Each morning as I drive down to St. Leo’s Primary School, I listen to calming music and mentally prepare myself for the inevitable chaos that will greet me upon my arrival. When I arrive, I am ready for battle. Armed with pencils, paper, books, and most importantly – patience, I weave my way through a sea of kids and make my way to the classroom. When my first class begins, the students are overflowing with energy and enthusiasm. I try to harness this energy and use it to help them learn something. The students are constantly trying to push my buttons while I try to push them to learn English. 

From the beginning, volunteering as an oral English teacher at St. Leo’s has been a struggle for me. Coming into the year, I had little teaching experience and didn’t know what to expect from a school in rural South Africa. However, I have come to realize that my battle to maintain order in the classroom is insignificant in comparison to the struggles that my students have been fighting against all their lives. My students struggle to get enough food to nourish their bodies; they fight against racism and discrimination which are still ever-present in aspects of South African society, and they battle to survive the onslaught of AIDS as it continues to destroy their communities. 

Unfortunately, it seems that we are constantly fighting an uphill battle. At St. Leo’s the students are crammed into overcrowded classrooms and the work ethic of the teachers is appalling. Generally, the students are way behind where they should be and they score extremely low on national standardized tests. As a whole, the South African educational system is failing them. 

The situation is dire, but my students are extraordinary. They are forced to overcome so many obstacles in their lives, constantly facing trails and tribulations that no one should have to bear. And yet, each day they come to class excited to learn and hopeful for a better future. 

For a long time, I have been pessimistic about St. Leo’s state of disarray and find myself losing hope. However, I have come to appreciate the victories in my classroom. I am optimistic these small steps forward will gain momentum and eventually they will receive the quality education that these kids so very much deserve. In the meantime, the students and I will fight together for their brighter future.

Tyler Craven

Durban, South Africa 2011

That is what my community member, Caitlin, said at the beginning of our year, and while it is funny and silly, it is also kind of true. Living in community is completely different from any other living arrangement I have encountered; like a combination of everything almost. 

It is like living with a roommate in that you have obligations to one another to keep the house clean, establish rules about visitors, and other courtesies of the like. It is like living with friends in that you depend on each other for emotional support, you make plans together, and generally look out for each other. It is like living with your family in that you tell each other where you are going and when you expect to back, you share meals together, and (eventually) when you get mad at each other, you can fight like nobody’s business knowing at the end of the day everything will be okay again.  

Living in a community is like all of those things with a pinch more responsibility, courtesy, compassion, understanding, and patience. Those can be hard feelings to muster up at times, especially since many of us (or I, at least) have just exited the most selfish time of our lives: the college years. College is all about you. All about where you want to go and when you want to go there. Of course your friends or your significant other play a role in your decisions, but you are living for you, essentially. I learned quickly that in a committed community, you are very much living for every other person in your community as well as yourself. And in a lot of ways, you have to live more for them than for yourself at times. As we learned in orientation, it is very much a transition from a “me” mentality to a “we” mentality.

And oh boy is it hard sometimes. But also so completely worth it.

When my community and I committed ourselves to each other we opened a door from which flowed an unending stream of trust, strength, and wisdom. When you know the person sitting across from you truly has your best interests at heart, you are free to be you and to share yourself in a way that at least I had never experienced before. I have felt so free to share my every doubt, about myself, my abilities, my faith life, and my experience here and from that I have experienced tremendous growth.

There are the small things, like remembering to pick up peanuts for Antonette, broccoli for Tara, and yogurt for Caitlin even when they don’t ask me to when I am going to the market. Then there are the bigger things, like when I wanted my mom and my boyfriend to come visit. Although they didn’t come right out and say it, I know they both weren’t sure how feasible coming to Peru would be. I talked with my community and God a lot, and what I realized was that I was asking a lot; too much. Coming to Peru is a whole day of traveling with layovers and everything, its expensive, and they have other things going on in their lives that I couldn’t ask them to drop on a dime. Instead of thinking about my wants, I focused instead on what they needed. Through the example of my community I was able to see that when it comes to the people you love, you sometimes have to do what is in their best interest, not yours. I know a year ago I never would have had that realization. 

I have learned so much about myself this year both through structured and casual conversations with my community members. They have completely opened my eyes by giving me new ways to look at the world, its problems and my place amidst all of it. They share in my joy and in my sadness; they pick me up when I fall down; they sooth me when I am angry; they whisper words of encouragement when I feel hopeless; they show me how rewarding living for someone else in addition to myself can be and for that I am so incredibly grateful. 

