Investing in Girls

In celebration of International Women's Day (commemorated worldwide on March 8th - I know I am a little late), here are some incredible but true facts about girls and women in the developing world:

source: the UN:
- The majority of the 1.5 billion people in the world living on less than a dollar a day are women (a phenomena known as the "feminization of poverty."
- Worldwide, women earn on average slightly more than 50 per cent of what men earn.

source: the girl effect
- When a girl in the developing world receives seven or more years of education, she marries four years later and has 2.2 fewer children.
- An extra year of primary school booosts girls eventual wages by 10 to 20 percent. An extra year of secondary school: 15 to 20 percent.
- When women and girls earn income, they reinvest 90 percent of it into their families, as compared to only 30 to 40 percent for a man.
- Approximately one-quarter of girls in developing countries are not in school.
- One girl in seven in developing countries marries before age 15.

• 38% marry before age 18.
• In Nicaragua, 45% of girls with no schooling are married before age 18.

To find more excellent resources on the intersection of gender and education, poverty, and health, check out the resources page at girl effect: http://www.girleffect.org/learn/more-resources

I wish I could find some El Salvador-specific facts on the gender gap between girls and boys and education levels, but what I see around me in very consistent with these facts. Here at Centro Hogar, for example, over 50% of our kids are raised by single mothers. Just three kids out of 122 are raised by single-fathers. While the education level across the board for mothers and father is low, men tend to have at least a few more years of schooling under their belt, and in almost all cases where the child is raised by both a mother and father, the father makes more money than the mother. In almost all cases. I actually questioned this one day and went through the files one by one, and it's true. In general, men are much more likely to have more stable jobs where they make the minimum wage - in cleaning and maintenance, mechnics, bus drivers, taxi drivers, supermarket cashiers, construction workers. Women, on the other hand, mostly make their living in the informal sector - selling produce in the central market, selling typical Salvadoran foods on a street food stand, selling beauty products from a catalog, selling used clothes door-to-door. And not only can they not count on a stable salary every month, what they do make is often much less than the Salvadoran minimum wage of about $200. One mother, a seamstress: $160/month. One mother, a domestic maid: $120/moth. One mother, tortilla-maker: $120/month. One grandmother, Avon saleswoman: $90/month.

So what does this mean? How did this happen? From what I see in El Salvador, it has a lot to do with the culture of machismo that is so very ingrained in society. Most girls, from birth, are raised to believe that one day, they will marry a man who will maintain them. The girl spends her childhood and adolecence in preparation for this. She learns the chores of the home: cooking, cleaning, child-rearing, so that she may be ready for this moment to come. Her parents never really invested in her education, because why pay money for high school when we are just waiting for the husband to come? She is 16, she is from a poor family, she wants to rise out of her situation. But all she has been taught is that a man must come and rescue her. So, she meets a boy, she gets pregnant. Perhaps she thinks that having his child will mean he will take responsibility for her and their child. In some cases, this is true. More often than not, the boy (often a child himself), leaves, and she is now a single mother, and her opportunities are even fewer. How can she continue to study or find a job if she is the only caretaker for her child? So the cycle continues, and perhaps she looks for another, more responsible, more mature man to help make ends meet.

A machista society, then, blames the woman for her situation. Why did she get pregnant when she couldn't afford a child? I cannot tell you how many families we have at Centro Hogar where little girls are raised by their 17 year old mothers and 32 year old grandmothers. It is easy to blame the girls. It is hard to see how the world we live in creates these girls and puts obstacle after obstacle in their way.

A way out? In my opinion, the key is education. Educate girls, from the very first moment. Send them to pre-school. Send them to primary school, high school, and even university! Educate our world's women, so that they might not have to depend on men to survive. This does not mean that men are bad, or the enemy, it just means that when women have the tools to be independent economically and socially, they will not be forced to make decisions like getting married and having children out of economic or social need. They will make those decisions because they want to, because they are ready. They might marry later, have children later, and their levels of income, health, and overall well-being will increase. There might be less intrafamilial violence. Less femicide.

Can you imagine?

Ariana shows off her new lunchbox on the first day of school, 2012.

practicing gratitude, part 2

This Saturday, the Centro Hogar Alfonos Acevedo class of 2011 proudly graduated from preparatoria. (This means that next year, having completed a full 7 years of age, they will go on to first grade, already knowing how to read, write, count really high, respect their compañeros and compañeras, be self-confident, tell stories about Monseñor Romero, put on plays in front on big crowds, and a variety of other great achievements).

