Closing a chapter

A few weeks ago, Jimbo finished up the reconstruction project he and his community members had been working on for the past six months up on Chinchontepec. An inauguration party was planned. One of our bosses was driving up. This was a no-brainer. I damn near demanded a seat in that car.

Jimbo was definitely surprised. The look on his face was hilarious. Confused, stunned, embarrassed. A few more guys had actually hopped in, mainly good buddies of his, sort of as last-minute gate crashers coming to show our support not only for Jim, but for the families devastated by last November's landslides; our host families during training who went out of their way to make our first few months in their country as comfortable as possible.

The last time I was up there, I was with Adam. It was August of last year, and Adam had stayed an extra day or two before heading back to the states. We'd already been around the country and back - my community, the mountains, the beach - so we decided to head up to Jimbo's for the night, chill out on the side of a volcano, and play a little guitar. I was feeling pretty apprehensive about what it would be like this time.

It takes about 30 minutes to four-wheel your way up to Santiago de Chile. I'd done it a bunch over the course of the past year. Usually crammed in a bus, jamming to 80's music remixes. I've often wondered how many buses are playing Lady in Red throughout this tiny country at the same time. It's gotta be in the thousands.

It will be no surprise to you that this time it was an all-together different experience. All along the ride up, Jimbo was pointing out sections of the road that had simply collapsed; areas where the natural lay of the land had funneled the water, mud and rocks into a chute where the mass continued to pick up speed until it poured out on top of the communities below. Craters lined the edge of road where the earth just couldn't hold on anymore and gave way.



When we pulled into Jimbo's community, it was like a long-lost family member was returning from ten years at sea. There was an energy in the air you could feel. Everyone was yelling Yim-boooo! And people were even saying hi to me. I was touched they even remembered me, let alone my name.

At his house, it was great to see familiar faces, standing there smiling in front of mud-stained walls and piles of bricks and trash where buildings used to be.

Actually, we were out back eating oranges off the trees when Jimbo pulled out an old running shoe of his from under a mud pile. Six months after the landslide, they're still uncovering objects buried in the mud.


After chit chat time ended with the family, we headed to the fiesta.

From the relief money he raised back home in Michigan in the weeks after the landslides, Jimbo and his ADESCO set aside some funds for a celebratory party commemorating the hard work rebuilding what they had lost and improving the infrastructure to assure it would never happen again.


I guess word got out, because a ton of people showed up. The vibe in the community was incredible.


The event was a typical Salvadoran affair. A thousand plastic chairs, everyone freshly showered with shiny, slicked-back hair (girls) and faux-hawks (boys), a giant mesa de honor with a veritable who's who of Santiago de Chile up on stage. And yes, food. No one could ignore the smoke wafting in from the grills out back, carrying the promise of a free lunch and ensuring good behavior from all the kids.

The event started off like you'd expect. The MC introduced each member of the table, giving each their proper respect and 15 minutes of fame at the podium. The department's congresswoman spoke, the governor, prominent community members, and finally Jimbo.

I realize I'm his best bud, so I'm probably not the most objective person on Jimbo. But in all honesty, he gave a hell of a speech. Seriously, a hell of a speech. After speaking about the bonds between his friends and family back home and the people of the community, he ended it by saying: "My name is James Leddy. I was born in Canton, Michigan. But I am from Santiago de Chile."

It was incredibly powerful.



Here's Miguel taking the opportunity to toast his good friend.





After all was said and done, the local priest led a group up to the start of the landslides, and to a bridge which Jimbo's fundraising helped rebuild. We sang and he blessed the bridge with holy water. It was a nice moment.







I think it was important for me to see Jimbo's community one last time. To be apart of his former life even for just a few hours. I'd spent a decent amount of time up on the side of that volcano and it meant a lot to me to see those familiar faces, even if it was just to reassure myself that they were still there.

Nervous energy...

I can't wait. Only a few days from now I'll once again be standing on Red Sox nation soil. Pretty exciting.

I was trying to explain this to Amy yesterday, how I haven't been able to shake this swirly mix of anxiety and nervous energy. I guess it's no surprise that it's been pretty damn tough to balance my life down here for the past month - community projects, organizing trainings and volunteer workshops all over the country - with the details and plans for the upcoming month up north - passport/Guatemalan visa bullshit, Fourth of July, Chuck's wedding weekend in Connecticut, the Doyle's fundraiser on the 16th, training for the ALS ride the 23rd to the 25th, and trying to spend quality time with everyone near and dear to me without overbooking or giving them a half-ass experience. My biggest fear.

Unfortunately, with every email home and every conversation about tentative plans to do this or that, I feel the cumulative weight of life's pressures increase by one pebble, and then another, until I realize I'm carrying a 150 lb. sack across my shoulders, slowing me to a snail's pace from exhaustion. Ben's been helping a ton, organizing things back home and acting as my social coordinator for the first couple days. Exactly what I needed, without even having to ask for it. So, if you're reading this, Mr. Bean... thanks. Seriously. And Kate has been sweet about checking in on me, mentally. (No, but are you really okay?) Thanks chica.