Dani Vaziri

Chulucanas, Peru 2011

I graduated college a little over a year ago now.  During that graduation season it seemed that there was celebration after celebration, some of them fun, some of them long and drawn out.  There were services to acknowledge students, professors that had done some kind of random research or project in their field of study, most of which I really did not have much interest in.  Then there was the long actual day of graduation where you can’t help but think that the ceremony is way too long and there are way too many names to read.  I did not understand why we had to acknowledge every single little thing that some random person did, or some award that they received.  Not in a necessarily negative way but neutral and indifferent.   

But ever since being in Chulucanas, Peru working at the Ceo Betania, a women’s community center, one of my greatest joys has been learning to appreciate people and acknowledging the small things with celebration.  Almost every single week at the Ceo Betania we have some kind of celebration (usually called a “compartir” meaning a “sharing”).  Anywhere from Mother’s Day to Father’s Day to Teacher’s day to birthdays to foreign visitors that come to baby showers to national holidays to anniversaries… everything and everybody is celebrated.                                               

Ariana, my favorite Peruvian, works at the Ceo Betania and makes sure that everyone feels appreciated.  She makes people know that you are worth the time, that people are thankful for you, that your life is valuable, and that everyone is happy you have entered their lives.  She helps celebrate people for who they are by not only putting on a Mother’s Day celebration talent show, but also making sure that every single mother at the Ceo Betania has a group of students giving her a present and making a speech and then there is a reading about how wonderful mothers are, and there is poetry and singing and there is a blessing and then the next morning there is a smaller breakfast in honor of all the mothers.  She helps to make people feel special, appreciated, and honored.  And it is just a wonderful thing to witness how people rejoice in the smallest and simplest of things.  It would be unheard of for a birthday to slide by without celebrating it on a grand scale   

Hormacinda is another woman who works at the Ceo Betania.  Every morning when I walk into work I stop by the sewing room to say hi to her and chat for a minute.  I ask her how her weekend was or she’ll joke with me about some weird dance a girl did or we’ll talk about what she’s working on or I’ll make fun of my students.  And then after a couple minutes I’ll head up to my classroom and almost every time I leave Hormacinda says, “Gracias por la visita”, which means “thanks for the visit”.  She is thankful for the little chats we have.  She sees the value in the small minutes.  

It is appreciation for the small things and even just listening where joy is created.  Celebration is so much more important than I had ever thought before.  I have learned so much about how it really is worth the time and effort to make someone feel special and to recognize people for what they have done.  It is something that should never be skipped or brushed over.  It is celebrating what is good in life that brings joy and there should always be time and more space for joy.  Just recognition of that which is good can make life full of simple and pure happiness.      

Caitlin Risk

Chulucanas, Peru 2011    

Living in South Africa, and working where I work, has undoubtedly affected my perspective on things.  My imaginings of working at an AIDS hospice prior to my arrival, and then actually doing it were two very different experiences; the ability to put real faces to a disease that is so rampant and losing many of the friends that I have made throughout the year has been a real emotional struggle.  Internally, it is difficult to cope with the inevitable feeling of hopelessness that comes with working in a hospice environment.  Sitting next to people of all ages (particularly, my age or younger) as they pass away, unable to do anything to assist them is something that has forever changed my sense of human beings possessing control in life.

Personally, I struggle through the questioning of my capabilities, particularly when asked to sit next to patients as they pass.  Having doubts when it comes to faith life has always been something that I struggle with, and I can’t help but wonder whether my being there is a helpful thing.  Shouldn’t their family, friends, or people who knew them prior to their decline be the ones supporting them in their final moments?  Shouldn’t they be the ones holding their hands?  This has occurred on more than a few occasions.  Stigma that surrounds this disease prevents people from reaching out when they are in their final moments, and hinders those who really should be there from stepping up and being present to them.  Individuals fear what they cannot understand, and HIV/AIDS is an invader that strikes war within the bodies of those it infects.  Unfortunately, many are left to fight alone; intolerance and lack of understanding makes stigma that much stronger, and the battle becomes one not only for personal health, but societal belonging.