Each child was asked to think of one thing they were grateful for during their time at Centro Hogar. As they stood proudly on stage holding their diplomas, they each spoke into the microphone, for all to hear, their gratitudes. This is the list of things they came up with (all by themselves!):

Claudia: I am grateful for my grandma.
Brenda: I am grateful for the trees.
Michael: I am grateful for my Señorita (the teacher).
Marco: I am grateful for learning about Monseñor Romero.
Juan Carlos: I am grateful for the food.
Daniela: I am grateful for the help of my mom and dad.
Rocio: I am grateful for my mom.
Marilyn: I am grateful for the storybooks.
Antonio: I am grateful for Programa Velasco.
German: I am grateful for a clean environment.
Ernesto: I am grateful for the playground.
Douglas: I am grateful for my friends.
Krissia: I am grateful for all the lessons.


I will miss you, prepa!

the rights of children

This article was recently published in the May issue of Bridges, the VMM newsletter. If you did not receive the May edition via email and would like one, let me know and I can make sure you get one. Learn more about VMM (and see past newsletters) at www.vmmusa.org.

One morning as I accompanied the preparatoria class (6-7 year old children preparing to enter first grade), I sat down at one table to help the kids use finger paint to stamp images of their own hands on the poster we were creating.

“Who can tell me what a ‘right’ is?,” I ask, for the activity this morning had to do with the rights of the child.

“I know!” shouted Marco, a bright, energetic little six-year-old. “It means you have one on this side,” he said as he signaled to his right hand, “and one on this side,” as he signaled to his left.

“Of course!” I assured him, “But I was thinking of a different type of right. The kind of right I am thinking of is something that you deserve, something you deserve simply because you are a human being!”

As we went deeper into the topic, their teacher Senorita Reina encouraged them to think about what their own rights are. The children came up with lots of different answers, everything from a house and food and a bed to sleep in, to parents to bring them to school, notebooks to draw in, good health and medicine when they are sick, and even love, respect, and freedom.

Children are smarter than we think. I am constantly surprised by the things they say and the way they truly express themselves. They are loving, and somehow know how to love easily, unconditionally, and without restraint, a quality that I think most adults have lost somewhere along the way. Unfortunately, in El Salvador and around the world there are many children whose rights are continually violated – they have little access to education, health care, adequate nutrition and clean drinking water; they are abused, beaten, and spoken to as if they were less than human.

In El Salvador, the average level of education is through 6^th grade. The economic structures that have waged war against the poor have created a poverty of opportunity for those on the margins of society. There are extremely high levels of unemployment, and for the majority of families, life is a daily struggle to make ends meet. Often, children leave school in order to help their family find a way to survive, by working or staying at home to cook, clean, and care for younger siblings. There is even less importance placed on early-childhood education. It is a quite common sight to see young children and even toddlers and infants accompanying their mothers as they work – selling produce in the market, at juice stands on the street, or riding around with their taxi driver fathers all day.

Here at Centro Hogar, the preschool where I work on the outskirts of San Salvador, we believe that all children deserve a place of their own to learn, make friends, and grow and develop in health and safe environment. We are run by ANADES (New Dawn Association of El Salvador), an NGO that was born during the war in the spirit of the martyrs of El Salvador with a special desire to care for children whose parents disappeared during the war. Here, the teachers educate in a creative, stimulating way, allowing the children to learn through questioning and through play – the way children learn best. They enjoy coming here because they have fun, but they also learn how to think for themselves about their own identity and the world around them. We encourage creativity through daily artistic and hands-on activities in the classroom, weekly assemblies where the children perform dances or tell stories, and foster the growth of their own imaginations.

In addition to the education they receive here, the children deserve integral care, proper nutrition, a safe home, love, good health, and freedom from violence and fear. Over the years, we have learned that in order to care for children in this kind of integral way, it takes much more than just a good teacher or two in the classroom. Here at Centro Hogar, the children receive a nutritious breakfast, lunch, and snack every day; many children here would not have access to such a nutritious diet at home. At least twice a year, they have medical check-ups at ANADES’s natural medicine clinic, and are treated for parasites and amoebas which are commonly found in San Salvador’s drinking water. Programa Velasco, the scholarship and empowerment program I coordinate, connected 36 of Centro Hogar’s poorest families with child sponsors who provide scholarships so they can stay enrolled in school this year.

