Today we celebrated father`s day in the cultural house in Azacualpa. I metion this because the Salvadoran folkloric dance group that I joined two months ago danced for the lucky fathers. Even though I felt like something from the produce department in the supermarket I really enjoyed dancing. You can judge for yourself. Happy Father`s Day!!

Long time no blog. Where to begin? Life is good. I just finished hosting a group of five people, two teachers and three students, from a charter school- Yes Prep- in Houston, Texas. Imagine nine days of six people, one small modest room-house, five meals a day, hands and legs covered in oil based paint, and a lot of conversation about poop. Needless to say it rocked! Our goal was to make the escuelita, little school, of Cuesta Marina a more inviting and lively place. Job accomplished. The six of us with five days to paint an entire school and two murals finished the task with grace and exactness. The process, which you can see by the pictures, was very cool. We first drew our farm mural on taped together newspaper. We then flipped it over and filled the backside with carbon- charcol. the ready newspaper and taped to the wall and with pencils we traced all the animals and the barn. This, for me, was a very cool process and surprisingly worked quite well. Although we had a time restraint, the final product came out beautifully. I could not have accomplished this on my own so my kudos go out to Alison, Dave, Elena, Mikhail and Armando. Thanks you guys. Here are some pictures of the group, Cuesta Marina kids and of course the murals. I will let the pictures speak for themselves. Enjoy!!

It is my favorite time of year: mango season. Lately I have been eating at least five mangos a day. Mangos are a breakfast, lunch and dinner food. There are various classes of mangos- magos indios (smallest), mangos manzanas (medium sized), mangos papaya (ginormous and juicy), and etc. Mango season is amazing for its mangos but also for the other fruit it brings our way. The jacote fruit a small reddish fruit that grows in groups on a tree and tastes like heaven is just one of mangos season exciting surprise. The other is carago which is more of a seed than a fruit. The seed grows in a large brown pod and the people here make fresco- juice- out of the seeds. I am including pictures because well I find fruit exciting!

Since I have been in my site more than two hands full of people have fled “mojado” –wet back- to the USA to follow the American dream. Thankfully the people from my community who have left have made it safely. However, this is not always the case. Two women from surrounding communities died last year on the path to following the American dream. For most of the Salvadorans that leave for the United States the American dream consists of a lot of Washingtons, Hamiltons, and Franklins- money. From what people in my site tell me it seems like the wall that has cost the US government $$$$ only helps protect illegals from the cops that patrol the boarder. It’s easy to cross they tell me. Many friends of mine have passed the boarder various times, when they get tired of the USA they return to El Salvador and when they run out of money they go stateside. In a country the size of Massachusetts there are six million people, however there are 8 million salvos worldwide. Thankfully two million people live in other parts of the world most of them illegally and most of them in the United States. I say thankfully because there is no more room to put people in this tiny country nor are there jobs for the existing residents let alone for those who have moved out.

While in many respects illegal migration to the states has helped many people obtain a higher standard of living it has created many problems for El Salvador. Through working with the school and high school I have learned the crisis that illegal migration has put the education system in. “Raise your hand high if you have family in the USA,” I ask them. The hands shoot up. A couple kids don’t raise their hands but I know their family that’s in the states personally. Ok next question. “How many of you want to go to the USA,” I ask. Some hands without pause shoot up, but the majority of hands are much more tentative. Ok scratch that question, “How many of you have thought about going to the states.” Many more hands go up. “Why?” I ask “What makes you want to go?” Blank faces look at me as if no one has understood my accented Spanish. So I ask “everyone understand the question?” They all nod. One kid shouts “money.” “There are jobs in the USA and there are no jobs here.” After one kid starts kids start yelling reasons. “I can work manual labor for a lot of money.” “I don’t want to make $5 a day like my dad.” “I want to know what its like.” So why is this a problem? Why study, why concentrate on math and science when you can potentially go to the states, easily, and rack in the Franklins? There is no good answer to this question. Professors, some lawyers, hotel workers and so on in El Salvador make less money here than an illegal construction worker who is making $15 per hour in the states. Argh.

At the beginning of March I invited a Salvadoran NGO worker to come talk about migration to the United States. Although he has a visa to go to the states and is married to an American women, Señor P has gone “wet back” four times to the US A in order to fully understand the camino- path. I invited him to talk to the high school and middle school kids and their parents about the realities and the misconceptions of Salvadoran migration to the United Sates. Included are some pictures of him and his talk, but more importantly he brought pictures of some aspects of the journey to obtain the American dream. I enjoyed them so much I took pics of the pictures. Enjoy!!

