Yep, still here.

Why hello!

Audrey here with a long, long overdue update. As many of you know I was home in California for a brief stint in May, for a wedding and my mom’s graduation from seminary. It was a lovely and much needed time at home. I ate an obscene quantity of bagels and cream cheese (sorely lacking in these here parts). For all of you who came out to “Audreyfest 2008” I really appreciate your generous support of me. We raised enough money that night to fund an entire month of me being down here.

I’ve been back down in El Salvador for a month now, the weeks just seem to fly by. Its crazy that I’ll be finishing my year and moving home in just 8 short weeks!

The projects are going well: I’m working on promoting and finding funding for our big sustainable agriculture project, I planted a bunch of Moringa trees and am going to do a workshop with them in a month, I’m still working with short term mission groups. The kids are harvesting their crop from our organic garden and selling the produce. We have a garden team with officers and committees and everything. And tomorrow we will be putting the finishing touches on our greenhouse. We made it out of sticks and clear plastic. Pictures to follow. We’re also building composting bins this week. The kids are so awesome.

One girl, Glenda, is probably one of the sharpest young people I have ever worked with. She is always right on track in the workshops and knows the answers almost before I ask the questions. She is the secretary of the group and keeps track of all the applications and treatments to the plants in a binder, she takes attendance, and helps design the schedule. She is 14 and just finishing 9^th grade. She will not get to continue on to high school because it is too expensive and too far away. She will stay around the house helping at home and in the cornfield until she get pregnant and moves in with her “compañero.” A free high school education, roads, school buses, are all things that we take for granted. As well we should. It is a government’s responsibility to provide for the education of their people.

These amazing kids have water in their homes for an hour and a half every 3^rd day. They walk an hour and a half to school and an hour and a half home from school every day. These kids live on the margins of their society, some in houses made of sticks and black plastic trash bags. They are citizens of a middle-income country but are part of one of the five worst fed populations in the world. A country where an oligarchy of 14 families, or 8 business conglomerates controls virtually all the resources of the country. Every one of these kids has had family members massacred by their government.

That is injustice. That is the injustice in one corner of one small Central American country. When we open our eyes and our hearts to the rest of the world we see that these injustices cover the world. One billion people, just like us, are hungry without access to clean drinking water. Annually, malnutrition claims the lives of six million children before their fifth birthday. The enormity of the injustice in the world suffocates me. The despair we feel for the world threatens to drown us.

What do we do with that emotion? Do we ignore it? “I really don’t have much to give.” “There is nothing that can be done.” “The world is too screwed up.” Or do we take that painful emotion and recognize it as compassion for the world. Recognize it as a call for us to look outside of ourselves and to give to the world the gifts that we have received.

Open your eyes. Look at the rest of the world. Feel the difficult emotions. You will be transformed.

Thanks for sticking with me on this journey and reading my sometimes preachy, always-heartfelt rants.

The Voice of the Voiceless

Today was an amazing day. Today was a Holy day. I know you’re thinking, what Easter Monday? Last week was Holy Week. La Semana Santa down here. But today was the 28^th anniversary of the martyrdom and resurrection of Archbishop Oscar Romero.

Oscar Romero was known as a reserved and conservative man and for these reasons he was chosen to be the Archbishop of San Salvador in 1977. This was an incredibly tumultuous time in Salvadoran history. The poor were incredibly marginalized socially, politically and economically and were starting to organize for their rights. As they tried to speak out they were violently repressed by their government. Thousands of people were being murdered by death squads, “disappeared” and massacred. As Oscar Romero became Archbishop he was transformed by what he saw and by the assassination of his friend, fellow Roman Catholic priest, Rutilio Grande. He began to speak up for the rights of the people, he was the voice for the voiceless. He rejected wealth and elegant living conditions and lived in solidarity with the poor. No one was too humble or poor to deserve his attention. His weekly sermons were broadcast over the radio and listened to all across the country. Romero knew his life was in danger, he could have fled, but he stayed. He continued to preach, love and give hope. Weeks before his death he said "If they kill me, I shall arise in the Salvadoran people.” Here, it is not referred to as the anniversary of his assassination, but the anniversary of his martyrdom and resurrection. He did rise up in the Salvadoran people they fought a long and bloody twelve year civil war for their human rights (1980-1992). La lucha sigue. The struggle continues. The spirit of Oscar Romero is alive in the Salvadoran people.

