You may remember that last fall, I purchased a piglet for $25. I did this with the carnivorous intention of raising him 'til he was big and fat, and then killing him for my despedida. Goodbye parties are a big tradition in Panama, and I wanted to make sure there would be enough food to feed the flocks. Plus, it was a good conversation topic. People found it hilarious that I owned livestock and enjoyed asking me how fat he was getting. His name was well-known around town. Puerco de Paz means Peace Pig and is a play on the words for Peace Corps in Spanish, which is Cuerpo de Paz. It was impossible to mention him without grinning just a little.
Purchasing this piggy was perhaps one of the best decisions of my life. The day before my despedida, he was brought down from his house on the hill and my neighbors and BFF's Julio and Rosita took charge of the subsequent slaughter and preparation. Good thing, because when initially face-to-face with the 80-pound hog, I got cold feet and contemplated going into town to buy chicken. I learned a lot of things in Panama, but Intro to Butchery is a course I missed.
The plan was to smoke him that night, and the next day prepare a barbeque sauce, reheat and serve. I purchased some screen and, using tall stakes, we set up a grill of sorts, perched high above Rosita's cooking fire. Over the next eight hours, we smoked two batches of pork, and oh my goodness, did it taste good. The guilt I had over watching my baby get killed in cold blood slid away as the smoky smells of his roasting flesh filled the air. Yummo!
We attracted quite the crowd. Other neighbors and passersby seemed delighted by watching me rotate the meat over the smoky fire, and covering it back up with banana leaves. They said a lot of things like,
"Oh, look at Cati with all of that pork! She's crying from the smoke! What a great memory this is!"
And it was. Julio, Rosita, the kids and I stayed up until one o'clock in the morning smoking my dear puerco to perfection, all the while telling stories and jokes and enjoying each other's company. That night, I returned to the house with two five-gallon buckets filled with food.
In the morning, I prepared a barbeque sauce. I wanted to share something American in terms of cuisine at my despedida, but sometimes people scare easily when it comes to new, bold flavors, so I tried to keep it simple. The recipe was this:
1 part vinegar
1 part water
1 part ketchup
1 part sugar
Then I threw in some paprika, chili powder and a bit of bbq seasoning. That afternoon, we re-heated the meat in huge pots, threw on some sauce, and served it up with some rice and yucca. It was a hit.
I documented each step of the pig's demise, but I understand that some people might not want to be assaulted with such violent imagery. Therefore, follow this link if you want to see.
Showing posts with label volunteer life. Show all posts
Showing posts with label volunteer life. Show all posts
Friday, October 28, 2011
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
Bathing
Saturday, July 30, 2011
Re-Entry
I only have two months left in Panama, and people have been asking how I feel about coming back home. Of course, there are the obvious good-for-a-dinner-party answers, involving funny culture clashes or developmens in the States that I´ve missed. For example, I have no idea how to use a modern cell phone anymore. When I left, the iPhone had only just come out, and I´d only seen one or two. The iPad didn´t exist yet, and my ungainly old Dell laptop didn´t look as ridiculous as it does now sitting next to the ubiquitous dwarfish netbook. If you think I´m overstating the rate of change, I will tell you that when I visited home in December, I walked up to a paper picture of an iPad in Target and, thinking it was real, tried to scroll my fingers across it.
Sad but true.
So there is the anxiety that certain aspects of U.S. culture and life now seem foreign or even undesirable to me. But more than that, I am faced with wrapping up one of he biggest, most important periods of my life. I´ve had the time here to figure out what makes me happy, what I´m good at, not so good at, and take on things that at first seemed impossible. I´ve become so much more patient, serene, and open-minded than I could ever have imagined. When I first got here, I lacked the self-assuredness to believe that I could so much of anythuing here. But somehow, I´m still not sure how, I figured things out little by little, and before I knew it, the journalism major who had never been on a plane before was managing a construction project in an indigenous village.
Sad but true.
And then of course there´s all the news I´ve missed. The BP Oil Spill. The emergence of the Tea Party. Revolutions in the Middle East. The Federal debt crisis. Earthquakes in Haiti, Chile and Japan. Osama´s capture. The Royal Wedding. All of these I´ve-just-come-from-the-jungle-and-I-feel-lost stories are good for a laugh, but I know I can eventually catch up when it comes to scary technology, big headlines and celebrity gossip.
The real reason PCVS worry about their close of service isn´t so much about going back home, but about leaving the country in which we´ve lived and worked for two years. I´ve had a life-changing experience and learned more about myself and this tiny part of the world than I ever imagined I would. And now I am struggling with how to reconcile the old U.S. Catherine with the new Panamanian Cati. My fear is that when I go back home, I will have let go of so much of what I´ve learned and the life I´ve had, in some ways slowly and unconsciously and in others, more abruptly. I know I´ll be homesick for Panama and the way I lived here.
One of the things I like most about Panama is the friendliness and approachability of everyone who lives here. Strangers are always striking up conversation, hanging around and looking out for each other. When you get on a bus, you say ¨Buenos dias!¨to everyone, and most people say it back. If you feel like talking, you just go to your neighbor´s house and pass the time. Here, I feel like I can talk to anyone anywhere about anything. There is a real sense of community.
In the hours I might have previously wasted talking on a phone, surfing the net, or watching trash television, I have made amazing friendships with other PCVs, people who, because of the extreme circumstances we´ve shared, feel closer to me than some people I´ve known my whole life. I´ve loved and been loved by a group of people in my community who I didn´t even know existed two years ago. Panama and the pace of life here offers people this time to get to know each other, to enjoy the company of someone else, and in doing so, become more aligned with one of the essential things that makes life worth living: human connections.
Whereas, in the United States, to a large exent, people have stopped connecting in this baic way. Everyone is too busy with their smart phones to look up and say hi to the person sitting next to them. You could argue that Americans are more connected than ever, with the Internet and social networks that enhance the relationships we have in ¨real life.¨ But I don´t think so. Sharing links or liking someone´s status on Facebook doesn´t offer as much as sitting down and sharing coffee and conversation with that person. In my time here, I have come to feel more connected to myself and the people around me than ever before.
So there is the anxiety that certain aspects of U.S. culture and life now seem foreign or even undesirable to me. But more than that, I am faced with wrapping up one of he biggest, most important periods of my life. I´ve had the time here to figure out what makes me happy, what I´m good at, not so good at, and take on things that at first seemed impossible. I´ve become so much more patient, serene, and open-minded than I could ever have imagined. When I first got here, I lacked the self-assuredness to believe that I could so much of anythuing here. But somehow, I´m still not sure how, I figured things out little by little, and before I knew it, the journalism major who had never been on a plane before was managing a construction project in an indigenous village.
Peace Corps does this to people. It gives you opportunities and responsibilities that you may not deserve, and allows you to run with them. I look back and am amazed by all that´s happened in two years, what the people here have taught me, and how much perspective I´ve gained. An experience this challenging and foreign forces people to evaluate what is really important to them, what they are capable of, and how their life and purpose fits in with those of of the seven billion others. I am sad to let go of this time in my life, where something new happens every day, when I am so constantly challenged, and the rewards for success feel so great. The contrast of highs and lows, combined with the novelty of the things we get to do here, give us the sense of really living and experiencing life completely.
