Hi, Hello, I’m here and I’m happy! Don’t despair family and friends you should probably take my absence as a good sign. My failure to write means usually that I am either 1) very content without ganas de escribir or 2) very busy integrating into my community. In this case a bit of both with a bit of fun-busy mixed in. I love Panama and luckily have had the opportunity to see soo much of this breathtaking country in a short time. I feel truly blessed.
Antes de todo, however I just want to take this time to talk about some very serious news I received from family and friends back at home. I know that living in an alternate reality sometimes makes one feel very distant from the goings-on in the states, but somehow tragedy finds a way to pull on one’s heart strings (as my father would say) and bring you back mentally to the beloved people left behind. The sudden death of an old friend hit me with a major blow. How can someone reconcile with death at 24 years of age? It just doesn’t seem real and all I can do is pray for her family and remember her as a shining star of a person. Just breaks my heart to imagine that she will not continue to impact the world with her contagious smile and laugh. And that I never told her how much I missed her friendship when we grew apart. Why her and why now? These questions that trail off into silence are probably on all of our minds. I just hope she knows how loved she is by all.
Of course death has a ripple effect. People near and dear to the lost send out this small wave and it’s echoed in people farther removed; older companions, acquaintances, and colleagues. A day like this I wonder about everyone I left behind and how fragile our lives really must be. How I could lose my whole world so rapidly through the loss of another’s. I also think it’s not fair, I feel too blessed to be where I am and to be celebrating my life in such a way. When I received the news I was staring out into the Pacific Ocean on a tranquil Panamanian beach contemplating my future impact on my community. I was thinking of the new friends I had made and a highly memorable Thanksgiving. I was missing my family who had celebrated without me.
But, here I am, alive, with an opportunity; an unwritten but open future. My initiative will bring me where I will go and I hope to get as much loving of the world in before God lets me out the backdoor.
Which brings me to another point about the Peace Corps. A wise person recently told me the Peace Corps is about love. It’s an opportunity to fall in love with a country and a culture and one a smaller scale, a small community group whose bonds are stronger than anything I’ve experienced previously in my life. Beyond the projects, the grants, the initiatives and charlas, the real point is to share life and observe the world through the eyes of others. Breaking down cultural barriers and misconceptions is a big part of that as well. Coming to an understanding and a sense of confianza that neither time nor distance will likely erode.
So when you all ask me what it is that I am doing over here in Panama, my answers will probably vary, but above all else, I’m here for the experience of the people. I liked the way my friend in Peace Corps Samoa recently put it. She said “I joined Peace Corps for travel and adventure, and well after 11 months the adventure has worn off and I’m stuck on a very small island. Just the same I wouldn’t change a thing.” I think that sums up the attitude we are all having in group 68… maybe this isn’t exactly what we had in mind, but it’s pretty amazing. No we are never lonely, and yes we can live without the “conveniences” of home (not that I’m one to talk as I have a lot of conveniences, which make me a bit less hardcore as a volunteer). And as for sacrifices, I really don’t believe I am making many to be here. I am free to do anything I want and empowered to do so to have the impact I want to have, I just got to stay and keep working. “The hardest job you’ll ever love” may be the Peace Corps motto, but to me it feels more like “the most significant job you are lucky to land AND love.” Ok done with my idealist ranting for now.
As for updates about my life and service here (they are one in the same right?) there are many. I am happy to report that I did my official community analysis and environmental action planning meeting with my APCD (aka my boss) and 21 members of my community plus various ninos. Not a huge turnout but it went smoothly, although very long. After completing a fun ice breaker (in the style of Who Wants to Be A Millionaire) in which I presented the findings of my analysis, which ranged from statistical facts to an investigation of family, religion, economics, education, health, organizations and politics, I facilitated the group through a series of brainstorming and goal setting tools. We spoke about the strengths and weaknesses of the town and prioritized the environmental problems that have the greatest negative local impact. No surprise deforestation won the race. The group discussed several causes and effects of local deforestation and practiced making achievable and measurable action plans to begin addressing their objectives. All in all, pretty impressive. Lessons learned were that, yes I do speak Spanish pretty well now, and no-bake chocolate peanut butter oatmeal cookies are fine incentive to get people to show up to a meeting.
Soon after my successful meeting I was graced by a visit from my dear friend Maura who is badass enough to quit her job to visit me. Well this is partly true. She did show up full force and made me a cool blanket for my birthday which my cat Cleo and I are currently enjoying. Also special shout out to Leah and Allie for the AMAZING gifts (care packages, no more like love packages!) Having to open up every tiny wrapped present from Leah in front of the Panamanian mail worker with seemingly endless patience was also I great cultural exchange. The best was when I opened up the framed picture of us and showed it to him, he nodded with a huge grin, totally interested in who this mystery friend was whose confetti filled box was overflowing onto his desk. He also shook gifts and looked surprised at everything I unwrapped. (Especially the awkward gift, Leah.) Super cool. I also received lovely handwritten letters from Grandma, Dad and Lisa, thanks guys and way to make me feel very special! So excited for you all to visit!
As for the visit and trip with my main girl Maura, it was eye-opening into the differences that struck us. Each place we visited was distinctly unique, and many changed my limited idea of what Panama really is. This country has countless mini cultures and mini climates. In the course of two days we went from a beautiful forested town that resembled a ski village with temperatures to match, to an Afro-Antillean island community under the beating sun. Languages change and people change, but the mosaic of faces are all Panamanian. Seeing a parade for the Separation from Colombia Independence Day of Nov 3rd on the Caribbean island of Isla Bastimentos was a treat. The people, who spoke mainly Guadi Guadi, (which is a unique creole language of mostly English, a bit of Spanish and a whole lot of Jamaican influence), and with a style all their own march with the same drums and liras as the parades just outside my town was fascinating. I truly did win the lottery by coming to Panama for Peace Corps. The mix of people and cultures is incredible.
A final highlight was the opportunity to visit the Rio Chagres National Park with the help of my host uncle who works for the ANAM environmental agency that works in the park. He organized a boat trip for us and the chance to explore a local Embera community inside the park. The people of this group have developed a cultural tourism-based income to support themselves, since laws prohibit extensive subsistence agriculture. Not knowing we were heading to this gorgeous village at the start of the trip, I casually asked our guide what languages he spoke, more to satisfy my curiosity to know if he was of one of the many indigenous groups that live nearby. He said he spoke Spanish, Embera and a bit of English and seemed very dedicated to learning more for his work. He also slyly said he wasn’t wearing his traditional dress today, before nimbly climbing to the top of a huge waterfall in the pouring rain. No biggie. I later discovered when we saw the groups of “real” tourists (aka non peace corps volunteers with connections and lots of money to pay travel companies) arriving on the dugout canoes that the traditional dress that we were missing meant a brightly colored loin cloth. Darn… uh just kidding. He was a cool guy and I am happy we got to see the community a bit more behind the scenes before the hordes of camera-flashing European tourists arrived with their translators and fat wallets. It was a bit like seeing backstage at Disney World when the actors were being real. I had a lovely chat with the ladies who weave fantastic baskets of all colors from naturally grown grasses. They found out I was a Peace Corps volunteer and BAM! I was in. They have had and currently have a volunteer who works in tourism and English teaching and he was a hoot. I loved the fact that he had to hide when non-American tourists arrived. People from the U.S. somehow understand.. oh yeah Peace Corps would be here, while other foreign visitors got upset to see a random gringo taking up residence in a hut and attending meetings with community elders. It was a really memorable day and I got to be painted with the ink of a plant the Embera people use in their celebrations. My tat lasted a full week and I had to explain about 100 times that it was just temporary. My school director was not so pleased. Opps.
