My brother James is a really good sport. He arrived in Las Tablas after a long day of travel and was immediately immersed into the 24-7 chaos that is Panama´s Carnaval. It is quite like Mardis Gras, but involves a lot more hoses spraying people, beauty queen parade floats, and pop-up clubs in which one is free to dance the night away. He jumped right in to the fiesta without a complaint. He met a bunch of my Peace Corps friends, all enjoying a couple of vacation days, and soaking in the sun, pushing through crowds, and subsisting on what we all lovingly call street meat.
From there, we spent a four full days in my site. He got to know the local kids really well and get a real taste of what a normal day for a PCV is like. There aren´t many people I feel like I could bring into my community and not feel worried about how they would do or view things. But James is one of those people I knew who could handle it and thrive, just like he did at Carnaval! The kids fell in love, and many of the adults told me they thought he would make a really good volunteer and asked about his availability come October, when I leave. I said our mother wouldn´t have it.
We finished our time on Bocas Island, eating bacon, burgers, and really good Indian food. I told James the only condition for his visit was that he had to write me an entry for the blog. That will be coming soon. In the mean time, here are all the pictures from his visit.
Showing posts with label Bocas del Toro. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Bocas del Toro. Show all posts
Saturday, March 26, 2011
Monday, January 31, 2011
The freaks come out at night
The people I live with are a little skittish. They believe in vampires, boogie men, and creepers with ankle fetishes that arrive after sundown. At first, I tried to challenge these ideas, especially after they blamed a loaf of bread stolen from my kitchen on a recent string of vampire crimes. I fought against it, asked them to think logically, but that was a losing battle. Now? Now I consider it my full responsibility to advise of these public safety hazards and spread every single rumor I hear. I think of it as another notch on my "cultural integration" belt.
These tales must be told with complete earnestness. Wide eyes, a little finger waving, and some gentle but persistent pleading for the listeners to please be careful. This is serious.
Here is the latest tale that has been spread around QP. I warn everyone I come across:
About 14 years ago, a baby boy was born in the nearby town of Quebrada Plátano. He was not like other babies. From the stomach up, sure, 100 percent normal. But from his hips stretched two, long horse legs.
The doctors advised the mother not to raise this baby. There are ways to get rid of infants that are born half-horses, you know. The mother refused. This was her son. She loved him, but she recognized she couldn't raise him like any other baby. So for the last 14 years, he has been enclosed in a room of their house. She feeds him, bathes him, and takes care of him like any mother. But the door is always locked, and he has been kept away from prying eyes.
In all this time, he grew restless. He is haunted by passing visions of the outside world that he's unable to participate in. He has become, or always was, what the people here call a "bad spirit." And in the recent weeks, his restlessness caused him to leave in the middle of the night, appearing beside unsuspecting people in the dark. Some stories say he walks with two "friends," others say he comes alone. All warn against him. He is a bad spirit who wants to do us harm.
I was warned about him by several men in my community, two of whom who had seen him first hand. "You live alone," they said. "It would be very easy for him to find you." I nodded and promised to double check the locks on my doors. Of course, not everyone believes these stories, and I imagine that, like the vampires and that weird guy with the ankle fetish, they will soon fade from fashion, but in the mean time? I like walking up behind people and clicking my tongue in the rhythm of a two-footed horse.
These tales must be told with complete earnestness. Wide eyes, a little finger waving, and some gentle but persistent pleading for the listeners to please be careful. This is serious.
Here is the latest tale that has been spread around QP. I warn everyone I come across:
About 14 years ago, a baby boy was born in the nearby town of Quebrada Plátano. He was not like other babies. From the stomach up, sure, 100 percent normal. But from his hips stretched two, long horse legs.
The doctors advised the mother not to raise this baby. There are ways to get rid of infants that are born half-horses, you know. The mother refused. This was her son. She loved him, but she recognized she couldn't raise him like any other baby. So for the last 14 years, he has been enclosed in a room of their house. She feeds him, bathes him, and takes care of him like any mother. But the door is always locked, and he has been kept away from prying eyes.
In all this time, he grew restless. He is haunted by passing visions of the outside world that he's unable to participate in. He has become, or always was, what the people here call a "bad spirit." And in the recent weeks, his restlessness caused him to leave in the middle of the night, appearing beside unsuspecting people in the dark. Some stories say he walks with two "friends," others say he comes alone. All warn against him. He is a bad spirit who wants to do us harm.
I was warned about him by several men in my community, two of whom who had seen him first hand. "You live alone," they said. "It would be very easy for him to find you." I nodded and promised to double check the locks on my doors. Of course, not everyone believes these stories, and I imagine that, like the vampires and that weird guy with the ankle fetish, they will soon fade from fashion, but in the mean time? I like walking up behind people and clicking my tongue in the rhythm of a two-footed horse.
Thursday, September 9, 2010
Project Updates and FAQ.
How is the latrine project going?
It could be worse. It could be better. The hardest part is trying to secure funding.
I put about six months into trying to work with government agencies for . They are the Panama equivalents to our Department of Health, or EAP. These agencies are theoretically responsible for managing and/or funding projects country-wide. I say theoretically because due to a variety of reasons, in my experience at least, many tend to be unable or unwilling to do it. Despite all of the obstacles, I still thought working with local authorities was a more ¨sustainable¨option. My committee could develop the project with personel they could have lasting relationships with, and learn more about how to interact with formal governement agencies (I wrote a little about this before here.), which many are intimidated to do . At the outset anyway, it looked like we would have less trouble finding support, because I would be there as a liason for the duraction of the project.
The other choice for project funding is what is called a PCPP-- Peace Corps Partnership Program. Volunteers essentailly write a grant proposal, which is posted on the Peace Corps Web site, and rely on organizations, individuals, and other interested parties to fund the project. I was initially hesistant about using this option because I felt that the funding for a project with a resonable budget should come from within Panama. My community members cannot replicate the PCPP process after I leave, and I run the risk of having them view this project as something I did for them or brought to them, rather than something they acheived for themselves. To me, that is worse than not building any latrines at all. The upside of the PCPP is that it does allow us more control in the actual planning and managing of the project, which is a huge learning opportunity for me and my community members, and almost makes up for the funding aspects.
Up until last week, we were still trying to work with the agencies. About a month ago, I presented my latrine committee with the option of a PCPP, and they still chose to try the agency approach. On Friday, when the Ministry of Health (the most recent of the agencies we´ve tried to work with) s tood us up for a charla they insisted they give, we reached the end of the line. This came after months of cancelled meetings, ignored phone calls, and a complete lack of direction. My committee was unwilling to continue that way, and I was too. Most of our time was spent waiting, and we had little to show for the months we´d invested. There was no guarantee they would ever be able to fund the project anyway. So with a little prodding from me, they chose to go ahead with the PCPP, where the funding is a more sure thing. Furthermore, about half of participating families want composting latrines, which are more costly and harder to get agencies to support (This will be an explanation for another post).
So I have one more charla to do with them about the use and maintenence of latrines, then I will work the committees to teach them how to make a budget, work plans, and other necessary pre-planning. Then I will submit this with the rest of the PCPP and try to do as much fundraising as I can from here. It should take a few months to raise all the money, and then we can begin contruction.
People outside of the Peace Corps bubble sometimes struggle to understand this process. Why it takes a year to get this far. For better or for worse, that is what grassroots development is. I walked into a community that didn´t know what Peace Corps was, thought I was either a) rich or b) a bad guy, and had a heck of a lot to learn about latrines and project planning. Before even talking about projects, I had to gain their trust first, get to know them, and identify their real needs. After we decided on a latrine project, we established a committee, and I began the slow process of trying to start a project with them.
Other development agencies might have written the community a check or delivered the materials, without deciding who should participate, and whether the people knew how to use or maintain latrines. Ten years ago, the Minsitry of Health did something similar to this, and recipients used all the materials for latrines to build chicken coops. People in my community are used to going to the bathroom in the woods, or the creek, and the latrine use presents a lot of issues. They are not for everyone. Not yet, anyway.
It takes time to determine real interest, provide trainings about disease transmission, use and maintencnce, and see who is still interested at the end . Projects that hand things out and don´t do the groundwork first fail, especially in rural areas like mine. I don´t want this project to fail. So while it has been slow, I think it will be more successful in the end, and in the meantime, I have stayed busy enough with other side projects and work in other communities. But I look forward to actually getting this project off the ground when we start building. My counterpart organized our first work day to start digging latrine holes this Saturday to keep motivation and focus. And you know, that whole if you dig it, it will come thing.
What do people do for work?
Most people in my community are subsistence farmers and do not have other jobs. Their chief income is from their cocoa farms. Harvest time is October through early January, and that is when they make their largest profits (up to a few hundred dollars a month for someone with a well-maintained well-producing farm). As for where they get the rest of their money, I am still not sure. Some families sell oranges, lemons, or root vegetables for some extra income. Others also collect welfare checks each month, and use the scholarship money the government awards to students to make ends meet. The people are poor, but they are genearlly able to meet their basic needs. This complacency, combined with a lack of education and capital makes upward movement uncommon.
What are education levels?
People over 30 in my community mostly made it to sixth grade, some stopped earlier. Back then, there was no highway through the community, and to continue past sixth grade meant taking a boat to a community that had a junior high. This was costly and required that students stay overnight with family that lived where the school was, or madke some other arrangement. Few continued. Today, we have Pre-K through 9th grade in my community, which is more than most Ngobe communities have. Unfortunately, for those that make it to 9th grade, few continue on because that means traveling to another community by bus. This costs 50 cents a day and this cost, combined with uniforms and school supplies, is too high for most familist in my village. Last year, only two boys graduated high school from our community. I do think that education and schools are more valued now than they must have been years ago, but it is still hard to see families keep their kids at home due to a lack of money or hope that the investment is worth it.
It could be worse. It could be better. The hardest part is trying to secure funding.
I put about six months into trying to work with government agencies for . They are the Panama equivalents to our Department of Health, or EAP. These agencies are theoretically responsible for managing and/or funding projects country-wide. I say theoretically because due to a variety of reasons, in my experience at least, many tend to be unable or unwilling to do it. Despite all of the obstacles, I still thought working with local authorities was a more ¨sustainable¨option. My committee could develop the project with personel they could have lasting relationships with, and learn more about how to interact with formal governement agencies (I wrote a little about this before here.), which many are intimidated to do . At the outset anyway, it looked like we would have less trouble finding support, because I would be there as a liason for the duraction of the project.
The other choice for project funding is what is called a PCPP-- Peace Corps Partnership Program. Volunteers essentailly write a grant proposal, which is posted on the Peace Corps Web site, and rely on organizations, individuals, and other interested parties to fund the project. I was initially hesistant about using this option because I felt that the funding for a project with a resonable budget should come from within Panama. My community members cannot replicate the PCPP process after I leave, and I run the risk of having them view this project as something I did for them or brought to them, rather than something they acheived for themselves. To me, that is worse than not building any latrines at all. The upside of the PCPP is that it does allow us more control in the actual planning and managing of the project, which is a huge learning opportunity for me and my community members, and almost makes up for the funding aspects.
Up until last week, we were still trying to work with the agencies. About a month ago, I presented my latrine committee with the option of a PCPP, and they still chose to try the agency approach. On Friday, when the Ministry of Health (the most recent of the agencies we´ve tried to work with) s tood us up for a charla they insisted they give, we reached the end of the line. This came after months of cancelled meetings, ignored phone calls, and a complete lack of direction. My committee was unwilling to continue that way, and I was too. Most of our time was spent waiting, and we had little to show for the months we´d invested. There was no guarantee they would ever be able to fund the project anyway. So with a little prodding from me, they chose to go ahead with the PCPP, where the funding is a more sure thing. Furthermore, about half of participating families want composting latrines, which are more costly and harder to get agencies to support (This will be an explanation for another post).
So I have one more charla to do with them about the use and maintenence of latrines, then I will work the committees to teach them how to make a budget, work plans, and other necessary pre-planning. Then I will submit this with the rest of the PCPP and try to do as much fundraising as I can from here. It should take a few months to raise all the money, and then we can begin contruction.
People outside of the Peace Corps bubble sometimes struggle to understand this process. Why it takes a year to get this far. For better or for worse, that is what grassroots development is. I walked into a community that didn´t know what Peace Corps was, thought I was either a) rich or b) a bad guy, and had a heck of a lot to learn about latrines and project planning. Before even talking about projects, I had to gain their trust first, get to know them, and identify their real needs. After we decided on a latrine project, we established a committee, and I began the slow process of trying to start a project with them.
Other development agencies might have written the community a check or delivered the materials, without deciding who should participate, and whether the people knew how to use or maintain latrines. Ten years ago, the Minsitry of Health did something similar to this, and recipients used all the materials for latrines to build chicken coops. People in my community are used to going to the bathroom in the woods, or the creek, and the latrine use presents a lot of issues. They are not for everyone. Not yet, anyway.
It takes time to determine real interest, provide trainings about disease transmission, use and maintencnce, and see who is still interested at the end . Projects that hand things out and don´t do the groundwork first fail, especially in rural areas like mine. I don´t want this project to fail. So while it has been slow, I think it will be more successful in the end, and in the meantime, I have stayed busy enough with other side projects and work in other communities. But I look forward to actually getting this project off the ground when we start building. My counterpart organized our first work day to start digging latrine holes this Saturday to keep motivation and focus. And you know, that whole if you dig it, it will come thing.
