Last November, after 43 years, I made the trek back to my birth country El Salvador. For months I thought about how it would be to go back. Would I be disappointed? Would I find the place I grew up the first ten years of my life? Would I find by best friend? I wrote a blog post on my way back. But as I said I would, I’d like to go back and write about my childhood while growing up there.

I was born in San Salvador, El Salvador in into a large family of nine. My mother was born in Chalatenango in 1928 a year before the Great Depression.  Her father, Genaro and her mother were Estebana, both were farmers. The home I grew up was the place where they lived and where many farmers would come with their cattle wagons to rest and eat my grandmother’s food that she sold there. I was told that my grandfather would rest in a hammock tied to trees. He died at an age we would call young, apparently of a heart attack. Tracing back my lineage is difficult to trace but my research indicates that my family’s genealogical tree comes from Basque Spain. They made their way to Mexico from Spain and from Spain to Guatemala and then to El Salvador in an area where they became known as “the Cheles” (the white people). When we went in November of last year, I went to the records center in the town where my mother was born to find out more information on my grandparents and great grandparents, but they told me that records going beyond 1980 were lost in a fire. I was disappointed.

My mother experienced the harsh rural life. She received very little care and attention, since the parents at that time were like that. She worked helping her parents from an early age. She didn’t wear shoes until she was a teenager and attended school through third grade. She learned to read and write at a very basic level. Her hard work ethic always set her apart. I wrote about her in a blog post in 2015 a few years before she passed away at the age of eighty-seven years old.

Our family was what we now call a “dysfunctional” family since we were the product of three different men, but my mother remained single for most of her life. In my family there were seven girls and two boys, of which I was the eighth. I was born when she was 40 years old, and I was the only boy since my brother was “adopted” by my paternal grandmother. I also know very little of my mom’s story, except what she shared with me or what my sisters told me about her. I have no recollection of what she looked like when she was young, but I was told by my sisters that she was a very attractive woman.

I also don’t remember from her any formal intentional instruction on how to live life or anything else nor much of my childhood in relation to her but there are some that fill me with nostalgia and gratitude.

I had very little supervision by my mom who was a meat seller at the “mercado” (market). She worked every day at the meat market, and because of this we were privileged to eat meat. In my return visit, we went to this meat market, but it no longer resembles the way it was. I tried to sense and feel where my mother worked for so many years.  I asked a couple of ladies who had worked there a long time if they knew her. They didn’t. She was widely known there by many people. She was a strong woman, brave, and generous but cold in physical affection just like her parents. As a child, she showed us affection, but as we grew this was less and less until none was shown. She never gave us any instructions (other than scolding and yelling), never told us he loved us, and never apologized. As she got older, she came to know Jesus and her life changed. She mellowed out and became more passive. Just before leaving this Earth, she reminded me of my calling. I am glad she got to see in ministry once again.

I learned by “discovering” the world on my own. On one occasion I will never forget was when my friends and I decided to go to the river and take a shower. On our way back, being a stubborn child, I refused to go home the same way with my friends and got lost. When my mother came home from work, she asked for me and they told me what had happened. She left everything and immediately went to look for me. When she asked, someone told her that they had seen a small boy shirtless, with a can, eating ice cream and walking with a woman. She found me. I don’t remember exactly how I felt on that day, but I know that today I am very glad she did, or I would be part of another family.

Another time I remember was when my friends and I decided to go exploring, as it is very common in rural places. Walking in the ravines was something I enjoyed. I loved to explore and this time, I stepped on what looked like firm ground, but it was a hole that was covered with wooden planks. I fell and broke my arm. I don’t remember the pain, but I remember my bent broken arm and when I saw it, I started to cry. Again, I remember my mother coming home from work and taking me to the hospital. In the hospital I remember the mask they put on me to give to put me to sleep.  I woke up and my arm was in a cast.  These two events show my mother’s absolute care and how God in His grace was calling me to follow Him.

I grew up in a rural area near the city called Mejicanos in a town called “Mariona”. My childhood is full of good and innocent memories. I lived with my mom and five of my seven sisters. I enjoyed outdoor games in the night with friends. “Arranca Cebolla
(people tug a war), “Mica” (freeze tag), “A la Vívora de la Mar” (the serpent of the sea) and “Salta Cuerda” (jump rope) were some I remember. Singing silly “Ronda Songs” like “Los Pollos de mi Casuela” were part of nightly games.

