My madcap visit to El Salvador, to escape
suburban boredom, began when I met
"Iguana" at a costume party in
Houston. The daredevil friend of the
editor of Soldier of Fortune Magazine,
needed a Spanish translator for some
business transactions. He introduced
himself as "Iguana," but failed
to detail the exact nature of such
business. I was dressed up as a
geisha, replete with a black wig, and he
was a believable pirate. When
he told me he needed a Spanish interpreter
to fly to the Republic of El
Salvador, I volunteered. After all, it was
two o'clock in the morning and we had met
at the punch bowl. He was drinking
straight Scotch and I was serving the
punch. A lot of it got splattered
and I was simply licking it off all the
strawberries.
At the time, my husband was enmeshed
in serious contract negotiations with his
union, and I wanted a break from the
bedlam in our house of pilots' meetings at
all hours of the night. Also,
there was a federal grand jury subpoena
with my name on it as the leader of the
Pilots Wives' Association, because of my
lobbying for their cause in Washington, so
I decided to head south for a while.
Little did I know, that I was flying
in to stormier weather! Being a
freelance journalist, I volunteered my
Argentinean grammar in exchange for an
all-expense paid vacation, and one
hell of an adventure; a story which I
later published in an Arizona newspaper.
The smallest country in South America
borders the North Pacific Ocean, between
Guatemala and Honduras, and is about the
size of New Jersey. The Salvadoran
Army, traditionally allied itself with the
oligarchy. In their struggle against
the leftists, human rights groups estimate
that about 75,000 people died in
their 12 year civil war. Before the
Spanish Conquistadores arrived in 1524,
the Mayans called the area "Cuscatlan"
which means land of precious things. The
country offers visitors a panorama of many
contrasts: miles of unspoiled Pacific
beaches, mountains full of pine trees,
pre-Colombian ruins, azure lakes, lush
tropical countryside, good highways, sunny
weather with low humidity in the
highlands, with an average of 72 degrees,
and many volcanoes. In Chalchuapa,
about 50 miles from San Salvador, you
can find the pyramid of Tazumal, and
remnants of a civilization dating back
1,500 years. At the national museum
in the capital, you will find a vast
collection of pre-Colombian artifacts.
You can experience the blending of Indian
and Spanish cultures at the
village of Panchimalco with its
church dating back 400 years. The language
of the Amerindians is Nahua.
We flew from Miami International to Belize,
where we spent 20 minutes
disembarking passengers. The camouflaged
anti-aircraft guns covered by jute
tentacles of net were silent indications
of a no-nonsense military approach to
safeguarding the runway, a reminder that
we would soon be landing in a country
involved in a war with Marxist guerillas.
Upon arriving at San Salvador's
International Airport, we were given a
warm welcome courtesy of Colonel Bustillo,
who had sent a pilot for us hobbling
on crutches with his left leg in a cast up
to his knee. When I asked him how he
broke his leg, he told me, "jumping
out of an airplane on fire." After
Iguana exchanged gifts and pleasantries,
a soldier asked me for my passport
and camera, informing me they would be
kept in a safe place until I left El
Salvador. I was also issued a bodyguard
who only reached my shoulders and looked
like he was fourteen, but he was carrying
a rifle and stuck to me like chewing gum
to a shoe. Several other soldiers
carrying M-16s escorted us to a waiting
French Raleigh that had been flown in by
the one-footed pilot. I knew my
husband would never approve of my flying
in an airplane with a pilot with his leg
in a cast, but I was held incommunicado
for the entire escapade and he would
have to wait until my return to Texas to
hear my unbelievable story.
The following morning, I had the
inordinate opportunity of meeting Lt. Col.
Jorge Adalberto Cruz, commanding officer
of the Morazan Department at the
Ilopango Air Force Base and local hero.
He spoke perfect English, polished from
attending Texas A & M. A group
of the latest Huey helicopters sat
guarding the then Vice-president Bush's presidential
helicopter. Later that afternoon,
there was a party on base to which I was
invited (without my camera, so I had
someone take pictures.) "Those
four million dollar beauties are what we
want," said a Salvadoran pilot rather
despondently. Also, if we could have some
of your latest technology such as the shoulder
missiles, and laser..." I
interrupted him. "Don't ask me.
I know nothing about such matters.
In fact, I don't even know what I am doing
here." A sudden thought crossed
my mind, if we didn't stop the Marxist
guerillas there in Central America, we
would be stopping them on the Rio Grande.
Suddenly
my services were pressed into
interpretive action, and I was busy
translating words about ammunition, guns,
helicopters, and all kinds of military
terms, that were not even in the
Spanish-English dictionary. A tall,
handsome soldier in an American Marine uniform
standing beside me, was listening
attentively with a grave look on his face.
I thought it was a bit rude that he had
not been introduced to me, but I
quickly learned that names were
scarce. "Iguana" and other code
names were thrown about like darts in an
English pub. I thought the
good-looking man would be better off as a
movie star in Hollywood playing a soldier, than
a real one, here in the middle of the jungle.
A couple of
years later, I recognized him on TV
refusing to testify
against President Reagan in the Iran
Contra Affair! It was Ollie North!
Then I understood the reason my
camera had been confiscated. None of
us had actually been there. Only
these photos prove that I was really in
El Salvador with Ollie North, and not
having a secret affair with a Latin lover
as my husband suspected.
At one of the meetings held with a
leading businessman at the country club, I
learned how his land had been confiscated
from him in the name of the agrarian
reform. "Unfortunately, this is
not the answer to our economic
problems," he stated in English,
having graduated from an American Ivy
League university." When
I owned the land, not only did I drain it,
cultivate it properly, but it served as an
economic base to house and feed many
peasant families. Now it is simply
going to waste with nobody taking care of
it." He explained with a .45
caliber resting on our white linen
tablecloth. "My bodyguard was
gun downed and he is now a
paraplegic," he apologized to me for
the gun on our dinner table. Iguana's
gun was stuck in his pocket. My
bodyguard was sitting next to me as an
uninvited guest to a formal dinner party
with his rifle by the chair. I looked
around the room at the well-dressed women
with their hair pinned up neatly, and
I felt like I was in a surrealistic
Fellini movie set.
While flying over guerilla territory, our
small plane developed an oil leak and the
pilot had to feather both props. I
was more frightened of being captured by
the guerillas and pressed into
housekeeping service, than of
crashing in the mountains. The
personnel of Soldier of Fortune, a
right-wing publication had a price on
their heads, and I was with them!
Luckily, we glided on an updraft, then
managed to land on a dirt strip. Two
soldiers with guns came running towards
our broken plane. I froze a smile on
my face, pointing to my tee-shirt:
"No disparen - soy periodista."
(Don't shoot - I'm a newswoman.)
They did not smile back, but hooked their
rifles over their shoulders and said:
"bienvenidos a Costa Rica.
Llevan drogas?" (Welcome to
Costa Rica. Are you carrying
drugs." I was ready to faint.
Six
hours later, as we waited in the
sweltering heat of a wooden hut, another
plane was flown in to remove us from Costa
Rica, where we had not business being, and
as you can see by the smile on my face, I
was happy to be returning to Texas.
As I approached Immigration wearing a tee-shirt stating: “No dispare, soy periodista,” the agent mispronounced it asking, “What does it mean?” I answered: ‘Don’t shoot, I’m a newspaper woman.’ You wouldn’t believe me anyway. I just hope my husband does!”
Alinka Zyrmont