Water Committee Seminar

Photos from my water committee seminar in August! Sorry they're so delayed!

The End

At the beginning, two years seemed interminable. I really thought that it would never end. And then, when the end finally came, it was abrupt and surreal. One day I just packed everything up and got on a bus, and that was that. Standing by the road and waiting for the bus with my neighbor Marta, her kids and my friends Yasmila and Rudolpho was the hardest part of the two years. Every second that we stayed on the road, I felt the tears welling up inside of me and knew that the moment I actually climbed onto the bus was going to be a disaster. I cried, Marta cried, Lily (Marta's daughter) cried, Yasmila cried. Then I got on the bus and was gone. The end. Almost like it had never happened.

Except it did.

A couple weeks ago, I was talking to Marta about the end, and going back and all my hopes and fears. She told me that when I first got here, she thought that American's were "special". She said that she thought we were different and better than Panamanians, and how could we have anything in common? What would we talk about? I asked her, with a laugh, whether I had proved that we aren't anything special. She laughed and told me that, by being her friend, I was even more special to her.

But, when I thought about that afterwards, how she thought that all American's were "special", I realized that that's how I thought of myself when I got here. I was special, independent, individual. Not better or worse, but different, unique. However, to live in Panama, or as a Peace Corps volunteer anywhere, I had to learn how to be one of many. I had to unlearn my individuality, and learn how to function as part of a community. Even when it came to selling my house, the house I paid for and for all intents and purposes belonged to me, the community had to decide whether I was allowed to. At the beginning, that would have enraged me and my American sense of entitlement to what's mine. But after two years, it was only mildly irritating.

I may be unique and have my own attributes that I contribute to the world, but I'm not alone in it. I have learned how to appreciate the opportunities that being born in the U.S. has given me and responsibility that comes with that. But more importantly, I've learned in these two years what I missed by being born at the top of the pyramid. I learned the struggle and the joy of living in a developing world. There came a moment in my service when I surrendered to the struggle, when I let go of all my American structure, and just started flowing with the current of Panamanian life. That was the moment that I fell in love with Peace Corps, Panama and my community. And that was the moment when I was able to relate with everyone on a personal level. That was when I stopped being special, and just became another person trying to live.

The life lessons of Peace Corps were plentiful, but I think the humanity and interconnectedness of living in rural Panama (or rural anywhere) is what I will cherish, and miss, the most.

It's been a pleasure, Panama. Thank you.

7 weeks

The reality of "the end" is slowly settling on me, and it's not entirely sad. Whenever I talk about it with my town, they always say the same thing, "Mali (how they pronounce my name) se va, y nunca vuelve mas!" Molly will go, and won't come back anymore. I try to assure them that, someday, I will return and visit them. But, not even I know if that is going to happen. I hope it does, and I will try as hard as I can. But life keeps going regardless of our plans. At least for some of them, I have to accept that this will probably be the last time I'll see them. That's hard to think about. Especially with the people that I have close and personal relationships with. Saying goodbye to them will probably be one of the hardest things I have ever done.

On the flip side of the sad coin is the stuff I'm excited for, or at least going to be relieved not to have to deal with anymore. The most maddening of those things, and the thing that I've never really gotten accustomed to or even indifferent about, is Panamanian's inability to show up on time, and their inability to tell you that they never intended to show up at all. Whaaa...? As a very punctual and reliable American, I have a hard time with this one. If you say you're going to be there, you show up. If you sign a piece of paper stating that you will be able to attend, and intend to participate, YOU SHOW UP. If you're not going to show up, do not do any of the above, just say, I won't be there. Let me explain a little more...

My last order of business, project, goal, whatever you want to call it, in my town is a water committee seminar that was scheduled to begin last Sunday. I have 5 members on my water committee, and one plumber. All were slated to attend. 3 showed up. And of the other three, their excuses were varied. One didn't have an excuse, just didn't come; one said he had a "cold"; and one said that he wasn't well informed, and went out to his finca (farm) instead. I don't believe the guy with the cold was sick at all, and the guy that said he wasn't informed just straight up lied. I, needless to say, was pissed. I kind of lost it in front of the other three members and another volunteer. We decided to invite other people from the communities at large, and reschedule for the two days this weekend, and two days next weekend. Which is, ultimately, better for me. I'd rather have it done with in 10 days rather than 4 weeks. But still, the reason for the rescheduling of the seminar is completely maddening.

