Guilt and Selfishness - Part 1

I think it's just where I am in service, but I've come to appreciate a bit of selfishness.

This last year and change has been a struggle to say the least. I knowingly sacrificed a lot just to get to the gate of the Panamanian airport- a good job, an awesome place in the city, friends, family, Daphne. After training, I arrived at my site where I sacrificed a little more- creature comforts, good food, my health, newly acquired volunteer friends, communication with the outside world. And in the last year of work, I've sacrificed yet more- emotional fortitude, stability, confidence in how I viewed myself and the world.

I arrived knowing this wasn't a venture of compromise. I poured my all into my work and more importantly, into the community. I tried to persevere in the doldrums of personal reflection and anguish. For sacrificing my emotional needs, I was met with confusion, frustration, sadness, and a dash of embitterment. I felt guilt for where I came from, why I was here, or for any time spent out of site.

In some ways, it was like being in an abusive relationship. I was caught up in the mystique of my dark-skinned lover, defending Ngabes, trying to explain away my setbacks with cultural differences and language barriers. My romantic notions of the people clouded the emotional toll my time here was taking. I think it took my recent trip to the US to finally see that.

The emotional toll had been a theme rolling around in my mind, manifesting itself in the occasional journal entry or volunteer conversation. But the ultimate truth is that I was sacrificing my happiness and the void was tenuously being replaced by insecurities.

Going to the US afforded a point of reflection of my time in Panama. I saw that I was caught in a cycle where I would struggle with the idea of failure, find a seed of motivation and persevere, only to eventually find myself at the same crossroad, more bewildered than ever. I've come to realize that at some point you have to throw up your hands and accept that you can only do what you can do. This is not a reflection upon myself. I've befriended failure and made peace with what I'm going to accomplish in Panama.

I'm still helping Jon complete the aqueduct for his community. I'm starting to make concrete blocks in preparation for the composting latrines in Calante. I'm still the after-school program for the kids in the area. But I'm also going to do what I need to do to be whole. If the community would rather ask for photos than learn how to improve the health of the children, I can't take that personally. If the majority of my daily conversations concerning when I'm leaving are about getting my stuff rather than being saddened by my departure, I should be able to enjoy a few guilt-free days out of site.

Moving forward, I'm going to be a little more aware of my emotional needs. Shedding the guilt surrounding selfishness is much more liberating than past explorations for motivation because there's a permanence to this idea that was lacking before. I think the trip to the US was good timing, holidays aside. I'm sure my Id will thank me later.

Author's Note: I realize that my blog is tracking towards being a complete killjoy. My homework is to write the good along with the difficult. I think I struggle with striking a balance in capturing this whole experience. Turns out it's a lot easier to write about the difficult aspects of service. Peace Corps is harder than anything I've ever done, ever. But overall I'm happy and healthy. I will think back on my service as a collection of extremely rewarding experiences and adventures.

Another Day at the Office

Before reading this entry, there's some seemingly random things you should know, listed in no particular order.

1. Jon and I have been working tirelessly as cheerleaders, trying to rally Kwite behind building their own water system.  We've tried carrots, sticks, logic, and heart-to-hearts over the last year in an effort to get people out to work days.  It's been a slow and frustrating process.
2. Other than the occasional kid testing my patience, I've never yelled at a Ngabe in fifteen months of service.
3. To run a generator for four hours uses about a gallon of gas.  Gas costs about the same in Panama as it does in the US.
4. There are four stores in Calante.  All sell the same goods for the same prices- oil, rice, sugar, salt, batteries, coffee, and laundry soap.
5. Willy is one of the few people in Calante who actually has a job.  He's the grounds keeper for the school.  He's also one of only a few that ask me for money.  When he does, I offer to buy finca food from him in exchange.
6. I have seasons of "The Wire" on my net book courtesy of another volunteer.  I just started watching the series, but it's slow going as I don't have electricity in my hut.
7. This is a long entry.  It may be good to have snacks on hand.

Last week Jon and I had a work day for the Kwite aqueduct. We spent the day rerouting tubes that had been incorrectly laid before we got to Panama.  The original path went along a line that eventually rose above the height of the intake structure.  We all know water doesn't flow uphill, hence the rework.

The day was awesome.  To see most of the community out in full force and the smiling enthusiasm was a refreshing change of pace.  We stopped for lunch briefly then went back at it.  The long work day and good showing meant we got a lot done.  Excitement was in the air.

