6.30.2009

El Salvador: The People

We met this woman when we walked through the community of Campenaro Numero Dos to let the people know why we were there. Her grandson was the first official customer at the new well.

This is Zeta. I played Frisbee with him and his brother, Dani, our first day in the village. I can still hear their laughter.

This is Dani. He was fascinated by my camera. Actually, he took the above photo of his brother Zeta. I held the camera and he pushed the button.

Dani and Zeta. So precious.

In health and hygiene training the first day, we had the women and children split into teams and draw maps of their community. I expected them to draw ratty huts and garbage piles. But, instead, they drew flowers and butterflies. It really opened my eyes to see their village the way they saw it.

This woman and I shared a name.

Sarah talking with a bunch of school girls. She did an awesome job of interacting with the children and adults, alike. We also played soccer with the school kids. They're really, really good!

When we visited this woman and her daughters, she said we could come and see her any time. She had a beautiful garden.



This is Rafael Antonio Gonzalez. He is the village leader for San Juan, the second community at which we drilled. He hardly left the site and maintained his hope even when we had to pull out without hitting water -- like the two teams before us. I pray his people get water soon because they are currently drinking from the river.


This is the river water the people of San Juan use for cooking, drinking, bathing and laundry.

A man fishing in the river near San Juan.

This is Malida. She lives across the river near San Juan and must cross it many times a day to go to school and market. There is no bridge, so she carries a spare dress to change into at school. If the river is flowing too high, she cannot cross.

We accompanied Malida to the river one day. Here she looks back at us and waves.

Jorge Ramos, the village leader for Campenaro Numero Dos, sold tortillas and ice to make a living.

Jorge Ramos gets his first drink from his village's new well.


Maria, a well-respected woman in Campenaro Numero Dos, shows us what their hand-dug well water is like. This is what the people drink if they can't walk to the Living Water well that is 2 kilometers away. Many children in the community suffer with chronic diarrhea.

Maria pumps water from the new well. She was one of the most joyful people I've ever met.

The people of Campenaro Numero Dos wore their finest skirts and shirts to the well dedication. It was really important to them.

These are the residents of Campenaro Numero Dos who came to the well dedication. The well will serve about 300 people total.

El Salvador: The Stories Part III

8 coconuts and 5 mangoes

by Hannah Wiest


CAMPENARO NUMERO DOS, EL SALVADOR -- All Jorge has is eight coconuts and five mangoes. It is not enough. But it will have to do.


He raises his machete, deftly slicing the hairy fruits in half and urging us to eat. He plucks five mangoes -- lime green and crunchy like an apple -- from his mango tree. None remain on his branches for later.


He apologizes: “It is not enough.” He knows we gave $1,700 and a week of vacation time to bring his village clean water.


If only Jorge could hear our thoughts.


To me, the moment is surreal. As drops of coconut juice slide down my chin, I know Jorge has given everything to thank us. It makes our sacrifice seem small, like the story in the Gospel of Mark about the woman who gives two pennies and is considered more generous than those giving large sums that are only tiny portions of their wealth.


To me, this is the capstone on a week of learning that living in an impoverished state does not impoverish one’s spirit. As I sit with my teammates in the shade of these coconut and mango trees, the week’s events click through my mind like a slideshow:


The dedication: The people of Campenaro Numero Dos have waited 240 days for this moment. In November of 2008, village leader Jorge Ceren Ramos saw a television advertisement about Agua Viva Internacional drilling new wells in El Salvador. His people used an Agua Viva well at a school 2 kilometers away, but the 30-minute walk each way was hard, especially when carrying heavy water jugs. He called and asked for help drilling in his own village. Then he waited.


“Because we are here and have dug our own hand-dug wells, we knew the ground was hard, we knew it would be hard to drill the well,” Jorge says. “But praise God we found water quickly. Now we know that our children, our elders, all of us will start drinking pure water. We are eternally thankful for this blessing.”


Nearly 50 villagers show up for the dedication -- every one of them dressed in their finest skirts and shirts. I am touched by the contrast: the Americans covered in mud and sweat, the Salvadorans shiny and clean for this momentous occasion. Their wide smiles would have been shimmer enough.


