War Museum, Torola & San Fernando

After a full work-week in Morazán, Pily and I took a day just to play. Play for us meant a trip to a museum, visiting interesting towns and feeling the power of a 100-foot-high waterfall.

We stayed at Hotel Lenca in Perquín, a tiny town in northeastern Salvador near the Honduran border. The air is cool, a nice change from San Salvador.

Outside the War Museum in Perquín. "Let's take care of the environment"

John in a crater from a 500-lb bomb

Torola -- the end of the road

San Fernando. You can camp on the grass outside the church.

Qué vista!

Hiking down to the falls

El Chorreón, a 40m drop. Thrilling!

Recent Posts of mine on the Kiva Fellows Blog

Some recent posts of mine about my fellowship with Kiva in El Salvador:

• Prehistoric Drawings and Four Intertwined Client Visits
• Walking the Streets

Morning Walk in San Salvador

Started out on the eastern edge of San Salvador, Barrio Escalon

I didn't realize that Blvd Masferrer became a frickin highway. There was no way to cross and people use the shoulder to pass...

I survived and then my shoulder ran out...

And I survive pedestrian bridges all the time. Some day one will probably eletrocute me. These wires are less than 6 feet above the platform.

Entered the Mall "Las Cascadas"

I felt right at home!

This pedestrain bridge in Santa Tecla was closed. There was a plastic ribbon barely off the ground indicating that fact. There is no railing on this side. Big Deal! I thought and crossed, but on the other side there is no platform!

Ciudad Merliot

The razor wire is about 5 feet off the ground. Watch out!

The Beach / The ER

Saturday morning we took the bus to La Libertad and then El Tunco, just a short distance from San Salvador. Both are surfer beaches and not great for swimming. I got in the water at El Tunco and it gave me a beating. The beach has rocks that move with the waves and can deliver quite and ankle bruise!

Later we discovered Playa San Diego a few km east and it had no rocks and is a very pleasant place to swim if you like a strong undertow and a crashing surf.

In La Libertad we looked at one hotel on the beach. It was pretty dreary with gnomes and a waterslide. I would have rather just returned to our cushy place in San Salvador, but in San Diego we found a fantastic place called El Roble that was much nicer.

After a swim in the pool, my left ear had almost no hearing. I dug out sand and wax with my finger, but that just made it worse. (Duh! you say.) I had trouble sleeping and was panicky. I don't like being shut inside my head. It continued all day Sunday until that night, in desperation, I sought out an emergency room after having returned to the city.

I hate emergency rooms, but San Salvador shuts down on Sundays and I was thinking that I should get the ear cleaned out to avoid long-term damage. We chose the Hospital Diagnostico over the Hospital de la Mujer because of its name and that a friend of the hostel's owner recommended it. She warned that it would be expensive.

At nine p.m. Pily and I entered. I was immediately weighed and had my vitals taken. The doctor saw me a few seconds later, looked at my ears and let me know it was only wax. However, because it was a soft was, he needed to call a specialist to clean out my ears.

The specialist arrived in 15 minutes and performed a lavage, a procedure that I've had done by a nurse before, but I was so relieved to be able to hear again! It was well worth the $150 total bill!

Kids Get Their Day (Kiva Fellows Blog Repost)

By John Farmer, KF 14, Mexico


Mexico decided back in 1924 that The Day of the Child would take place in April, long before the rest of the world decided to celebrate it in November. On April 30th I was in the state of Morelos, and went out into the streets to participate in the food and fun even though I long ago ceased being a child. A couple of women saw me without much food and insisted I get more. Such is the generosity in Mexico. The kids had all they wanted and more and there was still plenty for outsiders.

Mexico is a great place to be a kid in many respects. Children are absolutely adored in this culture where family is everything. They often live at home until well past childhood.



But youth here face all sorts of problems. Health is a major concern -- the childhood death rate is nearly 7 times that of Western Europe. 15% of Mexican children under age 5 are stunted by malnutrition. Food insecurity effects over 40% of the country's population according to some sources. Environmental concerns, such as pollution and smoke inhalation from cooking stoves, are also crippling factors.

Lots of young people, often very small children, work in the informal economy, doing things such as begging on the subway. Many are forced to work doing unthinkable things. A friend who worked in a women's prison in northern Mexico told me that in many cases children live with their mothers inside the jail until age six, when the child has to leave. She often saw people on the prowl for recently released children with nowhere to go...



