“Rest,” says one of the ladies in the storage warehouse. I look around. I don’t see anyone else taking a breather. “I can rest when I get home,” I respond. Back to get another sack.
You can’t come here, or anywhere for that matter, expecting to save someone. Try to save one and you’ll think you can save them all. Try to save them all and you’ll fail before you even begin.
You have to understand at the very core of why you’re doing this that it’s not about you. It can’t be. The moment it becomes about you, you lose the ability to see the need. And you *need* to see the need.
Now take that and add in the fact that I have a hero complex. Always have. There, I said it. “My name’s David and I’m a hero addict.” This is where you all welcome me by saying, “Hi, David!”
Willing to stand against impossible odds and sacrifice one’s self for what you believe in. Yeah, I dig it. Glitz, glory, and heroedom. Sign me up. Not really sure what glitz is, but I’m sure it’s part of the hero package.
The thing is these people don’t need a savior. What they need is a friend and a helper, someone who is willing to put others before themselves, knowing that in doing so you are providing yourself with the greatest gift you could possibly give. I fail at this self-sacrificing ideal every day of my life, but I take heart in knowing I will never stop trying to achieve it. That I promise, and I don’t make promises I don’t intend to keep.
We cannot write another’s journey. We can only show them they have the pen.
You see, help isn’t about saving people and when you’re here, you don’t get to choose how you help or who you help. Not if you’re doing it for the right reasons. I’ve done everything from sweeping floors to lifting spirits with a smile to giving away my food to someone who didn’t even acknowledge the gesture. Here’s the thing and you may want to pay attention to this one: You don’t help people because they deserve it. You help them because it’s the right thing to do. The ThunderCats taught me that one, and my Mom and Dad.
“Thank you”s come in wherever you go. You just smile, nod and move on, never really accepting them. You can’t. As I said, it’s not about you and therefore no accolades can be taken. Argue with me all you want. You won’t win. I’m stubborn like that.
<Insert smooth transition to today’s events>
(Casanova) Ron and I started a bit earlier today. What’s it matter? My friend Mr. Rooster and his devout followers woke us up at 4:30am. Thanks for the extra 30 minutes of sleep, bud. Appreciate that.
We had to do more UNFPA due diligence at the remaining Evacuation Centers (ECs) and run some errands. Valeria (my swimming hero) had said that her center needed diapers and lights. We had picked up some of the supplies the day before but needed more. We hit the market first, navigated once again by our trusty Trike driver, Manuel. No Catholic cross signs over the heart today. Guess yesterday’s carried over.
We stopped by to see Ma’am Valeria to drop off the supplies. She didn’t know we were coming so she was surprised to see us. Her smile melts hearts. She still had mine from days ago when we first met. It was good to see the crew there. They had made progress clearing some of the debris. The five pairs of work gloves we brought them will hopefully help in their efforts. We had work to do at the other ECs, so couldn’t stay long. We dropped off what we brought – lighters/lights, diapers and gloves. Yes, Natasha, I need to find an ATM. Sorry, but you knew this was going to happen and you told me not to change. Couldn’t if I wanted to at this point.
I got a hug from Valeria and off we went. We visited two more ECs, one of them containing Ron’s new girl. He left me while I was taking a picture of a rather large pig that was tied up nearby. Guess he didn’t want me to cramp his style after my stunt yesterday when I told her (and everyone else in earshot) that he didn’t ask for her number for the EC data. Yep, that’s how I roll. Got it from my big bro who has no shame at all. I like to think I have at least a little dignity and self-respect.
On to the Astrodome EC which we were sent to by our head UNFPA honcho, Diva Ron. That man’s a machine. He doesn’t eat or sleep. He just works, chipping away for the cause he believes in, every moment he’s awake, which is pretty much 24-8. We’re lucky to have him.
Casanova Ron, the trooper that he is, was doing pretty much all the UNFPA work at this point. It’s hard to be helpful in that situation when everyone’s speaking a different language. You do the best you can but at this point let’s face it, I was dead weight. So I did what I do best. I walked around and talked to people, offering smiles and waves as greetings, answering the questions that the droves of kids would yell from the upper floors or as they walked by. “What’s your name, Joe?” Joe refers to military personnel (which I am not) and is derived from the 80s GI Joe cartoon. Asking someone’s name and offering a smile or handshake/fist bump goes a long way. It sets the stage to have an interaction and trust me, you want to have interactions here. I also get information by walking around, finding out if there are additional ways to help out. I do it at work, too. People just don’t know that’s what I’m doing. Guess some do now. 😉
So at one point there’s a red truck nearby. I noticed people were standing in line to unload large white sacks. I watched for a moment, feeling the pull inside. Sometimes you’re pulled towards something, sometimes called and sometimes you’re sent. They aren’t the same. I’ll let you figure out the difference. Let me know when you do.
Ron looked at me and asked, “You want to help?” Yeah, pal, you know me too well at this point. So Ron went to do the EC work and I got in line to carry a sack of various food items to the nearby storage area. I received more than a few stares and confused looks as I walked up to the back of the truck. I’m used to it at this point. I was told before I came here that I was either going to be the coolest thing people had ever seen or viewed as a target. Well no one’s stepped up to the plate on the latter, so must be the former, at least so far.
The helpers carry the sacks on their heads. That’s the technique. At one point I tried to take one of the sacks in my arms and they wouldn’t give it to me. On the head or not at all.
The sacks weigh about 100 kg, so one of the workers said. I don’t know what that translates into lbs and it doesn’t matter. They were heavy, but I’ll take that over the burden of being able to do something and choosing not to. I’ve carried that one for far too long. I’ll take the sacks any day of the week.
The sacks seemed to get heavier as I made more trips. (Duh!) At some point I noticed a crowd watching me. I can only speculate at what they were thinking, but I hope it was “here’s a guy who’s not like us, but he’s helping out anyway. Maybe we’re not so different after all.”
I carried about 10 sacks in all including the last one. But I didn’t carry the first one and many of the ones in between.
After the final sack, the truck packed up and left. I smiled and shook the hands of those involved in the unloading process. A line formed shortly after as the food was then being distributed. I was a bit worn out and my back and neck stiff, but took satisfaction in the sight that people were being fed by the food in both sacks that I did and did not carry. Yeah, remember:
It’s not about you.
And it’s not about them.
It’s about all of us. Now let’s get it done.
Standing with you in body and spirit — until the end and then some.
David
Lookin good!