Buena Raza

Three weeks ago my friend Marcos invited me out for a drink with a couple that have been life-long friends. Good folks. Good times. Enrique, the male of the species, asked me why I stay in El Salvador, why I choose it over the United States, the destination of between 50-100 Salvadorans daily (via coyotes, desert, and the "train of death").

In my short but priveledged life I've traveled to 16 countries on 2 continents and out of all the places I've been Salvadorans are, by far, the most fantastic human beings I've encountered.

Salvadorans are always impressed and mystified by this proclamation, one I make every chance I get. It tickles them that a gringa would think such a thing, a person from a place most Salvadorans think of as "the promised land."

About a year ago I was leading a meeting of farmers and their families in a remote mountain village on the eastern side on the country when a leather-skinned old man raised his hand and asked where I was from. "Well, I'm from California, " I said grinning. As if scripted, he then asked why I chose to live in El Salvador such a poor, ugly, country with so much violence.

"Because of the people..." I started and suddenly felt a knot in my throat. In front of the group I began to weep, rather uncontrollably in a very Cary Seoane kind of way. They just stared, marveling at the strange creature under the conacaste tree who couldn't talk through her tears.

It seems like such an intangible thing, you know, to love a place because of the people. So general, non specific. Friends and family ask what there is to do, to see, in El Salvador and while I rifle off the many sites to see and foods to try in the back of my mind I think "just find a campesino, sit down with them over a cup of coffee and you'll see what I mean."

During my trip home to California I met up with two girls from my Peace Corps life who are now living in San Francisco. I asked them both about how much they use their Spanish in their new lives and how they keep in tune with the Salvadoran culture. Michelle, who has been back in the States the longest said that frequently she'll overhear a conversation in Spanish that has that tell tale accent, a dash of vos and a mention of mysterious volados. Salvadorans! Michelle claims she doesn't interrupt them like she used to and ask if, in fact, they are Salvadorans. The urge to join in the conversation, to talk about Metapan, to connect with Salvadorans is still strong.

Its hard to quantify the million and one details that make Salvadorans top on my list. Perhaps its the way they took me in, unconditionally, bowl problems and all. It could be the way complete strangers wish you a "happy" day or wish you well as you leave their place of business. It could be that when asked for directions, they will tell you something, anything, even if they don't have a clue where you're talking about just to try to be helpful. Its the fried chicken and rice lunches to thank you for "remembering" them and taking time to visit their community. The way they pull out a fragile plastic chair and insist that you sit and rest your weary bones.

Perhaps many intagibles piled together in such a small country makes them, the generalities, appear tangible after all.