attempted to sell tickets before the big game was about to start.

Lace and I get our faces painted with the nations colors and we finally enter the stadium. Full of excitement and a healthy dose of hesitancy-- especially considering armed and armored police lined the doorways-- we walked purposely to find and open section to rest our bones a bit.

We were on the side of Metapán, in our blue Romero jerseys, hoping to god we don't get urine thrown on us for not wearing an actual team jersey.Luckily the colors got us by.

The stadium is filled with people. Thousands of screaming fans are already in the stands chanting and cursing profanities at the other sections. All this before the game even starts. Aguila seems to have a good 75% of the crowd and I can't help but worry that we picked the wrong team, and that when the post game fight breaks up we'll be up the proverbial creek with out a paddle.

Tom and I bought Aguila jerseys before the game, just to be on the safe side. We put them in Suly's bag for safe keeping. 

The game goes back and forth for a while. There's a lots of excitement in the hot humid air. The sun is beating down hard and focusing fully on the game is impossible. Chanting, harassing, and general debauchery runs rampant and every spilled beer, loud profanity shouted from behind my right ear, and deafening chant draws me away from the actual action of the game.

Then it happens. Aguila scores off a penalty. The crowd goes berserk. Aguila's side breaks out the giant flag, the newspaper confetti, and the smoke bombs. Its a real classy event as you can tell.

Half time comes. Gracias a Dios! I thought both sides were going to jump the fences and really start playing. I want to buy a burger. I saw a lady with a stand earlier and I try it out. I get in line and it's all downhill from there. No I'm in too deep. The masses have surrounded me. I'm right in front of the grill, trying in vein to not get burnt, and fighting tooth and nail to get just one burger. 

Being polite does not work. Manners have no place in this hoard of sweaty hungry men. I have to wait two full rounds of cooking to get this burger. I put my hand out for the 85th time and say "Por Fa' Señora" and she places the heavenly sandwich in my clammy palm.

I have to say, it was pretty damn good, but I don’t think the lady selling them would pass any health codes.

We return to the game and it happens... again! Aguila scores off a fast break. The score is 2-0 and the crowd is even crazier than before. Our side of the stands seem to be losing confidence in Metapán but there as loud as ever. This time it's with indignation for their own team. 

Just when all seemed lost, out of seemingly nowhere, Metapán scores! There first goal of the game. The crowd erupts with less than 5 minutes left in the game.But our rejoicing is short lived as Aguila runs out the clock to become the 2012 Salvadoran National Champions.

I can't say I cared if either team won. I had zero emotional connection to Metapán and the same amount of love for Aguila. But the game was more than the actual play time. It was the experience. It was cheering with the Salvadorans, eating their food, drinking their beer, and being with some of my best friends in this country.

For that reason it is one of my fondest memories i'll take back with me to the states.

Much Love,

Medina

I'm On TV Ma!: Reflecting on Abroad

About a month ago or so I conducted an interview (via Skype) with Loyola's own GreyComm studios. The interview is about my abroad experience thus far and answers questions perhaps some of you have been having. 

In case you haven't seen it yet here it is, in all its glory haha.

Thanks for tuning in. And while you're at it check out GreyComm's youtube page and their website. They're always doing good things.

Much Love,

Funky Cold

Liberated: Frightened As I've Ever Been, And Loving Every Second

Today I had to present my Liberation Theology project for Sister Peg, one of my favorite teachers I've ever had. I can't even call her my teacher, she's a wisdom source as she might say. She's this wonderfully lively Sister of Charity who has been living in El Salvador for the past 35 years or so. She has a snow white head of hair and the most pleasant smile I've ever seen.

She exudes warmth.

For our final project we had to present what has liberated us. What has made us free from the things that had trapped us previously?  What moments of re-birth have we been a part of? How have we responded to the immense love in this country? How have we responded to the pain?

For my project I decided to compile some poems I have written over the semester. The lines in these poems speak to me. Deeply. They each represent a liberating aspect of my time spent in this beautiful country. I would like to share them with you.

The first is entitled "Open the Wounds" and represents a realization I had about the healing qualities of sharing one's story. This stems from a conversation I had with my History professor, Gene Palumbo. We spoke about the attitude here from people on the political right. A sentiment felt country-wide is the idea that people should just get over the Civil War that happened here in the 1980's. They should just move past it. While I believe there may be some truth in this sentiment, what is painstakingly obvious is that people did not get a chance to get over the war. The people most seriously affected, the campesino farmers, had no outlets to share their story. They never got the catharsis they needed. A lot of this mourning is finally happening now. In recent years delegations and programs such as Casa de la Solidaridad have allowed this process to get underway. I realize the importance of sharing one's story and the liberating affect it can have on on'es life. Our liberation or intertwined and therefore I must also share my story, my words, inadequate as they may be.

