tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-63816644715936880602024-03-05T16:51:17.660-08:00Tempest's Quest: Peace Corps PanamaBikohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14298607911147422454noreply@blogger.comBlogger38125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6381664471593688060.post-88766563538047620452013-05-11T22:44:00.002-07:002013-05-12T08:57:09.991-07:00The Joys of Semana de Campasinos<br />
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I am lucky enough to serve in the Azuero. It is Hotbed of
culture. We are always having pageants,
tipico dances, Pollera( traditional dress) shows, and my other cultural activities.
Once a year my town has a huge festival celebrating the founding of our beloved
town. The town transforms from a calm village to a vibrant party town. The
village soccer field transforms into a Campo multiplex of entertainment. We
have a bull ring, where rodeo shows are held. Wooden planks are bought in to
create a dance floor for a disco/taborito hall. There are even make shift restaurants ( fondas) selling Panamanian dishes. A buzz settles over the entire community as
people ready themselves for the festivities. Under bare bulbs and moonlight
costumes are being sewn, dances are being practiced, and allot of Seco and Ron
Abuelo are being drunken. <b><o:p></o:p></b><br />
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<b>Friday</b></div>
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The
days of celebration starts Friday night with Tamborito. Tamborito involves both
call and response singing and dancing in a circle. A choir of women stands in a
cluster while men drum at their sides. A circle is formed with community
members. Everyone is either clapping or singing. Then a brave woman jumps into
the center of the circle. Her head held high and hands at her side. She dances unaffected
in a series of circles as campasino men jump and cry around her. A man jumps in
the circle and dips around the coolness of the dancing woman. There is an icy
hot sense of sexuality in this dance yet it is not vulgar. Children and
grandparents join into the dancing. After some trepidation, I too jump into the
circle. At first I close my eyes trying hoping my footing is fitting into the
complex precision and singing around me. Then I loosen up and lose myself in a
flurry of claps, spins, and dips. Cheers and Salimars fill my ears at the men
at the party jockey and mock fight to partner with me and then just like that I
retreat into the waiting embraces of the village women. They all laugh and say
I dance better than them. I’m pretty sure this is a lie but I did my best to
mimic their footwork. We dance and sing well into the night and early morning. There is
something so transcendent about tamborito. The African influence is obvious to
me and there is such a power when people join together in a circle and create.
Throughout the night there are many moments of fleeting perfection. I’ve tried
to capture some of the magic through video <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=onywUQKZjW0">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=onywUQKZjW0</a><o:p></o:p><br />
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<b>Saturday<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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Today was the first full day of celebration. Semana de
Campasinos was in all its glory. There were Bull rides and rodeos. Cowboys and
some brave men from my village jumped at and taunted bulls while men tried to
ride them. The whole town was enamored with the show of classic Machismo. Machismo
and manhood are very important to my community. Men competed with each other
all day to see whom could be the most brave, drink the most alcohol, and dance
with the most ladies. Men serenaded me with songs pledging their undying love
for me ( a near stranger) and then serenaded other women in the crowds. They jockeyed
for the chance to buy the ladies sodas and treats from the fonda. They paid for
all the entrance fees for women wanting to dance in the discoteque. It was
really interesting to see what constitutes a “Good man” in my culture vs. what
makes a man a “Good man” in the states but that is a whole other post. For
today, I enjoyed being doted on and spent the night and early morning dancing
to Tipico, Salsa, and regaton music. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<b>Sunday<o:p></o:p></b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHl3ypCI0Ti70R1cxpvetmiuGMrIxN3h14t6X7qfXmiQN067TuLt8ji_ef_ls002VJkBTS-ByRmGCFhNUmmNPsYcp_mlJAaL80hOHylp4skdqu9YSsK0jPHlOIF7SpJ_ioEqOBr1xXSpI/s1600/DSC_0452.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHl3ypCI0Ti70R1cxpvetmiuGMrIxN3h14t6X7qfXmiQN067TuLt8ji_ef_ls002VJkBTS-ByRmGCFhNUmmNPsYcp_mlJAaL80hOHylp4skdqu9YSsK0jPHlOIF7SpJ_ioEqOBr1xXSpI/s640/DSC_0452.jpg" width="428" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My Tio and I in our Campo wear</td></tr>
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<b> </b>Today was THE day. Sunday
was the day when everyone showed up and showed out. There were traditional
costumes, floats, a band, a party van blaring music, and lots of happy people.
I dressed up as a Congo woman complete with head dress. That day there was to
be a huge parade complete with floats at 3pm. Yet I saw or heard no talk off
float preparation. I had no idea how my community was going to pull this off. 3pm
came and went with no floats yet at 4pm I heard the band start up and oxen
pulling a large float. It was intricately decorated with symbols of life in the
campo. Antique water jars, drums and flowers filled the platform. In the middle
was my friend in a glorious Pollera with beautiful beads in her hair. It was
breathtaking. This show of creativity and innovation was repeated multiple
times while my community and I followed the floats laughing and dancing. </div>
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The
most incredible part of the day was how the creators acted. There were no
meltdowns no screaming and everyone was cool and calm. They created their art
and presented without pretention and seemingly without anxiety which I was in
awe of and inspired by. I hope that the photos and videos below flesh out the
picture of the Semana de Campasino experience. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNvlaHPnctYYoJUNKgIY_5Q91ZzlAi7uuyuAt8nKgpc8TFDKbl-mzdaa9icZPyEfsV71CiKL0znbGRKg4Ums9RfHNktoyXD1Fj_PvcV-vN2uAHxJT2isDVhw-wkCIKNctBxIGyRNknhtE/s1600/DSC_0098.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNvlaHPnctYYoJUNKgIY_5Q91ZzlAi7uuyuAt8nKgpc8TFDKbl-mzdaa9icZPyEfsV71CiKL0znbGRKg4Ums9RfHNktoyXD1Fj_PvcV-vN2uAHxJT2isDVhw-wkCIKNctBxIGyRNknhtE/s640/DSC_0098.jpg" width="428" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Seco break</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIr6rSebUrBBkWTdjTyG5_WmFsEra12Ux8YVgETaIpJxWBzWSFh0mV41HHqQSjG4itxIAJcHEmDGHL0Qnoc_M_p97U_1sY8Hcfb5Or6OKwuR6UKo-mTgrtSBruCBxF11U2Jjdla4a_M7A/s1600/DSC_0368.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIr6rSebUrBBkWTdjTyG5_WmFsEra12Ux8YVgETaIpJxWBzWSFh0mV41HHqQSjG4itxIAJcHEmDGHL0Qnoc_M_p97U_1sY8Hcfb5Or6OKwuR6UKo-mTgrtSBruCBxF11U2Jjdla4a_M7A/s640/DSC_0368.jpg" width="428" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Traditional Pollera</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNSmgQllw5Eh5KG0s9WEWr1ga08J6Q9BRX-WmQMB_r9ucNv3BoxO7X4NO3bU64y6arsxbqjJazxSlJ6IE7TUWp_JRVEvD1slhjrf-GggyKnN8r_FDU9eJk6X-IsTWM0ZwoHh-WP9xJwNs/s1600/DSC_0011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="428" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNSmgQllw5Eh5KG0s9WEWr1ga08J6Q9BRX-WmQMB_r9ucNv3BoxO7X4NO3bU64y6arsxbqjJazxSlJ6IE7TUWp_JRVEvD1slhjrf-GggyKnN8r_FDU9eJk6X-IsTWM0ZwoHh-WP9xJwNs/s640/DSC_0011.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My whole town was ready to party</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A great float</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfcJ7zSHkMUT9nPkvMK2DuzhjkmxQKXyl_mWpRAoS1bAGWPb19d9wIIwxb3anLgbSqN9PE2nFcVEI3i-sN1yddhr-WqmwdapP6zTp00xtjrx8XeGReNbru7nYGLm7vbOsSYBNRFt6OqXM/s1600/DSC_0060.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfcJ7zSHkMUT9nPkvMK2DuzhjkmxQKXyl_mWpRAoS1bAGWPb19d9wIIwxb3anLgbSqN9PE2nFcVEI3i-sN1yddhr-WqmwdapP6zTp00xtjrx8XeGReNbru7nYGLm7vbOsSYBNRFt6OqXM/s640/DSC_0060.jpg" width="428" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of my favorite floats</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Taking in the festivites</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lil man in his Campasino wear</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A father cross dressing for the day. His wife exclaimed, "El es un Gay"</td></tr>
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Tempest <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />Bikohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14298607911147422454noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6381664471593688060.post-23625645888035169902013-05-11T20:14:00.002-07:002013-05-11T20:14:31.141-07:00It's been a long time I shouldn't have left you..I missed you all. I know I know, I left you high and dry for almost a year! Allot has changed in that year. Everything from adventure, to depression, to falling in love, and even death. It's been really overwhelming trying to figure out how to catalog all the stories I have floating in my head. However, it's time to jump right in. Future post will not be chronologically correct yet they will be full of truth and wonder. I am back and look forward to sharing my Peace Corps journey once again. There will be at least 2 stories per week with fresh content every weekend.<br />
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Much Love,<br />
TempestBikohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14298607911147422454noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6381664471593688060.post-18314932980499167832012-06-16T14:44:00.002-07:002012-06-16T14:44:30.980-07:00Photos of the day: Children at Play<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Shots of children playing in mi pueblo.</div>Bikohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14298607911147422454noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6381664471593688060.post-14299967228883258122012-06-15T18:24:00.001-07:002012-06-18T01:33:01.752-07:00The fountain of knowledge: A day with my favorite elder.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"> The house is situated on a dirt and gravel path, tucked away from the solidly middle class concrete dwellings of other parts of town. You know you are at Valaria’s house when you come to the worn wooden gate that beckons you. I feel like I am transported back to a distant age every time I walk through those gates and follow down a dusty path that leads to an equally dusty house made of Earth. The house is brown and looks like it has been in this very spot since the beginning of time. I know she is home when I see wisps of silver coated hair by a chicken coop. She strides up to me like she is walking on water and not on hot harden earth with no shoes. Elder Valaria greets me this day with a large plastic bowl in hand and tells me to sit on one of her chairs as she finishes what she needs to do. She disappears down a path behind her kitchen and I busy myself by looking at the cracks in her earth house. There are many and the cracks, roots, and packed earth remind me of her skin: rugged, worn, natural, and beautiful. She returns with a bowl full of Plantains that at 93 years old she has harvested herself. She greets me with a large toothless smile and a warm hug. Our visits are special to both of us. We have passed numerous afternoons together on her worn, old benches. We talk of family and the past mostly. I spend most of these days mining for gems that are her beautiful stories. She tells me of being a child laborer in her village in the 1920’s. She tells me of her grandchildren. Many times she closes her dark eyes and wistfully tilts her head as she recants her past triumphs and sorrows alike. I am struck by her strength. Valari is often working or walking around town. Her tiny brown frame swallowed by brightly colored house dresses. She can lug water, work in her garden, care for her animals, council her great grandson on the finer points of auto mechanic engineering at an age where many American elders are in homes sitting and waiting to die. Death has been very busy in my town lately with 2 deaths in a week, one being my host aunt who was teaching me Tamborito. Both of the women who have died have been women and both have been between 32 years old and 63 years old. All woman were far younger then Valarie. I do not know how much more time I have with her so I cherish our time together. I have decided to take some portraits of her during our last visit. </span></div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>Bikohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14298607911147422454noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6381664471593688060.post-37945227765687061812012-06-11T22:25:00.005-07:002012-06-11T22:25:47.624-07:00Photos of the day: Mother and son, Flower, Sky Blue, The dollHere are some original shots:<br />
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<br />Bikohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14298607911147422454noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6381664471593688060.post-65908821962840674992012-06-11T22:04:00.001-07:002012-06-11T23:05:35.638-07:00A Time to work<br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #4c4c4c; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The
majority of this blog is spent examining interactions, exploring eternal
struggles, and art but I also want you guys to know that I WORK! Lol <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #4c4c4c; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> The past month has been full of
activities. I had a regional meeting with 30 other PCVs in my region. We
learned and shared new project idea, conducted elections, and networked. I have
also recommitted myself to the school going in 3 times a day. This is in
addition to pasearing, working on my house, my community analysis, and being
sick lol. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #4c4c4c; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> Peace Corps has a way of sneaking up
on you and revving up. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #4c4c4c; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">You
go through days where you feel you are not<i>
doing enough</i> and the BAM! There are 50 things that need to be completed in
a week. This can be very stressful but I am learning to pace myself. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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</div>Bikohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14298607911147422454noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6381664471593688060.post-90604944825729535502012-06-11T22:03:00.000-07:002013-05-12T09:29:17.268-07:00Happy Black people Day! ( Etnia Negra Celebra)<span style="background-color: black;"><br /></span>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">I walked into school not
expecting much. Maybe I would co-teach an English lesson or do a dinamica with the students. When I walked into the doorway I was not prepared for what greeted
me. “Felicidades! Tempe Felicidades!”,
the children sang out. La Directora Rochelle, stood up and presented the
students to me, She said, “Today is a celebration of Blackness and Meastra
Tempest is Black.let us all honor her on this special day”. I was spellbound as hoards of children came
up to give me a hug, kiss, and felicidadas para mi etina negra. You may wonder
why on earth any would be celebrate Blackness in school…I did. Lol I was used to “Black History Month” but it
usually about learning a Langston Hughes poem, a story about MLK, and maybe a
play. It is never personal and it is about <i>History.</i> This celebration was about honoring people of
African Decent presently and personally and I was very touched.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;"> I was asked after being honored to present a lesson on
“Blackness”…Which was quiet a challenge to do on the fly to a room full of
children of various ages. I sat down and had the children sit in a circle
around me. I taught them about some Ancient African Civilizations such as Kush,
Kemet, and Timbuktu. I taught them that many of those people were stolen
and put on boats to become slaves. From
there I taught them about the African diaspora and the different places African
slaves went to. Some came to the United States, while others went to Brazil,
Jamaica, Puerto Rico, and even Panama!
