Peace Corps Panama swore-in its 61st group of volunteers on Thursday at the house (read: mansion) of the U.S. ambassador to Panama. All the trainees got all gussied-up, and we marveled at eachother’s metamorphosis. Because the Peace Corps was celebrating 45 years in Panama, the ceremony was attended by the global director of the Peace Corps and a couple distinguished Panamanians from the ministries of health and agriculture. While the ceremony was wonderful, the highlight for me was a speech delivered by a fellow SAS volunteer Andi. She recounted the hotdog consumption, sicknesses without diagnosis, and mysterious skin afflictions that kept our training interesting and spoke about our next new beginning. The night followed with dinner at an Italian restaurant and dancing in Panama City and concluded at a karaoke bar with a Bruce Springsteen song.
Following swear-in, Peace Corps gave us two days off to relax, celebrate, and prepare ourselves for our arrival to site. Most of the group headed to the beach near San Carlos on the Pacific Ocean. We prepared fabulous food, played pool side charades, saw plankton luminescence, read, reconnected with home, and tried out surfing (or watched, as in my case; the waves scared me). Group 61’s bonds grew even stronger through the weekend, and today we all said tearful goodbyes, wishing each other well in our sites in the coming months and years. Training is finally over. This is where the Peace Corps begins, and I am feeling very small, but I am ready to go.
Sunday, June 29, 2008
Saturday, June 28, 2008
Pictures from Training
Sifting sand for the estufa lorena ('mud stove')
Shaping the 'mud stove'
The entrance to the despedida (going away party) in Sta. Clara
Gifts to Sta. Clara host families at the despedida
My neighbors laughing at me
One dust-covered kid with one destroyed piñataThursday, June 19, 2008
A Tale of Two Kings
As a Peace Corps Volunteer I am to keep myself removed from anything political as the Peace Corps presence in Panama is strictly contingent on an invitation by the Panamanian government. Clearly, I don’t want to break the peace. Yet, during my stay in Seiyic during culture week and during my site visit last week, conversations about kings, comarcas, and hydrologic dams were swirling around me. And more often than not I was asked what I thought about the heated issues. Repeatedly, I managed to formulate a vague diplomatic response.
During my short time with the Naso, I have learned a lot about the above issues, and a few google searches have helped me to fill in the holes. The possible construction of a hydroelectric dam on the River Bonyic has divided the Naso people. Its supporters offer that the project would provide positive development impacts to one of the country’s poorest regions and supply more efficient and reliable energy. Its opponents point to possible ecological degradation, threats to local economy, and cultural loss. Among the project’s supporters is Tito Santana, one of the two men claiming to be king of the Naso people. Due to his support of the Bonyic project, Tito was removed from the throne by civil up rise four years ago. A large majority of the Naso elected and currently regards Valetín Santana, Tito’s uncle, as the current Naso king. However, it is Tito who the Panamanian government acknowledges as king of the Naso.
I have heard my organic agricultural producers share their fear that their culture is extinguishing. I have also heard the government-funded radio messages in Changuinola about reducing energy consumption for a more secure tomorrow. As I look forward through the next couple years, I can picture myself up on a tight rope, arms extended, trying to maintain perfect balance, weighing the threats to the cultural heritage of my community against the threats to my own existence there as a Peace Corps Panama Volunteer.
During my short time with the Naso, I have learned a lot about the above issues, and a few google searches have helped me to fill in the holes. The possible construction of a hydroelectric dam on the River Bonyic has divided the Naso people. Its supporters offer that the project would provide positive development impacts to one of the country’s poorest regions and supply more efficient and reliable energy. Its opponents point to possible ecological degradation, threats to local economy, and cultural loss. Among the project’s supporters is Tito Santana, one of the two men claiming to be king of the Naso people. Due to his support of the Bonyic project, Tito was removed from the throne by civil up rise four years ago. A large majority of the Naso elected and currently regards Valetín Santana, Tito’s uncle, as the current Naso king. However, it is Tito who the Panamanian government acknowledges as king of the Naso.
I have heard my organic agricultural producers share their fear that their culture is extinguishing. I have also heard the government-funded radio messages in Changuinola about reducing energy consumption for a more secure tomorrow. As I look forward through the next couple years, I can picture myself up on a tight rope, arms extended, trying to maintain perfect balance, weighing the threats to the cultural heritage of my community against the threats to my own existence there as a Peace Corps Panama Volunteer.
