Santa Clara University

Student Reflections from Fall 2004

Below are the reflections and thoughts submitted by some of the Casa students who were in El Salvador for the Fall 2004 semester. These reflections are in alphabetical order by student's last name.

Alisa Bright
Santa Clara University

Ojala (Hope)
i hope for the possibility of growth in each moment
i hope for a continuing awareness of my inner connection to all, an awareness of reality, world events, and my very self
i hope for a fresh heart everyday, to live out of my virgin self, awakened and opened to each and every experience, each and every story
i hope to never cease to be enraged by the injustices, to continue to ignite my longing for truth and justice
i hope to understand, embody, and live in the idea that “i am from love, of love, and for love”
i hope that my daily actions will contribute to building a community of generosity, justice, peace, and love
i hope that i will taste each moment and be attentive to my inner callings, voices, desires, wishes
i hope to be pure and authentic in spirit, living out that which i value
and lastly i hope, hope that each and every experience, each and every memory will move into my very being and will continue to energize all that i see, do, touch, and am

Jenni Ferber
Santa Clara University

I have asked myself time and time again: Jenni, why must you always return to El Salvador? Over the course of this semester at the Casa, I have finally figured out why. Coming from a culture where time is considered a commodity and speedy efficiency is always our goal, it wasn’t easy for me to adjust to the slower more serene pace of life in El Salvador (minus the traffic). However, looking back on it, I realize how essential it was for my self-restoration. It sounds selfish doesn’t it? I thought so too, until I began to see that if I was not who I could fully be, there was no way I could begin to form healthy wholesome relationships with those surrounding me.

So why must I always return? I return for the awakening of my senses. These senses were once cobwebbed with ignorance, rush of life, and a robot-like existence. However, the people, culture, and sights of El Salvador helped me to dust myself off, and re-learn how to use these beautiful gifts. The taste of a pupusa wasn’t just dinner; it was a work of art, crafted by the hands of Morena and her daughter Marta. Listening to the musical revolution of El Salvador wasn’t just a set of notes and rhythms, it was the experience of hearing Julito and the Quintanillas do what they love. Smelling the flora and fauna of the campo was more than a fresh scent; it was the rejuvenation of my city-stricken nasal passages. Watching the students at Fe y Alegría scramble frantically during their free time was not just a sensory overload; it was watching Sulmy and Amadeus taking advantage of their only “enjoyable” part of the day. I no longer considered hugging the becari@s, my fellow Casa students and mi familia in La Chacra a simple act of affection, but rather the deep connection of our complex souls and lives.

All five of my senses were inevitably transformed into sensitive, humble and perceptive tools to be put to use for the rest of my life. My biggest fear, now that I am walking away from this program and this country, was that my senses might fall back asleep. I guess that just means I’ll have to keep coming back.

“Be true to yourself and you will never fall” –Beastie Boys (yeah, I know)

If ya’ll need anything, don’t hesitate to send an email my way… jferber@scu.edu

Pat Green
Santa Clara University

The cave of my human heart was dug a few feet deeper the day the program went to an orphanage. We went to the baby room. At first I was excited, but still a little indifferent. I thought we would just look at them in their little cribs, but then people started holding them. I didn’t really want to hold any babies because I was afraid I’d get attached to it, love it, and then feel the pain of leaving it. I picked one up anyways. This was a decision of justice, an action involving my heart in the world of joy and pain. I picked a little girl up first, very slowly, kind of like sticking my foot in a cold pool, testing the water. I didn’t even know how to hold her. She was small…really small. I picked up another girl who was lying on her belly. I bounced her around, swaying her, she laughed when I whistled a tune. She had thick, full baby hair, and her big Salvadoran eyes stared straight into me. I wasn’t feeling…I felt like I should have felt some sort of joy or connection with the baby, which I didn’t feel. I just kept playing with her, knowing that she doesn’t get human touch as much as she should, so it was good for her. I kept whistling the tune, because she whimpered when I stopped, and held her small body in my hands. I put her down and she began to cry, a wail that pierced the silence of the room, echoing off the walls. She knew that she had lost what she just had, and it was painful to walk away.

As I began to feel that my baby-holding desires were filled, my companera pointed out another boy who was staring at us. Anyone could see that this baby had so much hope in his eyes that someone pick him up and play with him, like a puppy begging for a scrap of food from the table. I picked him up and he beamed with a smile that lit the room. He was so happy I was afraid he would convulse himself out of my arms as he squealed and laughed with joy. I tickled him and spun him around and for a few minutes he was Superman. It was a moment frozen in time. But then this time had to come to an end. As I put him down he cried and screamed and threw his arms against the bars of his cage. The windows wanted to break for him as they raged with his tears and tantrums. My heart wept too. I felt utterly powerless. What had I come to do? Given this child a few minutes of euphoria and a lifetime of loneliness in an orphanage? Why give only to take away? On the other hand, I felt powerful. This child’s need-hunger sadly will not be satisfied. But his eyes, his screams, his fists beating against the cold metal of his crib, all displays clearly in a small, fat baby the need that there is for justice. It isn’t just the need, it’s a hole that pleads to be filled. The power to fill it is mine.

