This semester I’m participating in a study abroad program
called Casa de la Solidaridad. The program focuses on accompaniment, which
means that rather than trying to do service or “fix” something, our goal is to
walk with people, to get to know them and to understand how they live. I’m
living in community with five other US students, six becari@s (Salvadoran
scholarship students participating in the Romero program), and three community
coordinators. We live pretty simply: no hot water (surprise!), no internet, and
we wash our clothes by hand. Everything is really comfortable and pretty
though. Our house is in Antiguo Cuscatlan in San Salvador and is in walking
distance of the UCA (the Jesuit University where we take our classes), the
grocery store, the Casa program directors’ house, and lots of little shops and
restaurants. San Salvador is gorgeous. We’re completely surrounded by mountains
and trees. As I write this I can see the sun set over the mountains. So
beautiful.
One of the coolest aspects of the program is the Praxis
sites. We’ve been assigned in pairs to different sites that we will be visiting
every Monday and Wednesday from about 8 am to 4 pm. Each site is different, but
the goal of each is to practice accompaniment and to grow in understanding of
what it is to be a Salvadoran. El Salvador is a country that struggles with
violence and poverty. We’ve been learning especially about the Civil War that
took place in the 80s. Many of the people who we will be accompanying suffered
a lot from this war and continue to suffer and struggle for survival today.
Yesterday we visited Annie and Alivia’s Praxis site,
Tepecoyo. We were dropped off in the town of Tepecoyo and hiked up to the small
village of Zacamil. There we met Yovani, a young man who became a paraplegic in
a working accident several years ago. We spoke to Yovani and his mother about
their experience and the struggles to continue to provide care for Yovani, as
well as to afford basic necessities, like food. Then we traveled back down to
Tepecoyo and had lunch with Angelica, a Salvadoran woman who runs a comedor out
of her house for poor children in the area. She spoke to us about the founding
of the comedor, describing how even though her family struggled financially,
her heart broke to see the young mothers who could not even afford any food for
their family. She opened a comedor where she feeds many of the poorest children
in the village.
After visiting Angelica, we traveled to a couple of the
houses in the village to visit with people. One of the women, Ana, talked to us
for a long time about her experience. She lives with another family because
they can’t afford to live separately; building materials are too expensive. She
told us that when she was growing up, she wasn’t able to receive much of an
education. Her parents didn’t encourage her to get an education, and teachers
were rarely available in her village. Sometimes teachers would show up, but it
was very sporadic. Because she was denied an education, she tries very hard to
make sure that her children can go to school. One of her children hopes to
become a nurse, but Ana told us that she is doubtful that they will even be
able to afford for her to go to high school. Ana was incredibly open and
generous sharing her story with us.
A few things really struck me about our experiences in
Tepecoyo. The first is the incredible faith that these people have. Yovani and
his mother have undergone incredible hardship, yet throughout their testimony
they continued to say “Thanks to God” for this, and “God willing” about that…
They never once blamed or questioned God for their struggles. Talking to
Angelica and Ana was a similar story. Trena, one of the program directors,
asked Ana how she was surviving. The coffee crop was extraordinarily poor this
season, so people were unable to earn money harvesting it. Even in a good
season, people might earn $10 for a full day of harvesting with a large family.
Ana replied that they were praying, and they had to trust that God would take
care of them.
In another story, Ana told us that her oldest daughter was
working in a factory. She had only gotten up to third grade in school, and even
basic things like counting are difficult for her. One day, she was told that
she would have to start numbering things at her job. She came home in a panic,
sure that she would lose her job because she wouldn’t be able to do the tasks
she had been assigned. Ana told her to pray, and God would carry her through
it. She came home the next day completely amazed. God had indeed taken care of
her; somehow she was able to do all of the things she had been assigned.
I’m in awe of their amazing faith. So often I struggle to
trust God in my life, and I haven’t faced anything close to the struggles that these
people have gone through. It’s incredible and inspiring to see how strong their
faith and their gratitude to God is. Even when it seems that they have nothing,
they find the strength to praise God for the blessing of being alive.
The second was the idea of my own privilege. I don’t
understand why I was given so much, why I was born in the United States, free
from the fear of violence, free to study whatever I choose, free to voice my
opinions… I’ve been blessed with so many things, so many opportunities. Talking
to Ana about her struggle to provide an education for her children, the
struggle to afford food, and the daily fight for survival was heartbreaking and
confusing. How could she respect me for standing in front of her, full from
eating lunch at Angelica’s, confident that I knew where my next meal was coming
from, and carrying with me all of the other certainties and privileges I’ve
been given? No matter how poor I choose to be, no matter how much I try to be
in solidarity and to accompany these beautiful Salvadoran people, that will always
be something that I choose, and something that I can return from. It’s hard to
understand why, and I’m sure it’s something that I’ll have to continue to
confront while I’m here. I hope that through reflection I can find a way to
carry this experience and the experiences of all of the people that I meet with
me when I return.
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