The air was thick with humidity as we stepped off the plane, a heavy wave of heat into our skin. We were a group of teenagers from the B’nai B’rith Youth Organization, eager for an adventure. Costa Rica–a land of rainforest and what we had chosen as our destination for the summer. We were there to immerse ourselves in the culture, contribute to the local communities, and learn about life so different from our own.
We traveled town to town, staying in rustic accommodations surrounded by the dense jungle, where the sounds of the wild echoed through the night.
Under the fierce midday sun, we painted murals bursting with vibrant colors from deep blues like the ocean and sea to lush greens, with soft pink and deep purples melting into the horizon, embracing pure life on plain buildings. In the afternoons, we helped plant crops in fertile soil.
There were moments when the work felt endless, when the fatigue set in and our energy left us. We stood in the midst of it all–our clothes caked in dirt, our hands stained from hours of labor. Our muscles ached, and hunger gnawed at us, but we pushed through, knowing this was a part of the experience.
One afternoon, we found ourselves in a deserted village. We had been helping to harvest crops from a small farm when one of the local farmers handed us a freshly severed mango. The juice dripped down his weathered hand as he offered it to us. Nearby, a machete lay in the dirt. Its glistening blade in the bright sun.
As we bit into the mango, its sweetness cut through the dryness of our throats.
Jungle breeze
Severed mango
Next to the machete