I didn’t change anyone’s life

 

A year ago today, I was in LaPaz, Bolivia. The week before we were doing a homestay on a small island in Lake Titicaca, and the week before that we were walking up Machu Picchu. With so much travel behind me, I approached Bolivia with the intention of staying put for a while. I planned to volunteer to teach English somewhere to get my bearings, reorganize my backpack, and improve my Spanish. After extensive google searches for volunteer positions in Bolivia, I settled on a small children’s daycare called Luz del Mundo in Santa Cruz. 

When I arrived in Santa Cruz after my overnight bus from LaPaz, I hopped in a taxi and told the driver the address of my homestay. We flew through roundabouts in the downtown streets until we turned and I began to see tall gates surrounding buildings. It took me a minute to realize that those gates were around houses, and that we had entered a residential area. When the taxi stopped, I saw an 8-foot fence surrounding the house I would be living in. The gate was locked, and I didn’t have a key. Within a moment of my arrival, a short man walked up to me on the sidewalk and asked “Kerri?” He handed me two keys on a Munich key chain. I unlocked the padlock on the gate and let myself in. Not knowing where to go, and realizing no one was home, I walked to the back of the house where there was an open court area. I sat and read about Santa Cruz in my guidebook until the owner of the house came home. “Kerri? Porque… why are you here? Your room is there with your name on it,” she said, pointing at a brown door across the court with a little white sign on it. I dropped off my bags into my little brown room, and even arranged a few items on the bookshelves. It felt like I was decorating.

My first day on the job, I woke up early to take a bus with Katharina, a German anthropology student living and working in Santa Cruz. She smelled of chlorine, and offering me a pamphlet, invited me to swim with her in the mornings. At the side of the road, she hailed a small white bus and told me “You can take the 21, the 65, and the 120 from here, but I think the 21 is the fastest.” She paid the 15 cent fare for both of us and we found two seats at the back of the bus. Everyone watched as we climbed to the back of the bus. “They stare, so I just stare back,” she explained, “there aren’t many people who look like you or me here.” She pulled out a bag with two buns inside and told me these were her favourite local food. “It’s cuñapé, like a heavenly cheese bread that everyone seems to eat here even though no one gets fat”. Little did I know I’d become addicted to cuñapé, not only because it was delicious, but also because it was one of few things I learned how to order in the bakery.

  
After about 45 minutes through the city streets, trying to remember all of the information Katharina was offering me while also trying to memorize landmarks to make sure I could do the journey on my own, she motioned to get off soon. “You can tell it’s coming because the streets get muddy.” I looked down and noticed the dirt street was splattered with muddy puddles, despite the dry sunny weather.

“They have a very poor sewage system here, and people just leave their garbage everywhere, so there are some parts of the road that never dry up.” She yelled for the bus driver to let us off, and we were greeted by a gust of dusty wind and the smell of sewage. “What did you say to the bus driver just then?” I asked. “Pare por favor, which just means stop.”

We walked through a dusty setup of stalls with garbage on the ground, and everyone stared again. “I told you there aren’t many people like us around here.” She explained that the foundation is for underprivileged children of divorced parents. “Since these kids have poor parents, they live in the poor area, so our daycare is here so they can walk.” The street was a dirt road with puddles in the middle. As we approached Luz del Mundo, I heard the familiar sound of children laughing.

When we walked in, I was greeted by a smiling Gabriela, the founder of the daycare. After introducing myself, I was informed that the daycare is only open 4 days a week, so I wouldn’t be needed everyday. Contemplating what to do with my extra time, I sat at a table where some kids were cutting out animal shapes from cardboard. “Me llamos Kerri…” I let out, “cuál es tu nombre?” The reply was incomprehensible, so I asked her to repeat. For the next ten minutes, this little girl repeated her full name over and over, between sighs, and insisted I repeat it. Then, satisfied with my rendition of her name, she asked me why I didn’t understand Spanish.

Point taken. I joined a beginner Spanish course at Kolping in the afternoons, and began to study Spanish formally for the first time in my life. The school seemed like the YMCA, as there were kids in ballet costumes running around the first floor. My instructor was Gladys, and I studied with two others, a French student and a Japanese office worker. I felt happy to finally be nurturing the language fanatic in me.

