I departed for Antigua, Guatemala on January 1, 2015 and returned January 29. I decided that volunteering my first 30 days at a hospital in a third world country would be a good start to my new year. I was ready to make a difference greater than myself.
Despite being 19 years old, before I left I had my life together. I had a boyfriend who I unquestionably loved, a family who unconditionally supported me, and an unwavering desire to help people.
By the end of this time, my world had flipped upside down and inside out. I was a different person. I wanted to be single to explore more about my boundaries, limitations and skills. Then I thought I couldn’t exist in a world that also homed such pain. I didn’t have tolerance for petty issues, my sweetness hardened. On my last day, I held Genesis, a 3 year old girl with cerebral palsy, who I had grown a connection with, for a final time. Before I started at the hospital, the only contact she had with people was to get her teeth brushed and her diaper and clothes changed. She smiled at me as I held her nearly paralyzed body. I wished I had never grown to care for her. I wished her face didn’t light up when she saw me. I couldn’t figure out what was worse, to never love or be loved, or the absence of it.
It took me months to digest everything. So here are some truths I wish someone had told me before my trip.
You see horrific atrocities and it will be scary.
In front of the church I walked by everyday to get to work, a girl, probably the age of nine, and her infant brother would beg anyone who looked their way. She would get very close to me, not saying anything. She had these two big black eyes pleading with me. Eventually she whispered, "Dinero por favor. Comida." (Money please, food) I learned her name was Juana and her brother, Lucas. He was drinking water from a plastic bag twisting the top into a makeshift bottle. He reached out and touched me. I ached for him. I couldn’t give her anything because I knew due to the human trafficking problem in Guatemala, the money would probably go to the people who stole her away from her family.
I noticed a man’s body being lifted up by his friends. He left an outline of sweat on the ground. I left before I could see his condition but I assumed he was dead. Death is such a human experience but I almost couldn't identify him as a human. I watched the events play out in front of me like a show, feeling nothing.
You have to detach.
I worked at a hospital that provided aid to mentally and physically disabled people of all ages and diagnosis. Initially, I wanted to work with the disabled children but when I went to the children's ward I didn't have the heart to see beds on top of beds for the next three weeks like jail cells. They were piled on top of each other, deformed with oxygen tubes up their noses, drooling on themselves. I went home for lunch and cried that day. I skyped my boyfriend and he comforted me. But this was the beginning of my separation from the people I loved back home. They didn’t understand what I was experiencing. I felt as though I was diverging to an unknown path of darkness and the people I left behind were becoming shadows.
I watched a child seize in pain everyday. It's body would freeze in my arms during these episodes. I didn't know what was going on. But what I did know was that I needed thicker skin for this job. I couldn’t fall apart if I wanted to help.
You have to accept that most of the time there’s only so much you can do.
Before I left I would tell all my friends about the experience I was about to have. I felt like God. I was proud of the decisions I made. I was going to swoop in and save the day. I knew who I was and I was confident in my abilities. I was ready to take on the world. Then I landed in Central America. I watched people suffering and couldn’t do anything due to insufficient technology and funds. These people were so poor that despite my greatest efforts, nothing would change unless the system changed. I felt like I was just treating the symptoms of the problem, not the cause of it. I was stagnant, like I was doing damage control. I wanted to prevent the issues from even occurring in the first place.
They don’t always want your help.
Most third world countries are a product of an unjust political system. Over the last 100 years, Guatemala's population has grown more than any other country in the western hemisphere. Unfortunately, 70 percent of the country lives in dire poverty and many aspects of human rights have been disregarded. The former Guatemalan Dictator, Rios Montt, was indicted for genocide and sent to jail for 80 years, guilty of slaughtering 17 thousand people. The current President, Otto Perez Molina, is also being investigated. This was a break-through for enforcing laws on murder, but still, those who committed murder in the 1990’s are now in power. Unarmed villages were wiped out when they did not submit to army rule. After a hearing found Montt guilty, the people of the country were grateful. Most of the time, the residents are too prideful to have the rich and white Americans come in to save the day.
It takes some time to digest the experience.
There are amazing parts of this job that gives back just as much as it takes. There would be days I would stroke Genesis’s arm, a girl with cerebral palsy, until she slept peacefully with no twitching. It was incredibly rewarding that I could provide her temporary comfort. One child was abandoned in a garbage can, only to be found with maggots eating his face. We nursed him back to health. We heard screams from the elders who had dementia or Alzheimer’s. It was haunting. I didn’t know what I felt or how I was handling it most days. I felt misunderstood and confused. I withdrew from the people I loved because I was so angry all the time. I didn’t know what I believed in anymore and when all the faith in myself was gone,faith in others had gone too.
Studying or volunteering abroad isn't as glamorous as it seems.
At the end of the day, you're in a third world country struggling to find balance. Whether it's from missing home, getting sick, or not understanding everything going on around you, it is hard. It's not just pretty pictures and feeling good from helping others. I feel empty everyday because sometimes I feel like I'm not contributing anything, that there's nothing I can do. When I reach out to my family they say, "Just being there is helping". But it doesn't feel that way. Genesis still can't pick up her head and still has prick marks on her little hands from injections. But what keeps me going is that maybe, just maybe, I am making things a little bit easier. Is that enough to keep going? Is that enough to endure the unclean water, the unsafe streets and the fake sense of feeling like a wholesome person?
But, it’s worth it.
On my last day at the hospital, a woman who I cared for, who didn’t interact much, was crying and I touched her hand. She grabbed at my throat and quite frankly I was a little scared. She was an extremely disabled person. She didn't know how to control her strength and I didn't know how to react. Then, she leaned her head on my chest and cried on me. I was encompassed with a feeling of relief. My trip finally had purpose. I realized the power in just being there. I said goodbye to all the people I worked with and they said, “I hope God is with you wherever you go.” I didn't want to tell them I wasn't sure if I believed in God. No God would ever take away what these people had stripped from them. But, they had hope, and so did I.
If I had the opportunity, I’d be back in Guatemala this very second and spend another month there. The culture, the people, the lifestyle, I miss it. We danced on tables at bars to music we didn't understand. I might even be engaged to a Guatemalan bartender who I snap chat sometimes. I don't even know his real name. We had questionable nights. We hiked the most beautiful trails in a part of the world that we most likely will never be again. We lived.