Wow, in all of my rambling I left out the huge chunk of time Maura spent in my site. That part was also pretty chebre because I finally got to show someone dear to me my community and its beautiful, generous people. We hiked a mountain with my friend John and his buddies from his site and laughed at the persistence of these Panamanian men’s offers to devote to us their eternal loyalty and love. She also had the chance to see how much my community looks after me when I was taken aback upon arriving at my first ever surprise birthday party that a few kind-hearted folks organized, and nearly every child in town attended! I think I had arroz con pollo 3 times that day and ate 2 birthday cakes (although one was for an old man birthday twin). I felt VERY loved. I hope she can visit again so that all the people who keep asking for her can finally shut up.. just kidding Maura, but yes they all love my other gringa friend. Anyone who wants to visit me please let me know so we can get organized!!!!
I’m getting close to being caught up apart from my very busy two weeks of In Service Training (IST). The highlights from these two weeks were being reunited with all of Group 68: Community Environmental Conservation and Sustainable Agriculture Systems groups, and getting to play with hand tools. We learned everything from worm fertilizers and eco-stove construction, to terraces and tree grafting. I learned about grant writing and how to start my much coveted eco-club with my kids. I finally feel knowledgeable and ready to come to my community members with ideas for projects and activities that will be sustainable and impact lives for the better. Did I mention Eco-Stoves? I’m out of the motivational slump I forgot to blog about and back on an enthusiasm high. Cannot wait to start breeding my worms in a box!
Lastly, I just returned from one of the coolest PC Panama traditions. My friend in Peace Corps Samoa was nice enough to send me an email and well wishes for my first major family holiday away from home. Little did she know that PC Panama takes the cake .. or pumpkin pie when it comes to doing Thanksgiving right. 150 or so of us all got together in Cerro Punto, Chiriqui in the highlands of a cold tropical rainforest (palm trees and sweaters, huh?) to devour massive amounts of turkey, and of course fine wines and spirits. I had a blast and somehow developed the new tradition being too cool for group dinners by opting to eat my Thanksgiving dinner in a random rowboat on a toy-sized lake. Yeah, I haven’t changed too much, still being the oddball with crazy ideas dragging others down with me. After two nights of dancing and regaling tales of our shared highs and lows as volunteers, a smaller group kicked it at the beach in Las Lajas for a night to soak up some sun before heading home to our far flung lands. I am so happy to have been surrounded by such inspiring people who I have the privilege of calling my peers and friends.
So now I’m back, trying to both jump on the ball and get it rolling. I am taking a group of 7th and 10th graders to the beach to learn about sea turtles this week, which for many could be their first trip to the coast. I am beyond excited. I am coordinating with another PCV who lives in Cambutal in Los Santos and her sea turtle conservation group and am very appreciative for their willingness to collaborate with me. :)
I will try to update with pictures and more news. I miss blogging and sharing my life with all of you. I also had the uncanny experience of meeting a guy whose blog I had stumbled upon when I was applying to Peace Corps, long before I knew I had a chance of being invited to serve in Panama. He was pretty stoked that I had blog stalked him and I can only hope some PCV applicant can read about my experiences and mentally say “Hell yeah! I’m so up for this!”
DAD AND GRANDMA SEND ME BOOKS PLEASE! (in the closet in a bag at grandma´s house)
Happy Thanksgiving and Lots of Love from El Cedro, Herrera,
Natalie
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
Sorry, been too wrapped up in life and The Grapes of Wrath to write...
Buenas! Happy Dia de Consciencia Ambiental. Or for those of you who are rusty on your Spanish, Happy Environmental Consciousness Day! Yep, according to the ANAM, or Panamanian Environmental Agency's calendar, today is a special day. And for us here in El Cedro, it was very special indeed. Today I had my first true environmental activity planned and executed with the primary school. We planted 4 species of trees (around 110 to be exact) along a creek that was lacking in trees and in front of the pretty white colonial church on a hill overlooking the center of town.
The day was COMPLETELY unorganized. But I am learning quickly that that is perfectly OK... yep, don't worry because no one else is freaking out. I am realizing how rapidly one's idea of "normal' adapts. It's like if someone walked into a party with 3 heads and no one else seemed to think it was strange, eventually you would probably just go up, introduce yourself, and try to get at the chips and dip before the 3 headed guy. I get the same feeling here quite often. Kids running about, throwing plant sapling, catching crabs and shrimp in the creek... yeah that's all cool and good. The teachers just sat watching. I think they were happy to be in the shade and out of the classroom. Oh cool Natalie, you want to do an activity with the kids? Sure, we'll let you try to give directions in broken Spanish (it's not thaaat bad) and try to organize 50 kids to plant trees in an area that has not been weeded, marked, holes dug or just about anything. Preparation out the window. It wasn't all my fault. Like I said no one else was worried!
Through the mob of mischievious children, everything went just about as good as it could. We planted all of our saplings and they children got to get dirty. I think some of them really took it to heart when I told them their saplings were their babies. It was adorable to see how much care and dedication they put into planting. I sincerely hope that they remember this day and that these trees survive so that they can see their work grow into the future.
As for me I hope to live by that quote "The true meaning of life is to plant trees, under whose shade you do not expect to sit." ~Nelson Henderson
That's all for now! I promise to update soon about my tipico dancing, and rice cutting adventures at all men juntas...
The day was COMPLETELY unorganized. But I am learning quickly that that is perfectly OK... yep, don't worry because no one else is freaking out. I am realizing how rapidly one's idea of "normal' adapts. It's like if someone walked into a party with 3 heads and no one else seemed to think it was strange, eventually you would probably just go up, introduce yourself, and try to get at the chips and dip before the 3 headed guy. I get the same feeling here quite often. Kids running about, throwing plant sapling, catching crabs and shrimp in the creek... yeah that's all cool and good. The teachers just sat watching. I think they were happy to be in the shade and out of the classroom. Oh cool Natalie, you want to do an activity with the kids? Sure, we'll let you try to give directions in broken Spanish (it's not thaaat bad) and try to organize 50 kids to plant trees in an area that has not been weeded, marked, holes dug or just about anything. Preparation out the window. It wasn't all my fault. Like I said no one else was worried!
Through the mob of mischievious children, everything went just about as good as it could. We planted all of our saplings and they children got to get dirty. I think some of them really took it to heart when I told them their saplings were their babies. It was adorable to see how much care and dedication they put into planting. I sincerely hope that they remember this day and that these trees survive so that they can see their work grow into the future.