But as much as I have loved Panama, and the life lessons it has taught me, I also have a greater appreciation for the United States and the countless advantages I enjoy for just having been born there. I am excited to go back. I miss my family and friends. I´m burned out by certain aspects of being a PCV and am eager to start the next stage of my life. But I struggle with the idea that the patience, tranqulity and thoughtfulness that have defined my time here will start to fade away. I will miss the simplicity of life, the connectedness to community and nature and the sense that, even if I feel I´m failing, I am still making an effort at something worthwhile. I know parts of this experience will be with me forever, but the pace and competitiveness of U.S. life will surely start to chip away at some of the perspective, patience, and understanding I´ve been forced to adopt here.
It´s difficult to sum up what this experience has meant. It may be something I won´t fully realize until I´ve been back in the U.S. for a while, and even then, something that is so subjective and personal it´ll be hard to articulate. In the mean time, as I tie up the loose strings and prepare to leave, I am being extra-conscious to remember and savor everything I´ve gotten used to-- from the ocean views and rainforest downpours to the kids´ brilliant smiles and bottomless eyes.
I´ve experienced so much , and I can´t afford to forget any of it.
Visitor's Pass.
One thing I will miss about Panama and my time here is the sense of community. People talk to their neighbors. They come over just to say hi and spend some time talking to you.
I, the resident gringa, of course receive a disproportionate amount of visitors on a daily basis, mostly children and my former host family, and I´m sometimes overwhelmed by the number of people who come parading by on a daily basis. To give you an idea of daily foot traffic in and out, I have made a list entrances and exits on a fairly typical day.
I, the resident gringa, of course receive a disproportionate amount of visitors on a daily basis, mostly children and my former host family, and I´m sometimes overwhelmed by the number of people who come parading by on a daily basis. To give you an idea of daily foot traffic in and out, I have made a list entrances and exits on a fairly typical day.
7 a.m. - My host brother goes to high school at night in Almirante and takes the first bus home in the morning. He usually arrives at my house early in the morning, sometimes just as I am rolling out of bed. I usually try to shoo him away, but as my house is used as a storage bin for all members of my host family, he usually sneaks in to drop something off and then continues to linger until I shoot him enough grumpy morning looks that he gets the hint.
7:15 a.m.- My host family stores their shoes at my house and the kids stop by to wash their feet and put on their uniforms. If I´ve already made breakfast, several moments are reserved for them staring at what I´m eating and telling me it looks gross.
7:30 a.m.- As I am washing up breakfast dishes, the youngest neighbor kids usually come by and ask to come in and play. I usually tell them it´s too early. Unless they offer to wash my dishes, in which case, I pull the stool up to the sink and let them have at it.
7:35 a.m.- Someone comes by with a project-related question. Where is the shovel? Do you have a bucket? How much wood do I need for the walls of my latrine? Will you come and observe every small task associated with my latrine so I don´t make a mistake?
8 a.m.- My former host mother comes in without knocking or announcing her arrival. As I am busy trying to get dressed and ready, she plops down in my chair and announces she is thirsty. If I pretend not to hear or understand, she begins breathing heavily and makes quite the show out of acting tired and dehydrated.
8:30 am.- 4 p.m.- I am out and about working in the community. People come by during this time and report to me later their shock and dismay upon finding the house empty.
4 p.m.- As the children see me coming home from work, they ask to come over. I am usually exhausted and filthy, and it takes my very last reserve bit of patience and benevolence to tell them to let me bathe first. They demand that I call them when I am ready to receive visitors.
4:15 p.m.- Despite said agreement, they yell and ask if it´s time to come over yet. Or they are waiting outside my fence as I emerge from the bathroom, and my dreams of alone time vanish into thin air. I run a comb through my hair and relent.
5:00 p.m.- I kick the children out just in time to have my former host-siblings in the junior-high school come and drop off their shoes, books and clothes.
5:20 p.m.- No sooner do they leave then some other visitors who just got out of class stop by. Often one of my Panama Verde kids or some other directionless youths looking for somewhere to sit and pass the time. My host brother, the one who attends high school otuside of town, usually comes by around this time again on his way to night classses.
6:00 p.m.- By this time my hopes of relaxing in the hammock with a cup of coffee have all but vanished, and I decide to start cooking dinner before it gets too dark. Just as the onions and garlic begin to sizzle, my host dad pops in to drop off his chain saw. He sits and seems like he wants to talk. Sometimes I indulge, other times I refuse to leave he kitchen and concentrate very closely on the onions.
6-8 p.m.- Things are finally quieting down, but at least one person usually stops by to chat, often asking what´s for dinner or if the coffee is ready yet. Sometimes the neighbors send someone over to ask for oil, sugar, or kerosene. Inevitably, the kids arrive and try to come in again, although the ¨no visitors after six o´clock¨ rule has long been enforced.
Please note that this happens in a day when I am out of the house working most of the time. Imagine what happens on the less busy days. I get frustrated with people using my house as a public park and storage room, and sometimes feel that whhole days go by in which I never escape the gaze of visistors and loiterers. But, I do love having neighbors, and being accessible to the community, and I try my best to remind myself that they come by because they like me and that I should soak up all the time I have left with them. But my first cup of morning coffee? I´m not sharing that.
Saturday, July 16, 2011
Book Report
A blog chronicling Peace Corps life would be incomplete without some acknowledgment of how much we read. Even on my busiest days, I spend an average of three hours reading. And then of course, there are the rainy days, or the slow days, when the majority of waking hours are spent devouring a book while lounging in the hammock.
I feel spoiled to have so much time to invest in books. I was a reader in the United States, but I have read probably 70 books during my service which is certainly the greatest number I've gone through in a two-year period since I graduated from story books. (And somehow, that 70 is on the low end of many PCV counts...) This daily reading binge will soon come to an end, when I go back home and am distracted by the Internet, smart phones, electricity, and actual 9-5 occupations. So until then, I will relish my nightly routine of making a strong cup of Panamanian coffee, lighting my kerosene lamp, and settling into the hammock and reading until I'm too tired for another page. Here is a list of my top 10 favorites:
1. The Ghost Map, by Steven Johnson- This is about the cholera epidemic in 19th century England. It traces the outbreak to a single household and explains how it spread rapidly due to a lack of public health infrastructure and scientific knowledge. It chronicles the independent works of a priest and scientist who mapped the outbreak and founded a new framework for understanding diseases and how they are spread. It beautifully weaves together ideas of epidemiology, urban planning, public health and the future of cities and their environmental consequences. Completely fascinating.
2. The World According to Garp, by John Irving. I've read several of Irving's books here in Panama, including A Widow for One Year,The Hotel New Hampshire, Last Night on Twisted River, and A Prayer for Owen Meany. He has become one of my favorite writers. I'm addicted to his crafty writing and epic stories that follow the characters from childhood to adulthood. What makes his books so remarkable is how he combines incredible plot elements, ie dwarves, weird fetishes, and circuses, with richly-detailed characters who ring completely true. A great storyteller.
3. How the Brain Changes Itself, by Norman Doidge. A book about brain science which overturns any notions about our minds being "hard-wired" and unchanging. Doidge explains the idea of neuroplasticity through case studies involving stroke patients, or people who suffered injuries or birth defects and then went on to train their brains to function in unexpected and highly effective ways. A nerdy pick, but worth reading if you're interest in medicine or science.