 
That night, I received an email from Gabriela at Luz del Mundo telling me that they were doing construction, and that I wouldn’t need to come in the next day. Then another email the following night to tell me not to come in again because of a holiday. It was clear that I wouldn’t be needed as much as I thought, so my homestay host connected me with Casa de la Mujer, an organization supporting women’s equality in South America. I went there the next morning to offer my services as a volunteer with nonexistent Spanish, and remarkably they wanted me. My first job was to take un-catalogued books from the library and to put them into the computer system. I felt like I was actually working, which felt nice.

Within a week of arriving, I’d started Spanish classes, volunteered once at the daycare, and started volunteering at the organization for women. In my free time between volunteering and studying, I walked the downtown streets and visited the same coffee shop every afternoon. I’d order my café con leche with a croissant from the same waitress and sit at the same table to do my homework. I quickly made a routine for myself, and enjoyed the novelty of becoming a creature of habit.

During my second time volunteering at the daycare, I asked Gabriela about teaching. She said I could do whatever I wanted with the kids, but that they really liked art. There was nothing that looked scholarly about the place – it consisted of a swing set, some picnic benches, a washing up station, a dusty drum kit, some board games, and tables with little stools under them. No blackboard, no chalk, no books. I realized that I might do less teaching and more arts and crafts than I expected.

Since my Spanish was still not great, I ended up having the most fun with the kids when I gave them piggybacks. Two weeks of my life was spent piggybacking these kids from one end of the daycare to the other and back. And it was fine with me, because making those kids happy made me happy.

When I returned to Casa de la Mujer, I sat back at the computer where I finished cataloguing the books and I was left alone without another task. A woman walked by and saw me idle, and invited me to follow her. She let me into a recording studio where live radio was taking place. I sat quietly and listened to the voices around the corner. This became my new favourite place at the women’s organization. The young man who controlled the soundboard helped me with my homework and couldn’t believe I’d been to Asia. He played Bolivian rap for me on his phone. I played Arcade Fire for him. Although I wasn’t really working, I was still sharing my life with someone.

  
After spending six months travelling through South America, I can confidently say that nothing ever goes exactly as planned there. Bus schedules are rearranged without notice, and prices change day to day. A promised beautiful hostel with wi-fi turns out to be a cobwebbed house with chickens to wake you up at 5:00am.

  
Naturally, my time in Bolivia didn't go as I anticipated, either. I didn’t learn as much Spanish or teach as much English as I thought I would. I didn’t change anyone’s life, and I didn’t make any lasting friendships. But, none of that matters.

Life doesn’t tend to go as we plan it. In fact, if I asked myself where I would be in one year back when I was in Bolivia, I would have said I’d be in Korea now. But, life happens, things change, and now I’m writing this blog post from my apartment in Toronto, overlooking the city skyline. What would my one-year-ago self say to that? She’d probably smile, shrug her shoulders, and say there must be a reason for being in Toronto.

I made a few people smile in Santa Cruz, and that’s enough reason to do anything.

Thank you, Brenna, for helping me get my words back on the page.

VIDEO: Passport Tag

I was recently tagged to participate in a Passport Tag started by my friends EvannRachel. The concept is to answer 5 questions about your most recent passport, and to share some cool stamps you've received and tell some stories... I hope you enjoy my video!

If you would like to participate in the tag, simply make a video answering the following 5 questions:

1. What is your most recent stamp?
2. What was your first stamp?
3. What's your coolest looking stamp?
4. What's the most meaningful stamp?
5. What was the most difficult stamp to get?

Thanks to EvannRachel for tagging me! I love sharing travel stories - so thanks for giving me another reason!

See their original video here:

You know you're a wanderer if...

The desire to wander doesn't come to naturally to everyone. Some of us long to wake up in the same bed, walk down the same streets, see familiar faces, and spend time in the same places. To some of us, home has an unmatched sense of security and offers the chance to put roots down.