As for me I hope to live by that quote "The true meaning of life is to plant trees, under whose shade you do not expect to sit." ~Nelson Henderson
That's all for now! I promise to update soon about my tipico dancing, and rice cutting adventures at all men juntas...
Sunday, August 7, 2011
The Highest of Highs
A day in Paradise. That is what I will call my Saturday. Coraling cows up a hillside may just be another day in the life for a Herrerence but for me it meant a lot more. It meant gorgeous rolling hillside views in the pounding Panamanian sun and cool forested trails that envelope you in green. I learned the language of talking to cows, or more like whistling and kissing noises and a few “calls” I can’t reproduce. Strange animal-like noises produced by the human vocal cords are really big in Panama. They even have contests for gritaring (yelling, but more like a throaty HoooWahh noise). When we reached a point where I was politely told that the camino would get pretty bad and I should dismount, I jumped a barbed wire fence and hacked my way through some bushes with two boys to pick the sweetest oranges I’ve ever tasted. I think I ate about 3. That is a new record in my personal orange consumption in one siting, but I was told 6-8 is the norm. When you find something great you got to aprovechar (my favorite Spanish word learned in Panama, meaning take advantage of a situation but with a more positive connotation that in English. Example, it’s sunny out, got to aprovechar this sun and wash your laundry so it can dry! Aprochevar!) We also brought two sacks of oranges back to make chicha (juice with sugar). My vitamin C count is off the charts.
At one point in our trip when all the cows had been delivered to their grazing area, we all started picking oranges and nancy and I realized how thirsty I was. Unfortunately the juices of 3 oranges didn’t cut it. I longingly looked up at a 35ft palm tree with green coconuts (pipa) and vocalized my desire for agua de pipa. Wish granted. The most amazing feat I have seen thus far in Panama unfolded before my very eyes. Cano, a boy of about 16-17 years of age, stood on the shoulders of my host dad/community guide and proceeded to scale the thick trunk barefoot. Think Mobley from the Jungle Book style. The coconuts were pretty high up and I was wondering how this kid was going to reach them once he reached the palm parts… I mean palm frawns are not all that strong are they? Apparently children of the campo just know how to do these sort of things. Cano made it ok but the next challenge was detaching the young coconuts. Mature coconuts fall pretty easily, butthe green ones are thoroughly attached. Next thing I knew my host dad had found a huge stick and had stuck the tip of a machete into one end and handed it up to the valiant coconut warrior in the sky. He started sawing off a huge branch with about 6 green coconuts. Heavy lil’ suckers too! But, alas Cano was having some trouble. So what is a group of campesinos to do? Well someone busted out a laso and began lasoing the prized bunch of coconuts. With the combined efforts of the tree climber, the machete and the laso technique, the coconuts came crashing down. Next thing I knew, I was being handed an enormous green coconut with a perfectly machete-ed mouth hole, full of lightly sweetened water. I was on my fifth full gulp when the boy finally reached the ground. The rope was involved somehow and lots of literal tree-hugging.
Yet another milestone, my limited experience riding horses just about tripled in one day. Let’s just say I now understand the expression; “get right back on the horse”. Luckily I didn’t completely fall off. My horse named Gazella (REDFLAG when the name is some variation of gazelle) apparently likes to run. I had only gotten her to a light trot and felt very accomplished for doing so. I felt even better about finally making the stick and rope tool in my hand make the appropriate whip noise to get the horses and cows moving. I was happy to learn that the motivation is in the noise rather than actually whipping the livestock. At one point my horse, or I, got cocky. She saw a flat expanse of trail and a bridge up ahead and decided to take me for a ride. Instantly blinded (dang hat), I did the appropriate response, pull hard on the reigns, pray to god, yell out my impression of the call my horse’s owner was yelling from behind me. And …nothing. Where are the breaks on this thing? I lost both my hat and stick/string thingy about a mile back, life flashing before my eyes, trail actually flashing by. I wanted to bail, like I used to do as a child on a bicycle, but that was not an option. The past volunteer broke her arm by falling off a chair, I was not about to break any bones only a month in site. I held on tight and continued to pull with all my might. I could see a point up ahead where the trail began to climb uphill. I was praying she would not want to run this part, and was worrying she had picked up enough speed to do so with ease. What actually was coming out of my mouth were a few English words I had not heard myself speal for some time now. And no they were not prayers. Luckily my companeros don’t speak English.
My prayers were answered and Gazella decided to come to an almost complete stop to scale the hillside. Whew. My hat and pole and string contraption were returned to me by my grinning cowboy friends. No quiero correr, I said. No mas! Regardless of my scare, I rode proudly back into town with a flower in my cow girl hat and a matching one for my horse. We had bonded. She had tested me a bit and I had (just barely) passed. That’ll do rider Natalie, that’ll do.
My day and adventure were far from over. I had yet to attend the nearby baile and bullfight planned for the evening. Upon arrival, I was instantly reminded of my experiences (limited, I promise Dad!) at college frat parties, or maybe even high school parties, where it is considered cool for each person to have their own bottle of liquor, or in this case pure, locally produced Seco. The difference is that at a Panamanian party, no drinking games are required to put down a bottle. Ice, a plastic cup and a lot of entertainment suffice. The bull fight was pretty typical and a bit sad. I did get to see one guy get “golpear-ed” in the face. Score for the bull! The real event was the Cantadera group performing hours of tipico music accompanied by two guitar players. I am in love with this type of guitar picking and wish my brother could have been there to learn their art. This music continued for a few hours, occasionally being interrupted by promoters chalking up future fiestas and a few gritar contests. Yes this contest consists of two men or young boys taking turns copying each other’s call (Hooowahhh or sometimes more creative like Hooahheeeahh). The ones who can call the best got a lot of applause. Love it!
At about midnight (we had arrived at 6pm mind you) the dancing commenced. Everyone dances, especially the drunkest attendees which can get a bit crazy. I was being pulled onto the dance floor to learn the tradition of dancing tipico. I didn’t have too much peña (embarrassment or shame)and really enjoyed myself. It was a very sweaty endeavor and I laughed myself through it. We got home around 3 am and I heard my host dad’s car leave to milk the cows at 4:30. This is the Panamenian way of life.
On another note, finally got to talk to Grandma! Love you Dodeo! Can’t wait to take you to a baile.
At one point in our trip when all the cows had been delivered to their grazing area, we all started picking oranges and nancy and I realized how thirsty I was. Unfortunately the juices of 3 oranges didn’t cut it. I longingly looked up at a 35ft palm tree with green coconuts (pipa) and vocalized my desire for agua de pipa. Wish granted. The most amazing feat I have seen thus far in Panama unfolded before my very eyes. Cano, a boy of about 16-17 years of age, stood on the shoulders of my host dad/community guide and proceeded to scale the thick trunk barefoot. Think Mobley from the Jungle Book style. The coconuts were pretty high up and I was wondering how this kid was going to reach them once he reached the palm parts… I mean palm frawns are not all that strong are they? Apparently children of the campo just know how to do these sort of things. Cano made it ok but the next challenge was detaching the young coconuts. Mature coconuts fall pretty easily, butthe green ones are thoroughly attached. Next thing I knew my host dad had found a huge stick and had stuck the tip of a machete into one end and handed it up to the valiant coconut warrior in the sky. He started sawing off a huge branch with about 6 green coconuts. Heavy lil’ suckers too! But, alas Cano was having some trouble. So what is a group of campesinos to do? Well someone busted out a laso and began lasoing the prized bunch of coconuts. With the combined efforts of the tree climber, the machete and the laso technique, the coconuts came crashing down. Next thing I knew, I was being handed an enormous green coconut with a perfectly machete-ed mouth hole, full of lightly sweetened water. I was on my fifth full gulp when the boy finally reached the ground. The rope was involved somehow and lots of literal tree-hugging.