4. Little Bee, by Chris Cleave. I had to put off all work-related activities until I finished this book. One of the most affecting novels I've ever read. The back of the copy I own contains only a sentence or two of plot summary because it claims not to want to ruin the story. I'll say this much: the book is narrated by a young girl from Nigeria and a woman in England. Their lives intersect and what results is an incredibly thoughtful book on what it means to have a conscience, memory, and culture and how these things affect the relationship between people in ways we can only try our best to understand. The plot twists and turns and you'll never know what's about to happen to the characters whose voices will stay with you a long time after you close the back cover. Read this.
5. The Grapes of Wrath, by John Steinbeck. Love Steinbeck. East of Eden might be my favorite book ever, and Grapes of Wrath lived up to all my expectations. Who could ever forget the Joads?
6. The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo triology, by Steig Larsson. Page-turning thrillers that will also making you completely uninterested in pursuing other tasks. The second two installments can't beat the tight, expertly-woven plot of the first book, but the Lisbeth Salander character has to be one of the most interesting in modern popular fiction and you'll want to follow her until the end.
7. The Spirit Catches You When You Fall Down, by Anne Fadiman. An extensively researched look at how Western medicine collides with cultural tradition of the Hmong people from Laos. A toddler named Lia lives with her family in a Hmong community in California and is diagnosed with a seizure disorder. Traditional Hmong culture views this as a misalignment or curse of the spirits. Her parents refer the illness as 'the spirit catches you and you fall down' and believe it is caused by a wandering of the soul. While Lia sees doctors at a local California hospital, her parents are confused by their clinical diagnoses and obvious disregard for the soul's role in Lia's healing. Their efforts to incorporate natural remedies into Lia's treatment results in accusations of non-compliance and eventually they are declared unfit and Lia is taken to a foster family. But this book takes no sides. Fadiman showcases the strengths and limits of Western medicine and Hmong culture equally, and makes it clear that neither one nor the other, but rather the clash of the two, is what ultimately failed Lia. It is a compassionate and dramatic story that will challenge the world view of any reader.
8. The Poisonwood Bible, by Barbara Kingsolver. A story of a fervent missionary who brings his family to the Belgian Congo in the 1959 just before the country's revolution. They are dangerously ill-prepared in every sense and in the course of events, Kingsolver shows what it takes to fracture families and countries. This book is certainly political, but I loved it for the story it told and the sometimes breathtaking beauty of the author's writing.
9. The Professor and the Madman, by Simon Winchester. This non-fiction pick is about the making of the Oxford English Dictionary and its most prolific contributor, who sent in over 10,000 entries while he was a patient at an asylum for the criminally insane. This story proves the maxim that truth is stranger than fiction. Winchester tells it with the skill of a novelist as he ties together a violent murder, the obsessive drive of the dictionary's editor and the boggling coexistence of genius and madness in one man's mind.
10. Me Talk Pretty One Day, by David Sedaris. This man is hilarious. His essays are the perfect cure for in-site blues. He can take any mundane event and transform it into sharp, witty commentary on family dynamics, culture, or the simple absurdity of everyday life. He writes about pretty much any topic, and if you listen to to NPR, you've probably heard him read one of his stories. Listen to him here as he explains the Easter Bunny.
I feel spoiled to have so much time to invest in books. I was a reader in the United States, but I have read probably 70 books during my service which is certainly the greatest number I've gone through in a two-year period since I graduated from story books. (And somehow, that 70 is on the low end of many PCV counts...) This daily reading binge will soon come to an end, when I go back home and am distracted by the Internet, smart phones, electricity, and actual 9-5 occupations. So until then, I will relish my nightly routine of making a strong cup of Panamanian coffee, lighting my kerosene lamp, and settling into the hammock and reading until I'm too tired for another page. Here is a list of my top 10 favorites:
1. The Ghost Map, by Steven Johnson- This is about the cholera epidemic in 19th century England. It traces the outbreak to a single household and explains how it spread rapidly due to a lack of public health infrastructure and scientific knowledge. It chronicles the independent works of a priest and scientist who mapped the outbreak and founded a new framework for understanding diseases and how they are spread. It beautifully weaves together ideas of epidemiology, urban planning, public health and the future of cities and their environmental consequences. Completely fascinating.
2. The World According to Garp, by John Irving. I've read several of Irving's books here in Panama, including A Widow for One Year,The Hotel New Hampshire, Last Night on Twisted River, and A Prayer for Owen Meany. He has become one of my favorite writers. I'm addicted to his crafty writing and epic stories that follow the characters from childhood to adulthood. What makes his books so remarkable is how he combines incredible plot elements, ie dwarves, weird fetishes, and circuses, with richly-detailed characters who ring completely true. A great storyteller.
3. How the Brain Changes Itself, by Norman Doidge. A book about brain science which overturns any notions about our minds being "hard-wired" and unchanging. Doidge explains the idea of neuroplasticity through case studies involving stroke patients, or people who suffered injuries or birth defects and then went on to train their brains to function in unexpected and highly effective ways. A nerdy pick, but worth reading if you're interest in medicine or science.
4. Little Bee, by Chris Cleave. I had to put off all work-related activities until I finished this book. One of the most affecting novels I've ever read. The back of the copy I own contains only a sentence or two of plot summary because it claims not to want to ruin the story. I'll say this much: the book is narrated by a young girl from Nigeria and a woman in England. Their lives intersect and what results is an incredibly thoughtful book on what it means to have a conscience, memory, and culture and how these things affect the relationship between people in ways we can only try our best to understand. The plot twists and turns and you'll never know what's about to happen to the characters whose voices will stay with you a long time after you close the back cover. Read this.
5. The Grapes of Wrath, by John Steinbeck. Love Steinbeck. East of Eden might be my favorite book ever, and Grapes of Wrath lived up to all my expectations. Who could ever forget the Joads?
6. The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo triology, by Steig Larsson. Page-turning thrillers that will also making you completely uninterested in pursuing other tasks. The second two installments can't beat the tight, expertly-woven plot of the first book, but the Lisbeth Salander character has to be one of the most interesting in modern popular fiction and you'll want to follow her until the end.
7. The Spirit Catches You When You Fall Down, by Anne Fadiman. An extensively researched look at how Western medicine collides with cultural tradition of the Hmong people from Laos. A toddler named Lia lives with her family in a Hmong community in California and is diagnosed with a seizure disorder. Traditional Hmong culture views this as a misalignment or curse of the spirits. Her parents refer the illness as 'the spirit catches you and you fall down' and believe it is caused by a wandering of the soul. While Lia sees doctors at a local California hospital, her parents are confused by their clinical diagnoses and obvious disregard for the soul's role in Lia's healing. Their efforts to incorporate natural remedies into Lia's treatment results in accusations of non-compliance and eventually they are declared unfit and Lia is taken to a foster family. But this book takes no sides. Fadiman showcases the strengths and limits of Western medicine and Hmong culture equally, and makes it clear that neither one nor the other, but rather the clash of the two, is what ultimately failed Lia. It is a compassionate and dramatic story that will challenge the world view of any reader.
