I remember one house we visited to examine the children, a pair of twin girls 12 years of age. We were led into a patio sort area and before we could get our introduction over, the mother invited us to sit down. So we did. After some small talk, she suddenly began to cry.
She cried because her husband had died 5 years ago and because her son had left home 2 years ago and had never come back, had mixed with the wrong crowd and joined a gang. She cried because she was worried for her two beautiful daughters. She asked for our help.
We told her we were here to examine her children, an introduction that had been lost in the flow of tears. So we did.
When we left, one of the daughters came running after us and asked us to bring. Lleva, she asked. Bring what, we asked. Un dollar. We looked at each other uncomfortably. I had about $20 dollars in my backpack. After an uneasy silence, we said no and walked away.
We came to a house with a young girl. She was two years old. Are you her mother, we asked. No, I’m her grandmother - the parents had left her, they said. The girl was uncomfortable at our touch. She fidgeted and looked frightened. We checked her quite quickly. Oh, the grandmother mentioned, she has a rancha on her vagina. A rash. We took a look. She needs to go to the clinic, we said. They promised to take her there tomorrow morning.
All the way back, we wondered. Sexual abuse and neglect came up. The leader had warned us before of these. Parents had left her. Fidgeting. The rash.
These are just us gringos trying to understand El Salvador. Who knows. But brokenness exists in this world.
As a gringo, I have also found that I don’t know anything. Check to make sure the genitalia looks normal, the leader had said. As the boy lowered his pants, I realized I didn’t know a single thing about anatomy. Sure I knew vas deferens. I knew urethra. But that means nothing in the village.
More reflections will come later.
