Wordless Wednesday #1

Welcome to Wordless Wednesdays!
Okay, this one has words, but only to introduce an exercise I've wanted to do for a while.
I'm going to pick one photograph per week that speaks to me and offer it without explanation.  Those of you who know me will understand that it will take every ounce of restraint in my bones not to explain in some way.  Some will be humorous (to my sophomoric sense of humor, that is), some pensive, some just pretty - interpret however they strike you.  I just hope they will spark a smile, a thought or have some significance to you through whatever lens you view them.  

Let's start.

Beautiful Day in The Neighborhood?

We're now over two months into the dry season here in El Salvador with an unchanging forecast as far as one can prognosticate.  I was warned that I'd miss the rainy season as I was begging for a reprieve from the afternoon monsoons and ceaseless humidity.  Back in October I couldn't have fathomed the jungle drying up, its vines browning and maidenhair ferns withering and disappearing.  But here we are:

These sunny skies and a few more months under my belt have given me the opportunity to get to know the neighborhood better.  At first charmed and fascinated by the novelties I found, upon reflection - I'm also saddened by much of the reality that passes before me everyday. Let me take you on a tour:

First, some perspective: San Salvador sprawls out at the base of a few volcanoes, some easily recognizable and some look just like mountains because they've already blown their tops.  

Next, this is the most colorful country I've known, from the exotic flowers and blooming trees to the murals bringing vibrancy to the omnipresent concrete block walls. 

Poinsettias: Not just for Christmas anymore

Three cats are a recurring mural theme here. I'm taking it as a good omen. 

We couldn't stand looking at just a plain white wall, so we bought some paint and grabbed the ladder.

Mornings bring the daily parade of housekeepers, nannies, gardeners and handymen getting off the buses and streaming into the wealthy, walled-and-guarded neighborhoods for work. They take buses from all parts, often traveling 90 minutes or more each way. Walking against the flow involves greeting every single person you pass. With narrow sidewalks, there is no excuse for not greeting someone.  I try to mix up the salutations a bit, because I'll say this a dozen times in a ten minute walk.  

"Buenos dias,

Buen dia,

Hola, buen dia,

Que le vaya bien"

Etc...

If you happen to be eating something as you walk, say you grabbed an apple before leaving the house and are polishing it on your shirt before taking a bite - expect to be "buen provecho'd" by total strangers (bon appetite). 

Besides the maid parade, the live-in housekeepers in their starched uniforms are already on the job and out early walking their patron's dogs, or picking up rolls from the bread guy on their bikes. The bread guys park near the neighborhood entrances, or sometimes they're allowed to enter and cruise through the streets.  I'd patronize them if they offered any variety, which so far they don't.

Why always white dinner rolls?

The gardeners, weed-whacker slung over a shoulder like a pair of skis and machetes hanging from their belts, make their way to work alongside the maids.  A bit later in the morning, you might see them with a wheelbarrow of plants as they tend the narrow grassy strips between the sidewalk and curb. 

The wealthy folks who apparently have flexible work schedules and don't have to be places when the rest of us do, jog by in the latest gear. I don't worry about saying hello to them as they're plugged into their headphones and look deep in captain-of-industry thoughts. No doubt planning their mergers and acquisitions de jour. 

Weekdays bring the posse of street sweepers out with their brooms, hand-sweeping and raking the leaves from the gutters and sidewalks.  Always women, and always with big smiles and hellos for passers-by. I often wonder if they curse upon feeling the wind pick up blowing down the avenue, or if they just chalk it up to job security. 

I've named her "Sonrisa" because she has a beautiful one for me every day. 

Then there are the guards. I see them either in booths manning gated neighborhood entrances, or standing sentry outside single houses, pistol-gripped shotguns slung across their chests.  Those without booths assemble makeshift seats to take a load off as they pass the quiet hours of the dawn. 

Extra padding courtesy of the soggy cardboard.

