Message in a Pad

Once a month the girls receive their hygiene products: soap, shampoo, detergent, toothpaste, toilet paper, and sanitary pads. Before this month's distribution, pads became a topic of discussion with Veckry, the women's director of the house.

Veckry cleared her throat to catch the attention of the girls and began:
"As you know girls, we are in a time of economic crisis. We must conserve all that we use. That includes sanitary pads. I have seen some of you use pads to write notes to your boyfriends or stick them in your lockers as decorations. I warn you, you will only be receiving as many pads as you need - don't ask for more. Please, don't usie pads for other purposes."

While this addressed a very serious issue (of the difficult financial situation we find ourselves in) I couldn't help but smile behind Veckry's stern expression and applaud the ingenuity of my girls, especially in this time of limited resources.

It's the Little Things

Volunteering I believe attracts people for the cultural experience it offers, the opportunity to learn a new language, and above all, the possibility of to make a difference. In college I spent spring breaks building houses, participating in hurricane relief, and making programs for community development. As part of my service fraternity, I tutored low-achieving students, did trash clean-up in Williamsburg, and sold cookies, candy grams, and anything else I could bake to benefit relief organizations. And I felt good.

In those short-term volunteer experiences, I felt I had made a difference. Perhaps because there was some tangible evidence of my work. I could see the difference in the form of the foundation of a new house I had laid over the week, or in the completion of a homework assignment of one of my students. Here at NPH, however, I have found my volunteer experience not so life-changing for the community I am helping as I perhaps was disillusioned to believe before.

I'm heading into the last third of my volunteer year. While I know I have grown in leaps and bounds and have personally benefited from this experience more than I could have imagined, I am forced to think how others have benefited from me. There's where I draw the blank. This time, I don't feel so good.

Upon reflection of the volunteer community of Cuernavaca, I know we've established a firm "gringa" presence in the high school home. Our kids have grown used to hearing people speak Spanish with an accent (and have given them an extra person to make fun of). We have given them an extra person to help with their English homework. They have someone who can bring them yummy chocolate from the US and hand-me downs. They have a free movie rental shop from our large selection of movies we've acquired. They have been introduced to my all-time favorite dessert of brownies.

All joking aside, the moments in which I see any real benefit of my presence at NPH usually are far and few between. I became unusually discouraged this past week because of the little tangible evidence I could see that my presence makes any difference. There are no houses that I've built that gives shelter to a family in need or park that I've cleared of trash so wildlife can live more safely.

This past Tuesday, while still feeling discouraged, I headed to the high school to help in the English classes as usual. That day we listened to Cold Play's "Viva La Vida" while the kids tried to fill in the blanks where words were missing in the lyrics. One of my students, Juan, became quickly discouraged when he got lost after the first refrain. In frustration he yells "I hate this song! Why didn't you pick another one?" and puts his head on his desk. At this point I decide to sit next to him and start singing the song along with the CD player. Juan picked up his head making his paper visible. For the next two repeats of the song we followed the lyrics with my pencil touching every word. Upon filling in the last missing word Juan boasted to the class "I'm done, haha," as many of them were still filling in the lyrics.

While I walked around to the other students, I glanced over at Juan every so often who was singing along with the words. At one point he caught my eyes and told me "I like this song." He asked for more songs by Cold Play.

As corny as it might be, Juan cheered me up quite a bit. He made me realize, there is probably no big change I will make here. Let's be realistic. Prior to my arrival I though one year in Mexico would give me the opportunity to make things happen. In reality, a year is how much time one needs to acclimate, to learn, to establish one's presence and validity in an organization before even proposing those big ideas. Big ideas take time, and in the span of an organization, a year, my year, is a fraction of what it took to bring NPH to where it is today.

As I've only got a year, I believe I have to readjust my goals and give a little more credit to the little things.