The kids were spellbound. I gave a very short lesson of racism and the
fight for civil rights in the U.S. culminating with the presidency of Barack
Obama. All the children liked the U.S. President. After all that talking I
asked the children if they had any Black people in their family. A very funny
thing happened. The black children would not raise their hands but a nice
number of the whiter skinned children did. Many of the Morenos in the circle
did not want to self identify as Black.
Which is something we can work on. After all this heavy talk it was time
to have some fun! I broke out my computer and speakers and set up an
exploration of “Black sound”. I played everything from Fela Kuti(The kids
favorite), to Usher to Beyonce. The most touching moment came when I played
freedom songs popular during the Civil Rights-Vietnam Era, most notably Curtis
Mayfield. These children knew no English but his words touched the kids in a
deep way. The children swayed and held hands when his song “Keep on pushin” played. I also gave dance lessons and taught the kids
how to step. An Indingenous boy who has been pretty closed off to me thus far,
opened up. He loved dancing with his hips and singing with a soul infliction.
He would look at me, raise his hand in the air and sing along to the music like
this “ oh ohhhh ohh ho ho yheaa”. It was great!
We had an amazing day full of culture and the teachers were proud that I
did all that without lesson plans lol I can’t wait to do more cultural
activities in my town. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;"> The day before my host Mom called me into her bedroom to
watch the T.V. She pointed to the television and there I saw a see of faces,
mostly black but some really light people as well. All were in African inspired
garb and were parading down the street. “It is the celebration of Black
ethnicity this month. Everybody in the City and Colon has big celebrations”.
She told me this at the end of the month..
I thought that I had totally missed out on the celebrations only to be
honored in school the very next day. As stated elsewhere in this blog, Panama
has a sizable Black population. The strains of African culture can be found in
the music, hairstyles, and to a lesser extent food of all Panamanians. During
Etina Negra celebrations, people hold African themed bailes and parades. The
people of all complexions put on crowns, head wraps, and other clothes
associated with Pan African culture. I witnessed a popular daytime talk show
have its host dress in African garb and dance to a steel band. There was one
host who was a Black woman and the other host gave her hugs and thanks. It was
such a strange but beautiful experience to witness other groups honoring a
minority group. I would hope that they do the same for the Indigenous and Asian
populations here as well.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;"> Below is some footage of Etina Negra celebrations and a
song by popular Afro Panamanian Aloe Blacc from California. I am editing
footage of my children in dancing/singing action so look out for that as well.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/y6VSob0FA1Y?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">Awkward Moment of the day: The Directora of the
school gave a beautiful speech in honor of Etnia Negra by professing the
natural athletic abilities of Black people. "Everybody is worth something
and special. All of us. It does not matter if you are Black, White, Chino, or
Indigenous. Black people are very special to Panama. They do so well in all the
sports and help us win the big games! In the U.S.A. Guess who won a gold medal
for the country? A Black person! That is why racism should end".. She said
her speech without a trace of irony and was so sweet and earnest I couldn't
take the least bit offense. </span><span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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Bikohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14298607911147422454noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6381664471593688060.post-81682857934098733842012-05-21T21:54:00.000-07:002013-03-17T18:47:44.832-07:00The Legend of El Nigga<br />
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The hot studio lights mixed with the fear of failure as the
middle aged Asian man stood at the podium. His daughter was on the Hit talent
contest “Canta Conmigo” and the only thing that stood in the way of his child
advancing with gifts and cash prizes, was his ability to get this one answer
about pop culture correct. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Who
is the artist who appeared in the music video with Jonesith?<o:p></o:p></div>
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<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="margin-left: 2.25in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
A)<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span>El Nigga<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 2.25in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
B)<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span>Makano<o:p></o:p></div>
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C)<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span>Eddy Lover<o:p></o:p></div>
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The Man gazed blankly as only middle-aged people who are
asked about tween pop music acts can. <o:p></o:p></div>
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“El Nigga” said the Man.<o:p></o:p></div>
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He was wrong. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I was on the floor totally confused.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Tons of Questions flew around my brain. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Why was
this artist named Nigga?<o:p></o:p></div>
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Was he a
rapper?<o:p></o:p></div>
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Was he even
Black?<o:p></o:p></div>
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Did he make
American style hip-hop?<o:p></o:p></div>
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Is watching
a middle aged Asian father use the word Nigga the funniest and most awkward
occurrence on Television…in the history of Television?<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCJYIyC8-w0552JDHBzt0zF2zdNVjA4CI1t7yEEuLBaBf9895Nxd6D_l74e7CgI1FysziOHC8RVPnSEaSALty2XajEzJ8d6S6PdZMxv9SSjQ9f3wNV87dzCZv4HqusmVavFf3OEgYq-6w/s1600/el+nigga.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCJYIyC8-w0552JDHBzt0zF2zdNVjA4CI1t7yEEuLBaBf9895Nxd6D_l74e7CgI1FysziOHC8RVPnSEaSALty2XajEzJ8d6S6PdZMxv9SSjQ9f3wNV87dzCZv4HqusmVavFf3OEgYq-6w/s400/el+nigga.jpeg" height="299" width="400" /></a></div>
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I was so confused. As an avid Hip-hop lover and as an
African American I am no stranger to the “N word”. I hear it all the time. The word has been
used by my great aunts at the dinner table, used by me and the majority of my
friends as a pronoun, and used by hip hop artist and R&B singers. The word also has more insidious uses as
well. Classmates from her private school called my little sister, Nigger while
she ice-skated. I was called a “Nigger B**ch” by a roommate during a discussion
about gas usage. My Ancestors know what it was like to be spit on, excluded,
and sometimes even killed while their oppressors used the word. At its worst,
the Word “Nigger” and some would argue “Nigga” has been used to strip Afro decedents
of their humanity. At its best, its word
that has been ripped from the hands of those who used it as a weapon, stripped
of its negative power, and used by the people it was meant to make powerless.
It has been turned by some into a piece of music, a joke, or at its basic level
a word. Of course I have friends who are Black and refuse to use the word based
on its history and the pain associated with it.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Imagine
then my surprise when a non-American artist takes this complicated and loaded
word as his Stage Name! It was very
surreal to see a person so divorced from the history of that word or the place
that birthed that word using it so casually. I immediately did some research on
the music of “El Nigga”. I was sure
that I would hear posturing about living in the hood al la Meek Mills or Rick
Ross. Imagine my surprise when I actually
heard his songs.<o:p></o:p></div>
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He is the
leader of a style of Spanish Reggae called “Romantic Style”. He basically makes sappy love songs to a
break /Ski beat. Which makes the whole name even stranger. His light complexion
was confusing. In the African American community, you can be dark ebony or so
pale cream with blue eyes and straight hair. No matter your complexion, hair
texture, or features if you have African ancestry in the U.S. you are looked at
as a Black person. I have had many conversations about race and social justice
and many people, who could essentially “pass” for White, proudly proclaim their
Blackness. <o:p></o:p></div>
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It is very
different here in Panama. Complexion in many circles determines your race.
Elders in my village have told me of their children. One would be Moreno like
me and the other would be Blanco (White). 2 children born to the same
parents can be different races. People who
would be considered Light skin or Carmel colored in the states are considered
white. EL Nigga is the color of butterscotch when he is tan and lighter otherwise.
He may come from Afro Decedents but on surface he isn’t Moreno. Which makes his
taking up the Moniker “El Nigga” even weirder.
<o:p></o:p></div>
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I sat
really conflicted on what to feel about this artist and his strange name. I
spoke to people in my community about the history of the word here in the
United States. It was not until I had a talk to my Regional leader (Peace Corps
Volunteer who organizes and helps other PCVs in a certain region of the
country) about El Nigga that I was able learn more about this Artist and his
history.<o:p></o:p></div>
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It turns
out that his cousin lives in my town and that El Nigga is actually from my
Region! The cousin and all of Azuero (My
Region) are very proud of him. It turns out that his “Romantic Style” is in
direct reaction to more hardcore and violent music. This music came about after
the U.S. Led invasion that killed over 5,000 civilians and decimated whole
neighborhoods in the late 80’s. Once prosperous regions were reduced to
ghettos. Their Black, Brown, Poor inhabitants had an influx of American weaponry,
no central government or police, and no job opportunities. As you could imagine this turned into a very
violent place. Inhabitants took their frustrations about the system and the
hard life they were living in rap flavored reggae tracks. These tracks were
nihilistic in their view and fairly violent.
