The Humanitarian Experience: I Quit my Job to do Something Greater

One intimidating list for one normal person to complete.

The end of the year is rapidly approaching and we all have a ton of things on our to-do list. Mine is definitely full and because of that you may have noticed that my posts have been pretty lacking in their frequency and I would like to apologize for that, but have EXTREMELY INTERESTING NEWS to present to you all. As you know my blog is about the humanitarian work that my husband and I do, along with stories that I come across from other people and their experiences as a humanitarian. The news that I am about to present to you is life encompassing and involves 100% the humanitarian lifestyle that I promote.

At the end of December my husband and I will be moving to Kenya to help start a school for children and young teens. We will be teaching and administrating with a team of people who also have the life passion of humanitarianism.

Phew… I got it out! For some reason I was very anxious to get that out and in the open to you all. Some of you I feel I have a close “internet” relationship with and just as I nervously have announced to my friends and family at home I do so with confidence and butterflies in my stomach to you all.

So I have done the CRAZY. I have quit my job and am moving to Kenya. Quitting my job was bittersweet. I was comfortable there. I loved the people I worked with and the work I did was challenging and rewarding. But I also know that this great and complicated move to full-time aid/humanitarian work will provide to me in a completely different way – Pure Satisfaction.

In the coming posts you will be hearing about the following – Moving, Traveling, Fundraising, Meeting new people, Working, Adventure, and the stories of those we work with.

If you’re out there and have always wondered what it would be like to do what I am about to do keep following!

Meanwhile in the Midst of Cancer…

The month of October in America means fall leaves, spooky costumes for Halloween and Breast Cancer Awareness. Throughout this month, shades of pink colored items are proudly displayed. Items range from the pink cleats that NFL players sport during games, pink pumpkins and pink ribbons pinned to a lapel, all in the hopes that the cure will soon be found.  Last October 2011, this month of awareness became a reality for my friends and I.

My friend and co-worker, Sarah* sat at her desk that Autumn morning anxious. She had found a lump a few weeks back and it was the morning that the results were due. We were all anxious. We were an office full of women clicking away at their computers trying to work but fully aware that life changing news was on its way. I am not sure how she was able to get to work that day, in such a put together manner. Her hair was done precisely and her make-up perfectly in its place. The phone rang, and we all stopped clicking and clacking away at our keyboards. It became very silent in the small office. Not a breath in the room was spent while Sarah listened closely to what the doctor had to tell her.

She quietly hung up the phone and walked to a private office. We knew it was bad and that she had breast cancer.

The month would end with her planning for a life event she had not expected. Being a single mom with 3 kids, ages ranging from 4 to 14 was going to get a lot more complicated. Sarah was in and out of work the rest of the year, as she underwent a series of procedures and surgeries. When she was back at her desk she worked with a smile on her face even while in pain. She inspired me. In an attempt to eradicate the deadly cells from her body she went for the double mastectomy, a surgery that is intense on so many levels. Just last week and nearly 1 year from her date of diagnosis, she had one of her last reconstructive surgeries and is cancer free. We all are thankful that she is healthy again and of course being the hard worker that she is, you can find her already back at work.

The most extraordinary thing about Sarah is that while fighting cancer, getting her kids through school that year and working her butt off at work to provide for her family, she was a humanitarian. On Sunday mornings, I often open up Facebook and find a post from her. Her posts those Sunday mornings share the work she is doing while serving the homeless community at that very moment. She serves others even when she is one in pain, the one battling an unpredictable enemy, the who probably should be in bed resting.  Throughout this past year — on her day off, she has taken her children along and served the homeless community of Sacramento Ca. Passing out food, clothing, and listening to their stories, she is serving those who need. She has given her time, energy and heart to strangers. When I asked her to describe her work with the homeless she said this:

“Ahhh Yeah! — Working with the homeless & giving back feels so right. I’ve been so blessed, even with Cancer and I love that I can teach my children how to give to others in need.   — so ‘Ahhh yeah’ it is the best feeling ever.”

Thank you Sarah for fighting so hard against Cancer, inspiring me  and making this place a better with your heart of gold!

National Breast Cancer Awareness Month

*Name has been changed

The Humanitarian Experience: CONTRABAND

CONTRABAND

Driving into the country of Mexico is generally an easy process. The most time I have spent trying to get into Mexico is about 10 minutes and that included detailed searches of our vehicles. There seems to be a lot fewer people running for that side of the border. On the other hand, leaving Mexico and crossing into the U.S.A again is a completely different story. I am going to estimate my longest border crossing into the USA at 3 hours with an average wait time of 2 hours. I have described the adventures of crossing the border in the past, but this August I had a new experience at the border that I would like to share with you all.

