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.