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.
