Meanwhile in Calcutta…

The not, so big winner.

I have played the lotto twice in my life. Just twice, and both times my hopes and dreams of swimming in a pool of gold coins have been dashed. If you are from United States you know that last night there was a lotto drawing that amounted to a total of $640 million dollars. All I have to say about that is Da-Dang!

After buying the lotto ticket on Thursday evening I began to plot the spending of my winnings. It was a fun thing to do, to dream, to envision.

All the while I was very suspicious that I would not win.  And then last night my suspicions came true. I checked my numbers and found just like a majority of the players I was not a winner. I would not swim in the pool of gold or experience my million dollar dreams come true this time around. Ah well!

As I perused the Facebook updates this morning I found that my friends were also coming to this same realization. Here is an example of the reactions:

“May not have won the lotto but I am still happy to be here with my husband and daughter.. =)”

“…BOOOO a measly few bucks. I had all my plans ready to be put in motion too. Buzz kill….lol”

Meanwhile in Calcutta, India someone once hit the jackpot but it was not the super lotto…

This week a Pastor told me a story about a Christian missionary who changed the lives of millions with a dream.  His name was Mark Buntain and 50 years ago his mission was to help the people of Calcutta, India. If you know anything about Calcutta, you know that there are nearly 9 million people living in something like a 9 mile radius. People are literally walking over each other and many suffer from extreme poverty with no hope of getting out.

Nearly 50 years ago there was a man who would sit next to the mission. Every day he would beg dressed in rags of old clothing. Everyday Mark Buntain would give him a few coins. Not a lot, but it was consistent. One day the man told Mr. Buntain that his mother was deathly ill. Mr. Buntain asked him to take him directly to the dying mother. They rode the train many hours and arrived at the house where Mark Buntain prayed and gave support to the family.

The man who sat begging day in and day out would one day become the lead Pastor of the current mission that Mark Buntain established. The ex-begger now helps others in so many ways. He has managed over 800 churches and a college.

I wanted to tell you this story, for a few reasons. I wanted to tell you that Mark Buntain was the jackpot for that man. What if you were the jackpot for someone else.  What if you used your dreams to make a life changing difference for someone else.

I am not trying to tell you to go and pick up every other homeless person trying to make them your prodigy. But what I am trying to say is don’t rule out your worth just because you’re not a millionaire. Mark Buntain was no millionaire even 50 years ago and yet he had the ability to foster a life changing experience. Know your worth in this world.

Meanwhile in Inner City America…

Inner City kids are sometimes thought of as rowdy and high risk. This week I met a group of inner city kids, from my neighborhood. They are out of the ordinary in regards to those preconceptions, and one thing that I can attest to is that they are about to go on the adventure of their life and along the way they will become so much wiser because of it.

Meanwhile in the inner city, students are getting ready to become humanitarians.

Students getting the opportunity to come on a humanitarian trip. Photo Cred. StudentReach 2011

As they stood in line at the notary office with their anxious parents, they eagerly held their documents and asked questions like; “Who else is coming” and “How long does it take to get there”. These students are raising funds to physically go and help the extremely poor in Mexico. They are not rich kids or posh. They are simply high school students.

One girl was concerned about not having any friends coming on the trip. We reassured her that by the end of the week the people who are now her peers, will become her lifelong best friends. The effect on friendship is similar to that of the summer camp effect. When you are living and working so closely with peers and experiencing the most amazing moments together, friendships bloom naturally.  I have helped to take many students on these trips and have found that they are the ones, out of all the people who go on the trips, who gain the most.

Relaxing after a hard day of work. Photo Cred. StudentReach 2011

These students will be building a home for very poor families in Mexico. The families work extremely hard as field hands, providing food for the local region and California. The wages unfortunately are meager, adding up to just a few dollars per week. Often times the homes that the families are living in before the teams get there, are made of discarded garage doors, cardboard, and donated tarps. The average size of a home/shelter that I have seen has the dimensions of a 10×10 shed. The room is usually filled with bedding and basic necessities like a lamp if electricity is available, which most times it is not. We once ran into a situation where 8 people from one family were cramming themselves into the makeshift structure to get out of the howling winds and dust.