Open the Wounds

Open the wounds,

Not the wounds of others

But your own

Wherever they may be

Take a long loving look

And tend to them

Open these wounds,

These wounds that have been

Neatly neglected, quietly ignored

Covered up with a beige colored band aid

That doesn’t quite blend seamlessly with your skin tone

And deal with the uncomfortable

The dried blood and the warm mud,

The blisters, the puss

The blood taken and the blood spilled

The rust

The old age and wrinkled face,

The missing teeth and hard calloused hands

And the shit

Open your wounds

And converse with the past

To enlighten your present and work toward a future

With properly healed appendages

And ever clear eyes

Cry. If you have to

Crack open your eyelids and tell your tearducts

You’re thirsty

Your wounds need a drink

Immerse your sores in the saline sea

Wherever they may be

End the drought

Open my wounds

And remove all the doubt

From my hard seasoned heart and my vice gripped lungs

Free me from infection,

Share your scars and breath new life into me.

And when the wounds have recovered

Both yours and mine

Which may take a long weekend or a short lifetime

Let us walk toward our dreams

Proud of our scars and aware of our past

Moved by the urgency of our present

And invigorated by the ineffable unknown that lies ahead

We’ll smile with the knowledge

That when our long gone lips and dried up tongue

Can no longer recount our memories from our shriveled brains

When the blood’s gone from our veins

The scars from our wounds will tell the stories that need to be heard

And perhaps heal the wounds that have yet to be healed. 

­­­

This poem is about the idea of allowing myself to be immersed in ambiguity and be liberated from the notion that the American society has about always needing to have the answer and be in control.

Finding Light in Darkness

Light from the darkness,

Watch as the stark and desolate

Landscape, by night, becomes illuminated.

Look above, we made it

To this lonely woodland field

Teeming with life

Far from the city light

Now a rare commodity

And to some an unexpected oddity,

Full of fears and anxiety,

Loss and regret

An LED lit society

With all of its insect drones,

Blinded by the artificial light

And more confused than ever.

But on this lonely plot of land

Connect-the-dot patterns

Act as natural lanterns

Just the right amount of mystery and security to facilitate

True growth.

Soak

In the vast unknown

Embrace the abyss

Share a starlit kiss and fall in love with the moon

We don’t have much time as it might all end soon

And all we’ll be left with

Is the pit in our guts and the LED lights

And the honking car horns

To lull us to sleep.

The benefits reaped are short lived at best

As the 9 to 5 grind

And the financial mess

Pick up exactly where they left off.

If only we had long term memories

And could stay star gazing

Amazed by the idea that

Darkness produces its own light,

and our eyes will always adjust.

This poem is about the feeling I've been having since arriving in this country. The feeling of overwhelming responsibility to the world and to myself. Liberated in the knowledge that sometimes trembling and owning your feelings, whatever they may be, leads to something greater than your self.  

Standing before God, Naked and Trembling

Is this what it means?

Is this what it looks like?

To stand before God?

Whatever the hell he, she, it is?

I’m trembling.

Trembling, because the corner I just turned

opened my eyes so suddenly

to such immense beauty and light,

fear and darkness,

pain and joy.

I’m looking out from some Salvadoran Mirador

Immersed in the cool January air.

I’m staring into these endless coffee colored eyes,

With charcoal in one pocket and hope in the other.

I’m smiling

and laughing.

I’m petrified.

My dry and dusty bones are awaken

by the first light of some eternal sun,

but I have yet to feel its warmth.

I’ve seen glimpses of its beauty,

Of his beauty of her beauty, of your beauty

Through these rays, these slivers of sunlight.

Powerful enough to violently pry open my eyes,

But not yet powerful enough to comfort me.

I’m uneasy, and nervous.

Drenched in ambiguity,

like a young man precariously positioned under the falling cascada.

I hope I get to see the fruits of this pain, this frustration, this ugliness,

This pure euphoria and utter despair.

I long to see, fully, this light

I think I want to just get there already.

Impatient as I’ve ever been.

I need to see the sun and be engulfed by its warmth.

Blanket me, I’m cold and shivering.

And I used to want to cease trembling.

I really did.

But now I’m not so sure.

Maybe I’ll never cease trembling.

And maybe I shouldn’t try to.

Maybe I need to tremble.

Maybe that’s the point.

Yeah that’s it.

To tremble forever, and ever and ever.

And never look away from god, or the world or yourself.

Let’s take those long loving looks, right now together.

As petrifying as that may seem.

Because you see the cold,

and the fear,

and that feeling you get when you realize how tiny you actually are on this speck of swirling blue and green mass,

It means you’re getting it right!

