What did you do the last 2nd of July? G85 WASH, we celebrated the Fourth of July. The staff had a cultural activity space set aside for us to have a brief celebration of the United States' Independence day and an opportunity to share American culture with the members of the training community. Why on the Second of July? Well the G83 cohort arrived in country on the Fourth of July, and that same day was set for us to go out and visit pre-assigned volunteers.
We organized the activities the day before. The history team (which would include me) would present on, as the name suggests, the history of the holiday. Specifically, the revolution, the formation of the United States with the Declaration of Independence, the Treaty of Paris, the failure of the Articles of Confederation, the adoption of the current constitution, the legal recognition of the holiday, and the celebration today. A poster was drawn (by a different group) beforehand which presented facts about the holiday today. They made sure to include some dark facts as well, such as how it's the deadliest holiday.
For activities, we could do everything but cook a traditional meal (i.e. grill hotdogs). The activities crew included the dance "Cotton-Eyed Joe" to demonstrate and teach. Afterwards, we had an egg toss and a three-legged race (staff vs. volunteers). Althroughout, United Statesian music was played.
We intended to have a variety of stations for people to visit, but it seems we misunderstood since only the staff showed up, though most of them are Panamanian. As a result, we did each activity one after another until it was time for lunch. During our gaming and music-ing, a few community members did stop by to observe (but too shy to participate), so maybe the culture sharing wasn't a total loss.
Note: This blog post intended to have a few videos of the event, but they have since been lost.
Friday, December 27, 2019
Friday, December 20, 2019
Panamá and its indigenous peoples: Ngäbe Culture and History
Panamá is remarkable for its system of Comarcas: semi-autonomous indigenous areas that also have representation in the legislature. As of right now, Panamá has five comarcas: Ngäbe-Buglé, Kuna Yala, Madugandí, Emberá-Wounaan, and Wargandí. The creation of a sixth: Naso/Teribe, is currently underway. The majority of Peace Corps Panamá indigenous sites are Ngäbe communities, with a few in Buglé or Naso communities. With the Darién closed to future volunteers due to the increased security risk, my group will not be serving Wounaan or Emberá communities.
Our first taste of Ngäbe culture was presented during a cultural event known as the "tour de provincias". That is, staff members and a couple of current volunteers presented on the four provinces our group of G85 would be working in: Bocas del Toro, Coclé, the Comarca Ngäbe-Buglé, and Veraguas. At the Bocas del Toro station, we learned of the famous "Picante de Bocas" which I was promised was spicier than Mexican salsa (it wasn't). It still did have spice however, which I rate as mild. But I digress.
Arcadio, one of our language and culture facilitators, hails from the province of Bocas del Toro and is of Ngäbe descent. He was responsible for presenting the Comarca Ngäbe-Buglé. There we drank unsweetened cacao from a tatuma (bowl created from a calabaza fruit) and learned of its cultural importance. Cacao is believed to be medicinal, and when prepared by certain individuals, such as the eldest sibling, youngest sibling, or a twin, it contains much greater potency. It is also believed to be disliked by evil spirits, so it is wise to prove one is not possessed by asking for seconds.
What follows is everything I've learned since. Ngäbe, in their language of Ngäbere, translates to person. Originally located along the coasts of western Panamá, the Ngäbe retreated into the cordilleras during the Spanish Conquest and the majority can be found in the hills that make up the Comarca Ngäbe-Buglé. The conflict is the reason why the word for a Spanish or Latino person is "Sulia", which means cockroach. The word for Spanish, "Suliare", can thus be translated as "language of the cockroach". The Ngäbe were eventually conquered and the majority converted to Catholicism. This history however, made the Ngäbe more susceptible to protestant missionaries in the mid-nineteen hundreds such that the majority of Ngäbe today practice a protestant religion, though some practice a religion called "Mama Tata" created as a reaction to their history of foreign influence.
One of the most distinctive identifiers of a Ngäbe woman is the nagua. This was originally a plain puritanical dress brought by missionaries. I can't say exactly when, but as consciousness rose and the Ngäbe became vested in reclaiming their culture, the plain dresses were transformed to the colorful naguas that are seen today. Ngäbe clothing tends to be colorful as it is representative of how colorful nature is. The "dientes" or triangle patterns on the clothing are said to represent the mountains and rivers, though I've had someone tell me that they don't actually represent anything, that they're just a traditional pattern.
In Ngäbe communities, most people communicate with one another in Ngäbere. However, as communities become more connected with the larger cities, Spanish ends up taking higher precedence than Ngäbere. A typical Ngäbe community in the Comarca would consist of elderly people who are fluent in Ngäbere, but who may only have limited proficiency in Spanish. The younger adults would be fluent in both Spanish and Ngäbere, but their children would most often only be fluent in Spanish. The use of Ngäbe names outside of a nickname is rare and in later generations there's a preference to be called by their official latino name. Part of the reason why Ngäbere and other indigenous languages are being lost is because of the shame felt both for being indigenous and for speaking improper Spanish.
For my part, I like to share the fact that my maternal grandmother was indigenous as well. I talk about how she was Nahua, the primary culture of the Aztec Empire, but that she knew only very little Nahuatl because her mother was too ashamed to teach it to her. As such, my mother doesn't know the language, nor do I. Ngäbe people can relate to this story and agree that it is a tragedy that an important aspect of their culture, their language, is fading away. I do my best to learn and speak in Ngäbere as a means to show interest and support for their culture. I also always share my indigenous name (volunteers get them too) when I introduce myself, even if it means that people won't remember my official name.