One of the saddest things is to envision the future of Mexico's children if things continue to get worse. As more families slip below the poverty line, as the drug traffickers gain power, as climate change, soil degradation and the production of biofuels potentially mean less food for all, the situation is potentially very bleak.

Education is the only hope the youth of Mexico have. An educated populace can work miracles with few resources. The level of education a person attains is highly correlated with socioeconomic class, but one thing I've noticed here, is that when I ask borrowers what effect access to capital has had on their lives, they routinely mention their children being able to go to school.

So even though Kiva's presence in Mexico is not glamorous, with two out of the three MFIs we work with being for-profit companies, and many of the loans going to borrowers selling catalog products or soft drinks, that stream of loans our lenders provide makes a huge difference in what matters most.

John Farmer is a Kiva Fellow at CrediComún in Mexico City. He might say he's not a child anymore, but is quite childish. It's too late to help him, but you can help others by making loans through Kiva.

The Subway Show (Kiva Fellows Blog Repost)

John Farmer, KF14, Mexico City

Gentle Subway Traffic

So this morning I get on the northbound subway leaving Ermita, heading to Chabacano. This is the Blue Line, heading from middle-class southern part of town toward the bustling center of Mexico City.  There's one seat, but the people around it are sort of spilling into it, so I stand.

Less than a minute into my ride, it starts -- the beggars and vendors. The show can be pretty entertaining. In the first act, an indigenous woman walks through the car with a bunch of little cards, each one saying something to the effect of "Please help out by giving me a few coins." She places them in people's laps or in the hands of those that accept. I'm about two feet taller than she is, so I look straight ahead and pretend not to see her. After they've had time to read and consider, a girl who looks ten but is probably sixteen collects the cards and any change that people give. Not everyone is heartless -- some give.

Next I hear percussion: one-two, one-two -- a blind man is shaking a bucket with a few coins and shuffling very slowly down the aisle. A few more are added to his collection, and I ponder the precision of his pace. Faster, and people wouldn't have time to feel the need, dig into their purse or pocket, and toss the coins into his bucket.

Timing is everything in this business. A few weeks back I was in Guatemala, having breakfast with a well-traveled friend. A little girl tried to sell me a bracelet, and I let her know I didn't need one. She stayed by the table. "Buy something. Give me a coin. I'm hungry..." She didn't look hungry, but she was very cute and persistent and patient, and after nearly ten minutes I gave her about ten cents. "Shame on you!" said my companion, and I knew he was right. I almost never give to beggars.

Next comes the Kleenex saleswoman. Two travel packs for forty cents. I love the intonations she uses, rising then falling, nasal, steady, almost droning, yet barking: "Cinco pesos le cuesta - cinco pesos le vale." Then another blind man. He has the timing all wrong, walking way too fast, hat extended too high for the seated passengers to drop anything in. I'll bet he doesn't clear anywhere near what our other friend does. Then there's a guy singing and holding a boombox. He's awful, and part of me hopes no one gives him money. Maybe he'll change careers.

At Chabacano I detrain to head toward Patriotismo. Walking through the station, there are the people collecting for the Red Cross -- I wonder if they really are? Why do they feel they have to dress like nurses? Then a policeman is trying to wave people with backpacks over to a scanner. Almost no one pays attention to him. Why does anyone? I walk right past -- I can always play the "stupid foreigner" card if I have to...

The show has been fun so far, but here there are a lot of serious-looking people waiting for the train. Two trains heading the other way go by. Very few people get on or off. Everyone wants to go west. After an impatient eternity of three minutes a train comes. It's packed. A fraction of our crowd gets on. Five minutes and two more eastbound trains later, another packed train arrives. I push my way in, but in isn't quite in. The doors can't close. Several of us give up after pushing and go back to waiting.

The platform is eerily quiet. Mexico City is a noisy place, and the silence amazes me.

The third train stops with a door right in front of me, and I'm the first one in. Inside, it's really tight. Every part of my body is touching someone, and I regret that I didn't button the pocket where my wallet is. I am very alert. I have my backpack in my left hand and am pushing with my right against the ceiling for stability. One of the men from the platform is right in front of me, face to face, and smiles at me. How odd!

I have the sensation that someone is stroking my hand. He is! The smiley guy! Guácala! Gross! I change the backpack to the other hand and cover myself with it. There is no hope of moving away, but he seems to have received the message. This is the last car of the train, and those are famous for, well, that sort of thing. Maybe I am a stupid foreigner, but this is early morning, and there are grannies and students and businesspeople here.

No vendors or beggars though -- no room for them.