Shannon Jerolmon
Boston College

“People where you live,” the little prince said, “grow five thousand roses in one garden…yet they don’t find what they’re looking for…”
“They don’t find it,” I answered.
“And yet what they’re looking for could be found in a single rose, or a little water…”
“Of course,” I answered.
And the little prince added, “But eyes are blind. You have to look with the heart.”
-Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

El Salvador has given me the gift of awareness. I arrived with the idea that this semester would lead me to understanding of the often-brutal reality of the country, of international relations, and of human nature. With each passing day, however, I realize that the more I learn, the less I find that can be easily explained. I constantly find myself questioning the meaning of community, faith, politics, family, education and justice in El Salvador and in my own life. It has been a process learning to accept that there are no absolutes. I am just coming to realize the beauty of the openness that grows out of living in a landscape that is thousands of shades of gray. And at times, I find all the answers I need in the tiniest moments.

Paulo Coelho says, “If I can learn to understand this language without words, I can learn to understand the world.” There are quiet and unexpected instances here where, without warning, life suddenly makes absolute sense. Having daily tickle fights and debates with two-year-old Daniel about the merits of rhinos and roosters, or watching an elderly woman with arthritis deftly swing a machete over her head to cut down an enormous bunch of bananas, or dancing on the slippery floor of the soy project in San Ramon with Vilma, I am caught off guard by the gentleness and beauty of the humanity that surrounds me. In a country where every person can be a prophet and all of the land is sacred ground, there is much to be learned. The opportunity to live and share with such incredible people has taught me more than I could ever hope to communicate. Here, among the chickens and the babies, the grandmothers and the gangs, the unbelievable landscapes and the heartbreaking stories, I am being taught how to live.

Elizabeth Looney
University of San Francisco

The challenges facing me here are of a nature I could not have anticipated. I felt prepared when I left the States in some sense. I don’t know why, but I believed on some level this was going to be easy. Not easy in the sense of unchallenging, but rather naturally facilitated. For my own part, anyways, I think I expected more of myself than humanly possible.

It’s been a gentle let-down, if you will. Not my experience here, by any means, but rather a coming-down from a plane of invincibility. I don’t know if it’s the US mentality, the age, or me (most likely a combination of the three), but I came with the frame of mind of someone who thinks they know what’s going on. It was a false sense of security that failed me almost immediately, and left me quite frustrated and with more than a little self-pity on some days. I felt saliently ignorant in front of people I hoped to impress, all of the time. Although there does exist a cross-cultural sentiment that Americans have superpowers (like the capacity to give psychotherapy to children in Spanish), I recognize the humiliation is due in large part to my ego. But how close to the word humiliation is humility.

My error was in the expectations I placed on myself. It’s like I forgot to factor in that I don’t speak the language, and that I’ve never experienced poverty or structural violence, or that I am only twenty—things like that. But what a grace that comes with granting oneself permission to be weary. I feel that it’s only when I am utterly weary with frustration, impatience, exhaustion and sadness that I can begin to touch the surface of the reality of the third world. I am so quick to say, though, that a world of unprecedented beauty is simultaneously revealed, along with the hand of God. I don’t know what I was thinking, thinking that I knew. How beautiful the grace that saves us.

Kat McAvoy
Santa Clara University

Each day I wake up here in El Salvador and give thanks for the opportunities that allowed me to come here. Life is not easy but even in the worst of times the Salvadorans have an amazing gift of love, hope, thankfulness, and happiness. They welcome me with open arms and open hearts, not ever stopping to judge who I am or where I come from. They have taught me what it truly means to where your heart on your sleeve and live each day fully. These lessons and more, will be kept with me for the rest of my life and everyday I will be reminded of my friends in El Salvador.

Rochelle Olivares
Gonzaga University

I would like to think that I am a strong individual person that can endure and succeed obstacles that may stand in my way. I have fooled myself for quite sometime with this notion of being invincible; it is El Salvador that has made me see my most vulnerable, most inadequate self. This program opens you up and challenges you to not only see different perspectives, but also feel the struggling lives of the people. I came to El Salvador expecting negatives and hardships; granted there have been many, but what colors my experience is the hope, trust, and friendship that I am receiving openly from the Salvadorans. Four months is not enough. The Casa de la Solidaridad is a taste that I crave for more than a semester. The taste that I have been blessed to try is focusing my desires and will hopefully grow into a lifelong career.

“We mutually pledge to each other our lives, our fortunes, and our sacred honour.”
Thomas Jefferson, Declaration of Independence

Maria Van Der Maaten
Northwestern College

As I got ready to come to El Salvador, people began to ask me how I felt or what I thought about my upcoming experience. I always responded, "it will be an adventure." And I think that this is how I still feel time and time again. Whatever we are doing is always part of an unending adventure--whether we are meeting people in our praxis sites, enjoying community time with the becarios of the Romero Program or experiencing life in a rather unfamiliar setting. I think that the true adventure of what we are doing here is building relationships, making connections and experiencing life. Living life is a true challenge and a great adventure.