Hammering the first of many nails Photo Cred. Studentreach 2011 Team Photos

By the end of the week I have seen students breakdown in tears as they realize that their life back home is so much easier than the lives of the people that they just built a home for. With my own eyes I have witnessed  teenagers give away all their personal clothes that they have brought to wear on the trip, in an effort to give just a little more. I have even seen international relationships continue on after the trip. The reuniting of these friendships moves forward throughout the years as a student go back to help in more ways.

As these students prepare to give their spring break  to a cause greater than they know, I am excited and eager to see the wisdom that they will gain. I am excited to find out how they will inspire their peers at school to come along the next time around. I really hope that they become empowered to make a difference in their own community. I want them to inspire their community to be better with the skills that they will learn on this trip.

The inner city may suffer from low-income, gangs and drugs. But one thing that it is not lacking is the potential that the students I met today are exuding.

These students will be getting a blog entry dedicated to the adventures and work that they will do on their upcoming trip.

The Humanitarian Experience: Not Necessarily the “Hot Stuff”

 Miguel knows best. Miguel is the best! In 2009, I was a part of my first house build for a poverty-stricken Mexican family who resided in Baja California, Mexico. I was not the first one to do this in this area nor will I be the last. As we drove up to the neighborhood where we were building, you could see all the homes that had been built by the charity that we were working with. They were all similar except for one thing. The homes all had the brightest colored exteriors that I have ever seen.  From home depot orange to pepto bismol pink the dirt roads and dismal yards faded into the dusty background of Mexico. The sight of what we were going to build by the end of the week excited me and was a great encouragement to get to work.

I grew up with a father who made a living in construction, which meant that we never called a handy man or paid someone to fix something. My dad was always encouraging my brother and I to help him work around the house, willing or unwilling we helped. Mostly unwilling. Because of this I am no stranger to the hammer or the shovel (just to clarify my father was on this trip). As we began to frame the house and build the walls we all took a hammer and began to work our little hearts out.

Miguel ready to show us how to work, photo cred. TDevoll (2009)

 As I happily swung my hammer and laughed with my comrades, I was thinking I was the “Hot Stuff”. I noticed that there was a little pair of eyes staring at me the whole time. I kindly smiled at the child who was around 8 years old. He looked at my dad who was working near me and said something in rapid Spanish.

Although I am of Mexican decent I can only speak high school Spanish, 3^rdgeneration Americanism often leads to this. My father on the other hand spoke Spanish as his first language. I looked at my dad who now was laughing and saying something back.

“…trabaja…” oh I know that word it means, “work!” In my head I thought, “Hehe, he thinks I am good at working, and since I am a girl it must be even more impressive.”

“What did he say to you?” I asked my father. He laughed and shook his head again. “What!?!” I continued to ask.

Next thing I know the hammer that was in my hand was being pulled and within moments the child was slamming the nails into the 2×4 at an extremely fast and accurate rate. He finished my line of nails and handed me the hammer. Apparently he was not commenting on my fine skills instead he was pointing out how I handled a hammer like a 7-year-old.

Instead of just showing me up and dissing my handy work, he began to show me the best practice for hammering a nail. He went slow and then handed me the hammer to me to try. Of course the nail bent. He took the hammer, pulled out the ruined nail and set me up for the next try. I began to practice with him and once he thought my work was adequate he moved on to the next poor aid worker who thought they were the hottest thing around.

Miguel is his name and at 8 years old he humbled me. That week I saw him fix a broken bike and take care of his little brother. I saw him play baseball and help paint his neighbor’s house pepto bismol pink. Miguel is the handy man of the neighborhood. Miguel knows best when it comes to the technique of hammering a nail. Miguel is simply the best.

Miguel 2009 photo cred. TDevoll

Meanwhile in Exuma…

When my Husband and I got married, we put the whole thing on the cheapest way we could. The wedding was never going to be the event of our life, instead our adventures together were going to be the events of our lives. We had a small beach wedding including close family members and a setting sun. An evening I will never forget. Soon after tying the knot we went on trip to the small Island of Exuma which is located in the Bahamas. Blue skies and clear water, and best of all meeting some of the most welcoming people in the world, was how I spent my first few weeks married to the man of my dreams.

