Introducing...

My piglet. I purchased him for $25, and he will meet his maker next October for my despidida, or goodbye party, at the end of my service. There aren´t many opportunities in the United States to do these kinds of things, so I took advantage, although it did make my heart cringe a little. For this reason, he is living out of my site, at my neighbor´s parents´ house, so I won´t be confronted with my meat-eating savagery on a daily basis.

When the banana truck passed by, I bought him all this food for $2.50!

Oink Oink!

To Plant Corn

The 21st of November was a full moon, an important day for most farmers. Wood is cut on the full moon to avoid insect infestations. Most crops are planted to ensure a better harvest. That day, I accepted the invitation of my neighbor Hernando to plant corn in his finca.

It is the custom that food is provided on work days by the family for whom the work is being done. So after a hearty breakfast of coffee, boiled plantains, and hot dogs, we headed out of the house in a light mist. Forty minutes later, we arrived at the parcel of land he had burned earlier in the week to prepare for planting. Sticks were cut to make holes for the kernels, and we got started.

That day we had to abide by the rules of a superstition. It dictates that because Hernando´s wife is pregnant, we could not bring any food or water to the finca, or the corn would not grow. The people here have a lot of beliefs, and many make some sense, but this is one of the stranger ones I´ve heard. Apparently this food and drink rule only applies to rice and corn because they are more ¨delicate¨ crops. One wonders how the corn would know if I brought a bottle of water, or that his wife is pregnant, or what espiritu malo, bad spirit, would bother presiding over such a specific circumstance. Nevertheless, I abided by the rule because I don´t need the guilt of a failed corn harvest on my shoulders. I made a mental note not to plant any more rice or corn with Hernando until his wife has the baby. A hotter day could result in some serious dehydration.

In four hours. the five of us planted the whole parcel. Just as we finished, the rain started to pour, and we slid down back to his house to enjoy another meal-- stewed fish and plantains. Hernando stopped by a couple of days ago to report that the corn had sprouted nicely. He attributed this to the restraint we showed with regard to staying hydrated, and the good graces of the spirits.

The view from the ridge:

On our way down, we passed one of my favorites, Marvin who had been sent down to get some groceries.

Fiestas Patrias

November is a holiday. Panama separated from Spain in 1821 on the 28th. It separated from Spain in 1903 on the 3rd. Flag Day is the fourth. Bocas was founded on the 16th, Changuinola was founded on the 17th. The Uprising of Los Santos happened on the 10th. Panamanians celebrate each and every holiday, and for that reason, there is little more to do in November than attend parades, school activities, and other patriotic events.

On the 16th a parade was held in Bocas town to celebrate the province's founding. Dozens of delegrations from junior and high schools marched in the parade. Quebrada Pastor's marching band was among them. I have been hearing them practice since July, and have supported all of their various fundraising events, so I had to be there to see them make their big debut.

I woke up at 5:30 and by 6:15, boarded a bus filled with parents, students, teachers and drums. We arrived at the docks in Almirante just before 7 a.m. There are two ways to get to the island. One is the water taxi-- which costs $4 for each half-hour trip. The other is the ferry, which takes 2-and-a-half hours as it trudges across the bay, but only costs $1.

By 8, we were all aboard the ferry, where we stood for the duration of the journey until pulling past all the gringo yachts into the port on Bocas Island. For most of the kids, it was their first time there, and they all felt particularly special to be arriving for such an official purpose.

Whenever I go to the island, I get culture shock. High prices, tourists everywhere, people who speak English. Bocas Island is an international tourist destination. On the 16th, traveling with everyone from my community, I got to see it through their eyes. They are used to Almirante and Changuinola, run-down frontier towns filled with other Ngobes. Bocas is more polished-- fresh paint, nice restaurants, rich people who eat at them.

It was a hot day. No clouds, little breeze and bright, beating sun. The kids marched for three hours, dressed in breathless polyester uniforms. Parents and siblings who were lucky enough to go along followed faithfully along the parade route. Street vendors sold meat sticks, ice cream, slushes, and cold drinks. No one had any money to buy any of it. They budgeted all their money on the ferry fare, with maybe a dollar or two left over to buy a big jug of water.

That day, to me, Bocas didn't seem like a tourst destination. It looked imaginary. From my community, it's only 90 minutes, but it seems like a different world.

But we marched.

1) First-grader Deisy bravely leads the baton twirlers.

2) The tiniest drummer, a third-grader among all the junior-high drummers. Wearing a traditional sombrero and shirt

3) A seventh-grader dressed in the traditional Panamanian pollera outfit.

4) Some gringa on the ferry who met some boys from Finca 30.

Help us build latrines in Quebrada Pastor

The time has come. The last year in my site has been spent preparing for and planning a latrine project. The participants began with no knowledge of what was required, and little understanding of how better sanitation can help them improve their health. Since then, we have worked to provide better education and management skills to create a project that truly belongs to this community. This is their project, and with my help, they will continue to learn how to manage the funds, buy materials, and build the latrines. We are starting with 28 latrines, which will improve community latrine coverage by about 30 percent. These 28 families have proven their committment to this project, and will act as examples for others.

The community, through manual labor and use of local materials, will contribute 40 percent of the project´s cost. We must now raise $5,377 to pay for materials and transporation. PC Panama has an existing relationship with an organization which will donate 50 percent of that budget, which leaves $2,688.50 to be raised by friends, family, and other organizations in the United States. We hope to start construction in late January for February, when the weather is good and the big cocao harvests are done. You can help, by reading about the project and donating here. All donations are tax deductible. Similarly, if any of you have tips of organizations or companies who would be interested in making a donation, please contact me.

As always, thanks for reading and for your support.

Cati... Quiero Pintar

You have to love the kids. If you don´t, your Peace Corps service will be maddening.

Kids will be your first friends, and you might be surprised to find, often offer more thoughtful conversation that the adults. You gotta love them, because they love you, and they´ve got nowhere else to be.

It is 7 o´clock in the morning. I have just sat down to eat some breakfast, and my first visitor arrives.