Misogyny was also rampant. Which makes sense if you think about U.S.
Service men, poverty, and sex work during that time. El nigga began to make
music in this environment. He made music to make women feel wanted and valued.
He eschewed violence and instead talked about positivity and steeped his music
in the Afro-Panamanian tradition of Tamborito.
It turns out that although he divorced from American history of the
Nigger/Nigga, he steeped in his own Afro Latino culture. This really helped me have a more evolved
since of El Nigga and what he is trying to do. I still think his music sounds a
bit hokey and in the U.S. he goes by the name DJ Flex…because he is not stupid
I imagine. What do you guys think about El Nigga? The name, music, and man?<o:p></o:p></div>
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Here is a sampling of his work:<o:p></o:p></div>
Bikohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14298607911147422454noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6381664471593688060.post-31726357546643113052012-05-21T21:40:00.001-07:002012-05-21T21:40:44.318-07:00Photos of the Day: A long walk Twins, Mother and Child,<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Here are some original Photographs</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPorb6IrTQUZTt6N3UbfvAZywYVM06S3WbzFTZ8fL8VYoMiiX8bwZ7E_SB-8k9zt6zzlR0dO9JJr8nelcpegCZSs6Syf8V51uafH9EHeavUc4eiJMS_WOVyiQM-6S2sGBmc33zRbKOD3k/s1600/DSC_1147.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPorb6IrTQUZTt6N3UbfvAZywYVM06S3WbzFTZ8fL8VYoMiiX8bwZ7E_SB-8k9zt6zzlR0dO9JJr8nelcpegCZSs6Syf8V51uafH9EHeavUc4eiJMS_WOVyiQM-6S2sGBmc33zRbKOD3k/s320/DSC_1147.JPG" width="214" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6phnWFJacDXTva9Vk7YDW4uiWd-0Yk351yoH4aGUdKTOPYgrJysI6laOZjcjo3wWvw00OejjhMWF0IkhPcuQJLLPyk3zWZTeg8dPH_A14WjCFiWgQ89QZw9V1P-ZWUen9sw5Cz0Pg5F8/s1600/DSC_1185.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6phnWFJacDXTva9Vk7YDW4uiWd-0Yk351yoH4aGUdKTOPYgrJysI6laOZjcjo3wWvw00OejjhMWF0IkhPcuQJLLPyk3zWZTeg8dPH_A14WjCFiWgQ89QZw9V1P-ZWUen9sw5Cz0Pg5F8/s320/DSC_1185.JPG" width="214" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif1wx6v_h8ueCsrb3jKga2AZ8bnRD2AM36qbOqxSI4DY-EYNmIinOmFyKwPgCOxqz91kOPMmll5hIYBd4wztBJiGAze-YlKGKzcJWXnT6j67tFquBC9eG6uR3WSVBZdaa-nfT1-IWnQgs/s1600/DSC_1189.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif1wx6v_h8ueCsrb3jKga2AZ8bnRD2AM36qbOqxSI4DY-EYNmIinOmFyKwPgCOxqz91kOPMmll5hIYBd4wztBJiGAze-YlKGKzcJWXnT6j67tFquBC9eG6uR3WSVBZdaa-nfT1-IWnQgs/s320/DSC_1189.JPG" width="192" /></a></div>
<br />Bikohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14298607911147422454noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6381664471593688060.post-15259428756422720882012-05-16T21:22:00.001-07:002012-05-16T21:22:23.539-07:00Long time no see<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
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I had been religiously updating my blog, so my lack of
posting in these past few weeks have left somewhat of a hole in the fabric of
my life. In the space of my absence I have met a huge milestone in the life of
my blog: I hit 1,000 views. Thanks to everybody that read and shared my
stories. I never thought anyone outside of my family would read them yet here
we are over 1,000 views in a month. You may be wondering then if I was at such
a high momentum with page views, why I stopped posting?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Well for the past few weeks I have been incredibly sick and
last week could barely see.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Last week I incurred some sort of eye infection. My eyes
would leak fluid and then that fluid would harden into a crust around my eyes.
When I would close my eyes at night by the morning I could not open them. They
would be sealed shut. I had to use much effort and water to remove this
hardened shell from around my eyes. Once I was finally able to open my eyes, I
was greeted by a persistent stinging. At first it was dull and just a minor inconvenience
but before long it felt like glass was being shredded in my eyes. It would be so painful that I was forced to
retreat into my room with bottles of water on my eyes. Most times I try to play
cool and wait things out but when I told my father about my eyes he begged me
to call my PCMO (Peace Corps Medical Officer).
I did and the office was so helpful. They advised me to go into the
large city near my town and visit the clinic that has credit with Peace
Corps. Unlike the US, I could go to the
clinic without fear of having to pay a bunch of money. As a PCV, I have free
high quality health insurance. I sat in private clinic that seemed to be stuck
in the late 60’s or early 70’s. The décor was mod and orange. A doctor saw me
with a wait of less then 30 min and had my prescription filled in the hour. The medicine was also free. It took another 5
days before glass-shredding effect in my eyes waned. I lost allot of Pasear and
teaching time in this period, which made me feel bad as I was just getting my footing
in these areas. However as I lay in my bed I was able to think about time and
sickness in a very interesting way. I have been in site for almost 2 months.
Out of those 2 months I have had very serious sicknesses for at least 3 weeks…Yet
I have not felt like a sick person or unhappy. Even with my eyes sealed I was
pretty upbeat. Although my body was going through all sorts of changes my
spirit, heart, and mind felt great! <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Now I am back and ready to write. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<!--EndFragment-->Bikohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14298607911147422454noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6381664471593688060.post-20335667166101624792012-05-09T21:31:00.004-07:002012-05-13T01:18:51.779-07:00Photos of the Day: Children<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Anyone who knows me knows about my love for children. They are the apple of my eye. Every job that I have had and every job that I hope to ever have, has in some way touched children. My Peace Corps Life is filled with all types of kids. In the schools, In the park, or while pasearing I spend time and take portraits of them. Here are some of my favorite shots of Children.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP1E8t_k8zqZTLcwq7blHrfrYzFG-JuoiQU6_dkX2R2sKDbKRY3c7SgoanzjwKS2d9daeYmFDtwrnA8wR7WlCMOoYJgmx2Rhj4d8srfdojeIVNAqqMW4AkMyQaOPdYPIqMS4icNyeHlig/s1600/DSC_1430.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP1E8t_k8zqZTLcwq7blHrfrYzFG-JuoiQU6_dkX2R2sKDbKRY3c7SgoanzjwKS2d9daeYmFDtwrnA8wR7WlCMOoYJgmx2Rhj4d8srfdojeIVNAqqMW4AkMyQaOPdYPIqMS4icNyeHlig/s320/DSC_1430.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Riding an play horse</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkCvT9fA4FCVbZTAD15rQFfZ3vwfh1zgEkxuCqhQ4UeSuEpSZ9DuWhjDJpb29xBiwfMnH716Kk4pFT-5dkv8gPwnTiNbixcdAnOBplbASRdoagtivhZ6loJZgTIsuzHxvEFmemM6d1BoI/s1600/DSC_1438.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkCvT9fA4FCVbZTAD15rQFfZ3vwfh1zgEkxuCqhQ4UeSuEpSZ9DuWhjDJpb29xBiwfMnH716Kk4pFT-5dkv8gPwnTiNbixcdAnOBplbASRdoagtivhZ6loJZgTIsuzHxvEFmemM6d1BoI/s320/DSC_1438.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Playing where the chickens fight to the death</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<br />Bikohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14298607911147422454noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6381664471593688060.post-15258832632231676042012-05-01T21:34:00.001-07:002012-05-08T02:07:54.308-07:00The Wild Ones<br />
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Have you ever seen horses dance to Tipico music? How about a seeing a bull charge for you only
separated by a few bars? These were just a few of the adventures I experienced
last Saturday. <o:p></o:p></div>
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The day
started with an invitation from Oni and her husband to accompany them to a
concert. My favorite Panamanian band Sammy y Sandra were performing. I am
a huge music lover and back home went to concerts religiously. It looked like my 2 years of Peace Corps
service would be without many concerts so I jumped at the chance to attend. Oni
and her husband Fidel pilled their 2 children, an uncle, an aunt, a grandma,
and me in a car originally meant for 5 people. Oni and I shared a seat, which was quite a feat. As we drove through the countryside, lush hills and quaint
towns became a blur. We pulled into a long drive and pulled up to a stone gate.
Oni paid our fare and we entered. Right away it was like a circus. My eye could
not figure out which amazing thing to take in first. There were chicken fights,
a bullfight with lots of people leaning on a gate waiting for the bull to
charge them. The smell of delicious fried food hung in the air. There was a
full band. None of this could however, match the stunning beauty of the dancing horses.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
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“Boom do dam do dam boom” Played the band in the Tipico
beat. The Horses lifted their hoofs to time and dipped and bowed. I had never
seen anything so beautiful.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The bull fight was crazy. The Bull slamed against the fence not a foot away from me. I had to jump back and almost ran into a dancing horse! Here are some shots of the Bull Fight:<br />
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As the sunset, the campground really got live. The Men had a
section for gambling while others battled out Salimar songs. The food and drink flowed.
The night was cool and I enjoyed the time hanging with my friends and dancing
with Oni’s Mother. After 4 hours of waiting, my favorite band Sammy y Sandra
took the stage. Sandra has an amazingly
rich voice and loves to dance. She does allot of hip gyrations and wears crazy
clothes. Sort of like a non-awful Nicki Minaj. That night she had on a lime
green mesh dress that stopped just short of her jewels. The dress was totally
see through save for sporadically spaced crystals. Oni’s husband was drunk and made a great
effort to go up on the stage and talk to management about me. They ended up
shouting out me at the “North Americana par alla (Over there)” He then tried to
get me to dance with her in front of no less then 3 thousand people. I was
mortified. I begged him not too and he settled on making me go on stage and
take pictures with the band. That wasn’t so bad. It was not only a concert but also a baile,
which is a Dance. Thousands of couples
paired up to dance Tipico. Tipico dancing is very strange to me. It looks as if
all the couples our wound up pieces in a music box. The tops of their bodies
stay completely straight and their feet move about clumsily and at high speed.
Most of the night is spent bumping into other people. It is so counter to how I
dance. I dance with my hips and butt while swaying my arms. This makes Panamanians
declare me an amazing dancer. Even the star of the night commended me on my
moves. I danced a little Tipico but denied
the men who came up to me and said “Hey Morena come here and dance with me”. I danced with Oni and her husband. Fidel lost
it on the dance floor. He began to jump all over the place with his arms
outstretched and a broad smile on his face.
