In El Salvador, I experienced what it was like to be a minority. With few groups besides the mixed European/Indian blood, we stood out like a strawberry in the middle of grapes. I don't think I've ever been in a less diverse place. People don't go to El Salvador because there isn't much of a draw to go there--no vacation spots, no capital for businesses. I went down speaking maybe a handful of Spanish words--agua, hola, como esta, and the like. I didn't even know what Los Hermanos meant until I was in El Salvador for a couple of days. While I was picking up on the language relatively fast, it was always a relief to find someone once in a while who spoke English. I relished the opportunity to communicate more when someone could offer it. People were patient with my inadequate Spanish speaking abilities.

Coming back to the United States was a shock for me in many ways. One way in particular was when I was in line at Cafe Rio with my old companion Sister Salazar. I started talking to the guy behind the counter in Spanish; I was so proud of my newly developed skills and was excited to talk to the workers in Spanish. A guy behind me said, "Don't promote them talking in Spanish; they're here, and they should speak English." I was furious. I was mad because I had just been a non-native speaking minority, and I knew how hard it was hard to be in that position. Who's to say these people weren't trying? And did he know what a relief it was every once in a while to have someone speak to you in your native tongue? I was ticked at his ignorance. If he had ever studied immigration patterns, he'd know people loose their native tongue in a couple generations anyway.