This post features student writing.

Hello! I’m Connor. Let me start this off by saying that meeting people is hard. There’s a handshake, some awkward conversation openers, and a whole lot of nerves. It’s even worse if there’s a language barrier.

After getting off a 3.5-hour long bus ride, I was not ready to meet the welcoming crew in the new village. My legs cramped on a bus with an AC that couldn’t find a balanced temperature between the arctic and the desert. La Guazara? How do you even pronounce that? A few people were scattered around the school courtyard upon arrival but I decided to start walking toward the nearest person. I was nervous, but this person seemed to relax me. He was beaming from ear to ear, revealing the partially damaged central incisor (that’s the two front upper teeth — and yes, I looked that up, sorry for using the data, Mom and Dad). His dark eyes were ablaze with excitement as I approached. His posture was perfect, but he gave off a relaxed atmosphere. He reached out to shake my hand a tad too early, so that it was awkwardly sitting mid-air. I noticed that his hands quivered, and I instinctively smiled: this man was nervous too.

We firmly shook each other’s hand and introduced ourselves.

“¡Buenas tardes, me llamo es Pablo!” (Good afternoon, my name is Pablo!)

“Hola, me llamo es Connor. Mucho gusto.” (Hello, my name is Connor. Pleased to meet you.)

That was it. That was the full extent of the first of many conversations with Pablo. I was quickly shuffled aside as everyone else introduced themselves to the welcoming crew at La Guazara. I met some of the other leaders but Pablo was the only one that stuck with me. He was someone I wanted to get to know better and I would only wait a few hours before my wish would be granted.

After crouching down so that the kid atop my shoulders could climb down, I noticed Pablo sitting by the kitchen, that familiar smile plastered across his fac,e taking everything in. There was an empty chair beside him, which I quickly claimed to be mine. Pablo Antonio Lopez Feliz was 38 years old. He is the oldest son in a family of nine (Mom, Dad, Pablo, three sisters, and three brothers).

He lives in a small but comforting wooden building just a 30-second walk from the school. Just take a right and look left and there’s Pablo’s home. He doesn’t have a wife. But there’s something different about Pablo, and I realize now what it was. Well, I don’t really know what specifically it is, but Pablo has a disability that causes him to form words slower than everyone else. He does his fair share of work, actually scratch that, he does a lot more than his fair share of work. He dances to music by spinning, jumping, tapping his hands against a shovel and more. Pablo does everything I can do. He doesn’t let his difference in ability stop him. But when you talk to Pablo, his kind and loving character and personality explodes when his words come out. La Guazara and its residents aren’t neighbors in the same community, they’re trusted individuals who he calls his family. There’s got to be at the absolute minimum 100 people in Pablo’s family. He walks down the road, waving and smiling at everyone he sees. And their response is always the same, a huge smile on their face, followed by an equally, if not more positive greeting. He genuinely knows everyone in La Guazara, and everyone knows Pablo.

“Trabajar es vivir, y me encanta mi vida,” Pablo often says to me. Life is work, and I love my life. Pablo works incredibly hard on everything he does. Whether it be mixing cement, or trying to become a better person, his mind is constantly trying to work on something. He loves working, the sense of purpose and direction driving him toward a goal that benefits a group of people. It gives him endless energy, his foreman skills constantly at use, tapping along to a Reggaeton beat played by Gregorio, and his famous smile on display. It’s inspiring. On top of all that, he volunteers his skills and work to everyone in the community. They need something done? Pablo will work for almost nothing, simply because he wants to help benefit his enormous family. I don’t know how he does it. How he works tirelessly and for unselfish reasons. He must sleep like the dead at night with everything he does. All I know is that this trip wouldn’t be the same without him.

I’m fortunate enough to speak Spanish at a decent level to have a conversation.
I’m fortunate enough to be on yet another Putney program.
I’m fortunate enough to not have a disability.
I’m fortunate enough to meet Pablo.
We leave La Guazara in three days, but I’m going to squeeze as much time in with Pablo as possible. I’ve learnt everything you just read above by having a single conversation every day for at least 20 minutes, completely in Spanish.

He inspires me to improve my character, and to work harder, faster, and crush all barriers in my way. But more importantly, he made me consider the reason why I’m on this program. After all, it’s called a “service” trip for a reason.

Word of the day:
Eng: PERSEVERANCE
Spa: PERSEVERANCIA
/pəːsɪˈvɪər(ə)ns/
noun

— Connor