Beto

This is the story of Beto. Beto is an alcoholic, who
now is helping a lady to sell sweets in the park.

If Beto had more self-esteem and opportunities, he could probably have owned a personal business of some sort. But as is, he’s a man who doesn´t have any idea of his future. He just drinks and does small jobs for his next swig. I don’t mean to be pessimistic, but the truth is there are many Betos and Marias, cast away by society and often considered as 3rd class citizens… without a voice, without proper education, physically abused, or just shunned rudely… Education is a must in this city named Ilobasco....

In Beto’s history I mention that he was selling frescos (fruit drinks) and dulces in a guacal plastico which means a plastic container.

Ilobasco is the biggest city in our department, Cabañas, which has the highest level of severe poverty in El Salvador. Here in this city, I have had the opportunity of knowing Beto. Beto is a clothes washer and I meet him as he used to sell refreshments kept in the huacal atop of his head. One day I was sitting with a foreign friend and we saw him selling his goods and in the meanwhile behind him I noticed several kids around the age of 10. The kids were throwing stones at him while calling him names like using the spanish equivalents for ¨gay¨or ¨queen¨. He was very scared and was forced to run away screaming ¨leave me alone¨. I stopped him in his tracks and told him ¨Wait, stand up for yourself, those are small kids! You can stand up to little kids like that.¨ But he ignored me for his fear of being hurt by so many of them. Then I yelled at the kids who were catholic school students, ¨Is this what you have been taught in school? Is that the way that you have been taught to treat your fellow people?¨ Then the kids left without a word... Beto with a sigh of relief and thankful eyes continued along his way selling and announcing ¨Frescos! Yaya los frescos! Frescos! De Horchata y Mamey (a fruit that also happens to have a second meaning for ¨gay¨)!

Beto



Then my foreign friend was very confused and finally asked me ¨What happened?¨ I told him matter of factly that, ¨There is a great deal of hatred for gays that is instilled in children here from an early age. And that, here, many people lose their power to stand up for themselves once their self-esteem is broken.¨ He still didn´t understand very much. Then I changed the subject as we moved to another part of the city. I thought to myself, in order to really have self-esteem we must have role models and protectors in the higher branches of power. They most certainly exist, there are gays and lesbians in politics, religion, etc. But they chose to stay in the closet to keep their own lives less dificult regardless of the many Betos who simply feel alone and helpless to the mercy of the street and alcohol.

Maria

Maria, there once was a man named Maria...

When I returned to my country, El Salvador, from Canada toward the end of 2000, my mind curiously observed how everything had changed in the city of Ilobasco. Everything was different. This mellow town of the 80’s with a good vibe now no longer existed as I knew it two decades earlier. There was only a kind of chaos with all of the traffic and hustle of the market. Throughout the town there appeared to be trash strewn about, a lack of water (just to name a couple disappointments), several things that we have little control over.

One day I saw a fellow in his 20’s throwing stones at rooftops breaking roof tiles and throwing himself in front of passing cars under the terrorized gaze of the drivers. It seemed to me he was schizophrenic. And I wondered why nobody either related him to the health department, was doing anything for him, or would take him to an institution. Rumor had it that they had taken him, but that he always came back. He is a true crazy. He eats what he collects from trash cans, and he doesn’t understand the value of the American dollar that we've long adopted as our national currency. Furthermore, he falls in love with the handsome young men, yelling cat calls and throwing them kisses.

From then on, I have seen a evolution in this man named Maria. I don’t know if these changes were brought about because he liked the same sex, or if it was a choice on his part. When he walks through the streets of Ilobasco, the people scream at him, “Maria!” and he with a crazed and demented face walks like a sexy woman throwing all the kisses possible.

At this stage in his life, Maria is a dedicated alcholic, who walks with many other alchoholics who fill the streets of Ilobasco. He sleeps on the sidewalks with the rest of the drunks and it is rumored that he lives his sexuality to the most with these companions under the testimony of the moon. This deserves my analysis because the way he acts, I believe, is a form of lashing out against his own homosexuality which has always been stronger than Maria is in reality. Does Maria has mental problems? Or this is a form of escaping his own reality? How many Marias are lost in the world? How many of them do we lose amid our own fears and oppressions? He looks for easy exits like alcoholism and indignity places where sexuality lives in the heat of the night. With the taste of alcohol there are Marias all around. Some of them go into the closet and live other lives. Others lose themselves in the madness: drugs, alcohol to an end of invisibility, and lies. And yet others choose to be who they really are and fight like samurais set to determine their own destiny.

