Childhood in El Salvador CA
(This is not an easy task, to recollect and post old stories, however, it is necessary for my spiritual growth, and maturity in this abundant life of seasons of change).
It has been a few weeks, months, since my last entry. I can attest it has been a rough few months here at work, along with my individual life as a wife, a woman of family and values. It is a bit draining in energy, having to think for everyone the different methods of discipline in the household.
In deed, I found myself not too long ago ranting about past experiences. Someone came to my office, stood at my office door and posed the question of what has life been since arriving at this country: Better yet, to which I responded how life has changed since I have arrived and lived in this country.
A lot of changes and things took place in our lives. It has been a while, and hardly do I share such moments and memories of my past. Although the conversation only escalated for 15minutes, it felt as though I had shared with this person my entire life history. I will give you a taste of what this conversation was, or rather a brief narration of what that story sounds like.
It went something like this. Being a child born in a third world country is very challenging in all aspects of life. No money, no real toys to play with, constant exposure to dangers of the country side. I lived mostly in and out with grandparents. When I was born till the age of around 3 or 4 my dad was around. He then came to the U.S.A. the country of prosperity, promises, and wealth. Leaving behind the wealthiest of all classes in this world, a family tightly united in such a bond. Our dad was gone no doubt about that. Our mother had to do with whatever we received from our father who lived in NY. Things were different, they felt different, but then we realized that things would never be the same.
When I was around 6 our mom also decided it was her turn to test this theory of wealth and prosperity. She migrated to the U.S.A leaving behind 5 kids without a mother figure or a father figure. Needless to say, it is not necessary for anyone to feel pity over this. This is exactly where a new life was born, adventures took place, and maturity settled very quickly. This part of our lives grew our bond even tighter, this fabricated in us that promise to look after each other regardless of where we go, how we grow, and even in our respective marriages.
Right before our mother left, she had “hired” a living in nanny to take care of us: feed us, keep the house, and see to our education. As if our mother’s departure had not been hard enough, within 2 or 3 weeks (give or take), our nanny was gone along with whatever funds we had available for survival. We were all out at school and came to learn of our new misfortune when we arrived to find no one at home. Thankfully, at that time we lived in a house we had built of concrete and blocks. It was no longer the house made of palm branches and bamboo sticks and items like that.
No, I am not ashamed to admit where I come from. I did live in what many would call extreme poverty. I don’t consider it that way, knowing that it was then and there that a woman of values, morals, and vigor would be raised. It was there where I picked and nourished my knowledge and wisdom of an open mind. Here in this country, many fail to accommodate or even imagine such a gift being found in a place of “poverty.” I have come to learn the hard way, people expect things to be easy and poverty to some here means not being able to have what they want, while for us meant not being able to have the parents together to discipline us or give us their wise thoughts.
Moving on, our mom was gone. The nanny was gone. There was no one to be responsible to feed 5 kids’ ages: 10 to 2 1/2, yes I was the second in line to maneuver through life and grow up to help my older brother lead our little gang – our pack. I saw the struggles of my older brother and seeing that he was doing everything possible to provide food for us, I did my part as will all my younger siblings. We tried. We tried our best to contribute.
{Victor is a great person – greater than he can ever imagine! He was our hero; he along with our mother when she was around went through a lot to see that we had food on our table, that we had our backs covered, and that we learned to be as equally responsible. Victor may not know these stories exist and he could give better examples of what life was then as I have a mixture of dates. }
One of the hardest moments was adjusting to the fact that neither of us 5 knew how to cook. I knew how to make coffee, therefore, we went on for almost 2 weeks eating bread and drinking coffee for all three meals of the day, if at all we had any bread (Thus the story CAFÉ CON PAN – Our Very Own Don Napoleon). There are many who would question this and would contradict and say we haven’t experienced what hunger is. I dare to prove them wrong. This was not to be the only time we would be taken up on a dual face to face with hunger. And it was not only hunger for food, it was a hunger to feel that safety embracing us, and a hunger to have our hearts filled with the joy and radiance of our parents.
