How Voluntourism Can Change the World and What You Can Do

I have to write this, while it's fresh in my mind. So please, forgive the grammatical/spelling/structural errors that will ensue, for they will be plentiful.

I had a great discussion with another volunteer here in Rocinha about the work I have been doing over the course of the past few years, working but more specifically, volunteering abroad. I've been blessed with the opportunity to follow my dreams; a wonderful family, financial stability, and relationships with inspiring people have brought me to where I am now; a favela of over 200,000 people in the heart of one of the world's most violent cities, Rio de Janeiro. However, I have never denied the direction in which my heart pulls me, and it pulled me here.

Volunteer service. Working with marginalized populations has brought me unparalleled joy and satisfaction. It's an addiction I can't kick. The more we engage in activities like volunteer work, travel, learning about other cultures/peoples, foreign languages, etc. a number of wonderful things can happen to us: our minds expand, our prejudices dissipate, our confidence grows, not to mention all of the like minded, inspiring people we meet along the way. Most of these benefits are obvious, but some are buried deeper, hidden as part of a larger picture and they're not felt instantaneously. What I speak of is this; these sort of activities pave way not only for spiritual and mental growth of the self, but a deeper realization that we human beings have so much more in common than what makes us different. We connect. Our countries give us labels as "Americans" or "Brazilians" or "Chinese" but once we connect, once we cross the invisible wall of seperation, we realize that we are really the same, regardless of the minute difference that characterize us as an "American" or whatever. We share so much. Part of what we share is a common suffering of some sort as well, stemming from various forms of suppression. Whether you live in a favela here in Rio, a home made of sticks and garbage bags in Central America, or you are shackled with a never ending debt by an already exceedingly rich bank who's CEO could elevate your suffering with one day's earnings, we are experiencing an injustice which tears at our very core. In the future, it shall be us who lift ourselves from these injustices, not the institutions we have trusted to protect our liberties. The more we connect, the more we understand that we are part of the same problem, and only in numbers can we begin to rebuild. So what can we do, what can I do?

The International Volunteer sector is, for the most part, currently acting as any other business. Organizations like volunteerabroad charge as much as $3,500 to come to a country and teach English for two weeks! For other volunteer organizations (just type in volunteer abroad into google) like CrossCultural Solutions their prices are even more outrageous. So here's what seems to be happening, these organization have moved away from the initial idea of cultural exchange and voluntourism and are behaving more like any other business, principle interest=profit gain. But this this sector isn't like a normal business, and shouldn't be treated as one.

Now, I'm not saying that they aren't doing some good, they are. But these prices are inhibiting hundreds, if not thousands of interested do-gooders from ever having the opportunity to take part in such a life changing experience. I've had dozens of people write me, discouraged because they sincerely want to do some volunteering abroad but can't find an affordable avenue to do so. They search the web with the desire to go abroad, to obtain that growth, that realization discussed above, but are discouraged because the big wigs decided they could make more money because "the rich ones will still pay." Here is how a company like this operates; they connect the volunteer with the NGO (Non-Governmental Organization) that needs the assistance. Cost = free. They set the volunteer up with a family or in a volunteer apartment who provides the living quarters and the food. Cost = depending on country, about about $150-300 a week. Then we have administrative cost. Cost = depends on the number of employees, but I highly doubt these are salaried positions. This is not even mentioning the numerous, grants and donations these companies receive. So where is the bulk of this money going?

What's the idea here? We need to get more people helping, taking part in these experiences, realizing that what we share is grander than what makes us different, adopting tolerance, respect, and compassion. These attributes are what is going to change our society for the better. These realizations are what unite us, not as Americans or Japanese or British, but as human beings. It saddens me to see we are being taken advantage of, yet again, in this sector. How many people have passed up these wonderful opportunities because of its outrageous cost?