The children read a letter of thanks: “We are a family with not much money needing help. We know you came from a great distance. We are grateful.”


Maria reads one for the women. I don’t remember what it says, but I will never forget the sense of joy in her voice.


Village leader Jorge Ramos says a few words: “To us, this is a big meaning, a big benefit that you give us that will always be in our hearts. Every time we come to drink from this well, we will remember the two Davids, the two Sarahs, Hannah, Barbara, Brandon, Juan and Ali.”


I think the two Davids, the two Sarahs, Hannah, Barbara, Brandon, Juan and Ali could say the same. Whenever we drink a glass of water, we will remember the people of Campenaro Numero Dos.


The teamwork: I grew up in Wyoming, a place where fierce individualism earns one respect. Cowboys ride alone. But here (and in life, I’m learning), fellow cowpokes are vitally important. We need to ride together.


Salvadorans already know this. That is why, I think, I can never tell who, exactly, belongs to whom. And that is why, again and again, our team has been invited to “sit a spell” on the only chairs these people own. Never mind we can’t communicate very well; it is the closeness that matters.


My teammate, Dave Fox, says it best: “One of the biggest lessons for me on this trip has been people working together to solve problems and improve people’s lives. There is us with each other on the rig, us with Living Water to make the trip happen, us with the community, and the community with us to get a stuck truck out of the mud and feed us and show hospitality.”


The first customer: We have seen the brown, sludgy water these people pull from their hand-dug wells and know it causes diarrhea and other health problems. We have visited the Living Water well they walk to and from every day. We have watched men, women and children fill their hands and drink at the dedication. But it is watching our first customer fill his jugs later in the afternoon that touches me most.


We are saying our goodbyes to the people of Campenaro Numero Dos when a young boy pushes his wheelbarrow next to the well. I watch him fold and unfold to pump the shiny new pump and notice that his water jugs are blue. And I remember meetinghis grandmother a few days ago. Her wrists were bony and her eyes were hooded by lids that seemed to flow into her crowsfeet wrinkles like a river fanning into a delta.


When we visited her she said, simply, “God bless you for coming.”


The downpour: When it rains in El Salvador, it pours -- and I’m not talking about salt. Wave after wave of rain slams upon gardens, farmers, tin huts and roads. I see more rain in one hour than Wyoming sees in one year.


One night the rain and wind are so forceful, the power to our guesthouse is cut. As I lie in bed, sweltering without the air conditioning, I realize a few things. One, losing power is not a problem for the people of Campenaro Numero Dos -- because they don’t have any. And two, a rainstorm like this one could easily wash away their roads, their crops and the floors -- or more -- of their houses.


In the rain, my mind turns to American worship songs involving water, and I am struck by how silly they would sound here. So often we sing of drowning in God’s grace, of His love raining down, of His waves of mercy. But here water is dirty, angry, destructive and deadly. It does not satisfy. I can only pray the idea of God’s salvation being a fresh well of living water within them will be all the more sweet.


The beauty: My preconceived notion of the Salvadorans and their villages was all wrong. I’d like to blame the fact that I’m a journalist and skeptical by nature, but I think I’m just a fallible human being who needs a lot of God’s work in my life.


Before coming to El Salvador, I believed Latinos tended to be lazy folk looking for a handout. I am humbled many a time when the people of Campenaro Numero Dos pick up a shovel or wrench to help with the work, and when they invite us into their homes with hospitality so genuine and warm, it would shame most Americans.


When I arrived in El Salvador, I was struck by the poverty displayed in rusted tin -- or grass and black plastic -- huts, in sickly dogs and in garbage strewn about the land. When I arrived in El Salvador, I thought poverty was ugly.


I was wrong. And it took a bunch of children to show me my mistake.


At health and hygiene training on the first day, we have the women and kids split into four groups and draw a map of their community. I expect them to draw muddy roads and ratty huts and garbage piles. Instead, they draw simple houses and vibrant gardens -- alive with brilliant flowers (flores) and fluttering butterflies (mariposas).


I see a land torn by poverty and an all-too-recent civil war. They see butterflies.


“I am surprised by the joy of a people who just came out of a civil war,” says my teammate Ali Fraze. “They seem to know that chapter of their lives is closed. I expected to see a lot more brokenness, but I see beauty."