At a good stopping point, I ran up to the toma (intake) to turn the valve so we could see water run to where we had finished. After all, this was a milestone moment.  After about half an hour (it was a 15-minute hike to the toma), I returned to a group of frowning faces.  They were disappointed with the water pressure.

I immediately went into a discussion of air blocks and how this was temporary, that the current pressure was almost that of Calante, a community three times the size of Kwite.  Even still, I could tell they were disappointed as they collected their things and begrudgingly made the hour-long hike back to Kwite. 

(It's worth pausing briefly for some commentary.  Jon and I, the Americans, were ecstatic.  The community showed up and in great numbers.  They worked hard.  We corrected the original problem in the line.  We had reached a point where it was both literally and figuratively downhill from here.  The moment water flowed from the tube represented a beacon of hope that we were turning the corner on this project.  Then we were met by the community response.  They weren't happy.  They weren't hopeful.  I can't say I fully understand Ngabe culture, but I do know that Americans are a pretty optimistic lot in a global context.)

After the community had left for Kwite, Jon and I stayed back cleaning the shovels in a nearby stream.  We talked about what had transpired.  We both agreed that even though we had wanted a different response from the community, it was still a day worth celebrating.

I had a box of cake mix and a netbook with a battery that needed charging back in Calante.  In other words, there was potential for a celebratory evening.

When we got to Calante, Leo, the one I had planned on asking to charge the netbook, was not there.  I asked around who else had a generator and was told that Willy could charge my computer.

When I got to Willy's, he said charge my computer, even proffering that since I lived in Calante he wouldn't gouge me. $2.50 for the two hours to charge the battery.  I knew this was a little high, but I usually don't quibble and just chalk it up to letting them have their cut throat business day in the sun.  Once the computer was charging, I set out to see if I could find some rum for an evening toast.

     Tienda 1:  Owner in the finca

     Tienda 2:  Leo had returned and I found out he would have charged my netbook for free.  I said I had already committed to Willy but thanked him anyway.  Side note: Leo had already been one of my favorite people in the community.

     Tienda 3:  Open, but no libations

     Tienda 4:  "I don't have anything to sell, but could give you a shot from this bottle." "You want to buy part of the bottle?"  "I'll send a kid with you and they can bring back the empty glass."  Success.

After transferring the rum to one of my glasses, I started on making the cake mix.  After about an hour and a half of computer charging, I went back to Willy's to check on how things were going.

As I approached, he was shutting off the generator saying that he was running out of gas.  Looks like I would only be partially charging my netbook, but it would be enough for this evening.  It had been less time than we had originally talked about, so I asked how much he wanted of the $2.50.  I was shocked when he came back with $9.50.  I started explaining how the $2.50 was for more time than the generator had actually been running.  I listed off the nameplate capacity on the generator and the cost of gasoline, breaking down that a generator completely full of gas would cost less than what he was asking.  Willy's response was that $2.50 was the price if I had brought my own gasoline.  What?!  That's when I lost it.  I started yelling at him, how he had gone so far as to say that he was giving me a fair price because I lived there, how I wasn't going to give him the $9.50, how I didn't want to cause problems with community members, but that his actions were unacceptable.  I gave him the $2.50 and walked away, shocked as I was outraged.

So that's the juicy stuff as far as the day goes.  I watched the first couple episodes of "The Wire".  Jon and I toasted to the headway on the aqueduct.  The chocolate cake was awesome.  With dinner, cake, a drink, and TV all in my little hut, it felt like I was back at home, which is exactly what I needed after a long day at the office.

Just One of the Guys

Last week I thumbed through my journal and came across an entry from a few months back.  I thought it was a good representation of service, so here it is in all its unadulterated beauty.

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11/2/10    Today's highlight was definitely the last hour and a half.  I decided to go down to Kwite earlier this afternoon to help carry food back up for tomorrow's Independence Day festivities.

At about 4pm, it started to pour.  Heavy rain, like welcome-to-the-rainy-season rain.  Jon and Piper (regional leader) showed up an hour later, just as the river was rising.  At one point, half a tree was floating downriver.