What do people do for work?
Most people in my community are subsistence farmers and do not have other jobs. Their chief income is from their cocoa farms. Harvest time is October through early January, and that is when they make their largest profits (up to a few hundred dollars a month for someone with a well-maintained well-producing farm). As for where they get the rest of their money, I am still not sure. Some families sell oranges, lemons, or root vegetables for some extra income. Others also collect welfare checks each month, and use the scholarship money the government awards to students to make ends meet. The people are poor, but they are genearlly able to meet their basic needs. This complacency, combined with a lack of education and capital makes upward movement uncommon.
What are education levels?
People over 30 in my community mostly made it to sixth grade, some stopped earlier. Back then, there was no highway through the community, and to continue past sixth grade meant taking a boat to a community that had a junior high. This was costly and required that students stay overnight with family that lived where the school was, or madke some other arrangement. Few continued. Today, we have Pre-K through 9th grade in my community, which is more than most Ngobe communities have. Unfortunately, for those that make it to 9th grade, few continue on because that means traveling to another community by bus. This costs 50 cents a day and this cost, combined with uniforms and school supplies, is too high for most familist in my village. Last year, only two boys graduated high school from our community. I do think that education and schools are more valued now than they must have been years ago, but it is still hard to see families keep their kids at home due to a lack of money or hope that the investment is worth it.
Monday, April 19, 2010
Drinkable water in 9 steps
1. Move to a rainy climate. Preferably Bocas del Toro in Panama.
2. Excavate a hole using a machete and shovel, as I did, or site another location for your tank.
3. Cut 3 or 4¨PVC tube lengthwise with hacksaw, place on roof with elbow at the end.
4. Remove tank top with hot matchete and hammer. (this takes hours)
5. Poke hole for faucet with heated peace of rebar.
6. Tap threads for faucet with metal-thread-tapper thingy.
7. Wrap faucet in teflon tape, screw in, and seal with caulk.
8. Place mesh over top to keep the creepy-crawlies out.
9. Place tank and enjoy the parasite-free fruits of your labor.
(fellow PCVs used as models)
I use my rain water for everything. In good, steady rain, this 55-gallon tank fills in 20 minutes. I still bleach it just to be safe (who knows what´s living on my roof?), but this is the cleanest water I can be drinking.
Note on water use: A lot of contamination in my site happens in the house when people are dipping their dirty hands into buckets of stored water to make drinks or food. I installed a faucet in one of the five-gallon buckets most families use for storage, filled it with juice, and brought it to a meeting to share. I discreetly called attention to it after a latrine charla, which included a lot of talk about water contamination, and would you guess? PEOPLE WENT WILD. They roared! They hollered! They could not believe my brilliance, and more importantly, that bucket is cool, they said. Everyone wanted one. I promised that if they buy the faucet and nut, I will happily do the work for them. I used their enthusiasm as an opportunity to continue discussion about disease transmission and contamination at the household level. It´s a cheap, easy solution for a big problem.
Total cost of rain-water catchment system: $60.
Total cost of installing faucet in a 5-gallon bucket: $1.65, if tape and caulk are provided.
2. Excavate a hole using a machete and shovel, as I did, or site another location for your tank.
3. Cut 3 or 4¨PVC tube lengthwise with hacksaw, place on roof with elbow at the end.
4. Remove tank top with hot matchete and hammer. (this takes hours)
5. Poke hole for faucet with heated peace of rebar.
6. Tap threads for faucet with metal-thread-tapper thingy.
7. Wrap faucet in teflon tape, screw in, and seal with caulk.
8. Place mesh over top to keep the creepy-crawlies out.
9. Place tank and enjoy the parasite-free fruits of your labor.
(fellow PCVs used as models)
I use my rain water for everything. In good, steady rain, this 55-gallon tank fills in 20 minutes. I still bleach it just to be safe (who knows what´s living on my roof?), but this is the cleanest water I can be drinking.
Note on water use: A lot of contamination in my site happens in the house when people are dipping their dirty hands into buckets of stored water to make drinks or food. I installed a faucet in one of the five-gallon buckets most families use for storage, filled it with juice, and brought it to a meeting to share. I discreetly called attention to it after a latrine charla, which included a lot of talk about water contamination, and would you guess? PEOPLE WENT WILD. They roared! They hollered! They could not believe my brilliance, and more importantly, that bucket is cool, they said. Everyone wanted one. I promised that if they buy the faucet and nut, I will happily do the work for them. I used their enthusiasm as an opportunity to continue discussion about disease transmission and contamination at the household level. It´s a cheap, easy solution for a big problem.
Total cost of rain-water catchment system: $60.
Total cost of installing faucet in a 5-gallon bucket: $1.65, if tape and caulk are provided.
Sunday, March 28, 2010
Brace yourself, this is going to be a long post
Saludos, everyone. How are things? I hope this post finds you well. I am well-- currently free of parasitic infections and only battling a fungus-turned-jungle-infection on both feet. It is big, disgusting, and emitting a pus-y effluvium. It makes me limp, which earned me a discounted taxi fare this morning. Look at that poor gringa, all Tiny-Tim like wandering down the streets of David, lost and alone. Pobrecita.
That is why you come here isn´t it? Because I write about things like pus-y effluvium that happen as a result of, well, just being filthy nearly every day of my life. I am glad I can provide that for you, because really, who else would? Pus-y effluvium. You love it.
But fret not, loyal readers, I am not going to talk about bacteria, excrement, or parasites today! I am going to talk about something grander-- my vacation! Indeed, a week ago my brothers came to Panama and oh! We painted the country red. I will condense the week for you in a still-not-condensed enough summary, using James´s pictures. I lost my camera charger, so I took none. I am eternally sorry that I continue to fail in my picture taking. Probably will end up buying a new camera. Sigh.
Pre-Vacation
The night before I picked up mis hermanos at the airport, I stayed in Santa Clara with my very first host-family, with whom I stayed during training. Greysi saw me coming up the hill, ran down right away, hugged me and began filling me on school and everything that matters when you´re five. It was great to spend some time there again, and I could tell how much it meant to them that I came back. I played Bingo again with Nani and her mother-in-law. I cleaned up. For breakfast, she made me pancakes, a hot dog, and french fries. Oh, it was good to be home.
Seeing Santa Clara again after having spent time in my community was enlightening. During training, I remember thinking how there was nothing really there, it was just a small, suburban town, safe and simple. When I rolled back in this time on a Diablo Rojo, I couldn´t stop thinking about how developed it seemed. It has a health center, a playground, a library (generous assessment of a few piles of books lying aruond), a market, a town hall-ish building, latrines, an aqueduct connection at every single house. IT HAS EVERYTHING. It is a bustling metropolis.
Day 1- Saturday, Panama City- Casco Viejo.
Casco Viejo, as its names suggests is the old part of Panama City. When the Canal was built, the entire city was in this area. Today, it is filled with old churches, some delapidated, some restored, charming cafes, and is relatively free of chain restuarants, cell phone stores, and other eye sores. Lonely Planet says it´s like Old Havana. I have never been to Old or New Havana, so I cannot confirm or deny these claims, but you get the idea. It´s pretty and old and rustic and changing and filled with street markets, gelatto shops, ocean views, and historical monuments.
Where we stayed: Hospedaje Casco Viejo. Simple, clean, $10 a night with charming and patient desk people.
Sites: Iglesia de San Jose- famous for its golden altar. When Captain Henry Morgan came to Panama to pillage, plunder and shiver the timbers, he headed for this famed piece, which the priest had sneakily painted black. When Morgan came, the priest told him it had been stolen by another pirate and somehow convinced him to pay for a replacement. Morgan reportedly said, I don't know why, but I feel like you are more of a pirate than I am!¨
Panama Canal Museum- Worth a trip as admission is only $2, but only if you have a bit of Spanish. There are no signs or exhibits in English.
Plaza de Francia- a beautiful walk along the ocean, with stones paying tribute to France´s work on the Canal. They abandoned it after losing 22,000 men to yellow fever and malaria.
Eats: Cafe Coca-Cola, a charming restuarant diner-- the only diner-like establishment I´ve ever seen in Panama. Good service, good food, great coffee and cappucinos. An old neighborhood staple.
Days 2 and 3
We hiked the Cerro Punta to Boquete trail alongside Volcan Baru. It took us about 4 1/2 hours, and we weren´t hurrying. An easy hike, although we did it down hill, and next time I´d like to try it going up (I developed knee problems since arriving). The trail is famed for the resplendant quetzal bird which is abundant in the area. We heard dozens of calls, but couldn´t spot one. This part of Chiriqi is traveled by birdwatchers from around the world because of its hundreds of rare species. Bring your binoculars.
The next morning we awoke en la madrugada for a 6a.m. coffee tour. Imagine how thrilled Michael was. But it was worth the intial agony. We opted for what the hostel owner called the more rustic of two tours, and were picked up in a car at our door just after 6:30. Our guide was Feliciano, an adorable and enthusiastic chiriquano (guy from Chiriqi), who began the tour by taking us, and a German couple who joined us, to his house. He offered cups of coffee as we stood on his porch in the chilly morning, watching the fog roll over the hills and looking down at the coffee finca he inherited from his father. He grabbed us bananas for breakfast, and told us the story of his family, his plants, and how he grows, maintains and harvest them. He spoke all in English, only occasionally asking me to translate a word. This man is adorable. And tiny, which made his comments about the indigenas being too short to pick coffee awfully strange. If you come to Panama, we are going to visit him, because he does other hiking and nature tours and I am sort of in love with him in a non-threatening will-you-be-my-uncle-or-grandfather-or-wise-advice-giver kind of way. Felciano, mi corazon, my heart:
The tour continued with a visit to a small factory, where they roast the beans in batches no bigger than 50 pounds, usually much smaller. We saw where the beans are peeled, dried, and toasted. They roasted a few handfuls for us so we could taste the difference between light, medium and dark roasts. Turns out the differences is only a matter of seconds. We´d always thought it was much longer. I highly recommend searching out a smaller, more personal coffee tour if you´re interested. We were a small group of five, and loved the interaction and ability to ask questions and converse freely with our guide (no, you guys, I really love him). And it´s a better way to spend your money--supporting small farms and independent roasters. $25 for a 3-hour tour and round-trip transportation.
Then we went to Mi Jardin Es tu Jardin (my garden is your garden), a sprawling flower garden open to the public. For free:
Lodging: Hostel Gaia, $11/night, full use of kitchen and they helped us book coffee tour. Also worth mentioning- tried to book at Hostel Boquete, which was full, but the owner kindly called Gaia and drove us over there in his car. Will try his place next time-- has a restaurant, bar, and hammocks overlooking the river. DONE.
Eats: Amigos restuarant. Sat outside on the patio in the cool evening, illuminated by white Christmassy lights. Yummy food and had a glass of my favorite wine available here in Panama for $3.
Day 4: Visit to Cati´s community
You´ll have to ask the boys what they thought (comments are open), because I of course am rather jaded by all of this by now. We arrived late Tuesday night after a death-defying bus ride through intense fog on washed out roads. I messed up a batch of kettle corn, but the boys set up their mosquito nets and we settled in for a long summer´s nap. The next morning James and I headed up the hill to my first host family´s house, hung out, and drank some cacao with mom, sister, and brother. He bought a chakara made by sister Arcadia. They are always trotting out their wares when a gringo comes along! The hike up took a rapid 25 minutes instead of the usual 40ish, due to the driest trails I have every seen. Gringo fam meets Ngobe fam:
Don´t they look thrilled? Do I look like I am about to ride a horse? I think I do.
Then we bajared the loma, to return to Michael B., who had slept in. On the way, James got some awesome shots of some leaf-cutter ants:
Then we pasear´ed, and James and Michael delighted in how easy it is just to wander around from house to house. I named a baby, and they bore witness to the chorus of CATIs that follows me every where I go. Celebrity status.
Typical exchange with Ngobe chi´s, (kids):
¨Cati! Cati! Cati! Cati! Cati! Cati!¨
I finally answer, ¨Dime mi amor!¨ Tell me, my love.
¨Hola!¨
or:
¨Cati! Cati! Cati! Cati! Cati! Cati! Cati! Cati!!¨
¨Dime, guapo!¨Tell me, handsome!
¨Buenas!¨
Bocas Island, Days 5-6.
And then we went away for our tropical island retreat. Highlights included, a beach paradise, nestled in a national park:
This visit was part of a touristy boat tour James and I went on, including a visit to Dolphin Bay, where you see dolphins. Imagine that.
And... wait for it... do you know what I did?
I went snorkeling. Because my brother James wanted to and I love him and I will make sacrifices. The first 7-10 minutes involved hyperventilating, thinking I was going to drown, die and be eaten slowly by fish and anemones and other marine creatures whose existence I prefer not to acknowledge. My heart raced, I sucked water in my snorkel and generally flapped around like, well, a fish out of water. Except, you know, I was in the water, with the fishes, and do you know the water was about four feet deep, and they were all so close, and they could touch me at any minute? Does my brother love me? I hope so, because this is horrifying. And then I calmed down. And I looked at the fishes, and the coral, which was beautiful and purple and turquoise and yellow, gold and green. Like something out of Planet Earth. They were nature´s big treasure chests hiding under the ocean for us to discover. It was lovely. And I only freaked out and splashed away from fish closing in on me a handful of times. And my heart only legitimately stopped once when I saw a menacing black fish the size of a dinner plate looking at me. Of course my heart started beating again, and I am glad I went.
