Tom DiLena and I tag-teamed to write an article for JMU's Madison magazine. I submitted it the other day to the editor, but in case it doesn't get chosen for publication, I thought I'd post it here.
Lisa: Alternative Spring Break. One dozen students living in a remote location for a week performing physically demanding tasks. Like the TV show Survivor. In my day, students camped overnight in Wilson Hall for a chance to sign up, and I could never bring myself to do it. I understand now there’s a lottery to select participants, but this year, I had a loophole: I’m a JMU staff member, granting me a pass to the island - or in this case, to the Pine Ridge Reservation in South Dakota. I would be serving as the trip’s learning partner, or “designated adult.” I was IN - now, I just needed to survive.
Tom: I went on this trip for all the wrong reasons. I transferred into JMU my junior year and had no friends. I was looking to meet people from my school, as I was sure that living with them for a week would ensure I came back with at least a few friends. However, I severely underestimated the emotional impact this trip (and the people we interacted with) would have on me.
Lisa: We each had our own reasons for participating - none of which involved the plight of the Lakota people. We would soon learn differently. Pine Ridge has one of the lowest life expectancies in the entire Western Hemisphere, second only to Haiti. Hearing this prior to arriving on the reservation was one thing. Seeing it was another.
Tom: Because I only went on this trip for my own selfish reasons, that made the impact of what I saw and experienced hit even harder. After seeing the quality of life in which the Lakota people were living along with the harsh conditions they faced daily, I couldn't help but gain a huge amount of respect for them. The trip quickly stopped being about me and became about them.
Lisa: I had never worked so hard in my life. Our first work day we carried lumber and tools a quarter mile down a frozen mud road to lay floors in an unheated house. If I close my eyes I can still hear the roar of the angry wind and feel the air so cold my body stopped shivering. Still, just up the road, there were twelve people living in a trailer with plastic sheets for windows and discarded tires where a playground should be. For the child I saw outside in the cold with no jacket, for the woman who used her black mold-infested lungs to declare daily that the Creator is good, I endured.
Tom: Our days were spent in workshops building beds and wheelchair ramps for the Lakota people. For some, it would be the first bed they ever had. Seeing the joy and appreciation on their faces as we presented them with these items was truly an indescribable experience.
Lisa: What little we were able to contribute that week, however, pales in comparison with what we were given. Yes, I survived Pine Ridge, but part of me remains there.
Tom: What I got out of this trip was far more than just some friends. I realized that I could make a difference in people's lives. I was so moved by my experience there that I plan on leading the trip next Spring. This time I will go for the right reasons.
Tom and I Write an Article
Author: Lisa /
JMU Student Writes About His ASB Trip to Kentucky
Author: Lisa /POVERTY, HUNGER, SURVIVAL. Images of poor towns in Third World countries may come to mind when presented with these three words. Like most Americans, I too had a similar initial reaction. However, a simple alternative spring break to Chavies, Ky., opened my eyes to the unfathomable. This spring break, from March 7 to 14, popular events such as relaxing at a warm beach threw itself at me, but I knew that God called me to serve those in need first. The Catholic Campus Ministry, in collaboration with the Appalachian Service Project, a Christian organization devoted to rebuilding homes in Appalachia, hosted a service trip to Kentucky to do home repairs for the less fortunate. Our group of 14 James Madison University students was ready to face the challenges in Kentucky. I had my preconceived notions, but shockingly I had no inkling of the severity of hunger, poverty and struggle for survival in Kentucky. On a wonderful Sunday afternoon, we drove past many average houses along the narrow and windy roads in Kentucky. Suddenly, the scenery changed; trash and car scraps began to fill the sides of the road, wild chickens and dogs roamed around freely, and then the houses came in to view. Houses? The last time I saw houses like these was during my travels to Third World countries in Asia. I was so shocked that this was happening in my own backyard. The first thing I noticed was a piece of tarp used for a porch wall with cutout windows. Even worse, there was a makeshift outhouse and a well to draw water. At that moment, I could only pray to God and hope that our actions this week could make a difference in their lives, and hopefully inspire others to open their eyes and take action. Upon receiving our assignment, we noticed that there was much more to tackle at the site than painting, installing a gutter system and building stairs for the front porch. There were people who lived in that house too, and they deserved as much attention as the stairs that needed repair. Despite their hardships, the family that we helped exhibited the greatest amount of love and concern for each other. They cherished the simple things in life and shared a familial bond unmatchable to the rest of the