The Lenten Season

I would classify myself as one of those lost souls who took one too many religion courses in college which forced me to question my religious upbringing and destroyed all of my childhood assumptions of heaven and hell and all in between.

I still remember my religious formation classes in elementary school. We would all yell out together "God created the world!" and define the difference between moral and venal sins with such confidence. My confidence started to wain in high school, and most definitely in college, when professors began to introduce movements such as the "Death of God" movement of the 1960s, highlight the indiscretions and sometimes hypocrisy of Catholicism and the Catholic church, and bring that damn p-r-o-o-f word into every argument against the validity of the bible. On faith alone we could not stand.

I don't enjoy being lost. If anything I wish I could still have the naive mentality of the world of my childhood: one in which Jesus fed thousands of people with only five loaves and two fish or one in which my daily prayers at night talking to God could comfort me because because I knew that even if the rest of the world shut me out, He was listening. I am trying to become "un" lost, but it is a daunting task.

This past Wednesday with the beginning of Lent, I decided to go to mass to receive ashes. While working here at a Catholic orphanage, though I have come to no closer realization of how to classify my beliefs, I have decided it is more important to be an example to my kids on the outside regardless of how wayward I might be on the inside. During the Ash Wednesday service, I expected to go through the actions and prayers of mass as automatically as I have with any religious celebration here thus far. But as Father Phil, the Chicago-raised priest and CEO of NPH, raised the chalice that held the ashes, I was overcome with the memory of my Uncle Donnie, who was passed away suddenly this past November. As a priest, my Uncle Donnie conducted countless masses before his death, and watching Father Phil raise the chalice on Ash Wednesday reminded me of my uncle more than I expected. I was flooded with almost a shame that I could not revere the symbolism of the mass or have faith in the Lenten season as he did. I was sad that I will never get to confide in him about my doubts or learn from him. As someone I respected, someone I revered for his commitment to something so unclear, and someone who I know had his doubts but drove through them, I mourn his loss especially during this time in my life. Above all, I felt a yearning to be part of this beautiful season when people so strong in their beliefs celebrate possibly the most beautiful thing that we could ever realize.

Perhaps, regardless of where I stand, this Lenten journey can be as fulfilling for me as it would be for someone who can confidently define their beliefs. As a time of reflection and cleansing of the body, a time when we can learn from the example of Jesus, and a time when we can reflect upon what exactly we are doing and where we are going, there are no qualifications one must have to take part in the observance.

The Varying Definitions of Conservative Dress

Sophie and I went on a run today. For the first time in a while, Sophie paired shorts instead of pants with her long-sleeved tee. Immediately, my eyes were drawn to her legs. They were fascinating and I had no idea why.

It wasn't until during out walk to the track that I discovered the reason for my fascination: I had not seen a pair of legs sans pants in a very long time.

You see, in the US, it seems that one who shows a lot of leg, but covers everything up on top, can still pass off as dressed appropriately (even in the case, perhaps, of a skirt leaning to the skimpy side). Meanwhile, in Mexico, women rarely showing off leg and instead exposing a lot of upper-body around the shoulders is perfectly acceptable.

(There are of course exceptions to the rule and extremes that throw this observation out the window).

Sophie has agreed to model the differences. In the first picture you will find Sophie displaying conservative, but sexy American dress for a first date. In the second, you will find the tasteful outfit a Mexican woman might wear on her first date.




So in my transition into becoming a Mexican, I no longer bat an eye at bra straps or exposed chests. Instead, long, exposed legs have become a rather exotic part of a woman that really just must be covered up

The Normalcy of Overcoming Adversity

With the intention of reflecting on my experience thus far in Mexico, I read my journal entries from my first month at NPH, July 2009. I was comforted to find optimism, vigor, and enthusiasm for the coming year. I wrote about my fear of living in a Spanish-speaking world and working with high schoolers. I mentioned my excitement in meeting new people and living with volunteers.

