We're ready to go! The Water Committee of Quebrada Mina has finished the final phase of planning and surveying, so we're ready to write proposals and look for some funds.
(Here's the view after crossing over the hill, the "Problem Hill" that is causing us to talk about shared "plumas" for three of the nearby families. In this view, you can see a clearing in the middle ground, that's where the final house lies: down, around, and up the rise.)
Jess Mehl COS 2008 and Steve Russo G60 helped out early on and got things going (and debated with me the merits of an Abney level vs. Water level - no winner yet!). Later, Kaitlin Green joined me for a day walking with Miguel Mora and a small team, yes, still using the Water level.
The grandmother stayed behind, she was already busy "toasting" yesterday's rice and the younger children kept her company - I think the worker crews are also determined by how many tools there are. Harvesting rice is one of the few jobs that doesn't rely on a machete - we needed special "cutters." These are really just wooden dowels with a rubber band and a box-cutter blade, and they're perfectly designed for the work.
Yup, he's up there...
Also, not sure if I've shared with you all the rambutans (here they're called mamo chino, but I learned the other word in Hawai`i). Have you tried these before?
They taste like sweet-tarts, like a semi-sour lychee fruit - the season is already over, but you could see these muppet fruits weighing down trees in San Felix.
Also in the late-breaking news, all of the chicks from my hen have passed away. A mysterious tragedy that has left all of us saddened. (I can't hellp thinking that maybe I really should have cooked that hen for my birthday feast...).
It began last May:
So we worked for hours this way, that is, until I decided to photograph my neighboring planters...
I know that the ¨indigenous¨ words I used were just town names in my home state. I know that they likely have a lost meaning, maybe a discription of the region, maybe the name of the particular people that used to live there. But just to sound out the different words, just to give an example of what the language might have been like... I thought that was useful for my Ngäbe friends. The complicated and not-so-idyllic relationship between my ancestors ¨antepasados¨and the original people of New England would be hard to explain. I went as far as saying that we have made ¨convenios¨ with the indigenous people and at least today, there is peace between us.
At just about noon, rain began to fall and suddenly the view to Cerro Iglesias was just a blank sheet, an aguacero was on its way - time for lunch!
This one isn't pure black, so maybe isn't as poisonous as the black tarantulas I was warned about in Training. No need to take chances!
What is that up there? Snow white from insecticide, I was too chicken to kill it with a machete - it's a very large, long-legged spider. Seems to me it was a granddaddy of spiders, it had lost 2 of its rear legs already (maybe already encountered a PCV? maybe already encountered my cat?). Sorry spider, I just can't share my space with you, I don't want to know what would happen to me if you decide to bite.
The original color was tan with slightly darker brown joints. A PCV once said that these remind him of spider crabs - I agree; it's not bulky like a classic tarantula from the movies but it's big with articulate limbs... dangerous? Not sure, but later that same week I found 4 more. Do these live in pairs?
the donor agency, ANAM: Autoridad Nacional del Ambiente
The interest in free fertilizer is also strong. The majority of the people maintain small gardens (or clusters of banana) or larger crops higher in the campo on rented land.
stops me with this question. The news has finally spread: ¡Beli tiene una camera!Isn't it cool that, perhaps for the first time in their
lives, the people of my community can possess their own family portraits?
The gift of a photograph is just another token that, in a couple of years will just be another piece of trash in the patio.
photos of grandfathers, babies, teens in their finest clothing, young men posing with radios, aunts twice removed, the immediate family of 8, ...
The thought that I might be providing a valuable service or a priceless experience is not a convincing argument. The good/fun that comes from this does not convince me that I'm doing the right thing:
* I'm fueling the belief that all gringos carry cameras
* I'm supporting the assumption that I can easily travel in and out of the community, to and
from the city (David, in this case) anytime to satisfy the priority of developing people’s photos
* I'm fulfilling the tourist destiny of photographing spectacles
- this puts me in the position as spectator and my neighbors as the objects, whether they know it or not, I don't feel comfortable with this: Am I here visiting some kind of museum or zoo?
* I'm taking their 50¢ or their $3 - yes this is a fair price, but they can't buy enough rice to feed everyone in the family. Despite the fact that I shouldn't put myself in a position to decide how my neighbors work out their personal finances, I don't like the fact that I'm providing the frivolous temptation to them.
* Young children might have "pena" about answering: Hola, but will yell requests to me:
"¿Saca mi foto?"
* Families I've never met or visited in their homes are asking my to stop by with my camera.
"Buenos días. ¿Cómo está?"
"¿Yo? Estoy aquí gracias a Dios."
"Va pa la escuela?"
"Si. ¿Tiene una camera?"