Other highlights: An amazing Caribbean dinner, James with our fish, in garlic and creole sauces, respectively, and sides of coconut rice. And Michael with his.... well, just look:
Have you ever? Pescado Entero.
Boys´Beer Tour: One night we hung out on the roof deck of our hostel, and the boys sampled five of the widely-available Panama beers. I watched and classily drank wine because I do not participate in such pedestrian tomfoolery. But it was a joy to watch my brothers debate the finer points of really not fine beers.
Where we stayed: Hostel Heiki, $10 a night, super Peace-Corps-friendly with the nicest manager on the planet. Roof-deck with tables, chairs, sofas, hammocks and computers. Kitchen, free coffee all day and pancake breakfasts. Nice view of the street and park from balconies and decks. Fun to gawk at all the gringoes.
So I thought the vacation was a blast, and we did it cheaply. I spent under $300, including all lodging and transportation, and I didn´t hold back. Eleven dollars was the most we spent for lodging, and though we ate some nice meals out, we also got some heaping plates of good Panamanian food (chicken, rice, beans, salad, and Coke) for less than three dollars. So thanks for coming, boys. And to everyone else, I look forward to your visit. Look at the rest of James´ pictures here.
That is why you come here isn´t it? Because I write about things like pus-y effluvium that happen as a result of, well, just being filthy nearly every day of my life. I am glad I can provide that for you, because really, who else would? Pus-y effluvium. You love it.
But fret not, loyal readers, I am not going to talk about bacteria, excrement, or parasites today! I am going to talk about something grander-- my vacation! Indeed, a week ago my brothers came to Panama and oh! We painted the country red. I will condense the week for you in a still-not-condensed enough summary, using James´s pictures. I lost my camera charger, so I took none. I am eternally sorry that I continue to fail in my picture taking. Probably will end up buying a new camera. Sigh.
Pre-Vacation
The night before I picked up mis hermanos at the airport, I stayed in Santa Clara with my very first host-family, with whom I stayed during training. Greysi saw me coming up the hill, ran down right away, hugged me and began filling me on school and everything that matters when you´re five. It was great to spend some time there again, and I could tell how much it meant to them that I came back. I played Bingo again with Nani and her mother-in-law. I cleaned up. For breakfast, she made me pancakes, a hot dog, and french fries. Oh, it was good to be home.
Seeing Santa Clara again after having spent time in my community was enlightening. During training, I remember thinking how there was nothing really there, it was just a small, suburban town, safe and simple. When I rolled back in this time on a Diablo Rojo, I couldn´t stop thinking about how developed it seemed. It has a health center, a playground, a library (generous assessment of a few piles of books lying aruond), a market, a town hall-ish building, latrines, an aqueduct connection at every single house. IT HAS EVERYTHING. It is a bustling metropolis.
Day 1- Saturday, Panama City- Casco Viejo.
Casco Viejo, as its names suggests is the old part of Panama City. When the Canal was built, the entire city was in this area. Today, it is filled with old churches, some delapidated, some restored, charming cafes, and is relatively free of chain restuarants, cell phone stores, and other eye sores. Lonely Planet says it´s like Old Havana. I have never been to Old or New Havana, so I cannot confirm or deny these claims, but you get the idea. It´s pretty and old and rustic and changing and filled with street markets, gelatto shops, ocean views, and historical monuments.
Where we stayed: Hospedaje Casco Viejo. Simple, clean, $10 a night with charming and patient desk people.
Sites: Iglesia de San Jose- famous for its golden altar. When Captain Henry Morgan came to Panama to pillage, plunder and shiver the timbers, he headed for this famed piece, which the priest had sneakily painted black. When Morgan came, the priest told him it had been stolen by another pirate and somehow convinced him to pay for a replacement. Morgan reportedly said, I don't know why, but I feel like you are more of a pirate than I am!¨
Panama Canal Museum- Worth a trip as admission is only $2, but only if you have a bit of Spanish. There are no signs or exhibits in English.
Plaza de Francia- a beautiful walk along the ocean, with stones paying tribute to France´s work on the Canal. They abandoned it after losing 22,000 men to yellow fever and malaria.
Eats: Cafe Coca-Cola, a charming restuarant diner-- the only diner-like establishment I´ve ever seen in Panama. Good service, good food, great coffee and cappucinos. An old neighborhood staple.
Days 2 and 3
We hiked the Cerro Punta to Boquete trail alongside Volcan Baru. It took us about 4 1/2 hours, and we weren´t hurrying. An easy hike, although we did it down hill, and next time I´d like to try it going up (I developed knee problems since arriving). The trail is famed for the resplendant quetzal bird which is abundant in the area. We heard dozens of calls, but couldn´t spot one. This part of Chiriqi is traveled by birdwatchers from around the world because of its hundreds of rare species. Bring your binoculars.
The next morning we awoke en la madrugada for a 6a.m. coffee tour. Imagine how thrilled Michael was. But it was worth the intial agony. We opted for what the hostel owner called the more rustic of two tours, and were picked up in a car at our door just after 6:30. Our guide was Feliciano, an adorable and enthusiastic chiriquano (guy from Chiriqi), who began the tour by taking us, and a German couple who joined us, to his house. He offered cups of coffee as we stood on his porch in the chilly morning, watching the fog roll over the hills and looking down at the coffee finca he inherited from his father. He grabbed us bananas for breakfast, and told us the story of his family, his plants, and how he grows, maintains and harvest them. He spoke all in English, only occasionally asking me to translate a word. This man is adorable. And tiny, which made his comments about the indigenas being too short to pick coffee awfully strange. If you come to Panama, we are going to visit him, because he does other hiking and nature tours and I am sort of in love with him in a non-threatening will-you-be-my-uncle-or-grandfather-or-wise-advice-giver kind of way. Felciano, mi corazon, my heart:
The tour continued with a visit to a small factory, where they roast the beans in batches no bigger than 50 pounds, usually much smaller. We saw where the beans are peeled, dried, and toasted. They roasted a few handfuls for us so we could taste the difference between light, medium and dark roasts. Turns out the differences is only a matter of seconds. We´d always thought it was much longer. I highly recommend searching out a smaller, more personal coffee tour if you´re interested. We were a small group of five, and loved the interaction and ability to ask questions and converse freely with our guide (no, you guys, I really love him). And it´s a better way to spend your money--supporting small farms and independent roasters. $25 for a 3-hour tour and round-trip transportation.
Then we went to Mi Jardin Es tu Jardin (my garden is your garden), a sprawling flower garden open to the public. For free:
Lodging: Hostel Gaia, $11/night, full use of kitchen and they helped us book coffee tour. Also worth mentioning- tried to book at Hostel Boquete, which was full, but the owner kindly called Gaia and drove us over there in his car. Will try his place next time-- has a restaurant, bar, and hammocks overlooking the river. DONE.Eats: Amigos restuarant. Sat outside on the patio in the cool evening, illuminated by white Christmassy lights. Yummy food and had a glass of my favorite wine available here in Panama for $3.
Day 4: Visit to Cati´s community
You´ll have to ask the boys what they thought (comments are open), because I of course am rather jaded by all of this by now. We arrived late Tuesday night after a death-defying bus ride through intense fog on washed out roads. I messed up a batch of kettle corn, but the boys set up their mosquito nets and we settled in for a long summer´s nap. The next morning James and I headed up the hill to my first host family´s house, hung out, and drank some cacao with mom, sister, and brother. He bought a chakara made by sister Arcadia. They are always trotting out their wares when a gringo comes along! The hike up took a rapid 25 minutes instead of the usual 40ish, due to the driest trails I have every seen. Gringo fam meets Ngobe fam:
Don´t they look thrilled? Do I look like I am about to ride a horse? I think I do.Then we bajared the loma, to return to Michael B., who had slept in. On the way, James got some awesome shots of some leaf-cutter ants:
Then we pasear´ed, and James and Michael delighted in how easy it is just to wander around from house to house. I named a baby, and they bore witness to the chorus of CATIs that follows me every where I go. Celebrity status.
Typical exchange with Ngobe chi´s, (kids):
¨Cati! Cati! Cati! Cati! Cati! Cati!¨
I finally answer, ¨Dime mi amor!¨ Tell me, my love.
¨Hola!¨
or:
¨Cati! Cati! Cati! Cati! Cati! Cati! Cati! Cati!!¨
¨Dime, guapo!¨Tell me, handsome!
¨Buenas!¨
Bocas Island, Days 5-6.
And then we went away for our tropical island retreat. Highlights included, a beach paradise, nestled in a national park:
This visit was part of a touristy boat tour James and I went on, including a visit to Dolphin Bay, where you see dolphins. Imagine that.And... wait for it... do you know what I did?
I went snorkeling. Because my brother James wanted to and I love him and I will make sacrifices. The first 7-10 minutes involved hyperventilating, thinking I was going to drown, die and be eaten slowly by fish and anemones and other marine creatures whose existence I prefer not to acknowledge. My heart raced, I sucked water in my snorkel and generally flapped around like, well, a fish out of water. Except, you know, I was in the water, with the fishes, and do you know the water was about four feet deep, and they were all so close, and they could touch me at any minute? Does my brother love me? I hope so, because this is horrifying. And then I calmed down. And I looked at the fishes, and the coral, which was beautiful and purple and turquoise and yellow, gold and green. Like something out of Planet Earth. They were nature´s big treasure chests hiding under the ocean for us to discover. It was lovely. And I only freaked out and splashed away from fish closing in on me a handful of times. And my heart only legitimately stopped once when I saw a menacing black fish the size of a dinner plate looking at me. Of course my heart started beating again, and I am glad I went.
Other highlights: An amazing Caribbean dinner, James with our fish, in garlic and creole sauces, respectively, and sides of coconut rice. And Michael with his.... well, just look:
Have you ever? Pescado Entero.Boys´Beer Tour: One night we hung out on the roof deck of our hostel, and the boys sampled five of the widely-available Panama beers. I watched and classily drank wine because I do not participate in such pedestrian tomfoolery. But it was a joy to watch my brothers debate the finer points of really not fine beers.
Where we stayed: Hostel Heiki, $10 a night, super Peace-Corps-friendly with the nicest manager on the planet. Roof-deck with tables, chairs, sofas, hammocks and computers. Kitchen, free coffee all day and pancake breakfasts. Nice view of the street and park from balconies and decks. Fun to gawk at all the gringoes.
So I thought the vacation was a blast, and we did it cheaply. I spent under $300, including all lodging and transportation, and I didn´t hold back. Eleven dollars was the most we spent for lodging, and though we ate some nice meals out, we also got some heaping plates of good Panamanian food (chicken, rice, beans, salad, and Coke) for less than three dollars. So thanks for coming, boys. And to everyone else, I look forward to your visit. Look at the rest of James´ pictures here.
Monday, January 25, 2010
So what exactly is it that you are doing?
Up until now, I have written mostly about the relationships I´ve formed and the cultural adjustments I´ve made since arriving in site. Our first three months are dedicated to an in-depth community analysis and building trust and friendships within the community. This is an essential part of Peace Corps service and sustainable development. Communities must be able to think critically about the resources they have, what they need, and how they can acheive it for themselves. Decades of paternalism and the delivery of ¨projects¨ for which they neither had to work nor plan end only in more dependence on government agencies and NGOs to bring villages what they need. When people participate and work for something, success rates are much higher.
The cornerstone of Peace Corps and sustainable development revolves around the idea that I teach as I go along, and that the community participates, plans, and manages its own project with my help. If they do this, when I leave, the knowledge and skills they have gained will stay, and the can continue forward in the future.
It´s a great idea, but it´s harder than it sounds. There are plenty of people in my village who believe all gringos are bad guys, who still don´t invite me in when I come to pasear. Many children and adults alike thought I came to take their kids back to the United States to be sold. Some think gringos eat people. A fellow volunteer lives in a community where everyone thought she was a spy and didn´t want to share anything with her for fear of where the information was going.
I´ve come a long way in my community since I arrived at the end of October, but you can see why the first step of building relationships is so important. We are up against a lot of ugly history, cultural boundaries, and foundationless fear and rumors. The first step of our Environmental Health project framework is to motivate and organize community members. To help them form committees, understand how to run meetings effectively, and to get people to actively participate in their own development. People in my community rarely attend meetings, and those who do are the same people over and over. Most of these people view ¨the community¨as only the 30-ish houses nearest the road, and ignore the remaining 65 that are spread out over hills, across rivers, and as far as two hours or more from the street. To advise every house of a meeting requires at least four days of walking. The disperese nature of the community, and the overall lack or motivation and organization will be one of my biggest challenges.
Such work is the first goal of the Environmental Health framework. The other two revolve around water and sanitation. Depending on the needs of a community, EH volunteers may educate existing water committees about the maintenence of an aqueduct, basic aqueduct theory, trouble shooting, waterborne diseases and better managing of time, funds, and meetings. This is a huge felt need in QP, where broken pipes go unfixed for weeks, some houses connected to the aqueduct have been without water for months, and for the fun of the ick factor, our water reserve tanks have crabs and sometimes worms inside of them.
