It was a beautiful afternoon, around five a clock, waves were perfect. Just like any other day, Ricardo grabbed his board and headed for the break.On weekends the beach had its visitors, and every now and then dead bodies arrived at the shore. Corpses of men, women and children, marked by torture; badly burned, with their nails pulled out. But not today. The beach was empty and the waves belonged to Ricardo alone.
He stepped into the water and started to paddle. In the very moment he was diving through a wave, he felt a fierce pain in his left arm. He got his head over the water and saw blood pumping from a deep wound just above the bend of the arm. Chocked, he pressed his hand against the wound and started to head back to the shore. He felt weaker and weaker by the minute, but made it to the beach where a lonely vendor was still lingering in the soft late afternoon sunlight. Ricardo lay down in the sand, blood still pumping from his arm, and passed out. He didn’t know yet that the wound was caused by a bullet, probably fired from some random drunk who’d seen Ricardo from a viewpoint along the highway, encouraged by his friends to play a little game. The bullet had hit a central vein and Ricardo was dying.
This is a story told by a child of the war (“niño de la guerra”), a Salvadoran who experienced the civil war first through the eyes of a child, later through those of an adolescent growing up and becoming an adult. During the war, which was fought between 1981 and 1992, random violence like that in Ricardo’s story threatened the Salvadoran people on a daily basis. On buses, in the streets, everywhere. The same Ricardo was almost killed by gang members (“mareros”) in a bus hijack earlier during the war. At the same time, organized political violence constantly haunted the population. The tortured bodies that sometimes floated ashore at Ricardo’s beach were testimonies of the numerous massacres carried out by the para-militarian death squads sent out by the Government. Whole villages were wiped out. The same para-military used to wait outside public schools and by force pick up young boys, sending a note to the parents saying that their son was now serving in the army. Of course, the guerrilla got a lot of blood on its hands, too.
Ricardo didn’t die that day on the beach. He was transported to a public clinic, where the doctor saw no other solution than to amputate the arm. However, thanks to his upper class surfer friends, he got access to the best medical care and got to keep his arm. In a segregated class society like that of El Salvador, there are few forums where people from different social groups actually get to mingle, and the surf community is one of those.
They say that the presidential election on the 15th of March is historic. For the first time, the left wing party FMLN (founded by the guerrilla after the war) has good chances of winning. The right-wing party ARENA (founded in 1982 by the leader of the death squads) currently running the country has a lot to fear. Indeed, fear is the result of political polarization, and whoever wins the elections the legacies of the war cannot be forgotten. Ricardo surfs the waves as he’s been doing every day since he was a kid, but the memories remain and so does the broad scar on his left arm.
He stepped into the water and started to paddle. In the very moment he was diving through a wave, he felt a fierce pain in his left arm. He got his head over the water and saw blood pumping from a deep wound just above the bend of the arm. Chocked, he pressed his hand against the wound and started to head back to the shore. He felt weaker and weaker by the minute, but made it to the beach where a lonely vendor was still lingering in the soft late afternoon sunlight. Ricardo lay down in the sand, blood still pumping from his arm, and passed out. He didn’t know yet that the wound was caused by a bullet, probably fired from some random drunk who’d seen Ricardo from a viewpoint along the highway, encouraged by his friends to play a little game. The bullet had hit a central vein and Ricardo was dying.
This is a story told by a child of the war (“niño de la guerra”), a Salvadoran who experienced the civil war first through the eyes of a child, later through those of an adolescent growing up and becoming an adult. During the war, which was fought between 1981 and 1992, random violence like that in Ricardo’s story threatened the Salvadoran people on a daily basis. On buses, in the streets, everywhere. The same Ricardo was almost killed by gang members (“mareros”) in a bus hijack earlier during the war. At the same time, organized political violence constantly haunted the population. The tortured bodies that sometimes floated ashore at Ricardo’s beach were testimonies of the numerous massacres carried out by the para-militarian death squads sent out by the Government. Whole villages were wiped out. The same para-military used to wait outside public schools and by force pick up young boys, sending a note to the parents saying that their son was now serving in the army. Of course, the guerrilla got a lot of blood on its hands, too.
Ricardo didn’t die that day on the beach. He was transported to a public clinic, where the doctor saw no other solution than to amputate the arm. However, thanks to his upper class surfer friends, he got access to the best medical care and got to keep his arm. In a segregated class society like that of El Salvador, there are few forums where people from different social groups actually get to mingle, and the surf community is one of those.
They say that the presidential election on the 15th of March is historic. For the first time, the left wing party FMLN (founded by the guerrilla after the war) has good chances of winning. The right-wing party ARENA (founded in 1982 by the leader of the death squads) currently running the country has a lot to fear. Indeed, fear is the result of political polarization, and whoever wins the elections the legacies of the war cannot be forgotten. Ricardo surfs the waves as he’s been doing every day since he was a kid, but the memories remain and so does the broad scar on his left arm.
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