This is an excerpt from his last sermon before he was assassinated while celebrating Mass:

I would like to appeal in a special way to the men of the army, and in particular to the troops of the National Guard, the Police, and the garrisons. Brothers, you belong to our own people. You kill your own brother peasants; and in the face of an order to kill that is given by a man, the law of God should prevail that says: Do not kill! No soldier is obliged to obey an order counter to the law of God. No one has to comply with an immoral law. It is time now that you recover your conscience and obey its dictates rather than the command of sin. The Church, defender of the rights of God, of the law of God, of the dignity of the human person, cannot remain silent before so much abomination.

We want the government to seriously consider that reforms mean nothing when they come bathed in so much blood. Therefore, in the name of God, and in the name of this long-suffering people, whose laments rise to heaven every day more tumultuous, I beseech you, I beg you, I command you in the name of God: Cease the repression!

Romero gave hope to the people. He loved them, he valued them. In circumstances that can be described by no other word than impossible he gave people hope. He spoke out regardless of personal cost. He was killed and resurrected in the people. I have so many things I want to tell you this month. So much has happened, I’ve seen, done, and learned so much. I didn’t know what to include in this update, my sister told me “tell them what is most important.” Today, what is most important is that you understand a little bit about one of the most important people in history.

Today, we went on a pilgrimage with a delegation from the states to the Hospital were Romero lived with the cancer patients. When I walked into the Chapel where he was shot, I got the chills for five minutes. They wouldn’t go away. We saw his small apartment, his bed, his pajamas. I held my nephew and we looked at the vestments he was wearing when he was killed, stained with his blood. In the glass I saw my nephew reflected. Reflected in Romero’s robes. Hope and new life being reflected in sacrifice and death of a man that so loved the people he gave his life for them.

Daily, I feel humbled to work with, be in the presence of, and be in communion with people like these. These people who are Romero resurrected. People who have suffered tragedies and losses beyond what we can imagine. People who live a 2 hour walk from the nearest paved road or market, but who can speak eloquently on politics, history, development and the economic situation. People, women and men, who were children and young adults (from age 11) who raised up arms and fought for their basic human rights.

In the face of overwhelming challenges, rising food costs, gang violence, corruption, we continue. We continue to stand up to injustice. We continue to speak the truth. The struggle continues. And that is the hope. That is Romero resurrected in the people.

Friends, thank you for reading my history lesson. It was really important for me today to share this with you. March has been a busy month, the garden projects are coming along, we’ve had four different delegations from the states, I got to visit a women’s prison and an orphanage, and I turned 24.

Thanks for sharing this journey with me.

I'm back.

Friends and family,

Back by popular demand, Audrey’s monthly updates. Okay, not popular demand, but there was at least one demand. I’m back down in El Salvador now, I’ve been here for about 5 weeks. It was kind of a rocky transition back into life down here, but this week I feel like I’m finally getting settled. Over Christmas I got super settled into my comfortable Chico lifestyle. Good friends were seconds away, I had a mocha every morning, there was a diverse selection of delicious foods, heavenly. Life isn’t quite as comfy down here. It is however rich, challenging, adventurous, heartbreaking, and breathtaking.

I’m living in Jiquilisco, with 3 guys. Maybe I should say men, they range from 26-60+ (?) I haven’t asked. I though it would be rude. I’ve started a garden at the house. When someone drove into the yard last week and saw my garden he said, “me parece hay una mujer en la casa.” (it seems there is a woman in the house). I said, yeah look in the fridge. My big accomplishment so far has been turning my house from a bachelor pad to an actual house. It’s a daily struggle. On of the common agricultural practices is burning the sugar cane fields before harvest and it fills the air with these big pieces of ash. The ash then floats into the house and covers every surface. Even people if you sit still for long enough. Anyhow, I’m spending the weeks out here and the weekends at my sister’s apartment in the city or at the beach. Don’t envy me too much; I know you all are having the craziest winter in 20 years. But when I wake up some mornings at 7 and I’m already sweating I wish I were there!