I attended my first water committee meeting this past week, and while it was an experience that was at times frustrating, and I still battle with Getting People to Listen To Me, it is also heartening because I know I have the ability and resources to help them in many important and sustainable ways. EH volunteers also help to plan for and design other water systems, be it aqueduct lines or rain-water catchment. About 70 percent of my community is without running water in their homes, and use springs, creeks or wells (many of which are extermely dubious) for drinking, cooking and wash water. I am still thinking about what can be done for these homes. They are all so spread out, it is impossible that one water system could serve them all, and they also lack organization of any kind. They tell me they want water, but they haven´t come to meetings, or done anything other than voice their need. Beginning to work with some leaders in small committees and planning for a future project, or at the least, rain-water catchment systems is something I hope to do as well, though as I see it now, it cannot be my first priority.
Santitation is the other element. EH volunteers educate about fecal-oral transmission pathways, and essentially, promoting the construction, proper use and maintenence latrines. In Bocas, living in an indigenous community, this is another element where cultural understanding is key. Most of our technical sanitation training revolved around building and promoting compositng latrines. In my community, only about 10 percent of houses (generous estimations) use latrines, and those are full or poorly maintained. All of them are pit latrines, and most of them have buckets of wash water to clean with after use. Toilet paper is used by only a few families, and the others have no interest in it becasue they feel cleaner using water.
Which is a problem for composting latrines, which must be kept dry. It is also a problem because so few houses have a nearby water source, so they are extremely unlikely to use composting latrines if they could just go to the creek, or in the woods, and wash afterwards. I am realistic about the fact that, right now, I know of only about five families who would properly use and maintain a composting latrine. For most, pit latrines are a better option. In time, many will be ¨ready¨ for composting latrines, but as of right now, few people have identified them as a priority.
I am running into a small problem because my counter part solicitied PC for the specific purpose of a compositing latrine project. He knows they are better for the environment, last longer, and of course produce a fabulous compost for the finca. I think he is unrealistic about the scope of a project we could undertake in QP, as he is comparing our situation to one in a nearby community where 35 latrines were built by a PC volunteer. But this is my job: assessment, and then education and promotion. I have plenty of time to gauge genuine interest (and not just what he claims when he went around and told everyone I was coming to work on composting latrines) and feasibile success rates. Many volunteers have built latrines in Bocas that went unused or were unfinished. I would hate to do that.
So that, in short, is what EH volunteers will do, and as I wrap up my community analysis, what I am imagining for my time here in Panama. As always, leave me questions in the comments.
The cornerstone of Peace Corps and sustainable development revolves around the idea that I teach as I go along, and that the community participates, plans, and manages its own project with my help. If they do this, when I leave, the knowledge and skills they have gained will stay, and the can continue forward in the future.
It´s a great idea, but it´s harder than it sounds. There are plenty of people in my village who believe all gringos are bad guys, who still don´t invite me in when I come to pasear. Many children and adults alike thought I came to take their kids back to the United States to be sold. Some think gringos eat people. A fellow volunteer lives in a community where everyone thought she was a spy and didn´t want to share anything with her for fear of where the information was going.
I´ve come a long way in my community since I arrived at the end of October, but you can see why the first step of building relationships is so important. We are up against a lot of ugly history, cultural boundaries, and foundationless fear and rumors. The first step of our Environmental Health project framework is to motivate and organize community members. To help them form committees, understand how to run meetings effectively, and to get people to actively participate in their own development. People in my community rarely attend meetings, and those who do are the same people over and over. Most of these people view ¨the community¨as only the 30-ish houses nearest the road, and ignore the remaining 65 that are spread out over hills, across rivers, and as far as two hours or more from the street. To advise every house of a meeting requires at least four days of walking. The disperese nature of the community, and the overall lack or motivation and organization will be one of my biggest challenges.
Such work is the first goal of the Environmental Health framework. The other two revolve around water and sanitation. Depending on the needs of a community, EH volunteers may educate existing water committees about the maintenence of an aqueduct, basic aqueduct theory, trouble shooting, waterborne diseases and better managing of time, funds, and meetings. This is a huge felt need in QP, where broken pipes go unfixed for weeks, some houses connected to the aqueduct have been without water for months, and for the fun of the ick factor, our water reserve tanks have crabs and sometimes worms inside of them.
I attended my first water committee meeting this past week, and while it was an experience that was at times frustrating, and I still battle with Getting People to Listen To Me, it is also heartening because I know I have the ability and resources to help them in many important and sustainable ways. EH volunteers also help to plan for and design other water systems, be it aqueduct lines or rain-water catchment. About 70 percent of my community is without running water in their homes, and use springs, creeks or wells (many of which are extermely dubious) for drinking, cooking and wash water. I am still thinking about what can be done for these homes. They are all so spread out, it is impossible that one water system could serve them all, and they also lack organization of any kind. They tell me they want water, but they haven´t come to meetings, or done anything other than voice their need. Beginning to work with some leaders in small committees and planning for a future project, or at the least, rain-water catchment systems is something I hope to do as well, though as I see it now, it cannot be my first priority.
Santitation is the other element. EH volunteers educate about fecal-oral transmission pathways, and essentially, promoting the construction, proper use and maintenence latrines. In Bocas, living in an indigenous community, this is another element where cultural understanding is key. Most of our technical sanitation training revolved around building and promoting compositng latrines. In my community, only about 10 percent of houses (generous estimations) use latrines, and those are full or poorly maintained. All of them are pit latrines, and most of them have buckets of wash water to clean with after use. Toilet paper is used by only a few families, and the others have no interest in it becasue they feel cleaner using water.
Which is a problem for composting latrines, which must be kept dry. It is also a problem because so few houses have a nearby water source, so they are extremely unlikely to use composting latrines if they could just go to the creek, or in the woods, and wash afterwards. I am realistic about the fact that, right now, I know of only about five families who would properly use and maintain a composting latrine. For most, pit latrines are a better option. In time, many will be ¨ready¨ for composting latrines, but as of right now, few people have identified them as a priority.
I am running into a small problem because my counter part solicitied PC for the specific purpose of a compositing latrine project. He knows they are better for the environment, last longer, and of course produce a fabulous compost for the finca. I think he is unrealistic about the scope of a project we could undertake in QP, as he is comparing our situation to one in a nearby community where 35 latrines were built by a PC volunteer. But this is my job: assessment, and then education and promotion. I have plenty of time to gauge genuine interest (and not just what he claims when he went around and told everyone I was coming to work on composting latrines) and feasibile success rates. Many volunteers have built latrines in Bocas that went unused or were unfinished. I would hate to do that.
So that, in short, is what EH volunteers will do, and as I wrap up my community analysis, what I am imagining for my time here in Panama. As always, leave me questions in the comments.
Thursday, November 19, 2009
At the intersection of four languages
One of the things that makes Bocas so unique is its varied cultural history, which today results in the rich blend of Spanish, Caribbean, European, and indigenous influence seen throughout the province.
Language is part of that unique blend. Each day, someone tries out their limited reserve of English phrases with me, but many times I don´t even realize they´re speaking my language because the pronounciations are so garbled.
"Gerd marning, herr you!?"
Whenever someone asks me to teach them an English word or phrase, they always repeat it back to me in a strange voice, peppering it with superfluous ´r´s. I´ve yet to figure this out, as Spanish doesn´t sound like that either, but it always makes for an interesting lesson. They take little offense to my grins or giggles. They enjoy themselves just as much when I stumble over my Spanish.
Then there´s Guary-Guary (I don´t know how to spell this and my half-hearted Google searching turns up nothing), a Creole-infused English, some colonial left-over with a nearly indecipherable accent. Guary-Guary is spoken choppily, lips thrust forward, and with hardly any mouth movement. Sometimes it´s easy to understand, but certain words are unrecognizable. "Cow" is pronounced more like "Go," and if you say "Cow?" they usually can´t confirm whether we´re talking about the same animal, leaving me to ask, "Vaca? Nivi?" in Spanish and Ngobere, respectively. "Yes, go!," they respond affirmatively.
Not many people in my village speak Guary-Guary, and I am still unsure of where they learned it and why. My host parents speak a bit of it, and it´s their chosen dialect when they fight because their kids don´t understand. And because they don´t understand normal English, I think they believe I am also in the dark.
"Dees es ho yoo treat me!?"
But oh, I know.
Then we have Ngobere. I yet to officially begin my lessons with my neighbor. Despite his intial enthusiasm and impromptu lessons on my site visit, he´s been dragging his feet lately. I´m eager to get started, because many people here, especially the older women, insist on speaking to me only in dialect. I can tell people my name, ask where they´re going, comment on the whether, but can say little much else. Frequently, when I pasear with a guide, I speak to the families in Spanish for 15-20 minutes, and then everyone lapses seamlessly into Ngobere, leaving me with nothing to do but sit, watch the rain, and wonder how it is that I have to wrap my mind around not one, but two languages.
Then, of course, there´s Spanish, which I navigate comfortably, more or less. I have a harder time deciphering the rapid Spanish of the Latino teachers and school principal. But I understand well and am well-understood (mostly) among my community members. It helps that I am here in the country, where people speak a brand of Spanish which could generously be assessed as imperfect. It´s as if I went to Appalachia to learn how to speak English. And whenever someone tries to speak to me in English, I respond in Spanish, partly because it´s what I believe I should be doing, but mostly because I usually can´t understand their English.
As I´ve said before, there is certainly a lot to see here in Panama. But there´s also a lot to hear.
Language is part of that unique blend. Each day, someone tries out their limited reserve of English phrases with me, but many times I don´t even realize they´re speaking my language because the pronounciations are so garbled.
"Gerd marning, herr you!?"
Whenever someone asks me to teach them an English word or phrase, they always repeat it back to me in a strange voice, peppering it with superfluous ´r´s. I´ve yet to figure this out, as Spanish doesn´t sound like that either, but it always makes for an interesting lesson. They take little offense to my grins or giggles. They enjoy themselves just as much when I stumble over my Spanish.
Then there´s Guary-Guary (I don´t know how to spell this and my half-hearted Google searching turns up nothing), a Creole-infused English, some colonial left-over with a nearly indecipherable accent. Guary-Guary is spoken choppily, lips thrust forward, and with hardly any mouth movement. Sometimes it´s easy to understand, but certain words are unrecognizable. "Cow" is pronounced more like "Go," and if you say "Cow?" they usually can´t confirm whether we´re talking about the same animal, leaving me to ask, "Vaca? Nivi?" in Spanish and Ngobere, respectively. "Yes, go!," they respond affirmatively.
Not many people in my village speak Guary-Guary, and I am still unsure of where they learned it and why. My host parents speak a bit of it, and it´s their chosen dialect when they fight because their kids don´t understand. And because they don´t understand normal English, I think they believe I am also in the dark.
"Dees es ho yoo treat me!?"
But oh, I know.
Then we have Ngobere. I yet to officially begin my lessons with my neighbor. Despite his intial enthusiasm and impromptu lessons on my site visit, he´s been dragging his feet lately. I´m eager to get started, because many people here, especially the older women, insist on speaking to me only in dialect. I can tell people my name, ask where they´re going, comment on the whether, but can say little much else. Frequently, when I pasear with a guide, I speak to the families in Spanish for 15-20 minutes, and then everyone lapses seamlessly into Ngobere, leaving me with nothing to do but sit, watch the rain, and wonder how it is that I have to wrap my mind around not one, but two languages.
Then, of course, there´s Spanish, which I navigate comfortably, more or less. I have a harder time deciphering the rapid Spanish of the Latino teachers and school principal. But I understand well and am well-understood (mostly) among my community members. It helps that I am here in the country, where people speak a brand of Spanish which could generously be assessed as imperfect. It´s as if I went to Appalachia to learn how to speak English. And whenever someone tries to speak to me in English, I respond in Spanish, partly because it´s what I believe I should be doing, but mostly because I usually can´t understand their English.
As I´ve said before, there is certainly a lot to see here in Panama. But there´s also a lot to hear.
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
Gringa in the finca
As I continue to introduce myself to community members, I always explain that I´m looking for activities to do each day with them, so I´m not sitting inside all day. I ask them to invite me to events, or over to their houses to learn how to cook chicha de pifa, anything at all, I say, because I still know so little about their lives. When I told my host-father that I would go with him to his finca and harvest cacao, he interrupted saying, ¨Cati, wait.¨I waited, indulging his dramatic pause. ´´If I invite you to the finca, you will come and work with us?¨ His expression said it all. He can´t believe the things this gringa says sometimes.
Two days later, I was hiking with them to their other house (por alla arriba), close to their farmland. Finca is translated as farm or field, but the idea of a finca is quite unique to Panama. No visible boundaries exist, though everyone knows exactly where their finca begins and ends, and how many hectares they have. Nothing is planted neatly, in fact, you´d never know you were hiking through farmland if you weren´t looking for it.
We spent the afternoon, harvesting through the rain and fighting with the mud. One person knocked the cacao from the trees with a large stick, with a pick attached to the end, while I and my host-sister followed behind, loading them into our chakaras (woven bags made by Ngobes). We pick up every piece, even ones that seem like they were rotted through or picked over by birds. We shook them to see if the seeds moved inside, and if they did, it meant there was still something harvestable inside. They laughed while I wrapped the handle around my head and carried the weight on my back like they do. I had been nervous at first, imagining it would put a tremendous stress on my head and neck, but indeed, it does not, and is really the only way carry a heavy weight practically through narrow trails and muck.