At one point of the night there was a Machete fight that broke out. This
is fairly common here and was quickly dealt with. I don’t think anyone died. It was such a beautiful night. I didn’t get
home until 2 in the morning! <o:p></o:p><br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/1X09Nic5ESI?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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here is some video of Sammy y Sandra playing my favorite song. </div>
<br /></div>Bikohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14298607911147422454noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6381664471593688060.post-56213787587475113882012-05-01T19:49:00.000-07:002012-05-29T04:46:08.862-07:00The longest Road: My Path to The Peace Corps<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
As I work
on this blog, I am meeting lots of new people. Many are perspective Peace Corps
Volunteers. They see me living this wonderful life of service and want to know
how I got here. When I was in their
place, I devoured every blog, Peace Corps message board, and book about how to get to Peace Corps land. I’d love
to share my detour filled path to Panama with you all.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I learned
about the Peace Corps through word of mouth and decided that it was for me. All
my life I had been of service to others. I traveled all over the world with
organizations and was ultra involved in high school. I was the girl in school that was president of everything, star
of everything, and somehow kept a 3.9 g.p.a.
College was very different. I worked for the Obama Campaign and started
a live arts show but that was it in terms of involvement. I knew I wanted to
give more of myself and live internationally. I had dreams of working for
UNICEF and helping children all around the world. The Peace Corps sounded like
a wonderful way to give back and live the life of a development worker. So one
day I walked into the kitchen of my parent’s house and told my stepmom, “I want
to join the Peace Corps”. She stood and
stared. “Ok baby but it is very competitive are you ready for that?” I said
that I was. As senior year started, I started the process in earnest. I got my
recommendations, and worked hard on my application. By early January 2010 my
application was complete. My parents were still wondering when I was going to
start my graduate school applications. At this point I decided that I did not want to
go to graduate school right away. I needed to do the Peace Corps first or work.
I needed the space away from school. This
was a huge let down for my parents at first. They did not understand why I
would put all my eggs in the Peace Corps basket and not entertain the option of
applying to graduate school. Why would I put myself in poverty and harsh
conditions for 2 years when I could be pushing myself to the upper middleclass
life that they had provided for me. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I kept on
the road that I knew was right for me. I had my interview and a week later I
got a call from my recruiter. Ms. Wong had called to tell me that I would be
nominated and that I looked at as competitive. There was a program that was
about to close out but I would get that slot once I got through medical/dental
and legal. This should be easy I
thought. I am healthy minus the asthma. I was turned into a pincushion while
the medical office took blood and ran test. I got all of my X-rays and found
and fixed my first cavity. I was nominated for South or Central America and was
to leave in July or Aug of 2010. I was so excited! I told everybody I knew. I
did not look for a job. I just tried to prepare myself for service. In May, I got
a letter saying that I was put on hold until I got my wisdom teeth pulled out. My
wisdom teeth did not bother me and it would be expensive but I did it. As the
blood was still in my mouth during recovery and letter from the Peace Corps
came. In it was not my invitation but a letter of deferment. I had been
deferred from my dream for a year, held in purgatory. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
I also had another package in my
medical that many people may not have. When you fill out you preliminary
medical application you are asked to check boxes for everything that applies to
you. There was a box that said, “Have you ever been to a therapist or
participated in group?” I checked the
yes box and didn’t think much of it at the time. My childhood and teenage years had been
filled with allot of trauma and I had a totally different life when I entered
college. My family and I thought it
would be smart to take advantage of the free therapy on my campus. I saw a
therapist for the majority of my college experience and joined Black Women’s
support group and also a mindfulness meditation group. At different points in
college I had anxiety and had a small bout with depression. This is something
that most if not all college students grapple with during their college
experience. My time in therapy helped me
develop coping mechanisms that others don’t have. I actually viewed this as an
asset. The Peace Corps thought
otherwise. I was so embarrassed and sad. I had told everyone I was leaving and
had not looked for a job. I challenged the findings by the Peace Corps and my therapist
wrote a letter in my defense. She felt that I was more then ready to serve. The
Peace Corps stood by their decision. I would have to wait a year and then get
another write off from my therapist to declare that I could exist without
therapy. I found a job as a substitute
teacher. I was so good that I would be picked up to teach classes’ long term. I
taught kindergarten for 3 months and taught high school Spanish for 4 months.
It was very difficult but I was also doing something that I loved. I lived independent
for the first time and paid bills for the first time. I fell in love and broke
up with my first love. In short, I
became an adult. In the summer I began to au pair for a doctor family that also
doubled as my mentors. During this time my parents became even more upset. I
still had not applied to grad school. I was still banking on the Peace Corps
working out. I come from a family of
strivers. Ivy league trained lawyers, MBA holders, and my father is a fierce intellectual.
It was unfathomable for them to have their daughter living in the hood working
a job without benefits. They stood by me although they were confused and
worried. In May of 2011, I got off of deferment
and received a call from Peace Corps.
Although I had dedicated my academic life to studying the Latino World
and economics there was no room for me in Latin America. I was offered Tunisia
or Morocco. This was just as the Sexual Assaults
of Volunteers was receiving prime time coverage. The Middle East was a
dangerous place for a woman, especially a woman who was not Muslim or religious
at all. I was told that I could leave by July but I had a day to say yes to the
Middle East… I said no. I was told that
I would have to wait until August for another shot and that I would take that
spot or would not serve. I waited and sure enough in August a huge blue packet
arrived at my parents house. I finally
got my invitation! I was going to be a CEC volunteer in Panama. My father
thought Community Environmental Conservation was a fancy way of saying that I
would spend 2 years picking up trash in the street. Lol In spite of this he and
my stepmom supported me. My grandparents were very afraid but as time drew near
they became more proud. The next few months were amazing. I worked even more on
my mindfulness and mental health. I lived with amazing friends, I worked full
time at an amazing school near my house. By January it was time to say my
goodbyes and leave my old life for my new one.
I started this journey in 2010 and it is now 2012. It was a long journey
but now everyone in my life sees that it was well worth the wait. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
So that’s my story guys! If you
want this Peace Corps life stay as flexible as you can but don’t sell yourself
out for something that you know won’t work for you. Also do not sell all your
stuff when you get your nomination. You never know how long you will have to
wait. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>Bikohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14298607911147422454noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6381664471593688060.post-4449516065478961842012-05-01T19:41:00.001-07:002012-05-01T19:41:33.382-07:00My Best Friend: Oni<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I met her within the first 10 min of me entering my house.
Oni lives in a pink house next door to me. Right away she took my hand and
showed me around. We spent the afternoon laughing and joking and I knew then
that we were destined to be great friends.
She is freshly 40 but does not look a day over 30. Oni is quick to smile
and slow to anger. We have spent countless hours together watching movies,
talking about life, and dancing. She loves to throw parties at her house every
Saturday and she invites all the children…and me. Oni also loves to do nails and has made
creations on my nails that put the best nail salon in Philly to shame. Oni also has a great love of educating
herself. She has great pride in her English studies. Her coveted binder is
filled with pictures of animals, colors, and family members written in English.
She loves to greet me with a random “Good Morning. Mother’s house!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am not
the first American she has loved. Our first conversations were filled with
musings about “Natasha”. Natasha volunteered with the group Amigos de Americas
and lived in the house behind ours. Natasha spent many days crying from
homesickness and could not speak much Spanish. Oni was the only person that she
felt safe with. Natasha only lived in the community for 3 months but left such
a huge impression on Oni that she sometimes cried. One day she showed me a letter that had been
kept in pristine condition. It was a beautifully etched greeting card with
golden lettering. Oni’s face lit up with pride as she showed me the card and I
hoped that I would make the impact on somebody that shy, homesick Natasha had.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
One day
almost put a violent end to our friendship. Oni has 2 children, a boy and a
girl, one day her son was hanging outside my house with a friend of his. I had never seen the friend before. He was a
beautiful brown little boy with cool platinum like chain. He looked like the
boys I taught back in Philly. They were both 11-year-old boys full of fun and
mischief. The friend bopped up to me and
right away began asking me tons of questions. At first they nice innocent
questions like, “ Did you take an airplane here?” “What is it like in the
United States”. However, his questions quickly devolved into inappropriate
sexual questions and questions about body parts. He then in English started to
yell things like “Bend over”. Oni’s son stood by and laughed and said inappropriate
things about drugs with the friend. I
was so confused and angry and hurt. I love children so much and for them to
treat me this way shocked me. Back in
Philly as a teacher, I have meet lots of broken children. Some have tried to
fight me, many have called me out of my name, and one threatened to rape me.
Yet this was Panama, and I knew one of these boys. I said in all the Spanish
that I could muster, “ No Pueden hablar con migo en esta via, Sin repecto” You
can’t talk to me this way without respect.
I walked to the back of my house and went to my room. They followed me into my house and walked
into my room yelling nasty things. I told them to get out and they sat by my
window yelling. I was so hurt and felt
so violated. Oni and her son live next door and I teach him in the school.
However, I did not want anything to do with any of them. It was the first time
during my Peace Corps service that I cried. I felt unsafe. If men or teens saw
what happened they could do the same thing. In Philly, I could cuss them out
and put fear in them. If they knew I wasn’t to be punked out they would be less
likely to try me. But I am a Peace Corps Volunteer. To do that would ruin every
relationship in my village and go against my goals. To make matters worse I had
no idea who the friend belonged too. How could he be held responsible? My host
mom held me and said she would talk to the adults of the children. I shrunk to
my room, meditated and cried myself to sleep. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In the
morning, Oni stood in my doorway and begged me to talk to her. She asked me to
recount everything that happened. As I did, tears welled in her eyes. She was
so hurt by her son’s actions and also felt embarrassed. She told me that she
loved me so much and that she did not want to lose my friendship. She set up a
meeting with her husband and also found the family of the little boy. We sat
and talked about what happened. It turned out that the boy, just like allot of
the kids in Philly, came from a broken home and was most likely being sexually
abused by an American man in his town. My anger for the little boy broke. I
know that brokenness breads brokenness and only love can cure that. Oni’s son
was no longer allowed in my house and later that week I spoke to him. Instead
of yelling I just asked him why he supported and joined in with the harassment.
He said that he was trying to be cool and that he didn’t know how to stop it.
