Some Photos

Hope you all had a Merry Christmas and have a Happy New Year!

Work and Mom

Let the Work Begin

One Saturday morning I was headed to the shower to bathe. From inside the tarp enclosure I heard a women asking if she could take water. I hadn’t begun the process of bathing yet so I scrambled out and let her go ahead to the tap. The woman and her children, a family from Duima, were filling up jugs. Hmm… I thought, this can’t be good. She didn’t ask why there was no water in her tap, didn’t question the aqueduct. I did, however. I felt a rush of anxiety and excitement like an athlete ready to start a race. Go time. You go fix that aqueduct! There was a problem; I had never been to the toma.

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Gravity Fed Aqueducts 101

A toma is a concrete box constructed around a naturally occurring spring source. It allows for inflow, collects, filters, and diverts water into a pipe towards the tanke, a concrete tank large enough to provide water for the community at peak demand. Of course the toma is higher elevation than that tanke, and the tanke must be at a higher elevation than the highest tap or pluma in the community. The tanke is filled by the toma, and then directs the water through a pipe that distributes it to taps throughout the community.

See, engineering really isn’t that difficult.

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I knew at some point I would need to see the toma to understand the entire water system. I knew it was located… over there (with the wave of a hand in the direction of the hill rising just outside the Duima). Somewhere between that woman’s tap and the toma was an issue that was preventing water from flowing. I marched over to the house of the water committee vice president. [He recently demoted himself from president to vice president while replacing the entire water committee board in the frustration of him being the only board member in attendance at a meeting. Go figure. I still consider him the president.] To my delight he agreed to show me the system on the jungle-y hillside, after I threatened to go alone. Donning machetes and boots we hiked and found a broken pipe right at the toma. Maleantes, he told me. Bad people hanging out near the toma, most likely using it as a place to have sex. We hiked the rest of the system to the tanke, then back down to cut a replacement pipe for the broken section. We cut and formed a new section, hiked back up, and broke the new piece while trying to fit it. So we hiked back down, had lunch, made a new-new section, and hiked back up with a shovel and pick ax. We broke the newest piece as well, but were able to salvage it enough to get water flowing towards the tanke once again. It was a long, frustrating, gratifying day.

I learned much about the water system that day and about my future work. I learned my counter-parts in Duima are hard to motivate but once motivated, are extremely hard working.

A Day for Mothers

Dia de Las Madres (Mother’s Day) in Panama is a national holiday. Children don’t go to school (they usually never do) and no one works. In Duima we celebrated at the school on one day, the teachers put on an activity including games, singing, and performances by the kids, gifts, and speeches. The mothers were so shy in front of the teachers but you could really tell they enjoyed being doted on. On another day one home in the community had a bunch of women over and the men cooked, served the women, and made endearing speeches. I said a few words too about how I appreciated my host mothers, because my own mom is bien lejos (very far) away. I enjoy how much appreciation for mothers the Panamanians have.

The internet is too fussy to upload all of my new photos, but here is one for the road. The rest I will consider my Christmas present to you all, and upload later!

I Dream of Vegetables

I had a dream recently. It was sensual. It made my heart beat quickly, and when I woke up it was all I could do to close my eyes and come close to the imagery my sub-conscious produced. I dreamed of vegetables. It was a farmers market of fresh produce. I browsed and bargained. Green peppers were five for a dollar. Tomatoes were ripe and fresh. The line of vendors went on for a mile. I wished I had plastic produce bags to reuse, but alas, it had been so long since I had bought any produce I was not in possession of any.


The carro de legumbres (vegetable truck) rolled through town today. It's summer now so the cars can easily pass down our muddy road. I'm the only customer in town but I think that's enough to keep them coming back. I bought wilted celery, small onions, and a petite cabbage out of the exposed bed of the truck. I can only hope my host mom will fry them up in some oil to spice up my next bowl of rice.

(Couldn't snap a photo of my rice)

Contact Information: Update

If you wish to send me correspondence via regular old fashioned mail consider the following...

For letters and envelopes (large and small) send to:

Erica Jones
Entrega General
San Felix, Chiriqui
Republica de Panama

For any size box send to:

Erica Jones
Entrega General
David, Chiriqui
Republica de Panama

Thanks! If you take the time to send me something- I truly appreciate you!

Thanksgiving Like Never Before

"Saca mi photo?"

The technology of digital cameras is incredibly novel in poor areas of the world, my Comarca included. The kids love to pose, and then immediately run to the opposite side of the camera to take a look. I suppose for a people who don't ever look in mirrors a photo of themselves would be a pretty special occasion.


Most host family was excited to get a photo of their abuela (grandmother). She's awful old, although no one knows quite how old. They are definitely under the impression that she could go at any moment because it has been imperative that I get a photo of her to remember. To prepare for the photo she donned her prettiest nagwa, brushed her hair, and to top it all off... dabbed on some perfume. My friend cleverly told me, "...for the scratch-and-sniff photo". I guess the prettier you feel the better you look?

Yesterday was Thanksgiving. I came into the city on Wednesday to celebrate with my Peace Corps friends. As I watched the mud and depravity swirl down the drain under the hot water of my shower I was appreciative in a new way for simple things. Our makeshift celebration included watching football at an empty casino bar and Argentinean food for dinner. Not quite home, but being around other Americans was quintessential.