8. The Poisonwood Bible, by Barbara Kingsolver. A story of a fervent missionary who brings his family to the Belgian Congo in the 1959 just before the country's revolution. They are dangerously ill-prepared in every sense and in the course of events, Kingsolver shows what it takes to fracture families and countries. This book is certainly political, but I loved it for the story it told and the sometimes breathtaking beauty of the author's writing.
9. The Professor and the Madman, by Simon Winchester. This non-fiction pick is about the making of the Oxford English Dictionary and its most prolific contributor, who sent in over 10,000 entries while he was a patient at an asylum for the criminally insane. This story proves the maxim that truth is stranger than fiction. Winchester tells it with the skill of a novelist as he ties together a violent murder, the obsessive drive of the dictionary's editor and the boggling coexistence of genius and madness in one man's mind.
10. Me Talk Pretty One Day, by David Sedaris. This man is hilarious. His essays are the perfect cure for in-site blues. He can take any mundane event and transform it into sharp, witty commentary on family dynamics, culture, or the simple absurdity of everyday life. He writes about pretty much any topic, and if you listen to to NPR, you've probably heard him read one of his stories. Listen to him here as he explains the Easter Bunny.
Sunday, June 19, 2011
The Sleepover
My host family, including a 12-year-old brother and 9 and 7-year old cousins, never quite understood why I could live alone. And why I would possibly request to have an entire big house to myself, especially when before I moved in, they used to stay there during the week because it eliminated a 30-minute walk and river crossing on their way to school. It seems ridiculous that I would want to be there alone, night after night, among the witches and goblins that lurk nearby, and in my typical gringa selfishness, had never even once thought to invite them over to spend the night.
So, I finally caved. In my final months, I am relaxing the iron fist with which I have traditionally ruled and letting people, especially the kids, get away with a little more than before. Last week, after my host-brother Kaicer asked me WHEN CAN HE EVER COME AND SPEND THE NIGHT WITH ME, I responded, ''How about Sunday?'' A look of grateful disbelief spread across his face, and I could tell he was thinking, that´s all? All I had to do was ask? I invited him and his cousin, Marvin, and told them to bring their uniforms ironed and ready so they could leave straight for school on Monday morning. He skipped out of my house with a smile plastered to his face, but stopped at the gate to ask, ''What will we eat?''
Feeling particularly generous, the words, ''What do you want?'' tumbled forth, and I immediately regretted it, thinking I would have to go find fish or buy some type of meat that I usually wouldn't prepare. Instead, he said hopefully, ''Rice and a boiled egg?''
DONE. I can do that. ''And for breakfast?''
''Coffee and bread?'' I thought these might by far be the easist house guests I had ever entertained.
So about 5:30 Sunday afternoon the boys arrived with backpacks filled to the brim with books and clothes, and Marvin's little brother, Geovani tagged along. It immediately occurred to me I should have planned something to do in the hours that stretched before us until bed time, but we quickly settled into some easy conversation and Farkle playing. Dinner time came and I busied myself in the kitchen while the boys played outside and started making jokes about how such a white girl could have such three dark-skinned sons. I presented them with their meals, and shortly after, had to get up to boil some yucca because it became obvious that little Geovany is a man of root vegetables and bananas, and did not appreciate my attempts with store-bought rice.
By that time, the neighbor girls had come over and asked if we would be ''doing exercise,'' which is their way of requesting that we do yoga. (I made the mistake of indulging their interest in my yoga magazines a few weeks ago, and am now hounded by daily requests from my little yogis.) Within two minutes, all of the other neighbors had arrived, and I was leading about nine children through a few basic moves. The boys wobbled and giggled, asking ''CATI HOW ARE YOU DOING THIS?!'' as I instructed them to stretch out and reach their hands to the sky in triangle. It was one of the many moments I've had in my service, where I all of a sudden zoom out of the moment, and see what I am actually doing and can hardly contain my laughter. In the Peace Corps you can do anything, including becoming an amateur yoga instructor.
After we took our last vinyasa, I shooed away the riff-raff and offered the boys some hot chocolate, hoping to signal an end to the evening. All of the liquid nourishment I had offered throughout the evening was clearly overwhelming to little Geovany, who stood up to pee through my fence at least half a dozen times. We played cards for a little while, and made sure everyone's uniforms were hung up, and then I tried to get everyone upstairs and settled . They fell asleep right away, and I considered that they settled down a lot easier than most sugar-high-riding American children who stay up half the night, sending pangs of regret and rage through the parents who agreed to host them.
Morning came, and I woke everyone up and went downstairs to put the coffee on. The boys' giddiness from the night before was undiminished as they were visibly reveling in the idea of being in Catí's house and Cati making breakfast for them. Coffee was served with the bread, the boys dressed and scampered off to to school.
A sigh of relief. That was way easier than I thought. Everyone ate, no one complained, fun was had, very little chaos. Until I went up to clean up the blankets where the boys slept, and encountered a sopping, urine-soaked blanket and sleeping pad, which indicated to me that next time, if there is a next time, it is better to err on the side of mild dehydration when it comes to tending to your little guests. Oh well, nothing a little laundry soap and a mild bleach solution can´t fix.
Above: Kaicer, on his 12th birthday in May. Below: Geovany, 7 going on 79
So, I finally caved. In my final months, I am relaxing the iron fist with which I have traditionally ruled and letting people, especially the kids, get away with a little more than before. Last week, after my host-brother Kaicer asked me WHEN CAN HE EVER COME AND SPEND THE NIGHT WITH ME, I responded, ''How about Sunday?'' A look of grateful disbelief spread across his face, and I could tell he was thinking, that´s all? All I had to do was ask? I invited him and his cousin, Marvin, and told them to bring their uniforms ironed and ready so they could leave straight for school on Monday morning. He skipped out of my house with a smile plastered to his face, but stopped at the gate to ask, ''What will we eat?''
Feeling particularly generous, the words, ''What do you want?'' tumbled forth, and I immediately regretted it, thinking I would have to go find fish or buy some type of meat that I usually wouldn't prepare. Instead, he said hopefully, ''Rice and a boiled egg?''
DONE. I can do that. ''And for breakfast?''
''Coffee and bread?'' I thought these might by far be the easist house guests I had ever entertained.
So about 5:30 Sunday afternoon the boys arrived with backpacks filled to the brim with books and clothes, and Marvin's little brother, Geovani tagged along. It immediately occurred to me I should have planned something to do in the hours that stretched before us until bed time, but we quickly settled into some easy conversation and Farkle playing. Dinner time came and I busied myself in the kitchen while the boys played outside and started making jokes about how such a white girl could have such three dark-skinned sons. I presented them with their meals, and shortly after, had to get up to boil some yucca because it became obvious that little Geovany is a man of root vegetables and bananas, and did not appreciate my attempts with store-bought rice.
By that time, the neighbor girls had come over and asked if we would be ''doing exercise,'' which is their way of requesting that we do yoga. (I made the mistake of indulging their interest in my yoga magazines a few weeks ago, and am now hounded by daily requests from my little yogis.) Within two minutes, all of the other neighbors had arrived, and I was leading about nine children through a few basic moves. The boys wobbled and giggled, asking ''CATI HOW ARE YOU DOING THIS?!'' as I instructed them to stretch out and reach their hands to the sky in triangle. It was one of the many moments I've had in my service, where I all of a sudden zoom out of the moment, and see what I am actually doing and can hardly contain my laughter. In the Peace Corps you can do anything, including becoming an amateur yoga instructor.
