Cultural Week, a week where new Peace Corps volunteers live in my community to learn about the culture, has come to an end. Everything turned out well, but making certain that the volunteers were happy and healthy, that host families were content, and that all sessions/ classes went smoothly was taxing because random problems consistently arose:
After planning cultural week and assigning roles to the community, over half of the community decided to leave for a 4 day work trip in the jungle to build a boat. Our lunch cooks ran out of rice after cooking a weeks supply of rice in 3 days. A host family slept in and did not feed their volunteer. 2 volunteers got very, very sick. A host family had to go the hospital, leaving noone at home with their volunteer. The language teacher arrived late because of the rain. The school teacher gave a test when we planned to practice teaching in the school. My cell phone broke.
It all worked out, though, and ended with a farewell party that included cakes and a huge pot of chicken and rice (It would have been nice to break out the chief’s kareoke machine had we had electricity that night). All and all, we had a fun Cultural Week.
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Doctor Quinn
I made medicinal tea from a plant in the rainforest today. I am hosting cultural week for 3 Peace Corps trainees, one of which has a stomach ache. During one of our sessions today, we learned from an elder in the community about medicinal plants, and I used the stem and leaves of one plant to create a tea. The result? The trainee got violently ill.
Not Again
It was 3 am, and I was sleeping solidly. That is until I heard movement on my porch. Surely it’s just an animal, I tried to convince myself. However, children can ascend my stairs silently, cross my porch stealthily, and sneak up on me. Thus, for me to hear the stepping on my bouncy lumber floor and feel the slight sway of the house, the uninvited guest had to have been bigger than an animal or child. I grabbed my flashlight to the side of my pillow, and shone the light into the gapping crevice where my bedroom wall meets the roof. Loud, quick movements ensued towards the direction of my stairs, followed by silence.
I tried to resume sleep, somewhat comforted by the feeling that my door was locked and that the overhead gaps would be difficult for a person to climb through. My fears were disassuaged, though, as I considered the ease someone would have of entering my bedroom walls, floor, and roof made of sticks and leaves. Had I been the little pig who made her house out of bricks, I may have been able to go back to sleep.
At 6am when the sun came up, I unlocked and opened my door and stepped out onto my open porch. My tree stump, which doubles as a chair and side table, had been moved right in front of my door, apparently for a third use as a stepping stool in an attempt to climb over my door. I explained this disturbing experience to the chief who said if I ever hear anything odd, I should call him regardless of what time it is, and he will run over.
I tried to resume sleep, somewhat comforted by the feeling that my door was locked and that the overhead gaps would be difficult for a person to climb through. My fears were disassuaged, though, as I considered the ease someone would have of entering my bedroom walls, floor, and roof made of sticks and leaves. Had I been the little pig who made her house out of bricks, I may have been able to go back to sleep.
At 6am when the sun came up, I unlocked and opened my door and stepped out onto my open porch. My tree stump, which doubles as a chair and side table, had been moved right in front of my door, apparently for a third use as a stepping stool in an attempt to climb over my door. I explained this disturbing experience to the chief who said if I ever hear anything odd, I should call him regardless of what time it is, and he will run over.
My first argument in Spanish
A non profit group (which is funded by the U.S. government oddly enough) organized a meeting with me, my community, neighboring communities, and a tour guide from a tour agency, all with the hopes of working together to generate tourism ideas that bennefit everyone. During a small group activity, I partnered with the tour guide, and he asked the question that I get on the daily ~ what is my purpose here? So, I responded that I want to help create opportunities here, and that by working with the tourism group, I hope to generate more income to allow the opportunities for better health and education. His response caught me off guard, though ~ Why do they need better education? This is perhaps one of the most shocking questions I have heard. I just assumed that everyone agreed that the more education, the better.
This tour guide’s remark was triggered by his legitimate concern that if community members receive more than an elementary school education, they may want to have a career outside of the community. And then what happens to their culture? My response seemed to urk the tour guide, though. I told him that I hoped the children here have the opportunity to be whatever they want to be and that what is best for them is not my decision. Nor his. It’s up to each individual. And further education opens the door to more options.
After our uncomfortable small group session, we joined the large group. When I was asked for suggestions for improvements, I suggested that Tour Agencies pay more.
This tour guide’s remark was triggered by his legitimate concern that if community members receive more than an elementary school education, they may want to have a career outside of the community. And then what happens to their culture? My response seemed to urk the tour guide, though. I told him that I hoped the children here have the opportunity to be whatever they want to be and that what is best for them is not my decision. Nor his. It’s up to each individual. And further education opens the door to more options.
After our uncomfortable small group session, we joined the large group. When I was asked for suggestions for improvements, I suggested that Tour Agencies pay more.