There are a lot of things on both sides of the coin. There are plenty of things that I am so excited to not have to deal with (Latino men, useless government employees, rats, cockroaches, sweating) and things that I'll miss (speaking Spanish, gifts of food from my neighbors, walking into anyone's house at whatever hour, the beach). I guess what it boils down to is that this is just another end, and another beginning. As frustrated as I am right now, I'm trying to soak up all the good stuff before I leave. Because I know the day will come when I'll only remember the good stuff, and regret wasting my last couple months. Regardless of how bad I want it right now, when it comes closer, I'll resist the end. So I'm trying to enjoy right now. Right now becomes yesterday and last week and last year so fast that it takes a concerted effort to stay in the moment. That's my only goal for these last few weeks.

Here's to the end...and the beginning.

Reflecting on the good ol' days

I’m filling in temporarily for my regional leader while he’s in the States on leave. So, I had to attend site announcement in the city last week to represent the Darién and welcome our new volunteers. Four new trainees (they’re trainees until they swear-in at the end of the month) are coming out to the Darién. I paired up with another volunteer (who was also representing his region, Colón, because they don’t have a regional leader) to have a discussion about cultural differences, they’re communities, and what it’s like to be a volunteer in general. Jeff (the other volunteer) and I were tag teaming to answer questions, and as we explained and talked to them, I wave of memories washed over me from being a trainee. All the questions they asked made me smile, because all I could think was, No matter what I tell you, you’ll have to go out there and figure it out for yourself. Honest answers are hard to give without scaring them, but no one wants to give a dishonest answer. One trainee asked Jeff and I how their first visit to their site was going to be. Without hesitation, Jeff said “overwhelming” and I added “awkward”. The 6 trainees just stared at us as we proceeded to tell them that they shouldn’t bother asking questions, or trying to figure it all out that first visit because no one will tell them what’s what on the first visit. I thought about my first visit to my site and how alien everything was, and couldn’t help reminiscing and reflecting on how far I’d come. My first visit to my community went like this:

I got off my bus with my community guide, and two gigantic duffel bags full of things that I dragged all the way from the States and were, unbeknownst to me, mostly useless. All they saw were the two gigantic bags, this tall, white, clueless gringita, and thought “oh, poor thing, she’s so far from home!” Some of the men might have thought “YES! We have a gringa! Maybe she’ll fall in love with me and take me back with her…” The only reason I know what they were thinking is because they’ve since told me. And, yes, the men really think that—to this day. There was a community meeting, where they spoke in almost entirely Wounaan. At the time I thought that the meeting was going really well, and my community guide was doing a great job, but I’ve since learned that he changed the plans mid-meeting and told everyone that I was going to live with his family instead of the other families originally on my list. But, that first week was just a visit, so I was staying with this old, semi-ridiculous, but very sweet and accomodating (almost) midget named Chucula (nicknamed for his penchant for a sweet, thick beverage made from ripe plaintains). Chucula had a hacking cough at the time, and would hack all night long, get up at 4am, start singing religious songs (poorly, but not lacking in enthusiasm), and generally banging around, making it almost impossible for me to even fake sleep past 6am. At which point, he would, with a grin on his face, thrust a huge plate FULL of fried plaintains, fried fish, fried yucca and sometimes beans into my hands. He always looked really disappointed when I only managed to eat a quarter of it. After food and coffee, I would go walk around and just sit silently in people’s houses while I tried to keep up with them. They would try to teach me things, or show me things, but honestly the language barrier was a real issue at the time. I generally felt like a deer in the headlights hoping the car would just speed up and get it over with. At the end of the week, I was relieved to go back to the trainees, and my training community, and exhausted at the thought of doing that for two years.

I was in such a daze, frankly, I have no recollection of having conversations with anyone. I remember thinking “This will never feel like home, and I will never have friends here.” When there’s such an extreme communication barrier, it’s hard to imagine ever connecting with anyone. I thought they’d never understand me, or me them. Now, after almost two years, I can’t even talk about leaving with them because if I start crying about it now, I won’t stop. Those are the things it was difficult to convey to these trainees. I didn’t know how to tell them that, by the end of their two years, they’ll have inside jokes with their neighbors, they’ll be godparents, they’ll learn to love the Panamanian food (even the copious amounts of rice), and that they’ll value the trust they build with their community members because they know how hard fought it was. The day someone comes over to their house and tells them something personal, something embarrassing, something intimate, they will guard that knowledge as though it were gold, and they will never betray that trust, because that’s all we have at the end of the day.

