CRISPAZ volunteer Cristin Barton worked in literacy and education programs with adults and children at the Queen of Peace Parish in San Bartolo, El Salvador.

Pebble. Shake. Yeah, it’s out now. Darn. Can’t seem to get the dirt off of my feet. The fine dust of the dry season—the dust that covers my books and sheets and even somehow manages to get in between the creases of the plastic doodad that keeps my refrigerator door shut—is now creeping in between my toes. Toes which comfortably fill the open-toed sandals that I thought would be so good for walking. As I walk to meet Valdemar and Ceci and all of the other twenty volunteer teachers of the Adult Literacy Team, I consider whether the holes in my sandals warrant new soles. At church we meet and begin our journey primarily into the shack communities of San Bartolo.

We’ll be visiting the neighbors and spreading the good news about the free classes that we will provide again this year. Some of us are beginning our third year together. Flor is. She gives her class every afternoon on the plot of land that is adjacent to her house, under the shade of the mango trees. I remember spending time with her literacy circle last year and observing her as she balanced the chalkboard against the tree. Must have been tough.

“Yes that says casa, house. What do you think about your housing? What can we do as a community to respond to our housing needs? In what other ways might we work together? Can we all spell house? What other words can we form? Yes that’s right Niña Petronila, you hold the pencil like that. Oh, I’m sorry you have to leave Don Lino. Yes the crops are very important. See you tomorrow. What was that Julio? The machines in the factory cut off part of your thumb and they haven’t given you enough time for it to heal? They only gave you a thousand colones ($115)? Isn’t your thumb worth more than that? What do you all think about that? It’s time for us to start looking critically at our reality. And to do that, we’ve got to have hope.”

Every day. Some learning at a snail’s pace and others taking off like email. Flor’s patience and community-building skills make her a true asset to our team.

Last year Anita learned to read and write so well that she is going help Flor to teach this year. At this year’s graduation celebration, Anita read the second reading in the Sunday morning mass beautifully. She read so well that everyone applauded. In the middle of mass! I, of course, ran out of toilet paper, that is, Salvadoran kleenex. For some reason, even hearing people read can make me cry.

As the team walks together, I wonder who will sit under the mango trees this year. Who will take a leap of faith and believe in him or herself enough to risk trying to learn to read? I wonder if the woman who wasn’t able to finish the year due to her pregnancy will make a go of it again. I know the man Flor told the story about in last week’s meeting won’t be there. He’s in Los Angeles participating in some kind of program for people with physical disabilities. His self-esteem really shot up! His friends told Flor that it’s kinda hard to talk to him now. Used to be he’d let anyone tell him what to do. Put his thumb-print anywhere. Wouldn’t even look at ya when he talked. Didn’t think he could think for himself. Seems now he’s reading all the fine print, real slow like, but he makes it through. Won’t sign anything ’til he’s downright convinced it’s a good thing. Hope he does well in that wheelchair race in L.A. He thanked Flor before he left. Wonder who’ll take his place under the trees this year? Wonder what Flor does when it rains? Where do they go? Oh yeah, that’s right, they just wait out the rain. I keep tossing around the thought that maybe I should hope for the rains to come. My toes and my furniture keep beggin’ for the rains to come. I swear, you ain’t never seen anything like this dust or felt anything like this heat. I’m sure that Flor isn’t looking forward to wet season. But, then again, maybe she is. Don Lino’s crops need it. Guess everyone does. Yep, it’s time to start hopin’ for the rains.

We keep walkin’ and I keep thinkin’. Up yonder, all around the ’lectricity plant, there’s the next shack community. That’s where Víctor and Don Salvador are going to teach. As we walk between the shacks tryin’ not to step in the slime that drains out onto the street, I read “Colgate Toothpaste” upside down on somebody’s wall. A woman in her slip bathes on the street in front of us and Víctor knocks on the closest door. Sometimes I wonder how people who live like this can have the energy to hope. Cardboard walls and no sewage never fails to raise ever’ one of them hairs on my arms. Maybe we’ll focus even more on human rights this year. Then again, thinkin’ ’bout them cardboard walls, maybe we’ll put off hopin’ for the rains for a little while. Bet the corn can wait a bit.

Don’t know why this funny accent is comin’ out right now. I’m supposed to be writin’ for a fancy periodical. Guess it’s ’cause Grampa Hugh taught me to talk like this. He was a cowboy who lived through the depression, bootlegged, and hid out in Mexico for a while. Never did learn how to read. Used to say he believed in the God of the cowboys. I always thought he had tasted a little too much o’ his own whiskey. Here in church we sing a hymn that says “ You are the God of the poor, the human and simple God, the God who sweats in the streets, with a sunburned face . . . the working Christ.” Guess deep down Grampa already had it figured out. He was a good man. A very good man. Really everyone’s good. Seems he too understood that we are all really brothers and sisters and that everyone has the right to a formal education. Bet ya he’d be pretty happy to know how many people are learning to read now. Under the shade of the mango trees.

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