This post was authored by Nathan, one of our teammates who courageously led us in music each day at the infirmary:

Jamaica.

Was it going to be another service project? I know what those are like.

Was it going to be unique, fun, and rewarding?

Well.

The trip to Jamaica was the toughest volunteer week I have ever done. Both emotionally and psychologically. And I’m still processing the trip, over a month after I’ve come home.

For me, there were two factors that were difficult. The first was the level of poverty of a developing country. I have to admit, I guess I am not as carefree about dirt and about touching dirty hands/feet/forks/spoons/cups/clothes as I used to be. Not sure if that is a sign of weakness or a sign of getting older or a sign of something else. Regardless, it was difficult, knowing that I should be loving and accepting and friendly, and knowing that those actions were a part of who I was and wanted to be, but yet finding myself reserved, untrusting, and on edge. It’s a developing country! Disease, infections, bad food all happen in places like Jamaica. I couldn’t rest easily.

But when I got outside of myself, I still could not rest easily, because all around were people living in these conditions. Of course, you say, in poverty-stricken valleys are where Jamaican’s live; one had to have expected that. Well, that’s what I told myself too, I tried not to be surprised, but how was I to fit in here? How was I to contribute, to help? In the states, you can make something clean – a new coat of paint, a newly landscaped yard, beautification. However, here in Jamaica, you couldn’t do that. I mean, you could, but it would be a poor band-aid to cover the major problems that exist there. Fresh paint on a wall that is crumbling or is really just a patchwork of corrugated metal, or mulch and flowers in a yard in a rain forest with banana trees, thick undergrowth, goats, and chickens just seems hypocritical. There is a different kind of need in Jamaica, as with other developing countries. One that is deeper, more insistent, more important.

I was impressed by Won by One because I felt that they were meeting those deeper needs of the community. Clothes, food, jobs, a sense of community, a sense of family, a safe place where children, teens, adults can hang out. Most importantly, Won by One provided a living example of the Word. Their impact on the community of Harmons was definitely noticeable, even in the short time I was there, and it was inspiring.

I was also inspired by families while in Jamaica. When people have nothing, they at least have their own family. Three, sometimes four, generations living under the same roof. Everyone has a job to do, everyone helps in order to make things a little better for everyone else. And everyone takes care of those who can’t take care of themselves, the young and the very old. Much stronger bonds then are here in the states. Granted, most children are born out of wedlock, and most mothers are single, however, support from parents, sisters, aunts, uncles, siblings all help to keep families moving forward. It made me wonder why my grandmother doesn’t live with me. And why I don’t call her enough, or my parents enough for that matter.


So, with my first difficulty in Jamaica being the poverty, my second was our actual service.

We served at the Clarendon May Pen Infirmary. As you might have read from previous posts, the infirmary serves people who can no longer take care of themselves and have no one that is able to take care of them. The locals call it the Poor House, but it is basically the last stop on the line. Going there for the first time, I didn’t really know what to expect other than a general state of destitution. What I didn’t expect was that I felt like I was walking into a horror show.

It was tough, and I won’t go into too much detail here, but I would close my eyes to sleep at night and see images: wide vacant staring expressionless eyes, drool, contorted bodies, flies. Sounds of shrieking, and the smell of urine everywhere. I didn’t want to touch anything. I didn’t want to touch anybody. It was all I could do to get out of the van each morning… like jumping into an icy lake, everyday, over and over again. Each time knowing more what it feels like, thus dreading it worse and worse.

I had many questions. I didn’t understand how this could happen. I mean, surely it happens, more frequently that I know. But actually like this? These people who seemed to live and sometimes act like animals, could they be human? Could they be my brothers and sisters? I found strength in the Word and in quotes from Mother Teresa. When taken as a whole, all of the suffering makes it hard to focus and concentrate. But individually, by focusing on one person at a time, you can help and serve and meet that one person’s needs as best as you can. Sitting down with one person at a time was the only way I could face and try to understand it.


Over the course of the week, amazing things happened. I found myself looking in the mirror and seeing expressions of the people we were working with in my face. Lying in bed at night I felt like the infirmary resident whose bed I sat on earlier that day, with his sheets pulled up to his chin. Each of these little moments made me realize how much I was like them. And when each day as they smiled or laughed in recognition, I realized that we had made friends.

Go figure. We had intended to go and serve the people at the infirmary, and God made friends for us. Unbelievable.

I can’t say how many times I cried that week or even after I got home and had a chance to unwind a little. But I can say that I know people in May Pen. People who are a little different, a little slow, and a little forgetful. People who like to laugh, like to sing, and like to color. People who don’t strive for beauty. People who are misunderstood. People who have such a strong faith. People who love and love to be loved.
-Nathan

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PLEASE NOTE: We continue to raise funds for those at the infirmary and will be returning in March 2007 to further the work we began in November. All donations made through our site are managed by Ryan Lincoln. You will see his name appear throughout the transaction. You may also contact Ryan at ryanlincoln@post.harvard.edu if you have any questions about your payment. Thank you for your contribution!