The whole thing was fun -- Will and I hiked the highest mountain in the country beforehand (we started from a village near the top) although both of us had done it before. Then the party involved a big dinner at the school in La Palma where a married youthie couple from our group teach. Afterwards there was dancing, and then we all went back to our hotel, which was really a bunch of little cabins and a restaurant, to drink and hang out.
A lot of Salvadorans that Steph used to live and work with were at the party, and they read poems for her and sang songs and made speeches and cried. It was amazing to see how much love Steph got after being here for five years. Then again, she is always telling us to stay in our sites, to make our communities the center of our experience, to get out there in the community and "get loved." Some volunteers, myself included, find it hard to resist the temptation to escape every couple of weeks and hang out with other gringos, or to shut ourselves in our houses with books and DVDs when nothing else is going on. But Steph is a fantastic reminder of why it pays to give a little more of yourself.
Then I got back and met the new volunteer in my town, and saw myself through the eyes of a new volunteer -- my own eyes 5 months ago. She's having the same problems I had at the start, but now I'm settled into a house that I like, I have good relationships (if not deep and meaningful friendships) with a lot of people in my community, I know my way around my site and a lot of the country, I have meaningful work and more patience with inconvenience and discomfort. That last realization came at an opportune time -- although the weekend was fun, I was constantly frustrated by things like screwed-up bus schedules and the failure of any Salvadoran to provide change for a $10 (having a $5 bill or higher is like having no money at all here)
I wish I could tell the new volunteer that she'll be fine, but if someone had told me that during my overwhelming first week 5 months ago, I wouldn't have believed them because it's the kind of thing that anyone would say to you. She, like me, will have to get through the next couple of months and find out for herself that it's not such a challenge, that, like Steph says, if you put a little love into El Salvador, it will give you back even more.
From Steph's goodbye letter:
"I love Peace Corps because I believe that it does a great job of putting some fire under our gringo asses. It forces us to realize just how privileged we are. It moves us away from our slick, cool, convenient cars and shoves us into rickety, sweaty, cramped buses. It strips us of all the gringo efficiency and flings us into chaos. Plopped right down with la gente, we befriend the desperate wife whose husband won’t let her leave the house to participate in the women’s group; we go with our neighbor to the local health clinic and watch her baby die for lack of quality care and basic medicines; we watch young girls curl their shoulders over their stomachs when asked to give an opinion in class and we watch our local mayor steal and no one do a damn thing about it. And we get pissed. And we start asking-- how did things end up this way? And we get determined and start wondering--what can we do about it?
I fear that when Peace Corps is over and we leave El Salvador, the fire under our asses will dim. When suddenly shielded again by nice cars, air-conditioned office buildings, and gates around our communities, I worry that our sense of urgency to do something about it will fade. When stuck in a cubicle, in a routine, back in a bubble of privilege, I dread that our determination will wane."
I fear that when Peace Corps is over and we leave El Salvador, the fire under our asses will dim. When suddenly shielded again by nice cars, air-conditioned office buildings, and gates around our communities, I worry that our sense of urgency to do something about it will fade. When stuck in a cubicle, in a routine, back in a bubble of privilege, I dread that our determination will wane."
I worry about that too, especially when I think about how much time I spend missing and longing for all those cushy comforts I used to have. So I'm going to try to remember this, and remember that letter, and stay determined.
Steph (right) dancing with Emily, a youthie from our group
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