Our first taste of Ngäbe culture was presented during a cultural event known as the "tour de provincias". That is, staff members and a couple of current volunteers presented on the four provinces our group of G85 would be working in: Bocas del Toro, Coclé, the Comarca Ngäbe-Buglé, and Veraguas. At the Bocas del Toro station, we learned of the famous "Picante de Bocas" which I was promised was spicier than Mexican salsa (it wasn't). It still did have spice however, which I rate as mild. But I digress.
Arcadio, one of our language and culture facilitators, hails from the province of Bocas del Toro and is of Ngäbe descent. He was responsible for presenting the Comarca Ngäbe-Buglé. There we drank unsweetened cacao from a tatuma (bowl created from a calabaza fruit) and learned of its cultural importance. Cacao is believed to be medicinal, and when prepared by certain individuals, such as the eldest sibling, youngest sibling, or a twin, it contains much greater potency. It is also believed to be disliked by evil spirits, so it is wise to prove one is not possessed by asking for seconds.
What follows is everything I've learned since. Ngäbe, in their language of Ngäbere, translates to person. Originally located along the coasts of western Panamá, the Ngäbe retreated into the cordilleras during the Spanish Conquest and the majority can be found in the hills that make up the Comarca Ngäbe-Buglé. The conflict is the reason why the word for a Spanish or Latino person is "Sulia", which means cockroach. The word for Spanish, "Suliare", can thus be translated as "language of the cockroach". The Ngäbe were eventually conquered and the majority converted to Catholicism. This history however, made the Ngäbe more susceptible to protestant missionaries in the mid-nineteen hundreds such that the majority of Ngäbe today practice a protestant religion, though some practice a religion called "Mama Tata" created as a reaction to their history of foreign influence.
One of the most distinctive identifiers of a Ngäbe woman is the nagua. This was originally a plain puritanical dress brought by missionaries. I can't say exactly when, but as consciousness rose and the Ngäbe became vested in reclaiming their culture, the plain dresses were transformed to the colorful naguas that are seen today. Ngäbe clothing tends to be colorful as it is representative of how colorful nature is. The "dientes" or triangle patterns on the clothing are said to represent the mountains and rivers, though I've had someone tell me that they don't actually represent anything, that they're just a traditional pattern.
In Ngäbe communities, most people communicate with one another in Ngäbere. However, as communities become more connected with the larger cities, Spanish ends up taking higher precedence than Ngäbere. A typical Ngäbe community in the Comarca would consist of elderly people who are fluent in Ngäbere, but who may only have limited proficiency in Spanish. The younger adults would be fluent in both Spanish and Ngäbere, but their children would most often only be fluent in Spanish. The use of Ngäbe names outside of a nickname is rare and in later generations there's a preference to be called by their official latino name. Part of the reason why Ngäbere and other indigenous languages are being lost is because of the shame felt both for being indigenous and for speaking improper Spanish.
For my part, I like to share the fact that my maternal grandmother was indigenous as well. I talk about how she was Nahua, the primary culture of the Aztec Empire, but that she knew only very little Nahuatl because her mother was too ashamed to teach it to her. As such, my mother doesn't know the language, nor do I. Ngäbe people can relate to this story and agree that it is a tragedy that an important aspect of their culture, their language, is fading away. I do my best to learn and speak in Ngäbere as a means to show interest and support for their culture. I also always share my indigenous name (volunteers get them too) when I introduce myself, even if it means that people won't remember my official name.
Friday, December 13, 2019
A typical day in training (June 23, 2019 - August 12, 2019)
My new life in training took some getting used to, but eventually routines were established that were largely followed until the last day of training. This post is dedicated to describing how some typical days went during PST.
Sundays
Sunday mornings were my favorite mornings. I'd get up late (7:00a), recover a mango, and greet my host grandmother, "Mama" Rita. Some time later, host-family relatives arrive with bread and my host mother, Maritza, brings out the cream of corn (served in cups) and fried eggs. The rest of the morning would be devoted to chores. For my part, my host mom was opposed to me washing the dishes, sweeping, or performing any type of house-work. For the 2nd and 3rd Sunday of my stay, I was allowed to harvest nance fruit off the ground for use in chicha and pesada. Since the tree only fruits for a month out of the year however, this chore ceased to exist. As such, I usually spent the time after breakfast watching TV with Mama Rita.
After eating lunch, which according to my Sunday records consisted of either spaghetti with chicken on top of rice, or lentils and chicken on top of rice, I would head out to play some sort of sport with the other trainees/aspirantes. That is, ultimate frisbee or volleyball. Of course, some Sundays there would be no games as many of the trainees were too... tired, from the previous Saturday.
After the games, I'd usually return home and spend the rest of my time with my host family, watching TV and eating dinner. Dinner remained uninfluenced by the day of the week, as my host mom always made it at home. It almost always included rice and some type of meat (fish, beef, pork, chicken), and usually some sort of veggies (typically lettuce, tomato, and cucumber). Lentils were a common occurrence in dinners as well. Usually I would also get some chicha to drink, or maybe some soda. As with every day, unless there was some sort of party we were attending, the family locked up the house at 9:00p and proceeded to bed. Usually before bed however, one of us would have to awkwardly remind the other about the weekly rent that had to be paid, and perform the transaction before saying "hasta manana".
Weekdays
I'd get up at 6:35a or earlier and take a cold shower. My host mother was almost always at work at the fonda at least an hour before I woke up, and often my host father would be gone as well. After getting dressed, I'd collect a mango (at least for the first few weeks while the tree gave fruit), sit with Mama Rita and think about the day ahead. After a good while, I'd say my farewell and proceed to the fonda for breakfast. Breakfast would consist of a meat (pollo frito o guisado, bolita de carne, salchicha) and 2, in any combination, of an hojaldre, empenada and/or tortilla. Drink would consist of a chicha de maracuya, piña, nance, o avena. On rare occassions (twice) I received a pomegranite chicha. I usually ate my breakfast with another trainee, Nikki, though she tended to arrive late.
