Tag: Habitat for Humanity

Travelling To Make And Celebrate History

School years do whiz by and all the while talk about the future runs rampant—whether to go onto university, take a gap year, do an internship and so on. All good stuff. Still I firmly believe living in the moment is key, too.

This got me thinking about how to make experiences of today beneficial tomorrow and immediately, the topics of travelling and history came to mind, two concepts that are indelibly linked.

While travelling often feels like a light topic, something for fun, perhaps for a gap year and so on, history is a heavy one, recording the good, the bad and the indifferent. It is a topic that some love while in school, others find it hard to come to grips with. I have always fallen somewhere in between, a curiosity to know as much about the past as I could, quickly followed by a sense of information overload. Enough already, so there went my A’s.

However, as I got older and honed my research skills, my brain developed more of a tolerance for history—the more I knew, the more I wanted to know. And then I started travelling. And the rest is, well, history.

While I wanted to have a fun holiday or a good work experience, don’t misunderstand me, I immediately saw the benefits of getting to know a new culture, seeing life through the lenses of the locals, learning about their trials and tribulations, the things that shaped them, fashioned their history.

Post Master in traditional dress

My first memorable experience of doing so was co-leading a group of students to the Philippines on what we called a work camp many years ago on behalf of my then employer Habitat for Humanity International.  Quickly, I learned the difference between living on the surface of an experience and delving into it.

Admittedly, I had never felt so far from my comfort zone that I wanted to run for the hills or rather for the city, the creature comforts, except for one night when I couldn’t bear to sleep outside all night on the grounds of a mall. Pathetic, if I must say so myself. But while I could leave my tent unpitched in Albany, Ga, I couldn’t do that in the Philippines and I am glad I couldn’t. It was the beginning of a raised consciousness, which instantly made me a more compassionate, more open-minded, more grateful person. In short, I became a better person and thankfully that betterment has continued.

All I was asked to do was live a certain way for a couple of weeks if that—no electricity, no running water, sleeping under mosquito nets, etc., when much of the world’s population has no choice but to live this way indefinitely.

Sounds like a bit of reality TV, doesn’t it? But it was and still is the real deal for many. Admittedly, I hoarded a lot of guilt to begin with, as if I had somehow contributed to the situation, but over time I have learned to turn that guilt into positive action in my thinking, my giving, my doing and not just when I travel.

But particularly when I travel, which I do quite a bit of nowadays, I make an effort to get to know the people. Make no mistake about it, I still don’t do camping and therefore cannot recommend it, but what I do, as I did in Sri Lanka, is to try to dine with the locals when possible, talk with them, contribute to the economy, represent humanity as decently as I can, learn something about their joys, their sorrows, their pains, their pleasures, share in them as and when appropriate, and it not only makes my holiday richer, but it has a bearing on my life experience—on theirs, on history.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Expat Exercises for Re-entry to Life in London

Years ago when I worked for Habitat for Humanity International, re-entry was a phrase often used of the International Partners, staff returning from a work trip abroad. It stands to reason that after being away from a country, one needs to re-adapt to the culture, etc.

An expat of nearly twenty years, I can attest to that. Casually, I often use the word re-entry when returning to the US, even sometimes stopping over for a night or two in a city of choice, before joining friends and/or family for a good down home visit.

Only on this last visit, however, somewhat made in haste, even if it did last over two weeks, I didn’t have time to think about adjusting to time zones, water, food, language and so on. I hit the ground running, literally and didn’t stop rushing around until after I returned to the UK.

It was then that I began to think of re-entry, if you will. Suddenly, my body was no longer tolerant of the few hours of sleep I got each night, the paces that I put it through daily or the inappropriate food I lived on, including honeybuns and coffee cake, most days.

This past Monday, the cinnamon brioche, the English honeybun I teased to a friend, did not cut the cake. Suddenly, I am gluten intolerant again. Furthermore, I acutely understand the value of daily exercise again – something I didn’t bother with at all in the US.

Yet this morning while exercising, even if it was challenging, I felt a freedom that I hadn’t felt it more than two weeks. That is when it occurred to me that exercise was somehow freeing. And I quietly said to my personal trainer, Judit Ressinka, that if only I could get her to the US to do at least one session with each of my sisters, I felt certain that they too could experience the freedom that I was experiencing.

Judit felt that I was on to something. Though exercise is often associated with alleviating physical stress, it also has the power to alleviate mental turmoil, too. When going through a particularly stressful time, I pointed out, we are trapped in a small world, which drives us, and keeps us on a bumpy road.

Exercise, Judit agreed, makes for a smoother ride, if you will. It has a way of getting the blood and oxygen flowing, properly and harmoniously.

Of course, one session won’t cut the cake, any more than my cinnamon brioche did, but a consistent programme will make a big difference in how the body endures.

Even I am truant from time to time like the two weeks in the US, no doubt the rigorous programme of training once per week with Judit and running three times, sees me through arduous times.

Now back to re-entry. What’s for supper?