After we took our last vinyasa, I shooed away the riff-raff and offered the boys some hot chocolate, hoping to signal an end to the evening. All of the liquid nourishment I had offered throughout the evening was clearly overwhelming to little Geovany, who stood up to pee through my fence at least half a dozen times. We played cards for a little while, and made sure everyone's uniforms were hung up, and then I tried to get everyone upstairs and settled . They fell asleep right away, and I considered that they settled down a lot easier than most sugar-high-riding American children who stay up half the night, sending pangs of regret and rage through the parents who agreed to host them.
Morning came, and I woke everyone up and went downstairs to put the coffee on. The boys' giddiness from the night before was undiminished as they were visibly reveling in the idea of being in Catí's house and Cati making breakfast for them. Coffee was served with the bread, the boys dressed and scampered off to to school.
A sigh of relief. That was way easier than I thought. Everyone ate, no one complained, fun was had, very little chaos. Until I went up to clean up the blankets where the boys slept, and encountered a sopping, urine-soaked blanket and sleeping pad, which indicated to me that next time, if there is a next time, it is better to err on the side of mild dehydration when it comes to tending to your little guests. Oh well, nothing a little laundry soap and a mild bleach solution can´t fix.
Above: Kaicer, on his 12th birthday in May. Below: Geovany, 7 going on 79
Saturday, May 7, 2011
Skills and knowledge I've learned in Panama that will be useless upon re-entry
1. Cooking without dairy, refrigeration or meat.
2. Lawn mowing with a machete.
3. Bathing and washing my hair with fewer than two gallons of water.
4. Enjoyment of boiled green bananas and plantains.
5. Enough knowledge to get me half way to a medical specialty in tropical infectious diseases.
6. The life cycle of roundworm.
7. Drinking things which in the U.S. are solid foods, ie corn flakes frozen popsicles, oatmeal drinks.
8. Sleeping through crows, screaming children and church hymns sung between 11 p.m. and 5 a.m.
9. Basic masonry.
10. Advanced hair braiding.
11. Essential properties of gravity-flow water systems.
12. Conversational Ngobere.
2. Lawn mowing with a machete.
3. Bathing and washing my hair with fewer than two gallons of water.
4. Enjoyment of boiled green bananas and plantains.
5. Enough knowledge to get me half way to a medical specialty in tropical infectious diseases.
6. The life cycle of roundworm.
7. Drinking things which in the U.S. are solid foods, ie corn flakes frozen popsicles, oatmeal drinks.
8. Sleeping through crows, screaming children and church hymns sung between 11 p.m. and 5 a.m.
9. Basic masonry.
10. Advanced hair braiding.
11. Essential properties of gravity-flow water systems.
12. Conversational Ngobere.
Saturday, April 23, 2011
So you want to climb a volcano
I have been busy at work recently, but I also realize that my time in Panama will be quickly coming to an end. There is a lot of travel I still want to do, several destinations left on my Panama bucket list. I got to cross one of them off this weekend, as I climbed Panama's highest peak, Volcan Baru Thursday night with several friends.
We made it to the trailhead in Boquete and started hiking around 10p.m. I packed light, with a Camelbak holding only my water, snacks and several layers to stay warm as the temperatures dropped. I was a little nervous, as I had heard several horror stories from another PCV- involving hikers who turned around, threw up, cried, or even had trail side "bathroom accidents" as their bodies gave way to fatigue. I wondered if it was the best activity to undertake after 10 hours days of heavy construction and cement mixing. But, two hours in, although I felt the burn, I knew he'd overstated the difficulty. I'd be fine. Our headlamps guided us and conversation made the time pass quickly. Every now and then we stopped to refuel on peanuts, granola bars or fruit and keep ourselves hydrated. As we climbed higher, we covered our tanks and tees with long sleeves and sweatshirts. I love being cold in Panama.
The last hill was the most costly, I wove my way up it, feeling slightly dizzy from the altitude and/or five and a half hours of strenuous hiking. If we made a mistake, it was leaving as early as we did. We thought it might take longer to get there, but our 3:30 a.m. arrival made for a long wait until sunrise. Temperatures were in the 40s but felt much colder with blowing winds and sweaty bodies that were cooling down too fast. We huddled together trying to keep as warm as possible and looking for buildings to sneak into on a compound just below the peak.
By around quarter to six, strips of orange and green began to break along the horizon line and we sat there, above the clouds, waiting. On a clear day, you can see both the Pacific and Caribbean oceans from the summit. Our day was a little cloudy, but the view was still completely magnificent in its own way as the sun came up, casting colors into the fog, clouds and sky that we felt a part of. We stood at 11,398 feet looking down at clouds below, at the hills and the swirls of white, orange, pink and blue that surrounded us. Fatigue in our legs was forgotten, the hike down wasn't a concern because the breathtaking view trumped everything. The pictures below can't quite capture the natural beauty.
At about 8a.m., 10 hours after first starting, we began the descent. A lot of people say going down is harder, especially if you do the overnight hike. We hadn't slept, were already sore from the ascent, and the adrenaline was fading. It took us about four and a half hours to get down. The last 90 minutes were pretty brutal, with the impact of each step pounding into my knees and ankles, and the effects of pulling an all nighter while walking a total of 16 miles and climbing up to an 11,000 feet peak beginning to make themselves known.
But this trip will be one of my favorites in Panama. The combinaton of physical strain followed by a resplendent reward was the kind of experience I needed to relieve some in-site stress and remind myself that I am surrounded by natural beauty and fortunate to live once-in-a-lifetime experiences all the time in this beautiful country.
We made it to the trailhead in Boquete and started hiking around 10p.m. I packed light, with a Camelbak holding only my water, snacks and several layers to stay warm as the temperatures dropped. I was a little nervous, as I had heard several horror stories from another PCV- involving hikers who turned around, threw up, cried, or even had trail side "bathroom accidents" as their bodies gave way to fatigue. I wondered if it was the best activity to undertake after 10 hours days of heavy construction and cement mixing. But, two hours in, although I felt the burn, I knew he'd overstated the difficulty. I'd be fine. Our headlamps guided us and conversation made the time pass quickly. Every now and then we stopped to refuel on peanuts, granola bars or fruit and keep ourselves hydrated. As we climbed higher, we covered our tanks and tees with long sleeves and sweatshirts. I love being cold in Panama.
The last hill was the most costly, I wove my way up it, feeling slightly dizzy from the altitude and/or five and a half hours of strenuous hiking. If we made a mistake, it was leaving as early as we did. We thought it might take longer to get there, but our 3:30 a.m. arrival made for a long wait until sunrise. Temperatures were in the 40s but felt much colder with blowing winds and sweaty bodies that were cooling down too fast. We huddled together trying to keep as warm as possible and looking for buildings to sneak into on a compound just below the peak.
By around quarter to six, strips of orange and green began to break along the horizon line and we sat there, above the clouds, waiting. On a clear day, you can see both the Pacific and Caribbean oceans from the summit. Our day was a little cloudy, but the view was still completely magnificent in its own way as the sun came up, casting colors into the fog, clouds and sky that we felt a part of. We stood at 11,398 feet looking down at clouds below, at the hills and the swirls of white, orange, pink and blue that surrounded us. Fatigue in our legs was forgotten, the hike down wasn't a concern because the breathtaking view trumped everything. The pictures below can't quite capture the natural beauty.
