Back to Where it All Started

It’s poetic- almost as if four years ago I knew Tanzania would be the place where I would begin and end my journey with Children’s Global Alliance. But let me tell you I had no expectation to be where I am today. Then, I didn’t have nearly enough self-confidence to believe that I could accomplish all this. Looking back now, however, it makes perfect sense. Each step I took may not have been with the intent to get me back here, but they led me here anyway.

Trip by trip I grew; there wasn’t a stark difference between the person I was before and after each trip. Sometimes it was almost obscure. So obscure that often I was the only person who understood how travelling and serving in Tanzania, Cambodia, Morocco, and Nepal impacted my being. But self-awareness was all I needed; it allowed me to continuously pursue my passions. Through each trip I have been able to further develop myself which in turn allows me to give more to the kids who deserve it most.

Being back where it all started has allowed me to see how I am more confident, humbled, open, and eager to see more of the world. But, Tanzania isn’t only a beginning and an ending. It’s alive and full of people with stories worth sharing.

When I first came to Tanzania I felt as if I could live here. This still holds true today. The people here are genuine. They present their best selves daily; time and time again I am taken aback when I see the homes that the students and staff come from. You would never guess based on how they present themselves that these people come from some of the poorest living conditions. Yet they still exude happiness and greet you with open arms; I admire it.

I felt privileged to be back at L.O.A.M.O School; tears welled at the corners of my eyes as I saw the assembly commence on our first day. I had forgotten how beautiful it was to see all of the students singing and marching in unison across the front lawn. I stood there taking it all in; quietly smiling as I saw the children run to their classes eager for the day to start and for the opportunity  they have to get an education.

There are many children in Tanzania without the financial means to attend school: full of potential but lacking opportunity. At L.O.A.M.O School there is a figure that provides this opportunity. Our group had the opportunity to meet her: Madame Maria, the founder of L.O.A.M.O. School. Starting a school with three students out of her home, today the school is 70 times larger and still resides on that same property. As the number of Maria’s students gradually grew, her living room became converted into a classroom. In turn, the kitchen was converted into a living room and the kitchen was moved outside. Yet with each coming year Maria and her husband, Loserian, accommodated more students. Student by student, grade by grade, classroom by classroom, year by year the population of L.O.A.M.O rose. Buildings were added. Eventually their home was torn down and L.O.A.M.O. School was built to its full extent. It didn’t happen overnight; it took hard work. Maria now provides an education for 210 students from Baby Class to Class 7. Despite all this there are still students who would not be able to afford L.O.A.M.O.’s tuition. But Maria is equally as compassionate as she is driven. So, she waives or reduces the tuition of her students so they can get a primary school education. Without Maria, L.O.A.M.O simply wouldn’t exist. There are many schools in Arusha, but there is only one Maria who has the purest intentions to educate deserving children. So thank you Madame Maria. Not only do you selflessly run L.O.A.M.O., but you are an inspiration to those who know your story.

Some of you may remember Benard. Benard was a student in Class 4 when I first volunteered at L.O.A.M.O. He was at the top of his class and simply at the school because of Maria’s goodwill. Unknown to many was Benard’s home life situation. Adopted at a young age by a middle class family Benard was treated as slave. Their excuse: he owed it to them for his adoption and providing him with an expensive education. They didn’t treat him like their child and he was attending L.O.A.M.O. for free. Benard was in charge of all the household duties and slept in a shed adjacent to the home. Children’s Global Alliance helped Benard escape this situation in 2014, our first year in Tanzania. Skipping Class 7, Benard is now being sponsored by many of you to attend Form 1, the name of secondary schools in Tanzania. He is first in his class and excelling in every subject. Benard is the perfect example of the harmony between potential and opportunity. For us, Benard is a reminder. With all the odds stacked against him, Benard was able to dig himself out of the hole he was born into. From it, he built a mountain.

