Building a Box

There have been a couple of days since I’ve been here that have made me realize exactly why I decided to go on this trip in the first place. Last Wednesday was one of those days.

It started off as miserably as it possibly could have. I woke up at 2 A.M. on a tile floor with the worst headache I’ve had in a long, long time. Before I go on, I realize you are probably asking yourself, “Tom, why the hell were you sleeping on a tile floor?” Well, a Polish woman named Zena – a CouchSurfing friend of my friend Milosz – is studying in Antigua and she graciously offered to let me stay with her free of charge. She seemed nice when I met her and I’m always looking for ways to meet people from other parts of the world, so I thought, Why not?

When I got to her room I quickly assessed the situation and after some complex calculations I realized there was only one bed. Hmmm. She suggested that we split the bed width-wise and she said it so confidently and nonchalantly that I couldn’t imagine why it wouldn’t work. I woke up about an hour after falling asleep and noticed that the border wasn’t so well defined and that there was some encroachment going on. I decided to take my chances with the floor.

I was surprisingly awake after a restless night of futile shifting on the floor. There’s not really a good way to position yourself on tile. I was in Antigua to visit my good friend Meg and her Villanova service-break group, and I spent eight hours of the following day working on a construction site – mixing cement and sawing wood all by hand. Oh, the technology we take for granted.

My second night with Zena I decided to go for the floor right from the get-go. I don’t know if I didn’t eat enough or drink enough water, but that headache was horrible. It was the kind of headache that makes you want to press your fists into your temples; that makes you want to chug vodka until you’re blacked out and aren’t aware that you’re in pain. A couple of Ibuprofens, a bottle of water, and two hours later, I fell back asleep.

I woke up at 8, feeling great but also running late for day two with the ‘Nova crew. I don’t know why I rushed. Like always here in Guatemala, we were off to a late start. We left the God’s Child Project – a veritable fortress of hope, complete with gardens, medical and dental clinics, playgrounds, a theater, and classrooms – and hopped into the back of our caged pickup.

Deciding to follow suit with the Guatemalans, the ‘Nova students abandoned fear –bruised butt cheeks – and chose to stand for the duration of our twenty minute ride. Our pickup rumbled over the cobblestone streets of Antigua’s downtown area and the ‘Nova students giggled about the whole experience. I chose to giggle to myself.

We were working with the poorest of the poor in Antigua and the family we were working with lived in a flimsy, makeshift one room shack. Today, we would be finishing up our work – building a slightly larger and sturdier one room shack. When I first walked through the gate on the street the previous day, I couldn’t process what I was seeing. I walked through the hole in the wall after the sheets of metal were moved and I didn’t even realize I was standing on someone’s property. It just didn’t compute. To my right there were piles of wood and cinder blocks, as there should be on a such a build site. On my left, however, was just a cave of manmade objects. The floor was dirt. There was a bed on the far side. Oh, it’s a bedroom, I thought, not realizing that it was every room. There were shelves. There was produce on the floor. There was a 10” TV. It was impossible to imagine how tough it would be for me to live there.

I was not sure what to expect from the family. Would they be wearing rags? Would they have perpetual frowns tattooed on their faces? Did people this poor look this poor? I don’t even think I expected to see them at all. But they were there, alright, and they were not what I expected. Our first day there, 12 year old Jose Antonio in his SpongeBob shirt wasted no time picking up a shovel and getting in on the action alongside us Americanos. When his five year old brother Melvin arrived from school he wasted no time getting dirty, singing and laughing while he shoveled the tiny amount of dirt and cement that he could. Their mother, Miriam, kept her tiny frame on the sidelines, watching with a look of pleasant disbelief. She could not hide her smile whenever any of us tried talking to her – partly because we sounded ridiculous, partly because she couldn’t imagine why strangers from foreign country were building her a new place to live without asking for anything in return.

The house we were building consisted of a cement foundation, cinderblock bases for the wall frame, sheet rock walls, and a slanted, tin roof to let the water drain. On Monday – which I was not around for – they volunteers dug up the ground and outlined the foundation. On Tuesday – my first day – we mixed cement all morning, started cutting the wood for the walls, and began painting the sheet rock. Wednesday, however, was to be the big day. At the pace we were moving, however, it didn’t seem like we’d finish on time.

We started off the day behind schedule, but thank God for Juan. Juan works for the God’s Child Project and is a one-man, one-room-house building machine. While we silly Villanova kids were talking about things like Greek life and activities at school, Juan was silently working at full steam. While we were casually nailing up the walls, Juan was framing the roof. While we were struggling to put up a window frame – two 2ft. pieces of 2x4 between two beams – Juan finished the roof.

Somehow, however, by 4:30 we were standing inside the finished room with the new owners. It wasn’t much – no bigger than a single car garage – but, at that moment, it felt warm and welcoming. Miriam, with her two sons standing nearby, thanked us all and gave us letters of gratitude. In the letter, they asked that we never forget them because they would never be able to forget us.

Our departure was bittersweet. The three of them watched as we boarded the pickup truck. Every one of us knew that this would be the last time that we ever saw each other. A couple of the ‘Nova girls got teary eyed and most of our pickup ride back was spent in a contemplative silence.

I couldn’t feel sad, however. In fact, I felt the opposite. I thought the moment was beautiful. Their gratitude was so real, and our good intentions so visibly manifested.

One of the biggest parts of the most integral parts of the Villanova service-break trip experience is the nightly reflections that help the participants process their experiences from the day. I had joined them the night before and, in the silence of the pickup, I thought back to what was said. A couple people talked about how some people could have so little and be so happy. Another person or two talked about how maybe living simply is really the answer to it all. Other people talked about big words like “poverty” and “systemic problems.” The whole time as I sat there, however, it all felt off to me. It wasn’t that I disagreed with what people said; it was more that what they said didn’t feel right in my stomach. What can we really do? Can’t poor people and rich people be happy and can’t both be unhappy too? How can I change anything? Or can I even change anything? Is it my job to change things? There was too much going on inside my head that night and I couldn’t organize my feelings into coherent sentences. I decided to stay quiet, letting these questions settle.

As I stood in the back of the truck with the wind blowing on my dirty face, it all clicked. It all made sense. I’m not going to change the system, nor do I have to. The problems are simply too big to be tackled as problems. But I’m not helpless. What did we do for the family today? We built them a house, yes, but we did more. We told them that we believed they could have a better life and that they deserved a better life. We didn’t just do this with words; we did this with actions of immense generosity, giving our sweat, energy and love. But can’t we all have a better life? Can’t we all be happier, more satisfied people, rich, poor and middle-class alike? And after all, don’t we all have the ability to help each other reach our potential? Sure, building a house is a huge, tangible sign, but we don’t have to build a house for someone to bring out their best. And once they are freed from their demons, they can help liberate others, and so on. Laws won’t make changes and governments won’t make changes; it’s all on us, in our everyday lives.

The uneasiness in my gut from the night before finally settled and everything seemed clear. As the silence in the truck was broken, I just prayed that I’d have the strength to remember these lessons when they weren’t staring me in the face.