It’s hard to believe that 43 years ago I took a bus with my mom, and three of my sisters and left El Salvador. I had no idea where we were going. Thinking back, I don’t remember having any luggage, but we probably had some change of clothes. We had no real possessions to take. I had nothing except the picture of our family passport. My friend Toño told me last week that he kept a pair of used shoes that were mine. They were small for him but he kept them for a while.
I remember crossing the street passing by the school “22 de junio” where I had just started 5th grade. We got on big bus and remember very little except when we arrived in Zapopan Jalisco where we lived for about month while we waited to go to the US. That’s a whole story all by itself.
I left the place that I first saw when I was born without anything to remind me of it. The place where I grew up and were my first memories were formed. I left my friends (especially my friend Toño who for me was my older brother) with which we had so many great adventures, walking the treacherous path going to school, going coffee picking (which they did for work, I just insisted on going for fun), bathing in the river, stealing sugar cane from a plantation (we got caught ), herding cattle and being dragged by a cow, exploring canyons and many more. My friend Toño kept asking “Do you remember…?” and I had to answer that I didn’t remember.
I left my rural one room wooden home with all of its mangoes and avocadoes trees. I left the beautiful green nature that gave me many good memories. I left the place I called home for more than ten years. I left for a long time. Time passed. I grew up, got married and had kids. I told my children about my adventures as a child as I remember them. I pictured them in my head many times. I did not know when I would come back. My older son finally came in 2015 (and came in August with his family). I knew I would come back but I wasn’t sure when. Finally, I made a decision to come this year with my wife and 14-year old daughter. And my son, his wife and my granddaughter also came. I couldn’t have better company. My older son upon seeing how good it was to reconnect with my friends, reminded me that he wanted to come here since he was a teen. I didn’t come back for several reasons but primarily it was because I didn’t think it was not safe. But now it is.
I am thankful that I got to walk in the same place where our house stood, now just a piece of land that no one threads or even knows who lived there. This was the land my grandparents Genaro and Estebana owned after moving from Chalatenango. Here, my mom told me, many farmers would come on their cattle-driven carts to eat and rest. My grandfather had a hammock where he would rest. He eventually died of a heart attack at a young age. I never met him.
I am thankful to God for this land where I was born and have my roots. As I walk and step on it, I feel something here, a bit of nostalgia. The people and the way they talk which I quickly picked up again all are part of who I was a long time ago. Yet I realize it isn’t my home anymore. I’m going home today, the place I’ve lived for over 43 years. But this time, I know where I am going. I feel sad and I shed some tears for my country of birth. I know I will come back again.
Till next time El Salvador!
This is part of future posts.