Sometimes I would find myself grumbling, that I was soaked to the bone, had fallen at least 150 times in the mud, or pricked myself on one of the many spiny trees that are oh-so-tempting to grab when you´re trying to climb up an impossibly slippery slope. I would rack my brain wondering how they never fall, and do all of this in bare feet and skirts. And then I would notice a giant, towering tree, left over from what used to be primary forest. Or a neon-green and black frog would dart out from under a log. It´s easy to get frustrated sometimes, thinking about how there might not be water to bathe with when I get home, or that I feel sick from eating a strange food, but I never let myself stay that way for long. There are too many things to appreciate. I hope I never stop seeing how beautiful it is here.
We piled all of the day´s harvest among a bunch of logs, where they would be left until the next day, when they would be peeled, dried, and eventually brought to Almirante, a nearby port city, and sold. In the 80s, my host father was earning close to $2.50 per pound, but now he only earns about 50 cents. An incredible amount of work goes into each piece harvested; it´s unbelieveable to me that that´s all it´s worth.
Two days later, I was hiking with them to their other house (por alla arriba), close to their farmland. Finca is translated as farm or field, but the idea of a finca is quite unique to Panama. No visible boundaries exist, though everyone knows exactly where their finca begins and ends, and how many hectares they have. Nothing is planted neatly, in fact, you´d never know you were hiking through farmland if you weren´t looking for it.
We spent the afternoon, harvesting through the rain and fighting with the mud. One person knocked the cacao from the trees with a large stick, with a pick attached to the end, while I and my host-sister followed behind, loading them into our chakaras (woven bags made by Ngobes). We pick up every piece, even ones that seem like they were rotted through or picked over by birds. We shook them to see if the seeds moved inside, and if they did, it meant there was still something harvestable inside. They laughed while I wrapped the handle around my head and carried the weight on my back like they do. I had been nervous at first, imagining it would put a tremendous stress on my head and neck, but indeed, it does not, and is really the only way carry a heavy weight practically through narrow trails and muck.
Sometimes I would find myself grumbling, that I was soaked to the bone, had fallen at least 150 times in the mud, or pricked myself on one of the many spiny trees that are oh-so-tempting to grab when you´re trying to climb up an impossibly slippery slope. I would rack my brain wondering how they never fall, and do all of this in bare feet and skirts. And then I would notice a giant, towering tree, left over from what used to be primary forest. Or a neon-green and black frog would dart out from under a log. It´s easy to get frustrated sometimes, thinking about how there might not be water to bathe with when I get home, or that I feel sick from eating a strange food, but I never let myself stay that way for long. There are too many things to appreciate. I hope I never stop seeing how beautiful it is here.
We piled all of the day´s harvest among a bunch of logs, where they would be left until the next day, when they would be peeled, dried, and eventually brought to Almirante, a nearby port city, and sold. In the 80s, my host father was earning close to $2.50 per pound, but now he only earns about 50 cents. An incredible amount of work goes into each piece harvested; it´s unbelieveable to me that that´s all it´s worth.
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Tech week roundup
I am happy to be writing from an Internet cafe in Panama City, having just arrived from our tech week in Soloy in the comarca. The week dragged on at times, my energy was low, and we hit several obstacles along the way, including torrential rain, lack of materials, broken tools, and everything in between. In the end, we weren´t able to complete our projects in one week, so some PCVs are finishing up what was left on Monday. But as always, I learned a lot, and helped build two pit latrines and two composting latrines from the ground up behind the school buildings in town. And let me tell you, when you are inside the (as yet unused) poop chamber of a composting latrine, you cannot help but smile.
Life in Panama is so different.
We worked hard. I got dirtier than I´ve ever been. I will let you know my host mom´s reaction when she sees the clothes that come out of my backpack. I am preparing myself for 30 solid seconds of head shaking and eye rolling. This stuff is filthy. On Friday, we gave a charla to some of the middle-school-aged kids about how to use and maintain composting latrines. It is strange how acccustomed I´ve become to having only a few hours to prepare entire Spanish presentations. And you know? When there´s no electricity, your flashlight is broken, and the kerosene lamp is shooting out flames, you can´t really prepare anyway. So why worry?
Host-family wise, this week was less satisfying than culture week. My host mother was only 18, had a three-year-old, and was still in middle school. When she wasn´t in school, she was working, and if she wasn´t doing that, she was practicing in her dance group, which is traveling this weekened to represent the comarca in a Ngobe competition. Hence, I ate all my meals in a restaurant owned by her friends, and spent most nights by myself. This didn´t leave a lot of room to work on PC´s goals about cultural exchange, but it did mean that I could tuck myself into bed at 8 every night. On Thursday, we did get a chance to see the group perform, and Ngobe dancing is quite unlike anything else I´ve ever seen. Mostly it involves simple rhythmic foot steps, occasionally some chanting and general shifting about. After their performance, they invited the aspirantes up to dance. You can imagine I was mosty unsuccessfuly in my endeavors to execute these moves accurately, despite the insistent efforts of the tiny, tireless Ngobe men trying to direct me.
Tech week was also an opportunity to see the contrast between coastal Ngobe culture in Bocas del Toro, and in the comarca. Soloy is a large town, so I think they are less traditional than some other smaller, more remote communities, but the difference was still stark. All the women wear the traditional Ngobe dress, a nakwa (pronounced nahg-wah. I think I might be spelling this right, but I have no idea.) Their artisan works are everywhere. They carry babies in their hand-made bags called chakaras, and rarely greet or make eye contact with passersby. Ngobes are one of the largest indigenous populations in the world, and I always catch myself thinking about how I didn´t even know they existed a few months ago.
We have a week and a half in Santa Clara, then I leave on Wednesday for my site visit, where I will set up a host family for my first three months in site, meet my counter part, and generally get a better idea of my future home. So many new things in so little time!
Life in Panama is so different.
We worked hard. I got dirtier than I´ve ever been. I will let you know my host mom´s reaction when she sees the clothes that come out of my backpack. I am preparing myself for 30 solid seconds of head shaking and eye rolling. This stuff is filthy. On Friday, we gave a charla to some of the middle-school-aged kids about how to use and maintain composting latrines. It is strange how acccustomed I´ve become to having only a few hours to prepare entire Spanish presentations. And you know? When there´s no electricity, your flashlight is broken, and the kerosene lamp is shooting out flames, you can´t really prepare anyway. So why worry?
Host-family wise, this week was less satisfying than culture week. My host mother was only 18, had a three-year-old, and was still in middle school. When she wasn´t in school, she was working, and if she wasn´t doing that, she was practicing in her dance group, which is traveling this weekened to represent the comarca in a Ngobe competition. Hence, I ate all my meals in a restaurant owned by her friends, and spent most nights by myself. This didn´t leave a lot of room to work on PC´s goals about cultural exchange, but it did mean that I could tuck myself into bed at 8 every night. On Thursday, we did get a chance to see the group perform, and Ngobe dancing is quite unlike anything else I´ve ever seen. Mostly it involves simple rhythmic foot steps, occasionally some chanting and general shifting about. After their performance, they invited the aspirantes up to dance. You can imagine I was mosty unsuccessfuly in my endeavors to execute these moves accurately, despite the insistent efforts of the tiny, tireless Ngobe men trying to direct me.
Tech week was also an opportunity to see the contrast between coastal Ngobe culture in Bocas del Toro, and in the comarca. Soloy is a large town, so I think they are less traditional than some other smaller, more remote communities, but the difference was still stark. All the women wear the traditional Ngobe dress, a nakwa (pronounced nahg-wah. I think I might be spelling this right, but I have no idea.) Their artisan works are everywhere. They carry babies in their hand-made bags called chakaras, and rarely greet or make eye contact with passersby. Ngobes are one of the largest indigenous populations in the world, and I always catch myself thinking about how I didn´t even know they existed a few months ago.
We have a week and a half in Santa Clara, then I leave on Wednesday for my site visit, where I will set up a host family for my first three months in site, meet my counter part, and generally get a better idea of my future home. So many new things in so little time!
Saturday, September 19, 2009
Culture week roundup
Every time I sit down at the computer to write a blog post, I am daunted by the amount of information and stories I have to tell. Today is no different, and worse, I´ve forgotten my notepad with all of my little thoughts and notes I wanted to share.
I´ve just returned from culture week, and my first experience living with a Ngobe family. I stayed in a raised hut with with a mother and father, and two kids, 14 months and four years old on the Island of San Cristobal in the Carribean. When we arrived on Sunday, the whole town was abuzz waiting for the boat load of gringos to disembark, and while we walked through the town to the rancho, we were stunned by the number of children all around. So. many. children. Over the course of the week, they would become some of our best buddies in San Cristobal, running up to hold hands as we walked to class, lifting up their arms to be thrown in the air, and hanging on the legs and backs of the big, burly boys in our group. We spent a couple afternoons swimming in the ocean with them. Ngobe kids loaded up their dugout canoes with PC aspirantes, and we swam around among the coral in water that was still only about waist-deep(my host mom later dug out spines from my feet with a needle. So handy!). We made sure to paddle extremely far out. The environmental-health situation in Isla Cristobal is pretty poor; they do all of their business in ¨servicios¨over the water. Often in the afternoon and evening, the smell of excrement wafts from house to house, especially those whose homes are built directly over the shore.
That aside, I continue to be wowed by the jaw-dropping openness and kindness of the Ngobe people we meet. I would like to say it is my effervescent charm that endears me to everyone, but I can take no credit for how well we are treated.
My host mom was very shy and bashful, and at first. When she spoke it was barely above a whisper. But by second day, she started giggling at my jokes, making her own, and even asked to braid my hair. DISCLAIMER: Only consent to a Ngobe hair-do if you want to look like a fool. At first, I thought she was whipping up these styles purely to humiliate me, but I later found out they legitimately think they look lovely. The first style consisted of several brightly-colored pony tail holders positioned at all angles over my head. Everyone from the PC Bocas group could not look at me without laughing. The last day, my host mom said she had to braid my hair, and I tried to do a little intervention by saying that I like the braids best when they started in the back of the head and go down. You know...I was hoping for something french-braidish. I asked if she understood, and she said yes, but then she immediately began forming two gigantic Clifford-size dog-ear braids down the side of my head, with a violent part in the middle. The braiding continued, and at one point, I asked how many braids she had made, and in one of my favorite moments of the week, she sheepishly replied, ¨Varios...¨
This needs no translation. I spent all of Friday walking around with six braids with neon-colored scrunchies, hearing all the aspirantes laugh at me, barely able to mak eye contact. No Ngobes though, to them, I looked just fine.
The rest of the week consisted of culture lectures, Ngobere classes, walks on the medicinal plant trail, visits to the artisan shops, and even a visit to another volunteer´s community on the other side of the island. We paseared to a bunch of houses there, meeting one incredibly sweet, quietly intelligent older man who told us he stayed home all day from work to wait for our visit. With children tugging and grabbing you, Ngobes eager to teach you their language, and community members peering out their windows hoping you´ll stop by to talk, it´s hard not to feel incredibly optimistic about the next two years of service. Nothing comes easily in PC, but I can already see how the rewards will make it all worth it.
In other news, my Spanish is coming along. In my second language interview a couple of weeks ago, I scored advanced-low, and I am definitely shifting more easily between English and Spanish, and speaking a lot more fluidly. I am grateful that I´m well understood, and made sure this past week to spend a lot of time talking with my host family. Every night I sat out on the porch and chatted for a couple of hours, asking them questions about their life in Panama and answering some of theirs about life in the U.S. I continually found myself struggling to put words to such foreign concepts and realities in our country. For these people, the world is so small. One woman assumed everyone in the United States spoke Spanish. I told her a lot of people took it in high school, but few speak it fluently. She couldn´t figure out how they could forget. Everyone asked about my family constantly, trying to understand how I could be 22 and still without children. They were all worried about my parents, and couldn´t imagine why I would move so far away. And how could they? Most Ngobe families live within spitting distance, who could imagine moving half a world away to live with strangers?
On Thursday, my host mom snuck into the living room, where I had just finished watching Touched by an Angel dubbed in Spanish with Monica, a seven-year-old fan of mine who lived next door. (You may be interested to know, whoever dubbed for the Irish angel kept a slight brogue somehow through the Spanish. Incredibly impressive.) My host mom sat down on a bench, and all of a sudden said she didn´t want me to leave on Saturday, and why couldn´t we do tech week in San Cristobal? I told her my permanent site is close, and I could come and visit soon. She paused, a grin spread across her face, and she said, ¨Catherine, how many stories is your house in the U.S.?¨ I said it was two floors, and told her the floor plan, and she said, ¨You can visit me here, but when can I come and visit you and your family in America?¨
On Saturday, she and Toni, my four-year-old host brother, walked me to the dock to say goodbye, and I tried to thank her for everything, and to convey completely how grateful I was. They stood on the dock and waved goodbye, and I was caught off guard by how sad I was to be leaving them.
As we sped away toward Bocas Island, I realized I have two families in Panama now, in Santa Clara and now in San Cristobal. Nani, my SC-host mom was sad to hear my site was in Bocas, because it would mean visiting her, the Daiveys, and Gresyi would be difficult She hugged me as I left last week, and her concern and advice for me was so genuine. ¨Take care, Catherine,¨she said, scanning me up and down, in disbelief that the sweaty, friendly gringa was venturing out to the rough and wild Bocas province. She watched from the door as my friend and I disappeared down the hill, and again, I was surprised at how sad I felt to have to leave them for two weeks.
