I'm at an internet cafe in David. David is my home away from home away from home. I´m still thinking about development and happiness. The Ngabes in my community are happy. Sure they complain that they don't have stuff, that they don't have money, that things would be so much better if they were rich, that the grass truly is greener in the US. I'm not so sure. These people are happy.
We measure success and wealth by money and how much stuff you have. Ngabes measure wealth with the same terms. But if you measure wealth by happiness, we may be a poorer nation. I don't know. What I do know is that there is something strangely gratifying in spending the majority of your day carrying out the simple tasks of cooking, cleaning, working in the finca, or working on bringing water to the community. And while days don't hold a lot of excitement in the sense of constant stimulus, they don't ever seem boring. And so you find yourself making a bigger deal about the smaller things. Today was the day that so and so returned from harvesting coffee for 5 months. Yesterday was the day I went searching for creollo so that I can plant hardwood trees while I´m in the community.
There are no machines to make things go faster. There are no schedules for projects and so there is no stress from deadlines. And while it can be frustrating at times, it puts things in perspective. Maybe they got it right. All of our tools, everything that we have to make our lives easier, also adds a small amount of stress, stress about the cost of that item, stress about time, stress from a world that continues to speed up.
But alas, they want the same images that we fall victim to. Who wouldn´t want that idea of happiness? The perfect family with all their stuff, their easy living, the comfort in having all those things. How do I explain to a Ngabe that there are things that they have that most Americans do not? How do I explain their wealth? I've tried. I usually get blank stares. I can imagine the internal dialogue. "I knew Oti had bad Spanish, but I didn´t think it was that bad. I can't understand anything he's saying. I think he just said he thought I was wealthy."
I certainly don't want to discount everything that we do have. There's a part of me that can't wait to go back to the carefree house parties, the good food and wine, the internet, the bike rides, the general ease of navigating through life. But I know there will be times when I look back with a certain envy and nostalgia for the way of life here.
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Sunday, February 21, 2010
Random Thoughts
I had this thought in the shower yesterday. Back in the States I would take Navy showers or really short showers. Part of it was general environmentalism, but part of it was this guilt. I had hot showers everyday, sometimes more than once. That's a luxury few people have in the world.
Now, when I take a hot shower, I take my time a little bit more. It's 10 minutes of glorious, guilt-free hot water. Every time I leave site, it's the same feeling of ecstasy. I don't worry about the water. I don't worry about the energy to heat the water. I just spent a month living off the grid. I bathe in a river or take showers with a bucket of cold water. I pack out a month's worth of trash in a small grocery bag.
What was once a feeling of guilt has almost become a feeling of entitlement. Then I start thinking about everyone still in site because they live there and they will continue to live there long after I move back to the land of IKEA's and Starbucks.
I have these thoughts about environmentalism, development work, poverty, cultural context, and fulfillment in one's life swimming in my mind. I hope to somehow consolidate these thoughts in the coming months and stitch together my new understanding of the world and myself.
It's been a wild ride stepping out of the box. I felt leaving for the Peace Corps was like taking a big leap, one where you don't know where you'll land. And it's true. Now that I'm in free fall, I have the freedom to define my conceptual framework for what this thing called life is all about. I've always struggled with guilt for all that I have, but choosing to simply live without isn't necessary the answer either. What I'm beginning to realize is that fulfillment can be realized anywhere. Sure there's the romanticism of the developing world. I'm building aqueducts while living in a thatched roof hut for god sake. That's a story for a cocktail party or two. But that's not to say that the only work worth doing is with the most impoverished people of the world. Helping your friend take his kids to soccer practice or teaching someone something new can be just as empowering. I think fulfillment comes from helping and teaching when possible. And whether that's in the jungle or on aisle 7 of the supermarket, isn't that important. We were all born into different circumstances, different walks of life. The people here are happy.
I feel like this post has turned into the said free fall. I need a few more sessions in the shower or in the hammock to fully flesh this all out. For now, you get to navigate through the meandering prose of my mental landscape. Buen provecho.