¨Cati, que está comiendo?¨ Cati, what are you eating?
¨Huevos.¨ Eggs. I shoot her a look, I generally find visits before 8 a.m. an assault on courtesy.
¨Eso está rico para usted?¨ That tastes good to you? They are unimpressed with what I eat. It lacks rice, boiled plantains, and any kind of meat. They say I eat simple. My neighbors enjoy telling me they have a higher standard of living than I do, because they actually know how to eat. Cati no sabe. What´s more, the portions I chose for my self are far too small. How can I be full if I have not consumed 3 pounds of boiled starches? How does one survive?
¨Hay más café?¨ Is there anymore coffee?

And that´s when I tell them to go away. It is too early.

But if I am home during the day, they arrive constantly, and most time it´s usually easier to let them in than to try to explain. Elementary students only have school until noon, and many nearby four and five year olds aren´t enrolled yet, so their mothers are happy to send them my way as soon as the sun rises. After reluctantly realizing shortly after moving into my house that these children would not be leaving anytime soon, I started offering them some crayons and paper. I bought them a couple of puzzles, and was delighted to find that they will generally play quietly and let me read or get some chores done.

The parents call what I do ¨giving class.¨ One woman saw the completed coloring book sheets I had taped up on my wall (gifts from adoring students) and very quietly asked if I draw all of those by myself for the children to color in. How wonderful she would have thought I was if I had said yes! Instead, I soberly explained what a coloring book is.

It can be annoying, having kids arriving all day long and demanding to color. But I´ve always loved kids, and sometimes they brighten my days immeasurably. One day, I was sitting in my hammock planning an English lesson for my adult class while two brothers, 5 and 3, drew at my table. They suddenly thought it would be a good idea to start yelling ¨Hola Cati,¨ come running over, and give me kisses on the cheek in quick succession. Hola Cati! Kiss. Hola Cati! Kiss. Repeat. They did this several dozen times until I remembered the values of good classroom management and told them to please go back to their seats.

I always try to encourage them, because positive reinforcement is not something they get a lot of in the house. At Cati´s, every picture is beautiful, and every child is an artist. However, they love it so much, that they literally will make one small mark on the paper and hold it up for my approval over and over. I have started asking them to please complete the entire picture before asking my opinion. As they get ready to go home, they always say, ¨Calíficalo, Cati!¨ Grade it! So I do, and they all get 5s, the Panamanian A.
Papito, the newest and most enthusiastic member of Cati´s Coloring Club.

When was the last time you went to visit someone with only your underwear on, or better yet, nothing on at all? I told him if he expects to sit on my stools, he will need to come in some undies next time. He hasn´t forgotten!

Distance

Franciso Abrego was unsure about me, and that made me a little unsure about him. The way his cheek bones jut out and his chin fades into his neck gives his thin face the shape of an upside-down triangle. His face looks all the more severe on the rare occasion you get a glimpse of his large teeth, one of which is gold. There have been friendlier faces.

One thing I tend to forget about QP is how much change has happened there in so short a time. Fifteen years ago, all transport out was by boat, meaning several hours of paddling in dug-out canoe. People left rarely, and when they did, it was to get essentials they couldn´t find within the community. The only people who came and left with any regularity were the Latino teachers, who taught Monday-Friday in the grade school.

Today Bocas´ highway (and only road) cuts through the center of the community. Many people go into town weekly, if not more often, and are used to seeing different faces in Almirante and elsewhere. That´s a lot of change in fifteen years, and naturally, certain residents of QP are more ¨old-fashioned¨and conservative than others. Francisco Abrego was one of them.

I shouldn´t have been surprised when he was a little reluctant about my presence in the community at first. His daughters responded to my greetings while he stayed silent. He cast his eyes downward as as I passed, and made himself scarce if I hung around talking to the girls for more than a few seconds. It quickly became clear he was mistrustful of me and unreceptive to the ¨Project Friendship¨campaign I was rolling out during my first few months in site. I chalked him up for a loss. I can ony woo so many people with my special mix of Miss Congeniality friendliness and Rosie the Riviter get-to-work gumption.

----------------

Almost a year later, I looked up at Señor Abrego from a six-foot depth. I was inside his latrine hole, digging away with a work group of five others guys.

¨I bet you never thought you´d have a gringa doing this for you,¨ I joked. A chuckle burst out of him, and I caught a glimpse of that gold tooth. It is much less intimidating now.

At the next juice break, he, usually the quietest member of any group, started telling us a story. ¨My father was terrified of anyone who wasn´t Ngobe, becuase he´d never really known another race. He taught me to be that way too,¨ he said. ¨I remember the first time we ever saw a plane fly over. He told us all to run and hide. For sure a war would start. He thought the gringoes would invade.¨

Franciso can´t read or write and never went to school. He farms the same land his father did, and understands much more Ngobere than Spanish. Though he may be uneducated, imagine how much he´s allowed himself to learn, for his world view to shift. That has to be a greater idealogical jump than most Americans make in a life time, for to go from fear to greeting a gringa that morning with 15 happy ¨Kuin deka!¨s (Good morning in Ngobere), a smile sweeping across his face. And to a person who he once might have thought an invader or threat, he gave the best piece of fish at lunch.

From Panama Pura Vida

From Panama Pura Vida

From Panama Pura Vida

Fran, far right

When was the last time you felt so free?

This kid is mischievous, but he´s always blowing me kisses and yelling ¨Cuidate, Cati!¨ Take care of yourself! So I can´t hold a grudge, plus, he´s got some killer moves.

From Panama Pura Vida

Click on it to view. I wish I knew how to rotate videos. Sorry if you get a neck cramp. I uploaded a ton of other photos too, so take a look.

Panama Pura Vida

Water Seminars Cont´d

A volunteer couple, who by all measures were PC superheroes, conceived the idea of training water committees in a more organized, professional way and wrote new lesson plans and expanded on others to create a comprehensive seminar. In the last couple of years, it has evolved to the point where groups of volunteers are putting them on all around the country. We recently put one on out here in Bocas, with five communities participating. I could only get one member of my water committee to go, but I brought along two others who were grateful for the opportunity and seem motivated to bring some of their knowledge back to our wobbly aqueduct and wobblier water committee. It helped that all expenses were paid through grant money, and the food was spectacular.

.