But there is hope. Organizations like www.volunteerhq.org are charging less, and providing more. Their programs are affordable and their opportunities numerous. Perhaps that is why they are the fastest growing volunteer company in the business. If you want to donate, donate to them. Donate to the organization I work with now, www.2bros.org. They charge no volunteer free, and have provided kids in this favela free English courses for over 10 years now, not to mention a safe haven where previous role models; rifle toting, drug trafficking gang members are now replaced with new role models; educated foreigners who speak multiple languages, are sincere, and have the compassion and heart to work to change the lives of these children. Donate to Habitat for Humanity founder Millard Fuller's 'Fuller Center'. It provides opportunities to build homes in impoverished regions of the world at a very low volunteer cost. Donate to organizations like this, who have little or no program fee, because this is for us, this is about people helping people. 

Interested in volunteering abroad?

-www.volunteerhq.org

-http://www.kiva.org/fellows

-www.volunteersouthamerica.net

-http://thewaterproject.org/getinvolved.asp

-www.fullercenter.org

-www.safepassage.org

Funding ideas:

-Donations! Put together a letter, slide show, or album of your intended project and why the people need your help. (fundraising.com, fundriasing-ideas.com)

-Search for grants, fellowships, or if you are in school, scholarships!

-Hold an event. Auctions are always great way to raise money.

-Letters. Write a letter and send it to as many people as you can think of. There are many people who would love to be able to travel abroad and help but are unable to do so, many of them would love to see you do it instead!

-Get an online fundraising page with www.firstgiving.com

Related clips of the organization I currently work with:

http://edition.cnn.com/video/data/2.0/video/international/2010/07/31/bs.rocinha.favela.cnn.html

http://noticias.r7.com/videos/turistas-estrangeiros-sao-bem-recebidos-na-rocinha/idmedia/785a1879c119e7ab0a6968bb7bfd1693.html

The body of Rocinha

A wander through the narrow alleys of my new home, South America's biggest slum, birthed the need for a written analysis of Rocinha and my current situation. For some, this experience could be traumatizing; the noise, the open sewers, and all of the other issued that develop from close quartered living. For others it's like candy for the soul, a new experience around every turn, each as deliciously invigorating as the last. It all depends on how you look at your current situation. Do you invite fear and uncertainty in, allowing a manifestation of helplessness and vulnerability? Or better yet, do you invite the new experience to the contrary, recognizing that you are now part of a community that cares for and protects its inhabitants? We humans tend to retract when we experience the unfamiliar, a sort of primitive defense mechanism I guess. But we are no longer primitive beings, even here in the slum. Brutality has been replaced with generosity, a caring for one another, a connection shared by those who live here. On the outside, sophistication is pride. Yet we continue to submit to unsophisticated lack of ability to connect with one another. We tend to go from home to work to the grocery store to the bank and back in the tightly sealed safety of the car, the tightly sealed representation of who we are, a judgement from the outside rather from the inside. I've always been attracted to poorer, less developed communities because of the fact that human connection is so evident. It is in fact, a necessity for our species. Relationships are the focus, people know each other from the inside out, not just from the outer coating buttered up from purchasing power.

The body of Rocinha is made up of poorly constructed brick housing and edifices, but once inside, the elderly, the children, and everything in between are constantly passing through the streets and narrow alleyways, like cells pumping blood, giving life to the slum. The heart is the kindness of the people, the willingness to help each other at the drop of a hat. The muscle, one could say, are the gangs that keep order here. Like the illegally wired electricity that illuminates Rocinha, the gangs have replaced the lack of government assistance here with a system of order, punishment, and respect. As a gringo living here in Rocinha, this place is safer for me than any other in Rio. A thief is left with a few less fingers after they're caught, and they are always caught, because the slum is a body, and the good cells seek out and destroy anyone who threatens its health. Characterized as a brutal and crime ridden collection of filth from the outside, the residents of Rocinha share what most of Rio doesn't, a community free of crime, free of fear.

This place is little understood. Every passing week is like another puzzle piece added, but this is a puzzle with no final image. In any new environment, I clear myself from judgements. It helps me to absorb and analyze on a deeper, clearer level. Especially in a place as complex as Rocinha, one cannot even begin to try and understand it from the outside. Those that do, do so with ignorance as the drive the freeway safely sealed in their protective four wheeled bubbles, pontificating about surface values, without ever penetrating the inner beauty that makes Rocinha not a favela, but rather a community.