Occasionally I feel guilty for being reminiscent of home. This is your job, Erica. Missing home is a sign of weakness. My neighbor Melba asked me the other day if I were sad here in Duima. I didn't lie when I told her I was content. She said, "If I were away from my family like you it would bother me a lot". I'm not a super human - and with such a dramatic shift in culture Melba definitely comforted me with demonstrating our kinship by way of human nature.

Our pig had piglets. Want a tidbit of trivia to impress your friends at your next cocktail party? Pig, in the language indigenous to the Ngabe people of Panama, Ngabere, is mudu.


It was requested of me to supply some photos of where I live, my dwelling space and community. So, here we are.

Snapshots

Hello from Duima! A lot has happened in the past two week - yet at the same time not much at all. My life has slowed down dramatically. It has been the change in culture that I have been looking forward to. I spend my days with people, talking, sitting, playing. I read a lot and am learning to speak an ancient language. My feet are constantly caked with mud and I bathe from a bucket - this is my life now! I'm learning to enjoy it. It hasn't been culture shock but more like slipping into a cold shower - an adaptation and something that is eventually refreshing. Here are some clips from my past two weeks. 

Fall Everywhere

If I’ve talked to you personally in the past month, I’ve probably lamented to you about how much I loathed missing the autumn season. Green Bluff in Spokane, the beautiful colors in Houghton, the rainy days and pumpkin spice lattes of home. Well, I found a little bit of fall in tropical Panama, as well.

Corn in part of subsistent living here. They eat it fresh, they eat it dry, always ground up. Fried into empanadas or cooked into juice, they just don’t go without it. One afternoon turned evening I spend time with the family I live with desgrainando the dried corn from the husk. Think, shucking. I methodically rubbed my fingers hard over the kernels until they loosened from their place and fell off, and did so until my fingers were blistered. I loved the mindless work as a way to pass the time. I sat silent mostly listening to the chatter of the women around me. I noticed, too, the wonderful color of dried corn. The red, yellow, gold and orange tones that overtook the husks and then laid in mounds at my feet once removed. It felt like fall. Every once in a while I’d pop a kernel into my mouth to gnaw on. I realized how remarkably similar the flavor of candy corn is to actual corn! You probably won’t get the same effect from a kernel from your bag of popping corn, I think the secret is in the freshness.

Finally, the cooler temperatures and rainy weather of our wet season do make some leaves fall. One day as I was playing soccer with some children I noticed the crunch of the leaves beneath their feet and the sun felt crisp on my face. It felt good.

Coffee and I are on speaking terms again.

I had come to spend the afternoon with one of my neighbors when I saw she was sitting with a large plate of coffee beans, manually removing the skins. Finally, someone who makes their own coffee! I was so excited. I helped her finish pillaring then watched as she roasted the beans on her three stone fogon fire. The beans changed from a light tan to a deep brown.  As she left the beans cool the hut filled with the aroma of coffee. If I closed my eyes I could have been in Olympia Coffee Roasters, or Batdorf and Bronson, or any other of my favorite fine coffee establishments. I was enriched. Later, she ground the beans and we partook of the transformed fruit. Still over-sweetened, and she was no certified expert roaster, but the freshest (and environmentally friendly) cup I’ve ever had.

I kill spiders now. Big ones.

Remember my story about me being terrified of the spider in my room when I first got to Panama? Not I kill spiders like a champ. They stand no chance when I have a piece of a 2x4 in my hand. I killed four similar to this one while cleaning my current room in my host family's house.

I always was a sucker for a blue-eyed boy.

Yes, this is my kitten. He has no name and is currently still with his mother, but we will be best friends soon enough. He will be my companion, my friend. When I was younger a cat was the first real pet our mother allowed my sisters and I to have. When I was upset, he was the only one who really understood. I can't wait to take care of him. In two years, he will be the best souvenir from Panama ever! Like I said, he needs a name. Help me out! Something silly and American would be fun, something that sounds even funnier with a Spanish accent. 


One more thing... I want your comments! I unfortunately can't keep close contact with everyone BUT I want to know who is reading my blog. Drop a line, give me your thoughts, just say hello - anything! It gets lonely out here and it comforts me to know that my friends are being a part of my experience through my blog. I love you all! 

Real Volunteers: Swearing In Cerimony

As a training group we were "swore in" as official volunteers at the home of the US Ambassador to Panama. It was a fancy occasion. I spoke on behalf of our training group and gave the following speech. It pretty much sums up our experience in Panama since August. It's in Spanish so read it, translate, enjoy. It's not any new information... just a good review of my time! 

Muy Buenas Tardes,

Licenciada Rita Orozco, Directora de Fomento y Cultura de Anam

Embajadora de Los Estados Unidos en Panamá, Phyllis Powers,

Director de Cuerpo de Paz, Brian Riley,

Personal y Voluntarios de Cuerpo de Paz:

Invitados Especiales

Gracias por la oportunidad de representar al grupo sesenta y nueve de voluntarios del Cuerpo de Paz.