For language class days, we'd have three and a half hours of instruction. During breaks, my class would usually head to one of the local stores to buy snacks. After class, we had a one-hour lunch break. In my case, I immediately went to the fonda to eat either sancocho (a stew of chicken or beef, and assorted veggies with a side of rice) or a plate of lentils, rice, fried chicken (or pork), salad (covered in a generous amount of sour cream), and a small piece of fried plantain. Sometimes I'd eat with Nikki, but she tended to arrive after I had finished and left.
The afternoon sessions were referred to as technical sessions. These were mostly lectures ranging from behavior change, to latrines, to HIV, and more. Occassionally we would get to do some hands on activities, such as the concrete lab where we made a concrete lid. A few afternoon sessions, most of which occurred during the first few weeks, were set aside for cultural activities. Whether that be cutting fruit, learning about the different provinces where we'd serve, or presenting history, both United Statesian and Panamanian. In the latter weeks, we'd await the arrival of the "pan-man" after technical sessions to buy pastries from his unmarked white van.
The last part of the day I'd spend with my host family, eating dinner and watching TV in Mama Rita's patio. The TV channel was always on Canal 13 (Telemetro), and during the weekdays from 8:00p - 9:00p ran the comedic series "El Man Es German". A Colombian TV show which, if the ads are to be believed, is the most popular in Panamá. The TV series that followed was "Jesus: En Sus Ultimos Capitulos" which I'd hear coming from the room of the neighbor who shared my bedroom wall.
Saturdays
Saturdays played out like Sundays, except breakfast was at the fonda and trainees tended to use this day to travel out of the community. Usually this would be the nearest major town to us from which we could purchase supplies (such as for the upcoming volunteer visit, or tech week) or acquire haircuts (our community only had a barber, so he only cut men's hair). Often times though, trainees would head out to Panamá city to see the sites, buy some gourmet cookies, and hang out at bars. I myself ventured out a couple of Saturdays (stories to be posted), but I largely stayed back in the community, following the Sunday procedure listed above.
Sundays
Sunday mornings were my favorite mornings. I'd get up late (7:00a), recover a mango, and greet my host grandmother, "Mama" Rita. Some time later, host-family relatives arrive with bread and my host mother, Maritza, brings out the cream of corn (served in cups) and fried eggs. The rest of the morning would be devoted to chores. For my part, my host mom was opposed to me washing the dishes, sweeping, or performing any type of house-work. For the 2nd and 3rd Sunday of my stay, I was allowed to harvest nance fruit off the ground for use in chicha and pesada. Since the tree only fruits for a month out of the year however, this chore ceased to exist. As such, I usually spent the time after breakfast watching TV with Mama Rita.
After eating lunch, which according to my Sunday records consisted of either spaghetti with chicken on top of rice, or lentils and chicken on top of rice, I would head out to play some sort of sport with the other trainees/aspirantes. That is, ultimate frisbee or volleyball. Of course, some Sundays there would be no games as many of the trainees were too... tired, from the previous Saturday.
After the games, I'd usually return home and spend the rest of my time with my host family, watching TV and eating dinner. Dinner remained uninfluenced by the day of the week, as my host mom always made it at home. It almost always included rice and some type of meat (fish, beef, pork, chicken), and usually some sort of veggies (typically lettuce, tomato, and cucumber). Lentils were a common occurrence in dinners as well. Usually I would also get some chicha to drink, or maybe some soda. As with every day, unless there was some sort of party we were attending, the family locked up the house at 9:00p and proceeded to bed. Usually before bed however, one of us would have to awkwardly remind the other about the weekly rent that had to be paid, and perform the transaction before saying "hasta manana".
Weekdays
I'd get up at 6:35a or earlier and take a cold shower. My host mother was almost always at work at the fonda at least an hour before I woke up, and often my host father would be gone as well. After getting dressed, I'd collect a mango (at least for the first few weeks while the tree gave fruit), sit with Mama Rita and think about the day ahead. After a good while, I'd say my farewell and proceed to the fonda for breakfast. Breakfast would consist of a meat (pollo frito o guisado, bolita de carne, salchicha) and 2, in any combination, of an hojaldre, empenada and/or tortilla. Drink would consist of a chicha de maracuya, piña, nance, o avena. On rare occassions (twice) I received a pomegranite chicha. I usually ate my breakfast with another trainee, Nikki, though she tended to arrive late.
Peeling a mango
Photo credit: "Mama" Rita Ramos
From there, we would either board the bus to Panamá or go to our language classes. At Panamá, we would attend sessions on policies from the various staff sectors (security, medical, etc.), maybe do some paperwork or get a vaccine, and perform some sort of group activity around the topics covered. For lunch, we'd head out to a plaza in order to buy a meal at the various kiosks which offered pizza, empanadas, hamburgers, green smoothies, and more. The nearby grocery store was a popular destination for trainees looking to buy things unavailable in the community like shampoo or candy bars. We'd then go back for more sessions until 6:00p or so. Office days meant we returned past dinner time at our host families' home, but they'd always have our dinners set aside.Photo credit: "Mama" Rita Ramos
For language class days, we'd have three and a half hours of instruction. During breaks, my class would usually head to one of the local stores to buy snacks. After class, we had a one-hour lunch break. In my case, I immediately went to the fonda to eat either sancocho (a stew of chicken or beef, and assorted veggies with a side of rice) or a plate of lentils, rice, fried chicken (or pork), salad (covered in a generous amount of sour cream), and a small piece of fried plantain. Sometimes I'd eat with Nikki, but she tended to arrive after I had finished and left.