{This is rather humorous, the next steps we took to “prepare the way to maturity.” Although we had no adult supervision, in a sense we loved it! We could run free and wild, however, when night settled and our stomachs announced their emptiness, it was then when we realized how lonely we were.}
The first thing we tried cooking was the corn, in order to make tortillas, you have to boil the corn, wash really well, and use a grinding rock (piedra de moler) to make the dough. It was hard and there was no room for failure. The kids needed to be fed and I had to learn, had no option. Slowly I progressed, making tortillas and trying not to burn myself on the Comal (clay tortilla making tool placed in the open fire). (NOTE: there were no fancy smancy stoves with their electrical thingies, no stainless steel pots and pans – in other words, that luxury even if purchased at the Dollar store – did not necessarily exist then).
Oh, goodness, many were the obstacles of faith, hunger settled many times, but we kept going on. Pushing forward, striving to learn to cook without burning our selves. There’s one main character I have failed to mention. 2 to 3 weeks after our nanny left, my mom’s step-father moved in. Our papa Chico. He is the greatest of all beings that God has ever placed in our lives. To this date, his memory, his love, and his smiles and stories continue to ponder through us. Never was there a man put on earth to be a watchful angel, although it felt distant, it still was closer than feeling the mother presence from the US to El Salvador. (Hence the short recollection OF MILLIONARES OF KNOWLEDGE EPISODE- they come from this exact narration).
Papa Chico at that time was our mother’s step-dad; he lived with our Grandma Josefina, better known as plainly grandma Fina. To this date, seems that they didn’t get along quite that well, therefore, proning to his move with us. Suitable for both families, finally we felt as though we had some kind of protection watching over us. As night settled, fear made its way out the door, we had what we needed…an Angel in our house!
{Papa Chico became a figure of admiration to us. He taught us how to grow up and mature using life’s little examples and gave us the knowledge of agriculture. He taught us how to work hard for what we needed and not depend on anyone to fetch anything for us.}
Moving on with the story. I dropped out of school somewhere in the middle or end of my
4th grade (things were a bit crazy and my recollection of dates and times are somewhat
off). I tried to go back to school, but it was a challenge to be home, take care of our almost 3year old youngest brother, prepare meals for my other siblings, keep the house, and everything about motherhood. Those were the days where life seemed endless and the days were long. Summer days were long and never ending. You could feel how the sun just kept blazing over our backs while clearing the fields for the crops. Yes, we helped our Papa Chico with the agriculture of many of the crops for our households and my Papa Chico had other responsabilities with the town’s Hacienda. We went onto help plant the corn, the beans, and often we were expectators of the hard labor to produce and gather the sugar cane and the sesame seeds. We did it all, rode the horses, gathered the cows, went wood gathering, fishing, and of course venturing into difficult to get to places for mangoes, jocotes, and other wild fruit. I often wonder, how on earth are we still alive after all the danger threats we faced daily? One good answer, we didn’t think about the dangers, we thought about our necessities of the time.
4th grade (things were a bit crazy and my recollection of dates and times are somewhat
off). I tried to go back to school, but it was a challenge to be home, take care of our almost 3year old youngest brother, prepare meals for my other siblings, keep the house, and everything about motherhood. Those were the days where life seemed endless and the days were long. Summer days were long and never ending. You could feel how the sun just kept blazing over our backs while clearing the fields for the crops. Yes, we helped our Papa Chico with the agriculture of many of the crops for our households and my Papa Chico had other responsabilities with the town’s Hacienda. We went onto help plant the corn, the beans, and often we were expectators of the hard labor to produce and gather the sugar cane and the sesame seeds. We did it all, rode the horses, gathered the cows, went wood gathering, fishing, and of course venturing into difficult to get to places for mangoes, jocotes, and other wild fruit. I often wonder, how on earth are we still alive after all the danger threats we faced daily? One good answer, we didn’t think about the dangers, we thought about our necessities of the time.
{This may sound out of proportionate, however, do not think of us as the ancient cave people who some were gatherers, others hunters, etc. We were civilized notheless, we had a roof over our heads and to say a “wild” fruit, definitely means that is a fruit unknown to you, but very common in Central American soils.}
Yes, even though our struggles were many and huge, we kept on going. Our older brother was quite the leader, taking us and watching over us as the man of the house. We often decided to travel from one Department to the next to visit our father’s mother – my Mama Cati (mama Catocha). We called her mom; she did not like to be call grandma. All 5 kids, we traveled alone, underage, almost across our entire country – from Zacatecoluca to San Miguel. Quite the ride in buses… with the little money we would get from our Papa Chico’s earnings as the President of La Hacienda, he would finance our little trips. Although never did he agree for us to travel alone, we escaped… yes, waited till he was gone to work and we took off normally at 5am to wait for the passenger trucks to take us into town.