Now, when I take a hot shower, I take my time a little bit more. It's 10 minutes of glorious, guilt-free hot water. Every time I leave site, it's the same feeling of ecstasy. I don't worry about the water. I don't worry about the energy to heat the water. I just spent a month living off the grid. I bathe in a river or take showers with a bucket of cold water. I pack out a month's worth of trash in a small grocery bag.
What was once a feeling of guilt has almost become a feeling of entitlement. Then I start thinking about everyone still in site because they live there and they will continue to live there long after I move back to the land of IKEA's and Starbucks.
I have these thoughts about environmentalism, development work, poverty, cultural context, and fulfillment in one's life swimming in my mind. I hope to somehow consolidate these thoughts in the coming months and stitch together my new understanding of the world and myself.
It's been a wild ride stepping out of the box. I felt leaving for the Peace Corps was like taking a big leap, one where you don't know where you'll land. And it's true. Now that I'm in free fall, I have the freedom to define my conceptual framework for what this thing called life is all about. I've always struggled with guilt for all that I have, but choosing to simply live without isn't necessary the answer either. What I'm beginning to realize is that fulfillment can be realized anywhere. Sure there's the romanticism of the developing world. I'm building aqueducts while living in a thatched roof hut for god sake. That's a story for a cocktail party or two. But that's not to say that the only work worth doing is with the most impoverished people of the world. Helping your friend take his kids to soccer practice or teaching someone something new can be just as empowering. I think fulfillment comes from helping and teaching when possible. And whether that's in the jungle or on aisle 7 of the supermarket, isn't that important. We were all born into different circumstances, different walks of life. The people here are happy.
I feel like this post has turned into the said free fall. I need a few more sessions in the shower or in the hammock to fully flesh this all out. For now, you get to navigate through the meandering prose of my mental landscape. Buen provecho.
Friday, February 19, 2010
The Past Two Weeks
Here's a brief narrative to help color the photos and explain what I've been up to the past couple of weeks...
So it turns out along with snakes and spiders and wild cats (oh my) we have crocodiles in the river. Don't freak out mom, they are nowhere near my site and, due to the efficacy of hunters in the region, darn close to extinction (read - extremely rare). Jon and I of course learned this after we got gifted some croc meat. When in Rome. And for the hippies that are up in arms, I hate to say it, but we're responsible for a heck of a lot more stuff going extinct down here than the scattered tribal communities living off the land here in Panama. (Author´s Note: I´ll explore environmentalism a bit more in future posts.)
I helped with a boat hauling junta. The founder of the community started carving a huge canoe (though not as big as the ones we take getting in and out of site) probably about six months ago. Last week it was finally listo for its maiden voyage from the forest to the founder´s home near the river. It was basically a half day of grunts, simple levers of fallen trees, and rollers. I couldn't help but think about ancient Egypt or other construction projects we read about in history books. Very cool stuff.
A bat decided to spend the night. I woke the poor guy up during the day and tossed the drowsy, confused thing out the window. Freeloader.
I tried guanabana for the first time. It has a soft white flesh, somewhat like mango. The flavor is totally different though, something more akin to green apple jolly ranchers.
I'm settling in nicely. I've got my sources for buying both cacao and coffee. When I'm not working, I'm enjoying local brews and baking brownies from scratch. I've also been able to bake bread and cook up some other tasty meals in the campo.
Life is good out here, better now that I'm cooking and living on my own. My health is on the mend. I've put on a few more pounds (see above paragraph for context).
Work is going well. I think I may find myself putting in latrines in my community, but it's still in the early phases of vetting out both feasibility and who in the community actually wants a latrine and who just likes the sound of a gringo building something in their patio. There's also a lot of interest in new fogones (cooking stoves). I'm excited about the stove project because it's free, would reduce smoke in the home, and would mean fewer trees getting chopped down for firewood. I'm also helping Jon with his aqueduct in his community, but he's definitely doing the heavy lifting (literally and figuratively). I've been able to put in another tap stand in my community's aqueduct, which means that one more family has water. I have a few more to complete before I install a tap stand for myself. For now, I haul buckets of water from my neighbor's a few minutes away. It adds a certain je ne sais quoi (yo no se que) to the whole Peace Corps experience.
