As I got off the airplane in Belize City earlier this week, I saw a sign with the words “What Happens in Belize Stays in Belize” playfully painted on it. I chuckled a bit to myself at the clever, but perhaps overused slogan of our friends in the southwestern U.S. At any rate, it was a clear attempt at putting travelers in the mood for vacationing.
When I first received the email inviting PwC interns to participate in Project Belize, I thought it was going to be a fun trip with a couple of hours of feel-good service each morning and hitting the beaches, shops, and other tourist attractions for the rest of the day. Of course, I was excited about the service opportunities the project seemed to present, but I also pictured myself with my toes in the sand enjoying some kind of fruity drink in a coconut-shaped glass with a little umbrella or perhaps scuba diving with a family of majestic sea turtles. But I did none of that. Instead, I participated in some of the hardest work I have ever done. And I wouldn’t have had it any other way.
As we met with the Peaceworks representatives and a few of the local schoolteachers that evening to prepare for what lay ahead of us in the coming days, I remember wondering what it was really going to be like. I had studied the material we were to teach, but I had no idea who these kids were—what they like, how they live, who their role models are, what their favorite internet sites are, if they even have internet. Our leaders were very patient with us as they unfolded the plans and answered our questions. Even though I had a clear enough idea of what we were to do there, I still walked away from that meeting wondering what was to come. I studied the material a little more and went to bed.
The next morning, I somewhat nervously got on the bus to head toward my group’s assigned school. I was surprised as we pulled up to the building, which looked more like a prison than a school. On the front was painted, “Trinity Methodist Church School” with words in a different color directly beneath: “and Hurricane Shelter.” It was made of solid concrete with no glass windows and barely a trickle non-potable running water (you had to throw your toilet paper in the trash, which was supposedly emptied at the end of the day). No sign of the amenities that adorn the vast majority of our U.S. elementary schools: drinking fountains, computers, or even air conditioning. The “playground,” if you can call it that, was a patch of dirt and weeds that became riddled with sludgy mud puddles each time it rained. This would be an interesting week.
As my PwC group filed into the open area, we were greeted with the shy, mile-wide smiles of about 60 children of African and/or Hispanic descent. Many of their clothes didn’t fit because whatever donation box they had gotten them from didn’t have their size. We learned later that many of them only had one pair of shoes, often just flip-flops. The principal of the school, a smiling woman with a thick Caribbean accent, led the children in their national anthem and a series of prayers. I was certainly awed when I witnessed these kids praise God even though they clearly had so little.
We then filed into our classes and the children started making nametags to put on their desks. They went around the room introducing themselves to us, most with soft voices and the typical timidity that comes with the first day of school. As we subsequently taught each lesson, I began to realize that the kids were just like us at their age. They wanted to be doctors, lawyers, teachers, firemen, and nurses. They idolized Justin Bieber, LeBron James, and Hannah Montana. They recognized problems in their families and communities and wanted to help. The only things different from kids in the U.S. were the conditions in which they lived. I saw my 11-year-old self in a lot of them— filled with optimistic hopes and dreams for the future. What I never had to deal with, though, were the things these young men and women have to deal with every day. While I had had minor situations where I had to choose to avoid certain parties or neighborhoods, I never encountered gang violence on my street and never wondered where my next meal might come from. These poor souls very frequently encountered such problems and were more than open about it. I even remember hearing about a girl from another school declaring that she wanted to be a prostitute when she grew up because that is what would happen in all likelihood.
We taught these young people for three days; each lesson building upon the last. By the end of the mini course the kids knew how to budget, use a savings account to save for high school and college (you have to pay your way through high school in Belize), how to seek leadership opportunities, spend money wisely, and start a business. Each student had a business plan to show off to his or her parent(s) and did so proudly. We observed how Speedy D’s Water Taxi Service was going to market to tourists and local fishermen. A student was excited to show us how she would throw parties for celebrity tourists. One young man demonstrated how his basketball camp would pay his way through college.
That was all part of the curriculum that we were to teach the kids, but I had no idea that they would teach me so much. They showed me that I don’t need stuff to be happy. I learned that giving of oneself is an essential part of human happiness; a principle of the universe of which we are all a part. I observed simple, pure smiles that had the power to change lives forever. They reminded me of the intrinsic value of each soul. Most importantly, my perspective of giving service in general was greatly enhanced. I’ve always thought that I had a predisposition toward community service, e.g. donating to food drives, fundraisers for the homeless, buying girl scout cookies, etc., but seeing the faces and getting to intimately know the personal feelings of those I was serving has driven me to feel something beyond just a “warm fuzzy” or the vague pride that can accompany dropping off a donation in a box at the grocery store. It gave me a renewed purpose of life and a driver for how I want to shape my future. It gave me confidence that I can actually make a big difference in people’s lives. It gave me a driving force that will shape many of the decisions of my everyday life.
I challenge those who went to Belize with me and felt those same feelings to join with me in continuing to find opportunities to change the lives of those less privileged than ours for the better. Remember what you felt—write it down and read what you wrote from time to time in order to reignite it. For those of you who could not participate, I invite you participate next year and to enrich your lives by serving in the communities around you.
I’m thankful that PwC had the clairvoyance to execute an undertaking such as Project Belize and that I had a chance to take part in it even as a lowly intern. You may often hear that big companies like ours “only give to charities for the tax write-offs,” but I’m very proud to declare in my limited sphere of influence that the leadership of PwC have more than just a sound sense of corporate responsibility; they understand the duty we all have as human beings to look out for one another and to lift up those who may not even know how to rise. I hope that we can all find ways both within PwC and without to serve other souls and feel the joy that results. What happened in Belize, at least to me, will certainly not stay in Belize.
– Daniel Mullen, PwC Risk Assurance Intern, MAcc ’13