For hungry morning commuters there are options. Pop into the local gas station for a quick workman's breakfast:

Chicken tamale, Melba toast, packaged cheese and a coffee for... $1.75. 

Or just grab a no-spill coffee-in-a-bag to-go... 

Do you poke a hole in the bag? Do you try to untie it and then pour it into the cup? 

And for those with plenty of both money and time - why not linger in one of the popular coffee shops and enjoy a cafecito, a slice of cake and some gossip with a friend?  No hurries, the maid is walking the dog, the nanny got the kids off to school, the gardener is tending the yard, and the driver is waiting in the car for when you're done with your visit. 

Although perhaps you'll pop into the gown store that just opened in the neighborhood, the one above the fancy bakery and party decorations store.  So convenient to have everything so close, isn't it? 

Just the basics: a ball gown store

For the little Senor's birthday

Thus the daily hustle and bustle of the day begins in the neighborhood.  

By dusk, it all happens in reverse. The maids will pocket their $10-20 per day, the gardeners perhaps a bit more. The guards are often tapped for 24 hour shifts, more if someone calls in sick. One guy told me he'd filled in for a sick coworker for over 40 hours straight on duty, but he was happy because he'd make an extra $48 for the overtime. 

While I love the routine and rhythm, the kind smiles and familiar faces passing by each day, I can't help think about the other side of the story. THEIR side of the story. And that's the part that I'm struggling with: the enormous gap between the haves and have-nots. Of course I'm not the first to be struck by this inequality.  But this is a really, really small country and I haven't experienced the two ends of the spectrum in such close proximity.  Across the avenue from the fanciest malls are steep ravines filled with tin and thatch shacks. When I adjust the air conditioner just a degree to be more comfortable, or when the torrential rains come and I dash around closing the windows so the rain doesn't blow onto the nice wood table or the framed artwork, I think of these folks. The cake pictured above will likely cost more than a week's salary for the maid who picks it up for her Senora. The gardener who washes his patron's Porsche SUV also carries his weed-whacker home hours on a packed bus each day because he can't afford even a beat-up pick-up. 

I don't know what to do about this dissonance. So I'm just going to write about it for now. 

Mid-Level Manager: Consular

That's me now, a mid-level consular manager.  The title doesn't inspire much awe, does it? In fact, it sounds downright cog-in-a-wheel-ish. 

I'll start by backing up a bit.  I actually became a mid-level officer in 2017 upon leaving Bucharest and starting my Washington assignment.  Mid-level describes the bulk of time one spends after being an Entry Level Officer (the first two directed assignments) and before being promoted into the Senior Foreign Service, should one get that far. There is a lot of range there, and even among the same rank (mid-level is FS 04 through FS 01, counting down as the ranks get higher) there is a lot of difference in the types of work one does depending on where you're assigned. You can be one of over 50, as it was for me in Juarez, or one of one.  From my A-100, I had two classmates who were shipped off to small posts to become sole consular officers to completely run the show with just the basic training under their belts (and hopefully well-seasoned local staff at the ready, but that's not always the case).  Thank God that wasn't me, lemme' tell you.  I'm not a jump-onto-thin-ice-and-figure-it-out-when-I-get-there kind of girl.  There are areas of risk where others might cringe where I'm more comfortable (public speaking - I'm on it), but being tossed into a leadership role with zero prior experience in the subject and I'm silently praying someone more ambitious next to me's hand shoots up to volunteer.  
Guess which one I am:

However, for this assignment - I feel decently prepared by having two adjudicating tours in very different environments and two years in Consular Affairs headquarters under my belt. I wouldn't have bid on the position if it felt like tooooo long of a stretch. Even so, there's a big difference between being a consular adjudicator and being the manager, and that's where I'm feeling the stretch. 

First of all, 8:00 am doesn't find me raising the blind in an adjudicating window and asking for someone's passport. That line snaking through the waiting room and out along the sidewalk isn't for me to work through anymore. And the nice folks with their arms full of folders and documents aren't popping their adorably-dressed kids onto the counter in front of me, daring me to refuse such a face. 