Time for More Pictures
Photos above are of:
The village bicycle (there is no chain, no seat, and no back tire, but the kids love taking turns riding it)
Me and another volunteer Kelly (during an impromptu trip to her site that got me in hot water with my supervisors)
Buddies Mick and Patrick (Patrick had a flesh eating bug and spent 3 weeks in the city receiving medical treatment)
Tuesday, May 06, 2008
2 Famous Deborahs
A film crew recently visited my site to film a tv segment on the indigenous roots of Panama. I was typing a proposal on the computer in the storage shed when I was asked to participate in this video. Initially, I declined, but when the director said in English with a wonderful Spanish accent, “What, you don’t want to be in my beautiful video?” I obliged. And so I sat on the steps of the shed pretending to teach English to an Embera youth holding a dictionary. I felt silly and was certain the footage would be scrapped.
I didn’t have the chance to see the tv program. Days later, though, I visited another volunteer, met her host family, and her host dad recognized me from the tv program! I used to call the other Deborah in my site Famous Deborah because she is an extra in the New James Bond movie, but now we are both superstars :)
I didn’t have the chance to see the tv program. Days later, though, I visited another volunteer, met her host family, and her host dad recognized me from the tv program! I used to call the other Deborah in my site Famous Deborah because she is an extra in the New James Bond movie, but now we are both superstars :)
Roof Photos
Photos are of Regu repairing my roof , the pesky chicken on the roof (which you can barely see), and me happy with my new roof. (My camera no longer functions well so photos aren’t too clear).
Parties
Photos are of me and Michele at her baby shower as well as my Panamanian birthday party extravaganza.
Ready for the Rain
I am ready for the rainy season because my roof has been repaired. When I had a leaky roof in the states, I solicited several estimates from roofers in the phonebook, chose the most appropriate contractor, and paid $150 to fix the leak. Things are a bit different in the village. For my leak, I needed the following:
* $10 (40 palms leaves at a quarter each)
* $4.15 for a gallon of gasoline to go down river to get the palms
* A chicken (My friend Coco who helped me obtain the palms wouldn’t accept payment, so I bought him a chicken for dinner)
* Dinner (My friend Regu who did the repairs also wouldn’t accept payment, so I cooked dinner for him)
I think my friend Regu has got to have the best attitude of anyone I’ve ever met. He smiled and laughed the entire time he made the roof repairs. He worked hard and quickly (2 ½ hours) and had no problem standing on roof structure made of wooden poles not much thicker than my wrist. He even got rid of a big termite nest (the size of my head) by hand, tearing it apart fistful by fistful.
So now my house is ready for the rain. And somehow, a chicken managed to get on top of my roof. From inside, I could see his little head poking through the palms and looking down. I told the kids that were reading books that the chicken wanted to listen, too. I hope that rascal doesn’t make a nest or harm my new roof. If he does, I’ll eat him.
* $10 (40 palms leaves at a quarter each)
* $4.15 for a gallon of gasoline to go down river to get the palms
* A chicken (My friend Coco who helped me obtain the palms wouldn’t accept payment, so I bought him a chicken for dinner)
* Dinner (My friend Regu who did the repairs also wouldn’t accept payment, so I cooked dinner for him)
I think my friend Regu has got to have the best attitude of anyone I’ve ever met. He smiled and laughed the entire time he made the roof repairs. He worked hard and quickly (2 ½ hours) and had no problem standing on roof structure made of wooden poles not much thicker than my wrist. He even got rid of a big termite nest (the size of my head) by hand, tearing it apart fistful by fistful.
So now my house is ready for the rain. And somehow, a chicken managed to get on top of my roof. From inside, I could see his little head poking through the palms and looking down. I told the kids that were reading books that the chicken wanted to listen, too. I hope that rascal doesn’t make a nest or harm my new roof. If he does, I’ll eat him.
27 years
I haven’t taken a stick to one in exactly 20 years. The last time was at my 3rd grade birthday party. But today, I once again had the opportunity to hit a pinata. At 9:00 this morning, a couple of kids came to my house to ask that I come to the school at 10:30. I told the students that because my friend would be visiting today, I wouldn’t be able to. Around 9:30, I headed up the hill to the school to tell the teachers in person that I would be unavailable later on. As I approached, the children ran out of the school, met me at the hill, and told me that I couldn’t enter. The smiling teacher soon followed and said, “It was going to be a surprise.” They were throwing me a surprise birthday party! How exciting- I’ve never had a surprise party. Too bad I ruined the surprise.
Per their request, I left and then shortly thereafter reapproached the school. This time, the kids sat giddy in their seats, saying, “She’s coming, she’s coming.” As I walked through the door, my mouth dropped. Each of the cheering students was wearing a hand-made party hat. Colorful streamers adorned the walls. The chalkboard said Happy Birthday. A stream of balloons hung across the teacher’s desk. I was escorted to the chair behind the desk, which felt more like a throne. Ontop of the desk were cookies as well as a large vanilla cake, personalized for my birthday and decorated with beautiful floral icing and fruitloops.
