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Friends and Amigos

10/31/2013

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Original Article can be found at Marquette.edu

By Brian Harper, Comm ’11

A few years ago, I learned that Marquette polls incoming students to find out why they choose Marquette. Many cite the university’s commitment to community service as a major incentive, as well as its top-tier basketball program. I like to think a few Chris Farley fans enrolled after seeing Tommy Boy.

The question led me to reflect on my motivation for choosing Marquette. Scholarship opportunities were a factor, as was my interest in the school’s journalism program. More than anything, though, I came for the community.

My parents spent part of their undergraduate years at Marquette, and my dad graduated from the School of Dentistry. Some of my earliest memories and closest relationships were born out of the friendships my parents made then. For as long as I can remember, going to Marquette basketball games with my dad meant meeting his old college friends at halftime. Annual Christmas gifts were Ardmore Bar T-shirts. During summer gatherings at the cabin belonging to the man who introduced my parents, we children watched while the adults briefly revisited their 22-year-old selves.

The takeaway was clear — Marquette not only provided an invaluable education and four years of fun, but also a formative experience and lifelong community. I wanted that.

I got my wish in spades.

I met friends in the residence halls, classes, study abroad programs in South Africa and Italy, jobs with The Marquette Tribune and the Office of Student Development, and extracurricular service experiences. During my senior year, I lived in a house with seven guys I met while living in McCormick and Schroeder halls. We made our mark by inviting then-president Rev. Robert Wild, S.J., to a dinner party. Inexplicably, but much to his credit, he joined us for supper, video games and conversation about all things Marquette.

As difficult as it was to graduate, I left campus content. Though I felt some concern that time, distance and the inevitable life shifts might not always bring change for the better, I was confident that the lessons and friends I made at Marquette would always be with me.

Interestingly, I threw the biggest wrench into the possibility of me and my friends staying close after Commencement. Though one friend took a job in San Francisco and another found a position in Florida, I decided to move to a little village in the Peruvian Andes to teach at a secondary school with the Jesuit Volunteer Corps.

My attraction to volunteerism can no doubt be traced to my Jesuit education, not to mention Marquette’s service opportunities that consistently emphasize the importance of being a woman or man for others.

Equal to these factors was my interest in building community. JVC has four pillars — justice, faith, simplicity and community — that unite to form the foundational theme of a volunteer’s experience. The idea is to seek justice for the people we serve; be witnesses to our faith; lead simple lives; and participate in community with fellow volunteers and friends, colleagues, students and neighbors from our host countries. I saw JVC as an opportunity to be a member of another vibrant and authentic community — much like Marquette.

In November 2011, I moved to Andahuaylillas (pronounced On-duh-why-lee-us), a small town of approximately 5,000 people located roughly 30 miles from Cusco. In Peru, I came to feel a deep and genuine sense of fellowship with the students in my English, computer, religion and verbal reasoning classes, as well as with the other teachers and staff at the local school and parish. I grew to be invested in the lives of my Peruvian neighbors, and I lived with volunteers from the United States, Spain, Great Britain and France. I feel incredibly blessed to have learned from and shared in community with all of these people.

Coming from an accomplishment-based, North American mentality, it was refreshing to enter a culture where people are valued not for what they do but for who they are. I often found that as necessary as were the activities I completed while working in the school or parish, it was the time I spent chatting with women who sold their crafts in the plaza or hanging out with children and playing kiwi, a kick-the-can-like game, that was the most important part of my service.

It is a foregone conclusion that almost everyone who goes to another country for service work will eventually return home. Many questions plagued me well before departing my host country, not least of which was how to carry what I experienced in a way that honors both those I was serving and the loved ones to whom I was returning. Fear of culture shock left me worrying that I might not ever be able to function normally in North American society again.

My concerns were eased when the United States came to visit me in Peru last January in the form of five of my Marquette friends. Many people said they would visit when they heard my plans to move out of the country, but I did not expect anyone to actually make the trip. I had a fantastic week with Matt Hixson, Jeff Jasurda, Tom Molosky, Mike Muratore and Gabe Sanchez. We went to Machu Picchu, checked out Cusco, visited churches built hundreds of years ago and delved into local cuisine. It was wonderful to see those familiar faces and hear what they had been up to since graduation.

Some of my favorite moments of the week we spent together, though, involved seeing my two communities meld. I loved watching when my Marquette friends bought souvenirs from my Peruvian friends. An impromptu soccer game that sprang up between my visitors, some of my students and me was another highlight of the week.