We rose before the sun on that cool Saturday morning with one thing on our mind, the long drive home. The drive home is approximately 15+ hours which is why rising before the sun is so crucial. Groggily the teenage humanitarians and the leaders pack themselves a to-go lunch of apples, PB&J and chips. There will be as few stops as possible on the journey home. With much encouragement, the team clambers into the 15 passenger vans where they soon drift back to sleep. The driver and Co-Pilot (if they are a good co-pilot!) will stay awake wide-eyed as they transport the do-gooders to their true beds of home. We are not the only ones to get an early start, as we drive along HWY 1 we begin to so see thousands of field workers board hundreds of buses to get to work before the heat of the afternoon starts to rise. Buses soon become the enemy of time, as they slow our trip, but the early start helps to alleviate the congestion.

As we work our way north we come across a few Drug-Check points. It is at theses check-points that the AK-47 makes a stand and strongly encourages all drivers to stop for inspection. We of course adhere to this policy and thank the dutiful Federales for their permission to continue on our way home. Continuing on the road we pass the popular tourist locations – Rosarito, Ensenada and finally Tijuana it is now 12pm. Entering the city a new smell can be detected and the smog starts to cloud our vision of the land of Mexico. Aggressively our drivers make their way through the city towards the gleaming view of San Diego, California. But before one can step foot on the soil of the free, one must first perform a series of tasks, including the most time consuming of them all… waiting in line. The Vans come to a screeching halt as they drive up to snake like line of cars that stretches through the city.

Car games, vendors and deliciously hot and tasty churros help pass the time, and after a few hours finally arrive at the border. There you will find extremely high-tech cameras and what I can only guess is some sort of imaging device, that captures the unseen of the vehicles journeying through the border. Slowly we creep closer and closer to the front of the line, I gather the passports from our team and organize them for easy access. I completely respect the border officers and their laws. So in every effort I try to be less of a hassle than we already are. We truly are a hassle for the officers, with our packed vans and massive amounts of luggage we slow down the line and prompt further inspections. This time instead of the standard greeting “Why were you in Mexico, when did you arrive?” we hear, “So do YOU have the apples too?”. I look around and think hard, “Apples? What? Is this some sort of code? Does he think we are secret agents!?!”

My husband who is driving, luckily did not jump to the conclusions that my over imaginative mind did, instead he responds with “Excuse me?”

Border Officer: “Do you have Apples? the other Van had apples…you cannot bring fruit and vegetables over the border. Please answer the question. Do you have Apples?”

Me (I need to keep my mouth shut sometimes): “Apples? I don’t think we have apples. Team do you have any apples?”

Team: “Yes”

Me: “OH!” In my mind I am bringing back the fuzzy images of 6 hours prior — apples, PB&J.. shoot!

At this point the officer is getting annoyed with us, remember when I mentioned we are a hassle?

Border Office: “I need all the apples”

Me: “Even if we bought them in the states?” — I have no Idea why I was even asking this question. Like they could tell American vs. Mexican bought apples…

Border Officer: “YES, it does not matter. You cannot bring fruit across the border!”

After gathering all the Apples we handed over the contraband and smiled.

Border Officer: “Is this every apple?” his charm has completely faded away at this point.

Team: “Yes”

Border Office: ” You are clear to move forward”

As we start to drive past the border, I am pretty annoyed. I hand back the passports to our team, and start to complain about the apples. As I place my own passport back in my bag I feel a small round object. I freeze, and touch it. Yep it is an Apple! I must have groggily grabbed an apple for myself that morning. And now I am a criminal.

 

Read more about my border adventures HERE.

The Humanitarian Experience: Friendship Bracelets

I have failed to post about my most recent trip to Baja for one reason. It was overwhelming. There were many small experiences, each having so much depth making it hard to express even verbally. So I have decided to start with one of the many experiences and work my way from there. FRIENDSHIP BRACELETS…

Razz 2012

My friendship started in 2009 with a girl named Lucero. When I first met Lucero I was on my first house build and my Spanish knowledge was restrained by 3 years of high school courses and 4 years of neglecting the language. Upon moments of our arrival to the neighborhood where we will build for the week, various Mexican curios and trinkets appear, lining the streets surrounding the lots we work on. The vendors sit and wait a short distance from where we work, they wait for the Americans to take a stroll through the dusty neighborhood over to their tables of colorful goods. They wait in the strong winds with their families and bake in the sun. They are diligent vendors. The people selling these tourist curios in the area where we are working are not price gouging. They do not hike up a price to a ridiculous amount of Pesos and in return we do not try to haggle them down to a lower price. It is as if there is a common agreement of respect between the visitors and vendors.

