The One with some pic-chas

Just realized I never shared the pictures from October and November..My month of "solitude"

Here they are for your viewing pleasure:

Oct and Nov 2010

~Meti

The One with some Holiday Cheer

When I was a youngin’ my parents took me to visit Santa Claus, a common American tradition right? Well, that particular year I courageously deviated from the norm that little holiday children usually follow. What I wanted from Santa was different. It was nothing tangible, it was not something he could buy at the store, or even fabricate in his workshop. I wasn’t going to ask Santa for a new Poly Pocket playhouse, or a fancy new slammer to add to my Pog collection. I already had a nice Bike, my own skis, a collection of sleds, fancy roller blades, a homemade go-cart, a zip line, a large playhouse, a huge trampoline, the wilderness in my backyard and an imagination…. Really, what else could a little girl want? I think I recognized my good fortune even at this young age. That is why, that year, I asked Santa for nothing more than Peace on Earth.

Oh, what I would give to go back to a time where I naively assumed that if we didn’t have Peace on Earth, it was only because no one had ever asked for it yet. And if anyone could grant that Christmas miracle, it was surely Santa. My poor parents, what do you do when your child asks Santa for Peace on Earth? Looking back I imagine this was probably a good clue as to which way my life would be heading, either a Peace Corps volunteer or Miss America .




I was a bit nervous about this Christmas, my first Christmas in the village. By now I feel very comfortable here, but from the stories I have heard, I still felt like I had reason to worry. The consciences among my community members was that “Christmas was a time that the men drink a lot and fight a lot.” But, even with this unsightly warning, I still wanted to stay in site for Christmas. To me, this was another ‘now or never’ opportunity. Cultural exchange is a large part of why I am here. So bring it on, I thought, good or bad, I was ready to experience Christmas Buena Esperanza style.

Seizing an opportunity to fulfill goal number 2 of a PCV, and share my culture with my community, I cooked up a little something for each person. Something truly American, Rice Krispie treats. Ok, so I guess there was not much “cooking” or “baking” involved, really all I did was melt one thing and then add another thing to it. But I didn’t tell any of them that… they were all very impressed by my culinary abilities and I didn’t want to down play my moment of glory by revealing how basic the recipe is. Many of them had never seen a marshmallow before, and the only type of cereal they know is Corn Flakes. I was asked numerous times if I had made the treats using corn. Initial this made me laugh but the more I thought about it, they are actually not too far off. I am sure both the Marshmallows and the cereal have enough high fructose corn syrup, to deem corn a major ingredient.

I went to every house in the community, between Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, passing out the treats, along with some photographs I had taken throughout the year. Each household was celebrating a bit different than the previous. But in general they celebrate with a lot of food, usually a special type of bread and a soup with some type of meat mixed in. They stay up late on the 24th to welcome Christmas day. At midnight, they eat the soup and give hugs and kisses to each other, much like a new years celebration. They even have fireworks. The fireworks are not set off at any particular time. They started about a week ago and I am sure will continue until after the new year. This fireworks don’t emit light or sparks, I guess they could be classified more as a popper, but the ‘pop’ sounds they make sounds more like a gunshot than an innocent little ‘pop.’ And unfortunately for me , the pyrotechnicians don’t give any warning or sound of anticipation. So the loud “pop pop” always catches me off guard, which they find very humorous.

I asked a few households about Santa Claus. Everyone knew of him, after all the image of Santa Claus was a fabrication of Coca- Cola, and we all know that Coke is in every corner of the world. So they know who Santa is, but the idea of someone coming in the middle of the night to leave you presents would never work here. Who is going to do the undercover work so that Santa can keep his good reputation? I think believing in Santa Claus is a first world luxury. I even think we could use Santa as a way to measure economic stability of a country =) I say forget about measuring GDP, let’s just go around asking children if they believe in Santa, that will give you a pretty quick answer about their standard of living.

One household however, had acquired a unique holiday gift, they were very excited about. Let me preface this by saying that my community members, all of them, love jigsaw puzzles. So, upon visiting the Ellington household, I was not surprised by their eagerness to show me a new “puzzle” that Mother Nature had given them. They whisked me outside, where I immediately was confronted with a very large skull of an animal I couldn’t identify; next to it was a hefty bag overflowing with miscellaneous bones. This was their puzzle….a Dolphin. I heard a rumor a few months ago that a Dolphin had washed up into the mangroves. Apparently, this family kept an eye on it and once the vultures had done the dirty work, they went out to collect the bones before they were washed back out to sea. Now they were going to work to put it back together. They gave me a tooth as un recuerdo of Dolphin bay. That surely is a Christmas present I will never forget

So, I am sure you are wondering about the excessive drinking that I was forewarned of. Yes, it was as they said it would be. Many, but not all, of the men drank. And those that did drink, drank a lot. A few were ‘fighters,’ usually the most belligerent. The other men would provoke the drunkard for awhile as entertainment while the woman watched and gossiped from afar. Inevitably the man would either be tied to a tree or drug under a house, and the men would resume drinking until another would warrant the same handling. My friend Isaac, the guy who lived in Switzerland, told me that this is how they play “survivor.” He instructed me that whoever remained at the end, I had to take to Hollywood to collect his prize money.

Last Christmas I wrote on my blog that while all my previous Christmas memories may eventual blend together, I will always remember that one Christmas I spent at the Beach in Panama with my friends. And following in suit, this Christmas too will forever uniquely hold its own. But two unique Christmases are enough… Next year it is back to the snow, and all those warm and fuzzy moments of spreading holiday cheer with my family and friends. Maybe I will even make rice krispie treats or them =)

And so, nearly 20 years after I asked Santa for Peace on Earth, I find myself down here in Panama, as a “Peace Corps Volunteer.” I know my duties don’t really include bringing “Peace” to the world, that is an undertaking suited only for a Christmas miracle. But, Peace on Earth does exist. My community members may not have a lot, by American standards, but through good food and good company, they passed a beautiful holiday with a lot of love, happiness, and yes, Peace. I feel fortunate to have been a part of it.

Happy Holidays,
Meti

Here is some video I took on the 24th and 25th. There is no footage of the men's “Survivor Series,” sorry.
Make sure you have your speakers on, the song will make you want to dance.

The One where she is Thankful

Though I am a few weeks past our assigned date of giving thanks, I still want to share this with you.

This volunteer experience has shown me ALL that I have to be thankful for, in my “old life” and “future life” in the United States. But this Thanksgiving I tried to think about the present rather that the past or future. Right now, what am I thankful for? Foremost , of course, there is my health, my family, friends, my education etc… But really, what gets me through a day in Buena Esperanza?

