A ‘Chilly’ Christmas

Christmas in the tropics hardly felt like Christmas. My wish for snow resulted in a ‘chilly’ and rainy Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. My community complained it was really cold (we may have dropped into the low to mid seventies) and said that such weather could have only come from my country. I tried bringing the Christmas spirit into my ‘hut.’ (By the way, my house is finished and I have moved in!) I loaded my ipod with Christmas music and made paper red and green construction paper chains and paper snowflakes. My hut now looks like a second grade classroom. My neighbors tell me that they like my ‘flowers’ (the paper snow flakes). Because I’ve had several failed attempts at describing snow, I now just accept that compliment and say, ‘Thanks, I think the flowers are pretty, too.’

Christmas in my community was almost like any other day. While celebrations there normally are much simpler than in the U.S. (Christianization was a relatively recent happening among the Naso and expendable income normally is little to null), most families have fallen on hard times due to crop losses in the recent storm and high commodity prices. I saw no gifts exchanged and only some families celebrated with special meals (ones which include meat) with the immediate family. I celebrated the holiday by stringing up popcorn and introducing my neighbors to the magical corn.

Since my post-flood return to my community in early December, I have been going house-to-house doing damage assessments for various Panamanian government agencies. It’s tiring work (my community is very spread out over muddy hills and valleys), but I am really enjoying getting to know my community so thoroughly. The really out of the way houses have some of the nicest people who have nothing to give a visitor, but offer something anyway. After two and a half weeks of surveying, I am still only visited about half of the homes in my community. Damages range from homes forever buried in landslides, entire fields carried away by the once-raging river or by mud cascading down the mountain side, to cacao harvests lost to mold during the two weeks of rain.

While I surveyed the damage and took pictures, Soberanda, the kindergarten teacher in my community, showed out the remnants of her home: scattered thatch from her roof and splintered beams protruding from the mud. She and her neighboring extended family fled their homes for the mountain when they felt the ground move up higher on the mountainside; later that night a series of landslides buried their homes. In reviewing the losses, Soberanda smiled when she showed me the one personal possession she had recovered: a worn muddy t-shirt slung over the fragment of a tree trunk.

Thanks for the Christmas cards, thoughts, emails, and phone calls. They brightened my rainy, ‘chilly’ holiday. I wish you all a very happy new year. I will ring in 2009 in Panama City with my sister Tammy who will be spending a couple weeks getting to know Panama. Ciao!

One of the newest editions to the hood: Pinto

I love baby goats

this is Tibi. she is hanging out on my porch

my cat, Cuko

my favorite snowflake on the right

my porch turn second grade classroom

inside my hut

scrubbing my floors the traditional way: with coconut shells

Christmas Eve: popcorn stringing and hot chocolate drinking

pig butchering by the river

making bread to sell

Soberanda points to her husband´s t-shirt amidst her displaced roof

Hello, mud

The Flood - a picture narrative

the rain

swollen river - day 4 of rain

same spot - day 6 of flooding

The path for vehicles (and pedestrians in their absence) leading to my site. Water was knee deep when I got out Sunday. It rose to chest level that evening.

unloading a Columbian plane lent to Panama to help fly in aid, at Changuinola airport

highway into the province

open to general traffic (?!)

a landslide in my community. take a close look at the house.

where I used to cross the river

a landslide near my host family´s house

but still almost business as normal for the host fam ... posing with piglets

Pilgrims and Refugees

Happy belated Thanksgiving! Thank you for all of your comments, emails, and phone calls that brightened my holiday. Even in the midst of a natural disaster, I had the opportunity to celebrate in good company. Wednesday night when returning from serving up food at a temporary shelter, I arrived at the Bocas regional leader’s house to find it full of Peace Corps volunteers from all over the province. We had been consolidated to Changuinola for an air evacuation from the province set for the following day. Despite the somber mood in Changuinola, we had a premature Thanksgiving celebration complete with mashed potatoes, pumpkin pie, and … bean soup.

Since Thursday I have been in David with the other evacuated volunteers, where we have been visiting agencies, helping sort and pack clothes, and preparing and organizing ourselves for returning to our damaged homes. I have been in contact with several of my community members. On Wednesday, the flood waters subsided and the landslides lay still, the devastation was made visible, and the sadness of my community members rang clear in their voices. Their backs were against the wall. Several aqueducts laid in ruins with five broken spring boxes and thousands of feet of PVC tubing splintered and missing. Three houses were destroyed, and they had a near complete crop loss. Filled with guilt of my impending community abandonment (i.e., evacuation) I spent a frantic Thursday morning at the government agency coordinating disaster relief trying to arrange aid delivery to my community, which flood waters had cut off from the outside world. I boarded my plane out of the province with remorse; that evening I received a call from my community counterpart. His voice was firmer, lighter. A helicopter had arrived in the afternoon to deliver food aid.

