You may remember that last fall, I purchased a piglet for $25. I did this with the carnivorous intention of raising him 'til he was big and fat, and then killing him for my despedida. Goodbye parties are a big tradition in Panama, and I wanted to make sure there would be enough food to feed the flocks. Plus, it was a good conversation topic. People found it hilarious that I owned livestock and enjoyed asking me how fat he was getting. His name was well-known around town. Puerco de Paz means Peace Pig and is a play on the words for Peace Corps in Spanish, which is Cuerpo de Paz. It was impossible to mention him without grinning just a little.
Purchasing this piggy was perhaps one of the best decisions of my life. The day before my despedida, he was brought down from his house on the hill and my neighbors and BFF's Julio and Rosita took charge of the subsequent slaughter and preparation. Good thing, because when initially face-to-face with the 80-pound hog, I got cold feet and contemplated going into town to buy chicken. I learned a lot of things in Panama, but Intro to Butchery is a course I missed.
The plan was to smoke him that night, and the next day prepare a barbeque sauce, reheat and serve. I purchased some screen and, using tall stakes, we set up a grill of sorts, perched high above Rosita's cooking fire. Over the next eight hours, we smoked two batches of pork, and oh my goodness, did it taste good. The guilt I had over watching my baby get killed in cold blood slid away as the smoky smells of his roasting flesh filled the air. Yummo!
We attracted quite the crowd. Other neighbors and passersby seemed delighted by watching me rotate the meat over the smoky fire, and covering it back up with banana leaves. They said a lot of things like,
"Oh, look at Cati with all of that pork! She's crying from the smoke! What a great memory this is!"
And it was. Julio, Rosita, the kids and I stayed up until one o'clock in the morning smoking my dear puerco to perfection, all the while telling stories and jokes and enjoying each other's company. That night, I returned to the house with two five-gallon buckets filled with food.
In the morning, I prepared a barbeque sauce. I wanted to share something American in terms of cuisine at my despedida, but sometimes people scare easily when it comes to new, bold flavors, so I tried to keep it simple. The recipe was this:
1 part vinegar
1 part water
1 part ketchup
1 part sugar
Then I threw in some paprika, chili powder and a bit of bbq seasoning. That afternoon, we re-heated the meat in huge pots, threw on some sauce, and served it up with some rice and yucca. It was a hit.
I documented each step of the pig's demise, but I understand that some people might not want to be assaulted with such violent imagery. Therefore, follow this link if you want to see.
Friday, October 28, 2011
Saturday, October 1, 2011
Young entrepreneur
One of the largest frustrations throughout my service was dealing with people constantly asking for free things. When I first moved into my house, every night the neighbors would send their children over to ask for cooking oil, matches, kerosene, packets of coffee, anything and everything. I knew that being a friendly neighbor and lending a cup of sugar now and then wouldn't work. To give one thing one time establishes the expectation of giving every time, every day. And while at first it was hard to say no to the kids, I knew they'd survived without my help and would continue to do so.
I came up with a few solutions to counter the barrage of requests for food or supplies. I always offered to buy produce from the families- bananas, otoe, wild peach palm, limes, whatever. I would be happy to act as a loyal paying customer, but would always refuse to hand out free money.
Few adults latched onto this, but the kids were captivated. I would pay them for the plantains they had in their house? Ten cents each! Their eyes lit up at the mere idea. Abdiel, my ten-year-old neighbor was my best supplier. If he needed a few cents for a pencil for posterboard for school, he would come over and peddle whatever he had in exchange for a quarter. Or he'd ask me if I wanted anything in particular when he knew his family was headed to the farm. Sometimes the kids would still ask for money for no reason, and I always responded that they had to find a way to earn it. Little Rosibel would busy herself washing dishes, or collecting trash. Milexi might find me some firewood or put some elbow grease into the pots and pans Rosibel just couldn't scrub clean. Asael would cut my lawn, and Nelson would stand there swinging a stick like a machete trying to convince me he was big enough for the job too.
As my departure from site approached, the kids started asking what would become of all the books, puzzles, and games I'd collected over the last two years. These requests were immediately followed by a demand of "give it to me!" which was always met by my explanation of a yard sale so that everyone would have a fair chance. I promised to sell all the "kid things" cheaply, between ten cents and fifty, but if they wanted something, they'd have to think and save their money for that day. This is hard. In a place where every nickel counts, and sometimes there are none at all, adults have trouble managing what little they have and planning for a rainly day. I was asking a lot.
Abdiel came by a couple of days before and asked about a game of Trouble I had. He'd had his eye on it since I bought it and had played it countless times while visiting. I told him it cost fifty cents, and he'd better start thinking about how he was going to get that money or else someone else would buy it.
I saw a mixture of excitement and defeat in his eyes. Fifty cents is a lot to these kids and I could tell he thought I was being unnecessarily miserly. Then he smiled and told me he'd figure something out and I better not tell anyone else the game is available.
