This post was three pages in Word...

Day Three
Today I went to Zaragoza (I am still not sure how to spell it, but I feel like that is slightly closer), where I helped with small children and lifted way to many heavy things.
Also, I fell and got a series of rather nasty-ish cuts, that I am praying (look at this mission, it is turning me into a praying gal) will not get infected. I have put about three thousand pounds of disinfectants and alcohol and such, and hopefully they will work their magic quickly.  
The village of something-that-starts-with-a-z is farther way from Miguel’s house, but there more people in a bigger car on the ride over, so it was much more amusing. At this point, I still didn’t know most of the people (my friends were asleep, and all the other people are from Florida) and I was sufficiently awkward.
At one point they (all of the Florida-dites) were talking about awkward situations, and how much they hate them, and I just wanted to shout, “THOSE ARE MY FAVORITE!”

But that would have been awkward.

At the village (which will remain nameless) we began the day by hauling 60 cinderblocks up a hill, to where we are building the guardaria and bringing up some wooden table and chairs for the kids. I never actually entered the village proper, rather I stayed in the area that was a construction site and a soccer field and a daycare center. The children didn’t have school today (or so they say), so they weren’t at the site when we arrived and I was “forced” to help with the construction. I now know the difference between mortar and concrete (one doesn’t have gravel in it, one does) and know how to mix each, by hand.

Construction without machines is hard.

After I got bored of building things, and exerting actual physical effort, I went over to the children, where we were making yarn dolls. The children were so excited about the dolls and us and the coloring pages. They wanted to make them, and share them, and give them to other people. Well, they didn’t want to give the missionaries to other people, but still.
Yesterday, we had this sort of “reflection period” and all the people that went to the village (which shall remain nameless) talked about how different the kids were from American kids, and how it was so refreshing to see kids that could amuse themselves with so little for so long. I thought the exact opposite--what was so amazing for me was that they were kids, just like the ones at home, who were happy, excited and full of energy.

Maybe all the old people have some sort of disconnect with the modern youth or something like that...

We all played together, running around, playing catch, making crafts, reading stories and it was all good fun. Well until someone got hurt. I got hurt. We (Me and two or three of the little girls) were playing a game that began as a tickle fight, and ended up with a game like tag that involved running around and tagging other people and shouting “Mika” (which, it seems is what Mexicans/people in Central America call American green cards). As I was chasing after the impressively fast girls (Helen and Brenda, I believe), I lost my footing and took a tumble. I stood up and thought I was fine, until I realized that my leg was bleeding.  I went over to the first aid kit, and Ms Kathy (Kari’s mom) helped me bandage up my leg. As I was washing off my leg, I realized that I had  cut my hand, and then, Brenda pointed out that  I had also cut my elbow. None of the cuts were particularly bad, but they were far enough apart, and in such awkward places that we had to use excessive amounts of both tape and bandaids to keep them covered.

We then had lunch.

After lunch, we played a fantastic game of soccer, the locals vs. the gringos (plus a few of the locals. We tied them (a rather fantastic feat in my book) and I actually was a help to the team, rather than a impediment (an even more fantastic feat).  The final score: four to four.
After our soccer game, everyone got back to work. We had a new batch of kids, which meant more crafts, more games, and more names to remember. I really can only remember a few kid’s names: Lupe, Helen, Gabby (pronounced gavey), Oscar (everyone’s favorite), Cristobal, Brenda.  Little kids are hard enough to understand, but it is even harder when they are speaking in a language you don’t really understand in a dialect that is different than what you learned. the El Salvadorian accent is much different than the Spanish-from-the-country-spain one and the Mexican one, and they use two additional subjects with different verb conjugations (vostoros and vos) that are not taught in most U.S. schools. So it was difficult, but better than yesterday. Probably because I know words about toys and body parts and drawing pictures, and not about building houses.

But, it is what it is.

Eventually, one girl, Helen, became permanently attached to me. It was probably because she wanted me to give her my necklace and/or my headband, but I will choose to remember it as (flashbulb memory ftw) her just really liking me. When it was time to go, she wouldn’t let me go, no matter how many times I told her I had to go (Nessisito salir), she just wouldn’t let go of my hand. So I let her walk with me up to the bus, and told her I would see her tomorrow.

Hopefully that happens

When we got back, the showers filled up too quickly, so some of  my new-found friends and I sat around and talked and complained about being too lazy to actually go anywhere. We eventually got our act together, and walked the 30 feet to the dining room, and gorged ourselves on chips and salsa. I then took a shower, played pictionary, and got ready for dinner.
Dinner was the absolutely delicious dish that involved cheese, squash (which made it “healthy”) and deep-fat frying. It was real good.
For dessert we had banana bread pudding, and surprisingly, because I hate both banana bread and bread pudding, I thought it was disgusting.

After dinner, there was a woman from the U.S. embassy who came and spoke to us about what she does, and about political issues in El Salvador, and all this really interesting stuff about emigration and immigration and visas and gangs and communists. She also had a Baltimore accent, and had gone to UMBC, so it was a little good-old b-more charm.

Her speech was also over two hours long.

After the never-ending speech, we played lots of pictionary, and I made lots of new friends.

And now I have to go, because the lights were literally just turned off, and i am going to have to find my bed in the dark...

Adios.
Sofia