Every Little Thing...Part 2

"We're not in Kansas anymore."

That's what kept running through my head as we first made our way from the airport to where we would stay, a modest convent situated in the Papine area of Kingston, Jamaica. The city was loud, bustling and warm and seemed disorganized compared to the pristine town I usually lived in. Our small van got stared at as we drove by. Peter, our amazing liaison and the Founder of Jamaica Volunteers, drove quite fast as (we were to soon find out) most Jamaicans do. He noticed how we were confused as to why the van was getting a lot of looks from nearly everyone we passed. He then explained how Jamaicans would refer to us as "whitey" and "white person" and that we shouldn't be concerned with it. We were given wooden crosses that we were supposed to wear everywhere we went. This differentiated us as being missionaries (viewed by Jamaicans as part of the poverty solution) instead of tourists (viewed as part of the problem).

The first of the three sites we worked at turned out to be my favorite. It was the Missionaries of Charity Sisters of Mercy elder care facility that had been started by Mother Teresa. (Yes, that Mother Teresa). The facility was run selflessly by six nuns and a few other staff members. Mother Teresa's picture and her sayings were hung all over the place along with some pictures with the Pope. I looked up and read: "The poor are aware of their sadness. We need not remind them." This thought resounded with me the most and set my attitude for the week.  I realized that the best way I could give to those I came in contact with during the time I was there was to simply have a joyful heart and to share that joy with them.

When we arrived, we were told that the residents were in prayer service and that we should go and sit with them until it was over. The chapel room we entered was bright, airy and quiet and each female resident wore the same simple cotton dress. Everyone in the room was still and meditative and the open windows let in a soft breeze. Just sitting there in that room, listening to the women residents sing spiritual songs and pray aloud, an overwhelming feeling of calm soon rushed over me. It was so unexpected, my eyes watered. It was still so early in my journey and I did not know what to expect from that place or the rest of my trip. But at that moment, somehow I knew in my heart that there was nowhere else I was supposed to be.

Our main focus was to sit and talk with the men and women who lived in the facility, many of whom were still very young by "elderly care" standards. However, because they had been so beaten down by the cycle of poverty that pervades the entire island, they were already at a state where they needed constant care. But they had no family to provide for them or even visit them. They, truly, had been forgotten save for somehow being in this place.

I let that thought roll around in my mind for a moment. Forgotten. Completely. And already, one of my own most personal concerns was staring me right in the face as I settled in to a chair next to two particular women.

The ladies were Myrtle and Hortense. And they were the women I would end up spending the most time with. They were best friends who were blind. They held hands as they helped each other make their way walking around the floor. They told each other stories in low voices and joked and laughed and gossiped about other residents who lived there, speaking their own little sort of language at certain points much like sisters might. Upon meeting Myrtle she started singing. She then remarked to me how she loved to sing. I told her how I loved to sing, too. That's all it took. For the rest of the time that I spent with her, she then sang to me endlessly. She'd ask me what songs I liked the best and then sing them to me over and over, often until she was hoarse.

Though she couldn't possibly realize it, Myrtle quickly became a sort of teacher to me. She had nothing: no sight, no family to visit her and no material belongings other than a simple cotton sack. But she was still upbeat and kind. What she did have, her ability to sing and her often wickedly funny sense of humor, she shared joyfully and without hesitation. Even more, she shared them freely with me--a complete and total stranger. The more time I spent with her, the more I had to just marvel at her and her example. I was so humbled that I was mroe than once moved to tears due to her constant generosity of spirit. (Lucky for me, she couldn't see my tears).

The second day I spent with Myrtle and Hortense, Myrtle turned in my direction. She said she wanted to tell me something that she never tells anyone. She explained how when she was little that her aunt (let's call her Cora) told Myrtle's mother that she wanted one of her children. For some strange reason, Cora just wanted one. (Myrtle's Mom had three children: Myrtle and two sons.) Stranger still, Myrtle's mom gave Myrtle to Cora when she was only 3 and Myrtle then lived with Cora and Cora's mean-spirited boyfriend. Myrtle teared up as she told me the story. She then went on to explain that Cora died when Myrtle was 13 and Myrtle had no choice but to continue to live with Cora's mean-spirited boyfriend, who treated Myrtle cruelly. When Myrtle's Mom finally found out that Cora had passed away (her mother was living in another part of the island from where Myrtle was) Myrtle's Mom went to go get Myrtle. But when she showed up, Myrtle didn't know who she was. She didn't even recognize her own mother. She stopped talking for a while then and after a few moments said simply, "I've had a hard life."

And there it was.  Throughout her life, Myrtle had been forgotten in one way or another again and again. Reflecting on the tragic events of her life and on how unfairly the world had treated this kind and sweet spirit, my own fears appeared quite small and silly in comparison.  So I felt a bit out of place and even forgotten at certain points due to being single right now or not having kids just yet.  So what?  Here was this woman who had endured much, much more--more than I can really even comprehend--and she was still singing.  She was still laughing.  She was still being joyful.  I held her hand and we laughed for a while.  She said, "Ahh, I'm so glad you're here."  And about her, I thought the very same thing. I'll never forget Myrtle's face as long as I live. I also hope to never forget the example she set: to be joyful and giving no matter where you may be in life, or what you might have.

Where else did I go in Kingston?  What else did I learn about the island and its people...and also myself?  Stay tuned for the final installment...