ArtCorps Artist Allison Havens and CARE Youth Leaders in Conservation bring environmentalism and creativity to a Honduran community's traditional parade.
It was a hot and humid day like normal in La Masica, Honduras and all my 100 kids and their parents were already lined up at the gas station ready to start the parade. My heart dropped a little realizing that they all actually showed up on time, for once. Meaning that we still had another 2 hours to wait for the beginning of the parade, due to my overestimation of typical Honduran tardiness. But it was just as well considering we still had to feed all 150 people and I realized that most of the kids were still wearing their Sunday best, waiting to change into their costumes. Wow, these kids dressed up to come to La Masica to participate in the parade! OK, this is a big deal for them…
We served them their Wendys hamburgers and fries, graciously provided by CARE. Another point that made my heart drop a little. Here we are marching in a parade for the conservation of the environment and instead of choosing to hire a local group of women to provide the lunch or trying to use as little waste as possible, CARE decided to buy expensive hamburgers from Wendys in La Ceiba, out of a beautiful desire to provide something special for the kids. And all of that money that we spent on those 150 lunches will be now going back into the profits of a rich North American chain restaurant, when that money could have been invested in a local La Masica business. And we just contributed more trash to the environment before our environmental themed parade, in a community that already has a big enough waste management problem. But… anyways, the truth… I was grateful for the specialness of the Wendys hamburgers that day because it made the two hour wait less frustrating and ceased the complaints of the impatient parents who were thrilled that CARE cared enough to provide a special lunch for them and their kids. So anyways, another issue for another day, we can’t solve all the world’s problems in one day… we still had a parade to march in!
And so, we finally sandwiched our two-block long section of 100 kids and youth marching for the environment in between the beauty queen float and the armed narcotraffickers marching on their pure breed horses. Our environmental-themed exhibit was the first time a group had done something so creative and with a purely social message in the annual La Masica Carnival parade. Normally, it is just beauty queens, business advertisement, lots of punta music, pretty girls and drunk spectators. Oh god, should I have brought these children to this event…? Is this gonna be PG?? Are these parents gonna kill me? But nonetheless, we persevered onward providing a light of positivity and family fun in this annual parade! We were led by the fearless horse crew- leading our horse and buggy carrying the environmental mural the youth from Instituto Gonzalo had painted, next we had our “Water is Life, protect it!” banner painted by the youth working with Junta de Agua, and then the kids from Tripoly in their butterfly and flower costumes, followed by the kids from Tarritos in their paper-mache bird costumes and their giant moving and dancing snake, then came the band from Monte Negro school shakily leading our environmental song and chants, next came the trees walking alongside the river, held in the hands of the girls of Monte Negro in their flowing traditional danza dresses, next were rows of kids from Monte Negro, Naranjal, and Instituto Gonzalo carrying their homemade signs with environmental messages and noise-makers, and finally wrapping up our section were the cars from CARE and the Municipality throwing rambuttan fruit to the crowd and blasting music.
And while the march was definitely a bit too long and everyone was exhausted in the end, the kids were proud. Hopefully we inspired others to try something a little more community-focused and a bit more creative in the parade next year. And hopefully some of them are also now conserving their use of water more, realizing the importance of their forests, and inspired to protect the future quality of life for their children.
ArtCorps Artist Naphtali Fields assisted with disaster relief this past month, as more rain fell in El Salvador than during the devastating 1998 Hurricane Mitch. Read more about the flooding and landslides that have caused national emergencies in Central America.
It’s my third morning working at the shelter. I walk into the dark, cement gym and head for the children’s corner. Before I can get past the entrance, a skinny, dirty girl flings herself at me, “Naphtali!” Brenda yells, “I was waiting and waiting for you all morning!” She shoves a piece of paper at me and stands back to look at my face as she grips my hand, smiling and breathless. She’s handed me a picture, the third she’s given me in three days. Each one is the same: her house in the middle of green grass and flowers under a shining sun. I smile and give her a hug. Her picture is beautiful, but it doesn’t look anything like her house. She’s at the shelter because her real home is about to collapse.