These were the things that I could not say to the trainees, because they don’t see individuals, or relationships, or even love and friendships as their end goals. They’re still thinking in terms of their “project frameworks” and “knowledge, skills and abilities”, and all the acronyms that Peace Corps loves to use. How do you tell someone that, in two years, they will leave here feeling like they're leaving behind their own family? We always think we know everything, until we don’t. Right now those trainees think that they’re sole purpose is to work in their sector, improve their communities, and “help” people. How do you tell someone that they’ve got it backwards: that they’re going to need a lot more help than they’re community members will? There’s no way to tell someone truths that they have to discover for themselves.

So, in the end, we didn’t, really. Jeff and I told them that they had two years to find their own answers to all their questions. We did tell them not to take the failures personally, enjoy the successes, and have fun whenever they can. Projects, seminars and trainings come and go. But fun? Fun is forever.

Jumping on a moving train...

I witnessed an extraordinary thing on Sunday. I was going over to the school to use the internet and get some work done, and I stumbled upon a Padres de Familia (our PTO) meeting. I stuck around for a few minutes to see what was going on, because they seemed to be in the midst of some kind of training. There was charla paper (poster paper), markers, and a woman from my town was leading an activity. It was a good seminar, addressing a major issue: that encouragement and positive reinforcement, even in the face of failure, is always more beneficial than corporal punishment or verbal abuse. Simple enough concept, but most Panamanians are raised to fear their parents retribution if they come home with bad grades rather than seek out their help when they struggle in school. So, most Panamanians raise their kids that way thus perpetuating the vicious cycle.

The woman leading the group is named Yasmila. She’s someone that I trained to give some of the health seminars earlier in the year, and she initially told me that there was no way she would be able to get up in front of her community and present. She did though, and her presentations went well. I asked her what this training was about, and she told me that the Education Ministry wanted all of the Padres de Familia groups to receive trainings on emotional intelligence and communication. She told me, “Molly, I never would have done this if you hadn’t taught me how and told me that I could.” I just smiled at her, but inside of me, my heart swelled up. She probably thought nothing of the comment, because she turned away to help a group with their activity, but with those words she validated my entire Peace Corps experience. All I could think was, I am Charlie Sheen and I am WINNING! I was so proud of her, and by extension (and my unadulturated egoism) myself, that I stayed until the end, just to see how well it was received. Everyone was so communicative and participative, it was a delight to see. They never would have participated had that same training been facilitated by some nameless Education Ministry official. But because it was Yasmila, someone they know and trust, they all listened and responded and took it to heart. I loved it.

My service has been peppered with these kinds of experiences. Successes that I can’t claim as my own, but I helped facilitate in some way. I had another one last week with my water committee. There’s a cattle rancher that lives above my water source (which is a large, protected area quite a ways from my community) that’s been taking liberties with our property. He’s chopped down and either sold or used several hectares of trees. My water committee asked me to write some letters for them so that they could go to ANAM (National Environmental Agency) and the local authorities and file a report. I obligingly did so, and they turned them in and diligently followed up (which in itself was a win because almost no one follows up after turning a letter in). Last week the ANAM official went with them to the area, examined it and sided with my water committee. This does not happen much here. Bribes are pretty common, and land designated to water sources are regularly plundered for their natural resources (namely, wood) while authorities look away. The fact that the official sided with my committee is amazing, much less that he went out there at all. I was pretty impressed, and proud of them. Once again, a win, but one I can only really take 5% credit for.

Now, I know that the point of Peace Corps isn’t that, at the end of it, I can claim sole credit for a wide array of projects and accomplishments. In fact, that’s probably the mark of an extremely ineffective volunteer. The whole point of it is that internal capacity is being built and my community members feel more empowered to create the future that they want for themselves. By that estimation, I feel pretty effective. I have community members that have really started taking initiative since I’ve gotten here, partly because they were already go-getters, partly through some influence I’ve had on them, and partly because of some intangible X factor. I have a friend that put it nicely: when I congratulated him on organizing and motivating his community so successfully, he said, “I didn’t really do anything. The whole thing feels like a train that was already moving down the tracks, and I’m just hitching a ride for a little while.” It’s true. My train may be moving a little slower than his, but, in a lot of ways, I feel like I’m just here paying witness to their lives unfolding. I cannot dramatically change the course of their collective train, but my influence has little, lasting effects in the direction they choose to go. It is a sobering, humbling, and yet hopeful thought.