For about five years now I have wanted to run in a 5k, yet every time the opportunity presents itself I make an excuse for why I should or cannot run in it. While the idea of running in a 5k has always been in the forefront of my mind, the idea of coming in last and reaching the finish line panting and crashing to my knees has always prohibited me from entering a race. So, when I turned twenty-four last year I made a promise to myself that before I turned twenty-five I would run in a 5k race. I figured I had a year to talk myself into it with something like this: “Look Joanna it’s only 3.2 miles and it’s not about winning it’s about participating and giving it your best.” I think that is what my parents told me when they wanted me to participate in sports as a child. Last Thursday February 21, 2008 the opportunity to run a 5k presented itself to me in my community. A teacher in the high school, Don Francisco, put up a flier welcoming all students, teachers, and community members to run it a 5k race as a commencement to the fiesta patronales in Azacualpa. My neighbors and some close friends told me they would run and that I should join them. The only thing that gave me pause was that I thought I would be the only woman because well women here detest running and see it more as a form of punishment than enjoyment. So Thursday morning I put my pride aside and my running clothes on and made way to the plaza where the race began. It was so much fun!! There were only about fifteen of us, which is a sad number considering the hundreds of people that live in the community, but it turned out to be a really good group. I was one out of four women which thrilled me because I was not the only one. There were two teachers, myself and the rest of the runners were students, but one teacher spoke eloquently about the importance of exercise and a healthy body. I was presented a medal for being the first girl to cross the finish line and am happy to say that I came in before some of the guys. I was not only proud of myself but super proud of all of the people that participated, because here a 5k race is something rarely seen especially in the campo and to participate in something new and different takes guts. Here are some pics of those who ran and kicked butt.

I finally had my first quinceañera experience this Sunday. It was much more than I had expected. It was very different than MTV’s version of “My Quinceañera.” Through this experience I learned it really is glorious to turn fifteen in this culture. While my fifteenth birthday was very lovely with a small gathering of my friends and parents, I don’t remember feeling like I had just become a woman. Actually I can not remember one day in particular when I became a woman, I may still be waiting for that day to come. The quinceañera princess’s name is Evelyn. Evelyn is a girl that I have gotten to know very well, she has become a good friend. So when she and her mother accosted me to take photos of the special day I was more than happy to record her day of becoming a woman. Becoming a woman in this culture is awesome it is like having a wedding but only for yourself. There is no one that you have to share the attention with: it really is all about you and your journey in a new phase of life. I have taken various photos of the birthday girl and her special day. The pictures speak for themselves. Enjoy!

Happy New Year!! Yeh for 2008! I have needed a new year for about a year now, so when the 31st rolled around I said: “bring it”. The New Year started off with a bang, actually it was a bang, room, shhh (all sound effects) from the wind that was and still is blowing through El Salvador. Adam, my extremely handsome boyfriend, and I brought in the new year with a beachfront view, other volunteers, and some ghetto fabulous champagne. After a Christmas week of chicken tamales, chicken sandwiches, chicken stuffed fried corn and just good old Salvadoran festivities in my site I felt both constipated and ready to drink a glass of bubbly with my man and some volunteers. Therefore the beach was a nice getaway: the food was amazing, company engrossing and view incredible; needless to say it was quite an ideal way to welcome a new year.

Once the festivities had calmed down and we were officially in 2008, Adam and I went back to his site. It was so nice to spend time with him in Dos Puertas, the poorest community in the department of Sonsonate. Even though the people are struggling they welcome me with open arms whenever I drop into town. “Joanna venga venga (come, come)” some kids say. Some of them ask me if I’m moving in, but most of them just run up and hug and kiss me until they get tired. This trip to Adam’s site was a little different. Dos Puertas is in the hills of Sonsonate so it’s cooler then the rest of the department. When we arrived coming back from the beach there was a brisk wind chill and the electricity had gone out earlier in the day. Adam assured me this was not usual but had happened every now and then. Well after a 7pm candlelit dinner I was in bed by 8pm and the winds had me shaking in my pjs by 8:01pm. Literally once the winds picked up I thought the house, Adam and I were going to end up in OZ. Fortunately and ironically Adam lives in a house that was built by USAID after the 2001 earthquake. It is the best made and biggest 2 room house in his community. The surrounding houses are aluminum siding one room houses that families of seven occupy. In the morning after shaking all night long with fear I woke up to find that many of Adam’s neighbors had lost their houses. One house across the street was battered by the storm: in the morning it was four wooden poles and a bed: it had lost all of its walls and contents. Adam’s house was the only house that had no damage.

