Well, thanks to the support of all my wonderful family and friends, the Los Alas Bakery Cooperative finally has its oven!!  Give yourselves a big pat on the back!

No, seriously, do it.  And a great big hug.  And maybe a kiss.

Your support has will enable a number of community members to make a drastic difference in their family’s economic wellbeing.  Most villagers in Los Alas are subsistence farmers, growing mainly beans and corn.  Some people trade or sell parts of their crops to buy other foods, clothing, and necessities.  Some have small side businesses, like my host family, who have a little shop in the front of their house.  Still others rely mainly on money sent to them by relatives living and working in the United States.  This oven represents a substantial change in the ability of many of my community members to support their families.  Bread is a staple food in El Salvador.  Unlike in the United States, where we eat it with the occasional meal, Salvadorans eat it with every meal – and often as snacks in between meals.  As of now, the closest bakery servicing Los Alas and the surrounding area (a population of about 1,000 people) is in the pueblo of Chalatenango, about 30 minutes away.  By the time the trucks arrive with bread, it’s not very fresh, and is considerably more expensive.  Everyone I’ve talked to in the area has told me continually how excited they are to have a bakery opening so close by.

The generosity of all who’ve donated have given me something very special as well – a real sense of accomplishment.  I’ve spent two years in Los Alas, mostly teaching about nutrition, hygiene, healthy cooking, and basic health principles.  And while I like to think that I’ve made some difference in the lives of people I’ve taught, like most teachers, I find it difficult to quantify the positive changes I’ve made.  Who knows what I’ve done?  If someone five years from now decides to go to college to get a degree in tourism because I tutored them in English, I’ll never know it.

This bakery, however, is a thing of substance.  I can literally see the results of my efforts, my community’s efforts, and the donations that you’ve all so unstintingly given.  And being able to see a difference that I helped bring about is a great gift to me.  So thank you all, so much.

On my last day in site, my community decided to christen our brand new oven by making pizza.  We spend all afternoon making the dough and preparing ingredients, and we produced some mighty fine results.  At the end of the day, we even had people walking buy and asking to buy some of the leftovers!  I was thrilled to be able to the Los Alas Bakery Cooperative make its first dollar.

To share the fun with all of you, here are some photos I took that day.

This is how you mix dough without a mixing bowl…

First time I’ve ever seen my counterpart cook

The secret’s in the sauce

This is how we roll in the campo

Our oven!!!!!

Let’s get cooking!

Making the pizzas on my front porch

Hot pizza!

The fruits of our labor

The Los Alas Bakery Cooperative…and me.

So…delicious…

Look how happy this pizza has made me!

No, I’m not just talking about my time left in this beautiful country (7 days and looming ever closer), I’m talking about the Los Alas Bakery Cooperative!  So far, we’ve raised a grand total of $515!!

While that’s fantastic, we’re still short about $300 to buy our oven.  I know that I can count on you to step up and help us close that gap!  In case you’ve lost the link, the address to donate is:

https://www.paypal.com/cgi-bin/webscr?cmd=_s-xclick&hosted_button_id=EAJEZ98J9ZT2C .

Pay Pal accepts all major credit cards.  Thanks so much to everyone who has already donated, it means more than you could possibly know to my community!!

Thanks you for your donation, from all of us at the Los Alas Bakery Cooperative!

As many of you know, I’m currently asking for donations to the Los Alas Bakery Cooperative so that we can buy an oven to begin our bakery.  For thos interested, below are some pictures from the 200-hour baking course that 23 members of my community completed.  (And below THAT, is a handy dandy little link to DONATE!  Hint, hint.)

Don’t forget to donate here!!!!https://www.paypal.com/cgi-bin/webscr?cmd=_s-xclick&hosted_button_id=EAJEZ98J9ZT2C

 

Sorry I’ve been so lacking on the blog posts lately; with the holidays and everything that’s been going on since I’ve been back, I haven’t had a lot of time to write.  I want to catch you all up on the nutty stuff that’s been going on, and I will, but right now I have something more important to say.

