I'm at an internet cafe in David. I shouldn't be here. I should still be in site. Here's my story.
I woke up yesterday morning at 6am to the sound of my counterpart calling out "Oti, Oti." Dazed, I stumbled out of bed trying to act like I´d gotten up with the 4am roosters as he had. Felipe and I had planned to look for a second aqueduct source later that morning. He wanted to let me know that he would instead be helping workers with the road they are building to connect the highway to Kankitu, a larger community about 4 hours away.
As an aside, this recruitment of local labor, while great for the Ngabes, could essentially bring Jon's aqueduct to a standstill and dash any of my hopes for new projects. Why would any of the men put in some sweat equity when they could instead be earning a wage working on the road? Jobs are hard to come by. Stay tuned.
So Felipe and I will not be looking for the second source. That's fine. A change of plans before the sun crests the hills behind Calante is par for the course out on the Rio Mananti (and every other Peace Corps site in the world). Since I was already up, I had my morning brew and went to talk to the boat driver in my community about a special boat ride for an upcoming tech week. Jon and I are hosting a tech week in Calante where 15 other volunteers will be working on aqueduct construction and maintenance. I´d already spoken with the boat driver, but needed to confirm whether we were on. Naturally, he wasn't home. His wife said he was abajo. Por supuesto. I think if I had to deal with this woman everyday, I'd spend a fair amount of time abajo myself.
I packed up my water and day planner and headed down to Kwite to surprise Jon and try to finalize this boat situation. An hour later, Jon and I headed down to where the boat driver has his home away from home. He was in Chiriqui Grande. Por supuesto. This was a nice piece of information I had asked his wife about and she had simply reiterated that he was in Kwite. No worries. We're still par for the course in Peace Corps living.
Jon and I headed up to his water tank to make a few phone calls and discuss last-minute tech week logistics. On the way back, we stopped by one of his community members, who is usually good for some friendly pasearing. We talked for a few minutes, her on the balcony above, us on the trail below. As we were headed back to Jon´s house, she casually mentions the sick girl at her house that was bit by a snake. What?!
We ask to come up and start asking questions. The girl is splayed out on the floor not looking well, but also looking remarkable healthy all things considered. We find out that she was bitten on the other side of the river, which is easy to cross for lack of rain. As we set out, she remarks how my hair is different than Jon´s and wants to chit chat about such things. Are you kidding me?! Why is no one concerned?! During this episode of the "Twilight Zone", we commandeer another community member and head to the house where she was bitten to try to identify the snake.
We arrive at the house to find out that they have burned the snake, swiftly destroying any hopes of identifying the snake. Por supuesto. But they reassure us that they'´ve saved the blood of the snake if we'd like to use that.
We head back to the girl. If she gets worse, let us know.
Fast forward a few hours. I go back to check on the girl. As I approach, I hear her crying. I go upstairs to find she is in fact getting worse. Where is the family in all of this? At some point, we piece together that the father is out looking for medicine, dropped off the daughter where she is now, and we think we met the mom at the house where she was bitten. Untangling the intricate web of information a la par for the course.
I tell the caretaker that Jon and I can pay for the gas for a special trip to the hospital. The price for a special trip is $125, but the cost for gas alone is much lower. She mandars a few kids to get the ball rolling and I bounce to Calante to grab my things and money for the ride.
Two hours later we're waiting by the boat in Kwite as the boat driver readies the motor. Also, the mother (we think) has arrived with her sick baby (another one) that has had diarrhea and vomiting all day. If there's a special boat going out, they may as well be on it too. The boat driver sets the motor and gas in place and upon seeing our bags announces he only wants the parents and the children aboard. This of course puts Jon and I in a weird place. We want to help and we're paying the cost of the trip. Do we just throw down some money and hope for the best? Do we insist that we should go? There's a lot of implications of whatever choice we take as the twenty people gathered around watch intently. We tell the driver that we're paying and we'd like to at least help these people at the hospital, that today isn't about us trying to just get a special ride afuera. A few words are exchanged in Ngabere and we're told to get in the boat. We sheepishly throw our stuff in the boat, feeling like asses and completely confused for the entire ride to Chiriqui Grande. Why is it so hard to help? In a way, this afternoon felt like a microcosm of the whole experience out here. Trying to help. Stymied by cultural differences. Are we doing the right thing? Who knows? We reassure ourselves that this is a good thing we're doing.
Fast forward to Chiriqui Grande. I know the price of gas should be $60. They want $125. I tell the driver that our part was paying for gas and a little more (we had $80 out ready). His part should be a reduced price under the circumstances. Profiting from a child dying (maybe, still don't know) of a snake bite seems a bit cold. He says he'll get the $125 from the father of the girl. I try a different tack. I know your people. I know that you'll be waiting years to get this money back. You know that you'll never get the $125 from your people. The idea of credit doesn't work out here. Here's $80 that you can feel right now. It's in your hands. He smiles. He knows. It worked. We shake hands and split ways. Jon and I and go find a taxi for the hospital.
Once we're in the hospital, the girl is immediately rushed into the emergency room. We wait with the mother and the baby with diarrhea in the lobby. After an hour of waiting, I get pissed. Other people have been seen that arrived after us. I go in to talk to the nurse. She comes out and says the women has to go to pay the nominal fee to be seen. Thanks for ignoring us for an hour. The conversation smacked of racism towards the indigenous people. For the first time in Panama, I felt defensive of my Ngabes. Even if the jury is still out on whether these communities respect me, you sure as hell better respect my Ngabes. She and her son are later seen.
At the end of the day, it turns out the girl was bitten by a venomous snake. The doctor informed us it was a good thing she had in fact been rushed to the hospital. The family spent the night in the hospital. Jon and I gave them a little money for food, made sure everything was OK, and we caught the last bus headed to David. Par for the course.