I am the captain of my soul, and the only gatekeeper of my abilities

I will not be paralyzed, I will not allow my dreams to be suffocated by fear

When it does arise, I will simply expose it and watch it disappear

My mind will not be a copy, it will not have a strict diet

It will be eclectic, and distortions of reality within a television set will not fry it

I will walk slowly, and enjoy every step

Recognizing the impermanence of money, that relationships and helping others is where true love is kept

My life will be beautiful because of these truths, and I hope it so

So I can say with satisfaction and gratitude, 'I was my captain'

When it's my turn to go.

Murals for Soacha in Bogotá, Colombia

My summers through high school and most of college were spent working construction and learning every foul word and expression Mexican spanish has to offer. Stripping forms, finishing concrete, and jackhammering equals long days and hard work, but I wasn't really prepared for the work I had committed to a month earlier when I spontaneously decided to head to Mexico and build a house with Habitat for Humanity. I was bound for a small settlement called Chinameca in the state of Morelos with a group of volunteers with the idea of finishing a house in a week. A took a week off of work, but I was going to be compensated with something worth far more than a dollar amount. On the last day of the build, having been one of the few Spanish speakers on the project, I sat holding a middle aged single mother of four as she sobbed uncontrollably in appreciation for the work we had all done to provide her family with their own home. Not just the twenty-some volunteers, but the local masons, the pueblito's "don", as well as various other member's of the community who had come together to make a dream into reality in just seven days. This was quite a change from what I was used to, instead of a middle aged woman up in arms with frustration over a crack in the finish of her three car garage, I was now comforting a middle aged woman whose glossy eyes and ear to ear grin were the product of a 900 sq. foot house made of block whose construction lasted just over a week. To this day, the recollection of this moment clouds my eyes. The feeling was like a drug, and I've been addicted ever since. Two houses later, I find myself here in Bogota, Colombia.

Extensive fumbling through the Internet landed me with an organization looking for volunteers with construction experience to come and help renovate an elementary school in the Colombian neighborhood of Soacha, one of Bogota's poorest districts. The deal was sealed when I scrolled down further to discover they were also in need of artists to paint murals on the walls of the school.

Arriving in Bogota on a rainy Monday night I first met the organizations founder, Al. A British born vagabond like myself, the 26 year old had founded the NGO just six months earlier. This was a newly discovered piece of information that quickly initiated my interrogation-like Q&A with Al. That night I met the family who I was to be staying with for the next month. The mother, a sweet woman of about five feet, was the first to greet me. Though small in stature, her virtue is quite the opposite. I later found out that she founded both the primary and secondary school in Soacha (those which we would be working on). Her sons, Johnny and Arnold, also do a lot of work with the school and its programs. Being similar in age, they have become very close friends of mine and our conversations have formulated many ideas of developing a home building program in Soacha. Though I am not so sure I am ready to put on the breaks yet and develop a foundation yet as I still have one last stop before slowing down, they will be a favorable contacts for the organization when it does become a reality. Everyday I walk through Soacha, I take note of the construction going on and I notice the lack of equipment, resources, and overall manpower. What may take two masons two months to build, a group of volunteers could do with there backs and volunteer fees in less than two weeks. Another noted application to the houses is the paint. Though very few of these houses are painted (most are left with exposed brick and concrete), the small street that I pass everyday that boasts its brightly colored exterior creates a different psych for those who stroll through. The colors generate a sense of beauty as opposed to a sense of ignobility and underdevelopment. It would take less than $100 to paint a home in Soacha, an amount that would barely suffice a couple of mixed drinks at a Vegas nightclub, yet it has the ability to forever change the mentality of the home's inhabitants creating a sense of hope, self-worth, and motivation.

Having past the halfway mark on my time here in Bogota, I feel satisfied with the work I am doing. The mornings are spent picking a ditch in an area that will eventually become a playground area for the adjacent elementary school, and when the rain rolls in (usually between noon and 1pm everyday) I head inside to work on the murals. The two hour trek to and from the site everyday becomes worthwhile when you are hugged by some of the student's, some of which I haven't even met. The children are often just as appreciative as the adults. During some of the home builds, kids were amongst the hardest workers.