We are treated so well here, often times just because people, particularly Ngobes, are so honored and excited to have us as guests. We felt like rock stars walking down the paths in San Cristobal, with kids crawling out of windows and climbing onto porches to yell hello. I can´t wait to see my own community in a few weeks, and to find out what happens when my stay is more permanent, and it´s time to get real work done. The reality of living and working here for two years is starting to hit me. Food is an adjustment, there is very little privacy, and once the gringa-excitment wears off, I will undoubtedly be struggling trying to motivate, and inspire people to change how they´ve lived for years, all in a second language. As rich as some of our interactions have been, I am always wondering when other volunteers taking about having ¨friends¨in their community, how meaningful these relationships really are. How deeply can you know someone when, even though you live together, in most way you are still a world apart? Howevr, weeks like the one I just had always remind me that laughter sounds the same in every language, all kids want your attention, and people always surprise you, sometimes for the worst, but mostly for the best.
In other news, I have a cell phone! I finally called home last night, and the reception was awesome. I think you can get to me by dialing 001 for the int´line, country code 507, then 64101638. I won´t have service when I am in Santa Clara, but I will try to start texting and calling when I can. Once I am in Bocas permanently, I will always have service.
Much love to everyone. I´m off to tech week where we´ll be building a compost latrine, thermoforming PVC pipes for aqueducts, and learning how to maintain, repair and design the lines. We´ll be in the Comarca, where the food will be somewhat less plentiful, and a lot less enjoyable (think boiled bananas three times a day), so I´ll undoubtedly have more to share next week. Be good.
I´ve just returned from culture week, and my first experience living with a Ngobe family. I stayed in a raised hut with with a mother and father, and two kids, 14 months and four years old on the Island of San Cristobal in the Carribean. When we arrived on Sunday, the whole town was abuzz waiting for the boat load of gringos to disembark, and while we walked through the town to the rancho, we were stunned by the number of children all around. So. many. children. Over the course of the week, they would become some of our best buddies in San Cristobal, running up to hold hands as we walked to class, lifting up their arms to be thrown in the air, and hanging on the legs and backs of the big, burly boys in our group. We spent a couple afternoons swimming in the ocean with them. Ngobe kids loaded up their dugout canoes with PC aspirantes, and we swam around among the coral in water that was still only about waist-deep(my host mom later dug out spines from my feet with a needle. So handy!). We made sure to paddle extremely far out. The environmental-health situation in Isla Cristobal is pretty poor; they do all of their business in ¨servicios¨over the water. Often in the afternoon and evening, the smell of excrement wafts from house to house, especially those whose homes are built directly over the shore.
That aside, I continue to be wowed by the jaw-dropping openness and kindness of the Ngobe people we meet. I would like to say it is my effervescent charm that endears me to everyone, but I can take no credit for how well we are treated.
My host mom was very shy and bashful, and at first. When she spoke it was barely above a whisper. But by second day, she started giggling at my jokes, making her own, and even asked to braid my hair. DISCLAIMER: Only consent to a Ngobe hair-do if you want to look like a fool. At first, I thought she was whipping up these styles purely to humiliate me, but I later found out they legitimately think they look lovely. The first style consisted of several brightly-colored pony tail holders positioned at all angles over my head. Everyone from the PC Bocas group could not look at me without laughing. The last day, my host mom said she had to braid my hair, and I tried to do a little intervention by saying that I like the braids best when they started in the back of the head and go down. You know...I was hoping for something french-braidish. I asked if she understood, and she said yes, but then she immediately began forming two gigantic Clifford-size dog-ear braids down the side of my head, with a violent part in the middle. The braiding continued, and at one point, I asked how many braids she had made, and in one of my favorite moments of the week, she sheepishly replied, ¨Varios...¨
This needs no translation. I spent all of Friday walking around with six braids with neon-colored scrunchies, hearing all the aspirantes laugh at me, barely able to mak eye contact. No Ngobes though, to them, I looked just fine.
The rest of the week consisted of culture lectures, Ngobere classes, walks on the medicinal plant trail, visits to the artisan shops, and even a visit to another volunteer´s community on the other side of the island. We paseared to a bunch of houses there, meeting one incredibly sweet, quietly intelligent older man who told us he stayed home all day from work to wait for our visit. With children tugging and grabbing you, Ngobes eager to teach you their language, and community members peering out their windows hoping you´ll stop by to talk, it´s hard not to feel incredibly optimistic about the next two years of service. Nothing comes easily in PC, but I can already see how the rewards will make it all worth it.
In other news, my Spanish is coming along. In my second language interview a couple of weeks ago, I scored advanced-low, and I am definitely shifting more easily between English and Spanish, and speaking a lot more fluidly. I am grateful that I´m well understood, and made sure this past week to spend a lot of time talking with my host family. Every night I sat out on the porch and chatted for a couple of hours, asking them questions about their life in Panama and answering some of theirs about life in the U.S. I continually found myself struggling to put words to such foreign concepts and realities in our country. For these people, the world is so small. One woman assumed everyone in the United States spoke Spanish. I told her a lot of people took it in high school, but few speak it fluently. She couldn´t figure out how they could forget. Everyone asked about my family constantly, trying to understand how I could be 22 and still without children. They were all worried about my parents, and couldn´t imagine why I would move so far away. And how could they? Most Ngobe families live within spitting distance, who could imagine moving half a world away to live with strangers?
On Thursday, my host mom snuck into the living room, where I had just finished watching Touched by an Angel dubbed in Spanish with Monica, a seven-year-old fan of mine who lived next door. (You may be interested to know, whoever dubbed for the Irish angel kept a slight brogue somehow through the Spanish. Incredibly impressive.) My host mom sat down on a bench, and all of a sudden said she didn´t want me to leave on Saturday, and why couldn´t we do tech week in San Cristobal? I told her my permanent site is close, and I could come and visit soon. She paused, a grin spread across her face, and she said, ¨Catherine, how many stories is your house in the U.S.?¨ I said it was two floors, and told her the floor plan, and she said, ¨You can visit me here, but when can I come and visit you and your family in America?¨
On Saturday, she and Toni, my four-year-old host brother, walked me to the dock to say goodbye, and I tried to thank her for everything, and to convey completely how grateful I was. They stood on the dock and waved goodbye, and I was caught off guard by how sad I was to be leaving them.
As we sped away toward Bocas Island, I realized I have two families in Panama now, in Santa Clara and now in San Cristobal. Nani, my SC-host mom was sad to hear my site was in Bocas, because it would mean visiting her, the Daiveys, and Gresyi would be difficult She hugged me as I left last week, and her concern and advice for me was so genuine. ¨Take care, Catherine,¨she said, scanning me up and down, in disbelief that the sweaty, friendly gringa was venturing out to the rough and wild Bocas province. She watched from the door as my friend and I disappeared down the hill, and again, I was surprised at how sad I felt to have to leave them for two weeks.
We are treated so well here, often times just because people, particularly Ngobes, are so honored and excited to have us as guests. We felt like rock stars walking down the paths in San Cristobal, with kids crawling out of windows and climbing onto porches to yell hello. I can´t wait to see my own community in a few weeks, and to find out what happens when my stay is more permanent, and it´s time to get real work done. The reality of living and working here for two years is starting to hit me. Food is an adjustment, there is very little privacy, and once the gringa-excitment wears off, I will undoubtedly be struggling trying to motivate, and inspire people to change how they´ve lived for years, all in a second language. As rich as some of our interactions have been, I am always wondering when other volunteers taking about having ¨friends¨in their community, how meaningful these relationships really are. How deeply can you know someone when, even though you live together, in most way you are still a world apart? Howevr, weeks like the one I just had always remind me that laughter sounds the same in every language, all kids want your attention, and people always surprise you, sometimes for the worst, but mostly for the best.
In other news, I have a cell phone! I finally called home last night, and the reception was awesome. I think you can get to me by dialing 001 for the int´line, country code 507, then 64101638. I won´t have service when I am in Santa Clara, but I will try to start texting and calling when I can. Once I am in Bocas permanently, I will always have service.
Much love to everyone. I´m off to tech week where we´ll be building a compost latrine, thermoforming PVC pipes for aqueducts, and learning how to maintain, repair and design the lines. We´ll be in the Comarca, where the food will be somewhat less plentiful, and a lot less enjoyable (think boiled bananas three times a day), so I´ll undoubtedly have more to share next week. Be good.
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
Site Annoucements
Thank you to everyone who has been sending me emails. I wish I could send more lengthy responses, but unfortunately my computer time is limited. But know that I miss you all, and am always thinking about what you´re all up to.
As for me, today was the most important day of my training so far. We received our site announcements four hours ago, and I couldn´t be more pleased. They kept us in suspense for several hours, during which I got a serious case of the nervous giggles, leg twitches, and thumb-twiddles. The hour of announcement began with a clip of President Kennedy talking about Peace Corps, and a series of commercials that have aired since PC was started 48 years ago. Talk about drama. They were giving the telenovelas (Spanish soap operas) a run for their money.
The training directors placed a huge map of Panama in the center of the room and said they would announce sites from east to west, starting in the Darien and ending in Bocas. I was called second-to-last, and will be living in a Ngobe site in Bocas, very close to where my site visit was. We only receive a little information about our future site, but from what I´ve heard so far, I´m absolutely elated.
My site has a view of the Carribean Ocean, is predominantly Ngobe, but also has a Latino population. This will be good for my Spanish, as many volunteers are concerned about language loss once they move to an indigenous site. I don´t need to hike anywhere, it sounds like the town is very close to the highway. I was surprised to hear it has over 1,000 people, which was not at all what I was expecting, but I was also told you´d never know there are that many people there. There are only 120 houses total, and while most live close to the road, many others are spread far out. So far out it might take me a couple of days to pasear from one side to the other.
This is good opportunity for exercise.
The site sounds more accessible than I was expecting overall, which means I should be able to get to the Internet regularly, and also to a market to buy the vegetables after which I am constantly lusting. My main project will likely involve composting latrines. The community has demonstrated an interest in them, and even applied for a grant through a government agency, but as of yet, nothing has come of it. They are desperately in need of latrines, as they only have three serving the entire community. Essentially everyone does their business in the creek.
Herego, there is a lot of opportunity for health education as well, which is something I was hoping for and looking forward to. The schools are well-attended and have a larger staff than I was expecting. There is also an existing water committee, and an active community leader who has taken the lead on the latrine project in the past. It is a relief to hear there is some leadership in the community already. Its size is daunting, but I think I was placed there partly because my APCD thinks I could be good at motivating an organizing the groups. Volunteers in Bocas also have a lot of opportunity to work with host-country agencies, like the Ministries of Health, Social Development, etc, which I hope to do also. Our first three months in-site are dedicated to ¨Proyecto Amistad¨or project friendship, and doing a community analysis. During this time, I´ll get a better sense of what people want, what it will take, and whether it´s feasible.
I am thrilled to be in the Bocas province. I´ll have cell reception, several other volunteers close by, and also... when you guys come to Panama... I am very close to Bocas Island, which is the top tourist destination of Panama.
This Saturday we leave for culture week, which will be on one of the islands off the coast of Bocas. After that, we´ll come back through David, and then have tech week in the Comarca Ngobe-Buble. Tech week is for learning more details about how to build latrines, repair, design, or build aqueducts, and other key EH skills. I´ll be away from Santa Clara for two weeks, living with indigenous host families, and spending a lot of time with my training group. I heard these are a stressful couple of weeks, but I´m ready to go in with guns blazing.
I promise to bring my camera this time.
I have so much more to share, but am running out of time. It´s been a chaotic couple of weeks, with tons of presentations, projects, language test, and everything in between. My APCD interview last week went really well. It was a huge confidence boost, and a good reminder of why I´m here. I´lll be in David again later this week, and hopefully I can check in again then. If not, I am sure I´ll have more thoughts than you want to hear once culture and tech weeks are over.
In the mean time, check out the video posted here. We watched it last week, and it shows what some indigenous communities in Panama are like. Might give you a better picture of what PC does here and under what conditions.
As for me, today was the most important day of my training so far. We received our site announcements four hours ago, and I couldn´t be more pleased. They kept us in suspense for several hours, during which I got a serious case of the nervous giggles, leg twitches, and thumb-twiddles. The hour of announcement began with a clip of President Kennedy talking about Peace Corps, and a series of commercials that have aired since PC was started 48 years ago. Talk about drama. They were giving the telenovelas (Spanish soap operas) a run for their money.
The training directors placed a huge map of Panama in the center of the room and said they would announce sites from east to west, starting in the Darien and ending in Bocas. I was called second-to-last, and will be living in a Ngobe site in Bocas, very close to where my site visit was. We only receive a little information about our future site, but from what I´ve heard so far, I´m absolutely elated.
My site has a view of the Carribean Ocean, is predominantly Ngobe, but also has a Latino population. This will be good for my Spanish, as many volunteers are concerned about language loss once they move to an indigenous site. I don´t need to hike anywhere, it sounds like the town is very close to the highway. I was surprised to hear it has over 1,000 people, which was not at all what I was expecting, but I was also told you´d never know there are that many people there. There are only 120 houses total, and while most live close to the road, many others are spread far out. So far out it might take me a couple of days to pasear from one side to the other.
This is good opportunity for exercise.
The site sounds more accessible than I was expecting overall, which means I should be able to get to the Internet regularly, and also to a market to buy the vegetables after which I am constantly lusting. My main project will likely involve composting latrines. The community has demonstrated an interest in them, and even applied for a grant through a government agency, but as of yet, nothing has come of it. They are desperately in need of latrines, as they only have three serving the entire community. Essentially everyone does their business in the creek.