Los Alas needs your help!

For as long as I’ve been a volunteer here, the Los Alas community has wanted to begin a bakery in town.  Bread is a huge staple of the Salvadoran diet; they literally eat it at every meal, and often between mealtimes as snacks.  The closest bakery is in Chalatenango.  Trucks come regularly from these bakeries to the community to sell but unfortunately, it’s often not particularly fresh, and costs twice what it would in the bakery.  There are about 1,000 people in local communities near Los Alas that would no doubt be interested in buying fresher, cheaper bread.  Thus the idea of the Los Alas Bakery Cooperative was born.  We had two huge hurdles to jump, however – getting trained, and getting a good, industrial oven, which can run $1,000 or more.

As to our first hurdle – some of you may remember me talking about a baking course that I was attempting to bring to my community some months past.  Well, the good news is that, despite all the obstacles that came with the long application process, we managed to get 23 women and youth signed up for the 200-hour course.  It began in mid-October and continued through December.  In this comprehensive course, they learned how to make sweet bread, baguettes, dinner rolls, pizza, and doughnuts, among other things.  (Yes, I may have gained a few pounds during this time.  What of it?)  I was incredibly proud the day they all completed the course.  Committing 200 hours to something was no small thing, especially since many of them are mothers with large and demanding families.

Getting the proper training was one huge obstacle for the people of Los Alas in their quest to begin a bakery co-op.  The next one is the oven.  That’s where I’m hoping you all come in, folks.

We have located a business in San Salvador that’s willing to sell us a new, industrial gas oven that fits nine baking pans for $800 (American).  Working with people in the community, we’ve found transportation to and from San Salvador, as well as a local carpenter that’s willing to donate the wood for us to build several new tables for the bakery.  The women and youth in the cooperative are donating their own pans and measuring spoons, and pitching in to buy the start-up baking materials.  They’re even going to use my very own house, after I leave, for the bakery.  The only thing my community simply can’t manage is the one big ticket item of an oven.

What I’m asking now is donations to help us buy the oven.  Time is of the essence – I’m hoping the get the money for the oven before I leave in ten days.  I thought I’d have until the end of March for this project but unfortunately, because of the security situation in parts of this country, Peace Corps is sending my group home 6 weeks early.

I know this is a lot to ask, but any little bit helps.  Whether it’s $1 or $100, the Los Alas Bakery Cooperative will appreciate your help!!  I’ve set up a Pay Pal account to manage the donations; please go to the following link to donate: https://www.paypal.com/cgi-bin/webscr?cmd=_s-xclick&hosted_button_id=EAJEZ98J9ZT2C .  This project will add significant income to the households of the women and youth who work in the bakery; and will provide a much needed service to all of Los Alas and its neighboring communities.  Thanks so much to everyone who donates!!!!

12-12-11

There’s an art to riding a bus in El Salvador, and it’s taken me almost two years to learn and catalogue all its subtle complexities.  The trick is in finding the proper bus stance and fighting to maintain it.  In order to do this, you may or may not have to nudge, shove, and coerce little old ladies and small children into giving you your space.  Know that this level of ruthlessness is not only right and proper, but absolutely necessary.  Trust me; they have zero compunction about nudging, shoving, and coercing you out of your careful placement.  It’s survival of the fittest, and they’ll exploit your American-bred need to be polite.  Don’t be fooled by their sweet faces and small stature; usually, the Salvadoran señoras are the fiercest bus warriors around.

If you ever do find yourself boarding a bus in the campo, remember, it’s best to board first.  There likely won’t be any seats left to fight for, but you’ll want to get yourself in the best position possible.  First, as always, beware elderly señoras and small bichos (little kids).  As you stand in line to get on the bus, there’ll be a great surge forward, and the bichos will make their move, zipping in under your arms and in front of you before you can say, ¡puchica!  Then the señoras will move in, shoving arms, legs, bags, and anything else they can think of in front of you to secure their position.  In the both these cases, despite your superior strength, you’re in the weaker position.  Who wants to knock down an old lady?  Do your best to nudge them out using your hips.  Don’t be afraid to use your superior reach to get ahold of the door handle in front of them so they’re forced to step behind.  There’s not much you can do about the bichos.  They’re fast little buggers.