The afternoon sessions were referred to as technical sessions. These were mostly lectures ranging from behavior change, to latrines, to HIV, and more. Occassionally we would get to do some hands on activities, such as the concrete lab where we made a concrete lid. A few afternoon sessions, most of which occurred during the first few weeks, were set aside for cultural activities. Whether that be cutting fruit, learning about the different provinces where we'd serve, or presenting history, both United Statesian and Panamanian. In the latter weeks, we'd await the arrival of the "pan-man" after technical sessions to buy pastries from his unmarked white van.
The last part of the day I'd spend with my host family, eating dinner and watching TV in Mama Rita's patio. The TV channel was always on Canal 13 (Telemetro), and during the weekdays from 8:00p - 9:00p ran the comedic series "El Man Es German". A Colombian TV show which, if the ads are to be believed, is the most popular in Panamá. The TV series that followed was "Jesus: En Sus Ultimos Capitulos" which I'd hear coming from the room of the neighbor who shared my bedroom wall.
Saturdays
Saturdays played out like Sundays, except breakfast was at the fonda and trainees tended to use this day to travel out of the community. Usually this would be the nearest major town to us from which we could purchase supplies (such as for the upcoming volunteer visit, or tech week) or acquire haircuts (our community only had a barber, so he only cut men's hair). Often times though, trainees would head out to Panamá city to see the sites, buy some gourmet cookies, and hang out at bars. I myself ventured out a couple of Saturdays (stories to be posted), but I largely stayed back in the community, following the Sunday procedure listed above.
Friday, December 6, 2019
A trip to Panamá (June 22, 2019)
A street in Panamá
Anyways, one day we arranged ourselves into groups to prepare for a scavenger hunt of sorts into the city. The purpose of the assignment was to familiarize ourselves with the public transportation system and to get to know the city generally, but more specifically, visit important landmarks; such as the clinics Peace Corps medical may send us to, a hostel that offers volunteers a discount, an artesania market where you can find polleras, and so on.
Our first course of action was to interrogate our host families on how to get from the training community to the city, as we had previously only left on private transportation. We then planned our departure and regrouped the following morning to find any bus/busito/van/chiva heading to the interamericana (Pan-American Highway). We eventually found a van with available seating to take us there where we then waited for an infamous diablo rojo.
The diablo rojos are public buses that drive routes throughout the provinces of Panamá and Panamá Oeste, though they once drove routes throughout the entire country. They are converted school buses that are easily identifiable by their graffiti'd exteriors. The buses are renowned for having conductors that drive maniacally, and previously were known to blast reggae music before a law passed prohibiting such excessive noise. Due to the increasing cost of maintaining the buses however, the diablo rojos are being phased out in favor of busitos. If you find yourself in Panamá soon, you may as well take a ride in one before they're gone.
Unlike other modes of transportation in Panamá, the diablo rojos are not air conditioned, but they are also cheaper compared to, say, a busito ($0.90 as opposed to $1.50). If all the windows are pulled down, the forced ventilation is sufficient to keep the temperature at reasonable levels. Future Me would find himself in a diablo rojo with all the windows up as people seem to find the heat more tolerable than being splashed by rain. Regardless, we arrived to the Albrook bus terminal over an hour later.
The next step was to acquire metro cards (if not acquired the last time we were here) so that we could travel around the city. For those interested, metro cards can be purchased for 3 dollars at the various machines around the Albrook terminal mall area and must be loaded with dollars. The metro bus fare is $0.25 and the subway fare is $0.35. We started with the bus to visit the clinic and took note of the sign color, black and green. Each location we were to visit had a question or two we would need to answer as a form of verification when our tour was complete.
We later found our way to a certain hostel where we toured the area and learned about the discount offered to Peace Corps volunteers (verified by presenting our Peace Corps IDs). We ran into Shellee, a third-year volunteer going for a second third-year (fourth year), who we assumed was spying for the staff. She claimed she wasn't, but I've yet to find any proof confirming or denying my suspicions.
Our group's tour came to an end at a mini-supermarket which sold ice-cream cones at what I believe was $2.00. We decided to find some place to lunch before finding our way back. We settled on a Mexican restaurant that happened to be nearby, which turned out to be the best course of action. It is at this location that I actually encountered something spicy. See, here in Panamá, spice isn't on the menu. In fact, the "picante" salsa they have here is really just 99.97% vinegar. So, reuniting with my good friend Green Salsa was a real treat. I even took some to go.
Usually the phone eats first, but I couldn't
help eating at least one quesadilla.
On our way back, we decided we would try the metro train. There was supposed to be one fairly close to us, but we ended up lost along the way, and the directions we received sent us to a different station that was further away. Despite the inconvenience, it provided an opportunity to see more of the city and we did eventually make it to the metro. The metro train is fairly new, having been inaugurated in 2014, and was an efficient way to travel back to the Albrook terminal. We were still ahead of schedule, so we decided to check out some of the shops around the mall. I didn't buy anything, and I never did (aside from my host dad's shirt) for a couple of reasons. One, I'm living solely off the Peace Corps budget. Two, I'm really cheap.
Before departing to take public transportation back to our site, we met with the Safety & Security manager who verified our return and took a group photo with us. The way back involved an air conditioned ($1.50) bus that travelled relatively slow such that we almost arrived late to our communities. In fact, another group departed a half-hour after us and arrived ahead of us by five minutes. Regardless, our last step was to call the Safety manager to confirm our arrival back to site and to answer the scavenger hunt questions. Since about 8 other groups were trying to call at the same time however, we were put on hold for a good long while. So we all just hung out at the front yard of one of our group member's host family.
