El Dia de Accion de Gracias: Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving one year ago was different than ever before. I don't mean in what I did - because I'm certain that every single Thanksgiving Day of my life I've done something unique, in keeping with tradition. Last year I was more appreciative of small things that I've ever been. Hot water, clean toes, etc. 

This year, I'm still appreciative, but less in the wide eyed, shell shocked at civilization, give me as much food you can sort of way, and more in the I totally appreciate my life, my friends, and what I've been given the opportunity to do sort of way. 

I met 150 of my closest Peace Corps Volunteer friends at a small rustic mountain eco-resort above the farming town of Cerro Punta. It was beautiful... and cold. I mean cold. OK, it wasn't snowing, but I wanted to put on a jacket like never before here in Panama.  It rained and we socialized and snuggled beneath multiple layers in our beds at night. I used the sauna with my friends. There was an amazing group of volunteers who cooked a fabulous real American Thanksgiving dinner. What was hard to come by (sweet potatoes??) was substituted (squash) and made delicious. Satisfied, but our stomachs not too full to slow anyone down, we did the night Latin (or Peace Corps) style with dancing. 

Photo Credits: Bri Drake

New and Good

We imagine that when we are thrown out of our usual ruts all is lost, but it is only then that what is new and good begins. While there is life there is happiness. There is much, much before us.

― Leo Tolstoy, War and Peace

You are now reading the blog of Peace Corps Panama newest Circuit Rider. What's a circuit rider? And what does a Peace Corps volunteer do as a circuit rider? I believe the term originates from a religious history of traveling clergy who circulated over many different areas. Riding the circuit. Get it? But in this context, I will be a technical expert who travels to various communities to provide advice, support, and training to aqueduct projects in Panama.  Sustainability is essential to the long term success of Peace Corps projects. For the Environmental Health sector for which I work, Peace Corps commits three volunteers (or six years) to a community; one volunteer to prepare the community, one volunteer to facilitate the execution of an infrastructure project, and a final volunteer to see to the maintenance and operation of the project. This sustainable development plan prepares the community for a lifetime of improved access to safe water. Often times, however, years after the last volunteer has accompanied the community, an array of factors may contribute to the community not meeting the operational demands of their water system. Necessary repairs may not find economical support within the community, breakdowns in teamwork within the water committees who are responsible for the maintenance and operation, or technically competent community members may die or leave, leaving the community without support. Here is where my job will come in. 

After around 50 years in Panama, Peace Corps has many former work sites. My job will be to locate these communities, re-introduce Peace Corps and with the help of the community and Panamanian government representatives evaluate the state of their aqueduct and make action plans to support the systems if need be. I will work with 10-12 communities over the next year, as well as continue the work in my community, Duima. I am excited about the opportunity to start this significant work and become friends with many more communities and individual. 

The house, painted with leftover paint from my world map project.

My neighbor Mixi and I.

Fake Poop

Check out this story about the Gates Foundation and their research to promote sanitation and prevent disease transmission through development.

Some think it's strange that I study poop, worked in a sewage treatment plant (wastewater treatment plant... Or uhh, water reclamation facility) and build latrines. It's nice to know I'm not the only one!

Remember that concrete slab and toilet seat I was working on? Here is the finished latrine (right) and the old latrine on the left. The old one was about 10 feet from the kitchen area at this house. Now, the new latrine is about 30 feet downhill. 

A Death and A Funeral

Filipe, a 36 year old member of my community, died recently. He was the younger brother and uncle to many of my close friends here. He had been sick for at least a few months. In the last month he was living in my neighbors house as his condition worsened. What condition? We'll never know. The last time he went to the hospital was a week before he died and they simply sent him home. When I arrived to my house from being away at a conference, some children informed me that he had passed away. Here is where the strong traditions start.

First, vigil in the house. All day, all night, people come from all over to be with the family and drink cacao (think bitter, unsweetened chocolate beverage). I went one day, drank cacao, and sat by family members while they cried.

The men of the entire community are preparing for the burial at this time. Building a box for the body, preparing the grave. There is a cemetery on the edge of town where everyone buries their dead.

Filipe, now referred to as "el disfunto" or "the deceased" instead of by name, died on Friday and by Monday it is time for the burial. The body in the box draped with black cloth is taken from the house and walked to the cemetery, with a procession of community members behind it.

