bigote y pescado

this is a picture of a mustache-wearing version of me, and some fried fish heads. word

Another week and much of the same

Sunday should be a day reserved for laziness, book reading, napping, etcetera-ing, but in Panamá it is the day of family gatherings.  I don’t mean this in a bad way, because it isn’t at all, it is just that in the states we have the conception of sundays as being a lazy day, and here, it is a day in which the family (like fifteen people were at the house today) gets together, cook a giant lunch (Pig Head and Rice!) and laugh and tell stories, they catch up on local bochinche, play bingo and the sort.  It has taken some getting used to, but I think it is a cool tradition. Today I met family from the Azuero peninsula, which is southeast of where I am located and is like three-ish hours from Santa Rita.  I believe six TE volunteers are headed to the Azuero (two provinces – La Herrera y Los Santos), and although it is hot and a desert, it would be cool for a bunch of different reasons, two important yet unimportant reasons – Avocados grow there, and the Azuero is where the ranches are located, and therefore horses that I could ride a whole bunch.

 

Friday evening a bunch of aspirantes got together to watch the Panamá vs. Jamaica game.  It was really fun and really exciting to watch fútbol and cheer for los panameños.  The game was a 1-1 draw, but Jamaica was in the lead the entire game.  I don’t think the Panamanian team is very good, and I’m trying to stay optimistic but it doesn’t seem like they will be making moves to the World Cup.  It is enjoyable to have something to cheer for, to cheer about, to make sports interesting again.  Fútbol is more than a cultural thing here, as is the case, I assume, in most of South/Central America.

 

This past Friday we also received the results of our language examinations and I am happy to say I have moved up a level which means I’m getting better, but all that seems to mean is that instead of looking cluelessly into the face of my host mother and say, “what?” I instead say something like, “oh that’s great, could you repeat that?”  Life is frustrating.

 

This week is much of the same, transcribing Nat Geo Español, using the imperfect tense incorrectly, reading strange Tom Robbins books, eating various meats and rice, listening how to teach children and not die in a foreign country and wishing I were further in the jungle.  On other frustratingly hilarious news, our sites have been decided, but we won’t find out where they are for two more weeks. Bureaucracy rules, sup anxiety?

 

I’m trying to write a bit more, trying to get into it again.  Although I’m very busy, I do have a fair amount of free time because, well the day is long and you can only sleep so late when los gallos begin crowing at around midnight.

 

Morning runs with dogs nipping at my heels, I’m just a happy guy with Intermediate-Medium language skills.

Chao chicos. Love you all much.

On frustration, confusion and then everything working out, sort of.

Yesterday was a very strange day.  I wrote a long blog post but I’m going to save it for my archive because on looking back, I had a bad attitude.  Hear goes.

Yesterday started with spanish class and it went really well, I’m sort of learning and sort of not learning, but still, it went well.  Afterwards we taught miniature English lessons to fellow teaching students, and my lesson was with a fellow aspirante named Rachel.  We did a lesson on the body and it was really fun, we sang songs and had a really good time.  It was awesome.  After a really long day, my host mother took me to a rosary reading/prayer thing for a man who had just died.  Personally, and this is where I struggled, I did not know the man who had passed, and of course, I don’t really know any prayers — especially in Spanish — so I sat there awkwardly, the only gringo with a group full of mourning individuals.  I was frustrated and didn’t understand what I was doing there.  I didn’t belong.  I don’t feel part of this community.  I don’t really feel like I know the language enough to integrate that much, but after a day of looking back, I have realized that it is really a privilege to have been invited in the first place.  It was a beautiful service, and just because I’m not religious and I didn’t know the man, doesn’t mean I wasn’t respecting him and his family.  So, that was a shocking moment of culture, something completely different.  In Panamá, at least with these forty or so individuals, the mourning goes for nine days, each morning and evening the group prays the rosary for the deceased.  It really is beautiful.

Today we had a technical session on Jazz Chants, which are pretty much the coolest thing since iced cream.  They are basically poems that you say/sing/yell to a beat.  This beat and repetition helps students learn basic english words and helps students use them in context.  Pretty rad, and we got to make our own of varying difficulty and theme.  We even got to make some about training (I will post them eventually).  

All is well in Santa Rita, I had my second interview about where I want to be placed, and I have to wait a few more weeks until I find out, when asked how I could explain where I wanted to go in three words, I said: Moutains, Jungle, Indigenous.

That’s all for now, time to study for my spanish oral exam . . . tomorrow morning. 