Eventually our turn came up, and the security manager called every group member up to answer a couple of the questions. She was particularly impressed that I referred to her in the "usted" form as volunteers and trainees tend to fall back on the more familiar "tu" form. Without any problems, we completed the interrogation and the group parted ways towards our respective host families. At this point, we were officially allowed to travel out of our communities as we pleased on any of our free days. So long as we respected the 9:00p curfew...
Friday, November 29, 2019
Volunteer Visit in Coclé
Happy belated Thanksgiving! I'm back again and this time with a few stories I managed to write offline at site (charge permitting).
Quick update: I've been serving in the province of Bocas del Toro. If you type Bocas del Toro into Google though, you'll find photos of the islands (there's also town called Bocas del Toro), beaches, and other touristy stuff. That's not where Peace Corps volunteer sites are located, though once upon a time. Most of the province itself lies on the mainland and, in addition, most of it is a natural reserve. Small and medium sized communities dot the area, and a majority of those communities are populated by indigenous people. More details about my site will come in time, I assure you. In the meanwhile I've got all my stories loaded on the blog which will be released one-by-one each week which by then I'll hopefully have more stories to add. I hoped to upload some stories back in October when I had access to Wi-Fi, but never found the time to get around to it. Better late then never though, right? Apologies for the wait.
This first one is set in June during training and the rest will advance from there. But before that, I'll answer a couple of questions that I know may pop up. You may notice that I never list concrete locations and that is because as Peace Corps regulations prohibit us from publishing locations where Peace Corps volunteers and trainees are located for security reasons. You may also notice that there aren't many photos of Panamanians and that's because many people are shy about having their picture taken, and they by and large prefer staged photos to "candid" ones. Add to that the fact that my phone drowned while I was crossing the river out of my site (forgot to check my pockets) and I lost most of my photos. Anyways, onto the blog...
June 20, 2019
One week into training we were taken on a day trip to a volunteer's site in the province of Coclé. This was our first, and fortunately not last, experience with a chiva. No, I'm not talking about a goat. Here in Panamá, chivas refer to pickup trucks that drive the routes to, between, and from the rural communities located along dirt roads and/or the mountains. The backs have been converted to contain a tarp roof and benches along the sides. Anyways, after being tossed around the back for a good thirty minutes (while also taking in some nice views), we finally arrived to the site of a volunteer named Rachel.
In site, we met with a few G83 WASH volunteers who had been here for nearly a year (WASH and SAS arrive in the odd numbered cohorts yearly) and met with the president of the water committee who spoke with us about the ongoing projects, the role volunteer Rachel has been playing, and the work previous volunteers had done. Afterwards, we all hiked up to see the newly constructed water tank. We would have seen the toma (water source intake) as well were it not an hour away.
At this point, we were divided into our tech week groups (tech week wouldn't occur until late July, but these groups were created before we even arrived for staging) and, along with a G83 guide, visited a few houses in the community and practiced being a volunteer.
At the first house, we engaged in a discussion about a "calabaza" (Crescentia cujete) tree with the owner of the house. The fruit is not edible, but it's purpose is still involved in cuisine. After sawing the hard fruit in half, scooping the meat out, drying the bowl and boiling it, the calabaza becomes a tatuma. A bowl.
At house number 2, we learned about green (unripe) mangoes and some history. Long ago during a famine, many people took to eating the unripe mangoes out of desperation. As such, eating mangoes unripe carries a stigma as being something only the desperately poor do. However, it makes a great salad if you just add some salt and spice. The green mango has, in recent years, begun to increase in popularity (at least in cities) for its use as/in a salad.
The third and final house of the hour provided some plant identification, such as a guayabana (soursop), and some tips for gardening which I have since forgotten. Unlike the other two houses, more than one family member was present and so we had a more dynamic conversation about the topics at hand. Discussions largely involved the water situation in the community, and what priorities the community members have, but we also moved on to more personal subjects.
We hiked back up near the town center and all the groups met up with volunteer Rachel for a Q&A. I don't remember much about what was asked, but I do remember her saying she didn't really like mangoes, which I declared blasphemy. Her lot contains three mango trees which are likely went to waste as I was beginning my service (mango season in that region is September). A punch in the gut considering that in the region where I'm serving mango trees don't bear fruit.
Our last stop was the community's public school for a lunch of arroz con pollo (customary in Panamá for large group gatherings) which was also served with ensalada de papas (potatoes mixed with beets and mayo) and a chicha of a flavor I did not record in my notebook. The lunch was followed by a presentation of the sombrero pinta'o and how members of the community tejer such hats. An offer was made to sell some hats (price unrecorded, I seem to believe it was somewhere between $35 and $60). Finally, some of the students from the school performed a baile tipico, a clip of which I once had but which seems to have not made it to the archive.
On the way back down the hill, I found myself stuck in the front of the chiva since I was far too polite trying to get into the back. In some respects I was safer for it. The journey down while riding in the front was quite tranquil, and you don't feel the motions as much as in the back. I found myself sitting with fellow aspirante Sarah and the chiva driver with whom I conversed. Still though, we could hear all the yips and laughter coming from behind and I admit that I wished I was with them. As great as it was conversing with the driver and getting to better know one of my co-trainees, riding in the front of a chiva is like riding shotgun in a limo; you want to be in the back.