The influence that we have on people is so nuanced that, oftentimes, we don’t know we’ve done anything until much later. I probably won’t see the majority of the effects, since my time is winding down, but I'm encouraged by these little, bite-sized wins. They always happen right when I need them, too. When I'm bored, or feeling useless, suddenly I get a tiny reminder of why I'm here, a taste of my example rubbing off. That little success is like a drug, and gives me just enough of a high to keep me working until the next success. That feeling of pride in my community members and my work is what has kept me here for the two years. And it's what I'll remember when I'm back home.

MORE pictures!

These photos aren't mine, but what's cut and paste for anyway?

https://picasaweb.google.com/bracken.killpack/CoibaPictures?authkey=Gv1sRgCOfilbLNqraoxQE&feat=directlink#

There are some very pretty underwater shots of bright fish. I was too nervous to take my underwater camera underwater after the last time--when I took it underwater and it died a million little deaths. Bummer. Fortunately, Kate and Bracken's underwater camera is still going strong.

Photos!

These are the photos that I tried to post last time, but didn't take. Enjoy!

May 18, 2011

Life Lessons as taught by Peace Corps

There are some things that one should never ignore: stop signs, STD’s, Back to the Future marathons, 2-for-1 Happy Hours (unless, of course, you have a drinking problem). For me, amoebas now fall into that category. Before Peace Corps, that would have been a given, but I’ve gotten so used to always having some ailment that it seemed reasonable to assume that it would eventually clear up on it’s own. Well, this time it didn’t. I got really sick, probably the sickest I have ever been, at the beginning of April, passed out while throwing up off my deck, and fell off my house. My house is on stilts, and about 5 feet off the ground. I broke my nose, suffered a concussion and spent a week in the hospital in Panama City. On the plus side, I got a black eye and found out that I look kinda awesome with a black eye. I’ve included a photo to prove it, even though I don’t look very happy in the photo. For the record, all of those injuries have been dealt with, and are now better.

Since then, I’ve returned to site, and tried to return to my work. It was pretty slow in April, as I was still healing and having dizzy spells. April is also when Panama celebrates Semana Santa, the week before Easter when everyone basically just drinks. The week after Semana Santa, I went to Isla Coiba on vacation with 7 other volunteers. Here are some selected photos from Coiba (COY-bah). I have an underwater camera, but after a tragic incident in Bocas del Toro when I tried to actually use it as directed, it died and had to have repairs done on it. I went without a camera for several months, but thanks to good ol’ Mom and Dad, it got fixed and returned to me. But since that happened, I’m nervous to take it underwater again. So, I didn’t get any fish or giant turtle pictures, although I saw both. I also saw dolphins, crocodiles (of which I DO have pictures), scarlett macaws, and some howler monkeys, as well as countless bird species. Very cool trip.

Isla Coiba is a World Heritage site, and used to be a penal colony, which is why it went undeveloped long enough to become a national park. When it was still being used as a penal colony, cattle were introduced on the island to sustain the prisoners (it was a self-sustaining penal colony), but have since become feral. So, this primary rainforest has a bunch of feral cattle running around in it, which can’t be eaten because they don’t have vaccinations, and no one’s made the effort to kill. They also have to predators, as there are no large cats on Coiba, so they’re multiplying. Our guide, Javier, a former Peace Corps volunteer himself, said that they’re starting to threaten Coiba’s biodiversity and the World Heritage Society warned Panama that they would lose their sponsership if they didn’t get rid of them. We suggested just letting some big game hunters in to handle it, which I guess was tried once. How boring would that be, though? Hunt feral cattle in primary rainforest! Not only does it sound lame, it doesn’t even sound true. What are feral cattle doing in primary rainforest?

After Isla Coiba, I traveled back north to Soná, a town in western Veraguas, and the hometown of President Ricardo Martinelli. It’s also the community of my friend from high school, Simone Labonte. Simone’s a TE (Teaching English) volunteer working primarily in the school. She’s got a great host family, that fed me so much food, I had to get out of there, and a really sweet community. It’s nice to see other volunteers in good siutations, because more often than not, we only hear about the bad situations and the volunteers that are leaving early as a result. I’ve included a couple photos of Soná and Simone in the same album as Coiba.