Once on the bus, squeeze past the crowds of Salvadorans thronging the aisle at the front and work your way to the middle.  As a rule, Salvadorans want to get off the bus as fast as they got on, so they’ll find positions in the front and cling to them, despite how much easier it would be for them to move down the aisle.  Know you’ll need some fancy footwork to hop over them, but trust me, it’s worth it.

When you reach the less-crowded middle of the bus, you’ll want to assume a wide stance, feet at least 12 inches apart.  (This space will slowly disappear as the bus fills up; do all you can to maintain it.)  Face a seat and brace your arms on the back of two seats in front of you.  Yes, I know this will put your crotch uncomfortably close to the person sitting in the seat.  Deal.  They’re used to it.  Don’t give in to the temptation to grab the bars hanging from the ceiling; your arms will be killing you after five minutes of unpaved road.  You may be forced into using the bars eventually, but don’t go willingly.

Now you know the best position for Salvadoran bus riding.  But stay alert, because thanks to a number of factors, you may unwittingly be forced into one of the following stances:

“The Pink Flamingo”

The Pink Flamingo is an unpleasant position that one is forced into when they make the mistake of removing a foot from the floor of a crowded bus.  While the cobrador (fare collector) squeezes by to collect money, it may be tempting to move your foot to give him a place to step as he passes you.  Do not, I repeat, DO NOT give into this classic pitfall.  Once your foot is lifted, a señora or bicho WILL move their foot into the space to better widen their own stance.  (They’re pros, these guys.)  And you’ll be left with one leg up, one leg down, praying that the bus crashes so the resulting jolt will give you a chance to get some more space.  Please know that if you’re not one of those pink-feathered fowl, the Pink Flamingo is NOT comfortable.

“The Puppet”

This is what happens when you lose your grip on the back of seats.  As the bus crowds, your stance narrows, and increasing amounts of people will also attempt to brace themselves on the seat backs.  As the tallest person on the bus (possibly the country), you’ll be the one forced to raise your arms to the ceiling bars, as the majority of señoras and bichos can’t reach them.  As your stance narrows, you’ll be unable to brace yourself against the roads pitfalls with either your feet or arms.  You’ll be left dangling from the bus ceiling like a puppet on strings, subject to every winding curve and giant pothole the bus drives into.  Your arms will be numb in a matter of minutes.

“The Personal Space Invader”

As Americans, we like our space, especially when it comes to touching strangers on public transport.  Well, you better kiss your personal bubble goodbye, because it’s about to be violated.  As the bus becomes increasingly crowded, people start standing three and four deep in a bus aisle that’s about 18 inches wide.  While you may be able to find enough room for your feet, this will force your bulkier upper body to lean increasingly closer to the person seated in front of you.  Eventually, the whole front of your body will be pressed against theirs like you wanna make a baby with them.  Uncomfortable?  Yes.  Avoidable?  Not particularly.

“The Sardine”

This is a position you’ll mostly encounter on market days or during fiestas patronales, when the buses are packed tighter than a clown car.  During this phenomenon, your feet will rapidly lose their stance until they’re side by side, and there’ll be so little space you can’t even reach up to the ceiling bars.  In this case, you lose all ability to brace yourself for the inevitable impact of a bus crash.  Fortunately, you won’t need to.  The sheer press of people around you will keep you upright, packed in like a sardine.  Aside from the ever constant danger of tiny pickpockets, this isn’t the worst stance to be in.  At least you can keep yourself vertical in this one.

“The Gringo Privilege Seat”

On rare occasions, someone will see you and think, “Poor gringo.  All by themselves in El Salvador.  Probably lost.  I should give them my seat.”  While this is rare, it does happen.  Be warned though, while apparently fortuitous, this position has its drawbacks.  You’ll likely be forced to answer endless personal questions about yourself by the person who gave up their seat to you, and is now looming over you in the guise of The Personal Space Invader.  Also, having a seat can lead to the final position on my list.

