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.