Finally, on my tour of Veraguas and the Azuero, I went to Parita, the town of my friend Melissa. It’s about 25 minutes from Chitré, where the Azuero Fair is held every year. As expected, there was greasy food (of which I partook), large animals (one of my favorite things about the fair), and rides. There were also lots of arts and crafts, and vendors of every kind. We missed the cultural dances, unfortunately, but I got a good look at everything. We did go into the little museum showcasing some of the costumes of the Reinas de Carnavale (Carnavale Queens) from this year. They had costumes from Parita, Chitré, and Los Santos. There are some photos included. These dresses cost thousands of dollars, and this is only a fraction of their Carnavale wardrobes. The queens wear different outfits on every float, and there is one every day of Carnavale (Saturday through Fat Tuesday), as well as the coronation dresses, and their payache outfits (payache is the nightclub that opens after dark). The outfits are pretty incredible. The biggest carnavale party happens in Los Santos, with the Reina de Calle Arriba (upper street queen) and the Reina de Calle Abajo (lower street queen) competing for the title of Queen of Carnavale. Each side of town has a big sponser who pays for the floats and parties, and basically whoever’s is more epic, wins. The costumes are just part of the larger competition.

After that whirlwind trip around the country, I’m back in site, working to arrange a meeting with program director in a couple weeks. The time has come for my community to decide whether they want another volunteer after I leave. After nearly two years, and reflecting back on what I’ve tried to do, what’s failed and what’s succeeded, I’m conflicted about whether they should receive a follow-up volunteer. On the one hand, I love my community, and there are a few people that are really smart and motivated, albeit very busy with their own lives, who I think I’ve had an impact on. On the other hand, I feel like my impact specifically as a health volunteer has been minimal. For example, my town told me that I got sick and fell out of my house because I 1) run too much, and 2) ate too much watermelon. They laughed when I told them I had amoebas, because they still don’t believe that amoeba’s exist. The thought of trying to explain it, yet again, is exhausting. There’s another problem, too. That being that some of the women see me as someone to sell their baskets. It created some problems when I went back to the States in March for a wedding, and, even though I’ve explained to them that there is no guarentee that the next volunteer will do the same, they want another volunteer specifically for that purpose. I don’t want to support them getting another volunteer if that’s the only thing they want them for. There are projects that could be developed here, of that I’m certain. I’m just not sure that my town has the motivation to see a project through at this point. Like I said, I’m conflicted.

I think I’ve explained myself, and aired all my grievances. Sorry for the delay. I was busy falling out of my house and spending time in the hospital. And then on vacation. I’d like for my final five months to be fun. I’m going to see if I can borrow a projector from another volunteer and have a few movie nights for my kids. I think that’d be a fun way to spend Saturday nights with my town. I’ll try to keep everyone posted better than I have been.

Much love. Take care!

"Tito" the crocodile and our fearless leader Javier. My friend's Catherine and Kathryn enjoying the warm waters of Coiba.

Peace Corps looks pretty nice in these photos, huh?

Above: Scarlett Macaws, and some nasty weather on the way back from Isla Coiba.

Above: The main church in Soná, President Ricardo Martinelli's Soná residence, and my friend Simone and I.

Above: some of the outfits for the Queens of the last Carnavale. These cost in the thousands, and they have one for each event for the 5 days of Carnavale. These are some coronation gowns.

Melissa and I at the Azuero Fair, some graffiti that I liked and some very ambitious hermit crabs on a banana peel.

Hermit crab exodus.

One more time...

Okay, here are a few remaining canasta. I've decided, after much consideration, not to bring canasta home with me on this trip since I'm going to California instead of Minnesota and I won't really have the opportunity to try to sell them. So, if you have interest in a specific canasta from one of the last 5 posts, I'll bring it. But, I'm not going to bring any that aren't spoken for. That's the only way I can manage the number of baskets that I have pouring out of my tiny house.

The large butterfly piece is by a woman named Irenia. It's about a 9 inch diameter, about 7 inches high.












This lovely spirally piece is by Isela. It has a 6 inch diameter, about 5 inches tall.









Finally, the Guacamayas (parrots) are by Libia. It's the same size as the last piece.









That's it! If you're interested, let me know! I'm leaving site on Saturday. Much love!

