Some of the group started feeling overwhelmed by the conditions we saw. Nzunga advised that we not think about the big picture, instead we focus on one person, one thing at a time. The school being built. The girl we met who Kihomi is helping. The eye clinic, the hospital, the orphanage. I'm so grateful for these projects, for all the hard work Nzunga, Kihomi, Pastor Mano have done in Haiti, for how hard they all fight for education.
However, I can't focus on one person, one project at a time, because this is so contrary to how I was raised. I was raised to look at the whole community, and support causes that help a collective group of people, so there's no unfair distribution of resources. I have been raised on the big picture, the revolution, the community organizing, the collectivising.
(Here is an important point for me to pause, and recognize someone. The person who I absorbed the word collectivising from cares a lot about truth. She also spends portions of her stories recognizing others and their thoughts, so it's important for me to say that this word came from her. I was on Lily So-Too's computer when I saw a folder labeled "Collectivising." She has lived in co-op, communal spaces for a while, and participates in many community oriented groups. When I saw this folder, I had an idea of what it might mean for her, why she might have grown this word, and I immediately went into the words and used it myself to write a poem. The poem didn't come out precisely how I wanted, so I'm still trying the word on for size.)
I remember being impressed when Chris was going to Haiti with All Hands, and he had raised enough money to buy some extra things for the kids, bubbles and coloring books. Chris said he was going to put them in the schools at All Hands suggestion, so that they were a collective resource that all the kids could access, instead of going to five or six families in a town with thirty families with children.
It's hard for me to think about "one at a time" in Haiti, because I've heard so many stories about Haiti that make it the definition of collectivising.
...for the last twenty or thirty years, the U.S. has basically been trying to turn Haiti into kind of an export platform with super-cheap labor and lucrative returns for U.S. investors. And for a long time it seemed to be working: there was a lot of repression, the population was under control, American investors were making big profits, and so on. Then in 1990, something happened which really surprised the hell out of everyone. There was this free election in Haiti, which everyone here assumed would be won by the former World Bank official we were backing [Marc Bazin], who had all the resources, and foreign support, and so on--but meanwhile something had been going on in the slums and peasant communities of Haiti that nobody here was paying any attention to: a lively and vibrant civil society was forming, with big grassroots organizations, and people getting involved in all kinds of activities. There was in fact a huge amount of popular organizing and activisim--but who here was paying any attention? The C.I.A. doesn't look at stuff like that, certainly American journalists don't. So nobody here knew. Well, all of a sudden, in December 1990, these grassroots organizations came out of the woodwork and won the election. (Chomsky)
Nzunga told me things were still bad when Aristide was in power, that he just armed the other side. I believe him, because he lived through it and I didn't even know about it at the time. For me it all comes back to wanting to learn the language, to hear more stories about how things were.
Angeline drove us here!
My favorite times on our Haiti trip were the moments when I felt the barrier come down for just a moment between me and the things and people I was seeing. When Nzunga started letting us ride in the back of the pick-up truck, and we would wave to all the kids in the countryside, shouting "Bonswa" to one another. Driving around the city with just Nzunga and Angeline, and getting to see Angeline merge into traffic, swerve around city streets, and climb her way up a cliff at the wheel in Cap Haitien. Sitting and listening to the DJ at the hotel the first night, and drinking my first Haitien beer. Standing outside of the compound gate, telling the guard I wouldn't come in because I was going somewhere with Nzunga, and chatting with the school girls on the corner who looked and acted as if they had been waiting to meet me.
I definitely want to go back. A big part of this trip was getting to meet some different members and churches of the Evergreen Association, which was really fun and I am extremely grateful for those friendships. However, next time, I want to go back without being part of a group of ten Americans, so I can expand those barrier free moments into whole experiences. Kihomi said the next time we came to Haiti, she would take us to stay with the women she works with in the villages. I am going to start practicing my Creole now, to be ready for that opportunity when it arises.
The reverse culture shock has definitely been a lot harder than the initial culture shock. I have been debriefing like crazy with anyone who will listen. The conversation I had recently that helped me the most was when Ron and I talked about the idea of "one at a time" verses collectively changing a corrupt system. Ron told me about a book, "The 100th Monkey." He says the idea is you teach one monkey something, and then it teaches another, and suddenly by the time 100 monkeys have learned something, every monkey knows it. That at some pivotal turning point, let's say 100, even though your process was "one at a time," there has been a massive shift in the collective conscious. This idea helped me with my struggle of the desire for collective change, but also wanting to be supportive of the important work I saw Nzunga and Kihomi do.