The coconuts: All Jorge has is eight coconuts and five mangoes. It is way more than enough.

El Salvador: The Food

Oh, the tortillas. I miss them. They were small, thick, and wonderful. This basket came from a woman who makes tortillas every day -- selling 60 and saving 20 to feed her family.

The villagers were responsible for feeding us lunch each day in exchange for our work on their well. I was touched by their generosity. The food they fed us is way more than they ate themselves.

Fresh squeezed pineapple juice. Carlos is making sure Dave pours it right.

Dave celebrated his birthday in El Salvador. This is his birthday potato. It has a match in it.

On the day of the dedication of the well at Campenaro Numero Dos, the local carpenter gave us coconuts and mangoes to thank us for bringing his village clean water. He gave ALL of his coconuts and mangoes -- which could have fed his family for a week. What a humbling (and delicious) experience. Americans could learn generosity from these impoverished folks.

Delores, our fantastic cook at the guesthouse. She didn't speak a word of English, but she had this voice that carried so much joy it made me want to laugh whenever I heard it. And, boy, could she cook!

Sarah about to eat some of Delores' stew.

The meal our last night in Acajutla. So good.

My friend John gave me a list of three foods I had to consume while in country: Platanos fritos (fried plantains), Horchata (a chalky greenish drink made from a local fruit), and Dulce de leche. I hit two of them in our last meal. Here I am with the platanos fritos, and the horchata is pictured with the pupusas -- a traditional Salvadoran food -- below.

Pupusas are tortillas stuffed with rice, beans and meat, topped with a pretty spicy salsa.

El Salvador: The Coffee

This is a coffee tree. This is me and Sarah after eating several raw coffee beans. We're happy.

My first up-close view of raw coffee beans. Or coffee berries, rather. The beans are inside. But it doesn't matter. They tasted superb and, well, talk about a caffeine buzz...

Ripe coffee beans. Beautiful!

Power shot. This is me drinking coffee by...wait for it...a coffee tree!

El Salvador: The Play

After a day of work, the sun would set, and we'd play on the beach or in the pool at our guesthouse. As they say, "Work hard; play hard."

I almost came home with one of these...

Brandon juggles rocks for the enjoyment of dozens of school children. Yes, rocks.

Dave had his birthday while we were in country. So we went to the nearest convenience store and got some ice cream! Rico!

Last walk on the beach...

John and Nelson play some ping pong late one night.

On our last day in El Salvador, we took a series of 14 zip lines down the mountain into the town of Apaneca. Whoopee!

Ali, Sarah and me about to rock the zip line world.

Sarah takes off!

May I point out that not only was I ziplining...I was ziplining through coffee trees! It was heavenly.

El Salvador: The Stories Part II

Forecast: Fountains of water in San Juan

by Hannah Wiest


“When the poor and needy search for water and there is none, and their tongues are parched from thirst, then I, the Lord, will answer them. I, the God of Israel, will never abandon them. I will open up rivers for them on high plateaus. I will give them fountains of water in the valleys. … I am doing this so all who see this miracle will understand what it means -- that it is the Lord who has done this, the Holy One of Israel who created it.”

--Isaiah 41: 17-18a, 20


In El Salvador it’s not who you know that makes a difference. It’s where you live. As Carlos Molina, coordinator for Agua Viva Internacional in El Salvador, says: “Location is everything.”


This is a truth Rafael Antonio Gonzalez knows well. The community leader for San Juan, a small village northeast of Acajutla, has watched three Agua Viva drill teams come and go -- and still his people have no water.


Early this summer, the first team came, as all teams do, with high hopes of providing water for the needy. They set up the drill rig, dug a mud pit and trench, and began to chip away at dirt and rock. It didn’t take long, however, to realize the rock was too hard. As it’s said, location is everything.


So the team moved to another location, and for a while, it looked promising. The drill bit pounded downward meter by meter. But then, one night while the team was away, the borehole collapsed. The week was over; it was time to go home.


The next week, members of the local Salvadoran Agua Viva drill team moved several meters away and started borehole number three, patiently drilling inch by inch. Still, by week’s end, there was no water. And that’s where team number three picked up.