Hemos pasado juntos muchas experiencias desde que el avión aterrizo aquí en Panamá.  Ha sido un trabajo duro, muchas veces divertido, algunas veces frustrante, pero al final muy gratificante. Esto ha demostrado ser la mejor aventura de nuestras vidas. Quiero describirles algunas cosas de nuestro trabajo, cosas que hemos hecho para prepararnos y convertirnos en voluntarios.

Primero, la mayoria de nosotros tuvimos la necesitad de aprender un nuevo idioma. Todos tuvimos que aprender a viajar por el país usando este nuevo idioma y el transporte público. Felizmente puedo decir que nunca nadie se perdió. Hemos disfrutado la nueva comida, y los efectos de esta dieta sobre nuestro sistema digestivo. Ajustamos nuestra percepción del tiempo y la comunicación. Hemos aprendido que para lograr un desarrollo sostenible  en nuestros dos años,  más que infraestructura y paternalismo es necesario.desarrollar relaciones y confianza para entonces transmitir la habilidad de aplicar principios de salud ambiental.

Como voluntarios de Salud Ambiental tendremos la especial tarea de capacitar a las poblaciones de las áreas más pobres de Panamá. para que puedan tener acceso a agua potable y mejores servicios de saneamiento.

Hemos visitado y vamos a vivir en las áreas más remotas y menos desarrolladas de Panamá. Para algunos, nuestro único acceso va a ser en bote por cuatro horas. Otros viviremos en islas o en montañas lejos de las playas turísticas.

Hemos estado preparándonos mental y físicamente para vivir una vida similar a la de los Panameños. También, esperamos crecer personal y profesionalmente. Y   sentimos un gran aprecio por la vida que nos ha tocado vivir; llena de salud y seguridad. También, nos estamos enamorando de Panamá y de su gente. Las tradiciones, las culturas, y la generosidad nos han hecho sentir bienvenidos.

Mientras que la vida que dejamos atrás continúa, hemos elegido aplicar nuestra educación y habilidades de una manera que fortalecerá la amistad entre Panamá y los Estados Unidos. Como estadounidenses, hemos venido de diferentes orígenes e historias. Hemos elegido vivir aquí sin el apoyo  y la cercanía de nuestros seres queridos con la esperanza de llegar a una mejor comprensión de nosotros mismos y del mundo donde vivimos.

En dos años vamos a regresar a los Estados Unidos y participaremos en su sociedad con una perspectiva profunda que va a afectar nuestros trabajos, relaciones, y comportamientos. Nos gustaría dar las gracias a nuestro personal de capacitación por proveernos  una preparación efectiva, a los Estados Unidos por su apoyo, y a Panamá por su confianza en nuestra motivación para trabajar y promover la paz en nuestro mundo.

My Community: Duima

This week on This Erica Life we have stories about visiting an indigenous community in Panama. Our show in three acts. Act one: There's a snake in my botas. What to do when people in the community you're about to live in get bit by snakes. Act two: The best oranges I've ever tasted. A small hike turns into a big adventure and an exciting discovery with a group of Ngabe children. Finally, act three: Realities. The truth and logistics about living in a small mountain Ngabe community. Stay tuned.

Act One. There's a snake in my botas.

The community entry conference is meant to host our future counterparts (the local person who will be your work partner) and guides from our new communities. They are introduced to the Peace Corps safety procedures, housing requirements, and we develop work plans together with them. Afterwards they lead us to our sites for the first time. Awkward interactions ensue with the jovens from America and the rural Panamanians. The conference took place at a government conference center down the street from the southern beaches of the country. One counterpart walked to the beach with us one evening. He was 60 years old and had never seen the ocean before.

The conference is fundamental to our communities familiarization to Peace Corps and your first interaction with your community. Of course, this works smoothly when your counterpart attends the conference. A call to our training coordinators informed me that my counterpart, Paulino, would not be attending. No one else from the community was available to attend. Paulino's wife was bit by a snake while harvesting rice and was in the hospital not doing well. He was to be with her. Dios mio, I thought. First, how sad that this family that would soon be my friends had such a tragic occurrence. Second- dios mio! People get bit by snakes in my community. This is real life. While my friends sat and had their awkward interactions with either their old-man counterparts, or their scrawny, younger-than-me, how in the world are you going to be able to help me carry my bags, counterparts - I sat alone, wondering about the fate of my counterpart.

I left the conference after the first day because, well, it was useless for me to be there alone. I headed up to my site with a member of Peace Corps staff who was familiar with the location. What we found was Paulino, a small mountain community, and a whole bunch of unanswered questions.

Act two. The best oranges I've ever tasted.

I spent my time during my site visit getting to know the area and meeting a few people. I read Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone... for the first time in my life. I made a 5 year old burst into tears of terror while I said hello. His mother gently explained to me this is the first time he had seen a white person. I am checking off firsts faster than the stray dogs get to my leftover rice.

