I don’t always publish these kinds of conversations because
they are just so much of a downer, but, every once in a while these experiences
should probably be shared…
Last night I pulled aside one of the young women I am closest
to in Madrigal.
“You seem distant, what’s up?”
silence, no eye contact
“you can talk to me about whatever it is. Is it school? Your
family? Your friends?”
silence
more coaxing… a lot more coaxing I won’t bore you with,
then…
silent tears
“sometimes when I cry and talk about my feelings it doesn’t
fix the problem, but it helps me figure our how to deal with the problem and
then I feel better.”
Sobbing for a few minutes, still no words had come out of
her… then… she has a subtl explosion of sharing…
“It’s my parents. Sometimes, when they get drunk, they
fight. And when they fight, they say they are going to separate.”
“Do they talk like that when they are sober?”
“No.”
“Remember when you tied the donkey up poorly and he escaped,
and when your dad got home drunk he yelled at you really strongly? That day you
and I talked about how the man that yelled at you wasn’t really your dad, and
the things he said your dad would never say. That drunk man was someone
different from your father that loves you. Remember that day?”
nod
“This is the same, your dad drunk is a different person than
your dad sober. Your mom drunk is a different person than your mother sober. So
when they argue drunk, they say things they don’t mean and might not even
remember.”
More tears
We discussed why her parents separating would make her sad,
and how no matter what happens between her parents they both love her very
much.
As we are discussing how much her parents love her it is all
I can do to contain my fury at her mother and father for getting drunk so much
and fighting in front of her. But, what are they to do? What is she to do? They
all live in one room. It isn’t
like they can step into their bedroom and shut the door. The whole family’s beds
are right next to each other.
We talked about her putting in her headphones and listening
to the pre-recorded music on the family’s cell phone when they fight, or going
to the table she has set up next to the corn storage to do her homework to read
a book. As I am inviting her to come to me in my little hut anytime she needs
to get away from them, I twinge of doubt crawls up my spine.
I can’t tell every child here that is neglected or abused to
come to me whenever they need to escape. I would have more than I would ever be
able to handle.
Even with a program that is unfolding successfully within
its goals, I still feel this twinge of guilt that I could be capable of more.
This delicate balance to maintaining my own happiness and sanity while
conquering as many needs here as possible is constantly teetering. Great, so
you have instilled curiosity, accessibility to information, and leadership
skills in the kids here, but what about the malnutrition, domestic violence,
alcoholism, and lack of family planning (aka prego teenagers and single mothers)?
When I am crazy obsessed with my work I start to get lonely and depressed. When
I take time for myself to go camping or read a book I start to feel guilty that
I am not getting as much done as I did when I was consumed by work.
I am here as a youth development volunteer, so I have a
specific set of goals to work under. But, if I could just focus on women and
mothers in the community, or just focus on greenhouses and teaching balanced
diets, or even water filters and solar ovens for a year there could be effect
in so many different ways.
This community needs more. They need more role models. They
need more mentors. Children to adults here really do want to learn… but, they
have been left behind by the rest of the world.
This blog goes out to Michelle Davis and all the volunteers
of Liderazgo en Red, and Paul Lopez and all the volunteers of Project Mentor.
The work you do as mentors is so important. Even if we cannot work out bringing
mentors to Madrigal, with all my heart, I wish you the best of luck and
appreciation for what you do in City outskirts.
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