My second week back I accompanied a medical mission from New York. There were 50 doctors, nurses, dentists, specialists, pharmacists, and translators. We took the countryside by storm and saw 1500 patients in 6 different communities in 6 days. I was the “translator” for the pediatrician. His Spanish was as good as mine. Which is to say passable, but really not that good. We saw mostly family groups of kids up to 6 patients at a time. Most of the kids were dressed up in there fanciest outfits, it was the social event of the season. We saw some pretty gnarly sick kids. A few with staff infections covering their bodies, a lot of parasites, some asthma and pneumonia, and one boy with a cataract in his eye. Treatable, but he couldn’t get into see the eye doctor for 6 months. We said we were “eradicating disease and pestilence.” We had to joke our way through it, or else you get so mad that these people are so marginalized they don’t have access to basic health care. Or potable water in their homes. These are basic human rights and people all over the world are denied them.

Now I’m working mostly in this community called San Juan de LeTran. I’ve got two projects of my very own going on. I’m working with the youth to create a demonstration garden. It will serve as an area to have agricultural workshops and teach the community about organic and sustainable agriculture practices. The thought with working with the youth is to do leadership education through agriculture. (Does that sound familiar?) We have a brief “charla” (chat, or lesson) about a topic and then we go to work in the garden. We’re just in the early stages now, fixing the fence and planning the garden. The youth are involved in every step; I’m really trying to get them to feel ownership so it continues when I go home. It is part of a broader project the Episcopal Church is starting with the Coordinadora (the organization I worked with last fall). I’m jazzed about that because I really like the people who work for that group and what they are all about. My other little project is “intercambios de idiomas” (language exchanges) with the same kids. Basically a fancy way of saying I help them with there English homework and the help me with Spanish. In one such of these interchanges, one of the guys said to me in perfect English with a swanky tone in his voice, “hi baby” I said, “funny, real funny, but maybe don’t use that one until you get to know the girl.”

Hope all is well, thanks for your emails, support and love!

Audrey

Video!

Check out this sweet video about my work:

The Reluctant Missionary

So I’m back in the states, and have seen many of you, but I wanted to share some experiences of my last month in El Salvador. A few highlights of the past month: sitting in a tin shack kitchen, with a dirt floor discussing the oppression of the poor, imperialism of the US, and human rights with my host-dad (in Spanish… yeah me.) Driving my sister, nephew, and brother-in law to the airport with half the luggage tied to the roof, and having to climb through the window to get into the car because Vince tied the door shut. Harvesting and eating cucumbers I grew in my project. Celebrating Thanksgiving with 40 plus Salvadoran campesinos. Watching my sister anoint her son with holy oil during his baptism, “marked as Christ’s own forever.” Being the only one on the most perfect beach in the world. Seeing pine trees, black sand, and volcanoes all in one weekend. Learning how to clean fish and immediately following consuming the aforementioned fish. Experiencing other people’s realities.

As many of you know, I’ll be heading back to El Salvador in January to continue my work with the Episcopal Church of El Salvador. I will be volunteering through an Organization called Cristosal (www.cristosal.org) that supports the Episcopal Church in El Salvador. I will be working in the same area I have been working in these past three months and hopefully implementing some of the things I have been learning about sustainable and organic agriculture. Specifically, some of the projects we have in mind are: a Juertos Casero (house gardens) project, with a demonstration garden and agriculture classroom for workshops. I’m also excited about doing some leadership and team building trainings with the jovenes (all that FFA training!) and doing some diagnostic work for a cattle project.

So, I think I might write a book called the reluctant missionary. Yeah, but seriously. When people ask me if I’m a missionary or if I’m on a mission, I hem and haw. “Uh, sorta” I reply. Why? Why don’t I own it? Although both my sisters and some of my closest friends are missionaries, I have a preconceived notion of the word. I think of someone who is evangelizing or someone who is going to help the poor people learn how to not be poor. And in my mind I find this condescending. I know for a fact that in the last 3 months I have learned more than I have shared. I have been totally schooled in agriculture knowledge, humility, patience and basic communication.