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
The First Glimpse
For months now I have been conjuring up mental images of my Peace Corps community and imagining how I would be received there. Would they come out to meet me, would they just stare at me, or would they not even acknowledge me? What would the houses be like? Their clothes? Their food? Last week I had my first introduction to my community, what the Peace Corps formally calls the ‘Site Visit.’ The site visit was led by a selected community member, the community guide.
While the picturesque mental images I formed were not far from the reality of my village, my actual arrival was a bit bumpier than what I had imagined. After a full day of travel and precious little sleep, my community guide and I arrived to the final departure point. Only a 45 minute hike kept me from my first glimpse of my community, a hike through a deforested water-logged cow pasture in the blazing midday Panamanian sun with 70+ pounds of books and clothes strapped to my back and, in my hands, Peace Corps issued water filter (~5 pounds) and medical kit (7 pounds, thanks to the extra cans of bug spray I requested). As we started off on the final leg of the trip my community guide threw an empathetic eye my way. He was heavily burdened by chicken feed requested by friend and groceries requested by his wife. There was little hope I would be receive any help from him, so I mentally prepared myself for the trek. Along the way I searched for positive thoughts. For example, when I polished off the water in my Nalgene, knowing its volume, I calculated that I had lightened the load by nearly 2 pounds, which I had probably already sweat out, for a net loss in cargo off 2 pounds. Fabulous. What great progress. When things started to look especially bleak, on the horizon a welcome crew appeared, we were saved, and I am still alive to tell the tale. Yea!
After a brief meeting and lots of chicha (juice), I was turned loose to meet one of my three host families I will be living with in the coming months. As it would just so happen, this family lives within 50 yards of a waterfall that plunges about 50 feet into several little pools which in turn cascade into dozens of more pools, so I felt very inclined to drown my own odors in one (or several) of these wonderful little pools. Without pausing to change out of my rancid mud-caked clothes, I headed to the waterfall with two of my host sisters and my host grandma. Despite my own scumminess, the waterfall’s crazy awesome beauty inspired my host sisters and I to pretend to be actress from the movies, balancing ourselves on the rocks just right so that the water would cascade down upon our heads. I felt graceful and briefly very Hollywood until I attempted to glide from the main pool to an adjacent one and scraped up my tummy on a very camouflaged rock.
After stripping down to my skivvies, washing the clothes I had been wearing, and replacing it, we walked back to my home for the week, a quaint semi-open wood, thatch, and zinc hut stilted about 8 feet off the ground. After a supper of rice, lentils, avocado, and chicken cooked over a wood fire, a fugón (probably one of the best suppers I’ve had here in Panama), my extended host family and I gathered around an 8 inch TV powered by solar panels to watch a DVD of El Chavo del 8, a Mexican comedy show. I’m still working on processing that one. It was just really. . . unreal.
The next day was a meeting with the agriculture group I will be working with in the community. I introduced myself and asked what the group’s hopes and expectations were for the next couple years as they worked with their Peace Corps Volunteer. Their list was long, diversified, and pretty exciting. Many of the project ideas I have listed previously came up again, but they were joined by English classes and latrine improvement. After the meeting in the town center, I scrambled back to my host family’s house (45 min away) before the impending storm broke loose.
The house shaking thunder and solid downpour cleared about fifteen hours, and I headed out with a group of about dozen folks to get to know various agricultural producers throughout the community. This meant of treading up and down hills on paths of over-saturated clay for most of the daylight hours. Sadly I was the only one sliding ridiculously out of control down the hills. After my third and nearly fatal fall (a huge exaggeration, don’t worry), one of the little old men guiding me stopped to make me a walking stick. As he offered it to me, he said ‘su tercera pata’ (‘your third paw’). I felt a little ashamed taking the stick and acknowledging the fact that I am ridiculously clumsy, but I quickly got past it. For the rest of the week I went no where without my third paw, clinging to it for dear life on the slippery slopes. Even now, 3 days later my right arm is still burning in pain days from the death grip I held on that stick. But it was my savior.