I miss it.  

I also miss not speaking the language every day to every type of person for at least four hours straight.  Hearing what life is like for the farmer, the student, the professional, the truck driver, the family of five, or the person hoping I won't notice that criminal history s/he failed to mention in their application.  

Yeah, I do miss it.

Instead, the morning starts in my office, greeting my coworkers, chatting (in English) about the weather or someone's breakfast as I log into the computer and start the day... managing. It's time to manage.  What does that MEAN? Delegating tasks? Being decisive? Being motivational? Guiding and correcting? Being the subject matter expert? Having vision? Signing papers they put in front of you? Or simply not screwing things up? 

I'm learning it means all of the above.  The hardest part, however, is that at the end of the day, there isn't always a tangible result to managing. Sure, you can look around the room and point to the fact that folks didn't quit en masse, work got done, and maybe there was some good conversations about things we should do, sometime, in the future.  But there's nothing as satisfying as seeing an empty waiting room where there once was a mob of activity and faces. Or hearing your colleagues down the line dropping their window shades and knowing that you all just adjudicated 600 applicants and survived the morning.

It's an adjustment to understand that the satisfyingly empty waiting room has been replaced by just getting through half of my daily to-do list. It's busy in a non-physical way, which is odd for me. It's keeping a lot of notes from a lot of meetings and wishing there was more time to actually DO the things that you've just written down.

Overall, it's moving the needle just a skosh - and having to be okay with that. 

While there are times when I feel kinda' like this:

When you're told you have to fill in at a meeting for someone three rungs up the ladder from you in a subject you have to Google first.

 

Little by little, there are also times when, even if for just a moment, I feel like this:

Oh yeah, there are only 80 unread messages in my inbox!

El Salvador: Getting a Better Look

Walking through the neighborhood yesterday afternoon, I noticed a stand of trees with the first tinges of red and orange in their leaves.  I smiled thinking about fall being in the air -finally!- especially after suffering through such an incredibly hot Virginia summer. But my sentimental wanderings about the changing of the seasons and looking forward to crisp evenings and mornings were rudely interrupted by a noisy flock of little green parakeets flying overhead.

Oh, right. 
Fall isn't in the air. Fall is never going to be in the air. 
You don't live in the northern hemisphere anymore. The foreseeable handful of years will contain just two seasons: the wet season and the dry season. 

To be fair, these seasons are referred to as winter and summer here. Regardless of what the calendar says, in El Salvador now (September) we're in "winter."  Sure, if we were located south of the equator where the seasons are reversed, I could accept June through September being "winter."  But we're not.  As I understand it, the six months from May to November are winter because that's when it rains, not because it's cold. In fact, winter is the hot season.  Starting in November, we'll enter "summer" because that's when it's dry, even though these are also the cooler months.  So I guess that means what I'm feeling is... spring in the air?   

But here we are in Central America, so I'd better get used to it. The tinges of red and yellow on the leaves of the tree I saw are likely its regular colors, as everything is also more colorful down here. Two weeks in and all I can say is: so far, so great.  I can't say this was a pleasant surprise, however, because it wasn't a surprise. As soon as we got this assignment last summer November, we were hit with a flood of positive reviews about the country, city, embassy, neighborhood where we'd live, local staff colleagues and particularly the general morale at post.  Families love the place and those who can, often extend their assignments here. I'm starting to see why.  

Let me stop talking and show you what we've discovered so far and let you all see for yourselves:

First priority: Our new house gets a stamp of approval from Bridget and Seamus.

They proclaim the ant hunting here to be "superior" and have a courtyard dedicated to the sport. 

The coast is known for its excellent surfing (not my thing), but I can certainly see myself in THESE waves!

And no, we didn't arrive early to beat the crowds.  This was a Saturday mid-day, just 70 minutes from the capital city.  

Interesting flowers in the gardens.

