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.
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