What most caught my attention was my initial amazement and written detail of the life stories of my kids and co-workers. When I first arrived, each pequeno seemed to leave me goggle-eyed. Upon hearing their stories of overcoming abuse, extreme poverty, and abandonment, they became something almost superhuman in my mind. I had this overwhelming want to "rescue" them and be that person in their lives who unconditionally supported them and helped them see what the world could offer them if they only punched their pasts in the face and set on forward. It was like I would act out some Hollywood movie.

Unconsciously, over the following months, that mentality faded. As I lived side-by-side with my kids they became "normal" to me and a little more human. I never thought about their reasons for being in NPH. Instead, they have become my lovable, teenage brats with whom I have trials and tribulations as would any guardian. They have annoyed the crap out of me when they refuse to go to bed or make me late for church because they aren't done with their make-up. They have made me laugh when they imitate my gringo accent. We have had countless conversations about the most meaningless and the most important things.

I don't mean to overwrite what they have overcome or want to say that their adversity is something we don't see in the home. Every week we have heartaches here: a girl who leaves the home because she no longer wants to be in the house and can't yet see the benefits of staying in school through university, a boy who is failing all his classes or gets into fights at school resulting in suspension or expulsion, or others who have such depression they don't want to get out of bed and cry themselves to sleep at night. But what I do mean to say is that at first I was unsure how to approach these kids because their adversity was all I thought about. When really, what I have learned is that by putting their pasts at the back of my mind, I feel I have been able to be there more fully for them. My relationships with them have been formed without any basis in their reasons for being at NPH.

We're all human. Just born in different places into different circumstances. When we can look past that, that is when we can help one another. A truly rewarding relationship must be a reciprocal one. And ironically, by my kids' adversity becoming normalcy, I've been able to learn from them more than I would have otherwise.

Non-Rainy Season Rain

Ale, my new roommate, asked me last week one cloudy day if it would rain. In my know-it-all-i-have-six-months-more-experience-in-Mexico-than-you voice I responded, "No, Ale. It only rains during rainy season. That ended in October. And even then, it only rains at night."

Today we woke up to another cloudy day. Confident the skies would not break lose I brought no umbrella on my trek outdoors. Half-an-hour after leaving the house it began to sprinkle. A few hours later in the early afternoon it began to pour. The forecast doesn't even look good for tomorrow when Ale plans on hiking a nearby ruin, but she might have to cancel it due to the prospect of rain, which according to me, would never be an issue for her.

I SWEAR this is only the second day it has rained since rainy season ended in October. But the heavens have unleashed on me because my know-it-all attitude got the best of me.

Ale, I stand corrected. It appears to rain outside of rainy season. I hope you will forgive me.

From New to Old

Two weeks ago we welcomed eight new volunteers. Their arrival reclassified my generation of volunteers (who arrived in July of 2009) from "new" to "old" as NPH welcomes a new generation every six months.

Becoming an "old" volunteer has brought on a new sense of responsibility. Because I'm no longer new in the neighborhood, my role as an observer and Spanish-language-learner has transitioned into active staff member of the care-giving team. Since my return from winter vacation, I have seen a difference in how my co-workers and directors treat me. I have been given more responsibility such as organizing activities, giving children permission to leave the house, and making calls for directors.

The kids now see me as a part of the house - as a caregiver just like the others. They come to me with their problems or open up if they're having a bad day with the expectation that I will be there for them. They're scared of me catching them out of the dorms after bedtime whereas before my presence was no threat to them at all - them knowing they could pounce all over me by speaking really fast in Spanish.

In the office, my Spanish is at the point where I'm not apprehensive to speak to superiors or other important figures. I'm not afraid to ask for the definition of a word if I don't understand.

The arrival of new volunteers has forced me to question myself - what have I done here thus far and what am I going to do my last five months here?

I've done the learning of the systems, made the adjustment to the culture, and acquired the language. There's no holding back now and time to gear into full steam ahead.