Nzunga
has lots of ideas about what I should tell you. A few days ago, he just wanted me to tell you I am safe and
alive in Cap Haitien. Now, he
wants me to tell you how hard I worked today. Today we went to the site of the school and helped. We carried concrete bricks and laid
them around the perimeter of the school, so when they are ready to go on the
school when the cement is done being laid on the first level. After that came my favorite part,
making sand. Someone would shovel
a scoop of gravelly, chunky, rocky sand into the sifter. The other person shakes the sifter so
all the good fine sand falls into a mound, and the chunky rocks stay in the
sifter. Then, the best part, you
turn your body, flick the sifter down in a way so the rocks fall out and away
into their own pile. Carrying
bricks I could do for about a half hour to an hour, but sifting the sand and
flicking the pebbles I could do all day!
I want to back up and talk a little about the Haitiens that
we are staying with here. They are
incredible, generous, fun people to know, and I’m so greatful to have such
wonderful hosts. They all have
amazing stories. Nzunga grew up in
the Congo. He talked today about
that experience for the first time, and as soon as I mentioned it I could see
the sorrow in his eyes. He says it
was a hard time for him, sometimes he doesn’t like to remember. His parents passed away while he was a
teenager, and according to him, he joined up with a bad crowd. Nzunga believes if it wasn’t for the
people who pushed him to get an education, he would be dead right now, so he
would give his life for improving the education system. He came to Haiti in 1998 with Kihomi,
his wife.
Kihomi’s story is my favorite. She grew up in the Congo, carrying fruit on her head,
walking for hours to sell it with her mother. When Kihomi got her education, her life changed, and she
became able to provide a different life for her mother. Now, she finds a few girls at a time
and helps them with school. One of
the girls she is supporting came to the compound and sat with us for a few
moments. Kihomi found this girl through
her mother, when Kihomi bought some oranges from her mother. She heard the girl’s story, and has
been supporting her since then, to get her to go to school. We asked Kihomi how old the girl was,
and found out this girl is 23, and still finishing high school. That’s fine, says Kihomi, when they get
to be 25 become a little too old for high school.
I told Kihomi about Seattle Education Access, and how in
Seattle I help low-income and homeless young adults pursue higher education,
and she laughed and said, “That’s what I do!” I am very happy to have flown across the country to work with
the Polly Trout of Haiti.
And finally the story of our Secretary General, Emmanuel
Pierre, who we have been told to call Mano. When he and Kihomi were driving us around Cap Haitien, they
took us to the site of the elementary school being built, a project of the
Haitian Baptist Convention that the Evergreen Association is supporting. As we looked at the site that would one
day hold six classrooms, and then eventually twelve when they built the second
story, Kihomi started translating Mano’s story.
Mano grew up like the poor kids on the street of Cap
Haitien. His father passed away
when he was 14, but there was always someone to look out for him and to push
him to go to school. He went
through seminary, and became a Baptist pastor. The main person who always took care of him was the
Secretary General, and now he has been selected by the people to be the
Secretary General. Mano wants to
use his resources and abilities to help other children get an education. He says his village is not far from Cap
Haitien, so he thinks of this as his city. He has chosen the poorest place in Cap Haitien to build this
school, so the poor kids who are growing up the way he once did can access it.
It has been an incredible experience to hear all of our
hosts’ stories and see how their lives have been transformed by education, and
how much they are giving to the education of future generations. I’m so grateful for this
experience. Nzunga and all our
hosts are taking great care of us.
Every hour, Nzunga tells us we should, “Drink water, drink water, drink
water,” to an extent that not even Sheila Becker could rival. Today we got the word that there was
unrest in Port-au-Prince, and Nzunga rushed us back to the compound, about an
hour’s drive away, just in case.
The police were striking in Port-au-Prince. They are not well protected, and one of
their officers was killed today.
So the police have started putting up barricades to demand attention and
better protection. I appreciate
how Nzunga wants to keep us safe, and is doing so much for us, but I also want
to be at the barricades, to see what is going on there. I’m getting a bit frustrated with how
sheltered I feel, but I have too much respect for my hosts to bush the
boundaries they have set.