Then the games began. We sang songs and did the macarena. A cd player was hooked up to the solar panel and we danced up a storm to latin music. Later, the pinata was hung and I had my first swing at a candy-filled paper doll in 2 decades. Finally, the cake was lit and everyone sung happy birthday, blew into party noise-makers, and enjoyed delicious cake and juice.
I think this is the best birthday party I’ve ever had. There are birthdays where you get the chance to drive, or vote, or see rated R movies, or drink, or get a discount on car insurance. But how often do you get the chance to feel 20 years younger? I loved feeling like a kid again. The most meaningful part of my birthday extravaganza, though, was the thoughtfulness and generosity of the teachers and parents. A community that has so little pulled together to make my birthday such a special day. I am floored. I can’t even begin to express how much that means to me.
Per their request, I left and then shortly thereafter reapproached the school. This time, the kids sat giddy in their seats, saying, “She’s coming, she’s coming.” As I walked through the door, my mouth dropped. Each of the cheering students was wearing a hand-made party hat. Colorful streamers adorned the walls. The chalkboard said Happy Birthday. A stream of balloons hung across the teacher’s desk. I was escorted to the chair behind the desk, which felt more like a throne. Ontop of the desk were cookies as well as a large vanilla cake, personalized for my birthday and decorated with beautiful floral icing and fruitloops.
Then the games began. We sang songs and did the macarena. A cd player was hooked up to the solar panel and we danced up a storm to latin music. Later, the pinata was hung and I had my first swing at a candy-filled paper doll in 2 decades. Finally, the cake was lit and everyone sung happy birthday, blew into party noise-makers, and enjoyed delicious cake and juice.
I think this is the best birthday party I’ve ever had. There are birthdays where you get the chance to drive, or vote, or see rated R movies, or drink, or get a discount on car insurance. But how often do you get the chance to feel 20 years younger? I loved feeling like a kid again. The most meaningful part of my birthday extravaganza, though, was the thoughtfulness and generosity of the teachers and parents. A community that has so little pulled together to make my birthday such a special day. I am floored. I can’t even begin to express how much that means to me.
2nd Trip Home
When your only sister is having her first baby while you are living in the jungle, you do whatever is necessary to spend at least some time with her during such an important time of her life. So, I went home again to see Michele, the belly, and the babyshower.
It wouldn’t be a Panamanian story if it didn’t begin and end with crazy bus adventures. The day before my flight, I took a bus to the central bus station. This busdriver, as they so often do, changed his mind about the destination of the bus in route. As I unboarded the bus at my non-destination, the busdriver would not accept my 25cent fare. Maybe it was because he didn’t get me where I needed to go. Or maybe it was because he hoped I would agree to his request to take him to the states with me.
Another free bus ride was only moments away. After I finally reached the bus station, I grabbed an airport-bound bus. The first red flag was when we stalled-out as we left the terminal. We proceeded to stall out at every traffic light. Twenty minutes into the ride, the bus finally broke down for good and all passengers deboarded. Seconds later, another airport-bound bus stopped, but attempting to cram passengers from 2 buses into 1 left me and my luggage on the street. 20 minutes later, another airport bus went by but was too full to stop for more passengers. 20 minutes later, another went by without stopping. 20 minutes later yet another went by but this one I chased down seeing as the sun was setting and I was alone in a neighborhood I didn’t know. So I caught up to the bus driver at a traffic light, cut across the cars and banged on the door. I knew there was room for me if we tried. But he didn’t want to try and preferred to leave me in his dust. So, I decided to catch a bus going in the opposite direction, go back to the bus terminal, and start over. I splurged on my next airport-bound bus ($1 instead of 25cents) which was a motor coach with a.c. and was less likely to break down. This one got me to the airport spendidly.
Once in the states, it was so, so good to see my family. My sister is the cutest pregnant lady ever and is going to make the coolest Mom. The baby shower was beautiful, and her little bundle of joy is going to have a better wardrobe and book collection than me. My grandmother took me out for a delicious steak dinner upon my arrival (my suitcase was still in the car). I got more than my fill of heavenly Moe’s and Chick-fil-a. I attended my Mom’s English as a Second Language class that she teaches in an elementary school and got a couple ideas for my English class. I slept in comfy beds and enjoyed hours of hot showers. It was perfect. And yet I missed Panama. The week in the states flew by, and when it was time to go, I was ready. I just wished I could have taken everyone back to Panama with me.