world. It saddened me to know that one of the family members was extremely ill and the other was blind. Toward the end of the week, the blind woman slowly came out of the back door to draw water from the well. As the woman gathered her two buckets of water, she struggled to make her way back. We offered to help, but she just smiled in response. There were no stairs in the back porch, so as the woman lifted her leg to feel for the edge, she began to spill a lot of water. Carefully, I extended my hand to lift the water bucket, and in that very moment she released her hand. As much as we wished we could heal her eyes, we could not. What we did do was build stairs for the back porch, hoping that it will help guide her way. In addition, the daughter-in-law had fallen off a ledge and broken her leg, but because she could not afford surgery, walked around on practically one leg. I noticed that she stumbled and fell quite often, but she immediately rose to her feet, unafraid of picking herself back up and facing the world. It is through these little actions and subtleties that made me a stronger person after this week. Readjusting to Harrisonburg was difficult, as I constantly pondered the poverty in Kentucky, all over America, and all over the world. Thankfully, it just takes a little faith in action to make a difference and to give the less fortunate love and hope — hope that there are those among us striving to lend a helping hand. Mr. Wiggins is a sophomore at James Madison University and an interpreter volunteer at the Harrisonburg-Rockingham Free Clinic.From the Daily-News Record
An Eye-Opening Encounter With PovertyPosted 2009-04-28
Courtesy Photo
Photos from Tour Day
Author: Lisa /
All loaded up and ready to go!
The historical center at Oglala Lakota College
We take a moment outside a gift shop to admire the horses...
...and play with the puppies!
View from the front of Bette's Diner. Bette is the great-granddaughter of spirtual leader Black Elk.
Outside Bette's Diner. Every afternoon she opens up her home to visitors who eat at portable tables in her living room, or, if it's nice, outside.
Jesuit church
The Vatican II made it possible for the church to depict Jesus as a Native American. Here He's surrounded by children from various indigenous cultures.
Darryl standing at the grave of his great-grandparents, Red Cloud and his wife.
Lisa and a sleeping Caleb on the bus.
Tour Day
Author: Lisa /So today, to reward us for 3 1/2 days of hard work, we toured the reservation. I am surprised to admit that I would have rather been working. Seems a shame now that I have finally hit my stride at Re-Member, it's time to go home.
The tour itself was an odd blend of culturally significant sites interspersed with "rest stops," i.e., thinly-veiled opportunities for us visitors to spend money. Not that I could blame them for wanting to help the local economy. And the students bought in droves from every site, from souvenirs to snack foods.
Our tour guides were John Her Many Horses and Darryl Red Cloud, the fifth generation grandson of the great Chief Red Cloud. There is something about the men of this culture, their weather-beaten faces, their easy laughter and sorrow-touched eyes, that reminds me of the men of my culture. All week I've looked on the Lakota men and seen my father, my uncles, my grandfather - weaned in the days of the Vietnam war and raising their families under the flag of a foreign government. I strained to listen to the faint, tinny whine of the bus PA system as John proudly pointed out the wind turbine that the reservation radio station had just acquired. The metal structure standing no taller than my house was the tallest turbine on the whole reservation, he announced.
"Over there, you can buy lots of good stuff to eat," referring to a large gas station with a several fast food stations and a seating area inside. "Companies are starting to locate here in Pine Ridge!"
"Here is the hospital. If you get sick? Good luck," he joked, Darryl snorting his agreement. As we passed the modest structure, he explained how preventative care was non-existent, despite the diabetes epidemic of the last decade and high infant mortality rate. The so-called cancer center, he explained, was a room full of beds and no equipment.
I was taken aback by the large homes surrounding the hospital with their well manicured lawns placed in suburbia-like rows. The neighborhood was a marked difference from the trailers and one bedroom shacks dotting the rest of the reservation landscape. The nurses and doctors live there, I was told. The visiting doctors, of course. There are no permanent doctors on the Rez.
The noise level in the bus rose higher the longer the day wore on. The students were abandoning the pretense of being able to hear the tour through the tired PA speakers, allowing their minds to relax. Despite sitting directly behind John, I could barely discern every-third word and had given up trying to listen myself. Still, about 10 miles from the Re-Member site, I watched him reach for the mic and leaned in with interest. He pointed to the northwest, towards an unseen destination. The first part of his explanation was lost to me, though he was speaking in the same frank, companionable tone he had used all day. But I could make out the meaning of his last remarks clearly.
"When people ask you where your people are buried, you reply they are buried in cemeteries. Over there, that's where my people are buried: at Wounded Knee."
