As much as I enjoyed the ghost fog, I’m relieved to find out that it is not the only form winter takes. There have been many beautiful days as well. Sunny, high skies, cooler temperatures than during the summer, and then clouds moving in for a late afternoon rain. Sometimes, like day before yesterday, the afternoon rain is a full-on thundering, flashing downpour.
As the storm came on the other day I was hanging out with Teodulo at his store, keeping an eye on the road for Jaime to come back from town. Jaime’s an electrician who had volunteered to help me string an extension cord from Fermina’s into my new house. I had just taken down the cord, expecting him to be back from work at the radio station an hour or so before.
Earlier in the day I had borrowed a truck and moved most of my things into the new house, leaving only the furniture (including dresser with clothes still in it), the stove, and the pila. It was the first time I’d driven in eight months. So now I was halfway moved in—bed in one house, bedclothes in the other; stove in one house, food in the other. Electricity in neither.
It became increasingly apparent that it was going to storm. Thick dark clouds and deep rumblings were moving in from the east. I was teaching Teodulo the phrase “sugar daddy,” describing a man who’d just left—a 70-year-old who apparently andars with 15-year-old girls. And I was chatting with a young man from Corinto about working for a Maryland-based construction company building houses near the lake in Greenbelt, where my brother lives, and about his fishing trips to West Virginia.
The lightning moved across, giving us on the west-facing porch a view of the strikes. Drops started hitting Teodulo’s tin roof. Soon it turned into an all-out violent downpour, enveloping us in high-decibel white noise and flashes and booms. The kind of storm that makes you feel involved and vulnerable even though you’re under a roof. It was creepily dark. When Teodulo went to turn on the light we found out there was no electricity. An ironic consolation for me—none for me in either house, and none for anyone else in any house!
Jaime finally arrived, just after the rain hit. He took refuge with us on the porch rather than going on to his house just up the road. We sat taking in the storm for a long time.
It finally turned into a steady medium rain and people dispersed. I asked Teodulo to feed me, since I had no way of cooking supper. He was happy to oblige and we walked up the hill to his house. It was nice to spend suppertime with his family in the little candlelit house. He played with his 8-month-old granddaughter and I enjoyed the timeless atmosphere of candles and adobe.
Eventually I borrowed a flashlight and umbrella to make my way back home. Which home, though? The one with my sleeping bag seemed the obvious choice—the new home. So I spent my first night in my new house in my hammock, stuff scattered around everywhere, no electricity, just one bottle of water. Delightful.
The next day, yesterday, I stretched out the unsettling halfway moved in feel by taking the morning to accompany the brothers Teodulo and Pipo to an anniversary celebration (36th) of an Alcoholics Anonymous group in La Laguna, a distant cantón of Corinto. Maps make La Laguna look way out there. Some place it in La Unión, or even Honduras. But it turned out to just take an hour’s walk on an ugly trail. The brothers told me about walking that trail every Saturday night to La Laguna’s famous parties during their youth.
Through my friendship with Teodulo and Pipo I’ve come to make a habit of attending AA meetings, mostly their small group here in my village. I like them. There’s a great spirit of togetherness and always a free lunch. But the best part is the speeches. Many of these former alcoholics are great orators, using a fiery voice, lots of metaphors, and milking their pauses. It’s fun to watch these country Salvadorans, normally so reticent, go all out. And it’s a great way to practice Spanish.
The La Laguna meeting turned out to be a big deal. In this remote part of my remote municipality there were representatives of groups from Cacaopera, Lislique, San Fernando, Jocoro, Joateca, and San Miguel. The speeches were of the same species, but even grander, more jokes, more fieriness. I get the feeling some of these people make a career of talking at AA meetings. Members of the La Laguna group walked around distributing tamales, candies, cups of water, handshakes, smiles, and hugs.
We got a ride most of the way back, so I got to see the road that leads out there. Steep climb up and over into Corinto’s high valley, with gorgeous views of the mountains in La Unión, Honduras, and a distant ridge I like to convince myself is in Nicaragua.
I spent the afternoon installing the extension cord with Jaime and moving my pila. One of the great attractions of this new house, on top of the tile floors, beautiful backyard, and front porch, is that it has a system of wiring. I will actually have light switches and outlets that work! Jaime proved to be quite expert, and we did a good smooth job of it. But of course there was no way to test our work, since there was still no electricity. Apparently a pole had gone down in a neighboring village, triggering a switch at the company to cut off electricity to the whole area.
The pila moving was more of an adventure. I asked a couple of young guys to help me: the son of my new landlord, who has a truck, and Juan, the guy who calls me tú and never wears a shirt. On my way down to get Juan, though, I was distracted by a large group of youngsters gathered on a porch. I walked up and discovered it was a birthday party, a quinceañera in fact. They invited me to a slice of cake and a cup of Pepsi. On the way to my house we picked up a couple more: a guy in a nice shirt who was on his way to see a girl, and Omar, the half crazy large guy. Five guys—should be a cinch. No way.
It started raining just as we started trying to move the large concrete pila off my porch. I tried to suggest we could do it another day, but they would have none of it, even the one who’d been on his way to his girlfriend. This is something that amazes me about Salvadorans: their willingness to throw themselves completely into really hard work with no warning and see it through until it’s done. We finally did get it done, after a long, wet, dirty, painful process that left the pila somewhat the worse for wear. I offered to buy them all as many pupusas as they could eat the next night.
After that I was ready to have a bucket bath and relax for the evening with Stranger in a Strange Land. Still no electricity. Still no bed. Still no stove. But I was content as could be with a bowl of tuna, my book, my hammock, the rain on the roof. Those other things could be moved tomorrow. I liked this new house already, and I was tired.
This morning I woke up, did some yoga, and tried the light switches to see if electricity was back. They worked! It’s an amazing feeling to be able to flip a light switch in my own house, and be able to plug my computer right into the wall. Wish me luck settling in. I think I’m going to be happy in my new digs.