Yet another milestone, my limited experience riding horses just about tripled in one day. Let’s just say I now understand the expression; “get right back on the horse”. Luckily I didn’t completely fall off. My horse named Gazella (REDFLAG when the name is some variation of gazelle) apparently likes to run. I had only gotten her to a light trot and felt very accomplished for doing so. I felt even better about finally making the stick and rope tool in my hand make the appropriate whip noise to get the horses and cows moving. I was happy to learn that the motivation is in the noise rather than actually whipping the livestock. At one point my horse, or I, got cocky. She saw a flat expanse of trail and a bridge up ahead and decided to take me for a ride. Instantly blinded (dang hat), I did the appropriate response, pull hard on the reigns, pray to god, yell out my impression of the call my horse’s owner was yelling from behind me. And …nothing. Where are the breaks on this thing? I lost both my hat and stick/string thingy about a mile back, life flashing before my eyes, trail actually flashing by. I wanted to bail, like I used to do as a child on a bicycle, but that was not an option. The past volunteer broke her arm by falling off a chair, I was not about to break any bones only a month in site. I held on tight and continued to pull with all my might. I could see a point up ahead where the trail began to climb uphill. I was praying she would not want to run this part, and was worrying she had picked up enough speed to do so with ease. What actually was coming out of my mouth were a few English words I had not heard myself speal for some time now. And no they were not prayers. Luckily my companeros don’t speak English.
My prayers were answered and Gazella decided to come to an almost complete stop to scale the hillside. Whew. My hat and pole and string contraption were returned to me by my grinning cowboy friends. No quiero correr, I said. No mas! Regardless of my scare, I rode proudly back into town with a flower in my cow girl hat and a matching one for my horse. We had bonded. She had tested me a bit and I had (just barely) passed. That’ll do rider Natalie, that’ll do.
My day and adventure were far from over. I had yet to attend the nearby baile and bullfight planned for the evening. Upon arrival, I was instantly reminded of my experiences (limited, I promise Dad!) at college frat parties, or maybe even high school parties, where it is considered cool for each person to have their own bottle of liquor, or in this case pure, locally produced Seco. The difference is that at a Panamanian party, no drinking games are required to put down a bottle. Ice, a plastic cup and a lot of entertainment suffice. The bull fight was pretty typical and a bit sad. I did get to see one guy get “golpear-ed” in the face. Score for the bull! The real event was the Cantadera group performing hours of tipico music accompanied by two guitar players. I am in love with this type of guitar picking and wish my brother could have been there to learn their art. This music continued for a few hours, occasionally being interrupted by promoters chalking up future fiestas and a few gritar contests. Yes this contest consists of two men or young boys taking turns copying each other’s call (Hooowahhh or sometimes more creative like Hooahheeeahh). The ones who can call the best got a lot of applause. Love it!
At about midnight (we had arrived at 6pm mind you) the dancing commenced. Everyone dances, especially the drunkest attendees which can get a bit crazy. I was being pulled onto the dance floor to learn the tradition of dancing tipico. I didn’t have too much peña (embarrassment or shame)and really enjoyed myself. It was a very sweaty endeavor and I laughed myself through it. We got home around 3 am and I heard my host dad’s car leave to milk the cows at 4:30. This is the Panamenian way of life.
On another note, finally got to talk to Grandma! Love you Dodeo! Can’t wait to take you to a baile.
Saturday, July 30, 2011
On Becoming an Adult
My Little brother turned the big Dos Uno this week. Yes, according to bouncers, bar tenders and ritzy hotels, he has finally come of age. Strange that this week I feel like I have hit a similar milestone. No one checked my ID or gave me a cake. No, but I did get charged $.60 less for cab fare. Don’t worry, I will explain a bit more in detail.
I took my first “mental health day” today. Something that really surprised me (happily) about Peace Corps is their openness, acknowledgment and willingness to address mental health. While I wouldn’t say my stress level was so high that I needed a day to escape anything, I definitely appreciate the free, no questions asked, night out from my site. And yes, I am happy I took it alone.
Flying solo (or sola en espanol) makes me feel like I am finally a grown up. Eating in a new place and navigating busy city streets alone can be stressful. Going to the movies alone is a whole other level. I decided to get myself out of my hotel and off the internet to go see Cars 2 (dubbed of course). When I asked for una adulta por favor at the ticket window, the women asked if I meant two. No una. Cue the music “One is the loneliest number….” I sat alone, ate my pop corn alone, and enjoyed every minute of being lost in a movie I could almost understand completely (all the while being completely alone). Afterwards I took myself out to dinner, AND bought myself some dessert. I felt happy and safe. I didn’t mind the solitude and I wasn’t stressed out about the little things like I normally seem to be when on my own. In a responsible move, I even opted for a Coke Zero over a Bud Lite. On the ride home I was friendly with the cab driver. He must have been impressed by me or my Spanish, or maybe just happy to have someone talk to him about his day, because he gave me sixty cents back from our agreed price at the hotel door. Score!
The little things in my day really affected me. Feeling in my element alone, not being afraid to put myself out there, and being friendly have paid off. I feel older. I feel like I am growing up in Panama, in another language, and it feels pretty good.
The part I didn’t mention was successfully surviving the sales pitches of 3 separate cell phone salesmen at two different companies, in Spanish. Yeah so far, unsold. I have enough problems negotiating cell phone contracts in English. I still feel like owning a BlackBerry while in Peace Corps would be like going against my religion. Vamos a ver.
Only got one photo to load, but at least it's a cute one. This is our town's library built by two former Peace Corps volunteers in El Cedro.
I took my first “mental health day” today. Something that really surprised me (happily) about Peace Corps is their openness, acknowledgment and willingness to address mental health. While I wouldn’t say my stress level was so high that I needed a day to escape anything, I definitely appreciate the free, no questions asked, night out from my site. And yes, I am happy I took it alone.
Flying solo (or sola en espanol) makes me feel like I am finally a grown up. Eating in a new place and navigating busy city streets alone can be stressful. Going to the movies alone is a whole other level. I decided to get myself out of my hotel and off the internet to go see Cars 2 (dubbed of course). When I asked for una adulta por favor at the ticket window, the women asked if I meant two. No una. Cue the music “One is the loneliest number….” I sat alone, ate my pop corn alone, and enjoyed every minute of being lost in a movie I could almost understand completely (all the while being completely alone). Afterwards I took myself out to dinner, AND bought myself some dessert. I felt happy and safe. I didn’t mind the solitude and I wasn’t stressed out about the little things like I normally seem to be when on my own. In a responsible move, I even opted for a Coke Zero over a Bud Lite. On the ride home I was friendly with the cab driver. He must have been impressed by me or my Spanish, or maybe just happy to have someone talk to him about his day, because he gave me sixty cents back from our agreed price at the hotel door. Score!
