Thirty minutes into my 33rd birthday, I boarded a plane with 11 LMU students and one faculty member to head south to Ecuador for a week of service and reflection. Before we shuffled onto the plane, the group serenaded me with a rousing round of "Happy Birthday" as we stood in line to board. And once on the plane, after a little pleading with the man in 7F to switch seats with me so that I could sit by the pack, I settled into my seat and quickly passed out. For the past few weeks, I've been solidly asleep by 10 pm, so to be up and functioning past midnight was quite the feat. All things considered, I got a pretty decent rest for the good part of four hours, waking occasionally to adjust my positioning or awaken whichever limb had fallen asleep. I'm pretty sure that if I could find a travel seat cushion to protect the top of my bum from aching, I could probably stay asleep for an entire flight. Alas, with an achey arse, I awoke as we began our descent into Guatemala City - our stopover during the first leg of our travels.
The view from seat 7F was beautiful. As we descended closer to the clouds, a volcano appeared, peeking its head above as if to remind air travelers of its ominous presence. I snapped some pictures, brought my seat back to its upright position and listened to my playlist come to an end just as we touched down on new soil.
There were many benefits to swapping seats for the front of the plane, including making sure none of the students got off the aircraft. Since this was just a stopover for us, we weren't to disembark the plane, but sure enough, the first I had to stop was Schultzy, suited up in his self-named "adventure hat" (an LMU baseball cap) and fumbling toward the exit despite me and Kelley still being buckled up in our seats. Next to try to escape was Mark, one of our fearless leaders. "Mark, we don't get off here. We stay on until Costa Rica." "This is Costa Rica." "No, sweet pea. This is Guatemala." when your trip leader doesn't know in which country you are, it might be a good idea to worry.
Fortunately, we kept everyone on the plane and the only catastrophe was when Schultzy knocked his head into the overhead TV causing the adventure hat to topple. Mark and Kelley made a valiant effort at trying to convince me that they could now claim Guatemala as a place they've visited (an argument, I'm not sad to report, they lost). But as I watched us slowly taxi passed the row of hangars before the wheels pulled up as we continued our journey toward Costa Rica, I watched Guatemala get further away and thought about how far I'd come in 33 years.
Showing posts with label AB trip. Show all posts
Showing posts with label AB trip. Show all posts
Saturday, February 26, 2011
Thursday, January 08, 2009
It's Boiling Outside
The sweet smell of the spices slowing dancing together in the heat of the water. The rhythmic beat of the drums being played in the yard. The sound of the children laughing as they danced around tapping tambourines on their legs. Every car slowing to honk and wave as they drive by. I sat in Mack's yard today as he hosted us to a seafood broil and let my senses take it all in. This is what I image the Lower Ninth Ward is supposed to feel like. A community that centers around each other.
To Mack, it was what he called a small token of thanks for all that we've done this week at The Village. But as I watched the neighbors follow their noses around the corner and grab a plate of shrimp and turkey neck, I knew it was much more. I only hope the students saw it too. With everything he does, Mack shows that it takes more than constructing a house to rebuild a town. He shows how you need to sit down and talk with people to find out what they are really experiencing and what they really need in order to help them. In the middle of a neighborhood that has been almost silenced by the storm, Mack brings the sound of life by bringing the people together. It's an amazing thing to watch.
So on the eve of our last night of service for the week, I'm keeping holding tightly to the sounds, smells and sights of this afternoon because they are what I want to think of when I think about making a difference.
To Mack, it was what he called a small token of thanks for all that we've done this week at The Village. But as I watched the neighbors follow their noses around the corner and grab a plate of shrimp and turkey neck, I knew it was much more. I only hope the students saw it too. With everything he does, Mack shows that it takes more than constructing a house to rebuild a town. He shows how you need to sit down and talk with people to find out what they are really experiencing and what they really need in order to help them. In the middle of a neighborhood that has been almost silenced by the storm, Mack brings the sound of life by bringing the people together. It's an amazing thing to watch.
So on the eve of our last night of service for the week, I'm keeping holding tightly to the sounds, smells and sights of this afternoon because they are what I want to think of when I think about making a difference.
Wednesday, January 07, 2009
The Value of Service
Our merry group of twelve are split into two service sites. Four of us are doing drywall on the house of a woman named Gwen. The other eight of us are working with Mack on The Village, the Lower Ninth Ward Community Center. When the bell rings at 5 p.m. each day, we meet up to dry back to Camp Hope. The four coming from Gwen's house inevitably show up with particles in their hair complaining of fighting over tools with the caddy girls who are also at their site. The remaining eight of us typically greet them while lounging in front of The Village talking with Mack. The drywallers are always upset that they've done "more work" than we have. Their complaining has become a joke; today we told them that Mack gave us money to go to the zoo after lunch.
