These past few days have been loaded with perspective, both good and bad.
The scene: Monday night volunteers' meeting. There are ten of us at the table: the guest house managers (Nico and Jill), the baby, full-time volunteers, part-time volunteers, the Cuban maintenance man, and the gypsy Quaker who is walking from California to Chile in order to raise awareness about environmental issues. Before us is an elaborate meal prepared by Meredith, a volunteer who was an organic restaurant chef for three years. It's Thai night, and there's a glistening platter of Pad Thai, a bowl of spicy vegetable curry, broccoli, ginseng drink, and plenty of coconut rice. Heaven. Who would have thought that I could find Thailand in Mexico City in less than one week? We pass around the food hungrily and pretty soon sweat is forming on our brows, but it is a good kind of suffering, a suffering for love. We fill our stomachs as conversation is either facilitated (Gypsy Quaker: "Just out of curiosity, how many of you talk to your siblings frequently?") or evolves naturally. The eating draws to a close, and as two plates come out of the kitchen with huge, still-warm ginger bread cookies, we get down to business.
Nico and Jill start by talking about how we are entering a new stage of life here at the Casa. With several volunteers committed for the long-term and the sufficient time to dedicate to program work now that over 1,000 guests have come and gone for the summer, we can look to revamp and develop both our migration and economic solidarity initiatives. As they ramble on excitedly, I realize just how much stress has befallen these two poor overworked, underpaid souls throughout the course of the past year. As if caring for a baby under the age of one were not enough, Nico and Jill have had to fill in the gaps left by the lack of a functional director. In January of this year, the last real director left to give birth to her first child. The position was filled, but never occupied, as the person who the Casa hired to take her place did not live up to his impressive resume. Apparently, right from the get go, the new director did not assume responsibility, did not show up to work, cancelled meetings, etc, etc... and both staff and volunteers were left with a weighty lack of direction. He resigned in June, and since then, Nico has basically tried to fulfill the duties of both guest house manager and director. The Asamblea (the notoriously absent and unorganized board of directors) is currently looking for an interim director, but Nico and Jill shared the sentiment that we are no longer waiting on their approval to move forward with our program work. It seems as if there is a real divide between how the Asamblea governs the Casa, and what actually happens here on the ground. Whew. So, I have stepped into some non-profit bureaucratic drama here... pretty typical, eh?
The meeting continues, and I have the sense that everyone just needs to be heard. There are complicated issues in every corner, from tension about the weekly reception schedule to suspected thievery on the part of the housekeeping ladies to the problem of putting eight years worth of guest information cards into a computer data base. I listen quietly, both wishing somehow that I could already be a part of the action and glad for my brief removal from the heated debate. The hours pass by; pad thai is nibbled and cookies are devoured and faces reveal clear fatigue and frustration. Nico concludes the last order of business with a knowing and ironic smile, "Y bienvenida a Erica" (And welcome to Erica!) I laugh, which is really more of an exhale, and begin to process all that I have heard as I lend my hand to the dishwashing.
This morning my Casa education is furthered as I awake early to accompany two volunteers to a meeting with a lady from the Flor de Mazahua, an indigenous women's group that produces handicrafts and that the Casa has worked with for 15 years, promoting and selling their fair trade dolls and clothing. Apparently, a meeting with the Flor people has not happened for many a month as they have been extremely hard to contact, and alas, it is also not destined to happen this morning. We arrive after a 20 minute metro ride/trek through the city, and our point person is not there. We call; we wait; we eventually leave a note, go get muffins, and sit in the park to talk for awhile. My fellow volunteers just vent and vent about the disorganization at the Casa and all of the barriers in the way of their being able to pursue possibilities to expand their respective programs (migration and economic solidarity). I listen and ask questions and imagine myself a year from now: can this type of burn out be prevented?
I return home and swallow hard everything that has been thrown my way these past 24 hours. I am already feeling defeated, and I haven't even begun! As I'm talking with my current roommate, she helps me to realize that this experience is all about what you make it. She has been here six months, and while it's not perfect, she still finds the Casa to be a fulfilling place to invest her time. Like anything, it's all about what you choose to focus on. You can easily become overwhelmed with the seemingly limitless responsibilities and directions OR you can not allow these stressors to take over your life and focus more on building both relationships and the awesome community that the Casa has down pat. As I begin to think about it more, I acknowledge that every organization that I have ever been a part of has shared its own degree of disfunctionality. In fact, Monday night's volunteer meeting wasn't such a far cry from the passionate staff meetings that I sat in on during my summer working at the group home. What we have here at the Casa is a group of very hard-working, well-intentioned people that at times wear on each other and stumble over problems like any other human beings. There is bound to be drama, stress, and resentment even at a "center for peace and international understanding!"
So, with a good dose of perspective, I spend the afternoon with my roommate and another volunteer sipping wine outside of a cafe in a lovely district of the city called La Roma. We laugh and enjoy each other's company and finish off the evening with the most delectable of Mexican foods: tacos al pastor. Shavings of seasoned pork, pineapple, onion, cilantro, and lime bundled in corn tortillas. We eat three each, ordering them one by one, guiltily deciding each time that we can't possibly resist another bite of perfection. We stroll through the city for blocks and blocks, and everything seems surprisingly tranquilo for the second biggest city in the world...
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