I am thankful for:

· Headlamps

· Kerosene

· Crocs Shoes

· Outdoor showers

· My walking stick

· Popcorn

· Coconut oil

· A combination of the previous 2

· Dictionaries

· Rubbing alcohol

· The fact that Ants float when they die

· Ylang ylang

· Iodine tablets

· My Banana tree

· Antivenom

· Hand sanitizer

· Pepto-Bismol

· Theobroma Cacao

· Hammocks

· My Minchi

· Rain

· Earplugs

· Coloring books

· The dock

· Dry bags

· Charcoal

· Textured soy

· Handkerchiefs

· Quick dry pants

· Life jackets

· Deodorant

· Hydrocortisone cream

· Grammar books

· SPF 30

· Multivitamins

· Propane

· Powdered milk

· Kenneth

Sometimes it is the small things that matter most. I am thankful today and every day for all of the above and more

Anytime is a good time to give thanks!

~Meti

Thoughts

**This is post 8 of 8 regarding my month of “solitude.” You can find the previous posts below. **

When you know something has an end to it does that make it easier?

I think so.

My fast from stuff was for 32 days. I knew that, and if I ever doubted that fact, or needed reassurance all I had to do was glance at a calendar and/or my plane ticket to Mexico. The truth is, I think there are few things that cannot be endured when you know there is an end to it or a light at the end of the tunnel. The mind is amazing at getting us through hard or uncomfortable situations.

I wasn’t expecting my month in site to be relaxing by any means; Buena Esperanza is my primary place of work after all. I am in high demand here. I know that may sound like an egotistical thing to say, but those of you that know me know I don’t mean it in such a way. It is simply the truth. The foot traffic at my house is literally sunrise to sundown. Peace Corps tells us that our job is 24/7 which I interpret as; no matter where you are in the country, you are always representing Peace Corps and thus the USA. This is fine, fair and understandable. But it is quite another thing to be a Peace Corps volunteer in a small rural community and try to uphold that same 24/7 agreements, for 32 days straight. I found it to be maybe what a CEO of a large company would feel like if he never left the conference room.

While my main work within the community; the Artisan group, the English lessons, and my Girl scouts group often remained in a controlled environment. The “cultural exchange” part of my job seems to have no limits. At the end of the day, my work is my home. There is no separation. That is hard.

My community members didn’t know that I was doing this month in site. I am sure a few of them wondered why I didn’t go buy groceries, but nothing was ever said to me. For them, it is not out of the norm. Some people in my community don’t leave for years at a time. What I was doing was for 32 days. For them, it is for life and they pass through it so gracefully, seminally effortlessly (even though if you ask them they will tell you otherwise). It did not take me this month of staying in site to notice these things, but maybe it took me a month in site to appreciate them.

I often find myself wondering what it would be like to take someone from Buena Esperanza and drop them into a life like I had in the states. Would they find as much difficulty in making a microwave dinner as I find in opening a coconut? And would they be able to navigate through the aisles of Wal-Mart with more success than I have hiking in their farms? And then after 2 years, if given the choice, would they want to remain in my life, or return to theirs? Most of us would just assume that they would want to remain in our world, that our way of living is easier, more superior, more comfortable. Well, this is my friend Isaac

Isaac had the chance every guy in my community dreams of. He met a foreigner girl, they fell in love, and he moved to Zürich, Switzerland to live with her. I met him for the first time this past May when he was home for a short visit. He had told me he would return to Buena Esperanza again for the holidays, so I was not surprised to hear his voice at my door the other day. I was surprised however, to hear that he was back for good. Without getting too much into his personal life, I ask why. “por el sol Meti’ …For the sun , he told me! ‘This is my land’ he continued ‘life is better here, plus in Zürich you have to wear shoes.’

Haha ok, good enough.

With so many wanting to escape to a land where things seem to come without much effort, I think Isaac serves as a great example. I don’t doubt that it was just as difficult for Isaac living g in Zürich as it is for me living here. This is their life, their culture, their customs and their land.

I respect them very much for living the way they do, but it is not my life. I think we can still learn some things from them about their way of living; such as their slow paced lifestyle and how they truly live in the moment, but ultimately we are different people. I was by no means alone during this month, but in a sense I was. When there is no one around that can relate to you, you can feel just as alone.

Modern technology allows me to stay in touch with “my people.” Family, friends and other Peace Corps Volunteers. I appreciate having this balance in my life. I think being able to connect with other Peace Corps Volunteers via phone or in person is huge. They are the only people who truly understand, empathize and can relate to what this experience is all about. It is a common bond we will share for the rest of our lives. This outlet of volunteer support makes a world of difference.

A year ago, my Uncle Tim wrote me an email. Among other encouraging things it said, “You need to do things for yourself to ensure you are good for everyone else. Be a tiny bit selfish ever once in a while.” He was exactly right, but I am sure he knew that.

My weekly shopping days are so much more than me just frantically running around attempting to check things off my list. They are time for me. A time to socialize, a time to reconnect with family via Skype, a time to go to the grocery store or the bank or the post office or wherever I want without anyone asking me, or following me. In Buena Esperanza, my life is what I would think a life of a pet fish may be like, I often think I live in a fishbowl. I appreciate having balance.

Every Peace Corps experience is different, country to country, community to community, each of us play with the cards we are dealt. Some volunteers have electricity, internet, running water, flush toilets, a spouse. Some live in urban cities and have hot showers and cold refrigerators. Some PCV’s have incredibly organized groups or already formed co-ops to work with. Some have easy, frequent and cheap transportation, some live within hours of the Peace Corps office with access to all the facilities. Some Peace Corps Volunteers may even have all of the above and then some may have none of the above. Peace Corps is not the way it was in the 60s. Just because someone joins the Peace Corps does not mean they have to fall off the map for two years. Each volunteer situation and experience is uniquely different, and even though I am in the ‘none of the above' group, I am grateful for my unique circumstance and situation that gave me that opportunity to “fall off the map” for a month. In the end, I am glad I did it.

Thank you for following along,
~Michelle

I know I don’t usually do this, but because I can, I have chosen a picture of the month! I think it shows the amazing human connection between a parent and their child, something that is universal.

Food

**This is post 6 of 8 regarding my month of “solitude.” You can find the previous posts below. **

Cooking in the campo is a unique experience. My kitchen is not equipped with all (or rather any) of the fancy appliances that can make anyone seem like a top chef. My kitchen doesn’t even have refrigerator or an oven. Most of the time it is just me, the skillet and the spatula; and we have a special understanding.

