“Be careful of the shower.
We call her the Widow Maker.”
This was part of the welcoming talk.
They don’t have hot water tanks as we do here. Instead, a dubious looking wire hangs down
over the shower and into the shower head and warms it on the spot. This means one should never, ever touch the
showerhead when in the shower. I forgot
this once.
I was standing in the shower using the hose when it popped
off of the showerhead. Reaching up to
jam it back on I felt a tingling in my left arm and wondered if I was having a
heart attack. That was when it occurred to
me that I was being electrocuted.
The other different thing about this country is that you may
never, ever put toilet paper down the toilet.
Really, really bad things happen when you do this. This led to some interesting stories over our
stay of which I will spare you.
So we took our first trip to the orphanage. We walked out of our house, out of the gate
past the man with the gun, down the street to the other side of the bock where
there was another gate and another man with gun (who didn’t smile until our
last day there) who let us pass, and up to another wall with a giant, solid
gate in it and rang the bell. It felt a
little bit like Dorothy and friends at the door to the Emerald City.
Over the door to the house the children made a sign that
said, “Bienvenido” with all of our names.
It was the last time I was to be called “Fr. John” for I was hence
dubbed, “Papa John” after their favorite pizza shop.
Our first meeting with the kids was a bit stiff – or at least
I thought so. “Here are your
guests! Say hello!” Some of the people in our group amazed me at
how they weaseled their way into the children’s attention right away. I’m of the type to stand back and wait until
their ready which can take some time. In
either event I was WAY out of my comfort zone.
It was “Kids Day” in El Salvador - a kin to Mother’s Day and Father’s Day
etc. So we all piled into two vans (one looking
shocking like the Mystery Machine of Scooby Doo fame) and headed out to a pupuserea
for our first taste of authentic El Salvadorian fare – avoiding of course, all
fruit, water, and ice.
We took over much of the restaurant and it took some time
for the food to get to us. Though the
children were lively they were exceeding well behaved. I would have been very proud of them if they
were from my school. We drank sodas out
of real glass bottles with straws that were too short (I lost mine inside not
have learned yet that one must bend the straw) and watched the women make our
food. Snatching a handful of (something)
they would pat it into a hollow patty and then fill it with whatever we ordered
and then toss over to a hot griddle where another lady tended them. When they were done she slid them over to
another lady who piled them on plates and sent them out to the customers.
It was quite good. If
anybody out there knows how to make these things I would really like to know.
By the time we got back it was quite late. We trudged back to our house through gates
and guards and had our first nightly meeting in which we prayed and talked
about our experiences. For me, it was
odd. I did not feel like we were
actually there yet, but more like we were in a place made to feel like El
Salvador and perhaps we would turn a corner and find ourselves in the middle of
New York or something. That would change
soon.
1 comment:
http://www.ehow.com/how_7792414_make-pupusas.html
http://www.whats4eats.com/breads/pupusas-recipe
etc. etc.
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