These are my growing pains.

So here’s to never getting fully comfortable

And always having growing pains.

A ‘notha round…

Peg ended class with some words of her own today.

She said, "If your dreams don't scare you, they are not big enough."

Gauging the amount of fear I have at the moment, I'd say I'm dreaming pretty damn big.

Thanks for reading guys,

Much love as always,

Antonio

Guatever Bro: Lazy Lago Days

On Saturday March 31^st, 2012 me and a group of close friends from Casa went on Spring break to Guatemala. Tom, Alexa, Lacey and I went to Antigua for the weekend and then Left on Monday To San Pedro de Laguna, located on Lake Atitlan. The trip had its ups and downs. Some incredible times in Antigua (that perhaps shouldn’t be mentioned here haha) and a slightly more laid back relaxing time at the Lago. Allow me now to share a bit about my experience in Guatemala.

As I embarked on my Guatemalan adventure I was sincerely hoping for time to relax and take a breather from the constant moving of Casa life. When we arrived in Antigua—we got in late due to Tica Bus problems—we automatically started exploring and looking for a place to eat. Because it was the start of Semana Santa the streets were busy and it seemed like too much was happening. The hoards of people crowding the streets and the prospect of having to travel another four and a half hours to San Pedro de la Laguna on Monday weren’t the ideal conditions to unwind.

On Monday we got in a shuttle bus outside of our hostel and began the almost five hour drive to Lago. I sighed a breath of relief thinking the Lago could and would provide moments of clarity and a space to just be with my self and my own thoughts.

I mean just look at this view… 

Unfortunately the late night party scene, and the exploring the group wanted to be a part of, didn’t allow for much quiet time and reflection. It was surely a good time just more social than personal. We went to a few bars in and around the lake and met a lot of foreigner.

Tyrone was from Canada but lives in Hawaii with his dad some of the year to make money and travels with the rest of his time. Rory and Rob were two Aussie’s with an affinity for dancing and telling life stories of love and loss. Rory damn near cried to me about Bianca, the love of his life—they’re no longer together. He showed me his tattoo on his chest with her name circumscribed. And Philip and Joshua were two Germans who loved trance music and talking about illegal narcotics… let’s just say I felt like I was watching a horrible recreation of Beerfest and Pineapple Express. They were a fun crowd to watch. Tom and I did social commentary the whole week and got back to the hotel every night with a new impression of one of these characters.

The morning of April 5^th we went Kayaking. It was my first time kayaking so we went in pairs. Lacey and Tom knew what they were doing so Lex and I rode with them. We took a 2 hour ride past the far dock and found a little shoreline to dock our kayaks and do a little swimming and relaxing. I didn’t realize what a workout Kayaking could be and when we got back to the docks my arms were fairly beat.

Near the end of the week I was exhausted. I was more exhausted than when I left and really needed to just breathe a moment. Then, out of seemingly nowhere, an opportunity to catch my breath presented itself.

Lacey had seen a sign that offered us a chance to paint a coffee mug by the lake. The money would go toward a scholarship for a child in one of the local language schools. It just seemed so perfect. Tom and Alexa didn’t want to go and stayed back at the hotel. Lace and I embarked on our mini-mission to paint mugs.

We found the café through taking small back roads and narrow alleys and when we arrived we were both so excited. It had started pouring rain and was kind of cold near the lake so we sat down and the barista came over and we chose our mugs. We ordered a cup of coffee and spent the next two hours or so slowly painting this coffee mug and sipping our coffee. No words were spoken between us and while I was painting I truly gave myself time to breathe.

There was something about painting and the sound of heavy rain on lamina that calmed my soul that day. We finished the mugs and I finally felt that I had gotten my time to step back a second.

I spent the remainder of my time at Lago simply enjoying the scenery and eating good food. Rejuvenated, I felt ready to get back to the Casas. So for the four hour bus ride from the Lago to Guatemala City and the subsequent bus ride from Guatemala City to San Salvador I did some reading, watched a horrible 50 cent flick, and dreamt of the tranquil lake, the pouring rain and a hot cup of coffee.

The simple pleasures.