What a way to start off the New Year. While this was really hard for me to watch and experience it was a good way to start off the New Year. I told myself: “be thankful for what you have, Joanna and you are in a place you can really make a difference.” So Happy New Year and I hope you all brought it in with a bang!

I remember when we learned about subsistence farming in high school. Honestly I didn’t really get it. I understood the idea of farming for survival, but it seemed like an archaic idea, doesn’t everyone just go to the nearest Whole Foods to get his or her fresh farm fix. Well Cuesta Marina depends on the corn and bean harvests to live. Most people harvest each crop and store about 75% for family consumption and sell the other 25%. Others grow the crops purely for family consumption. Right now- the middle of August- we are in the middle of the corn harvest. Corn might as well be its own food group. Salvadorans use corn to make tortillas- the fork supplement, corn tamales, reiguas- sweet corn cakes, and Atol- a corn based hot drink. The fresh corn on the cob- elote- that the men bring in fresh every day in August is super duper yummy. Corn has now also become a primary food in my daily diet. I have come to appreciate the diversity of corn; it can be both sweet and savory and can be eaten with almost any other food including honey and cream.

Last Sunday we went out to the field and brought back two large sacks of fresh untouched corn. Elena and her daughters Katie and Sandra as well as my neighbor friends Diana and Gena, and myself had a ball going to get the corn and sitting down telling jokes while we shucked it. The girls told me that they thought it was amazing how one can plant two cornels in a small hole and in return get a handful of corn on the cobs. It is amazing and maybe that’s why people still depend on it.

At the end of last week El Salvador suffered from some mean rains and winds. After the storms a volunteer friend called me to tell me that his crops that he and his school had planted were completely destroyed by the winds. The crops could no longer produce, and therefore there would be no eating of those crops. Luckily other people had planted earlier and their corn had already harvested. But what happens to the families that were too late in planting their crops and were deeply affected by the wind and rain damage. A man from my community once told me that the reason why Salvadorans, especially those in rural parts, still have very large families of five kids or more- usually more- is because the children can go to the fields or a tree and get lunch. Lunching it this way is definitely more cost affective. Unfortunately it is very hard to predict and prevent against rains, strong winds, and natural disasters in general. While I love shucking corn, going in the fields, using the tortilla as my fork and eating reiguas with honey, I now truly understand the difficulties that come with subsistence farming and living- very little power lies in human hands.

When I first arrived in my cite I invited the community to a soccer tournament in a volunteer’s site about a 30 minute drive from Cuesta Marina. Little did I know that the tournament would begin talk about making a soccer field behind Mirtala’s house. The men in the community had a lot of energy and motivation to build a field. The problem was that the land sloped, a lot, and it had big protruding rocks right in the middle of the field. Even though there was a lot of desire, it takes a lot more to build a field than a machete and a lot of talk- we needed a big mama machine- but they definitely came to recognize that. With my luck a friend of mine introduced me to a high ranking member of the army. He and some army majors came to look at the field, and before we knew it we had engineers measuring and evaluating the land. This was a fast pace operation. However, once the army promised the machinery the process began to slow down.

It took four months of constant annoyance to get the machinery delivered from the army, but it came! At the beginning of June a week after Leticia and I had gone to say it’s either now or never, a worker arrived with the machinery ready to work. When the machinery arrived the kids ran out of their houses yelling “it’s here, it’s here!! It really came.” Minus some of the complications of the machinery breaking for a couple days and not having enough funds to buy all the gas, we persevered and didn’t let little obstacles get in the way. The machine worked for two weeks and by the last day everyone was aching to get out there and play: the girls play softball and the boys play soccer but the field is big enough for everyone. We have been playing out there for a week now, and it is so beautiful to watch everyone- men, women, girls, and boys- congregate. It is the only place where both females and males can come together on an equal “playing field” (no pun intended).

