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 :)
Tuesday, May 06, 2008
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.
Wednesday, April 02, 2008
Nature's Skylights
Thanks to the windy season (thank goodness it is not in conjunction with the rainy season), parts of my roof have blown away, thus creating skylights. The photos are of my roof, the inside of my house (the one time it rained this season), pieces of my roof I gathered in my yard, and chickens playing in my roof palms.
Some of my buddies
Me, Melissa, and Kelly/ Andrew, his house (with a garden) and Dennis/ Dang Quesadilas at Andrew's/ Emily/ Emily, Me, and her fabulous door/ Our Christmas Tree complements of Emily
Tourists' Timing
I think I may need to start filtering my water again as I’ve had a stomach bug for a week. There is no prettier place to feel crummy, though. It’s wonderful to rest in a hammock amidst a beautiful rainforest with a crisp breeze. Until I open my eyes and see a strange women standing over me who says, “Oh, I’m sorry. I thought this was the school.” Ahhh, silly tourists. So down came the alphabet posters that the previous volunteer posted on the wall.
Sometimes, however, tourists can have impecable timing. Since I only have 1 set of sheets, I went to a laundrymat outside my community. On the way back, the bus broke down. With the hood open and several belts in hand, the bus driver’s ameliorating labors seemed promising. Then, after 10 minutes, he entered the bus and said, “Ok, I need to use someone’s cell phone.” Looked like me and my big bag of laundry were walking an hour home. Just as soon as I had paid my partial fare and hopped off the bus, a van pulled up, and a familiar face asked, “Need a ride?” Heck yes I did. So, I hopped aboard and was greeted by a group of smiling American tourists saying "Hi" in unison. Thanks to the my tour guide friend, I enjoyed a lovely, smooth, and airconditioned ride back home. Ahhh, the fabulous tourists.
Sometimes, however, tourists can have impecable timing. Since I only have 1 set of sheets, I went to a laundrymat outside my community. On the way back, the bus broke down. With the hood open and several belts in hand, the bus driver’s ameliorating labors seemed promising. Then, after 10 minutes, he entered the bus and said, “Ok, I need to use someone’s cell phone.” Looked like me and my big bag of laundry were walking an hour home. Just as soon as I had paid my partial fare and hopped off the bus, a van pulled up, and a familiar face asked, “Need a ride?” Heck yes I did. So, I hopped aboard and was greeted by a group of smiling American tourists saying "Hi" in unison. Thanks to the my tour guide friend, I enjoyed a lovely, smooth, and airconditioned ride back home. Ahhh, the fabulous tourists.
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
Things that make me smile
- Instead of a picture of a paradise as my computer desktop background, I really do overlook a paradise while typing
- Little kiddos that say Hola Debala because they can’t say r’s yet
- Not having to wait for a bus. And actually getting a seat on the bus. And a front seat, which reduces bouncing around by a factor of 12. And if Spanish Rap or music with an accordion isn’t blaring from the speakers
- Having a secret language with the Indians
- Music from wooden flutes
- When the secretary jokes that the Tour Group’s savings are for a company car (a stovetop is hard enough to get here on the canoe)
- Children excited about reading
- That our accounting group can now complete our new computerized payroll without my help
- That employees are paid accurately
- When my English students ask the meaning of phrases like summer love and lean back
- Waiting only 10 minutes in the waiting room for a doctor’s appointment that I am an hour early for
- Receiving text messages and phone calls
- Little kiddos that say Hola Debala because they can’t say r’s yet
- Not having to wait for a bus. And actually getting a seat on the bus. And a front seat, which reduces bouncing around by a factor of 12. And if Spanish Rap or music with an accordion isn’t blaring from the speakers
- Having a secret language with the Indians
- Music from wooden flutes
- When the secretary jokes that the Tour Group’s savings are for a company car (a stovetop is hard enough to get here on the canoe)
- Children excited about reading
- That our accounting group can now complete our new computerized payroll without my help
- That employees are paid accurately
- When my English students ask the meaning of phrases like summer love and lean back
- Waiting only 10 minutes in the waiting room for a doctor’s appointment that I am an hour early for
- Receiving text messages and phone calls
Monday, January 21, 2008
More Photos
The above photos are of:
~ The pesky snake that was in the roof…right over my bed
~ Nelson & I choking on marshmallows while playing Chubby Bunny
~ Jake & my boss concentrating while playing Chubby Bunny (whoever can stuff their mouth with the most marshmallows and still say Chubby Bunny is the proud winner)
~ The most incredible package in the entire world sent from my friends at my last job Young Contracting (addressed to Sister Deborah and adorned with Jesus & Church drawings as to avert Customs from messing with the package)
~ The contents of the most incredible package in the entire world which includes gum, nuts, soup, more gum, more nuts, bug-spray towelettes (fancy!), tuna, more gum, a home-made card, more nuts, travel toiletry kits, beverage mixes, ziplock bags, more gum, a frying pan (with teflon!), more nuts, hairbands, dental supplies, first-aid supplies, and more gum. All packed in tampons. Maybe that is why Customs didn’t mess with my most incredible package in the entire world.
