The Integration (or lack there of?)

During my first 3 months in site, my efforts will be concentrated on getting to know the community, building a foundation of trust, and learning the needs and wants of the families. After this phase, we will choose projects to work on together. T his phase should be quite fun and easy as the focus is more on socializing than working. And at times, it is enjoyable to learn to play a wooden flute, weave a basket, watch soccer games, swim in the waterfall, cook, and chat with everyone.

I still feel very much like a foreigner, though. When I ask (in Spanish) if I can sit down and join a group of women, they look at me, laugh, and talk to each other in Embera (their native tounge). When I ask for clarification in Spanish, I am told to learn Embera. So, I explain that I want to learn plenty of Embera for it is the language of friendship, but I also need to focus on Spanish because it is the language of business. The various agencies I am communicating with to help the community do not speak Embera. The women respond that the volunteer before me spoke a ton of Embera. Sheesh. She also arrived speaking Spanish well. I am pretty sure that the community would prefer that I speak Spanish on a level better than a 5 year old when I ask an agency for assistance with a computer lab.

To exacerbate my feelings of being an outsider, the community held a meeting. Upon my approach to the meeting, I was told that this was an Embera meeting. The 2 meetings I have attended here before have also been conducted in the Embera language. I explained that even if I am not able to pick up on all of the words, there is still much information to be learned from a meeting such as who leads, who participates, and how disputes are handled. I was then told that it is not just an Embera meeting, it was for Emberas only. And so, I could not attend. Ouch.

There are days, though, when I feel less like a foreigner/tourist and more like a member of the community. Slowly, I am learning that starting the day with a How To Speak Embera book in my hand, if only for even a 1/2 hour, carries great weight with the community; that if I sit alone in the community hall, individuals and small groups will join me and open up; and that kids want to be my best buddies. I don´t know that I´ll ever reach the point that I walk around topless like the women here do, but slowly I am integrating into this community.

My House

(Captions: The boatride to my site, my house, my stairs, my bedroom, my dining room table- without legs yet, kids slip´n´sliding, my shower)

The 21st place I rested my head in Panama is the place I can now call home. I never imagined how living out of a bag and having no control over my food for 12 weeks could take such a toll on my spirit and health. But after one night in my house, the most incredible house ever, I realize the journey here was more than worth it. I wake up each morning looking into a rain forest. During thunderstorms, my front yard doubles as a slip-and-side for the neighborhood kids. People stop by to chat throughout the day. I climb a log ladder. Chickens run around underneath my house. I am also fortunate that the previous volunteer equipped the house with tons of amenities including an upstairs sink, three benches, books, toys for the kiddos, a masquito net, and Christmas lights. I added the finishing touches of a bedroom wall and door (per Peace Corps’ new regulations) as well as a stove. The first meals I cooked were soup (well, I boiled water for my Cup-a-Noodles…but if heat is involved, I call it cooking) and popcorn. Mmmm. I found a use for the unused socks I brought with me given that I don’t wear shoes often: pot holders. I am also now able to boil water for a hot sponge (sock) bath which is divine. Home sweet hut!

Fun Photos

Photos are of all East Side Volunteers (East of the Canal), Halloween, Cute Kiddo, Skit during training, and Emily and Jake (2 of the coolest volunteers).

The Wedding

Despite my requests that my friends and family put their lives on hold during my service in the Peace Corps, my sister decided to get married. And so after only 11 weeks in Panama, I flew home for the wedding, ecstatic about being a part of the biggest day in my sister’s life but a little nervous about stepping back into my American comfort zone (and liking it a little too much).

Michele could not have picked a better day for her outdoor wedding- a beautiful autumn afternoon with a slight, crisp breeze, and red, orange, and golden rustling leaves on the trees. As an added bonus, my Aunt Mary pampered the bridal party with professionally styled hair and make-up. The salon glamorized my sister with ease. I, however, was another story. First, my hair underwent a laborious shampooing process to undo the damage culminated by weeks of quick cold showers, bathes in rivers, and not to mention that my last shower before the wedding had consisted only of a monumental rainfall during a boatride in my village. Needless to say, the professionals had their hands full with my jungle mophead. Once my stylist began to style my hair, she suggested with great concern that she trim my hair. When I replied that I was a volunteer and would not be able to afford any services not already on the agenda, she looked me once over and said, “It’s on the house.” A pity cut! Afterwards, with my new hair, make-up, and Maid of Honor dress, I truly felt like I had undergone a “What Not To Wear” makeover miracle.

The wedding was spectacular. With my sister’s elegant style and the arduous, collaborative efforts of my family members (my role solely being to show up!) it’s unbelievable to fathom that this wedding was planned in less than 3 months.

I must admit that it was incredible to be back home (I still identify Atlanta as home and not yet Panama). Seeing family and friends, eating delicious food (including medium rare beef and not an ounce of plain white rice), conducting a business transaction quickly and straight forward, Walmart, a bed, lack of humidity, and a hot bathe were so, so enjoyable. I did, however, wake up each night in Atlanta extremely disoriented as to where I was, I had my first dream in Spanish (yay!), and I missed my volunteer friends as well as assertive Panamanian drivers. Although difficult to say goodbye to home again, part of me was also ready to return to Panama to work.