For the wanderers, though, there is a whole world just a few hours away. A photo in a magazine can become a destination. A tweet from a secret location explored by a fellow wanderer turns into a plane ticket. A documentary from a far-off land becomes an internet search for a ticket to Bhutan, "just to see". A lifetime isn't long enough to walk all the roads a wanderer wants to walk, but it will have to do.

You know you're a wanderer if...

... You've been back from travelling for longer than a month and you still haven't entirely unpacked your bag, for the simple fact that you know you'll be needing to pack up the same items for your next trip. (Even though that trip may not be planned yet).

... People often think you have been places that you haven't been, because "it seems like somewhere you probably went".

... The idea of spending a month or a year in another country is thrilling and exciting to you.

... You don't own furniture, or you are very uncomfortable with the idea of buying large furniture items. (I promise I now have a dining table after 2 months without one -- thanks to my dad for salvaging a beautiful three-legged old table from the side of the road. No more dinners in bed!).

... You've had more than one conversation entirely in gestures.

... When you go to a party, you somehow become a storyteller who wows the crowd with funny moments from your travels that you didn't realize were great stories until people say to you "that was a great story".

... You google flight costs, or visit any plane ticket purchasing sites frequently.

... Old friends greet you with the words "I didn't even know you were in the country" and it makes you feel a little happy that you are somewhat of a gypsy in their eyes.

... Sometimes you catch yourself encouraging others to go ahead and book a ticket when they tell you where they wish they could travel. Then when they provide reasons why they can't book the ticket just yet, you start listing off reasons why they could technically leave on a plane tomorrow. (This type of conversation is also called "travel pushing").

... (as above) You think you are or have been a "travel pusher".

... Your idea of an inspiring afternoon is hanging out in the travel section of your local bookstore, staring at the beautiful pictures of places you've both been and want to visit, mentally creating destinations for your next travels.

... People have described you as "brave," whether or not you ascribe this quality to yourself or not.

... You dream of plane rides.

... You know exactly where your passport is, when it expires, and approximately how many blank pages you still have left.

"A lifetime isn't long enough to walk all the roads a wanderer wants to walk, but it will have to do."

Guest Post: Volunteering in Western Kenya

My good friend visited Kenya a few years ago, and when I asked her to tell me all about it, before anything else, she grinned and replied "you'll have to see it for yourself."

Since that conversation, Kenya has become somewhere I want to go and stay for a while. The way of living, the food, the natural landscape, and the music allure me. Though I have visited other countries through which the equator passes, I have still yet to set foot in the African continent. Lucky for us, former English teacher in Korea turned blogger Natalie over at Live Teach Alaska has written up a guest post all about her time in Kenya. Here she shares her stories from her time volunteering in the Muhuru Bay area in Western Kenya. Take us into the bush, Natalie...

After six hours of driving over the uneven dirt roads of the Great Rift Valley, my team and I arrived in Muhuru Bay, Kenya, in the dark of night. Our van pulled into a tiny compound with three mud huts on the shore of Lake Victoria. Sleepily, I grabbed my suitcase and headed into my designated hut. I turned on the light, which was but a small, dim bulb at the apex of the triangular straw ceiling, and watched in horror as a carpet of insects scattered towards the walls. Shooting towards me was a creature several inches in length that closely resembled a white scorpion (though I still don’t know what it was). I screamed, my husband raced in, shouted, “Oh my God!”, and attempted to squash the Godzilla bug with a broom.

This was my first experience in the Eastern African Bush. After finally settling in that night, I was destined for one week of plastic bag showers, second degree sunburns, and toilet troubles. However, I can confidently say it was all worth it. My trip to Muhuru Bay truly changed my life.

I traveled to Kenya with eight family members and family friends to volunteer at Mama Maria, a fledgling clinic in Muhuru Bay. On our second day in the village, we were unexpectedly invited to a funeral. Despite our protests, we were seated as guests of honor and watched as family members of the deceased mourned by openly wailing.

After the funeral, we sat down at the feasting table and shared a plate of ugali with the people of the village. Children hid behind trees and rocks, staring and smiling at us.

