In my current volunteer position, thankfully, that is not the general opinion. I have been gratified to learn that my program administrators, most of my colleagues, and even a number of students feel that my work at the school has had positive effects. This seems to imply a beautiful and mutually beneficial relationship, which would be ideal.

But sometimes I wonder – or rather, feel guilty.

My speech at the closing ceremony of my volunteer service.

For instance, it has crossed my mind that today, English is valuable for professional success only because of a history of imperialism and globalization.  As a citizen of the first world I profit from this history, even as I empower my students with important skills. My native language is a privilege and an asset; it affords me professional clout that Chilean translators, tour guides, interpreters, and English educators don’t have. Thus, I am essentially taking work away from native teachers – hours in school, the extra pay for private students, government grants, etc.

These thoughts make me feel more like a carpetbagger than a soldier for education – I don’t really know whether to discount them as paranoia or to address them as serious concerns. I do know that I want to keep trying – the rewards for philanthropy are far greater than the risks.

About a hundred years ago when I was auditioning for music school, I was torn between my love for music and my passion for social service. The angst I felt was assuaged after a talk with my father, in which he told me that there would be times in my life when it was appropriate for me to devote myself to personal development, and other times when it was important to think about the greater good. Much like light, he said, humans are sometimes particles – acting as beings apart – and sometimes waves – acting as a group. I’ve come to the conclusion that I’d like to find a way to do both at once – to find a way to live well and still devote my energies to improving the lives of others.

Nereida Heller just recently wrapped up a volunteer stint with the English Open Doors Program in Puerto Aisén, Chile. For more about her experiences, check out her blog. For more on the question of making an impact in Latin America, check out these posts by other La Vida Idealist bloggers.

Farmer explains a bad crop of maiz.

When in Central America, do as the Central Americans do: slow down, make it count, and when in doubt, wing it.

Things such as internet connections, water pressure, food service, bus travel, etc. run much more slowly here than in the U.S. In the communities I’ve visited, I’ve witnessed hard-working people — farmers and bus drivers, for example — who understand the importance of making their time count because their livelihood depends on it. I have also noticed that when you ask someone a question they will ponder for a moment, and then give you an answer. It may not be accurate but they will wing it – especially when giving directions.

After about a month in Nicaragua, I passed through Honduras and arrived in Guatemala. Since my original departure I have had two interviews for unpaid long-term positions with two organizations. They both asked for my assistance with their projects but when the time came to fully commit… I froze. Am I really ready to stop traveling and dedicate all of my time, energy, and remaining funds to this one cause? How can I balance doing good for others while getting the most value out of my trip?

Things were moving too quickly and I clearly wasn’t ready to settle down. I chose instead to make the most of my journey, to slow down, see as much as possible and to make it count. When I find myself doubting or wanting to do more for the people I encounter, I will wing it and use my experience to make a meaningful impact as an individual.

Cooking tortillas in the morning

For example, while staying on a finca in Northern Nicaragua, the woman of the house expressed to me that she was unhappy with the relationship her community had with its current tourism co-op. I offered her some advice on how to begin her own co-op or organization that would better serve her community and will maintain contact with her to help in any way I can, perhaps with the option of returning. She greatly appreciated the advice and I had an amazing experience learning about her life.

Also, while eating in a market in a small highlands city in Western Honduras I ended up giving two young men a three-hour impromptu English lesson with the printout worksheet they found online. They were desperate to learn the language but could not afford to take classes.

These simple examples of community interaction have the potential to make an impact. In addition, I am noting the level of need in the areas I visit. What resources are available, and how well are they functioning? Where are the gaps?

The door is always open for me to return. For now, I will seek out such opportunities before I settle in one spot: taking my time, making it count, and just simply winging it.

Whitney Devin is currently traveling around Central America, seeking volunteer opportunities.

“I’m absolutely heartbroken to leave the kids,” reflected a volunteer on his final night in Guatemala, watering up and fighting off sniffles. “We’ve become really close and I feel, maybe for the first time in my life, that I’ve had a meaningful impact on a group of people.”

“That’s wonderful that you were able to make such a strong connection,” said a person at the table, trying to overcome the awkwardness of someone crying in a bar. “How long have you been with them in the school?”

“Two weeks.”

Like most of us, that particular volunteer ventured to Latin America primarily focused on giving, unconcerned about dipping into his savings account to provide a meaningful experience. The issue: he might have been mistaken who was benefiting more from his presence in Central America.

As I rambled about in another post of mine, “You Have to Walk Before You Can Run Away,” we all have personal motives for being selfless, as strange as that sounds. Until my rendezvous with our aforementioned friend, I seemed to be (subconsciously, at least) posing the wrong questions: How can I make more local friends to step up my Spanish? What new initiates at work would shine on a resume? What am I… (pause to gasp violently  into a paper bag) going to do with my life?

