BY: Brooke Bullock, American School of Doha
Five countries, nine schools, sixteen years, and millions of friends; does that sound familiar to anyone? When you’ve grown up the way I did, you probably know what I mean. I’m only sixteen years old, yet I’ve seen more of the world than all of my family combined. So far I’ve lived in the United States, the United Arab of Emirates, Saudi Arabia, Indonesia, and Qatar. I would never have expected so much when I was born into a small home in Katy, Texas.
My first overseas assignment was the most exciting. Dubai was a giant fantasy land that I was more than happy to explore. I spent the weekends at the indoor amusement park riding the mini rollercoaster and eating too much with friends. At night we all ran around our “fishbowl” neighborhood where the employees from my dad’s company lived.
The true culture shock came with the second assignment. Five months after the 9/11 attacks we moved to Khobar, Saudi Arabia. It was right next to Dubai, yet everything was so different. My mother was required to wear the abaya, a full –length black polyester robe that Muslim women wore and was not allowed to drive. We had to sit in certain sections for women and families at restaurants that were only open between the five different prayer times. Every morning at four o’clock we were awoken by the call to prayer from the mosque next door. Our compound was guarded by men with AK-47s. Our cars were bomb checked before entering school. Our classes practiced lockdowns in case some radical decided to target our school. By December of the same year, however, we were back in Texas because it was simply too dangerous to stay.
Once back in Katy, it was obvious I had been affected by our adventures in and around the Middle East. Texas no longer felt comfortable. Most of my friends had been together since kindergarten and very few had been out of the United States. I was a foreigner in my own hometown. No one wanted to hear my stories about other countries, but they were all I had. My friends had all been talking about past spring vacations where they went to the beach or to Dallas, so I thought I could share, too. “Last spring break when I was in Africa…” I had started, but before I finished the sentence they were glancing at each other and started to get up. The international community had become my home, and quaint Katy didn’t fit the bill anymore.
A year and a half later I was welcomed back to the overseas family. The new assignment was Jakarta, Indonesia and was far from our previously sandy residences. While there, I grew accustomed to having friends from a handful of nations. My closest friends were kids from India, South Africa, Malaysia, Singapore, and Indonesia. I began to pick up cultural oddities from them, and they picked some up from me. I would eat pizza with a fork and knife and I developed a taste for sambal chilies. After a few months my friends were saying, “Ya’ll” like me. Life had become a cultural melting pot that was boiling over with new experiences. All I had to do was soak each one up.
I was not the only one changed by all these experiences. My entire family had developed into multicultural people. Once, when my family was visiting Beijing, I was walking and talking with my father. All around us people were speaking Mandarin while we held a trilingual conversation alternating between Bahasa Indonesia, Spanish, and English. For us, it was entirely normal, but when our family back in Texas heard, they were stunned.
Our latest assignment has taken us to Doha, Qatar. The cultural differences do not take any time to get used to now; even the Friday to Saturday weekend seems normal. Growing up among a diverse group of people in a multitude of schools and situations, I grew accustomed to the quirks and foibles of foreign countries. I know to always wear pants or skirts past my knees when I go out and to keep my crosses and Bible hidden when going through the airport. As weird and insignificant as this may seem, it’s a norm that I don’t even consciously remember.
The wide world will always be my home, and hopefully my own family’s home. After living overseas so long I want to make sure my own children will get the same experiences. There is no way I could deny my future family the adventures that I have already had.
Friday, November 21, 2008
Gwangju Massacre
BY JOON LEE, KOREA INTERNATIONAL SCHOOL
“I thought I was watching a war movie...”
As a South Korean student, I am privileged to be a participant in THIMUN in Singapore, 2008 and I am aware that this is because others in my country fought for the freedom of speech I enjoy today.
People know of the Tiananmen Massacre in China, but how many people know of the equivalent in Korea? Most of us tend to take benefits for granted. Freedom and democracy are great examples of this. Many of us today underestimate the freedoms democracy offers us as a god-given right and fail to honor and recognize people who sacrificed their lives for it.