“The Pack Mule” also known as “The Babysitter”

Once you have a seat, your lap is open territory.  Salvadorans will hand you bags, packs, bundles, chickens, and small children to carry.  If someone hands you a baby, don’t panic.  They don’t want you to keep it.  They just want you to hang onto it for the duration, so they can use their now free arms to brace themselves.  Getting out of this one is simple, but requires you to give your seat up to the mom.  In this case, you have to weigh your desire not to be squished in between those two bolos standing up against the nervous tic that small children and yappy dogs give you.  Best of luck, my friend.

Now, go forth, visit El Salvador, ride the buses.  Try not to get robbed.  And above all else – beware the bicho!

I finally got my hands on a video of me blatantly cheating at the pinata at the All Volunteer Conference (as referenced in my 10-14-11 blog post, All Volunteer Conference). 

Click here to watch!  Enjoy!

October 14, 2011

With a short six months left of my Peace Corps service, I’ve found my thoughts turning more and more often to one question: what next?

Truth be told, I’ve been asking myself this question since almost day 1 of my service. With two years firmly placed between myself and the necessity of choice the future would force on me, I was free to fantasize without commitment to paths my life might take. I’ve contemplated grad school, teaching in Las Vegas, teaching outside of Las Vegas, teaching for the department of defense, working for the Peace Corps, and becoming a Foreign Service Officer (also known as “international vagabond”). I’ve even contemplated extending my Peace Corps service for a third year just so I’d have more time to weigh my options!

But what it comes down to is this: how do I choose a life for myself? How do I pick just one path?

Everyone has to ask themselves this sooner or later. Many people don’t get to choose, because life chooses for them. Through a combination of circumstance, societal pressure, or sheer happenstance, they end up shoved down a path not of their choosing, and whether they like it or not is of limited importance in the grand scheme of things. But lucky me, I come from a family and circumstances that have allowed me the luxury of trying on different lives to see how I like them. With the mental, emotional, and financial support of my parents, I’ve studied abroad, gone through college, and been in the Peace Corps. I’ve taken classes in everything from economics to linguistics, music to water polo. I’ve learned a new language, made friends from every corner of the world, and lived in a completely different culture than the one I was raised in. And what have I gotten out of all this?

A whole lot of flippin’ options.

I’ve been indecisive and lacked follow-through my whole life. As a child, I wanted to alternately grow up to be a nurse, a ballerina, a pianist, the president of the United States, an artist, and a teacher. I guess it’s not surprising that, twenty years later, my decision making skills haven’t appreciably changed. Although my choices have become somewhat less fantastic.

Part of me desperately wants the life of an international gadabout – I could take the Foreign Service Exam, and spend the rest of my life working in embassies, bouncing from country to country every few years. I could learn more languages, visit new places, and have stories to tell that most people only dream of. But that life has a price, and one I’m not sure I’m willing to pay. Do I want to be so far from my home, my family and friends, and everything familiar? These two years have been the time of my life, but they’ve also contained some of the lonliest moments I’ve ever had. Do I want my nieces and nephews to only know me from phone calls and occasional visits home, as a friendly stranger who brings them gifts? Do I want to miss birthdays and Christmases and recitals?

Do I want a family of my own? Is that a price this life would demand of me? How old would I be when I finally got around to thinking about having children? Looking for a husband? Creating a home? What if I waited for too long, and that other life passed me by?

My friend Chelsea advised me, “Find what you’re passionate about, and do it.” What I don’t think she realized is that she’s one in a million, the exception to the rule. She’s someone who’s willing to take the plunge, risk it all, and do something different that she loves. Our generation loves to talk about our passions – but the truth is, that not one person in ten of us is a Chelsea. Not one in ten of us is actually brave enough to pursue our passion. It takes incredible courage and resilience, because chasing one dream often shunts other dreams to the side. It often takes you away from home and comfort, away from people who know you best. It takes a life of easy decisions and gives you one filled with painful choices. When it comes right down to it, most of us choose to go more or less where life leads us because that’s what makes sense. While few of us would choose a life path that we abhor because society expects it of us, the majority of us would choose a life path that we find comfortable, because it’s laid neatly in front of us, and to hell with the insane whims of youthful passion.

