Rescuing the Poor

The roads were narrow and winding. As we headed up and down the hills of rural El Salvador, I didn't think we would ever make it to our location. Our van bottomed out as we headed up one hill and then spun out in the gravel of another. I was sure we'd have to get out and walk the rest of the way when our driver announced something in Spanish to us. I didn't know Spanish but I understood his tone of voice enough to realise what he was saying: "we're here!"

We were going to a farm and as a group of six high school students from Saskatchewan, Canada, we thought we knew what "a farm" was. But as we entered the gates, we realised this was unlike anything we'd ever seen before. The farm, New Canaan, was huge piece of land that was basically just a jungle of banana, plantane, orange, and avocado trees with a small area cleared away for a bunkhouse, kitchen, and bathroom. This would be our home for the next three days.

We didn't know anything coming into this trip. We didn't know what a mango tree looked like, what size a hole to plant a coffee plant in, how hot it would get at midday, who the people were who lived on this land, or how to communicate with them. However, we did know that these people were poor and needed our help. We were here to work, volunteer and get our hands dirty, and we were ready for that.

On our first full day we were up early for breakfast and lead out to the jungle with shovels, pick axes and other tools we'd never seen before. We were supposed to be digging holes for coffee plants but ten minutes into the day I was already dying. I had barely made a dent in the dry, hard dirt and it was so hot. It was the type of sweltering heat that draped over you like blanket, making it had to breathe. It took energy not to lay down and fall asleep. I was even protected by the shade of the banana trees. How was it possible the Earth could get this hot? Just a few days before we'd been making snowballs and slipping on ice back in Saskatchewan.

By eleven o'clock it was too hot to continue working and we had to sit for three hours, feeling the sweat drip down our backs and trying not to move, breathe or think. Once it cooled down marginally, we went back out. However, instead of taking us to work, they gave us baskets and showed us how to pick mangoes. I will never forget the taste of fresh mangoes. It was the most refreshing thing I'd ever eaten. Sweet, and juicy, slipping through my fingers as I tried to peel it. I ate at least ten in one day. They also showed us how to pick oranges and we scaled the trees, trying to find ones that were ripe enough. Then, we'd peel them with a machete and eat them right there. Coming from a culture that has no idea where our fruit comes from, it was a fantastic experience. And let me assure you, it tastes way better right off the tree than it does from the store.

This beautiful, rich land wasn't just owned by one person but a church and a small community a couple kilometers away called La Lenea. These people had been through hell and back, many of them were refugees from the civil war and recently most of the town had been taken out by a mudslide. They were terrorized each day by gangs and lived in tin shacks beside the latrines in the streets. The land represented hope for them and they were working at moving the entire community there so they could all farm together.

We met some of these people as we were coming back from working. They introduced themselves to us in Spanish and we replied as best we knew how. We ended up sitting there and talking to them for awhile, even though we knew only a little Spanish and they knew even less English. They asked us about our families, our future plans and how we were enjoying our trip. We communicated through broken language and gestures, but still we were appreciating, interacting and understanding. They laughed at our broken Spanish, we laughed at each other's sign language. We were not separated by language or culture, as we all sat on that cement pad, we were equals.

Pastor Jaime was one of the people we met there. He was a shorter man with a serious face who worked hard and always had dirt smeared up his arms. He was one of the main people who worked with us, bringing us out to jungle and showing us how to do the jobs. He spoke very little English and relied on translators to communicate with us, however, he was very patient and moved from person to person, helping them along. He was the one who taught us how to plant coffee plants. While we were there, our group dug around fifty holes for coffee plants. However, in the next three months they had to dig 2500 holes. He had so much work to do, getting the land ready for the people, fixing fences, harvesting other plants and then also these 2500 holes to dig.

Our last morning there we were served freshly squeezed orange juice. We were told by our supervisors that Pastor Jaime had been up early that morning to pick oranges for us. Even though he had so much work to do, and the best time to do the work is in the morning before it gets too hot, he still made time for us. I will never forget the kindness of Pastor Jaime, he wanted us to have the experience of freshly squeezed orange juice even though he knew that we could go home and buy cartons of it from the store.

Since it is a church who owns the land, we held a church service while we were there. It was the most powerful and simple church service I had ever been to. We sat in a circle on plastic chairs with the blue sky as our ceiling and the birds as our accompaniment. The service was in both Spanish and English so everyone could understand. We sang songs, listened to a sermon by Pastor Jaime and listened to stories from other members of the church. However, my favourite part was at the end. Me and my group stood in the center of the circle and the people of New Canaan laid their hand on us and prayed for us. Here we were, relatively wealthy North Americans who couldn't even begin to imagine the hardships of these people's lives, and they were blessing us, asking God to watch over us. We didn't deserve it. We didn't deserve any of their kindness and love, yet they still gave it to us.

It was here that I fully realised that we did not come to this farm to save them, we weren't here to make their lives better. They didn't need to be rescued, they did not want to improve their way of life, how they lived suited them just fine. They didn't want our fancy technology and bright new ideas. We were here to learn, to work together and experience a different, but no worse, way of life. Even while we were helping them by digging holes for coffee plants, they still needed to teach us the proper way to use a pick-axe. Even when we were carrying baskets of mangoes back, they were still the ones who shows us how to collect them. While we were teaching them English, they were also teaching us Spanish.

When I first heard the story of La Lenea, I expected to go there and find broken down, bitter people with sadness in their eyes and soul. Instead, I found incredible stories of hope. They didn't just teach me about how to run a farm in rural El Salvador, but they taught me about faith, strength, hospitality and love. They loved the land, their community and us so fiercely, it has inspired me to now do the same.

Only three days after I entered the gates, I left a completely changed person. My outlook on life has changed dramatically. Now, when I meet someone who is different than me, I think of the amazing hospitality I experienced on the farm. I've learned to never look down on someone, no matter their social status, race, gender or culture because my way of doing things isn't necessarily the best, and often we can get the most accomplished by working together and sharing our knowledge. I've learned to never put possessions before family and friends, because that's not where our values should lie.

This wasn't a regular service trip, it didn't impact me in the way that I fully appreciate how lucky I am to live in a privileged country, and I now appreciate every little sip of fresh water and all the other crap like that. Don't get me wrong, we are extremely lucky, and our lives are significantly easier than the people of New Canaan. However, this trip made me realise how poor I am, I don't get to wake up and eat fresh fruit every day. I don't see a beautiful view of mountains out my bedroom window. I don't even have a fraction of the strength that the people of New Canaan have. I now realise that everyone is poor, and everyone is rich. Everyone, even us, needs help at least in some way. We all are experts, and we all are inexperienced. Now, let's work together to make the world a better place.

Sidenote: The song was showed to us by a girl in one of the other locations we visited and we brought it back with us from our trip. After we got back, we missed listening to Spanish so much that we listened to it over and over again, and almost memorized the song even though we have no idea what it means. The picture is the flower of a banana tree, yes bananas do grow out of that. We had no idea either.