At about 8a.m., 10 hours after first starting, we began the descent. A lot of people say going down is harder, especially if you do the overnight hike. We hadn't slept, were already sore from the ascent, and the adrenaline was fading. It took us about four and a half hours to get down. The last 90 minutes were pretty brutal, with the impact of each step pounding into my knees and ankles, and the effects of pulling an all nighter while walking a total of 16 miles and climbing up to an 11,000 feet peak beginning to make themselves known.
But this trip will be one of my favorites in Panama. The combinaton of physical strain followed by a resplendent reward was the kind of experience I needed to relieve some in-site stress and remind myself that I am surrounded by natural beauty and fortunate to live once-in-a-lifetime experiences all the time in this beautiful country.
Saturday, March 26, 2011
The arrival of materials
After some unexpected delays in receiving project funding, it was deposited a couple of weeks ago, and I promptly headed out with my latrine committee to buy the supplies. This week, the first deliveries arrive. Next week, construction begins. For now, I leave you with pictures and a huge, heartfelt thank you to everyone who donated to help make this project happen. I have a few busy months ahead of me, but I will do my best to keep you as updated as possible.
Community meeting to organize a work schedule and photos of the delivery:
Community meeting to organize a work schedule and photos of the delivery:
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
Where your chocolate comes from
Saturday was a day in the finca. I went with a family an hour into the hills to take out the beans from some cocoa pods they had harvested. Here are some pictures:
The beans which had been cut from the trees a few days earlier and left in a pile:
Vanesa and A bed of banana leaves to throw the beans onto:
The pods are cut open with machetes and the beans are taken out by hand. The white jelly is sweet and can be eaten; it is later removed during a days-long fermenting process. What remains are the almond-sized cocoa beans.
It only took about an hour to get all the beans out. but someone needed a break.
Digging up some root vegetables before heading home.
The beans which had been cut from the trees a few days earlier and left in a pile:
 |
| From 2011-01-12 |
Vanesa and A bed of banana leaves to throw the beans onto:
 |
| From 2011-01-12 |
The pods are cut open with machetes and the beans are taken out by hand. The white jelly is sweet and can be eaten; it is later removed during a days-long fermenting process. What remains are the almond-sized cocoa beans.
 |
| From 2011-01-12 |
It only took about an hour to get all the beans out. but someone needed a break.
 |
| From 2011-01-12 |
Digging up some root vegetables before heading home.
 |
| From 2011-01-12 |
 |
| From 2011-01-12 |
Monday, January 10, 2011
Birthday
My uncle Peter asked me what it´s like, being here in Panama. It sounds like an easy enough question, and at the time I think I answered with little hesitation. You can get used to anything. Life in the village feels normal to me now. Things that shock outsiders seem so minor to me that sometimes I wonder why they make such a big deal out of them. I uess i can't say exactly what it's lie being here because I've gotten so used to it.
While I was home, a lot of people asked me if the kids in my village get presents at Christmas. They don´t. If families celebrate, it might be with a nicer-than-normal meal. They spend a few extra dollars to have stewed chicken and maybe a bit of lettuce and tomato.
This idea seemed to make Americans sad. A Christmas without presents. But that´s only because we´ve always had something to open on Christmas morning. We´d miss all that stuff if we only had a plate of chicken to look forward to. But poor kids don´t believe in Santa. They don´t expect presents, so it´s not really sad when there aren´t any. That is just how Christmas is here. They eat well, spend the day with the family, and are truly grateful if the day goes by and everyone is healthy, happy and full. Sounds nicer than some American Christmases if you ask me.
Birthdays are the same. Special food if there´s money, and if not, it´s just another day. I got used to that. But returning to my community after spending two weeks in the states, and at a time when it´s buy buy buy, give give give, my view was set a little askew.
One of my favorites, Rosibel turned five on Friday. The day before her mother has been rushed to the hospital after fainting while washing clothes. Rosibel came over to my house early on Friday morning when Julio, her dad, stopped by to tell me he was going to the hospital for the day to be with his wife, and his oldest daughter would be watching the younger kids. I asked Julio if Rosibel knew it was her birthday. I thought maybe they hadn't said anything, since no one would be there to celebrate with her. Family emergencies take precedent. But he said that yes, she knew.
In the mixed-up mash of having one foot still in the U.S. and one in my village, I lost my balance a little bit. All of a sudden I wanted to give this girl a birthday. Maybe because her family made me a part of theirs in the last year, or because she is one of the sweetest, most adorable children around and expected nothing. And in a weird way, I think I wanted to do it mostly for me. When I returned to QP after being in the states, a heaviness landed on my chest. I wanted something fun for these people, something to be easy, to celebrate something. After almost a year and a half there I got used to the hardships and the rough edges, but I felt newly exposed once I came back.
So the mission that day was to lighten the mood. I made Rosibel a birthday crown. I gave her some change, a fortune to a five-year-old. And I let her in every single time she came by the house (at least five or six.) When I saw her running to the hill each time a bus slowed to see if her parents were finally coming, I offered to read her a story instead.
I don´t think I would have felt as sympathetic had I not just returned from the states. If you let every sad or difficult thing affect you here, you would be immobile. But somehow, after reminding myself how easy things can be at home compared to life here, I felt the need to make something easy just for once. Brighten a birthday just for the sake of it.
You can get used to anything, including forgotten birthdays and holidays. In the big scheme of things, they are trivial. But sometimes all it takes is a birthday crown and a smile to turn a couple of girls' day around.
(she insisted on posing with the pencil sharpeners)
While I was home, a lot of people asked me if the kids in my village get presents at Christmas. They don´t. If families celebrate, it might be with a nicer-than-normal meal. They spend a few extra dollars to have stewed chicken and maybe a bit of lettuce and tomato.
This idea seemed to make Americans sad. A Christmas without presents. But that´s only because we´ve always had something to open on Christmas morning. We´d miss all that stuff if we only had a plate of chicken to look forward to. But poor kids don´t believe in Santa. They don´t expect presents, so it´s not really sad when there aren´t any. That is just how Christmas is here. They eat well, spend the day with the family, and are truly grateful if the day goes by and everyone is healthy, happy and full. Sounds nicer than some American Christmases if you ask me.
Birthdays are the same. Special food if there´s money, and if not, it´s just another day. I got used to that. But returning to my community after spending two weeks in the states, and at a time when it´s buy buy buy, give give give, my view was set a little askew.
One of my favorites, Rosibel turned five on Friday. The day before her mother has been rushed to the hospital after fainting while washing clothes. Rosibel came over to my house early on Friday morning when Julio, her dad, stopped by to tell me he was going to the hospital for the day to be with his wife, and his oldest daughter would be watching the younger kids. I asked Julio if Rosibel knew it was her birthday. I thought maybe they hadn't said anything, since no one would be there to celebrate with her. Family emergencies take precedent. But he said that yes, she knew.
In the mixed-up mash of having one foot still in the U.S. and one in my village, I lost my balance a little bit. All of a sudden I wanted to give this girl a birthday. Maybe because her family made me a part of theirs in the last year, or because she is one of the sweetest, most adorable children around and expected nothing. And in a weird way, I think I wanted to do it mostly for me. When I returned to QP after being in the states, a heaviness landed on my chest. I wanted something fun for these people, something to be easy, to celebrate something. After almost a year and a half there I got used to the hardships and the rough edges, but I felt newly exposed once I came back.