I have spent a year of cooking in the campo, and I am proud of the fact that I have yet to poison or starve myself. My weekly grocery outings to Bocas Island used to take an hour, and now I can now zip through the little tienda in 10 minutes. My purchases are the same every week, that is because my menu is the same every week. Stick with what works right? But what was I going to do for a month, without leaving to purchase “the usuals?” Once again, I turn to the community. It is not likely that my community members began their meals by sautéing Onions and Garlic in EVOO, so what do they do? I was ready to learn. But just in case, I was prepared =)


So, I started my month off with the table of goodies pictured above, a little excessive? Maybe. But even though I was excited about experimenting with local produce, I was not about to find myself eating white rice and boiled bananas like I had with my host families.

The fresh veggies were the first to go; the carrots, bell peppers, zucchini, all gone within 5 days. The onion collection remained for about 10. My 2 dozen eggs were next. And then the apples. Who would have guessed an apple could have such an effect on ones self control. The crunch of my last juicy green apple was so bitter sweet, literally.

But, I knew this point would come, when my fresh veggies would run out. That’s what the canned goods were for…. I was prepared right? Right, except for one thing, a can opener. But, it’s ok, I assured myself, the can opener was invented 50 years after the can anyways. I will just open my veggies with a knife like my community members open cans, when they have cans.

My first and only attempt went like so. I grabbed the knife in one hand, the can firmly in the other, and began my attack in a vertical motion, not unlike my early attempts in killing scorpions, before I became wise. My intuition told me to just go along the out edge of the can with small punctures, one alongside the other until the lid falls out, or I pull it up. I still wasn’t sure about that last part, and it didn’t matter because I never made it that far. I was so disappointed in my hand eye coordination; I had thought myself a better target. There were a few close calls where the knife would completely miss the can and come within a hair of my base hand. This was enough to remind me that my main form of medical practice in prevention, prevention, prevention. What I was doing was stupid, and I know my mom would tell me so.

I ended up making enough holes, semi close together, to reach a fork into the can and pull those stubborn mushroom slices out one by one. By that time my pasta was cold and it was dark out. I hate cooking when it is dark out. That is when irreversible mistakes happen, like confusing the vanilla for the Soy Sauce. So, for the remaining cans I would simply ask anyone over the age of 7 for help.

In my previous life, as a college student is San Luis Obispo, I was an advocate for buying local produce. This was fairly simple with a Farmers Market every day within driving range, or walking distance from my house. But, I must admit that if something couldn’t be found at the farmers markets I would ultimately pick it up at the grocery store. Ohhhhh…. the grocery store, oh I should say, the “Supermarket.” Because that is what it is, “super.” It has super powers and everything. It has the power to make one believe that seasons don’t exist on this planet. Any fruit or vegetable you want is in season… sure it may have to travel across 4 continents to get to you, but somewhere in the world it is in season, that means you can have it.

Anyways, we don’t have such super magical markets here in Buena Esperanza, but we DO have farmers. Campesinos! The same men and women that plant, tend to and harvest the vegetables are the same ones that carry them out of the farm and to my front doors step. I exchange money for their hard work and knowledgeable farming practices, and a (sometimes) appetizing ingredient. There is no middle man, just me, and the farmer. This is a pretty foreign concept for most of us. It is amazing how far removed we have become from our food.

Here are some of the goodies I got from my compesinos:

This is “Buchu” at least that is what my community calls it. Did you know there are thousands of types of bananas in the world.?
In general I would say that us Americans like to have choices, especially when it comes to food. I mean have you seen our cereal aisle? However, one could spend their whole life in the states and never know that there is more than one type of banana, well I guess unless they read my blog =) But the others wouldn’t know because frankly we won’t buy a banana that does not look like a banana, or what we think a banana should look like. So while the rest of the world (including me for 2 years) enjoys these flavorful varieties. There is surly someone in the states without the slightest.


This is Guandu: My community calls it “Frijoles de la Finca.” It has the same cooking time as rice which makes for a convenient one pot meal… and it’s tasty!


This is Dasheen and ñamé. Root vegetables are staples in the diets here. Nampi, Yucca and Otoe are few others roots vegetables. All with a starchy constancy and rather plain tasting. The Indians usually eat them with just a little salt. But I think they are best in a stew or soup. Something with a bit more flavor.


This is Noni: Sound familiar? “Noni has been reported to have a range of health benefits for colds, cancer, diabetes, asthma, hypertension, pain, skin infection, high blood pressure, mental depression, atherosclerosis and arthritis.” Read more
To me, It smells like old dirty socks that a wet dog had been wearing, and it tastes the same. Not worth it.


This is bread: Every Friday (or at least every Friday she felt like it ) a woman would make bread and her children would go house to house selling it. But I baked my own bread too. I know that baking as opposed to cooking is supposed to be more of a scientific process, but I took to it with complete reckless abandonment. I would do the whole yeast, flour, egg thing, but then I would mix in whatever ingredients and spices I had on hand, and wait to see how it would yield. I was oven-less of course so I resorted to the “double pila” method seen below. Large pot called a ‘pila’ with about a half inch of water lining the bottom with a smaller pila placed inside, resting on top of any empty tuna can.


These are my spouts: Not from the farmers, but still I think worth sharing. I mastered my sprouting technique, with lentils mostly, assuring that every other day I would have fresh sprouts to incorporate into one of my meals. It is fun watching them grow….


This is my coconut: I had my own coconut delivery man! Sounds pretty exotic right? To have your own coconut delivery man, kind of like having your own pool boy. Yeah, well this was a little different (like most things here). Turns out he was not to reliable and only brought me coconuts when he needed to buy more batteries for his radio. This was a huge sacrifice on my part. I ended up paying double, first with money and second with my peace and quiet. Because as soon as he got his 50 cents it was exchanged for the batteries, and then his radio would blare in the community rancho (right outside my house) for hours!!!! But I rationed that nature’s juice was worth it, in small doses of course because coconut is known to act as laxative, and I didn’t want to pay a third time!!!


This is chocolatee: I plan on doing an informative blog post one day about chocolate, because it is so fascinating, but I didn’t want to leave it out here. We are in the middle of Cacao harvest season so I ate or drank chocolate daily. Yummy!



This is a fish: Of course I don’t eat fish, but they do! Here is a proud Fisherman with his catch of the day.