Herego, there is a lot of opportunity for health education as well, which is something I was hoping for and looking forward to. The schools are well-attended and have a larger staff than I was expecting. There is also an existing water committee, and an active community leader who has taken the lead on the latrine project in the past. It is a relief to hear there is some leadership in the community already. Its size is daunting, but I think I was placed there partly because my APCD thinks I could be good at motivating an organizing the groups. Volunteers in Bocas also have a lot of opportunity to work with host-country agencies, like the Ministries of Health, Social Development, etc, which I hope to do also. Our first three months in-site are dedicated to ¨Proyecto Amistad¨or project friendship, and doing a community analysis. During this time, I´ll get a better sense of what people want, what it will take, and whether it´s feasible.
I am thrilled to be in the Bocas province. I´ll have cell reception, several other volunteers close by, and also... when you guys come to Panama... I am very close to Bocas Island, which is the top tourist destination of Panama.
This Saturday we leave for culture week, which will be on one of the islands off the coast of Bocas. After that, we´ll come back through David, and then have tech week in the Comarca Ngobe-Buble. Tech week is for learning more details about how to build latrines, repair, design, or build aqueducts, and other key EH skills. I´ll be away from Santa Clara for two weeks, living with indigenous host families, and spending a lot of time with my training group. I heard these are a stressful couple of weeks, but I´m ready to go in with guns blazing.
I promise to bring my camera this time.
I have so much more to share, but am running out of time. It´s been a chaotic couple of weeks, with tons of presentations, projects, language test, and everything in between. My APCD interview last week went really well. It was a huge confidence boost, and a good reminder of why I´m here. I´lll be in David again later this week, and hopefully I can check in again then. If not, I am sure I´ll have more thoughts than you want to hear once culture and tech weeks are over.
In the mean time, check out the video posted here. We watched it last week, and it shows what some indigenous communities in Panama are like. Might give you a better picture of what PC does here and under what conditions.
Sunday, August 30, 2009
To Bocas and Back
Writing again from the city of David, having returned a couple of hours ago from my volunteer visit to Bocas del Toro. On Thursday morning, Patrick, the volunteer I was to going to visit, surprised me by knocking on the hotel door just as I had emerged from the shower. I didn´t know he´d be meeting me in David, but finding out I wouldn´t have to navigate any buses by my onesies was a pleasant surprise.
After a delicious lunch for the whopping price of $1.85, we departed on a Changuinola-bound bus and rode for about three-and-a-half hours over rolling hills, toward the blue misty mountains of Bocas. Panamanians like to pack their buses tight, and this one was about the size a shuttle you´d see shuffling tourists to and fro in Florida. Ngobe women got on with their children from the sides of the road, barefoot and in traditional colorful dresses. They stood so close their long hair was whipping my face at every turn. As we climbed higher, I could tell I was heading out of familiar Panama and into something completely different.
We got off the bus and sat down to put on our rubber boots, an indispensable accessory in this mud-laden country. We were immediately greeted by a Ngobe man that Patrick knew. Campesino, or farmer/country, Spanish is spoken much slower, a cultural equivalent of a Southern drawl. I could understand more than I expected, even though their language was peppered with Ngobere terms. Hearing Patrick converse with people throughout the weekend helped bolster my confidence that my Spanish would be up to par by the time training is over, more or less. He speaks simply and slowly, but so does everyone else.
The hike was a challenging one; quite steep and I had to frequently pause to pull my leg out of 8 inches of mud. There is something about walking through wet, sopping ground however, those satisfying slaps and squishes really make you feel like you´re going somewhere.
After about 80 minutes, we arrived at Patrick´s site. I was sweating profusely as usual, but eager to take in everything surrounding me. All the houses are raised huts, mostly with roofs made out of penca, or thatch. Some had zinc roofs, but those were exceptions. Penca, while dusty and attractive to critters, is overwhelmingly preferred because it keeps homes a lot cooler than zinc. I know this because my home in Santa Clara has a zinc roof and it undoubtedly contributes to the ever-present gringa sheen. At this point I must interject to apologize and say that again, I forgot my camera. I am failing miserably in my efforts to document this journey photographically, but I promise to do better/steal pics from my fellow trainees. But, your image of a wooden hut with a thatch roof is likely accurate, so continue to use your imaginations.
When we arrived, it was already getting dark, so I rushed away to rinse off quickly before dinner. Patrick´s bathing situation is an interesting but common one. About 50 feet away from his house is a three-sided bathing area with a large bucket and a faucet that usually has running water. I, in technical development terms, would call the water flow a half-hearted trickle but when it works, it gets the job done. Because it only has three sides though, most volunteers wear clothes while bathing, which limits how clean you can really feel. I decided after about day five in Panama that I wouldn´t really feel clean until 2011 so any time I don´t feel filty, I count my blessings.
Is this too much information? Now that we talk about excrement and water-borne diseases all day, I assume this is stuff everyone wants to hear. Any sense of decorum I was clutching onto left me immediately once I landed in Panama.
Anyway. I was interested to see how dinner would be because up until now, I didn´t have a good idea of how or what volunteers ate. Patrick happens to be a master chef, and he works wonders with a propane tank and two burners. We´d hiked up with veggies from the market in David, and over this last weekend, I ate the best food I´ve had since arriving in Panama. That is, if we discount the Dairy Queen Blizzards I´ve eaten in the mall food court. Why has no one told me about those until now? Over the course of a few days, we had spaghetti with stir-fried veggies, oatmeal with flax, wheat germ, powdered milk and sugar, homemade cornbread (I know!), chili, brown rice with squash, lentils, and other goodies, and even crepes. This trip proved to me several things, diet-wise, a) It´s possible to eat well as a PC volunteer b) beans are indispensable c) peanut butter can go in pretty much anything.
Friday, the Ministro de Salud (Health ministry) planned to be working on a water project in Loma Azul, which we were hoping to observe/help haul sand for, but it got rained out. A fierce thunderstorm rolled through, with lightning strikes only a couple hundred feet from our hut. I donned my fleece jacket for the first time in Panama and was thrilled to do so. So Friday ended up being a low-key day. I read a couple hundred pages of my book, laid in a hammock, and chatted with the people as they passed by Patrick´s place. Even though we didn´t do much, it was a useful experience to see how volunteers spend time in a day. PC work moves at a rate slower than a snail´s pace sometimes. Especially in the first year of service, there isn´t much to do the majority of the time. Even when you´re actively seeking out work, doing community analyses, and getting to know people, you have free time. It is one of the most frustrating aspects of service because volunteers feel that they´ve sacrificed so much to be in the Peace Corps, and many of their days are spent idle. So I was glad I got to experience a "tranquilo" Peace Corps day. Also it was the first time I´ve had a free moment since arriving, so falling asleep in a hammock and listening to storms roll in was exactly what I wanted to be doing. I introduced Patrick to Bananagrams and Farkle, and would you believe I was soundly beaten in Bananagrams three times? This was a blow to me ego, but I took in stride because my opponent is also a voracious reader and writer.
On Saturday, Patrick´s friend Jen, and my fellow trainee Aleah hiked from Jen´s site along with the soon-to-be regional leader Ben. The mission today was to give a nutrition charla at the school. Charlas are sort of informal lectures given by PC volunteers in the campo. I pasear´ed with Patrick in early morning, inviting people to the charla. Pasear-ing is sort of the Spanish equivalent of¨going to visit, or to come calling, if you will. A lot of the words we learn don´t have English equivalents, so I´ll introduce them as we go along. Pasear-ing is a huge part of volunteer service. Going to people´s houses, drinking coffee and shooting the breeze is the only way to built trust and relationships in some some communities.
Attendance at the charla was good, about 10 women showed up, some with their children. I was mistaken in my earlier entry when I said many Ngobes are shy and reserved. Most communities in the Bocas area are quite lively, and the women came ready to participate. At some point, we all broke into teams, a volunteer in each group, to make lists of different-colored foods. The women I was with were feeling competetive, and demanded to list the white foods. Good thing too because I don´t know many words for red, yellow, or green foods in Spanish. We joked that our list was the best, and the longest, and indeed ended up winning. I was delighted to talk with community members, joke around, and participate in a charla. We spend hours in training talking about ice breakers, different presentation methods and topics, but nothing compares to seeing what it is really like in person.
Also, I must add. Can you believe what music was playing from the school when we arrived. Celine´s "Because You Loved Me" followed by "My Heart Will Go On."
WHAT!?!? Nothing really compares to entering a tiny school in the mountains of Panama, in an indigenous community, and hearing Celine blasting from the windows. Talk about surreal.
After the charla, the five gringos paraded through town back to Patrick´s house and we spent the afternoon asking the volunteers questions, making lunch, and playing some more Farkle.
This visit was designed to show us what volunteer life is like, and to spend some time up close and personal in a site. I have pretty much nothing but positive feedback for my APCD interview this weekend. Bocas is incredibly beautiful, the communities are less intimidating than in some other areas, and most sites are relatively accessible. They have cell service, and are about an hour away from a town with Internet and some stores. The only downside I saw was that Patrick hasn´t had many big projects to work on. He tried to start some latrine and aqueduct work, but found that people weren´t willing to haul sand or cement up the mountain. Peace Corps is all about building capacity from the ground up, and teaching people how to do the work themselves, and Patrick wasn´t willing to put in effort if the community wasn´t. I think he is exactly right. Unfortunately it means he closes his service without many tangible results, but he did have some big success in giving AIDS/sexual education charlas in eight sites throughout bocas, as well as helping with some side projects in his town.
We arrived back in David at about 12:30 this afternoon and I took the first hot shower I´ve had since getting here. It was glorious and I think my feet are actually legitimately clean for the first time since August 11th.
Peace Corps is all about small victory´s, so three cheers for clean feet!
After a delicious lunch for the whopping price of $1.85, we departed on a Changuinola-bound bus and rode for about three-and-a-half hours over rolling hills, toward the blue misty mountains of Bocas. Panamanians like to pack their buses tight, and this one was about the size a shuttle you´d see shuffling tourists to and fro in Florida. Ngobe women got on with their children from the sides of the road, barefoot and in traditional colorful dresses. They stood so close their long hair was whipping my face at every turn. As we climbed higher, I could tell I was heading out of familiar Panama and into something completely different.
We got off the bus and sat down to put on our rubber boots, an indispensable accessory in this mud-laden country. We were immediately greeted by a Ngobe man that Patrick knew. Campesino, or farmer/country, Spanish is spoken much slower, a cultural equivalent of a Southern drawl. I could understand more than I expected, even though their language was peppered with Ngobere terms. Hearing Patrick converse with people throughout the weekend helped bolster my confidence that my Spanish would be up to par by the time training is over, more or less. He speaks simply and slowly, but so does everyone else.
The hike was a challenging one; quite steep and I had to frequently pause to pull my leg out of 8 inches of mud. There is something about walking through wet, sopping ground however, those satisfying slaps and squishes really make you feel like you´re going somewhere.
After about 80 minutes, we arrived at Patrick´s site. I was sweating profusely as usual, but eager to take in everything surrounding me. All the houses are raised huts, mostly with roofs made out of penca, or thatch. Some had zinc roofs, but those were exceptions. Penca, while dusty and attractive to critters, is overwhelmingly preferred because it keeps homes a lot cooler than zinc. I know this because my home in Santa Clara has a zinc roof and it undoubtedly contributes to the ever-present gringa sheen. At this point I must interject to apologize and say that again, I forgot my camera. I am failing miserably in my efforts to document this journey photographically, but I promise to do better/steal pics from my fellow trainees. But, your image of a wooden hut with a thatch roof is likely accurate, so continue to use your imaginations.
When we arrived, it was already getting dark, so I rushed away to rinse off quickly before dinner. Patrick´s bathing situation is an interesting but common one. About 50 feet away from his house is a three-sided bathing area with a large bucket and a faucet that usually has running water. I, in technical development terms, would call the water flow a half-hearted trickle but when it works, it gets the job done. Because it only has three sides though, most volunteers wear clothes while bathing, which limits how clean you can really feel. I decided after about day five in Panama that I wouldn´t really feel clean until 2011 so any time I don´t feel filty, I count my blessings.
Is this too much information? Now that we talk about excrement and water-borne diseases all day, I assume this is stuff everyone wants to hear. Any sense of decorum I was clutching onto left me immediately once I landed in Panama.
Anyway. I was interested to see how dinner would be because up until now, I didn´t have a good idea of how or what volunteers ate. Patrick happens to be a master chef, and he works wonders with a propane tank and two burners. We´d hiked up with veggies from the market in David, and over this last weekend, I ate the best food I´ve had since arriving in Panama. That is, if we discount the Dairy Queen Blizzards I´ve eaten in the mall food court. Why has no one told me about those until now? Over the course of a few days, we had spaghetti with stir-fried veggies, oatmeal with flax, wheat germ, powdered milk and sugar, homemade cornbread (I know!), chili, brown rice with squash, lentils, and other goodies, and even crepes. This trip proved to me several things, diet-wise, a) It´s possible to eat well as a PC volunteer b) beans are indispensable c) peanut butter can go in pretty much anything.
