Volunteer Work in Texas

Day 1 - Which is not to say my job started today nor that I will be blogging every single day I will be here.

Day zero counts.  

And that was yesterday, when I arrived at the All Hands and Hearts (AHAH) base in Rockport, TX. I finally found out I will be using a porta potty out of the 3 available and a shower out of the 5 that spread across two trailers. The wind keeps rocking those plastic bathrooms out to the side of the missionary church I will be calling home for the next two and a half weeks. 

My first impression? A huge metal barn out on the parking lot with half its roof gone. The other half keeps hanging over a restricted area.

Last night, I walked into what will be our common sleeping area to find a bunk-bed version of Rocking J's, the popular youth beach hostel in the Caribbean coast of Costa Rica. 20 bunk beds spread over three rows take up an entire room. All sorts of colors jump out at me. There are towels, blankets, sleeping bags, suitcases and clothes hanging from the wooden structures of the bunks. I am given an inflatable bed to pump and shown available top beds from which I can choose. Two other volunteers are being instructed with me. They were actually in the same flight I was on my way to Corpus Christi. I let them stay together and take the already-inflated mattresses. Thereafter, I walk by myself to the opposite end of the room from them. 

 

On the way, a young woman's t-shirt reads "Pura vida!" The bearer was actually in Nicaragua, she says, but many others here have visited the place I must still call "home" every time I am asked from where I am. Michigan, Jersey, New York, Kansas, South Africa, Saudi Arabia, California, France, India...I have run into a diverse group of young people. We are all here for the same reason; to help people whose homes were affected by a hurricane that hit them about 7 months ago.

So day one starts. 

I am officially up at 7am. The "rise and shine" line is voiced quite loudly and clearly in our common room. We each go at our pace. One after another, we serve ourselves our own breakfast and pack our own lunches. By 8am we are supposed to be out the parking lot in our vehicles. However, today, for my first day, I get proper orientation, instead. We go over figures on operations, the organization and the disaster. The zero tolerance to sexual harassment policy does ensure a safe space. I feel exactly so here, in spite of or thanks to my surrounding. 

Meeting over, a loaded truck waits for us to head out. I cannot help notice myself talking about our political situation in Costa Rica on our way to our work site. I feel guilty. I have a sense of worry and longing as I process the debate I stayed up watching past lights-out at 10 the night prior. Suddenly, the van backs up. We get off to find a woman in her 70s opening up her garage. I hope to find other people around with her, but there is not anyone else here. Well...not true; Taz, her super friendly dog, is up my genitals constantly. 

Her outer walls are made of metal; her windows protected on the outside by very old, almost-falling wooden doors. Her ceiling is as low as the sound I hear from my hard hat as I get on a 2-step to sand it. Outside, she sits and reads patiently. 

"I'm tired," she tells me, "even when I'm not the one doing the work." 

The heart medication I have seen in her cabinet will not be one I plan on bringing up any time soon. 

"Thank you for letting us into your home," I tell her. 

I get called into a room where a young man introduces himself to me. We were sitting next to each other in the van on our way here. That is just how differently and uniquely we each approach socialization. He claims his English is awful, yet he is also kind enough to respond to me when I ask him what his mother tongue is. "Your English is better than my Farsi," I reply to him as I hand him the other end of the measuring tape. Together, we work on cutting the board that is going to cover this home-owner's new insulation. The process for all of this is new to me. So are the tools we use. Though a newbie in this scenario, I am excited and willing to put all my experience to use. The learning curve is just a side benefit to volunteering.

Lunch hour

I somehow feel readier and readier to take volunteer work in my own hands as a leader soon. As I walk out for a breath of fresh air, I try to keep my Jesus syndrome in place whenever I feel awfully well doing what I am. 

I feel blessed. Continuously. I am just sometimes forgetful that making money is not nearly as fulfilling as making a difference. Am I? Making a difference? I am not so sure that matters. Like at all. But to answer that question, I guess you could say I am doing so for my own life and at least that of a few other people. That should be something. I will just have to trust my country has got me on this one, in the meantime.