Once back in Panama, I stayed overnight in the Panama airport and waited for the buses to start running. A magician waiting for his flight kept the security guards and us passengers entertained until 3:00am. One trick involved fire and I thought he would be asked to stop his performances. Then, I remembered I was in Panama. A land of less worries. Leaving the airport, I waited an hour and a half to catch a bus, but they were all full. So, I decided to catch a nearly empty bus going in the opposite direction which meant a longer ride to the end of the line and back, but a ride none the less. I had both feet on the bus when the bus driver pulled away from the stop. But because I had my computer and skateboard in one hand, I had only 1 free hand to maneuver my giant suitcase filled with girlscout cookies as we were hauling along, the highway a mere foot away from my feet at the open door, until a helpful passenger yanked up my suitcase. At the end of the line, the driver said he was not continuing back immediately but took me to a location to catch a return bus. I tried to pay him double because I should have asked his schedule beforehand and appreciated him going out of the way, but he wouldn’t accept additional fare. My return bus was the same type of high class $1 bus I had used to get to the airport. Once again, though, the driver changed his mind in route about the final destination of the bus, kicked off passengers, and gave a discounted fare to make up for the inconvenience. Sheesh. I thought I was seeing things as across the intersection was the exact bus I needed for my village, a bus that is hard to come by. I ran, crossed traffic, and caught up to the bus. Luckily this driver didn’t just wag his finger, shake his head, and drive off like the last time. He opened the door, I boarded, and soon I was back home in my home sweet hut.
It wouldn’t be a Panamanian story if it didn’t begin and end with crazy bus adventures. The day before my flight, I took a bus to the central bus station. This busdriver, as they so often do, changed his mind about the destination of the bus in route. As I unboarded the bus at my non-destination, the busdriver would not accept my 25cent fare. Maybe it was because he didn’t get me where I needed to go. Or maybe it was because he hoped I would agree to his request to take him to the states with me.
Another free bus ride was only moments away. After I finally reached the bus station, I grabbed an airport-bound bus. The first red flag was when we stalled-out as we left the terminal. We proceeded to stall out at every traffic light. Twenty minutes into the ride, the bus finally broke down for good and all passengers deboarded. Seconds later, another airport-bound bus stopped, but attempting to cram passengers from 2 buses into 1 left me and my luggage on the street. 20 minutes later, another airport bus went by but was too full to stop for more passengers. 20 minutes later, another went by without stopping. 20 minutes later yet another went by but this one I chased down seeing as the sun was setting and I was alone in a neighborhood I didn’t know. So I caught up to the bus driver at a traffic light, cut across the cars and banged on the door. I knew there was room for me if we tried. But he didn’t want to try and preferred to leave me in his dust. So, I decided to catch a bus going in the opposite direction, go back to the bus terminal, and start over. I splurged on my next airport-bound bus ($1 instead of 25cents) which was a motor coach with a.c. and was less likely to break down. This one got me to the airport spendidly.
Once in the states, it was so, so good to see my family. My sister is the cutest pregnant lady ever and is going to make the coolest Mom. The baby shower was beautiful, and her little bundle of joy is going to have a better wardrobe and book collection than me. My grandmother took me out for a delicious steak dinner upon my arrival (my suitcase was still in the car). I got more than my fill of heavenly Moe’s and Chick-fil-a. I attended my Mom’s English as a Second Language class that she teaches in an elementary school and got a couple ideas for my English class. I slept in comfy beds and enjoyed hours of hot showers. It was perfect. And yet I missed Panama. The week in the states flew by, and when it was time to go, I was ready. I just wished I could have taken everyone back to Panama with me.
Once back in Panama, I stayed overnight in the Panama airport and waited for the buses to start running. A magician waiting for his flight kept the security guards and us passengers entertained until 3:00am. One trick involved fire and I thought he would be asked to stop his performances. Then, I remembered I was in Panama. A land of less worries. Leaving the airport, I waited an hour and a half to catch a bus, but they were all full. So, I decided to catch a nearly empty bus going in the opposite direction which meant a longer ride to the end of the line and back, but a ride none the less. I had both feet on the bus when the bus driver pulled away from the stop. But because I had my computer and skateboard in one hand, I had only 1 free hand to maneuver my giant suitcase filled with girlscout cookies as we were hauling along, the highway a mere foot away from my feet at the open door, until a helpful passenger yanked up my suitcase. At the end of the line, the driver said he was not continuing back immediately but took me to a location to catch a return bus. I tried to pay him double because I should have asked his schedule beforehand and appreciated him going out of the way, but he wouldn’t accept additional fare. My return bus was the same type of high class $1 bus I had used to get to the airport. Once again, though, the driver changed his mind in route about the final destination of the bus, kicked off passengers, and gave a discounted fare to make up for the inconvenience. Sheesh. I thought I was seeing things as across the intersection was the exact bus I needed for my village, a bus that is hard to come by. I ran, crossed traffic, and caught up to the bus. Luckily this driver didn’t just wag his finger, shake his head, and drive off like the last time. He opened the door, I boarded, and soon I was back home in my home sweet hut.
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