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.