Duima (dwee-ma) is accessible by truck. I can live with the downgraded hardcoreness in exchange for ease of transport. Still, the Comarca around me is mostly inaccessible except by foot and Dwima is stemmed with trails that lead down the steep ridges into the jungles beyond. One trail ran out of the rear of the house I was staying in for the week. It beckoned me. I asked one of the children where it went. He said, "alli" and waved his hand abroad. Everything was, "alli". The water source, the other communities. Him and I made plans to check it out. The following day we donned our botas and with 5 other Ngabe children we headed down the steep muddy trail. We hiked down and down, then across fincas of maiz, then up another ridge. I cautiously walked, thinking about those snakes. The kids ran like it were a paved track. "Cerca, muy cerca", they kept telling me. After about an hour we arrived at their grandfather's house, a small abode on top of a hill. He was laying in a hammock, listening to his radio. He greeted us and the kids playfully nuzzled at him.

Next, I told the kids I would like an orange. Here in Panama it's orange season, and when the oranges are plentiful we peal the skin away with a sharp knife, careful not to break through to the juicy part. Then, we slice the top off and suck the juice out till it's flat. It was pure bliss. We climbed trees and threw down oranges, eating one after another. When our bags were full of oranges we headed back up the steep slopes in the rain and mud, peeling and munching along the way.

Act Three. Realities.

As of today nothing was ever confirmed about the snake story. I never saw the wife of Paulino, but Paulino was never at the hospital like he said he was. No one ever mentioned a snake during the week I was there. Paulino himself had no interest in being my community guide. I lived with a different family for this week but will be moving in with Paulino and his family starting next week. I will have a nice room in a small bamboo house.

The day before I left was a meeting for the inauguration of the new casa comunal. There were members of the local government present and I was introduced to the community as well. I told them I wanted to know their culture, among other things. Following the meeting were brindis - rice and chicken and sweet corn juice. This corn juice tastes like old nasty corn, but everyone loves it. I suffered a few cups. After the food, the party started. The consumption of the corn juice fuerte started. It was consumed, and consumed, and I stood at the window of my host house across the street with a group of women. We gawked at the madness. The party moved to the muddy street in the rain and the punches were thrown. The father in my host family stood with me and commented ironically, "Now you're seeing our culture". I told him it's pretty much the same in the US. The band started playing and the dancing as well, through the night and into the morning when I was rising. As I rolled out of town in the mist of the dawn, the muddy and drunken stumbled about.

I never felt like I was in danger or being threatened in any way. There were plenty of townspeople not participating and most of them were gathered around my host house. It made for an exciting day and an interesting story. These indigenous people are proud of their culture and carry on ancient traditions living in the mountains of their pre-colonial ancestors. They have also been influenced by outsiders, and fall to the perils of poverty and all that it ensues.

Well, folks. That's our show. There is a lot more to come.

I don't usually share my relationship status...

Dear Coffee,

What happened to us? We used to be so happy. You were so strong and bold and I was so tired in the mornings. We were a perfect match. With a little milk- you would make my favorite color. I used to want to paint a room after you. Now I'm not so sure.

I thought that coming to this place where you are cultivated would bring us closer together but this has not been the case. In fact, it has driven us apart. Here, you are instant. Instant?! At least have the dignity to require time to make. Often in the mornings I find you luke warm and on bad days watered down until... cold. Sometimes you're made with so much sugar I go into a diabetic shock just holding you in my cup. It's just wrong. Since when did we have to use powdered milk? What have we come to?

Anyway, I'm switching to tea. At least until I'm done living with host families and I can prepare you the way I like. So many coffee plants around and nothing fresh to drink. It's a shame, really.

Truly,
Erica

Tech Week and Cultural Event

A Boy and His Dog

Last week as a training group we traveled to community in the Comarca Noble Bouble to trouble shoot their aqueduct system and learn techniques for common construction projects. We’ll call it tech week. This community was in the mountains of the Comarca. From atop a hill the Pacific Ocean was a sliver of a view to the south. It was located in a cloud forest. I love the idea of a cloud… forest. A forest of clouds. It’s such a paradox. Forests are hard and solid and dense. Clouds are light, airy, and in motion. Around sunrise and sunset every day the clouds would rise from the hills beneath us and a fog would sweep the community. Also every day a terrible rain would occur. Most people in the community stop working, make their ways to their homes, and settle in for the evening. Not us though, not Peace Corps. 

After our work day it is still raining and I am walking to my host family’s home. I need to walk down a hill, cross the cabrada (creek), and walk up another hill. The cabrada, normally a modest trickle, is swollen by the day’s rain and proves a challenge to cross while not practically swimming. Wanting to remain relatively dry, I ponder my options. Also pondering at his options is a boy who had about 8 years and his small, wet, dog. We start shouting across the cabrada at each other in brief, tactical sentences. Turns out we both want to cross, going opposite ways. His short legs and impaired with-dog balance was making him hesitate. He points me up stream a little ways, where the cabrada forms two branches separated by a grassy island. As I tramp my way through the trail’s side brush he successfully navigates the first crossing. I meet him with the next crossing and the cabrada’s swift flow still between us. He leaves his dog on the bank and offers me a hand. I gingerly step into the creek and the water rushes up to my quadriceps. With his help I cross to the other side. He immediately asks for a quarter in return for the help. I call him crazy. Still in the water I help him cross then go back for his scared little dog, still on the opposite shore. He whimpers and backs away but I soon have him in my rescuing arms. I stumble and toss the pup ashore and go back. All is on their desired sides of the cabrada. As volunteers we say we work hombre a hombre or shoulder to shoulder with the Panamanians. Sometimes this includes crossing creeks. 

