Building in Mexico
by Elizabeth Schunk
Delving into the college experience, I opened myself up to many new things during my first year at the University of Oregon. I religiously attended all home football and basketball games. I joined the crew team, sacrificing any hope of sleeping in for many cold, wet mornings out on Dexter Reservoir. And, I decided to spend my first spring break in Tijuana, Mexico. However, unlike many other college students whose goal in Tijuana was to relish in their newly found freedom, my goal in Tijuana was to “make a difference.” I’ve always been drawn to community service, so I thought this would be an ideal opportunity to help others while experiencing another country. Prior to this trip, my only experience outside the United States involved crossing the border into Canada, so going to another country where they spoke another language was going to be an adventure in itself. I joined fourteen others, we loaded up our long vans, and headed South for a week of work. We didn’t know what kind of work we would be doing until we arrived, so the events to come were a bit of a mystery.
Even though I expected to experience poverty, I did not anticipate the conditions that awaited. As we crossed the border, I was shocked to see the houses— pieces of aluminum resting precariously atop planks of wood, with only bits of stucco holding everything together. Windows were just open holes in the so-called walls. Sickly dogs roamed the streets that were riddled with garbage.
As we drove down a dusty road, my body stiffened when military vehicles came into view. Soldiers donning helmets and brandishing large guns lined the road. My stomach churned as they stopped cars ahead of us and spoke with the occupants. What did they want from us? I feared we were in a forbidden area, and they would search the vans or take our possessions. Fortunately, we were permitted to pass without being stopped.
Driving back from the grocery store, we stopped at a traffic light, and out of nowhere, a swarm of children mobbed our van. They scrambled onto the hood, cleaned the windows, then asked for money. We gave them about $10.00, and as a gesture of thanks, they tried to toss gum and candy through the windows. Then some more children banged on the windows, asking for more money and giving us dirty looks. We didn’t have any money left, and apologized. As we drove off, they hit the sides of the van. It was so hard to watch such young children beg for money in the middle of a busy intersection, and as we drove off, I wondered if they were there because they needed to earn money for their families. Perhaps their expressions were looks of desperation rather than looks of anger.
One of our days of work was spent putting the roof on a new house for a family in the community. I decided that I needed to challenge myself by conquering my fear of being on the edges of high places, because my going up onto the roof was nothing compared to the risks the people in this community take every day. My nerves tensed as I stuffed wet paper into cracks and secured chicken wire to cinder blocks, because if I stepped on the wrong part of a cinder block, it would break and I could fall through. Fortunately, I finished the job injury free, shared many laughs and the thrill of accomplishment with the other workers.
We stopped in a classroom during a tour of a school, and as I stood in the back, one of the little boys who had been hanging around the work site came and put his arm around me and rested his head on my shoulder. I didn’t even know his name at the time. As I helped dig the foundation for a medical clinic, I watched a little girl no older than five use a pick ax, shovel dirt, and carry heavy buckets without even being asked or told to help. I remember being five years old, and the hardest work I had to do was help fold laundry. It was amazing how attached I became to the children in the area. They had such bright, beautiful smiles, and were loving and welcoming.
I wanted to bring my gift of labor to the people in Tijuana. But I don’t think that was the real purpose of the trip. Among the disheveled houses, crowded streets, and intimidating soldiers, I met people who lived off of nothing, yet had more love, generosity, and spirit than anyone I’ve ever met. They offered everything they had to us when we came down. Men and women from all over the community fed us delicious meals each day. Some of our hosts drove us to the coast and a community soccer game. The played and laughed with us. I realized that my gift of labor was meaningful to the people I went to help, and I’m sure I helped make a positive difference in their lives. But the people in Mexico made an even greater difference in my life. I now know that by showing love and kindness you build relationships which are even more important than houses.