On our first day in Cap Haitien, I asked Nzunga if we could
walk around in the daytime. He
hesitantly said yes, but he does not encourage it. Ron asked if it would be best if we went in groups of twos
or threes. Nzunga then explained
how much Mano was risking by hosting us at his compound. He has been kidnapped at gunpoint from
his own bed several months ago.
They assume, but do not know for sure, that he is a target because he
always has American missionaries coming to stay at his compound. If I were to leave the compound and
walk around on the street, people would see me, see where I came from, and then
Mano would be even more of a target.
Tomorrow we will go to a Haitian market so I can attempt to
barter. Nzunga explains that
bartering is not about selling your goods for more then they are worth. Bartering is a chance for the customer
and the vendor to have a conversation, to build a relationship. I think this will help me feel less
sheltered, to get to walk and talk with the vendors in the market.
My Creole teachers at the compound
The other problem for me is if I was allowed to walk around
the streets, I wouldn’t have much to say to anyone. I did enjoy some fun “conversations” with the children
staying on the compound. They were
standing on the steps, making faces and hamming it up while I sat on the
balcony. I ran inside to get my
camera, and they let me take a picture and video of the boy making funny
faces. I said, “Bonswa,” and the
girl said, “Bonswa.” I said, “Como
regule,” and she told me her name, but I couldn’t pronounce it. I asked, “Como i?” and she told me, “I’m
good. How are you?” I said, “Mwen byen.” I pointed to things around the
compound, and asked, “Qui q’cest in Creole?” She taught me fluir, Jeep, meza, fruit, and a few other
words I forgot. I asked her if
papaya, mango, guava, banana are all fruit (pronounced fru-eat), and she said,
“Oui.” She asked if I liked Haiti,
if I liked Creole, and I said, “Oui.”
I pointed to my head and hesitantly asked, “Tet?” She smiled and affirmed me. Then we went through tet, epol, jenou,
otey (head, shoulders, knees, and toes), and Ron came down to video us singing
together. She was very forgiving
with my bad accent, Creole that slipped into Spanish or English, and lack of
things to say. I’m not sure how a
conversation outside the compound will go.
Same as when I went to New Zealand, the culture shock is
slowly seeping in for me. When we
first landed, others in the group remarked about the streets, the lack of
lanes, the goats roaming around with no owner in sight. Nzunga loves to tell us, “Haiti is a
free country. Those are free goats
in a free country.” On day one, I
didn’t feel surprised by all of this.
(Perhaps this is because of Chris’ pictures and stories of
Port-au-Prince.) I told Ron I couldn’t
tell what was going on, but I wasn’t feeling the culture shock. He remarked that he always feels it
more on the way back. When you’re
traveling somewhere new, you take the experience in without letting yourself be
shocked, because this is someone’s way of life. It is what it is.
When you go back to the States, you become astounded with the
differences, and you open your critical eyes to compare the places and
experiences.
I want to back up again to Nzunga’s statement that Haiti is
a free country, the goats are free, the drivers are free, the pedestrians are
free. They follow no laws but
their own. I’m struggling with
being so sheltered and not getting to understand the level of freedom that does
exist here. I know that this
definition of freedom comes with a high cost, but I want to ride in the
tap-tap, the Haitian public transit trucks and buses that hold more than double
the amount of people allowed in the States, and are also traveling murals. I want to walk through the
markets. I want to try manje rapid
(fast food) from a cart by the side of the road. I want to have that experience and be able to understand
first hand what it means to give up the amenities and comforts that are provided
for us on the compound, to have a different sort of freedom.
I asked Nzunga and Mano if I learn enough Creole, what is
the best book I should read. They
both responded, people. A wise
answer, and very fitting for me. I
hope I get the chance to practice it this week.
The one night we stayed in Port-au-Prince, there was a D.J.
at the hotel. Some of the other
travelers were pretty tired and not too happy about having loud music all night
as soon as we got settled. Pharez
(the youngest person on the trip) and I were pretty excited. We went down after the nightly
reflection to go dancing, but there was no one there, just the D.J. and a couple
of friends. We sat with Nzunga, he
bought me a Haitian beer so we could try it. There was a young kid, about 5 or 6, in a red T-shirt who
came out on the dance floor, and had impeccable rhythm. After one Haitien beer and a day full
of flights, I was ready for bed. I
woke up the next morning completley well rested, only to find out the music had
gone on all night and hundreds of people came to dance at midnight.