Paz,

Medina

Siguanaba, Cipitillo, y Cadejo Oh My!: Salvadoran Folklore

Being a Cryptozoology enthusiast isn’t a very easy hobby to have. Cryptozoology is the study of creatures, whose existence is in question—either extinct or a construct of the human mind—and if, in fact, “real” have yet to be proven by modern science. Some popular examples in the field of Cryptozoology are the legendary Bigfoot of the North Americas, The iconic Loch Ness Monster of Scotland, and the frightening Chupacabra (goat sucker) of Puerto Rico and other Latin American countries or humanoid hybrids such as the widely known Werewolf . The field has real life examples of creatures—once believed a fabrication—proven to be part of the natural world. Famous examples include the Okapi, the Coelacanth, and the Mountain Gorilla. When I was a kid stories of legendary creatures both fascinated me and left me in a state of total fear. As much as I’d want to look away from the television, or close my ears when my Uncle Joe spoke of the “Snaggletooth” (later found out to be a complete and utter lie…Thanks Uncle Joe) I just could not tune out. I was, and am, taken aback by the prospect of mysteries still waiting to be explained, creatures lurking in the darkness, legends made real. Sometimes I wonder if I actually want them to be “found” or “discovered”. Why ruin the magic, the mystique, the undeniable linguistic beauty of the stories told around campfire? The whole realm of “impossibilities and improbabilities” gives me the chills. The chills of looming fear and the chills of childlike wonder. 

Now that I’ve been in El Salvador for nearly four month, naturally, these kinds of things are bound to come up. One of the first things I did when I got to this country was look up Salvadoran folklore. I wanted to see if El Salvador had its own Bigfoot, or Lake Monster, or bloodsucking demon. I did some research and found three very popular tales of amazement and terror.

El Salvador’s folklore is just as enthralling as any late night ghost story I’ve ever heard and is a huge part of Salvadoran culture. At least it has been. The first creature I stumbled upon is called the Siguanaba.

The Siguanaba is a dreaded character in Salvadoran fantasy and the reason behind many sleepless nights and nightmares for countless children. The story goes like this.

The Siguanaba was originally was known as Sihuehuet—which translates to beautiful woman. She had an affair with the son of the Pre Columbian God Tlaloc and had a child by him. Tlaloc, enraged by this act, cursed Sihuehuet turning her into the Siguanaba. She would be cursed to be forever by the river’s edge and attract cheating husbands and promiscuous men to her side. Once the man had come close enough, her true form would be revealed as a horrifyingly hideous woman who would attack the man taking his soul and leaving him lifeless.

Many people, men and woman alike, have claimed to see the terrifying creature, and whether or not they actually believe what they’re saying, or made it up for the sake of a good lesson, the story has been forever engrained in my mind.

I haven’t met anyone personally who has claimed to have seen the Siguanaba, but do you remember the son she had? It turns out that the Siguanaba was a horrible mother. The product of this unholy affair between his mother and the god is known today by the name Cipitillo. The Cipitillo was the 10 year old son of Sihuehuet (Siguanaba) and condemned by the gods to be 10 years old forever as punishment for his mother’s infidelity. His physical appearance is that of a young fat boy with a large straw hat sandals and raggedy clothes. He was and is a symbol of forbidden relationships and adultery but some of his more humorous qualities have evolved over the years. Depending on who’s telling the story he is mostly harmless, throwing small rocks at women and being generally mischievous but not harmful.

My friend Hector—who I spoke about in my last post—recounted an encounter he had with the Cipitillo. His story goes like this. It was late one night and he was staying at his grandmother’s home. In the dead of the night he hears a loud noise in the kitchen. He wakes his grandmother and asks her what the noise could be. He describes the noise as being that of a pig eating furiously. His grandmother picks up her lantern and lights it walking toward the kitchen to investigate. A young Hector is behind his grandmother terrified by the noises. When they enter the kitchen and his grandmother directs the light in the direction of the noise a naked hairy boy is on the table, hunched over and eating some of the left out food. The boy is furiously eating and has some hair-raising features. His face is covered in hair; he has crimson eyes and teeth protruding out of his mouth. They are cream soda white and seem to be where his lips should be. As the lantern is shown on his face he jumps down quickly and cowers under the table, letting out blood curdling shrills. Hector’s grandmother picks up the nearest broom and proceeds to hit the creature until it runs out of the house screeching into the woods. Hector asked his “What was that abuela?” She responded “just the Cipitillo”.

I want to just discredit Hector’s story as him playing around with me or some sort of sick twisted dream he may have had, but sitting across from him, eye to eye, I got the sense that he truly believed what he saw. This depiction of the Cipitillo is a drastically different account of the standard story, but it makes me “ooh and ahh” at the possibility, however slim, of this creature being a reality.

The last creature I found in my search is perhaps the most frightening of all. It has hellish bloodshot eyes, a mouth full of razor sharp canines, a powerful muscular body that grows when it senses fear, and appears to weary travelers during the witching hour. I’m speaking of course of the evil black dog-like creature known to locals as the Cadejo.

The Cadejo comes in many forms. Sometimes it is said to be Satan himself, incarnate in a hellish dog form. More commonly it is seen as an evil dog that can be seen lurking in dark alleys, graveyards and anywhere shadows reign. The third type is a hybrid between the actual Cadejo and regular dog. This version is the weakest but still potentially fatal if encountered.