The little things in my day really affected me. Feeling in my element alone, not being afraid to put myself out there, and being friendly have paid off. I feel older. I feel like I am growing up in Panama, in another language, and it feels pretty good.
The part I didn’t mention was successfully surviving the sales pitches of 3 separate cell phone salesmen at two different companies, in Spanish. Yeah so far, unsold. I have enough problems negotiating cell phone contracts in English. I still feel like owning a BlackBerry while in Peace Corps would be like going against my religion. Vamos a ver.
Only got one photo to load, but at least it's a cute one. This is our town's library built by two former Peace Corps volunteers in El Cedro.
Thursday, July 28, 2011
Highlights ... but unfortunately not for my hair
From July 20, 2011
I love it when I stumble upon a good book. I love it even more when I realize that reading the author’s words actually inspires me to write. I recently have had the pleasure of both experiences, enjoyment and motivation, all stemming from one person’s thoughts on a page. Highly recommend “Honeymoon With my Brother” by Franz Wiser.
Today I planted. I trudged through mud with a sack of plantones on my back. I helped measure and fill holes with fertilizer. I liberated baby saplings from plastic bags, and I planted trees in God’s good green earth.
500 trees later, I was dripping in sweat and had mud caked on my fingernails. I was dizzy and my pink water bottle with the colorful flowers on it was dry as a bone. The important part was I made it to the end, hombro a hombro con la gente, and maybe just maybe earned a tiny glimpse of respect.
I worked today with a crew of all men. The majority, del campo, were raised with a curriculum in hard outdoor labor. The “city” folk were environmental and agriculture agency reps, the local authorities with whom I hope to work in my future projects. It wasn’t so much the work that war hard, (well it was, but I liked that part) but relating to this boys club was the bigger challenge. I decided to work hard, attempt a few interested conversations, and really just focus on getting the job done. Hard work seems to speak volumes here. At the end of our workday I felt accomplished. While I didn’t run any meetings, teach any new skills or probably even impress anyone, I made headway. I showed a group of men that, yes, not all women would prefer to stay home and cook the food (while I equally have the greatest respect for those who do, for God’s sake, THAT would be a challenge for me). Beyond that however, I think I showed commitment. At one point, when I really was looking exhausted and a bit sunburned, a few of my work partners told me to go wait in the shade for them to finish. I surprised myself by responding with a defiant “NO, quiero terminar el trabajo” and got back to work planting. Later in the day a man from my community passed me on horseback. I realized he was one of the gentlemen from the mornings endeavors. While I had already showered, changed clothes, and spent about 3 hours in bed reading, he appeared to be in the same condition, probably as a result of a much longer day of labor in the sun. While we had met on many previous occasions and only exchanged trivial greetings, this time he instead called out my nickname “Natty” and trotted off along the road. For one more person, I stopped being just “Gringa.” That felt pretty good.
On a side note: The terms Gringo and Gringa are not meant to be offensive. I truly believe that people use these terms because they have no other vocabulary to express who you appear to be and where you appear to come from. Calling people names for their appearance is one of the few things I do find a bit shocking in Panamenian culture. For example when a third grade girl agreed with her parents that she was indeed “fat” I almost shock the girl’s mother. “What! You can’t instill this negative body image in your child!” But this is my point of view. What is seen as negative in general in our culture is not necessarily the case here. And it seems nearly impossible to be politically correct when people flat out ask you to clarify who a person is based solely on their level of darkness or lightness of skin tone. By the way I still don’t really understand this system when everyone seems tan and brunette to me, but I still cringe when I hear people call their little sister a “negrita.” That’s just my cultural filter for ya! So Gringa, yeah it still offends me a bit when I hear it. Not when I am passing a random small community and a young child yells it out (Hey! There’s a Gringa!), nor when someone refers to the appearance of myself or past volunteers (The other Gringa that was here was named Margarita). What does push my buttons is the more direct use, referring to me as if my name were Gringa. I decided to try this out today when I realized this campo man just was not going to stop. I switched up the conversation and inquired a bit about his farm, his family, his life etc. After chatting a bit more I introduced myself and asked his name. He gave me his full name and I repeated it back (a good strategy) to make sure I got it correctly. Good. Set. We are proper acquaintances now right? Wrong. First words out of his mouth here “Here, Gringa” as he hands me more sacks of plants. Oh well, I tried.
Highlights from the week
I met a grandmother who could not remember how many grandchildren/great grandchildren she had. She laughed and just told me another is expected next month
I introduced two sisters, age 7 and 9, to peanut butter and jelly for the first time. And whole wheat bread. They are hooked. I have created two little peanut craving monsters who know I will continue to keep this stash over the next two years. They also know I have a hard time saying no.
Taught my first environmental lesion on the composition of air and the negative effects of burning forests and trees on the air we breathe. I used dry beans, lentils and corn to represent oxygen, nitrogen and other (and sometimes poisonous) gases, respectively. It went pretty well and the kids invited me to play volleyball after.
I watched the same whole-wheat bread and peanut butter munching 4th grader use a machete twice her size to split open a wild coconut. I barely moved from my seat on the patio to help, a brief “Cuidate” was all I could muster. Kids here are tough. She was fine. She still has all 10 fingers and ate the coconut with a spoon. Como se dice Badass en Espanol?
I am starting to like rice. Yes, after nearly 3 months, I find myself not just tolerating, but ENJOYING plain white rice. WHAT?! Ask anyone, I am a noodle girl (props Italian roots). But hey, I guess you can grow to like just about anything. I think the fact that I recently bought hot sauce (best balboa, i.e. dollar spent in Panama thus far), and discovered my host grandma has a stash of some other mysterious Salsa Condamenta (my money is on soy sauce) has contributed in this boost in my rice preference. Plus, after working in the fields all day, beans and rice just plain hits the spot.
My body clock has now adjusted to 6:15. This is actually a blessing as it is later than the time I was waking up before due to a variety of distracting noises (dogs, roosters, cows, people going to milk cows, 5am loud conversations, phones ringing, tipico music). I actually found myself acknowledging the racquet and sleeping on through! CULTURAL ADJUSTMENT HERE I COME!
I am becoming more morena. The sun is darkening my skin despite my use of sun screen, and for some reason not having its normal lightening effects on my hair.
My weekly duro (think homemade Popsicle (icy pole) in a bag) count seems to be on the rise. They are just too good and there are so many new flavors! This week I has duro de nace (pronounced Nancy) and leche de ideal. Sounds exotic, but the later is actually just named for IDEAL brand evaporated milk. So delicious! At 5 centavos these little plastic bags of ice filled joy are the number one reason I am happy my site has electricity. I could give up light and tv, but I could not comfortably live without duros.
I love it when I stumble upon a good book. I love it even more when I realize that reading the author’s words actually inspires me to write. I recently have had the pleasure of both experiences, enjoyment and motivation, all stemming from one person’s thoughts on a page. Highly recommend “Honeymoon With my Brother” by Franz Wiser.
