This summer I decided to challenge myself and sign up for a service-learning trip to Jamaica.
I would be teaching a group of kids about the country Greece, the group I went with had an around the world theme, and it was only from about nine to two everyday (so I had thought).
I’d be living with one of the children’s families in a poverty-stricken town that had no air conditioning. The only water was lukewarm that I both had to shower with and drink from throughout the week. At first when I agreed to do this I thought, “How bad could this be”? I see an overbearing number of girls on Instagram posting such inspirational quotes with pictures that involve adorable little children so, if they could do it, shouldn’t I be able to? The thing that these Instagram pictures don’t show is the overwhelming culture shock that hits you when being submerged into the culture of a third world country.
Before this trip I thought I had a pretty good understanding of what a third world country is. I mean we learned the definition in like junior high and its’ meaning is pretty easy to grasp in the dictionary. Webster defines a third world country as “the aggregate of underdeveloped nations in the world” and before I traveled to Jamaica that definition was accurate enough for me. However, when I was literally thrown into a community of a third world country to live as they lived, it became very clear to me that Webster has some rewording/rephrasing to do.
The people of Petersfield, Jamaica lived in homes, went to schools and went to work in places that did not have air conditioning. Yes, air conditioning is not an end all be all but when you live in a place that is 80 to 90 degrees all year round with the type of humidity that puts Houston to shame, it is almost unbearable. There was not a point ever throughout the trip that I wasn’t sticky and sweating profusely and when I looked around my classroom my students seemed acclimated to the unbearable heat. Even with beads of sweat dripping down their tiny little faces and soaking their shirts they did not seem uncomfortable at all. Yet, here I was having trouble teaching because I would have to sit down by the one fan in the room every forty minutes. I am a born and raised Texan, I thought I knew what hot meant and how to endure it but shockingly enough Texas heat is the weak younger brother to Jamaican heat. That was my first culture shock, seeing this community so easily accepting to their weather conditions. They never complained about the heat while it was hard for me to talk about anything else in my spare time other than the fact that I was basically in a hot yoga room 24/7.
On the first day of classes I had made my students all passport booklets for the “around the world” teaching theme that this program had designed for us. I don’t think I will ever forget the bright and smiling faces of these kids when I passed out their booklets and their very own pencils. They made it seem like I was giving them each a go pro to play with. “We can keep these” they all said with delight. I couldn’t believe I got that kind of reaction from some scrap pieces of paper I had stapled together and a sharpened pencil. These children lived without basic schooling tools in their homes. They didn’t own crayons or pencils or even something as basic as paper. I was left not only feeling shocked but also feeling guilty because I have a box at home filled entirely with pencils.
The houses often did not have working toilets so many of the townspeople would use their backyard to relieve themselves. I tried to hold my pee in for as long as I could every single day because the thought of doing that in a backyard that does not even have a fence was absolutely terrifying. My housefather claimed it was good for their crops. Did I mention that the crops were then taken out of the grown, cooked and served directly to us? It is not easy to try and eat food that you know could have possibly been urinated on or worse that very same day.
The houses also do not have windows which allows for the sun to beam into the rooms all day making it feel even more like a sauna then it already is, along with the fact that you can hear everything outside your window throughout the entire night. Most of the nights I got about a max of 4 hours of sleep because I was constantly woken up by car horns, loud music, barking dogs or loud people. The family I was staying with was so use to the noise they would sleep right through the night but you know when you sometimes get woken up by construction early in the morning because its so loud well, that was me every other hour by another new noise right outside the house.
After this trip I have a much better picture to paint as to what a third world country really is, one that I would have never been able to understand prior to Jamaica. The definitions of a third world country and culture shock should be references to each other in the dictionary. Entering a third world country as a traveler, not a tourist, is absolutely a culture shock. Even after a week I am still shocked by my experiences in the town of Petersfield.
To Instagram a picture from this week with my kids would not do my experiences there any justice because it would not be able to capture my shock of finally truly understanding what it means to live in a third world country.
