Clown Trips: El Salvador, March 2006
Pouring New Foundations
The sun was midway on its return to the western horizon in the high mountains of El Salvador as we began to mix the cement. The mixer, powered by a gas generator, empties into a square wooden tub on the ground while a dozen clowns formed a line to pass the buckets of cement to the man standing on the top of the wall-to-be, metal forms delineating the dimensions of the new building. The walls needed to withstand earthquakes which, as evidenced by a conical volcano 20 miles to the west, were an all too frequent occurrence. The cement filled the tub as Carlos stooped down, filled a bucket, and handed it to Jessica who handed it to Gabriel who handed it to Lillie, and so on, until the bucket was emptied into the form, then another, and another, empty buckets returning hand to hand to the tub where Carlos was breaking a sweat in the warm afternoon in a steady rhythm.
42 clowns and carpenters traveled to the rural mountains of southeastern El Salvador early January 2006 on a joint Airline Ambassadors and Gesundheit! Institute mission, led by Patch Adams. Airline Ambassadors brought food and medical supplies for the rural poor in this remote region, and Gesundheit! brought clowns, carpenters, and an architect, and purchased building supplies to build an addition to a medical clinic in Rancho Quemado, more than tripling the size of the previous structure, which was the health care center for more than 2000 very poor people.
Pigs and chickens lived in their houses. There was no electricity or clean water. This region was hit hard by a savage war during the 1980's. Thousands of civilians were killed. 45 minutes up a bumpy, dusty dirt road from the highway near our cabins in Perquin, the work crew had four days to complete its work. Jet Blue Airways, in outsourcing their aircraft maintenance to El Salvador, offered to bring the carpenters, clowns, supplies and tools from New York at no cost, and we were to return after four days. Homes from the Heart, an organization which builds homes for the rural poor throughout Latin America provided essential help and found the cement crew we were working with to pour the slab and put up the walls.
After an hour we paused, when a form adjoining the existing structure started to leak. As the crew foreman plugged the leak with empty cement bags, the brigadiers took a break, drank water, stretched. Soon , back on the line, with the carriers of full buckets switching places with the empty bucket people, a new rhythm developed and the work progressed. As the man on the wall moved farther from the cement mixer (progress!!!!) it became clear that many more people would be required to handle buckets on the lengthening line. Our Spanish speaking clown-carpenters, Jundid and Zappo, recruited local help, first 2 boys and 2 men, then a woman and a small girl, who joined in the line. The sun was still warm in the late afternoon. We were sweating and loving it.
Our travelling group included 15 teenagers, an Italian, an Australian, 2 medical students, two doctors, 8 flight attendants, Jews, Muslims, Hindus, Buddhists, atheists, all working together. We delivered food and medical aid to isolated communities, where people stood in line first for the aid and then another line for just the empty cardboard boxes. One of our teens wept as he handed bags of food over to poor, hungry people. We were deeply moved by the quiet dignity of people here, people who were not only desperately poor, but also who had been caught in the crossfire of a violent war between leftist rebels and US supported El Salvadorian military 20 years ago. 20 miles away was El Mozote , where over 900 local civilians (among them 131 young children) were murdered by an El Salvadorian army patrol in 1982, the largest massacre in modern Latin American history. (See www.MarkDanner.com for his detailed report of the tragedy of El Mozote).
The worksite was now partially illuminated by truck headlights, the sun having set. The air was cool. Our bucket Brigade was augmented by the local people the clinic was to serve, now 75 women, men and children, and our clown crew, laboring, singing, laughing, and sweating. A group of very young girls on the return line were meeowing like cats, and giggling, in the dark. Buckets passed from hand to hand in a seamless choreography of community. I received a bucket from the woman on my right and passed it to the man on my left in one fluid motion and then again and again.. There was a delight to be part of a process where cooperation, trust and effort were so natural, requiring no verbal language. We were, all of us, building this clinic. When the last bucket was poured and the shout went up " ESTUVO!" ("FINISHED!") a cheer went up into the starry night sky of Rancho Quemado, and we embraced each other, shook hands, and laughed. "We did it!" After cleanup and packing up tools, on the 45 minute ride through the night and down the mountain to our hotel, an exhausted group of clowns and carpenters drifted into reverie while a Bach solo cello suite was played on a clown's mandolin, clear and light over the rumble of the bus engine. Awaiting us was a meal, a hot shower, a good sleep. It was a very good day.