Conclusion…Ummm....
It really is not all white rice and boiled bananas here, and I can support my local farmers here, just the way I had at the local farmers markets back home.
And, I am thankful for Ezra Warner who invented the can opener.

Time for lunch…..
Meti

Stuff

**This is post 5 of 8 regarding my month of “solitude.” You can find the previous posts below. **

As I told you guys in my first post “why.” This month was, more than anything, a chance for me to live without the ‘stuff’ I have become so accustomed to. Was it hard to go without?

Here is what I thought:

The T.V: I gave up any attachment (which was not a lot) to the television a long time ago. This was not a problem.

The Camera: This was never an option to give up. Photographs are too precious. I made sure I had a fully charged battery going into site, and safeguarded it like crazy

The Computer: I didn’t miss the computer as much as I missed the connection it brings me with the people back home. Yeah this was hard, but not impossible.

The Cell Phone: This was a bit harder to put aside. I became addicted to the cell phone during college. I know I did, and I admit it. I never needed a fancy phone, no special gadgets, or “apps” I think is what you call them now… but I always felt that need to be connected and I found secretly in knowing I was. I don’t think I have an addictive personality, but it was different with the cell phone, and I know why…. I have self diagnosed myself! =)

When my brother was in Iraq he would only call about every ten weeks, and if you missed his call you missed his call... It was devastating when that would happen. I took all measures to avoid this. My cell phone would be set on vibrate in my pocket during class, on the loudest ring possible when I was riding my bicycle, and I would even bring my it out to the pool and place it at the water’s edge while I was swimming laps. After Nick’s four years of service. I still held on to this secretly blanket.

I was relieved when I came to Panama to find that all volunteers have cell phones, and most have service in their communities. I thought this was huge…and through the year, it has proven to be so. Good news, bad news, familiar and comforting voices and words of encouragement come to me via my cell phone. I am not going to lie...this was hard to go without. But it was good for me. My mom has always said that, bad news travels fast so if there was anything life changing or detrimental they knew how I could be reached. "No news is good news” we use to say when Nick was in Iraq. It was the same here.

The IPod: Awwwww the Ipod….. Music, my music!
I have a yellow poster here hanging on the wall in my kitchen/living room/office/yoga studio/dinning room that reads “NO MUSIC, NO LIFE.” I believe this. I always have and always will. Music brings me so much happiness. My month of solitude was not intended to keep myself from things that make me happy….So music was still an option, but the IPod wasn’t.

So, I looked to my community for answers. What do they do for music? Thus, my last purchase before going out to site for a month was a Sony AM/FM radio, complete with a large antenna and powered by two AA batteries. I learned so much about Panamanian culture by listening to this little box.

You know those times when you are in a certain mood? Sad perhaps. Maybe someone just painted over your world. Anyways, when you get in a mood, if you are like me, you look for a song to match it. You turn to your trusty IPod and find someone to remind you that you’re not alone…. They must know what how you’re feeling, that’s why they are singing about it right?

So, IPodless, I would turn to my Sony. I would search the dial (yes, a good old fashion dial), up and down, up and down. First, I would listen, for anything in English. Inevitably, I would hear, “I know you want me, you know I want you…” move the dial a little more, “all the single ladies, all the single ladies, put your hands up..” a little more “get down, get down and more it all around…” a little more and I would find a station that Vanilla Ice surly had a monopoly on.

What the heck? None of these songs fit my mood. So I would settle on any slow, romantic sounding Spanish song, which I deemed fitting enough. That was until it became apparent of the very clever way that Panamanians advertise on the radio. Clever, but not so discrete. You could be listening to the most beautiful love song -duets are common- Two young Latin lovers singing to each other in this beautiful romance language. About how they will never cheat or leave and they will love the other forever or something like that (to be honest I still can on catch about every other word in songs) but you get the idea… Then , out of nowhere it is like the guys next door decided to pop in, screaming about a HUGE SALE his sports store is having on Saturday, before they throw him out… still rambling of items that will be available at half price. Once he was thrown out, the song would continue like nothing happened. It is like a hidden subliminal message that they forgot to hide.

Panama radio partially redeemed itself however when I discovered the Country Billboard Countdown on Saturday mornings at 8 am. The show was only a half hour, and I saw it “partially” redeemed itself, because the “Country Billboard Countdown” seemed to be lacking the whole countdown feature that its name suggests. Instead they seemed to just pick random country songs to play. That was still ok with me. Once the dial was set I could just melt to the voice of Josh Turner telling me "Everything is fine." I couldn’t help but wonder if there was anyone else in this country who was listening to this… Maybe other PCVs?

Why does it seem like we always need some sort of background noise? The T.V on while we are eating or cooking dinner, the stereo playing when we are trying to converse with our guests... I don’t have an explanation for this, I know I am the same way. But as my month went on, I found myself spending more time relinquishing in the silence, than fusing with the radio to stimulate my brain with sound waves.

Lacking ‘stuff’ to fill my free time, didn’t really seem to be that big of an issue actually. The truth is, I have more hobbies than I know what to do with and the time I would normally spend talking on the phone or writing emails, was easily filled in other ways.

• Yoga continued to be a daily practice sometimes twice a day. And even though Bikram or hot yoga (as some call it) is not my preferred style, I often had no choice.

• Hikes into the finca or boat trips out around the maingroves islands were daily routine. This was my alone time and was cherished very much!

• Nick and Amber built a Ping Pong table before they left. This was hours of entertainment, while it lasted. It was not exactly Buena Esperanza child proof and it only lasted a week. But the Padres de Famila saw how much the kids enjoyed it and have promised to sturdy the base, we’ll see.



• And of course, hours and days can be passed reading. When I am looking for something to distract my mind and take me to another place, I could always count on a book to take me into another world. This month alone, through my literary material, I found myself deep in the jungle of Surinam learning about shamanism, building a house on a pond in Massachusetts, making a 1st decent up the west face or Suila grade in Peru, traveling the world ensuring developing countries (like Panama) will forever be in debt to the U.S, and of course I went to the Swedish countryside to help a solve the disappearance of a family legacy. Can you guess what I was reading?

• Due to the whole radio situation, I did find myself playing guitar more often. With my vacation to Cabo approaching, I found it appropriate to teach myself “here comes the sun” and Jimmy Buffets “Mexico” both of which helped me remain optimistic.

To be honest I personally think that one should never get so attached to one ‘thing’ that they couldn’t part with it for a day, a month, a year… or two. Be it a cell phone, car, television...ice cream. I enjoyed my fast from 'stuff.'
Relationships on the other hand, and they people you have them with are a different story. And I don’t plan on going this long without contact with my family and friends ever again. I am very thankful for the modern technology, and the way it has allowed me to be here, doing what I am doing, yet still remain close to the people that mean the most to me.

