As a year in country approaches for me, it means there's a new group of environmental health (EH) volunteers saying their goodbyes, packing, and mentally preparing for their adventure. In case some of them are checking out blogs, here's a few words. Remember this is just one guy's thoughts on it. If you really feel like I screwed things up for you after six months in site, I'll buy you a beer.
Packing - General Advice
There's a packing list and in general it's pretty good. I packed light and don't regret it. You can get almost anything in Panama (exceptions below). What you need varies from site to site, so you won't know what you need until you're here anyway. Don't buy expensive clothes and gadgets (even though I'll list a few to bring). It'll most likely break, get wet, or not have been appropriate for living in the middle of a tropical jungle. In general, everything is cheaper here with the exception of electronics. Also, any shopping you do in the US at REI, etc. may have a Peace Corps discount. Doesn't hurt to ask.
Packing - Must Haves
Headlamp: You can't really get a good headlamp down here. I'd bring two and keep one in the packaging until the first mysteriously stops working.
Digital Camera: It may break, but you have to document your time here. Your future self and friends back home will thank you. There's waterproof and shockproof ones to consider, but plenty of volunteers have gotten by with regular cameras.
Quick Dry Towel: Because they're awesome.
Waterproof Watch: You're EH. You probably won't have electricity to charge your cell phone as your watch. There's watches in Panama, but they´re mostly $#!&. I swear by my cheap waterproof Timex.
Chaco/Teva/Keen Footware: It's hot and wet in Panama. Having an awesome open-toed shoe will come in handy.
iPod: I went six months without it. I was fully committed to my jungle lifestyle, etc. I eventually caved. You need your music. I don't know what I was thinking. They make the long bus rides fun and it's a wonderful way to unwind at the end of your day.
Backpack: You're going all over Panama. It would suck to do it with a duffel bag or roller. They have backpacking bags here, but they're not as nice. Invest in a good one. They are worth their weight in gold and will change the way you travel. Also consider the waterproof shell that goes around the bag. It rains here, like a lot.
Packing - Don´t Haves
Medical stuff: They'll give you everything that you need once you get here other than any special medications, which they will start providing some time during training.
Tools: You can buy them here and leave them here with your community when you're done. They're heavy and make great gifts to your community members.
Rainjacket: I've used my rainjacket one time in my year in Panama and that was for the cold of Volcan, not the rain. It's hot here, like always. The last thing you want on is a jacket.
Fancy Umbrella: It's probably going to rust or break. Get the Details brand umbrella with the fake chrome handle when you get here. They're less than $5, which is more in line when you have to replace them every six months.
Your Favorite Whathaveyou: Unless you plan to keep it in a hermetically sealed container during service, leave it at home. When you're ready to look cute with your favorite shirt or have your night out on the town, you can go shopping. Alternatively, you may live near a regional capitol where you can store your nicer stuff. You won't know until site placement. If you really miss something from home, there's probably someone visiting you or another volunteer that can bring it down.
A Ton of Books: A lot of the books that are on your list might actually already be here in the lending library. If not, there´s enough decent books to read until you get someone to send down the ones you want. It's extra weight and you'd be surprised to see what's already here. Ask other volunteers if you're looking for a particular book. We're all Americans. We all like to read. Someone can probably lend it.
Dress Clothes: You'll need one outfit for swear-in that you probably will never wear again. Agency visits are really casual. Skirts for girls. Regular pants for guys. Leave the pin stripes at home.
Jeans: Lots of cotton means it's going to take a long time to dry. Plus it packs heavy. Keep it to a minimum.
Packing - Stuff to Think About
Dry Bags: They are a necessity, but you can get a decent dry bag at the Do-It Centers here for about $7. They're not top of the line, but I've done river crossings in them and feel good enough to endorse them. It could also be a useful US purchase.
Netbook: After a year of internet cafes, I'm ready to invest in a netbook. There's just enough computer work related to service and photo taking to warrant a laptop. You can easily go all of service without one. If you have an old laptop, consider bringing it. It's always nice to be on your own machine and you'll save a few bucks over the course of two years. Plus, netbooks are getting pretty cheap these days.
Ditty Bags: You'll be living out of a suitcase more or less when you're with host families (almost six months in total). Having some bags as a brief nod towards some type of organization in your life may be nice, especially if you have OCD.
Leatherman: I have mine. Love it.
Thermorest: Don't use it everyday, but love it when I do.
Other Stuff That Can´t Be Put in a Neat Little Section
Rubber Boots: You can get them when you get here. Go ahead and get them during training. Don´t think you can get by without them. Water + Cattle + Other Livestalk + Soil = Mud, like woah. They are something you most likely never wear after service but make perfect sense here.
