Author: jcrowe01

by Zoe, Tufts 1+4 Participant

Yesterday, April 1, was my last day working at R3 Animal. Yesterday, it hit me that this is the end. I’d be lying to say there weren’t numerous times throughout the past seven months I thought about the month of April, the month I’d be going home. Moreover, I’d be lying to say there weren’t times I longed for April to come faster. Now that it’s suddenly here, I’m shocked by my unreadiness and not wanting to leave this place where I now feel genuinely at home.

As I rode the bus to work yesterday morning for one last time, I remembered my first day at R3 five months ago. Back then I felt like I was so far into my Brazil experience, having already spent 2 months in Imbituba. But looking back on my first day at R3, it’s almost amusing how much I had yet to learn. In November my Portuguese was lacking tremendously, so much so that I had absolutely no idea what it meant when I was told on my first day at work, “precisa trocar jornal nas todas as gaiolas das toucanos e papagaios, daí ce tem que lavar os potinhos da agua e comida.” Meaning “you need to change the newspaper in all the toucan and parrot cages and then wash all the food and water bowls.” This is the first job most volunteers at R3 are given to do because it’s relatively straight-forward. Since I didn’t know the meaning of the words trocar, jornal, gaiola, papagaio, or potinho, it took me a bit longer than the normal volunteer to figure it out. 

I learned much more than ever expected working at R3. Being an organization that helps rescue, rehabilitate, and release various types of wild animals, it didn’t really occur to me that instead of directly participating in the action of rescuing, rehabilitating, or releasing, I’d be cleaning (poop, cages, floors, food/water dishes) or feeding (by force or simply delivering food trays to the cages and enclosures). I’m ashamed to say that throughout my childhood, I was never one to help my parents wash dishes or even pick up dog poop, so this type of work was a slight shock to my system. I’m proud of my somewhat newfound ability to clean and perform a somewhat basic job, but I’m more satisfied with my improved work ethic. I used to be the type of person who would do something halfway, only to leave the rest for someone else to finish. It never really occurred to me that if I didn’t finish the job, someone else would have to do it instead. Working at R3 completely changed this, especially because there’s always more work to do than time or hands to complete it. 

Don’t get me wrong, there were days I really didn’t feel like spending hours cleaning poop, getting eaten alive by mosquitoes, and dying of heat. Yes it was undesirable at times, but yesterday as I did everything for one last time, I realized how much I gained from the experience, how much I actually liked it, and how sad I am to leave. 

Never again will I change into my uniform in under 7 seconds to limit the amount of time I had to be locked in the mosquito filled locker room. Never again will I have to shine a flashlight into my boots each morning to make sure there were no baratas (cockroaches) living inside, or forget to check and end up with various cockroach parts stuck to my sock. Never again will my pants be soaking wet from washing and carrying crates upon crates of fruit and vegetables from the truckload delivered each Monday and Thursday morning. Never again will I get into fights with toucans while cleaning their enclosures, or get pooped on when I don’t realize there’s one perched above me. Never again will I stand in a cloud of mosquitoes waiting for the turtle pool to drain, or have to stand almost knee deep in water and use a liter bucket to empty the entire pool when the drain is broken. Never again will I literally chase seagulls around an enclosure, hold them between my legs, force open their beaks, and feed fish down their throats, nor will I ever have to pick up the warm, slimy ones they’ve regurgitated and shove them down a second time. Never again will I be able to hand feed a penguin, or ride to the vet clinic with a penguin in the seat next to me. Never again will I joke with all the vets about my relationship with the cutia that was hit by a car – the one that bit me resulting in numerous vaccines and injections, 2 trips to the hospital and medical clinic each, and a good amount of remaining scar tissue. Never again will I wait on the side of the road at the end of the day (in both torrential downpours and 100 degree Fahrenheit heat), hoping the bus would come and I wouldn’t have to wait over an hour for the next one.

Of course for the average person, some of these things just sound like hell. Yes, sure there were undesirable parts, but every single thing I’m able to look back on and smile. It’s not the average person who can say they have a love/hate (but mostly hate) relationship with various toucan enclosures in southern Brazil.

And finally, work aside, the aspect I most cherish from working at R3 animal is the amazing people I became friends with and was able to look up to. These people work harder than anyone I’ve ever met and all have such genuine hearts. I am so grateful to have gotten to know each and every one of them, from those with whom I worked each day, to those I simply knew on a more superficial level. 

With this I say goodbye and thank you to R3. Its impact on me is more than I could’ve ever hoped, and I’m so glad to have been a part of something that brought tears to my eyes as I left for the last time.
~R3 Animal, Salvamos Vidas~

by Abigail, Tufts 1+4 Participant

Every morning I walk four blocks to work.