The rains have continued for ten days, and Brenda’s family was evacuated from their adobe home to wait out the danger. They live over a canyon, and as the earth loosened in the rain, their house kept slipping closer and closer to the edge. By the time the sun returned, half of their kitchen wall had fallen over, and the rest is precariously perched—ready to collapse in the next earthquake or flood. She and her family were at the shelter/gym for seven days along with sixty other people, all displaced by the rising water.
I worked for a week at the shelter in Ahuachapán; and saw little for Brenda to be so joyful about. The adults sat defeated on the benches, silent for hours at a time, while we tried to play with the kids and keep them happy. Donations came in the form of meals and food, but the churches or groups came, gave their organization’s speeches, and left an hour later. Aid workers took for themselves clothes meant for the evacuated families. Conflict between the seventy or so people in the crowded, dirty space escalated as the week wore on. And worst of all, when the families began to roll up their mats, put their possessions in plastic bags, and head for home, some of them returned to dangerous living conditions that they can’t afford to fix. Instead, they humbly pray for protection in their crumbling houses and flooded land and live the best they can.
Who suffered most from the storm? As always, the poorest among us. The homeless men and women cold and coughing on the street, the families without money for land who build their tin shacks by rivers and lakes, the houses of mud stacked like dominos that fall at the least provocation. I played with children of twelve who weighed less than some four-year-olds, brushed out the tangles of dirty, unkempt hair, and watched bemused as government aid workers introduced toothbrushes to the half-rotten teeth of the shelter’s kids. The first day, after hearing the stories of every family, sorrow followed me home like a shadow. I am a small woman and can do little in such great need. It was tempting to stay home, bury myself under my quilt, and read novels until the rain and the reality of El Salvador was a far off haze. But I had promised the kids I’d come back, and they had so little to do with their days. We fought against boredom with a vengeance: soccer, singing, half-remembered yoga exercises, hair braiding, coloring, and tickling filled the hours as the rain kept pounding on the roof. And then, finally, it was over. We piled into trucks to take families back to their far away communities, colored the last picture, hugged the last sticky child, and swept up the last piles of trash on the gym floor.
I went to Brenda’s community to see her house on the canyon’s edge. It was a grouping of three homes, one right on top of the other. The first had collapsed when a neighboring wall fell on top of it, the second had cracks running through all its walls from the weight of the water, and the third, Brenda’s house, was about to fall into the canyon. Still, the children were laughing as they gave us the grand tour, Luis Miguel was trying to squeeze in a few last tickles before we said goodbye. Maybe in fifty years, he’ll have a daughter who asks for stories about the big flood in 2011. Maybe the terrible rains won’t come next year or the year after that and his children will gleefully imagine tragedies that they’ve never experienced. We can hope for that can’t we? We are small in the face of so much need, but we can hope.
ArtCorps Artist Naphtali Fields shares the story of her youth theater troupe’s debut on Mother’s Day, with heartwarming, behind-the-scenes detail.
Mother’s Day is a big deal in El Salvador. Some people take off work, schools everywhere hold celebrations for the students’ mothers, and all month long TV programs are saturated with commercials of smiling, light-skinned women in US-style apartments, hawking vacuum cleaners, kitchenware or soup mixes that will show your mother how much you love her. Perhaps it’s stating the obvious to say that television rarely reflects the lives of ordinary people, but here the disconnect is enormous. The families in rural El Salvador, though avid watchers of these commercials, don’t live in the same country as those who can afford to buy things like vacuum cleaners. Many of the families I know don’t have electricity or have gotten it only in the last few years. Water comes every eight days if they’re lucky. Needless to say, a vacuum cleaner would do more harm than good on the dirt floors of their homes!
AGROSAL, my host organization, has a tradition of doing something special for women on Mother’s Day. This year was going to be a big event because our youth theater group, “New Views Theater”, was going to present in public for the first time. Almost since the week we began we’ve been working on our repertoire, starting off with a hybrid Electric Slide/Interpretive Dance number and working our way into an original poem and rap focused on our mothers and life in the community. After numerous postponements, we finally had a date to gather. Karen, a co-worker who has worked with these communities for a few years, called for a meeting, keeping the reason as secret as she could. (Last year, a lot of women came who had never heard of AGROSAL, knowing that free gifts and cake were there for the taking.) I was nervous as we planned details like who would buy the cake and how we’d get the piñata, but Karen had done this before−she was in control and all I was responsible for was my theater troupe’s performance.