Sunday, January 20, 2008
10 Ways Life is Different in Panama:
1. Accidentally dropping things through the gaps in my kitchen floor
2. Neighbors stop by daily (and the kids are great for retrieving the objects under my house which I’ve dropped)
3. I know my neighbor’s names ~ can hardly converse with them, but at least I can address them properly before I begin to confuse them with my Spanglish babble
4. Scraps + an underhand pitch over the side of the house + 24 hours = my new garbage disposal
5. Actually using a bathing suit as it’s name suggests by bathing in a river daily
6. The only one watching the five year old girl swimming in the river is the 6 year old friend she is swimming with. Even with the lack of (adult) supervision, kids never seem to drown or fall off the side of the hut or stumble onto the knife they are running with
7. Checking the rafters of the latrine for snakes. And kids, since the latrine is a favorite hiding spots for Hide and Seek
8. Peeing off the side of the house at night (which I would rather refrain from - and probably should have refrained from mentioning - but in the middle of the night, my ladder seems so precarious and the latrine so far away)
9. Roofs make great storage: machetes, plates, money (though money is not hidden in my roof since change would get lost in a palm roof)
10. All books in the village are in my house (unless the villagers are hiding their books in their roofs). Noone seems to read recreationally here. Yet.
2. Neighbors stop by daily (and the kids are great for retrieving the objects under my house which I’ve dropped)
3. I know my neighbor’s names ~ can hardly converse with them, but at least I can address them properly before I begin to confuse them with my Spanglish babble
4. Scraps + an underhand pitch over the side of the house + 24 hours = my new garbage disposal
5. Actually using a bathing suit as it’s name suggests by bathing in a river daily
6. The only one watching the five year old girl swimming in the river is the 6 year old friend she is swimming with. Even with the lack of (adult) supervision, kids never seem to drown or fall off the side of the hut or stumble onto the knife they are running with
7. Checking the rafters of the latrine for snakes. And kids, since the latrine is a favorite hiding spots for Hide and Seek
8. Peeing off the side of the house at night (which I would rather refrain from - and probably should have refrained from mentioning - but in the middle of the night, my ladder seems so precarious and the latrine so far away)
9. Roofs make great storage: machetes, plates, money (though money is not hidden in my roof since change would get lost in a palm roof)
10. All books in the village are in my house (unless the villagers are hiding their books in their roofs). Noone seems to read recreationally here. Yet.
Wednesday, January 09, 2008
The First Meeting
2008 has been a series of firsts thus far. Tubing down a river lined with jungle and repelling down a waterfall in the rainforest have been some of the fun parts of my community “research” this year. Almost as nerve racking as entrusting my life to a rope hoisting me 30 meters above jagged rocks, was leading my first meeting in Spanish. I have been in the community for 2 months now learning about the culture and the needs of the village and compiled a list of potential projects to undertake. There are only 80 people in my village and all major decisions are made communally. Thus, a meeting to discuss possible projects was in order. My preparations for this meeting included a giant handrwritten list of ideas, a homemade presentation stand, a portable light for the nighttime/ outdoor meeting, cookies, accounting/ marketing prototypes, and of course, my spanish dictionary. After ringing the community bell, our meeting commenced. And it was actually fun…akward, confusing, and frustrating at times, but overrall successful. Resutlingly, our agenda for the next 2 years will include obtaining additional solar panels, obtaining/ learning to use computers, improving tourism, negotiating better tourism prices, selling more artesanry, personal finance, teaching English, Girl Scouts, sustainable agriculture, a library, presentations on health, and composting latrines.