I walk out of the little sidewalk that leads to my house. Most often I’m greeted by tricicleros shouting “¿nos vamos?” because I’m pretty sure they think I must be lost. I usually ignore them, although one time the triciclero was someone I knew and I kept walking, until they yelled “A BEE GA IILLL.” It was embarrassing to say the least. When I walk I think a lot. I think about the day ahead of me, I think about the months ahead of me, I reflect on what’s behind me.

I’m filled with lesson plans and Ruben Dario and the hot topic of “who’s hotter, Maluma or Zayn?” I try to remember the Spanish word for mascara, the word that I always forget. Sometimes I see kids (who are running late) on their way to Las Tías, sometimes I walk with them. I look into the doorways of houses in the mornings, women mopping, children playing on the floor, grandmothers in plastic chairs pulled up to the doorway. I feel like I’m peeking into something secret. There are a few houses I’ve picked as my favorites, and I know that sounds weird, but I’ve done this. There’s one that has the shiniest tile floor I’ve ever seen, and a hallway where the morning sun slants perfectly. There’s a skeleton of a building that used to have flags hanging inside, flapping in the wind and glowing in the sun. I took a picture of them one day, and the next they were gone. Sometimes I’m walking and I wish I didn’t have to turn the corner to work, I could walk forever. Everyone here is always wondering why foreigners like walking so much. Guilty. I think about going home. I want to go home. I don’t want to ever go home! Depends on my mood. I like it here. I feel weirded out being in large groups of foreigners other than the other Amigos vols. I’ll miss my family, my work. Probably not the heat. I worry about going back, my friends won’t be the same as when I left, but I guess neither will I. I think about everything I could be doing better, I’m always thinking like that. I want to make a good impression. I’m not sure I belong here. I don’t think Nicaraguans need “help.” I’m confused about where I stand then. I’m praying that we do bachata songs at Zumba tonight because bachata days are the best days. I’m trying to remember the words to an old favorite song. Certain songs from my 16th year still make me cry, which for some reason is comforting to know. I’m trying to remember other old memories too, sometimes it hurts. I’ve already left home, and I’m not really ever going to go back for more than short visits. It’s sad, really. I talked about this with Gloria, my Spanish teacher. She understands that kind of stuff. I’ve learned how to speak really honestly while being here. I don’t like hiding my feelings anymore. I’m walking and I’m learning to shed my worries. I call to mind every hug my host mom has given me, I think about forgiveness, I work to never underestimate people. The “cultural adjustment curve” that they showed us is true, after all, because things just make sense now. How easily the Spanish flows from my mind to my mouth, the r’s rolling off my tongue, the subjunctive form that used to get me every time at school. The dish soap’s not weird. I have a newfound love for sorting beans (you’re welcome to laugh). Haven’t I come a long way?

Walking is good for the soul. I treasure each morning’s four blocks of thought time. I like to keep moving, it pumps my heart with new energy, it keeps me loving and smiling and sane. Two months isn’t a long time. It’s all just a walk now, and I’m approaching the corner I must turn into the next part of my life. Like some mornings, I’m not sure I want to turn just yet, I want just a little more precious time to straighten things out in my head. But the good thing is, I’m always surprised by the goodness of the day ahead of me when I do turn.

by Gabriel, Tufts 1+4 Participant

My seventh month in Brazil is drawing to a close. When I look back to our orientation at Tufts and arriving in Brazil to meet the other Global Citizen Year fellows, it seems like a lifetime ago. I am having trouble grasping the fact that in two short weeks I will be leaving my host family. I will walk out of the gate and look back at my Brazilian family and my quaint little house, probably never to see either of them again.

During my time here in Brazil, I have often thought about what it was going to be like to go home, but now as that time approaches, I find myself lost in my feelings about it. My life has completely changed to fit into my Brazilian experience, becoming a completely different entity from my American life. How will I just jump back into my old life? Will I have changed too much to be able to slip back into the gap I left behind? Just thinking about leaving my host family, boarding a plane and finally seeing my family in the states has my stomach flipping.

by Abigail, Tufts 1+4 Participant

I want to write about all the women in my life.

About my host family, which is run by women. My host mom who raised five successful children and runs a household independently. Her daughter who works as a doctor in Managua every day, but always comes home to care and cook for her children. Her granddaughter who moved away from home to go to university at age 16, who graduated at the top of her class. Extended aunts, cousins, etc are always stopping by, and they always strike me as so powerful. They have made lives without husbands, fathers, in spite of difficult circumstances and they have learned to thrive. They take education very seriously. They are always caring about how everyone’s doing. Where I’m living right now, the women have created a force, a community, a place where I feel comfortable and empowered as an independent woman.