At the grave, the local pastor gave a brief obituary and the group sang hymns. Then, the top came off the coffin. This is the point, the last time to see the physical body of your son, brother, uncle. They cried and cried and cried. I cried watching them cry. The deceased was buried and his earthly belonging laid on the fresh dirt above.

I thought it was over, the main part of the grieving process fulfilled and with the deceased buried, the community would move on to a new chapter in life. However, the Friday after the Monday of the funeral, everyone related to the deceased packed up and left town. They went about 30 minutes down the road to stay with other family. Too painful to be in the house where he died, they left to try to move on without being constantly reminded of the deceased. Town got a lot quieter and I was personally disappointed by the temporary loss of so many of my close neighbors. Now, they are starting to trickle back to town as each family is ready.

Experiencing this death was unlike any other I've dealt with. Death here is so unavoidable. You have to touch every part of it. No hospitals, morticians, nurses, no funeral homes. You make the coffin, dig the grave. There is so much tradition, too. Everyone knows their part.

This probably won't be the first death or funeral I experience here and this one has given me a new perspective on death and grieving, examples of cultural differences and similarities of human nature.

The World Map, Olympic Style

I was inspired by the blow up world globe I have hanging up in my house. The children come visit me and after knocking it around for awhile ask, what is this? It’s like a map of the world, on a balloon, I tell them. I taught a little girl the continents and show most people where Panama and the United States are, because – to my disbelief- they are unaware of their relative location on the planet. The mountains, lush jungle, and gravel road in and out of our community are all they know and all they've needed.

With the summer Olympic Games going on in London, I decided to paint a world map at the school in my community and include lesions in social studies about geography and the Olympic Games. We talked about what the games are, what the events are, and who participates. We highlighted Panamanian Olympic long jump gold medalists Irving Saladino. Then the kids practiced their own long jump! Using the map we could identify the countries participating in certain events – nearly the entire world coming together in competition no matter the size, wealth, or history of the country… or athletes. We’ll track the medal results throughout the games keeping a close proud eye on our panama friends. When I was a little girl I dreamed about being an Olympic gymnast and I hope the children felt inspired to dream about goals for themselves as well!

Here is photo documentation of the painting process, as well as the activity in the school.

Washing Feet

I occasionally accompany some families from my community to their church on Saturdays, the Adventists church in the next town over. I like connecting with them on the religious level and don't shy away from it like some volunteers do in order to stay as neutral as possible. As far as I'm concerned, spirituality is human nature and the spirituality of an indigenous Central American group of people can be analyzed in a fascinating way. The religions of western missionaries sometimes is awkwardly insisted in their culture and sometimes it is nicely blended.

Last Saturday communion was celebrated with a foot washing beforehand. I've seen this done before in America, a reproduction of the last supper, Jesus' act of service and humility. But in America - we remove our clean shoes and clean, if not a little sweaty socks, to reveal and wash freshly showered feet. Probably some occurences of  fungus but for someone not phobic to feet there is nothing to fear. But here? People rarely wear real shoes. Floors to homes are dirt, roads are dirt, sidewalks of concrete don't exist to make even paths. People are clean here, they are pridefully clean. They bathe and wash clothes regularly. But feet? In this environment, they get dirty. A friend recently asked me a "would you rather..." question involving Ngobe toes and something equally gross.

I pondered from a distance the foot washing proceedings and the symbology and new literal meaning to me. Some parts of western religion are awkward among a non western culture - but some, like the foot washing example of Jesus, fit better.

Music and Lit Review

Calle 13 "Entran Los Que Quieren"




This Puerto Rican alternative rock group is big in the Latin music scene right now, for good reason. Unique alternative sounds meet Latin vocals in a mix between rap and spoken word with rebellious anarchical lyrical themes. The songs are of varying styles, sprinkled with strings and horns and electrical beats, and classic Latin guitar best exemplified in "Baile de Los Pobres". The album has a quirky intro and outro that shows off their alternative style. This is good music. Check it out.

Gone Girl by Gillian Flynn




This book ran me through the gamut of reaction based emotions. A thriller and mystery, with relationship themes that subscribe to both genders, it's not a girly book but I think the title would defer men. The twisted plot follows husband and wife Nick and Amy through Amy's sudden disappearance and Nick's attempts to investigate and avoid a curious amount of damning evidence pinned to him by the police and media. I think I both loved and hated Nick and Amy at various points, a clear good-guy not even possible. It was satisfying and hooking. Read this instead of 50 Shades of Grey.

