7 years ago I volunteered with All Hands as part
of the disaster response to the earthquake and tsunami in Japan. My time with
them was something that was very special to me and I had shared the experience
with a few friends. This year, one of those friends contacted me to say he was
planning on going to Puerto Rico to volunteer with All Hands (Now All Hands and
Hearts) to help with the damage from Hurricane Maria. At first, I think I
drafted a nice response emailing telling him to do it since All Hands was such
a great organization and, of course, the recovery in PR was a worthy cause, but
somewhere along the way it dawned on me that maybe I should go too.
Let me say, before all else, I was terrified to
go. I'm an introvert. This would require spending 24/7 with 50+ individuals
with near zero privacy among people and in a place I had no knowledge of and no
control over, performing skills I had little business doing, for people I had
little connection to other than our common humanity (certainly not a language
or culture), but the pull was there. The weekend after my friend told me this I
was watching the David Letterman interview with Barack Obama on David's new
show and David said, "Nothing right in the world ever occurs without a
fight." "Or at least some discomfort" Barack replies.
"...that's why I always say that the way America has become more perfect,
not perfect, but more perfect, typically has to do with ordinary people just
sayin, you know what, that's not right." Well, I looked at this situation
as I did with many others and thought, that's not right and I’ll take the discomfort
to do something about it.
Arriving in Puerto Rico, I had a day and a half in San Juan before I was heading out to the base for work. I walked a lot around the city observing life and even in San Juan you could see some of the impact of Maria in empty houses and some broken down infrastructure. The morning of the third day I got a driver to head to the hills and valleys of central Puerto Rico where I would spend time in Barranquitas, an inland province of Puerto Rico. So inland, you can imagine, that most people from the capital never make it there even though it is just over an hour away. In fact, a co-volunteer had an experience where an uber driver stopped half way to the site and refused to go further away from San Juan. So driving to and arriving on base was a bit of an experience. My driver was nice and chatted my ear off about every thing she could think of and an hour and a half later I was standing in a parking lot not knowing what came next, but sure enough there was the cross fit gym I’d been wondering about.
The
Base for the All Hands and Hearts operation sits on a windy road just about a
mile outside of the county seat of Barranquitas. The building itself is two
stories tall with one story containing two smaller rooms of bunk beds and one
washer dryer set (for all of us!). The upper half of the building contains the
cross fit gym, the kitchen we use, a dining/meeting area and bunks for about 40
people.
The kitchen is communal, breakfast and lunch are up to us, but food
stuffs are provided. Dinner is provided by a local woman who comes to cook food
the base has bought and it was simple stuff, but delicious. Bunks were made by
the all hands staff and air mattresses are used by participants. The space
between bunks is about 3ft, so enough for 2 people to pass, but not much more. Add
to that all the bags and other crap people had gathered around their bunk and
some parts were unnavigable. The first night trying to sleep was a quite funny
experience, with 40 people either snoring, accidentally flashing lights from
phones, whispering to each other, moving around on their creaky air mattress,
and an assortment of other noises competing with the frogs, crickets, and
passing traffic sounds coming through the open windows. I chuckled a few times,
what can you do but laugh at the absurdity of some moments? There are two
bathrooms off the main area, two porta pots outside, and a built plywood
outdoor shower with 4 stalls. To have a moment of peace to use the toilet or
shower was rare and you can imagine with 40 people that quite a few got up in
the night to bang the bathroom door shut and let the lights shine brightly on
all who were sleeping. Honestly though, other than the first night I slept like
a rock since I was so tired from working in the day that all banging and lights
didn’t phase me.
Work days started when the cross fit gym opened
at 6am. No need for an alarm as the music and the sounds of dropping weights
were enough to rouse us. By 630 mostly people were up making breakfast, packing
lunches, using the bathroom and then dressed and ready to go at the trucks by
730. Then our smaller teams would discuss what tools were needed for the day
and get them from the communal shed. My team leader was Addie, a slightly older
woman who’d been at base for about a month with two weeks left to go. Along
with her and 6-8 others we headed to the same house each day. Every team had
something slightly different, either attaching corrugated iron to wooden roofs,
cleaning or sealing concrete roofs, or possibly something else. The major theme
was, roofs. Either build them or fix them. By the time I arrived on base, about
6 months after the first volunteers came, about 50 roofs had been fixed or
constructed. We were told that it takes about 15 to 25,000 usd per roof in
materials and manpower (the food for us).
We arrived at Miranda’s house each morning where
usually Miranda had already left for work and her parents, Amerigo and Wanda
would either be on the porch or just inside waiting for us. Hugs and kisses
would be next and then our Spanish speaker would tell them what our plan was
for the day. I’d say hello to Linda, the Chihuahua as well.