So the mission that day was to lighten the mood. I made Rosibel a birthday crown. I gave her some change, a fortune to a five-year-old. And I let her in every single time she came by the house (at least five or six.) When I saw her running to the hill each time a bus slowed to see if her parents were finally coming, I offered to read her a story instead.
I don´t think I would have felt as sympathetic had I not just returned from the states. If you let every sad or difficult thing affect you here, you would be immobile. But somehow, after reminding myself how easy things can be at home compared to life here, I felt the need to make something easy just for once. Brighten a birthday just for the sake of it.
You can get used to anything, including forgotten birthdays and holidays. In the big scheme of things, they are trivial. But sometimes all it takes is a birthday crown and a smile to turn a couple of girls' day around.
 |
| From 2011-01-12 |
(she insisted on posing with the pencil sharpeners)
Monday, December 6, 2010
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.
Friday, November 12, 2010
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.
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.
Sunday, October 31, 2010
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!
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!
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
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...
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...
Monday, June 28, 2010
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.
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.
Friday, June 11, 2010
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?!)
Friday, June 4, 2010
My first year of medical school (updated)
So by now the secret´s out that I harbor delusional fantasies of practicing medicine, but posess neither the will or the skill to actually pursue a professional, (legal), career. But you know? Sometimes when you really want something, you are provided with opportunities. (I think I just heard you all roll your eyes.)
Yesterday I went to the nearby community of Valle de Agua Arriba, where another Peace Corps volunteer is wrapping up her service. The community was hosting a gira medica, which is essentially a traveling clinic made up of doctors, dentists, vets, and students, that descends on a town for a day and sees as many patients as possible. Unfortunately, I didn´t get to see much of what was going on in the medicina general room, but that all sounded quite boring compared to where I was stationed in the dental room.
Of course, my role was to translate for the students and nothing more, because none of them spoke a word of Spanish. And for a rural population who has never seen a dentist and has trust issues with gringoes and foreigners, my services were appreciated by both parties. I felt most useful when even the Spanish-speaking Costa Rican doctors asked me to speak with patients to explain medicine or treatment, because they could tell the Ngobes were more willing to listen to me.
But besides all of that, I got to see some pretty gruesome tooth extractions, record-amounts of plaque scraped off teeth, and explained how to brush teeth about 100 times (I have never seen anyone in my community brush teeth. Toothpaste is sold in the tienda, but I am quite sure I am one of perhaps three QP dwellers who purchase it.) I also felt the fierce defensivenes I´ve lately been experiencing when it comes to ¨outsiders¨talking down, or badly about the people here. It´s easy for some people to criticize when you have no idea about the context of their lives.. But people who have never lived alongside them, haven´t seen them haul buckets of water for 15 minutes uphill just so they can cook, or seen how little money they really have, cannot understand all of the barriers poor, rural populations face in trying to be healthy.
In between translations, I did decide dentistry will not be the fake medical-specialty I adopt in the vast vallies of my imagination. It is the only area of modern medicine that makes me cringe more than orthopedics.
Other Asuntos Varios on the health front:
So if you are wondering how my feet are, the answer is much better, thankyouforasking. The infections are gone, and I had a blood test today to make sure there were no more creepy crawlies hanging out in my blood. Luckily, there were not, but there are some other creepy crawlies hanging out in my skin.
So I had been suffering from a REALLY SEVERE ITCH ALL OVER MY BODY THAT WAS DRIVING ME CRAZY for about two weeks. Like crazy itching, especially at night, when I would wake myself up digging at my skin like a mangey flea-ridden dog. Then I broke out in a rash on my knees, which was a charming addition to the scars, cuts and bites that already inhabit my legs. These gams are getting pretty hard to look at, folks.
The doctor says I have scabies, and all of their egg-laying and pooping under my skin causes an allergic reaction. Which is beyond disgusting. I hope he is wrong and it is just an allergic reaction to the jungle. He didn´t dwell very long over the diagnosis, just pointed to two nearly miscroscopic dots on my scratched-up hand and said ¨That is where it went in, and that is where it went out!¨
So let´s allow ourselves to float around in the hopeful fantasy that it was a hasty, incorrect assessment. Because even though I am an imaginary medical professional, mites burrowing around in my skin is just a little too Victorian-England-jail-cell for my liking. Furthermore, you usually need to have some close human contact to get scabies, if you know what I mean, and I am a very single young lady living a very single life in the jungle. If I caught this wretched disease from having kids crawling all over me, then well... NO MORE COLORING AT CATI´S HOUSE!! Scabies... seriously?
So anyway, I am in Changuinola for the weekend, getting some PC work done and catching up on some R and R before I head into a marathon couple of weeks doing stuff in site. You might be hearing from me again.
Yesterday I went to the nearby community of Valle de Agua Arriba, where another Peace Corps volunteer is wrapping up her service. The community was hosting a gira medica, which is essentially a traveling clinic made up of doctors, dentists, vets, and students, that descends on a town for a day and sees as many patients as possible. Unfortunately, I didn´t get to see much of what was going on in the medicina general room, but that all sounded quite boring compared to where I was stationed in the dental room.
Of course, my role was to translate for the students and nothing more, because none of them spoke a word of Spanish. And for a rural population who has never seen a dentist and has trust issues with gringoes and foreigners, my services were appreciated by both parties. I felt most useful when even the Spanish-speaking Costa Rican doctors asked me to speak with patients to explain medicine or treatment, because they could tell the Ngobes were more willing to listen to me.
But besides all of that, I got to see some pretty gruesome tooth extractions, record-amounts of plaque scraped off teeth, and explained how to brush teeth about 100 times (I have never seen anyone in my community brush teeth. Toothpaste is sold in the tienda, but I am quite sure I am one of perhaps three QP dwellers who purchase it.) I also felt the fierce defensivenes I´ve lately been experiencing when it comes to ¨outsiders¨talking down, or badly about the people here. It´s easy for some people to criticize when you have no idea about the context of their lives.. But people who have never lived alongside them, haven´t seen them haul buckets of water for 15 minutes uphill just so they can cook, or seen how little money they really have, cannot understand all of the barriers poor, rural populations face in trying to be healthy.
In between translations, I did decide dentistry will not be the fake medical-specialty I adopt in the vast vallies of my imagination. It is the only area of modern medicine that makes me cringe more than orthopedics.
Other Asuntos Varios on the health front:
So if you are wondering how my feet are, the answer is much better, thankyouforasking. The infections are gone, and I had a blood test today to make sure there were no more creepy crawlies hanging out in my blood. Luckily, there were not, but there are some other creepy crawlies hanging out in my skin.
So I had been suffering from a REALLY SEVERE ITCH ALL OVER MY BODY THAT WAS DRIVING ME CRAZY for about two weeks. Like crazy itching, especially at night, when I would wake myself up digging at my skin like a mangey flea-ridden dog. Then I broke out in a rash on my knees, which was a charming addition to the scars, cuts and bites that already inhabit my legs. These gams are getting pretty hard to look at, folks.
