During Agora Days, 18 Uni students drove to Clarksdale, Miss., to dig some ditches and build some trusses. They came back with much more than they had bargained for: a new family and a changed view of the world.

By Bianca Zaharescu
Gargoyle staff reporter
Published Friday, March 17, 2006, Gargoyle, in depth

[Note: Visit our Habitat photo gallery for pictures of this year's trip.]

I had been waiting for Saturday, Feb. 18, to come for months. That's when half of the Habitat crew would be leaving a day early for Clarksdale, Miss., in order to attend King's Temple Baptist Church on Sunday.

I was so excited that I was going on the annual Agora Days trip, a tradition started by history teacher Bill Sutton 10 years ago in conjunction with Habitat for Humanity, an organization that builds affordable houses for people in need. But when the morning of Feb. 18 finally came, I found myself at Parkland College, where I was supposedly participating in the ICTM regional math contest.

Needless to say, throughout my individual test my thoughts were split 25 percent-75 percent between Algebra 2 and the upcoming Habitat trip, with most of my working brainpower being related to the latter.

Twelve hours, 500 miles, and a sleet-induced Memphis-area traffic jam later, we were rolling down the highly anticipated streets of Clarksdale. Unfortunately, it was nearly 11 p.m. and colder than Illinois had been when we left, so all the friendly people I couldn't wait to meet were nowhere in sight.

Day 1: Adopted into the community, Pt. 1

Early the next morning, a phone call interrupted our peaceful breakfast. When Mr. Sutton returned, he informed us that due to the cold weather, King's Temple Missionary Baptist Church would not be holding a worship service that day. However, all it took was half a glance around the room to see the immediate frowns that unfolded across everybody's faces. It was clear at that point that somehow or other we would definitely be attending church that morning.

One of the beautiful things about Clarksdale is that although many of our daily luxuries are hard to locate, there are some things that people there just can't get enough of. And one of those things is churches.

So we hopped in the van and started driving around town looking for a church to attend. We had our eyes on New Covenant Missionary Baptist Church, where Mr. Sutton had a few acquaintances, but to our great dismay, the doors were closed. After a trip to Wal-Mart and a few more rounds around Clarksdale, we were almost home and completely discouraged. But in one last attempt, Mr. Sutton turned the van around 360 degrees and drove by New Covenant one last time. And sure enough, this time the lights were on.

He went inside and asked the first person he saw if it would be OK for a dozen outsiders to show up for service that morning. Now, another one of those things that Clarksdale has copious amounts of is hospitality. So an hour later, we were all suited up in our jeans and sneakers, ready to worship at a Baptist church for what would be the first time for most of us.

Almost immediately, the cue was given and we were hit by an explosion of “Lift Every Voice and Sing.” It took me the first verse to actually catch my breath, but as soon as that problem was solved, I joined in.

I sort of wish I could have seen what Pastor Thomas was seeing: a row of white kids singing the black national anthem, their voices nervous and soft at first, but growing surer and stronger with every new syllable. As for me, I just literally wished the song would never end.

It did, though, and next up was the sermon. Pastor Thomas's words not only made sense but actually spoke. If I had to sum up in a sentence what he said, it would be, “Love everyone, judge no one, and give thanks.” And what strikes me as most amazing is that all the vibes either Pastor Thomas or anyone else in that church gave off unanimously said, “We love you, we will not judge you, and man are we thankful for everything.”

During the next five days I was reminded over and over again of the true meaning of “practice what you preach.”

Day 2: Getting used to the Mississippi mud

On Monday, we all woke up bright and early to dig an irrigation ditch in front of Emma Scott's and Hattie King's houses. Uni's Habitat crew had helped build those houses for them last year, but as the city of Clarksdale seemed to have no intention of providing them with running water, we decided we would do it ourselves.

One major obstacle, which we faced head on, was the Mississippi mud. It had completely taken over Emma's lawn, and throughout the day we periodically discovered random spots where it functioned more like quicksand than mud.