We’d then haul our gear up to the roof and do
some morning stretches while talking about what needed to be done. The first
day I arrived Miranda had a new cast on her arm. Apparently she slipped and
broke her arm the day before when there were rains and water leaked into the
house. In addition, mold was beginning to grow in places on the inner walls of
the house. It was not a healthy place for people to be living.
Our roof took a lot of chipping away of old
sealant, caulking of cracks, cementing cracks and corners, and then finally a
new coat of seal before completion. Unfortunately, the roof was a day or two
away from completion when I left, so I didn’t get to have that pleasure, but
all the same I know my hours sitting on that roof will give the family a dry
house. The night I was there it rained hard and we were all worried that again
their house would be flooded, but because of some of the base layers we had
already put down when we arrived the house was dry. Amerigo was very keen to
tell us and a few of our team members shed tears at the thought of having
reached our goal, though not full completion of the roof, yet
.
Work on the roof was hard. I’m not a handyman
and I’m not used to laboring all day, nor being in the hot and humid Puerto
Rico climate. Each day I felt good to be doing something that serves others,
but by golly did my body hurt. My muscles in my back and knees ached, my hands
were sore the whole time, I got numerous blisters and sores from sitting, bug
bites from just being in the tropics, chemical burns, sunburns, etc. During
lunch I would lie flat on the concrete porch of Miranda’s house as it was flat
and hard and made my back feel like new again for after lunch work.
At 4pm each day we would start packing up our
tools, inform Amerigo and Wanda what we had done that day, a couple kisses on
the cheek from Addie to them, and we were headed back to base. There we would
unload our gear, race for the showers to beat other teams, and be in the dining
hall for a meeting at 530pm. There each team would give an update from the day,
general news would be told, and anyone leaving would be asked to give a speech,
if they liked. Many speeches were similar, but not less genuine, expressions of
gratitude to all present and the work done. After we would have dinner and then
a few hours before quiet hours started at nine with lights out at ten and final
curfew at eleven. Then the symphony of creaks, crickets, whispers and snoring
would start all over again. Each day, just like this. Dirty and tiring and
beautifully satisfying in its simplicity.
The day I left base I went around to a few of
the volunteers I had come to know, including my team leader Addie, sharing hugs
and tears. After saying goodbye and leaving the base room for contemplation
began. Originally in San Juan and at base too, I questioned how daily life in
Puerto Rico could continue for some people while their neighbors were in need.
How could all these buff dudes come do cross fit while roofs needed repairing?
Well, the answer to that is pretty simple. They were continuing with their
lives, as we all do, even when there was need around them. As I too was doing
by returning to my normal life.
It is hard to put down normal life to reach out to someone. In the mainland and certainly where I live in China there is poverty and there are people that need help, but how often do we put down our normal lives to help them? The feeling among Puerto Ricans is that the US has forgotten them now that the sensationalism of the hurricanes initial impact has gone. Although the US government did come to give disaster relief initially, the depth and duration was not enough. Initially the lives lost were estimated to be about 65, but since then the estimate has risen to about 2,500 (I’ve seen some estimates as high as 4,500, but can’t find a lot of support for that number). Think about that 2,500 number for a moment. Compare that to the flooding in Houston. That storm killed 15. What about Katrina in New Orleans? That hurricane killed about 1,800. Put in context, the discussion around and response to Maria has been oddly muted and most feel it is because Puerto Rico is a territory not a state, where people are US citizens, but don’t have rights to vote or be represented in the US government (so why should the US government care much about them?). Because of Maria and a number of other conditions, a record number of Puerto Ricans have decided to move, mostly to the US mainland and mostly to the east coast, in Florida and New York especially. Some estimates are that there are just as many Puerto Ricans living outside of as in the territory.
While working, Addie would often
ask us if we were ok, how we were doing. Most of the volunteers are younger and
chirpy and responded as you’d imagine, but being a bit older and wiser (and
more tired) I would just shrug and say, “Well, you know, I’m fine”, and she
would look at me with these tired and understanding eyes with a little smirk to
say, yeah, me too. Because we were fine and that was something to ponder as we
stood on a roof in Barranquitas.
The whole experience has left me a bit frayed,
physically and emotionally. A few people along the way have expressed gratitude
that I volunteered my time or said that I’m a great guy for doing this, but I
wonder how much that is true. I feel like a bit of a fraudster. I fly in, do my
time, and fly out, but what have I really given?
There is a parable that I can barely remember
from being a youngster in church, something along the lines of a yearly tithe
that is given and what the value is. One man gives a chest of gold while one
woman gives two pennies. The question is who is making the greater gift? Well,
it is the poor woman, not the rich man, who is giving something that has a
greater value to her than the man’s chest of gold does to the man.
I can’t, or at least currently I’m not willing,
to give it all up and go on a crusade to help people. But having an experience
like I just did leaves you with that feeling, that if only we all did more for
others it would help others and ourselves. Wouldn’t the world be a better place?
Couldn’t I give more time? More money? What am I willing to give, two pennies
or a chest of gold?