May was an enjoyable month. The parents came to visit!! May 18th was their arrival day, and I waited four hours anxiously in the El Salvador airport to greet my family that I had been estranged from for nine months. We began our adventure lounging out by the palm trees, almond trees, and big waves watching the surfers catch some good rides and people riding by on horseback through the black sand. My father really took to the hammock and to the domesticated female monkey that resided in our hotel. My mother on the other hand did not take to the monkey very well, but enjoyed swimming in the pool, drinking tropical drinks, and lounging out by the black sand reading. Needless to say it was a hard life of eating, drinking, swimming, scrabble playing, and catching up.

After the beachfront view and breeze we headed north into the department of Chalatenango where my little village of Cuesta Marina is located. As we pulled up interested faces peeked out of the houses to greet us. My parents, who speak no Spanish and my Salvadoran family, who speaks no English, finally got to meet. My parents were greeted with hugs by Mirtala, Blanca, and Hilda and the tears rolled down all of our faces. My two worlds collided. Although the language barrier, latrine and extreme heat made it a little difficult for them to be exactly themselves, my parents made a great impression. The night that they stayed we went to Elena’s for pupusas and budin! Everyone was taken with the conversation about export, Salvadoran job market, and goat’s milk. It was a real success!! In the morning we made typical Salvadoran bread and went around the community meeting and talking to community members.

Once my parents had the opportunity to meet my community and get some insight into the world I now live in, we headed across the lake Suchitlan to Suchitoto. Suchitoto was one of the most devastated towns during the civil war but after the war officially ended in 1992 with the peace accords the mayor’s office put most of their government allotted money to refurbishing the historic buildings and cleaning up the town. With their efforts, Suchitoto has now become a big destination for both domestic and international tourists. While there we ate some amazing food: salmon, paté, fresh fruits and vegetables, and great mojitos. Also we stayed in a quaint hotel called “los almendros” (the almonds) that is run by a French man and woman; therefore, there is a very “French” feel. Vacation it was. It came and went and now we are in June and everyone is back at work, but while my parents were here we were all on vacation reconnecting.

Most days I thank my lucky stars for ending up in a country that has not been too difficultly hard to culturally adapt to. For the most part the people that I have encountered are very similar to me: the kids here view Shakira as the belly dancing pop star that she is, people in general can, and do, spend days on end talking about food, and for the most part people really take interest in “the different” in order to expand their knowledge. Although I have definitely noted the differences, the similarities have been more of an eye opener than the differences- up until this past Wednesday.

As I was sitting in my house with grandma and some of the other women in the community talking about the price of god knows what and how many chickens we need to buy for Mother’s Day, a commotion came from the house next door. Let me preface this story by communicating that houses where I live lack privacy: everything that happens usually takes place in the outdoor “porch” area of the house. Most houses consist of only the outdoor “porch” area and one enclosed room that acts as the sleeping area for the family. Continuing. The fourteen year old girl who lives in the house with her four siblings, mother and father came running out in complete disarray, ran down the street in the other direction from us, and disappeared. Turns out that her father had come home at 3:00pm completely “embolado” or drunk to hit his wife in front of his daughter. Jena, the fourteen year-old, ran out of the house and down the street out of fear but also to call the police, which I now realize took a lot of courage and strength to do. Chico, the stupid drunk, has been in jail now for five days and has another five to go.

Not so different from how we in the U.S. would handle this reprehensible action, huh…don’t jump to any conclusions. Turns out that Chico who has a fairly subdued demeanor when sober likes to come home and hit his wife after a good long morning of liquor tasting and that his actions in the past have been completely overlooked by everyone in the community including his wife and kids. His actions have become almost expected: “oh yeh, when he drinks that’s what he does,” the people in the community tell me. Now, for the past five days his wife, the woman that he took his fist to, travels thirty minutes in each direction to bring him breakfast, lunch and dinner so that he doesn’t go hungry. That’s when I say to myself: “you’re no longer in Kansas Dorothy.” “Let him go hungry,” I say, “teach him that those actions sober or drunk cannot be condoned.” When I tell this to the people in my community the men look at me with disgust and the women laugh nervously and say, “no really what would you do in this situation.” Sometimes I forget that I now live in a world where men and women maintain very different roles, roles that inherently and tacitly tell women that having a man who hits them is better than not having a man at all.

Life in the Marina, like everywhere has its ups and it has its downs. For example, an up for me is waking up at 6:30/7:00 and accomplishing breakfast, my laundry and preparing an English class all before 10:00. While three hours and a bit to accomplish all of this may seem a little excessive to some, it is definitely an accomplishment for me. These three simple tasks used to take me at least the morning if not the whole day to do, and now I am a three hour wiz. Now, some downs for me are the way in which people like to control my life, how the sun causes me to sweat profusely when I am brushing my teeth at 8am, and how every day lacks a structure that I had become so accustomed to in my past life- my American life. I often say with a smile: “Tengo que aprovechar el día” (I have to take advantage of today). However “taking advantage” of the day means something very different here than it does in gringo land. I am still trying to get used to it.