To add to the fun (no sarcasm intended, because we all really did have fun digging our ditch), we didn't bring enough shovels with us at first, so for the first half of the day three of us had to take turns using our bare hands and a hammer to clear out the mud. As it turned out, at the end of the day the hammer was actually voted the most useful tool of all.

Day 3: The Clarksdale blues

By Tuesday, part of our group judged they had gotten sufficiently muddy and sore and went to the “truss factory,” which is actually a cotton gin warehouse that Habitat uses to build and store trusses. I decided I would stick with my job and kept on digging away at the ditch.

The pivotal moment came when we finally broke the connection between our ditch and the large puddles of water that had flooded Emma's yard. For about five minutes, we were all hypnotized with the water trickling down through the ditch, and to see our ditch actually functioning and draining the water out was about as satisfying as I imagine seeing my child graduate from kindergarten will be.

However, all too soon we were interrupted by a friendly-looking middle-aged man who pulled up to our ditch and introduced himself to us as Razorblade.

After his initial amazement that none of us had heard of him, he explained that he was a blues musician who had been playing at Clarksdale venues such as Sarah's Kitchen and Ground Zero for decades. He gave us an overview of his collaborators and proteges, which included names such as Pocketknife, Switchblade, and Butter Knife, and then casually got to the topic of his new album, which was not only playing over the loudspeakers as proof of its quality, but also was readily available inside his car for the price of $10.

He told us that he was just trying to sell CDs to make ends meet. And it wasn't hard to see that the music was the real deal. The only drawback was that most of us had no cash on the spot, but Razorblade was kind enough to offer to come back to the ditch that afternoon so all of us could get our hands on some live Mississippi blues.

Just as promised, Razorblade was back at our meeting spot promptly after lunch, and we were all ready for the exchange. Four of us had decided that we wanted to purchase CDs from Razorblade, but he only had three copies with him. We gave him the $40, and got the three CDs in return. Razorblade said he would come right back with another one, and we had taken a liking to him and had no problem giving him our trust.

We resumed gazing at our ditch, only to notice that the water was now flowing in the wrong direction. We had no choice but to get back to work, though, so despite the heart-wrenching principle of throwing dirt back into a ditch you just dug out, we began filling up certain parts of it so that the water would flow down into the sewer instead of back up to where it came from.

After a couple hours of this much less satisfying work of filling the ditch back up, we realized that no matter how much we worked to change the angle of the ditch's floor, the water would still flow back uphill because the periodical culverts that connected parts of our ditch together were tilted in the wrong direction.

Demoralized, we went back home.

Razorblade had not shown up. It was agreed that we did the right thing in trusting him, but we were still very upset because we had all been rooting for him to pull through.

Day 4: Adopted into the community, Pt. 2

Wednesday morning, I went to Sherard Elementary School, where I was nearly asphyxiated by a heap of 15 or so kindergarteners who were jumping on my head and neck and for all intents and purposes suffocating me with their very physical expressions of love. I enjoyed it enormously, actually.

That afternoon, half of the group went to Memphis, while the rest of us rolled down the streets of Coahoma County, including on top of the levy. That evening we attended a potluck dinner at King's Temple Baptist Church, the church we were initially supposed to attend for Sunday morning mass.

After I cleaned my plate of amazingly delicious food, I snuck out of the hall to “go to bathroom,” and walked into the church. By the time I sat down in the pew, Noam Roth and Al Johnson had somehow appeared on both sides of me, something which made me feel even more at home.

Pastor Jackson was holding a Bible study, and as I found out by the end of the evening, he is amazing. What was also amazing was hearing my very own three-person row of “strangers” joining in with the rest of the congregation to give our approval of Pastor Jackson's words of wisdom, with heartfelt and increasingly audible “Amens.” But even more amazing was the split second when I turned around in my seat and saw our entire group filling the church, being impacted by what Pastor Jackson had to say to them.