By 6pm we were on the trail.  That's when it got fun.  As darkness closed in, the purple and pink flashes of lightning lit up the trail.  We were all soaked, yelling to each other to make sure we were all OK on the trail.  Haaaooooaaaahhhh.  Some people slipped and fell.  We would all crowd around them yelling, laughing.  Haaaooooaaaahhhh, haaaooooaaaahhhh, haaaooooaaaahhhh.  They would yell and laugh as they picked themselves up.

As the blinding rain pummeled us, I thought about how I was one of the guys.  It was as fun as it was exhilarating.  Plus, I carried my chacara Ngabe-style (woven strap of bag on the forehead) which always earns some campo cred.

I arrived in Calante a little after 7pm, soaked, tired, and happy.

Side Note:  They waited in Kwite with the food until everyone was ready so that they could all leave together.  Though I waited with them, my impulse was to set out earlier because light would soon be an issue.  It was interesting to see the community dynamic and my own cultural values manifested.  Oops.

Site Photos

I had the pleasure of hosting my friend Chris for a few days in Calante.  Most of the photos below are his.  Enjoy!

A Particularly Good Dinner

In trying to stick to my Bay Area foodie roots, I've tried to bring some culinary zest to my diet of bananas and tubers.  Here is a dinner that I would be proud to serve in the finest of Michelin-approved huts in the jungle.

Ingredients

• (1) chunk of gifted pork in exchange for fixing a guy's knife three months ago by thermoforming a PVC handle and attaching to the original blade
• (1) small zapallo - type of squash, like pumpkin
• (1) onion
• (6) cloves garlic - yes, I like garlic
• (1) large ñampi - similar to potato, but larger
• powdered milk
• salt
• pepper
• cumin
• soy sauce
• olive oil
• rosemary
• garlic powder - I told you, I like garlic
• salsa Lizano - like the ketchup of Costa Rica, a must-have in any PCV kitchen

Directions

1. In pressure cooker you inherited from a previous volunteer, cook ñampi with salt, garlic powder, rosemary, and a little water
2. Grill onions, garlic, and zapallo with a little olive oil.  Once onions start to caramelize, add soy sauce and a splash of Lizano.  Add cumin and pepper.
3. Wash pork thoroughly.  Remove stray pieces of bone as pork was butchered with a machete.  Cut pork into small pieces.  Add to onions and cook really, really well.  You got the pork in a questionable plastic bag from a 10-year-old, so it's best to be cautious.
4. Once ñampi is soft, mash and add powdered milk.  Add water as necessary to get mashed potatoes consistency.
5. Place mashed potatoes on plate and pour pork and onions on top.  Light candles to have light to eat by.  Enjoy romantic dinner, party of one.

The Story of Calante

Most communities have a Ngabere name, even if they go by their given Spanish name. Calante doesn't have a Spanish name. What it does have is an interesting story as to it got that name.

First I should explain Ngabere nomenclature. The "te" at the end of the word just signifies that it's that place. Calan-te. Kwi-te. Soli-te. Odoba-te. In the case of Jon's site, Kwite, "Kwi" means "chicken" in Ngabere. So Kwite is the "place of chicken". Knowing that, Calante is then the "place of Calan."

Second I should explain brujas. Brujas are the witches or spirits that one needs to watch out for. My people love 'dem some brujas. Remember the story of Toto? Obviously his ailments were that of a bruja. Even the latino doctor said that as part of his diagnosis. I couldn't tell you how many conversations I've had with community members where they ask them if I get scared at night living in my house all alone. When I ask why, they always respond about brujas, shocked that one could be so naive. I joke that having a women visit me in the middle of the night doesn't sound half bad.

So that brings me to the story of Calan. As the story goes, the grandfather of Dima, one of the elderly in Calante, came to the area when Dima was just a toddler. They came from the Krikamola, the major river that runs parallel to the Mananti and is about four hours hike away. (Back then it must have been a much longer hike since there was no road and paths were much less traveled). The family settled a little upriver of present-day Calante. The location was good. They had access to streams and the main river. There was land for farming and there were animals like wild boar and rabbit that could be hunted for food.

At some point Dima's grandfather started seeing visions of a woman bathing herself in one of the quebradas running behind Calante. He would watch her fish and gather root vegetables in the foothills above Calante. This is where the story gets a little fuzzy. At night he would call out after this siren of the quebrada. People could hear his booming voice carry up and down the river. Caaaallllaaaaannnn... Caaaallllaaaaannnn... Caaaallllaaaaannnn...