My good friend and Salvadoran housemate, Nady, recounted a story her grandmother told her all her life about an encounter she had with the Cadejo. One night, as she was in bed, she heard the sound of many local chuchos (street dogs) whimpering and crying loudly. The noise bothered her so much that she awoke from her slumber and woke her husband to try to get him to go deal with the noise. Her husband was too tired and honestly not really excited to find out what was making the chuchos yelp so helplessly. Nady’s grandmother, too annoyed by the sounds, decided to go outside and attempt to stop the ruckus. As she opened the door to her house into the front dirt patio she saw all the dogs whimpering on her left. They were petrified with fear and couldn’t move other than to whimper. To her left she peered into the thick brush and made out the shape of an unusually large black dog. It turned to her and the chuchos and started making its way toward the door. It smelled like rotten eggs and let out a hellish snarl. She picked up the branch of a palm tree that she had used to sweet the floor of her home. She swung it violently at the creature and showing no fear the creature retreated and made its way toward her daughter’s house, where Nady was sleeping as a young girl. Her grandmother chased it until it couldn’t be seen any more and returned to her house. The next day she armed herself. She took garlic and holy water and spread it all over her home and Nady’s home. She put it on the door, the palm broom and even the chuchos (which probably smelled a hell of a lot better after the garlic bath). She was ready.

That night, like clockwork, at around midnight again she was woken by the chuchos. This time they were barking bravely at something. When she opened the door this time, low and behold, there in front of her was the evil Cadejo. She picked up her palm and chased after it, whipping it furiously until it bled. The creature, noticeably injured, limped into the surrounding woods. Since then she hasn’t had any other encounters.

Nady told me this story as we were talking about the subject of scary movies. So part of me wants to be skeptical of the facts here. However, knowing Nady’s personality I wouldn’t peg her as someone who would simply make this stuff up. She told me her mother typically has a good grasp on reality and has a sense of when she’s being fed a story. Nady informed me that even her mother seemed to be convinced this encounter actually happened.

Take it or leave it my friends. I don’t know what to believe but for now I’ll choose to be thoroughly entertained and haunted by these tales. These stories have been part of El Salvador’s culture for generations and are important to getting a full picture of all this country has to offer. All its beauty, all its pain, and all its mystery.

Until next time,

Stay out of the woods, pull the covers up, and pray these ghastly ghouls don’t want to chill.

Much Love,

Medina

Niña Tancho: Pain and Abrazos

This past week I have been reflecting on people I will miss most as I begin to say goodbye, especially in Las Nubes. One of the first women who came to mind was a lady by the name of Niña Tancho.

Niña is a stout woman in her 70's who seems to have succumbed to gravity. She stands no taller than 4 foot tall. She used to have this huge bottom tooth that separated her smile and stood as a glorious obelisque behind her lips. 

She does this thing every time we enter her house where she stands in the entrance way of her house with her hands on her hips, slowly eating some tortilla, and will only speak to Hector until he hears and responds to whatever may be ailing her that day. She won't even look at us until this ritual occurs. After all this is said and done she lifts her head and takes in her surroundings. She makes eye contact with each of us. There's always an awkward pause that seems to a small eternity. Then with a sudden rush  of energy she smiles her toothless grin and opens her arms, exclaiming "Toñito!, Margarita! Maria! 

Her embrace is always so warm and genuine. I look forward to them every week. 

In light of her pre-hug theatrics I wrote a poem about this incredible woman. It doesn't do her personality justice but I thought I'd share.

Niña Tancho

Why are you so angry?

With us?

Don’t you know? We love you

Is it your son?

Your relationship so seemingly broken

You cry to see it repaired.

Is it your age?

Weathered by the years

By the long walks, barefoot, down the volcano’s slope

By the black choking smoke that engulfs you

As you shape, so expertly, a tortilla for your daughter.

Snow whitened hair flowing down your sun beaten skin

Like leather.

Wrinkles transverse your tired face

Everyone knows when you cry and when you laugh.

Maybe it’s your sole tooth

That solitary obelisk in the center of your smile

Now lost and gone forever.

Why are you so angry?

Niña

I will never claim to know why

The sadness goes beyond the clear waterfall walls of you eyes

I will travel as far as you will guide me

And hold your hand as long as you let me

But stop for just a moment

Allow me to enjoy simply being in your presence.

Showered in your humanity

Right before my eyes

I don’t think I’ve ever seen God this clearly

God, Smiling.

Much Love,

Toñito

Es Porque Un Pajarito... y Hector: Las Nubes Tales

This past Tuesday, April 23rd 2012 I had to recite a poem by a Salvadoran poet of my choosing. During the week leading up to the day of the recital I was looking in vein for the perfect poem. Something simple, but not too simple. Short, sweet, and captured something about my experience here in El Salvador.

