The Salvadoran Civil War raged from October 1979 to January 1992, resulting in the deaths of 80,000, displacing 550,000 within the country, and pushing out 500,000 into other countries. Since the military and guerillas were constantly kidnapping young men – beginning at 14, 15 years of age – my mother had sent money to bring all her brothers to the United States. She wasn’t able to send for her sister at the same time she sent for her brothers. Unfortunately, one of my tías (aunts) was one of the last ones in their family to leave El Salvador, even though her town experienced its fair share of tragedy and bloodshed.
The following account is my tía’s version of events of a battle that took place in Gotera, Morazan in 1982 or 1983:
“I do not remember the exact year, but I know it was either 1982 or 1983 that the war arrived in Gotera, Morazan. I’ll always remember the date, however, because it was daylight savings day when the hour goes back. I heard gunshots early, and knew that the guerillas had come into town. Nobody could leave their homes or they would be killed. It was tough, because it went on day and night. Helicopters could be heard overheard, and guns were constantly being fired. You know, my dad was so close to getting shot at one point for being too nosy! It was late afternoon, and my dad wanted to see what was going on outside, so he peeked out the window, when he saw a head pop out the window of the house across the street. It was a guerilla soldier! My dad ran away from the window and told us all to hide. Apparently, he thought we were the enemy, because two bullets then came flying into the house; one getting jarred in the wall opposite the window my dad was peering out of, while the other narrowly missed him as it lodged into our kitchen table. Needless to say, my dad never again got close to that door. Following that battle, our town was devastated. There were so many people dead and even more injured. That’s why I had to leave, it was just too dangerous for me to stay home.”
Bullets flying into your home. Helicopters flying overhead. I do not even know if I would be able to live such an existence. She was at risk of dying each time she walked out of her home. Her hometown was a battleground. She was fortunate to have made it out of the aforementioned experience unscathed, let alone five years’ worth of them.
Interestingly enough, I never would have thought that my tía was somebody who had lived through the Salvadoran Civil War. I guess it’s because she has always been one of the funniest and happiest people in my family. Whenever I talk to her, I can always be sure that at least one of us will be laughing at one point during the conversation. As she was reminiscing about her time in El Salvador during the war, she shared moments or horror and tragedy, but she never lost herself. She did not cry.
