All Kinds of Critters

My host mom watches as I empty the ten grains of rice off my spoon into my mouth, chew by default, and force myself to swallow. I can already feel the turbulence brewing within. Just one more bite, Janell, it’ll make her happy, and then you can let the spoon rest. But my head says, “Stupid, stupid girl” and my tummy is shrieking, “Oh, no you don’t! There will be revenge.” And sure enough within a few hours, my belly swells up like a balloon, full of air, very foul air. Trying to pull my tummy in hurts. Bending over induces vomit-laced burps from the pit of my stomach. Why on earth did I try eating? And what kinds of reactions are taking place within my abdomen? After weeks of inflation, deflation, and other err, other discomforts, I finally admit to myself that maybe my body needed a leg up with some modern medicine. I go to the clinic in Changuinola, and am given a prescription to treat the amoebas that had been ravaging my intestines for weeks.

A couple days later, after many pills and nursing my stomach with an oranges and oatmeal diet, I am back in town and have celebrated the amoebas’ defeat with a pint of ice cream. Flavor of choice: cookies and cream. Oh, and I really did mean to share with a fellow volunteer, but after a couple of spoonfuls those silly thoughts melted from my mind. So cold (yea! for electricity!), and so creamy (yea! for daily products!). Oh, what bliss! And the cherry on top: no bloating!

Despite the recent health issues, I have managed to get myself to be at least mildly productive in my community. Which means that I have been reading a lot and fielding questions about the price of a can of tuna in the U.S., which I use some help in answering. However, through the bloating and cramping, I’ve continued my weekly English classes against my community’s protests for my health. I tried convincing them that I was going to get bed sores if I spent one more day in bed, and the issue was settled. We worked on numbers this week, having board races with the promise of candy for the winners. Mind you, the majority of my students are over 30.

For weeks my two oldest host sibling have watched me with curiosity as I practice my swim strokes that I learned in my last quarter in the university (I was going to be a college grad, but I still couldn’t swim!). After many shy refusals, I have finally convinced them to also give it a try. Things are going well. Of course I am no Michael Phelps, but not only have none of my students been lost to the river currents, my class has more than doubled in size to include my cousins as well. And the best part is that class usually ends with crayfish hunting among the rocks. I must admit I was a bit apprehensive the first time that these little guys appeared on my plate with their itty bitty fried eyes staring up at me. After observing proper consumption etiquette, I popped a whole one into my mouth and chewed, timidly but steadily. Not bad. Perhaps not a delicacy, but not bad.

In addition to the deep fried variety that graces my plate weekly, I’ve had many other critter sightings lately. The most novel that presented itself was a 3-toed sloth. The farmer that I was with at the time graciously cut down the tree that the small bear-like animal was happily feeding upon to show me the very slow-moving, rather defenseless creature. There are also sloths of the 2-toed variety, which this same farmer sighted, but failed to kill with his sling shot, so it got away. Apparently having fewer toes allows them to move faster. Scarcely a week ago, my host dad heard a strange noise not far from the house. He left with his flashlight and shotgun, and within minutes came back with two dead cat-like animals (name I forget, but picture is below). He and my host brother subsequently charred the animals over bamboo and hacked them up to feed to the family’s dogs. I have also seen my first toucan that was not on a cereal box. It had also fell victim to my host dad’s shotgun and was then fried for lunch. My last new animal exciting was just as exciting, but in a rather frightening way. It was a coral snake, but luckily I had my handy host mom to impale it with rocks.

the rooster slaughtered for my brother´s birthday

A picture worthy feast complete with crispy crayfish eyes (10 o´clock)

eventual dog food

chocolate cake perfection... my host mom is now selling cake in the community

the recently deceased Toucan Sam

the kittens brought into the world in my room between 2-5 am,
which means I am going to be a cat mom... but first I have to build my house... and then adopt :)

How do satellites stay up?

After two weeks of daily rain, four days of diarrhea, a week of pink eye, and a couple hours of restless sleep, I set off to return to my community with twenty plus pounds of rice, beans, flour, and sugar strapped to my back. The rain had destroyed the path and sickness had destroyed my spirit. And the muck had just consumed my right boot. As I yanked at my boot, I yielded to the frustration and exhaustion. Tears welled up in my eyes, and I clenched my teeth, trying, in vain, to keep them from falling. In half an hour I was expected at Adelina’s farm to teach cacao pruning, but the rest of path there was far worse than the current stretch, and the rain clouds were already rolling in. I finally freed my boot, rinsed it out in an adjacent puddle, and resumed plodding along, regaining control of my tears. I soon recognized three figures coming in the distance: Adelina’s son, daughter-in-law, and grandson. Adelina was sick, very sick they said. She had gone to the clinic for blood tests for malaria (which later came back positive) and dengue. The said that we would not be working today, and I should not worry about Adelina, there was nothing I could do except head home, there was storm brewing overheard.

Other volunteers say that the first few weeks and months in site are trying, and each day is a testimony to that, but at least my days don’t pass without a hearty bit of laughter. As resident gringa in the community, I am the authority of all things technological or foreign-sounding. For example, last night my host dad inquired how do satellites stay up and what is a kilowatt. After a few ‘aye, aye, aye’s and ‘do you want the full answer or a generic one?’, I found myself explaining the principles of relative gravity and electricity to a bewildered Naso man over a kerosene lamp. Aye, aye, aye, enginerd Janell.