All joking aside, it has got me thinking about the value of service. So many people feel like if you aren't sweating profusely or haven't pulled a muscle by the end of the day that the work you've done isn't worthwhile. And while I wish we had a bit more consistent of a flow at The Village, the work we are doing is laying the foundation for what will be the heart of this community. Isn't that worth just as much? I'm hoping I can get this group to see deeper than the surface labor to see what the bigger picture is of our work. And hopefully, this knowledge can be taken back to LMU so when they are considering service projects with their organizations, they can look beyond just where the biggest muscles are needed.
All joking aside, it has got me thinking about the value of service. So many people feel like if you aren't sweating profusely or haven't pulled a muscle by the end of the day that the work you've done isn't worthwhile. And while I wish we had a bit more consistent of a flow at The Village, the work we are doing is laying the foundation for what will be the heart of this community. Isn't that worth just as much? I'm hoping I can get this group to see deeper than the surface labor to see what the bigger picture is of our work. And hopefully, this knowledge can be taken back to LMU so when they are considering service projects with their organizations, they can look beyond just where the biggest muscles are needed.
Tuesday, January 06, 2009
A Shift in Paradigm
So, a downfall of attending an AB Trip is staying at a camp where I am back to sharing nine showers with hundreds of other women. Being a bit of a germophobe and not having had to share a shower in ten years, it's a tougher adjustment than one might think. Especially when most of the stalls are covered in hair that other women have failed to pick up after themselves. And the ceilings are covered with daddy-long-legs and other such crawly critters. So, as I was racing through my shower yesterday (out of fear of touching something, not because of respect for the hot water quota), I realized that I just needed to shift my perspective for the week. Showering is not a luxury...it's a necessity. But come Saturday when I return to my lovely home, I may have to take a shower based on luxury just because I can!
A New Way to start the New Year
Almost ten years ago, Rosanna and I jumped into our fire red rented Dodge Neon and headed across the country for a 21 day adventure. Toward the end of our trip, we made a stop in good ol' N'Awlins. We pulled in late at night and stayed in one of the seediest hostels in which I've ever laid my head. We got up the next day, and fought through the exhaustion and the humidity to make our way into the French Quarter. After finding a new hotel, we walked through the streets of the Quarter and through the vendors of the French Market. We had a jambalaya dinner on a balcony overlooking Bourbon Street and treated ourself to a breakfast of beignets at the famous Cafe du Monde before heading out to our next location. Until three days ago, this was the only time I'd ever spent in New Orleans.
Now, here I write to you from The Village, a non-profit community center in the Lower Ninth Ward, whose mission it is to assist the people of this neighborhood to come home and become self-sufficient in this post-Hurricane Katrina world. Though still a work in progress, this place provides a little hope to a neighborhood whose devastation has barely begun to be healed.
Just driving from the airport to Camp Hope (our Habitat for Humanity home for the week), it was already clear to see how Katrina has left her mark in this area. We passed by neighborhoods where all of the houses that were see from the street were still boarded up. There are shopping centers where Sears, Blockbuster and Wal-Mart formerly mingled with mom & pop Po Boy shops, all of which are now ghostly versions of their former selves...barely-standing reminders of what one force of nature can do. I had an eery feeling the entire way down Judge Perez Highway. I knew I was in the suburbs of a major metropolitan area, but it felt more like I was in an abandoned village post a major war. Can I really be in America? Can it truly have been 3 1/2 years since this storm? Can our government really have done so little to help its citizens?
Before doing our part to make a difference in this community, my group and I headed down to the French Quarter to take in some sights. Most of the students had never been to NOLA before, so we wanted to fit in as much as we could. We jumped on the street car and rode down St. Charles St. to catch our walking tour of the Garden District. In my previous visit, my knowledge of New Orleans was limited to not much past the Quarter, so I was glad to see a new part of the city. And as we strolled to the front of the Ponchatrain Hotel and met Katie, the firey red-head of approximately 70 years, who was to serve as our tour guide, I knew this would be an enjoyable excursion. Katie relied on her animated features to brief us on the history of the area, including stories of some of the mansions and their previous and current inhabitants. People in the neighborhood waved their hellos because clearly Katie is a regular. But when the former state representative (and neighbor to John Goodman) stopped us to thank us profusely for coming to town to volunteer, I realized that this was no small deed we were doing. The people of New Orleans are so overwhelmingly thankful to all of the volunteers for every little bit that they do. The words and expressions are so genuine that it can't be denied that every little bit is truly making a different. And as we continued on the tour, I saw everything through new eyes. Every thank you we heard the rest of the day seemed to weigh more than any other words.
