Jamaica

Reflections on Jamaica

This is my journal from the Jamaica trip. It is a little abstract/random, but hopefully captures the essence of the trip as I experienced it. I am still processing it myself! It was an incredibly intense time in so many ways, all of which I am grateful for. What I saw and what I learned has already had a profound impact on me and will for most likely the rest of my life.

Anyhow, here you go:

Monday, 1.21.08, 9am
Erica is 24, she has 3 children. She is dying of AIDS. We talked about music, movies, and Kingston. She vomited several times and had a seizure while I was holding her hand. She told me about the father of her children and said it took only one year to “mash up” (ruin) her life.

When we came back to the convent where Sr. Beverly lives, a young woman and her two little girls are waiting for Sr. The woman wants us to see her family, so we walk together to her house, a one-room shack with a bare bed and a stove. Reggae music blares constantly and there is trash everywhere. Her kids, Therese and Theresa, are so, so, so cute. They are precious. I played with the older one (age 3), sang “I’m a little teapot” many times. She thought my white nose was funny and kept squeezing and poking it. Her Mom was assaulted last week - her clothes were taken from her.

Women’s issues are very serious here - violence, AIDS, motherhood, unemployment, malnutrition, empowerment, education. The challenge we are feeling and experiencing here is wanting to empower and not enable the people with whom we work. We do not want to be the “rich white Americans” who come down here one week in the year and shower the people with books and supplies, many of which will be pirated on the street. The question becomes: how does one really help here? The needs are so great, so massive, that it is tempting to want to come in and stage a complete overhaul. But like anywhere you see poverty, the problems run so deep - historically, culturally, economically - and change of any type is a long, long process.

Later today we drove with Sr. Beverly to the grocery store to buy food for the families we visited. We went back to Erica and found her sitting up on a milk crate in her yard. She is so frail and so thin. Skeletal. Her ribs poke out through her nightgown and her shoulder blades are visible.

A word about the side of Kingston we’ve seen so far: garbage dump. Ok, it’s two words. It is unlike anything I have ever, ever seen. Stray dogs, chickens, goats, and pigs roam the streets pocked with potholes (trenches, really) and littered with glass, trash, garbage, refuse, etc. There are piles of trash in the street and junkyards on every corner. The “homes” are literally hovels of corrugated tin and cinder blocks.

Carcia and her two girls, Theresa and Therese, met us at Sr. Beverly’s house with bare feet and walked through the streets to their home the same way. Their “home” is a one-room shed with a stove, a clothes-line, and a bedframe with cardboard on it (not a mattress). They live next to the burned-out shell of the home they lost in a fire. Music blares constantly. Trash is everywhere. Erica’s room was worse - a double bed is heaped with dirty clothes, papers, etc. There is a large TV, microwave, and a hotplate within reach, and maybe 2 sq. feet of floorspace. This is it - this is her home. The toilet is outside. The holes in the wall are big enough to pass your hands through, but luckily, according to Erica's grandmother, the roof does not leak when it rains.

The poverty and filth are astounding. One woman in my group was literally offered a baby to take home. These are the poorest of the poor, people for whom three meals a day is not a given and new clothes are a luxury. We had kids coming to school on Monday with tummy aches because their last meal was at school on Friday. Kids wearing shoes 2 sizes too big because that's all they had. Kids with their teeth literally falling out from decay. How can I pay $4 for a latte at home and not even think about it?

Tuesday, 1.22.08
Still trying to process this day and my glimpse into the Kingston educational “system”. Woke at 7 and walked laps around the soccer field for a little bit with my two roommates. Shower, coffee, oatmeal, morning chit-chat, which I quite enjoy. We have a great group - big enough for some variety, small enough to get to know everyone. And in the midst of all this intense Jamaica stuff, the conversations I've shared with my teammates have been enlightening, inspiring, comforting, and meaningful. Running around the soccer field in the morning and talking about life, death, theology and spirituality; washing dishes and learning how someone chose their career; hearing someone's love story as we have Red Stripe beers on the veranda. There is a lot of wisdom, experience, and strength within the group. And wisdom, did I mention wisdom? LOTS of it.

Walked to Sr. Beverly’s with a few others. I was brave or foolish enough to bring my camera today and quickly learned that while taking pics of kids is okay (actually, they love it), pics of adults are not a great idea. Very disruptive.

At Sr. Beverly’s we waited a bit and I made some new friends in the street. One of the kids from yesterday and her brother (?) were playing barefoot in the street, so we played “Simon Says”, or some variation of them simply copying everything I did. We picked flowers - the most amazing and powerful juxtaposition of beauty and filth as one, as these two beautiful kids picked blossoms from a pink azalea surrounded by garbage and trash. We put the flowers behind our ears and made up a “flower dance” - clearly I have reached a point in my life at which dancing and jumping on one foot in the middle of the street in the Kingston ghetto doesn't really faze me...