Mission to me means accompaniment. It means learning about and sharing other people’s realities. It means building relationships, learning from each other and walking together on a faith journey. This is the kind of missionary I strive to be.

Over the past three months I have tried to experience impossible realities. I had friends who shared war experiences with me, that were impossible to deal with. A good friend’s son-in-law was murdered by a gang; impossible to reconcile. The people in my communities struggle everyday to feed their families. These aren’t my realities; I cannot truly experience them. But I can be there, I can sit and talk, learn and support. We call it solidarity. And that is my mission work. And it changes me. My mom asked me how all this has changed me. I don’t know exactly, but I know I’ve been stretched, broadened and broken. And I hope it changes people I walk with, I hope it validates them and their experiences and makes dealing with these impossible realities a little more possible.

Currently I am looking for people to help support my work as I live in El Salvador. I need to raise about $4000 to live and work for the rest of my year. If you feel pulled to financially support my mission and the development of the communities I’m working in please see below. (And I’m tax-deductible!)

Thank you for walking with me these past three months, for sending your emails, thoughts and love. Hey, if you want to hear more stories or talk more let me know… I love to share.

Que le vaya bien,

Audrey


If you would like to make a tax-deductible contribution to my work you can make a check out to Cristosal and put “Audrey Denney mission fund” in the subject line. And mail the check to:

Fundación Cristosal
681 North Hill Cross Road
Ludlow VT 05149

802.228.5452 or info@cristosal.org


Anything I raise above my budgeted amount will go to purchase supplies and help support the projects I will be working on.

Hmm, reflections.

So, I used to think I couldn’t sleep with out my own pillow. Or my own clean sheets. Being super sweaty most of the time used to really bother me. I used to think I needed hot showers. I don’t want to sound like trite missionary girl, but when you don’t have stuff, you realize you don’t really need stuff. Having nice smelling sheets isn’t always an option. And so you deal. When you are asleep you don’t notice the smell of your sheets. A cold shower feels really amazing after a day of being super sweaty. And bathing from a pila (large cement trough) by candlelight is pretty romantic. I’m not saying I never want to take a hot shower or sleep in a comfy bed again. I’m saying our needs are not always what we think they are. This week I learned I need either a hat or a hairbrush. It’s not totally essential to have both… but one is important. I left both of the aforementioned items in San Salvador and have been trying to get by. It has been a little sketch. But I don’t have a mirror… so that makes life easier.

Lately I’ve also been thinking a lot about how life is found in the middle of crap. I’ve had my share of tragedy in my life, and always before I’ve felt like when really bad stuff happens, life stops. But now I’m rethinking that theory. Two weeks ago my nephew, Jacob Ruben Zuniga, was born. The week before two brothers from one of the church’s communities were murdered on their way home. There was a bus accident with nine fatalities. The FMLN candidate for President’s son was murdered in Paris. Hundreds of people were displaced in the area I work because of flooding. Huge fires were raging in California. Jacob was born into a country where 10 people are murdered daily. But he was born. Life was found in the middle of a bunch of crap. One of my favorite people, Heather, thinks that life comes out of crap. Lets think about that through my compost metaphor: take a bunch of trash, put it somewhere and watch it turn into rich, beautiful soil. Watch life come from crap. I don’t know, it’s a new concept for me. What do you think?

This week I learned how to use a cuma. Its kind of like a machete, I cut weeds around my cucumber project with it. I couldn’t feel my right arm after 4 hours of mano de obra (labor). After spending a few weeks in the city taking care of Amy and baby, I’m back in my pueblo in the campo. Amy wound up having a c-section, so her recovery time was longer, but she is up and around now and everyone is healthy. Jacob is the new love of my life (see attached pictures). He was born beautiful, intelligent, and perfect. Its nice to be back in the campo, the hustle and noise of San Salvador gets to me after a while. But it’s a balance thing, because I get a little lonely out here. I have a great family and really fun co-workers, but it’s hard to develop those really sustaining friendships when you don’t have an amazing grasp on the language.