Today I planted. I trudged through mud with a sack of plantones on my back. I helped measure and fill holes with fertilizer. I liberated baby saplings from plastic bags, and I planted trees in God’s good green earth.
500 trees later, I was dripping in sweat and had mud caked on my fingernails. I was dizzy and my pink water bottle with the colorful flowers on it was dry as a bone. The important part was I made it to the end, hombro a hombro con la gente, and maybe just maybe earned a tiny glimpse of respect.
I worked today with a crew of all men. The majority, del campo, were raised with a curriculum in hard outdoor labor. The “city” folk were environmental and agriculture agency reps, the local authorities with whom I hope to work in my future projects. It wasn’t so much the work that war hard, (well it was, but I liked that part) but relating to this boys club was the bigger challenge. I decided to work hard, attempt a few interested conversations, and really just focus on getting the job done. Hard work seems to speak volumes here. At the end of our workday I felt accomplished. While I didn’t run any meetings, teach any new skills or probably even impress anyone, I made headway. I showed a group of men that, yes, not all women would prefer to stay home and cook the food (while I equally have the greatest respect for those who do, for God’s sake, THAT would be a challenge for me). Beyond that however, I think I showed commitment. At one point, when I really was looking exhausted and a bit sunburned, a few of my work partners told me to go wait in the shade for them to finish. I surprised myself by responding with a defiant “NO, quiero terminar el trabajo” and got back to work planting. Later in the day a man from my community passed me on horseback. I realized he was one of the gentlemen from the mornings endeavors. While I had already showered, changed clothes, and spent about 3 hours in bed reading, he appeared to be in the same condition, probably as a result of a much longer day of labor in the sun. While we had met on many previous occasions and only exchanged trivial greetings, this time he instead called out my nickname “Natty” and trotted off along the road. For one more person, I stopped being just “Gringa.” That felt pretty good.
On a side note: The terms Gringo and Gringa are not meant to be offensive. I truly believe that people use these terms because they have no other vocabulary to express who you appear to be and where you appear to come from. Calling people names for their appearance is one of the few things I do find a bit shocking in Panamenian culture. For example when a third grade girl agreed with her parents that she was indeed “fat” I almost shock the girl’s mother. “What! You can’t instill this negative body image in your child!” But this is my point of view. What is seen as negative in general in our culture is not necessarily the case here. And it seems nearly impossible to be politically correct when people flat out ask you to clarify who a person is based solely on their level of darkness or lightness of skin tone. By the way I still don’t really understand this system when everyone seems tan and brunette to me, but I still cringe when I hear people call their little sister a “negrita.” That’s just my cultural filter for ya! So Gringa, yeah it still offends me a bit when I hear it. Not when I am passing a random small community and a young child yells it out (Hey! There’s a Gringa!), nor when someone refers to the appearance of myself or past volunteers (The other Gringa that was here was named Margarita). What does push my buttons is the more direct use, referring to me as if my name were Gringa. I decided to try this out today when I realized this campo man just was not going to stop. I switched up the conversation and inquired a bit about his farm, his family, his life etc. After chatting a bit more I introduced myself and asked his name. He gave me his full name and I repeated it back (a good strategy) to make sure I got it correctly. Good. Set. We are proper acquaintances now right? Wrong. First words out of his mouth here “Here, Gringa” as he hands me more sacks of plants. Oh well, I tried.
Highlights from the week
I met a grandmother who could not remember how many grandchildren/great grandchildren she had. She laughed and just told me another is expected next month
I introduced two sisters, age 7 and 9, to peanut butter and jelly for the first time. And whole wheat bread. They are hooked. I have created two little peanut craving monsters who know I will continue to keep this stash over the next two years. They also know I have a hard time saying no.
Taught my first environmental lesion on the composition of air and the negative effects of burning forests and trees on the air we breathe. I used dry beans, lentils and corn to represent oxygen, nitrogen and other (and sometimes poisonous) gases, respectively. It went pretty well and the kids invited me to play volleyball after.
The chiva driver (think pick up with two wooden benches in the back… hang on!) has taking a liking to me and has made it his duty to show me around the HUGE corrigimiento, or district, that is pertinent to El Cedro. I enjoy the free rides and breathtaking glimpses of the mountain vistas at sunset. I also get to meet random people who live too far for me to pasear, but who I am still trying to serve. They have interesting stories and live off some very difficult roads. I also get to ride upfront! What a treat!
I watched the same whole-wheat bread and peanut butter munching 4th grader use a machete twice her size to split open a wild coconut. I barely moved from my seat on the patio to help, a brief “Cuidate” was all I could muster. Kids here are tough. She was fine. She still has all 10 fingers and ate the coconut with a spoon. Como se dice Badass en Espanol?
I am starting to like rice. Yes, after nearly 3 months, I find myself not just tolerating, but ENJOYING plain white rice. WHAT?! Ask anyone, I am a noodle girl (props Italian roots). But hey, I guess you can grow to like just about anything. I think the fact that I recently bought hot sauce (best balboa, i.e. dollar spent in Panama thus far), and discovered my host grandma has a stash of some other mysterious Salsa Condamenta (my money is on soy sauce) has contributed in this boost in my rice preference. Plus, after working in the fields all day, beans and rice just plain hits the spot.
My body clock has now adjusted to 6:15. This is actually a blessing as it is later than the time I was waking up before due to a variety of distracting noises (dogs, roosters, cows, people going to milk cows, 5am loud conversations, phones ringing, tipico music). I actually found myself acknowledging the racquet and sleeping on through! CULTURAL ADJUSTMENT HERE I COME!
I am becoming more morena. The sun is darkening my skin despite my use of sun screen, and for some reason not having its normal lightening effects on my hair.
My weekly duro (think homemade Popsicle (icy pole) in a bag) count seems to be on the rise. They are just too good and there are so many new flavors! This week I has duro de nace (pronounced Nancy) and leche de ideal. Sounds exotic, but the later is actually just named for IDEAL brand evaporated milk. So delicious! At 5 centavos these little plastic bags of ice filled joy are the number one reason I am happy my site has electricity. I could give up light and tv, but I could not comfortably live without duros.
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
A long overdue mental check in
July 17 2011
Suddenly my mind pulls a blank. What the heck did I want to write about again? Oh well I’ll sit here with the tri-layer sounds pulsing through the living room; a mix of frogs croaking in synchronicity with crickets, and the endless blaring tipico pounding out of the local cantina speakers. It’s Sunday night and I have officially been in my site for 2 weeks. It may not seem like a milestone for a lot of people, but 2 weeks is definitely something. Not a turning point, no that’s not the right way to describe it, more like a settling. Things are starting to feel more comfortable. A subtle shift in the right direction? I can never be sure, I should learn from all those self-help and mediation books I have polished off over the years that I should never really go with my surface emotions. You know the ones that rise and fall like waves across a much larger, immobile ocean. If you know me well enough you will know I tend to thrive off the rise and fall. I make the best decisions and get the most work accomplished. I also motivate myself to write.