Compared to these children, all we Americans have is opportunity. Yet, somehow many of us choose not to utilize it. We lack the desire. To this day, that is something I struggle with. I have seen the eagerness kids across the world have to learn and I have yet to match it. But I aspire to daily because I am aware of the privilege I have to be able to attend a university with the potential to continue past a four year degree. When it comes to learning, our opportunities are limitless. I have a greater appreciation for the global value of education from being inspired by students I have had the opportunity to teach. Because of them, I pursue.

It was time to say goodbye. This was just one of many; I felt fully prepared for what was about to happen. I had gone through it so many times. It starts out on a high as the kids arrive, thrilled with the décor and food for the party. As the party draws out emotions begin to intermingle. A smile rests on your face, while your heart strings are being plucked in agony: knowing that as each song comes to a close so is the time with your students. As always, I slowly begin to distance myself. Close my heart off just a little; convert the finality of goodbye into an “until next time.” It makes it easier. I can be happy for what we were able to accomplish, rather than filled with regret of the unknown.  And that’s just how it went up until I let go of one last hand and the buses pulled out of sight. This was goodbye; not just to the students but to my time Children’s Global Alliance. My heart broke. I still stood there smiling, but tears were streaming down my face. With so many intermingled emotions, I could only wrap my head around that it was over. I was saying goodbye to a journey where I had cultivated my foundation. But I will carry it all with me: the stories, the lessons, the connections.

All I have left is to say thank you from the bottom of my heart. Thank you to everyone who has supported me throughout my years volunteering with Children’s Global Alliance. Your love and support is what makes me feel at home whether it is in Vail or across the world. Since June 10^th, I have been able to share my heart with people in Nepal, Cambodia, and Tanzania. I am now headed home ready to share my stories with all of you.

Same Same But Different

            This blog will answer a question; a question everyone who has worked at the Cooperation of Peace Orphanage in Cambodia wants to know the answer to.

What is it like to be back?

I always knew I would come back to Cambodia; I didn’t know it would be so soon. Literally taking the same footsteps up the stairs of the Tattoo Guest House to room #117,  I grasped how much I have grown since my last visit. Yes, here I am walking the same path, but now it is in a new direction. I am back in a place where I gave away an endless amount of love expecting nothing back. As I left two years ago, I had no expectation to be able to return in this same manner, where I would be able to rededicate myself to the kids. But here I am with the opportunity to do exactly that. I’m so grateful to be here and I’ve spent every day in that mindset.

It was surreal. There I was sitting in a tuk tuk on the way to an orphanage where I had given pieces of my heart to the kids. Already having gone to the orphanage with Lisa Marie and Karlie before the rest of the group arrived, I knew all the kids would be fervently waiting for us. So as the tuk tuk puttered closer, nerves jittered throughout me. They would all be here; I couldn’t wrap my mind around it. I was being given the ability to reignite old relationships and begin anew.

As we entered the orphanage, we were surrounded by the kids, all differing in size and age, but possessing the same eager grins. Stepping out of the tuk tuk, hands were intertwined with mine as arms wrapped around my waist. Gathering my bearings, I glanced around and began to pick out faces. Out of the crowd emerged Sok Heng, looking sly as he was weaving his way through the group; Srey Neath glowing with her soulful smile; and one of the twins, Srey Tom or Srey Toch, looking so grown up. I was craning my neck looking ever so slightly in search of one particular face belonging to Srey Mao. My heart was slowly saddening as I realized she may not be at the orphanage; I began to accept that I may be saying goodbye before I even got the chance to say hello.