Recent years have created a more optimistic view of the world for me. I believe we are beginning to see that we can no longer ignore each other, we can no longer turn a cold shoulder on those born in unfavorable conditions, that we can no longer live in ignorance of the developing issues that help to create much of the ugliness in the world. Want to put a dent in the flow of immigration over our southern border? Use the money to build houses to help them stay instead of a wall to keep them from having a chance. Change the situations in which cause them to leave. Give people a reason to stay, because that is ultimately what many of them wish to do, not leave their families and risk their lives chancing it to an unknown territory with a foreign language. The woman for who we built a house in El Salvador had her husband leave over a year ago. I find it hard to believe that it was an easy decision leaving his wife and children only to taunt death riding a train through gang infested territory, traverse corrupt police officers, and walk days through a desert with little food or water for a 'chance' at obtaining a job in the US and providing a better life for his family back home. The reality is, his family was living in a makeshift home of dirt floors and a ceiling made from sticks and jointed garbage bags. The decision to leave becomes one of necessity when faced with unlivable conditions.

More than just American, or Colombian, Central American, or Mexican we are human beings. Brothers and sisters of the same species. There are over forty-two thousand languages in the world, but only one set of feelings shared by all who carry the human genome. The unnecessary suffering is not going to be solved by any government, it will be solved by us. We already have the capacity and the resources, we just have to realize it. We just have to come to the realization that we have the power to change it. Together. Now. John Lennon said it quite well "Millions of mind guerrillas... Raising the spirit of peace and love, not war."

A Cosmic Connection

I get lost. My head starts to feel heavier and heavier as I struggle to maintain its position, but I can’t take my eyes off of the sky. It's majestic and tantalizing, and in an odd sense a bit comforting given its immensity. But I can’t take my eyes away. The sand is cold, and I could probably use a shirt, but the complexity of current thought removes any consideration of a cotton t-shirt. I was watching a show.

Not just the grand show performed by several hundred billion stars each and every night, but a steady and consistent lapping of the ocean, a natural hymn created by the wind and palm’s divine collaboration, what I was watching was an impressive show perfected after several billion years of practice. One of the greatest things about travel is it’s a forced meditation. Your mind is free to wonder and to explore. Of course meditation itself is achievable in any location under any circumstance, but its complexity and difficulty is often underestimated. It takes months and even years of practice to train your mind. But with travel, that commitment and responsibility so “duly” required of the many actors in your life is forced to dissipate, autopilot shuts off, and your mind exhales. That extroverted effort of responsibility and commitment become an introverted one, a responsibility and full commitment to thyself, a concentration inward.

My mind continued to wonder although I had adjusted my position and was now dependent on the support of my elbows. Fixated on the moon, I examined her pushing and pulling on the tide, essentially “playing” with what we consider the most powerful natural source on earth. My mind wandered further; if the moon has the divine ability and finesse to provide constistency to something as massive as the tides around every corner of the globe, then is it possible that the moon, or other arrangements of stars and planets, can influence the chemistry of our bodies and/or makeup of our minds? An American astrologist by the name of Marc Edmund Jones theorized about mental chemistry and divided people into one of four groups, dependent on two things; the speed of the moon at the day of birth (fast or slow) as well as the position of Mercury relative to the sun. My mind wanted to venture farther however, into the zodiacs all the way back to the beginnings of recorded astrology. It facinates me that through instense examination, pattern recognition, and recordings of notable events, et cetera these people, nearly 2,000 years ago were able to characterize individuals based on an astrological sequence of patterns. Furthermore, they personafied the constellations with familiar creatures possessing similar behavioral characteristics. The constellations were and still are indicators of consistent reoccurrence which allow for a certain set of (or lack thereof) traits to be attributed based on the presence of a certain astrological pattern. Even today we find our daily horoscopes in the local or national newspaper. Even though we may pride ourselves as totally unique individuals, beneath the exterior we find ourselves part of this celestial pattern masterminded by what may very well be incomprehensible to us apart from basic recognition. As the tide inches itself closer and closer to my barefeet, my mind shoots back to the relationship between this ocean and the moon. Staring into the illuminated portion of the pacific, I can’t help but think of how subtle this relationship is, but how many millions of people depend on it. How it has provided for, and essentially is, life.