So, with my increased appreciation for the work we were doing, we set out for our first day of service. We drove into the Lower Ninth Ward, one of the hardest hit areas and one of the least assisted since the storm. We gathered at a small house to meet our service coordinators and were given our assignments. While four of our group went off to a woman's house to do sheetrock, the rest of us went down the street to meet Mack and learn about his dream for The Village. We arrived to the large metal building with little idea of what exactly we would be doing, and quickly were asked to help move some cabinets into a storage shed to protect them from some flooding that had occurred overnight from a major rain storm. Once the items were moved, we were on to trying to sweep the water out of the main room in the center. Before long, we were laying carpet in the future library area. As our hands were covered in glue and our eyes were strained from trying to match the seams of the tiles up, you could already feel how this place would one day be seen by the community. A place for the kids to come and sit instead of getting into trouble. A place for children to learn how to cook instead of learn how to be criminals. And all of this because of one man's vision and dedication: Amazing!
In the afternoon, after a brainstorming session with Mack, Heather (his donation's coordinator) took us on a tour of the neighborhood. She explained to us the meaning behind the markings on the fronts of the houses. During the storm, folks in boats sailed up to each house to search for survivors. An X indicated that the house had been search. The markings on top of the X indicated which agency had assessed the house. The markings to the left of the X indicated on what date the house was searched. And the markings to the right and below the X indicated how many people/bodies and pets were found in each house. Every house has one of these markings. Every house branded with the memory of this storm. And so few that have been erased of this tattoo.
Heather explained to us how many people who have been sent to live elsewhere after the storm are fighting to have the money to move home. Many barely received enough money from insurance companies to make any livable repairs to their houses, and since they are still paying their mortgage, they can't afford to make costly renovations. And if their grounds aren't maintained, the government places a notice on their front door giving them a court date to appear before their home is considered a blighted property. Well, if you're living in Austin, how are you supposed to know that there is a posting on your front door on El Dorado Street in New Orleans? How are you supposed to fight for your home if you aren't given a fair swing?
As I walked down the street, I couldn't help but be reminded of the townships in South Africa. These are communities that we learn about where justice is not being served and people are relying on the heart of the community to find renewal. The feeling is so similar here, except these are our neighbors. These are fellow Americans who many are turning a blind eye to because the media says everything is okay and because Mardi Gras can take place as usual.
And then Heather took us into a house that has not been touched at all since the day the storm hit. The front door wide open, we climbed the steps and were immediately hit with the overwhelming smell of mold. Couches, the living room table, curtains, a flat screen television, dishes, the fridge, chairs...all of it thrown together like a stew of furnishings. Someone's entire life left to rot under their fallen roof, damaged from the storm. The bedroom covered in books, shampoos, contents of the dresser...clothes still hanging in the closet. Picture frames and photo albums laying around the house. All of this proof that the family picked up to leave for what they hoped would be a couple of days, not forever. I stood among their belongings feeling helpless. I felt overwhelmed at the idea of having to gut the property; remove the belongings from their home. And I felt heart broken at the idea that these items have been left possibly forever. And as I considered what I was feeling, I imagined what it must feel like if I were the homeowners. What if this were my home? Would I have the strength to fight for it? I don't know.
What I do know is that right now I'm doing my part to fight for this community. Mack believes in the importance of the physical labor involved in creating the community center, but he also believes in the power of the networking and community outreach. He's helped me remember that it's just as important to get the word out about what little has been done in the Lower Ninth Ward and other areas since the storm. And 80% of what has been done has been accomplished by volunteers. When you see these houses firsthand and listen to these statistics, it makes sense why the thank yous are so heartfelt and genuine. Because even after 3 1/2 years, the volunteers are needed just as much now as they were on the first day.
Now, here I write to you from The Village, a non-profit community center in the Lower Ninth Ward, whose mission it is to assist the people of this neighborhood to come home and become self-sufficient in this post-Hurricane Katrina world. Though still a work in progress, this place provides a little hope to a neighborhood whose devastation has barely begun to be healed.
Just driving from the airport to Camp Hope (our Habitat for Humanity home for the week), it was already clear to see how Katrina has left her mark in this area. We passed by neighborhoods where all of the houses that were see from the street were still boarded up. There are shopping centers where Sears, Blockbuster and Wal-Mart formerly mingled with mom & pop Po Boy shops, all of which are now ghostly versions of their former selves...barely-standing reminders of what one force of nature can do. I had an eery feeling the entire way down Judge Perez Highway. I knew I was in the suburbs of a major metropolitan area, but it felt more like I was in an abandoned village post a major war. Can I really be in America? Can it truly have been 3 1/2 years since this storm? Can our government really have done so little to help its citizens?
