“Si.” That was my answer to any question that I didn’t understand. Incomprehensible questions came rapido because they were asked by Spanish speaking children who spoke too fast and mumbled their words. During three weeks in Costa Rica, I would say that simple little word countless times. Though I had five years of Spanish in school and what I thought was a proficient understanding of basic dialogue, I was quickly humbled and found myself relying on that one word: “S.i”

With my ultimate desire being to pursue nursing abroad, this summer I grasped the opportunity to work for Global Leadership Adventures educating young students as an avenue to help under privileged children. This experience provided me with an unexpected perspective, and in just three weeks made me realize how much I love making a difference.

When I walked into La Libertad, a one room classroom, I noticed it was too small for the number of students it housed. The first day was awkward; the few students that spoke did so only to others who were fluent in Spanish. Surprisingly, I felt expendable and slightly intimidated due to the inability to properly communicate. I was never in a situation where I solely had to rely on Spanish and I knew I was butchering their language. The turning point soon came: after a basic conversation, a couple of weird drawings, and a tickle fight, the language barrier started to breach but no fully apparently.
In Costa Rica I found myself wearing sunglasses as a necessity. Naturally when I was inside the children would find them and try them on. Soon a photo-shoot began. When a leader took out a camera, there would be a crowd of eager, young faces seeking out the lens. Most of the kids had not seen a picture of themselves before. One boy was Esteven, who I photographed wearing my aviators and his Top-Gun T-shirt. After I showed him the picture, he said something that made me believe it was a question. His eyebrows were raised and a smile stretched from ear to ear. I said “repita por favor” twice before I turned to my favorite word, “Si.” He walked away with the glasses tucked into his pants pocket. I slowly became aware that he asked for my glasses and I apparently said yes.
It took my interaction with Esteven to gain perspective on how difficult the inability to communicate can be. Children like him needed to learn English not as a extra-curricular activity, but as a necessary tool to better their lives.

Overall I had accomplished far more in three weeks than expected because I was a difference maker. Eventually, I want to make a difference in their health. Although it was a struggle, I was able give children the foundation for a priceless tool. Sure, I don’t have my favorite sunglasses anymore, but I have something better now- a passion for what I want to do for the rest of my life.

Regardless of my anxiety of not being able to shower, in the summer of 2010 I was fully ready to immerse myself in the culture of the Dominican Republic. I applied to and was accepted by Global Leadership Adventures, and was about to spend two weeks in the poverty-stricken town of Puerto Plata. I had set out to make a difference in the lives of others, but in the end, it was the Dominicans who made a difference in me.

Although the Dominican Republic is not as impoverished and uneducated as its neighbor Haiti, many of the places and people I saw still brought tears to my eyes. I never understood the meaning of hunger until I saw a young boy with protruding ribs fall over due to extreme malnutrition. I never understood the meaning of inequality until a young girl explained her only wish was to attend school, but her father would only allow the boys in the family to go to school. I never understood the meanings of strength and perseverance until a ten year old girl explained that the barrels of water she carries up the mountain everyday were not for her own sake of drinking uncontaminated water, but for her father to bathe in. Their substandard of living in an impoverished country is something I as an American could never truly understand. Yet, despite the hardships, the Dominicans are the most determined people I have ever encountered. Even though many are starving and the odds are against them, they still fight to gain a better life.

When I returned home my entire perspective on life changed. I took the skills and knowledge I learned in the Dominican Republic and applied it to my daily life through more teen volunteer work, school, and the local government. I took the issue that was the most important to me from the Dominican Republic, inequality in education, and applied it to my community. As a junior commissioner for the Status of Women for Sonoma County, I got the privilege to present my concern to the California State Legislature. I am currently writing a proposition through Global Student Embassy to get money to build schools in third world countries. I learned to fight for what I believe in, to make a better life for myself, and others, just like the Dominicans do on a daily basis.

It is difficult to understand how two weeks could change a person so much, yet I feel that my time in the Dominican Republic has set the course for my life. I now know that I want to join the Peace Corps, and have a career where I can make a difference in the lives of the less fortunate. The beauty of service work, of my experience, is learning that there is so much more to life than just the simplicity of living it day to day. I want to live to serve others.