That being said, I have experienced great moments of hope as well. This past week I was able to teach two young boys who are currently patients.  I sat on one's bed while reading to him, and as the other (who doesn't speak a word of English) saw what I was doing, he climbed up next to me and mimicked reading along with us.  After creating math assignments, they both told me that they would try as hard as they could to get everything correct.  The older of the two translated for the smaller boy, who had expressed his fear of the work possibly being too difficult. Encouraging one another, they set to the task at hand. They were more motivated than I could have anticipated, and it gave me hope that they would have successful futures regardless of their current ailments.

Despite all of the questionings and realizations, this hope that I have for the future is continual.  It may take time, but I imagine a world where even if the infection rate stays the same, the stigma and intolerance of others can be the first step in major change.  A disease does not define who a person is or what they are capable of, and there should never be a time when someone is abandoned by their family due to fear of the unknown.   Until that day, however, I will continue to hold their hands and wish for a better tomorrow.

Erika Esposito

Durban, South Africa 2011

“Antonia.  Antonia!  Ven.”  Tito, the religion teacher, stood outside the classroom window signaling me to come quickly.  I gave him a Peruvian head nod back that meant, I’m coming but give me a second!, excused myself from the 5^th year students to whom I had be trying to explain irregular verbs in the past tense (so exciting), and left my co-teacher Yenny in charge so I could see what was going on.  “Ven,” he said again, “està que llora una niña.”  A student´s crying?  And you called me?  Uh, and you`d like me to do what exactly?  “Hàblale, escùchale, aconsèjale—sabes mejor que yo—por favorrrrr.”  He hung onto that last syllable the way Peruvians elongate their words in order to ask really nicely for something they really want.  Talk to her, listen to her, give her advice… well, shouldn´t a Peruvian be doing this?  Oh goodness gracious… Alright, let’s go.  

The student arrived that morning distressed and did not make it through the first hour of the day without breaking down.  I took her out of class per Tito´s request to the school chapel where we could sit and talk privately, but as we walked through the courtyard, I started to feel pretty distressed myself.  So many concerns whirled around in my head: will she trust me to tell me what’s wrong, will I understand what’s wrong, will it be something I can do anything about, will I be able to say to her what I want in Spanish… what can I possibly offer?  All I wanted in that moment was to go back in time and change my major to psychology.    

Being more than just a teacher to this girl and then to many other students as the months went on has been the greatest challenge at my service site Colegio Santìsima Cruz.  My official position is Co-Teacher of English in the High School and I tutor students in the afternoon as well.  As much as grammar is tricky to teach and the students love to make my job as difficult as possible, the real challenge is being a person they can turn to when their situations at home become overwhelming: parents send them away to live with relatives, they are on the brink of being pulled out of school, their family has no money for food, they have no motivation to stay in school, they are dealing with depression, going home is the last thing they want to do, or they need someone, anyone, to just hear what they’re saying.  These situations are hidden behind the faces of the disruptive, disrespectful class clowns and the bright, attentive class leaders all the same.  Those faces I see everyday, but it’s not everyday that students let me see what’s hidden behind them.  When they do share with me their stories, when they let their guard down and decide to trust me, they have no idea that although it’s great to take that step into deeper confidence, it also terrifies me.  Every time a student approaches me looking for that confidence, my stomach clenches and I feign strength as we talk through their struggles.  Even if in the end all I can do for them is listen, the reward of watching the change from visible suffering to peace and relief in their eyes is one of the most precious gifts I will take home with me after I leave Chulucanas. 

Antonette Amato

Chulucanas, Peru 2011

Nkosinathi: the Zulu name for Emmanuel meaning “God with us.” This is the Zulu name I was given by a St. Leo’s teacher to remind me that God will always be with me and others. My year thus far has taught me in numerous ways how God is constantly with us. God is with us during some of our most difficult and trying moments. God is with us in some of the simplest ones. I find for myself I often get caught up and forget this message. I was once told children are often our own greatest teachers. Well, I can say for sure the boys at St. Theresa’s Home for Boys have proved that to me over and over again, even in their ability to show me the meaning of “God with us.”

About a month ago, during an amusing moment when the younger boys from Don Bosco’s cottage turned me into their own human jungle gym, catapult, or (most often) human safety net. The “safety net,” as I’ll call it, is when I am forced to catch the boys after they hurl themselves at me without warning.  During this time a month ago, one of the boys from another cottage was caught with a lighter and some cigarettes. It wasn’t the fearful look on his face that I saw “God with us,” but it was on the face and in the words of the “Auntie” who had caught him. In a glimpse I saw that her face was full of hurt, withheld tears, and most importantly love. The “Auntie” said as she marched the boy up to the director’s office, “After 20 years of working in Child Services it still isn’t any easier.” Her words and body language showed me that after 20 years she still loves and hurts for each boy as if they where form her own womb. Here God showed me the depth and truth of his ability to give love both to us and through us.

