The One with the Sad Day

Photo courtesy of Land Fall Learning

This one may be a little “deep” I ran it by Mom and Grandma first and they waved it through as Blog appropriate. I know that it is important for me to share all aspects; good, bad, happy, and sad that make up the reality of life in Buena Esperanza.
So here it is…

There have been two deaths in the community since I have been here. The first was a two year old boy and the second an eight month little girl.

Unfortunately, the infant mortality rate is extremely high in villages like mine. I guess without proper sanitary living conditions (i.e clean water) and lack of health care and preventive education that is to be expected. My community tells me "if they live to be 5 years old, they will live to be 100 years old.” It is in those first years in a child’s life when they are most vulnerable. However, just because the infant mortality rate is high, that does not make it any less sad when a baby dies.

When the 2 year old boy passed away, my community mourned for weeks. Due to work outside of my community, I was unable to attend the memorial. But I saw the impact this loss had on the people. When the 8 month little girl died, I made it a point to be there for the funeral to show my respect.

The morning of the service, it was pouring rain. I was told to arrive at the church at 8am. So, 7:40 am I slipped on my rain jacket and rubber boots and trudged through the knee high mud to the other side of the community, where the church is located. Along the way I questioned whether anyone would be there, usually when it is raining everything is canceled. To my surprise as I arrived at the church, the majority of the community was already present. There were four younger guys from outside of the community that were leading the service.
As I approached the church, I must admit that aside from the tragic circumstances, I was excited for the cultural experience that was sure to be involved in participating in an indigenous funeral service. I had heard some "funeral stories" from other volunteers that lead me to believe I needed to give myself a prep talk. I reminded myself not to be ethnocentric and to keep an open mind, I needed to respect whatever customs they may have and just because something is different does not mean it is wrong.

But, as I entered the church, and saw the small wooden casket and heard the family crying and hugging each other, it was a scene that was neither new nor foreign but all too familiar. It took me only a heart beat of a second and a few flashbacks to realize that no matter what the culture, grief and the loss of a loved one hits us all the same.

The funeral played out very similar to any I had been to in the states. The main difference of course being the price tag attached to it. In the states an average funeral cost between $8,000 and $10,000. In Buena Esperanza the funeral is basically free. The main costs are compensated by time and elbow grease of the family members.

During the 2 hour service, the sky remand ominous but no rain fell. As we all walked away from our community cemetery I felt a hand rest on my shoulder. This gesture officially marked the first form of physical contact I have had with a community elder, other than a handshake. So, it kind of frightened me. I turned quickly to see who it was. It was one of my favorite English students. He hardly ever participates in class, but is always on time and always has a smile on his face. I could never really tell if he understood anything I was teaching…. Anyway, as we walked with his hand on my shoulder, he says, in English "Today is a sad day." Regardless of the truth of that statement, we both looked at each other and smiled really big. He was proud of himself, and I was very proud of him. I agreed "Yes, today is a very sad day." And almost as if on cue, the sky let loose and everyone scurried their separate ways seeking shelter from the rain, and the comfort of company from their family.

As I lay on the wooden floor in my house listening to the rain pounding like rocks on my zinc roof, I was completely alone with my thoughts. So, I started writing them down... That is the healthy thing to do right?
Here is some of what I wrote that day:

I don’t know what it feels like to lose a child, someone who is literally apart of you. And I pray to God I never know this feeling. But I do know what it feels like to lose friends, loved ones and family members. It never feels right and it never feels fair. But we tell ourselves “it was their time" or "everything happens for a reason" or "there is nothing we could have done." But this is the first time I have experienced a death were I feel like saying the opposite. The harsh truth is that this baby's death probably could have been prevented. But whose job is that? The Panamanian government? The local health agencies? The Education system? The United States? Peace Corps Volunteers? And where does one start... Building latrines? Looking for sources of clean drinking water? Educating the local people? Or do you put pressure on the local government to make health care more easily accessible? I know these are all big questions, bigger than me, and bigger than my expectations as a Peace Corps volunteer.... but I can't help but think about it.
Some say that Infant Mortality Rate is a form of population control in rural communities where they tend to have a lot of children. But I say that just because the families tend to be larger than the average family in the American culture, does not mean that the love that one has for their child is spread thinner. I saw it first hand today, in the eyes of that Mother who lost her baby girl.

Trust me, I know that the job of lowering IMR in Buena Esperanza does not lie in my hands; I am not trying to play God. But this incident really just magnified, once again, something that I already knew… and that is how lucky I am… how lucky WE are, to have the medical accessibility, and easy access to information and resources to keep ourselves and our loved ones healthy, safe, and alive.

I am living in Buena Esperanza for two years, but the truth is I am still living like and American when it comes to health care. I have my own rainwater catchment system and a water filter, I received numerous immunizations, I get my vitamins flown into Bocas island from Panama city on a monthly basis, and if anything serious were to happen to me, Peace Corps has an emergency action plan that involves either a high speed power boat, zip lines and/or a helicopter. Of course, for this I, and I am sure my parents are very grateful, but I can’t help but question why my life is worth so much more than theirs?