Model of Crazy Horse monument being built in the Black Hills. More a metaphoric tribute than a literal likeness, it depicts the warrior's true response to the derisive question, "Where are your lands NOW, Indian?" Crazy Horse replied, “My lands are where my dead lie buried.”
The Timeless Assembly Line
Author: Lisa /My first discovery was that what I had mistakenly considered a pile of junk two days prior was actually Bob's current home. He lived in there. Bundled up tight in my down jacket, fighting against the wind, I had just glossed over the tiny trailer in my repeat trips to and from the Re-Member van. If someone hadn't pointed it out to me, I may never have even known it was there. (Note: scroll back to my earlier blog post, No Orphans on the Rez. Did you notice the trailer when you first saw it?)
I was embarrassed. Here I was, another interloper coming to help "the poor people." I had made this man, an elder of the community, invisible - just as the rest of America has been doing to him his entire life. And the junk car sitting beside the trailer? The one I assumed was sitting inoperable in the mud and commented on - loudly - two days ago? That was his transportation. Upon our arrival, he quietly got in it and drove to the neighboring house at the top of the hill. Avoiding our presence out of shame or discomfort, I don't know, but neither do I blame him.
New house under construction vs. current trailer
So-called "junk" car - photo by Bryan Banville
The floor and the walls of the house had been completed the day before by another group. Our accomplishment today was to paint the walls and ceiling while Jerry, Re-Member's long-winded electrician from Nebraska, worked on the wiring. He sang us showtunes and told us how he met his newlywed wife on e-Harmony. I forgot my earlier faux pas and found a soft spot instead for Jerry, for deli lunches lightly coated in sawdust, and for this wicked cold Hell called South Dakota.
I can see now how my individual actions here this week are actually part of a larger, nebulous system. One group leaves and another takes their place, forming a continuous entity that moves with force like a timeless assembly line. You lay the floors today, I'll paint them tomorrow, and by next month, we will have built a house. We will have changed lives. It's comforting to think about the volunteers set to come after me, caring after these projects when I'm back home.
Out of Sequence 2 - The Lakota Creation Story
Author: Lisa /After spending several days trying various ways to embed a recording of Larry Swallow chanting the Lakota Creation story (hence how quiet it's been on this blog lately), I have given up and decided to do this the old fashioned way. Well, technically it's the new way, since Lakota stories come from oral history, but you get my point. Larry came and performed for us on Tuesday during our trip. He brought along his sister, a former Black Panther who I later found out was not a blood relation, but had been bound to him through a Lakota ceremony that turns dear friends into relatives.
It's been a few weeks since I heard him tell the story, but this is what I remember, with a little help from Larry's book, Tiikceka Tokaheya (The First Common Home). In my very American way, I've stripped out any part that I don't understand or doesn't seem to fit in the linear story. To purchase a copy of Larry Swallow's book along with a CD of his chants, call 605-441-1045 or write to P.O. Box 697 / Allen, SD 57714.
In the beginning, Iyan Tokaheya turned himself inside out, creating the world. He covered himself with the Ozone Layer, and from his blood came the oceans, from the rock of his body the earth. So the world was created half land, half water, born to satisfy His desire to create something beautiful from Himself.
And as Iyan Tokaheya created desire, the first creatures that inhabited the Earth were also selfish, driven only by instinct. These were dinosaurs and Neanderthals. So the lightning came down and struck down these first inhabitants, acknowledging that selfishness and desire would be forevermore part of the natural world. In their place, greater beings were created that had the capacity for compassion, intelligence, and prayer.
Among the four-legged beings was the buffalo, intelligent and powerful, formed in the heart of the Black Hills.
For a time, the people of the four races lived in harmony. But soon, selfishness began reappearing. People began to fight among themselves, each believing they had the better culture, or language, or prayer from God.
So Iyan Tokaheya sent the rain, and it rained for 40 days and 40 nights. The skies opened up. The Earth shook. At the end of the Great Flood, where there was once one land, now it was separate, with each race given a continent to develop their societies and keep the laws of God as they saw best.
And thus the world and its people came into being.
Lisa Loses Her Cool
Author: Lisa /Several hours later, I finally got to shower, and was amazed how it helped to lighten my disposition. The JMU students helped bring me all the way back to centered, with a group of us staying up late into the night chatting and laughing in the kitchen. The night ended on a good note. Tuesday was over.
JMU students process the day together in the Re-Member kitchen