The big trip is finally here. I've been thinking about it since October, when Chris was building schools there and unknowingly became a catalyst for my journey. I've heard many of his stories, and several others from people at Seattle First or through Companis. Whenever a student would stand me up at the Downtown Library, I would take a few minutes to learn a new word or phrase in the Creole-English Dictionary on the 7th floor. I've learned mostly body parts from the dictionary, and words for food from the Creole podcast I found. When I went home a month ago, my parents bought me some good books talking about the state of Haiti before the earthquake, and one with letters written by Haitins in mostly Creole.
I don't really think any of this will prepare me for what's coming, for actually being there. I don't think I will be able to follow or speak a word of Creole when I am immersed in it. What I was doing while reading and looking up phrases or words was spending time being intentional about this trip, making time to let it take over my thoughts and mind for a few moments of almost every day for months.
Now that it's upon me, I'm really excited! I'm so grateful for all the support I've had making this trip possible. From my two church families, the Women's Mission Society at Calvary and Companis at SFBC for donating some money to Evergreen Association for the cause, and the special commission from SFBC. Thanks to my parents for the books, and the insight that was hard to find elsewhere. Thanks to Chris for being the catalyst. Thanks to the Sunday brunch crew for talking over the trip with me every week. And the biggest thanks to Ned Parker for making it all happen.
When I read back in my journals and blog to last summer, I read the thread of cravings, yearnings, desires for something amazing. Looking back at this year, and looking ahead at the coming months, I feel satisfied.
High 50s, lower 60s. A little cloudy. Clouds are slowly moving NW.
The heron is the first sighting of the morning. Darker than a Great Blue, slate colored. It's heading west, working its way to the Sound. Jake and I spot it two evenings later, same heron, same shade, same direction, different time of day.
On this morning of April 12, a mom is packing up a stroller to wheel her kid somewhere on Stone Way, right under the heron soaring west.
Two robins make appearances. One of them flits about the yard, gathering nest materials, and stopping for juicy worms if it is so lucky to find one. E.J. was working in the garden the other day, and one of these robins was busy working by the side of the house, tugging and munching on good worms.
The other robin sits up top on a telephone wire and keeps an eye out for its partner. They don't chirp at one another, they stay within eyesight. The robin on the ground poops on the curb then hops under Madden's car as some humans walk by on the sidewalk. It's so funny to see it walk, and hard to describe. It moves quickly, like a run, but with the pace of a walk. Scurrying is probably the best word.
A chickadee flies in to sit on the lower branches of the Cedar tree. It doesn't do the call that named it (chicka dee dee dee), instead it makes some short peeps. I never realized how high pitched Chickadees were.
Then I hear the laughing birds. Each time I see them, I think, "Finch." Something about the beak, or size and shape of the body. The truth is I'm not an expert with birds, really I just feel like they are finches.
They are also in a pair, everyone seems paired up by now. The one I've seen make the laughing sound has a red breast. This laughing noise sounds like a child on the piano learning arpeggios. Jumping up and down across the notes, showing off how well it can hit them.
Two smaller birds who I don't know, and don't come close enough to introduce themselves, are also paired up together in the grass. They are about the size of chickadees, maybe even a little smaller, but they don't have any markings I can notice. They chirp back and forth as they go about their business.
The crows are soaring about up top, they don't come down to the street on April 12. They are acting reasonably sane. Last Saturday, the second day of Passover, when we had our Seder, they were going crazy. One crow would perch on a tree or roof, and call out to the murder of 7 or 8. As if the perching crow was directing the rest of them, the murder would dance, swoop, turn, and dive together. This was around the time of the full moon. E.J. thought they were acting out the story of the plagues.
On April 12, runners and young professionals move by, all in a hurry. Their ears or eyes are shut out by earplugs or a smart phone. I do not write this to judge them. In an hour, in the middle of my work day, I am glued to the computer screen or absorbed with texting my students. These are just more patterns I'm noticing.
A few weeks ago, there was a Hummingbird. I looked at a Crow sitting on top of a house up Interlake, and a hummingbird came and hovered next to it for a fleeting moment.