Tuesday, January 08, 2008
The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night Time
(I borrowed the title for this blog from the name of a book my cousin Lauren lent me)
Eleven O’clock rolled around but I still I couldn’t sleep. Bed time here is 9:00 because that is when the generator stops providing electricity, and thus the community goes dark. I am usually comfortable in my cozy living quarters consisting of a sleeping pad, mosquito net, fabulous new pillow, and a blanket from my last airplane flight (they throw those away, right?), but I decided I might have more luck resting in the hammock. So, I exited my newly added hut walls, and sank into the hammock in the opened portion of the hut. Peaceful. Quiet. Breezy. Then, I heard something scurrying under my hut. Must be a dog or a chicken, I thought. The noise continued for a few more minutes. Curious what could be there, I approached the edge of the hut, laid down with my flashlight in hand, and peered under the hut. My flashlight dimly illuminated the culprit of the disturbance. The figure was not a dog or a chicken, but rather a man. When I yelled to know who was there, the figure crept to the other side beneath the house. So I hurried to the other side of the house, only in time to see the figure heading into the woods and out of sight.
After spending the rest of that night behind my closed and locked door not sleeping a wink, I discussed the strange incident with the Indian Chief the following morning. Although I was not able to distinguish the face of the figure in the darkness, the person was definitely a male in their twenties or thirties. I informed the Chief that I would be out of town that night for Thanksgiving, but when I returned, I would like to know who was under my hut and why~ surely there was a logical explanation.
Upon my arrival back to the community, I spoke with the Chief. (Side note- Because I am cheap, I took a midnight bus to the Thanksgiving dinner, stayed a few hours, then hopped another midnight bus back to avoid hotel expenses. This equates to no sleep for three days. When I got back to my site, the community was lugging cinder blocks from the river up a monstrous hill to the school. On my way out of site for Thanksgiving, I slipped and fell, which is a common occurrence for my graceful self seeing as though my first night in site, I fell 4 times on a pesky hill. So, what better time to practice gracing the rocky terrain than after 3 sleepless nights armed with cinder blocks that if I drop, there will won’t be enough material for the school walls). Back to my conversation with the chief. When I asked him if he had determined who had been under my house previously, he responded, “Well, who do you think it was? Maybe it was a dog.” Although his investigation was clearly fruitless, and I still to this day do not know who was under the hut, fortunately, there has not been a reoccurrence.
Eleven O’clock rolled around but I still I couldn’t sleep. Bed time here is 9:00 because that is when the generator stops providing electricity, and thus the community goes dark. I am usually comfortable in my cozy living quarters consisting of a sleeping pad, mosquito net, fabulous new pillow, and a blanket from my last airplane flight (they throw those away, right?), but I decided I might have more luck resting in the hammock. So, I exited my newly added hut walls, and sank into the hammock in the opened portion of the hut. Peaceful. Quiet. Breezy. Then, I heard something scurrying under my hut. Must be a dog or a chicken, I thought. The noise continued for a few more minutes. Curious what could be there, I approached the edge of the hut, laid down with my flashlight in hand, and peered under the hut. My flashlight dimly illuminated the culprit of the disturbance. The figure was not a dog or a chicken, but rather a man. When I yelled to know who was there, the figure crept to the other side beneath the house. So I hurried to the other side of the house, only in time to see the figure heading into the woods and out of sight.
After spending the rest of that night behind my closed and locked door not sleeping a wink, I discussed the strange incident with the Indian Chief the following morning. Although I was not able to distinguish the face of the figure in the darkness, the person was definitely a male in their twenties or thirties. I informed the Chief that I would be out of town that night for Thanksgiving, but when I returned, I would like to know who was under my hut and why~ surely there was a logical explanation.
Upon my arrival back to the community, I spoke with the Chief. (Side note- Because I am cheap, I took a midnight bus to the Thanksgiving dinner, stayed a few hours, then hopped another midnight bus back to avoid hotel expenses. This equates to no sleep for three days. When I got back to my site, the community was lugging cinder blocks from the river up a monstrous hill to the school. On my way out of site for Thanksgiving, I slipped and fell, which is a common occurrence for my graceful self seeing as though my first night in site, I fell 4 times on a pesky hill. So, what better time to practice gracing the rocky terrain than after 3 sleepless nights armed with cinder blocks that if I drop, there will won’t be enough material for the school walls). Back to my conversation with the chief. When I asked him if he had determined who had been under my house previously, he responded, “Well, who do you think it was? Maybe it was a dog.” Although his investigation was clearly fruitless, and I still to this day do not know who was under the hut, fortunately, there has not been a reoccurrence.
Painted
Photos are of me and Jake sporting Jagua Paint as well as me and my new/ free shirt from the Peace Corp's Free Bin.
Monday, November 26, 2007
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.
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.
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
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!
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