The least we could do

by Emery Schulz (United States of America)

I didn't expect to find Jamaica

The Least We Could Do Adria is sitting on the floor. Behind her, Caleigh sprawls across the twin bed. It is both hot and humid, and nothing that the small fan, whirling back and forth, does is enough. The heat is simply oppressive. Adria, 8, holds a book. It's one of those movie books, Disney this time, that tells the story of the jungle book. She's borrowed it from her school. She has no books of her own. To my knowledge, she has no paper or pencil of her own either, sad, for a girl who loves to draw. In Lucea, Jamaica, these things are luxuries, and if you are to give a gift, you must be careful. Even our trip leader, Jeri, is not immune from these things. She has been coming to Jamaica for 25 years, but she once gifted a cake to a small boy. It was the biggest faux pas of her life. They told her, taking her quietly aside, that she had spent a week's pay on a frivolity. She had insulted them. She had waved her money in their face. She very carefully never did such a thing again, and warned us not to do the same thing. But it seemed we were not alone in wanting to do this, waving our money around where for once it would make a difference, the life changing kind. There is something you should know about being in Jamaica, it is all about the tourists, which means one things and one thing alone. The tourists come first. This means that while the tourists have hot water for luxurious baths, wifi, and the finest of everything, the natives, especially in small towns like Lucea, make do. Since all the income comes from the tourists, the Jamaicans do everything they can to make them stay. But the sad part is there's not enough for everyone and the citizens suffer while the tourists come away thinking of infinite resources. In the house Caleigh and I stayed in, there was no wifi, there was no reception, and there was definitely no hot water. In fact, there was barely any water at all. It only came out in a drip, drip, drip, from the facets and we had to fill empty water bottles to attempt to wash our hair. But this didn't mean we were without kindness. Our host mother, every morning, made us breakfast, usually a boiled egg or two, and some toast. We spent our days either in the schools, teaching the children about where we came from, or in the infirmary, which served as a place for all the folks who were sick, old, or had nowhere better to go. Jeri had a story about that too. Once, she'd brought a good amount of supplies for the residents of the infirmary, some medical supplies, some things for the people to do, some snacks, only to find when she returned the next day, that the nurses had stolen it. She was infuriated, but she also understood. In a world with so little resources available, the nurses needed it as much as the residents did! But the residents themselves had next to nothing, and they were alone. While talking to one of the women, she requested I give her my print out that I had brought to show my hometown. It was a slideshow, more or less, but it had some nice pictures. Her memory came and went and her voice was strong with Jamaican Patois, but she very much wanted the slideshow. So, I gave it to her. She hung it on her wall. I later learned that many of my classmate's slideshows wound up being hung in that building. Resources in Jamaica may be slim, but the people are kind and I highly recommend it. But trying to help without insulting the people and taking away their power is a hard thing. I still struggle with it. And in the end, I left Adria a ton of paper and my pencils. Was it wrong? Maybe. But after all her and my host mother's kindness, it felt like the least I could do.