As I sit here typing, the rain is pouring hard on my tin roof, making it almost impossible to think. It is the end of the rainy season, and I find myself praying that this will be the last big storm. I am sick of the mud, the mosquitoes, the twelve- hour blackouts, the slippery walk outside of my house, and the ever rising river… Only I realize that after the winds of November and December die down- the little time I ever felt a hint of the comfort of the autumn season of the northeast- I will be praying for some relief from the heat, which only a cool drizzle could offer. Así es la vida. That’s life. Throughout my life, I have tried so hard to resist the habit of looking ahead, thinking about what’s next, what could be in store for me. I want to take in every moment, remembering not just the day or the event, but what it felt like to be there and the details of the people with whom I spent it. As I reach the beginning of the end, with only six months of my service left, this goal becomes more of a challenge, especially as I say goodbye to those other volunteers who I have become close to, to those who I have come to rely on. I cannot help but think of when I will be saying goodbye, when I will be returning to an easier life.Of course, I have people here in the community who I rely on, as well, and shall see this through with me until the end. It is easier with them to live in the moment, obviously because I know that my time here is fleeting and thus far has passed too quickly. I have watched the local children and babies grow up and cannot believe how Yanira is starting to look exactly like her mother as she carries a heavy bundle on her head while holding her little brother’s hand. But will I remember Gregoria’s laugh, Porfirio’s mischievous looks, Chinda’s reassurances, Sarai’s timidity, Lupe’s conviviality? Will I remember the tone of Don Santos’s voice as he stood up and slowly explained that he was dissatisfied with the participation and support of the community and was thus resigning as the president of the ADESCO? Will I remember the lump in my throat as I realized that the one born leader, the one true catalyst of change within the community, was giving up on this place? Before I was? I know I will never forget my women’s group. For even though I tried not to have too many expectations before I arrived here, my work with them is what I envisioned my Peace Corps service to be like. They remind me of why I am in the Peace Corps. The family chicken coop project that we are doing together will most likely be the only tangible sign that I was ever here, so maybe they will not forget me either. They are my best friends, I am so thankful to have them in my life, and because of them, I will never give up on Chagalapa. * Yanira is pictured above dancing in the Independence day parade.

This is something I wrote for the PC El Salvador volunteer newspaper/magazine thing after reading an article in a magazine sent down to me about how to stop complaining. This is my version, maybe you’ll like it:Being in the Peace Corps really gives a person to think about life, what it all means, what am I doing here, who am I? Amidst all my self-reflection, I recalled what a good friend had recently told me: that I complain, constantly. Well, yes, of course I do, I readily admit it. In fact, it’s one of my favorite pastimes. And I am sure you will all agree, (some reluctantly), that you all love to play as well. It is indeed a sport that brings (American) people together, and especially Peace Corps volunteers, whether you are in La Union or Ahuachapan. You can meet someone new with whom you might otherwise have little in common, but be able to initiate a conversation and make it last for hours, based on a single complaint. It’s beautiful. Who am I then? A complainer. But despite my defense of my principal source of amusement, I have come to realize that it can get old. I complain so often and effortlessly, that it is losing its novelty; I am no longer entertained by my complaints, nor yours. No offense. So how do we make it fun again, you ask. After much analysis of complaints, I have developed a new strategy that I hope will bring the joy back to moaning, groaning, and airing my grievances. First, let’s cut back on griping about the same things repeatedly:How hot/muddy it is: If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a thousand times… I feel like I’m living in hellfire. But basically everyone is. With the exception of those mountain people (but I don’t talk to them anymore), we are all hot and sweaty, and around this time of year, probably all muddy with dirt you can’t get out of your toenails. You’ve probably slipped in the mud too, maybe on your way to the latrine when you had a bad GI problem, which stinks, but it is a little funny. So let’s put any weather-related complaints on the shelf, because the weather happens to everyone. Being “gordita”: This applies mostly to the ladies, although there may be a guy or two who is sensitive regarding his self-image. I remember the first time someone called me gordita. I was horrified, complained about it for months, and then finally realized it is a compliment. It does not mean fat in a “eww you need to eat more salads” way. Besides it is so hot, who wants to work out? Seriously, no one cares and no one wants to hear about what you eat, your fluctuating pants size, or that stupid scale in the Sheraton that lies! It lies I tell you! Buses, crowds on buses, etc.: I once sat next to a German man on a rather unpleasant bus ride coming from the beach and started to complain (thinking it would give us something to share and enjoy together) about how much I