For Two Remote Salvadorian Villages, the Iraq War Hits Close to Home

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She pauses a second, as if in deep thought, then continues: "In these parts the household is your one resource. You need to bring something home for the household every single day."

Tivito's monthly salary of $120 from the Salvadorian army was crucial for the family's survival given that his father died when he was young, and the soldier inherited the role of "man of the house." But now that he is dead, those funds no longer arrive. Unlike the United States, this country does little to compensate the widows or mothers of its fallen soldiers.

The U.S. paid for Tivito's journey in a body bag back to San Salvador, and the Salvadorian government arranged for Herminia and Maria to pick up the corpse in the capital. But neither government paid for Herminia's hospital visits resulting from the subsequent heart troubles and stress at the loss of her eldest son. According to El Diario de Hoy, Herminia paid $60 and $40 for two doctor visits, but didn't have cash to pay for a third. She will be without federal assistance for another nine years until she reaches the retirement age of 55.

When it came time for the burial, the women cooked more than a hundred corn "tamalitos" for everyone in the village, in keeping with local traditions.

"People die here every day"

To kill time before Herminia returns home from her daily food hunt, we return to the jeep and visit Tivito's resting place in the cemeterio on the other side of Guaymango. His casita is easy to spot because the one-room mausoleum built and financed by his compañeros in the Salvadorian military towers over the other gravestones. Tivito's grave is a popular draw this week during the one-year anniversary of his death, as evidenced by the two chickens pecking rudely through the arrangement of ribbons and flowers, looking for anything to eat.

Like any Latin American graveyard, this one offers an immaculate display of colors intended to please the dead as they ascend to the afterlife. Vast resources have been allocated to make this cemetery beautiful. But a closer look reveals how poor this community really is. The marble tiles on the floor of Tivito's mausoleum are clearly fake, Kat points out to me, and will be hard-pressed to last another year without cracking. The flowers on headstones are all plastic. And the ribbons tied to crosses are made out of old Ranchero chip wrappers.

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