No matter how much time and energy we may put into reinforcing all of the rights that these children deserve from Monday to Friday while they are here with us, the truth is that families are integral to a child’s growth and development in love and safety. Unfortunately, many poor families carry heavy burdens and have few spaces to share their frustrations, relieve their stress, or think about their own spiritual or emotional well-being. And when parents have no support, it is difficult to support their children in the way they deserve.

At Centro Hogar, we accompany families – we want to be a support for them in the way they need so that they may better care for their children. Once a month we hold meetings with all the parents where we discuss themes that may range from discipline methods without the use of violence to gender equality to self-care. The social worker and I also accompany many families through home visits and regular meetings with the families who need the most support, especially the families of those children who demonstrate violence and aggression at school.

For me, working with these children and families here in San Ramon is such a joy. After a long day of office work or some tough home visits, I will walk into the playground area and the kids know exactly how to give me the joy and life I need. Or, while feeling let down or disillusioned, I will run into a friend, the mother of a child here, and I will remember the connections I have made and the way I am being sewn into the fabric of this community. I think it takes a whole community to raise a child, and I am so grateful to be part of this community. I am growing into my vocation and each day learning how to better be an advocate for children, and a support for their families, teachers, and care-givers.

sing, even if you hate your voice and have a cold

This morning, I started my Monday off right. I brought my beautiful guitar to Centro Hogar, recently painted by an artist friend. Every Monday morning, the kids put on the weekly assembly, where one of the classes gets to put on some kind of folkloric dance, or a play, or something else special and creative. This week, one of my coworkers suggested I participate, because the kids aren't exposed to live music very often, and it just so happens that I play guitar.

So I spent Sunday learning "Sombrero Azul," a song about the beauty and strength of the Salvadoran people, and this morning in the assembly I told the babies, listen, I have a cold, so if you know this song you can help me sing okay? Everyone can sing - did you know?

Everyone can sing. Even me, even me who hates my singing voice, and even when I'm too shy or too quiet to even be heard, everyone can sing! Even when I hate my voice, and even when I have a cold and sound like I've just smoked a pack of cigarettes. The beautiful thing about trying to teach self-confidence to kids is that we adults have to believe it too.

So, Señorita Lucy held the microphone for me and we all sang, and I played my little guitar, and it was just a beautiful moment.

Dear El Salvador, thanks for always leading me towards liberation and away from fear.

love,
liv

he lives in our hearts

Señorita Reina holds up a black and white drawing of a bespectacled man with a red bishop's hat. "Who knows who this is?"

"MONSENOR ROMEEEEROOO!!!" cries a chorus of children.

"And who is Monseñor Romero?" she asks the crowd at Monday's morning assembly.

One by one the braver kids run up to the microphone, excited to be able to talk (or scream) into it for a moment.

"HE WAS A PROPHET!!"
"...hee.. he... um... they killed him because he told the truth!"
"A PRIEST!"
"he walked with the poor!"
"he was a man who liked to visit the communities!!"
"...they shot him with a bullet in his heart..."

"And where does Monseñor Romero live now? In our..."

"HEARTS!!"

In public schools in El Salvador, Archbishop Oscar Romero's story is quite silenced. The schools here do not actually teach about El Salvador's recent history - because it's still too current, still too relevant to the national reality. And that's no coincidence. Those who have been in power have intentionally silenced that story, but in small ways the people keep it alive. Like at Centro Hogar. We are not a public school, so we pretty much do what we want. This entire week in celebration of the 31st anniversary of his assassination on March 24th, each morning a different class section did their own artistic interpretation of his story. In the classrooms all week, the teachers taught about who he was, how he spoke for the poor, and why he died. And how he stills lives. (In our...? Hearts!!)

Materno II, the kids from about 2 and and half to three and a half years, put on a little play. Now, keep in mind, these are LITTLE kids, most of whom can barely speak audibly. But even three-year-olds can understand what it means to share with the poor, to bring clothes and medicine and food to poor people, to tell the truth.

Edrian Ely, one of my favorites (don't tell the others) does not speak. He has a physical disability that has delayed his speech development, but he is an extremely bright, loving, energetic little boy. He was Romero in Materno II's play on Wednesday morning. He carried a giant basket about as big as him around the stage, filled with clothes and toy food and medicine. He went to the communities. And as Señorita Lucy narrated ("Monseñor Romero loved to visit the communities... he loved to share the word of God... and he always listened to what the poor told him...), Ely acted out her words, visiting the groups of kids on the stage, giving them what he carried in his basket, sitting on the floor and flipping through a Bible.