Yup. Things are coming together, falling into place. I think I'll be able to look back on my time here when all is said and done and feel pretty good about my contributions, not to mention who I will have become living in this crazy adventure.
So it turns out along with snakes and spiders and wild cats (oh my) we have crocodiles in the river. Don't freak out mom, they are nowhere near my site and, due to the efficacy of hunters in the region, darn close to extinction (read - extremely rare). Jon and I of course learned this after we got gifted some croc meat. When in Rome. And for the hippies that are up in arms, I hate to say it, but we're responsible for a heck of a lot more stuff going extinct down here than the scattered tribal communities living off the land here in Panama. (Author´s Note: I´ll explore environmentalism a bit more in future posts.)
I helped with a boat hauling junta. The founder of the community started carving a huge canoe (though not as big as the ones we take getting in and out of site) probably about six months ago. Last week it was finally listo for its maiden voyage from the forest to the founder´s home near the river. It was basically a half day of grunts, simple levers of fallen trees, and rollers. I couldn't help but think about ancient Egypt or other construction projects we read about in history books. Very cool stuff.
A bat decided to spend the night. I woke the poor guy up during the day and tossed the drowsy, confused thing out the window. Freeloader.
I tried guanabana for the first time. It has a soft white flesh, somewhat like mango. The flavor is totally different though, something more akin to green apple jolly ranchers.
I'm settling in nicely. I've got my sources for buying both cacao and coffee. When I'm not working, I'm enjoying local brews and baking brownies from scratch. I've also been able to bake bread and cook up some other tasty meals in the campo.
Life is good out here, better now that I'm cooking and living on my own. My health is on the mend. I've put on a few more pounds (see above paragraph for context).
Work is going well. I think I may find myself putting in latrines in my community, but it's still in the early phases of vetting out both feasibility and who in the community actually wants a latrine and who just likes the sound of a gringo building something in their patio. There's also a lot of interest in new fogones (cooking stoves). I'm excited about the stove project because it's free, would reduce smoke in the home, and would mean fewer trees getting chopped down for firewood. I'm also helping Jon with his aqueduct in his community, but he's definitely doing the heavy lifting (literally and figuratively). I've been able to put in another tap stand in my community's aqueduct, which means that one more family has water. I have a few more to complete before I install a tap stand for myself. For now, I haul buckets of water from my neighbor's a few minutes away. It adds a certain je ne sais quoi (yo no se que) to the whole Peace Corps experience.
Yup. Things are coming together, falling into place. I think I'll be able to look back on my time here when all is said and done and feel pretty good about my contributions, not to mention who I will have become living in this crazy adventure.
Monday, February 1, 2010
General Ramblings
The last month was spent mostly finishing my house. Killing pigs, cutting down virgin rainforest, that sort of thing. When I wasn't losing karma points, I was making those points back. I had a lot of good meetings about what my time here will mean.
My boss came out to visit. He came with a group called Waterlines which funded the aqueduct in my community. We gave them a tour and discussed things we would do differently and the extremely important and much harder social side of development work. Building capacity within the community is the difference between a water system that works and one that does not.
I had a good meeting with my community. I discussed potential projects while I'm here, reiterated that I'm not here to gift things to people, and implemented a photo policy to keep my photography commitments to community members to a minimum. Hopefully, the cries of "saca mi foto" will die down shortly.
Jon and I had a good meeting with his community. We restructured his dysfunctional water committee in an attempt to actually get people out to work days to finish construction. We painted a picture (literally) of remaining work in an attempt to motivate and show that we have A LOT left to do.
Jon and I have also started touring to other communities to work with them on that capacity building thing I mentioned earlier. I think it will be good. We'll have monthly meetings with their aqueduct committees so that they can start improving their systems. In a lot of cases, $100 and some sweat will drastically improve existing water systems out here.
All in all, I'm feeling more and more like a volunteer. I'm getting traction. People are starting to listen. I'm imparting knowledge, using that engineering degree for something. I feel good about where things are headed.
