Chaos

The following happened on the night of 26/6/06, just after finishing the last blog entry:

I read over my to-be-posted blog (the Massive Attack one) for this account and deemed it ready for publication. As I do every weekday at 8:00 pm, I settle atop my bed with a bottle of water, turn on the tv and wait anxiously for this weeks episode of my novela, La Fea Mas Bella. This particular night I agreed to play a little fútbol rapio (rapid soccer) with the kids after my novela, as everyone knows not to disturb me (even my fellow Peace Corps friends) between 8-9pm. How serious am I about this? I don’t event answer calls from the states.

There is only one bicho (slang for kid) with the audacity to defy this unwritten rule of the land: my 11 year old pimp. To get into who is he is and how he came to have this title is one best left for the next blog, but suffice to say that he feels that no rules apply to him and he carries himself as such. It was on at 7:57, three minutes before the start of my show that he arrived. I cringed when I heard a bike pull up to my door, the iron not thick enough to block the sound of gravel on rubber and that high pitched, almost demonic Children of the Corn type voice, calling my name.

Reluctant, I answered the door, I invited him to watch the show, knowing he wouldn’t have left anyhow. I knew as soon as I opened that door, I had made a tragic mistake. Throughout the first half he incessantly kept asking over and over again about how much my things cost and if I’d sell them to him. He kept going through my things, “how much is that shirt?” “what you pay for your ipod” “is that your tv” “sell me you ipod” “sell me your USB drive” etc. His presence was taking away the joy that I experience when I watch my show. This particular joy is hard to describe and best left to examples like that kind of joy that you feel when your reminded of something from your past and you can’t help but glow with that goofy kind of grin because it’s an inside joke that only you and those involve understand.

It was with about 30 minutes to go that, out of the corner of my eye I saw something scurry away from my kitchen door to the living room. Initially I thought it was a cat and jumped up to chase it away. As it hit between the crook of the main door and the wall I noticed its tail, long and slender colored in a pale flesh tone. Not a cat, I thougt to myself. It turned and I felt, for that micro-second which seemed to last a few moments longer, my brain access my long term memory bank (the hippocampus) and like I a movie screen before my eyes, I began to decipher the animal by comparison (this animal compared to a mental photo of all animals that look the like) while also judging the threat factor for each animal that this thing before me could be. A rat was out of the question (thank God); raccoon had the same result, for some reason the Beverly Hill Billy portion of my memory started firing followed by that for pavements and cartoon regions. In the end, in that micro second, the animal was ruled as an opossum and harmless (Allah be praised).

I wanted to chase it away, unharmed, but my 11 year old pimp would have nothing of it. It seems these animals kill chickens, and being worth $5 a piece, is quite a blow to poor families who live on very little. Apparently, as he shared, 5 chickens have been killed already in Sesori. I tried to talk him out of it, to stun it and let it run free, but with my broom in his hand, he began to swing at the poor scared animal, his short chubby arms unable to control the weight of the broom. His actions were to no avail as the crook was too narrow for the large end of the brush. Fine, he tried crushing it by opening the door, pressing the iron against the brick. Nothing. “Tiene un corbo?” (do you have a machete?). Of course I did, it’s as common as carry your Visa check card back in the States. Wanting nothing to do with him or the animal I gave him the corbo hoping it would spare me a few moments with my show. Urgh, “I don’t want you killing it and having it bleed all over my floor” I said. “Don’t worry”, he responded. Oh boy.

What unfolded was more a game and form of entertainment for my 11 year old pimp. He cut the tail and sure enough, it began to bleed on my floor. Somehow it escaped, I suppose when he opened the door to stab it sure enough it began to scurry all along my floor, leaving behind it a trail of tears (of the crimson variety). It tried to climb my other door, blood streaks; it scurried from the living room to my room, more blood. When it went into my room! That was the final straw. I grabbed a plastic bag and reached down and picked it up. I told my pimp to grab another plastic bag and I put it inside. My pimp tied it up and then enjoyed the next 5 minutes or so banging it against the pavement. I had 15 more minutes of my show, I decided as quickly as I deciphered the species of the animal to clean the mess up after the end of the show. In those 10 minutes he stunned the animal enough and began to work on it with my machete. Apparently, as he shared, they have 3 lives and must be hacked and buried. What, is this a vampire opossum or what? Are we going to stick garlic in its mouth and run a stake through its heart?

My show was almost over but still, no rest for the wicked; my 11 year old pimp insisted I watch him slice the animal in two. I said no, yet he kept nagging, I tried to ignore him. I went outside and see the animal, with the intention to look and get back to my show and to my horror I saw the former opossum hacked into three parts by my front door, it’s guts and intestines spilling on the concrete. A look of sheer disgust washed across my face, I looked at him, the pieces of opossum, him again and went back to watch my show, his laughter drowning the volume of the tv.

In the end he flung the piece in the corn fields (so much for burial) and then, in the last 2 minutes of my show, proceeded to tell me over and over again how it was 9 o’clock. My show now over I began the cleaning process, he kept asking and insisting that I go play afterwards, I answered no over and over again and for the next 5 minutes, cleaning blood and saying no. He finally gave up and left. As soon as I finished I begin to write what happened.