Fr. Peter then walked me over to the pre-school/elementary school - way more than I bargained for but fun. The classroom held approx. 35 - 40 kids and was cramped and messy. I could not determine much of an agenda - the kids were absolutely beautiful and wild - jumping, pushing, climbing over desks, tipping over chairs, yelling. And I felt very awkward about my role as authoritarian or teacher but complete stranger. I couldn’t understand much of what the kids were saying and imagine it was mutual. After about 45 minutes, the teacher gave me a piece of chalk, told me they were learning about the letter “G”, and left the room. How about “G” for OH MY GOD. My let’s-learn-about-the-letter-G repertoire lasted for about 30 seconds before I resorted to “Simon Says”, songs, deep breathing and an ad-hoc alphabet game that did not quite catch on. Later we read a story and drew pictures, ate lunch, and “rested”.

What surprised me about today - kids running around without shoes, teachers yelling, the amount of scars the kids had, how aggressively they played at recess, how little they had on the playground and in the classroom - no crayons, old books virtually falling apart, a swing set with no swings. I also noticed that the parents who came to pick up their 5-year old kids had to be a good 10 years younger than me (I am 32). Impressions here - music is everywhere, blaring. A lot of people on the street seem to be wandering or just hanging out. The poverty we see is complex and very deeply rooted in the culture, history and economics of Jamaica. I want to see more, because just as I know that seeing only a resort would not be a complete picture, I know, too, that there is more to Kingston than the few square blocks we are limited to for now.

It is hot - so hot. You drip with sweat just standing in one place. We sweat through our t-shirts before 9am. But the sky is clear, brilliant and expansive, and right now there is the most pleasant breeze blowing through the palm trees.

Wednesday, 1.23.08
Woke early and ran 1.5 miles around the soccer field. It was beautiful to just be awake at that time of day and see and hear the place wake up - the birds, the roosters, the silence. I loved seeing how we each began the day - some in prayer and contemplation, yoga or meditation, coffee and the paper, a morning walk, a jog. And somehow by 8:30 we all convene, fed and caffeinated, and take our assignments for the day.

I was part of the medical team today and did intake work as Dr. Tony and Patti did exams. Kids 13 - 17, for the most part very healthy but a lot of lethargy, headaches, stomach aches. One girl, 14, had a tumor. Even with surgery it will likely come back.This afternoon we were able to walk to the local market with Angie, a friend of Fr. Peter. Words cannot do it justice - trash everywhere, blaring music, the stench of rotten produce and weed, the sights of chicken feet, bottles of medicinal honey, Scotch bonnet peppers, yams, beans, string beans, ginger, peas, herbs, spices. We ate raw peanuts, which tasted a lot like beans.

Thursday, 1.24.08
Medical team this morning - walked kids from the infant school to the church for medical exams. Age 3 - 5, lots of tooth decay, a speech impediment, and a girl with crossed eyes, but general healthy kids considering the malnutrition and filth.

Made rounds with Sr. Beverly during the afternoon - so hot, it is impossible to not feel grimy by 2pm.

The days have typically been as follows:
6:30 - wake up, walk/run, shower, coffee
7:45 - 8:30 - breakfast
8:30 - 12 - service work
12 - 12:30 - lunch
12:30 - 2ish - service work
2 - 4:30 - walk back, shower, read, 'free time'
4:30 - 5:15 - reflection on the veranda (We discuss our greatest challenges and graces for the day)
5:15 - 5:45 - mass
5:45 - 6:30 - “The Most Wonderful Time of the Day”...Red Stripe beers on the veranda
6:30 - 7:30 - dinner and dishes
7:30 - 9ish - program/lecture
9 or 9:30 - bed! (and we are beat!)

Friday/SaturdayFriday morning I met with the principal of St. George’s high school - amazing meeting and so exciting to talk about development/advancement and the opportunities for the school’s growth.

Yesterday afternoon we drove to Ocho Rios - beautiful drive, passed through Fern Gully (like the Disney movie), stopped for roadside food. I have to say, though I’ve come around to Jamaican rum and Red Stripe, Jamaican food doesn’t really excite me - jerk chicken/pork - not really my thing. Still haven't found jerk-tofu...

We are staying (stayed last night) at a “resort” at Ocho Rios (“Ochi”) and I am uncomfortable with the “gated resort” concept - it feels segregated. But we had a fun night last night, dancing to some really horrible live music. Our rooms are immense, overlooking the blue ocean, and I am sitting on the patio listening to the waves and looking out on the water. No worries...

Bus/van ride home was long. Today I think I was very conscious of not feeling useful, giving, and in awe, as I have for the time here until now. In contrast to the poverty we have spent time with, hanging out with fruity drinks at the beachside bar felt strange. Today, also, I think I felt really disgusted by the filth, environmental disregard, and crumbly, dirty shabby state of nearly every building and neighborhood and street. Trash is everywhere. Buildings and homes are falling apart. Everything seems broken and messy. Paint is peeling, walls are only half there, windows are broken or not even there at all, cars are banged up. Everything is just dirty, dingy, broken and kind of sad. You wonder how long people live here before feeling completely and utterly hopeless. How can people like Sr. Beverly and Fr. Peter do their work day after day and year after year and still smile and joke and be so loving and patient and kind? Neither of them once rolled their eyes or threw up their hands in resignation. I think there are few, few people like them, who can see the despair and continue on. The rest of us get our eyes opened just enough to cry.