Ngabere

Nisqually, Puyallup, Shi shi, Skokomish, Samish, Skagit.

To anyone outside the Pacific Northwest corner of the US that sentence might seem like gibberish, a list of made up words. Of course those are locations in Washington with names indigenous to the Americans native there. Although the native languages of tribes in America are nearly lost (you don't hear it spoken by shoppers at the grocery store) we are reminded of it by the names of cities, towns, and rivers.

Nantori deka. Ma toa no? Ti toa kuin. Ma ka no? Ti ka Belligo.

Another line of gibberish? Or another indigenous language? Now you're catching on. Ngabere (nah-bare-ee), the language of the people group Ngabe (nah-beh), is very alive and spoken frequently in traditional communities here in Panama. I live in one of these traditional communities, for this reason during my first week living there I was given the indigenous name "Belligo" (beh-ji-go). 

Ngabere has only recently been a written language. There only exist a few books, mostly from the church, in Ngabere. A Ngabe man left his community to study in the city and decided to write a manual for learning to speak Ngabere. This man is employed by Peace Corps Panama to train volunteers in the language. A few weeks ago I attended a class with him to improve my Nagbere skills.

Mostly I communicate in Spanish in my work here. People speak Spanish in my community, but it is the second language for most people over the age of 20. I am constantly encourage to become fluent in Ngabere. This would be the ultimate in cultural assimilation. I will always use Spanish as my main form of communication, while Ngabere is more for entertainment purposes (for them to laugh at me trying to speak it). It is a tough language to learn, being non-Latin and barely written. The seminar I attended helped greatly. Having a patient and slow speaking teacher, practicing pronunciation and common phrases. Mostly I use Ngabere to have small conversations about basic things and mostly with people I meet walking around. For example.

Person passing on trail: nantori deka.
Me: nantori deka!
Person: ma niki madende?
Me: Ti niki sede (with a hand wave). Ti niki basare.
Person. Oh, ma niki basare. Ma sribiri nede?
Me: Jah. Ti sribiri nede, ti nune duimate. Ti sribiri cuerpo de paz ben.
Person: Kuin. Jahtwida pues.
Me. Jahtwida mare.

Translation? Good afternoon, good afternoon. Where are you going? Over there to hang out. Do you work here? Yes, I work here and I live in Duima. I work for the Peace Corps. Good. Goodbye then. See you later.

I'm glad I am learning fluency in Spanish, but this is cool too. I don't know if it's a resume worth skill, maybe just a party trick, but certainly another unique cultural experience!

Soñadora

When I am in my community, the person inside my head is my only English speaking companion. This is to whom I express my most complicated thoughts to - the ones that don't translate well. Read this article about why daydreaming isn't a waste of time. Replace "kids" with "Peace Corps volunteer" for a better understanding. Then replace it with your name. Maybe some time alone with yourself would be good for you, too.

Oh My Mangoes!

As soon as the first drops of rain began to hit the parched earth at the start of the rainy season the clumps of green mangoes hanging from the gigantic crooked limb'd mango trees decided collectively it was time to ripen. Since then, mangoes fall like candy from heaven on the ground everywhere. The variety and number of mangoes could be compared to wild apples in Washington state.

One rainy afternoon I stashed myself away in my house, door closed, sitting in my hammock reading. It was clear I was not accepting visitors at that moment, so when two of my favorite little girls knocked on my door I hesitatingly got up. Little did I know the gifts they brought hung in the dresses like baskets. Mangoes!

"Girls...", I asked in a serious tone, "Do you think we could eat so many mangoes our stomachs would explode?" 

Then we did the second best thing to do on a rainy afternoon. Dance. 

Chicha Libre

I love this article I found on NPR's music page. The "corn-derived liqueur" is the same my indigenous people consume. This spunky music is fun and "harmonizes" with how one feels after a few cups of chicha!

Water Committee Seminars

The role of a volunteer in development work

is not

paternalism 

gifts

quick

is

capacity building

sharing 

long term.

Some of our most important work as environmental health volunteers is training the people who use and take care of aqueducts. The training ranges from basic clean water practices, how diseases spread, design, operation and maintenance of the infrastructure, water conservation, to laws and regulations. If we can successfully instill this information in the aqueduct beneficiaries then our work creates a group of people who can speak to their own environmental health. I like the idea of working myself out of this job.

Here are some photos of an informal water seminar for the people in my friend Carolyn's community. Our low tech presentations include lots of conversation, goofy games, and of course, food. 