missed the efficiency of the NYC subways and even the New Jersey transit trains. He’s European, they do transportation well, I thought, he must feel similarly. His response? “Well, there are no trains, so deal with it… I rather like the buses.” Well I am sure you can guess that this German fellow and I did not become bff or penpals. In fact, we sat in silence for two hours while some man’s crotch was basically pushing up against my face, and I festered over how rude this dude was. But he did have a point. It is our only option, is pretty efficient considering how many people are in this country, and you can get some pretty interesting stories and experiences from riding the bus. And fyi, NYC subways smell like pee. Being sooo busy: Uh, who are we kidding? We really are not. And gracias a Dios! I am so not jealous of my frenzied friends working 15- hour work days in an office in front of a computer, worrying about money. I also realized that when I started naming all these tasks that took up “all” my time, it sounded like…uh, bragging. Other people complaining: This may not be done that often, but never should. Peace Corps is not a walk in the park for anyone, so if your friend wants to rant and vent for a while, just let him. In fact, join in on the fun! But what do we complain about, now that I’ve just ruled out most of our material? Let’s get a little creative! Here are a few new complaints that I’ve come up with or heard to get the ball rolling. Tadpoles in my hair after a refreshing bucket bath.Creepy-eyes Nelson from the Alcaldia. Mischa Barton (or insert celebrity name here) and all her shenanigans that I hear a month after they actually happen. Still having to tell people not to look directly at my white skin for fearing that it will damage their eyes, even after living sixteen months in the tropics. Working for the man. (any complaint about irritating official peace corps tasks should be followed by “damn the man!” and then glue your quarters to the floor.)“It smells like God farted.” (Thanks to Allie Hayden for the best complaint ever.) Pigs and their disgustingness. Worst farm animal ever. If you want to complain about these things too, come find me, maybe we’ll be bff. Oh and by the way, what we should never complain about: the Salvadoran love for 80’s pop music… you know it is all awesome.

I want to tell everyone about my best friend in El Sacramento, Gregoria. Although she is forty years older than me, I enjoy her company more than anyone else’s. She is a small woman, but with a big presence. Hipo my dog has to be kept on a leash or else he will run to her house and beg for tortillas, do tricks, and play with her grandkids. I do not mind that he does that, it gives me an excuse to go hang out with her, although she would say that of course I do not need one. She has a house full of grandkids, parrots, and dogs (even stray ones that were starving in the street). She laughs, actually cackles, really loudly and constantly shouts, whether she is telling you to come sit down for dinner or telling the kids to stop fighting. When the kids act out, she’ll take a branch off a tree, rip off the leaves, and chase them around whipping it and telling them to behave, but with a big smile. She calls her youngest grandchild monkey.Like all Salvadoran women, she is constantly on her feet, sweeping, cooking, washing clothes, running their little store. But unlike most Salvadoran women, she talks about how much her feet hurt, her head hurts, and even said that she thinks that she will die soon... but we all know she is still full of a lot of life. She is not embarrassed to take her bucket baths topless right out in the open when people are visiting, or to converse with them while she is doing so. She loves to gossip and gives great advice. She is constantly volunteering (she is the soy nutrition volunteer for Agape) and supporting my work (she cooked the food for the engineers and let’s me hold meetings at her house. She loves to shop, whether it’s items for her little store or shirts and underwear from the woman who goes house to house with bags of clothing on sale. She invites anyone, even strangers passing through, to come and have coffee and cookies in the late afternoon. I started teaching Gregoria to read one day and when her husband came home and teased her a little, she snapped back, “I am only starting and I am trying really hard, and when I learn, no one will ever be able to trick me again. So be quiet old man!”Twenty- five years ago, Gregoria stood outside with her brothers and sisters and watched all of them get killed by a soldier, claiming they were rebels, when they were just poor farmers caught up in a violent and ruthless civil war. She was spared because the soldier recognized her; he had often seen her playing with her children near the river and she had even invited him to have coffee with her and her husband one afternoon. Her husband was not spared. A year later, she and the children had to hide in a bodega while the soldiers came through once again. One soldier stuck his rifle in the bodega, feeling for people inside, but fortunately it passed over their heads. She and the children fled from their village in the northern department of Chalatenango, to El Sacramento, where she met Don Candido and had another daughter, Pablina, who graduates from high school this year. Every November 1st, the day of the dead, she and her children return to Chalatenango with bags of home-made plastic flowers and place them on the graves of her brothers and sisters. She travels there some other times, but she prefers to stay at home, running her store, sharing cups of coffee, and playing with monkey.

