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.