Well, there isn’t a whole lot about EP that’s similar to Spain – the radio sometimes reminds me of good old castellano (mostly the commercials, which are unnecessarily peppy), and people are in the park down the street at all hours of the evening, but that’s about it.
I do, however, feel like I’m in Mexico. Except that I’m not. I hear more Spanish than I do English, but English is still the official language. I am clearly the minority, which I appreciate, actually. The 15th of this month (Independence day) was a really big deal – we had 10,000 people come to the plaza for the celebration – mostly because Juarez is too dangerous, but really, El Paso doesn’t belong to Texas – It’s either an extension of Mexico, or a long-lost territory of New Mexico. We’re close to NOTHING Texan, not even a legit cowboy.
Some notes on the living sitch:
We live just northeast of the city center, which is probably as big as a quarter of Portland, perhaps, and filled with Mexican transplant shops that close precisely at 5 each evening and probably aren’t upen after 3 on the weekends. I kid you not, it’s a ghost town down there in the evenings. Complete with wind and swirling leaves and sidewalk trash. We just need some tumbleweeds.
Our house is ‘cooled,’ at least hypothetically, by swamp coolers (sound like the creature from the black lagoon? I thought so).
Our next door neighbors are a noteworthy bunch.
to the east:
Shalini (like colony, but with a sh)– former JV who now lives next door. super fun.
Gilbert and Flor – Gilbert can’t talk, but sure knows how to let us know that we’re parked too close to his truck. I have yet to see Flor. (update - Flor sighting, Saturday morning, on the way to the laundromat)
Jim, late 60s gentleman - in his own words: a talker, a disabled American veteran, just waiting for the royalties from his new book about child predators (which will save children’s lives), avid baker (and sharer) of banana cake, brownies, and german chocolate cake.
further to the east:
exotic salt-water fish shop. sketchy beyond belief, but probably legit.
to the west:
Maria and family – Maria pre-teen girl growing up in a working-poor family with her older sister, mom, grandmother, and adopted feral cats. Mom is doing the best she knows how, but often comes up short. Maria introduced herself to us on our first morning here as a friend of the JVs. She’s been over many times since then to make pizza, ‘play’ guitar, sit and chat, or a few times in a fit of anger when she doesn’t known where else to go. She and her family are often heard yelling. Sweet, well-meaning girl. We went bike riding this weekend, and plan to make chocolate chip-walnut cookies in the near future.
on the sidewalk:
Charlie – chronically homeless, happened upon us one evening when Maria was ‘playing’ guitar on our porch. Asked for money for food. We didn’t have any – but we had food. We've crossed paths a few times since.
My work is terribly wonderful. Terrible because the 38 women and 78 children I work with come from awful situations. Many are leaving violent homes, many are working off of very little money while trying to get a job, go to school, get their GED, take care of kids, afford and prepare food, work on past financial history, etc., etc., etc. Terrible because poverty doesn’t care what your life was like before it showed up. Wonderful because these women have had the good fortune of being in our program, a 2-year transitional living program that intends to prepare women (and their children) to live on their own. Wonderful because it means a private room or apartment in a secure facility and access to very committed caseworkers. Wonderful because, for two years, children can stop worrying if there will be a pillow for them at night and start worrying about the exquisite silver-ness of Hannah Montana shoes and whether their teacher is indeed watching them blow bubbles from two bent straws (that was our activity tonight, in honor of B week – bubbles). Wonderful because people are dedicated to their care and empowerment. Terrible because we are currently at capacity, and the waiting list is over 30 families.
The two women I live with are great – both so very different from me, and also so very similar. I’d say we compliment each other well. We each have things we enjoy all together, as well as interests that we share with one other person, or that are completely new to the rest of our group. Colleen and I could hike and camp and be outdoorsy for a living (well, maybe not, but close), Colleen and Laura are inclined to dance the night away, and the Lauras had their first of many guitar jam sessions last night. We’re all crafty in one way or another, Laura is extremely thoughtful, well-spoken, and interested in women’s issues. Colleen is super passionate about immigration, and is (as I type) working on her Fulbright application for a Teaching Assistanceship in Mexico. Me? I’m taking in my unplanned evenings (and some mornings) with new crafts, books, conversations with my housemates, and a newfound outlet: cooking.
There are a number of other significant people and events in the last month of my life, but I'll hold there for now.
A couple important thoughts from the beginning of our stay in El Paso –
We have some support people set up by JVC for us in EP; three Sisters of Charity, and our honorary support person, Brother Pete, a Jesuit with one of the prominent churches in town. The Sisters are a wonderful bunch – well connected, spirited, artsy, generous, lively, and do they know how to design a house! Brother Pete is similarly giving, and welcoming, and our resident handyman.
Where was I going with this? Sister Janet took us on a tour of El Paso on our first full day in the city, and we ended up driving along Border Highway to a spot where the fence is all that divides peoples, land, and, in this case, one of the most violent places on earth from one of America’s safest cities. I see Mexico from the freeway all the time, and I know that the cultures are different, but that – that was an appropriate opening image for my time here. In a way, it’s absurd that things should be so different within a hundred feet of each other. On All Saints Day, the bishops of El Paso, southern New Mexico, and Juarez celebrate Mass at that section of the fence. I’ll let you know how it is.
There are a number of organizations in the El Paso area that serve immigrants, whether documented or not, but any group that receives federal funds is prohibited from serving the undocumented. This leaves, among other needs, a serious lack of safe housing for those who are traveling for social security benefits (long story, but it’s not as “they’re stealing our money” as it sounds), work permit renewal, or who have recently crossed the border without papers. In fact, there is only one place that even the US Border Patrol may send someone who is found to be in the country illegally, but who either isn’t deportable, or whose case isn’t worth the effort. Annunciation House. Volunteers are on call 24 hours a day to answer the door for all sort of people – police officers, JVs who came for a visit, and families wet from crossing the Rio Grande. This is the stuff of news stories and political rallies, but with human faces. I met a man from Honduras last week; we were there for dinner (fried chicken night), and it was his birthday.
I guess this doesn’t quite answer the “how are you doing” question, but these are the places and people that make up my day-to-day life. I still find conversations with old friends to be most energizing, but I’m learning to live here, and not just survive. Today was a very good day.