From Panama Pura Vida

(QP table... studying hard)

From Panama Pura Vida

Learning the basic principals of water flow with the moqueduct

From Panama Pura Vida

Learning what the writing on the tubes means

Here is how we fill out a receipt.


What´s a seminar without some icebreakers?


With my QP graduates

Off to Camp

Months ago, the Bocas coordinator of Panama Verde mentioned to me that she was planning a camp for local groups in a nearby community. I didn´t hear another word about it until a couple of weeks ago, when she arrived at my doorstep on a Wednesday afternoon. She said she had been trying to contact me for days, and I wasn´t answering my email. (Imagine!! The QP wireless must have been out...) Six spots were available for my kids, and the camp started that Friday.

I was miffed at the group because they all stood me up for a community clean-up day that very morning (in their defense, it was raining...), but I couldn´t let them miss this opportunity. I scrambled to print permission slips, track down the kids and gently coax them into three-days and two-nights away. The girls needed a lot less convincing. Two of them became so excited during my description of the camp, they began stroking my stomach and saying ¨I´ll go, Cati!! I´ll go!¨ We were only going 30 minutes down the road to another Ngobe community, but apprehensions among the rest were still simmering at a medium-high heat. Somehow we all arrived safe and sound, and by the time I had to leave them Friday eavening, they were giddy and busy making new friends.

From Panama Pura Vida

(waiting for the bus)

Practicing Leadership and Teamwork in Ropes Courses:



Our Group Became Official and took the Panama Verde oath:



Translation: I swear to love, respect, and care for nature, which gives us sustinence to live, and I promise to do my small part, together with others, to make a big difference.

Saturday, groups did clean-ups and mural paintings in public parks. Unfortunately, I had to miss it because I had other commitments in QP.

In between, they listened to talks about conservation, project ideas, and leadership. On Sunday, they were all presented with certificates, a sure-to-please staple of Panamanian cermony.

On Sunday, in sweltering heat, we boarded a bus that dropped us back off in QP. I thought the kids would be in a hurry to get home, but as we stepped off the bus, all of a sudden they were REALLY.EXCITED.AGAIN. They wanted to go back to my house to ¨debrief.¨ I sat awestruck as they animatedly recounted every moment, all the activities, songs sung, and lessons learned.

A fellow PCV recently made the comment that he´glad I like to do youth development work, beacuse he is much more results-oriented, and likes to see something tangible come of his work. In my experience, I have have been much more satisfied in my work with kids than adults. They seem to genuinely appreciate the efforts I make and value the intangibles-- leadership, communication skills, teamwork and community involvement. Most adults are less appreciative of the education I have offered, and only view progress as something to be seen-- infrastructure in the form of latrines, aqueducts, buildings, whatever. But these things have little value if the people lack the knowledge and initiative to do the work themselves. This is the second time I´ve taken kids out of the community for a camp (I wrote about the other time here.), and watching the quietest one emerge as leaders and dive into new experiences with complete willingness to learn and participate feels an awful lot like real progress to me.

Project Updates and FAQ.

How is the latrine project going?
It could be worse. It could be better. The hardest part is trying to secure funding.

I put about six months into trying to work with government agencies for . They are the Panama equivalents to our Department of Health, or EAP. These agencies are theoretically responsible for managing and/or funding projects country-wide. I say theoretically because due to a variety of reasons, in my experience at least, many tend to be unable or unwilling to do it. Despite all of the obstacles, I still thought working with local authorities was a more ¨sustainable¨option. My committee could develop the project with personel they could have lasting relationships with, and learn more about how to interact with formal governement agencies (I wrote a little about this before here.), which many are intimidated to do . At the outset anyway, it looked like we would have less trouble finding support, because I would be there as a liason for the duraction of the project.

The other choice for project funding is what is called a PCPP-- Peace Corps Partnership Program. Volunteers essentailly write a grant proposal, which is posted on the Peace Corps Web site, and rely on organizations, individuals, and other interested parties to fund the project. I was initially hesistant about using this option because I felt that the funding for a project with a resonable budget should come from within Panama. My community members cannot replicate the PCPP process after I leave, and I run the risk of having them view this project as something I did for them or brought to them, rather than something they acheived for themselves. To me, that is worse than not building any latrines at all. The upside of the PCPP is that it does allow us more control in the actual planning and managing of the project, which is a huge learning opportunity for me and my community members, and almost makes up for the funding aspects.

Up until last week, we were still trying to work with the agencies. About a month ago, I presented my latrine committee with the option of a PCPP, and they still chose to try the agency approach. On Friday, when the Ministry of Health (the most recent of the agencies we´ve tried to work with) s tood us up for a charla they insisted they give, we reached the end of the line. This came after months of cancelled meetings, ignored phone calls, and a complete lack of direction. My committee was unwilling to continue that way, and I was too. Most of our time was spent waiting, and we had little to show for the months we´d invested. There was no guarantee they would ever be able to fund the project anyway. So with a little prodding from me, they chose to go ahead with the PCPP, where the funding is a more sure thing. Furthermore, about half of participating families want composting latrines, which are more costly and harder to get agencies to support (This will be an explanation for another post).

So I have one more charla to do with them about the use and maintenence of latrines, then I will work the committees to teach them how to make a budget, work plans, and other necessary pre-planning. Then I will submit this with the rest of the PCPP and try to do as much fundraising as I can from here. It should take a few months to raise all the money, and then we can begin contruction.

People outside of the Peace Corps bubble sometimes struggle to understand this process. Why it takes a year to get this far. For better or for worse, that is what grassroots development is. I walked into a community that didn´t know what Peace Corps was, thought I was either a) rich or b) a bad guy, and had a heck of a lot to learn about latrines and project planning. Before even talking about projects, I had to gain their trust first, get to know them, and identify their real needs. After we decided on a latrine project, we established a committee, and I began the slow process of trying to start a project with them.

Other development agencies might have written the community a check or delivered the materials, without deciding who should participate, and whether the people knew how to use or maintain latrines. Ten years ago, the Minsitry of Health did something similar to this, and recipients used all the materials for latrines to build chicken coops. People in my community are used to going to the bathroom in the woods, or the creek, and the latrine use presents a lot of issues. They are not for everyone. Not yet, anyway.