More pics

I'm not going to write a full post. I just thought I'd send along photos I have of more baskets that I'm going to bring home with me. I know, you guys are probably sick of this. I'm going to have to find some other outlet for selling these things. These ones are really exquisite. Hope you enjoy!

ONE BEAUTIFUL CANASTA!

I don't usually create a blog posting around one, single canasta. But, I'm bringing some home in a couple weeks when I go to my friend's wedding, and I'd like to sell all of them. These women trust me to sell their stuff, so I'd like to do so when I have the opportunity. The canasta from my two postings ago are for sale (all the smaller, tightly designed ones). Also, the bigger one's could be made for you if you'd like one (such as the little yellow bag with handle, and the larger yellow and green basket). They generally don't make those, and they tend to run cheaper since they're much easier to make, but they've been making them specially for me, so I'm sure I could get more.

But, here is the photo of the canasta that this posting is centered around. It's done by a woman named Ariseli. She's about 23, pregnant with her first child, sweet and super shy. In fact, it took her two days just to tell me how much she wanted to charge for it. She's asking $80 for it, which I don't think is unfair considering the almost flawless and delicate stitching that it demonstrates.


If you know anyone that would be interested, or if you yourself are interested, let me know. Like I said, I want to know who's interested before dragging all these baskets to California with me.


Despite my disparagement of Valentine's Day, I do want to wish everyone a Happy Valentine's Day! Know that I love and appreciate all the love and support that I've received from you during this journey called Peace Corps. Enjoy your heart shaped, red velvet cake with dark chocolate frosting!

Valentine's Day in Panama

Valentine’s Day always irritated me in the States, probably because you absolutely cannot avoid it. Thankfully there isn’t any Valentine’s Day paraphernalia or racks of cards to make my feel terrible for not having found someone to buy a card for in Panama. In fact, there is virtually no relationship between the Valentine’s Day of the U.S. and the Valentine’s Day of Panama.

Despite that, the internet still manages to remind me, via pop-ups and advertisements, that Valentine’s Day is on Monday. So, in honor of Valentine’s Day, decidedly my least favorite holiday, I’m going to throw those lame “10 Reasons it’s AWESOME to be single on Valentine’s!” out the window, and write my own list. It’s not awesome being single on Valentine’s in the States where everyone and everything constantly reminds you that you’re single. But it is kind of awesome in the developing world. So, my list is titled “10 Reasons it’s AWESOME to be single in the developing world”.

10 REASONS IT’S AWESOME TO BE SINGLE IN THE DEVELOPING WORLD (on Valentine’s Day…or ever, really)

1. Traveling sucks. 16 hours on a bus is not fun, no matter who’s at the other end of the ride. If I make that trip, it’s generally so I can sit on a beach with my girlfriends, and that’s ALWAYS worth it.
2. I look BOMB in Panamanian clothes! And most boyfriend’s are not real cool with girlfriends throwing on skin tight jeans and mesh to dance with random Latino guys. Good thing I don’t have one!
3. I can’t help being dirty. It’s not that I don’t try to be clean, it’s just that it’s hard to maintain cleanliness in 90 degree heat in the jungle. All that extra scrubbing and primping and spritzing is exhausting, and my water supply is limited, so it’s great that I feel no obligation to do it.
4. Sometimes I enjoy basking is the inappropriate attention from Panamanian men. It doesn’t happen often, but sometimes, like when I get free drinks or free rides, I enjoy the attention I get from Latino men. Especially when I know I look like crap and they tell me I look guapa (hot, basically). Who says chivalry is dead?
5. I get sick a lot more. This one could go either way. It’s nice to have someone to help out when you’re sick, but I’m the kind of person that wants my mom to make me soup, not my boyfriend to bring me extra Kleenex because he’s grossed out by the snot on my face. Mom, wanna come visit again?
6. The ladies in my town think I’m badass. You’re not married? You don’t have kids!? I’m like a pioneer woman in their eyes. Going to college, getting a job, joining Peace Corps, living my life. They’ve come around, so now the question isn’t, “when will you get married?” but “what are you going to go back to college for, Molly?” Let the liberation begin.
7. Infidelity + Telenovelas = bloodlust. I’ve met only a handful of Panamanian men that are faithful and trustworthy. The rest cheat, a lot. To make matters worse, Panamanian women watch a lot of Telenovelas (soap operas) where people are always getting stabbed or shot at for cheating and lying. No wonder there are so many crimes of passion in this country. Just happy I’m not a part of it in any way.
8. I have no money. Phone calls, visits, food, entertainment. This is the stuff of relationships, and it all has a price. And on $340/month, I just can’t afford it. Even booty calls are precipitated by a “call”, and when I’m running low on saldo (phone $), I’d rather use it to text a girlfriend something funny. It’s all about prioritizing.
9. No one has any idea what or when Valentine’s Day is in Panama. It’s awesome! No one knows what it celebrates, no one bakes heart-shaped cakes for their sweetie, no one buys cards or chocolates, no one sees rom-coms after a romantic dinner out. I love it. It’s just like every other day.
10. Someday I won’t be single and living in a developing country. And I’m looking forward to that, too. But right now, I only have to worry about myself and my dog, and that’s fine. I know that there will come a day when I’m married, maybe with kids, and will wonder why I didn’t take advantage of my crazy, fun, adventurous single gal years. I don’t want that to be my prevailing thought in the future, so I vow to enjoy flying solo for as long as it lasts.

