I’m writing this blog from the table on the porch at my new host family’s house, in the Dolega region of the province of Chiriquí. I arrived here just before midnight on Thursday evening, April 26.
The morning of April 26, I got dressed and loaded my insane amount of luggage onto a coach bus, and headed to the Smithsonian Institute to be sworn in as a Peace Corps Volunteer, after completing a full 10 weeks of Pre-Service Training. Everyone was dressed in their best clothes, hugging and taking pictures and giving thanks where it was due. It was a relief and an emotional disaster, all in one, taking my oath and saying goodbye to the safety of PST, my amigos, and the English language.
I thought the oath was dumb honestly, before I took it. How the heck am I supposed to protect the United States from all enemies foreign and domestic? I’m a Peace Corps volunteer, not a Navy Seal. I have charla paper and magic markers for days, brindis tucked into every pocket of my bags, and a holistic approach to sustainable development and relationship building encroaching on every part of my brain; I’m not sure how far my illustrations of compost and my packages of galletas will go in protecting anyone from anything (except for mid-afternoon munchies and chemical fertilizers ruining their watersheds…). However, as I spoke the words of the foreign service oath, it felt like a little something got in my eye, and I felt strangely empowered and ready to do this thing I’m doing. I re-boarded the bus, hauled my luggage through the terminal at Albrook, traveled nearly 10 hours into my site, and sleepily found my way into a bed in a stranger’s house.
That brings us to now.
After four days here, I think this is a place I can learn to call home.
A brief overview of my community:
My new host family is gigantic. It seems that half of the people in my town are related to me.
We have a population of around 600 people in 100 households.
The school I’ll be working in has three teachers and around 50-60 students, split up into multigrado classrooms. One class is Pre-K & K; another is first, second, and fifth; the last is third, fourth, and sixth.
I have next to no cell reception here, specifically in my house. Luckily, we have an infoplaza with internet (that’s how I’m posting this blog; $0.50 gets me an hour of internet time).
They don’t care about my tattoos, that I’m not religious, or that I’m vegan; it’s chill.
Basketball is the most popular sport; this is a relief as soccer just isn’t my thing. My experience playing in a basketball league in first grade is going to go a long way here!
My body doesn’t like the water here; after two days of miserable cramping and insane bowel movements, I caved and set up my water filter. I’m happy to say I’ve made a quick recovery.
I live at the headwaters of a river here, so our water is actually very clean. I just don’t know what to do with the new bacteria just yet, apparently.
Every day around 4 pm, it rains for about 2-3 hours. Welcome to rainy season in Chiriquí! It’s also legitimately cold at night, which I did not expect. Like fall in Michigan: warm and sunny for a few hours, then cloudy and chilly, and then straight up cold. It makes me feel homesick and right at home, all at the same time.
The water that I shower with is equivalent to plunging into Lake Michigan in March. It literally hurts my skin. I like to think of it as a weird test of my strength and conditioning for my return north in a couple of years.
There are 8 churches representing 6 religions in my community; I think that’s rather diverse for a pueblo pequeño.
There are Americans here! I haven’t met them, and I’m not sure where they live specifically, but I have been made very well aware that we have Americanos living amongst us. I think I’m supposed to seek them out and build a bridge between the Panameños and the Americanos? Not sure, but it’s a worthy goal as they don’t seem to interact much.
The soil here is dreamy: dark, stinky, soft earth. I have been salivating at the thought of respectfully digging into it and growing some beautiful tasty food.
The people here are a little racist, but I don’t think they know they’re racist. I think it’s just culturally acceptable to say the things they say and I don’t know how to correct it in a respectful way. For instance, they told me the indigenous community that lives near Chiriquí is just like a family of monkeys, and proceeded to embellish a story about them picking bugs out of each others’ hair and eating them. Additionally, when I told them that I’m native, they did the western movie thing where they call out while tapping their hands over their mouths and made motions like they were throwing tomahawks. It’s a little concerning. We’ll work on it.
I don’t know a ton about my new home yet, other than that’s what it is: Home.
I don’t have a ton to share, because I’m pretty mentally tapped out and emotionally taxed. Speaking Spanish was just starting to get easy, but now my recesses to speak English to other trainees have disappeared, and I’m on 24/7. Additionally, being disconnected digitally has had a huge impact on me feeling adequately supported during yet another huge transition. My life here in Panamá is just like the mountains I now live in: no matter where I go, I’m either walking up or down; there is no flat ground to take a breather.
I will close by sharing an excerpt from the disaster of a travel journal I’m keeping:
"Thursday April 26, 2018
1:37 pm
I’m sitting on a bus. I’m sitting on the second floor of a double-decker bus. It’s raining. Basilia, my new host mom, is sitting next to me. I’m wearing my navy blue maxi dress and flats, and my hair is in a sloppy braid to the right side. On the left side of my chest is my new Peace Corps Panama pin, which I received at swear-in. I have a weird sense of pride wearing it. I’m now officially a PC Volunteer – trainee no more.
I can’t believe I actually survived the last 10 weeks – I wanted to leave so many times. I’m not even sure what kept me here – guilt and embarrassment, probably. If I wouldn’t have stuck it out I would have felt dumb and embarrassed. But today I get to set all of that aside, because I made it to my first goal: I finished PST. “PST – DONE,” as David would say.
I finished PST with friends. I finished PST with the love of a wonderful Panamanian woman. I finished PST with a Spanish level higher than what I needed to go to site. I finished PST feeling confident enough to do my job. I’m actually ready.
This is it, I’m off.
I’m as prepared as I can be. It’s crazy how similar my feelings right now are to the feelings I had on February 20 when I got on a plane to D.C., knowing there was nothing more I could do, and just trusting that I would figure it out. Trusting that the people I love would come with me in their own special ways. Trusting that people would be kind and patient with me. So far, so good.
Now I’ve just got to reignite the fiery inspiration that motivates that trust, so I can peacefully struggle through another transition. Because that’s really what it is, a peaceful struggle – and I wouldn’t want my time here to be anything different. The struggle makes it real, makes it something to learn from. The peace makes it bearable, even enjoyable, to navigate the struggles.
Right now, Basilia is drifting off in the seat next to me, Panamanian pop music videos are playing for in-bus entertainment, and the rain is raging outside. And I’m thinking about taking this very bus with ---- when they come to visit my site. And I’m thinking about being on this bus with Chloe and Kevin. And Jon. And maybe even Morgan in a few years. And all of those thoughts give me so much to look forward to and be happy about. I get to share my new home – pretty soon I’ll actually know my new home! Equal parts nervous and excited, but definitely ready.
2:27 pm”
Always,
Hanamá