Here’s what I like: drinking really cold coke out of the bottle and eating quesitos (imitation cheetos), fresh squeezed orange juice in plastic baggies, fertilizing plants with lonbris-compost (worm poop), napping in hammocks, and black sand beaches. Here’s what I don’t like: clapping in church and the smell of burning garbage, oh yeah, and dirty chuchos (stray dogs).

So friends, that’s where I’m at. I hope this finds you healthy and happy.

Peace,

Audrey

rain, rain, RAIN!

Hi friends.

Everything I own is wet. And stinky. I'm sitting on a wet bed (the ceiling has a leak that drips in my bed), in wettish clothes, looking at my soaking wet duffel bag. It has been raining for 24 hours. Maybe I should back up a bit though…

I successfully completed my second week of Spanish school in the city. I got a certificate of completion from "Basico B" (much improvement from June, when I was last here they didn't even let me graduate, and I was in Basico Zero). Then I packed up my duffle bag and headed out to the campo. I spent the first week with my compañero, Noah (he's the director of social programs for the missions of the Episcopal Church down here). He lives in this sweet town, Jicolisco. It makes me feel like I've stepped back in time… the streets have this cobblestoney type feel, there's a town square (where kids play and crazy old men sit), there aren't any big businesses, just tons of corner stores (here we call them "tiendas"), you drink coke out of bottles (which you have to return), and you do your laundry by hand in a pila. I know that last bit sounds romantic, but its not. I suck at laundry, but that is another story. So anyway, last week I chilled here and went to work with Noah. The highlight was when we accompanied the medical team to this village called El Carmen. The doctor gets around to 9 different towns every 2 weeks. But El Carmen is impossible to get to by car in the rainy season, so this time the put la doctura and the psychiatrist on horses. For the first time in theirs lives, nuts. I hopped on behind Daniella (la doctura), and held onto her with one hand and steered the horse with the other. (Please see attached photos).

After a fun week, I moved in with my host family in Ciudad Romero (renamed after Archbishop Oscar Romero, one of the most important figures in Salvadoran history, a voice for the poor and oppressed, he was assassinated by the government in March 1980 while presiding over Mass.) (If you don't know about it please google it.) Yup, so I moved in with my family. Mom (Maria), Pops (Don Chavello), youngest daughter (Enida-20), granddaughter (Maria Jesus "Chunga"-17). Mom and pops have 15 kids, 52 grandkids, and 5 great grandkids. Mom jokes "bastante (enough) para un pueblo." My work… this week I started an experiment about which fertilizer/treatment option does the best job fighting mildew in cucumbers. I did land prep and planted 12 ten-meter rows by hand (with a little help from my compañeros), not bad for a sweaty, bug-bitten gringa girl. I also did some work with the seed bank… mostly weighing and counting seeds. And we started making an organic foliar spray on fertilizer, made partly (get this!) out of a dug up anthill (complete with ant carcasses). Sweetness. I like life in the country, but I'm ready to get back in the city for a bit. I want my stuff to dry out and I've been craving the internet and pizza. And I'm a little tired of the outhouse and the mosquitoes biting my butt every time I go.

This morning I left Ciudad Romero around 745, when I realized there would be no work today since the road had turned into a river. I put on my capris, rain jacket and grabbed my backpack and duffel and headed to Jicolisco. I marched barefoot through water and muck up to my knees to the bus stop. The buses do not like the rain. After 45 minutes of waiting I hitched with guy almost all the way here (saved 90 cents on 2 buses). Then got another ride into town. And now here I am, 2 and a half hours in the rain and everything I own is wet.

Wet but contented. Tomorrow I will see Robin and Amy, (both my sisters), we haven't all been together in over 15 months. Any day now Amy will pop, and our family will have a new baby boy. I will do my laundry and eat pizza. As I'm writing this I'm thinking of you reading (or skimming) this email. I love you. And I miss you. Have a Crystal Wheat and chocolate mousse for me after work, go to Bustolini's, Coda, Woodstocks and the Raw Bar for me. I could use prayers/thoughts for will with Spanish and for my sissy and her delivery and health.

Que la vaya bien,

Audrey

PS. If you are looking for a sweet book to read I recommend "The Monkey Wrench Gang" by Edward Abbey (book club it.) I'm ready for revolution.