Maria is at the hospital. After 2 weeks I received the news that a
mototaxi had hit him and killed him... Only today did I hear otherwise, that he is not dead but recovering from injuries. I wish him a quick recovery. I'm sure we could learn a great deal, if we were able to look upon his experiences. A fellow blogger and I went in search of a photograph of him for this blog entry and were fortunate enough to find one for you to see below.

Maria


Maria could be a schophrenic or simply a being who creates roles to escape, but this day I dedicate and wish that he simply be Maria.

A Visit With Toñito

Ilobasco, a lively artisan town of 80,000 inhabitants, awoke to a dim and less crowded morning on this day. The usual morning noise of vehicles and venders was subdued seeing as an immense rain (unusual for this time of year) had fallen the night before. That morning I met my friend Piedra, a member of a gay club named Magy, at my favorite cyber cafe. After saying hello we made a courtesy visit to a friend of ours, Toño, a man of 65. We brought a basket of cookies to share with him.

Toño



Our conversation was based on Gay life in Ilobasco and how it relates with the Gay history of the town. In a silent tone and a suttle manner he began to unveil his memories of the very first gay man he had met. His name was Chepito, a strong and muscular man, who used to sell chocolate on the patio of an old colonial house where nowadays you will find a Telecom building. He was noticed by his way of walking with a pot of chocolate atop his head as he walked to work. He was a sight to see during the 50´s. Many young boys used to visit him, but Toñito was always afraid to do so for what others might think...

Toño continued on, speaking of another gay fellow named Lencho who would sell miscellancious items like little mirrors, combs, or needles... He was a man in his 50's with a dark complexion and leathery skin who would wear large rings and leather bracelets while shamelessly gazing at the young boys passing by. For that reason alone, he was famous as everybody paid special attention to such peculiarities. Salvadorean men who were over the age of 25 and unmarried were automatically considered homosexual in the 60's. Nowadays, that stereotype is still made although to a lesser extend. No matter the era, however, there was no need to guess with Lencho. He made it abundantly clear as to what he was about.

Afterwards, he began to recount the female lesbians and began to talk about a lady by the last name of Castro. She was married at a young age and later was known by her limp. Supposedly, she was with a beautiful lesbian lover when her husband encountered them together and shot her in the leg. She was also known by her belt that was used as a utility belt to keep small rubber covered items she would then use as toys to perform for her lovers.

Then Toñito mentioned that he had never fallen in love because of his fear. Even though he always knew that he was attracted to men, he was never outwardly expressive about it. He was always too concerned that he would be caught in his gay encounters only to be ostricized by the church and the people. He was also afraid of being rejected. He finds it odd that anyone would try to organize and express their sexual lifestyle. For the most part, he has kept his sexual lifestyle a secret, and he intends to keep it that way until the day that he dies.

He said that people find it strange that Toñito lives alone. However, Toñito then mentioned how a neighboring gay teacher named Evelio was murdered just the year before. Evelio had been stabbed in the middle of the night, and nobody came to aid him despite his cries for help. Justifiably, Toñito seemed very concerned about his security and the gossiping ladies of the neighborhood. He would always close his door at 6:00 pm sharp.

That morning we recounted several stories of the past I left Toñito´s house with many thoughts that blew my mind. For that reason, I have written this entry that I hope you will enjoy in order to understand the history and livestyles of the gays in our pueblo, Ilobasco.

Life presents many challenges, but maybe sometimes we get so wound up in trying to live our own lives that we forget that each person at every corner has a story and a moral to teach; uncovering truth, liberty, and freedom in it´s real form.

It seems to me that Toñito and many others without medical insurance, pension, or employment deserve our solidiarity. By learning from their stories we are more able to guide our own stories. It is through the stories of others to we learn who we really are, and what makes us human.

The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step. Lord Budda.