My husband, works for a non-profit that puts on assemblies for schools and encourages students to give back to their schools, communities and the world through volunteerism. We took the assembly to the Students of Exuma.

The classrooms were small and overcrowded, yet were filled with attentive faces waiting to hear what we had to say.

As I looked around I found a familiarity in the school. There were projects proudly displayed on the walls and writings scrawled across the chalk boards. And through the glass less windows I could hear the small 7 man marching band practicing their heart out. The students had remarkable manners and were all on their best behavior for the foreign visitors. During lunch time we got to hang out with the students and really got to know some of the kids fairly well. They told us their dreams and their gossip. One student even sang a song for us.  If I was a record producer I might have given him the spot light.

Although the Island of Exuma is a popular destination for multi-million dollar Yacht owners and Island hoppers, the small Island was suffering from something horrible. The vice principle provided us with some background information about the student body that left us shocked. She told us that the school was in need of help. The students, let me rephrase that… the children of the island were contracting AIDs from adults and spreading it to their peers.

As we began to talk to the students in small groups we found that they were hurting. Some would come to us in tears thanking us for our encouraging words, and some even spontaneously stood up and began to encourage their peers.  We were telling them that their situations should not define their life, but that the good things that they do, should be what defines them.  Before we got to the Island we had no idea that there was a life threatening issue at hand, but once we began to hear the outcry we knew that we were there for a reason. No more did the teenagers and children of Exuma want to be the dying generation. they wanted to go to college, be doctors and lawyers. They wanted to see the world and make a change in their small country.

It was remarkable to find that just telling a person that they can do something great was all that was needed to lift a cloud of depression from an overcrowded classroom.  Even if they were doing something as simple as volunteering at their own school, it made them feel better. They inspired me. Who was I to ever complain that my life sucked. Later that week we spoke at a community center. We only advertised to the students that we spoke with and yet the room was filled to maximum capacity with adults. The response from the community was great, and it was all because the students of Exuma were driving the desire for change.

If you’re feeling sorry about your life, or depressed about a situation maybe it’s time to give to someone else. The world is a grand and amazing place, don’t think that the edge of the world is as far as your eyes can see, because there is much more to it than that.

The Humanitarian Experience: The Outhouse

"This is a Reenactment" Photo Cred: TDevoll 2009

One of the very first things that you learn about the third world when you finally get there, is that most of the toilets don’t flush. And when I say that the toilets don’t flush I mean there is no flushing option available. Most toilets are outhouses. For all you first worldanians out there, out houses are things that were around when the cowboys lived on the range and the deer and the antelope played.

"Digging an outhouse hole, a.k.a Digging to China/America (Depending where you are at)" Photo Cred TDevoll 2009

I have had the opportunity to use quite a few outhouses, some better than others but all have the same basic structure: Small human sized box, a seat made of wood (splinters included!) and a hole. The hole is often deep enough to say hello to China, or if you’re in China you can say hello to America. That’s how that works right?

One thing that always gets me is the look of horror on the face of people who have never encountered an outhouse. The reaction usually includes a stifled response of “I’ll hold it”. Oh, one other thing when traveling overseas a person can usually expect to encounter is a different kind of “Regularness”, one that even the most powerful fiber can’t produce. So very soon those who originally said “I’ll hold it” are making a mad dash towards the most inviting little house around, the outhouse.

When you enter the outhouse it is often dark, and if you’re lucky there will be ventilation holes at the top which not only allow a small breath of fresh air to flow, but also the sounds of the people on the other side of the thin wood. I like to close my eyes and go real fast. The purpose of the toilet is not the same purpose that a luxury spa has, no need to hang around in there. If you are fast then you can get back to the real experience.

One thing that I always tell people when they start to absolutely refuse to go is, “This is their bathroom, they have to potty train their children here and you are too good for it?”. I know it may be a little harsh but it would be much ruder to stand there with a look of disgust on your face while a family who is in need, humbly allows you into their lives and homes.

"Placing the Outhouse" Photo Cred. TDevoll

Whenever I am on a humanitarian trip I always try to find and recognize the most mundane things that are so completely different from the things that I encounter back home. I like to remember those things and keep my perspective in check.