As much as some days seem interminable, it's hard to believe I've been in Panama for 20 months. I have about six months left before I'll be packing my things and saying my goodbyes. Being this far into service, there's been a shift in my perspective of time. Instead of thinking about some vast quantity of time left, I've entered a phase where I'm wrapping things up, starting to think about life after Panama, and readying my community for when I go.
I've started talking to community members about whether they'd like a follow-up volunteer. And while a few have said they would like to have another, the majority have said no. At first this was a bit of shock and came as both a personal and professional blow. I feel like I've poured so much into this experience and I can't pretend that to hear they don't want another volunteer doesn't hurt a little. My time here has been framed by so much failure, so many projects and ideas that never took form. And there's been no shortage of time to reflect. Is there something I could be doing differently? Is it because I don't speak good enough Spanish? Why am I a bad volunteer?
Then I started asking why. Some had listed that they didn't think it was a good fit or that it's hard to get used to a white person hanging out in their community. But the people I'm closer with told me this:
We thought that if we asked for an American, they would bring us a lot of money.
Now before you get all riled up in your chair, you have to understand that this makes perfect sense. Like it or not, that is the image of all Americans. The last time gringos showed up, they got an aqueduct. In some ways this means I successfully broke down the stereotype because now they don't want a follow-up.
Needless to say, there's been some disillusionment on everybody's part. At first I was upset, but that quickly turned to relief. For so long I had been carrying this millstone of self-doubt, thinking there was something more I could be doing. To hear that the community had just wanted money from the beginning takes that burden away. Suddenly, my failures have a decent explanation and that explanation has little to do with my shortcomings. Truthfully, I haven't felt this happy in a long time. Of course you don't care about my health presentations or English classes or aqueduct improvement efforts or computer classes or a garden for the school or better cooking stoves or rehabilitating your fish tanks or starting a coop or starting an artisan group or even something so basic as just getting to know me. You just wanted a handout. I get it now.
I'm not mad at my community. I understand where they are coming from and the truth is, I'm kind of glad this has defined my service. When else in my life will I have a chance to fail so much, to struggle so much, to have so much time to reflect and grow? I'm still in my twenties and have a whole lifetime ahead of me with the hardest thing I will have ever done already under my belt. How liberating is that?