I am sad to think of the work we put into planting fields that no longer exist and am scared when I think about the food shortages we will see in the coming months. I know my community is hard working and will pull through. The rebuilding has even already started without me. Friday I will arrive to contribute my hands to the effort.

Rain, Rain Go Away

From yesterday...

It has been a week since I have seen the the slightest hint of sunshine. An entire week with the constant drumming of rain drops, the deafening roar of churning rivers, and the lingering question of when will the rain ever stop? Saturday I was to leave my community for a Peace Corps conference in one of Panama’s central provinces, but by Saturday morning the flooding was severe. The same peaceful river I normally cross a half dozen times a day was wildly carving out a new path, undercutting banks, carrying away trees, rolling the boulders I used to wash my clothes upon, and sending the people living near its banks fleeing to their relatives’ houses. I put my travel plans on hold, came to truly appreciate living on a hill, and resigned myself to being mother nature’s prisoner.

Saturday came and went, but the downpour stayed on until the wee hours of Sunday morning. I woke to the din of rain diminishing suddenly unable to sleep in the absence of the white noise that had filled my ears for the last week. After a sleepless hour of mere drizzle, I sought my ipod to lull me back to sleep. By 8am the rain had returned, cell phone service was out, but the river had gone down to waist and chest level and some of my neighbors were crossing. It was my chance! Although taxi service into my site had stopped when flood waters became too dangerous for the vehicles’ electrical systems, I was still eager to get to my conference. I would make the hike. I grabbed my plastic covered pack filled with my double-bagged travel necessities and slipped on my very loved rubber boots. One treacherous river crossing, one washed out bridge, one swim across what was once a path, a half mile walk through knee deep water, and four rainy, muddy, dreary hours later I arrived to the road, flagged down a pickup, and settled in the back, happy to have put that part of the journey behind me. I was only an hour away from boarding a bus to David in Changuinola. I was home free!

Almost. Upon arriving to the bus terminal I heard that there had been come landslides that took out sections of the only road in and out of the province. The bus boy said they couldn’t get me to David, but they would take me as far as there was road. Other buses would be waiting on the other side. He said he didn’t know how long it took to pass through the washed out portions of the highway. Maybe twenty minutes he guessed. Would I be getting on the bus? The last one would leave in a half an hour. I told him I needed to think about it. And eat. If he didn’t know how long it takes to cross, did than mean that no one was crossing?

After changing out of my dripping clothes and eating warm food, my adventurous spirit returned. I boarded the bus and started asking other passengers what they had heard. Two hours of hiking. Six sections of highway affected. Someone mentioned a five hour hike and sixteen landslides. It was still raining. We would be arriving to the troubled stretch about an hour before dusk. Red flags went up. I got off the bus.

I would call up Peace Corps Panama to check in and see what was really going on. My cell phone still didn’t have service, so I tried a pay phone. No luck. I tried another. Again, no luck. After four more, I found out there was only local phone service. At the internet cafe I tasted defeat. The province was completely cut off. No road. No means of communication out, only radio. No Peace Corps training conference. No Thanksgiving day celebration with other volunteers. Just rain.

A day later the rain continues through its seventh day. The little news that makes it here says that a stretch of 15 kilometers (9 miles) of highway was affected by about 60 landslides. It will be days before they can open the highway for emergency supplies and personnel and months before it can be reopened to traffic. Meanwhile in Changuinola, the largest city in the province (pop ~50,000), people have been collecting rain water since water stopped arriving to the tap on Thursday. The gas stations are out of fuel. Parts of the city are out of power. Communication lines are still out, but reports of missing and dead and more landslides and flooding are trickling in. My community has been evacuated. I have stocked up on food, and collected gallons upon gallons of water. I am feeling caged and going little nuts, but I hear that there is a relief effort going on, maybe they could use me.

El Rey de la Selva

Alas, a blank day in my calendar! I slept in until 6:30 and would have the chance to do some laundry and get a start on germinating seeds for my garden. I had just finished up planting some squash in an egg carton and was debating whether my unsettled tummy could be the product of a disagreeable breakfast or amoebas when four breathless children came running up the path to my host family’s home.