I woke up yesterday morning at 6am to the sound of my counterpart calling out "Oti, Oti." Dazed, I stumbled out of bed trying to act like I´d gotten up with the 4am roosters as he had. Felipe and I had planned to look for a second aqueduct source later that morning. He wanted to let me know that he would instead be helping workers with the road they are building to connect the highway to Kankitu, a larger community about 4 hours away.
As an aside, this recruitment of local labor, while great for the Ngabes, could essentially bring Jon's aqueduct to a standstill and dash any of my hopes for new projects. Why would any of the men put in some sweat equity when they could instead be earning a wage working on the road? Jobs are hard to come by. Stay tuned.
So Felipe and I will not be looking for the second source. That's fine. A change of plans before the sun crests the hills behind Calante is par for the course out on the Rio Mananti (and every other Peace Corps site in the world). Since I was already up, I had my morning brew and went to talk to the boat driver in my community about a special boat ride for an upcoming tech week. Jon and I are hosting a tech week in Calante where 15 other volunteers will be working on aqueduct construction and maintenance. I´d already spoken with the boat driver, but needed to confirm whether we were on. Naturally, he wasn't home. His wife said he was abajo. Por supuesto. I think if I had to deal with this woman everyday, I'd spend a fair amount of time abajo myself.
I packed up my water and day planner and headed down to Kwite to surprise Jon and try to finalize this boat situation. An hour later, Jon and I headed down to where the boat driver has his home away from home. He was in Chiriqui Grande. Por supuesto. This was a nice piece of information I had asked his wife about and she had simply reiterated that he was in Kwite. No worries. We're still par for the course in Peace Corps living.
Jon and I headed up to his water tank to make a few phone calls and discuss last-minute tech week logistics. On the way back, we stopped by one of his community members, who is usually good for some friendly pasearing. We talked for a few minutes, her on the balcony above, us on the trail below. As we were headed back to Jon´s house, she casually mentions the sick girl at her house that was bit by a snake. What?!
We ask to come up and start asking questions. The girl is splayed out on the floor not looking well, but also looking remarkable healthy all things considered. We find out that she was bitten on the other side of the river, which is easy to cross for lack of rain. As we set out, she remarks how my hair is different than Jon´s and wants to chit chat about such things. Are you kidding me?! Why is no one concerned?! During this episode of the "Twilight Zone", we commandeer another community member and head to the house where she was bitten to try to identify the snake.
We arrive at the house to find out that they have burned the snake, swiftly destroying any hopes of identifying the snake. Por supuesto. But they reassure us that they'´ve saved the blood of the snake if we'd like to use that.
We head back to the girl. If she gets worse, let us know.
Fast forward a few hours. I go back to check on the girl. As I approach, I hear her crying. I go upstairs to find she is in fact getting worse. Where is the family in all of this? At some point, we piece together that the father is out looking for medicine, dropped off the daughter where she is now, and we think we met the mom at the house where she was bitten. Untangling the intricate web of information a la par for the course.
I tell the caretaker that Jon and I can pay for the gas for a special trip to the hospital. The price for a special trip is $125, but the cost for gas alone is much lower. She mandars a few kids to get the ball rolling and I bounce to Calante to grab my things and money for the ride.
Two hours later we're waiting by the boat in Kwite as the boat driver readies the motor. Also, the mother (we think) has arrived with her sick baby (another one) that has had diarrhea and vomiting all day. If there's a special boat going out, they may as well be on it too. The boat driver sets the motor and gas in place and upon seeing our bags announces he only wants the parents and the children aboard. This of course puts Jon and I in a weird place. We want to help and we're paying the cost of the trip. Do we just throw down some money and hope for the best? Do we insist that we should go? There's a lot of implications of whatever choice we take as the twenty people gathered around watch intently. We tell the driver that we're paying and we'd like to at least help these people at the hospital, that today isn't about us trying to just get a special ride afuera. A few words are exchanged in Ngabere and we're told to get in the boat. We sheepishly throw our stuff in the boat, feeling like asses and completely confused for the entire ride to Chiriqui Grande. Why is it so hard to help? In a way, this afternoon felt like a microcosm of the whole experience out here. Trying to help. Stymied by cultural differences. Are we doing the right thing? Who knows? We reassure ourselves that this is a good thing we're doing.
Fast forward to Chiriqui Grande. I know the price of gas should be $60. They want $125. I tell the driver that our part was paying for gas and a little more (we had $80 out ready). His part should be a reduced price under the circumstances. Profiting from a child dying (maybe, still don't know) of a snake bite seems a bit cold. He says he'll get the $125 from the father of the girl. I try a different tack. I know your people. I know that you'll be waiting years to get this money back. You know that you'll never get the $125 from your people. The idea of credit doesn't work out here. Here's $80 that you can feel right now. It's in your hands. He smiles. He knows. It worked. We shake hands and split ways. Jon and I and go find a taxi for the hospital.
Once we're in the hospital, the girl is immediately rushed into the emergency room. We wait with the mother and the baby with diarrhea in the lobby. After an hour of waiting, I get pissed. Other people have been seen that arrived after us. I go in to talk to the nurse. She comes out and says the women has to go to pay the nominal fee to be seen. Thanks for ignoring us for an hour. The conversation smacked of racism towards the indigenous people. For the first time in Panama, I felt defensive of my Ngabes. Even if the jury is still out on whether these communities respect me, you sure as hell better respect my Ngabes. She and her son are later seen.
At the end of the day, it turns out the girl was bitten by a venomous snake. The doctor informed us it was a good thing she had in fact been rushed to the hospital. The family spent the night in the hospital. Jon and I gave them a little money for food, made sure everything was OK, and we caught the last bus headed to David. Par for the course.
