I Jumped Off a Cliff

Since I have been living in beautiful Belize for over three months now, I figured it was time to start the crazy little blog I’ve been planning to write. As my high school English classes taught me, organization is key in writing, so we must start at the beginning.

When I first arrived in Belize, all the way back in July, we immediately jumped into In-Country Orientation (ICO). Now, ICO is full of many memorable moments from playing the Garifuna drums, to making rice and beans (with and without plastic bags), to cliff jumping.

I have always wanted to go cliff jumping as it seems like a good idea in theory. It so happens that I had the opportunity to partake during ICO. We were in the Toledo district, visiting the second JV community in Punta Gorda (PG). While there, we went to the incredible Rio Blanco which is filled with lush trees, dazzling waterfalls, and ice-cold water (a welcome relief from the overbearing humidity and heat of Belize). There is also a cliff that we all proceeded to jump off of. When they ask, “Would you jump off a cliff if your friends do,” I apparently have to answer, “Yes.”

Waterfalls at Rio Blanco

            Jumping off a cliff is a perfect metaphor for joining JVC. When you finally commit to jumping, it’s terrifying. You’re falling, and you have no control, and (in my case) there’s a whole lot of screaming involved. Then suddenly you’re in the water, and it’s over in a blink of an eye. You decide to jump, you fall, you land—all so sudden.

Except stepping into the decision to do post-graduate service in an international setting was not a spur of the moment decision. It certainly was terrifying once I joined, and there were several moments when I asked myself, “What the heck am I doing?” But I didn’t show up on a random Tuesday and decide to leap.

            This decision has been building for a long time now, and if there’s any comfort I can provide for the family and friends that I have left behind for two years, it’s that I know it’s the right one. You see, this journey began all the way back in middle school when I volunteered at a soup kitchen once a month. But, it wasn’t so firmly cemented until my sophomore year of college. At the end of that year, I traveled to Guatemala on an immersion trip. There, I met people who experienced acts of genocide and yet were still fighting for their rights and their homes.

            While in Guatemala we traveled to a small village called Rio Negro where a horrifying massacre occurred during the 80’s. The country had dissolved into civil war after the military committed a coup. The United States replaced the democratic government with a dictatorship, which then proceeded to systematically kill the indigenous Mayans in the country.

            The Guatemalan government had wanted to build a dam that would destroy many villages, including Rio Negro. The people of the community were outspokenly anti-dam, so the military silenced the village. The dam was built, the village destroyed, and hundreds of lives were lost.

            The village has since rebuilt, although further up the mountains than before (the original village is completely underwater now). I spent several days in Rio Negro, talking with locals, and learning about their experiences the night strangers came to their town and killed their families. Yet, when I remember the people of Rio Negro, I remember their strength first. They had everything taken from them, but they still held hope that their community could be restored. They still worked for justice, for their dignity, and for the dignity of those who had died. They refused to be silenced—their voice is their only weapon against a great, big, powerful government, and they use it to the best of their ability.

            I joined JVC to find that strength that I had witnessed on a warm May night in Guatemala replicated throughout the world. I joined JVC to hear the voices of people that are normally so silenced being used to uplift and renew communities. I joined JVC to learn about this world I live in, and to recognize that we are all connected. We are all one—brothers and sisters—and the dignity and value of my brothers and sisters throughout this world are being trotted upon. And that makes me angry. And that makes me act.

            Being here, I have come to realize that it all boils down to ignorance, and the fact that I am not ignorant. I know what takes place in this world. I know there are children who go to bed hungry, who will never learn how to read, who have parents who are absent, abusive, or neglectful. And because I know, I have to act. I have been blessed with the power and privilege to work for a better world, and it seems like an awful waste of all my gifts to stand by and let it burn.

            So I will act, and I will learn, and hopefully, the people of Belize and I will find a little bit of strength in each other.