Quick update: I've been serving in the province of Bocas del Toro. If you type Bocas del Toro into Google though, you'll find photos of the islands (there's also town called Bocas del Toro), beaches, and other touristy stuff. That's not where Peace Corps volunteer sites are located, though once upon a time. Most of the province itself lies on the mainland and, in addition, most of it is a natural reserve. Small and medium sized communities dot the area, and a majority of those communities are populated by indigenous people. More details about my site will come in time, I assure you. In the meanwhile I've got all my stories loaded on the blog which will be released one-by-one each week which by then I'll hopefully have more stories to add. I hoped to upload some stories back in October when I had access to Wi-Fi, but never found the time to get around to it. Better late then never though, right? Apologies for the wait.
This first one is set in June during training and the rest will advance from there. But before that, I'll answer a couple of questions that I know may pop up. You may notice that I never list concrete locations and that is because as Peace Corps regulations prohibit us from publishing locations where Peace Corps volunteers and trainees are located for security reasons. You may also notice that there aren't many photos of Panamanians and that's because many people are shy about having their picture taken, and they by and large prefer staged photos to "candid" ones. Add to that the fact that my phone drowned while I was crossing the river out of my site (forgot to check my pockets) and I lost most of my photos. Anyways, onto the blog...
June 20, 2019
One week into training we were taken on a day trip to a volunteer's site in the province of Coclé. This was our first, and fortunately not last, experience with a chiva. No, I'm not talking about a goat. Here in Panamá, chivas refer to pickup trucks that drive the routes to, between, and from the rural communities located along dirt roads and/or the mountains. The backs have been converted to contain a tarp roof and benches along the sides. Anyways, after being tossed around the back for a good thirty minutes (while also taking in some nice views), we finally arrived to the site of a volunteer named Rachel.
In site, we met with a few G83 WASH volunteers who had been here for nearly a year (WASH and SAS arrive in the odd numbered cohorts yearly) and met with the president of the water committee who spoke with us about the ongoing projects, the role volunteer Rachel has been playing, and the work previous volunteers had done. Afterwards, we all hiked up to see the newly constructed water tank. We would have seen the toma (water source intake) as well were it not an hour away.
At this point, we were divided into our tech week groups (tech week wouldn't occur until late July, but these groups were created before we even arrived for staging) and, along with a G83 guide, visited a few houses in the community and practiced being a volunteer.
At the first house, we engaged in a discussion about a "calabaza" (Crescentia cujete) tree with the owner of the house. The fruit is not edible, but it's purpose is still involved in cuisine. After sawing the hard fruit in half, scooping the meat out, drying the bowl and boiling it, the calabaza becomes a tatuma. A bowl.
At house number 2, we learned about green (unripe) mangoes and some history. Long ago during a famine, many people took to eating the unripe mangoes out of desperation. As such, eating mangoes unripe carries a stigma as being something only the desperately poor do. However, it makes a great salad if you just add some salt and spice. The green mango has, in recent years, begun to increase in popularity (at least in cities) for its use as/in a salad.
Green Mango
The third and final house of the hour provided some plant identification, such as a guayabana (soursop), and some tips for gardening which I have since forgotten. Unlike the other two houses, more than one family member was present and so we had a more dynamic conversation about the topics at hand. Discussions largely involved the water situation in the community, and what priorities the community members have, but we also moved on to more personal subjects.
We hiked back up near the town center and all the groups met up with volunteer Rachel for a Q&A. I don't remember much about what was asked, but I do remember her saying she didn't really like mangoes, which I declared blasphemy. Her lot contains three mango trees which are likely went to waste as I was beginning my service (mango season in that region is September). A punch in the gut considering that in the region where I'm serving mango trees don't bear fruit.
Our last stop was the community's public school for a lunch of arroz con pollo (customary in Panamá for large group gatherings) which was also served with ensalada de papas (potatoes mixed with beets and mayo) and a chicha of a flavor I did not record in my notebook. The lunch was followed by a presentation of the sombrero pinta'o and how members of the community tejer such hats. An offer was made to sell some hats (price unrecorded, I seem to believe it was somewhere between $35 and $60). Finally, some of the students from the school performed a baile tipico, a clip of which I once had but which seems to have not made it to the archive.
On the way back down the hill, I found myself stuck in the front of the chiva since I was far too polite trying to get into the back. In some respects I was safer for it. The journey down while riding in the front was quite tranquil, and you don't feel the motions as much as in the back. I found myself sitting with fellow aspirante Sarah and the chiva driver with whom I conversed. Still though, we could hear all the yips and laughter coming from behind and I admit that I wished I was with them. As great as it was conversing with the driver and getting to better know one of my co-trainees, riding in the front of a chiva is like riding shotgun in a limo; you want to be in the back.
Thursday, August 15, 2019
El Hombre de Mango
The wait is over, but unfortunately the wait will have to soon resume once again. I am writing this at the end of Pre-Service Training (PST) during which time I have access to Wi-Fi. I have just today (or yesterday I should say as it is past midnight) sworn in as a volunteer and will soon leave for site with my community guide. There is far too much that has occurred in the past several weeks to recount in this one blog post and limited hours. As such, I will do my best to recount the early days of PST that have occurred using the notes I've been taking my entire time here thus far. I've been lazy with the picture taking however, so expect to see more words instead.
June 12, 2019: I woke up at 4:00 am EDT. Still adjusting from Pacific time however, it felt much earlier. All the group leaders managed to execute the boarding procedure effectively and we were off to Panama a few hours later. The plane flew over and past Panama initially leading many of us to wonder if we accidentally got on a plane headed to elsewhere in South America, but the plane eventually made a 180-degree turn and headed for Panama City, during which time I got a first glimpse of the canal. Aside from the sudden altitude drop causing some hurt ears and a bloody nose, the flight went smoothly.