–Janelly, ¡Apúrate! Préstanos tu camera.
Before I would commit myself and my camera to the wild goose chase that was sure to ensue, I tried to extract some details.
– Mataron un tigre… Lindo, mi primo, y mi tío. Están en la casa. ¡APÚRTATE!
Ay ay ay, the air in my lungs got caught mid inhale. They killed a tiger. For weeks of I had heard of a ‘tiger’ stalking about the outskirts of the community with an appetite for pigs (having claimed five); however, I hadn’t seen this coming. I gathered my camera and told my nerves not to betray me.

The cousins and uncle trio left that morning to hunt a tapir (a large, rare mammal, a relative of horses and rhinos) and had just retuned with a tigre pintado (‘a painted tiger,’ a jaguar). They were obviously still high on adrenaline and full of excitement, but still humble. In a state of culture shock and saddened, I hid behind my camera, taking the pictures they requested, restricting my comments to ‘There is better light over there. Remove your hat; your face is coming out too dark,’ and writing down picture orders while my eyes lingered on the gaping machete wounds on the jaguar’s neck. Hunting dogs had helped the hunters locate the jaguar, they had shot at her twice with their shot guns, and when she tried to hide under a fallen tree, she was claimed by a machete blow through her spinal cord. When the time came to dress the cat, I took my leave. My tummy’s unrest was coming to a peak.

They jaguar pelt is now hung and drying in town next to the school, and the hunter trio plans to sell it. They think they can make about two hundred dollars. The meat was smoked and deep fried and consumed by the hunters and some of their family members (some opted not to eat it). I have been told that traditionally Nasos did not eat cat meat as cultural belief is that it could lead to mental insanity. They said that the night following the kill, the cries of a cat were heard coming from the mountain. Saturday will mark a week since the kill, and it will be celebrated with chicha fuerte (a fermented juice, yucca juice in this case) and a traditional song and dance to scare away the tiger’s spirit.

The Aftermath

The misery of dengue has loosened its grip; its associated depression, debilitating pain, and feverish nightmares have passed, and it was promptly followed by more amoebas, which I am still working to rid myself of. My persistent health problems are a bit uncanny and have severely cut into my productivity as a volunteer. When I am not working on getting healthy, I am teaching English (we are conjugating verbs and making sentences already!), participating in school activities and meetings with my farmers, and working on my house (or ‘hut’ as some of you prefer).

House construction was put on hold while I was recovering from dengue, but we are back on track. The only work left on the house is to finish a window, install plumbing, and make the furniture (a bed frame, shelves, tables, and chairs). We have cut wood for the bathroom (my washing hut) and the latrine. The next official work later this week. In the meantime I am hauling in a stove, pots, dishes, a sleeping pad, plumbing needs, etc. and starting seeds for my garden to prepare for my move. Yea!

The world’s giddy excitement for the U.S.’s president elect spilled its way into my community. The day after elections several people asked me if I had heard the news and whether I had woken up dancing. While I had been bummed about my no-show absentee ballot and may have not busted a move in the early am, I coundn’t conceal my excitement and did whistle for the duration of the hike into my site.

my nearly finished abode, with its huge porch and neighbor

finishing the roof

a folkloric dance at the school

from the bridge entering my site

Dun ta da da... Dengue

My remarkable luck with tropical disease infection and living with royalty continues.

While in still treatment for round four of amoebas, yesterday I received a positive test result for dengue. Symptoms started a couple days ago: a headache to rival all others, fall-down dizziness, fever and chills, all over body pain, a complete loss of appetite, diarrhea, and a general lethargy. Initially I thought I was just a wimp or maybe amoebas aone bazzurk. But eventually I cashed in all my toughness and went to the doctor, where he said that he thought I had a problem with my ears. Really, my ears. He sent me to the lab for a blood count. Suspecting something else, I asked the lab to also run a test for dengue. While waiting for the test results, I was given a couple IVs, one with meds to raise my low blood pressure and the other with painkillers. Three hours later I picked up my result. Prueba de Dengue: Reaccion Positiva (IGGe IGM). Despite the positive dengue result, other aspects of my health are improving. I noticed from the blood count I am no longer anemic, so yeah for that. The doctor says I will have another 3-4 days of symptoms before the mosquito-transmitted virus finishes running its course. But at least now I have drugs: a daily shot in the butt with an anti-viral (painful enough on its own right to cause me to change my sleeping position of preference), painkillers, and drops to keep my blood pressure up.