Machetes: Something else to get when you're in site. Get one that's long enough that it reaches the ground and then some when you hold it at your side. You'll want the extra reach when you´re bending down to cut your grass. There's two types of blades. Get the one with the skinny blade. It's less weight. While the one with the wider blade looks more badass, you'll get more campo cred if you can actually go more than 5 minutes without needing a break. Thinner blade means less weight.
Albrook Mall versus Rest of Panama: We had chances to buy stuff for our site, etc. in Albrook during training. Don't buy anything there until you´ve gotten a lay of the land. It's expensive and you can probably find something better suited for your needs closer to site.
Contacts: I don't wear them and don't have much info, but have heard from other volunteers that you should just bring them from home. Peace Corps doesn't really support wearing them, but I support volunteers having the freedom to choose between their lenses or contacts on a daily basis.
Cell Phones: You may want a phone during training for whatever cell provider has coverage in the area. Then you'll get your site announcement and find out that you'll probably only have reception with a different provider. In any case, the cheap $10-$15 Nokia phones they sell here are the way to go. They get better reception and are more durable. Do not get an expensive phone. Period.
Friday, July 23, 2010
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Unnamed
Author´s Note: This entry is not the typical smiles and sunshine, but focused on the harsh reality of living in a region with an extremely high infant mortality rate.
The sun filters through the trees, casting columns of light. A gentle breeze makes shadows dance on the ground as the trees cry out. A child sits on a rock crying violently. A man leads the community in prayer. The women follow. Their song is tragically beautiful, weaving between harmony and dissonance. I have goosebumps and begin to cry.
Even as I write, I have trouble distilling what it is I want to say.
How do you describe a needless funeral? I took photos of the unnamed boy a few months ago. After only eight months, he didn't need to die. The baby basically died of dehydration. Most likely a parasite from contaminated drinking water led to his vomiting and diarrhea. After a few days without proper care and hydration, his organs started to fail, his breathing quick and erratic. I know because I was there. I was there trying to tell the community to keep him hydrated. I brought chicha. I stayed during the night next to the abuelas sleeping on the wooden floor of their Mama Tata church. I tried to help, tried to convince them to give the child more to drink, tried to convince them to take the child to the hospital.
How do you describe a community so used to babies dying? They wanted me to bring my camera to take photos. I have to say it was extremely uncomfortable taking photos at such a time. For them, there was more comfort. They wanted the memory of this moment just as they wanted the memories of the child in life. Tragically, the baby's grave was next to other freshly turned dirt. In the past month alone, four babies have passed away, three of similar causes. The Ngabes seldom name their children until they're a few years old. They ask me if this happens back at home. What do you say to that? No, not really. I can't think of a family that has had to suffer the loss of a child. That's because that child was born in a world-class hospital, fed a nutritious diet, drank treated water, was cleaned constantly, and was taken to the hospital immediately after the slightest problem. We are worlds apart. We are extremely lucky.
The need is here. The need is immediate. As I think about my life back home or even during pre-service training, the notion of burying four babies in one month seems ludicrous, so completely foreign. And for these people, the idea of not dealing with these losses at such a young age must seem foreign as well. And that's the rub. That's the gap. That's the frustration. That's why my words about hydration fell on deaf ears.
This is the ground floor. The only educated people in my community are the children and they aren't exactly getting bombarded with public health information in the middle of the jungle. The past month has been exhausting, but also reaffirms the importance in my being there. As tragic as this all has been, it makes me want to fight that much harder. It doesn't have to be this way. I hope that as I pack my bags to return to a privileged life back in the States, my words will stay. In the end, education will last longer than any tubes buried in the jungle.
I don't really know how to incorporate these final thoughts, but as I stood there listening to the Ngabere hymn, I couldn´t help but think how this community has taken me in. I stood shoulder to shoulder with the men of the community, participating in a truly intense experience. As cold as their culture can be at times, they let me in to this private moment. Afterwards, one of the muchachos that I teach English asked if funerals were the same back at home. Though the coffin isn't built hours before and lowered into the ground with twine, the experience is similar. We all deal with death. Death is a part of life for everyone. We may have our different customs, but it is a common thread. I told him that I come from a place far away, somewhere very different in many ways, but that today was very similar. It was also a day where I felt more human than white, part of something much larger. And while the day was marked with an aching sadness, I also felt more whole than I´ve felt in awhile.