And what was the word of God that Romero preached, according to Materno II?

We should always share what we have, even if we only have a little, and we should always tell the truth, even when we are scared.

It's really that simple. Thanks, babies. Thanks, Romero.

A culture of violence.

All of the windows in my house have iron bars on them. At the end of my street, and at the end of every street in my neighborhood, there is always a 24-hour guard on duty. Each time I leave my house, I double lock the door and I prepare myself in the event I should be robbed: I make sure I am carrying some cash but not too much. (If I am going on the bus I have my quarter in my hand so I don’t have to dig through my wallet).

El Salvador is a violent place – one of the most violent countries in the world, actually. The civil war is over, but there are probably more guns floating around here now than there were in the 1980s. During the civil war, Salvadorans who fled to Los Angeles to flee the violence found themselves in the midst of L.A. gang conflicts, and in order to protect themselves from the other gangs, the Salvadorans formed their own gang: the Mara Salvatrucha, MS-13. Violence begets more violence. After the war was over, many of these Salvadorans were deported back here. One war was over, but another began. The 18^th Street gang and MS-13 fight for control of this country, and in some places, they have won. Even the police don’t go there. The violence here is a combination of turf wars and random violence which keeps the general population in fear and the government with their hands tied, unable to protect its people.

I am lucky. I live in a middle class neighborhood where I feel very safe. I, unlike many of my Salvadoran friends, can afford to live in a neighborhood where the kids play soccer and ride their bikes outside on the streets, and neighbors trust one another and share soda and gossip and live in community. There are no gangs here, and I suspect that there won’t be anytime soon. You see, since the kids from my neighborhood are mostly middle class, they don’t go to bed hungry and they don’t worry about how to afford books for school or how to pay the hospital bills. And since they aren’t so desperate, they don’t have to do desperate things.

How does this “culture of violence,” as it is called, manifest itself in my life, then?

Like this:

On a field trip to the beach with families from Centro Hogar, the pre-school where I work, a grandmother takes off her shoe and uses it to beat her grandson Mario. Hard. She yells and chastises him for not listening to her and he screams and cries in anger and pain and terror. Annie and I stand in shock, watching, wanting her to stop but not really knowing what to do. Everyone else just walks by, as if it were normal and maybe we should just stop staring and pretend it were not happening. Do I have the right to tell her to stop chastising her grandson with violence? Do I have the right to lecture her about how violence does not work as a discipline method? Suddenly, I am aware of the fact that I am a foreigner. Is this one of those “cultural differences”? Are all these Salvadorans just used to seeing this kind of violence? Has it become so normalized that it takes an outsider to be shocked by it? If Mario grows up being beaten, won’t he also learn to use violence to discipline his children, or his wife, or the gang from across the barrio?

they make my day

because they love so easily.

starting.

I've been working now for 2 weeks, and am starting to find my place at Centro Hogar. It has been a whirlwind orientation, meeting my coworkers, traveling to other ANADES projects in different parts of the country (including the beloved finca), meeting parents, meeting kids, trying to remember names, drinking a lot of coffee, visiting homes, learning my way around the office, learning my way around the files. But, poco a poco. Here I go. I feel very grateful to be here, and I feel that there is really no other job I want to be doing right now.

This past week, Anita and I have had the pleasure to welcome Juan Velasco to El Salvador and reconnect him with the families in Programa Velasco. Three years ago, Anita and Juan were both on staff at the Casa, and Anita was working part time as a social worker at Centro Hogar. She came home one day, overwhelmed, and told Juan that they didn't know what they would do, but there were about 30 families who might have to drop out because they can't afford to pay the $30 tuition every month. And Juan said, well, can I sponsor a child? Can I pay for one child? And Anita said, I think so. Let's figure out how that might work.

They spread the word to their families and friends, and slowly, organically, Programa Velasco began. It was just a group of people responding to a need. I like that.

Now, three years later, we are growing. And I get to be part of that.

It was great to have Juan here this week. Anita, Juan, and I got lots of time to connect and reflect about where we are, how we got here, and our dreams for the future. When Anita goes to the States in a few months, I will be the person on the ground here in El Salvador, directing the program at Centro Hogar, but they will be integral parts of Programa Velasco in the States - raising funds, spreading the word, and helping me feel connected and supported.

Juan and the kids from Centro Hogar at the Monday morning assembly