Back to Lucero. I remember the first time I saw Lucero. She and her sisters were setting up tables and precisely arranging their merchandise in an organized manner. They were preparing for the day, just as we were organizing our work site. After we finished organizing and had worked several hours on the home we were building, my husband and I walked over to the tables and began to browse. Lucero and her sister patiently waited for us look (no pressure sales). I chose a simple woven bracelet paid 1 dollar and went back to the house build.

During lunch time I noticed that there was a group of women standing in a circle around the Van that Lucero’s family had transported their merchandise in. There was cooing and awing along with soft whispers. With my PB&J and Oreo cookies in hand, like a true outsider, I walked up to the van to see what was going on. There lay in the arms of one of my female team members was a 1 week old infant. My mother who was also on this trip was asking how old the child was and when our trip leader asked what the child’s name was they said she (the infant) had not been named. The family started to ask us what our names were in an effort to find a name for the baby. They laughed as they tried to pronounce some of the names we gave, and we laughed with them. As I looked around at that moment in time I saw women at their best. Women nurturing a child. The baby was Lucero’s youngest sister.

I spent many of my breaks throughout the rest of the week near the stand. Occasionally my time was spent looking at the baby and other times speaking broken Spanish with Lucero. I asked her how old she was – 15. I asked her if she went to school – Yes she did. I asked her where she lived – Triki and I asked her how much the bracelets cost – $1.

After the last nail in houses we build is driven, we give our teams a day off and the opportunity to explore the little town we work in. There is a small flea market in the park where paletas and churros are sold. It was there that I noticed a familiar face. It was Lucero. She and her family were selling their merchandise there. We timidly wave hello to one another and I bought one last bracelet to bring the trip to an end.

The following year in summer 2010, I helped to build a second home. As usual we began with organizing our work site and like clock-work the vendors showed up, only this time I saw her and recognized her. Lucero smiled at me and waved. I began to remember the baby and the van and the bracelets from the year before and walked straight to her. I went through the basic greeting and smiled, and soon I ran out things that I was able to communicate to her, leading to awkward nodding and hand gestures that make very little sense. The ability to communicate is very important in any relationship, but it is not always necessary.

Bundles of yarn which signify of Baja for me.~ Razz 2012 ~

I returned one last time that same year in Autumn (2010) and of course Lucero and her family were there, waiting for us and the team we would bring. At the end of the Autumn trip I told her I would return the next summer but I did not. Life took hold in the form of a new job and I could not make the trip in 2011. My husband would go on 3 trips without me from 2011 to this summer 2012. Every time he saw Lucero she would ask for me, and when he would try to buy me a bracelet she would refuse his money and give the small bracelets to him for free. It broke my heart that I could not be there to see her and thank her. It broke my heart that I was not able to see this friend that was asking for me and it broke my heart that I could not be a part of something as big as this. It made me realize that although, we are there for only a week at a time, and although it is like a sprint the entire time we are working and helping, we truly are making an impact. Many times we are making an impact in ways that we may find to be unlikely.

Even more than all good things we try to do, the trip has left a lasting impression on me personally. It has created a friendship that would have not been possible. I am not the only one who has a friendship evolve despite language barriers on this trip. I see it happen every time we return, team members will tell us how they are looking forward to visiting or finding a person that they met on the trip the previous year.

This summer when I journeyed back to Baja she was there, waiting for us all to return. Waiting for the opportunity to sell and maybe even to meet up with me again. When I saw her I could almost say for certain that time stopped that moment. Up and down our feet left the ground and finally we embraced with laughter. Had she thought as much about me as I had about her? Maybe. But what mattered the most at that moment was that I was back with a very important person. I tried to give her as much of my time possible this past trip, and she did the same for me. She attempted to teach me how to weave the bracelets that she sells and laughed happily at my feeble attempts. I grinned the entire time. As I began to leave she asked my favorite color, she grasped my forearm and tied the purple and black bracelet to my wrist. There it sits today.