The doctor says I have scabies, and all of their egg-laying and pooping under my skin causes an allergic reaction. Which is beyond disgusting. I hope he is wrong and it is just an allergic reaction to the jungle. He didn´t dwell very long over the diagnosis, just pointed to two nearly miscroscopic dots on my scratched-up hand and said ¨That is where it went in, and that is where it went out!¨
So let´s allow ourselves to float around in the hopeful fantasy that it was a hasty, incorrect assessment. Because even though I am an imaginary medical professional, mites burrowing around in my skin is just a little too Victorian-England-jail-cell for my liking. Furthermore, you usually need to have some close human contact to get scabies, if you know what I mean, and I am a very single young lady living a very single life in the jungle. If I caught this wretched disease from having kids crawling all over me, then well... NO MORE COLORING AT CATI´S HOUSE!! Scabies... seriously?
So anyway, I am in Changuinola for the weekend, getting some PC work done and catching up on some R and R before I head into a marathon couple of weeks doing stuff in site. You might be hearing from me again.
Monday, May 31, 2010
PML- The artful execution
I am happy to report that the act of getting everyone to PML ended up being the hardest part. And gracias a dios, because if things had continued as they did in The Build Up, it´s likely I´d have collapsed mid-way through the seminar from exhaustion.
We touched on many themes during the course of two days, and each topic was followed by practice or activities on the part of the participants. We PCVs provided the comic relief in the form of over-the-top skits and ice-breakers that helped reinforce topics, or just infuse the process with a little more FUN.
Time and Money Management: In this session, partcipants practiced using an agenda to manage time and worked with personal budgets to help them think more critically about how to save and spend their money. For poor farmers, who see most of their yearly income in the course of a few months of cocoa seasion, this session was invaluable. Many identified it as the most useful.
How to facilitate group interaction: This focuses on how groups fall into dysfunction, and how to prevent it through conflict resolution. Our water committee is ineffective primarily because of ¨people issues,¨ ie gossip, lack of responsibility, lack of group vision, etc. We offered strategies to solve problems and they practiced in small groups using a tool called POCA to work through issues on the personal and group levels.
¨I solved the problem!¨ Willy is 18, but his emotions are always splattered all over his face as if we were six. He was excited to show me what he learned from the days session, about being proactive and going the extra mile to actually solve your problem. His pride and eagerness for praise were endearing to say the least.
Bucket-Filling: So we all have a bucket...This session is basically about positive reinforcement and encouraging people through sincere compliments. Your bucket is full when you feel appreciated and valued, and empty when you feel the opposite. Kind of touchy-feely, but who doesn´t want a full bucket? PCVs love this activity, and it´s amazing/hilarious to do it with Ngobes, who are completely unaccustomed to the idea of positive feedback. So after Cat and I did a demonstration, with actual ladels and buckets of water, we gave everyone an envelope, markers, tape, and Post-Its. They wrote their own names on the envelopes, and wrote anonymous bucket-fillers to their group-members, Cat, and me. They were clearly tickled and I plan to find more ways to sneak bucket-filling into whatever community activities I have.
Are you wondering my people think of me? Here is the most forcefu bucket-fillerl, written without puncuation, in stanza-like form: Cati, pretty, white skin, blue eyes, I love you Cati.
Well that´s nice.
Agency Interaction: Here we went over the how-tos of working with agencies, mostly having to do with phone etiquette and how to prepare for meetings. We did role plays for each participant, having to make an appointment by phone call, how to arrive at the office, be friendly with the secretary and act professional in the meeting with the agency rep. Some of them got quite into it, donning costumes and fake names. Others were overcome by nervousness and giggles and could hardly keep it together.
The takeaway: I had pre-emptively apologized to Gary, Peggy and Cat for what I aassumed would be a gross lack of participation and interest on my community´s part. No one was enthusiastic about going, I felt they didn´t really understand why I invited them, and were less-than-pleased about donating two full days to one of Cati´s causes, which they referred to as a ¨meeting¨despite my insistent use of the word ¨workshop.¨
I am thrilled to my core to say that I was completley wrong on all accounts. They exceeded my expectations in every way. They listened, and really listened, participated actively, had fun, and learned a lot. We received hugely uplifting feedback, and they asked me to do some similar charlas in the school because they´ve never a training so well-prepared and useful, they said.
My month of preparation, stress, and moments of literal physical pain were worth it. So many times I question my value to them, what impact I can possibly have, and if perhaps I made a mis-step embarking on one of the most naive journeys one can take on this side of sanity. But just as many times, I´ve learned what it is to actually feel your heart swell for people. To be so surprised and delighted that all you can do is grin and admit you were wrong. This definitely fell into the latter category. I view the concepts taught in PML as a useful stepping stone and reference port for all future work with the committees, and I am grateful it went off without a hitch. Maybe now they´ll even be a little more eager for the next ¨meeting.¨One can dream.
Bucket-Filling: So we all have a bucket...This session is basically about positive reinforcement and encouraging people through sincere compliments. Your bucket is full when you feel appreciated and valued, and empty when you feel the opposite. Kind of touchy-feely, but who doesn´t want a full bucket? PCVs love this activity, and it´s amazing/hilarious to do it with Ngobes, who are completely unaccustomed to the idea of positive feedback. So after Cat and I did a demonstration, with actual ladels and buckets of water, we gave everyone an envelope, markers, tape, and Post-Its. They wrote their own names on the envelopes, and wrote anonymous bucket-fillers to their group-members, Cat, and me. They were clearly tickled and I plan to find more ways to sneak bucket-filling into whatever community activities I have.
Are you wondering my people think of me? Here is the most forcefu bucket-fillerl, written without puncuation, in stanza-like form: Cati, pretty, white skin, blue eyes, I love you Cati.
Well that´s nice.
Agency Interaction: Here we went over the how-tos of working with agencies, mostly having to do with phone etiquette and how to prepare for meetings. We did role plays for each participant, having to make an appointment by phone call, how to arrive at the office, be friendly with the secretary and act professional in the meeting with the agency rep. Some of them got quite into it, donning costumes and fake names. Others were overcome by nervousness and giggles and could hardly keep it together.
The takeaway: I had pre-emptively apologized to Gary, Peggy and Cat for what I aassumed would be a gross lack of participation and interest on my community´s part. No one was enthusiastic about going, I felt they didn´t really understand why I invited them, and were less-than-pleased about donating two full days to one of Cati´s causes, which they referred to as a ¨meeting¨despite my insistent use of the word ¨workshop.¨
I am thrilled to my core to say that I was completley wrong on all accounts. They exceeded my expectations in every way. They listened, and really listened, participated actively, had fun, and learned a lot. We received hugely uplifting feedback, and they asked me to do some similar charlas in the school because they´ve never a training so well-prepared and useful, they said.
My month of preparation, stress, and moments of literal physical pain were worth it. So many times I question my value to them, what impact I can possibly have, and if perhaps I made a mis-step embarking on one of the most naive journeys one can take on this side of sanity. But just as many times, I´ve learned what it is to actually feel your heart swell for people. To be so surprised and delighted that all you can do is grin and admit you were wrong. This definitely fell into the latter category. I view the concepts taught in PML as a useful stepping stone and reference port for all future work with the committees, and I am grateful it went off without a hitch. Maybe now they´ll even be a little more eager for the next ¨meeting.¨One can dream.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
