Casa Emmanuel, and Pablo Goes Dark

One of the ranch’s small joys is Casa Emmanuel and its residents. Casa Emmanuel is the hogar for boys with disabilities on the Ranch. There is a home for girls called Casa Maria Reina. About 15 boys and girls with more profound conditions live in a special N.P.H. house in Tegucigalpa, Casa de Angeles.

Seven boys live in Casa Emmanuel, ranging from roughly 10 to 25 years: Omar, Carlos Perez, Luiz, Pablo, Joel, Carlos Joel, and Brian.

Omar is the oldest. He wears ear plugs, stoops a bit, and walks around with great vigor and alertness. His favorite greeting is when you hug and lift him up off the ground, and his appetite is voracious. This picture is of Omar in his Olympiades costume (more to come later about Olympiades).



Carlos Perez (right), Omar’s slightly younger brother, is sort of the father figure of the gang. He can be seen shouting orders to the others (indistinguishable to my untrained ear) if they are out of line before misa or skimping on their daily chores in the kitchen. Frankly, he has an opinion on most everything.

Next is Luiz, probably the quietest of the bunch, very soft-mannered. Pablo is autistic, he wears Plexiglas thick glasses and is typically rocking back and forth and rubbing his fingers together to music only he can hear. He likes to do his own thing.

Joel (19, left) is nearly always sporting some degree of a drooly smile on his face. On greeting you he offers a handshake and a hearty laugh, before inevitably trying to reach into your pockets to look for food or any kind of toy.



Carlos Joel (right) has huge ears and is perhaps the liveliest of the bunch, his growth on one side of his body is stunted from falling off a horse. Every time Carlos Joel sees me he asks when I am going to come visit them in hogar, with Carlos Perez often chiming in. They don’t need to do much to win me over. Last is Brian (no photo now), whose calm face often hints at an inner intelligence, though Dorie the volunteer in Casa Emmanuel says she’s yet to find it. Today I found him hiding under the table in Casa Emmanuel because he was upset about something. Though he arrived at the same time as Carlos he is nearly opposite, much more calm and withdrawn.

All are characterized by a stunning familiarity and exuberance with whomever they meet on the ranch. All are quick to smile except Pablo, and only because he’s off in his own world. Pablo’s independence actually led him into trouble a few weeks ago. It happened when the boys were returning across the ranch from working in the kitchen to Casa Emmanual, which they often do. Though they amble haphazardly as they interact with each other and passersby, they eventually make it to the right place. But this time, Pablo became separated and wandered off. In the afternoon Lolita, the Tia that day for Casa Emmanuel, realized he was missing. Soon a grand search was underway for Pablo, involving all the Ranch, employees, volunteers, ano familiares, even the military from the nearby base in La Venta. The extent of the search I am probably not conveying well, as I was off the ranch at the time and did not experience it firsthand. But suffice it to say that on a ranch of 2,000 acres, with hardly any fencing on the perimeter, there was plenty of space where Pablo could be hiding out. All hands were scouring the forests in the dark with flashlights, calling his name. Attempts were made at organizing the search so as to have even separation between the hunters to thoroughly cover as much ground as possible, but like anything here such efficiencies were out of the question, and in the end most did what they pleased.

The search lasted all night and through the morning, and it was not until 10 AM the next morning that Pablo was finally found, in the mountains miles from the ranch. He was found sitting in a hole, glasses intact, playing with a ball that he had been carrying with him the day before, apparently oblivious to the calamity of his situation. He had been missing 20 hours.

Needless to say Lolita, a Tia of ~20 years experience, was let go by the ranch not too long after. This was a very sad time on the Ranch. At least some questioned whether there weren’t financial motives behind the move, as the Ranch is in dire straits with the financial crisis and has let go many employees, including all of colegio (middle school). It was the third time Pablo has gone missing.

In the end, the fortunate thing was the Pablo was found and experienced no harm. There will certainly be more stories to come of Casa Emmanuel; they always find a way to keep things interesting.