Fresh from the victory of hitting water their first day on their first well, the nine American volunteers were confident God would grant two wells that week. They prayed He would. And then they drilled. And drilled. And drilled. Sometimes they got a meter every half hour, sometimes a meter every other hour. They drilled late into the night, guided by the headlights of a truck and munching on Oreos for sustenance. They returned the next morning and reached a depth of 58 meters. Soil samples indicated water was close.


Rafael hardly left the drill site. His son, Rafael Junior, hauled water and lugged pipe.


Roca. Roca, de agua buena,” Rafael said again and again to the drillers, pounding clenched fist into open palm.


“The good water is under the rock. There is too much rock."


The day drew on. Two drill rods were broken and needed to be fixed before going any deeper. The team needed to dedicate their first well. For the third time, Rafael watched as pipe after pipe was pulled from the borehole in preparation for the next team, the next try.


Location is everything -- for both a well and a village.


Living Water wells drilled just miles away hit good water at 60 meters. Hand-dug wells in other villages produced filthy water, but at least they produced.


“My hand-dug well doesn’t work anymore,” Rafael said. “The neighbor’s is dry. And the neighbor on the other side, his is also dry. The water does not taste good. There is sickness in the water.”


Villages just miles away -- across the main road through Acajutla -- have electricity and passable roads. But not San Juan. When the rains come, the road leading to the village washes away in a slough of mud, leaving Rafael and his people isolated even though they are only a mile from the main road. Rafael has asked the mayor for help repairing the road many times, but to no avail.


“It is bothering all of us that the other side of the road has water and electricity, and we don’t,” Rafael said. “To me this water well is something everyone will appreciate. All the community is happy. But the sad thing is it won’t help so much. There is so much left to do.”


The same things bothered Agua Viva teams one, two and three. Each hoped to complete the well, giving San Juan a foundation on which to build itself up, yet each left only a hole in the ground. Still, it’s a start. John Nadolski, a Living Water staff member and volunteer on the third team, put it this way: “We had the satisfaction of success on our first well but didn’t get big-headed because on the second well, we didn’t do any better than any of the other groups. Now we get to celebrate with the team that does hit water."


And what a celebration it will be. Dozens of Agua Viva staff members and American volunteers -- and the friends and family members who have heard the plight of San Juan -- will celebrate God's timing and provision. Some day soon, there will be fountains of water in the valley.

El Salvador: The Work

Drilling water wells is muddy, greasy work...

That's why we wore our rubber boots.

Dave and Sarah ride in traditional El Salvador style to our work site, a small village called Campenaro Numero Dos about 25 minutes from Acajutla.


Drilling on our first well in Campenaro Numero Dos. This was noisy, dusty air-hammer drilling.

At our first well, we hit water the first day! I was drilling when we hit mud in the morning, and Dave was at the helm when the water really began to flow. We drilled to a depth of 90 feet. Here Enrique, the Salvadoran head driller, ducks from the spray of water that came after checking the recharge rate.

Brandon Baca, our Living Water International team leader from Huston, displays just how muddy this drilling business can be. Nice shirt, Brandon!

Brandon and Jorge Ceren Ramos, the village leader for Campenaro Numero Dos, set the foundation for the well.

Barb, me and Sarah: Hard-working gals slopping mud at our second drill site, an even poorer village called San Juan.

I'm moving cuttings from the drill bit down the mud trench to keep the borehole clean.

Mud drilling at our second well site in San Juan. I enjoyed how interactive mud drilling was. It seemed like everyone had a job to do. Even so, we were not able to hit water here. Two teams had already tried before us and we also left the villagers without clean water. Please pray a team hits water soon!

The well at Campenaro Numero Dos is ready for the pump to be installed.

That is one big wrench! I'm screwing pipes together as we lower them into the well.

Barb working the wrench action.

Nelson, the Salvadoran assistant driller, works with Ali (left), Sarah (behind Ali) and Dave (right) to lower pipes into the well.

Our completed well at Campenaro Numero Dos. Now the villagers won't have to walk 2 kilometers carrying heavy water jugs every day. A well costs about $5,000 to build. This one was funded by the Larson family from Texas.