Let me set the scene.
I had just fallen in love with Argentina after the approving sun set on my afternoon of shoe fitting and polo. Again the crew slept as we drove back to Buenos Aires. Again I kneeled next to Pepe in the aisle.
“How far is Salta?” I ask. (Salta being the place I would meet the superintendent of the school in need.) Pepe paused, tracing the map in his mind, “Maybe 15 hours…you could probably get a bus tonight.” 15 hours… in case you didn’t catch what I just wrote. I walked back to my seat and sat so my mind could race. It seemed in my haste to accept a project, I forgot to inquire just how far this need was. As it turns out, the need was only a few hours from the borders of both Bolivia and Chile.
So here’s the scenario: I had committed to taking your donations to a remote location where there was a school waiting in need. In a few days, Voluntario Global would be holding their event in the barrio of Buenos Aires, which I would like to go to but didn’t actually commit to. More importantly, I had to catch a flight a couple days later. This is when the “what were you thinking” thoughts come, realizing there were probably plenty of needs a little closer than 15 hours away. But what’s done is done, or at least needs to be done, and I couldn’t exactly back out.
I finally arrive back to my hostel close to 9 pm and determine catching a bus tonight is probably a bit rushed, so I pack and sleep instead. Next morning I wake and find the following email from Pepe:
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I'm off to see the world. Usually I live in Flagstaff, but now I am on a boat with an old friend. We will be doing good deeds a…
I hit the ground instantly. The force of impact nearly knocked me out. Stunned, I tried to gather and prepare myself for more. I didn’t know how or why, the only thing I was sure of was that I was under attack.
I found myself in a hammock, swinging back and forth between exhaustion and the inability to sleep.
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