I want to write about Las Tías. The organization was founded by the most powerful women in the market at the time. Despite the low amount of resources with which they started out, they managed to maintain and grow the program over 26 years. Some of these women still come to the project every day, in addition to a new generation of women who are fighters for their children, for the future. It’s very clear to me that everything they do is 100% for the kids. It’s very clear that these women are working with Las Tías by choice, by way of passion. The women at Las Tías are my friends. They believe. They are strong. They are brave. I made sure to exchange hugs with all the Tías today, and we congratulated each other, because at Las Tías the power of women simply radiates. The girls too, I want to write about the girls. We chatter about boys and Justin Bieber a lot. Some of them like sports, some of them like school, all of them like coloring. No one is patient enough to make friendship bracelets but that’s okay. Every one of them comes looking to learn something. These girls will become wonderful women, I know, and I believe the tools Las Tías provides truly leads them to a bright future.

I want to write about the other vols. These girls practically hold me up, between long talks, cafe visits, rapid texts, and endless laughs. Isabel, Elaine, Bella, Viola (even though she’s already left), and the girls that I just met, Hannah, Avi, Sophie, Rebecca, Mehnaz, and Isadora. I’ve never known such a badass bunch of chavalas, all unique in their own ways. Between ourselves we have our own little network, which basically just involves loving on each other and telling each other everything’s going to be okay. This has led me to most thoroughly believe in the principle of girls supporting other girls.

I also want to write about the Tufts 1+4 girls, who I only got to know for one week, though it feels like forever. I admire you all, and I love seeing all your great adventures, though they make me so stir crazy and I want to travel all the time to visit you guys. I can’t wait to spend time with you all at Tufts.

I want to write about my best friend at home. The late night drives and hazy teen dreams and childhood nostalgia. My feminist partner in crime. She’s spent her high school focusing on women’s rights. She’s really freaking smart. She’s fearless, steadfast, and unstoppable… I’ve always wished I was a little more like that, like her. I want to write that I think about her all the time. That even if we don’t talk every day she’s still a very important person in my life.

I want to write about my mom. God, being on a gap year really makes you think about your mom a lot… and my moms pretyyyy cool. I like to tell my mom everything. She likes the same things I like. When I liked Justin Bieber (why does he keep showing up????), so did she. When I liked Daughter, so did she. She says she listens to the Daughter station on Pandora sometimes because it reminds her of me. My mom gets what she wants, she’s a dreamer like me. She isn’t afraid of change which I really admire. She went back to school and changed careers when I was in 7th grade, because she found something new that she loved. I don’t know if I’ve ever told you this but I think that was really great. I love you.

And then there’s my grandparents, my aunts, my teachers, my dance instructors… the list goes on. My life has always been surrounded by powerful women that have shaped me into a powerful woman just the same.

Nostoras somos fuertes y poderosas, somos luchadores. Felicidades a todas las mujeres que siguen siendo gran fuerzas en el mundo. Feliz Día Internacional de la Mujer.

by Justin, Tufts 1+4 Participant

Holy cow it has already been seven months! Time has flown by and I cannot believe this incredible experience is almost over. Eight countries, a spanish accent, and one million paellas later I am still here in Madrid loving where I work and hating the idea of leaving. I am not looking forward to saying goodbye to the educators and my boys whom I’ve watched (and helped) develop and grow these past months. I have definitely grown as well and I’m not just talking about my hair. After this experience, I will definitely have a more worldly and humble perspective as I continue my life post 1+4. I will appreciate everything I have at home and continue to desire travelling the world. In fact, being here has done the opposite of satisfy my travel bug- I have come to accept the “bug” as a pet that will not run away anytime soon.

Looking into the future I am excited for the last two months here in Europe, but honestly I suppose I am also excited to go home. I miss my family and friends and would do anything to give my little brother a manly bear hug with manly tears of joy. My mom sends me pictures of herself and my brother regularly to make sure I don’t forget what they look like. My dad has been keeping me updated by sending me videos of my sister’s progression from first steps to adorable dance moves. Therefore, I am happy here in Spain and will be happy when I get back home to the States. Life is pretty good.

So how does my experience compare to my peers? Well, honestly I cannot say for sure. Literally all fifteen of us are having completely different experiences and I guess I can find some similarities between us too. I know Gabriel is working with monkeys. While I do have some doubts I’m pretty sure the kids I work with are in fact human children, so there’s one difference. Aberdeen spent the beginning of her time in Brazil whale watching. Besides a few tourists, I don’t think I’ve spotted any whales here in Madrid, so there’s another pretty big difference.