The Monday before I climbed Las Nubes— the Volcano community I visit twice a week—and imagined myself reading the poem in front of my class. I had to do it by memory so I needed a memorable poem. The rest of the morning went on as usual and I forgot about the poem. As we descended the volcano it started pouring rain—this is not typical for April, the rains don’t rain hard until July—and we rushed down the Mountain to the Soya Project Comedor (Where we eat lunch every Monday). As I sat at the table, drenched and dirty from the pulvo turning into mud, I took a breath and began talking to my guide and friend in Las Nubes, Hector.

Hector is actually a lot more than just our praxis coordinator. He is one of my mentors here in El Salvador. A friend and a father figure of sorts. We occasionally call him our “Padrigo”—padre and amigo (father friend). He is the epitome of a man who lives out his faith. He has been doing the pastoral work for El Pueblo de Dios en Camino (my Praxis site) for the last 3 years or so and is genuinely one of the best men I know. He is a hard worker, doing whatever he has to for the people in Las Nubes and often going to meetings with the local Alcaldia (Government) on his days off. He listens attentively to the people’s needs, and does everything in his power to find some sort of resolution to whatever problem that arises. With us, he jokes, supports, challenges, and pushes us to take in this experience for all it is. He can do all this in a single sentence, or rant however you want to look at it haha.

One of Hector’s true talents is his ability to stop and smell the flowers. Both metaphorically and quite literally. He’ll often stop on our way up the Volcano and simply point out a butterfly effortlessly hovering over a red flower, or a “Sope” (vulture) gliding ominously above the canopies, or a tree that seems particularly climbable lol. I love this about him. I remember early, as we made our way down the dusty arid road, he stopped suddenly and pointed into the green foliage, and said “Torogos!” in something of a loud whisper. I stopped too and looked intently at the tree tops hoping to catch a glimpse of whatever the hell the “Torogos” was. I looked and looked and didn’t see a thing. Perhaps Hector wasn’t so good at this? As soon as that thought entered my mind a beautiful cerulean and emerald colored bird jumps off the branch of the tree it was perfectly camouflaged on, and exited my frame. God was it beautiful. Every praxis day from then on in I hoped desperately that I would see one again and catch a longer glimpse at the national bird of El Salvador.

Since then, this bird has evaded me time and time again until recently when I was able to view it in action for 5 minutes or so. I took this photo.

The bird is dead center and camouflages beautifully into its surroundings.

This beautiful bird is a staple of Las Nubes. One of the true gems to behold on the volcano. And Hector lived up to his name as nature man extraordinaire. As Hector and I began to eat and converse I spoke about my poem assignment. Without hesitating he began recited a poem by memory. In the middle of the comedor he recited, in its entirety, Alfredo Espino’s “El Nido”.

Alfredo Espino

“El Nido”

Es porque un pajarito de la montaña ha hecho,
en el hueco de un árbol, su nido matinal,
que el árbol amanece con música en el pecho,
como que si tuviera corazón musical.

Si el dulce pajarito por entre el hueco asoma,
para beber rocío, para beber aroma,
el árbol de la sierra me da la sensación
de que se le ha salido, cantando, el corazón.

This poem was exactly what I needed for my class. And it made it all the sweeter that I didn’t find it online but from my dear friend and mentor, Hector. The poem talks about the nest of a bird in the mountains and eloquently sums up my experience with Hector and the Torogos. Its amazing what can be found by simply paying attention and being in the presence of one another, and never forgetting to occasionally stop and smell the flowers.

Until Next time,
Much Love,
Medina

Flirting with Death... Kinda: A Descent into The Source of the Power

Last month a group of Casa Students embarked on an inconceivable journey. Led by their fearless leader, and Community Coordinator (CC), Quentin Orem, they trekked deep into the heart of the San Salvador Volcano. Quentin, along with 12 other daring souls, risked life and limb in the name of adventure. Knowing the consequences, they violently threw caution to the wind and made the 3 hour descent into the vast unknown. The Payoff, you ask, was the satisfaction of knowing that no one before them had accomplished such a feat. They were, and are to this day, the only Casa students to successfully enter and emerge from the Boqueron… The Source of the Power. True Trailblazers. This is their story…

… all exaggeration aside, the trip to the Boqueron, which is the small crater inside the much larger crater of the San Salvador Volcano, was nothing short of awe inspiring. I, along with my 12 companions and 3 guides, made the long journey to the very center of the massive volcano. The descent was fully of breath-taking moments (for example, losing my grip whilst repelling down the side of a small cliff), a few nasty falls, and truly gorgeous views. My good friend Mike Martinez compiled all our footage and photos from the excursion and created this video. I believe it is an exceptionally well done, and accurate, depiction of our Boqueron adventure. Enjoy.