However, I refused to let that impact this trip. I was still so grateful to see countless faces that I know and love. Lost in my thoughts, I heard a voice screaming my name. Looking up as I turned around I saw Srey Mao running towards me; my heart cracked open and joy flooded out lighting up my full body. She leapt into my arms, burrowed her head into my chest while simultaneously intertwining her hands behind my neck.  Our eyes were locked on each other. The tears streaming steadily down her cheeks matched my own. I slowly lowered Srey Mao out of my arms; with our fingers laced we joined the rest of the group. Outwardly, one might not have noticed, but we were both still raptured by the fact that we were together. I hold that moment close to my heart, treasuring it dearly. When I first met Srey Mao, her heart was laden with sadness from being left at the orphanage less than a month before our group first arrived in 2015 with her little, twin sisters. Two years later, I don’t need to force a smile onto her face. It’s already there. She seems lighter, as though within these two years she’s become unwound rather than burdened. The heaviness she used to carry with her was something I didn’t notice until I saw its absence. It’s remarkable to see the lightness she now exudes.

I had forgotten how warm the kids were; how in love I was with their consuming smiles. It’s irresistible and I am so grateful to be here.  

The future of the kids is something that has been in the back of my mind since the last time I left Cambodia. Being here has given me the opportunity to discover it. For the past two years, I have been completely ignorant about the kids’ lives, apart from being friends with a few of them on Facebook. Even then, all I see is a feed full of selfies and posts in Khmer.  Throughout the trip, I was able to learn about and experience the futures of the kids in and out of the orphanage. Srey Pii and Loa, now 18 and 20 are both living in the village. More importantly, they are both being sponsored to study at the American Bridge School. Then there is Rath; I was taken aback when I learned he was married. This put in perspective how much time can pass within two years; someone who I spent time playing football and volleyball with has now fully transitioned into an adult and a husband at that. The only kid, now outside of the orphanage, who I was able to personally reconnect with was Houen.

Despite his back being turned to me, as Houen walked through the gates of the orphanage I immediately recognized that head of hair. I leapt up from my chair and ran over to him; he was equally as surprised to see me as I was to see him. After a rib-cracking hug, we sat down and I got to hear his story. At 21 years old, Houen is now at a university on scholarship, studying IT and computer programming, while helping to teach at the local school in Andong. On top of this, he is working. Combining this with the anxiety of homework, he is merely getting four hours of sleep a night. His only hours of free time are on Sundays from 1:00 to 4:00 which he was choosing to spend with us. It was inspiring. Not only to be able to see his success as a model example for other kids at the orphanage, but for myself. Placed under due stress he is excelling. Going into my freshman year at university, setting myself adjacent to Hoeun is how I will be defining my personal success.

As I became accustomed to seeing old faces, I became struck by the new ones. Sitting in the back corner of the stage avoiding the group was the tiny, shaven head of a young girl. I was drawn to her. As I walked over, she did her best to avoid me. Thankfully, I can still run faster than a five year old; as I caught up with her I asked her for her name. She bashfully whispered it into my ear: Srey Sol. As I heard her name she became the source of my attention. Whether the group was dancing or playing a game, I was constantly checking to see if she was being included. As the week drew out, I slowly had to do less as Srey Sol began to seek out the activities. At first, her big beautiful, brown eyes would just watch as she lurked on the edge of the dance floor. Learning her story I understood why. Srey Sol and Pisey, her big sister, are the oldest of four. Their mom is in the hospital battling a stomach disease and their dad is balancing taking care of her while keeping a job. In order to do this, he chose to give up the kids. The youngest two are being taken care of by the grandma, while Srey Sol and Pisey were left at the orphanage indefinitely. Slowly a smile on her face started to grow; it appeared more easily with each coming day. At the end, I didn’t need to seek her out; although not knowing any moves, she was up on the center of the stage dancing with a grin illuminating her face.  

Now, for everyone wondering what it’s like to be back let me tell you. I felt everything more intensely, I gave away more freely, and I was more open. Some things were easier and others were hard. All of it was worth it.

I’m feeling so much: inspired, passionate, grateful, and dispirited, just to name a few. On a scale of emotions over the past two weeks I think I’ve hit every one. The kids continue to amaze me; they love so much having so little. It creates a reciprocal effect of sharing and giving love. I have yet to experience that with anyone else. That makes it easy to be passionate. When you’re giving so much of your heart to something, the work that comes along with it is simple. Even more so when you’re aware of how grateful the people receiving it are. I feel so lucky to have been able to experience it all over again.