In all seriousness, through communication with my peer connection group, I do have some insights from my fellow fellows in Nicaragua and Brazil. Abigail says her time in Nicaragua “doesn’t feel like real life,” like she is separated from the rest of the world. I think this is a really interesting thought because I can relate but at the same time feel the opposite way. We are away from our “normal” lives back in the States doing our respective volunteer work, basically living another life from what we are used to. However, here in Europe, life feels more real to me.

I’ve done lots of traveling and places that were just fairy tales in my head have become reality in front my eyes. I’ve visited so many amazing cities and feel less blind to the world around me. On a darker note, I am physically much closer to all these unfortunate events happening in Europe and the Middle East, which does have an influence on my experience here.

Elaine feels like she is finally in the rhythm at her placement after 6 months. What is interesting is that even though we are working completely different jobs, I also feel like I just got into the rhythm very recently. I am finally at the point where me, my co-workers, and the children are on the same page at the home. We have an efficient working schedule to get through the day as smoothly as possible which is in clear contrast to when I first arrived. Additionally, my bond with the children is much stronger by now, so it makes things a lot easier. Daniel says he is “going to cry a lot.” He is referring to the bond he has with his host family and the sadness of leaving them when the time comes. While I will definitely miss my boys from work, I don’t think I will feel the same way Daniel does with his host family. I am actually envious of that.

Furthermore, one would think the fellows living in the same countries would have very similar experiences. While this logic is not completely false, I can tell you that the fellows here in Madrid are living very distinct day to day lives. While Madeline, Daniela, Gongga and I work under the same foundation, we are responsible for different homes. For example, my home is all boys in their teens while Gongga’s home is a mixture of younger boys and girls. Therefore, being in separate homes, working different schedules with different educators, and caring for different children has shaped each of our experiences very uniquely. Furthermore, our lives outside of work are also very different. While I’m at the gym, Daniela is volunteering with Clowns Without Borders. While I’m skating or reading at the park, Madeline is helping promote an awesome volunteering app. While I’m volunteering at a marathon, Gongga is probably running it.

Moreover, we don’t even travel to the same places and when we do we have different experiences. I hiked the hills around Toledo to get a view from outside the city walls, while Daniela was exploring the shops within them. While Gongga and I became knights in Medieval cities like Bruges and Prague, Daniela and Maddie turned into vikings in Copenhagen and Oslo. Thus, even us four in one flat live in very different worlds.

So yes, the fifteen different experiences do connect and diverge in many ways. But as a whole, I believe these adventures are the same for they will have a long standing impact on everyone involved. The diversity in experiences will make for fun storytelling and interesting blog posts. My favorite part of this year is that I can go home prepared and excited to face what I was once afraid of: growing up. So I am looking forward to that and of course – all of us agree that we are excited for college!

by Aberdeen, Tufts 1+4 Participant

Growing up in a family of six, with three siblings, I thought I was accustomed to being a sister.  What I couldn’t have known was that Brazil would bring me a younger sister.  I knew it was a possibility but I hadn’t contemplated it that much.  Biologically I have an older sister, an older brother, and a younger brother.  Now, experientially and host-family wise I have a younger sister.

The experience of having a younger sister is entirely new and I’ve entirely loved it.  She’s weird, funny, supportive, smart, annoying (if I hear the song “Dear future husband” sung one more time at top pitch I might pull my hair out), fifteen, beautiful, and one of my best friends.  She’s all that I could hope for a younger sister to be.

Upon first arriving to my homestay we were strangers, now I find it strange that she was ever not my sister.  In fact, I’m sitting on her bed writing this post.  Having a younger sister is much different than having a younger brother.  From my new position I’m seeing lots of my past self appearing in her actions, her worries, her every day high school experiences.  I never expected our sisterhood to be such a reflective period of my life.  I now have a better understanding of perhaps what my older sister has experienced watching me grow up.  Sometimes you can give the best boy advice in the world, knowing that it won’t be heeded, watching as the situation goes up in flames, and all you can do is just shake your head and be ready with open arms.

Every day I am astounded by how mature my younger sister is and how much wisdom she already has.  She is often the one giving me advice.  She helps me with Portuguese, we terribly sing Abba at the top of our lungs, we have movie nights with popcorn, we walk to town, we’ve done a lot.  I can’t tell you how many dishes I’ve washed by her side this year followed consequently with fights to the death by flicking wet dish towels at each others’ legs.  There is no way  I can express my gratitude at having a younger sister.  All I can say is that she’s been an integral piece of my experience in Brazil and that even though we aren’t connected by blood, we are just as close.