My New Digs
About two weeks ago marked a very important event in my service. My house is done. Raise the roof (pun intended)!!! So what does this mean? It means I don't have to climb the mountain to haul wood. I don't have to kill any more pigs to get work done (Again, sorry PETA/karma.). I don't have to eat boiled bananas with a side of giardia. Yes, things are looking up for our ol' pal Austin.
The rest of service really will be a lot more tranquilo. I've traded in the sound of crying babies for the river, the sound of yelling Ngabe grandmas for the frogs, and the sound of 4am roosters for little sparrow-like birds.
I have a view of the river from my room, the same view one can achieve while lazing in the hammock on my front porch. But I think where my blood pressure is really lowered is in the sense of home. I have a home. I'm no longer living out of bags. I have the freedom to come and go. And it gives me my American need for privacy.
These first three months in site have been a constant reminder that I'm living in a different culture, one that I may better understand after two years, but never fully comprehend. Building and living in my new home has been a great focal point for pointing out these differences. For instance, the majority of the community is baffled that I'm living alone. "Oti, aren't you scared?" "Oti, where is Ikon (nearby volunteer) going to sleep?" For the Ngabes, there really is no sense of privacy or personal space. Ten people living in one room is modus operandi around here. And no one is ever alone. Grown men take their children or their dogs to the finca if no one else is around. That I would actively choose to live alone es raro.
Then there's the planning aspect of building a house. For me, I wanted to line things up so that we always had the materials we needed in time for the next phase of construction. If we have to put up the roof in two weeks, then we better cut the penca now so that it will by dry in time. That sort of thing. Another completely foreign concept. When I explain my reasoning, I think they get it. "Ahorra si." But then we reach another similar crossroads and I find myself drawing the same pictures in the mud, going over the same concepts.
I would have to say the best part of the whole process is that I didn't know anything about campo construction. How was I supposed to know that this specific tree is good wood for this part of the house, that this person owns the land here so we can buy the tree from him, and that you can only cut down the penca for your roof during a new moon? Though there were a few hiccups along the way, we built a house in about 10 weeks. Not too shabby.
I've posted construction photos in a separate blog, but here's an overview of all that went down.
1) Cut down creollo into long timbers for the base of your house. Creollo is a freakin' hard wood, which means it's really heavy. Make sure that hauling long timbers of really heavy hardwood is your first experience with trabajo Panameño. It would be a shame to have built up muscles with easier work. Make sure the hardwood is located a minimum of thirty minutes away. Also make sure that someone who is at least in their seventies is hauling the same wood as you so that when he finishes in half the time you can pause and reflect on your day.
2) Bury the creollo in the ground. Use string and levels when available. Argue with the Ngabes that we should dig the holes a little deeper so that it's a strong foundation. Lose argument. Maybe I'm just a paranoid Californian that's used to beefy earthquake-proof construction.
3) Cut down more trees, preferably in virgin rain forest, for the rest of the house. Make sure that some of the trees are located two hours away, that trails are next to non-existent, that you do it in the rain, and that there are many creek crossings and hills. This advice also applies to hauling that wood.
4) Hire a guy to cut your wood with a chainsaw... freehand. Snap chalk lines when appropriate. Make sure that you over pay him and that he initially tells you he needs far less gasoline and oil than what he actually needs to complete the work.
5) Proceed to haul all your wood from the mountain. Keep help from the community to a minimum. Make sure some of your wood is stolen, especially the really cool round piece you wanted for a table. Also, having amoebas while hauling wood for a month is strongly encouraged.
6) Leave the wood next to where you will build your house. Make sure that you cut your wood before the festivals in December so that the community is drunk and will not be able to help for the whole month. That way, the constant cycling of rain and sun while crack many of the boards for your walls, etc.
7) Start building the frame and floor for your house. Make sure that no levels or squares are used in the process. The wood was cut with a chainsaw freehand, so these types of tools are an exercise in futility anyway. Buy food for your workers, like every other work day. Make sure that there is more food than what they normally eat and that it consists of meat and more expensive items they don't normally eat. That way, when they don't say thank you, you'll feel warmer and fuzzier inside.