Love from Panama!
Miche and Minchi

Mother Nature

*This is post 5 of 8 regarding my month of “solitude.” You can find the previous posts below. *
From the previous 4 posts I think it is obvious that my first week of ”solitude” was a bit challenging, to say the least. The next 4 posts are much more lighthearted. Not one day went by that I didn’t think about the Map, But, I could not dwell forever…there were adventures to be had!


My Artisan group is building an Artisan casita to sell their work!!! Hooray! It has been a slow process, like most things. But over the past year; a location had been chosen, the posts are in and the framing is up. Still,everyone would fall silent and look off in opposite directions when we would talk about whom would donate a tree for the siding…. so we skipped that and decided to do the roof first. Traditional roof of thatch. Not zinc.
We all selected a certain date for a work day. I noted it in my calendar. When the date came around I went to Lupe’s (Artisan president) house bright and early ready to work. She laughs upon seeing me and says:

“Iiiiiiiii Meti, didn’t you see the moon last night? We can’t cut anything today.”

Huh…? I think to myself…. What does that even mean? It is a great day to work, good cloud coverage, no direct sun, no rain, calm seas…perfect.

“I don’t understand” I tell her. Which she is use to hearing from me by now.

“It’s like this, Meti, we have to wait until there is a good moon to cut anything or else it won’t last after we cut it.”

Ok, fair enough… “and what is a good moon?” I ask.

“When there is no moon.” She informs me.

“And everyone else knew this?”

“Of course Meti. You are the only one who doesn’t know how the moon works.”

I smile and then clarify to make sure I don’t make the same mistake again. “Ok, so a good moon is when there is no moon. So when I see a good moon, or rather when I see no moon I should come here the next morning to work?”

We both laugh as I turn back towards my house. She assures me that next week should be perfect… and don’t forget my camera!

Lupe was right… the next week the moon was “good.” They came to pick me up in the largest dugout canoe my community has. We traveled a good hour, out of the bay and around the corner to a farm containing the specific thatch we were looking for. As soon as we pulled up to the dock, our arrival was announced to the rest of the jungle via dozens of howler monkeys in the neighboring trees. I was pleased to see how my community members took great interest in the howlers. We followed them around for about twenty minutes; all of us tripping over the ground roots and fallen coconuts with our gaze skyward.
Just as I started to take pictures, the monkeys start a game…a game was not yet familiar with, but I sure am now! The monkeys, however, were obviously experienced players…simultaneously they all began to urinate and defecate. Of course, my community members knew what was coming, I guess they all have some innate predictability gene that warns them when a monkey is about to poo on them…. That could come in handy in situations like such. So they all ran off to safety. When they ran, I froze… And now I found myself in the middle of the war zone, still a little confused as to what was falling all around me. When it all came together and I could hear my community members yelling at me “Run Meti run” I bolted to the best of my ability in my rubber boots, while concurrently trying to protect my camera from something I am sure the insurance company would not believe. Once I reached the rest of the group I was shocked, as were they, to find myself completely dry and poop free. We were all roaring with laughter…… “You have luck” they all kept telling me. I acted like it was all skill, like I knew which way I was going…but really, I was just thankful the wind hadn’t been blowing. This was definitely a first for me.

Enough monkey business, let’s get to work. Each man was designated a specific area. They would cut down the palm fronds, rid them of the thorns and stack them in piles of 5 or 6 on the jungle floor. Our job, the women, was to retrieve the palms and transport them to the dock, some fifteen minutes away. The palms were heavy, large and awkward to carry. Through trial, error and observation, I established the best methodology; hoist the palms vertically on your back so the stems are up over the crown of your head. Then grab hold with both hands from the front and try to ignore all the ants crawling down the back of your shirt. Let the palms drag behind you, brushing the ground as you walk. If the palms snag on something, just give it a little extra “umph.” And if you are lucky, when you make it to the dock, you will find you have collected a coconut or two…

Four hours and two-hundred palm fronds later. It was determined that we had enough for the makings of a roof.

Now we still had an hour boat ride back to Buena Esperanza. The palms were piled nearly a foot above the rim of the boat. We sat on top if the palms, struggling at first to find our center, and eventually settling in one in front of the other. Someone warns me "take your boots off Meti, if you fall you will go straight to the bottom." Oh right, duh Michelle. There was a good afternoon breeze, but the ocean didn’t look to threatening. Plus, we had a very heavy load and would be going very slow with our 15 horsepower engine. I wasn’t too worried.

“Vamos” each of us says, confirming we are situated and as comfortable as possible, all things considered. “Push us away from the dock” the driver orders to no one in particular. Each of us, so eager to help, leans to push us away from the dock, which is now about a foot away. Thus, we shift the boats axis … which all of us realized immediately was a huge mistake. The palms started to slide like a deck of cards… and we were going with them. The four people in the back of the boat were completely oblivious as to what was happening because they were facing backwards. The other two men and I immediately found the opposite edge of the boat and grabbed hold while our bodies became more and more vertical. Our feet were in the water, but majority of our body was still safe. Lupe (likely the tiniest Ngobe woman you will ever meet) was not as lucky, she slide right off with the first palm. It wasn’t until she was in the water, fronds floating all around her, that the other four realized what was going on. Fortunately, we were still right next to the dock. Lupe climbed out no problem, the palms were recollected and we went for a much more successful take two. Obviously due to the extreme and possibly life threatening (for my camera) circumstances I don’t have pictures of this, but I am positive it will be a mental image I will never forget.

All the living creatures and creepy crawlies that once resided high up in the canopy of the jungle were now stacked in layers underneath us. The ride back to Buena Esperanza was without conversation and mostly silent, except for the sounds of physical abuse, personally inflicted in our effort to rid our bodies of the insects seeking revenge.

During this boat ride, it dawned on me that it was Halloween day. It is very easy to lose track of days and dates out here. Anyway, usually on holidays, birthdays, or significant dates I think about what I was doing last year at that time… When I was struggling to remember what I had done for Halloween the previous year, I remembered, oh yea, I was here last year! That realization didn’t help me in remembering what I had done…. It is likely that the day passed without me even recognizing it was a holiday. So I tried to think back to two years ago. I made a verbal “hmph” and grinned as I recalled my attempt of dressing as ‘Mother Nature’ for Halloween. I remember going to the craft store and purchasing synthetically produced “nature” supplies. I bought some fake jungle vines, which at the time were convincing enough for me. I also remember purchasing a little nest and a plastic bird to perch on my shoulder. This year for Halloween, there was nothing fake about my Mother Nature costume. Sitting on a thrown of palms, bugs crawling all over me, floating in the middle of the ocean in a hollowed out tree trunk, having nearly escaped falling feces…. this was Mother Nature. Granted, it would not be ideal to drag these 20 foot palm thrawns behind me when I am trying to bar hop and ‘dance freely’ in downtown San Luis Obispo, like I did two years ago.

