Dispatch From El Salvador Under Bukele

Salvadorans’ generosity and gritty reality steal the story from a chaotic House Democrat mission grappling with a deportation case and Bukele’s iron rule.

SAN SALVADOR — Stepping into El Salvador’s humid embrace on Monday, I was already sweating. A Salvadoran friend in DC had tipped me off about the 138 bus to the capital’s heart for just $2—U.S. dollars, the country’s currency.

A police guard, a security officer, a teenage boy who led me to an unmarked bus stop—everyone was warm, pointing me along with patience. A woman ensured I boarded the right bus, saving me from a rookie mistake.

The 138 was a cramped, sweaty microcosm of Salvadoran life. Packed tight, passengers lounged in the heat, indifferent to my presence. The driver, a hefty man, bellowed fares in Spanish; I handed him a dollar, getting 39 cents back.

A sign read 61 cents for the hour-long ride—shockingly cheap. The scenery was grim: trash-strewn roads, reckless drivers, patched-up houses. Poverty was palpable, aging everything it touched.

Plastic windows gaped open, the bus patched together, its shattered side mirrors dangling. The driver navigated chaotic streets with reckless precision, while a sidekick swung from the door, whistling to cumbia beats, herding passengers with acrobatic ease.

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San Salvador’s center was worse—disjointed streets, slums sprawling under the shadow of two towering basilicas. It was Easter Sunday, and the faithful thronged, but the city felt worn, defeated.