Pretty soon, the week was over and, like at graduation, it was hard to say goodbye to my American friends. I had grown accustomed to them being with me in Peru. I knew it would be a long time before I would see them again. But any doubt I harbored about maintaining college friendships after college is resolved. The same sort of lasting community of friends that my parents formed as students in the 1970s, which I hoped to duplicate, is mine.

College is such a brief snapshot of life — four, maybe five years. People come to Marquette seeking fulfillment in countless ways, and they leave to pursue many different endeavors. What I learned from the alumni I met through my parents and now from my own circle of friends is that what keeps us coming back and coming together long after we graduate is a shared sense of community.    

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What to Expect When Nothing is Expected

10/25/2013

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Throughout my time in Peru, I wrote occasional columns for The Fond du Lac Reporter, my hometown newspaper. The following piece originally appeared in the October 25, 2013 issue of the Reporter and can be found at http://brianharperu.wordpress.com/2013/10/25/what-to-expect-when-nothing-is-expected/ or http://www.fdlreporter.com/article/20131025/FON06/310250122/Guest-commentary-What-expect-when-nothing-expected

My thanks to Gary Clausius and Mike Mentzer for editing these articles and helping with this project.

The best suggestion I could offer someone moving to Peru is never forgo a bathroom. The runner-up is to abandon all expectations.

This is because life in Peru rarely goes according to plan. For someone coming from a culture that prizes order and concreteness as much as we do in the United States, the conspicuous absence of these qualities can be jarring.

When I joined the Jesuit Volunteer Corps, I signed on to work at a parish. I ended up teaching at a high school. When I began at the school, I expected to instruct English and religion classes. While I covered these, I also taught verbal reasoning and computer courses.

Prior arrangements were flouted in commonplace ways. This took shape in everything from last minute meetings to hastily prepared birthday celebrations.

The haphazard, go-with-the-flow style with which my Peruvian friends moved sometimes appeared feckless. On the other hand, it seemed to leave them more open to life’s ebbs and flows.

One of JVC’s tenets is living simply. The idea is that volunteers can strive for solidarity with people they serve by operating closer to the more basic circumstances of their host communities.

The goal is not to glorify poverty or reject fundamental human needs. It is to recognize that in living within or even well below their means, people from our host communities are often freer from the false sense of safety that comes with stringent planning or extravagant materialism. Because their lives so frequently fail to follow their desires, they are more likely to get by relying on and therefore appreciating intangible elements like collective effort and help from loved ones.

Over time, I learned to see how important such an outlook is.

In April, I was diagnosed with pericarditis, an inflammation of the fibrous membrane around the heart. After controlling the swelling through treatment in a number of Peruvian clinics, I went back to my routine.

Unfortunately, the ailment reappeared shortly thereafter and made it necessary to return to the United States for additional care. Stateside appointments have made it clear that recuperation will be much slower than originally anticipated. In layman’s terms, my time volunteering in Peru is over.

This news has been painful for many reasons, the most glaring being that I have been separated from a life that gave me great joy and purpose. Just as it was hard being away from family and friends in the United States, it is now difficult to be so far from people I care about in Peru.

Strangely, though, the unforeseen nature of my departure has allowed me to feel a new closeness with Peruvian friends. As I said, many of them live in humble conditions that require a willingness to accept uncertainty.

“How will we pay for our sick child’s medicine? What will happen to our cornfields if the rain does not stop?” I know people who must ask themselves these questions and press forward without answers.

While the concerns I face are not nearly as serious, seeing my volunteer experience come to such an abrupt finish and being unsure of where my current situation will lead have shown me what it means to welcome indefinite moments. Moreover, they have taught me that despite the security many of us seek through money or excessive preparation, we have little say over life’s good or bad surprises. All we control is the way we respond.

I did not know what would happen when I moved to South America; I learned that none of us ever really know what to expect. My Peruvian friends, however, demonstrated that patience, grace, humility, humor and community make it possible to live with ambiguity and embrace the unknown.

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    Author

    Brian Harper is a 2011 Marquette University graduate. With experience in education, journalism, politics, music and non-profit organizing, Brian has done teaching, writing, photography, Web design and volunteer work in Peru, South Africa, Italy and the United States. He can be reached at brianharper89@gmail.com.

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