It has been such a long time that I have written an entry, that I feel as if I should apologize and explain my hiatus. The truth is that I have no idea where these past four months went. I had visits from the engineers from Rutgers and from my mother. And I finally finished a project that I started from my last entry. I went to the beach a bunch, said goodbye to some good friends, swam in thermal pools, and went on some really beautiful hikes in El Imposible before the rainy season kicked in. Other than that, I just spent time with friends in my community.Work has been disappointing and although I do not want to complain, I guess part of the experience that I want to communicate is my frustration, anxiety, and ultimately, the feeling of failure. After 14 months in El Sacramento, with only ten more to go, I feel as though I have not accomplished anything. There are a lot of projects in progress, but since I am past the half-way point in my service, I worry that they will not get done. Different foundations within El Salvador whose help we anticipated have dropped us. We even had some setbacks with the bridge project, which I had thought was well on its way to being realized. The worst part is that it would only be hard for me to tell my community that one, or all, of the projects will not happen. They would not be that upset, they are used to disappointment. In spite of all of these intense emotions, I have not given up hope yet. In this past month, I have even pushed the leaders in the community to work with me, which is no easy task in a land that takes things very slowly. People at home worry about me and my happiness. But the truth is that my happiness depends on the happiness of my community, my friends who have given me so much more than I believe I can ever give to them. I want to give them a chicken business, a bridge, a health dispensary. Yet at the end of the day, they are happy to be just sharing some laughs over beans and tortillas.... So don’t worry about me, we’re going to be all right.

At the beginning of the month, I was a little overwhelmed with projects, big and small, that I had to do, so I made a list of everything. Although the list was indeed substantial, it made it a lot easier to tackle all my tasks. I hung it up next to my door and walked by it every day. I then made a budget for myself because I knew that everything would start adding up as soon as I tried to make the much needed improvements to my house. Yesterday I walked in from church and noticed the list again, but grabbed a pen and crossed everything on my list! I could not believe that I had managed to accomplish all my goals this month. I even took a beach vacation in there with my training group to celebrate one year in country. I am even a little bit under-budget, Gracias a Dios, because my Peace Corps salary is not that generous. The new, complete latrine will start to be built tomorrow, as well as the World Map project. Getting this all organized has been pretty rough, but I am constantly getting lessons in patience here. The Engineers Without Borders will be here a week from Thursday, but I have completed all the arrangements for their stay, thanks to the help of my women’s group! I am also happy that i got everything done in February because it is getting HOT. Every day from 10 am to 4 p.m. I dread doing any work that requires me leaving my hammock, which is basically everything. Even Hipo is grateful that I leave him tied up at home. How hot is it? I do not know. Just know that you do not want to be here unless you have air conditioning or you are standing underneath the waterfall. Luckily the nights are very cool, so I have started to stay up a little later and take naps in the middle of the day. But I feel so lazy. How can I not love Nelson (the one in the hat!? He cannot pronounce his r’s either, so our interactions are quite amusing.