Video Credit: Michael Martinez

Take Me Into One's Heart, Take Me Out Of My Mind: Finding God in All Places

As I was lying in my bed, drenched in sweat with the fan on its highest speed, I breathed in deeply, put my headphones in and slowly breathed out. I needed to debrief and really give myself some time to take in the last 2 weeks or so. So I did just that.

As I unlocked my iPod and pressed shuffle, the sound of the acoustic guitar, slow and beautiful, flowed and rested in my inner ears and I felt for a moment at peace. The song I was listening to was “Take Me Out of the City” by the band Dawes.

As I unwound my anxious and tired body I listened closely to the words and my feelings of perfect numbness and non-thought ended as I started to think about my time here in light of the lyrics. With that said allow me to share with you some of the last 2 weeks through the context of these few lyrics.

“Take me out of the city, where my shadow can roam”

Sunday February 5^th the Casa program went to the beach. I along with all my other classmates and newfound friends jumped into two microbuses and drove an hour and a half or so down to Costa de Sol.

The bus ride was filled with joyful anxiousness. We were all excited to get out of the city for a few hours and hit the beach. Some were excited to swim in the Pacific for the first time (myself) others hoped for time to catch up on some reading, and others just wanted to bake (and burn) under the radiating Salvadoran sun.

For me it wasn’t just any trip to the beach. I always enjoy a good beach day but this day held more weight than simply a day to laugh and lounge.

After three weeks of orientation, nonstop movement, the start of classes, the smog of the city and the loudness of my everyday life here thus far, I needed much more than some rest and relaxation. I needed a day to really stretch my wings a bit, and rest not only my body and mind, but my spirit as well. And Costa de Sol offered the perfect opportunity to do so.

When we arrived the pool area, the white sand beach, and the deep blue ocean seemed idyllic. We were warned of the strong riptides and I tried my best to avoid them, but did at one point get caught and my boy Quentin grabbed my hand and pulled me to shore. Other than that small scare I was in heaven.

There’s something about digging your feet into the shore’s wet sand, there’s something about the back and forth motion of the waves, and something about wrestling with your friends in the shallows that always invigorates my spirit.

The sky was blue and the water warm (and a bit salty) and my smile had never so real. Pure relief. We had lunch and I went to lounge in the pool a bit. I had mango on a stick (it was in the shape of a rose) and a hammock to lie in. I thought to myself “what more do I need?” As I was finishing my mango I looked up and saw two children on the beach, each leading a horse by a string and talking to one of my friends. My curious nature got me out of my shade covered hammock and onto the hot sands. I walked over and discovered that I could go horseback riding… on the beach… for $2.00.

I couldn’t believe it, and jumped at the opportunity to do this. I said to myself “I’m riding a horse, on the beach, in El Salvador. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to say this again.” I mean the little girl, who led the horse to the beach, was still leading it, and I couldn’t have been going faster than 3 or 4 miles an hour, but it was still just what I needed. My mind, body spirit and shadow all got to roam.

“Let me breathe in the morning. Let my way be my home.”

This past weekend was drastically different for the one just 1 week prior. It was Praxis weekend. I would spend 3 days and 2 nights at my praxis site location with the people of El Pueblo de Dios en Camino.

I was definitely excited but part of me (actually most of me) was scared out of my mind for the weekend ahead of me.

Friday afternoon, around 4:30, I got in the microbus and was driven to San Ramon to start my Praxis weekend. Because of the duality of my site we were splitting the weekend between to locations. The first day I would stay with my Praxis partners in Anita’s house. Anita is this sweet insightful woman who helps run the Christian base community in San Ramon. After one night with Anita we would split up and spend a night in Las Nubes, the volcano above San Ramon. I would be staying with a woman named Victoria.

In Anita’s home I was very comfortable. We spent the late afternoon and early evening conversing over pan dulce and queso fresco. She spoke about the history of El Pueblo and the importance of remembering the martyrs, all of the martyrs. In her voice we heard the pain and the hope, and the sadness and the joy all at once. She was a strong woman who had survived the war and considered herself blessed to have known and worked besides some of the Salvadoran Civil War martyrs.

For dinner we had pupusas that Gustavo, another member of the Christian base community, had picked up for us. They were the best pupusas I had had since arriving in El Salvador. I had ayote and revueltas. If you’re ever in the San Ramon area, go to Anita’s house and ask Gustavo where to get pupusas. Dude knows where it’s at.

We slept that night and the room I slept in had a fan and was much like my room at the Casa. I slept fine and awoke to the smell of breakfast. We ate and at 9 o’clock Victoria arrived to walk with me to her home on the volcano.