When I walk up to my room after my sit spot on April 12, I see the
Red-Breasted Laughing Finch sitting in the tree outside my window. I
think they are building a nest over my windows. Fine by me. I can't
think of a better bird song to wake up to on Seattle spring mornings.
You can barely see their nest above the diagonal beam
"Do you go close to Olive Way?" This, or a similar question, is a common beginning to my interaction with my bus driver, as after two years, I continue to live the lifelong learner philosophy when it comes to navigating Seattle.
Today another passenger on the 30, one of the few routes I actually know extremely well, had some difficulty figuring out where he was and where the bus was going. As the bus driver started to paint a map of the U District, Ravenna, and Sand Point for him with her words, I thought about what amazing teachers bus drivers are.
I am one of many passengers who often asks our drivers for some help getting around the city. As the drivers navigate turns and hills with gigantic vehicles, having to keep an eye out for the plethora of Seattle bikers, they never answer questions with a simple "yes" or "no." They really describe where they go, how close to where you're headed, where you should walk to get to the bus you need, what route that bus will take to get you where you want to go. One driver described to her passenger how to find the bus she needed, creatively telling her to follow the electric cables suspended over the road that run the electric buses, until she reached the stop just out of sight beyond the bridge.
This morning I rode the 31 with the driver who goes above and beyond his role as an educator. "What does the German phrase Zebrasteifen, literally translated to 'zebra stripe', describe on the road?" he asked through his microphone. Although this seemed like a relatively easy piece of trivia, I enjoyed even more what the driver said next, "The point is not to get the right answer, but to exercise our brains, to do a push-up with our minds, in search for the answer." An educator attempting to make his students more self-aware of their own educations! (The answer is a crosswalk. He explained that in Germany, the stripes are diagonal, so that it looks like a giant white line on the road until you get close enough to see the zebra pattern.)
Once I got off of a bus, and before I could walk to the front, the driver let up on the brakes a bit. "My bike!" I yelled. He had already slammed on the brakes, the door was still open. He nodded at me. "Make sure to always tell the driver you need to get your bike." It did feel condescending, but a lesson better learned in a patronizing way than from experience of losing my bike to the King County lost and found.
My observations about the surprising teaching qualities in Seattle bus drivers are making me curious about other unexpected educators people have noticed in the world.
My Companis journey began as a series of connections. It started with Donna Beth Blythe, of all places. The Sunday I became a member of Seattle First Baptist Church (which houses Companis), I read a piece I wrote about my grandmother from the pulpit. Craig Darling, the Pastor for Call and Vocation and Executive Director of Companis, approached me after the service, and I learned that he had known my grandmother. That spurred our conversation about Companis, and me becoming a Companis worker.
When I met with Craig and Gary, we talked about my goals as an educator. How I had learned I needed to be somewhere where I would build long-term relationships with students, the environmental piece could be put on hold for now. I wanted to work with older students, not elementary aged anymore. I wanted to get back to the demographics of Fraser kids, at risk youth who need the extra level of support and guidance, because for many reasons related to systematic oppression, that support is lacking elsewhere in their lives. I mentioned Seattle Education Access (SEA), because I had learned about it from Charlie (my friend from IW), but we weren't sure if it was the right fit yet.
When we looked into it and realized it was actually the perfect fit, Craig and Gary had me come in to SEA with them for a meeting with Anthon and Sarah. Everyone was looking at my resume when Sarah's eye caught the educational experience section, and I learned that she was also an Earlham English major.
Family, IslandWood, Earlham; I felt there were pieces of my life nudging me along this path I was leaning into curiously. I started to sink into that feeling of being exactly where I was supposed to be.
That was the beginning of my journey, noticing and receiving the connections. Now I'm three months in my year of service with SEA. In my opinion, SEA is a gracious space, a term we've been talking about from Bill Graves book, Sharing the Rock.
SEA logo www.seattleeducationaccess.org
To me, SEA is a gracious place, because it is a place where we practice saying yes. At SEA, students hear, "Yes, you can go to school. Here's how..." SEA is a gracious space, because it is a place of genuine checks-in and debriefs. I hear the honest truth about others' lives, and share how I am really feeling, through the positive, and the hardships. SEA is a place where the powers that be spend more time figuring out how to support the people under them, than how to milk them for capital value.