A plate of ugali: maize cooked with water

The next day, we took a small fishing boat to visit a village on the other side of the lake. Despite the very poor living conditions, the villagers flocked over to greet us and show us around. A little girl took my hand as we were shown inside the huts of several of the village people who proudly showed off their pots and pans.

Later that week, we traveled to the only school in Muhuru Bay to teach a lesson about dental hygiene. Because the people in Muhuru Bay brush their teeth with tree bark, standard dental care was foreign knowledge. We passed out toothbrushes, toothpaste, and floss and showed them how to properly clean their teeth with a toothbrush.

A few days before the end of our trip, we heard about two girls who had fled Tanzania with their father to live in Muhuru Bay. The two girls we met had albinism and were forced to escape from their home because witch doctors were hunting them for their arms and legs. In Tanzania, it is a widespread belief that albino limbs have magical healing powers. The two little girls, ages 3 and 5, were scabbing all over their bodies due to terrible sunburns. We drove out to meet them and brought hats, sunscreen, and two goats for their family.

Although my first trip to Kenya wasn’t glamorous, it was extremely eye-opening and has changed me in so many ways. Witnessing a different culture, getting out of my comfort zone, volunteering, and giving to others made for a trip I’ll never forget. If you ever have the opportunity to travel to the African Bush, I would highly recommend it. I assure you, you will walk out of the experience a different person. 

You can follow Natalie’s adventures in a native Alaskan village at: http://www.liveteachalaska.com/

Or join the conversation at: https://www.facebook.com/LiveTeachAlaska  

When life demands more than you can offer

When it feels like the outside world is a dream, and the only reality is you and a hospital monitor that beeps every second.

I believe every person is allotted an amount of stress that they are able to cope with. It might be higher for some people, and lower for others, but I think that everyone has their own stress threshold. The stresses of normal life - a critical remark from a co-worker or a piece of technology not performing properly - these stresses are manageable, and do not become catastrophic. We manage stress by rewarding ourselves, taking breaks, going to sleep early, and generally just by taking care of ourselves. But, when a person is thrust into a serious situation where every moment of time is used up, the normal stress coping mechanisms go out the window. Without taking the normal breaks and time for oneself, stress can build up to a boiling point very quickly if left un-managed. Unfortunately for me, I experienced a great deal of stress in a few days in a hospital last month, and my own means of coping with stress disappeared, as did my ability to take care of myself. There was no option to put myself or the person in need first - obviously I would eat when my help was no longer needed, or take a seat when the chance arose. At that time, it was more important to do everything I could to help that person get better.

Now that she is back to normal, and beginning life as a new mom, I am happy to see the pictures she sends of her new baby. I am happy for her life, and the way our relationship has become so enriched by this bonding experience. I am also happy for her relationship with her fiance, as I saw firsthand how deeply he cares for her, and how much he was willing to sacrifice for her well-being. I am happy that their lives have become normal, and the stresses they face are now the common experiences among all first-time parents.

One thing that has impressed me in this experience is the great effect that one person's life can have on another person's life. When I went to the hospital to help out, I never thought that I would be forced to change so much of my life. I'm supposed to be studying in New York, right now, but I had to cancel that study program. Instead of spending the summer studying in a cubby hole in the New York Public Library, I'm taking a semester off. I'm supposed to be moving back to Korea in August, but I missed my opportunity to apply for jobs and now feel wiser and slightly wary of my dream-like state of life there. I'm supposed to be living my own life fully, and in many ways I am not yet able to do that. And, ironically, now I'm the one who is taking the medicine.

"What does not destroy me makes me stronger"