"Aah, pues, sí. Pero estoy caminando también, la camera está allá, en mi casa."
"Aah, así es. ¿Saca mi foto?"
"No tengo la camera, estoy viajando ahorita."
Maybe the expectation isn't really to take the photo RIGHT NOW, but instead of passing a
stranger on the road and exchanging greetings and learning who's neighbor of who's cousin I'm talking to, I'm being asked: "¿Saca mi foto?"
*This provides many opportunities to visit/pasear with new people.
*...
But it's hard to see the bright side of this. I am the first PC Volunteer to work in my community and one of my legacies will automatically be: Ella tuvo una camera.
, some cultural changes were visible as we progressed closer and closer to the Caribbean coast. Our familiar Nole-Duima region of the Comarca isn't wildly different from the "interior" - little girls in nagwas and chakaras exploding with "pena" easily represented my own neighbors.
between the communities - valley by valley, lots of goods - pounds of rice and alimentos were carried up and down each loma on strong shoulders.
a $20 per person trip since we were the only passengers who wanted to go all the way up there (literally the end of the road as you drive up from San Felix). This is a view roughly south looking out toward Cerro Petante (sp.) with the Pacific Ocean further away in the background. Since we are starting so high up, our trip will ¨all be downhill from here.¨ By stepping out of the truck, we are crossing The Divide and continuing North to our destination located on the Río Cricrimola.
nagwa), and our guide (bodyguard with the straw hat) Alberto. Here we are talking to a person waiting to see if he can take the same car downhill, back toward San Felix. I believe he considered us crazy since we explained that we will walk all the way to Canquintú, in the Province of Bocas Del Toro. The truck driver is far in the background, probably shaking off the dust of the road while we get set to hike.
They had a lot of good things to say about the trip. They were hiking South while we hiked North. I think I prefer the hike we chose, it meant a lot more downhill hiking and ending up at the Caribbean Sea instead of the Pacific side. To end in a whole different part of Panamá and yet still remain in the Comarca Ngäbe-Bugle was a very rewarding experience! We would be able to see cultural changes along the way as we walked from the heart of the Comarca toward the fringe where idioms, houses, clothing, foodstuffs, and the entire environment is different from our Distrito Nole Duima.
we would sometimes come to friendly changes in the trail. Despite how much rain fell during the trip, I still think we were lucky. We were never caught in any downpours (although at night we could hear a few passing by). There was a constant mist except with a few outbursts of sunshine. Sometimes our nagwas dried a bit around the hems, but for the most part we were dripping wet during the hike.
large, still made of penca but round. This was the center of ¨town¨ in Kremonte, this is the next significant pueblo after Tolothe. The rain was already on it´s way, rising up from the valley. Alberto told us that the palms used for the roofs here are really the best. It´s hard to find ¨penca¨like that on our side of the mountains. Not only is it tougher, it has wider leaves and can provide a better roof than what we encounter (or, in my case, what I live in).
the Río Cricrimola. Pretty deep in some places! Alberto tested it out for us and after helping me across, he also led the way for Jessica. After getting soaked and almost swimming part of the distance across this river, I never dried off until I got to David 2 days later. The waterproof socks didn´t matter after that point, but at least the first day was spent with partly comfortable toes.
Here I looked out at the last of the high cerros in the South and realized I could also see beautiful rounded river cobbles as well as white cows in the distance. Such an unobstructed view was rare, this is a clearcut located just 1 hour South of Canquintú. A final photographing spot we reached before returning to civilization.
holding roughly 20 people left from Canquintú at 5:30am. Our trio was a little unlucky that we were travelling on a Saturday, the boat was filled by very eager teachers who were taking their
weekend "afuera del campo" and had practically leapt into the skiff as it bobbed and spun away from the shore. As soon as I sat down on the wooden bench and felt the swaying, I felt giddy and suddenly exhilarated. In that moment, it seemed that the trip had closure: we had successfully crossed the Cordillera on foot and we would float to the sea. For roughly 3 hours, the skiff would motor down the Río Cricrimola, enter the Caribbean Sea, and make port at Chiriqui Grande - and I wouldn't have to lift a foot to get there. I was also moved by nostalgia... I really missed boats!
tremendous satisfaction. Not only did we get a cross-section view of the Comarca, we just completed the longest, most ambitious ¨pasear¨ I will ever do while living here as a PCV. With our gregarious navigator and icebreaker/sometimes interpreter, Alberto, we hiked, visited, chatted, accepted snacks, and exchanged greetings with every friendly soul we encountered. Also, I also achieved a record: I succeeded in wearing my blue nagwa for 3 complete days - ¡Que reto! 