When I left this time we both cried. I cried because I cannot promise I will be back anytime soon. I cried because she fills my heart with joy, as it is her who passes through my mind in my memories of these trips. She is 18 now and from the cell phone in her hand (we have her number now) and the smile on her face an in her heart, she is doing better than most who live there. I hope to return one day to my friend Lucero.

This friendship will be greater than the miles between us and whether we live to see one another again, I will remember to the end her friendship bracelet.

The Humanitarian Experience: Crappy Jobs are Good Jobs

Sometimes you get stuck with the crappy jobs in life, and it is completely fair.
 
 
One of my most memorable trips that I have taken was to Tijuana, Mexico, in the summer of 2006. We saw the beach, ate tacos and got to spend a week in a trash dump. The dumps of Tijuana are not only a place where some earn a livelihood but it is also a place called home by many of Tijuana’s residents.
 
 
It is in the giant landfill that people work, live, strive for something better and even die. Within the dumps there are communities full of life and drama; there are churches and there is crime. It is here that there are extraordinary aspects of life that you will most likely not find in the contemporary cities of this earth.
 
 
Residing in this unlikely place was a church that was in dire need of a good scrub down. This meant painting, building an add-on for storage and cleaning an entire church that served the community. Everyday the church serves hot meals to hundreds of children, many of whom will not eat the rest of day. They provide support and child services to the women, children and families of the community and because of all they do the church was dirty.
 
 
The church leaders worked very hard to keep the facilities as clean as possible in the dumps, but due to the filthiness of the area it is inevitable that the grime will slowly creep in. Cleaning the church from top to bottom is an overwhelming task that required multiple people and days to complete. The dinning area where the children ate their hearty breakfasts, had white floor tile that was on the verge of becoming brown and the walls of the classrooms looked as if they were painted in the style of ombre brown, not necessarily the healthiest look.
 
 
The first morning that I arrived with my fellow do-gooders, we were each given specific responsibilities. There was painting to be done, building to be accomplished and a children’s fair to be put on by the end of the week. I would have loved to organize a children’s fair. Going around and inviting the community to our fair, while designing games and shows for the kids. It would have been extremely exciting and fun. But I along with 2 other lucky candidates, were presented with the task of scrubbing the kitchen floor.
 
 
Those brownish tiles soon became a memorable view of Mexico for me. The kitchen and dining area where we cleaned was much smaller than actually needed as it was packed to the brim every morning with hungry tummies. Because of the lack of space, we had to wait until breakfast was served and completely cleaned up to begin our project. After sweeping every last crumble and scooting out the kiddos we were finally able to start. We were handed buckets, bleach and brushes. With our heads down and on hands and knees we scrubbed and scrubbed. tile by tile we made the floor shine against the dark brown grout. 2 days in and we had finally hand scrubbed to perfection the tile of the kitchen floor.
 
 
Bringing in a church coordinator we impressively showed off our hard work and eagerly hoped to be able to join in on the planning of the children’s fair. Her response was,  ”Looks good so far, but the grout needs to be done as well.” After taking a closer look we began to notice that the dark brown grout was actually white grout. The spaces between the tiles were dirtier than the tile themselves. With a strained smile, we looked at one another and began to find a brush that would scrub out the grime.
 
 
By the end of the week my knees were sore, my back was killing me and the children had a clean place to eat and play. The fair went amazing and the painted walls and storage building were all completed in time. The church and all the members were extremely grateful. For the church members having a clean place to gather in refuge is important, but because of the meager wages they earn gathering recyclables, there is not much time to do anything else but work.
 
 
Before we left the church, I asked the pastor, when the last time the floor looked so great. His response was, “4 months ago.”
 
 
Every 4 months, that floor is scrubbed to a gleaming white, and everyday it is mopped and swept. Every 4 months a team is brought in and some lucky soul like myself is tasked to scrub. It can seem unfair when your given the job, that looks like it is the lowest on the totem pole of things to do, and that is exactly how I felt the entire week. But it would have been unfair to the church for me to say, “Yes I will help, but not with that!”
 
 
 
When I came home I began to realize how petty my “fairness of the world” doctrine was. Looking back I realized that the floor that we cleaned was so integral to the work that was being done there everyday. The children that the church feeds, need a clean and healthy place to crawl, to eat and to play while they come for what may be their only meal of the day. It was not in my authority to determine the need for cleanliness based my desires.
 
 
So as I said before, sometimes you get stuck with the crappy jobs in life, and it is completely fair.