Nothing like some armadillo for dinner! More and more I find myself thinking instead about what it will be like to step foot back in the US when this experience is over. I wonder what it will be like to walk amongst all the big buildings and busy people, to hear English in the streets and not Spanish or Ngäbere. I wonder what it will be like to walk in my backyard and see a swimming pool larger than the school in my community, to walk into a grocery store and see people spending more money on one basket full of food than my host family will make in an entire year. I wonder if my friends will have changed or if they'll think I've changed.
Host siblings. I've heard many retired Peace Corps volunteers (RPCVs) say that the cultural shock moving to your service country is much easier to deal with than the move back to the States and the life left behind. For many, it is hard to readjust to the lifestyle they were once accustomed to and for some to find their purpose or calling, if you will. While my personal and career aspirations haven't changed since I've arrived in Panama, my perspective on life and the world, I believe, has.
A chicken coop we recently built in Laguna.
I would like to share a recent experience of mine, that along with many others has slowly changed the way I view our world and what I consider to be a common lifestyle.
My neighbor.
Mid-July my host father invited me to join him on a trip to visit the community where his father grew up. A town so small it doesn't have a name, just a few families, all related, living nearby one another. I gladly accepted and the following morning we were off on a two hour hike along the river. Upon arriving in the community we sat down outside the first house we came to where we were able to look out over the other houses and fields where the community was working.
A turtle laying eggs on the beach.A woman came out of the house near where we were sitting, handed us some juice, exchanged a few words with Amado (my host dad) and immediately turned towards the community, shouting:
"¡Un gringo llegó para escoger una esposa!"
(A white man has come to select a wife!)
It's a race back to the ocean!I immediately turned to my host father, "Amado, did she really just say that?"
Amado had trouble answering me he was laughing so hard.
"No," he said, "she's just kidding!"
I breathed a sigh of relief and went back to drinking my tapioca juice refreshment served to me in a hollowed out coconut shell. Before long people started to come up and meet the visitors. They all knew Amado, but were quick to tell me that they had never seen a white man in their own village. They were all incredible kind and accepting of my presence.
Coloring on my porch.
Based on their personal hygiene, quality of their clothing, and use of their language, it was apparent to me that these people would be considered hermits, even in their own culture: living in the shadows, avoiding much contact with anything outside their community. Whereas most Ngäbes are proficient in Spanish but prefer to use Ngäbere, their native dialect, these people were very reluctant to use what little Spanish they knew and favored Ngäbere, even when talking with me. It took me no more than a few simple questions to exhaust the Ngäbere I'm comfortable with and Amado quickly became a translator for me from Spanish to native tongue.
Sunrise on the Pacific.
Some of the men invited me on a tour of the village to see where everyone lived and worked. I gladly accepted. I noticed on our stroll that it was quite common for small children to run out of the homes, only to start crying, turn, and immediately run back inside. After it happened the third or fourth time I asked someone about it.
Definitely worth another look.
"They're scared of you," one man said, "They've never seen a white man before."
I could hear one particular child ask his dad if I was a bear. His father explained to me that they have only heard stories of the size of bears, and with me standing one to two feet taller than anyone in the community it was a natural question for the boy.
Man, too bad Panama doesn't have any sweet beaches.
After seeing the village we settled in a small grass hut for lunch. Being the honorable guest, I was given the stone to sit on while everyone else sat on the ground. A young woman served me a bowl of rice while a small child gripped the girl's leg, careful to always keep her mother between her and the "bear". Seeming too young to have her own child, I asked the woman how old she was.
"I don't know," she said.
"You don't know?"
"No. My mother died giving birth to me and no one remembers the day or year."
A tree viper I just about stepped on.
I found this hard to believe, and continued asking questions to try and gauge her age. All to no avail, this girl had absolutely no clue how old she was. A concept that bewildered me, but to them played no importance in their life.
Mark, Kevin, and I (photographer) crossing into Panama from Costa Rica.
"¿Choi," one man interrupted, "Tu estas soltero?""No, no I'm not a soldier." Wait, soltero, that's not soldier. What does that word mean...shoot!
"Sorry, yes I am single. Why?"
"We would like to offer you a woman from the community to take as a wife. We will give you your own plot of land to farm if you stay."
Yes Mark, you're huge.
Now, I am commonly asked when I'm going to take a wife here in Panama, but this was the first time I've flatly been offered a wife.I understand from talking to volunteers from other countries that it is quite common amongst Peace Corps workers to receive this type of offer. In many places there is a dowry of say a small amount of money and/or livestock.
A walk to the beach.
Future inlaws please read: at a minimum I now expect a goat for marrying your daughter.
"Thank you, but I'm here for the experience, I'm not looking for a spouse."
"Well then, would you at least leave some children? They will grow up to be rich like people from your country."
Pretty pic.
I believe this was the point where I shifted from the stone to the ground and had trouble breathing for about ten seconds. How do you even begin to address a question like this? Given the cultural divide and the clear difference between what we consider to be appropriate behavior I opted for the easy way out:
"I'm sterile, sorry."
Ngäbe woman.
During the walk back and even still now, I think a lot about how little I knew about life outside of our own country and culture. I read books and heard stories about unusual lifestyles around the world. But, I don't think that anything I've read or heard prepared me for my visit to that village or even my life here in Panama.
If only they would wait until they're ripe to eat them.
I'll leave you all with a story I recently heard from my boss, an RPCV. There was a volunteer on an island in the south pacific who woke up one morning to discover that all the men in the community had been killed during a storm at sea the night before while fishing. The women in the community asked the volunteer to help ensure the future of their culture and repopulate the island. Needless to say, the focus of the volunteers service changed as did the ethnic makeup of the island.
Jatwaita.
Choi.
Lots of rice in this country.
Ngäbe man.
A 45 mile walk on the coast. 
There were plenty of river crossings in dugout canoes.
Looking back on two day's of progress.
This particular section of beach went on for 15 miles, and there were about as many people.