As a young student, I take this opportunity to introduce an important turning point in Korea’s history, the Gwangju Massacre, a pivotal event in the struggle to achieve democracy in the country. On May 18th to May 27th of 1980, the people of Gwangju, a major city located about 270 km southwest of Seoul, rose up against the dictatorship and puppet democracy at that time in South Korea, a time when presidents acted like monarchs and people did not have true freedom.
Mr. Kim Bum Soo, a Gwangju citizen who fought for the freedoms democracy offers, freedoms we now take for granted, records his experiences of those days…
In 1980, at the time of the Gwangju Massacre, I was working as a journalist for a small magazine company. I was a 22 year old young man, too busy earning a living to have any interest in politics.
May 18th, 1980 was a Sunday. I knew there was a declaration of state of emergency, but because it had nothing to do with me, I just stayed home relaxing. However, in the afternoon, I heard my neighbors talking about soldiers coming into Gwangju City and beatings of students, both males and females. They warned me not to go out because of chaos in the streets. Soldiers were loading innocent young students onto military trucks and taking them away. I stayed inside.
May 19th Monday morning, I was walking to work. As I approached the intersection of Choongchang 5th and Gumran 5th Streets, I saw young men about my age kneeling on the ground, their hands tied behind their backs, their heads pressed against the cement ground. I was scared. Why were soldiers beating innocent young students?
Later that same day, walking back to my office from an interview, I saw an unbelieveable scene: In between Gumram 2nd Street and 3rd Street, about twenty young men, stripped to their underwear, were being severely beaten by soldiers. They were covered in blood, screaming in pain and calling for help. Soldiers mercilessly beat them with thick sticks, while swearing at them, stepping on them with their heavy military shoes and hitting them with their rifle butts. When a bystander called on the soldiers to stop, they beat him too and arrested him. I couldn’t believe my eyes. I thought I was watching a bloody war movie.
After witnessing the chaos, I went back to my office, near the City Square. That night people began to protest. There were soldiers everywhere, and fearing for my safety, I decided to sleep in the office.
On the morning of Tuesday, May 20th, there was an eerie peace in the streets. But suddenly, in the afternoon, soldiers began indiscriminately beating people in the streets again, men, women, and children. In response, the citizens of Gwangju started to gather in large groups and protest against this cruel injustice, shouting, “Soldiers, leave Gwangju!” and “Apologize to Gwangju citizens!” I heard gunfire that night.
On Wednesday May 21st, two people, rumored to have been killed by the soldiers, were discovered in Gwangju Station. The corpses were loaded on a wagon and were taken to the Province Hall of Jeolanamdo. People began to gather around the Province Hall. Others went around Gwangju and spread the word about the atrocities. In front of the Province Hall, the citizens of Gwangju were lined up face-to-face with the soldiers. The streets were filled with protestors yelling out for justice. As the national anthem played, soldiers opened fire on the crowd of unarmed civilians. With the sound of gunfire, the protestors ran for their lives, as those who were shot just lay on the bloody ground. Those trying to help the injured were themselves shot.
After witnessing this scene, I was terrified and ran toward Gwangju Park, where I saw Gwangju citizens, including students, with guns, rushing towards Province Hall. How could the soldiers shoot their fellow citizens using weapons funded by the taxes paid by their victims? The entire city resonated with the sound of M-16 and carbine rifles.
The morning of May 22nd was quiet. The soldiers had withdrawn. The citizens of Gwangju had come together to form a Resistance Committee. For a time, the stores in Gwangju were open and back to business.
From May 23rd to 26th the streets were quiet.
On the night of May 26th, the Resistance Committee called upon Gwangju citizens to volunteer to protect the city. Together with two friends, I volunteered. We went to the Gwangju YMCA beside the Province Hall where we were given carbine rifles with 30 shells and then we were assigned to guard the overpass leading to Gaerim Elementary School. At 4am, we heard an explosion, accompanied by gunfire. Facing attack from highly trained federal soldiers, we were no match for them. We retreated, without firing a single bullet, but I was caught, arrested and beaten like an animal. The police interrogated me for fourteen hours, asking, “Who is the boss?” and “Who ordered you?” During this questioning, I was again beaten severely.
Later, sentenced to two years in prison for my part in the uprising, I was fortunately released after five months when the court suspended my case.
