Blog 4 — The Emotional Challenges of Volunteering
My knowledge about starvation was limited and stereotypical before I began volunteering abroad. I, as well as many Americans, have seen the doleful charitable videos on televisions of starving children, asking for 99 cents a day to feed a child for a year. As emotional and heartbreaking it is, the truth is that privileged lives will never empathize with feeling starvation, nonetheless witness such affliction back home.
As a volunteer coming to Honduras, my plan was to teach English at Escuela Internacional La Lima (E.I.L.L). A week into my gap year, I stumbled upon the opportunity to work at a nutrition center for infants. In the beginning, I felt fraught volunteering there, given the conditions and circumstances the kids were in. Still, I grew to love the center and the children even more. I visited the center three times per week, while the other days, I collected funds and medical donations to bring the following days. I grew close relationships with the caregivers and experienced pure empathy in the moments we shared taking care of the children. They shared with me pictures and stories of the children, their backgrounds, and the complications they face in their day to day life. None of the children were allowed to return to their families at the end of the day due to the neglectful familial environments that earned them a place in the nutrition center.
The reality of volunteering abroad is that no situation will prepare you for the emotional implications that come with witnessing starvation firsthand. Just yesterday, I witnessed the combined effect that poverty, malnourishment, and illness had on a child whom I was quite fond of, Anthony. A 16-month-old baby from a mountain village — I do not exaggerate when I say this — he weighed as much as a soccer ball, if not a smidge less. His face looked skeletal, his arm was no more extensive than the width of a domino. His back was swollen, his spine stuck out, and his rib cage was visible. His hair was thin, much like flyaway hair, and his skin was dry, flaky, and wrinkly. Anthony’s diaper was three times his size. A more common description of Anthony’s state would be “skin and bone.” I still remember the first time I saw Anthony, I was shocked and in disbelief. I felt weak, heartbroken, and abhorred reflecting on my lifestyle in comparison to children like him. Soon after I dedicated my volunteer work to Anthony, he was my new priority. I carried him, played with him, fed him, and held him in my arms. His weak body could barely support his own weight, even his head was too heavy for him to hold up. Carrying him was all I could do because putting him down on the floor was too painful for him and emotional for me. I felt love for Anthony within the short timeframe I spent with him. I was determined to help him become healthy and active, no matter if it took me more than my gap year. I organized a payment plan for myself to continue donating funds to the organization even after I’d have to leave.
During yesterday’s visit to the nutrition center, I arrived earlier than usual. Just as the children were beginning to wake up from their afternoon nap, one by one, they took over the dining area. Anthony was missing, but I assumed he was still sleeping. Minutes turned into hours when Alicia, the director, entered calling all employees into the kitchen for an urgent meeting. Although unusual, I did not react to it until I saw all of them quietly sobbing. I instantly thought of Anthony, yet I told myself not to assume the worst. I refused to accept any other destiny for him. He was destined for health.
I gathered the courage to ask where Anthony was, but the three words that followed my question were so heart-wrenching, I felt numbed, denial, and in disbelief, “Anthony is dead.” I felt my neck tense, my heart in the pit of my stomach, and my cheeks turn red as I held back tears. I was told he was in the dormitory, “go see him.” I remember walking inside the dormitory. What felt like a trance-like state, seeing each crib empty, empty, empty, and suddenly seeing a beautiful baby in a casket. Anthony passed away. My world didn’t fall, it collapsed. Anthony did not deserve what this world gave him, he did not deserve to be in such conditions and to live such a short life. Despite all the difficulties, Anthony was adored, he was cherished, and he was loved by me. His presence will forever be missed, and I can wholeheartedly say that I will never forget him. From this experience, I have reflected on my life and realized that the privileges I’ve had, I’ve taken for granted. I am guilty of underappreciating my parents, my house, the food I eat, medicine, and love. Yet, I’ve been humbled through this experience, and my life has changed. I have a deeper understanding of what it means to be privileged, appreciative, grateful, and I will live by these morals.
I traveled to Honduras to help others, but instead, the people in this community changed my life. This is what makes life mysterious but also beautiful. Heaven gained a shining star, Anthony, and although his pain and suffering came to an end, that is not the reality of 805 million people around the world. It is hard to comprehend the magnitude of those numbers and the truth of the matter. The living legacy I am going to honor for Anthony is to raise awareness of the nutrition center and continue to help children wherever I am in the world.
I urge you to start looking at the little things you complained about in the past; they are incomparable to the struggles of other people around the world. Appreciating your lifestyle isn’t supposed to make you feel bad, but perhaps it will help you make more conscious decisions. Next time you decide to spend $200 on food at Costco, consider the amount of food you may end up wasting. Maybe this will encourage you to do a little more to give back, this could be as small as wasting less food, or donating money to organizations helping the cause.