Smiley guy gets off at the next stop and stands on the platform facing the train. Most people walk toward the exit or another train, but he just stands there with his arms crossed.

John Farmer is a Kiva Fellow at CrediComún in Mexico City. He is amazed to still be alive after navigating the subways, buses, sidewalks, bike lanes and taxis there, and as a result still makes loans through Kiva.

Panajachel

Margarita in 2009

Margarita in 2011

It's amazing how energized I feel to be back in Guatemala. Today I spent 10 hours in a van from San Cristobal to Panajachel. Here, dining at Chinitas the usual stream of vendors honed in on us. Two girls from Chichicastenango were among them. There was something really special about one of them, and then it dawned on me -- I took a photo of her nearly 2 years ago. They stayed around our table for the whole meal, trying to sell little dolls but obviously enjoying all the attention our group showered on them. I told her I had taken her picture before and she didn't believe me, so I went back to the hotel to get the laptop. I knew exactly where the photo was because it was the last one I took in Guatemala in 2009. She beamed when she saw her picture, and the two sisters, together with 29 year-old Lucia, enthusiastically looked at other photos I had taken that year. They were especially interested to see my ahijada Irma. "She's your daughter?" "No, my ahijada. She doesn't have a father, so I'm kind of a father to her." Lucia said, "They don't have a father. Or a mother. They are widows." "Orphans, you mean. I don't believe you. They are well taken care of." "No, it's true," said 14 year-old Cristina, smiling, but somehow somber at the same time.

Palma, one of the group, bought a plate of beans and rice for the three, and they let me photograph them. Last time Margarita wanted me to pay her to take her picture. This time, she just smiled for the camera.

Carnaval in Santa Maria Iztlahuacán, Ixtapalapa

Santa Maria Iztlahuacán is a small rural town that has been swallowed up by Mexico City. I had the honor of being invited to celebrate carnaval with the extended family of friends there, and it was a treat indeed. After traveling to the end of the subway line, a thirty-minute bus ride and a ten-minute walk, I found Nora, a coworker at CrediComun. Her boyfriend Raimundo has a huge extended family that makes up one of the main components of the week-long celebration.

This used to be a lake, and everybody hunted ducks. They are very proud of their heritage, though not everyone appreciates the gunshots. Having one go off right next to your head is a bit unnerving to say the least.

I was happy to see Obama was able to make it to the celebration...

Carnival in Yautepec, Morelos

Las Viudas -- The Widows

CrediComun manager Luis is irresistible

More viudas arrived to help out...

And poor Luis was miserable!

Water from the Sky

My flatmates dragged me to see Rango, a cartoon about the lack of water in the west. Sebastian is two years old, and made it about halfway through the movie, then his Grandmother took him out into the mall. I haven't seen a cartoon movie since The Little Mermaid, when Kareena was seven. She turns twenty-seven this week.

We found Elena and Sebastian in the mall. He was playing with a boy about his age. He cried when he had to give the little boy's car back. His mother bundled him in a jacket, cap and hood, and just before leaving the building, he reached for me. "You want me to carry you?" I asked in Spanish. "DA!" he shouted in baby-speak.

I was surprised that it was raining. In my six weeks here, I think I've seen a few drops, but that might not have been rain. This was rain -- not heavy at all, but enough to be sure it wasn't someone siptting from six floors up.

Sebastian got a huge grin on his face and threw his arms out as in praise. He was genuinely elated the five minutes it took us to find a cab. Inside the cab, I put the window down a few inches so he could put his hand out. Back inside the apartment building, he wanted to go right back outside for more, and I took him out on the sidewalk for an encore performance of gently falling water.

I'm not sure which of us enjoyed it more.

Office Mates

Best office mates ever. Nora arrived the day before I did, as the new Kiva Coordinator. Pily is moving on to the "Area Social" (say it in Spanish!) but will stay with Kiva another month or so training the novata. We're always a threesome for lunch, pura solidaridad! The best part? They teach me chilango slang. No manches, güey!

Sunday Bike Ride to the Mercado San Juan

Photos of San Juan Market

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Mercado San Juan is famous for exotic meats and bugs. I bought blue cheese and jamón serrano. My flatmate bought juicy grasshoppers with garlic, chinese vegetables and figs. One place has jaguar meat, ant eggs, crocodile, you name it. Someday maybe I'll buy a goat or rabbit or Mmm! cactus worm! When leaving, some men were making shaved ice and we got pelted by ice fragments as we took our bikes down from meathooks.