After the Gwangju Massacre, my life changed dramatically. Returning to College to gain a Masters degree, I was always under police surveillance. After graduation, it was very difficult for me to find a job. Today, everything is settled. I currently work as a government official, and I am always keen to raise awareness of this important massacre.
The Gwangju massacre was an extraordinary time in the development of South Korea as a democatic state because it marked the beginning of a reform of the government and a complete change of ideology.
I belong to a generation who, in the 21st century, are the beneficiaries of the freedoms that those who came before us, fought for. To honor them, we must use our voice at THIMUN in Singapore to pass resolutions to make our world a better place.
“I thought I was watching a war movie...”
As a South Korean student, I am privileged to be a participant in THIMUN in Singapore, 2008 and I am aware that this is because others in my country fought for the freedom of speech I enjoy today.
People know of the Tiananmen Massacre in China, but how many people know of the equivalent in Korea? Most of us tend to take benefits for granted. Freedom and democracy are great examples of this. Many of us today underestimate the freedoms democracy offers us as a god-given right and fail to honor and recognize people who sacrificed their lives for it.
As a young student, I take this opportunity to introduce an important turning point in Korea’s history, the Gwangju Massacre, a pivotal event in the struggle to achieve democracy in the country. On May 18th to May 27th of 1980, the people of Gwangju, a major city located about 270 km southwest of Seoul, rose up against the dictatorship and puppet democracy at that time in South Korea, a time when presidents acted like monarchs and people did not have true freedom.
Mr. Kim Bum Soo, a Gwangju citizen who fought for the freedoms democracy offers, freedoms we now take for granted, records his experiences of those days…
In 1980, at the time of the Gwangju Massacre, I was working as a journalist for a small magazine company. I was a 22 year old young man, too busy earning a living to have any interest in politics.
May 18th, 1980 was a Sunday. I knew there was a declaration of state of emergency, but because it had nothing to do with me, I just stayed home relaxing. However, in the afternoon, I heard my neighbors talking about soldiers coming into Gwangju City and beatings of students, both males and females. They warned me not to go out because of chaos in the streets. Soldiers were loading innocent young students onto military trucks and taking them away. I stayed inside.
May 19th Monday morning, I was walking to work. As I approached the intersection of Choongchang 5th and Gumran 5th Streets, I saw young men about my age kneeling on the ground, their hands tied behind their backs, their heads pressed against the cement ground. I was scared. Why were soldiers beating innocent young students?
Later that same day, walking back to my office from an interview, I saw an unbelieveable scene: In between Gumram 2nd Street and 3rd Street, about twenty young men, stripped to their underwear, were being severely beaten by soldiers. They were covered in blood, screaming in pain and calling for help. Soldiers mercilessly beat them with thick sticks, while swearing at them, stepping on them with their heavy military shoes and hitting them with their rifle butts. When a bystander called on the soldiers to stop, they beat him too and arrested him. I couldn’t believe my eyes. I thought I was watching a bloody war movie.
After witnessing the chaos, I went back to my office, near the City Square. That night people began to protest. There were soldiers everywhere, and fearing for my safety, I decided to sleep in the office.
On the morning of Tuesday, May 20th, there was an eerie peace in the streets. But suddenly, in the afternoon, soldiers began indiscriminately beating people in the streets again, men, women, and children. In response, the citizens of Gwangju started to gather in large groups and protest against this cruel injustice, shouting, “Soldiers, leave Gwangju!” and “Apologize to Gwangju citizens!” I heard gunfire that night.
On Wednesday May 21st, two people, rumored to have been killed by the soldiers, were discovered in Gwangju Station. The corpses were loaded on a wagon and were taken to the Province Hall of Jeolanamdo. People began to gather around the Province Hall. Others went around Gwangju and spread the word about the atrocities. In front of the Province Hall, the citizens of Gwangju were lined up face-to-face with the soldiers. The streets were filled with protestors yelling out for justice. As the national anthem played, soldiers opened fire on the crowd of unarmed civilians. With the sound of gunfire, the protestors ran for their lives, as those who were shot just lay on the bloody ground. Those trying to help the injured were themselves shot.