After clearing customs and being greeted by the staff, the WASH and SAS sectors split up and we proceeded to our respective training communities (located about an hour's drive away from Western Panama City) where we would live with host families. I found myself living with an older couple whose respective children were living elsewhere and hosting trainees of their own. My host mother, Maritza, was one of the cooks at a local "fonda" and so I found myself eating breakfast and lunch there almost every day. Her dinners at home were delicious without exception, and I was one of the few trainees that got vegetables on a regular basis. My favorite meals however were served on Sunday mornings, consisting of crema de maíz along with buttered bread and eggs. As for my host father, Saturnino was a concrete worker, plumber, and odd-job man who proudly owned a car he would do maintenance on every day. I never found myself having much interaction with him outside of dinner, however.
I spent my first afternoon in the patio next door where my host-grandmother ("Mama" Rita) lived, and would spend much of my time throughout PST sitting on the patio with her. On that first day, I found myself resting on a hammock, enjoying the thunder and the cool breeze it brought, and getting to know my new host family. I eventually noticed a mango tree and let my host family know that mangoes are my favorite fruit. This resulted in them granting me unlimited access to their mango tree as well as a lesson on how to use a long branch to knock some mangoes down. I ended up eating two mangoes, and brought a third to my next door neighbor and fellow trainee, Akshay, who was living with my host mother's twin sister named Miriam.
The following morning, I knocked myself down another mango to eat and spent that morning chatting with Mama Rita. I then proceeded with my first day by going to the fonda for breakfast where I met my eating partner, Nikki, who's host mother, Coritza (daughter of Maritza), also worked at the fonda. That day, we were slated to take a bus to the Peace Corps office located near Panama City. During this time, Akshay relayed to me that his host family had found it hilarious that I loved mangoes so much. That when they had seen me eating a mango this morning they took to calling me "el hombre de mango". The other volunteers too would call me "mango man" as they had heard the story and I would occassionally give out mangoes as gifts. Mango season, unfortunately, ended halfway through PST and the name gradually faded from memory. The family next door however, continued to amuse themselves by making fun of other aspects of my being.
One such time was after I recovered nance (Byrsonima crassifolia) for my host mom who then asked me if I wanted to drink some of the "chicha" (fruit drink) she made from it. I responded with "Claro, los recogí". My host mom passed this exchange along to Miriam who interpreted my response to be very sassy, finding it humorous.
Akshay's family also found amusing the pacing of my walk, that is, I walked too fast. They would say to Akshay "Claudio, el se corre por allí y luego se corre por allá..." (note: they mean corre in the sense of "scurry" here) taking a moment to imitate my style of walking around the kitchen. Thenceforth, his family would say "allí va Claudio" while running two fingers across the breakfast table literally almost every day while I walked by towards the fonda. The kids there eventually took to calling me "El gallo Claudio", much to my amusement.
While there remain many more stories I would like to write, I'll have to conclude with a brief summary of pre-service training (for now). We spent the first nine weeks in our training communities with the first few days dedicated to all-day office visits. Eventually, we settled into a routine of in-community Spanish and technical classes, with office visits approximately once a week. This routine would get broken up by key events such as the volunteer site visit and "tech week". Eventually, those of us assigned to indigenous (specifically, Ngäbe) sites were given Ngäbere classes in place of further Spanish classes. In these last few days, we have been placed in dormitories in preparation for our community guides, the swearing-in ceremony, and our departure. I can't say that I'm excited or nervous to begin my service, but I know that I am ready. As for this blog, I can't promise that it will be updated regularly nor can I promise that it'll be updated any time soon. Nevertheless, future posts will relay some adventures in Panama City, teach about the Ngäbe culture, and show some of the beauty Panama has to offer.
June 12, 2019: I woke up at 4:00 am EDT. Still adjusting from Pacific time however, it felt much earlier. All the group leaders managed to execute the boarding procedure effectively and we were off to Panama a few hours later. The plane flew over and past Panama initially leading many of us to wonder if we accidentally got on a plane headed to elsewhere in South America, but the plane eventually made a 180-degree turn and headed for Panama City, during which time I got a first glimpse of the canal. Aside from the sudden altitude drop causing some hurt ears and a bloody nose, the flight went smoothly.
After clearing customs and being greeted by the staff, the WASH and SAS sectors split up and we proceeded to our respective training communities (located about an hour's drive away from Western Panama City) where we would live with host families. I found myself living with an older couple whose respective children were living elsewhere and hosting trainees of their own. My host mother, Maritza, was one of the cooks at a local "fonda" and so I found myself eating breakfast and lunch there almost every day. Her dinners at home were delicious without exception, and I was one of the few trainees that got vegetables on a regular basis. My favorite meals however were served on Sunday mornings, consisting of crema de maíz along with buttered bread and eggs. As for my host father, Saturnino was a concrete worker, plumber, and odd-job man who proudly owned a car he would do maintenance on every day. I never found myself having much interaction with him outside of dinner, however.
Me and My Host Family (August 1, 2019)
The following morning, I knocked myself down another mango to eat and spent that morning chatting with Mama Rita. I then proceeded with my first day by going to the fonda for breakfast where I met my eating partner, Nikki, who's host mother, Coritza (daughter of Maritza), also worked at the fonda. That day, we were slated to take a bus to the Peace Corps office located near Panama City. During this time, Akshay relayed to me that his host family had found it hilarious that I loved mangoes so much. That when they had seen me eating a mango this morning they took to calling me "el hombre de mango". The other volunteers too would call me "mango man" as they had heard the story and I would occassionally give out mangoes as gifts. Mango season, unfortunately, ended halfway through PST and the name gradually faded from memory. The family next door however, continued to amuse themselves by making fun of other aspects of my being.
