Bullet the Blue Sky--My work friend tells me about growing up in El Salvador

This guy comes up to me His face red like a rose on a thorn bush
Like all the colors of a royal flush And he's peeling off those dollar bills
Slapping them down One hundred, two hundred
And I can see those fighter planes And I can see those fighter planes
Across the mud huts where the children sleep
Through the alleys of a quiet city street....

Across the field you see the sky ripped open
See the rain through a gaping wound
Pounding on the women and children
Who run
Into the arms
Of America

---Bullet the Blue Sky, U2


When new people start to work with you, you say hello to them upon their arrival, but unless they have a boisterous personality, you tend to stick with your old work friends. And if they are an immigrant who is not great with the English language, you are even more likely to ignore them.

I am something of a social person, but oddly I like to eat my lunch alone. That quiet time allows me to read my newspapers and magazines and be at peace with myself. When I was younger I felt compelled to befriend every new worker who came into my company, no matter what company that was. Sometimes they became good friends, other times they moved on to others who were more their taste. But sometimes these new people tended to cling on like puppies. I am not a fan of cling-ons, they tend to interrupt my lunch peace. So I have to get cold with them and then they leave me alone. Sounds mean, but too bad.

Well at my current job virtually every new hire lately is an immigrant. They are all quite nice and they all tend to stay to themselves. One guy is a Latino fellow named Carlos. He started working with us a little over a year ago. He looks a bit like and has the build of famed Dodger pitcher Fernando Valenzuela. I say hello and goodbye to him and say "que paso Primo" when I'm joking around. Carlos has got a plum assignment. One of our other workers is an army reservist who has been stationed in Afghanistan for about a year or so. In his absence Carlos gets to do his route for that entire time. That route is next to mine.

Around Christmas time, I was looking for a letter from a customer. I asked Carlos if he could swing by my route and see if it was there, because I think the garbagemen have been stealing it the last couple of years. He got it for me and I was very grateful. I offered to buy him coffee, but he didn't want anything. He said, "You're my friend."

I was touched by this, but also saddened because of our limited contact. He was out of work a few days because of an emergency with one of his kids. When he came back, I drove over to his route to find out if everything was alright. While there we got into a pretty long conversation and I sat in my truck amazed.

This man is about 36 years old, but looks younger and he is usually smiling, so you imagine he had a pretty good life growing up. But appearances are deceiving. I assumed he was from Mexico, but he was actually born and raised in El Salvador. As you go south, first comes Mexico, then comes Guatemala and then comes El Salvador. He moved to America back in 1995 and doesn't sound like he's ever going back.

He was born in 1971 and the first 8 years of his life were happy and peaceful, for both him and his family. His country was divided as always by the very rich and very poor. Then war broke out in 1979. It took place mostly in the mountains and hills, but was still a burden on his country for 12 years. It was not unusual for helicopters to fly low overhead and start shooting.

Then one Saturday afternoon, November 11, 1989, there was a wedding in a church in his hometown, the capital city of San Salvador. Inside the church were all the guests with their gifts at their sides. Inside the giftboxes were concealed guns. They opened the boxes and ran out in the streets firing these guns in the middle of town.

Now 18 years old, Carlos would hear from his house, "pop pop pop pop pop pop", constantly, for 3 months. Sometimes the machine gun sounds were low and far away and sometimes they were very close and he and his family would be ducking on the floors of their house. His father was not a military man or a political man, so the guerillas had no reason to shoot him, but machine gun fire doesn't make those distinctions. One day there was fighting behind his house and it seemed to last forever. The next day his father and he went in the backyard and found dozens of stray bullets and shell casings littered across their yard.

On New Year's Eve 1992, the two sides signed an accord and peace was declared after 12 years of war.

A decent economy was destroyed by the long civil war and the rural areas were especially devastated. Young people from the farmlands with no place else to go are now causing trouble in the cities. Because of this two huge gangs have grown out of the mess and gangland violence and theft are the norm. Refugees who fled during the war have also come back with little industry to welcome them. Many have turned to drugs and violence as their new ways of life.

Carlos smiles because he's happy to be away from all of that.


The Freditor