Monday, 1.28.08
Flying home and trying to still process, conclude, or make sense of the past week. Already it seems like a completely different time and place. With the exception of my bug bites, I could be coming home from any trip. I don’t know what to make of the week. There is almost no way or words to sum up the intensity of the experience - spiritually, physically, mentally, emotionally. I can’t describe it solely as fun, intense, challenging, amazing or anything else.

The spiritual component, for certain, was a powerful part of the trip. Reflecting daily and sharing our thoughts, talking about faith and god and existence - this is something I think about a lot but don’t do often. For me, knowing and seeing that we are all on a spiritual path with bumps and detours was enlightening. Fr. Peter, who believes in ordination of women priests, Sr. Beverly, who gives every minute of every day to god through serving the poor. That we all experienced and felt faith, religion and god in different yet many similar ways was profound.

Physically, the relative discomfort served to remind me of how much I have and how little I need. Cold showers, filth, heat, constantly sweating, being bitten by mosquitos, living communally, not having my typical comforts of home - bed, gym, foods I like, independence, my music - this was all a change for me. And yet, I was happy. Genuinely, deeply happy. We all got along, I never went hungry, I found someone to accompany me on morning laps around the soccer field, I laughed with my roommates, and we all somehow understood and almost revered the need - not the want - for downtime and introspection and contemplation, and the time and space to reflect and process, whether on the porch at 4pm, in the chapel at 6am, alone or with others. I know at this point in my life that I need my alone time to recharge and refocus; if I don’t do it, I don’t function well. And I never felt like I needed to escape or run and hide. We all sort of got it - the need for reflection and the space for that.

What I take away from this, in addition to the profound impact of even so briefly living with and serving the poor, are a few things, items we talked about a lot this week and that really stayed with me:
1) God is everywhere. This is the cornerstone of Ignatian spirituality and I began to understand it. It was hard for me, and for all the team, to believe that genuinely and not struggle with it when seeing such poverty and injustice. Where is god when babies are dying and kids are starving and young women are being abused and abandoned? Where is god on the filthy, trashy streets filled with violence? Where is god in the environmental destruction - the complete contamination of the soil and air and water? None of us this week had solid answers. Some had more faith and acceptance that god’s presence really was there, in the Fr. Peters and Sr. Beverlys, in the kindness of strangers and the strength and innocence of children in the flowers growing in abandoned lots and even the smallest signs of a hopeful future, a better life, or a better tomorrow. Despite the economic and political mess that is Kingston, there are really good, hopeful people who are giving their lives to making it better. This moved me profoundly, because although I felt happy about being able to do something, I don’t know that I could give my life to the extent that others do. But I think what I took away was that doing something vs. nothing and just simply being hopeful and faithful and believing that there are good and gracious and giving people. So going back to item #1, yes, I guess god is everywhere.

2) Trusting in the spiritual path and journey that is different for each of us. Being patient and open to what god “calls” me to do and where god wants me to be. NOT EASY. Our society is one that encourages empowerment and controlling one’s destiny, and to a certain extent, we need to prepare ourselves for the future that we want. For a while I have really struggled with the question of what DO I want? What is my calling? How do I figure it out? I struggle because perhaps I feel like I should have it figured out. But the wonderful lesson of this week was that it will happen on its own. I am exactly where I’m “supposed to be”, and I’ll “end up” just where I’m supposed to. After listening to Fr. Peter and Principal Campbell talk about what they thought they wanted to do professionally and how they turned out to be completely wrong and in fact found way more happiness than they ever expected in these unlikely places and careers, I believed more that I’m fine where I am and on a path to something yet unseen. “Faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen” (Hebrews 11:1).

So I don’t know what to really make of it all - this challenging, enlightening, empowering, funny, sad, fun, peaceful, quiet, noisy adventure in Jamaica. A personal experience but a shared one as well. How can you not bond in this type of situation? I feel like I got to know my teammates more personally than some people I’ve known for years. And there is something very significant about having gone through this craziness and intensity and laughing and crying together.

For me, it was good to be away, doing something completely different, someplace completely different with new people. It gives me new perspective and energy and focus, new appreciation for where I am and what and who I have in my life, and perhaps a better idea of what I want to do and at the very least, how I want to do it.

Addendum - Musings upon returning home
I have been home for five days. Coming home was amazing. My little apartment felt like a palace, and my ‘96 Toyota like a limousine. It is hard to explain this trip, even harder to summarize it with pictures and words. Perhaps the best I can do is say that although it was a service trip with a spiritual component, it felt more like a spiritual retreat with a service component. It has changed me.

My mosquito bites are almost gone, and all my dirty laundry has been washed, folded, and put away. I’m happy to be eating big salads and going to the gym, and even going to work. Coming back to my “normal” life with a new perspective has been refreshing. I am grateful for very little things, like indoor plumbing and Starbucks. I am also acutely aware that it is not up to a few good people to save the whole world; it is up to everyone to save a little part of it.