The Wake-up Knock

Every morning at 6:30, my three-year-old neighbor hops out of bed, sneaks over to my house and begins knocking on my door…

“Anita! Anita! Anita!” Pacho shouts as he desperately pounds on my front door. I try to ignore him and hope that he goes away but the pounding continues. I plead with him,“Regresa mas tarde.” (Come back later.) 

“Abre la puerta!” (Open the door!) he shouts with all of the importance a three year old can muster, “Quiero hablar contigo.” (I want to talk to you.)

“Vaya - estoy dormiendo.” (Go away - I’m sleeping.)

“Mentirosa!” (Liar!) Pacho responds accusingly.

There is a brief pause before the knocking resumes, “Anita! Anita! Anita!”

This daily interaction was a lot less charming than it sounds, especially since his was the last voice I heard before I drifted off to sleep every night. He exasperated me. I had long since given up on trying to reason with the adults in his house and was spending my days plotting and experimenting with new strategies to make him (and the other little ones who would show up throughout the day) go away.

“Pacho esta en amorado con usted,” (Pacho is in love with you) his grandmother revealed. Of course it didn’t help that she was encouraging the crush and even suggesting in his presence that I might adopt him and take him back to the United States with me. Pacho had been abandoned by his mother and was being raised by his grandparents.

Although I was never able to eliminate the daily wake-up-knocking, I did figure out how to regain some of my personal space during the day. The solution was simple. I got up, opened the door, and let him in. Each morning, I looked in his cute little face and listened while he told me what he had dreamt about the night before. And after a respectable amount of time, I could coax him to go back home to Abuela ( grandma).

The impositions were not limited to the children in the community. I was appalled and offended on a daily basis by words and actions of adults that I interpretted as rude but they saw as kind. And I would come to learn that I too had offended them in my attempts to be polite and respectful. People, whether I was acquainted with them or not, would walk into my house without even a knock. But when I kept my door closed to head off the unwelcome visits, I was thought to be rude and standoffish. My reputation was further damaged because whenever I went out to pasear (take a walk), I would greet people who were outside or standing in their doorway but I never walked in an open door or looked inside someone’s house and loudly commented on what they were doing. I was trying to respect the privacy of people who had no need for privacy.

But over time we learned to overlook each other’s offenses and see each other’s value. They stopped focusing on who I was not and began embracing who I am. I stopped expecting things like privacy and personal space and gave in to the local rhythm. So instead of getting upset when my sleep was disrupted, I got up, opened the door, and received my first hug of the day which was always followed by Pacho’s confession of undying love for me, “Yo te quiero mucho Anita!”


But as my relationships in the community began to take a turn for the better, my health began to take a turn for the worse. When my asthma symptoms escalated and I was unable to get proper care locally, the Peace Corps doctor and I decided that a site change was necessary.

My new assignment is very different from the last and a departure for the Peace Corps Panama norm. Instead of living as a member of a rural community, I will make my home in a very nice provincial capital, as I provide consulting services to an NGO (nonprofit) committed to helping poor, rural families to do organic farming and reforestation. The director is a very learned man with a passion for the protecting the environment and for serving underserved people. My job will be to support him in his efforts to strengthen the structure of the organization in a way that will attract funding and ensure the organization’s long-term viability.
As I look through the photos of what is now my former community, I have a better appreciation for the people and their ways – which better positions me in my new role to influence the system in a way that will influence their lives for the better. I also have a better understanding of Anita and her ways – which better positions me to roll with the punches. I am more industrious, more flexible, much more tranquila (calm).

The goodbyes were filled with tears of desperation as those I had come to know and love led me into a space that was foreign to me. A space of certain finality. They knew that traveling, even in a country as small as Panama, is difficult and costly. They knew that though I had the ability to send messages through my computer, they had no way of receiving them. They knew that it was highly unlikely that we will see each other again. And as painful as it was to say goodbye to both me and my predecessor, they knew that they had to open their hearts for more. “¿Mandan otro de Cuerpo de Paz?” (Will they send us another volunteer?)

Love is worthwhile. It is worth eating the same bland meal three times a day. It is worth beating your clothes against a rock. It is worth intermittent electricity. It is worth a 6:30am wake up knock.

“Anita, yo tengo que saber,” the tearful voice of Pacho’s seven year old cousin Sara came through my cell phone just two days after my departure, “¿Tu no me quieres?” (Don’t you love me?)

“Sara, yo te quiero mucho,” (I love you so much) I assured her, “Y te estraño.” (And I miss you.)

“¿Entonces, porque saliste? (Then why did you leave?) pouted the little girl whose mother had died some three years prior and whose father had left her with the grandmother while he started a new family.

“Porque a veces, los adultos tienen que hacer lo que no quieren hacer.” (Adults sometimes have to do things that they don’t want to do.) “Pero nunca olvides que tu eres especial – a mi y a Dios. (Never forget that you are special – to me and to God.) Has tenido una vida mas dura que otras pero tendras un futuro mas bueno. (Your life has been harder than most but your future will be better than most.)

Sara has suffered beyond her years and she understood with an understanding equally beyond her seven years. She told me that Jesus gives her a big hug every night before I go to sleep and advised me that when I feel like I want to cry because I miss her, I should just let Jesus give me a big hug.

Grace and Peace,

Anita

P.S.
If you are wondering what became of Jersey the dog, he is living the sweet life, spending his days running freely through the banana plantation with his new girlfriend, Candi, under the watchful eye of his new owner, Abelardo, the young man who had appointed himself as my loyal and hardworking personal secretary.