The End of the Beginning

“When all is said and done, will you have said more than you have done?"

Sitting on the rooftop of our guest house I was prompted with this quote. Thoughts of school and sports flooded my mind as I tried to determine how this expression pertained to me. But the answer wasn’t in my head. It was sitting at the table. It was me, being here in Nepal; with the past two weeks being the perfect example. Every action I take is with the intent of doing more: pouring passion into my teaching today for a better tomorrow. I step into the classroom each day unaware of whether I will impact any students; but certain I might. This ignorance is constantly inspiring me. Perfectly aware that my skills don’t begin to encompass that of a trained teacher, it is my aim to present each subject in a way that may inspire a single student. Perhaps that interest will cultivate into a passion and shape years to come.

Day after day we have been teaching: eight classes for 40 minutes that are always subject to change. One of those days, rather than teaching social studies I was instructed to teach a life skills lesson on opportunity. In that chapter, there was a story and it went like this:

“One day a father of a rich family took his young son on a trip to the country to show him how poor people can be. They spent one day and one night in the farm of a very poor family. When they got back, the father asked his son, ‘How was the trip?’

‘Very good, Dad!’ the son replied.

‘Did you see how poor people can be?’ the father asked.

‘Yeah!’ said the son.

‘And what did you learn?’ asked the father again.

The son answered, ‘I saw that we have a dog at home and they have four dogs. We have a little swimming pool in our garden they have a huge river where they can swim. We have imported lamps in the garden; they have the stars. We eat junk food bought from the market; they eat fresh food from their own garden.’

When the little boy said this, the father was speechless.

The boy added, ‘Thanks Dad, for showing me how poor we really are.’”

This story took me aback. It was ironic; here I was an American teaching Nepali children to be grateful for the simple things. A lesson they live daily and I experience hardly enough. Sure enough, sitting in that class I was the student. Prompted to draw a picture of what they were grateful for hand drawn images of families, happiness, and community appeared. Not a single image depicted in their drawings could be bought; showing a far greater maturity than my thirteen year old self. After their completion, the pictures decorated a once barren wall. When my eyes wander throughout the class, more often than not they drift to those words and drawings plastered on the back wall. I am reminded of why I am here: for the simple things filled with an ever-lasting love.

A few days later I was hit with another surprise. 

On June 21^st in the middle of my optional, yes optional, math class Suraj, the music teacher, stepped in. Unsure of what to do; I stepped away from the white board where Suraj has scrawled “World Music Day;” instantaneously the kids broke into song. Sitting in the back of the class, amidst the students with my back pressed against their drawings hanging on the wall, my heart was filled and a smile broke out across my face. Each student was wholeheartedly singing; even the boys sacrificed their pride as the class united in song.

Unity: that was the message of our home visit. In a bedroom in the house of my student Bini sat Blake, Krissy, and I squeezed together on the edge of the bed. Adjacent to us sat Bini, Roshni, and Laxmi sitting on the floor. In a stark room holding little more than the necessities, with protruding wires and several precious photographs adorning the wall, we were being fed an ample amount of tea, egg, and cookies with light conversations floating throughout. As our discussion came to a close I asked Roshni, Bini’s cousin and our makeshift translator, if we were what she imagined as Americans. Her answer: priceless. Without serious thought she answered that despite our physical differences we all have the same blood which keeps us rooted to each other.  Reminded of our home visit to Ghita’s in Morocco last year, I left wishing for more people to have this frame of vision and seek similarities rather than divisions.