I hope you all enjoyed your Halloween as much as I did.
~Meti

Endure. Grieve. Move on.

**This is post 4 of 8 regarding my month of “solitude.” You can find the previous posts below. **
Please remember that the contents of this page, and all links appearing on this page, do not represent the positions, views or intents of the U.S. Government, or the United States Peace Corps.
Ok, so now what….? Is this one of those life lessons, you know, like the ones they were singing about in the 90’s where you get knocked down but then you get right back up again? Or do I just need to excuse this as another “cultural difference.” How do you deal with something like this….? There was no chapter on this in the Peace Corps Volunteer Handbook.

Once the construction workers left, we were all equally as lost and confused as to what to do next. Life goes on right… The way we all dealt with it was very similar to a mourning process after someone passes away. I think I was in shock for awhile and was filled with extreme anxiety about having to tell Nick and Amber. I took many hikes into the jungle; because as they say “it is good for the soul when there’s not a soul in site…” it helped a little. When I wasn’t hiking, I hoped for rain so I would not have to see or talk to anyone. But the sun was relentless, making it almost unbearable for people to stay in their house. Thus increasing the already soaring amount of foot traffic my front porch sees on a daily basis’s. My community members were not sure how to act towards me. I mean, I wasn’t an emotional wreck or anything. It was just a hard time, and they have never seen me go through a hard time like this before. Most of the conversations from my visitors went like this:

‘Are you sad Meti?’ I would answer, ‘I am still sad but I will be ok. Don’t worry.’ Then an inevitable pause as they looked for another conversation topic, or something to cheer me up. Nine out of ten of them would settle on ‘Your banana tree is beautiful!!!’ I honestly don’t have enough figures or toes to count the amount of times this was said to me, and each time I smiled a little bigger. I guess it worked. I appreciated their effort to cheer me up by complementing my green thumbs… and in case you are wondering, my banana tree does look pretty damn good…
They cared, I know they did. But no one cared more so than Roberto. Roberto is a teacher, the schools director and also the closest thing I have to a friend in the community. He was the one who gave me permission to paint the map; he even swayed us to paint it on their new classroom instead of the older school house. I knew he was feeling extreme guilt. He never said so, but I could tell. There were a number of times I even found myself trying to cheer him up. He never apologized, and I didn’t expect him to. I was not looking to put the blame on anyone.
Due to my decision to stay in site, without communication to the outside world, I was left with a lot (maybe too much) time to think. Eventually, there was a turning point in my sadness. I would say there were two things that triggered this. The first is a conversation I had with one of my community members who went a different route to cheer me up:

“Lots of work Meti” he pointed out “and lots of paint.” Long pause as I smile and nod ( as if I hadn’t heard that before). Then I waited, expecting him to compliment my gardening abilities. But he threw a curve ball at me by saying, “But did you know that there is a bridge somewhere that is so big that it takes them a year to paint it and when they finish they have to start over again?” Because the Ngobes are traditionally very indirect he never came out and said it but it was obvious he was trying to point out that my paint consumption and amount of work was small in comparison to the Golden Gate Bridge….. don’t ask me how they know these random facts.
He helped open my eyes to the big picture. No one is sick, no one was physically injured, no one has died. And no matter how bad you seem to have it there is always a ‘Golden Gate Bridge’ out there to remind you that It could always be worse.

The second trigger was when the teachers decided they wanted to file a police report in attempt to recover some of the financial lost. From me, they needed a list of materials used and quantity of man hours spent on the map. The Master Card commercial kept popping into my head … Paint and Supplies $158, Man hours 193, Educational value… priceless. It was through this that I was reminded that if I could put a number or a price next to something that means it is something materialistic, thus, something that technically could be replaced. I have said from the binging that it was never about the physical map anyways, but what it represented, and that is what was bothering me most; It was seeing my community being subjected to this ‘Big Brother ‘ type of treatment, left so helpless. How many times had something like this happened in the past? Maybe not as extravagant and public but I am sure the psychological impact was just as significant. How can they be expected to float when there is a firm hand holding them under?
But… with time I was able to find some positives that remained. Yes, the educational value lost was priceless. But similarly, there were also priceless lessons gained through the creation of the map, that will never be lost. To better explain this, I wrote a letter to two very instrumental people in creation the World Map.

Here is part of my special message to Nick and Amber:

The193 man hours may seem like wasted time, but I assure you it wasn’t. Our World map survived in its entirety for 2 full weeks, but there are some things that you can’t put a time limit on and that is what we need to focus on.

Because of you my community members saw what it means to work together, group work at its finest! Because of you they saw work ethic and dedication to a project from beginning to end. Because of you and our constant laughter they saw that work can actually be fun. These lessons will never be painted over… Because of you every person in my community can now find Panama on a map. This knowledge can never be painted over.

You are two of the most pure, positive, kind hearted, and humble people I know. We are all lucky to have people like the two of you in the world and it is with great honor that I get to call you family. The time, dedication, and sincerity you showed towards my community is something they will always remember and cherish and that can never be painted over.

Your sacrifices did not go unnoticed. For a people where the words “thank you” don’t exist in their native language; I know they are appreciative for the gift you gave them. And that gift was not the physical map. It is something more...something MEDUCA can never take away.
I don’t want anyone to worry about me. I am fine, this will not break me. What MEDUCA did to my community needs to be an example. I think there is a lesson to be had here. I cannot let my community think that the government can just walk over them like that. And I cannot let the kids think they don’t deserve the right to an education. That map will be back up by the time I leave.

Thank you for reading,
Michelle

Eye opener: How lucky we are to have seemingly endless amounts of resources to obtain knowledge. It is not likely that our newspapers, magazines, textbooks, public libraries, internet access, or freedom of speech will be painted over or taken away from us. We can learn and educate ourselves as much as we want. And once you have that knowledge it is yours forever! I am just as thankful to have access to Google Earth as I am to have access to a good old fashion globe.

…….and that is exactly what it felt like.