This week, though, I am trying to focus less on myself and ask the right ones: How can I help someone today in a way that will generate no recognition? What positive influence can I construct to outlive my time here? What pickup line should I teach Fredy so he can fulfill he dream of dating a gringa?

“Would you like to better understand Guatemalan culture by learning some words in Kaqchikel?” has to be his best bet, right?

Andrew is the Director of Communications at Transitions Foundation in Antigua, Guatemala and is now capable of going 8-Mile at a Reggaeton Karaoke Night.

Outside the Vilardebó Hospital

Acknowledging my complete incompetence and tongue-tiedness around children, I offered to work with adults. In early August, I received word that once a week I’d be volunteering in arts classes at a state-run psychiatric hospital along with five other students. And – we were off! Sort of. It took a few weeks to coordinate student schedules and strike schedules before we met the nurses and took a tour. Then another two weeks to sort through confusion about scheduling, as the hospital offers extracurriculars for patients in the wards as well as in their day clinic/rehab center. Things are more or less set now, although instead of working on ceramics, three of us are working in the hospital garden. Which brings us to the next question: what, exactly, can we contribute between now and end of term in November?

The extension office has been great about encouraging critical thinking and setting long-term project goals. In truth though, the three of us seem to be struggling with the short-term, which is to say, how to distinguish between tomato plants and weeds, and how deep the holes for the lettuce seedlings should be. We’re under the bemused guidance of a petite spunky nurse who can wield a hoe with one hand and marshall her easily distracted troops with the other, all while tolerating the three confused girls who trail along behind her.

The Tuesday afternoon gardening crew is all men: some of them high functioning- including a phenomenal painter of surfing scenes – and some less so; some temporarily at the hospital by court order, others because they have no one else to care for them. They know their way around the garden through, and so while they go about watering and shoveling we’ve found ourself doing what we do so often here in Montevideo – answering questions about our homes far away, in Germany, DC, North Carolina. (Luckily, the other two are less shy than me.) It’s not a long-term plan, but it’s a start.

Flora Lindsay-Herrera is currently a Fulbright Fellow in Montevideo, Uruguay. For more about her experiences, check out her blog. For more thoughts on making an impact or not in Latin America, check out “When are you coming back?” by Roxanne Krystalli;  “How Much Difference Did I Really Make After 5 Months of Teaching English?” by Jon Clarke; and “Evaluating Our Impact” by Lisa Hetzel.

Suddenly, with the fanfare of the end of term exams and the obligatory sugar-fueled party classes on the final Friday, I was no longer a teacher.

My semester had reached its conclusion. Memories still bounce around inside my skull of the final day, recorded with forensic precision in my personal journal. The smallest and roundest student from my 4 p.m. class, Nimsy, participated only partially in the “construct a mummy” race, standing in his giant heeled wheely shoes gazing with affection at the miniature doughnut in his hand as his team mate knelt at his feet, industriously wrapping them in toilet paper.

I was doused in tearful goodbye hugs by an unexpected and terrifying wall of early teenage female hormones as my 5 p.m. class said their farewells. My final 6 p.m. class brought its own bitter sweet conclusion, the highly dubious home-made money in the class game of poker ranging in value from $73 per note to an ambitious $100,000. All these are my treasured memories, but did my students get anything out of the hours that I invested teaching them English?

Beginnings
I came to Latin America in January 2009, arriving in the small town of Chiapa de Corzo in the rural state of Chiapas, Mexico. My Spanish was fairly embarrassing and I’d not been out of the UK longer than four months prior to the trip, so I wasn’t really sure what to expect. To prevent a complete leap into the unknown, I’d booked onto a TEFL training course at the Dunham Institute, a language school and TEFL training centre in Chiapa de Corzo; following a successful graduation I’d continue as a teacher for the subsequent semester.

I was nervous by the time my first full day of classes arrived after getting my certificate, but ready. Confident in my ability to teach, I also already knew the kids and the community somewhat from the previous month. Deemed by the academic coordinator to be the best person to handle the beginner classes, I knew that some of my students wouldn’t speak a lick of English. Undaunted, I strode into the classroom on that first day, introduced myself to the selection of wide-eyed little faces and kicked things off with a wordless clapping game.

Progress
It’s difficult to see changes when you’re staring it in the face day to day. In English class, new topics were introduced, forgotten and reviewed as the weeks passed. Some students were naturally more capable than others. They soaked up every word I passed them, and jumped with reaching fingers on a raised hand every time I asked for a volunteer. Some just sat, and stared into space.

We moved slowly through games, exercises, progress tests and mid-terms. I left Chiapas for two weeks in Semana Santa to enjoy a break in the semester. When I came back, I realized with a degree of surprise that my students spoke English. Not the finely drilled sentences that march from the mouths of grammar-drones, but the shapeless verbal enthusiasm that tumbles from students without concern. Games were beset on all sides by shouting teams, yelling in…English! My tentative questions were no longer pre-empted by a hollow silence, but by naughty mouths beating their classmates to the answer in…English!

