So what exactly is a life changing experience?

          So a few posts ago I wrote that my trip was a life changing experience. And then over Christmas break family began to ask, “how was it a life changing experience”?

Well let me begin with a quote from James Burke, “We are what we know and when what we know changes, we change”.

                  Last semester I learned and witnessed things that were previously unknown to me. I heard stories of war, oppression, of struggles and brokenness, but also of love and solidarity --stories that changed me. Granted hearing a story first hand is very different than my second hand retelling but I guess I will venture there now.

            There are two stories I will share now. But there are many others to share that also have a strong sting.            

           

            The first took place in Suchitoto, El Salvador. It was a beautiful morning and we were staying the weekend at our Professor’s Art Center for Peace. A place that harbors the creativity of youth to work towards restoration in an area heavily damaged from the war. That morning we went down to the lake where we hopped on a boat to learn about a community that had endured a massacre during the war. Unfortunately there was too much “lechuga” in the water and we weren’t going to make it in the boat through the “lechuga” to the community so we sped across the water to a field to listen to two people from the community share their testimonies. Honestly, I wasn’t the best listener this day. I was tired after little sleep the night before after a bat decided to fly around our tiny room. It was hot. There was no good place to sit, it seemed that wherever I sat, ants decided to find me. I literally had ants in my pants. Biting ants in my pants. But aside from these distractions the testimonies of these two people still managed to hit hard. 

The man shared about being a little boy at the time when the army came to the community. Men were separated from the women and children. The men disappeared and the women and children were lined up into 4 lines. The first line was brought to the front and within seconds they were slaughtered, like tin cans on a shooting range. Torn up, no longer with life. Then the second line, the third, and finally came time for the fourth. The screams were too much to bear and this young boy was about to become another innocent victim. However during this fourth round he was missed but he too dropped down and played dead. Eventually the soldiers left and he was alive. Now I wish I could tell you this better/more accurately but remember, ants in my pants. The man went on to tell us about the terrifying times of soldiers shooting at them from helicopters, and the helicopters being so close you could see the whites of their eyes. Just as he said this, a helicopter flew over our heads. I’ve never felt such a shiver run through my body. Imagining the terror that the sound of helicopters must make them feel. Sick. Disgusting. Honestly the idea of killing anyone ever is mind boggling to me, regardless of who he or she is and what they’ve done. And then children. Wow. And then you turn and think of children around the world, children in the middle east and the terror they must feel when they hear a US helicopter flying over, not sure if it’s going to kill them or their loved ones. US or whatever country. Doesn’t matter. Regardless it was such a chilling moment. And something no one should ever have to experience. Where is our humanity? What the fuck is wrong with us? Where is our creativity? Really, all we can turn to is guns? bombs, grenades? coool. so creative.

            The second story is from Nicaragua. It's related to this earlier post. After visiting a Free Trade Zone (a zone with foreign factories, almost 100% tax-free & there are lots of incentives for foreign businesses to be there) we visited with a women’s organization. One woman, María, shared a devastating story about when she was working in a Chinese factory. She had just been moved up to a manager position, alongside a Chinese woman. That particular day a pregnant woman working on the floor was starting to have pains. María tried to let her leave but the Chinese manager wouldn’t let the pregnant woman leave. Finally after a while the pregnant woman just left her spot and headed for the door. The Chinese manager blocked the door. In pain the pregnant woman sat on the floor and as soon as she did the manager grabbed her by the arm and pulled her up, yelling at her to get back to work. And as she pulled the woman up, she aborted right there on the factory floor. Why? All because the Chinese manager wouldn’t let her go. Why? Probably because she would have lost her job. Why? Because losing an employee in the middle of shift means less production, less production means less profit, less profit means only one beach house for the owner, not two. Sorry that’s a lot of assuming at the end but you get the idea. The hard part is so much of what we buy is produced in free trade zones and it is hard to know what is actually produced in FTZ because companies go in under different names. So what do you do? Buy used. THRIFT SHOPPIN! Or be creative, make yo own shit.

I hope that now some things that you know have changed and maybe just maybe these second hand stories will change you too.

Where's the rewind button?