View of the Panama Canal at night. Travel to and from the Peace Corps
Office required that we cross over the canal. (June 14, 2019)
One such time was after I recovered nance (Byrsonima crassifolia) for my host mom who then asked me if I wanted to drink some of the "chicha" (fruit drink) she made from it. I responded with "Claro, los recogí". My host mom passed this exchange along to Miriam who interpreted my response to be very sassy, finding it humorous.
Akshay's family also found amusing the pacing of my walk, that is, I walked too fast. They would say to Akshay "Claudio, el se corre por allí y luego se corre por allá..." (note: they mean corre in the sense of "scurry" here) taking a moment to imitate my style of walking around the kitchen. Thenceforth, his family would say "allí va Claudio" while running two fingers across the breakfast table literally almost every day while I walked by towards the fonda. The kids there eventually took to calling me "El gallo Claudio", much to my amusement.
While there remain many more stories I would like to write, I'll have to conclude with a brief summary of pre-service training (for now). We spent the first nine weeks in our training communities with the first few days dedicated to all-day office visits. Eventually, we settled into a routine of in-community Spanish and technical classes, with office visits approximately once a week. This routine would get broken up by key events such as the volunteer site visit and "tech week". Eventually, those of us assigned to indigenous (specifically, Ngäbe) sites were given Ngäbere classes in place of further Spanish classes. In these last few days, we have been placed in dormitories in preparation for our community guides, the swearing-in ceremony, and our departure. I can't say that I'm excited or nervous to begin my service, but I know that I am ready. As for this blog, I can't promise that it will be updated regularly nor can I promise that it'll be updated any time soon. Nevertheless, future posts will relay some adventures in Panama City, teach about the Ngäbe culture, and show some of the beauty Panama has to offer.
Tuesday, June 11, 2019
Staging
It snuck up on me. I packed everything in one day and now, as though I only just blinked, I'm in Miami. Departure to Panama is set to take place in a several hours and I can expect to arrive around noon Panama time (they follow EST year-round). I'm normally not one to procrastinate, I usually have my essays done a week in advance! But in packing up to leave, I waited until the day before, cramming clothes as one does an essay. After finalizing my selections I half-slept those precious last hours until it was at last time to leave. My last view of San Diego was the runway of the airport as the morning fog covered the city in its entirety below. One might've been remiss to think they were flying over a glacier.
My phone lists this location as San Juan Capistrano, but this was all
I saw from takeoff until we were over Los Angeles (June 10, 2019)
I saw from takeoff until we were over Los Angeles (June 10, 2019)
Upon entry, the plane was delayed trying to access its gate. As a result of my flights being back to back, I missed my original flight from Los Angeles to Miami. My bag on the other hand, made it aboard the plane no problem >_>. Fortunately, the airline was able to board me on another flight that departed a few hours later. In the end, I made it to Miami, reunited with my bag, and arrived to the hotel where staging was to take place. Upon checking in, the concierge informed me that I was the lightest-packed Peace Corps invitee he had seen thus far. For that, I would like to extend thanks to my sister Anna for helping me pack everything efficiently!
The totality of my luggage (June 10, 2019)
Staging consisted of invitees in the sectors of Sustainable Agricultural Systems (SAS) and Water, Sanitation & Hygiene (WASH). In case you didn't know, I belong to the latter group. In total, we were 45 people. I spent the morning with my roommate Greg, a country-boy from Colorado. We happened upon a Cuban restaurant a couple blocks from our hotel and were surprised that everything was only in Spanish (talk about good practice!). Even more, this likely contributed to the relative cheapness of the meal. Around noon, we registered ourselves for the staging event and met with the many other invitees. The staging event itself was seven+ hours where we went over the Peace Corps' Mission and Core Expectations. We engaged in icebreakers and discussed our own expectations, particularly our anxieties and our aspirations and we learned of the many commonalities that lie among us as volunteers. That is, we each share the same commitment to service, and have many of the same anxieties and aspirations. In the end, the Staging organizers fostered a sense of community among us invitees reminding us that we have each other for support.
Peace Corps Panama G85 (June 11, 2019)
At the end of the event, we were assigned to groups (by alphabetical order). Each group stood so that its members could identify one another, and then all but one would sit leaving a lone individual who was assigned the group leader. After getting a good look at all of my group mates, I began to sit down only to realize that I was the last one standing... And so it was that I was granted the additional responsibility of making sure everyone in my group makes it out of the hotel to the shuttle, from the shuttle to the airport, and from the airport to the plane. In addition, each one of the group leaders was assigned a specific duty. In my case, I am to await the first shuttle and let everyone in groups 1-4 know when it is ready for luggage-loading and to confirm that the shuttle will land at the correct terminal. Once we arrive, it is my responsibility to ensure that no bags were left behind and tip the driver with money that everyone in the groups pitched in for. In exchange for availing my service as a group leader, I was rewarded with a Peace Corps flag much like the one that is displayed in the picture above.
It was a long eventful day which I found highly enjoyable. In just another blink, I'll find myself in Panama. But while I'm holding my eyes open, I must note that I will be unable to update my blog for at least a few weeks as I will not have internet access. Even so, be prepared to wait 10 or more weeks for an update. The irregularity in blog posts is likely to continue for the entirety of my service as I will only have internet access when I leave my site to visit town. Therefore, I recommend subscribing to this blog via email so that updates are received as they come out. No need to drive yourself insane by checking this website constantly, but the waiting will certainly provide a taste of what it's like to be an applicant; the expectation that an invitation will appear in the inbox any day now...
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