*This is post 3 of 8 regarding my month of “solitude.” You can find the previous posts below.*

Please remember that the contents of this page, and all links appearing on this page, do not represent the positions, views or intents of the U.S. Government, or the United States Peace Corps.


Peace Corps always tells us volunteers that if we are having a bad day to write about it in our journals not on our blog. Well, I have written about this in my journal, many times… and now I know I need to write about it on my blog. I say “need”, because it is just too important to keep to myself, it has a real effect on work as a Peace Corps volunteer in Panama, and has completely changed the way I view my community and the position they are in.

If you read my post from yesterday (which I hope you did) then you are expecting to me to tell you what MEDUCA brought to my community to promote education… and we will get to that. But first I want to start off with a little example of something I think we all take for granted. And that is the ability to think critically. It is amazing how much the lack of critical thinking skills in others can have a direct effect on your own life.

The past 16 months I have been in Panama, I have realized that critical thinking in everyday situations is hard to come by.

Example: You are at a restaurant and you want to substitute one thing for another on the menu. The conversation will likely go something like this:

You: “Hi I would like the hamburger but with French fries instead of fried plantains, please.”
Waitress :“What!?! No you can’t.”
Confused costumer: “Why not?”
Confused Waitress: “The menu says hamburger with fried plantains, if you want French fries you have to get either the veggie burger or the chicken burger. But if you want a hamburger you get plantains.”

I am not at all saying that all Panamanians lack critical thinking skills but I have experienced situations like this in many industries throughout the country ; when trying to change a reservation at a hotel or even when trying to trade seats with someone on the bus…. “But if he agrees to switch and I agree to switch why can’t we switch…?” If you find yourself in a situation like this I suggest simply backing down and accepting the defeat. There is no sense in arguing. Whatever that menu says or the ticket says is what goes, and there is no way around it. Sure it is frustrating but usually it is harmless. Well, let me give you an example of when it is not harmless when this lack of critically thinking in one person with power can dramatically affect an entire village… I think these pictures say it all.




That’s right… they painted over the map!! The government run Ministry of Education (MEDUCA) painted over the best educational tool this community has ever seen. If these photos did not bring a tear to your eye, or leave your mouth wide open then you are not human. Or maybe you just haven’t read “The One with the world Map” or “The One with Nick and Amber" Or seen this Video.

Please don’t think I just sat there snapping pictures while these outsiders took the world away. After arguing and debating for what felt like hours, and getting nowhere, my options were pretty much either to take pictures (because, really who is going to believe this) or run off into the jungle, which I did right afterward.

If it had to happen, which apparently it did, I am at least glad that it happened when I was here. That way I am certain that there was nothing that could have been done. If It had happened only a few days earlier, while I was at my All Volunteer Conference, or if I had gone to Bocas island in the new boat (which I likely would have done had I not made this promise to myself to stay in site for a month) I may have had extreme animosity towards my community, assuming that no one tried to protect the map or say anything to MEDUCA. But I was here, and I did fight the fight, and I was not alone. My community members arguments came more in the form of “do you know how much time she spent working on that!?!” or “do you know how much money that paint cost!?!” While my arguments were more along the lines of, “do you know that none of these kids have a world map in their text books. And before the map was here none of them could point out where Panama was.” or “you are the Ministry of Education, what kind of message do you think this is sending about the importance of education. “ When no headway was being made, I started to plea “Please… think about the kids… please don’t do this. If you paint over that map you are painting over their future” and “everybody has the right to an education.”

I felt like I was on a debate team. I was just positive that there had to be a way to save the map. To me it was just so obvious. Unfortunately, to them, their arguments were equally as logical. Here was their argument: when the private contractor (who built the school) passes the school over to MEDUCA it has to have a blue base and cream colored top. Because “that’s just what the book says” but “don’t worry” MEDUCA kept saying “as soon as they paint it blue and cream we will let you paint your drawing again.” How do you argue with that logic? First of all it pissed me off that, they kept calling it a “drawing.” This was a Map of the World for Christ sakes!!!! Not just some random mural of a beach seen or something. I was going absolutely crazy. Also, the fact that while we were debating /arguing inside the school, one of their workers had already begun painting, so I knew time was limited.
Ultimately the MEDUCA representatives just left, they didn’t want to hear it anymore. They instructed the construction workers to finish the job, and simply walked away. The school kids watched them disappear down the hill and onto the dock, and zip off across the bay. Some of the kids were crying and all were confused, looking to me for an explanation. It may sound dramatic but the only way I can think about describing this is to say that is was a nightmare, or worse, because this nightmare I never woke up from, this unfortunately was reality.

This was the end of our world… and that is exactly what it felt like.

The map remained half painted over for 5 days. A reminder of what had been, and what was to come. Usually, when there is half of something I try to see it in an optimistic way (half full right?) well, this was a bit harder. I knew that any day the construction workers would come back to finish the deed. And at that point I wished they would just hurry up and do it. It sickened me to look at. It was like the blue line cut through my heart the same way it cut right through the heart of Brazil. I turned my hammock in the opposite direction, and avoided the wall by walking the long way around the school to use the latrine. The kids and my community members however, were trying to soak in as much information as they could before the inevitable happened. They spent those five days staring at the map, attempting to chip off the paint or see through it. For their sake, I pulled it together enough to answer some of their questions. We talked about what countries Nick and Amber where traveling though (because those countries were still above the line) and we tried to predicted what they were doing, what they were eating, and what the cultures are like where they are. At one point, I even used the blue line to explain the difference between the northern and southern hemispheres.

The construction workers returned. The MEDUCA representatives never came back. I knew the construction workers really had no say in MEDUCAs decision but I still didn't want anything to do with them. After a few choice words, my hostility was clearly sensed. Unfortunately, they were not comfortable with me thinking they were the bad guys so the next day they hired a guy in my community to do the dirty work. There was nothing I could say to him… I know how much the guys in my community need work. And if you didn’t take it someone else would. I know he felt terrible. The whole situation was just so screwed up.

The day the last brush stoke had its way was October 26th. As Roberto and I stood on my porch watching the school fade back into normality. I mentioned to him that today was my one year anniversary in site. He patted me on the back and said in English “it is a sad day” I showed a slight grin and nodded in agreement. I had heard that before (The one with the sad day).
The teachers tried to explain to me how it is really all about politics. In the exact same way the government built a health center a few years ago and a doctor was sent to live and work here permanently. But because he was of a different political party he was denied use of the health facilities and could only treat people out of his home.