Yes, those were the days of learning. Where every day we had to be up by 5am, milk the cows, pull the eggs, and make breakfast for the little hungry crowd. Nights were the best, when there was a full moon: we sat there to watch and listen to the stories our Papa Chico told. All while having a bomb fire lit, staring into the deep sky many were the stars and great was our imagination; where every star danced with delicacy over and over the great blue sky – the moon directed the movements as if leading a great orchestra with ballerinas and the clouds closed the evening show with curtains and a great roar of the sweeping wind and the faint, distant applauses of the 5 kids and their Papa were carried by the night’s winds into the darkness of the trees, mixed by the chanting frogs calling for rain. Such was the end of our every night in peace and total awe for our world and imagination.
Those were the best moments of our lives. To sit there and rest our heads on the hay or lay by our Papa Chico’s fierce beats – the bulls who pulled with mighty strength the carriages loaded with the harvested crops. Those were our beasts, once seated, were as sweet and delicate as a leaf slowly falling from a tree onto the calm waters of the rivers below.
We often ran shoeless, we didn’t care. Our days were filled with many mischievous and mini adventures. We built tree houses, forts for great battles, ran up and down hill to conquer our territories, and ran up to protect ourselves from the surrounding enemies – younger siblings and cousins who could not climb. Oh, how do I long for those old days to return, to touch my heart and leave me breathless. To drag me back for one instance and feel that emotion and high spirits of running free.
It was our best of times to wonder the rivers, swing from the vines above the rocky waters below. It was then when we experienced the excitement of solitude covered by our imagination of great conquest adventures.
When my dad was finally able to get us all the paper work required to travel to the United States of America, we arrived at San Salvador airport. We were fearful of the change of life, the new friends we would make, we had no idea what it would be like, all we had was our imagination of what this country would be like:
Paved streets, money growing in trees, sidewalks filled with kids playing, houses as luxurious as the White House. We thought this was it, that this was another Heaven! Yet, we had no idea of the difference in culture, the language barrier, and did not think the trip was going to be long. I had set my mind that I was only taking a trip to the airport to say goodbye to all my siblings, as I would NOT leave my Mama Cati or my youngest little brother Noa. Yes, my youngest little brother is the fruit of an “affair” as it would be called. Therefore, my dad did not bring him with us. Noa was abandoned by us, the incredible 4s, he was left behind without a motherly love that I had given him. Who then took care of him? Till this date I know nothing about what happened after he realized we were no longer going to be part of his life.
It breaks my heart profoundly to think that I left him, not having a choice whatsoever, I left. The pain will eternally last as it was time lost to nourish and a time to create memories together. They were stolen from me. I was once alone(with my kids) in that world of “poverty” and found my self slowly reaching maturity, till one day we were given a chance.
Now, I sit here behind a computer, typing what was then, never fully thinking that at some point in my life I would’ve ever be typing in English and using a computer. This is why I am grateful that I had the opportunity to become someone here in this country. Had I never experienced this, I would have never had experienced the time of my life that I am having now. I would be segregated in a small rural area back in the country side of El Salvador, where you never hear the reality behind what extends before you. I would’ve never had completed an education much less finish college. I would probably be living in the same house with approximately 3 kids now. That’s how life goes in our country. You live, grow, work, and become the woman of the house without the luxury you are given in this country. Although, happier I would be to run freely, carefree of all bills, education loans, etc… but for this I am grateful to have reached this point in life where the sole Narrator of my story is God.
I have along with all my siblings come a long way. Miles and miles of learning and conquests, but we have made it to this point in our lives.
This is a story never told, never unveiled of the struggles a kid in a third world country faces, but once in this country, people judgmentally seek to categorize you, dissect you and place you under their watchful eye in the hopes that they will not be infected with whatever knowledge and whatever sign of weakness you might demonstrate. In all truth, we suffered greatly, not in vain, mind that, but we conquered those struggles with faith and stood on top of the mountain declaring VICTORY. Even through the experiences we have undergone in this country – negative, positive, and somewhere in between – we are who we are because it was the reward waiting on us.
There are more stories to go in between the time lapse of when our mom left till this time, the now. They are soon to come. Be as equally patient as I am a slow writer.
Written - January 14, 2010 @ 11:11 AM