Chao

Cultural Experiences, I guess.

hola chicos,

 

Sorry to all that it has been a few days.  It’s not you, it’s me.  There has been a lot of excitement in Panama recently, specifically in and around Santa Rita, but I will come to that later.  The last four or five days I have had many experiences, some educational, some cultural, and some just kind of strange that I don’t necessarily regret, but that I might think twice about doing again.

 

Vamos.

 

I arrived in Chiguiri Arriba on Thursday afternoon and I met the volunteer I would be staying with.  On Friday we visited his school.  It was a cool experience.  I observed an eighth grade English classroom and discussed the education system and other various aspects of English education with my volunteers counterpart teacher.  She seemed very energetic to be teaching, but it didn’t seem as though the students were that excited.  They seemed uninterested, and like many Panamanians are very hesitant and shy when it comes to speaking English or conversing with foreigners.  It was clear that teaching English in Panamanian schools is going to be more of a challenge than I expected.  Of course, depending on the site I am placed in students could have more or less experience speaking English, so all is touch and go.

 

After talking to a few volunteers it seems like there isn’t as much of a focus on critical thinking and especially creative thinking in Panamá.  Beyond fostering an understanding for the English language, I am interested in encouraging this creative and critical model of learning, even if I have to do so in Spanish.  I understand Teaching English is my sector, but I feel like in the broader scope, it isn’t just English education that needs assistance.  When I arrive in sight, if there is something I can do to create a sustainable change in some aspects of the education system, I will do my best to assist teachers in working in such a model (or help teach one if it is not in place yet).

 

We also hiked to a waterfall, had lunch and swam around.  We got rained on and then three minutes later we were getting baked in the sunlight, Chiguiri Arriba is a very tropical part of the country, and it was an awesome short hike.

 

The following day I went to a bailé – a dance celebrating some religious holiday or another (to be honest, I’m not really sure why there was a bailé), but I attended the dance with a fellow aspirante as well as three or four volunteers.  The dance itself was fun, we looked pretty stupid, and a few of the girls we were with could actually dance, and all the dudes pretty much couldn’t, but I was impressed by our perseverance, and we were getting a liiiittle better as time went on.  At the bailé there was also a cockfight – something I still feel pretty weird about witnessing, and don’t really plan on witnessing again, but I will say this, there are certain elements of culture that although you are unwilling to accept, you are unable to change, especially if you are a foreigner.  Did I watch a cockfight? Yes. Am I proud? No. Is there anything I can really do about cockfights in a country that accepts (and thoroughly enjoys them)? Besides not going to a cockfight, No. So that is that, and there needs not be more conversation about it.

 

The sunday we went to the beach – Santa Clara.  The beach was  awesome, and as many of you know, I am not a huge beach person, but I basically laid in a hammock and talked with PCV’s and then read a bunch of my book.  Can’t really go wrong there.

 

I returned to Santa Rita rejuvenated after a very education weekend (about hiking, about PCV life, about the schools and the secondary projects) and stepped right into one of the strangest (stranger than the cockfight) experiences in Panamá thus far.

 

Disclaimer: Don’t freak out. We’re safe, so please, I wouldn’t write this if I didn’t believe I was safe.

 

A few days ago there was a prisoner who escaped from prison – he was in prison for raping a women in Panama City, and he was spotted in Santa Rita, and there was a four hour long man hunt for him yesterday after I arrived back in site.  By man hunt, what I mean is as follows: 40 plus individuals running around town with broom handles, machetes, chains and other various strange utensils to try and catch said criminal.  I don’t exactly know what they would have done if they would have caught him – which they haven’t yet ( he was last seen a few miles out of town) but watching a bunch of shirtless men waving machetes and running into the woods was very strange, and if it wasn’t so serious, it would have been comical.  We have been reassured we are safe in the community, as long as we are smart and not out late, or ever alone.  I am not particularly worried, as the community is very protective of all of the fellow aspirantes, and although it is scary and very serious, these things do happen.  Dad always says there are bad, crazy people all over the world, they’re in Wisconsin, they’re in Panamá, they are, unfortunately, everywhere, and that is a simple truth.

 

Please, don’t worry, I am safe, I feel safe, I am not worried, and since I am the only one here, I think it make sense for you not to worry (cough, mother).

 

Tomorrow I am back and language training in the morning and technical classes in the afternoon – back to the routine, after being out of it for a few days.  My Spanish is slowly getting better, mustache is slowly getting more gingery, tan getting more red, and love for Panamá stronger.

