A good friend of mine and a lovely woman, Jennifer Locke, went to Sri Lanka at her own expense this August to volunteer for Habitat for Humanity. Below are some of her recollections. Thanks, Jen, for the story and for the generosity.
August 2005:
Once again I find myself gripped by truly horrific images of human suffering at the hands of Mother Nature and man, but my experience volunteering for Habitat for Humanity in the Sri Lankan tsunami zone gives me real hope. The images you're seeing now of nothing but rubble in Mississippi are exactly what we saw half way around the world six months after the tsunami. The difference that gives me hope? There's a fledgling phoenix flapping its tender wings on the beach in Batti, and I know another will rise from the rubble that is our Gulf Coast.
The mission of my eleven teammates (there were another twelve in a second team) and I was to help rebuild the homes of those who had lost theirs to the sea and whose resources were limited. We achieved our mission. We completed three homes and worked on a number of others. We fed the phoenix cement blocks, pails and pails of wet cement, coconut rafters coated in used motor oil, terra cotta roof tiles, and a phenomenal amount of sweat. The temperature was well over 100F, the humidity was 100%, and the deceptively inviting sands radiated all this intense heat mercilessly. The home I worked on with my three, beloved sub-team mates was the house the group dedicated in the end. Usually one to pooh-pooh ceremonies and the like, I was equal parts utter happiness and sticky sap for this one. Our homeowner, Alessheus, offered us literally all he had - mini bananas and soda on a silver tray - as we sat on straw mats on the freshly poured cement floor for a Tamil hymn and blessing. Never has a banana and 7-Up in a glass bottle laced with tears tasted so sweet.
Which brings me to the rest of the phoenix' diet: I went to Sri Lanka thinking that building homes would be the primary sustenance we would provide. It wasn't. Of greater importance was showing up, and by doing so, acknowledging the survivors' inherent human worth - this was the longer lasting sustenance. Our mere listening to people who had undergone such devastating trauma seemed a fundamental part of their renewal. They begin to let go of survivor's guilt and the haunting images: a baby floating by in a box that no one can reach, an infant's body half emerged from his dead mother's womb, a miles-long lagoon full of dead neighbors, children slipping away from their parents' grip, the trunk of the coconut tree that saved you, muck-coated survivors stripped of all clothing by the wave. We were able to bring a measure of hope because we reminded them how life can be. Now I really do believe the cliche: half of life is showing up.
The phoenix continues to show up. Everyday we worked side by side with our destitute fisherman on his home, his relatives came and helped too, and others in need of work - such as brick masons - were paid for their professional services. Five or six kids showed up on a daily basis for bubbles, balloons, drawing, twirling on the strong arms of a teammate, piggy back rides, thumb wrestling, songs ("Ice, ice, baby!" or "Old MacDonald" - we were relieved they didn't know "Kumbaya"!) and hugs. They embodied life and will continue to feed the bird for all. Now, as I reflect, I don't recall anyone mentioning the material possessions they lost. It was life they wanted to talk about. Perhaps there is our lesson, too, as we begin to rebuild life in our own land.
There is talk of volunteering for Habitat again, and a potential next destination seems fairly obvious. Remember to show up for life.
Peace & a bobbling head wag - Jennifer
No comments:
Post a Comment