Ten minutes later he came back with five pieces of wild palm and asked if I wanted to buy them. I handed him his quarter and he smiled and said, "Only one more quarter to go."
I heated up some refried beans to dip the palm in, and he came back over and sat down at the table with me. We talked for a few minutes before he said, "Give me an egg for my dad to eat with dinner? We don't have any meat to eat with the bananas." In my crotchityness, I reminded him that I just paid him a quarter, and the only person whose dinner I am responsible for is my own. If he needs an egg that badly, he should use his own money to buy it at the store across the street.
"If I do that I won't have the fifty cents to buy the game," he said.
I told him that's not my problem and reminded him he still had a few more days to earn more money. At that point, most other kids would have sensed their defeat and called me selfish or mean, but Abdiel just sat there quietly for a few minutes. I thought the conversation was over and was about to send him home when he said, "Well, what if I buy an egg for my dad, and then I could sell you ten more peach palms for five cents each and then I would have 50 cents?"
I wanted to hug him. And you know this early purchase was technically breaking the rules of the yard sale, but I was so proud of his problem-solving and resourcefulness that I said "It's a deal!" He grinned and ran off to collect my produce.
Somehow, that moment felt like one of the most successful in my entire service. In two years a boy went from only asking and expecting free things, to figuring out some simple solutions to earn what he needs or wants. It's a kind of empowerment even a lot of adults here don't feel. These quiet moments of tiny success are what made my service more rewarding. You never know how much you affect one person, and results are sometimes impossible to see. Peace Corps humbles its volunteers because it shows us how hard it is to do the smallest things, and how little change we can really spark in two years. I don't know if I really taught him anything or if he would have eventually figured it out on his own. Maybe I was just a supportive customer.
I hope he always stays as motivated and pro-active as he is at ten.
I came up with a few solutions to counter the barrage of requests for food or supplies. I always offered to buy produce from the families- bananas, otoe, wild peach palm, limes, whatever. I would be happy to act as a loyal paying customer, but would always refuse to hand out free money.
Few adults latched onto this, but the kids were captivated. I would pay them for the plantains they had in their house? Ten cents each! Their eyes lit up at the mere idea. Abdiel, my ten-year-old neighbor was my best supplier. If he needed a few cents for a pencil for posterboard for school, he would come over and peddle whatever he had in exchange for a quarter. Or he'd ask me if I wanted anything in particular when he knew his family was headed to the farm. Sometimes the kids would still ask for money for no reason, and I always responded that they had to find a way to earn it. Little Rosibel would busy herself washing dishes, or collecting trash. Milexi might find me some firewood or put some elbow grease into the pots and pans Rosibel just couldn't scrub clean. Asael would cut my lawn, and Nelson would stand there swinging a stick like a machete trying to convince me he was big enough for the job too.
As my departure from site approached, the kids started asking what would become of all the books, puzzles, and games I'd collected over the last two years. These requests were immediately followed by a demand of "give it to me!" which was always met by my explanation of a yard sale so that everyone would have a fair chance. I promised to sell all the "kid things" cheaply, between ten cents and fifty, but if they wanted something, they'd have to think and save their money for that day. This is hard. In a place where every nickel counts, and sometimes there are none at all, adults have trouble managing what little they have and planning for a rainly day. I was asking a lot.
Abdiel came by a couple of days before and asked about a game of Trouble I had. He'd had his eye on it since I bought it and had played it countless times while visiting. I told him it cost fifty cents, and he'd better start thinking about how he was going to get that money or else someone else would buy it.
I saw a mixture of excitement and defeat in his eyes. Fifty cents is a lot to these kids and I could tell he thought I was being unnecessarily miserly. Then he smiled and told me he'd figure something out and I better not tell anyone else the game is available.
Ten minutes later he came back with five pieces of wild palm and asked if I wanted to buy them. I handed him his quarter and he smiled and said, "Only one more quarter to go."
I heated up some refried beans to dip the palm in, and he came back over and sat down at the table with me. We talked for a few minutes before he said, "Give me an egg for my dad to eat with dinner? We don't have any meat to eat with the bananas." In my crotchityness, I reminded him that I just paid him a quarter, and the only person whose dinner I am responsible for is my own. If he needs an egg that badly, he should use his own money to buy it at the store across the street.
"If I do that I won't have the fifty cents to buy the game," he said.
I told him that's not my problem and reminded him he still had a few more days to earn more money. At that point, most other kids would have sensed their defeat and called me selfish or mean, but Abdiel just sat there quietly for a few minutes. I thought the conversation was over and was about to send him home when he said, "Well, what if I buy an egg for my dad, and then I could sell you ten more peach palms for five cents each and then I would have 50 cents?"