It takes time to determine real interest, provide trainings about disease transmission, use and maintencnce, and see who is still interested at the end . Projects that hand things out and don´t do the groundwork first fail, especially in rural areas like mine. I don´t want this project to fail. So while it has been slow, I think it will be more successful in the end, and in the meantime, I have stayed busy enough with other side projects and work in other communities. But I look forward to actually getting this project off the ground when we start building. My counterpart organized our first work day to start digging latrine holes this Saturday to keep motivation and focus. And you know, that whole if you dig it, it will come thing.

What do people do for work?

Most people in my community are subsistence farmers and do not have other jobs. Their chief income is from their cocoa farms. Harvest time is October through early January, and that is when they make their largest profits (up to a few hundred dollars a month for someone with a well-maintained well-producing farm). As for where they get the rest of their money, I am still not sure. Some families sell oranges, lemons, or root vegetables for some extra income. Others also collect welfare checks each month, and use the scholarship money the government awards to students to make ends meet. The people are poor, but they are genearlly able to meet their basic needs. This complacency, combined with a lack of education and capital makes upward movement uncommon.

What are education levels?

People over 30 in my community mostly made it to sixth grade, some stopped earlier. Back then, there was no highway through the community, and to continue past sixth grade meant taking a boat to a community that had a junior high. This was costly and required that students stay overnight with family that lived where the school was, or madke some other arrangement. Few continued. Today, we have Pre-K through 9th grade in my community, which is more than most Ngobe communities have. Unfortunately, for those that make it to 9th grade, few continue on because that means traveling to another community by bus. This costs 50 cents a day and this cost, combined with uniforms and school supplies, is too high for most familist in my village. Last year, only two boys graduated high school from our community. I do think that education and schools are more valued now than they must have been years ago, but it is still hard to see families keep their kids at home due to a lack of money or hope that the investment is worth it.

Tell me if your heart melts...

In my free time, I teach my neighbors songs. Or rather just song. Now that they have mastered ¨Are you sleeping?¨others, like ¨Twinkle Twinkle¨ just seem downright impossible.

There is no way to be sure, but I think my neighbors are cuter than yours.

The value of a book

One of the greatest parts of Peace Corps is the open-endedness, and the fact that we can work on any side project we see fit. A few months ago, I approached my school´s principal about creating a library for the students. I have never seen a story book in anyone´s house, and until this year, the student´s weren´t even allowed to bring their textbooks home after school. Panamanian education is still on the rote memorization mode. Children copy from the board, fill in blanks, and have little chance to be creative. Because of this, and a lack of resources, many kids read below-level. The school allocates its small funds to the bare necessities, and the children come from poor families who make big enough financial sacrifices geting their children to class each day.

Kids haven´t had the chance to love to read.

I am asking for your help, to make a small donation to my project with the International Book Project. They collect donated books, and ask us to raise only the cost of shipping. If I raise $200, a 35-pound box of Spanish-language books will be sent and we can start the library. The principal has promised me a space in a spare room and her support to keep the library going after I´m gone. When the books arrive, I will organize a work day with parents to prepare the room, and set up a schedule for book lending.

You all know me personally and know that reading is a big part of who I am, and a huge part of my Peace Corps service. I´ve started reading stories to kids in my neighborhood with some books I´ve bought, and their interest is genuine and lasting.

¨But Cati, how can Peter Pan fly? Can we fly?¨

No one´s read to them before, and most of them have never seen story books. The potential value of the library is obvious.

If 20 people make a 10-dollar donation, I´ll meet my goal. Here is how you can donate:

You may donate by sending a check to:

International Book Project
1440 Delaware Avenue
Lexington, KY 40505.

You may also donate online via credit card by going to www.internationalbookproject.org and clicking on the “Donate” banner at the top of the page. Please indicate in the memo of the check or the notes section of the online giving screen that the donation is made on behalf of Catherine Basham, Peace Corps Volunteer. All donations are tax deductible.

Thank you to everyone who donates. I´ll be sure to send pictures when the books arrive.

We Heart Seminars

In the last month, I´ve helped out with three seminars in three separate volunteer sites. We PCVs have become savvy to the fact that our community members respond better when we call something a ¨seminar¨ instead of a charla, and invite a few other volunteers along to help out over the course of a few days. I think they like the idea of a one-time commitment and a more formalized environment of a seminar or workshop . Oh, and the free food. The PCVs always get a kick out of the fact that participants LOVELOVELOVE the visiting volunteers when they seem so luke-warm about the ones in their own sites sometimes.

In mid-July, my friend Dan held a two-day health seminar for the women in his community. I came for the second day to do a charla on S.T.I.s and HIV/AIDS.

Here is a woman receiving her certificate of particpation:



More interestingly, Dan has a monkey:



This is his house:
From there, I headed straight to the Comarca, and after a 90-minute hike, arrived in Aleah´s site to help with a water seminar. They are becoming very popular activities for EH-volunteers. Over the course of a few days, we educate water committee members on virtually everything they need to know about their systems--the nuts and bolts of how the water travels through the tubes, how to clean the tanks, how to repair damages, how to decide on a quota, how to run better meetings, you name it. Aleah has a beautiful site on a ridge, and this is the view from her house (sooo jealous):

One of my favorite participants:

Another PCV Dan, leading a session on thermoforming-- a method of molding tube using hot vegetable oil. Creates tighter fits and is safer than the more popular burning-PVC-over-open-flame method.


Then, last weekend, I went to other PCV´s Myles site, close by here in Bocas, to do a PML with his junta local and water committees. Here I am talking about how to work in teams!



On my side,I have been continuing with the sex-ed and life skills charlas with the 8th and 9th graders in my school. It´s going well, and they´ve impressed me with their candor and willingness to ask questions. More on this to come.

I´ll be bringing whoever I can convince to go from my community to a water seminar in nearby Punta Peña for them and three other volunteer sites in mid-September. They are daunted by the overnight stay and the four-day length, but with my diligent persuasion techniques,I hope to wrangle in a precious few. Sigue la lucha...