8) Talk to your community about cutting the penca for your thatch roof. Have the conversation when there's a new moon. Make sure they tell you that you can only cut down the penca when there's a new moon. Since it IS a new moon, assume that their Spanish is poor and that they mean when it's a full moon. Wait two weeks for a full moon to have the conversation again. Find out that in fact a new moon is the new moon. Wait two more weeks to cut down penca.
9) Wait a few more weeks for the penca to dry.
10) Have a big junta to haul the penca. Before the junta, buy a pig from someone outside the community. Make sure that in the end, there wasn't enough penca cut. That way, during the junta there won't be that much work to do, that you'll have to wait a few more weeks for more penca to dry, and that the high cost of the junta was well spent in terms of getting work done. It's also good to not have that many people show up so that there's way too much food.
11) Split the penca in half along the stem of the leaf. You'll need the half pieces later when you start roof construction.
12) Have another work day for the remaining penca.
13) Have a work day for lashing the penca to the roof frame using magical plastic string. It really is magical. Also, make sure that work days don't actually complete an entire task. That way you have to split it into more work days and buy food for the workers for those additional days.
14) Once the penca is up, build the walls of the house with the boards that have cracked from being out in the elements for a month. Make sure to use really shitty nails that bend easily for any part of the construction. Keep in mind that you're also nailing into hard rain forest wood. It ain't your Home Depot shit. It's recommended that you lose part of your right pinkie fingernail during the construction process.
15) Make sure that you don't have enough wood for stairs. That way, when the house is complete, it's awkward getting up the five feet to where your floor is.
16) Hire kids to move almost everything you own from your host family to your new house. Assorted candy is sold in many parts of Panama. The tooth brushing charla will come later in your Peace Corps service. Poco a poco.
17) Setup your hammock, take in your view of the river, and breathe a sigh of relief. You made it over the hump. You've grown a lot during the process. You're more patient. You know how to build a house using materials from the middle of the Panamanian rain forest. Your Spanish is getting better. You built a freakin' house in the middle of an indigenous community in Panama! Damn, dude. That's kinda incredible.
18) Solicit visits from your friends and family back at home. You have a place for them to stay for all that are interested.
The rest of service really will be a lot more tranquilo. I've traded in the sound of crying babies for the river, the sound of yelling Ngabe grandmas for the frogs, and the sound of 4am roosters for little sparrow-like birds.
I have a view of the river from my room, the same view one can achieve while lazing in the hammock on my front porch. But I think where my blood pressure is really lowered is in the sense of home. I have a home. I'm no longer living out of bags. I have the freedom to come and go. And it gives me my American need for privacy.
These first three months in site have been a constant reminder that I'm living in a different culture, one that I may better understand after two years, but never fully comprehend. Building and living in my new home has been a great focal point for pointing out these differences. For instance, the majority of the community is baffled that I'm living alone. "Oti, aren't you scared?" "Oti, where is Ikon (nearby volunteer) going to sleep?" For the Ngabes, there really is no sense of privacy or personal space. Ten people living in one room is modus operandi around here. And no one is ever alone. Grown men take their children or their dogs to the finca if no one else is around. That I would actively choose to live alone es raro.
Then there's the planning aspect of building a house. For me, I wanted to line things up so that we always had the materials we needed in time for the next phase of construction. If we have to put up the roof in two weeks, then we better cut the penca now so that it will by dry in time. That sort of thing. Another completely foreign concept. When I explain my reasoning, I think they get it. "Ahorra si." But then we reach another similar crossroads and I find myself drawing the same pictures in the mud, going over the same concepts.
I would have to say the best part of the whole process is that I didn't know anything about campo construction. How was I supposed to know that this specific tree is good wood for this part of the house, that this person owns the land here so we can buy the tree from him, and that you can only cut down the penca for your roof during a new moon? Though there were a few hiccups along the way, we built a house in about 10 weeks. Not too shabby.
I've posted construction photos in a separate blog, but here's an overview of all that went down.
