Producer Soup

One of my favorite parts about Cerro Gallina so far has been the chance to work with a newly formed "grupo de productores" of 16 families. So far, I've been to four juntas (communal work days) for this group. We macheted several parcels, planted rows and rows of yucca, banana, rice, and herbs, and prepared rice tanks for future planting. The idea is that each family shares in the work and each will receive a portion of the food produced. The instigator of this group, Marcelino, is a very motivated guy. Since I've been in site, he has traveled to several conferences and events around Panama to learn about organic farming techniques, eco-stoves, endangered sea turtle protection - all kinds of environmental topics. The goal is for this whole endeavor to be done completely organically. The work days are fun! As I'm still getting used to the whole Panama time thing (every event seems to start between 1-2 hours after the scheduled start time) I am usually the first to arrive in the morning. We'll all gather, everyone brings their contribution for lunch (rice, vegetables, soup broth, coffee, sugar, etc) and someone is put in charge of cooking the meal. Then we work - chopping, digging, planting, giant gallon jugs of coffee and chicha are passed around, men salimar, women get right in there hacking the ground with garden hoes, everyone gossips, I listen along and try to get the gist of the half Ngäbere-half Spanish conversations. This past Tuesday, Adriana asked if I wanted to be in charge of cooking lunch with her for the day at Elsa's house. I've been helping out with cooking meals at my host family house lately, so I jumped at the chance to show off my new fogón cooking skills. No, I'm kidding - did you really think they trust the gringa to cook their meals over an open fire? I do help a lot, especially when Walter, my little brother cooks dinner. But he always delegates to me the tasks that don't actually require cooking. "Bei, go pick and slice peppers from the bush" "Bei, rinse this rice" "Bei, wash this spoon" "Bei, open this can of sardines" Yep, I get bossed around by a 10-year-old in the kitchen. Anyways, on Tuesday Adriana took charge of the actual cooking and put me to work peeling and slicing. We made a paila of rice and porotos (type of bean that is in season) and a paila of soup with uyama (like a squashy pumpkin), bodá (stringy green vegetable), ñame & ñampi (potato-like root veggies), onion, bell pepper, garlic, and a bunch of herbs. Elsa kept running to her garden and picking more herbs to throw in - culantro (like cilantro, but better), oregano, parsley, celery leaves. As the soup was simmering, we the cooks snacked on bread and the ever-flowing coffee. Elsa had the radio tuned to a station with American music (!!), there was a cool breeze blowing through the rancho, the sun was peeking out, the women talked and laughed and I listened, and the smell of garlic and oregano wafted through the air. I think it was one of the moments I have felt the most content in my whole almost-five months in Panama so far. And the soup was the best dish I have eaten in the Comarca, hands-down. Not just because I helped make it, really...I never wanted my bowl to end. As I slurped down mouthfuls of soup with rice and beans, I thought about how almost every ingredient in the meal was grown right here by the community, or if not, at least from this region of Panama. Switching from 22 years in the heart of the consumer class to living now in the heart of the producer class has definitely been a tough adjustment at times, but this meal was a reminder of how incredible and admirable of a life this is. Though it wasn't Thanksgiving back home...I sure was thankful for this day!

Happy belated Thanksgiving to everyone in the States! I hope you all had a wonderful holiday. In just 2.5 weeks, I head to San Felix for several days of additional Ngäbere training with fellow Comarca volunteers, then to Cerro Punta for the Peace Corps holiday party, then when I get back to site I will officially be moved into my own house. Finally!!! I love my host family but I cannot wait to have my own space. I am continuing visiting door-to-door, helping around the house and in my host family's finca, attending work days and meetings and celebrations, and trying to and get to know Gallina and all of the people that make it up. At several community members' request, I decided to start a small informal English class on Monday afternoons, and my first class had four eager participants :) I hope the motivation stays up. My mental list of ideas for the community continues to grow and become ever-more complex the more I talk to people and learn about family dynamics, the history of the community and the Comarca itself, and the local economy. This Friday I have my next Peace Corps meeting, in which we'll hopefully dive a bit deeper and start solidifying and developing plans for some of these ideas. Or we'll just drink cacao and go way off-topic and not accomplish anything. Who knows??

Photos!

