Trust me: as we pulled up, I thought I was seeing things. I mean, living on an old city dump? It felt like some sort of bizarro world.
In typical Jamaican fashion, the children were all wearing uniforms. I felt a pang of sadness, though, as I realized that the uniforms were dirty. Many of the kids were sick with runny noses and heavy coughs, too, most likely from the harsh conditions of the area where they lived. But if I had been growing up on a dump, I'm sure I would be sick, too.
We were paired up with the youngest children who were between the ages of 4-5. There was barely enough construction paper to do the craft that would help the kids learn the lesson for the day: simply, the number 5. I flashed back to my own kindergarten days. Not enough construction paper? Our only concern had been about a little boy named Brian, who always insisted on eating the wrappers on the birthday cupcakes our moms would bring to school. Not enough of something as trivial as paper just wasn't a part of our consciousness.
During recess, the kids latched onto us for dear life. So we held and hugged them. We later learned that their parents were often so consumed by the act of simply making sure their kids were kept alive that they did not have the time to hold them and love them. Each child absolutely craved love and physical touch. So we tried to provide these basic human needs for them for the short time we were there, all of us having children on our hips until the very last moment we were at the site. When I was little all I had to do was drop into my Mom's lap for a hug. Knowing that these children rarely felt that kind of affection and in such an unconditional way was tough to take.
During recess, the kids latched onto us for dear life. So we held and hugged them. We later learned that their parents were often so consumed by the act of simply making sure their kids were kept alive that they did not have the time to hold them and love them. Each child absolutely craved love and physical touch. So we tried to provide these basic human needs for them for the short time we were there, all of us having children on our hips until the very last moment we were at the site. When I was little all I had to do was drop into my Mom's lap for a hug. Knowing that these children rarely felt that kind of affection and in such an unconditional way was tough to take.
Our final work site was the Bustamante Children's Hospital. I befriended a little girl named Shawna who was 11, the same age as one of my nieces. If the children were well enough they could go to the Learning Resource Center, a brightly painted room, where they could do a lesson with one of us and perhaps stay a bit on track with their schooling. Shawna was supposed to be in the 5th grade, but she struggled to read the books we read that were at a 2nd grade level. I found myself quietly hoping that her skills were more math-focused. But was that hope or some kind of denial on my part? Was she the "after" of having attended a well-intended but unfortunate school situation similar to Riverton?
When we finished her lesson she wanted me to come back with her to her ward which turned out to be a single large room filled with about 20 other children, all suffering from different ailments. They ran the gamut from babies in cribs to 7-year-olds on bed rest. Save for a handful of able nurses, the children were alone. Our job was to spend time with them and talk to them.
I asked Shawna where her parents were. She said how they had dropped her off the day before and that they would be back on Wednesday. Wednesday was a week away! Even more surprising, I learned that this was extremely common--parents still had to work simply to survive so they had to drop their kids off and leave them alone in the hospital. This completely blew my mind.
I stayed with Shawna for the whole day. We talked and laughed. We read more together. She nodded off to sleep. I encouraged her to eat her lunch. I found myself being infatuated with her. I was unable to leave her side, not even to eat my own lunch. I didn't want her to be lonely or scared or miss her parents for even a minute. Any way that I could make her laugh or smile, I did. When it was time to leave I struggled a lot, realizing that she'd be alone for the rest of the week.
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Now people ask me, "How was your trip?" And I stumble every time when I'm answering that question. Because everything we saw and did...it was a lot to process and is even harder to explain. We had a simple existence: we served, reflected and slept. But holding hands with that simplicity was an emotional heaviness to what we saw that was exhausting, all encompassing and at times overpowering. The upside to that kind of complexity of emotion is that it kind of knocks the wind out of you. And once you catch your breath you see life in very simple contrasts. Having too much time on my hands? Focusing on petty concerns? Worrying about finding The One or having kids? There was simply no psychic space left in my mind for concerns like that. My focus was now outward instead of inward. Like a camera lens snapping back into focus after having been blurry for a really long time, how incredibly fortunate I was became much, much clearer.
And soon it would all come full circle, literally. On our last day before leaving, Peter took us to the beach: a small island that we needed to take a boat to get to. The island was thick with trees but only a mile around and we learned that many people liked to walk around its perimeter. Being able to say I had walked around an entire island appealed to me so it wasn't long before I was up and walking down the beach in this pursuit.
When I made it to one end, it was like I had reached the end of the world--all I saw was sea. The view was fantastic! The wind blowing off the ocean was really strong so I put my arms above my head and let the force of it hit me head on. I laughed out loud at the strength of the wind. I was so powerless over it. But I was ok with that. I started walking again, trying to get all the way around like others had before me. It was not an easy jaunt as there were branches, rocks and water to maneuver. But I sang some Bob Marley to myself and made my way, in a bikini and barefoot and laughing at myself as I went.
Then it happened: I came face-to-face with a large mass of rock, branch and brush. It was absolutely huge and there was no way to get around it, save for walking right out into the sea. I didn't know what kind of jagged rocks were out there nor how deep it would be and since I was barefoot I was reluctant to find out. I started to feel bummed--what about the rest of the way? And making it all the way around, like other people had? I wanted to complete my journey, too. But how? Without thinking twice I started to cut through the middle of the island and back to the other side. I had to duck under trees and watch out for snakes but I didn't care--I was going to get there no matter what. I walked up the other side of the island and made it all the way around the other way. As it turns out, I just needed a different approach. The path was not the one I had planned on initially but it was the one that was right for me. And sure enough I reached my destination eventually and at exactly the right time.
When I made it to one end, it was like I had reached the end of the world--all I saw was sea. The view was fantastic! The wind blowing off the ocean was really strong so I put my arms above my head and let the force of it hit me head on. I laughed out loud at the strength of the wind. I was so powerless over it. But I was ok with that. I started walking again, trying to get all the way around like others had before me. It was not an easy jaunt as there were branches, rocks and water to maneuver. But I sang some Bob Marley to myself and made my way, in a bikini and barefoot and laughing at myself as I went.
Then it happened: I came face-to-face with a large mass of rock, branch and brush. It was absolutely huge and there was no way to get around it, save for walking right out into the sea. I didn't know what kind of jagged rocks were out there nor how deep it would be and since I was barefoot I was reluctant to find out. I started to feel bummed--what about the rest of the way? And making it all the way around, like other people had? I wanted to complete my journey, too. But how? Without thinking twice I started to cut through the middle of the island and back to the other side. I had to duck under trees and watch out for snakes but I didn't care--I was going to get there no matter what. I walked up the other side of the island and made it all the way around the other way. As it turns out, I just needed a different approach. The path was not the one I had planned on initially but it was the one that was right for me. And sure enough I reached my destination eventually and at exactly the right time.
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