Sunday, August 26, 2007

Dawn Sanders - Church and hospital set up
 

We had a lovely breakfast at Hotel Novo. Eggs made to order, beans and rice, fresh fruit, and a tasty pulpy fruit juice.

Sister Eleanor took us to church. Hernán, our ever-smiling bus driver, cheerfully drove us through downtown San Salvador . We drove through streets lined so full of street vendors that traffic slowed to squeeze through. Someone commented that there seemed to be more people selling wares than buying wares.

The city consisted mainly of low-slung colorful buildings with tin roofs and bars on the windows. Many times there were fences or walls in front of the building with razor wire in curls along the top. It is both left over from the war and necessary to prevent civil crime.

The advertising and signage in San Salvador was visual overload. In a place where the average person doesn’t have disposable income to spend, there certainly is a lot of advertising and hawking of products.

Common sights in traffic are beat up trucks. Often times they are loaded with people in the bed of the truck contently riding in the open air. What do they do if it rains; really rains? Every parking lot or garage we drove by had a guard posted. The nicer businesses had several armed guards standing outside.

In amongst the battered buildings are beautiful mango and banana trees. In the distance as I gazed out the window at the hospital was a gorgeous mountain clouded at its crown. It is beautiful and dangerous. A mudslide several years ago after an 8.0 earthquake engulfed 400 houses.

While Sister Eleanor saved seats for us in the church, we wandered across the street to a town square, “Plaza Civica.” “Plaza Civica” is named as the place of civil rights. Every Friday people can come to the square and listen to politicians from the political party of the people. The government politicians only speak on television, not in person.  This square was also the scene of shootings during Monseñor Romero’s funeral during the war. (Romero was a famous Archbishop of the people). It was sobering to be standing in this spot where atrocities have taken place. Now people gathered to watch colorful dancers and listen to a lively band.

We had discussion this evening about how many Salvadorans have been recruited to go to Iraq.  Seven battalions (350 soldiers to a Battalion) have gone.  There have been five deaths.

The Metropolitan Cathedral is beautiful, bonito. It is tall and white as a cleric’s robe, decorated by a native artist, Fernando Llort. The building itself a celebration of life; it’s a phoenix out of the ashes of such a long and horrible war. This is the third Cathedral on this spot. The others were lost by fire.  It is a sign of hope for people still so desolate.

Inside, we marveled at the glowing stained glass windows soaring to heavenly heights. On the ceiling of the chapel dome is a relief of angels with hands outstretched. The background is painted as if it were pure, blue sky.

The people in their Sunday best lined up holding beautiful brown-eyed babies sporting lacey christening gowns. Quiet and loved the babies were welcomed into the nave.

We made our way to the crypt for mass. Monsignor Romero’s tomb is here in its glory. Revered as a saint of Central America , his tomb is grand and adored with many symbols. At the foot and head of his “bed” are carvings of the Lamb of God and the Lion of Judah. At his knees is an olive branch and a branch of roses. At his side is a shepherd’s staff with a dove at its top and another branch of what looked like eucalyptus. His heart was a red orb sitting in a flowering of the tomb’s “chest.” He was lit by a stand of white candles.

A Salvadorian priest celebrated mass. Even though it was completely in Spanish, it was familiar. Even the countenance and mannerisms and tone, speed of speech and inflection of his speech was the same as many Catholic priests in North American. His face was serious as he spoke. He turned slowly side-to-side and periodically lifted his heels. I could follow the mass quite well and said in English the words I knew they must have been saying in Spanish. The process of symbolically turning the bread and wine into the body and blood of Christ was the same. The parishioners were the same too though they were Salvadorians and Hondurans rather than North Americans. Their gazes wandered and children squirmed. The readings were of suffering and trials.

We, as Sister Eleanor put it, “hit the jackpot” today however. Guest priests, two from Honduras and one from Brazil , came with 80 Hondurans to participate in the mass and see the tomb of Mon. Romero. Like a pilgrimage they came via bus, riding since very early morning to San Salvador.

The Brazilian priest spoke first. Though I could not understand his words, I could feel his heart and his great passion. The people applauded as he spoke. He thanked the Salvadorians for planting the seeds of St. Mon. Romero’s message and grace.

The Salvadorian priest was careful with the message in his homily for political reasons but the Brazilian priest seemed to have no such fears or restraints.

Next we were treated to greetings from the two Honduran priests. They were vibrant and rallied the parishioners with “Viva Salvador, Viva Honduras , Viva America , Viva Saint Romero.” The Hondurans spoke of the struggle to save nature that so many trees were being cut down. He pleaded for human rights and he commented on the broken families with so many people leaving for North America often times leaving behind their children.

What most impressed me about mass however was the greeting. This is the part of a Catholic mass where we turn and shake the hands of those around us and give them our greeting of peace/la paz. blessing. The handshakes were warm and welcoming. I got a hug from the gentleman next to me. People came from across the isle to greet us with both hands extended. Even the children made the effort to reach across chairs to shake our hands.

After lunch we headed to the hospital, San Rafael, to set up. Señorita García was in charge. A fit woman with kind, bright eyes and a comely face she gave us a tour of the OR and accommodated our space needs. She and all the weekend shifters were excited for our coming. They greeted us warmly and scurried around finding us what we needed or moving what we did not. Señorita García emptied a storeroom to be used as Ken’s exam room. She found us tables and stools and chairs for our makeshift camp. We choose the biggest OR suite to accommodate two side-by-side surgeries.

I marveled at what little the Salvadorans had to work with in this hospital and the ingenuity employed to make due. One gurney was lifted at the head by an upside down set stool. It was not adjustable but it certainly worked in the absence of a bed designed to raise and lower at the head. One gurney was so rusty that it had a hole in the center where it was completely rusted through. Some light fixtures worked in spite of exposed wiring. We laughed that certainly OHSA wouldn’t approve. Other lights didn’t work at all so they were done without. We moved the table to be used for blocking the patients (injecting anesthesia behind the eye) to the hall outside our suite that had lighting. Señorita Garcia was a stickler for gowning and booties even though we had witnessed the piles of dust and debris swept from the floor of our chosen suite.  We gladly accommodated her rules as we were guests here pushing the envelope of interlopers with our methodical, fast and organized ways.

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