 Handwashing seminar in Kaboy

 Ya know, just almuerzo on the roof

 Handwashing day at the school in Mesa

 Manuel and Gabriel

 Daily walks through corn fields in the clouds

Sledding Comarca style: pulling babies in cooking pailas

School marching band at the Comarca Panamanian Independence from Columbia Day parade

p.s. changed my blog header background - I took this photo from right outside my future house!

Facepalm Moment, Integration Status, Quotes, and Poop Tidbit

Once again, I did something silly and became the subject of Gallina bochinche. My host parents, brothers, and I went to go harvest rice in a part of their finca I hadn’t been to before. The winding path to get there included a hike through a cornfield, across several creeks, under a couple fences, etc… After working for a few hours, the clouds rolled in and an aguacero (downpour) was imminent. They filled a giant chácara with rice - probably the biggest one they own, you could carry a full-size adult human in there. They asked if I could carry it home, and wanting to appear strong I said I could. They helped me hoist the strap onto my head and the bag onto my back, and sent me off alone, because they know I walk much slower than them and needed more time to get home… I stumbled off and shortly realized that the bag was way too heavy for me. I had to take a rest, realized that the strap was ripping my hair out. So I tried to carry it around around my shoulders, kept trudging on, it started to rain, and then I realized that the path I was following was starting to look less like a path and more like me just forging through the brush. It began to downpour, and I slipped and the chácara fell and I could not get it back on. I would try, and then I would fall over backwards or sideways; I was exhausted. The rice was getting wet - my family are subsistence farmers, soaking and ruining their rice is like burning their money! I started to panic. I realized how lost I was, trying to lug the bag back the way I came, not finding the path. I couldn’t just leave the bag of rice and find my host family, because what if I couldn’t find it again? But I couldn’t carry it anymore. I started to salimar (a specific Tarzan-like yell that everyone does here to greet each other) at the top of my lungs, and screaming “Ayúdame!” repeatedly. Oh man, I must have been quite the site to see. I kept this up for probably at least 20 minutes, continuing to freak out, until my host dad finally answers my calls and hacks through the brush to find me. Luckily, he seemed more amused than anything. I surrendered the bag to him, and made it home. “This is the path, Bei. There is only one path. Where were you going?” Of course, everyone hears about this incident, and the following days I hear sentiments such as “When are you going to the finca next, Bei? Do you need a guide to make it back okay? Ha ha ha…” 

Good news: I am definitely feeling more integrated in my community. People are getting used to seeing me wander around Gallina. I learned to tejer and knit my first chácara! People are so excited because know how to make chácaras and chakiras (bracelets) now, and I’m currently learning to sew dientes by hand with the local artisan group. I just need to learn to sew naguas! I’m getting used to seeing six-year-olds wielding machetes almost as tall as they are, seventy-something grandmothers scaling ridiculously steep hills in flip-flops, and three-year-olds drinking huge cups of coffee. I’m becoming closer with my host family. Although they may not quite understand it yet, at least they know I do have a sense of humor. I am appreciating the slow daily pace of life, the sweaty days in the fields planting yucca and beans, the simple diet, and the ever-abundant natural beauty that surrounds us. I have been continuing to check out ojos de agua, asking a lot of questions about where their water comes from, getting people excited about re-forming the currently nonfunctioning water committee, and scoping out what kind of projects people are interested in collaborating with Peace Corps on. 

Some favorite quotes… neighbor kids are playing with this toy gun that lights up and makes a noise. He points it straight at his friend and yells, “¡Dame su cédula!” A cédula is an identification card that all Panamanian citizens have. So instead of “Gimme your money!” it’s like yelling “Gimme your social security number!” It made me laugh. 

People have asked me quite a few times about indigenous culture in the United States. I’m trying to brush up my knowledge, especially about the indigenous people that live in my own state, so I can give them better answers. One of the questions was “Do they have normal skin, or white skin like yours?” which also made me chuckle, another reminder of how weird my looks are here. “They have normal skin,” I answered.

And a poop update (sorry, WASH volunteer necessity)…I finally had a tiny bit of diarrhea. Just one time, and it wasn’t bad at all. Many of my PC friends have not been so lucky, lots of them have had to visit the clinic in the city for amoebas, Giardia, parasites… However, the chronic constipation continues. I’ll be constipated for days and days, and then all of a sudden I’m off somewhere hiking to visit families and the urge to poop will just hit me like a wave, and I’ll have drop what I’m doing to find a place to relieve myself immediately. Living the Peace Corps campo life.