Our one-bedroom house was made of wooden planks that had a one-inch gap where people from the outside could see inside. It had a dirt floor, there was no running water or bathroom. To go to the bathroom, I had to go to the outhouse, which I hated. It was a hole in the floor with a cement or wood seat for the “toilet.” I was afraid not only of what was there but also of falling inside so I preferred to go outside. I had the privilege of sleeping on a bed bunk, in the upper bed. I remember waking up to the English songs my sister would play in the morning before heading out. I learned to sing the songs making them into Spanish words. Later, when I learned English, I realized I had no clue what I was singing. I was happy and bathed outside or went to the river with my friends. On one occasion, I almost drowned while swimming in a river.

I didn’t wear fancy clothes or shoes; I wore many hand-me downs. I wore sandals (and my feet got dirty) and only got new clothes once a year during Christmas or New Year. I don’t remember owning any modern toys besides marbles, tops and trading cards. I got to see plastic soldiers that my brother brought from his home (he lived with grandma), but I never owned any.

I was very curious, loved exploring nature, and often spent all day herding cows, playing soccer, bathing in the rivers, climbing mangoes trees, planting corn and going coffee harvesting.

Going coffee harvesting was a one-time event, and my friend Toño told me how I wanted to go but my mom was hesitant. She let me go provided he took care of me. Toño told me how I worked very little before I was asking for my food and how my mom packed a good lunch.

I attended elementary school “Escuela Rural Mixta Cantón Arenal” up to 4^th grade. I remember how far it was to walk to get to the top of the hill where the school was located. I didn’t mind walking and don’t remember complaining. In the classroom I was happy, loved to learn and learned to read well from the beginning. When I went in November with my friend Toño and we drove to it (which couldn’t be done when I went to school), he told me how treacherous it was to walk that path especially when it had rained. We visited the school and talked to the principal. My friend worked there for a year but hadn’t been back in many years. He told me and showed me what had changed. The principal told us how violent it was during the takeover by the gangs and how some people were killed just for being around there without permission.

My best friend was Toño, a boy who was older than me and took care of me. I was so good to find when I went in November. He has lived there since I left and is a teacher just like I was (and I still teach but now adults). I was so happy to find him after knocking on doors near the place I grew up. I found his brother Carlos living there with his family. It was good to talk to his mom who still remember my family and often prayed for us. We drove to see my friend at the school he works. We were reunited at last! Through our time there, he told me stories that I didn’t remember like the time we went to get sugar cane, and we were caught for stealing. They tied my friends up and I cried a lot. We were let go but not before being severely reprimanded. Toño and I spent a lot of time together and he was my big brother always protecting me. My mom trusted him, and she often told him that. We were somewhat better off and had a television, so Toño and friends would come to our house to watch on a small tv. My favorite shows were Mazinger Z or Heidi. Those were memorable, happy and adventurous years.

Living in a tropical place, storms were common and the sound it made on the tin roof made it even scarier for me not to mention the dripping in the house due to the holes and my mother scaring us by saying in a loud voice, “Great power of God!” For a while, we lacked electricity and remembered the dark nights using portable gas lamps.

When I started 5th grade, for a reason I don’t know, my mother decided to move to the city and live in my paternal grandmother’s home. She had left the country after being a teacher and principal of her own school. Here is where I first experienced what it was like to have drinking water, a bathroom and the comforts of “modern” life. It was a totally different world than the one I had experienced.

From there we moved to a carpentry shop that my uncle owned, and I went to a nearby school. I only spent half a year there until my mother decided it was time to come to the United States. This was around 1981 when the Civil War was just beginning. I don’t know if this was the reason for leaving or simply because we wanted a better life. I remember that morning when we left. We passed by the school, which made me feel a little sad, we got on the bus. We soon left our small country and traveled through Guatemala, Central America to reach Mexico where we would meet the man who would help us come to the United States.

How did we make it to America? That’s a part I will leave for subsequent posts to share the experience of crossing over to the United States and the culture shock I experienced.

Here are a series of videos of my visit to El Salvador.

Where our House Stood in Mariona

Cantón Arenal – Elementary School I attended

Mercado de Mejicanos – Market

When my friend Toño got the news I had arrived

When I went to the coffee plantation

The games we played when were children

Cow hearding

Going to School was difficult when it rained

Going to get cane (stealing) and getting caught