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Here's what I had to say:
As we turned onto a small street leading to a beach, a wooden fence draped with vines came into view. Through the cracks, we could see a cozy house nestled behind a small garden. The slightly-slanted gravel driveway crunched as we came to a halt at the gate. Ninety minutes ago, we’d departed from Madre Teresa, the service site where I work that cares primarily for disabled women and malnourished children. The women and I transitioned from chanting the rosaries the nuns inspired in the kombi (van) to enjoying the fresh air. One of the liveliest inhabitants of Madre Teresa appeared to be the most anxious. She lowered herself into her wheelchair and proceeded to head for the water while the others waited by the gate. I caught up and slowed her as we descended towards the beach and crossed a cobblestone road. When we reached the sand, she looked at me inquisitively and paused. She knew it would be tough to take the wheelchair to the water, so she grinned, nodded her head, and enthusiastically declared, “Eu vou caminhar” (I will walk).
Next thing I knew, the kombi driver and I were on either side of the giggling woman as we stumbled toward the sea. A nun, particularly amused at the situation, grabbed the empty wheelchair and walked down with us. “Nossa, é um milagre!” (Wow, it’s a miracle!) she joked. I couldn’t help but smile and laugh along with everyone else. We sat the tenacious woman down on the sand and took everything in. The other women were now arriving, having crossed the fine white sand. The less adventurous ones took cover under a large tree across the street. One woman screamed and laughed uncontrollably as the cook dumped water on her. A girl from the neighborhood who had tagged along swam out with the Mother Superior's family. They sang, splashed, joked, and relaxed. A cool breeze mitigated the sun’s relentless heat. After spending three months with these individuals, I felt as though I couldn’t have been spending my time more purposefully.
While there is a constant focus on God at Madre Teresa, the members of the community also highly cherish one another’s company. Thus integrating ourselves into their community on almost a daily basis speaks to them, allowing us to establish deeper relationships. It wasn’t until last week that a particularly troubled woman even let me touch or talk to her; she does not take to those who come and go.
Many of the people of the Madre Teresa community are not given much. I often see empty pockets, stomachs, and stares. The emphasis on “nossa,” when taken as our, takes on a greater significance in the context of their environment. They have each other when they do not have much else. The community’s problems are those of Madre Teresa and vice versa. Plenty of people help regularly, others do infrequent odd-jobs, while a few have worked there as long as twenty years.
What is it, if not beauty, to see these individuals as they interact at the beach, at meals, or while helping out? It can be easy to wallow in all that they lack or struggle with, but their responses inspire me. I am blessed to have witnessed such phenomenal examples at my work placement. I’ve watched a woman confined to a wheelchair walk; received a “How are you?” from someone who usually mutters criticism; and seen residents of the surrounding favela stop and help each other out of genuine goodwill.
In trying to find meaning in these experiences and observations, I am finding we create our own. From nossa! to sunsets, I sought understanding when I should have been looking within. These experiences only matter insofar as we are willing to imbue them with value. In valuing them, we appreciate; in appreciating, we are grateful. Gratefulness generates desire to cultivate what we have chosen to value. Such peace of mind and practicality is seldom so simple, though. Our many values clearly influence our state of being and mindset. Our wanting to incorporate service, home-stay, culture, learning, and language all in one experience can lead to contradictions and overlap in our interests. Every day we have a different context and must adapt.
For example, if the beach day had been our first day together, then I probably would not have felt nearly as fulfilled as I did after three months of work. I would have struggled to communicate, figure out my role, and navigate each specific relationship. The joy I felt as I relished every mannerism, saying, and outburst was a culmination of all our actions and interactions prior that set the stage for greater impact. Though it felt momentous, small steps were what paved the way, steps akin to those of the woman at the beach. My time here so far has taught me how much the little, consistent acts can affect the present moment and increase nossa potential, allowing us to lead meaningful, interconnected lives.