One Year In

On August 12, I completed one whole year in Panama. I think back to the day I left the States, and I remember how little I knew. I agreed to come to a country for 27 months with only a vague understanding of where I would be, what I´d be doing, and under what sorts of conditions. Since then, all of those blank spaces have been filled in, but thousands of new question marks have arisen.

I never looked at the Peace Corps as a change-the-world kind of opportunity. I was realistic about what my impact could be, especially when working against a cultural inertia that one person can´t possibly turn around. But one year in, and with nearly ten months spent in site, I still feel a little disappointed. If you asked my community what I´ve done, I am unsure they´d have much to say. And as my friend Austin points out in a post more eloquent than mine, what little we have done is for people who don´t have a word for ¨thank you¨ in their native langauge.

Peace Corps is a 27-month commitment, and that is largely because development work is slow and awfully hard. I just didn´t imagine that I would spend so much time asking myself if it was even possible.

We´ve been told the one-year mark is a hard one, and it has proven so. These last few months have left me feeling frustrated and confused. There´s the ¨work¨aspect. My community is unmotivated, but they criticize me wondering why latrines haven´t appeared out of thin air yet, all expenses paid. Agency support has been limited or non-existant, despite a lot of effort on my part. This professional aspect is easier to deal with, in a way. I anticipated the difficulty.

But a larger portion of this discontent is more personal, a general tiredness with myself and my life here. All I think about is Peace Corps, my work, my community, and where I fit in that context. In this term of service which is supposed to be quite selfless, I find myself exhausted by how much I think about myself. Part of that is because there is no else. I am one person in a community of people who will always be a distance away from me. No matter how many great conversations we have, or how much I feel like I have some real, genuine friends (and I do), something always happens that reminds me of that expanse between first world and third world, between my life and theirs. How defeating and lonely it feels that there are some things I can never understand about them, and more things that they will never understand about me. In these cases, I am speechless, but it´s not the Spanish that fails me. It is an intraversable cultural, economic, and educational gap. That´s hard for one person to go through, but I get tired of thinking about it all the time. I wish I could change the channel, take a break and think about something else. But there is nothing else. This experience swallows you up.

So when times are difficult, it´s extremely unpleasant. But the other side of this coin is that this has been the fullest year of my life. I have had experiences that will affect me forever, how I view things, what I want to do, and where I want to do it. Even though some things have been difficult, I consider them all positive, a net gain. And I still have moments of euphoria when I think, I can´t believe how beautiful this is or I can´t believe this is my life.

I´ve spent a year in Panama. I expected things to be a lot clearer by now; I expected to know more, be more confident in what I was doing, and be able to summarize everything in a neat little package. I see now how impossible that will always be. It´s too big, too complex, and subject to change. I remain optimistic. I know I will leave here happy I came. I will have an impact in my community, and it would be nice if they thought so too. But if they don´t? This isn´t supposed to be about me anyway.

Political Unrest

I was leaving Changuinola on Tuesday, and I nearly got stuck there. Protestors had blocked off the only exit street with tree trunks, rocks, and fire. Banana workers were demonstrating against a new law that limited union rights and benefits. After taking six taxis, walking through protests, and crossing a bridge on foot, I arrived at a bus that could take me the rest of the way to Almirante. Good thing I got out when I did, because the next day, no one was able to leave. Road blocks had expanded and no Changuinola to David buses were running.

Thursday night as I sat with my nightly cup of coffee, I heard the roar of a chain saw, and thought it an odd time to be cutting timber. Within seconds, my question was answered as I heard the trunk crash onto the highway. Two more cracks and crashes. Men from Renacimiento, the community next to mine, were also protesting. One of their family members had been killed by riot police in Changuinola the day before.

By Friday afternoon, I received a message from Peace Corps that said Bocas and No Kribo (Bocas comarca) volunteers were in STANDFAST mode, prohibiting us from travel out of site, and for those that were already out of site, to stay where they are. We were asked to check in with Regional Leaders immediately to confirm our whereabouts. Things had escalated in Changuinola, and travel along the highway that runs through the province was unsafe due to multiple protest and roadblocks. This STANDFAST mode meant little to me, as I couldn´t have left anyway since the highway was blocked and bus transport was impossible. That afternoon, as I exited the bathroom after bathtime, I was shocked to see dozens of armed policeman with big-boy war guns marching down the street, followed by more piled into the back of government trucks. (I have some arresting photos of this, but Panama Internet, like every service in this country, is being slow and uncooperative. You will have to wait.) As I went up to my balcony to get a better look, I noticed helicopters circling my community, and soon heard the chainsaws of the police start up to remove the roadblocks. They moved on peacefully, but continued their daily marches every 12 hours to make sure protesters were keeping the road open.

By Saturday afternoon, the STANDFAST alert was issued for all PCVs country-wide. We received text messages daily offering vague information about nationwide protest and potential dangers of which we should steer clear. I listened to the radio to get as much information as possible, but those reports also gave an incomplete picture. I yearned for NPR. Brother James kindly did some Web searches and filled me on President Martinelli´s latest inflammatory statements and the latest word from the strikers.

On Tuesday, nation-wide strikes were supposed to start at midnight. In Renacimiento, I´d heard they had plans to block off the road again, and from snippets of gossip I heard, it sounded like things could get uglier between them and police. But by the time Tuesday rolled around, things had calmed in Bocas, and as far as I know, there were few incidents nationwide. The President agreed to revise a few articles of the law, and given that concession, strikers declared their efforts a success. Unfortunately that ¨success¨came at the cost of lives lost and hundreds injured. Thankfully it ended somewhat sooner than initially expected, and on a more peaceful note than it began.

By Wednesday morning, Peace Corps gave us all the all-clear and we were free to travel and leave site. I breathed a sigh of relief, and headed to David, to get some computer work done and enjoy the comforts of AC and cable TV.

Note: For those who worry about my safety, please be advised that Peace Corps takes the safety of volunteers very seriously. There is a full-time Safety and Security Coordinator who is responsible for monitoring conditions of the country and issuing alerts and/or taking action in the event that a volunteer is unsafe. She is a tiny, feisty Panamanian woman who takes no BS from anyone. We also have a Duty Officer, who is on call 24-7 to respond to our concerns. (OK, Mom?)

