- Being tired isn't an excuse. The people I consider to be family here in San Lucas work harder than anyone I know. Their fatigue is never a topic of conversation and most certainly isn't an excuse to not partake in an activity. The reality is most locals have probably already tended to their land and children and made dozens of tortillas before I've gotten ready for the day. Once, our friend Gato went on an overnight volcano hike with some of the long term volunteers, then played soccer and worked the following night. A big reality check for those of us who get tuckered out after a few hours of cement mixing.
- Take pride in your work. Any type of work here is worth celebrating, and it is completed with care and attention to detail. Farming, shoe shining, construction work, selling in a tienda, it's all important here. If you have work, you complete each task with pride; it's as simple as that. Yesterday at a charity house with Venado, I noticed he'd squared the sealant at the base of the house, which is usually just smoothed on without much effort. "If we're going to do something, we do it well," he told us.
- Interdependent community is essential. In San Lucas, if you need anything at all, you can ask a neighbor or a friend's brother-in-law's sister, and that person will do whatever they can to help you out. Community members do what they can, with what they have, and they share everything. Mario asks Heather and I daily how we're doing and if we need anything. I can say with certainty that if we ever needed anything at all, he'd be there in a heartbeat.
- If you make plans, keep them. People here have hearts of gold and memories of elephants. If you make a plan to hang out with someone, there's no need to double check to see if they're still coming. They'll be there; maybe a little late, but they'll be there. A couple weeks ago, we mentioned to Juan that we wanted to meet his baby. He asked when, and we set a date. A few days later, he wrote us on Facebook to let us know how excited his family was to have us over. He also remembered our love for the traditional Guatemalan drink atol and had some waiting for us when we arrived.
- Follow-up with one another. In the States, there's so much noise and clutter distracting us from what should be most important to us - our loved ones. It still blows my mind when Guatemalans ask about life events that have long ago passed. It makes you feel well-loved when someone cares enough to follow-up with you. Since René and I have become friends, we both have experienced family members succumbing to illness. He called me last year to check in on me when Lillian was in hospice care. More recently, I called him to ask how his sister was doing after she'd been hospitalized. A simple phone call meaning more in the moment than we can adequately express.
- There is always something to smile about. No matter how upset or angry I've seen Guatemalans, their faces always give way to a smile eventually. Güicha has more on her plate than I can fathom. She runs the Women's Center, has a family of her own, and has endured unimaginable hardships as a result of the civil war. Yet, she acts as a confidant and role model for so many women here in the community. Her positive outlook on life is contagious, and I begin to wonder if I've ever had anything legitimate to complain about. You leave her feeling a little lighter, a little more optimistic and inspired.
- Relationships over everything. It's so common for people to arrive late to events just because they ran into a friend of a friend in the park. Schedules mean nothing here, or at least they come second to good conversation. If we wanted to do something, all we have to do is call up a couple friends, and they'd be right over. No planning necessary (my kind of people).
- Say how you feel, even if you're embarrassed. Guatemalans speak with incredible sincerity, even if it makes them feel uncomfortable. It's arguably one of the most endearing parts of their culture. When Adrian's daughter passed away a month ago, I didn't know what to expect at the wake. No words could ever take away his pain nor fill the hole his family was coping with. Not long after arriving at their house for the wake, I realized that wasn't anyone's intention. Time after time, I saw Guatemalans approach him and members of his family to console and cry with them. They are so expressive with their emotions and words. Each spoken word, a reminder that we are never alone in hardship.
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How is it possible for people to have such misconstrued views of the world? A world shaped by fear, leading to a misguided belief that members of the LGBTQ community don’t deserve the one thing that makes us all the exact same – our need for love. Beliefs such as this result in horrendous actions, loss of life and incredible confusion left in the wake of someone’s misplaced anger. This isn’t a world I want to live in. This isn’t a world in which I want my children to live in either. My head spins and hurts as my mind tries to resurrect my initial belief that mankind is inherently good. My eyes well with tears as I think about my loved ones that could have easily been in Orlando the night of the shooting. My mouth goes dry as I wrestle with whether or not such atrocities would be openly discussed at dinner with visiting groups, or if we’ll go on to our worksites in the blissful out-of-touch bubble that immersion trips sometimes create. I am at a loss. This is one of several tragedies I have seen unfold from the safety of a different culture, many miles away. Sandy Hook seems like a nightmare caught amongst Italian verb conjugations. Nights after Ferguson were spent reading news articles and trying to come to terms with what it means to have white privilege. There is no hope in this world if we allow tragedies like this to go unspoken. Only if our hearts are broken can we stand in solidarity with those directly impacted. Some days the United States makes me fist pump, proud to be apart of it. Other times I want nothing more than to colonize the moon. The only hope I see in this situation right now comes from the communities being built from such a horrific event, it comes from the rallies, people speaking out and supporting those who feel silenced. Our hearts ache for those we don’t know, a pain felt and bared by many so the minority isn’t crushed by its weight. The pain of empathy, a recognition that we can’t possibly know someone else’s pain but we can stand with them. Empathetic heartache isn’t close to the real pain felt by the victims, nor will it alone solve our problems, yet it remains a wisp of hope, a reminder that we are all in this together.
Volunteer groups. They're passionate, energetic, curious, exhausting, and completely incredible. I always say I love working here, but as an introvert, groups can be challenging for me at times. Quiet time is hard to come by when it's the busy season in San Lucas, and I sometimes find myself hiding for a few minutes of solitude for a nap or time to journal. Aside from missing some peace and quiet, groups challenge me in the best ways. They remind me to have empathy and to put myself in someone else's shoes. Every single week, I get to witness the excitement of entering a new culture, and even better, I get to see the transformation of visitors into more open-minded, compassionate, and soft individuals. I am given the chance to work with people at their most vulnerable. And if I were to say that out of context, anyone would assume I'm talking about the people of San Lucas. North Americans come down here in hopes of serving the marginalized populations of San Lucas Tolimán, Guatemala. With that mentality, we forget that each individual we encounter on these trips has their own story, their own struggles, and they have the exact same human needs as everyone else. Groups come here with grandiose plans to build homes and change lives, and although building a home may change a life here, sometimes I think we forget to look inward and realize the impact such experiences have had on our own lives. I came down here for the first time like any other person does; I was ready to save the world. I realize now, the people of Guatemala saved me. They don't need heroes. They want connection, just like anyone else. "Americans, by nature, want to be doing something. The idea of coming down here is to learn where the people are at, their talents, their dreams, how they're producing life up here on the mountainside." Fr. John Goggin Service trips, by definition, are to serve others, but it's not a one way street of service. While we may bend rebar and move materials, our accomplishments are not measured in the physical evidence that we were here. Rather, our evidence of a worthwhile trip is measured by the ache in our hearts as we leave a beautiful place and even more beautiful people.
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Alexandra Rosetravel enthusiast. lover of yellowstone, coffee, and a good book. passionately curious. hopeful wanderer. Archives
January 2018
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