Day 5: It's as simple as saying, “Yes, ma'am”

On Thursday, I went to the “truss factory,” armed with the injury-preventing hammer my parents had bought for me, which was literally half the size of every single other hammer in sight. I felt pretty stupid, especially when I realized that I had never hammered a nail before and that I was not very good at it.

I also felt slightly resentful when I hit myself on the thumb and realized that despite its small size, my hammer was still very harmful. Nevertheless, I stuck by my hammer, nicknamed “The Iron Splinter,” and after hitting myself at least a dozen more times, I got the hang of it.

By far the best moment of the day of me, though, was when Dave, our volunteer coordinator, told us that a guy had stopped by the Habitat Volunteer Center and dropped off a CD. Dave had no idea how big of a deal his news was, but for everyone who knew Razorblade and his story, it was the best news we could imagine.

Since we were such good workers and finished building all of our 42-foot-long trusses with time to spare, we got to go to the Mississippi State Park that afternoon. It was a really good experience, especially for two members of our group, who can now proudly proclaim that they peed in the Mississippi River.

When we got back, we got to attend another potluck dinner, this time at New Covenant. There we met a couple who had been married for 52 years. On their way out, they stopped by my table, where the man put his hand on Scott Sapp's shoulder and told him to be careful whom he picked as a wife, because he could evidently get stuck with that person for half a century. He then proceeded to give us his tested-out advice on how to make such a marriage work.

“The man always has to have the last word,” he told us with conviction. “And that last word always has to be, ‘Yes, ma'am.'”

Day 6: The truth behind the future

Friday was our last day there, and although most people built birdhouses for Habitat fund raising, I chose to spend it at the school again. This time I was with Miss Brown's first graders. During the course of the day, I found out many interesting things about the kids, such as the fact that Robert was planning on getting “Lil' Rob” grills as soon as he turned 18. But most importantly, I found out that those children were all extremely charming, hopeful, and just plain intelligent.

They all have everything a kid in Champaign-Urbana would need to be successful well into their high school years. And right now, they have good teachers and a well-funded school with at least a couple computers in each classroom, as well as special ed classes for the children with disabilities, who also carry amazing potential.

All this makes it seem as though the future of Coahoma County is definitely looking up. However, because of a lack of funding, there is serious discussion about closing Sherard Elementary School, perhaps even next year. Knowing that, reread the previous paragraph and try to figure out how bright the future really will be for these kids. I do sincerely believe that things will get better, but some people certainly seem set on making it as hard as possible for children like my friend Robert to get ahead.

Now: It all comes together

Everyone always says that going down to Mississippi is a learning experience for them, because it really is. Everyone also says that they can't put it into words, and I feel the same way. But I'll try to share the knowledge.

One way to explain it is that the people down in Clarksdale are just superhumans for us to respect and learn from, because despite the physical poverty they live in, they are not only not spiteful, they are actually thankful.

Another way to see it is that we are so lucky and have so many opportunities that we are being ridiculous every time we complain or decide we just don't feel like taking advantage of something that's already laid out in front of us.

Or, to put it in other and more simple words, what I found out is that love is really all we need.

If there's one thing I really became sure of during my week in Mississippi, it is that being surrounded by other human beings' hope and good will and love is the most amazing feeling on earth.

I know that we like it when others offer us their love, and I also know we also like pointing out who all is not being kind or nice or generous every occasion we get.

But all it took was one week down in Clarksdale for me to realize just how sadly stingy we all are when it comes to indiscriminately sharing our love with others.

And the stinginess needs to stop.

Postscript: On Tuesday, Feb. 28, a day after this story was written, Pastor Thomas suffered a heart attack and passed away. The description of Pastor Thomas that I offer in the story has not been modified since. I would, however, like to add that, as a result of his Feb. 18 sermon and the kindness with which he welcomed us into his church, he singlehandedly gave me more hope for the future of our world than I had ever had before.