Snippets

Here are some collected moments that don´t warrant a blogpost themselves, but together, give you an idea of how some of my daily interactions play out.

Ennui: Milexi is seven-years-old. She´s my neighbor, and one of my biggest fans and most frequent visitors. She´s kid-sized of course, with the missing front teeth so common among second-graders everywhere, but sometimes I forget she´s so young. She respects the boundaries I set better than anyone, and sometimes responds to my comments with the knowingness and maturity of someone a lot older than seven. We recently had this exchange:

C: How do you feel about missing so much class because of the strike?
M: Good. I´m done with school.
C: What do you mean? You don´t want to go anymore?
She sighs.
M: Look. I went to pre-K. I went to kindergarten. After that, I went to first grade. What grade am I in now? Second! It´s enough, I´m tired, OK?

The Photo Album Experience: Sharing pictures of my family and friends from home is one of my favorite things to do with visitors. The people here in QP are endlessly curious about my family (bordering on obsessive when it comes to my mom) and life in general in the U.S. I have a nice assembly of photos of everyone and-- even better--some of snow and ice. The word incredulous is best defined by a Ngobe trying to understand snow. I will walk you through some of the snapshots that get the most comments.

Picture 1: Me, Dad, Millie, and James cutting a birthday cake. Millie is centered in the middle with her arms around James and Dad, rendering them invisible. The conversation is this:

Ngobe: Your grandmother doesn´t have arms.
Cati: Yes, she does.
Ngobe: Where are they then? I don´t see them.

Picture 2: The Charles River in the fall. Dozens of geese at the river´s edge.
Ngobe: WHAT ARE THOSE?! DUCKS?
Cati: They are called geese.
Ngobe: You must bring some to me. I want to raise those.

Picture 3: Any picture with snow or ice in it.
Response: What is that? How do you grow things? Is there finca? How do dogs/people/trees survive? Why would people live there anyway? Cati, I don´t think their meant to. Hey, can you suck on the ice?

Picture 4: Me, at some point in college, looking noticeably more gordita.
My neighbor Rosita points to the photo, and says, ¨Ok, now here in this picture, Cati, you look healthy. You were in good shape! Now? Now... you need to eat more bananas.¨

That night she sent me a soup full of more yucca than I could possibly eat. Her intentions are obvious.

Picture 5: A Habitat for Humanity trip in college. We are on the beach, and one girl is wearing a t-shirt and bathing suit bottoms.

Ngobe: Why is she in panties?!?! She´s not embarassed? Did you bathe in that ocean?

How to Name Your Baby:

Everyone has a real name, a Christian name, if you will. It´s the Spanish name by which they´re registered (if they´re registered), and is what they will use in school, and for all professional and official purposes thereafter.

But you´ll almost never hear their parents call kids by their real names; there are at least two other names to choose from. One is the name they use in the house, and the other is a second nickname, often in Ngobere.

The household names suffer from a devastating lack of creativity. There are about 5-10 that make up 90 percent of nicknames. They are: Niño/a, Bonito/a, Mami, Papi, Bebé, Chino/a, and Chuey (for light-skinned kids. Chuey means gringo/foreigner in Ngobere). The youngest kid is always called Chi or Chi-Chi.

Are you confused? Let me offer some examples. My host-brother´s name is Kaicer, but his immediate family calls him Bebé, and other close family and friends call him Lalo. Rosibel is my four-year-old best bud, but she is most often called Obaldina or, by close family, Amoi. Her brother, Abdiel, the oldest, is also called Bebé and Pachikon. Milexi, the middle of the three, is called Niña and Mamita. I still laugh when I see her siblings yell for her. Mamita!

You can imagine how things get confusing. The upside is that you can call any kid niño, niña, or chi, and they will respond right away.




Milexi/Mamita/Niña and her sister, Rosibel/Obaldina/Amoi

All Dogs...

On Thursday, I left Walter with the vet in Changuinola. He had parasites and hadn´t been eating well. The doctor wanted to ¨admit¨ him for a few days, which was OK with me because I didn´t want to leave the sick pup in the rather incapable hands of my community. On Monday, when I was returning from the beach, I called the vet to see if I could come to Changuinola to pick up my baby boy. He told me Walter died the day before. My Walter died.

The Ambassador and I only had a month together, but that was enough time to fall completely in love with him. In fact, I was in love before I even took him home. Right from that first time he slung his paws over my shoulder and rested his head there like a human, it was game over. When I called to tell my Mom what happened, I think that´s the only time I´ve ever called her crying.

Everyone thinks their dog is extra special, and the rest of the world thinks they´re nuts. You can call me nuts; the Ambassador was one-of-a-kind. And sure, maybe this whole gringa-in-the-jungle gig I´ve got going made me vulnerable to form intense emotional attachments too quickly. How could I not? Love is love, and sometimes it can happen fast between an American girl and a Panamanian mut. The intensity of my sadness over this was more than I expected, but it was not helped by most of my community blaming me for his death because of sardines that I fed him, and subsequently explaining all my failures in ten-minute tirades until I was nearly reduced to tears on several separate occasions (Ngobe past-time: clinging to theories that have no factual basis in medicine).

So this will be the last post about Ambassador Caballero-Lopez Santos Santos. Is it possible his sad eyes knew he only had two months to the day? We won´t entertain the thought. Because now he has moved on elsewhere, past the cruel conditions of Panama that are not welcoming to baby dogs. He lived a short life, but he was a great Ambassador.

Saving sloths: an illustrated tale

A couple of weeks ago, we went up into the monte to re-start our water-level survey (the previous day, the tank had broken after a fall, and we had to post-pone until I could fix it). We were about to cross a small creek, when the two young men I was working with noticed this:
That is a sloth. It must have fallen from up high, landed between the two trees and gotten good and stuck. It was not moving and appeared to be dead. But my cohorts and I decided we had to be sure, so they got a couple of large sticks and started poking.
Eventually, they knocked him loose and he thudded to the ground. He was not exactly the picture of health. We figured he probably wouldn´t make it, but at least he could drink from the creek and maybe make a recovery.


When we passed back down there again a few hours later, he had climbed back up into another nearby tree and appeared to be very much among the living.