Interesting creatures on the ground. (R.O.U.S.?) 

Interesting creatures in the trees.

Besides seeing the beach, we've gotten out into the countryside a bit, too. Within 90 minutes, we were nearly across the width of the country, which - by the way - is only 88 miles wide and 168 miles long, or just a bit bigger than Massachusetts.  Heading north towards the Honduran border, we visited the town of Suchitoto recently. Native son Alejandro Cotto (cinematographer and cultural "visionary" per local press) inspired and insisted upon the resurrection and preservation of the town's colonial architecture and cultural scene, thus creating a tourist destination and seemingly solid local economy. His home is now a museum to his legacy and the town theater he brought back from near rubble carries his name. While we didn't visit the theater, we did tour his house and grounds which gave weight, in my opinion, to the exaltive adjectives the town applies to his name.  The town also just happens to be situated overlooking the huge man-made reservoir Lago Suchitlan - so that helps attract folks, too. Suchitoto, in native Nahuat means flower-bird, or land of both, and that is certainly not an exaggeration. 

The landscape surrounding Lago Suchitlan

Lunch spot view over the lake and distant mountains towards the Honduran border. 

Alejandro Cotto's house and grounds. This picture shows about five percent of his courtyard, garden and water feature system. The man knew how to cobble a patio!

Kitchen covered in azulejos (tiles).

One of the many, oh 80 foot tall, trees shading Cotto's patios and gardens. 

Interior courtyard of house and museum.  Each room is separate and fronts this courtyard. 

Santa Lucia Church on the central plaza.

Obligatory gold-painted guy who comes to life for some change.

Local crafts and souvenirs. This town is crazy for cobbles; wear only flats, ladies. 

Pop into a cafe showing off its colonial architecture with high ceilings and a courtyard to the right. 

Or stop along the plaza for a cold drink or warm eat. 

Artisan and souvenir shop and cafe.

Before I leave you with only the rosiest of images, it shouldn't be overlooked that over ninety percent of the country is under continual menace by criminal gangs.  I'm still learning what this amounts to for the average Salvadoran, but so far it's clear that the level of threat one feels depends on where you live and what you do. This is still a predominantly rural country with a big section of the population living in great poverty.  My saying we have a comfortable and relatively secure life in San Salvador is like someone in Beverly Hills telling you how crime-free Los Angeles is. It's the reality for only a small sliver of the pie, for sure.  My goal is to show you that El Salvador is more than the headline-making refugees and gangs. The spirit del pueblo is strong, resilient and with time and effort - will get through this period.  I look forward to seeing at least three more years of such progress as we get to know the people and places. 

I hope to do a whole series just on murals and this is a prime example of the artistic spirit we see everywhere. 

Working lady heading home. 

Language Learning and Childbirth: More in Common Than You'd Think

A few weeks ago, likely at 3:30 a.m. when instead of sleeping, I lay awake in bed obsessively constructing complex sentences in Spanish, I had a sudden realization. This realization then kept me up for the next few hours, or until minutes before my alarm rang. What dawned on me was that learning a foreign language and having a baby are essentially the same process, and neither are to be undertaken lightly or without serious consideration of the consequences. 

Fairly bold statement, eh? Well after completing my fourth language training and testing stint at the Foreign Service Institute (FSI), I feel confident making it.

Before going further, it's only fair that I acknowledge my experience in both categories: 

             Language tests: Eight
             Children: Zero  

Now you may be wondering if I'm qualified to draw this conclusion. I understand. Just consider that I know folks with kids. I've had expectant sisters and friends and, being generally nosy, I've asked them heaps of questions about the whole pregnancy and childbirth thing. Sometimes even without squishing up my face and saying, "Whoa, better you than me!" But not often.