After tech week we made our way to the beach for a night. Seriously, over a month in Panama and this was my first trip to the beach? It was worth it. To relax in a cabana with the ocean in full view was heaven. 

Mas Photos

Piece Corpse.

Here is a little newsy update for my lovely friends and family.

Last Saturday we practiced working with ferrocement. We constructed the plancha or platform for a pit latrine and worked on a water tank. This week we were in our training community. We learned about aqueduct systems and basic hydrology and hydraulics. Having more than one degree in engineering helps understand those things, but our training group is diverse.

Tuesday I had an interview with the training director who will be placing us in our individual sites. The interview was to help determine what type of site would be best for our skills and desires. We will be told our sites the week after next. I hope you’re waiting in excited suspense with me! I’m pretty excited about some possible research opportunities and having a place to call home for the next two years.

Thursday was language proficiency interviews. Intermedio-medio is where I stand. I have a ways to go to eloquence but I feel pretty confident that I can communicate well now.

Next week is tech week. Our training group will be visiting the site on another volunteer to trouble shoot their aqueduct system and learn techniques for construction and data collection. Also, another shot at real-live Peace Corps living.

Still health, still happy. Thanks for your thoughts and prayers!

Photos!

Two Countries

As I was preparing to leave for Panama, almost everyone had two cents to contribute to my pre-knowledge of what it would be like. There is a canal, I know someone who went there for spring break, etc. I also tried to gather as much information as I could about the country that would be my new home. Nothing could prepare me for actually knowing Panama, however. When I graduated from college my motivation for becoming a volunteer was a desire to apply my education to the development of societies that need engineering skills for basic services that I have always taken for granted. A few times I was told about how strong the Panamanian economy was and how developed they already were. I’m sure this brought a certain level of comfort to people who care about me, but I couldn’t help but feel like my role was discredited. As a training group we were told some statistics that are not pleasing to hear, but legitimize my work as an environmental health development worker in Panama. Yes, it is true that while flying into Panama City I saw a sprawling metropolis where the latest Trump tower was constructed, but just a few hours driving outside the city 1.4 million people live in rural communities. Panama is two countries. The native population of Panama (i.e. not ethnically mixed with early colonizers) is organized onto comacas where they live traditionally. The comarca that is home to the Ngabe and Bublè groups is one of the largest. Peace Corps has a large presence in this area. Here is a breakdown of some environmental health statistics of this comarca (This is not the original source, but it contains similar statistics. For those of you interested, check out the UN Millennium Development Goals, too).

• 92% live in extreme poverty (less than $1 a day)
• 65% mortality rate for children under 5 years old
• 33% lack access to clean drinking water

These numbers only energize me. The knowledge I have and what I am gaining in training about sustainable development work gives me hope that one day these communities will have the capacity to determine and resolve their own problems having been empowered by me and other environmental health workers.  

Striking Farmers and Chile

My most legitimate Peace Corps experience yet occurred this past weekend. I traveled to visit a volunteer in her site in the region of Bocas del Torro. We spend the long weekend relaxing, cooking food with vegetables and flavor, reading, and pasear-ing (Spanish- to "pass time" socially with neighbors. An art here in Panama, done daily. There is no US equivalent that would not be imposing or offensive to an ordinary person). I took the rustic living to a whole new level by bathing and washing my clothes in the creek. I am very excited to live on my own and have time to do things like:

-build a composting latrine
-plant a garden
-build a rainwater catchment system and "plumbing"
-do general low budget home maintenance, like building shelves and digging water diversion ditches

The trip to Bocas from Panama City is about 12 hours long and is broken up by two public bus rides separated by the city of David. Spending the night in David at the Peace Corps volunteer hub of a hotel is the most common practice. At any given time you might bump into a volunteer at Hotel T, your insta-friend given the camaraderie of being a gringo. Naturally we convened in David and planned to head out in the morning... but the farmers would have none of it. It was inflated market prices, or hyper-regulation, or damaging subsidies, or who knows what that caused the farmers to block the entrance and exit to the city with their semi trucks and tractors, but there we sat. On our bus, for two hours. Things didn't get better and we eventually turned our giant bus around and got back to the terminal where we were met with a fury of confusion. The bus would  leave when the road was clear, our tickets were still good for that bus... unless they sell your seat again. Then, when there are no more seats you get to ride in the bed cubbyhole compartment like this girl (all thumbs point to me). If you ever take a 7 hour bus ride, give up the light of day for the bed underneath the bus, it's definitely only way I travel. 

As the commotion of traffic passed by the seemingly thin, windowless aluminum wall that was was side of the bus nearest to me, I pondered at each honking horn if it was an impending collision or just a friendly "hey, I'm passing you" that Panamanians drivers are so keen on. All hyped up on coffee I laid in my cozy nook and read a book, Travels in a Thin Country: A Journey Through Chile by Sara Wheeler (Thanks, Leslie!) This journalists beautiful account of an intimate longitudinal traverse of Chile felt close to me as I was, and still am, a wanderer of Latin American countries myself. I was encouraged by her independent spirit and the way she built friendships with strangers. Her writing harmonized with my sentiments about being away from home in her statement, "I could go for weeks without feeling melancholy or lonely-- months on occasion; I lived off emotional reserves like a hibernating animal lives off its fat. But a small thing could promote a fit of grief. I might look at the date on a calendar, or hear a few bars of a piece of music, or sometimes I would wake up in the middle of the night with a start, imagining a close friend was in the room". 