The morning of the event, Karen was suddenly called to the capital for one of those “urgent-you-can’t-miss-it-if your mother-is-dying” meetings that seem to happen a lot in the world of NGOs. “You can manage, right, Naphtali?” she asked as she breezed out towards the van.
“Ummm….what were you planning to do?” I responded, already feeling the dread settle in. I am a lousy last-minute, spontaneous planner. My mind goes blank and I forget everything theater-related I’ve ever done and just stare in panic at the person closest to me. Karen didn’t notice.
“Just do a few ice-breakers. The important thing is to make sure the women are celebrated. I’ll call Nina Yolan to help. You’ll be fine.”
“Okay.” With that, she left. I had approximately one hour to find a piñata, rehearse for the last time with my group, buy raffle gifts and pray that Jose would get the cake on time.
Two hours later (sometimes the Salvadoran sense of time is gift from God), an army of women showed up at the restaurant. We were expecting around thirty, but the group was over fifty strong, not including the kids that trickled in behind their mothers. The young people in the theater group were nervous. We were first on the agenda, and their hands were shaking as they stepped in front of their mothers and their neighbors, people they had known all their lives. We started with the dance. It was a little shaky, with more spirit than rhythm. Then the poem. Better. They talked loudly into the microphone and remembered both the words and the actions. Finally, the rap. I was worried they would lose their nerve, but their voices were strong as we began to speak what it’s like to live in the communities−to speak in public for the first time things they had never questioned before.
In dusty streets,
The rich, the politicians have their own objectives.
They don’t include us,
Only exclude us.
It’s time to (do things ) for ourselves.
Together we fight, mothers and children
Fathers and grandparents.
Take my hand to work for a better future.
My mother has given me
Everything I have
She fills my life with love and care.
I study far away, I learn a lot of things,
But how do they help me when we have no food?
I have a brother in the USA,
He’s still waiting for his dreams to come true.
We can choose to focus on the bad or the good
We can remain with nothing, complaining
Don’t do it! I’m not going to wait
For an outsider to come and help me.
I know that we’re strong, I believe in God
That he loves us, cares for us, wants us to work together.
I’m not afraid, I’m going to organize
With my community, the mothers, and us, the youth.
It sounds better in Spanish, and the glow of the youth as we finished was wonderful to see. The applause was not very hearty, but they bowed gracefully and happily.
I would like to end by saying that the entire event went smoothly, that the women participated and appreciated the work of their children, that I didn’t panic over the amount of cake or get annoyed at the strange woman, not connected with AGROSAL, who kept volunteering her tiny daughters to dance reggaeton for the group. But the event didn’t really go smoothly. Someone got mad when she wasn’t considered for the raffle because she wasn’t a mother, Nina Yolan and I had a hard time figuring out who was in charge of leading the group, and the kitchen ran out of food. It was not the theater debut I would have chosen, but I’m not Salvadoran. I confess to being a little disappointed. So much work went into our ten minute performance, and who knew how the women, or the youth for that matter, really felt about it. Later that week, I asked the youth for suggestions about how we could do better next time, hoping they didn’t feel as disappointed as I did.
“My mom said I looked really good up there!” Maria said.
“Lots of people said I looked good. And did you see me remember to do the step-out thing for the poem?” Noé continued.
“Yeah, the only thing we need for next time is better costumes.” Aracely added. Everyone agreed.
“Anything else? Anything more we need to work on besides costumes?” I asked. I looked around the circle and everyone was thinking. Flushed from the excitement of their first public performance, they hadn’t noticed the flaws, the scramble for food, or my stress. Finally, Etiel spoke.
“I think it was perfect. And costumes will make it better.” Everyone nodded their heads, relieved that she’d expressed their thoughts. Looking at them, I wanted to film their grins, and make a new TV commercial for the country, one that showed the beauty of a real Salvadoran Mother’s Day.