Let me lay out the line of reasoning that brings me to this controversial conclusion. My motivation is not so much to sway anyone from having kids - that's a personal decision - but perhaps to save a colleague from making the life-altering decision of tackling a new language at FSI. After all, it's bidding season and I've seen that twinkle in your eyes as you scan that Projected Vacancy List. But now I deplore you to direct your attention to that far right column, you know the one I mean, where the language requirement and training times are listed for each assignment.  See that 3/3 in Vietnamese?  Before you add Ho Chi Minh City to your bid list, swirl it around in the glass for a minute and appreciate the color.  Note the full-bodied complexity of a tonal language. Visualize the delicate nuances of deciphering -for example - written Georgian, an alphabet so lovely it should be a decorative wall border. Then, as the tannin hits your tongue, spit out that bitter liquid before it's too late. Please hear me out and consider the following before making any rash decisions.  This is what I've learned and how I see it all going down. Let me further my baby-language training comparison for you: 

Phase One: The Romance of the Idea
With romantic images of a baby of your own - you begin to consider the idea.  Maybe you've always wanted one, or perhaps the idea developed over time, it doesn't matter, you find yourself looking at pregnant women and picturing that rosy glow in your own cheeks. You talk it over with your partner (or not - whichever) and come to a conclusion that yes, it'll be a tough for a while, but we'll get through it and it will all be worth it. You start thinking about names and maybe even mentally carve out a space for a nursery in your house or apartment. Bringing a new life into the world - what a noble pursuit!

With romantic images of speaking French/Japanese/Amharic with the locals, sharing a joke with the taxi driver, ordering confidently from the menu, or diving into the economic pages of the Sunday paper to untangle the complexity of the host-country market conditions - you consider a language-designated assignment.  You talk it over with your partner (or not - whichever) and come to a conclusion that yes, it'll be tough for a while, but you'll get through it and it will all be worth it in the end to live in that place. You cruise through a few YouTube videos in the language, chuckle at yourself for not picking out a single familiar word and imagine the time when you'll be discussing climate change among classmates. You think it'd be nice to have 6-10 months, heck even two whole years in some cases, dedicated to just studying a language. What a noble pursuit!

Phase Two: The Commitment
It's official - you/your partner are pregnant! You receive congratulations from friends and family and are relishing the honeymoon period of baby showers, setting up a nursery, trying out names for girls and boys, and buying maternity clothes.  It's all fun and new so far, and strangers stop you in the grocery store to wish you well with "your little miracle." Sure, there is some morning sickness, but you know what's causing it and suffer through it as part of this whole beautiful process. Your new doctor is great; there's good chemistry between you two and she's been so supportive and informative - you're feeling really confident about your choice. Life is good. 

It's official - you/your partner are back at FSI! It's fun to be back, seeing former colleagues in the hallways and catching up over over-priced lunches in the back room of the cafeteria (it's quieter there). With a fresh notebook and new textbook, you grab a picnic table in a shady corner of the campus and start conjugating simple verbs or learning the alphabet.  It's all fun and new at this time and with so many months ahead of you, you're excited about your nascent progress. Despite some morning headaches about making it to class on time or staying up late with homework, you suffer through it and proudly tell folks what you're undertaking. Your new teacher is great; there's really good chemistry between you and the your classmates and your learning consultant has been so supportive and informative - you're feeling really confident about your choice. Life is good.

Phase Three: In The Midst
Ooh, it's getting harder to get up the stairs these days, and damn - sometimes near impossible to pick up that dropped candy bar wrapper.  Your doctor has you on this exercise and diet regime that's supposed to help with some of your complaints, but really, you just need a solid night's sleep!  She just doesn't seem to understand that. Sometimes what you really want is just some sympathy, and puhleeze, no more stories from friends about how their pregnancies were such a breeze, especially their second/third/fourth one. Ha, as if! You're not dumb enough to go through THIS again. Finally, you secretly wish these last few months would be over and done with. What were we thinking?