Things that will make tomorrow morning great:

1) hot shower
2) shaving my legs
3) shameless guilty pleasure latte on my way to the office

and tomorrow night a triumphal return to my host family in the campo. Buenas!

An Insect with Eight Skins

Sometimes it takes me a while to form a good sentence in Spanish or remember a word. When under pressure, I usually choke. 

I was going to bed the other night and noticed a large spider on the wall. Already under my mosquito net, I contemplated ignoring the guy. However, I quickly imagined it crawling under my net in the middle of the night while I slept and changed my mind. I had just gone to bed and my family was in the next room. I grabbed my shoe and posed to strike with force and not display my fear to my family. Of course, I hit the wall, the spider got away and scurried out of my room. My family wanted to know what was going on. I rushed out of my room and pointed at the flood, struggling for the word for "spider". It's getting away, Erica, describe it. "Un insecto con ocho piels..." They looked at me like I was crazy. I made a scurrying motion with my fingers. Nothing. Finally my host mom saw the spider craw into her room and quickly ended its unfortunate life. Then, they all laughed hysterically because, of course, "Un insecto con ocho piels" translates to, "An insect with eight skins". Araña is spider, and I will not forget it. At least they think I'm funny. What's worst, when they told me that was actually a small spider... Yikes! 

Overdue Update... Life in Panama

Today wraps up my first full week of training. Much has happened since I left the US over a week ago; I have learned about a hundred new Spanish words (and have a million to go), I have brothers now, and yes, I use a rustic latrine multiple times a day. But I'm getting ahead of myself... 

After staging in Arlington, VA, we flew to Panama City and stayed at the Ciudad de Saber (City of Knowledge in English) for a few days. This is a former military base converted to a compound that houses many organizations including the Peace Corps Panama headquarters. This was a gentle transition to the Panamanian culture, Spanish language, and climate. We were poked and prodded (healthy and not pregnant) and language tested (intermediate level) and talked at (safety, expectations, goals, etc) for the first few days by the Peace Corps training staff, getting us safely prepared to move into our community for the duration of training. 

On Sunday we were dropped off in the community of Los Mortales. After a quick informal introduction we were left to our own limited Spanish for awkward interaction and settling in. I adore my host family. I have more siblings than I have met, brothers for the first time ever, and a cool set of parents who make me feel at home. My family does equal parts helping me with Spanish and laughing at my inability to remember words. I like it when people think I'm funny, so that is alright. We have a lush yard surrounding our small cinder block home. Our one dog, bot, is happily fed on leftover and keeps our chickens in line. The hammock on our front porch brings my happiness to a crescendo. Electricity, yes. Water comes from a spigot out back, and the toilet is a decent latrine. This is how nice my family is... Day one: bucket bathing behind a tarp in the back of the house (more than fine for me). Day two: bucket bathing behind a tarped shower structure made out of carved lumber (privacy appreciated) . Day three: PVC pipe overhead faucet (shower) constructed (no more bucket) inside the shower structure. These people are awesome! Wild hibiscus plants drape over the shower in the shadow of giant banana tree leaves. I feel like I'm in a tropical paradise every time I bath. Which is frequent because it is so hot here! I appreciate the long rainy season because when it's noon and hot and humid, an afternoon rain shower and thunderstorm is my only salvation. 

I'll give you a quick run down of a typical training day. After this I promise less logistics and more stories. 

6:30am Get up. Sun rises early, and so does this family. Most likely I'll go for a run now with Bri and/or my brother, Gabriel. 

7:30am Breakfast. Fried plantains, fried hot dogs, fried eggs, oatmeal, or sandwiches (note my need to exercise).

8-9am study Spanish on my own.

9-12pm Spanish class. All Spanish, all the time.

12-1pm Lunch. Rice, beans, chicken, beef, or plantain combination. 

1-5pm Technical class. This is where we learn everything else we need to know for eventually living in own own sites. For example, how to build a water storage tank or host a community meeting. 

6-10pm. Hang out, speak lots of Spanish, watch or play futbol, eat dinner, yoga, or whatever else. 

Today I found out that I will be traveling to the Bocas del Torro region by myself to visit an already established volunteer next week for 4 days. Loma Bonita, outside of Almirante. Someone Google it for me! A seven AND a five hour bus ride, plus a 30 minute hike will (hopefully) bring me there. 

Tonight I will fall sleep to rain on my tin roof and frogs croaking outside my window. Life is good, gloria a Dios. Buenas noches! 

Contact Me.

Contact me by snail mail at:

CUERPO DE PAZ
Edificio 240, 3er Piso
Calle Víctor Iglesias
Ciudad del Saber, Clayton
Corregimiento de Ancón
Panamá, Rep. De Panamá
Attention: Erica Jones

From the Panama Welcome Book, "Mail service to or from Panamá is fairly unpredictable—it can take 10 days to more than a month for a letter or package to arrive".