October 13, 2011

I took a break last weekend from tramping the roads drumming up participants for the baking class to attend the All Volunteer Conference in La Palma. Every year, Peace Corps El Salvador talks about doing a conference for all the volunteers to get together, and every year, we lack a budget for such a frivolous enterprise. As a consequence, PC El Sal hasn’t had an AVC in ten years. Since this year is the 50th anniversary of Peace Corps however, we combined the AVC with our 50th anniversary volunteer celebration and were able to use the funds allotted worldwide for that. However, it was on a budget, so our only option for the weekend was El Refugio, way up in the mountains in Northern Chalate. The refuge is one of several retreat centers around the country owned by the Salvadoran government and available to use, free of cost, to any group that books it far enough in advance. Because it’s free, it’s also pretty bare bones. We had to carry in our own bed clothes, toilet paper, food, water, and anything else we felt would be essential for two days amongst the pine trees of La Palma.

Incidentally, I also stayed at El Refugio this past April for an HIV/AIDS workshop wth Salvadoran youth. As some of you may recall, my particular cabin that time (number 7) had a sizable herd of rodents running around in the ceiling and walls. (Yes, I said herd. If you had heard the noise they made in the night, you’d call it a herd too.) This time, I assiduously avoided cabin 7. And snickered a little when I heard the volunteers staying there complain. I did warn them. They chose not to heed my warning, to the detriment of restful sleep.

As it turns out, during the rainy season, the refuge turns into something resembling a large mud pit that would do a rowdy bunch of frat boys organizing a mud wrestling competition proud. Being the genius that I am, I brought one pair of shoes – my all-purpose Salvadoran flip-flops; suitable for dancing, walking, cleaning, working, hiking, showering, and pretty much every other purpose you can think of. (I have not tested them as snow shoes yet, but have high hopes for the ingenuity of Salvadoran footwear engineering.)

My yinas (as Salvadorans call them) came through once again. At first it seemed like a really, really bad idea. I mean, we’re talking epic fail level. My feet sank ankle deep into mud, and I came close to losing my flip-flops on more than one occasion. Even my own self-assurance of my favorite maxim, “I am always right”, began to waver a bit when I watched the other volunteers blithely skip across the muddy fields, gaining themselves dirty sneakers and boots, but clean feet.

Until it started to rain. And what was a mud pit became a mud pool.

Alright, a kiddie pool maybe. But pretty soon I wasn’t the only one sinking ankle and calf deep into mud. I was however one of the few people who could just stick their foot into the shower/sink/pila, shoe on, and come out a few minutes later with squeeky clean shoes and feet. Everyone else ended up with soaked, muddy shoes and socks which had absolutely zero chance of drying out in the two days we were there. See? This girl. Always right. I’ve found that, for the people around me, life is just easier if they accept that right away and always, always follow my awesome advice.

As far as the weekend’s activities, outside of some charlas on project ideas and “life after peace corps”, limbo, dancing, and hula hoops were heavily featured. As it turns out, I have not gotten any better at limbo or hula hooping since my last elementary school field day some fifteen years ago, but there is one thing at which I excel.

Being a cheater pants.

As with any event in El Salvador, it wasn’t complete until we broke out the pinata. Some of you may have previously heard my views on the topic of pinatas: it always ends in tears. Invariably, someone gets whacked on the head with a stick or starts crying when they get the wrong kind of candy. And that’s the adults. Don’t get me started on the kids.

In any case, as we were celebrating the 50th anniversary of the Peace Corps, PC somehow rustled up a pinata in the shape of a dove. Do I really need to highlight the irony of large group of Peace Corps volunteers beating the crap out of a giant bird of peace with a wooden stick? The first pinata was a much more appropriate (albeit somewhat boxlike) Salvadoran flag. I apparenly have much less compunction about defiling a nation’s flag than a dove. After three batters and no more damage to the flag than an unsightly bulge, I decided it was time to step up and take that mofo out. After all, I grew up in Jersey, with all those Italians. “Whack” has more than one meaning to me.