1) Cut down creollo into long timbers for the base of your house. Creollo is a freakin' hard wood, which means it's really heavy. Make sure that hauling long timbers of really heavy hardwood is your first experience with trabajo Panameño. It would be a shame to have built up muscles with easier work. Make sure the hardwood is located a minimum of thirty minutes away. Also make sure that someone who is at least in their seventies is hauling the same wood as you so that when he finishes in half the time you can pause and reflect on your day.
2) Bury the creollo in the ground. Use string and levels when available. Argue with the Ngabes that we should dig the holes a little deeper so that it's a strong foundation. Lose argument. Maybe I'm just a paranoid Californian that's used to beefy earthquake-proof construction.
3) Cut down more trees, preferably in virgin rain forest, for the rest of the house. Make sure that some of the trees are located two hours away, that trails are next to non-existent, that you do it in the rain, and that there are many creek crossings and hills. This advice also applies to hauling that wood.
4) Hire a guy to cut your wood with a chainsaw... freehand. Snap chalk lines when appropriate. Make sure that you over pay him and that he initially tells you he needs far less gasoline and oil than what he actually needs to complete the work.
5) Proceed to haul all your wood from the mountain. Keep help from the community to a minimum. Make sure some of your wood is stolen, especially the really cool round piece you wanted for a table. Also, having amoebas while hauling wood for a month is strongly encouraged.
6) Leave the wood next to where you will build your house. Make sure that you cut your wood before the festivals in December so that the community is drunk and will not be able to help for the whole month. That way, the constant cycling of rain and sun while crack many of the boards for your walls, etc.
7) Start building the frame and floor for your house. Make sure that no levels or squares are used in the process. The wood was cut with a chainsaw freehand, so these types of tools are an exercise in futility anyway. Buy food for your workers, like every other work day. Make sure that there is more food than what they normally eat and that it consists of meat and more expensive items they don't normally eat. That way, when they don't say thank you, you'll feel warmer and fuzzier inside.
8) Talk to your community about cutting the penca for your thatch roof. Have the conversation when there's a new moon. Make sure they tell you that you can only cut down the penca when there's a new moon. Since it IS a new moon, assume that their Spanish is poor and that they mean when it's a full moon. Wait two weeks for a full moon to have the conversation again. Find out that in fact a new moon is the new moon. Wait two more weeks to cut down penca.
9) Wait a few more weeks for the penca to dry.
10) Have a big junta to haul the penca. Before the junta, buy a pig from someone outside the community. Make sure that in the end, there wasn't enough penca cut. That way, during the junta there won't be that much work to do, that you'll have to wait a few more weeks for more penca to dry, and that the high cost of the junta was well spent in terms of getting work done. It's also good to not have that many people show up so that there's way too much food.
11) Split the penca in half along the stem of the leaf. You'll need the half pieces later when you start roof construction.
12) Have another work day for the remaining penca.
13) Have a work day for lashing the penca to the roof frame using magical plastic string. It really is magical. Also, make sure that work days don't actually complete an entire task. That way you have to split it into more work days and buy food for the workers for those additional days.
14) Once the penca is up, build the walls of the house with the boards that have cracked from being out in the elements for a month. Make sure to use really shitty nails that bend easily for any part of the construction. Keep in mind that you're also nailing into hard rain forest wood. It ain't your Home Depot shit. It's recommended that you lose part of your right pinkie fingernail during the construction process.
15) Make sure that you don't have enough wood for stairs. That way, when the house is complete, it's awkward getting up the five feet to where your floor is.
16) Hire kids to move almost everything you own from your host family to your new house. Assorted candy is sold in many parts of Panama. The tooth brushing charla will come later in your Peace Corps service. Poco a poco.
17) Setup your hammock, take in your view of the river, and breathe a sigh of relief. You made it over the hump. You've grown a lot during the process. You're more patient. You know how to build a house using materials from the middle of the Panamanian rain forest. Your Spanish is getting better. You built a freakin' house in the middle of an indigenous community in Panama! Damn, dude. That's kinda incredible.
18) Solicit visits from your friends and family back at home. You have a place for them to stay for all that are interested.
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