Email me at:
EricaJones1224@gmail.com

So This is Spring Break

(I had to write these journals for a class this past Spring. Thought a few entries would make a good preface for my blog... )


Monday March 17, 2011 

So this is Spring Break. Chelsea and I left town to find some powder that our sober skis have been craving. Naturally we went to Colorado, not only because her family was there but because the ski season is still in full swing while Michigan is already shutting down. Give Michigan literally 13,000 more feet and they’d have awesome skiing too. I think we got about 100 miles outside of town without talking to someone outside of our trip. The total mileage of our trip to Denver was 1200 miles, so we didn’t get far. Both her and I know where we are going in the Peace Corps so we no longer have to answer the once infamous question about placement with a vague answer and a shrug, “Yes, I’m moving somewhere for two years at some near date, but I have no idea where or when”, or also the recently popular, “I’m going to a Spanish speaking country in mid-August and that’s all I know”. Now I brace with excitement, the words spilling over my lips when asked the question, “So where are you going?” Panama, I answer proudly. Panama. The pleasant look of surprise passes over their face, “Lucky girl” they must be thinking as pictures of palm trees and beaching sweep across their vision. I quickly explain to them that this will be no vacation; I’ll be roughing it hardcore. Sometimes I don’t even believe myself about that yet. Still too excited. 

There are certain times in life when you find yourself close to strangers, particularly in closed or close quarters. Places like elevators, public restrooms, waiting rooms. It is never expected that you talk to the other people you may encounter, acknowledgment is polite, and small talk is friendly. Riding the ski with strangers lift is one of those places where communication may occur or may not occur. You naturally have something in common which can spark small talk, which is, skiing.  You can pretty quickly gauge how chatty a person wants to be. Tourists are always eager to talk and as long as you are interested they will tell you about where they are from, what they do, how their vacation is going, etc. The friendliest ones ask you questions back. The locals, while sometimes are friendly, most of the times are more quite, focusing instead on their next sweet ride. Chelsea is one of those friendly locals, always asking the usually willing tourists about their day or finding out where the other locals live, what high school they went to, etc. During our first day skiing at one of the more touristy resorts we talked to a lot of friendly people. 

We talked to many other people on the chair lifts in a similar manner. If we didn’t get to talking about the Peace Corps we could talk about Michigan Tech endlessly. We would explain where in Michigan it was, no we weren’t yoopers, and yes it is very cold. Or we would talk about our engineering backgrounds, which are always an impressive hit with the educated gentlemen of a similar field. That naturally would lead into our nearing Peace Corps service. Chelsea and I both understood our own excitement, and whoever was leading the conversation would allow the other to respond with their own country of service, instead of answering for them. No one should take away the gift of telling people where we are serving, and we understood that. Here is a specific instance.

Early in the day we met a woman and her husband who were visiting from Florida. She was a retired physician and he was still practicing. She was now a practicing grandmother, she told us. She obviously loved to use that line. When we got around to Michigan Tech and then the Peace Corps, she was delighted to tell us that her daughter had also served in the Peace Corps. This made us excited as well. Her daughter was now a real person [emphasis mine], with a job, husband, and family, but had volunteered in the Philippines. She even extended a year if I remember correctly. This woman was very excited for us. “Good luck” she said as we departed, and she truly knew the experience we would be taking on, better than us I’m sure. 

I had another experience telling a stranger about the Peace Corps. This experience was the opposite of the woman whose daughter was in the Peace Corps. This girl was doing my hair, or trying to do my hair. She was definitely younger than me, probably 19 or 20. She divulged that she was from a small town about an hour off the highway that leads to the ski hills. She spoke innocently and with little intelligence. I had little patience or wit for small talk, not for this reason, but because I would really rather she focus on not screwing up my hair. The Peace Corps came up, and her response was as unique as all get-out. She asked me whether I got to travel out of the country while I was in the Peace Corps or if I would stay in the United States. After my initial shock I explained to her what the Peace Corps was. Give her a break, I thought, just because I am obsessed with the Peace Corps at the moment doesn’t mean everyone else even thinks about it at all. When I mentioned Panama she said, “That is where people go for spring break and stuff, right?” … and I gave up. 

I’m sure I’ll have many other opportunities to tell people about the Peace Corps. I’m sure the excitement will wear off too. Until then I will bask in the glory of that is letting people know where I am going and when I leave.

Falling Off the Face of America

(I had to write these journals for a class this past Spring. Thought a few entries would make a good preface for my blog... )

February 21, 2011 

As one of my friends so eloquently put it, soon I’ll be falling off the face of America. I dreamed again about the Peace Corps, at least about my placement. I don’t remember this dream though, so this will only serve as an indicator of my mental state: anxious. I’ve spent so much time thinking about finding out where I’m going and the other more romantic parts of the Peace Corps. I also vicariously think about other people’s service. Since I cannot imagine my own I envision theirs based on the stories they’ve told and the pictures they’ve painted. I spend little time thinking about the realities of my own service. Yesterday I imagined for a minute receiving my placement and the reality of leaving home for two plus years. In seconds I thought about how much I have changed in the past two years and how much my friends and family have changed. I will be stepping away, and then stepping back two years later with all of those changes having taken place without interaction between me and them. 

