Here and There

Written by: Olivia Deeken

How was the trip? How was the vacation? How was the sun? How was the mission trip? You went somewhere right? These are among the top five questions I have been asked since returning from our trip earlier this week. These questions are very politely, or even with genuine interest, asked. I often find myself at a loss for words when asked these questions. Real words. Nine times out of ten I settle with something generic like, "It was great!" "I enjoyed it." "The families were amazing." "The country is beautiful." And nine out of ten people will say something polite in return, smile and nod and go about their day, or move to another subject. The whole process is very natural, superficial and not unexpected. I try not to get too hung up on the nine responses that I just described above. It would be very conceited of me to think that everyone should reserve some portion of their limited time and energy they expend on the hustle and bustle of their own lives for an impassioned, interested, and genuine conversation about my trip, what we did, the people we got to know, or the living conditions we witnessed.

So, instead, I'm choosing (trying anyway) to focus on the one out of ten who have a moment to ask a second question or a third or to see pictures. I'm thankful for them.

In school, we learned about Narrative Theory which proposes that our lives - or at least how we view them - are formed through the stories we tell others about our own experiences. In a very simplified way, solutions in the narrative approach start with shifting gears from problem-centered stories to ones that demonstrate more resilience or strength. I'm thankful for those people who ask more questions and who listen longer, because they give me an opportunity to form my narrative about this most recent trip to Guatemala - my real story.

I could tell a story about the sunburns, the traveler's stomach, fatigue, motion sickness, self-conscious, and language barriers. All of these elements appeared in some way shape or form throughout our trip. It would be a true story, but it's certainly not the whole story. The tenth person gives me an opportunity to talk about Doña Toñita and her daughter. How despite their tough situation, it's significantly better than before they were generously sponsored and received regular supplies of food.

Doña Toñita and her daughter Adelina receiving monthly food items from their sponsored family in the US.

I get to talk about the excitement of kids and families at a giant Christmas celebration that had been widely anticipated for months.

I get to talk about the excitement a single mom has when talking about her new stove that she had specially decorated with colored tiles.

I get to talk about carrying my second sheep down a second hill for no other reason other than I thoroughly enjoy it and think it is cool.

Tom's (sponsored family's gift) sheep delivery to Don Alberto. The sheep pee'd on Olivia.

I get to talk about the incredible collaboration between two very different teams who are constantly striving for improvement and balance between caring for themselves while doing the hard work of caring for others.

I get to talk about the deeply spiritual impact of witnessing the natural and amazing beauty of the land.

Project Humanitarian Efforts Lifting the Lives of Others team travelers for 2018.

I get to talk about the much needed slap of humbleness I receive through each humanitarian trip.

A token of appreciation by one of the families. The note read, "This plant is for the other white girl."

A true miracle in motion: Olivia cooking.

It's hard to put words to such profound and not-yet-fully-processed experiences. So I'm thankful for that tenth person who gives me the opportunity to find the words, to mold my story - the detail rich, emotion packed, imperfect, sad, joyful and amazing story that it is. That is the story I want in my life narrative. That's the story I want to remember and share with others. So thanks. Thanks to all ten people for asking the first question, and special thanks to the tenth person for asking the second.

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Favorite Moments and Photographs

By: Olivia Deeken

Olivia wondering where my butt went.

Rhino the dog, old faithful.

Tuluz the cat.

Olivia's favorite meal, fresh fried trout and fries.

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Written by: Franco

Village Clinic in Sibinal, Guatemala, December 14, 2018

When you are joyous, look deep into your heart and you shall find it is only that which has given you sorrow that is giving you joy.

When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.

Some of you say, "Joy is greater than sorrow," and others say, "Nay, sorrow is the greater."

But I say unto you, they are inseparable.

Together they come, and when one sits alone with you at your board, remember that the other is asleep upon your bed.

- Kahlil Gibran The Prophet

Introduction

The purpose of this blog post is to allow the reader to learn how our team volunteers individually cope throughout the humanitarian work process. Clearly, each writer has the option to share as much or as little as they choose. The second purpose is a space to share our favorite pictures and stories. These are stories maybe we didn’t get a chance to share or pictures we didn’t get to publish. I hope you enjoy our personal testimonies.

In my experience, humanitarian work is like a tree. Over many years, our team has planted the importance of how sustainable change (shifting from poverty into prosperity) can come about if a community works together. The roots begin to grow only if and when the community decides to take action. The trunk would symbolize continued empowerment, sustainability and maintenance. The branches are the direct and indirect effects at the micro, mezzo, and macro levels (families, groups, communities).

Often times during our humanitarian campaigns, I focus most of my attentions on the community and fail to recognize I form part of the tree. I grapple with things I see in the field that often activate personal recollections from the past and take great effort in taking care of my body so it doesn’t fail and get in the way of our work.

The toughest part of humanitarian work is acknowledging my physical and mental limitations. I become hyper focused on an objective and often forget about self-care. In the egocentric part of my mind, I become an indestructible machine until I’m abruptly reminded that I’m human. That reminder usually presents itself in the form of a physical illness. Such was the case during this particular humanitarian trip.

In 2015, I became severely ill while in Barranquilla, Colombia. I lost 20 pounds in a few weeks due to a non-diagnosable stomach infection. Even after doctors attempted to treat me with antibiotics, IV fluids, and other medications, the symptoms continued.

Doctor and tech treating me in my hotel room. Barranquilla, Colombia, 2015.

More recently, I became ill in Guatemala. I often wonder why my stomach is susceptible to infection after infection. After traveling to 30 countries over my lifetime, I assume my stomach can handle about anything. Yet, there I was once again, sitting on the porcelain goddess wondering where the off button in my body had gone.

I managed to stand and barely made it to my teammate’s room asking for help before collapsing to me knees and vomiting. She gently rubbed my back and encouraged me to let it all out. Knowing she was there made me feel better. Like most men, I turn into a Baby Man when I’m sick. In my head, surely I will die.

My teammate helped me stand after I was done exfoliating my stomach. I was shivering uncontrollably and she helped me into bed and tucked blankets around me. I looked like a very sick burrito. Then she sat by me and rested her hand on my leg. The power of the human touch.

The moment she touched my leg was the most healing and reassuring part of the process for me. Even after being transported by another teammate to the village clinic, I knew I wasn’t alone. I was severely dehydrated and was pumped with Lactated Ringers IV fluid, given an injection of ampicillin, and ciproflaxin for the infection.

Throughout the course of the brief hospitalization my greatest relief was knowing my teammates, one from Project HELLO and the other from Generacion Magnificat, were there to support me and keep me safe. I was able to let go and surrender. I will forever be gracious they were by my side.

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The Corpsman Pledge

Written by: Franco

For a few minutes during this humanitarian trip, I felt like a Navy Corpsman (medic) again! The most important responsibility I had in my early 20’s was to keep my platoon of Marines healthy. I was hard on them, but it came from a place of love and concern, especially when we deployed.

While in Guatemala, our team was busy building Don Gregorio’s home. I was taking pictures of a man chipping rocks with a sledge hammer. Small rock particles fired like tiny missiles in all directions. A larger rock struck the man on his right shin and he went down from the pain.

One of our teammates thankfully had a first aid kit. When I approached the patient and asked permission to treat him, I noticed his legs were covered in painful varicose veins. He had a good sized knot and a small cut which I gently disinfected and covered with a sterile gauze.

As I worked on this man, I thought of the Marines I treated many moons ago. I could distinctly see their faces. The initial shock from the injury, fighting the pain, fear masked by toughness, and ultimately surrender. It served as a good reminder of who and where I used to be and who and where I am today.