The relationship between the moon and the ocean is a majestic one. We see the tide change two times a day, everyday, every year. However, the formation of our personality traits is quite another, more complex story. Taking into account the effects of such a subtle relationship between moon and ocean, one can only begin to wonder what kind of patterns are integrated in each one of the zodiacs. We do know that these cosmic relationships are cyclical. And thanks to the work of the ancient Chinese, Egyptian, and Roman astrologers (as well as contributions from several other early cultures) we know that these patterns repeat themselves twelve times annually. But what is the biological reason for such reoccurances? If the moon pushes and pulls on the ocean twice daily, then the relationship between planets, stars, et cetera must be doing their fair share of pushing and pulling as well. Could it be that as a miniscule lifeform taking shape within the whomb of your mother this pushing and pulling is even having a slight effect on the placement and development of your cells, tissues, etc? Interlinking of the brain’s neurons begins at around six months of whomb confinement and at around seven months, the rudimentary brain waves indicating consciousness can be detected. During this developmental process, is it possible the relationship between certain planets, stars, or cosmos can influence the final resting place for cells, nuerons, organs, et cetera within something as tiny as a fetus? Perhaps.
Another part worth noting is the connection between something as colossal as the cosmos and something as minute as the cultivation and multipulcation of cell makeup. Eventually, we continually multiply (grow) until adulthood. An angelic relationship between the cosmos and ourselves? Perhaps there is an omnipresence of the cosmos that walks around in each and every one of us. A subtle reminder of our connection with that which lies above and beyond our understanding. A connection not only with these constellations, the moon and the stars but with each other, with the ocean, with the sand that finds its way to every crevice of my body, with those trees behind me, with my friends back at the hostel and my family back home, with everything. But what is this connection, and why? Could this connection be the answer to the many questions of our existence? An answer that is literally staring right back at me from the depths of the sky?

Working with Immigrants in Arriaga, Chiapas

Where to begin, where to begin?

Well, I guess I´ll begin with the fact that I have always wanted to visit Mexico´s southern most state, Chiapas. The Zapatista movement takes place here, and has long been the epicenter for indigenous rights here in Mexico, as 1 in 4 of the population here is indigenous of some kind. Mayan making up the majority I believe. In the interest in saving time, you can read about the Zapatista movement here...
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ezln
Anyways, I´ve longed to come to this state for some time. So when we left from Salina Cruz (where we had stayed the night since the haul from San Jose del Pacifico began to take a toll on our energy)and entered Chiapas I felt a thrill of excitement, a recognition that a dream of mine had become reality. We were on our way to Arriaga. A small town of around 40,000 about four hours a way from the Guatemalan border. What brought me here was a desire to volunteer. Here in Arriaga, cargo trains pass though from Guatemala to the north. It is the route of immigrants from all over central and south america. No matter where you come from, or where you are going, if you go ¨al norte¨ you will pass through Arriaga.

While in Guadalajara, one of my student´s father approached me after class. He asked if I could translate a document for him, in which I gladly did. I found that this research report pertained to human rights for immigrants passing through Mexico. I had studied this topic in depth, and had even wrote a thesis on it while in college. So when I met with Lalo again, I asked him how I could get in touch with someone in order to do some sort of volunteer work. Lalo, who is a professor at the University of Gaudalajara, gave me some great contacts. One of which was an immigrant shelter in a small town in southern Chiapas called ¨Arriaga.¨ From there on I planned to make my way to Arriaga to see if I could be a volunteer.

When we arrived to Arriaga (with heat to what I imagine to be a Georgia summer) we made our way to Casa Migrante. The experience there was a little weird. The padre was not there and we were welcomed, sort of, but two guys who seemed to be in charge. A couple of strange individuals I must say. They left us for a couple of hours and told us to wait for the Padre. Well, we then met a local guy named Santiago. He sensed our impatience and sympathized by taking us around Arriaga in his car, then to dinner. He offered us his house to sleep in. Which, as travelers on a budget, is a hard bargain to pass up. We were not contacted by the shelter, as they told us they already had a volunteer and wouldn´t need us. Though I find it strange that a ´volunteer´ be turned away. But, whatever. Just being there was a surreal experience, seeing 300 immigrants from all over Latin America sleeping under the train and finding any sort of shade to pass the time until the train departed.