After returning ‘home’ from day one of endless hiking, I noticed my host 7 year old host sister’s hand bleeding onto her shirt. When I asked to see her hand, she instantly hid it from me, but after some coaxing I got a look at it and learned she had cut it with a machete a few days earlier. Because it looked kind of gruesome, I retrieved my medical kit to prep and bandage up her hand. The rest of the family watched in keen interest as I opened up my enormous medical kit. To break the ice, I joked that the Peace Corps sent me with a traveling pharmacy so that they never have to send me to the hospital (which is a bit of a lie. The PC is quick to get volunteers to a doctor). Nevertheless, my host siblings asked me if I was a doctor, and later in the evening my host father approached me about another one of his daughters who has been losing hair from the crown of her head in the past few months. The next day I was asked by another concerned parent whose daughter has been getting headaches at school and while reading. The daughter elaborated that she couldn’t see far away things very well anymore. The fear in her eyes and her mom’s diminished when I explained that my whole family has the same problem, but we all have glasses to correct it. Despite my insistence that I am not a doctor, the medical questions keep coming. As I hiked out of my site along side my host grandma, she asked me if I had something for ‘el hongo que pica los pies’ (‘the fungus that makes your feet itch’). She went on laughing to describe the painful hot salt water treatments she uses. I laughed heartily with her and then bit nervously as I came to the realization that my insistence of ‘but I am not a doctor’ weren’t going to deter future questions or requests. Chalk up one more item on the list of community expectations... informal doctor/pharmacist.
From my room in Sta. Clara
While the picturesque mental images I formed were not far from the reality of my village, my actual arrival was a bit bumpier than what I had imagined. After a full day of travel and precious little sleep, my community guide and I arrived to the final departure point. Only a 45 minute hike kept me from my first glimpse of my community, a hike through a deforested water-logged cow pasture in the blazing midday Panamanian sun with 70+ pounds of books and clothes strapped to my back and, in my hands, Peace Corps issued water filter (~5 pounds) and medical kit (7 pounds, thanks to the extra cans of bug spray I requested). As we started off on the final leg of the trip my community guide threw an empathetic eye my way. He was heavily burdened by chicken feed requested by friend and groceries requested by his wife. There was little hope I would be receive any help from him, so I mentally prepared myself for the trek. Along the way I searched for positive thoughts. For example, when I polished off the water in my Nalgene, knowing its volume, I calculated that I had lightened the load by nearly 2 pounds, which I had probably already sweat out, for a net loss in cargo off 2 pounds. Fabulous. What great progress. When things started to look especially bleak, on the horizon a welcome crew appeared, we were saved, and I am still alive to tell the tale. Yea!
After a brief meeting and lots of chicha (juice), I was turned loose to meet one of my three host families I will be living with in the coming months. As it would just so happen, this family lives within 50 yards of a waterfall that plunges about 50 feet into several little pools which in turn cascade into dozens of more pools, so I felt very inclined to drown my own odors in one (or several) of these wonderful little pools. Without pausing to change out of my rancid mud-caked clothes, I headed to the waterfall with two of my host sisters and my host grandma. Despite my own scumminess, the waterfall’s crazy awesome beauty inspired my host sisters and I to pretend to be actress from the movies, balancing ourselves on the rocks just right so that the water would cascade down upon our heads. I felt graceful and briefly very Hollywood until I attempted to glide from the main pool to an adjacent one and scraped up my tummy on a very camouflaged rock.
After stripping down to my skivvies, washing the clothes I had been wearing, and replacing it, we walked back to my home for the week, a quaint semi-open wood, thatch, and zinc hut stilted about 8 feet off the ground. After a supper of rice, lentils, avocado, and chicken cooked over a wood fire, a fugón (probably one of the best suppers I’ve had here in Panama), my extended host family and I gathered around an 8 inch TV powered by solar panels to watch a DVD of El Chavo del 8, a Mexican comedy show. I’m still working on processing that one. It was just really. . . unreal.
The next day was a meeting with the agriculture group I will be working with in the community. I introduced myself and asked what the group’s hopes and expectations were for the next couple years as they worked with their Peace Corps Volunteer. Their list was long, diversified, and pretty exciting. Many of the project ideas I have listed previously came up again, but they were joined by English classes and latrine improvement. After the meeting in the town center, I scrambled back to my host family’s house (45 min away) before the impending storm broke loose.
The house shaking thunder and solid downpour cleared about fifteen hours, and I headed out with a group of about dozen folks to get to know various agricultural producers throughout the community. This meant of treading up and down hills on paths of over-saturated clay for most of the daylight hours. Sadly I was the only one sliding ridiculously out of control down the hills. After my third and nearly fatal fall (a huge exaggeration, don’t worry), one of the little old men guiding me stopped to make me a walking stick. As he offered it to me, he said ‘su tercera pata’ (‘your third paw’). I felt a little ashamed taking the stick and acknowledging the fact that I am ridiculously clumsy, but I quickly got past it. For the rest of the week I went no where without my third paw, clinging to it for dear life on the slippery slopes. Even now, 3 days later my right arm is still burning in pain days from the death grip I held on that stick. But it was my savior.