The pursuit of true happiness is a subject that has always fascinated me. From an early age, children in America are constantly exposed to “happiness” on the basis of material items, and fiscal success. However, throughout my teenage years I always thought that there was more to truly enjoying life than what one’s money could buy. Last summer, in order to find authentic happiness in others and within myself, I participated in a three week, teen volunteer-run summer school in Ghana. The discoveries I made throughout those days have shaped me into the person I am today, and have made me much more aware of what being happy really means.

As I left my classroom in Ghana for the last time, one of my best students, Hope, motioned towards me and handed me a note. It read, “Dear Riley Michel, it is not a pleasure for me to write you this letter because of the pains I’m going to endure within my heart by missing you. Boy you are so kind, and precious….” At that moment I looked into Hope’s beautiful brown eyes, and they spoke to me, telling me the story of a young man who constantly smiled, was respectful, intelligent, and who had incredible ambition. Near tears, I promised him that I would never forget him, and the way he lived life.

Starting the walk towards my home base, two laughing young boys scurried up to me. What began as a cute gesture had turned into a sincere friendship, as everyday for three weeks on the way home from school these two boys, Rechard and Freeman, would hold my hand and pepper me with questions of America.

Looking at Freeman I had always felt a great amount of sympathy for a child who I feared had a very challenging future ahead. Covered with infected cuts and skin growths, Freeman was constantly ridiculed by his schoolmates, and he was one of the few children who rarely smiled. From the first day, I made it a point to get to know him better. I learned of his sickness that was untreatable, his parents who had no money, and his friends who had left him, based on his looks. However, I also learned that Freeman wanted to be a doctor in America. By the end of the third week at school, Freeman was dancing alongside his new friends, answering every question I asked, and most importantly smiling more than ever with his big beautiful teeth. Throughout the three weeks Freeman and I had many talks, and as the days passed I found that he had gradually become comfortable with who he was because he felt as if he had every opportunity to become a happy and successful adult.

Continuing my walk with Rechard and Freeman, I finally decided to ask them a question that had been on my mind since my first day in Ghana. I said, “What makes you children so happy all the time?” Their simple answer, in broken English, was “People like you.” Hearing this sincere response, I felt motivated to positively impact even more children’s lives. I was quickly discovering that simple interactions with children like these were what was also making me so happy at the time, and still are today.

Ghanaians carry an incredible amount of hope for the future. Growing up in suburban America, I thought I was well traveled, but became aware that I hadn’t experienced how much of the world truly lives. I realized that the differences between wealthy Americans and poor Ghanaians were deeper than money, cars, and houses. True happiness is incredibly rare, and when I found it within so many poverty stricken Ghanaians, I was finally proud to be myself; I knew I was truly happy for the first time, a moment that rarely occurs for many Americans.

“No gracias” we tried to tell the little Guatemalan boy after he repeatedly asked us to buy his homemade bracelets for fifteen quetzals.

“I give you for ten quetzal” he smiled, but with a look of desperation in his eyes.

“No gracias, we bought las pulseras yesterday.”

He understood, but he would not leave us.  He had been taught to follow around Americans because he knew they would eventually give in.  We saw many children with bare feet and raggedy clothes and would normally feel guilted into giving them a few quetzals, but this had already happened to us so many times that we were used to having the kids follow us around.

We thought we would escape him when we entered the restaurant to have dinner, but the boy followed us in there.  The trip leader mumbled something to him in Spanish, pointed to the door, and he quickly left.  We enjoyed our dinner without thinking about the boy again, but afterwards, we walked outside, and he approached us once more.

“Special price for you five quetzals” he said, this time without the smile.

“No gracias” we replied again, just trying to turn away so he would leave.

Still, he was relentless.  He followed us onto our bus and finally made one of the girls give in.

“I only have American money,” she said.

“We take American!  We take American!” he yelled as his face lit up.

She handed him a ten dollar bill. “Here just keep this,” she said.

