Blog 5 — Citizen of the world
I hear the screeching of a car pull up to the front gates of the Nutrition Center and my first instinct is to look up. As I look past the fenced-up windows and gate I see my grandfather waving back at me ready to take me home. I quickly finish spoon feeding Jency, a two year old baby and announce my parting. As I begin to walk towards the car, I can’t help myself from turning around to look at those bright smiling faces, waving their hands from side to side insisting I come back soon. I remember that moment in slow motion, maybe because of how precious that memory is or frankly because in that moment I realized I am no longer a volunteer, but a part of their family.
To be completely honest, when I first decided to take a Gap Year I wanted to take the educational route. I wanted to travel to a foreign country and learn a new language. I’ve since realized that even though I diverged my focus to volunteering, I am in the biggest classroom there is and I am learning so much more than I could have ever imagined.
Traveling as an American to Honduras, one could only wish to inmerse in the culture; engage in a conversation with the local music teacher, absorb the wind that blows from the prominent mountain range, and grip on to every single passing sight and imprint. In my experience I hoped I would be able to dip my toes into the culture and make some kind of difference, but in reality it was impossible to simply dip in, I dove in. It was all or nothing.
I remember having a conversation with a local woman for about two hours, I cannot recount every detail of the conversation but I can say that conversation was about her past: being pregnant around the age of 19 with no husband or life partner, no family to turn to, having only one dollar for a bus pass, walking alone in the middle of the night, praying and waiting for a miracle, slaving away countless hours, or even working two jobs to be granted a place to stay and a meal. Hoping to one day provide for her unborn child. She confided in me her pains and her darkest times. Although it was extremely hard sitting back and listening, trying to keep myself composed, I realized that she no longer saw me as a stranger, but as a friend. Now I can safely say she has three beautiful, healthy children whom I was blessed to be given the opportunity to act as an older sister and a person they can count on.
Living through moments like these, I realized I’m not just an American traveling 912 miles to volunteer, but I was an American that became a Honduran at heart. It was my willingness to form connection with the locals that opened the doors to a new home and I feel as if my nationality on my passport is also Honduran.