Endings
By the end of the term, there was no denying it. The silence of my classroom was a thing of the past. All barriers long since departed, my students clung to me on the last day and proclaimed their sorrow at my departure. That wasn’t the only thing affecting me; they were speaking to me in the language I’d been chipping away at as the days, weeks and months passed. Looking around the other classrooms, I wasn’t the only recipient of special treatment. All the teachers were receiving hugs from their classes and smiling warmly at the presentation of soft toys and cards festooned with the romantic heart-shaped stamp of glorious Mexican kitsch.

New beginnings
It’s a given that only a proportion of the students will ever use their English for anything useful. Some will give up, and never continue beyond the classes that I gave. Many of them will never leave Mexico, or take their language beyond the classroom. Some will use my lessons to pass exams in the state system to qualify for higher education. A few might even leave their country and travel or work abroad, grateful for the opportunity to be able to communicate.

But that’s not the enduring thing that sticks with me when I consider if the whole thing was worthwhile. I’ve seen my students go from nothing to the vibrant enthusiasm that comes with the successful beginning of a journey. Maybe further down the road, just one or two might use their English to get a job. They might start a business, or meet a future husband or wife, and the opportunity in their lives will have been brought about by my time and effort. Even though they will be few in number, that’s enough to make it worth it.

For more on teaching English in Latin America, check out these other posts by La Vida Idealist bloggers.

The Costa Rican Institute of Tourism opted not to renew its contract to place a CREST teacher in Puerto Jimenez for the next term. I know these things happen. The tourist season was slow this year, with the recession. I’m sure the ICT budget is tight.

What my classroom in Puerto Jimenez will look like for the forseeable future...

A native speaker could still be here. The local chamber of tourism on its own could bring a in teacher. Someone from the large new group of Peace Corps volunteers could land here. CREST could get another contract in the future.

But it still feels like something got pulled out from under me.

What is the point of a development program if it is stopped when things get difficult? Anyone who’s ever tried to do something to change knows how much easier it is with some outside motivation: a class, a workout buddy, a book club. Without that, things get so hard.

When you multiply life improvement on a scale of tens or hundreds of people, the importance of an outside assisting influence is multiplied as well. I’m reminded of a recent This American Life piece on Haiti. The impoverished island nation has been receiving millions of dollars in aid for years, with little signs of progress. One reason the program suggested for that was because development groups are constantly losing project funding or seeing money diverted to different projects. There’s a lack of consistent commitment and direction, and (admittedly not having been in on whatever discussions took place), that’s what it feels like in Puerto Jimenez.

I feel a sense of ownership about the community. Since I heard the news, I’ve been slightly tempted to figure out a way to stay and keep doing it. Were this a place where I thought I could thrive long-term, I actually might. I hope I can at least help the chamber find someone.

The one thing I stressed over and over to my students was that no matter what we do in class, how well they do in English hinges on how much they practice and work at it in their lives. If they learned anything from me, I hope they learned that. Because, for the moment, it’s truly the case.

Kent Green is currently teaching English in Puerto Jimenez, Costa Rica through Costa Rican English for Sustainable Tourism, a project of ALIARSE. For more on his experiences,  check out his blog or follow him on Twitter.

The difficulties of leaving, captured in Colombian graffiti.

Field work requires comfort with transience. Many development workers parachute into places, build their lives from scratch, weave themselves into communities and are subsequently yanked away, to a new project or some other life demand.

As I wrapped up my last workshop for women ex-combatants and victims of conflict in Colombia, discussing community organization strategies for sustaining the impact of our gatherings, the women had one question: “When are you coming back?”

The truth is that I do not know. My fellowship requires that I design and implement projects in conflict and post-communities worldwide, always charting new ground for myself, veering away from the familiar. If love for the community and the project were enough, I would not have left Colombia yet. But for now, I boarded a one-way flight with no firm plans of return. This begs two questions: First, how do field workers relate to their projects once they are no longer on the ground?

There are transitional mechanisms that can sustain impact after formal project completion:

• Training community leaders in conducting a version of the project in the future, thus multiplying its outreach effects;
• Compiling archives of materials and strategies used to preserve institutional memory;
• Establishing monitoring & evaluation systems to gather data and discussing future changes and applications.

The second question is more introspective: What role will this project continue to play in your life after your departure? Was it a chapter in which you gained experience and gave a bit of yourself? Was it a stepping stone to a continuing project? Was it an escape from another world? Trying a new career? Confronting a fear? Do you plan to come back? Explaining that “this may have been it” to project beneficiaries is always hard; it creates feelings of abandonment and sadness in all of us. Somewhere far away, another community awaits your ideas and your service. Once you embed yourself within it, what role will this community continue to play in your heart?

How do you deal with the emotional and professional consequences of leaving a project? In what form do you stay involved?

Following Colombia, Roxanne is now in Guatemala. For a sneak peek into her observations,  follow her on Twitter or read more thoughts about impact on her blog.