This got me thinking; maybe this was something more than a lack of critical thinking… Maybe this was politics, maybe this was exactly the type of thing that gives bureaucracy a negative cogitation, maybe this was one person knowing they had the power and utilizing it to prove others are below her, or maybe this was the government trying to keep the poor poor and uneducated. I hate to think this way, I hate to think this was an act of malice. But, I have to admit there is some irony or coincidence that The Black Bull was just here playing Santa Claus, winning people over with a bag of rice… and then only 48 hours later, the map is painted over. After reading ‘Confessions of an Economic Hit Man’ (which I think anyone who is literate should and needs to read) it made me realize how naive we can be sometimes to what is really going on in the big picture. I am not saying for sure these two things had a connection; I am just trying to consider everything, trying to make sense of it all…

I thought I could fit ‘the end of the world’ story into one blog post, but I have too much to say about it and I don’t want you to spend your whole day reading my blog. If you are in Tahoe, get outside and enjoy the fresh powder for me!!! ….. You will hear more from me tomorrow.

Remember that I have had over a month to think about this....
Don’t worry about me,
Meti

The Black Bull

**This is post 2 of 8 regarding my month of “solitude.” You can find the previous posts below. **

Please remember that the contents of this page, and all links appearing on this page, do not represent the positions, views or intents of the U.S. Government, or the United States Peace Corps.

There is a man my community calls the “Black Bull.” He is notorious in Buena Esperanza. He works for the Panamanian government. He represents the needs of the people in Bocas Del Toro on a national level in Panama City. He comes to Buena Esperanza once a year.

October 20^th, day one of my solitude, word spreads that Black Bull was coming that evening. The community is filled with excitement. We all wait in the community center at the time of his expected arrival. The hours pass. The sun sets. No one has eaten dinner. All the children are crying. We still wait. 3 hours late, the Black Bull arrives. The women get busy cooking the rice and chicken he brought while the men try to figure out how to hook up the light bulb to his gas powered generator. We all sit in the dark until they figure it out.

Let the show begin…..

The Black Bull tells my community that he has brought them what they need. The community is giddy with anticipation. I brace myself for what is sure to be just another government handout... I was right. But the Black Bull’s handouts were of a different magnitude than what I have seen in the past; New Machetes for every man, a bottle of cooking oil for every woman, one pound of rice for each household, rubber boots for kids under 5, a bag of cookies for the young girls, a lottery ticket for each mom (“because you never know who has the luck”), Coca-Cola for the young boys, and for the community he brought, a 20 foot fiberglass boat, a 25 horsepower engine, 5 gallons of gas, a chainsaw, 25 bags of cement, a lawn mower, 4 gallons of paint, zinc roofing, and more. There was nothing for the school, nothing promoting education, nothing to sustain their farming practices, nothing to help with economic development and nothing for their overall livelihood, no latrines, no clean water, no health education, no medicine, no doctor, no sewing machines, no tree saplings or seeds for their farms. Nothing sustainable. I was not happy. I excused myself from the meeting and went to lie in my hammock, where I could still hear and see everything, but I didn’t have to act like I was ok with it.

I thought long and hard about the role the government plays in the development of small communities like mine. Is this “aid” really helping my community? Or is it just making them dependent on the government. I agree that the government should be helping communities like mine, but the type of handouts the Black Bull brought along with the frequent cash handouts from private organizations I think is doing more harm than good.

If you remember about 10 months ago our community dock fell. Everyone wanted to wait until the government (Black Bull) would come to fix it. It took me months and months of explaining and convincing my community why they should rebuild the dock themselves. Eventually they got it. We pulled it together, everyone donated some wood, the men all worked together, and after 2 days we had a new dock. They are all so proud of that dock, they put their sweat into it and they have ownership over it. The same goes for anything they have to purchase or work for on their own. You can bet a pair of new boots that they buy will last ten times longer than a pair that that is given to them… I had such animosity towards The Black Bull. These handouts from the government are exactly why my community is the way it is; I have always wondered why my people seem to hide anything of value. It is because if it starts to look like they have money then one day the handouts may stop. It was heartbreaking for me to see how dependent my community has become, and how easily their praise can be bought. There is no doubt that The Black Bull now had the vote and support of each member in my community because he brought them a bag of rice and a boat.

Frustrated, I stayed up most of the night thinking about this. I know that government aid is something that has been debated over and over. Each has their own opinion on the way it should be approached. I wasn’t even certain on my views. I knew I was annoyed and bothered by what had taken place the night before, but the next morning I started to see it in a new light. Maybe my feelings were a bit hypocritical.

Am I not the same girl that got my own car for my 15^th birthday? For my community members birthdays the get chicken feet soup… Black Bull day they get a new boat. Some of these men and women have been waiting there entire lives to get a fiberglass boat, finally they get one, granted they have to share it with 250 other people and it has “Black Bull” written in large letters on the side, but nonetheless it is theirs. I should be happy for them.

Anything I ever needed (ok, or wanted) was handed to me… I am reluctant to say “on a silver platter,” but to be honest, in comparison to my community members; it most definitely was on a silver platter. I don’t have guilt for the way I was raised and the gifts I was given and the opportunities I had, but gather gratitude. That is after all why I joined the Peace Corps. And I don’t think these gifts deterred my development or made me 100% dependent on the giving hand. True, we are talking about two completely different worlds here and some comparisons across cultures just can’t be done, but I guess what I am trying to say is….. What does it matter if the handouts come from your parents or straight from the government? Plus, there are plenty of people in the US who live on welfare their whole lives. This kind of thing happens in every country. These handouts in my community have been going on long before I came here, and they will continue long after I am gone. I do not need to let it affect me, my work, and my efforts in Buena Esperanza. Even though I don’t agree with it being the best way to develop a community, there is absolutely no sense in me fighting it or dwelling over it.

So the next day, I joined in their celebrations. It reminded me of Christmas morning. I took pictures of all the school kids joy riding around the bay, I laughed at all the little toddlers running around with their brightly colored boots and I spoke with the woman about what they hoped The Black Bull would bring next year. Everyone seemed genuinely happy…. And I was happy for them.

I came to peace with the whole situation; it was like The Black Bull is their Santa Claus.

It still bothered me however that their Santa Claus didn’t bring one thing for the school, nothing at all to promote education. I convinced myself that maybe that isn’t the Black Bulls job; maybe the government run MEDUCA (Ministry of Education) was in charge of that… In fact, they were scheduled to come the very next day… Just wait until you see what they did to promote education in Buena Esperanza… you won’t believe it, I still hardly can.

Hasta Manana,

Meti