He told me he was sorry and would never do it again. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Everything
is good between us now. We spend most days together and just went out on a
whole day adventure. I was able to salvage my friendship with Oni and it even
became stronger. I learned that at those really low times, my community does
have my back. They know I am here to work with them and to help and they want
me here. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Here are some shots of Oni:<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS8it7j8Qp8kt4FMbvoHkae3kOANBR5sbFjZj4PxG68oc8NNIPmp5VTQyzHE-cY-vhyphenhyphenLzQqUmwqLet7vnJ5m6HmSnM5ldfVMIkrjF-zTsIPhMgavMpiu712IhSB6eU-Z5ma_K_7j65DgA/s1600/DSC_1111.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS8it7j8Qp8kt4FMbvoHkae3kOANBR5sbFjZj4PxG68oc8NNIPmp5VTQyzHE-cY-vhyphenhyphenLzQqUmwqLet7vnJ5m6HmSnM5ldfVMIkrjF-zTsIPhMgavMpiu712IhSB6eU-Z5ma_K_7j65DgA/s400/DSC_1111.JPG" width="267" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1MtAjqZX8tHqvZipP7EzKon4bdrJGKN-qVBl6rmCM4lKnSZDNPQ6M77amt2EG2sYh7SyXGdf7sYN-0qKlkzPMWatELkJycmbhPzYSlK_bWoAn-fKRWaoFJo4w-2l4iZaRfeQ2gHBbEmQ/s1600/DSC_1183.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1MtAjqZX8tHqvZipP7EzKon4bdrJGKN-qVBl6rmCM4lKnSZDNPQ6M77amt2EG2sYh7SyXGdf7sYN-0qKlkzPMWatELkJycmbhPzYSlK_bWoAn-fKRWaoFJo4w-2l4iZaRfeQ2gHBbEmQ/s400/DSC_1183.JPG" width="267" /></a></div>
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiqKlKJ31NCCQCVsz9mbPn8KpQwas2XoHH5suy-NmXTGQ5fEs5976Sm2ua246T5lpIB74Sh4uQ1tlQN6bPqtBSs-eBFWrjZxfgT1efP1I5383RCozfb-mbb1r7OHvJstlPbdveCu10IXk/s1600/DSC_1286.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiqKlKJ31NCCQCVsz9mbPn8KpQwas2XoHH5suy-NmXTGQ5fEs5976Sm2ua246T5lpIB74Sh4uQ1tlQN6bPqtBSs-eBFWrjZxfgT1efP1I5383RCozfb-mbb1r7OHvJstlPbdveCu10IXk/s400/DSC_1286.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Oni and I with her sister in the backround :)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFtcJbI6OA6_NydoC0jIAcg5HLxY_hIeAM5uKTO5OSf99zSUGgZRocJv803s5NHW4A0r4khHWUeajlIbK0ZbtEGu8mQqflqLxywbSflhjvV7UXk05jYuZsxvuAapfl-QaN340ktLJXSuA/s1600/DSC_1272.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFtcJbI6OA6_NydoC0jIAcg5HLxY_hIeAM5uKTO5OSf99zSUGgZRocJv803s5NHW4A0r4khHWUeajlIbK0ZbtEGu8mQqflqLxywbSflhjvV7UXk05jYuZsxvuAapfl-QaN340ktLJXSuA/s400/DSC_1272.JPG" width="267" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<!--EndFragment-->Bikohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14298607911147422454noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6381664471593688060.post-31093236628530027702012-05-01T19:16:00.002-07:002012-05-01T20:00:30.180-07:00Elders<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I adore Elders. They are my favorite group of people next to
babies. At their best they are full of wisdom and have a freedom to express
themselves that comes from a lifetime of not being able to say what you want. During
my Peace Corps service, it has been the elders who have gone out of their way
to welcome me. They teach me about natural medicine. They laugh at my name.
They show me their scars from recent operations. Sometimes they say nothing and
we just sit on their porch for an hour or 2. I have made a photographic essay
on the people I treasure. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The Elders:<o:p></o:p></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9YZP_Kezft1k5ZV5Sucv1QpH0dFtrsnZizQrq37QcsC1q9Wsls0QimRbLkfAoh3lhjfmGULUQ8bWm-cUxIVWLJ-e8DJ7tFAJeqSI4RjrDJxlFKsNv9-k9YTBB18SOwkFxUMifwH-8Im0/s1600/DSC_1030.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9YZP_Kezft1k5ZV5Sucv1QpH0dFtrsnZizQrq37QcsC1q9Wsls0QimRbLkfAoh3lhjfmGULUQ8bWm-cUxIVWLJ-e8DJ7tFAJeqSI4RjrDJxlFKsNv9-k9YTBB18SOwkFxUMifwH-8Im0/s320/DSC_1030.JPG" width="214" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A very fly elder.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4CXQFfKM3-4g6tPKGCfwjcC9MwcfBvvlYZqAPisHozguyJQUFuHbsMLiD7ULU6Qf7BmoLnPBHvtUd_FSxE1HH9S_OzGWF4uOSDkYuPBNlunP_f76r0q5459NJfH0Gwn-QYwICo-2nEJA/s1600/DSC_1106.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4CXQFfKM3-4g6tPKGCfwjcC9MwcfBvvlYZqAPisHozguyJQUFuHbsMLiD7ULU6Qf7BmoLnPBHvtUd_FSxE1HH9S_OzGWF4uOSDkYuPBNlunP_f76r0q5459NJfH0Gwn-QYwICo-2nEJA/s400/DSC_1106.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My host grandpa chilling with his radio</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha_qBBKjvT0f2_hDl1cJBjrMsCywMFwGbCRrF4j_AvIyCR59RZoQuUHy3QL4AxNe5JtSdFByOFvFvPnj_z5eWLHQb0pw5IqQni3ua-cKBgUmx0q4YrkkvaQqqujzwepVLwCQAzI2q9RbU/s1600/DSC_1128.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha_qBBKjvT0f2_hDl1cJBjrMsCywMFwGbCRrF4j_AvIyCR59RZoQuUHy3QL4AxNe5JtSdFByOFvFvPnj_z5eWLHQb0pw5IqQni3ua-cKBgUmx0q4YrkkvaQqqujzwepVLwCQAzI2q9RbU/s400/DSC_1128.JPG" width="267" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Elder with flowers</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHOiHa1yDwugm8wvLR2WTWvFJK8s-B0ZtDexm2qeQ4cpogTAMm95EeJqqu0aqSMcZOFB3l3um1hzoolau5E-5ylYdCaVDNpe0akb5M9PEt5Yzil02KP7xbAUkEsN1ewyewnvRHEz4cI94/s1600/DSC_1130.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHOiHa1yDwugm8wvLR2WTWvFJK8s-B0ZtDexm2qeQ4cpogTAMm95EeJqqu0aqSMcZOFB3l3um1hzoolau5E-5ylYdCaVDNpe0akb5M9PEt5Yzil02KP7xbAUkEsN1ewyewnvRHEz4cI94/s400/DSC_1130.JPG" width="187" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Goddess</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDGr-0KbiID4ISc0x9tKNDrJUyybuS-gZUXn-Ebl64morAeUNvStpx9S2pcgoFdOMz_p5oAxtADROvD9YJx7Ju9xcXRHN49wKKktFMRyC-o3WyPK8wHjad5A1geW4hcE5fcskSENFhQXw/s1600/DSC_1133.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDGr-0KbiID4ISc0x9tKNDrJUyybuS-gZUXn-Ebl64morAeUNvStpx9S2pcgoFdOMz_p5oAxtADROvD9YJx7Ju9xcXRHN49wKKktFMRyC-o3WyPK8wHjad5A1geW4hcE5fcskSENFhQXw/s400/DSC_1133.JPG" width="267" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Teaching me about about a medicinal plant used to fight diabetes. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Grandma and Grandson</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFBPPOAPFvK-Eu0a13cU_YCkzc6unlw5mLeZzcROQTvhhnn_xcPVDco8jqR1wfn6fMnW6aI6vjPhxWxuac19BRxIquOkjelppl1Kz8UNlazGZr_gs06ug03I-sPN_6rDnyACNL2CgtQoA/s1600/DSC_1162.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFBPPOAPFvK-Eu0a13cU_YCkzc6unlw5mLeZzcROQTvhhnn_xcPVDco8jqR1wfn6fMnW6aI6vjPhxWxuac19BRxIquOkjelppl1Kz8UNlazGZr_gs06ug03I-sPN_6rDnyACNL2CgtQoA/s400/DSC_1162.JPG" width="267" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stoic Elder</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx7FW4UKzMWEo8nA-1c9rCibwIoxlad22fHvzASkyCpLzeZGVrDaobxIgvBq0IrB_y_d0GzpAoLfu6pkD2ZYawzKxOrTNOl07UQHElkNcd2eiy0msMv9JTp4yaEXY0nh9os9NCIrWG3RQ/s1600/DSC_1191.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx7FW4UKzMWEo8nA-1c9rCibwIoxlad22fHvzASkyCpLzeZGVrDaobxIgvBq0IrB_y_d0GzpAoLfu6pkD2ZYawzKxOrTNOl07UQHElkNcd2eiy0msMv9JTp4yaEXY0nh9os9NCIrWG3RQ/s400/DSC_1191.JPG" width="267" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This elder is 90 years old and still loves to visit friends. This is him and his favorite hat.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc4e8y1GDERavX4MgCk9ACdLzA4oh33CgcutjnwYry680C8yvHE0V2uN8LlJy4KbzJuQkMC27s7P8OJwCnlCKgAob2QgSiOaMTjlCpE-odFUUBSBqK0W8dXOUl8VDw8HlQPGonv5Sv0Ko/s1600/DSC_1166.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc4e8y1GDERavX4MgCk9ACdLzA4oh33CgcutjnwYry680C8yvHE0V2uN8LlJy4KbzJuQkMC27s7P8OJwCnlCKgAob2QgSiOaMTjlCpE-odFUUBSBqK0W8dXOUl8VDw8HlQPGonv5Sv0Ko/s400/DSC_1166.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Elveka and one of my favorite Elders,</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeLntLJV7GP29LfsYqHJO9zVtQqNZKxflkmq1771SAomWor_orG5bMZ-G9_26D9sN428zc4cOPEsnyMMQhYOEH4KjcqfC-0v2xl847aQgOj6oh9MOcY-Kvpy4xRahWQCNAEHTSZ2QEZFo/s1600/DSC_1185.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeLntLJV7GP29LfsYqHJO9zVtQqNZKxflkmq1771SAomWor_orG5bMZ-G9_26D9sN428zc4cOPEsnyMMQhYOEH4KjcqfC-0v2xl847aQgOj6oh9MOcY-Kvpy4xRahWQCNAEHTSZ2QEZFo/s400/DSC_1185.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
<br />
Oni with her mother. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiwi9ofeAZDk6YgbWdDr2Zv-Su3sj6QTdgjKfM8d9gd4cVTde7YppZp9k1jQATVu1C_R2oJDb_KsJgTAhwcnKTsEekjXbtNXlY7W75BaXX7Ym5lNmSRxva8pMyyUFndWrVGQooHJyY4wk/s1600/DSC_1170.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiwi9ofeAZDk6YgbWdDr2Zv-Su3sj6QTdgjKfM8d9gd4cVTde7YppZp9k1jQATVu1C_R2oJDb_KsJgTAhwcnKTsEekjXbtNXlY7W75BaXX7Ym5lNmSRxva8pMyyUFndWrVGQooHJyY4wk/s400/DSC_1170.JPG" width="267" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Evelka with her grandma who is also a medicine woman.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQAogLxo2q7BIrwN7k0H4SvZPdX5gaJvw-st_DVtrKBo48T2expCGtLehLWIJHQhvkNmFhU7aCIUsYsAMD8AjzgSbR31WqlzI6f8VpipdqVhRKaDnC_90wGTMqp1qQhk4uh0XBVdWgD4M/s1600/DSC_1168.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQAogLxo2q7BIrwN7k0H4SvZPdX5gaJvw-st_DVtrKBo48T2expCGtLehLWIJHQhvkNmFhU7aCIUsYsAMD8AjzgSbR31WqlzI6f8VpipdqVhRKaDnC_90wGTMqp1qQhk4uh0XBVdWgD4M/s400/DSC_1168.JPG" width="267" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Elder Swag. Although he is in his 60's he is single. Tell your grandma's :)</td></tr>