- Nietzsche

I've always believed the above quotation, and had applied it to the difficult times I had experienced in my life. Before this trauma, my most difficult times were break-ups and travel horrors - but these difficulties don't compare to staring death in the face and singing someone to sleep not knowing if they would awaken. They don't compare to feeling like the outside world is a dream, and the only reality is you and a hospital monitor that beeps every second. When you cry because you hear the songs of birds for the first time in 3 days and realize the outdoor soundtrack you've taken for granted all your life. When you don't want to talk to anyone, or be talked to by anyone, and miss the opportunity to spend an afternoon alone. When every phone call is needy, and every minute demands a new task. When all people within arms reach are asking for you, wanting your time, needing answers, and haphazardly offering suggestions to you. When all your muscles ache but you didn't notice until that moment in the shower. When your brain betrays you, and won't allow sleep when it knows you've been up for days. When you feel wrinkles burrowing into your skin and long for the morning routine of grooming yourself. When you consume nothing but tea and muffins courtesy of someone else, and seek only a moment to sneak down to the hospital food court and order your own take away meal. When every eventual morsel of food you eat is the best you've ever had. When you think just a second anonymity would mend you. When every part of your body and mind feels like it can't keep going.

Something inside of me kept pushing me forward, onto the next step. Something told me to keep going, to keep moving, to keep walking.

During my worst moments, I felt nearly clairvoyant. I had the ability to x-ray anyone around me and determine if they were mentally well or in need of professional help. I felt lifetimes smarter than everyone else, and I felt ecstatic to finally see my whole life through a crystal clear rear view lens. A natural analyzer, I examined all of my friendships to determine who was safe for me to be around. I examined every person that I knew, and decided whether they were healthy or not. Now that I am returning to my quotidian life, I feel that my emotional intelligence will be better than it has been. I also think I will be able to take care of myself better, and be able to recognize when I am giving too much.

"Time heals all wounds"

- Unknown

It's not true that time heals all wounds, because every wound is different. Some wounds might never heal, and perhaps the inevitable distance of time from an unhealed wound is all the healing one can wish for. I certainly feel that the distance in time since this trauma to now - over 5 weeks - is helping me to heal. With each passing day, I feel closer to me. Closer to what I know to be me.

With persistence, professional help, and a lot of hard work and self reflection, I want to come out of this stronger and wiser, with the ability to take better care of myself.

Insta-Toronto

Recent photos from the place I am temporarily calling home.

 

 

 

Tasting freedom

 Frame Lake. Yellowknife, Canada

I just submitted my last project of the semester. Just, right now. After being under the constant looming pressure of studying online since March, I'm finally finished the semester. If you're wondering what it feels like to study a Masters online, allow me to explain.

 Enjoying sister and doggie time in Yellowknife

Every day, when I wake up, I think about what readings I haven't completed yet. Then, while I'm at work, I make a mental plan about going straight home after work to do my readings and get a head start on the assignment that is due next week. Inevitably, a grandmother or a friend or someone in between sends a message and I don't end up going home right after work. When I do get home, at last, I make something to eat and turn on my computer to check what pages the readings were. After logging in, I realize I actually do have something due sooner than I think, that I just didn't click in the right folder and didn't see it until right then. I get a little stressed. I then start working on the other assignment which is due more immediately, and don't end up getting a head start on my readings after all. The next day, I repeat this same routine with a spontaneous dinner with friends and a skype date, so again the readings are put on the back burner. I also find another random folder wherein a 3-day discussion has been taking place in my class about which I was unaware. The stress builds.

The bright night skies of the north country

Repeat this for 3 months. And add some group work, and some long, challenging readings, and a few short essays. Then you can feel the weight of the online Masters.

It ain't easy, but I'm truckin' through. Or should I say, tappin' through.

In June, I am so lucky to be attending onsite courses at the New School in Manhattan, and I will be able to study under some of my ESL idols, Jeremy Harmer included. Although the online courses are convenient and challenging, I really miss the in-class conversations and thoughts that can only be generated among a group of people all in the same room, thinking on the same topic. I miss that sense of group thought from my undergrad, and I'm so looking forward to feeling that inspiration in New York this summer.

As for now, I'm in the north country, the most northerly capital city in Canada, and current home of my sister: Yellowknife. It feels right that I'm finally feeling this long overdue freedom in such an outerworldly place. A place where the sun never sets, a place where the blue skies stretch on forever, a place where the beautiful lake is a 5-minute walk from your door.

With a population of 20,000... it sure ain't New York. But there's something here that New York doesn't have: the sanctuary of silence. And doesn't silence lead us to the deepest freedom of all - freedom from our surroundings, and the freedom to look into ourselves?