Surfing in El Salvador

OK, so the blog has been suffering. A lot has been going on, but no excuses – I’ve got my work cut out to get it all in. So I’ll start with something that was fun, the min-vacation Finn and I took to El Salvador, Nov. 12 – 16. Fellow volunteer Mark was going to go too but…well, you’ll see…

At 11:15am Wed. Nov. 12, I leave Tara and Annette (volunteer nurses) to finish surgery in the Quirófano with Dr. Cerna, and Finn, Mark, and I embark on the surfing trip we planned some time back. From the Ranch we take a bus to Tegus, then a taxi to the King Quality bus station. An aside about the buses. The local buses are mostly school buses, chicken buses, I guess because once in a while you see a passenger holding a live chicken wrapped in a plastic bag. The buses are cheap, crowded, loud, and slow. Personal space is nonexistent or at least understood very differently. Reggaton blares from front speakers below cursive proclamations of “God loves you” and no smoking signs, while entrepreneuring locals board frequently to sell bread, bracelets, medicine, the Word of God, anything. This particular bus was no exception.

Checking in at the desk at King Quality, Mark realizes he forgot his residency paper. This is a big oops. Now we are in scramble mode – Finn is visibly perturbed, smoking a cigarette, and I can’t help but laugh – we've got to get that paper here in 90 min or Mark can’t get on the bus, a near impossibility. So begins a mad flurry of calls, Chris my roommate running all over the ranch to the Portón, the Hortaliza, and Talleres to get the paper to the Padre, who was headed into town, and the Padre goes to meet Mark at Cerro Grande. Long story short, Mark doesn’t make it. He plans to take the early bus Thursday and meet us in San Salvador, and Finn and I depart on the KQ bus (international coach, pricey, and comfortable).

After a few hours of very scenic travel we get to the border, and now I’m in trouble. The residency paper alone isn’t good enough for me to leave the country say the immigration officers, two stout, plump Salvadoran women in neat white and black uniforms. However I’m in luck: I went back to the States in October, and by mistake, my passport has been stamped with another 90 days of uninhibited travel. The officers have a chuckle and begrudgingly let me pass. Finn already has his residency card and no problems. We continue on, crossing our fingers that Mark will make it ok.

The next morning in the capital we have time to kill before Mark is scheduled to arrive. San Salvador is cool. The city is smoggy but much greener than Tegus, with parks and boulevards lined with trees in some places. I want to go to the Centro Monsignor Romero and see where the six Jesuit priests were assassinated. Finn is an atheist and has no prior interest or knowledge, but he is a good pal and likes history so we go to the museum, aided on the way by many friendly San Salvadorans. One woman, Mari, took us on the right bus and showed us where to get off, chatting the whole time about the city, the sights and dangers, and our work. She even gave me her name, address and email and said to look her up if we ever needed anything. Unbelievable. As we get to Universidad Centroamericana, a UCA student picks up right where Mari left off, walking us into campus and pointing the way to the museum. The Salvadoran friendliness continued to amaze me throughout the weekend.

At the museum (surreal) we find out Mark is stuck at the border. Puta, no me dejaron a cruzar, he writes. Puta is right. Nothing else to do, Finn and I continue, feeling a bit sad that Mark won’t be joining us. We take a bus 1 hour to the coast, to the surf town of La Libertad, and so begin the toughest leg of the journey.

Maybe my biggest realization in El Salvador (after the cheap goodness of authentic pulpusas and honest Salvadoran amiability) was that surfing is HARD. After two full days hitting the waves I had little to show for my efforts besides a cut foot, broken board, burns on my stomach and chest, and an undiminished desire to try again. The ocean beat me up bad, so I had to be content with the smallest marks of progress. In our beach motel we met an old New Jersey man back to relive the surfing years of his youth he spent in this town years ago. He gave us some tips and pointed out that these were expert waters, so we took solace in this fact and chalked it up as a learning experience.

Saturday night we went back to dirty downtown San Salvador and Sunday bused it home on the cheaper Tika bus. The only hiccup was a huge FLMN parade we had to fight through on the way. All in all a great trip and break after a few busy weeks prior.