After returning ‘home’ from day one of endless hiking, I noticed my host 7 year old host sister’s hand bleeding onto her shirt. When I asked to see her hand, she instantly hid it from me, but after some coaxing I got a look at it and learned she had cut it with a machete a few days earlier. Because it looked kind of gruesome, I retrieved my medical kit to prep and bandage up her hand. The rest of the family watched in keen interest as I opened up my enormous medical kit. To break the ice, I joked that the Peace Corps sent me with a traveling pharmacy so that they never have to send me to the hospital (which is a bit of a lie. The PC is quick to get volunteers to a doctor). Nevertheless, my host siblings asked me if I was a doctor, and later in the evening my host father approached me about another one of his daughters who has been losing hair from the crown of her head in the past few months. The next day I was asked by another concerned parent whose daughter has been getting headaches at school and while reading. The daughter elaborated that she couldn’t see far away things very well anymore. The fear in her eyes and her mom’s diminished when I explained that my whole family has the same problem, but we all have glasses to correct it. Despite my insistence that I am not a doctor, the medical questions keep coming. As I hiked out of my site along side my host grandma, she asked me if I had something for ‘el hongo que pica los pies’ (‘the fungus that makes your feet itch’). She went on laughing to describe the painful hot salt water treatments she uses. I laughed heartily with her and then bit nervously as I came to the realization that my insistence of ‘but I am not a doctor’ weren’t going to deter future questions or requests. Chalk up one more item on the list of community expectations... informal doctor/pharmacist.
From my room in Sta. ClaraPublic bus transport, un diablo rojo (red devil)
The mountains of Chiriqui
Along the Pan-American Highway
Saturday, June 7, 2008
Miga. Tja kjö Janell.
Naso language training started this week, and I am beginning to think that I am in way over my head. Learning a third language (Naso) in a second language (Spanish) is scrambling my brain. Pronunciation is a maddening struggle. The vowel a alone has 4 different sounds (written as a, ã, ä, and a with both the tilde and dots). The pattern extends to the other vowels as well for a total of 20 vowel sounds. It makes my pea-sized brain hurt. Luckily, as the only student in the class I have the opportunity to spend 15 minutes practicing the ë sound if I so choose.
My language teacher is from the community that I will soon claim as my new home in Panama, and through him I am learning more about the Naso people and my future home. He shared that this week a group of Naso people were in Panama City to meet with government officials to try to seek a resolution for the hydroelectric dam project and in the issue of establishing a Naso comarca (reservation).
On Tuesday I will travel to my site for the first time. I will spend nearly a week in the community, deliver a speech (in Naso, eeks!), meet my community, and learn of its needs and possible work opportunities. I am really excited, but nervous about being a huge disappointment or just looking like a fool. My language teacher has told me of the preparations the community is making for me. If his excitement is a fair gauge for the rest of the community, expectations and engagement levels will be high. He has already expressed interest in working with me in horticulture production, goat husbandry, handicraft production/marketing, ecotourism, and baked goods classes/production. The last interest was named after I introduced him to brownies made from cacao from his own province. While I have much to learn, this many opportunities is a Peace Corps Volunteer’s dream. I am really excited.
After the site visit I will return to my training community for just over a week of training, swear-in as an official volunteer in Panama City, and be turned loose for my new home in Bocas del Toro Province. As I look forward to moving to my new home and learning the full story behind this mysterious indigenous group, I am sad to bid farewell to my training community and my host family here. Getting tackled by my host nephew as I walk through the door, hearing my aunts call out ‘ya viene la muñequita’ (‘here comes the [Barbie] doll’) as I walk home from class, and knowing just where to scrounge the best fallen mangoes are all activities I will leave behind in St. Clara in a couple of weeks. I have grown fond of my fungus-infected mattress, my odorific latrine, weekly bingo at my house, and seeing ants floating on top of my cereal.
My sis, nephew and cousin putting candles in my bday cake
My birthday package from home :)
My language teacher is from the community that I will soon claim as my new home in Panama, and through him I am learning more about the Naso people and my future home. He shared that this week a group of Naso people were in Panama City to meet with government officials to try to seek a resolution for the hydroelectric dam project and in the issue of establishing a Naso comarca (reservation).
