In April 2011, I experienced a trip like no other. A service trip to Nicaragua during Holy Week highlighted my eighth grade year. Traveling with my mother, my brother, my friend Quinn, her mother and her aunt, we began our week-long learning journey. Say no to plagiarism. Get a tailor-made essay on “Why Violent Video Games Should Not Be Banned”? Get the original essay We arrived at the Managua airport late Tuesday afternoon. Ideally, to reach the hotel where we spent the night, we just had to cross the road. The hotel does not reflect the socio-economic status of the country. Bright green foliage lined the exterior walkways leading from one building to the next. Statues and fountains stood throughout the hotel and added to the landscaping. After a good night at the hotel, my travel companions and I boarded a bus that took us to our final destination. The old school bus belonged to the organization of the woman we were staying with. Children benefiting from the organization had painted their handprints on the sides of the bus. Even before arriving at our destination, we could see the importance of the Circle of Empowerment organization. The Circle of Empowerment organization works to give Nicaraguan citizens more knowledge about healthcare treatments and procedures and to build a strong education system for their children. The organization provides support through a clinic and health workers, a Saturday school for children, the opportunity to sponsor a child's education and a local library. As we walked along, the organization's founder, Meg Boren, spoke to us about her work. As the bus bumped along the road, the true side of the country began to show itself. Propaganda of the upcoming elections has cluttered every billboard along the way. The houses got smaller and smaller the further we got from the main town. Houses quickly became cabins and huts, not even qualifying as homes. The tarpaulins served as roofs connecting two or three makeshift walls. The buildings looked like they could collapse at any moment. The bumpy ride was almost over when we reached a gate. My brother got off the bus to open the door and hold it while the bus passed. We bounced around a little longer until we reached a large house less than 200 yards from the Pacific Ocean. About 100 yards from the house was a pavilion-like structure that Meg called a “ranchero.” The “ranchero” consisted of a high thatched roof above a tiled floor. Between the pillars supporting the roof, hammocks hung, swaying in the gentle wind. A few sets of tables and chairs invited diners to socialize or share a meal together. " Welcome ! the maids came to welcome us and help us carry our bags. We unloaded and Meg led us to our rooms. Quinn and I shared a room on the south side of the house. We unpacked our clothes into the dresser which threatened to tip over at any moment. Once everyone was done unpacking, in the early evening, we sat down to our first meal together. “So tomorrow,” Meg began, “we will go to the village of Aposentillo. There we will help paint the church. "Please keep in mind," Meg continued, "these people have virtually nothing." Many people experience a harsh culture shock when they arrive in a country like this. I just wanted to warn you. »Then my mother asked the question thatwe were all wondering. “So what about all the election billboards? There seem to be more of them than in the United States. "The government here is very corrupt," Meg said bluntly. “Elections are not times when we want to live in this country. We do not have a stable government. I fear that if someone who is not favored wins the election, there will be civil unrest. » “Oh,” my mother replied. “All your years of work and financial investments could be taken away from these people in no time. Sometimes we take for granted the stability of our government, even though it is far from perfect. » At the end of dinner, the sun still filled the lower part of the sky, like a child who doesn't want to go to bed yet. Meg gave us an official tour of the property, leading us around the house, to Saturday school and to the beach. "Well," said Meg, "we'd better go to bed soon." I'm sure you're all tired from the trip, and we have a big day ahead of us tomorrow. » We all said goodnight and went to bed. The next morning we woke up early and in good spirits. After eating a traditional Nicaraguan breakfast of fruit, beans, eggs, and juice, we changed into our painting clothes and boarded the bus to head to the church. When we arrived, a group of Nicaraguan children greeted us as we got off the bus. . Meg greeted the children and led us to church. The one-room building, which had no doors, had been cleared of chairs and stood empty. Cans of paint were placed in the middle of the room. " Hello ! » a man in his fifties approached us. He had dark skin, dark hair, and milky eyes, which made him stand out from the rest. “Hola,” we all replied with a smile. “It’s the pastor,” Meg told us. Then she turned to him. “Hola, Pedro like this?” » He smiles. “¡Muy bien, muchisimas gracias para ayudarnos! "He said, 'Thank you so much for helping us,'" Meg told us, even though I needed to be told. Quinn and I had been learning Spanish for nine years at Our Lady of Guadalupe, a Spanish immersion school. This gave us a pretty good understanding of the Spanish language. We particularly excelled at listening and translating what others were saying. After chatting with the pastor for a while, we got to work. Spreading out on each wall, we ran our brushes up and down. Many people were present for this event. I could see at least fifteen adults scattered around, playing with children or working themselves. The children were running around and playing games. A boy came up to me and asked, “Puedo ayudar?” ”, which meant: “Can I help?” I helped him paint the wall with paint several times. Then we stopped so he could see the work he had done. He smiled at me, thanked me and ran away. Shortly after my arms hurt from painting, a man took over my work. Quinn, my brother Alex and I volunteered to entertain the kids while the adults finished the painting. We played soccer and kickball, both of which we lost. Then we thought of a game that everyone could win: Limbo. Alex grabbed a broom handle and placed it against the side of the building. I explained the instructions as best I could in Spanish and the game began. Although it was unfair because the kids were much smaller than us, we still enjoyed the healthy competition. Finally, the.