After witnessing this scene, I was terrified and ran toward Gwangju Park, where I saw Gwangju citizens, including students, with guns, rushing towards Province Hall. How could the soldiers shoot their fellow citizens using weapons funded by the taxes paid by their victims? The entire city resonated with the sound of M-16 and carbine rifles.
The morning of May 22nd was quiet. The soldiers had withdrawn. The citizens of Gwangju had come together to form a Resistance Committee. For a time, the stores in Gwangju were open and back to business.
From May 23rd to 26th the streets were quiet.
On the night of May 26th, the Resistance Committee called upon Gwangju citizens to volunteer to protect the city. Together with two friends, I volunteered. We went to the Gwangju YMCA beside the Province Hall where we were given carbine rifles with 30 shells and then we were assigned to guard the overpass leading to Gaerim Elementary School. At 4am, we heard an explosion, accompanied by gunfire. Facing attack from highly trained federal soldiers, we were no match for them. We retreated, without firing a single bullet, but I was caught, arrested and beaten like an animal. The police interrogated me for fourteen hours, asking, “Who is the boss?” and “Who ordered you?” During this questioning, I was again beaten severely.
Later, sentenced to two years in prison for my part in the uprising, I was fortunately released after five months when the court suspended my case.
After the Gwangju Massacre, my life changed dramatically. Returning to College to gain a Masters degree, I was always under police surveillance. After graduation, it was very difficult for me to find a job. Today, everything is settled. I currently work as a government official, and I am always keen to raise awareness of this important massacre.
The Gwangju massacre was an extraordinary time in the development of South Korea as a democatic state because it marked the beginning of a reform of the government and a complete change of ideology.
I belong to a generation who, in the 21st century, are the beneficiaries of the freedoms that those who came before us, fought for. To honor them, we must use our voice at THIMUN in Singapore to pass resolutions to make our world a better place.
Habitat for Humanity: The Teacher's Leader's Perspective
by Mr. Paul Perron, Korea International School
Here I am standing at passport control at the airport in Dacca airport in Bangladesh and the officer has just told me that he has never heard of the address I have just given him and the 34 students and teachers behind all have the same address because I told them to write it down. No need to panic yet as I was told this might happen, as the place we were headed was remote even by Bangladeshi standards. I was told to smile and tell him that we were the guests of Prince Sanjay and that all of our problems would be solved. I passed this brilliant nugget of information on to the customs officer with total confidence that the fabled Prince Sanjay was our ticket into the nation of Bangladesh. The officer deadpanned back that there are no princes in his nation. I glanced back at the thirty students and four teachers who traveled to this distant land with me believing that I had taken care of everything. I thought, “What should I do now?” as they looked at me with expectant eyes seemingly sure that I had the solution to this dilemma. At that moment the higher-ranking officer standing behind the one “helping” me whispered into the ear of his comrade and a smile broke across each man’s face. As I looked at them pleadingly the original officer then said, “Oh, except in that area of the nation. Welcome to Bangladesh.”
Why does a sane person take thirty high school students to the poorest corners of planet earth? Dealing with flights, visas and parental concerns every step of the way. Why wouldn’t he spend his vacation time with his beautiful wife on a tropical beach drinking fruity concoctions with umbrellas in them? Why doesn’t he stick to places where the toilets flush the roads have sidewalks and the roosters don’t serve as alarm clocks? What causes the entire group to take a trip where all will get filthy, labor until muscles they didn’t even know they had ache, and eat dinners that you watched your host kill an hour earlier? Had I, had indeed all of these travelers, lost our collective minds? What could possibly make the hours of fundraising money that will be 100% given away, and the lectures about beds without mattresses and warnings to bring medicines and bug spray all worth while? The answer is a simple desire to help those who, though less fortunate, are no less deserving of a better life. To give to someone who will never ever forget what we shared and did for them. Another reason for me is to teach young people lessons that no classroom could ever hope to. The reason is to build houses with an organization that has gotten the concept of helping people to help themselves right. What I’m talking about here is the incredible organization called Habitat for Humanity.