Everyday since December 8^th I have been asking myself, Did that really just happen? Did I really just study abroad? Is it really over? Does it really have to be over? (At this point I just wanna cry) Can I do it again? Where is the repeat button? Can I rewind and play it over again—don’t need to change a thing (except maybe finding lice earlier) I just want to RECORDARLO para siempre!? I want to remember it forever. Recordar—to experience in the heart again. I want to recordar and I do not want to forget a single second of it. Do I really have to go back to Olaf and experience a semester without my 13 travel companions? Why? Can I please go back?? IT"S FREEZING HERE!
Today the next group of CGE students are starting their journey through Central America. I'm so jealous of them and excited for them. The unforgettable experiences they will have and the amazing stories they will have to share.
Being stationary for more than 2 weeks at a time will be quite the experience for me. Since August I have not been in the same place for more than 2 weeks and even this summer I wasn't in one place for more than 3 weeks. So as I prepare to go back to college in 2 weeks I'm nervous about being stationary, about feeling stuck. I enjoyed the constant movement and newness of everything. The new culture, friends, homes, classes, teachers, places. Now I'm heading back to Olaf, a place I know. But I also know that there will be lots of new experiences for me there. New classes, 2 profs I've never had, new freshman students, different roommates, different dorm, new extended caf hours!, different volunteering location, new boss at work, and more. There will be new topics to discuss, new things going on. It will be okay I must tell myself. I've survived 2 years at Olaf and I can survive 1-1 1/2 more. Granted it's not always as exciting and crazy as studying abroad but I'll work to make it just as great. And the first weekend back 3 people from my trip will be at Olaf with me and the 2 other Oles who studied with us. So excited for this mini reunion.

Who Made Your Shirt?

I share this with much hesitation. It's not a necessarily fun or joyful post. I wrote it after our group visited with women who had worked in a Free Trade Zone in Nicaragua. The day before we met with the Free Trade Zone Commission. They seemed great-- providing jobs to women who would otherwise not be able to support their children, paying fair wages, and ensuring good working conditions. But the following day we visited with various women who had either worked in the FTZ or who counsel women who had worked in the FTZ. Their stories were heart breaking. Low wages, forced overtime with no pay, poor working conditions, high number of rapes, and so many other abuses. As I laid in bed that night after hearing their powerful stories, I thought out this little ditty down below- originally in Spanish but I've modified it into English. 

Like I said, I share this with much hesitation. I think that is in part to after writing this I feel awful going into a store and buying, well, anything. Thinking about what the people who made it had to go through just to make it is heartbreaking. Let’s be real, most of us don’t go into a store and think about how the product got there- all energy, waste, blood, sweat, and tears. I feel a reoccurring theme throughout the trip has been the importance of being conscious of what is happening in the world around us. Consciousness is key. It is key to a more just, loving, and compassionate world.

So with that, here it is.

Who Made Your Shirt?

Look at the tag on your shirt.

Where was it made?

Nicaragua.

Do you know what that woman had to endure to make me this shirt?

She worked over time with no pay.
She left her small children at home. Alone. 

And because she got off of work late, she walked home alone in a dark world full of hate.
A man appeared and drew near. He grabbed her, whispered some words into her ear as she tried to get away. But there was a price she had to pay for making my shirt.

He stole her dignity and the twinkle in her eye. He left her pregnant, feeling stagnant with child, number five.

Back home, tears in her eyes, she a made meager meal of beans and rice for her kids who walk the streets during the day, begging and becoming familiar with the local gangs. 

The little that she makes barely pays for anything besides those beans and that rice-- education, shoes, new clothes, health care- HA. As if. She breaks her back in that maquila just to try to provide. For her baby’s daddys all know how to hide.

But then one day she meets a nice man. He works. He loves her and even her children. But the economy is tough and he becomes rough. Without his job be becomes angry. Alcoholic. Abusive. Machismo is part of the culture and she tolerates it despite the bruises. Inside and out.

He finds a new woman and leaves her relieved, without a doubt.

But now her oldest is dead. The pandillas got into his head.

He lacked direction. education. motivation. Because his momma was in the maquila, working overtime so the capitalist could buy his private islands and Mercedes Benz. And so you and I could walk freely into that multi-million dollar mall and buy this shirt. This shirt I’m wearing to impress you. So when I walked up here to talk, you would listen. You would see me as someone of fashion, of wealth, of education, someone worth listening to. What kind of sick world do we live in?

Look at the tag on your shirt.

Do you know what that woman had to endure to make you that shirt?