On the phone, my mom likes to tell me that my writing and the way in which I now speak both make me sound like a foreigner. While I hate to admit it, my English- yes- is digressing while my Spanish is tapering off at an intermediate level. Argh. So I often find myself in a state of utter confusion, unable to express myself in neither Spanish nor English. Yet I find that dancing and silly faces save all awkward linguistic moments. Sometimes I wonder if I will leave here fluent in a language that I stumbled over when I arrived, and sometimes I just hope that I leave here speaking something.

My tribulations and accomplishments of everyday differ much from what they used to be. Here I often wonder if I am going to have water to fill my water filter or wash my clothes, which is a wonder that I am still trying to get used to. There is also the food issue. I often take nibbles of food in hope that only nibbles won’t cause me to awake at three in the morning with serious dysentery and vomiting. A fear that has only come with the education about the amount of bacteria and parasites in the water here. However, my accomplishments for the day no longer consist of an A or working 9 hard hours. They now consist of making one person laugh or sharing childhood stories or planting a seed. It’s the smallest things that matter here. Yet the smallest things seem to make huge impacts. I am still learning, and everyday I am still trying to suppress the person within me who wants to construct a road and water tank all in one day. Slowly but surely the tortoise won the race and he probably touched a few lives doing it.

“Santa vaca,” holy cow, it has been quite a long time. Time flies and before you know it you are staring at a computer screen trying to write down the past two months coherently and concisely. Being here has definitely been a washing machine of emotions. You know, it’s a cycle. It begins with the rinse cycle, then fills with water, then starts to spins and the calms down (or some rendition of this cycle). But nonetheless, it is a cycle. This very much depicts how I feel here. The motivated and happy turns into the frustrated and pissed off which eventually turns into the sad; however, after the sad the cycle begins again with the happy. I also include the washing machine because it is something I do miss, quite a lot.

Anyway, a couple weeks ago I asked the school if we could do an environmental festival with the 4th, 5th and 6th graders to celebrate our fine, yet extremely polluted, earth. There was an opportunity given to me by the American Embassy. They sent out an email that said if we (Peace Corps volunteers) submitted art work that represented the earth, each school could win a prize from the Embassy. I saw this as an opportunity not only to win something, but more importantly do something about the continuing problem of litter bugs. Well the festival was much more successful than I could have ever hoped for. The kids put on skits and dances. More importantly they made some fabulous art work. I was in awe.

Two weeks after the fact I have learned that there were about thirteen volunteers who submitted art work. That means that my three kids that had submitted artwork had competition from 39 other kids in El Salvador. The Embassy chose three kids from the forty-two kids that had entered the contest. Well, two of the kids from the school where I live won prizes. I am so proud of them! Here are some pics from that day.

There is a picture of me in my trash dress that I made out of snack bags and an old tee-shirt. Also one of the kids demonstrating a dance that they choreographed to celebrate the environment. The girls wearing the trash in one of the pictures was one of the winners. Yeh for them, they rock.

Here is a montón of photos for everyones enjoyment. They include pictures of my neighbors, playing vollyball, our one day excursion to the beach and our fundraising Carrera de Cintas, where men mount horses and try to put a pen through a tiny little ring. Enjoy!

It is as if you are looking through an opaque surface when you are sick, nothing makes sense. Suddenly out of no where when the fallopian tube has drained the liquid, the amoebas have journeyed out of your system, and the bacterial infection has been battled and killed off by Cypriot that the opaque surface becomes translucent. After the burst cyst I wound up with a bacterial infection and amoebas that had given me serious dysentery and vomiting. I guess it all came upon meat at once.

I came back to Cuesta Marina feeling a little estranged as well as a little foggy: I was still feeling the after effects of the critters that had moved into my stomach for a short lived vacation. But I am seeing most things clearly now. I am getting ready, as I type to begin my English class. I teach a weekly class to the teachers in the school in hopes that they will be able to teach and speak English better themselves. Sustainable development is what I am going for. It is really fun and the teachers have great ondas-vibes. I was opposed to teaching English at first, but now I find it a great way to structure my week and make relationships with the teachers and the school that I otherwise probably would not have.

