World Service Corps gave me the chance to use my talents and passions in South America.  I wanted to combat stereotypes that exist between North Americans and Latin Americans, and I sensed the opportunity to build foundations for understanding.  My most profound experience was at the Adela De Leon School in Cartagena, Colombia.  I was able to share my passions of learning and language by teaching English (and being taught better Spanish) with the eager students of the fifth grade.  This incredible intercultural experience allowed the students and I to share in the beauty within each others’ cultures. 

We shared everything with each other: language, games, songs, stories, dances, poems, and histories. Skin-deep, I was fairly different, but the children saw far beyond that.  The students had very little but they were always offering us their sandwiches or a bracelet.  Their generosity and love were unconditional. At the end of our stay, the students from each class wrote my partner and I letters, thanking us for sharing our summer with them.  Each letter was about a special memory that we had shared with that particular student.  After reading the messages from our new friends, it was clear that I had been successful in my mission to create a mutual respect for each other as well as to inspire a thirst for understanding.

Brandon Stanley

Walking with two strangers through the streets of Las Gabiyotas, a barrio (neighborhood) in Cartagena, I realize that I have no idea what is about to take place.  Sporting my #7 child’s XL “Kukoc” Champion® Chicago Bulls jersey, I’m stoked to play some pick-up basketball in Colombia, but I’m clueless as to how this will go down.   Will there be many people there?  Do they call fouls?  Is it going to be super rough?  Are there three-pointers?  Make-it take-it or loser’s ball?   Are all the rules that I know so well from countless pick-up games with friends going to be worthless here?  Am I going to look like a fool?!?

The two men we just met lead us to the local basketball court while our guide, Francisco, runs back to the house to grab a digital camera.  Brandon, Francisco’s two friends, and I are the first people to arrive.  It is a concrete, multipurpose court with stadium seating and soccer goals under the hoops.  As I survey the court, I notice that the lines here are different!  What am I getting myself into?

More of Francisco’s friends begin to gather, and after 30 minutes or so of trying to find a place to pump up our basketball we finally shoot for teams.  I make my shot and am told that we will be playing 3-on-3, I am on Francisco’s team, and we’re up.  Here goes nothing!

Even before the first basket was made, my worries and fears evaporated.  Although we were from different cultures, spoke different languages, and even played on different courts, there was an instant level of connection that felt profoundly natural.  Spanish or English, it didn’t matter.  We were all speaking basketball.  Yes, there were some subtle differences in rules that I learned quickly, but they in no way diminished the unifying fellowship we shared through sport.

Francisco and I came back two more times, and after the third day of playing we all took a group picture together.  Afterwards, the men, once strangers, gave me handshakes, man-hugs, and well wishes.  A few of them even wanted to take a more personal group picture.  I was surprised by the lump in my throat and the warmth in my heart as Francisco and I rode a taxi back to the barrio, Canapote, where we were staying.  After three evenings of playing basketball, just playing basketball, I knew I would miss those men.  I was awed by how quickly and strongly we connected.  I spoke no more than ten non-basketball related words in total, yet we became friends.

Andrew Nilsen 

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