I feel more grateful than anything else. I am now in Cambodia after our last day at LISHA School. Despite it being full of heart wrenching goodbyes I feel resolved. I went there with a purpose and I set out every day to accomplish it. As I stepped into the classroom for the final time I couldn’t help but smile. Yes, this was it; but each day had been better than the last. I was determined for our final day to supersede them all. Rather than focusing on new material, I spent the last day revisiting old content. It was gratifying to see my class be able to answer questions on a topic taught on the first day. This ratified what I was doing, since if nothing else, they understood my teaching. My concern coming into this trip was that I would act as a burden to their education, since a language barrier can cause a lack of comprehension. A difficulty I dealt with daily in Morocco. However, there our purpose was to teach English and lessen that barrier, whereas here we were teaching a little bit of everything. However, that day of review proved otherwise and the fear has now passed.

As the school day came to a close my heart continued to warm as I passed out gifts to the kids and tiny arms wrapped around my body. Tears began to prick my eyes as two of my students Suzal and Kirsh did a rendition of “See You Again” by Charlie Puth until one broke down into tears. But it wasn’t until everyone in my class had left and I was sitting in Class 10 listening to their music that my eyes began to water. The kids to whom I dedicated every waking breath were gone. They were on their same walk home, but as their backs turned to me there was an actualization that we were going our separate ways unsure of if our paths would cross again.

A class full of students is now a room full of my friends. Thank you to everyone at LISHA School and Milla’s Guest House for making Nepal feel like home.

               

The World Awaits

Sitting on a plane and staring out the small, oval window I feel remarkably distant from the world. As the plane descends, towns emerge from the beneath the clouds. As I and 475 other passengers are rushing towards the ground the towns become closer and more detailed, filling with cars, light posts, and people. And as one last bounce of turbulence hits the plane it touches down and I reenter reality. My gaze drifts from the window to the passengers eager for what awaits them outside of the plane. All of us in that plane were about to enter that seemingly small and far away town. And for me, that town represented this trip- incredibly distant. Leading up to this trip, my head wasn’t focused on it. It was the destination and I was focused on a coexisting journey. A journey filled with a year full of lasts- one last soccer season, my senior prom, graduation, orientation at my future college, and spending one last year with my best friends who have been the center of my life for the past 12 years. And somehow this trip managed to pass me by and all of the sudden it was here. But as I walked into the classroom on my first day it felt as though I was walking down the same old beaten path: knowing the nooks and crannies, where not to step and which ways lead to sure success. It felt like I was coming home.

This trip has now raptured my complete focus. I am addicted to the feeling of being so far away from everyone I know and in a foreign country filled with lush mountains, ornate buildings, and beautiful people- that sensation of exploring the unknown.

My frame of mind during the first day was constantly altering. I had no expectations and was naive as to what would happen next. Nerves wracked through my veins on the walk to school as I stumbled my way through Bhaktapur ducking under poles supporting damaged buildings and avoiding bricks littering the edges of the street from the earthquake that hit Nepal in 2015. After winding our way through the streets we approached the school and the sheer delight that filled my heart as I saw the kids grinning and eagerly waving their hands replaced my nerves; I was ready for what was to come.  

We are two days in and I am already beginning to fall in love with Nepal and the students I am teaching at LISHA School. Each student possesses distinct personalities and talents; it’s a joy to begin to know them since each face tells a story. With each new discovery I feel more connected towards my students inspiring the passion I put into my teaching. Gagan’s curiosity, Krish’s sarcasm, Suzal’s artistic talent, and Neesha’s sly smile are my fuel; fuel for my teaching and excitement for the rest of my summer.

But right now as I am sitting on the roof top of our guest house in Dattatraya square in the heart of the Kathmandu Valley surrounded by mountain ranges I am not focusing on the next six weeks, the past six months, or even tomorrow. I am focused on today and the lessons and experiences that came with it. The high energy of my class creates a stark contrast to the decimated buildings surrounding the school. These students are the epitome happiness. In the midst of the destruction my students and the Nepali people are full of light. I am elated for this light to continue to fill me as I continue to learn from my students and experience the Nepali culture.