Voluntarism - tourism with a conscience
Richard Brooks
Voluntarism - taking a vacation that includes some charity work-is a
travel idea whose time has come. In its May 2008 issue, Conde Nast
Traveller *held the World Savers Contest, asking readers to report on
their good deeds with an essay and photo documenting a recent
voluntarism trip. This following was voted as "one of our favourite
contest entries" by the editors of Conde Nast Traveller.
The location was as exotic as one could imagine, deep in the interior
of Sri Lanka in a shramadana camp at the village of Dambara. Let me
explain: Shramadana means "sharing of labour."
The Sarvodaya Movement had invited us to work with hundreds of
villagers, repairing the irrigation canals that would deliver water to
their paddy fields during the off season. Similar events had taken place
thousands of times in the grassroots movement's 45-year history.
Sarvodaya means "the awakening of all."
Volunteers came from surrounding villages and districts throughout
the island, joined by visitors from the U.S., Japan, Bangladesh, India,
Pakistan, France and the UK. The evening began with
ceremony-inspiration, pledges of harmony and a commitment to work
together for the common good. That first night, we sat on the floor of
the Buddhist temple with the entire population of the village.
My host family's home had just enough room for me, their three
daughters, mother, and father, who toiled in the paddy field down the
hill.
Each of the three days I stayed with them, we drank tea together and
ate rice and curry, exchanging smiles and questions. They had much to
ask, as did I.
The morning after the first night's meditation, a hundred or more of
us lined up with heavy hoes and shovels, sorted ourselves into work
teams, and marched down the road to the paddies.
It was hot. Hand to hand, shoulder to shoulder-heart to heart, we
would say-we laughed and even sang together as the sun rose. Dripping in
sweat, we built a bridge, opened new waterways, and discovered the sheer
joy of doing something that very few in the village thought could be
accomplished in such a short time.
Boys brought us tea at mid-morning. The women and children prepared
vats of rice and dhal. I jumped out of the ankle-deep water to escape a
snake and looked a five-foot lizard in the eye.
"Don't worry," laughed the barefoot boys next to me. "He is
vegetarian."
The day got hotter and hotter. We removed weeds, boulders, and
apprehensions about the limitations of our skills and our energy.
The second day, our numbers tripled. By the third night, the crowd
was probably close to a thousand. Children danced and old men told funny
stories in the light of the bonfire. Our Japanese friends performed in
kimono and sang the Sri Lanka national anthem. My gift was an a cappella
version of "America the Beautiful," not performed with jingoistic
fervour but genuine love of place inspired by the hospitality of our
host village.
Fireworks were a perfect ending to the day.
I asked the youngest of the three girls in my new home, "As you think
back over the history of this village, what do you think was the most
important day?"
She thought for a moment and replied, "I think today."
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