Home Sick

(I had to write these journals for a class this past Spring. Thought a few entries would make a good preface for my blog... )

January 10, 2011

Each of the four assignment information sheets (VADs) I reviewed (Madagascar, Armenia, Mali, and Guatemala) mentioned “homesickness” under the section Potential Rewards and Challenges. Of course this is a potential challenge you think, and Peace Corps just offers a reminder amongst the excitement of learning about your new country. In a sheet filled with site specific information it nearly seems silly that homesickness would be included, as it is a general ailment across the country spectrum. Will I be homesick? I most certainly will. Homesickness won’t hold me back from going nor will it deter me while I am away.

A personal goal I constantly strive for is to live like I have no home. I do feel attachment to the familiarity of the place where I grew up and my hometown I am so comfortable with. But what if I attained the freedom to feel completely at home wherever I was, no matter how long or how intimate I was with the people and surrounds? Then it wouldn’t matter the Potential Rewards and Challenges of homesickness because the VAD would simply be telling me about my new home, my new familiar.

I recall from the gospels of the Bible, where Jesus replied to a statement from his disciples about how they would follow him anywhere. He said, “Foxes have holes and birds of the air have nests, but the Son of Man has no place to rest his head”. That, along with the calling of James and his brother John away from their profession into a life of unknown excitement marks my inspiration for being a part of the Peace Corps. This is a good place to start my journey of Peace Corps through journaling.

Why wasn’t Jesus homesick? Apparently he had recollection of Heaven, of God his family. Well, he was Jesus. I strive not to be Jesus but his story reflects good principles for my future in the Peace Corps and the Potential Rewards and Challenges that the VADs offer. Homesickness is a term used to describe a collection of longings or “misses” of familiar people and environment. Why do I miss things and people? Because they bring me something – things like comfort and satisfaction – in essence I need them to have these qualities in my life. Logically if I was no longer in need of these things and people and I could cultivate on my own the qualities I associate to them, then I would not miss them. I would un-attach myself from these people and places. Their very being would still bring me so much joy, but they wouldn’t be necessary.

My parents and bed and best friends and favorite restaurants bring me joy, but they don’t necessarily make me happy. At least this is what I strive for and what I believe will help me overcome the challenges of the Potential Rewards and Challenges for my assignment in the Peace Corps.

Coffee

(I had to write these journals for a class this past Spring. Thought a few entries would make a good preface for my blog... )

January 7, 2011

Coffee wakes me up in the morning. About 15 minutes after I start drinking I can feel the caffeine hit my blood stream. It does not feel like jitters or physical energy. It feel metaphysical, a transcending energy that gets to my soul. It feels like hope. I know that’s a quite existential way to look at a drug-infused beverage, but I think Moritz Thomsen would agree with me. He often mentions his coffee in his writing. I think this is because, though the drought of his situations, coffee gave him the energy I feel when I drink it. I’m not ashamed of my dependence; I only use it like a catalyst for a good day. We all do what we have to do. On my short list of fears for the Peace Corps is that I will get placed in a location where instant Nescafe is the only coffee available. I don’t talk about this a lot, but 30% of my motivation for wanting to be placed in Latin America is because I enjoy coffee from this region so much. I want to grow my own, or make friends with a coffee farmer and have delicious coffee every day.

I would like to continue with ideas from the last set of readings. I mean, the articles designated for this journal were interesting, but the topic is diluted and there was an idea from one of the other articles that lighted in me. Plus, I dug into some anthropology in the last journal which took up a lot of space. Now, philosophy. Naming the Faith developed ideas about motivation for an act like serving for the Peace Corps which I can relate with, though I have not yet fully developed. Maybe I will use this as a starting point. Charles Eugène de Foucauld, after some other research, is a beatified martyred Catholic priest who, as the article stated, “…believed it was necessary to live the life of the poor in order to understand what is most precious and most truly human about life”. What an incredible statement! I have experienced this in small parts, seen joy and poverty blended so intricately and paradoxically that it changed my view of the world. I have always been a proponent of others experiencing this as well, and encouraged it for the proper development of compassion and appreciation in the life of a middle class person in a developed world.

I would say that my motivation for having the desire to serve in the Peace Corps is to give back, to use my God given skills in a way that benefits others without the opportunities that I have. It’s not a completely selfless motivation, of course. On my end I get adventure, traveling, growing in patience and leadership skills.  Did I ever consider the more expansive self-motivated reason for wanting to participate in the Peace Corps? That is, that I might gain that understanding about what is most precious and human about life. I submit, what could be more valuable?

The author makes another statement that struck me, “As humans, we are strengthened by good work and deepened by pain”. I have recently developed a personal belief that the most interesting people are those who have been through something painful and have come out of it still functioning. I want to be around these people, talk to them and figure out their minds. They are deep. I also want to be one of these people. I don’t look for pain, but when it inevitably comes I want to embrace it, knowing that it is making me a deeper person. I think I can add these to my selfish reasons for volunteering for the Peace Corps. I want to research Charles Eugène de Foucauld some more, hopefully I can find more literature about him.