In regards to royalty, I was in Panama City last weekend for a medical visit (oddly enough unrelated to amoebas or dengue) and on my return I spent a day hanging out with my host family from training in Santa Clara. Unknowingly to me, my trip would coincide with my host mom being crowned queen of the senior citizens society. It was a full day of activity with cooking, decorating, and cleaning. I filled in where possible and snapped pictures between deboning chicken and blowing up balloons.

Life back in my community is going great. I am super excited (amidst my dengue-induced lethargy) to get back and see how progress is going on my house (they’ve been working on it in my absence… amazing) and get back to work with the most amazing folks Panama has to offer. Ugh, I know I have been reprimanded lately for a lack details in my entries, but I feel a crazy headache returning.

Watch out for the day feeding Panamanian mosquitos! Hasta luego!

A visual update

the beginning of roof construction

sewing the roof

my unfinished roof from inside my house

rushing to get a roof up before the rain... rain won

topping off the roof

walking to the waterfall

at the waterfall

Jazmin and Heromi

the visitors bidding farewell

Roofing, Waterfalls, and Tourists, Oh My!

So my tiny village had its first taste of eco-tourism yesterday. It went really, but really well. Everyone, the visitors and community members alike were all so happy. I divided my time between construction work on my house and sharing the role of tour guide and translator (I must beef up these English classes ASAP). It was a day that made me really proud of the farmers that I work with. The festivities included lots of great food, a trip a waterfall, a fair bit of walking (and falling), purchasing of artisan work, some folklore and dancing, guitar strumming and free styling, horse back riding, and, of course, pictures.

Work continues on my future home. It is looking amazing, and thanks to some patient teachers Friday I learned to ‘knit’ thatch with bailing twine for my roof. Already the floor is down (that was finished yesterday), and the roof is three-fourths finished. Lunar farming is popular here and because the moon changes on Tuesday, we decided to squeeze one more work day in tomorrow to cut and sew the thatch to finish off the roof. By the end of the month I should be moved in to my first house! Ahh, excitement!

Pictures to come. Internet here is super slow.

Orange Jam

My first few days back form the U.S. were hard emotionally (I had left my sad and suffering family behind), professionally (on my second day back I was to deliver a presentation to my boss, my community, and the Naso king), and physically (I had to readjust to the mud, humidity, and heat). So in this time I mentally compiled some of the reasons why I really enjoy my Panamanian life. Here are a few:

1. I wash my clothes in a crazy beautiful river. And when my clothes is super dirty, I beat them against a rock just ‘to get the filthiness out.’

2. I live in the last traditional monarchy in the Americas. That’s cool. The following is recent exchange with king Valentín Santana, who lives in my community:

I walked quickly down the muddy path from the chiva stop because it looked like rain. When I stopped to talk to an acquaintance in the path, king Valentín caught up. He smiled, ‘Caminas rápido’ (‘You walk fast’). I laughed, ‘Ja, pero me caigo rápido también’ (‘Ha, but I also fall fast’). And we continued on in silence. Five minutes later the king slipped, and recovering he giggled, ‘También me caigo rápido’ (‘ I fall fast, too’).

3. I am a local celebrity. Upon my return, people I had never even seen before were asking me about my family and my grandma in particular.

4. As my sister recently pointed out, I will soon be a home owner. My house is coming along well. Yesterday we cut, bundled, and carried the leaves for my roof to the construction site. I think/I hope we will finish this month.

5. I no longer make small children cry. The kids in my host family now run out of the house to meet me. The scariness of a ‘tall’ white person is finally wearing off.

6. I get to introduce some of the kindest folks I’ve ever known to new pleasant things (e.g., grape jam), and they not only share my excitement, they ask me if we can make jam from their oranges.

7. I have mastered the extreme sport of chasing oranges downhill full speed on muddy terrain. AND I have been promoted to orange picker, which means I get to wield the really long bamboo pole with the wooden hook tied to the end.

8. Cacao. Enough said.

9. I am humbled here. Last night my host mom brought home soda and sliced bread for her kids. Their excitement was unparalleled.

The list goes on, but my will to continue typing does not.

the PC Bocas del Toro regional meeting in Chiriquí

bundles of leaves that will be my roof. we will be sewing them Friday

some of the seeds that my Naso teacher uses to make jewelry