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By Lauren Reuss
I stow my barely zipped backpack under the seat and buckle the clunky belt for takeoff. The flight attendant in her plum vest opens the emergency handbook, signaling the exits and demonstrating how to manually inflate the sunny life-vest and secure the oxygen masks, but I’m not on the plane at all. The University awaits my return, its due-dates and deadlines and laundry room, permeated with the smell of all the detergent I’ll be using but right now, my head and heart are back on the van, driving through the lively mountains on wide red roads. I can’t help but think how blessed I am.
While most people vacationed on the beaches of Ft. Lauderdale and Daytona for spring break, I was given the opportunity to explore beaches (and ruins and dental offices and classrooms) out of the country. At the invitation of the extraordinary Dr. Joy Hart and with the help of the McConnell Center and Humana, I was able to participate in the International Service-Learning Program’s (ISLP) spring service trip. I travelled to Independence, Belize to teach its people lessons on public health, and I returned instead with the lessons the world taught me.
I reflect back on the incredible journey to the moment we stepped off the plane, the warm air swirling around us and the skies so blue compared to the winter grey back home. The tropical heat of the first night lingers, with it the joy of bonding with my classmates, swapping ridiculous stories of our school years and laughing until we cry at our ineptitude in braiding hair. I can still taste the meals: the rich meats, the rice and beans so filling, the juices sweeter and more refreshing than any carton from the grocery store. While the average college student lazed away on the sands during the day and danced away the night, I had the privilege of meeting some of Earth’s most magnificent wildlife, climbing the weathered stone of Mayan Temple ruins, swimming above the world’s second largest coral reef (and beside its toothy, finned friends), and participating in cultural songs and dances preserved for generations.
I smile as the memories begin to dance through my mind.
Walking to the well-worn corner store, kids rode their bikes, together, their little sisters on the handlebars. Their happiness is not quantitative. By the checkout, a cheeky youngster nipped my sunscreen, only to be enamored by the goopy, runny white consistency that poured out of the open lid; I couldn’t be disappointed that I’d lost a few reapplications while his smile lit up the dusky room.
I am exiting the conference room; I had just finished the best PB & J I’ve ever eaten and looked up to see the kids in their uniforms all milling about the courtyard, gathered, socializing, laughing, and not a one glued to their phones. When was the last time I had seen such a thing? Never before had it occurred to me how beautiful undivided human interaction could be.
The sea breeze is picking up; a storm is brewing. Beneath the awning of the front porch, the communications team sits recounting our days. Okay, so our game hadn’t been a hit and the students may not have been as engaged after a long, content packed day, but we weren’t failures. If anything, the experience hardened our resolve to do better, pushed us to problem solve, and encouraged us to emulate those inspiring teachers come before us.
Sitting on our cots, my roommate tells me about her day. She tells me that she was drafted to deal with a particularly challenging student and that she discovered he hadn’t eaten in a few days. The teacher pulled her aside to say this was a regular thing. I’m astounded; I hadn’t even considered what the lives of my students looked like beyond the concrete walls of Independence High. I can’t change his situation, no matter how much I wish I could. The next morning, I ate the entire plate of eggs served for my breakfast. And the days after that too. I loathe eggs.
Our final morning in Dangriga I am told I can work a shift in the clinic, to which I gladly accept. There, I help distribute reading glasses to individuals in the waiting room. Mid-morning, I call a woman back who tells me she can’t explain herself in English very well, so I listened to her Spanish. She is impressed by my understanding, and I am moved by her story: she has been going to night school to support her family and has been having difficulty reading the board. That afternoon, she left the makeshift office with a smile and a new pair of hot pink glasses; I left feeling I had truly made an impact for the better.
The beauty of Belize was evident in its nature and culture but was truly magnified in its people. The world moved at a different pace; without a landscape of technological advancements and with an amazing number of speed bumps, the people were so much more in tune with life. Every excursion, whether it be part of the itinerary or be a spontaneous trip to the market, proved to me just how rich the community was. Each day, I further realized how wrong my assumptions about developing countries were.
Public health was my vehicle to serve - to be an ambassador for education and excellence- but at the end of my trip I see that the program had it all backwards: I didn’t impact Belize so much as it impacted me. I jumped out of a perfectly working boat into a world where I was the inferior species. I pushed aside my daunting fear of heights to climb ancient pyramids where generations of peoples celebrated bountiful harvests and sacrificed to natural gods. My days in the classroom showed me I enjoy teaching and returned to me a feeling I had missed: genuine satisfaction in seeing the success of others. The morning I assisted in the dental office proved that some of the best moments were the ones I could have easily passed up and prompted me to not forget as I went back to the world that threatened to be mundane.
I come back to earth as the pilot’s voice relays over the plane’s intercom. Looking back, I could not be more appreciative of the Center and all those who made my ISLP trip of personal growth possible; this week brought me lifelong friends, dedicated mentors, and an opportunity I will never forget. Belize reminded me how rich life is, how blessed I am, and rekindled a love of serving others. Gathering my carry-on, I begin walking up the terminal into the airport. I see my family and can’t help myself as I run to hug my sister, ready for everyone’s rapid-fire questions about my awesome program. “Was it all you hoped and more?” In the city I love and in the arms of those that mean the world to me, I answer, truthfully and with a smile warmer than the nation 2,687 miles away, “You better Belize it.”
Lauren Reuss is a McConnell Scholar in the Class of 2022. She is studying communications, economics, political science, and Spanish at the University of Louisville.
Commentary presented here is not necessarily a reflection of the McConnell Center. Thoughts are those of the author.