Friday, the Ministro de Salud (Health ministry) planned to be working on a water project in Loma Azul, which we were hoping to observe/help haul sand for, but it got rained out. A fierce thunderstorm rolled through, with lightning strikes only a couple hundred feet from our hut. I donned my fleece jacket for the first time in Panama and was thrilled to do so. So Friday ended up being a low-key day. I read a couple hundred pages of my book, laid in a hammock, and chatted with the people as they passed by Patrick´s place. Even though we didn´t do much, it was a useful experience to see how volunteers spend time in a day. PC work moves at a rate slower than a snail´s pace sometimes. Especially in the first year of service, there isn´t much to do the majority of the time. Even when you´re actively seeking out work, doing community analyses, and getting to know people, you have free time. It is one of the most frustrating aspects of service because volunteers feel that they´ve sacrificed so much to be in the Peace Corps, and many of their days are spent idle. So I was glad I got to experience a "tranquilo" Peace Corps day. Also it was the first time I´ve had a free moment since arriving, so falling asleep in a hammock and listening to storms roll in was exactly what I wanted to be doing. I introduced Patrick to Bananagrams and Farkle, and would you believe I was soundly beaten in Bananagrams three times? This was a blow to me ego, but I took in stride because my opponent is also a voracious reader and writer.
On Saturday, Patrick´s friend Jen, and my fellow trainee Aleah hiked from Jen´s site along with the soon-to-be regional leader Ben. The mission today was to give a nutrition charla at the school. Charlas are sort of informal lectures given by PC volunteers in the campo. I pasear´ed with Patrick in early morning, inviting people to the charla. Pasear-ing is sort of the Spanish equivalent of¨going to visit, or to come calling, if you will. A lot of the words we learn don´t have English equivalents, so I´ll introduce them as we go along. Pasear-ing is a huge part of volunteer service. Going to people´s houses, drinking coffee and shooting the breeze is the only way to built trust and relationships in some some communities.
Attendance at the charla was good, about 10 women showed up, some with their children. I was mistaken in my earlier entry when I said many Ngobes are shy and reserved. Most communities in the Bocas area are quite lively, and the women came ready to participate. At some point, we all broke into teams, a volunteer in each group, to make lists of different-colored foods. The women I was with were feeling competetive, and demanded to list the white foods. Good thing too because I don´t know many words for red, yellow, or green foods in Spanish. We joked that our list was the best, and the longest, and indeed ended up winning. I was delighted to talk with community members, joke around, and participate in a charla. We spend hours in training talking about ice breakers, different presentation methods and topics, but nothing compares to seeing what it is really like in person.
Also, I must add. Can you believe what music was playing from the school when we arrived. Celine´s "Because You Loved Me" followed by "My Heart Will Go On."
WHAT!?!? Nothing really compares to entering a tiny school in the mountains of Panama, in an indigenous community, and hearing Celine blasting from the windows. Talk about surreal.
After the charla, the five gringos paraded through town back to Patrick´s house and we spent the afternoon asking the volunteers questions, making lunch, and playing some more Farkle.
This visit was designed to show us what volunteer life is like, and to spend some time up close and personal in a site. I have pretty much nothing but positive feedback for my APCD interview this weekend. Bocas is incredibly beautiful, the communities are less intimidating than in some other areas, and most sites are relatively accessible. They have cell service, and are about an hour away from a town with Internet and some stores. The only downside I saw was that Patrick hasn´t had many big projects to work on. He tried to start some latrine and aqueduct work, but found that people weren´t willing to haul sand or cement up the mountain. Peace Corps is all about building capacity from the ground up, and teaching people how to do the work themselves, and Patrick wasn´t willing to put in effort if the community wasn´t. I think he is exactly right. Unfortunately it means he closes his service without many tangible results, but he did have some big success in giving AIDS/sexual education charlas in eight sites throughout bocas, as well as helping with some side projects in his town.
We arrived back in David at about 12:30 this afternoon and I took the first hot shower I´ve had since getting here. It was glorious and I think my feet are actually legitimately clean for the first time since August 11th.
Peace Corps is all about small victory´s, so three cheers for clean feet!
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Volunteer Visits
First of all thanks to everyone who sent me news about Celine being pregnant. Even though celebrity gossip, and news of most kinds, if off my radar while in Panama, I expect immediate notification of anything and everything regarding Celine Dion, or our favorite trainwreck celebs like LiLo, Amy Winehouse and the like. Development work is serious business, but I still have room in my wee little brain for some celebrity skuttlebut. Don´t forget it.
On a more serious note, I heard the news this morning about Ted Kennedy, and audibly gasped, turning heads in the restaurant where we were eating. It´s awful to see him go before the culmination of his life´s work, but after hearing reports about him being unable to speak, and suffering through his last days, in a way it comes as a relief. I don´t have much time to check news here, and Panama nightly news is all about truck accidents and drug busts, so any updates on health policy news would be greatly appreciated.
Today I´m writing from David, the second-largest city in Panama, in the Chiriqi province. I´m munching on slices of mango, which I bought from a street vendor for 25 cents. I am pleased with the cost of food here.
We left Panama City last night at 7:30 on a comfortable, Greyhound-y bus and headed about six hours west, arriving at 2:45a.m. in an unfamiliar city without maps or an exact idea of where our hotel was. Peace Corps likes to give you enough information to get somewhere, but not so much that you really feel like you know where to go. It´s all part of the experience, see?
This trip is for our volunteeer visits, where in our second week of training, we go to the real site of a volunteer. My site is in Bocas del Toro, the eastern-most province in Panama, bordering Costa Rica. A majority of the province is in the Comarca, or the Panamanian equivalent of reservations for indigenous people. To my surprise, my volunteer met me here in David this morning, and we´ll leave together around noon, take a three-and-a half-hour bus ride, and then hike for an hour to his Ngobe site. His directions to his site were good, but I´m glad to be going along with him to make sure I hike up the right super-steep path. Also, if you ask for directions in Panama, most people just gesture wildly and say ¨Por Alla¨ meaning ¨Way over there¨or ¨Por alli¨meaning ¨Close, but a little bit over there¨ or ¨Por Aca¨ meaning ¨Kinda close, like right here!¨ Last week I was showing Nani where I´d be going in Bocas, and Greysia wanted to see the world map I brought. Nani new exactly where we were in Panama, but on the world scale, she wasn´t sure, and needed me to point out the U.S. She did remember where all the other aspirantes who have passed through Santa Clara lived, asking me to point out Virginia, Massachusetts, and a bunch of other states.
I´m thrilled to be out and experiencing the real Peace Corps life this weekend. The majority of our environmental health group will be placed in indigenous sites, and we´ve heard a lot about them, but it´s impossible to know what they´re really like until we get there. So now I have my chance, and when we return to Santa Clara on Monday, I´ll be able to talk with the Associate Programing Director about my thoughts and experiences, whether I would hate living in Bocas or love it, and what I think of a Ngobe community. Using this interview and other means of assessment, Tim (the APCD) will decide a permanent placement for me. I´ll know where I´m going during week four of training. (We´re halfway through week two now.) If I´m in a site where there is cell service, I´ll probably buy a phone soon and will be able to call and text again.
One culture point that is important to consider about Latino sites, but more particiularly Ngobe and other indigenous communities is the concept of ¨pena,¨ which in English translates roughly to something like embarassment, shame, or shyness. We´ve heard people, epecially in the rural country, tend to speak very indirectly, and often not at all to a new person, so it takes months to build a relationship and confianza, or trust, with only a few select people. Ngobes frequently assume the Americans know best, are too shy to be forthcoming, or prefer to wait and be told what to do. But the job of a PC volunteer is to learn from them about the community and its needs. Only they know, and they have the most to teach me. Starting to break down that pena barrier is a months-long process for many volunteers. I am not expecting many to readily talk with me this weekend, but at least I´ll get a feel of what the site is like and how I might react to living there.
In preparation, yesterday I took a one-hour class in the Ngobere language. My only real take away thought is ¨Good Lord...¨At times I feel like my Spanish is actually getting worse; I don´t know how I´ll ever manage to learn Ngobere. The vowel sounds and sentence stuctures are completely different than Spanish and English. I did have another ¨This is so cool¨moment though, as I was being instructed in Spanish about a rare indigenous language that most people in the world don´t even know exists. I didn´t even notice I wasn´t thinking in or about English at all.
Some days there is so much to take in, and my brain is just buzzing with new information until it finally gives up and shuts off. But when I walk home from class, saying ¨Buenas¨to everyone that passes, sharing space with the plethora of chickens, turkeys and ducks that roam around town, I´m always refreshed and feeling grateful for this experience. I´ve been encountering all these little signs along the way too, like one of the first songs Daviey Sr. played on the stereo when I arrived was ¨La Vida Es Un Carnaval.¨ I´m not supersticious but when things like that happen, it makes me feel like I´m in exactly the right place.
So that´s it for now. I might have a chance to write again Sunday when I´m back in David for the night.
And hey y´all don´t forget to keep me updated on your own lives. I want to hear about everyone´s new jobs, schools, and everything in between.
On a more serious note, I heard the news this morning about Ted Kennedy, and audibly gasped, turning heads in the restaurant where we were eating. It´s awful to see him go before the culmination of his life´s work, but after hearing reports about him being unable to speak, and suffering through his last days, in a way it comes as a relief. I don´t have much time to check news here, and Panama nightly news is all about truck accidents and drug busts, so any updates on health policy news would be greatly appreciated.
Today I´m writing from David, the second-largest city in Panama, in the Chiriqi province. I´m munching on slices of mango, which I bought from a street vendor for 25 cents. I am pleased with the cost of food here.
We left Panama City last night at 7:30 on a comfortable, Greyhound-y bus and headed about six hours west, arriving at 2:45a.m. in an unfamiliar city without maps or an exact idea of where our hotel was. Peace Corps likes to give you enough information to get somewhere, but not so much that you really feel like you know where to go. It´s all part of the experience, see?
This trip is for our volunteeer visits, where in our second week of training, we go to the real site of a volunteer. My site is in Bocas del Toro, the eastern-most province in Panama, bordering Costa Rica. A majority of the province is in the Comarca, or the Panamanian equivalent of reservations for indigenous people. To my surprise, my volunteer met me here in David this morning, and we´ll leave together around noon, take a three-and-a half-hour bus ride, and then hike for an hour to his Ngobe site. His directions to his site were good, but I´m glad to be going along with him to make sure I hike up the right super-steep path. Also, if you ask for directions in Panama, most people just gesture wildly and say ¨Por Alla¨ meaning ¨Way over there¨or ¨Por alli¨meaning ¨Close, but a little bit over there¨ or ¨Por Aca¨ meaning ¨Kinda close, like right here!¨ Last week I was showing Nani where I´d be going in Bocas, and Greysia wanted to see the world map I brought. Nani new exactly where we were in Panama, but on the world scale, she wasn´t sure, and needed me to point out the U.S. She did remember where all the other aspirantes who have passed through Santa Clara lived, asking me to point out Virginia, Massachusetts, and a bunch of other states.
I´m thrilled to be out and experiencing the real Peace Corps life this weekend. The majority of our environmental health group will be placed in indigenous sites, and we´ve heard a lot about them, but it´s impossible to know what they´re really like until we get there. So now I have my chance, and when we return to Santa Clara on Monday, I´ll be able to talk with the Associate Programing Director about my thoughts and experiences, whether I would hate living in Bocas or love it, and what I think of a Ngobe community. Using this interview and other means of assessment, Tim (the APCD) will decide a permanent placement for me. I´ll know where I´m going during week four of training. (We´re halfway through week two now.) If I´m in a site where there is cell service, I´ll probably buy a phone soon and will be able to call and text again.
One culture point that is important to consider about Latino sites, but more particiularly Ngobe and other indigenous communities is the concept of ¨pena,¨ which in English translates roughly to something like embarassment, shame, or shyness. We´ve heard people, epecially in the rural country, tend to speak very indirectly, and often not at all to a new person, so it takes months to build a relationship and confianza, or trust, with only a few select people. Ngobes frequently assume the Americans know best, are too shy to be forthcoming, or prefer to wait and be told what to do. But the job of a PC volunteer is to learn from them about the community and its needs. Only they know, and they have the most to teach me. Starting to break down that pena barrier is a months-long process for many volunteers. I am not expecting many to readily talk with me this weekend, but at least I´ll get a feel of what the site is like and how I might react to living there.
In preparation, yesterday I took a one-hour class in the Ngobere language. My only real take away thought is ¨Good Lord...¨At times I feel like my Spanish is actually getting worse; I don´t know how I´ll ever manage to learn Ngobere. The vowel sounds and sentence stuctures are completely different than Spanish and English. I did have another ¨This is so cool¨moment though, as I was being instructed in Spanish about a rare indigenous language that most people in the world don´t even know exists. I didn´t even notice I wasn´t thinking in or about English at all.
Some days there is so much to take in, and my brain is just buzzing with new information until it finally gives up and shuts off. But when I walk home from class, saying ¨Buenas¨to everyone that passes, sharing space with the plethora of chickens, turkeys and ducks that roam around town, I´m always refreshed and feeling grateful for this experience. I´ve been encountering all these little signs along the way too, like one of the first songs Daviey Sr. played on the stereo when I arrived was ¨La Vida Es Un Carnaval.¨ I´m not supersticious but when things like that happen, it makes me feel like I´m in exactly the right place.
So that´s it for now. I might have a chance to write again Sunday when I´m back in David for the night.
And hey y´all don´t forget to keep me updated on your own lives. I want to hear about everyone´s new jobs, schools, and everything in between.
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