A Volunteer's Story: The Literal and Figurative Mountain

Jodi Goodman, volunteer (far right). 

"It was the summer between my sophomore and junior years of college that the pull I had felt coming on for so long became absolutely undeniable.  I knew I had to go somewhere.  I had spent my life in the same small town that my parents, grandparents, great-grandparents and so on had spend their sweet, southern lives. But now the world was calling and I had to go.  I just didn’t know where.  With perfect timing, a friend of mine mentioned that her sister was in Honduras.  When I asked more about it, she told me about World Camp and their current work in Malawi and Honduras.  My fingers tingled and my heart thumped in the way it does when you know something is right.  A week later, I applied to World Camp, Malawi.  A year later, I had sent hundreds of donation letters, been showered with generosity, and was featured on the front page of my hometown newspaper.  Then I set foot on a plane for the second time in my life. I was on my way to Malawi, Africa. 

I could, and have, spend days on end sharing the experiences I had in Malawi and their permanent impact. But today, I'll share this one.  One weekend, we planned a hike up a mountain with some of the “street kids” from a local children’s center.  These children had left home or had no home, many as a result of HIV/AIDS.  We had previously spent time at the children’s center playing games and feeding the children.  This day, we met at the base of Mt. Nkhoma on a chilly morning and set off, American volunteers and African children. 

Jodi (center) with WC friends on top of
Mt. Nkoma, Malawi. 

Jodi (center) with kids from camp. 

It was such a happy time.  I can even remember the coolness of the air on my cheeks as we set out.  Children were skipping and we were laughing and singing.  After 30 minutes or so, the hike became more strenuous and I began to sweat and struggle.  A young boy that latched on to me in previous days at the children’s center decided to hike with me on this day too.  He and I walked together the whole time.  In the beginning, we laughed and skipped , but as the hike continued, I became more tired and slow.  There were portions of the trail that were very steep.  As I grew tired, I stopped for a drink of water; sweat trickled down my cheek.  My young companion grabbed my hand, gave me a warm smile, and we continued up the mountain, he walked ahead of me, pulling me along.  It was his strength that gave me the power to complete the journey. 

It is important to remember that I did not speak Chichewa, nor did he speak English.  We Americans were equipped with our tennis shoes or boots and of the children who were not barefoot, most wore ragged sandals.  It struck me that the happiness shining from the faces of these children was more pure than any I had ever seen.  They had no luxuries by American standards. Many of them had no family left or a family torn apart by sickness.  And while I felt so inclined to give it to them, they did not ask for my pity.  Instead, they invited me to share in their happiness.  I had come to Africa with the hopes of somehow touching the lives of others, and as I struggled with ideas of happiness, love, perseverance, and strength I had always known, it was actually my hand that was held as I was pulled up this literal and figurative mountain.  I could not verbally communicate with this precious child. Yet I knew that we spoke another language together and that he understood. 

Through my service with World Camp, I began to develop a deeper sense of service as a reciprocal activity. One where giving and receiving truly happen simultaneously.  When one approaches a situation feeling as though they have something to contribute, most often they leave with far more than they came with.  I was so touched by my experiences in Malawi that I continued working with them the following summer as a volunteer in India.  My experiences with World Camp are so dear to my heart and they continue to affect my beliefs, values, relationships, and decisions every day."

Jodi at Ghandi's Ashram, India. 

Jodi (second from left) dresed in traditional Gujarati wear
with WC friends, India. =

Submitted by: Jodi Goodman, Malawi 2007 volunteer, India 2008 volunteer


*Part IX in our Reflections series: How we internalize what we learn abroad into who we are back home. Email submissions to info@worldcampforkids.org or katy@worldcampforkids.org. All forms of reflection encouraged!