Story & Photos by Antonia DeMichiel
On the last day of Finals Week winter 2011, fifteen students boarded a bus across from the Student Recreation Center with overstuffed backpacks and suitcases in tow. They were joined by four educational partners, including the director of the Holden Leadership Center and the vice president for Student Affairs. Roughly fourteen hours later, the same team would be on the beach in Negril, Jamaica, taking a few hours to relax before gearing up for a week of intensive service learning in one of Jamaica’s poorest regions as part of the Service Learning Program’s Alternative Spring Break experience.
In high school, I participated in similar international development projects in Uruguay, Nicaragua, and Mali. I thought I knew exactly I was getting myself into given my previous experience; however, over the course of the week, this experience pushed me further away from my comfortable college life than I could have ever imagined. In this new environment, I was forced to confront my own notions of privilege as the group worked in a rural school, while coming home to Negril’s beautiful beach after a day of exhausting physical labor.
The disparity between the tourist-y part of Jamaica and the communities we worked in became blatantly obvious as soon as we stepped off the plane in Montego Bay. Sandy beaches, a strip of all-inclusive resorts, glass blue waters, and souvenir shops were everywhere. To the average traveler, we probably looked like stereotypical college students on spring break, ready to lay on the beach and enjoy some nice Jamaican rum. In actuality, we were there with a mission and had just seven days to make it a reality.
I also came to Jamaica with my own personal goal: to be a role model for the local people and show them that people with disabilities can be independent and active members of society. I was born two months premature, and have a disability called cerebral palsy, which affects the muscle function in my legs. I walk with crutches so I feel like my disability is always “out there” for others to see. However, I see my character and my disability as two distinctly separate parts of my identity; my disability will never define me. Over the course of our project, I would quickly learn how to adapt to the situation at hand and be flexible—two traits that I think are essential to this kind of work.
Our team was charged with building a cafeteria at Keto Basic School in the parish of Westmoreland, about forty minutes outside of Negril. The school has forty students, ages three to five. Last year, the Ministry of Education came to Ms. Martin, the principal of the school, with a long list of improvements, and threatened to shut down the school if they were not made. The situation was dire. Shutting it down would have left local children without a school.
For a week, we mixed cement by hand, sawed wood that would eventually turn into the walls of the cafeteria, carried buckets of rock from pile to pile, and even repainted the swing sets. The week before we arrived, a team from University of Wisconsin-La Crosse mixed the cement and laid all the bricks for the foundation. By the end of the week, the basic structure of the cafeteria was completely built. Shortly following our departure, a team of students from Boise State University arrived to finish the interior. The cross-collaboration between the three campuses helped to ensure that we made the greatest change possible.
As I reflect on how this trip personally impacted me, I think of Miss Martin, the principal at Keto School, whom I grew very close to during the trip. Throughout our time on the work site, I got a glimpse into her life. The teachers have not gotten paid their salaries in two-and-a-half years because the Ministry of Education is so corrupt. Miss Martin continues to do her work because she believes the children have bright futures. My conversations with her helped me put my life in perspective by reminding me that I am privileged, and that the best way to use my privilege is by helping others. On our last day at Keto School, as we walked out to the road to board our bus back to Negril, she looked at me straight in the eye, wrapped her arms around me to give me a hug, and said, “I love you, Antonia. Thank you for coming to my country. I’ll never forget you.” I’ll never forget you either, Miss Martin.
 

Gallery • 2 Photos

Service and Disability Meet in Jamaica