Author´s Note: Unfortunately, this is not a problem limited to just a few communities. Here is a link to a fellow volunteer´s blog. She lives in the same general region in Panama in another Ngabe site.
Peace in Panama
The sun filters through the trees, casting columns of light. A gentle breeze makes shadows dance on the ground as the trees cry out. A child sits on a rock crying violently. A man leads the community in prayer. The women follow. Their song is tragically beautiful, weaving between harmony and dissonance. I have goosebumps and begin to cry.
Even as I write, I have trouble distilling what it is I want to say.
How do you describe a needless funeral? I took photos of the unnamed boy a few months ago. After only eight months, he didn't need to die. The baby basically died of dehydration. Most likely a parasite from contaminated drinking water led to his vomiting and diarrhea. After a few days without proper care and hydration, his organs started to fail, his breathing quick and erratic. I know because I was there. I was there trying to tell the community to keep him hydrated. I brought chicha. I stayed during the night next to the abuelas sleeping on the wooden floor of their Mama Tata church. I tried to help, tried to convince them to give the child more to drink, tried to convince them to take the child to the hospital.
How do you describe a community so used to babies dying? They wanted me to bring my camera to take photos. I have to say it was extremely uncomfortable taking photos at such a time. For them, there was more comfort. They wanted the memory of this moment just as they wanted the memories of the child in life. Tragically, the baby's grave was next to other freshly turned dirt. In the past month alone, four babies have passed away, three of similar causes. The Ngabes seldom name their children until they're a few years old. They ask me if this happens back at home. What do you say to that? No, not really. I can't think of a family that has had to suffer the loss of a child. That's because that child was born in a world-class hospital, fed a nutritious diet, drank treated water, was cleaned constantly, and was taken to the hospital immediately after the slightest problem. We are worlds apart. We are extremely lucky.
The need is here. The need is immediate. As I think about my life back home or even during pre-service training, the notion of burying four babies in one month seems ludicrous, so completely foreign. And for these people, the idea of not dealing with these losses at such a young age must seem foreign as well. And that's the rub. That's the gap. That's the frustration. That's why my words about hydration fell on deaf ears.
This is the ground floor. The only educated people in my community are the children and they aren't exactly getting bombarded with public health information in the middle of the jungle. The past month has been exhausting, but also reaffirms the importance in my being there. As tragic as this all has been, it makes me want to fight that much harder. It doesn't have to be this way. I hope that as I pack my bags to return to a privileged life back in the States, my words will stay. In the end, education will last longer than any tubes buried in the jungle.
I don't really know how to incorporate these final thoughts, but as I stood there listening to the Ngabere hymn, I couldn´t help but think how this community has taken me in. I stood shoulder to shoulder with the men of the community, participating in a truly intense experience. As cold as their culture can be at times, they let me in to this private moment. Afterwards, one of the muchachos that I teach English asked if funerals were the same back at home. Though the coffin isn't built hours before and lowered into the ground with twine, the experience is similar. We all deal with death. Death is a part of life for everyone. We may have our different customs, but it is a common thread. I told him that I come from a place far away, somewhere very different in many ways, but that today was very similar. It was also a day where I felt more human than white, part of something much larger. And while the day was marked with an aching sadness, I also felt more whole than I´ve felt in awhile.
Author´s Note: Unfortunately, this is not a problem limited to just a few communities. Here is a link to a fellow volunteer´s blog. She lives in the same general region in Panama in another Ngabe site.
Peace in Panama
The Bro Hike
About five years ago, the government cut a road from Cañasas (main highway) to Kankintu (jungle metropolis). That road goes right by Calante. It's unfinished, unpaved and missing major water crossings. We had been talking to Ngabes and the construction crew to see how long it would take to hike. No one knew because no one had ever done it.
This past week we set out from Calante early one morning, spent the night in a half-finished Ngabe hut somewhere along the road and caught a chiva after a few hours of hiking the next morning. All told, we hiked a little over 12 hours and covered somewhere around 35 miles.
The hike was beautiful. Sweeping vistas. Rain. Wind blowing across large meadows. There were well kept homes along the way, communities I would love to revisit. All in all it was an amazing hike.
This past week we set out from Calante early one morning, spent the night in a half-finished Ngabe hut somewhere along the road and caught a chiva after a few hours of hiking the next morning. All told, we hiked a little over 12 hours and covered somewhere around 35 miles.
The hike was beautiful. Sweeping vistas. Rain. Wind blowing across large meadows. There were well kept homes along the way, communities I would love to revisit. All in all it was an amazing hike.
Monday, July 5, 2010
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