Seeking an opportunity to contribute to service efforts outside of the United States, I joined a group going to build houses in a remote community in Honduras. It was my first opportunity to travel outside the United States, and I was eager to learn how to construct new houses as well as improve the quality of life for the families who needed us to lend a hand. I knew our group’s goal was to fully complete our proposed construction projects since many families didn’t have structurally sound homes. I didn’t expect to receive so much from the people of Honduras, from lessons in patience and appreciation of their culture to the value of diverse relationships.
After landing in Tegucigalpa, our group endured treacherous roads as we drove several hours to Trinidad. Upon arriving, the local children ran alongside our bus shouting, “Gringos!” Midday, when most American children might be in school, these children played in the street, made fireworks to sell, or helped their parents with chores. As our group unloaded our bags, the children eagerly engaged us in conversation, their rapid Spanish foreign to my ears. Even so, their warm greetings overwhelmed us, and a few members of my group and I joined a game of tag. The language barrier hadn’t intimidated the children, so why should it intimidate me? We communicated using hand gestures and “Spanglish.” Later that day, some of the girls urged me to follow them into town. It seemed so natural to walk beside these children; I had forgotten all of my anxieties about the language barrier. Instead, I focused on getting better acquainted with my new friends.
Our first day on the worksite began with a similar experience. I was assigned a team, working alongside native Hondurans whom I had never met. They taught me Spanish words for various tools and were patient while I tried to mix concrete, lay bricks, and place rebar. Two young men who worked with my group, David and Christian, made a strong impression on me. During breaks, they invited me to play with their younger siblings, which I did, and they helped me pronounce words in the Spanish children’s book I read to them.
Over the next few days, I was asked to spend more time with the children than constructing the house. I feared that my construction skills were lacking, but my trip leader gently explained that “sometimes we do the most good by giving people what they truly need, not what we define as such.” I realized that interacting with those children was a tremendous gift. The bond I formed with the children in the community not only provided them with a break from the demanding work they carried out each day, but it taught me to appreciate relationships, even if it seems that we have little or nothing in common. I learned that it’s not our language or education that connects us, but our humanity.
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Images taken by the author, Isabel Crews