A story of how AMIGOS is making ripples all the way in Madrid.

"The walk home awaits me. I set off in the direction of our building where I know Isabella is playing on the living room carpet while Christina prepares dinner in the kitchen. My shoulders hunch, trying to avoid the evening’s cold breath. 

I keep my eyes down. The amber streetlights have drenched the evening in a drowsy glow. A concrete grid passes beneath my soles. My feet know the sidewalk well. This route has become my most common here-to-there.

At this time of night, the streets aren’t empty. The shops have closed but, like me, people are out making their way home. We all walk in the same direction.  A man waits as his dog pees on the sidewalk. A girl bickers with her younger brother as their parents talk quietly. I pass a mother with a stroller.

I think about how people here on these streets hardly notice the people that they pass by, even though the town is rather small. I think about how I’ve begun to hardly notice them either. When I return to the United States, will I have forgotten to think about people that I do not know? I didn’t say “Good evening” to the woman with the stroller. I didn’t even nod hello. I didn’t even smile. I just let walked by and thought about how it’s awfully late and awfully cold to be out with a baby.

I continue to walk alone. I see my building. By now, most people have turned off toward their own buildings. A woman waits for the bus. The dog walker has headed back in the other direction. Only one woman walks in front of me and her pace is slow.

I anticipate passing her. I study her from behind. Two bags weigh down her arms. This time will I say hello? She moves slowly, as if the bags weigh several pounds each. Will she say hello to me? She is bundled in a hat and scarf and I can’t tell her age. If I say hello will she dismiss me like so many other strangers have done in the past? I follow her past the bus stop and between the parked cars.  I can tell that her shoulders are hunched even more than mine. I feel tall next to her. I glance at her face and make a decision.

—¿Te echo una mano? (Would you like a hand?)

A friendly smile illuminates the delicately wrinkled brown face of a woman who seems to be in her late sixties. She immediately assents and I carefully take the bag from her hand. My notion of hesitation flees, abashed and mistaken, as if it had been present only to wait for the arrival of something that it had realized didn’t exist. Cariño, mi amor, bella. She showers me with appreciative, loving words which seem excessive for such a simple merit, but nonetheless fill my heart with welcome. Her thanks aren’t intended for the hand that I have given her, rather the simple act of offering help to a stranger. The bags themselves hardly weigh more than a couple of newspapers.

Spending the cold evening alone had made me introverted and numb, but now, after daring myself to offer a hand to a stranger, I felt my senses surging back to the surface with pride. This must be one of my life’s most beautiful moments, a gift of pure happiness in exchange for carrying a bag that weighed hardly two pounds. She kisses me goodbye at the corner as if I were her daughter. Cariño, mi amor, bella. Loving words once again drench me in happiness. I skip the entirety of the last block home, disregarding the odd looks I receive from cars and strangers, and nodding and smiling to everyone that I pass.

As it turned out, the woman to whom I had offered a hand was not Spanish, but Nicaraguan. When I told her that I was American she immediately began lauding Americans, saying that they had changed lives in Managua, her city, the capital of Nicaragua. She asked me if I knew about the Amigos de las Américas. It was that organization, she said, that gave Americans such a positive reputation in Nicaragua. She said that they did beautiful things.

I was astonished. Not only because somewhere Americans were receiving a good reputation, but also because my most profound volunteer experience (if not life experience) took place while I myself was a volunteer in Paraguay through the same organization: Amigos de las Américas. Intrigued and thinking once again that “el mundo es un pañuelo,” (the Spanish equivalent of “what a small world”), I praised and felt pride for my former organization. From the US to Paraguay, to Nicaragua, to Spain, optimism and generosity really do go a long way.

Please check out this wonderful (or as the Nicaraguan woman called it bella or “beautiful”) organization. As high school students, just spending two months as a summer volunteer will continue to change your life in the most unexpected ways long after your project has ended. For everyone who is no longer in the age bracket for being a volunteer: supporting this organization really makes the world a better place. The influence of one sincere relationship between the volunteer and their community inspires intercultural cooperation that can be stretched from one continent to the next. You really never know how far a small act of solidarity will go."

About the author

Emily Salle Volunteered with AMIGOS in Paraguarí, Paraguay in 2010. She is currently working on an independent 36-week project in Madrid. She generously shared the story above from her blog.