The next day, the two boys, who are also members of my Panama Verde group, were happy to tell the story with some gentle prodding from me. All in a day´s work.

The two animal rescuers, at the water reserve tanks, with the water level.

The Best-Laid Plans

I was excited last week. I had a bunch of things to do, and everyone seemed ready to do them with me. But, whenever I start to get too optimistic, or start thinking ¨Hey, this isn´t so hard¨, reality comes, slaps me around and says ¨Hush now, gringita. You don´t know a thing.¨

I was talking with another PCV the other day on the phone, and told him that it´s clear to me now that we must cycle through at least three dates for an event before we actually do it. People cancel, don´t come, or something comes up and I can´t make it. Here is an example of what last week was like for me:

Tuesday: Planned a self-esteem and values charla in the junior high. Actually did it! Score! It was so-so. My audience wasn´t quite captive.

Wednesday- At long last, the second planned day for our water-level survey. This takes all day. At 8:30 when the President had not yet arrived at my house to begin working, I called him. ¨I have another commitment.¨ That came up awful fast. He said he was ready to go when I went and confirmed Tuesday afternoon. We agreed to do it Sunday. Our other worker, who arrived on time, was unable to do it Sunday. You need at least three people to work with the water level, four is better. I´d have to spend some time chasing down some other people for Sunday.

I was later met by my counterpart, who asked me if I had plans for Thursday. I had reserved that day to prepare a training for Friday about disease transmission with my latrine committee. He informed me that the next day a Bocas organization was holding a meeting in my school, and could I please house 8-12 people on Thursday night? And could I also please attend the meeting on Thursday and Friday morning because ¨movers and shakers¨might be coming, and there could be potential funders for our latrine project. I agreed, but ask him, what about the training we prepared for Friday morning? We agreed to change the date.

Thursday- Sat-in on meeting. Did not need to be there. Brought four participants back to my house in the evening only to realize my rain-water tank had been left open by kids and I had no water for them to bathe with. Luckily, my first host-dad was there to witness my discontent. He will hopefuly speak to his family who comes to use the water to wash their feet when they arrive barefoot from arriba. Leaving the faucet running is a rain-water tank is not good.

Friday- Training session cancelled. Sat-in on rest of meeting. Still not needed.

Saturday- Cleaning of water tanks and spring box planned for the morning. Especially motivated to do this because the aqueduct´s operator told me he had climbed naked into all three the day before to dislodge blockages. Please pass the bleach.

Too few people showed up, so we could not clean the spring box because at least six men are needed to lift the cement tops. We settle for cleaning the reserve tanks, which I pointed out is a little silly if what is arriving from the source is still dirty, but to clean something is better than nothing. Then I see that the aqueduct president did not bring any bleach, only dish soap. I point out that this is not sufficient, bleach is needed. He mutters some excuse. He responds poorly to criticism, especially if anyone else is around, so I bit my tongue and started scrubbing and catching the live crabs that were being thrown out of the water tanks.

I am glad I drink rain water now.

So in the afternoon, we were supposed to have our first English class since the recess began in March. As I was hiking down from the tanks I pass a member of my latrine committee on the path going up. She had the days confused about our training, and thought it was for Saturday. She asked me why I made her walk for no reason! I cleared up the confusion, and asked her what about the English classn in the afternoon? Because I was only expecting 3-4 students, her presence was important. She tells me my other star student was in Almirante and would also not be coming. We agree to cancel the class and pick another day to start over.

Do you see? Some weeks are like this. Despite preparation and plans, none of it actually really happens. Oh well, we´ll try again this week.

Where´s Walter?

I always subscribed to the ¨Dogs are people too¨ line of thinking. If you´re a dog person, you know what I mean. Our family dog Whistey was definitely part human. He was always respectful of personal space, and only got up in your face when he really needed something. He didn´t rush to eat his biscuits in the morning; he ate them neatly, using both paws to hold them as he nibbled away politely. If he had an accident or misbehaved, his embarassment was visible. He had a certain dignity about him.

My Walter, albeit still in his puppyhood, certainly has a different character, but is no less human than the late great Whistey Basham. He´s got this sadness in his face--a knowingness that tells you this puppy has seen it all, and it´s made him tired. The look of defeat he wears is a warning that life isn´t always sunshine and rainbows. Take it from a puppy who knows.

Do we believe dogs have past lives? He is only eight weeks old but his malaise is so convincing.
I know this dog is special because he has even captured the hearts of Ngobes who, though they often have dogs, treat them poorly or don´t feed them enough (or at all). But Walter? They see his face and ask ¨Is he OK, Cati? You should buy him milk.¨Which always makes me laugh because it´s such a luxury that they don´t even buy it for their children, let alone a lowly perrito. I took him by the school the other day, and two of the teachers said, ¨Why does he look like that?¨I don´t know; he just does. He lives the life of Riley compared to all the other dogs, but that miserable coutenence leaves the general public questioning my parenting skills.

So moved by his mournful gaze, neighbor Julio asks to take him out on trips into the woods to fix the aqueduct or go fishing. Julio says it´s so Walter doesn´t get lazy, but I know better, because the invites only come after Julio wonders aloud at the Ambassador´s ¨little sad face.¨

Of course, he doesn´t always look like it´s the most disappointing day of all time. He plays, scares the neighbors, and walks right by my side whether I´m going lejos arriba to clean the water tanks, or down to nearby Quebrada Juan to pasear. He´s afraid to cross the street and gets nervous in front of a lot of people, but left to run loose in the monte, he looks more at home.

I never had a puppy before, so I was unsure about what it would be like, but I´m always delighted by the ways he is like a real baby. He has sweet puppy breath and does not react well to bathtime:


In the night, sometimes he cries. I get up, give him a little cuddle, and he goes back to sleep again until the morning. When I read at night, he starts trying to climb up on me and wedge his face in the crook of my elbow or on my chest. H ewon´t settle for some affectionate patting. He wants to snuggle. In fact, while I was writing out this entry last night, he climbed into my lab and positioned himself just so:
I will have to work on phasing this out eventually because hammock snuggle hour is not as easy or enjoyable with a 50 lb hound. But right now, I am powerless to deny him. His eyes!

