A Day In My Life In Panama

The following is a journal entry of mine from early May. I hope you enjoy.

I sit up and look around. It's still dark out. I slept on a cowhide on the dirt floor of the grass hut amongst all of the children in my host family. I begin to wonder what woke me up so early. It must have been another chicken running over me. Oh, wait, nope...here it comes again...

The beautiful Caribbean!

"¡GENTE, DEJA SU MANTA, DEJA SU MUJER, VENGA A TRABAJAR!" (Men, leave your blankets, leave your women, come work!)

That's my host dad screaming at the top of his lungs for the men in the community to come help carry wood. I'm quickly up and ready to go. The grandma in the house hands me a 12oz cup of coffee. I pray that this one isn't too hot as I open my throat and begin to chug. One...two...three...finished. Maybe this time they won't make fun of me. In come the men. They all put back their coffee faster than I did mine and we're off to get wood for the house.

Random picture.

It's so dark I can barely see the trail, but after four months of this I should be able to do it in the dark. I can hear the men in front of me laughing and making fun of me in Ngabere (native dialect) for the the way I drink my coffee. I'll never learn.

My buddy Jack bird hunting in the jungle.

About thirty minutes later we get to the wood, after going over a mountain that wears us all out. Or, maybe that was just the pace these men choose to walk at. We all throw a hundred pounds of wood on our shoulders and start the trek back as the sky is slowly starting to brighten.

The house during construction.

Maximo, a fitting name for the strongest man in the community, blazes past me going up the backside of the mountain carrying at least 150 pounds of wood. I shout out "Maximo, why aren't you wearing any shoes?!" He's already too far ahead for me to hear his reply, but I'm sure it's something about how shoes are for wimps.

Construction.

A short while later there is a piercing pain in my arm. I look down to see a giant caterpillar that looks like a porcupine sticking out of my forearm. I drop my wood as I let out a cry of pain. One of the other men drops his wood as well and takes off running into the heavy growth, quickly reappearing with the leaf of a "medicinal tree" to rub on my arm. We're quickly back on the trail, but my arm still stings.

On goes the roof.

After an hour and a half gone I'm back at the house, but last again. I drop off my wood, find out there is no breakfast and take off to the fields where the community is already working. Today we're planting rice. The holes are already dug. My job: pull five grains of rice from a bag, put them in a hole, cover the hole, and repeat.

Lovely water tank, huh?

Three pounds of rice and four hours later I hear someone helling "MRORE!" and I know that lunch has arrived. Everyone gathers around the old woman who has just slung a giant bag of rice from her head, where it was carried, down to the ground. Oh great, I think, more rice. But it doesn't matter I'm hungry and ready to eat.

My host dad finishing with the grass.

I get the first plate, or banana leaf rather, full of rice. I didn't show up first, but to them it doesn't matter. I've asked them to treat me no differently than their own, but still no one eats until Choi (my indigenous name) has his food. They say I'm the guest, and guests eat first. I eat my rice with my dirty fingers as no one brought silverware and there is no place to wash my hands. It's ok by me, I've gotten used to being dirty. I eat quickly, trying to fill the hole in my stomach, stopping only to pull the occasional ant or beetle out of my food. Sometimes I don't even stop for that.

A trek through the jungle.

My rice is finished and I'm back again lost in the monotony of filling small holes with five grains of rice. For a few days the experience is sobering, allowing me to clear my head and think about all sorts of things. After a week, however, I'm thankful for my education and ready to be done with rice.

My community is down there, somewhere.

My rice planting is interrupted by two guys who call me over to solve a debate. As the Peace Corps volunteer I am the official keeper of time for the community and also the final word on any debate, whether or not I know the answer. Period.

The house, finished! And what a wonderful view.

Today the debate is about whether or not English and French are the same language. I explain that they're not and as I explain where the two are spoken I am interrupted by one of the men who wants to know if France is in the same world as us. I debate about how to handle this question and just say "yes".

The sunset from my porch.

"But Choi, if you can't walk there how can it be in the same world?"

I don't have time to answer this one as another man starts yelling and pointing to the sky. I look up and see two planes in view at the same time. I look back at the man yelling and the expression on his face as if to say "you mean there is more than one of those things!" I have to sit down as I am overwhelmed with all that is going on.

Looking for insects.

Fortunately the rain starts and we all pack up and make our way for cover, no more explaining today.

Back at the house I go to take a shower and my host mom notices a bump on my back. It turns out to be a worm under my skin and she pulls out a bottle of medicine. I ask to see the bottle because last time this happened the bottle of medicine very clearly stated "for use on cows only". This time the bottle says "ant poison" in English. She asks me what it says as I hand it back to her. "I don't know," I say, "It's in French."

My turn. Nope, nothing.

After using plenty of ant poison and lots of prodding with a sharp stick she gets the worm to leave and produces another bottle of "medicine". I look at this one and am startled to see a tub of Tropicana hair gel. "This is good medicine," she says, "It's from China." And then goes on to say "It even comes in different colors." Sure, I think, firm, extra firm, super firm.

The kids are always intrigued by the camera.

She finishes covering my wound with hair gel and I go to take my bucket shower. After cleaning up, I eat my bowl of beans and tapioca, and make my way to bed. As I lay down on my cow hide I can smell the grandma toasting the coffee beans for the morning. I chuckle to myself and think "what a day".

My host sister, patiently waiting and asking for candy.

In other news, the house/cabin is finished and I love how it turned out. I've got a spare bed and you are all welcome to come down and visit. I've started building latrines in the community but am taking a short break to go travel with some college buddies. I hope this finds you all doing well.

Jatwaita.

Choi.