Oh, exciting news, construction of my house is scheduled to begin August 25th. It will take several group work days (juntas) to cut all the wood and build the house, but the agricultural producers that I work with are committed to finishing the house by the end of September. I have a site picked out, and the wood, palenquilla (thatch), and labor for cutting and construction will be donated (read: my community is amazing). I’ll supply the fuel for the chain saws, the nails, and the food. I am really excited. Maybe I’ll even bake cake.

kid’s day at the school, an ulgy duckling skit

my two year old host brother singing (his dad holding the mic)

The first cake made from scratch (ever) in my community

Ana frosting the chocolate cake

Raisin and cinnamon cake (the carrots did not arrive) in the "oven"

The coconut shaded primary school

The palm tree of pifá, the fruit that makes up a healthy portion of my diet

the land of nature´s abundance

a pre-dawn departure to catch the chiva out of site... not joking about the mud that swallows people and cars alike

Soggy

I think my feet are acquiring the smell of wet boots or it could be that my boots smell like wet feet. Anyways there’re some funky odors embedded in my socks. It has been raining just about everyday during the last 3 weeks, but the rain doesn’t stop the work. I have been helping dig fish tanks and gardens, teaching English classes, and leading cake baking classes.

Cake class was well attended by males and females alike. The women took turns as head chef, and the men took notes for their wives. We make four different cakes: vanilla, chocolate, lemon, and ginger/cinnamon. All of them cooked in a cake pan inside a large pot over a fire. And all of them turned out well, and now I have requests coming from all over the community for follow-up classes. Which means lots of cake sampling. Now I have to think of more goodies to offer classes on that use other local produce. Maybe soon I’ll be teaching marinara sauce and pumpkin pie classes.

English classes are a bit of a challenge, but lots fun. My students, who number my host parents, neighbors, and town’s government official, are very excited. Some even bought new notebooks for the occasion.

I haven’t bit the mud (fallen) in over a week, and I am starting to earn some street credit among community members. Although climbing up mountainsides is no longer the challenge it once was (Columbus, Ohio didn’t supply much training there), I still find myself tired before the day is over ad more susceptible to illnesses. All of the newness around me is a bit much, and it is hard not to internalize the sadness or be overwhelmed by the abundance of teaching opportunities or injustices, the 17 year old with 3 children from a man 10 years her senior. Sometimes I go nuts inside. But it’s one day at a time, one soggy step followed by another soggy step.

Nature´s Bounty

My early morning Naso studies on the Fourth of July were interrupted by new voices in the house. My host dad and brother had just returned from an overnight hunting trip. I came out of my room to see my host dad open up his son’s book bag and reveal the bounty: one wild chicken (Spanish: perdiz, Naso: srun) and a rodent-like animal, ñeque. While he proudly posed for a picture (see below) he told me about the conejo pintado (another rodent animal, possibly endangered, that sells for $2/lb in the city) that got away. They also returned with some wild tomatoes and rabo mono, tender fern tips. After cleaning the animals we sat down for an amazing holiday feast.

I have been afflicted by a new round of skin ailments. Sixty-four little red mounds from the bite of a little black bug cover my body. My feet have been sampled so much that they have swelled up and I now only take my socks off to shower. I also think I have athlete’s foot. But I think I have had it for a long time and just didn’t realize what it was. Initially, I thought my toes were weird because I had been walking with sand between my toes, but the itchy peeling continued long after the sand was gone. At least I now have a use for all the anti fungal cream I received for my rash in training. And then there is the blister/rash from stinging nettles, a tropical version that I earned cutting brush in my host family’s banana grove.

My feet are more sure on muddy hilly terrain. I am still far from navigating with the skill of the Naso and my boot are still destroying my feet, but my steps are lighter and my body less awkward. Falls still happen, but my third paw has been temporarily retired. Two teachers that live in my community have taken me under their wings. They have taken me to nearby Guabito for ice cream and grocery shopping and invited me to lunch in their house. They prepared a meal of smoked, fried chicken drumsticks, potato salad, white rice, fried ripe plantains, and lemonade. My culinary expectations are not what they used to be, and it was a treat to see so much variety in one plate of food.

The tight rope I had been walking was yanked upon in a community meeting this past week. A very outspoken community member made an ultimatum that I and the Peace Corps state which king we support. While my regional leader offered a diplomatic response, the subject will be settled in the coming weeks with the PC Panama director, the two kings, representatives from the 11 Naso communities, the agriculture group I am working with, and various others. While I am hopeful and confident that the conflict will be resolved happily, I still am still a bit fearful that I may be asked to leave my new home.

The evening after the meeting, my host dad tried to cheer me up. The conversation went something like:

Host dad: “Everyone has to confront obstacles in their lives. A long time ago there was a man named Jesus Christ, and he had to overcome many trials. Some people even wanted to kill him. And then they did.”

Me: “I am not sure I like this example. What are you implying?”

Host dad: “Just that there are some bad people, but a lot of good ones, too.”

Anyways, things are going well. The food and work are abundant. So is the recreation. I am developing my own extreme sport from harvesting oranges. Because my host family has all of their citrus trees planted on the side of a very steep hill, I am becoming practiced in trying to grab the fruit as it rolls full speed down the hill.

piggies eating pifá, a plam tree fruit that also graces my plate

my host brother, the dwarf

My host dad and brother with the night´s catch

wild tomatoes with rabo mono

cooking the ñeque and perdiz

my host mom grinding corn

neighborhood kids

the biggest pot I´ve ever seen in a home

digging a fish tank

one of my swimming holes

It's Official.

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.