So life with Walter is fun. He makes every day a little more interesting. The town refers to him as my chi chi, Ngobere for child, and he is exactly like that. My own little chi chi with a body spotted like a cow, and a face marked by a persistant melancholy that he might be too young and erm, canine to really own.

Frankly, my dear

¨Cati, how much do you weigh?¨ Julio arrives at my fence, hangs his arms around it, and waits for my answer.

¨And why do you want to know?¨ In Panama, you can ask anything of anyone, and it´s okay, but I like to maintain a lady-like sense of decorum when at all possible. It so rarely is.

¨Just wondering. How much?¨

Some days I am too tired to put up a fight. I tell him.

¨What!!?!?!¨ Julio falls backwards.

¨Why, what did you think,¨ I asked.

¨You are much taller than me, Cati.¨ Julio is 5´4¨ and weighs 168 pounds. ¨I thought you weight at least 200 pounds, probably more.¨

A lot of times, candor is refreshing. In the United States, we spend a lot of time avoiding questions or dancing around the truth without even realizing it. In Panama, when you are calling attention to someone, it is perfectly okay to refer to them as ¨the old one¨ or ¨that fat one.¨ If you have a scar, a scratch, a pimple, whatever, someone will probably ask you what it is or where you got it. It´s out there for the world to see, why not talk about it? One time in the supermarket, a woman called to her colleague, ¨Oye, gordita!¨ Hey, little fatty! No one ever minds, and being gorda isn´t a bad thing. My community wants me to get fatter. They encourage it because it would mean I am thriving and being taken care of.

Commenting on people´s appearances is one of the first places you notice the candor when arriving in Panama, but it extends to virtually every corner of conversation. Mothers, for example, have no shame about telling you they got pregnant just so they could have a baby of a particular sex. None of this ¨I just want it to be healthy,¨ mumbo jumbo. She wants a daughter, dammit! One day, my neighbor Seña came to pasear. We always talk about her kids, and she started talking about her eldest son, and how he had fought with his father the night before. ¨I hate that, Cati, when he is upset. I love him the most.¨

¨You love him the most?¨ Maybe I misunderstood. Declaring favorites? Also a no-no in the land of the free and the home of the brave.

¨He was my first! I like the other ones just fine, but I love him A LOT. Way more than the rest.¨ She admits this as her three youngest children play at our ankles. Don´t worry kids, she loves you too, just not as much as number one!

Then there´s the impromptu emotional confession. This happens less often, but still with considerable more frequency than in the U.S. People will air their family´s dirty laundry (threatening men with rifles, sisters who won´t share recipes, mothers and fathers with lovers on the side) with very little prompting. One night, I was writing in my journal, and a visitor came by. I asked how he was, and he responded, ¨Sad.¨ I asked why, and he came back with a four-minute monologue about the burden of his father´s illness, the responsibility that he has taken on, and how his youth has been sacrificed as a result. He sees other boys his age hanging out and having fun, and realizes he never got a chance at that care-free time to be young. Have you ever answered ¨How are you?¨ with so much honesty?

While in many ways, the Ngobe people are much more reserved than most cultures, once some level of trust is established with certain people, they´ll tell you more than you asked to know about their hernias, land disputes, and everything in between. This is certainly the exception to the rule in my community, and only the people who I know well share with me this way, but goodness, once they open up, you hear it all.

I am a Mom

There were several months of internal debates that went into the should-I-get-a-puppy decision. Many volunteers have done it and sung the praises of having a little furball around to help you through those dark electricityless nights and the awkward pasearing moments. Then, I decided, unequivocally, that now is not the best time in my life to take on the responsiblity of a dog. I live, temporarily, in a foreign country, have to travel, and live on a limited allowance that doesn´t leave a lot of room for puppy medical emergencies.

But then Jim, our Bocas regional leader, found himself in a bit of a bind when a pregnant dog decided that he was her new daddy, and proceeded to move into his Changuinola home until she bore eight perritos. He asked me if I could please take one, and I thought to myself, ¨Cati, you did not seek out this puppy. It was delivered it to you.¨ And there are some faces that you are just born to love. And this one?

I fell hard, and I fell fast. His complete name is Ambassador Walter Fitzgerald Caballero-Lopez Santos Santos. Jim named him Droopy, but I thought a name like that could have life-long effects on his self-esteem. His last names came from my first host family and neighbors. The name Walter was suggested by my birthmother and also Paul. Fitzgerald is a shout-out to the adulterous, back-pain-plagued founder of Peace Corps, JFK.

He is an Ambassador because, well, why not givea dog a title? It might keep the kids from playing too roughly with him. El es un ambajador! Cuidado! Since Walter arrived on Sunday, he has been coming to pasear with me, at the quebrada to wash clothes, and from house to house helping me accomplish my daily tasks. We are working on the whole walking-on-your-own thing. He prefers to be carried like a baby and rest his head on my shoulder. He is still a wee thing (one month!), but it can´t go on forever. That isn´t very dignified behavior for an Ambassador. You have legs, Walter. Use them.

We are living a very happy life together. He falls asleep on my tummy while I lie in my hammock at night, and he even poops outside! Although we are encountering some small problems. One is that all of the deathly thin dogs that never get fed can fit through my porch fence and steal his food. And twice in the a night a bully has come by and tried to hurt Wally Fitz. His screams broke out into the night and awakened me from my slumber. My neighbor saw this happen both times and is also feeling fiercely protective of our poor defenseless hero. He is also a little bit of a chewer, and a mouther, which are common puppy problems but I am determined to be a rigid trainer. Teething is no excuse to behave like a common street dog, Señor Caballero-Lopez Santos Santos. This lady´s ideas about how to keep him from biting are interesting. Although if I start yelping everytime he mouths me, I think the Ngobes will finally decide that Cati is just completely off her rocker. He responds to my reprimands, and can be redirected to playing with his toy I made from a handkerchief.

Doesn´t he look thrilled? Anyway, he is usually only awake for fifteen minutes before he needs another break:

So that´s the story. Stay tuned. (I promise I will endeavor to keep the annoying dog-doting to a minimum. BUT DID YOU SEE HIS FACE?!)