Honestly, I don’t actually hate V-day. I like the part about chocolate and cake. It’s nice to call someone and say I love you, and hear it back. I just hate all the commercialization, because it’s centered around couples, so what do the rest of us do? Call our mothers, I s’pose. I think it should be about everyone we love, and everyone that’s been there for us. So, to all of you that have supported me throughout my service and my life, I love you and wish you a Happy Valentine’s Day. Bake your heart shaped cakes and eat them too. Don’t forget to send me a piece.

Charlas and canasta

I suppose it's time for me to update my loyal audience. Although, I don't know why you guys remain loyal. I'm probably the worst blogger in the short and varied history of blogging. Ah, well. I don't expect to be good at everything, and I more than achieve that low bar, I should say. Let's all celebrate mediocrity!

So, since arriving back in Panama from the holiday jaunt in the States (of which I've included the traditional family photo with the addition of Jeepers, on my lap, my parent's new dog), I've begun my health seminar, had increased interest is basket selling (of which I posted some new, beautiful photos), and finally met with my water committee again. Although, that was really on the sly. They happened to be meeting, and I happened upon them and invited myself. Gotta work with what I get. I did get them to invite me to a meeting with the community next week. So that's something.

The health charlas have been going well. This week we were going to do nutrition, but a woman from my community passed away last week, and the service is all weekend. Instead of trying to compete with that, I postponed it until next weekend. I have to notify people of that, but I'm pretty sure they've already figured it out. I'm getting really into the charlas. They're fun for me because I get to engage them in a different way. Surprisingly, the part of the class where they talk the most is at the end. They come up to me and ask all the questions that they were too embarrassed to ask during the class. So, I've added that as part of the class. It's "sit and talk" time, where we drink our juice or coffee and eat our chips or cookies and discuss the class. We'll see how it goes when I give the nutrition charla next week. This seminar has sparked my interest in medicine, in an interesting turn of events. I don't know how I got from theater to medicine. Life is an interesting, winding road...

Alright, for the baskets that I promised. The first is by a woman named Tereza. It has the big, bright flowers on it. It's about a ten inch diameter, really solid workmanship. Gorgeous piece. I swear, if I had the money, I'd live in a house made of baskets. Every time I see a new one, I want to buy it!


The next one is by a woman name Laira. It's beautiful, and it's OVAL shaped, which is very uncommon. The work is also really exquisite. Once again, a basket I'd love to buy.

This next basket is by a woman named Lulu. She's actually named Ubelia, but everyone calls her Lulu. It's smaller, but nice quality with an interesting jungle pattern to it. I like it a lot. Nice natural colors, too.

Alright, and the following are a different kind a basket, made from a material called nahuala (pronounced nah-wall-uh) that they use for more utilitarian purposes. I requested a few for friends that were interested in having them for their homes, but they've started gifting me baskets, so some of these were gifts to me that are just beautiful! They're a sturdier material, and the colors are all made from roots, fruits, or mud. The women that made these are named Laira (same as above), Elvira and Diesila.

And that's all I have for now. I'll post again in February when I'm further through my health charla with some more photos. Thanks for returning to read, especially when I neglect you. I've got some interesting stuff going on right now, so it'll more fun to blog, I think.

Oh, if you're interested in any of these baskets, email me (mpetersen84@gmail.com) and I'll let you know the price. I'll in the States again the first week of March, so I'm going to bring stuff back with me. Thanks for all your support!