So here I am, two weeks of life in El Cedro, and I just found out yesterday that El Cedro is an enormous corrigimento rather than just a small community, yet there exists a part of El Cedro, called El Cedro. I know that as the part with the tiendas and the park. I was confused why people in El Cedro (the area in general) would say “I’m going to El Cedro.” Now I finally understand that part. This is just a preview of all the little nitty gritty things that I have to figure out on my own. Seems silly right? Things I will undoubtedly learn along the way. I also calculated today that if I spent just one day REALLY trying to get to know one community member in my giant corrigimiento, I would just about barely meet everyone after two years. So far I am behind.
Rain is a fun novelty for now. Today I walked in the rain on a mission to “pasear,” i.e. go and meet people, wander, walk, or whatever else you want to call it in English. I have not truly found a translation. It can sometimes just mean hanging out on a porch. Peace Corps volunteers tend to Spanglish it up by saying, “My job for the first three months is to go pasear-ing.” I personally love the mezcla of verb usage there. Anyways, yeah back to my attempt to pasear. Well, nobody was around. Yep, I hiked pretty far trying to at least push my limits a bit to start crossing some names (I sadly wouldn’t have remembered anyways) off my hefty list, but alas, it was not to be. The only people out mingling were a bunch of young kids playing soccer in the pouring rain. I stood with my umbrella and raincoat and watched for a while with a huge grin as they slipped and sloshed around the makeshift soccer field. Ah the life of a preteen. I was tempted to join in but realized I was an odd number to their equal teams. Well that was one of the excuses I told myself. I probably could have jumped right in, but been more hilarious then they were. Scoring a goal while simultaneously sliding through 3 days’ worth of mud requires a certain grace and confidence I do not have let alone experience. So instead, I observed and vicariously soaked up their sopping wet zest for life.
I have been thinking a lot today. I returned from a solo trip to the regional capital yesterday with a newly discovered enthusiasm and appetite for everything. (I mean this literally and figuratively, however the appetite thing may relate more to the fact that I spent the previous day and night uncontrollably ill after eating wild coconuts form the front yard with a group of machete wielding neighborhood kids. Oh, but that’s another story.) Like I said, enthusiasm on high. The range of emotion this last week has caught me off guard. A few days previously, coupled with the aforementioned sickness, I felt overwhelmed with anxiety. I was not at all questioning my reasons for being here, but rather feeling full of self-doubt and pressure. Time is ticking, am I making the right impression?, I haven’t pasear-ed enough. I haven’t asked enough really deep questions, and I can’t remember a third of the names! You can probably guess the brigade of damaging mental messages I was under. Getting out to the city did the trick, and sealed me back into a state of appreciation and wonder for my setting and the people in it. That and waiting in a 30 min checkout line the Panamenian equivalent to Walmart (Machetazo rocks by the way). So yeah, I am doing pretty well now.
I made my first real Panamanian friend this weekend. Well that statement is entirely false actually, but what I mean is more like I made a friend with a very nice girl who is not 20 years my senior or junior. This is an exaggeration, but for all intents and purposes, I did hang out with someone my same age that shares many of the same interests, and life passions, which has been a first for me in Panama. Around her and her boyfriend (who I also consider a new friend of course), I surprised myself but acting, well, more like myself! I was making corny jokes and gabbing on with excitement like I do with my friends at home (LOVE YOU GUYS). Living with a middle aged male cattle rancher and his adorably sweet mother is absolutely amazing, however I guess I do keep in some of that spunk that gets out more when I am around people of my same age group. Maybe it’s a comfort level thing. Either way I am glad they all got to see it. Poco a poco ,here I am!
I’ve been thinking a lot, (an understatement) about the “extras” in life. Thinking about how these “extras” differ so dramatically between individual people and cultures, places, and socioeconomic levels. Thinking of life in the suburbs of the United States, these extras can be anything from buying a tv with a few more inches and special features, to hitting up the local beach bar at the start of a long weekend. Here my “extras” come as simple reality for others. It’s just how it’s done in the campo. Drinking hot chocolate made from fresh milk (the cow is about a hundred yards away mind you) and cinnamon leaves picked fresh from the garden, and lots and lots of sugar. Well that’s how it’s done here. Bien rico. (Sidenote: rico may be my favorite new word because it can pretty much describe all things good, delicious, rich, soothing, or even comfortable. I realized this after one of my community counterparts told me the temperature of the shower water was really “delicious [rico]”, my confusion led me to discover the word covers more territory than I had previously thought.) I hope this place never changes, and that by making progress El Cedro and the people here never lose their indulgence for simple, wonderful things that just don’t exist in the so called “developed world” I come from. When did the past inhabitants of St. Petersburg, FL stop raising chickens on their patios! They too are bien rico!
At times I feel like I am falling in love with this place. Falling and panicking. I know I worry too much but sometimes I even surprise myself with the absurdity of my mental jumps into the future. Got to trust the big man upstairs a bit more, huh Natalie? Anyways, yeah falling in love = panic in my book. What do you do when you find what you are searching for? The life you have always dreamed of? The job you didn’t know existed and now can’t believe is your only real priority for the next two years? And, that it’s more of a lifestyle (that you are thrilled to have) than a job? What now? How do you sustain that feeling that you have reached what you have longed for, for so very long? Any advice?
The other half of the love dilemma was, is and will continue to by my ultimate downfall. Boys in general (a few may deserve to be called men) are stupid and my weakness. While everything else seems to be falling into place in life, the irking and insecure mind-brain always seeks out the what isn’t instead of the what is. Thoughts are magnetically drawn towards the lack. While this can occasionally be helpful for motivational purposes, generally it just plain sucks. Note to self: be more positively oriented. How come my dreams of where I will eventually “end up” are intrinsically tied to a man? How can I continue to think this way despite my logical understanding that life is never about “ending up” anywhere? Life just keeps going! I just have a hard time believing the love-life part of life works out the way we are brought up to believe it does. The “good” life, the movie ending. This doesn’t seem to be the case in rural Panama. Nor the case in my family. Maybe being truly happy involves being outside of a relationship. Maybe it just means living fully. I hope I can live fully and find someone to live fully beside me. Vamos a ver.
I saw a commercial last night for a product called Fat Seltzer. Yes Fat Seltzer, people! It’s the newest product to hit panama and the name being in English makes it super “pretty” and an instant hit with those wanting to bajar pesa. The commercial promoted it as Alka Seltzer for fat. Put this fizzy pill in your water and bam! It made me yearn for those cheesy Cortisol commercials with the creepy hot grandma. Almost.
The good, the strange, the random thoughts, there you have it.
I teach my first environmental education lesson this week on air pollution and have to present myself at my first organizational meeting. Life is good.
Suddenly my mind pulls a blank. What the heck did I want to write about again? Oh well I’ll sit here with the tri-layer sounds pulsing through the living room; a mix of frogs croaking in synchronicity with crickets, and the endless blaring tipico pounding out of the local cantina speakers. It’s Sunday night and I have officially been in my site for 2 weeks. It may not seem like a milestone for a lot of people, but 2 weeks is definitely something. Not a turning point, no that’s not the right way to describe it, more like a settling. Things are starting to feel more comfortable. A subtle shift in the right direction? I can never be sure, I should learn from all those self-help and mediation books I have polished off over the years that I should never really go with my surface emotions. You know the ones that rise and fall like waves across a much larger, immobile ocean. If you know me well enough you will know I tend to thrive off the rise and fall. I make the best decisions and get the most work accomplished. I also motivate myself to write.