I have always felt that my life has been blessed with innumerable gifts. I have also discovered that each gift I have given has been repaid to me many fold. As a lifetime educator I have dedicated much of who I am to giving the gift of higher level learning experiences to my students. The non-tangible rewards I have received are greater than several lifetimes deserve. During my career I have discovered that real life experiences are not only the ones that teach the most but also teach at the deepest levels of understanding. These are the experiences that touch the heart and soul as well as stimulate the student intellectually. Working with my fellow teachers and our amazing students on Habitat for Humanity trips I have had the penultimate experience of my long career. The trip alone to a foreign land is a multi-curricular dream classroom. Traveling to a foreign with Habitat for Humanity gives the trip much more intensity, focus, purpose and meaning. Building the house with not only the local materials and local people, but with the future homeowners themselves allows us to experience what this house, however simple to us, means to them. During our time there we interact with local school children and their teachers, we meet local dignitaries and others of notoriety in the area. On the Bangladesh trip our local base (the YMCA) became playground central while we were there as young people from about five years old to their mid-teens came to share time with us each evening after we finished working. No trip can get you more involved with the community, pass on good intentions and promote intercultural awareness than a Habitat for Humanity trip does.
Finally, what cannot be emphasized enough is all of the multi-curricular skills and knowledge used and gained by using the local resources while taking into account the local conditions (both physical and cultural) as you and your students build a house from below ground level up. Teaching has always been and profession of love for me and my very best teaching has always taken place in an atmosphere of student involvement and independent thought on their part. On a Habitat trip I am constantly aware of the growing and expanding of my students minds, spirits and hearts as they go through the process of building the house. The next time I find myself in a foreign land confronted by a bureaucratic stumbling block with thirty anxious young people counting on me to solve it, I will smile and work my way through it as I know that my students and fellow teachers (more so myself) are about to embark upon a life fulfilling experience beyond compare as we are about to build houses for Habitat for Humanity.
Here I am standing at passport control at the airport in Dacca airport in Bangladesh and the officer has just told me that he has never heard of the address I have just given him and the 34 students and teachers behind all have the same address because I told them to write it down. No need to panic yet as I was told this might happen, as the place we were headed was remote even by Bangladeshi standards. I was told to smile and tell him that we were the guests of Prince Sanjay and that all of our problems would be solved. I passed this brilliant nugget of information on to the customs officer with total confidence that the fabled Prince Sanjay was our ticket into the nation of Bangladesh. The officer deadpanned back that there are no princes in his nation. I glanced back at the thirty students and four teachers who traveled to this distant land with me believing that I had taken care of everything. I thought, “What should I do now?” as they looked at me with expectant eyes seemingly sure that I had the solution to this dilemma. At that moment the higher-ranking officer standing behind the one “helping” me whispered into the ear of his comrade and a smile broke across each man’s face. As I looked at them pleadingly the original officer then said, “Oh, except in that area of the nation. Welcome to Bangladesh.”
Why does a sane person take thirty high school students to the poorest corners of planet earth? Dealing with flights, visas and parental concerns every step of the way. Why wouldn’t he spend his vacation time with his beautiful wife on a tropical beach drinking fruity concoctions with umbrellas in them? Why doesn’t he stick to places where the toilets flush the roads have sidewalks and the roosters don’t serve as alarm clocks? What causes the entire group to take a trip where all will get filthy, labor until muscles they didn’t even know they had ache, and eat dinners that you watched your host kill an hour earlier? Had I, had indeed all of these travelers, lost our collective minds? What could possibly make the hours of fundraising money that will be 100% given away, and the lectures about beds without mattresses and warnings to bring medicines and bug spray all worth while? The answer is a simple desire to help those who, though less fortunate, are no less deserving of a better life. To give to someone who will never ever forget what we shared and did for them. Another reason for me is to teach young people lessons that no classroom could ever hope to. The reason is to build houses with an organization that has gotten the concept of helping people to help themselves right. What I’m talking about here is the incredible organization called Habitat for Humanity.