I took the requisite blind fold and subsequent spins. After a few abortive and highly unsuccessful whacks in which I caught only air, my fellow volunteers finally got their act together and starting yelling, “NOW!” as the pinata whizzed over my head. On the third try I got some semi-solid contact, but nothing close to what I needed in order to meet my objective of “making it rain”. Candy, that is. (Why, what were you thinking?) It was time to do what I do best. Cheat.

On the next pass over my head, I recognized that the pinata was in easy reaching distance. Whereupon I promptly abandoned the stick and started clawing in the air like a frenzied maniac. I smacked it a couple times with my hands and finally got a solid grip of smushy cardboard and crepe paper. The pinata bearer tried to get sneaky and pull it up out of my way, but I wasn’t having it. I tightened my grip and ripped it like a fat kid eating beans. Toostie rolls showered, cheers were heard, and I walked away a local hero and volunteer legend.

The moral of this story is that no one cares if you blatantly and unabashedly cheat, as long as they get free candy out of it.

Tootsie roll, anyone?

10-21-11

Over the past week and a half, El Salvador has experienced its largest rainfall in recent history.  A tropical depression dumped an average of 1500 millimeters of rain (that’s almost five feet, for those of us not on the metric system) across the country in just ten short days.  For your reference, that’s almost twice as much as the disastrous Hurricane Mitch produced in 1998.  If you’re wondering why you haven’t heard more about this in the international news, it’s probably because “Tropical Depression 12-E” sounds a lot less intimidating than “Hurricane Mitch”.

Another reason is that, thanks to the quick response of the Salvadoran government in evacuating people in flooded areas, the death toll was thankfully much lower.  The official count as of today is 34 people, mainly from landslides and car accidents (as opposed to the 240 people who died in 1998).

In spite of the low death toll, this is a disaster in every sense of the word for El Salvador.  Right now, 55,000 people are living in over 600 shelters throughout the country.  18,445 homes have been flooded and 879 landslides have occurred over highways.  The Rio Lempa, which bisects the country and receives water from numerous tributaries originating in Honduras and Guatemala, has jumped its banks in numerous areas.  The Lempa is the longest river in El Salvador; a series of dams on the river provide hydro-electric power to the country.  As the Lempa approaches the Pacific Ocean, it spreads out into a broad flood plain known as the Bajo Lempa (or Lower Lempa).  Because of the incredible amount of rain surging down the river from swollen tributaries, the pressure on the dams was immense, and the Rio Lempa Hydro-electric Executive Commission (known as “CEL” in Spanish) released large amounts of water, knowing even as they did so, that it would cause flooding lower down.  CEL maintains that, because of the danger to the integrity of the dams, it had no other options.  I can’t speak to whether they could have safely released less water, because I’m not an engineer, but it’s certainly true that the Hydro-Electric authorities are taking a lot of heat for their actions.  In the aftermath of the flooding, CEL has sent relief supplies for people in shelters in affected areas.

Whatever the choices that led to the flooding, the results were devastating.  In the Lower Lempa River Basin, located in the department of Usulután, 40 communities were completely flooded out and dozens of others were cut off from all outside contact for more than 48 hours as roads were washed out.

Thanks to the swift reaction of the government, working with various NGOs like Voices on the Border, the death toll from flooding was incredibly low.  However, there will be some very serious long-term repercussions for El Salvador as a result of the rains.  Aside from the immediate problem of clothing and feeding the 55,000 currently in shelters, thousands of people will have lost their homes in the flooding.  Houses here are often made from cheaper materials like wood, tin, and adobe, that stand no chance against natural disasters.  Those in flooded areas whose homes remain will likely have lost the majority of their personal possessions.

