Rain and Nutmeg... Even in Panama it's time for Thanksgiving

Painting the Pollera dancers for the parade

The misty slopes as seen from my community's "main street"

Kayla and I met up at the beach for a quick in-transit reunion.

Deluge every day at 12 until sunset, sometimes late into the night. There is something so special about the rainstorms here. They are unlike anything I could have imagined after spending my formative years in dry Utah and Colorado; even the never ending rain of the Northwest doesn't compare. First the fog creeps down from the road and clouds everything but the red trail from view. The wind starts to rustle and flap through the big plasticy leaves (a very diferent sound from the low howel of wind through the pines). Then the rain comes and you can here it climb up the side of the mountain for about 45 secounds before it really hits. It gives my little sisters time to bring in the clothes that are thrown up on the zinc roofs and over barb wired fences. I lay in my hammock and wonder at the might of nature. It has successfully silenced the clamour of my closest neighbors. NOT an easy feat. The kids are home by themselves these days while all the adults rush to plant 800lbs of kidney beans in their steep feilds before the rains stop. They entertain themselves by banging metal things with other metal things, and screaming "MAAAAAAma VEEEEEENga. MAAAAAAAAma VEEENga." over and over and over. But with the rain drumming on the tin roof, the loudest white noise you'll ever hear, I can hear none of it. I snuggle with my cat and read books. When the summer comes he will be covered with fleas, and our naps together might have to end.

It gets chilly at night and I sleep with sweatpants, sheets, a fleece blanket and a sleeping bag. It's the humidity that makes your bones quake; I don't think the temperature ever drops bellow 68 degrees. But the mist and the rain makes me think of fall back home, cinnamon and nutmeg and pumpkin pie with too many cloves. Sometimes the radio from someone's house belts out a christmas jingle advertisment and I slide into snowy daydreams. But that real nip in the air isn't here. That cold that gets into your toes and lays on top of your skin. It's strange, I could swear I should be that cold, but it isn't. It is almost like seeing food but not smelling it because you have a cold, as if a certain sense is missing.

All us volunteers are headed to chilly Chiriqui for Thanksgiving it is going to be great! Kudos for Ashley and Brandon Gries for all their hard work to make it happen. Nobody wants that job, and they volunteered! (weird)

I'm nearly ready to jump into what promises to be a crazy 3 or 4 months: Site Development for future volunteers, a latrine project, and a kids camp for 50 youths from all over the country.

Ay Ay Ay.

Mission Vetiver accomplished. (Not really "accomplished" but "poco a poco" ). I finally was able to make the trip with some of the bean planters to get seeds of a special grass for soil conservation terrace construction. It was a long process. Believe it or not, a year! But we planted them using a Level-A and hopefully in the years to come they will see the terraces forming naturally and notice the difference in soil quality when it hasn't all washed down the mountain to paint the river red. I hope to implement it in a number of farms in different communities as well.

Yesterday I had a great night with my bud Lisa in good 'ol David. We saw the Micheal Jackson movie. Wow. And I got popcorn. Enough said. It was wonderfull. We ate dinner at "the casino". Nachos. Served to us by waitresses in VERY tight, short shorts. The place has a pirate motiff. And stalagtites that decorate the stage. It was funny. I looked at Lisa and reflected that never would the Andi from the global north every choose to eat at such a tacky place. But we were both giddy with the prospect of dinner at the casino. Ca-ching!

An update

Rebecca whipped eggs for about a half hour trying to acheive the "soft peaks" with the wireless elbow grease of our grandmothers. We made a gluten-free chocolate polenta cake with cacao from Kate's community.

Elmo "the frog"

Rainy afternoon in the hammock with Chami. What a snuggler.

It has been so long since I've updated this 'ol blog. But it's funny, the longer I'm here the less the experiences I have impress upon me the need to record them. They become less out of the ordinary. I don't carry my camera with me as often and my journal, instead of filling with the happenings of the day, is a place of introspection and answerless questions.

Time is such a funny thing. There are days I stew in my community and wish it were all over. Days that I say to myself that if I didn't have a latrine project that I've promised to a nearby community I would call it quits. Then the next day, I think how sad and strange it will be when this is all over. An example:

Two days ago I woke up. It was raining, as it always does in October. It had rained all night and the fog that wrapped itself around the hill promised it would rain all day. I had two English classes at the school that morning so I ate breakfast, fed the cat and walked down to the school, planning my lesson as I went. The teachers had planned exams for that day and had neglected to tell me, so I walked away from the school without giving class. (Not a big deal, but a total of one hour walking in the rain). I went to visit a family on the other side of the communtiy. 2 months ago the 14year-old son was harvesting pifa (a squash nut that grows on a spiny palm) when 3 of the spines fell into his eye. He went to Panama city for surgery and the doctor made him an appointment for several months later. The kid approched John (the previous volunteer in my community who was visiting at the time) and asked for the money. "The doctor told me if there was a gringo living in my community I should ask him for the money." Unlikely. We helped him to write a letter to the Comarca senetor, asking for his support. To make a long story short they didn't get the money, although the money was waiting for them. They blame me. Really it is just a story of poor communication that plagues cross-cultural conversation. Then I spent the rest of the day at a funeral. I've been to funnerals before, but this is the only one I have sat through from the begining to the end. I won't go into the detailes. It was very sad. And funnerals, as my friend Kayla and I talked about, have an interesting way of illuminating how far you really are from being a true member of your community. I looked around and realized how many names I didn't know, how I couldn't remember where people lived within my community. I didn't even know the face or name of the boy we were burying, even though I consider his family to be one of my favorites, and I pasear with them quite a bit. His mother has 12 children, so it is not suprising that I can't picture his face. I felt like an intruder, but I knew once I went that I couldn't leave until it was over. When it was all over and they were serving food they served me first in a bowl with a spoon (everyone else ate with their fingers from a banana leaf). Even that display of respect has a power to seperate and make one feel seperated. I honestly don't know if they were glad I was there or felt that I was an intrusion. It is most likely the former, based on my experience, but sometimes it is hard to tell.

The next day I ran around from home to home organizing work days and I had possitive interactions with everyone I met. And thing fell into place as if because, as they say here, God Wants. And my gloomy mood lifted even though it continues to rain, and rain and rain. I have a nutrition charla with 50 women in my community coming up, lots of soil conservation barriers. Things are good!

Games in Kate's community. Me in Kate's dress. Slimming no?

Hace Rato

Culture Week in my community photos:

We made Bocashi (fast compost) with the Beans group

Meritza taught us how to make the chacra strings from long, stiff leaves.

The plant is called pita in Spanish and kuga in Ngabere. Once harvested the leaf is held against a smooth log and a piece of wood with a sharp edge scrapes off the green layer, exposing the white threds that are then twisted into twine.

It's been a while. The hills smell like warm whole grain rice and the rains move in with the fog a little earlier every day. Must be fall. Fall here isn't that much different from any other season, but my mind and body still know that leaves should be falling and I crave candy corn and cider. It is time to plant beans again. I doubt I will be out in the fields as much this year as I was last year helping them to plant (my host family plans to plant 1000lbs of beans.) I am going to be traveling more within the Comarca, visiting other volunteers. Another volunteer (named Andie, dont be confused) and I are sharing the Regional Leader possition as of November, so that may change the amount of time I have to spend in my communtiy. I think that I am ready for a change, I'm ready for more movement.

I just visted Kate in Bocas. It was great to finally see where my good friend works, and to meet all the people that I've heard so much about. Her patience and resilience as always, made a big impression on me and I left her community feeling so lucky for all this, and all my amazing friends I have here. Peace Corps is never what you expect, but all those things I heard before I came about the amazing friends I would make were true.

In Kate's site we did a PML (a seminar on individual and group organization and self-esteem) and had a birthday party. Both were great successes! Kate lent me her pocka-dot dress and she rocked an amazing pink dress suit, both styles are frequently sported in her community. She looked so professional, and slightly like a flight attendent. "white lights lead to red light..."

Her community really enjoyed pining the tail on the pig and breaking a huge Elmo pinata "what is it?!" everyone wanted to know. "Look," one guy said, "It's a parrot!"

It was a wonderful experience. I would like to write more but I find it harder and harder to sum up life here. I have more commitments everytime I find myself with internet and electricity. I also notice that Panamanian and Ngabe culture make fewer impressions on me. The stories I used to write in my journal about things I had seen no longer register as story worthy. My journal is more of a venting tool that I use to work out things in my mind than a place to write about day to day life. I am trying to rush back to today after too many days away. Ironically, I have very little planned up there. Probably a testiment to the little time I have spent there during the past months. But my kitty is probably waiting for me, and putting off going back up won't make it any easier.

More pics

The fam leaves tomorrow. We had a good time. The highlight was definately the canal. Just kidding, although Dan did think it was facinating. Brett liked the snack bar and I liked the part of the museum that made blowing-up noises over, and over and over again. But once we ticked that off the list we spent most of our time in the campo. We hung with Kayla and made sugar juice, went up to my site and paseared through a good deal of the community, helping me get ready to host culture week. We spent a while at the beaches listening to machata and tipico music from the busito playlist, drinking fruit smooties and watching interesting mesh outfits walk by on their owners. Boquete was great, we saw, smelled and consumed lots of coffee. And we are back in the city, getting ready to go back to our lives, Mom and Dan back to work, Brett back to RISDI and me back to the campo for culture week. These transitions are always strange.

Photos from the trip

fotos

I may eat just lentils and rice alone. But cooking is much better when done juntos.

Isaac and Melissa gave a great chicken project charla in my site.

Yes. All from my garden! Note the one green bean.