SEA is a place where people see the value in things that can't be measured. I've had conversations with my bosses and co-workers about how part of our job is to show up and be present. This means sitting at a drop-in site for weeks before the students feel used to you and ask for help with homework, this means sitting patiently through the silence with students as they work through decisions. These moments of building something is important work.
My time at SEA is going to be split 50/50 between admin work and tutoring. The tutoring has been a scary and exciting experience. I've spent the last two years focusing on large group management. The curriculum I've worked with has either been for 5th grade and younger, or has been after school workshops. Sitting down with adult students to show them how to do algebra, geometry, calculus, or write a paper was a terrifying feeling at first.
Although I don't remember calculus yet, I really love tutoring at the middle, high school, and even college levels! So far, my tutoring experience at SEA is helping me realize I do want to be a teacher someday, and I have what it takes to teach math, science, English, maybe even history at the adolescent age level.
October 8, 2011 10:00a.m. Low 60s and partially cloudy
Last night, the cloud cover in Seattle finally parted enough that the moon shown through. Then I woke up this morning to sunlight streaming into my room for the first time in weeks!
I made some tea, bundled up, and went outside. The only patch of sunlight I could find was across the sidewalk, under the Cedar tree by the curb. I heard the Black-capped Chickadees first, then saw one flitting around the front door, perhaps attracted to the bird feeder Emily Jane puts out in the tree by the porch.
Until now, I've only seen and heard the chickadees by the side of the house, further away from the road. This was the first they've appeared during my morning front porch sit spot. From what I could tell, there were two of them. The first one was pretty bold. It hung upside down on one of the lowest panels of the house. Then it flew over to the cedar tree, and perched all over the trunk, upside down, right side up, and finally settled in a branch. I "psh psh"ed at it and it moved a branch closer. Its friend bounced around a little further back. Whenever a car drove by, or someone walked by with their dog, they both flew high into the Cedar where I could barely see them.
I have noticed many naturalists and environmentalists in this area are deeply curious how people got started naturalizing and building a relationship with the environment. Some naturalists' stories start with a place-based experience, growing up in a rural area, having woods nearby to play in as a child. Many others stem from having mentors and teachers who were enthusiastic nature lovers. I've been thinking about my journey as an environmentalist, and am grateful to my creepy memory for the clear moments I can hold onto from when I first naturalized.
I think the Blythe Spirit, our cabin in Colorado, had a lot to do with starting me on this path. One of the first summers in La Veta I can remember was when I was about 7. The family was hiking to the meadow, and one cousin wanted a break before we passed the stone wall that supports the hill next to the cabin. I wanted to keep going, probably mostly to argue with 4-year-old Jack, so Uncle David walked with me. We walked to the meadow without stopping once, except for a moment around the bend while Uncle David explained his different questions about how the creek had once formed the cliff we were standing on and the one across from it. At the time I did not understand the concept of rock being shaped by water, and did not immediately absorb the idea he was presenting.
When we got to the meadow, we kept going a little way through the trees at the other end. We looked back at one moment, and Uncle David asked if I saw a bit of color. I got excited because I did see a bit of red, it was Aunt Gretchen's shirt and the rest of the family had made it to the meadow! Before we started back to meet them, Uncle David pointed out the color he had been referred to, which was a butterfly he had seen instead of Aunt Gretchen. I shrugged off that moment, because again I was eager to brag to Jack and Laura Beth about how fast I had walked.
Photo by Carol Blythe
What's interesting to me about those two moments, Uncle David pointing out the ravine and the butterfly, is that although at the time I am sure I acted disinterested, those tidbits have remained with me to this day. I vividly held on to that hike, and my perception of natural areas has probably been formed by it. My favorite thing to do in my free time is to sit quietly in the woods, looking for butterflies or other creatures. When I am in the woods with other naturalists, I love to talk about how features of the land came to be the way they are.
Experiences like these give me hope as an educator. I have probably gone for hikes with hundreds of kids, ages six to sixteen. I have heard more than my fair share of whining, complaining, seen plenty of eye rolls, had kids anxiously ask for "lodge time," to go home, to get out of the woods, to not have to stand quietly for one minute, to not have to listen for the birds, to not have to stop hiking to learn about the plant or tree. Maybe they will never look back on those hikes again. But maybe they will hold the full meaning of my lessons somewhere deep inside that will guide them for years to come. Either way, my journey as an environmentalist allows me to feel blessed to share the potential of this path with others.