Before doing our part to make a difference in this community, my group and I headed down to the French Quarter to take in some sights. Most of the students had never been to NOLA before, so we wanted to fit in as much as we could. We jumped on the street car and rode down St. Charles St. to catch our walking tour of the Garden District. In my previous visit, my knowledge of New Orleans was limited to not much past the Quarter, so I was glad to see a new part of the city. And as we strolled to the front of the Ponchatrain Hotel and met Katie, the firey red-head of approximately 70 years, who was to serve as our tour guide, I knew this would be an enjoyable excursion. Katie relied on her animated features to brief us on the history of the area, including stories of some of the mansions and their previous and current inhabitants. People in the neighborhood waved their hellos because clearly Katie is a regular. But when the former state representative (and neighbor to John Goodman) stopped us to thank us profusely for coming to town to volunteer, I realized that this was no small deed we were doing. The people of New Orleans are so overwhelmingly thankful to all of the volunteers for every little bit that they do. The words and expressions are so genuine that it can't be denied that every little bit is truly making a different. And as we continued on the tour, I saw everything through new eyes. Every thank you we heard the rest of the day seemed to weigh more than any other words.
So, with my increased appreciation for the work we were doing, we set out for our first day of service. We drove into the Lower Ninth Ward, one of the hardest hit areas and one of the least assisted since the storm. We gathered at a small house to meet our service coordinators and were given our assignments. While four of our group went off to a woman's house to do sheetrock, the rest of us went down the street to meet Mack and learn about his dream for The Village. We arrived to the large metal building with little idea of what exactly we would be doing, and quickly were asked to help move some cabinets into a storage shed to protect them from some flooding that had occurred overnight from a major rain storm. Once the items were moved, we were on to trying to sweep the water out of the main room in the center. Before long, we were laying carpet in the future library area. As our hands were covered in glue and our eyes were strained from trying to match the seams of the tiles up, you could already feel how this place would one day be seen by the community. A place for the kids to come and sit instead of getting into trouble. A place for children to learn how to cook instead of learn how to be criminals. And all of this because of one man's vision and dedication: Amazing!
In the afternoon, after a brainstorming session with Mack, Heather (his donation's coordinator) took us on a tour of the neighborhood. She explained to us the meaning behind the markings on the fronts of the houses. During the storm, folks in boats sailed up to each house to search for survivors. An X indicated that the house had been search. The markings on top of the X indicated which agency had assessed the house. The markings to the left of the X indicated on what date the house was searched. And the markings to the right and below the X indicated how many people/bodies and pets were found in each house. Every house has one of these markings. Every house branded with the memory of this storm. And so few that have been erased of this tattoo.
Heather explained to us how many people who have been sent to live elsewhere after the storm are fighting to have the money to move home. Many barely received enough money from insurance companies to make any livable repairs to their houses, and since they are still paying their mortgage, they can't afford to make costly renovations. And if their grounds aren't maintained, the government places a notice on their front door giving them a court date to appear before their home is considered a blighted property. Well, if you're living in Austin, how are you supposed to know that there is a posting on your front door on El Dorado Street in New Orleans? How are you supposed to fight for your home if you aren't given a fair swing?
As I walked down the street, I couldn't help but be reminded of the townships in South Africa. These are communities that we learn about where justice is not being served and people are relying on the heart of the community to find renewal. The feeling is so similar here, except these are our neighbors. These are fellow Americans who many are turning a blind eye to because the media says everything is okay and because Mardi Gras can take place as usual.
And then Heather took us into a house that has not been touched at all since the day the storm hit. The front door wide open, we climbed the steps and were immediately hit with the overwhelming smell of mold. Couches, the living room table, curtains, a flat screen television, dishes, the fridge, chairs...all of it thrown together like a stew of furnishings. Someone's entire life left to rot under their fallen roof, damaged from the storm. The bedroom covered in books, shampoos, contents of the dresser...clothes still hanging in the closet. Picture frames and photo albums laying around the house. All of this proof that the family picked up to leave for what they hoped would be a couple of days, not forever. I stood among their belongings feeling helpless. I felt overwhelmed at the idea of having to gut the property; remove the belongings from their home. And I felt heart broken at the idea that these items have been left possibly forever. And as I considered what I was feeling, I imagined what it must feel like if I were the homeowners. What if this were my home? Would I have the strength to fight for it? I don't know.
What I do know is that right now I'm doing my part to fight for this community. Mack believes in the importance of the physical labor involved in creating the community center, but he also believes in the power of the networking and community outreach. He's helped me remember that it's just as important to get the word out about what little has been done in the Lower Ninth Ward and other areas since the storm. And 80% of what has been done has been accomplished by volunteers. When you see these houses firsthand and listen to these statistics, it makes sense why the thank yous are so heartfelt and genuine. Because even after 3 1/2 years, the volunteers are needed just as much now as they were on the first day.
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