I wanted to hug him. And you know this early purchase was technically breaking the rules of the yard sale, but I was so proud of his problem-solving and resourcefulness that I said "It's a deal!" He grinned and ran off to collect my produce.
Somehow, that moment felt like one of the most successful in my entire service. In two years a boy went from only asking and expecting free things, to figuring out some simple solutions to earn what he needs or wants. It's a kind of empowerment even a lot of adults here don't feel. These quiet moments of tiny success are what made my service more rewarding. You never know how much you affect one person, and results are sometimes impossible to see. Peace Corps humbles its volunteers because it shows us how hard it is to do the smallest things, and how little change we can really spark in two years. I don't know if I really taught him anything or if he would have eventually figured it out on his own. Maybe I was just a supportive customer.
I hope he always stays as motivated and pro-active as he is at ten.
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
QP Dance Troupe
They need some work on following choreography, but I still think Rihanna would be proud.
Bathing
The Competition
People started gathering around mid-day. The diputado, a local government representative, had announced a visit, and slowly but surely, hundreds of Quebrada Pastor residents started trickling toward the meeting rancho. I'd never seen so many people in once place in town, not even when traveling medicine clinics have come through. But no one would be foolish enough to miss a day with the diputado.
When he finally arrived at 5 p.m. that afternoon, his minions began unloading. Hundreds of pounds of food, mattresses, shovels, machetes, plates, bowls and toys were unloaded as all the community members stood by and watched, chattering among themselves about which things they wanted. The meeting began with an introduction and small speeches given by other local diputados as well as two of QP's "leaders." Our "dirigente," something lie a town mayor who doesn't actually do anything, gave a speech about all the needs Q.P. has, soliciting financial or material help from the diputado. I think he made up this list entirely by himself, as a weedwhacker and fancy bus shelter topped the list. Our water committee presented a solicitude for more tube and a new reserve tank installation in a place which would do so much more harm than good to our fragile aqueduct. I bit my tongue, thinking of all the work I tried to do with him, and how we could have improved the system in a meaningful way if they'd had interest.
The entire exercise was completely ridiculous. After everyone got a chance to speak, one of the diputado´s handlers got up and began a speech about how his boss was more than just a government representative working for the people. This diputado had converted himself into a real-life Santa Claus, traveling from community to community handing out things people needed and wanted. I looked around at the crowd, trying to gauge a reaction. No one seemed to consider this a blatant show of corruption or vote-buying, instead, they considered this what they were owed. Rural Panamanians are used to being marginalized, mostly ignored by government and officials, and the way they feel recognized is by days like these. The matteress or sack of food they walk away with is official recognition, evidence that someone is looking after them.
I´d seen enough and headed back to the house before the gift giving began. I started thinking about development, and Peace Corps´ participatory community approach. I thought about how that really plays out in the field, how it works and how it fails. And I thought it sounds like a pretty good theory on paper, but it can be totally different in real life when your competition is... Santa Claus.
When he finally arrived at 5 p.m. that afternoon, his minions began unloading. Hundreds of pounds of food, mattresses, shovels, machetes, plates, bowls and toys were unloaded as all the community members stood by and watched, chattering among themselves about which things they wanted. The meeting began with an introduction and small speeches given by other local diputados as well as two of QP's "leaders." Our "dirigente," something lie a town mayor who doesn't actually do anything, gave a speech about all the needs Q.P. has, soliciting financial or material help from the diputado. I think he made up this list entirely by himself, as a weedwhacker and fancy bus shelter topped the list. Our water committee presented a solicitude for more tube and a new reserve tank installation in a place which would do so much more harm than good to our fragile aqueduct. I bit my tongue, thinking of all the work I tried to do with him, and how we could have improved the system in a meaningful way if they'd had interest.
The entire exercise was completely ridiculous. After everyone got a chance to speak, one of the diputado´s handlers got up and began a speech about how his boss was more than just a government representative working for the people. This diputado had converted himself into a real-life Santa Claus, traveling from community to community handing out things people needed and wanted. I looked around at the crowd, trying to gauge a reaction. No one seemed to consider this a blatant show of corruption or vote-buying, instead, they considered this what they were owed. Rural Panamanians are used to being marginalized, mostly ignored by government and officials, and the way they feel recognized is by days like these. The matteress or sack of food they walk away with is official recognition, evidence that someone is looking after them.
I´d seen enough and headed back to the house before the gift giving began. I started thinking about development, and Peace Corps´ participatory community approach. I thought about how that really plays out in the field, how it works and how it fails. And I thought it sounds like a pretty good theory on paper, but it can be totally different in real life when your competition is... Santa Claus.
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
On paseo
Last Saturday I went on on a trip with a friend from QP and his three kids. My neighbor Pcv Elsie came along and we made a day of fishing and then heading to the beach in a dugout canoe with a motor on back. Pictures:
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