Babies in Things- Part Dos

Newborn baby in hammock

Baby eyes in the cracks of my house... watching me, always...

Latrine Luck

Part of our work as environmental health volunteers is promoting sanitation by education about disease transmission and encouraging the use of latrines. I've been helping my friends Carolyn and Kayla with latrine building projects in their communities. The projects provide interested and dedicated community members with resources to construct latrines for their families. 

The day I returned from hiking around the mountains of the comarca between our sites my latrine building skills were put to the test. My next door neighbor was 2 meters deep in a hole he was digging for a new latrine. He had the materials to build a reinforced concrete platform but told me he wasn't confident in how to set it up and of the concrete mix proportions. It just so happened that I was a latrine building expert after those past few days. To me, this is my ideal work: community members using their own motivation to do projects and drawing on my technical resources. 

We built the platform or plancha and a few days later I used a mold to make a toilet seat or taza for the latrine.  I had some help from a visitor friend. Hopefully I will be able to assist more of my community members in a community wide latrine building project in the next year. 

The plancha, with rebar handles so that when the latrine is full, it can be moved and placed on top of a new hole.

The center and sides of this taza were removed and it was moved on top of the plancha, creating a toilet seat.

UFO

One evening I was spending time at my neighbor's house. Her husband had come home from working in another town for the night and I always make sure to go by and say hello to him. Their family is so nice to me. The woman, Gillermina, while lounging in her hammock, was looking for insight on a very strange occurrence she had witnessed the night before. She told me about a peculiar light, like a star but not, that was oscillating repeatedly a short distance in the sky. "About the size of that jug..." she said and pointed. That didn't help me. I tried to explain shooting stars but that didn't fit the bill. I then explained people living in outer space, aliens, and sometimes they will come visit earth. She remarked that those those people were my family. Verrry funny. We all were still confused but the family told me they would come get me in the night if it happened again.

Sure enough, at about midnight I was woken up from my sleep. "Erica, the light!", the girls urgently cried. I didn't grab my glasses and hoped whatever light was out there was bright enough to be seen by my foggy vision. Another neighbor also came, comparably more annoyed at being woken up. I was curious. When I saw it in the sky I immediately knew what was happening. You see, their house faces out of the mountains where we live, towards the city of David. Right now in David there is a fair. How do you say "search light" in Spanish? I struggled to describe. The other neighbor confirmed my hypothesis. We all went back to bed. I was disappointed it wasn't a real UFO. 

Dorado the Squirrel

Like a proud mom I'll give you all an update on my cat. Dorado is spastic, to say the least. The past few days he has turned into my 6 AM alarm clock, only this alarm clock playfully (and painfully) attacks me while I'm trying to sleep. If I don't respond he goes for my face! I repeatedly throw him off my bed, which he apparently takes as playful as well. Other than that he is a model-kitty. He loves to be the center of attention, playing with the kids. He runs fast where-ever he goes and the people constantly refer to him as an ardilla or squirrel, with his long tail whipping behind him. Overall, he's pretty fun to have around.

Cabbage, Corn, Beans.

Frijoles Follow-Up


Since I talked so enticingly about the beans we have right now in a post a few weeks ago, I thought I should include some photos to back up my description. Even my most flowery language couldn't do justice to beauty of these beans! During a recent bean de-shelling session with my neighbor-grandma and the kids, grandma took a call on her cell phone and the kids and I messed around taking pictures for awhile.

Finished!

Maiz


Corn. I've already raved about the corn here, how beautiful and tasty it is. I decided to make popcorn. Healthy snack, fun to make - right? I got some dried corn from my neighbor and tried to pop it in oil on my stove. No success, it burned and didn't pop! Neighbors inquired about the smell coming from my kitchen and I tried to explain to them what I was doing. I think there was a mis-communication, though, with the word for popcorn. First, I don't think anyone has actually ever eaten popcorn. Second, the word my dictionary gave me for popcorn is palomita. The root ("paloma") of which means bird in their vocabulary, and -ita means something small. They all thought I was cooking little birds of corn. That's cute, right? A literal descriptive translation. One women suggested the solution was to toast the corn, then cook it in oil. I had my neighbor-grandma toast it for me and I tried again. No better success. I'm about to Google it, but does anyone have any experience with making home-made popcorn? I don't understand what form of corn it takes to "pop!".