I have always felt that my life has been blessed with innumerable gifts. I have also discovered that each gift I have given has been repaid to me many fold. As a lifetime educator I have dedicated much of who I am to giving the gift of higher level learning experiences to my students. The non-tangible rewards I have received are greater than several lifetimes deserve. During my career I have discovered that real life experiences are not only the ones that teach the most but also teach at the deepest levels of understanding. These are the experiences that touch the heart and soul as well as stimulate the student intellectually. Working with my fellow teachers and our amazing students on Habitat for Humanity trips I have had the penultimate experience of my long career. The trip alone to a foreign land is a multi-curricular dream classroom. Traveling to a foreign with Habitat for Humanity gives the trip much more intensity, focus, purpose and meaning. Building the house with not only the local materials and local people, but with the future homeowners themselves allows us to experience what this house, however simple to us, means to them. During our time there we interact with local school children and their teachers, we meet local dignitaries and others of notoriety in the area. On the Bangladesh trip our local base (the YMCA) became playground central while we were there as young people from about five years old to their mid-teens came to share time with us each evening after we finished working. No trip can get you more involved with the community, pass on good intentions and promote intercultural awareness than a Habitat for Humanity trip does.
Finally, what cannot be emphasized enough is all of the multi-curricular skills and knowledge used and gained by using the local resources while taking into account the local conditions (both physical and cultural) as you and your students build a house from below ground level up. Teaching has always been and profession of love for me and my very best teaching has always taken place in an atmosphere of student involvement and independent thought on their part. On a Habitat trip I am constantly aware of the growing and expanding of my students minds, spirits and hearts as they go through the process of building the house. The next time I find myself in a foreign land confronted by a bureaucratic stumbling block with thirty anxious young people counting on me to solve it, I will smile and work my way through it as I know that my students and fellow teachers (more so myself) are about to embark upon a life fulfilling experience beyond compare as we are about to build houses for Habitat for Humanity.
Habitat for Humanity
By Susie Youn, Korea International School
Early in the morning on the second day of the week, we woke up to go visit a few places before heading out to the building site. As we went down the wobbly road in the mini vehicle, I looked out the window to see a two-square-foot store, homes without roofs and doorways, people sitting on the asphalt ground chatting with each other. And then I saw a scooter with six feet dangling on its sides. When I looked up to see the feet’s owners, I was startled. There were three girls who appeared to be around my age, dressed in school uniforms and holding onto each other’s backs. They were on their way to school. Back at my school, most students either rode the school bus or got a ride from their parents -- some even had their own drivers. Although I knew that the people of Bang Na, Thailand, lived in poverty, it was strange to directly witness the immense difference between the lives of the Thai people and of mine. This was merely the start of my Habitat for Humanity (HFH) trip.
My history with HFH started when I joined the club as a sophomore. HFH, founded by Jimmy Carter, is a nonprofit organization aimed at eliminating poverty and homelessness all around the world. In my school, Korea International School (KIS), about 30 students go on this annual trip as a group to build houses for the needy. That particular year, our school traveled to Bang Na, Thailand, a place where a tsunami had hit and destroyed the homes of many families. It was my first and most memorable HFH experience.
I thought the HFH trip was only going to involve building houses. However, we also had the chance to become unified with the community. One afternoon, after making bricks, we visited a local elementary school. The children all came out to greet us, waving their hands high in the air. Seeing their bright smiles, I assumed that their school was one in good condition with sufficient school supplies and books. In reality, it was quite the contrary - the school was in an utterly poor condition. It was a one-floor building that was not painted, decorated, nor polished at all. The interior of the classrooms was even worse. A chalkboard with some desks was all that sat there and the children had one or two books, if any. I was baffled at how the children could be so happy and grateful when they had almost nothing. We could barely communicate with each other because of the language barrier, but we still gradually became closer as we participated together in activities such as soccer and Frisbee. After spending a few hours with them, I felt as if all of them were my little brothers and sisters. Before we left, they got our signature as “souvenirs” and bid us farewell with their sweet, unforgettable smiles.
The more I thought about the children we met, the more eager I was to build the houses. The process - making liquid cement, building the bricks from scratch, and stacking the brick walls - was difficult. But even in the hot and sticky weather, we all worked hard because we knew that we were making a difference. The owner-to-be of the house came with his family to the working site to help us. Men, women and children all helped us physically, but most importantly, mentally. While working, they talked, laughed and smiled at us. Even though we did not understand each other, we could still “communicate” through gestures and visual signs. They acted as our energy sources. The work was arduous and difficult, but its value far exceeded its trials. We were rewarded for the work not only with the happiness of the people, but also with the night off in the city.