Your Affectionate Volunteer,

SCRUTAPE

Massive Attack

El Salvador’s current family code bans gay marriages and one would think it would be enough to tame the homophobes and conservatives. But, unfortunately, that is not the case here, rather, like the right-winged ultra-conservative religious zealots that are in the States, El Salvador’s religious elite took on drastic reform which passed in April that would make a constitutional amendment that would confirm matrimony between a man and a woman (one that still needs to be ratified by the legislative body). Its days like this that I still wish Spain were still in control of Latin America, especially with center-left Zapatero at the helm (Spain acknowledges and allows gay marriages and if you’ve kept up with my blogs know that I think highly of him).

Oh wait, did I forget to mention who at the helm of this reform? Was it one of the notorious 14 families that control all the wealth of El Salvador? Hmm. Perhaps a member of Congress in the states pushing his social policies in 3rd world? Think so? A homophobic Christian coalition? Close. Maybe…a higher source? Possibly. The frontrunner of this reform was the archbishop Fernando Sáenz Lacalle, the highest ranking cleric in El Salvador, leader of the Catholic majority in this country. Just a leader reminder, it was the leftist priests who taught “liberation theology” here in El Salvador during the war, under then Archbishop Romero, a theological idea that was not acknowledged by the Vatican. Granted it had nothing to do with tolerance, its focus was against the military tyranny, but, aren’t we dealing with another form of oppression? And this time, rather than at the end of a rifle, aren’t we looking at the end of a cross? After Romero’s assassination the Church put an ultra-conservative (how conservative, check out his bio http://www.catholic-hierarchy.org/bishop/bsaenz.html) in power whose influence, although much small than Romero’s, still wields a large sphere of influence, especially in politics (there is not a separation between Church and State).

“Esto no es un ataque contra nadie, contra ningún colectivo”, he was recently quoted as saying (this is not an attack on anyone, not counter any collective). So I’m assuming homosexuals are not considered people thus not constituting “anyone” and gay-friendly organizations such as Entre Amigos here in El Salvador is not an organized body thus not a “collective”, oh okay, in that sense it make perfect sense. And that whole “love one another…” thing I learned in school? Well, I guess that guy who preached it was wrong, I’m sorry I’ve been out of practice for awhile remind me who said that?

Your Affectionate Volunteer,

SCRUTAPE

Sandino/Murals (Final Nica Instalment)

The guerrilla leader and Nicaraguan hero, Augusto César Sandino (1895-1934) is well remembered for his brave efforts to fight off the US military presence, the US trained Guardia Nacional (National Guard) and topple the US installed dictatorship of the Somoza bloodline. Although he was eventually killed, 50 years after his death a movement that resurrected his name and his ideology, Frente Sandino para la Liberación Nacional (Sandino National Liberation Front) or the FSLN, was able to over take Somoza in ’79 and retain power until 1990. Present day Nicaragua is ruled by a right leaning government of the PLC, Partido Liberal Constitucionalista (Liberal Constitutional Party). Presidential elections take place November of this year.

As a revered national hero of Nigaragua’s left, many instances of the man can be seen scattered throughout the left leaning municipalities. Here are a few.







Remember the Iran-Contra scandel? Well I don’t, but I’ve read up on it. But fear from Mother Russia and “Cuban-Style Socialism” played a part and the famous National Security Decision Directive 17 (NSDD-17). No need to go into details, most of you remember it better and know it better than I. Here is a famous picture located in the Casa de La Cultura in León.



Nicaragua is famous for it’s murals, they literally paint the country, although I did not see all of Nicaragua, in the places I did visit showed a wide array of different murals each telling its’ own story. The following murals caught my attention in that they tell a story using apocalyptic and folklore imagery one specifically of El Padre sin Cabeza (The Headless Priest) that depicts the story of murdered priest who is said to roam the streets of León at night.







Your affectionate Volunteer,

SCRUTAPE

Political Climate/The House That Mora Built

Political Climate in León

I wont get into too much, but for background purposes: León has traditionally been a Sandanista (meaning leftist) city and Granada the conservative right. Also, presidential elections are this year (in November) so there’s a lot of campaigning/politicing going on right now in the country.

The first two images show banners related to the issue of abortion. The first one says, "I have the right to therapeutic abortions!" and the second one is a banner by a coaltion of Catholics that are in favor of abortion.




The third image is of a medical demonstation. For 6 months of medical professionals held a strike, refusing to attentional to patients and abandoning their jobs to protest in the streets (such as the image below). Their demands rested soley on the topic of increase pay. By the time the strike ended, officially on 13/May/06, it was estimated that over 120,000 people went without without medical care. In coordination with Ministry of Health (Minsad) and the Federation of Medical Professionals Pro Salary, an agreement was reached which gave the doctors an increase in pay and retroactive pay (for March, April and May). Those that were fired from their respective jobs during the strike were also rehired.



The House That Mora Built (Granada)

On a completely different topic from the former, I found this plaque and house that belonged to (quizás) a relative of mine. Yup, just doing our part to make the world a better place…I guess it’s in the genes. Of course, I can’t speak for my great great…etc Conquistador grandfather, but, eh, who knows? Maybe he was a benevolent conqueror…uh, and then again, maybe not.

Still love you gramps!







Your Affectionate Volunteer,

SCRUTAPE