Cabbage Rolls

One night while thinking about what to make for dinner, I realized I had all the ingredients necessary to make cabbage rolls! I leaned how to make them last year, honing in on my German heritage. I improvised only a little (Enchilada seasoning? Sure!). They tasted a little like home. 

Arts & Crafts

Kra

One of the crafts of the Ngabe women is to make chakras, or bags. These bags are looped from any sort of string. The traditional way uses a hand dyed plant fiber. The bags come in all sizes- from large enough to carry firewood, to bitty-sized for a cell phone. Both men and women use them as purses. When carrying a large chakra with cargo the strap is placed on the forehead and the bulk is carried on the back. This takes a very strong neck! I decided to try my hand at making a chakra with some ugly plastic string I had. I made a bag for my yoga mat. The women were so enthusiastic about helping me, but they couldn't understand what a yoga mat was (I finally called it a sleeping map) or why I would make a bag for it. 

Compost

I'm trying to make compost out of my food scraps. I'm using a 5-gallon bucket with holes punched in the bottom. Everyone in my community thinks I'm crazy. They wander by the outside of my house to sneak a peak inside the bucket. They just don't get it. It's been about 2 weeks and I'm patiently waiting for something exciting to happen, to show them I'm not more crazy than I know they already think I am. I scanned a few how-to compost sites online to get started. I'm now soliciting advice from my green-friends (you all, if it applies) to see if I'm on the right track. The physical characteristics of my compost are: dark in color, smelly, attracts flies, has maggots. To keep it moist I add coffee & grounds every morning and occasionally some urine (nitrogen, right?). I set it in the sun every day to make sure it stays hot. I've added dried leaves for a carbon input. Recently it has become more consistent in color and I can tell the material is breaking down. How long should it take? Does it sound like I'll have myself come rich compost soon? 

No Peace

Do you remember the last time the government took away your cell phone service to deter you from demonstrating against their agenda?

The last time the police dispersed unarmed protesters and people were killed from gunshot wounds?

This is not the first time being here reminds me how much I appreciate the USA.

Our staff had sequestered us volunteers to our sites to avoid the protests of the indigenous people with whom I live. They were protesting the unauthorized development of a copper mine and hydroelectric dams on their land. Visit The Prensa website for more articles. Everything has calmed down, cell phone service restored, and I'm free to come and go now.

The (White) Girl Next Door

New House

After five months of living with host families, little to zero privacy or space of my own, I moved into a house generously provided for me by my community. We spent two days fixing up an old log and zinc structure. The men skillfully used machetes, a hand saw, hammers and nails to strategically place hand-sawed wood board and split bamboo stalks to the frame. The women provided food and drink and offered useful suggestions. I wanted shelves and let the women know, and they made sure it got done. The "studio" has a dirt floor and space for a bed and cooking area. It was fun to finally fully unpack my things and decorate. It was also wonderful waking up on the first morning on my own and make my own strong coffee in my french press and cook a bowl of oatmeal.

The house is located pretty much in the middle of town. As of now, I consider my privacy to be increased by 25%. That is, up from zero. So, 75% of my life is watched by peering eyes through the windows or slots in the siding. I've been so cheery about having my own place, though, I've enjoyed having the people around. My lovely sister Kimberly send me some toys for the children that they can play with when the come over.

My best attempt (terrible) at a panorama of the inside of the house

This is the building crew. They're really a happy bunch even if they don't smile for pictures. 

Dogs in the Night


I was sleeping the first night in my newly finished house. It felt great, privacy and comfort. The sounds of radios and roosters still waved outside but for the most part it was peaceful. The excitement kept me awake for a little while but eventually I fell asleep with Dorado snuggled at my side.

Early, early in the morning I woke suddenly in the dark to the sound of fighting dogs just outside my house. Then I shot up in bed to my loosely secured door flying violently open and the dogs fighting beside my bed. Instead of taking the fight outside, these dogs chose to take it inside. My house. As Dorado darted out of bed all I could do was clap and shout, "Vaya afuera!" or "Go outside!". They left and I sat in shock for a few more moments before re-securing my door, tightly. I eventually fell asleep and Dorado reappeared in the morning. For this reason I sleep with my machete close by.

Frijoles


It's bean season here in Duima. I LOVE this season. The fashionable pass-time currently is shelling beans. Since living on my own I've been gifted many cups of beans to cook. Everyone is talking about and eating beans. Guandu, habichuela (kidney bean), and other various types.