Dearest Sarong,
You have taken me through two trips in Indonesia, three semesters of college, and an alternative break trip to Guatemala. You have been there to comfort me a night, keep me warm in the chills, add a pop of color to my room, dry my hair, snazz up an outfit, and the count the stars in the Milky Way with me. You have carried me to smoking volcanoes, white-sand beaches, Hindi temples, American pop concerts, 24-hour plane rides, fire-side chats, and day trips to the mall. You have been my constant companion for two years. But now, you are gone. You have gone to a new home; and I hope it is a better one.
I picked you up on a lakeside street stall in Bali, Indonesia for less than $3 USD. I'm not sure where you were made or how to ended up being bartered on a roadside, but I loved you all the same. People may say that I was too invested in you, a 4'x3' piece of cloth, but I didn't care. You were there for me when all else failed. My favorite (and worst) memory is probably huddling under your thin layer of warmth while sleeping on a beach in East Java (point of clarification, NEVER sleep on a beach without shelter, it's a BAD IDEA!).
On January 15, I stuffed you in the bottom of my purse to head off to beautiful, beautiful Guatemala. I was so excited for this new adventure, and knew you'd be there with me every step of the way. You were my scarf back home in the chili DC airport, my blanket on the airplane and busrides, and a shawl for my morning walks. It wasn't until the last night in Los Andes that I ever thought of parting with you. I sat on a wooden bench watching the final soccer game being played between the Alternative Breakers and the Guatemalans, when a small little Guatemalan girl nimbly came over and sat down next to me. I had never seen her before, but she looked up at me and smiled.
A few minutes later, the little girl started shivering and hugged her knees to her chest. "Frio?" I asked, in my very limited Spanish. "Si," she replied with a little nod. I immediately took you, my dear sarong, out of my purse and wrapped in around her small frame, saying "No frio." She lit up, with a smile from ear to ear.
Later during the game, I and a few other non-soccer players started playing "perro, perro, gato," (aka duck-duck-goose, but the local children had modified the words to more simple animal names we could understand) with the schoolchildren. I watched as the little figures darted around the playground, laughing and yelling instructions to the two running around the circle. We had spent the last 5 days cleaning and painting these children's two-room schoolhouse--and now, seeing them playing and laughing, and just being children, made it worth it to me.
It's hard for me to wrap my head around the fact that so many children, from so many grades, go to a small two-room schoolhouse up in the mountains (or volcanoes) or Guatemala. To think that these children have been born into families who work the coffee and tea fields of this reserve, and to think of all the opportunities they would have if they had simply been born in a different place. Even though they live in a very supportive and growing community that encourages their learning and teaches them to dream, realistically, I will (and already have had) so many more opportunities than them. And to me, this just doesn't seem right.
So when that little girl in a purple sarong came bounding up to me later that evening to returning the piece of material I had lent her, I couldn't take it. I got down on one knee and said, "para tu." I knew it wasn't much, and I knew that a little scrap of material wouldn't change her life, but maybe it changed mine. To give away one of my favorite travel items to a little Guatemalan girl meant a lot to me. I'd never done anything like that before--I had always turned away and ignored poverty or need instead of looking it in the eye. Being in Los Andes changed something in me, and I'm not quite sure what it is yet. Maybe it's a call to end ignorance, maybe it's a driving force to a new career. But I do know that I am glad I was there and that I am glad a little Guatemalan girl has a piece of me with her.
And so, my dearest sarong, you will begin a new chapter in your sarong-life. And I hope, and know, it will be an exciting one.
Yours truly,
Sarahann
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Me, Nageen, and my Sarong (aka scarf) at a
Mayan History Museum on our first day in Guatemala! |
Labels: Alternative Breaks, AWB Guatemala, giving back, Latin America, service