Victoria is a short woman, who has two children and lives with her parents Nina Tancho and Jorge in there humble dirt floor home on the side of the volcano. I met her on my first trip up to Las Nubes and had heard from some friends that she was “muy carinoso” or very caring and loving. I felt safe and secure with her from the moment she took one of the water jugs out of my hands and insisted on carrying it herself.

We got to her house and her children were waiting for me. Victoria junior and Marvin were sitting at a table with their cousin Jorge. I walked in and sat down across from them. There was about 2 minutes of awkward silence which dragged on forever. I broke the silence by going to my “go-to” Spanish phrase… “Quieres Jugar?” Want to play?

Needless to say that broke the ice and I’m pretty sure we played every game that didn’t require a board or game system. Hide and seek, tag (mika), tree climbing, monkey in the middle and even a game that involved me (pretending to be a dragon) chasing after the three children who were pretending to me monkeys in a coffee bean farm.

We affectionately call the game “monos y dragones.” The conclusion of this game involved me pretending to eat them alive and them playing dead until the other 2 monkeys were eaten. They wouldn’t stop running until I pretended to breathe fire on them and rub my belly indicating I was full. A gruesome game, I know.

Nevertheless we spent most of the day playing and running through the finca (farm). It was easy to play. You don’t need a mastery of the Spanish language for that. You don’t even need words. All I needed was my legs and a dragon’s roar. It was a blessing.

Toñito the magic dragon

After that Victoria made lunch and then dinner for me. I couldn’t help but feel bad that she wouldn’t let me help with the preparation of the dinner. I also felt bad that my plate always had more food on it than theirs did, I offered to split some with the kids but nobody would allow me to. I was their guest and they were treating me as such. I still felt weird being served, and I felt useless. I couldn’t do anything for them other than just be myself.

When I say I felt useless, it certainly isn’t a good feeling but it was a little liberating realizing this. I didn’t have to “try” so hard to enjoy their company. I understood that no matter how much I offered to help they wouldn’t let me, and didn’t really need it. This selflessness seems to be the Salvadoran way, at least with the people I have encountered thus far.

The sun set and I found myself in complete and utter darkness until my eyes adjusted and the stars illuminated the sky. I sat and spoke with the elder members of the family, about my family, about theirs, simple conversations but I’m pretty fearless with my Spanish and use my hands, facial expressions and noises to get my point across. They found it funny.

I suddenly became very tired and asked them if I could sleep. They seemed surprised but obliged nonetheless. I entered the house and there was a candle in the main room barely illuminating the dirt floors and metal roofing. They led me to a room that was adjacent to the main sitting area. They opened the cardboard like door and I saw… nothing. It was dark as night and I felt fear come over me. I put my hands in front of me and felt the mosquito net and got inside and rested my head a bit.

I didn’t change my jeans because I was afraid of bugs crawling on my legs so I tucked the denim legs into my shoes and my shirt into my boxers and tried my hardest to fall asleep. As I was falling asleep I took a look at my phone. I realized then why they were surprised that I wanted to sleep. It was 7:15pm. I felt like an idiot. But I knew they understood and I felt good to hear them talk about me and say how sweet I was. They called me “Toñito.”

The next morning I woke up early and they had breakfast waiting for me. Victoria truly was lovely to me. She had asked what I liked to eat and made tomales for me that morning. As I ate she picked the leaf particles out of my hair and proceeded to ponytail what she could. They all had a good laugh from that. 

Victoria and I

She gave me a bucket of water and a seat and told me to go shower in the back. I didn’t know how to respond but I figured that I would just do as I was told. I didn’t want to take a full shower so I just washed my hair and changed my clothes, but at that moment as I was standing in a coffee finca, the sun warm and the wind blowing through my dripping hair, I felt alive. I just stood there and took in the beauty. The physical beauty of my environment and the beauty of the weekend, the people and the time spent in Las Nubes.

I know it’s a lot to take in, in one post but I still feel that my words can’t adequately do my experience justice. This past weekend was beautiful, difficult, fun, scary, sad and happy. But to simply type that doesn’t seem adequate. I could only ever give you part of my time here, never all of it. It makes me somewhat sad that I can’t but I think that’s the nature of blogs and the blogging experience. So I’m trying to be “okay” with it. 

My weeks here continue to surprise me and invigorate me in ways I never see coming. So as I am in the midst of this week and look ahead to the next, I will keep my optimism about me and allow myself to be taken by this beautiful country full of amazing truths and difficult realities. And I lie in my bed thinking about all I’ve been through I am blessed to have come this far and am humbled to know I have 3 more months ahead.

Until next time,

Much love always,

Ant