Feels Like the Real Thing

This week I became a Peace Corps Volunteer. No, I have not yet been sworn in. Technically, I am still a trainee. But this was the week that it all began. The traininings, the charlas, the dinamicas. It all came together and now I feel just a little bit more like a real volunteer.

I spent the past week living and working in an indigenous community in the Ngobe Bugle region. They taught me their rich history, repleat with sorrowful tails of oppression and loss, interrupted by a victorious comarca designation (similar to an indigenous reservation in the U.S.).

Kate, Karen, and I humbly approached our assigned task. We observed, assessed, and analyzed the business operations of an association of gifted female artesians and designed and delivered workshops to meet their needs. Our time with them was brief but we gave them our best.

My host family for the week was loving and generous. I ducked to avoid bumping my head as I entered their humble home and was presented with the Ngobere and Spanish names of each member of the family. They showed me to my "room" a curtained off section of the "house" furnished with a sleeping mat on top of a table top. They were proud to share their home with me. I attempted to honor their pride by not letting on that I knew that they were sleeping three and four to a bed in order to accomodate me. I stopped drinking fluids at 2pm everyday to avoid the frightful after-dark trip to the latrine. I ate what they ate and bathed how they bathed and they rewarded me by inviting me into their hearts. Together we wept over their losses and longings and together we rejoiced over their triumphs, hopes, and dreams.

As I came to understand their battles against man and against nature, I realized that their faith in God is so much bigger than mine. It has to be.

In another three weeks, I will be sworn in and sent to my assigned community. Although I trust that the remaining training sessions are essential, I feel ready. I feel like a Peace Corps Volunteer.

Grace and Peace,

Anita

P.S.
I came back with a nasty parasite. I named it Alfred.

Blisters, Bus Rides, and Beating Clothes Against a Rock

Training week 5 (of 10) was culture week and a group of us were welcomed into the lives of the Ngobes, one of the largest indigeneous groups in Latin America. Overflowing with culture, creativity, and mystery, the island is located in the Bocas region of Panama. Almost everyone speaks Spanish but many are committed to the continuation of Ngobere, their native tongue.

I was treated both as an honored guest and an old family friend, with evenings spent trading stories with Sergio and Lucia and days spent traversing the difficult terrain and taking in the daily experiences. I lay awake each night, tossing my observations, thoughts, and feelings from one end of the mosquito net to the other. Culture. History. Pain. Lack. Desire.

Last week I stepped hundreds of years back in time. Next week promises to be even more challenging. Will the next subculture be as interesting? Could the next family possibly be as sweet as the last one and as loving as those who await my return?

Week 10 of training beckons me as I am drawn to the community that will be my own for the next two years. It also taunts me with the impending and inevitable goodbyes. I am challenged by the promise I made to myself that I would embrace these new relationships, no matter how temporary they are. El amor vale la pena. Love is worthwhile.

Grace & Peace,
Anita