We decided to be proactive and continue following our desire to help, and actually turned the experience into something unforgettable, one that probably would have been better than cleaning toilets and washing dishes at the casa migrante.

We stayed with Salvador for three or four days. During the day, despite the heat, Tama and I made several trips to the market where for around 50 (about $4 USD) pesos we would buy 15 or so small waters or juice, as well as two or three kilos of bananas. We spent our afternoons walking the traintracks of Arriaga handing out the supplies and talking with the immigrants. Now, I often comment on our incredible an experience was yada yada yada. But seriously, this is one that will forever be lodged in my memory as one of the most unforgettable experiences of my life. We talked with people from El Salvador, Nicaragua, Honduras, Cuba, Guatemala, etc. about what they had been through, their experiences, and what their hopes were for the future. We talked with people who were making their first trip, with people who were making there 14th and 15th trip. People who had been robbed, beaten up, people who had walked for 11 days shirtless to get to the traintracks. The first day, we met a group of guys from all over who were traveling together for protection. They told us about the scariest leg of their journey, which was from Tapachula (the border town to Guatemala) to just south of Arriaga. This area is heavily occupied by Mara Salvatrucha and Zeta gang members who board the train with intentions to rob rape and hurt people. They were a genuine group, buenas personas looking for a better life for themselves and their family. One 14 year old boy, making his second or third trip, told us about a teenage girl who had fallen off the train a few years earlier. She had fallen between the cargos and the train had cut her in half. The journey had taken her life, as well as the life of her unborn baby. His eyes held the terror and sorrow he felt at that particular moment.

In summary, working with these immigrants was a gift. A gift that I will never forget. Likewise for them, since many of them had wondered what the hell a gringo and a norteña was doing in Arriaga helping immigrants. I wonder if they will tell our story, as I am telling theirs.

It filled my heart was happiness to be with these people, to assist them, to listen to them. It got my mind brainstorming of all the possibilities of charity and or other opportunities I could establish for a permanent assistance to these people. I will never forget their faces, nor their appreciation of what we were doing. It was truly a dream come true for me. Watching over 300 immigrants from all across the continent sitting atop a cargo train with hopes of a better future is surely a sight I´ll never forget. Waving at us as they get ready to leave is more of a motivation than anything. Now, I need to figure out how to make my assitance more powerful and more permanent.

(the pictures are not so good as we had only taken photos the last day, in which most immigrants had left on the departing train, my apologies.)

San Jose del Pacifico, Oaxaca

I spent my birthday on top of the world. Well, maybe not on top of the world but at the highest point of the Sierra in southern Oaxaca. It was a nice change of temperature from the beach towns we had been in the two or so weeks previously, and it was a sweet reminder of home to be in the woods again surrounded by pine trees and giant rock formations. San Jose del Pacifico is a small town of around 500 people I would guess. It serves as a stopping point for many people who make the trip from Oaxaca City to Pachutla, on the other side of the Sierra. The day we got there we rented a cabin for 100 pesos (around $8 USD) and star gazed until our eyes and our minds could stretch no further. The next day, Tama and I spent the morning and afternoon hiking the surrounding mountains. It was absolutely incredible. First, we ascended into the forest along the trail, unaware of what or where we were trying to reach. After about three hours we were immersed into the clouds and came upon a flat aread of about 300 sq yards on top of this mountain. It was an Alice in Wonderland feeling. The only souls for miles, we walked through one of the most impressive displays of nature I had ever seen. The forest was majestic, and with the addition of the clouds, it really added to the experience. We spent a few hours exploring this mini valley and soaking up the experience. I commented to Tama while on top of the mountain that although I would love to see my friends and family, a birthday on top of this mountain, in the middle of the Oaxacan Sierra, sure beats a night out at the bar.

The planned two day visit in San Jose del Pacifico turned into five days of reading, hiking, and star gazing. At 100 pesos a night, its hard to leave a comfortable cabin with a patio and a view of the Sierra. San Jose del Pacifico is an awesome place, a majestic mountain town with nice people and great scenery. Every evening the clouds rolled in a passed directly in fron of us, and we spent some sunsets sipping hot chocolate (Oaxaca is famouse for chocolate) and eating tlayudas.