The nature of volunteering: my time in Montserrat, Spain

Towering beige pillars of the Montserrat Mountains reach high into the sky and loom above Barcelona. The peaks reach toward the heavens, clawing at clouds and clambering toward the Mediterranean Sea. Bells toll that familiar chime; it’s time to return to the blessings of life here in Montserrat. I climb down from my rocky perch near the greenhouse. I finish watering the plants I have grown familiar with here. Friends like Lavender remind me of the mountain meadows in my home of Colorado. New friends like fig trees share their gifts of sunshine packed into sweet fruit — a sweetness that will always be reminiscent of the joy of Montserrat.

I head to recreation with the escolans (school children). Their joyful shouts echo through these mountain caverns and through the monastery halls. I think to myself, “Do the monks ever get tired of hear their screeching?” It is an interesting juxtaposition to their stoic heavenly singing at mass and prayers; I digress. After sashaying across the Abbey altar for graduation, my eyes were set on a year of service in Montserrat, Spain. The Benedictine Volunteer Corp (BVC) sends a cohort of volunteers there every year, and I was blessed to be selected as one.

Though on paper a year seems long, today I would give anything to have just one more night atop that mountain. A year passed like sunrise to sunset and before I knew it, I was giving tearful goodbyes to the escolans and monks.

Each day I awoke to the sound of 45 Catalan kids running through the halls with complete dismay for the typical silence one assumes a monastery has. A day in my life there included teaching arts, science, English and physical education; tending the gardens; maintaining the greenhouse; playing futbol (soccer); and asking a Question of the Day (a personal venture of mine). At various points of the day the kids would come up and earnestly ask for the question of the day. Questions would range from ideal superpower to who is someone that inspires you? Though questions for kids around 7-13 years old, they always had an answer. Despite this starting as a simple feat of daily English practice, it soon turned into the best part of my day and a highlight of theirs — a shared practice of joy.

Although the BVC send each cohort out to enact a year of service, I felt that mine was a year of love. To be welcomed into a community and begin the weaving of relationships through the year was a mystical experience. Despite a language barrier, we came together to find common ground and discover ways to communicate. And just as things were becoming easy and I started speaking Catalan, the end of my time had come. The most difficult part of my year at Montserrat was the day of departure.

I felt so loved by the community there, like the Mare de Deu de Montserrat herself had welcomed me into her arms with a loving embrace. Saying goodbye was by far the hardest feat I had to do. Though difficult, I look back on it as a beautiful lesson that heartbreak, in an instance like this, means you loved fully and were beloved wholistically.

Now, I write this letter home while in my second year of volunteering. Life here in Imiliwaha, Tanzania, has similarities but retains a splendid difference. Wind rustles the leaves of the avocado trees outside my window, as a cacophony of songbirds echoes their chorus.

Though much further from home than Montserrat, I still am able to find familiar friends in the pristine nature here. Gooseberry bushes dot the acreage of farmland, reminding me of Minnesota. Gorgeous orchids peak their ornate heads above the grasslands, reviving a spirit of appreciation that was born in Montserrat.

Largemouth bass greedily snatch our fishing hooks as my fellow volunteer Courtney Hurias and I cheer for the dinner we have just caught. We know that the sisters at St. Gertrude’s Convent will congratulate us with a “Hongera!” and maybe even a little dance. Our home for the next six months is deep in the southern highlands of Tanzania. Verdant green hills roll as far as the eye can see. Winds wisp through the grass like hair as sweet tangy aromas of unknown flowers and fragrant plants kiss the nose. It’s a natural beauty incomparable to pictures.

A typical day here starts with mass with approximately 125 sisters joining their voices to sing Swahili hymns. Courtney and I help with the daily duties of mealtime and clean up at the guesthouse.

We spend our morning helping at the orphanage, working at the candle shop, tending farmland or chopping wood. In the afternoons, I teach English at St. Gertrude’s Secondary School for Girls. My class is Form 1, equivalent to the ninth grade in the American school system. Each Monday, Wednesday and Friday I am greeted by my 63 students who are eager to start their English lesson with the ‘mzungu’ (Swahili word for anyone not African).

Though my time here is far from ending, the days have developed a familiar rhythm. I know that these warm days here will soon come to a close, and the sisters will give us a heartfelt goodbye as we are shuttled away from this Tanzanian countryside.

The lessons here have yet to be fully realized, but the value of sharing your gifts with the world is something that can’t be described in a short parable. Sometimes it’s taking that leap of faith and trusting your wings to help you soar.