This is just a little hello to tell all of you that read the last blog that I am alive and kicking. Best wishes to all.

I have come to the conclusion that in order to be an effective Peace Corps volunteer mind, body, and spirit must be united: working together as an unstoppable force. Unfortunately lately my power of three has been fighting itself. As I find myself settling down in my site, feeling comfortable to talk with everyone and share my own opinions and really start moving some sustainable development along, my body says to my spirit “I don’t think so, don’t get too excited now.” On Thursday the 12th of January I found myself in the capital, San Salvador, being admitted into the hospital for an excruciating pain in my lower right side. As scared as I was to be in a hospital in a developing country, I have to admit that the attention, care and expertise of the doctors was just as good as the best health care service in the U.S. After seeing many specialists, having many ultra sounds, and an internal sonogram, the doctors concluded that I had had an ovarian cyst that burst in my fallopian tube causing it to fill with blood and result in the pain that I was feeling. While there was nothing that I could really so except take pain medication and wait for it to pass, it was comforting to know that I was in good hands and also to have an idea of what was going on. I thought, “Mind, body, and spirit unite.”

After the couple days that it took in San Sal to figure out the cause of the pain I woke up in the morning to go back to site excited. However, I woke up with a temperature, vomiting and dysentery. I got on a bus anyway. NEVER get on a public bus in a developing country when you are feeling miserable: I do not recommend it. I needed to get back to the community I had left behind days before. During the two hour journey, I puked three times and became very light headed. Well, back to the capital I went. My body is restoring itself, and the power of three seems to be restoring its energy as well. Hopefully the next time I write the force will be stronger.

Merry Christmas, Happy Chanukah, and a very Happy New Year to all

Christmas has come and gone here. The Salvadoran Christmas is a little different than the traditional Jersey Christmas that I am used to. First of all Christmas is celebrated here on the 24th of December. Second of all kids line the street with quetes, or in English firecrackers; families gather to eat hoagie sized sandwiches of chicken, lettuce, cucumber and beets; and people where shorts and tees because the heat takes over when dancing to Salsa, Cumbea, and Regitone music. Last but not least, I was speaking Spanish. Although different and a little sad being estranged for my family in the States, Christmas turned out to be quite beautiful and filled with joy, which is what Christmas is supposed to be.

On the 25th , the day which I am accustomed to spending the day opening presents, lounging for many hours in my bedtime clothes and eating a meal that take a week to digest, I spent the morning carrying water from one of the only water sources in the canton and talking with some of the women in my community about well everything. Water has not being running for about a week now. Women, children and men go to the little bodies of water to wash themselves and there clothes. How do you tell a community that they are contaminating their drinking water with the chemicals they use to wash themselves and their clothes when they have no other option? Something that seems so carefree and easy like going to a tap to get filtered and clean water is put into perspective for me when I watch the people spend hours schlepping water to the house. Here is a picture of Don Medardo loading the horse with water to bring back to the house.

For the 31st the ADESCO is putting together a dance in the street for the canton and the pueblo. Everyone is really excited. Give Salvadorans any excuse to dance and throw firecrackers in the street and they will take it, as they should. So as the entire world is preparing to bring in the New Year our little canton of two hundred and thirty people is as well. Wishing everyone happiness, health, and a prosperous new year.

So after our soccer tournament on Sunday there is all this talk about a new futból cancha behind our house. So the men of the community, Mirtala and I went to seek it out. As the men with their let´s get down to business faces on talk to me about the cancha, Mirtala decides that this is the perfect time to talk to me about the seven gorgeous white birds in the tree. She talks about their bodies, their elegance on the branches, the fact that there is a gaggle of them, and then she tells me that they would make a great soup. I do not know what I would do without this woman in my life. She puts everything in perspective as bizaare as that might seem. She is absolutely beautiful inside and out. Here are some pictures of the woman that makes me feel at home everyday. The second one is my favorite as well as hers.

Anyway, so I have been keeping very busy. I am working with the ADESCO: the local community grovernment that is in the process of legalization. Also I am trying to help organize sports teams as well as an environmental group for adolecents. I get up everyday and, especially on the days I run, look out at this beautiful view and wonder how anyone could just throw trash on the ground. Therefore, with a group of adolecents I want to start a garbage campaign and recycling project, but I guess we will see how that goes. Vamos a ver. Anyway I have also added some photos of the little girl Diana that lives next door and the group of chicken that mama Mirtala has. Enjoy!