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<br /></div>Bikohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14298607911147422454noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6381664471593688060.post-31999249723841526702012-04-25T18:38:00.001-07:002012-04-25T21:49:54.291-07:00Peace Corps Swear inOn march 14th I swore in as a official Peace Corps Volunteer. After 2 and half months it was a huge celebration. After a year deferment and almost another year of waiting I was finally an official Peace Corps Volunteer. Here are some photos of me and my friends. All shots of me were taken by my great friend fellow PCV Felipe from North Carolina.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOkC0lalQqFgalQAeZvynyE7hsNNoklP4rJjt5eQWWtE-F0kODnqJhHQ0IERQllOK_rG7ofL8632xIGFhV3B2B8zYw9513cKJj8-YHcdsMr5DpM_MQ9Zx06cdRagRXBH5ieAhgOY8mkZ0/s1600/DSC_1047.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOkC0lalQqFgalQAeZvynyE7hsNNoklP4rJjt5eQWWtE-F0kODnqJhHQ0IERQllOK_rG7ofL8632xIGFhV3B2B8zYw9513cKJj8-YHcdsMr5DpM_MQ9Zx06cdRagRXBH5ieAhgOY8mkZ0/s400/DSC_1047.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My great friends Felipe and Rebecca. Such an amazing team and volunteers. Rebecca wrote a beautiful speech on behalf of the CEC sector and spoke in front of many higher ups in government. She spoke in perfect Spanish! </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh37yDWPZO-ecYGV-tu84yFPu3Xl3STBiLrtj4_ibpNX0W9VVharlZzYR3B3Mzp0LxprplTS2u1UUJq4Sl2uWSF30a4e1DIyZMBhsZ88fL4GZTm4Initiu-WVtb9JXsMoA5wUtROGyt_c/s1600/DSC_1050.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh37yDWPZO-ecYGV-tu84yFPu3Xl3STBiLrtj4_ibpNX0W9VVharlZzYR3B3Mzp0LxprplTS2u1UUJq4Sl2uWSF30a4e1DIyZMBhsZ88fL4GZTm4Initiu-WVtb9JXsMoA5wUtROGyt_c/s400/DSC_1050.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My "Aunt" and I. Sarah is such wonderful friend. She is serving with indigenous communities in The Darien.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRd-nF-rlQlDXo0232NFWDdy3n3UsgfBFfw7ow-ORRCgHgD-EMO_L9GOdUUIsvcDVkHWc38zJvJk8Oc3n-Eyq4UypxtVjdprRrNVnJAcFFr-QYnLby7sfiYTLCExIqA81fRN_LpNdXR-w/s1600/DSC_1053.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRd-nF-rlQlDXo0232NFWDdy3n3UsgfBFfw7ow-ORRCgHgD-EMO_L9GOdUUIsvcDVkHWc38zJvJk8Oc3n-Eyq4UypxtVjdprRrNVnJAcFFr-QYnLby7sfiYTLCExIqA81fRN_LpNdXR-w/s400/DSC_1053.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My family and I. We were part of the same clan during training. They held me down.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidweVjn8lep97h4zGdss1kOBMcjNfyYIDVLwBZGN9Toi6mKtGDiyKfAtfNCpagFHCmzhW1l5FxK3D3iZUF_2qzRTnwYzawOXjJvcy2DZqgtTGALEi0v03E7MdQMeVx-eqL_klyLB9ncCk/s1600/DSC_1064.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidweVjn8lep97h4zGdss1kOBMcjNfyYIDVLwBZGN9Toi6mKtGDiyKfAtfNCpagFHCmzhW1l5FxK3D3iZUF_2qzRTnwYzawOXjJvcy2DZqgtTGALEi0v03E7MdQMeVx-eqL_klyLB9ncCk/s640/DSC_1064.JPG" width="428" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I was so happy! </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw75zE00ogCEHgXb6UBFRgc58gL84nGZzRrHqRqcX5RifGWinpc-H09JG1D8SxGBBesm1rOjgBJAVaauyA6cztbxystQvKowJdCZ77tCD6Vl7_eU_7RUv8GmPZ67cPE2sEk38IF9N9aNI/s1600/DSC_1066.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw75zE00ogCEHgXb6UBFRgc58gL84nGZzRrHqRqcX5RifGWinpc-H09JG1D8SxGBBesm1rOjgBJAVaauyA6cztbxystQvKowJdCZ77tCD6Vl7_eU_7RUv8GmPZ67cPE2sEk38IF9N9aNI/s320/DSC_1066.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBdBhzSGeWwnS_IPe2hV0hVUVDtE0NUtVffN1MxOSdwza4jBR2-w0wQRUe4Mmucwk3X2mTrrCeNu62kRKNPb2nyw20oIyeheVWF1Cy6E51olqF9c-R3mQk-aLlDpFVDQLeGouBwuyt4Rk/s1600/DSC_1069.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBdBhzSGeWwnS_IPe2hV0hVUVDtE0NUtVffN1MxOSdwza4jBR2-w0wQRUe4Mmucwk3X2mTrrCeNu62kRKNPb2nyw20oIyeheVWF1Cy6E51olqF9c-R3mQk-aLlDpFVDQLeGouBwuyt4Rk/s320/DSC_1069.JPG" width="428" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My friend Adrians. She is so full of light. She is serving in Veraguas.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEX-va3aVKtt2V_XB3dXnvSGMfab6djeiTA4ng8dU1aJtuYOTRSPejG3S0uIj_MpPnYuv_DmS_5kVbu95ZzbzYSXQ6ihFp8TmIy31fGwlHvBryVNk-XpFo-y-fw2aMN4iX5T_NxIZ9Z90/s1600/DSC_1074.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEX-va3aVKtt2V_XB3dXnvSGMfab6djeiTA4ng8dU1aJtuYOTRSPejG3S0uIj_MpPnYuv_DmS_5kVbu95ZzbzYSXQ6ihFp8TmIy31fGwlHvBryVNk-XpFo-y-fw2aMN4iX5T_NxIZ9Z90/s320/DSC_1074.JPG" width="428" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Emily and Sally from Texas! Both amazing women.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgASXhg9bTrs7c1yxGJza2O0Qkok7EiLndNUO78Nk8B9Iad6qFoS-tGq8VY7UAEHLEMODGCrf95V5e6olR-Kq_peflA7yAIi5YJJghEUKgT8i9LZZrFYI7ZRPoPm9wlq1cFUOGFbGZaXMk/s1600/DSC_1077.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgASXhg9bTrs7c1yxGJza2O0Qkok7EiLndNUO78Nk8B9Iad6qFoS-tGq8VY7UAEHLEMODGCrf95V5e6olR-Kq_peflA7yAIi5YJJghEUKgT8i9LZZrFYI7ZRPoPm9wlq1cFUOGFbGZaXMk/s320/DSC_1077.JPG" width="428" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My sis Stephanie from Miami. Wonderful woman in the Teaching English sector.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7opeQeZYuTmzwIxo4TX_PzlfKe9cxzHC3kLnNUud6Civ7oE6iF90c9uSAb-zUyXOne2Wd-SFIIBlgkal-aDxRbo_JdxAGg7ZF8HR4dl-10LEN0lmg3absF-klbkz_cb4n93oIzzh9a-o/s1600/DSC_1084.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7opeQeZYuTmzwIxo4TX_PzlfKe9cxzHC3kLnNUud6Civ7oE6iF90c9uSAb-zUyXOne2Wd-SFIIBlgkal-aDxRbo_JdxAGg7ZF8HR4dl-10LEN0lmg3absF-klbkz_cb4n93oIzzh9a-o/s400/DSC_1084.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sarah</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_-GgDMKM_wnnfcOzlYWxVLgEkSB03UP0WEpMTrCGSgKfg2bHg8_2FxpW7RioEJoDgehvNnHLKCsNsDbSEyw5hdBZwHDuBKOtXuAgTACCq4D7SztWmIBsIInqDGmVLV_JPsCpy0AjMqwM/s1600/DSC_1089.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_-GgDMKM_wnnfcOzlYWxVLgEkSB03UP0WEpMTrCGSgKfg2bHg8_2FxpW7RioEJoDgehvNnHLKCsNsDbSEyw5hdBZwHDuBKOtXuAgTACCq4D7SztWmIBsIInqDGmVLV_JPsCpy0AjMqwM/s640/DSC_1089.JPG" width="428" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of my best friends. Tom from the DMV. He is a fool! So funny and a great volunteer. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>Bikohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14298607911147422454noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6381664471593688060.post-68752986327977585452012-04-25T16:28:00.000-07:002012-04-30T21:33:21.045-07:00The Places That Scare Us<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Fear handicaps. It takes hold of you and squeezes until you cannot
breathe nor move. Fear kills. Lately I
have been very afraid and that fear almost killed my happiness and my
effectiveness as a Peace Corps Volunteer. I am not afraid of meeting people nor
am I afraid of Spanish. I speak the language recklessly. Spewing poorly
conjugated verbs and made up Spanglish nouns. I do this without shame like a
toddler learning to walk. I fall all over the place gleefully ready to learn. The
fear of failure is my monster. It haunts
my dreams as well as my mornings. A huge
part of it is ego. I want to be the best Peace Corps Volunteer ever. I think my
group is the best Peace Corps group ever!
That ego combined with a huge need to be helpful makes the prospect of
disappointing my community too much to bear at times. My father refers to this the trap of being
awesome. There have been times when my want to leave my community in awe of my
ability to be witty, giving, and creative has superseded my want to simply
experience. It is at these times that my lack of wit, my rigidness creatively,
and my inability to give or do anything hurts the most. My first 3 months here
in my community are about me learning about the place and people that I live
with. I sit for hours in a school and
watch. I cannot teach right now. I cannot start any projects. I want to pasear (visit and talk)<br />
to 11 houses a day yet the heat, which
at times reaches 100 degrees, prevents that. I can only experience. Sometimes I
fail even at that. It can be tedious and hot and there is no place to show or
do. That ego and that fear of failure trapped me for many days. I couldn’t get
out of bed and racked my brain how everybody would see me as fraud. All the
Peace Corps Volunteers that I admire would be disappointed, as would my
community. It got so bad that the thing that I was afraid of most, failing my
community, I began to do. I shrunk away from the people in my community and ran
to things that would give me comfort from the Monster of failure. For me, it
was the easy access to Internet. For others it is food, or love, or liquor, or
shopping. Whatever it is that we use to deter us from the things we are afraid
of only prolongs that pain. Instead of looking at that monster we run and run
creating a cycle. I was afraid of failure.