It was around the same time I encountered this message that God began to show me another side of this profound message, the ability to ask for love. In my Independent Cottage (where high school age boys stay), I often find myself inside helping with homework, mentoring, or just shooting the breeze. Well, that all changed once “Brooklyn” arrived to stay in our cottage. Brooklyn is an 8 year old, who is new to St. Theresa’s, and has what appears to be a form of Cerebral Palsy. He is down with the older boys in order to allow him more supervised attention due to the smaller number of them. Now, whenever the boys are all done or don’t have any homework, Brooklyn and I roam around, play, and practice walking to strengthen the use of his limbs. Last Tuesday, the day before South Africa’s voting holiday, Brooklyn decided to take me hand in hand on an adventure to the other cottages. Mostly, all of the boys were out and about playing all day (after all what else does every other kid around the world do when there is no school or homework due the next day?). Brooklyn and I set out to make our way up the hill to the other cottages. With his usual big smile on his face and commands of “Woza Baba, come play!” we walked to Don Bosco cottage to play with the younger boys. We climbed up the tall flight of stairs together. Once at the top Brooklyn found a picture book, sat down on a sofa, and commanded me, “Come sit Baba.” He held out the book and gave me a look knowing I would join him. As I began to flip through the pages with him, Brooklyn took my hand, placed it around his opposite shoulder and with such an impact said to me, “Care for me Baba.” This simple gesture of an arm around his shoulder meant so much more to me. It said to me, “love me” “protect me” “value me” and most of all “be with me.”

God uses us and each other to show he is always there. He shows us that even before we realize it he is with us, in us, and around us. He is giving to us and asking of us one simple thing. To love.

Damian Long

Durban, South Africa 2011

One of the questions I was asked to answer for this blog is, “Where have I seen God in my AV experience?” I have many answers to this question:  my community members, my students, the friends I have made in Chulucanas. However, it is without a doubt that the person who most embodies God’s love in my life here in Chulucanas, is my host mom Edita.

Edita is 74 years old. She gets up every morning at around 6 or 6:30 to start making a homemade breakfast for her family. She has 7 children who are all grown now, 1 of whom passed away in a construction accident. She has 15 grandchildren (one of whom lives with her), and 1 great grandchild. Every day she prepares a huge lunch for 10 members of her family (11, when I come to visit!). Lunch is always delicious and elaborate; it usually includes two courses and fresh juice! She cooks in the morning for lunch, and in the afternoon she takes care of her 3 sisters who are all older than her and without family, and perhaps tutor a few children from the neighborhood. The majority of the week, Edita never leaves her house, except one night a week for a prayer group and on Sundays to go to church. At nights around ten, she leaves her house to go and sleep in her sisters’ house next door, so that she can help them get up to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night. After a few hours of sleep, she gets up, and starts all over again.

Edita’s life is not easy, and she doesn’t pretend it is, but alas, she says, this is what God calls her to do. I am constantly amazed every day that I see Edita by the amount of joy in her presence and the amount of love she shows for her family, and for me. One time, when I got sick with the inevitable vomiting and diarrhea of living abroad, she stayed up all night with me and prayed the rosary as I stumbled to and from the bathroom.  At Edita’s I would love to come home in the evenings after work to be greeted by a small plate of dinner and a mug of sweet cinnamon tea, and more often than not a long conversation with Edita about her life, her struggles and how God was constantly calling her to live better and love more. Most of the time I am consumed by worries of how to live a better life, and trying to figure out my vocation--what to do and where to go. Edita rarely leaves her home and she is able to live a life of service that is incredible, and always with a smile and with joy. I feel truly blessed to be able to be considered a small part of Edita’s family.

One of the reasons that I came to Peru with the Augustinian Volunteers is that I wanted to grow in my faith and choose a way of life that would enable me to deepen my relationship with God. Living with Edita was an amazing opportunity to witness someone who lives her life constantly in awe and in gratitude for God’s presence in her life, and who reminds me (literally) to do the same.

Tara Becker

Chulucanas, Peru 2011