I have arrived to my new life in Cuesta Marina, a beautiful spot on a hill overlooking the lake Sutchitlan. I am living with Mirtila, a woman of about seventy who wears a comb in her ponytail and continuously talks and not necessarily just with me with herself as well. I feel like it is a constant sleep over: we talk through the thin walls of the house late at night. Anyway, how do I explain this endearingly eccentric woman? So when I was in Cuesta Marina for the visit she wanted to show her gratitude for me visiting and spending two years of my life in Cuesta with a gift. As I was walking out the door she pulled me aside to her closet and took out a pair of literal granny panties and a grandma bra to give me. The panties are a light hue of purple and well the bra was too big and as she told me ¨tiene pechitos¨ (you have small breasts) so she retracted that gift. That is Mirtila in a nutshell very giving and warm but a little eccentric I guess I would say. I kindly asked her to save the panties for me so that they would be awaiting my arrival when I came back. So I am here with my new community, new friends, and best of all new panties.

I am no longer living with grams in her room but next door in a pink and green studio apartment as I like to call it, minus the rats and with a plush bed. But most of all I am just thankful that I have been placed in such a beautiful and friendly place with people who have opened up their arms and their hearts to me. The new thing to say is aww...Joanna. Then they laugh pat my hand and give me a hug. I still have yet to find out if this is out of love or sympathy because my Spanish is lacking and my humor doesn´t always translate. The Spanish thing is harder than I thought it would be. I went to go by a piece of sugar cane yesterday for a quarter and ended up walking away with an entire cane about seven feet tall. I mean not a bad deal, but who knew, not me I guess. Anyway, so far so good. Keep reading to stay posted.

So this past Sunday, I ventured across the border into Guatemala to see the Black Christ. Talking about a cultural experience. People come from all over Central America to see the Black Christ and seek cures for ailments. My legs started to ache an hour into wait outside in order to see the sculpture that is the Black Christ. I felt as if I was entering some kind of haunted house: the ramped winded up and to the right and the people exiting walked backwards because it is an absolute sin to turn your back on the sculpture. There are two stories behind the Black Christ. One is that it is a utterly sacred art that was found in a cave in the innards of Guatemalan earth. The other is that the Spaniards brought the sculpture over in order to employ their religious beliefs on the Guatemalan people. Believe which ever story best fits you. However, people here tend to believe the first story so much so that they stand in line all day asking to be cured for everything and anything. The pictures above are of the church, the Black Christ, and the candles that illuminated the church and its grandoir. What an experience.

So my worst fear came true about two nights ago. Starting Monday the 12 of November us Peace Corps trainees went off to our various new homes for three days to get to know the site, meet the people, and get our faces out there. They greeted me and my counterpart Don Morris with banners that read "Bienvenidos a Joanna a Cuesta Marina." There were ballons that filled the walls of the casita. I was in utter shock and clearly had a lot of expectations to live up to. The people ran up to me and asked me everything from family questions to marriage questions. It was really quite wonderful.

You know what they say: "it's lonely on top." Well it didn't feel lonely on top until the next night when the surpriseS came. Earlier that day the combination of the house visits and school ceremony and the kindheartness of the people meant that I was offered food and drink from the tap. Let me tell you that no matter how many times you tell yourself that you will not eat or drink any of that stuff, the faces and hospitality of the people work against you when you are in a real life situation. Needless to say, that night as I was sleeping in the same room as a grandmother, two grandchildren, and a bucket to use as my bathroom, my stomach started to make some funny noises. The noises were a signal that diherrea was coming to town. As if that were not enough, as I am lying in bed trying to supress the flow of the diherrea something falls from the roof directly on my face. This thing was literally the size of my head. I screamed and jumped into the bed of grandma and the ninas. Well, little did I realize that the electricity wasn't working, the flashlight was outside, and it was actually a rat that had fallen on my face and the stomach was still on edge. So, I used my ghetto light on my watch in order to solidify the fact that the animal that had actually fallen on my head was a rat that was running around the room with nowhere to go. So...I lived through my biggest fear and still had an amazing time in my site. More stories to tell...next time.