So afraid that I began to fail which would make me feel worse and want
to sooth the pain of it. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I believe
in the power of meditation and self-actualization. A leader in meditation Pema Chordron
speaks at length about the power of fear in our lives. She has a book “The
Places that scare you: A guide to Fearlessness in Difficult Times “, and
reading it helped me allot. I knew that
the only way to conquer this monster was to first look at it. Looking at it was
painful. No one wants to see himself or herself as egotistical or needy. No one
wants to see that they have actually not been mindful. However it is the only
way to get over it. I looked at myself
and decided I had to change the pattern that I was in or I would stay
emotionally stuck and would not have an effective or happy Peace Corps Service.
I gave myself very small goals in order to battle my fear. Here are the goals I made for myself:<o:p></o:p></div>
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Get out of Bed<o:p></o:p></div>
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DO NOT use
the computer in the morning<o:p></o:p></div>
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Leave the
House<o:p></o:p></div>
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Go to
School<o:p></o:p></div>
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Visit 2
houses<o:p></o:p></div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGb-KglRRe1-4qDbCRcvEnQu2aNfX0Dq6zLx9b6MrXlV44IbFZEuov-Rzk4mZSOsccTbL5FbA0X77VHI4P4vSQ8ejjjXCv7L_oTl2MyfYzyMM1VejNpwxpmp_PBir03nk1TrhTVFj-mJ8/s1600/DSC_0913.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGb-KglRRe1-4qDbCRcvEnQu2aNfX0Dq6zLx9b6MrXlV44IbFZEuov-Rzk4mZSOsccTbL5FbA0X77VHI4P4vSQ8ejjjXCv7L_oTl2MyfYzyMM1VejNpwxpmp_PBir03nk1TrhTVFj-mJ8/s320/DSC_0913.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Finding peace</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
These things may seem very easy but when you are handicapped
by fear they can be impossible. Little by little I began to be able to look at
that monster and fight. I was able to be more present in the moment and
exhibited more control over myself. This allowed me to give more of myself. My experiences with people in my town were rich and substantial. I was happy and at peace. Of
course I am not finished. I will have to teach myself these lessons over and
over again. Like a toddler I will stumble and fall many times yet I will get
back up gleefully ready to try again. I
urge you all to continue to explore the places that scare you and to fight against
those monsters that haunt you. Your life will be richer for it. <o:p></o:p></div>Bikohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14298607911147422454noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6381664471593688060.post-43823073857418695502012-04-25T16:25:00.005-07:002012-04-25T16:25:54.072-07:00Good Gossip<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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Gossip or Bonchinche in Spanish can be an awful thing. It
can destroy reputations and end friendships. However I am finding that it can
also be very helpful. My community is small by U.S. standards. There are 1,000
people here. It is rural and is about 40 minuets away from the city. Gossip is
a major form of entertainment here. If I leave to run an errand in the city,
the whole town knows. They know what I cooked for my family and tell me about
later. This is really strange for me as I am from a large city where no one
knows or cares what you are doing. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhurqA43fjfTUqW_wKc0nTmeSE70Rd1rzL6tJV_WVst1vWNrPLADlFhj_Ae5Eo2NAexTaCt9G4BUVCOhZTVH_b4d0buWHP4qv6LrQ3HqzHzefJ9-aY4lDgCKib2BOdTMLpGZiZH_5VzNGw/s1600/DSC_1291.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhurqA43fjfTUqW_wKc0nTmeSE70Rd1rzL6tJV_WVst1vWNrPLADlFhj_Ae5Eo2NAexTaCt9G4BUVCOhZTVH_b4d0buWHP4qv6LrQ3HqzHzefJ9-aY4lDgCKib2BOdTMLpGZiZH_5VzNGw/s320/DSC_1291.JPG" width="320" /></a> One day I
was walking around the community and looking at housing options. I live with a
family for my first 3 months and after that I get my own place. The 2 options provided by the Peace Corps
were not suitable for me. One was $100 a
month which is crazy expensive here. It also was across the street from the
biggest bar in town, which is both annoying and dangerous (although I would
have a gate surrounding my house). The other was beautiful but far away from
the majority of people. While walking I
ran into my dream house. It was in the
middle of town, close to family here, and beautiful. It had a lovely porch with aqua blue columns.
There were 3 large floor to ceiling doors that doubled as windows. It was love at first sight. I said to my compeneros “ Wow. I love that
house! Its my Casa de suenos (dream
house)”. They looked at me like I was
crazy. “Why would you want to live in a
old house like that? “ “I heard there
were ghost that lived there!” I stood
undeterred I loved the house. There was
a problem however, the landlord was the widowed wife of the last inhabitant and
lived 4 hours away. I didn’t have a way to contact her. 2 days after I said I loved the house the
whole town knew. They called it “Temps casa de suenos” and laughed at the fact
that I liked old houses. 1 week after I said I loved the house the grand
daughter of the landlord came to me. She had talked to her grandmother about
me. 3 weeks after, I walked past my dream house to see men working furiously in
the back yard hacking up overgrown weeds. The grandma was in the yard waiting
for me. She invited me inside the house.
It was spacious and cool. I loved it even more!
She showed the other houses she had. These houses were modern with
indoor bathrooms (rare for my community). I still loved the old house. She said
that I could live there for $20 a month and use the stove and furniture from
the other houses. I got my dream house!
I owe all this to some good gossip. <o:p></o:p></div>
<!--EndFragment-->Bikohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14298607911147422454noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6381664471593688060.post-41391237839669359892012-04-25T16:15:00.000-07:002012-04-27T21:45:21.468-07:00Photos of the day: Nature at it's finestI live in a very beautiful country. Panama has amazing bio diversity. Here are shots of the land. All original photographs shot by me.<br />
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<br />Bikohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14298607911147422454noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6381664471593688060.post-37954490294279980402012-04-25T15:41:00.003-07:002012-04-25T16:47:03.982-07:00The Panties<br />
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My cheeks were burning and it was
not because of the hot sun beating down on me. It was washday and now it was
time to hang up my semi hand washed clothes. There were a group of men in front
of me, family but still men. My host dad, grandpa, brothers, and cousins were
sitting lazily about the patio enjoying watermelon and talking. I froze. It was time to hang up my underwear. In a few
moments my panties would be flapping in front of their faces. The dainty ones,
the sexy ones, the grandma draws, the holey forever stained ones would be drawn
up in the air like flags for all the world to see. I grimaced as I tried to
develop a strategy to hide them. Dresses in the front draws on the line behind.
Only it didn’t matter, a whole group of people would have a good view wherever
they stood. Also no one else shared my embarrassment. If you walk around my
community on any given day there are lots of panties hanging. People don’t try
to find a discreet place to dry them either. You find them on the spears
guarding the welcome gate of a home. You find them strung up above your head
when you sit on a porch. They are inescapable. In the U.S. nobody sees my
underwear except for whoever glimpses while I'm washing clothes or if I
specifically WANT them to see them. Which is very rare grandma <span style="font-family: Wingdings;">J</span> I had to grin and bear
it. People here do not have the luxury of having fancy dryers inside of their
home. I am lucky that part of my wash is taken care of by a small washing
machine. I have to rinse and scrub the clothes after and then hang them up. The
rest of my community does it without shame. This says more about U.S. culture
then it does about them and it inspires me. One day…not now but one day I will
not feel embarrassed to see my panties blowing in the wind. <sup><o:p></o:p></sup></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNXksdgfgs7Qnhjux5IpYRjdSDIFPPRGps8Nd8UFL28sTWYxvskeHeaeS24AZ118l78_duVtaLIuYO5Du6j29OAbOAHzR7WbIlnSCF55GoJ6ZnYcJ-RNiiw4nW273zyITunIuME0SRqwU/s1600/The+Panties.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNXksdgfgs7Qnhjux5IpYRjdSDIFPPRGps8Nd8UFL28sTWYxvskeHeaeS24AZ118l78_duVtaLIuYO5Du6j29OAbOAHzR7WbIlnSCF55GoJ6ZnYcJ-RNiiw4nW273zyITunIuME0SRqwU/s640/The+Panties.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Fellow PCV Alex from Ohio shot the photograph<o:p></o:p></div>Bikohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14298607911147422454noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6381664471593688060.post-13755417852775054802012-04-25T15:35:00.002-07:002012-04-25T21:00:18.840-07:00Letters from my students<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh58kz_OWCVrfW6PIF-3I1j08NknhXMbhYoC7EKFuHdtFxI-Rqp8wXP9AP3WBub3dCix67OlfH4o9qYmDaXtslTy6WOwnFs_iS7s83K0_eyeKilPzf1iE8t-Tr3GD6D-z_yGUvfeL989c/s1600/IMG_0134.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh58kz_OWCVrfW6PIF-3I1j08NknhXMbhYoC7EKFuHdtFxI-Rqp8wXP9AP3WBub3dCix67OlfH4o9qYmDaXtslTy6WOwnFs_iS7s83K0_eyeKilPzf1iE8t-Tr3GD6D-z_yGUvfeL989c/s640/IMG_0134.jpg" width="514" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I hope you have a good time where you are going to help people that live in the jungle.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQAqL5PyddH0R3IJdeZRduC_2_St2pKTPmG7OsQZyE3cG0JiRlA5hDyY1w58CUBSKx5FbtYJHoIMKVArh_XtEUsMZW622kkHLgmRTJckayEXuTds396fCNSJ4dxo4oCfpK-ri0fmgFWTY/s1600/IMG_0135.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQAqL5PyddH0R3IJdeZRduC_2_St2pKTPmG7OsQZyE3cG0JiRlA5hDyY1w58CUBSKx5FbtYJHoIMKVArh_XtEUsMZW622kkHLgmRTJckayEXuTds396fCNSJ4dxo4oCfpK-ri0fmgFWTY/s640/IMG_0135.jpg" width="582" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I hope you have a good time in Panama. I hope you can bring me back a coconut from the jungle.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<br />