So here I am, two weeks of life in El Cedro, and I just found out yesterday that El Cedro is an enormous corrigimento rather than just a small community, yet there exists a part of El Cedro, called El Cedro. I know that as the part with the tiendas and the park. I was confused why people in El Cedro (the area in general) would say “I’m going to El Cedro.” Now I finally understand that part. This is just a preview of all the little nitty gritty things that I have to figure out on my own. Seems silly right? Things I will undoubtedly learn along the way. I also calculated today that if I spent just one day REALLY trying to get to know one community member in my giant corrigimiento, I would just about barely meet everyone after two years. So far I am behind.
Rain is a fun novelty for now. Today I walked in the rain on a mission to “pasear,” i.e. go and meet people, wander, walk, or whatever else you want to call it in English. I have not truly found a translation. It can sometimes just mean hanging out on a porch. Peace Corps volunteers tend to Spanglish it up by saying, “My job for the first three months is to go pasear-ing.” I personally love the mezcla of verb usage there. Anyways, yeah back to my attempt to pasear. Well, nobody was around. Yep, I hiked pretty far trying to at least push my limits a bit to start crossing some names (I sadly wouldn’t have remembered anyways) off my hefty list, but alas, it was not to be. The only people out mingling were a bunch of young kids playing soccer in the pouring rain. I stood with my umbrella and raincoat and watched for a while with a huge grin as they slipped and sloshed around the makeshift soccer field. Ah the life of a preteen. I was tempted to join in but realized I was an odd number to their equal teams. Well that was one of the excuses I told myself. I probably could have jumped right in, but been more hilarious then they were. Scoring a goal while simultaneously sliding through 3 days’ worth of mud requires a certain grace and confidence I do not have let alone experience. So instead, I observed and vicariously soaked up their sopping wet zest for life.
I have been thinking a lot today. I returned from a solo trip to the regional capital yesterday with a newly discovered enthusiasm and appetite for everything. (I mean this literally and figuratively, however the appetite thing may relate more to the fact that I spent the previous day and night uncontrollably ill after eating wild coconuts form the front yard with a group of machete wielding neighborhood kids. Oh, but that’s another story.) Like I said, enthusiasm on high. The range of emotion this last week has caught me off guard. A few days previously, coupled with the aforementioned sickness, I felt overwhelmed with anxiety. I was not at all questioning my reasons for being here, but rather feeling full of self-doubt and pressure. Time is ticking, am I making the right impression?, I haven’t pasear-ed enough. I haven’t asked enough really deep questions, and I can’t remember a third of the names! You can probably guess the brigade of damaging mental messages I was under. Getting out to the city did the trick, and sealed me back into a state of appreciation and wonder for my setting and the people in it. That and waiting in a 30 min checkout line the Panamenian equivalent to Walmart (Machetazo rocks by the way). So yeah, I am doing pretty well now.
I made my first real Panamanian friend this weekend. Well that statement is entirely false actually, but what I mean is more like I made a friend with a very nice girl who is not 20 years my senior or junior. This is an exaggeration, but for all intents and purposes, I did hang out with someone my same age that shares many of the same interests, and life passions, which has been a first for me in Panama. Around her and her boyfriend (who I also consider a new friend of course), I surprised myself but acting, well, more like myself! I was making corny jokes and gabbing on with excitement like I do with my friends at home (LOVE YOU GUYS). Living with a middle aged male cattle rancher and his adorably sweet mother is absolutely amazing, however I guess I do keep in some of that spunk that gets out more when I am around people of my same age group. Maybe it’s a comfort level thing. Either way I am glad they all got to see it. Poco a poco ,here I am!
I’ve been thinking a lot, (an understatement) about the “extras” in life. Thinking about how these “extras” differ so dramatically between individual people and cultures, places, and socioeconomic levels. Thinking of life in the suburbs of the United States, these extras can be anything from buying a tv with a few more inches and special features, to hitting up the local beach bar at the start of a long weekend. Here my “extras” come as simple reality for others. It’s just how it’s done in the campo. Drinking hot chocolate made from fresh milk (the cow is about a hundred yards away mind you) and cinnamon leaves picked fresh from the garden, and lots and lots of sugar. Well that’s how it’s done here. Bien rico. (Sidenote: rico may be my favorite new word because it can pretty much describe all things good, delicious, rich, soothing, or even comfortable. I realized this after one of my community counterparts told me the temperature of the shower water was really “delicious [rico]”, my confusion led me to discover the word covers more territory than I had previously thought.) I hope this place never changes, and that by making progress El Cedro and the people here never lose their indulgence for simple, wonderful things that just don’t exist in the so called “developed world” I come from. When did the past inhabitants of St. Petersburg, FL stop raising chickens on their patios! They too are bien rico!
At times I feel like I am falling in love with this place. Falling and panicking. I know I worry too much but sometimes I even surprise myself with the absurdity of my mental jumps into the future. Got to trust the big man upstairs a bit more, huh Natalie? Anyways, yeah falling in love = panic in my book. What do you do when you find what you are searching for? The life you have always dreamed of? The job you didn’t know existed and now can’t believe is your only real priority for the next two years? And, that it’s more of a lifestyle (that you are thrilled to have) than a job? What now? How do you sustain that feeling that you have reached what you have longed for, for so very long? Any advice?
The other half of the love dilemma was, is and will continue to by my ultimate downfall. Boys in general (a few may deserve to be called men) are stupid and my weakness. While everything else seems to be falling into place in life, the irking and insecure mind-brain always seeks out the what isn’t instead of the what is. Thoughts are magnetically drawn towards the lack. While this can occasionally be helpful for motivational purposes, generally it just plain sucks. Note to self: be more positively oriented. How come my dreams of where I will eventually “end up” are intrinsically tied to a man? How can I continue to think this way despite my logical understanding that life is never about “ending up” anywhere? Life just keeps going! I just have a hard time believing the love-life part of life works out the way we are brought up to believe it does. The “good” life, the movie ending. This doesn’t seem to be the case in rural Panama. Nor the case in my family. Maybe being truly happy involves being outside of a relationship. Maybe it just means living fully. I hope I can live fully and find someone to live fully beside me. Vamos a ver.
I saw a commercial last night for a product called Fat Seltzer. Yes Fat Seltzer, people! It’s the newest product to hit panama and the name being in English makes it super “pretty” and an instant hit with those wanting to bajar pesa. The commercial promoted it as Alka Seltzer for fat. Put this fizzy pill in your water and bam! It made me yearn for those cheesy Cortisol commercials with the creepy hot grandma. Almost.
The good, the strange, the random thoughts, there you have it.
I teach my first environmental education lesson this week on air pollution and have to present myself at my first organizational meeting. Life is good.
Saturday, June 25, 2011
PICTURES OF MY FUTURE HOME IN EL CEDRO
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