Ooh, it's getting harder to summon up the energy to get to the language lab these days. And you know you're supposed to spend three hours in self-study each day, but when that early-release day comes around - just getting to the shuttle so you can crash by the pool for a mid-afternoon nap is all you can muster.  Your teacher has assigned a ton of homework, but you know that what would really help you learn this ridiculously complex, one-country language would just be a decent night's sleep.  He just doesn't understand that. Heck he already speaks the language, how could he? Oh, and puhleeze, you can't stomach another story about that friend-of-a-friend who listened to some great podcast each day and magically got a 4/4. Ha, as if! You secretly wish you had bid on an English-speaking post instead.  What were we thinking?

Phase Four: Bringing It Home
It's getting near the end. The ladies in your prenatal class have been heading to the hospital one by one, but you've still got a few weeks left.  Sometimes they bring their little bundles of joy back to the class to show off and gloat so the group can ooh and ahh. They give you the, "I just know you'll be fine!" rah-rah that only one who is on the other side of a horrible event such as childbirth can give. Don't they realize you still have to push this damn thing out, and frankly, you're kind of freaked out about it all? Bitches. You want to change places with that nice doctor's office receptionist; at least she can tie her own shoes. Why didn't we just adopt?

It's getting near the end. The other students in your class have been heading up to the language testing suite one by one, but you've still got a few weeks left.  Sometimes they come by the classroom after their exams to show off and gloat  share the good news about their passing scores. They give you the "I just know you'll do well, too!" rah-rah that only one who is on the other side of a horrible event like an End of Training Language Exam can give. Don't they realize that you still have to get through the "speaking at length" part (and they KNOW you have a phobia about that), plus what if you get a poem or a fairy tale to interpret?! You don't even understand those IN ENGLISH! Frankly, you're kind of freaked out about it all. Bitches. You see the cafeteria lady, all smiles and no worries and wonder if you could just have her job instead?

Phase Five: It's All Over
Life is beautiful.  You and your bundle of joy, love and life are home.  Yeah, you're tired - bone tired - but each midnight wake-up brings you closer to your little one.  Everything was worth it, but wait - what are you even talking about - you can't even remember the moans and groans of the whole pregnancy and birth thing.  Yeah, simple trips to the bathroom remind you, but showing to the world the most beautiful newborn your friends and family have ever seen is salve on the wound. You even find time to graciously stop by to see those supportive friends at your Prenatal Class - won't they be excited for you in their final weeks! Ah, they'll do great...

Life is beautiful.  Not only is the exam OVER, but you've waited the requisite 24-30 hours to receive your results. And what beautiful results they are, the culmination of your months of selfless toiling towards this goal. Everything was worth it: the endless hours each evening of homework, the two-inch stack of rubber-banded flashcards, the movies with the subtitles turned off (for the first half hour at least). You did it. You even find time to graciously stop by your classroom to lend helpful encouragement to that last classmate still studying away.  Won't she be excited to hear your results! Ah, she'll do great...  

Phase Six: One Year Later
The little one is crawling easily across the living room floor and knows - so confidently- how to say "No!" and "Uh-oh!"  Stretch marks have faded and developmental milestones are being checked off one by one and parenting, sure it's tiring, but it's also a daily joy. The thoughts of another little one, ya' know because YOU loved having siblings, starts crossing your mind. Wouldn't it be great if it were a boy/girl to make a set? You could even go back to that great Prenatal Class! Doesn't hurt to consider it, right...?

You're doing well at your post, and confidently greet your neighbor in the elevator in that language and can even handle that awkward chit-chat with the market cashier. You've tossed out your flashcards and linguistic milestones are being checked off one by one. Sure it can be tiring, and it's a relief to break into English when you can, but you're getting by. You've even had that interesting conversation with more than one taxi driver.  Bidding season starts in a few months and you've been eyeing the Projected Vacancies List.  Wow, lots of options! None using the language you've learned, but hey, wouldn't it be cool to live in Armenia/Cambodia/Bolivia?  Ah, time at FSI again to catch up with old colleagues and enjoy the campus. I hope that nice cafeteria lady is there still. Doesn't hurt to consider it, right...?