The god Question.

Before we get to the nitty, and eventually the gritty, I´d like to inform you about trees. Disfrútelos.

I have been organizing a project to ´reforest´ the community of La Peña for the past two weeks. All has been going well, as far as I can tell, and by this time next week vamos a sembrar around 400 trees in my community. The community has been extremely supportive of the project and considering there are only 32 families I think that 400 trees is an accomplishment. Maybe this puts a perspective on the situation: it would cost $15 to buy 100 trees, and of the 32 families in my community we have raised enough money to buy 400. The school could use some serious sombras, and we are going to plant a whole lot of them at the fútbol cancha because every year more and more of it gets washed away with the rainy season. I´ll tell you in two years if it worked.

Each palito costs $.15 with the exception of coffee and cacao. There were about 20 different trees to choose from but, for all you botonists out there, the majority bought Marañon Azucaron, Anona, Paterna, and Pinos (my darling Pinos). I am ecstatic.

During the census I found that over half of the families in my communities do not have latrines. That´s not good. Especially during the dry season when there is no foliage. We´ll have to do something about that.

I finally entered my new house yesterday!
There is a red brick house that I will be moving into in June. It´s small, about the size of an oxcart, has no windows, a dirt floor, no latrine, and is currently being cared for by an assembly of bats, scorpions, and round brown things that could easily be mistaken for cow dung. We fumigated yesterday and got rid of the bats. Lets hope by the time we are putting in the cement for the floor that the scorpions have moved into their in-laws´ basement.

The god question.

First and foremost, I´m blaming this misstep on extreme hunger and facing down a large bowl of beans and an avocado. I never stood a chance.

During Wedneday´s mass I was back home with the profa (a woman the Minestry of Education ships in for 3 days a week to teach at the school), Niña Marta, and Jamilé looking at Guanaco the same way one does a socially acceptable morsel of food, or one of those freshly baked chocolate chip cookies from Berkshire. I was simply minding my business thinking that the next person who came within 2 meters of me was losing a deltoid muscle in an effort to spurn world hunger. Then it came. A steaming bowl of fried beans, fresh queso, homemade chili water, and that damned avocado.

In an effort to spit beans everywhere I decided to ask the profa why she wasn´t attending the service at the church tonight. I actually couldn´t remember her ever going, and was curious if maybe I had in my midsts another impartial individual. Boy was I mistaken.
Act 3: Scene 16: Greg eats beans with a side of foot.
The scene: Rectangular table, profa at the short end, me on a long end, Niña Marta and Jamilé shuffling by bringing all sorts of goodies for us to eat.

ACTION!

Me: Profa, Buen Provecho. how are those beans? (I´ll translate for you)
Profa: Gracias, igual. Good. How are yours?
Me: Stupendous, thanks. You´re not gonna go to the church tonight?
P: No. I do not believe so.
Me: Oh, no? For what not?
P: It doesn´t please me. You will be going?
Me: No, it does not please me, either.
P: Did you go when you were living in the states?
Me: No, it wasn´t my culture.
P: Oh, but do you believe in God?
(Mouth full of beans and an incoming spoonful of a podiatrist´s dream)
Me: No
(Imagine a Zach Morris ´time out´ moment in the middle of the tropics. Imagine that damn scratching vinyl that brings an entire mob of people to attention. Food serving stopped, dogs hid their faces in the paws, an angel lost its wings, and my answer hung in the air in the exact same way that bricks do not.)

I spent the next hours feeling extraordinarily uncomfortable, about as uncomfortable as one can feel thousands of miles away from liberal Massachusetts, trying to explain myself in a language that I can barely tie my shoes in. From all angles and from all people who were showing up to the house after church I sweated out these answers and more...

I was never brought to church as a child and was never taught religion.
I cannot say that I would like to learn now. I think it may honestly be too late.
No, I do not thank god for a safe day before I go to sleep every night and I do not thank god for every morning that he provides me.
Yes, I think that the church is important to teach people to stay off drugs and be good people.
I was told I would have a hard time with this in El Salvador but I hope that La Peña can understand that this is an exchange in culture, not complete assimilation, and I am not trying to offend anyone.
I think that I have a good heart and have the same morals as someone who goes to church without ever having learned these lessons directly from the Bible.
Well, (backtracking to save my life) I do believe there is someone that is helping us people out but I do not know yet who it is and do not belong to a certain religion.
Please pick up your jaw, Niña Marta, I just found your tongue under my backpack.

All humour aside, I took this very seriously. Back in Washington DC before we were shipped out to San Vicente my friend Milton asked me what I would say if asked this question in my community. Naively I said I would tell them the truth: no, I do not believe in god and do not practice religion. He equated it to someone being in the United States saying that Hitler was in the right (not reich) 70 years ago. It is literally living in a community where 99.4% of people (in all of El Salvador) believe one thing and will go to the grave for it, and you being the only outcast. We agreed then, on February 2nd, that he was right, and that I must swallow my Pioneer Valley pride and avoid telling the truth at all costs for the sake of confianza.
Well, Wednesday night I thought my community was different and they are not. Granted things were only extremely awkward for about 4 hours, but I was absolutely convinced that within this extremely Catholic community I had ruined my shot. I guess the upshot is that the truth has been told, the downside is that it never had to be. I couldn´t help but feel as if I offended my overly hospitable hosts but by morning everything was back to normal, if not better.

Oh, and I just got a call from Tito. He said the brown things are, in fact, cow dung but they are going to go halfies on rent with me so I shouldn´t be worried.