We went to the Phuket market beside the beach and ate an amazing festive Thai dinner. The adventure at the market was another memorable experience. I was able to see such a variety of products that represented Thai tradition. Although I had fun in the city, I could not help but think of the young students and Bang Na people.
It is still that way today. Whenever I think of them, a smile crawls onto my face. The emotion, the fruitfulness that one gets from a HFH experience is indescribable. Even though senior year is quite busy, I still chose to join and lead the group as the club president this year because I know that the time spent on HFH would be nothing compared to what we will ultimately earn from it. Not only did I gain unforgettable and touching memories, but at the same time I was able to give aid and hope to the deserving people. I recommend that everyone participate in Habitat for Humanity at least once in his or her lifetime, though once was not enough for me.
Early in the morning on the second day of the week, we woke up to go visit a few places before heading out to the building site. As we went down the wobbly road in the mini vehicle, I looked out the window to see a two-square-foot store, homes without roofs and doorways, people sitting on the asphalt ground chatting with each other. And then I saw a scooter with six feet dangling on its sides. When I looked up to see the feet’s owners, I was startled. There were three girls who appeared to be around my age, dressed in school uniforms and holding onto each other’s backs. They were on their way to school. Back at my school, most students either rode the school bus or got a ride from their parents -- some even had their own drivers. Although I knew that the people of Bang Na, Thailand, lived in poverty, it was strange to directly witness the immense difference between the lives of the Thai people and of mine. This was merely the start of my Habitat for Humanity (HFH) trip.
My history with HFH started when I joined the club as a sophomore. HFH, founded by Jimmy Carter, is a nonprofit organization aimed at eliminating poverty and homelessness all around the world. In my school, Korea International School (KIS), about 30 students go on this annual trip as a group to build houses for the needy. That particular year, our school traveled to Bang Na, Thailand, a place where a tsunami had hit and destroyed the homes of many families. It was my first and most memorable HFH experience.
I thought the HFH trip was only going to involve building houses. However, we also had the chance to become unified with the community. One afternoon, after making bricks, we visited a local elementary school. The children all came out to greet us, waving their hands high in the air. Seeing their bright smiles, I assumed that their school was one in good condition with sufficient school supplies and books. In reality, it was quite the contrary - the school was in an utterly poor condition. It was a one-floor building that was not painted, decorated, nor polished at all. The interior of the classrooms was even worse. A chalkboard with some desks was all that sat there and the children had one or two books, if any. I was baffled at how the children could be so happy and grateful when they had almost nothing. We could barely communicate with each other because of the language barrier, but we still gradually became closer as we participated together in activities such as soccer and Frisbee. After spending a few hours with them, I felt as if all of them were my little brothers and sisters. Before we left, they got our signature as “souvenirs” and bid us farewell with their sweet, unforgettable smiles.
The more I thought about the children we met, the more eager I was to build the houses. The process - making liquid cement, building the bricks from scratch, and stacking the brick walls - was difficult. But even in the hot and sticky weather, we all worked hard because we knew that we were making a difference. The owner-to-be of the house came with his family to the working site to help us. Men, women and children all helped us physically, but most importantly, mentally. While working, they talked, laughed and smiled at us. Even though we did not understand each other, we could still “communicate” through gestures and visual signs. They acted as our energy sources. The work was arduous and difficult, but its value far exceeded its trials. We were rewarded for the work not only with the happiness of the people, but also with the night off in the city.
We went to the Phuket market beside the beach and ate an amazing festive Thai dinner. The adventure at the market was another memorable experience. I was able to see such a variety of products that represented Thai tradition. Although I had fun in the city, I could not help but think of the young students and Bang Na people.
It is still that way today. Whenever I think of them, a smile crawls onto my face. The emotion, the fruitfulness that one gets from a HFH experience is indescribable. Even though senior year is quite busy, I still chose to join and lead the group as the club president this year because I know that the time spent on HFH would be nothing compared to what we will ultimately earn from it. Not only did I gain unforgettable and touching memories, but at the same time I was able to give aid and hope to the deserving people. I recommend that everyone participate in Habitat for Humanity at least once in his or her lifetime, though once was not enough for me.
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