 

Chao folks.

Getting close…

Acclimate: verb [ no obj. ] (usu. be acclimated)

become accustomed to a new climate or to new condition

 

Today (Sunday 3/3/13) marks the end of the first week in Santa Rita and I am beginning to experience what select individuals call “acclimation.”  This post will consist of a list of personal activities with a short explanation of how I feel about them.  Said list should showcase how I am becoming acclimated to my current life in Panamá.

 

1. Bucket Shower: I take one of these every day, and beyond feeling accomplished for wasting so little water, I actually enjoy a nice, quick bucket shower.  I go for a run about three or four days a week, and there are few things more enjoyable than dumping cold, mosquito infested water all over your body.  Bucket showers – check.
2. Fashionable Panamanian Mustache – Although it doesn’t match Alex, Jim or my father’s I know have a fashionable Panamanian mustache.  It is getting mixed results thus far.  For example, my host mother is horrified and won’t even look at me in the face.  Her husband shook my hand when he saw it.  Most of the fellow volunteers are supportive, although with wide grins and laughter.  I dig it, and that’s what counts . . . for now. Fashionable Panamanian Mustache – Check
3. Multiple embarrassing experiences: The most recent happening yesterday as we went to the rio for a swim and – let’s be honest, all the volunteers have happily accepted being called gringos – when I returned four or five of the female siblings or grandchildren of my host abuela took one look at me and began laughing and cackling strange words that I have never heard.  After various fingers were pointed in my direction and my host abuela Mama Rita took me by the hand, it was clear the entire family was laughing and making fun of my white bony legs.  Here’s hoping someone sends me tanning oil in the near future.  Embracing Embarrassment – Check
4. Waiting.  Life in the countryside (which I am not quite in.  I live somewhere between the suburbs and the campo (country)) moves much slower in Panamá.  My host family’s daily activities consist of waking up, cooking, hammock sitting, bingo playing, watching las noticias and eventually making time for the evening telenovelas (our favorite is from 8-9 pm, and is called Rafael Orozco and he also sports a very thick and fashionable Panamanian mustache).  With this relaxing lifestyle comes the necessity to wait.  When a family member says, “ahora” meaning now, it means “sometime today” and possible worse, “ahora mismo” seems to mean, “within the next few hours.”  This translates to all different avenues of Panamanian culture – for example, today we traveled to Panamá (the city, which is not called Panama City here) via the bus and then traveled within the city via the MetroBus and while the MetroBus was very prompt, we spent twenty, thirty, forty, sixty minutes sometimes waiting for buses/chivas (small buses) to take us back to El Espino and Santa Rita (two stops that take us back to our village).  This can be frustrating at times, but most volunteers, myself included, have begun socializing with other individuals waiting for a bus, as well as finding strange delicious treats to eat.  Waiting (whether hammock involvement is included or not) – Check
5. Weather.  The last two days have been surprisingly blustery and there has been a lot of rain, and today, for possibly the first time in my entire life, I said the words, “It’s cold” when referring to a temperature above 75 degrees.  My host mother looked at me and agreed, “It is so cold, I hate it.  Spring is here.”  Truly la primavera is coming, the rain and winds are upon us in Panamá and I went from sweating profusely, to sweating profusely and then having to quickly put on a long sleeve shirt.  I don’t mean to beat a dead horse here, but it’s 75 degrees and I’m cold. Weather – check.
6. Comida.  I have been eating a lot of classic Panamanian dishes and most have them have not been too adventurous.  Arroz y pollo, arroz y lentajes, arroz y carne, jamon, o huevos but today I had arroz y mondongo (spelling probably incorrect).  Mondongo is a pretty strange substance, it is cut very thin and is about two or three inches long, it is fried in oil and spices and places atop rice and potatoes.  It is rather chewy, and looks kind of strange and reminds me of the texture of an octopus’s tentacles.  So, needless to say, I ate all of the mondongo and after dinner when I arrived at the birthday party of a volunteer I asked some of the more experienced volunteers – what exactly is this mystery meat/substance, and as I suspected all along, it is cow intenstine.  So, I ate cow intestines today, and while I ate my family looked excitedly on.  When they asked how I enjoyed my meal, I only had one thing to say — Oh Mama Rita, I loved it, as always.  Comida – Check

 

The road is long to becoming more than a gringo in a community, but when you look this good, and can stretch the truth this well, it doesn’t hurt.

Pictures soon, I promise.

Love.