On Tuesday I will travel to my site for the first time. I will spend nearly a week in the community, deliver a speech (in Naso, eeks!), meet my community, and learn of its needs and possible work opportunities. I am really excited, but nervous about being a huge disappointment or just looking like a fool. My language teacher has told me of the preparations the community is making for me. If his excitement is a fair gauge for the rest of the community, expectations and engagement levels will be high. He has already expressed interest in working with me in horticulture production, goat husbandry, handicraft production/marketing, ecotourism, and baked goods classes/production. The last interest was named after I introduced him to brownies made from cacao from his own province. While I have much to learn, this many opportunities is a Peace Corps Volunteer’s dream. I am really excited.
After the site visit I will return to my training community for just over a week of training, swear-in as an official volunteer in Panama City, and be turned loose for my new home in Bocas del Toro Province. As I look forward to moving to my new home and learning the full story behind this mysterious indigenous group, I am sad to bid farewell to my training community and my host family here. Getting tackled by my host nephew as I walk through the door, hearing my aunts call out ‘ya viene la muñequita’ (‘here comes the [Barbie] doll’) as I walk home from class, and knowing just where to scrounge the best fallen mangoes are all activities I will leave behind in St. Clara in a couple of weeks. I have grown fond of my fungus-infected mattress, my odorific latrine, weekly bingo at my house, and seeing ants floating on top of my cereal.
My sis, nephew and cousin putting candles in my bday cake 
My birthday package from home :)
Sisterly love
Monday, June 2, 2008
Cultural and Technical Weeks
Culture and tech weeks are now a thing of the recent past and I am currently trying hard to decompress all of the novel experiences of the last two weeks. While the last two weeks have been crazy exhausting, they have been huge morale boosters and have left me worrying less about the next two years of navigating through relatively unchartered waters alone.
Culture week was a crash course education on indigenous groups in the Bocas del Toro Province. I lived with an Ngäbe family for the first few days. The Ngäbes represent Panama’s largest (and ever-increasing) indigenous group. Lots of kids and plantains and unabashed stares were mainstays in my few days there. That and alternating bouts of constipation (from the plantains) and diarrhea (from the water). But I survived, through lots of laughter.
Culture week was a crash course education on indigenous groups in the Bocas del Toro Province. I lived with an Ngäbe family for the first few days. The Ngäbes represent Panama’s largest (and ever-increasing) indigenous group. Lots of kids and plantains and unabashed stares were mainstays in my few days there. That and alternating bouts of constipation (from the plantains) and diarrhea (from the water). But I survived, through lots of laughter.
After my time with the Ngäbes I was boated up the Rio Teribe to visit the village of Sieyic, the home of the Naso king. The stay was an amazing one. The only downfall would probably be not being about to meet the Naso king, but maybe that could be a later visit. The father of the family I stayed with shared Naso folklore (e.g., a grandmother rock protects the Naso), explained old customs (e.g., preparing girls for womanhood), and presented new issues that confront the Naso (e.g., construction of a nearby hydroelectric dam). Most of the Naso adamantly oppose the construction of the dam, and the tensions over the project have apparently even spurred violence. The same day I went upstream to visit the community another boat with Nasos was stopped, stoned, and force to turn back downstream. The Naso indigenous group also lacks a comarca (Panamanian equivalent of a reservation) of its own, and has been fighting for years to gain one in an attempt to preserve its cultural identity. It was incredible to hear about these struggles and to consider their implications on my next two years of working with the Naso. It is daunting but fiercely exciting. The Naso are a proud and such a beautiful people. And they’re organized. I can’t wait to work them.
After culture week fellow future Bocas agriculture volunteer Kate and I headed to the islands during our day off. Crystal clear water, white sand, and hardly another soul around on Isla Carenero made for a perfect morning on the beach. I definitely will be going back, especially since it’ll only be a few hours from my site. Hopefully one of you will provide me some company.
Technical week was also in Bocas del Toro, and the bulk of it was spent on an amazing cacao farm. It must have served as the inspiration of Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory with its brightly colored cacao pods and gnarly trees. We learned about the crop and plagues that affect its production and practiced pruning and grafting techniques. We also processed the cacao beans into unsweetened chocolate. And from this amazing organic cacao the volunteers I was with made these amazing brownies that served as my birthday cake, which we enjoyed with boxed red wine. It was all a bit impromptu, but it was really touching and a very good way to begin my 23rd year of being.
Making food for culture language class over a fugon
From the water taxi to Isla Colon
The life jackets onboard that no one wears
A perfect example of agroforestry (cacao in the forground)
Chocolate in its natural habitat (Willy Wonka-esque, no?)
A tree nursery
More cacao pods
Drying the cacao beans
Toasted, crushed, and de-shelled cacao beans
Kate, grinding the beans
The fnished product, 100% cacao... a little bitter but so yummy!
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