I'm sure once I touch down at Logan, put my bags into the trunk of Ben and Jamie's car, and eventually relax on their couch alongside Addie, I'll feel like a million bucks. Or maybe I should just get used to living in two simultaneous worlds, two lives which will never overlap, as much as I try.

Speaking of Addie, Ellie recently sent out some photos she took on Castle Island. I couldn't resist posting a few...







Grab a dictionary and look up the definition of "adorable" and you'll see this little one staring up at you.

Man that stings

Well, Boston mourns again. The Celtics arguably had their 18th title in the bag, but before we had a chance to do anything about it, it slipped away from us. Arg.

I caught the game in my community, sick of organizing afterdark transport into my nearby pueblo only to watch the game, most likely be disappointed, and then fall asleep watching The Devil Wears Prada on HBO at my counterpart Salvador's house. Trust me, it's not a consolation.

And yes, I did say I watched the final game in my community. My buddy Carlos recently got a satellite dish. Amazing how two-thirds of the community drinks river water, half don't have constant electricity or latrines, yet if families have 12 bucks a month, they're watching street luge on ESPN2 and wondering who actually likes street luge? like the rest of us up north. Something's wrong there.

Anyway, watching the series and emailing back and forth with Adam and Dad was great. Not to mention the experience of watching the games with my Salvadoran friends, most of whom have never actually watched a full game. (Basketball down here is like soccer up there. Have you ever actually watched a soccer game from start to finish? Exactly.)

To Salvadorans, basketball is a mess of complicated, arbitrary rules and physical movements they could only dream of duplicating. I especially liked trying to explain the shot clock to a kid in my community (You mean if they don't shoot, they get in trouble? Yes, yes that's right), as well as all the other rules the league's introduced over the years to keep us ADD shoe-buying consumers interested in those guys running back and forth chasing the bouncy ball (five seconds to inbound the ball, eight to get it across halfcourt, 24 to shoot, three-second defensive penalties, three-second offensive penalties...). It really is ridiculous when you think about it.

And then there's soccer. Pure, simple, corrupt soccer, where a referee usually does more harm than good and you can count the number of rules on both hands. Ah soccer. Essentially confined anarchy separated by sporadic moments of law and order. Over my two years here, I've really come to respect and love it. Never thought I would.

Basketball also requires a whole different mentality, I've realized. I mean, what other sport in the world can you watch the first and last quarters and pretty much say you saw the game? In soccer, if you blink, there's a pretty damn good chance that's gonna be the moment either team scores the goal of the game.

Ah well. As losers are oft heard saying: wait until next year... or at least until October. Go sox.

Rajon Rondo, Paul Pierce Realize They're Wearing Same Headband

Man, I love the onion.

So the Celts kicked ass last night, continuing to demonstrate that championship basketball is about teamwork and ball movement and not ball-hogging superstars, even though I'll be the first to admit that Kobe's hands down the best player on the court. What he's doing out there is insane. I think he could literally hit half-court fadeaways for a whole quarter if he wanted to (all the while ignoring his four other teammates wide-open underneath the basket).

In addition, I'd like to officially award my coveted Golden Jock Strap Award for heart and hustle to Rajon Rondo, who proved he's not afraid to poke an angry bear, shoving Ron Artest after a hard foul on Garnett in the 2nd quarter. Reminded me of Varitek offering a mitt sandwich to A-Rod in 2004 to turn the season around for the Red Sox.


Mmmm, delicious.

Jock Strap runners-up were, in no particular order:

- Glen "Droolio" Davis
- Tony "Did you see that block on Gasol?!!!" Allen, (video), and
- Kendrick "Don't ever let me go coast to coast" Perkins

Here's a good article on Rondo's impact on the momentum of the game and Artest's recent struggle with the game of basketball.

Also, if you haven't seen the excerpts from Nate Robinson's and Big Baby's Game 4 post-game interview, it's worth a look. Fingers crossed for Tuesday's game...

Dengue, it's all the rage

Something I didn't want to formally announce until it was officially ancient history was my health, which is good (relax!). But a few weeks ago, it definitely wasn't.

For those who haven't heard, I was fortunate enough to pick up a minor case of... drumroll please... dengue! Yep, dengue. And I say minor because it never developed beyond a bad fever, nausea, and some achiness. One morning I woke up and my eyes kind of hurt, but my platelets never dropped low enough to scare PC Med and it was nothing a few nights in the capital recovering couldn't fix, which in the end worked out well since I was able to watch the Celts smoke the Magic.

Now a group of us is getting ready to watch the Celts take down LA in Game 1 at the Country Director's house. Oh yeah, flat screen tv!