The boy yelled, “Gracias! Gracias! Thank you!” and then he started to cry.  Tears streamed down his face as he jumped up and down with excitement.  He walked off the bus with the bill tightly in his hands, sobbing and giggling at the same time.

The rest of us sat in the bus quietly, thinking about what just happened.  Our spare change was probably enough money to feed his family.  The clothes we wore and the bags we carried were probably the cost of their homes.  Our lives were so different.

This small encounter with the Guatemalan boy truly made me think how much I had in my life and how little I appreciated it.  I was aware of the poverty in countries like Guatemala, but meeting kids who were living through it was much more powerful than reading about their stories online or in magazines.  I complained about not having smart boards in every classroom or not having the new iPhone, but these kids had nothing compared to me, and they smiled in the face of despair.  I had a family, a home, a safe neighborhood, and so many other blessings, and when I returned from my high school study abroad trip I felt that these were things I would never take for granted again.

Travelling to Tanzania, a developing nation, ranking 151 on the human development index out of 172, alone at 15 years old, not knowing anyone in the country was quite troubling for my family. In fact, that is an understatement. My grandmother was crying on the phone begging me not to go before I got on the plane. To this day, I still have no idea how I convinced my parents to let me go.

Global Leadership Adventures, an organization based in San Diego, spearheaded the program. Although the trip was open to girls and boys, strangely we were all girls. There were 13 of us, 10 from USA, 1 from Canada, 1 from the UK and I was the only one from Asia. We stayed at a cozy home owned by a woman named Esther Simba who has been hosting teen volunteers for almost 20 years.

Community service was at the heart of the program. We taught English to primary school children from Year 1 to Year 5. My teaching buddy Elizabeth and I were assigned to the Year 5’s. Their favorite song was “I’m a Little Teapot”, which they begged us to listen to every class! There were 50 kids in each of the two forms that we taught. Unfortunately, there were only 5 English books, meaning that the children had to share 1 between 10. Being able to go to a school where I can have a textbook of my own made me realize how lucky I am. Teaching 50 children, with a language barrier, “thank you” and “be quiet” being the only Kiswahilli words I knew at the time required me to use a more dynamic form of communication: body language. Let’s just say teaching sequencing ideas is not too easy when you look like a fool trying to act like a monkey. (Nevertheless, the most rewarding part about teaching was walking around the neighborhood during our freetime and having my students running up to me with warm smiles.

GLA also held numerous workshops, which gave us a glimpse into the vibrant Massai culture. We made Batik paintings, beaded jewelry (which made me cross eyed) and our own traditional Massai garments. A weekend safari through the Ngorongoro crater, Tarangire and the Serengeti took us to the oldest hominoid fossils, and a vast savanna that featured a most diverse population of African animals.

Our last weekend was spent climbing Mt.Kilimanjaro: the world’s highest freestanding mountain. To be honest, it was more like a 30-minute trek on the foothills but that was good enough for me! But with all the laughter and the fun, we had guest lecturers that addressed some of the local issues such as the AIDS epidemic, the Rwandan genocide and an alarming matter that shook us to our core: female genital mutilation. These are much too depressing and sensitive to talk about during this assembly especially with all the primary school children.

On the first day, our director Anabel told us that we were not going to change anyone’s life by being there. She was right. Those two weeks were merely an eye opener. Those two weeks made me realize the small things in my daily routine that I usually overlook. Watching the lights go on when I flick the switch, being able to shower without waking up at 5am to boil my own water and sleeping without a mosquito net are only a few of those things. I might not be able to mitigate the stigma associated with AIDS. I might not even be able to save a girl my age from undergoing FGM, but the experiences I had, the people I met and the lessons I learnt have changed my life. I will start small. I will start right here.
I would like to pose a challenge to the GCSE and IB students in this hall. Do that one thing you have always wanted to do but were too afraid to because of all the What if’s? Act now. Think later. Do it with an open mind, an open heart, a passion for learning, a thirst for challenge, a burning curiosity, lots of questions, a hunger for success and of course, malaria tablets!