A month and a half in and I am still here and going strong: some days stronger than others. At times I feel as if I am completely lost in translation, literally and figuratively. I find that people often look at me as is I am a giant cyclops with a siamese twin because much a lot of my actions do not translate culturally. To explain: I have come to the conclusion that what I love most about this culture is the desire to celebrate. There is always an excuse to have a lot of people and a lot of food in one place at the same time. Who can argue with that? However, my idea of celebration differs a little bit in certain circumstance: I do not have ¨pena,¨ I am willing to make an absolute fool of myself, but at the same time I have been socialized to ¨celebrate¨certain events in different ways. I will try to explain.

Two weeks ago my brother, Jaime, celebrated his quinseañero (15th birthday) and we had a blowout bash in the casa mia. There were seven square tables set up for all one hundred invitees to enjoy the feast that my mother and her female friends had prepared. ¨The more the merrier in a very small space¨ was the theme of the party. Soon after the eating shifts had all been fed, everyone congrated in the sala in order to listen to the loud music and get their dance on. This was the moment that I learned exactly what ¨pena¨ means. Here we are congrating in order to celebrate a birthday and everyone is sitting doing the white man tapping of the foot and snapping of the fingers because they were too embarassed to show the others their moves. It´s definately a cultural thing. Leave it to the chalita gringa to get the party started. In the middle of about sixty Salvadorans I took my unabashed self in the middle of the dance floor space and brought my white girl moves out to be seen. Blank faces and timid laughs accompanied my grace on the dance floor. Culturally I felt very removed.

The other day myself and the rest of the country celebrated el Dia de los Defuntos: the Day of the Defunct (dead). Here I am putting on my black pants and shirt in order to be appropriately dressed to venture to the cemetary. Ironically enough, black is not the color of choice to wear to a cemetary. On the contrary, bright colors and flourencents are encouraged. I love it. Although many Salvadorans have pena dancing, I learned that they have no pena expressing their love and celebration for those who have died. It is truly amazing. Although I could barely move in the cemetary because of the innudation of people, the turquoise, yellow, and pinks of the tombs against the purples, blues, reds and greens of the fake flowers helped me take my mind of of the congestion. The decoration made me realize that this is a country that knows how to revel in the lives that have come before. Utterly impressive. For much of the morning and some of the afternoon I chilled out sitting on tombs and talking about the people who had been burried aroubd us, and surprisingly it was absolutely terrific.

This is it for now but I will try to blog soon with pictures. Much love sent out to all.

So here I am in sunny, densly populate El Salvador where livestock runs wild (literally), where outdoor markets are the social scene: everyone who is anyone goes, and where the 1980-90´s civil war still posessess a strong presence. I arrived about a month ago today and am still pinching myself as a reminder that this is not just a vivid dream. Most of the time though, the people themselves remind me that I am an outsider eventhough I do not think that this is their intension. For example, I have been deemed la muñeca (the doll) and have been asked various times to ¨give my eyes as presents.¨ While it is a little different, I am aware that I stand out in a crowd seeing that I stand about three inches than most men and that my alabaster skin and blonde hair is a tremendous contrast to the beautiful brown skin and hair of most Salvadorans.

I live in a town called Palacios (the palaces) with a family of three syblings, a brother and two sisters. The ironic part of the living situation is that my out of the eight syblings four have stayed in El Salvador and the other four have moved to New Jersey, a town only twenty minutes from my little Jersey pueblo, weird huh. Anyway moving on, while my family here does not own any livestock themselves, the absence of the idea of private property means that I am often greeted by chickens, roosters, cows, and the community horse that often gather for reunions at my front door. Some of the animals like me more than others, but I guess I can´t win them all. In the back of my house is a perfect view of the Volcano in San Vicente that we all hiked up and fell down the other weekend. It is a really beautiful and surreal view of the volcano and the clouds that loiter around its peak.

This past weekend I ventured on the Salvadoran public transporation to a place in the East, Upire. Upire is a tiny little town almost right next to the border of Honduras. While is did take seven hours to get there, the trip was worth every hour. The land is covered with bananas, coffee, and coconuts and the hills appear as if they continue forever. There is a breeze up there that I have yet to find anywhere else in this country thus far. It was really beautiful. The first night there I met the director of the school, who happened to be the sister of my homestay mother: everyone, I have learned, in this country is extended family to everyone else (not really but it sure seems that way). She invited me to observe her school the next day. Well, observing became teaching and teaching became two classes: social studies and english. It was quite a surprise, but a delightful one. Teaching was followed by making sweet bread, I know, I have become quite the woman. Anyway...signing off for now but I am saving the laughs for next time just you all wait.