This year’s harvest has been severely affected as well.  Numerous staple crops, like corn and beans, have been wiped out.  A large number of crops that have already been harvested are wet and will rot if they can’t be dried out in time.  An estimated 5,000 acres of crops have been destroyed.  This is incredibly significant in a country where the principal occupation is sustenance farming.  Voices from the Border described one scene they encountered as they attempted to evacuate the Lower Lempa Region:

This afternoon a member of Voices staff came across an agricultural cooperative in Mata de Piña where workers were trying to salvage their corn crop that they were almost ready to harvest. Members of the cooperative were working in waist-deep water, picking, shucking, and grinding corn in hopes of salvaging something. This is a bleak reminder of what is to come in the weeks and months ahead. The region has lost all its crops and will be dependent on food aid programs for the foreseeable future. Today – we’ll just focus on the basics… food, clothing, and shelter.

Health concerns are numerous as well.   The government’s health system has been severely strained.  Due to all the flooding and lack hygiene at the shelters and in coastal areas, it’s quite possible that the state of public health will be adversely affected.  It’s likely that increases in diarrhea, dengue, and child hood diseases will be seen, especially in the flooded coastal zones.

For those of you wishing to help in some way the people affected by the flooding, Voices on the Border, the SHARE Foundations, and EcoViva are all accepting donations to help in their work in the Lower Lempa region and elsewhere.

As far as my community goes – well, we were very lucky.  We’re located in the north at a relatively high altitude.  Though the rivers the run next to my community did raise considerably, they are in too steep a gorge to cause us any problems.  The biggest danger was from landsides.  Although a few did cover the road at different times, they were quickly cleared away and didn’t result in any property damage, injury, or loss of life.  Truthfully, the biggest challenge for most Peace Corps volunteers during the rainfall was boredom – because of the danger of flooding and landslides, our Emergency Action Plan was activated and we were not allowed to travel for well over a week.  Fortunately, we all weathered the storms well and were thrilled to see the sun poke its head out for the first time on Thursday.

Click here for a video of the evacuation in the Lower Lempa region.

Here are some pictures from Jutiapa, Cabañas, another volunteer’s site.

…also known as “One More Reason to Hate my Latrine”.

I woke up the other morning and went outside to use my latrine.  (The Peace Corps is kind of like camping for two years, but with less beer and more work.  So awesome.)  On the floor of my latrine was a snake, blissfully napping with reckless regard for my bladder’s needs.  I was impressively calm, if I do say so myself.  I shut the door and went to get my neighbor.  Because I am not a snake charmer.  In two years, I’ve learned to deal with rats, bats, scorpions, tarantulas, and bugs the size of baseballs with dignity and humility.  Alright fine, not with humility.  Or dignity.  But I have learned to deal with them.  But I DON’T.  DO.  SNAKES.  I have to draw the line somewhere.  And that line falls right in front of slithery, scaled creatures that may or may not be poisonous.

My neighbor’s 18-year-old son came over with a three-foot stick.  (Isn’t there some proverb about poking a sleeping snake?  Or is that bear?)  He found the snake, which had curled up in the very back of the latrine.  Thank God it wasn’t there to begin with, or I might not have noticed until my bare, gringa butt was dangling over it.  He coaxed it on to the end of the stick and pulled it out.  After chasing his sister with it a bit, he yelled to his Mom, “Hey, I think it’s the baby of the other one!”

Pardon?

I went over and interrogated his mother, and it went something like this:

“Oh, didn’t we tell you?  I could’ve sworn we told you… We found a big snake a few days ago, but before we could kill it, it slithered into the forest near your latrine.”

?#@%^@!!!!!

It took me a couple hours to work up the courage to go back into my latrine.  And now I’m in a constant state of worry every moment that a wrathful, vengence-seeking mama snake is going to drop down onto my head from the rafters and take revenge on my for killing her child!

My neighbor’s last, comforting parting shot to me was, “Don’t worry, snakes eat rats.  So you’ll have less in your house now.”  Which I think is kind of comparable to telling someone that their recently acquired case of chlamydia will make their herpes much less noticeable.

Sorry, that was crude.  But apropos.