Before I was a Peace Corps Volunteer I was a Teacher. I worked in a inner city school in one of the most violent and poor neighborhoods in a city that is plagued by violence and poverty. My children saw far more and experienced far more then any child should. Although their lives were hard, they had bright lights and energetic spirits. I recently came across the letters they wrote me as I was leaving for Peace Corps Service and would love to share some of the letters with you.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivJs_nZNRaLnDG0c7cmW_q7_MmlU3DfGZW86Jg2I1U7zKI3RFHK0sOP7N9Qoz0D-eBGAekQaFyXd9-rNDz3ophk1Y-eKEH8JA7ARw81yVFR3Mk6uK6HgvSlChe8LYIKLJuV_125_pwhxw/s1600/IMG_0139.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivJs_nZNRaLnDG0c7cmW_q7_MmlU3DfGZW86Jg2I1U7zKI3RFHK0sOP7N9Qoz0D-eBGAekQaFyXd9-rNDz3ophk1Y-eKEH8JA7ARw81yVFR3Mk6uK6HgvSlChe8LYIKLJuV_125_pwhxw/s640/IMG_0139.jpg" width="478" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Note: I do not have long, flowy, red hair. I have a dark Afro lol</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaW2Ox9EysLdtt7gw-a0lVWlhyphenhyphen_nJ2iAYg2Gou8CrOljVEkozesAA-3Vndy9cboci_wb5cGKcEGKjeUjJg6pYTxlSbXlUiG9AqWUiHY6_LVpopbdHIjDaacKfzxIyFcVTfCNfmqZmiIBw/s1600/IMG_0140.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaW2Ox9EysLdtt7gw-a0lVWlhyphenhyphen_nJ2iAYg2Gou8CrOljVEkozesAA-3Vndy9cboci_wb5cGKcEGKjeUjJg6pYTxlSbXlUiG9AqWUiHY6_LVpopbdHIjDaacKfzxIyFcVTfCNfmqZmiIBw/s640/IMG_0140.jpg" width="478" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I will miss you and I love(d) when you would read to us. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdOld2E644tO9rG88fra1KJronkA5AVmTUWh5hi6DBJXmQe5vAblrDrGV_4WrNOxekdGpRC7ofxJhLzCQCzEMvNY4WwfhTgzjk-iB94cGmZlSWZORtq62yyOYdmjeyx-riTlwubDi3LQI/s1600/IMG_0137.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdOld2E644tO9rG88fra1KJronkA5AVmTUWh5hi6DBJXmQe5vAblrDrGV_4WrNOxekdGpRC7ofxJhLzCQCzEMvNY4WwfhTgzjk-iB94cGmZlSWZORtq62yyOYdmjeyx-riTlwubDi3LQI/s640/IMG_0137.jpg" width="478" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I am going to miss you. But when you go can you send a picture of you and those sweet nice people. :)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Bikohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14298607911147422454noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6381664471593688060.post-16418998907683041262012-04-12T17:53:00.003-07:002012-04-12T18:04:42.824-07:00Photos of the Day: Sisters & Family<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSdrSH0J7huDeDXoBfHHWTHfgz-uSOmcdb7SnAO36qSCagTBvhl-uXpdheOn5KrtGTzd6OLGjrNeilOxisLGbGpFXfIMGZz0-TiiolYy4kqz2rOaZiSFIIiSZyH42pmmmeQVdrJxy4FdU/s1600/DSC_1269.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 325px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSdrSH0J7huDeDXoBfHHWTHfgz-uSOmcdb7SnAO36qSCagTBvhl-uXpdheOn5KrtGTzd6OLGjrNeilOxisLGbGpFXfIMGZz0-TiiolYy4kqz2rOaZiSFIIiSZyH42pmmmeQVdrJxy4FdU/s400/DSC_1269.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5730683979968445586" /></a> This shot was taken a few days before it was time to say goodbye to my host family. These are all the "Children" or second and third generation of the family. It is a very raw shot and captures the beauty of my family in Los Mortales.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVUuVUnmUIM-mpyPc0F1Ij8v5qj2WdSB0DBmo2qRRVrneQa4T_M7Lf459YoEaqUk_jXHJSJ4RWRMS6QDEyUSQlO4y5f4SWWpV00zSm2byTDGojldH2mmCVFjwhvxfg2ksVNr0xpB3_o5I/s1600/DSC_0981.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 268px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVUuVUnmUIM-mpyPc0F1Ij8v5qj2WdSB0DBmo2qRRVrneQa4T_M7Lf459YoEaqUk_jXHJSJ4RWRMS6QDEyUSQlO4y5f4SWWpV00zSm2byTDGojldH2mmCVFjwhvxfg2ksVNr0xpB3_o5I/s400/DSC_0981.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5730683971385526530" /></a><div>This was a shot that I took during a volunteer site visit. These young girls had seen allot even in their young age. I could tell by their eyes. </div>Bikohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14298607911147422454noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6381664471593688060.post-15312206200706389342012-04-09T21:03:00.008-07:002012-04-30T20:02:30.705-07:00Trash Day<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7FG3MGjS0s7l-kI_JBhCLjzD9PaKNWd9yccvidpb-Xttll7fPYYsTV5zeO9ncqd_UpKbwoPjVBcsS9pUGCuyYC2Sr6XglZB6kmEOnmmQRjpcYLIqxNq2W-_vpkMMeeiWDi4zVWN46BDM/s1600/DSC_1439.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5729628772582010898" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7FG3MGjS0s7l-kI_JBhCLjzD9PaKNWd9yccvidpb-Xttll7fPYYsTV5zeO9ncqd_UpKbwoPjVBcsS9pUGCuyYC2Sr6XglZB6kmEOnmmQRjpcYLIqxNq2W-_vpkMMeeiWDi4zVWN46BDM/s320/DSC_1439.JPG" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; float: right; height: 214px; margin: 0 0 10px 10px; width: 320px;" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTPlK4m8o9f386faJbeOVeJY3J6QbRZt5prQC0rOUJglHA-uuQJx2ZlyoCWqCFPJ2AVoqcWEGY6lXn4oQ0vwjcKe_qnFSxkQL7XMryHPx47144J8mDxcN5bjSHRcAMXj28QYDNWZWlMQM/s1600/DSC_1415.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5729628766756151650" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTPlK4m8o9f386faJbeOVeJY3J6QbRZt5prQC0rOUJglHA-uuQJx2ZlyoCWqCFPJ2AVoqcWEGY6lXn4oQ0vwjcKe_qnFSxkQL7XMryHPx47144J8mDxcN5bjSHRcAMXj28QYDNWZWlMQM/s320/DSC_1415.JPG" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; float: right; height: 214px; margin: 0 0 10px 10px; width: 320px;" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVPvDk39u5xuUePyPzOFh3khAEUX83xAaCrvVI5Sq3W7lY7eWumdRP6VCVRiy-By4BB_trCFOLT1z-MEKA3jeGiFh9Owu_P0ZCWETOCebz4N7jS0SDwW9Z-x8xfM16VrZt3TRHbAvXLxw/s1600/DSC_1401.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5729628758544875922" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVPvDk39u5xuUePyPzOFh3khAEUX83xAaCrvVI5Sq3W7lY7eWumdRP6VCVRiy-By4BB_trCFOLT1z-MEKA3jeGiFh9Owu_P0ZCWETOCebz4N7jS0SDwW9Z-x8xfM16VrZt3TRHbAvXLxw/s320/DSC_1401.JPG" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; float: right; height: 214px; margin: 0 0 10px 10px; width: 320px;" /></a><br />
Tears fall from my stinging eyes as I run past a tree. Bright amber flames are licking up in the air as toxic fumes fill my lungs. My fellow volunteers cough and gasp as we try to escape the smoke but it is no use. As soon as we escape we run into yet another burning pile.<br />
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<b>It is Trash day in Los Mortales.</b></div>
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In the United States, we buy processed and packaged goods all of the time. When we are finished we throw it in the trash. Then once a week we drag our bins out and a nice big clean truck, more or less, comes and hauls our trash away. Our hands and homes are clean.</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>In most parts of Panama, and the majority of underdeveloped countries, people that are lucky enough to be able to afford packaged good use those goods...But no big clean truck comes up to pick it up once a week. Their plastics, and rappers, and alumunium, and batteries, and human waste, and scraps of food sit.. on the sides of roads or in back yards. Until trash day. On trash day; men, women, and sometimes children put all said objects in a pile and set fire to it. Those fumes and smoke bellow into the air. That air is filled with fumes and toxins that they then breath. Those same toxins settle onto their crops or on grass that their animals eat, and then which are consumed. Those same toxins settle into the water that people bath and drink out of.<br />
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Westerners have the privilege of shipping off their dirty trash to places like Africa or the middle east were they sit consumed in flames. Other times our trash is put in safe, clean landfills. So it is very easy for those same westerners to come and view the "trash days" in Panama as backwards. It is quite the opposite if we look at the history of waste here.</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; white-space: pre;"> </span>In the past, all of the trash in country was organic. You ate watermelon or chicken or made a cake and you could put the waste in the back yard or on the side of the rode. That waste would break down quickly and provide nutrients to the earth. Glass bottles and jars were always reused and repurposed. Folks of lower economic means back home in Philly understand this ritual very well. Our Ragu jars, and Country Crook jars were always used to hold bacon fat or left over food. However as plastics and other inorganic materials were introduced to society they would not break down. As people in the Campo were able to get more money they wanted to spend it on packaged items. These items show that you are no longer strugling that you can afford to go into the city and <i style="font-weight: bold;">buy</i> goods that used to be reserved for the middle class or rich. The only problem is that unlike those other groups of people the packaged goods were stuck. <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The burning of trash is a large public health issue as it increase cancer risk, asthma, and leads to other health problems. It also lowers the quality of life in these beautiful towns but the people living under these conditions don't know what to do. Thats where organizations like the Peace Corps come in!</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I am part of the environmental sector. It is my job to help develop better waste management solutions with the people in my town. Already I am talking to people about the dangers of trash burning. I learned during training that we can use plastic bottles and stuff trash in those bottles. We can then bury those bottles and it protects the toxins from entering into the ground water. I am lucky in that my site does have a "trash man" of sorts. He comes once a month. Many times with only one day notice and carts away trash for 3 dollars. It is an underused service however because of the lack of information. It is my goal to streamline that process and implement a recycling program. I think that with the help of the beautiful people of Portobelillo that we can do it. </div>Bikohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14298607911147422454noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6381664471593688060.post-69770819882643540412012-04-09T20:51:00.004-07:002012-04-27T23:00:15.686-07:00Photos of the day: A moment of Prayer & Twins<div style="text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwweKhGPKwIb2NP-WPjP4vws7wW7wMo6fmvES54ARxFDuuoy7mu_dZNVumFZEkeJQmjwJL2rnnveOd2k4Jhk-495ELSpilP5XFVUzgUq_TLpckXkTsxn7P1xB1svS6UntojRSs6KrqPxQ/s1600/DSC_1101.JPG"><span style="font-size: 100%; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" border="0" height="267" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5729616971967942242" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwweKhGPKwIb2NP-WPjP4vws7wW7wMo6fmvES54ARxFDuuoy7mu_dZNVumFZEkeJQmjwJL2rnnveOd2k4Jhk-495ELSpilP5XFVUzgUq_TLpckXkTsxn7P1xB1svS6UntojRSs6KrqPxQ/s400/DSC_1101.JPG" style="display: block; height: 214px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" width="400" /></span></a><br />
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<span style="font-size: 100%;">While visiting a school in El Pilon I took a shot of children praying. The prayer was mandated by the school. I was struck by all the reactions to being forced to pray. Some children seemed to be en raptured, others indifferent. Hope you enjoy the shot</span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwweKhGPKwIb2NP-WPjP4vws7wW7wMo6fmvES54ARxFDuuoy7mu_dZNVumFZEkeJQmjwJL2rnnveOd2k4Jhk-495ELSpilP5XFVUzgUq_TLpckXkTsxn7P1xB1svS6UntojRSs6KrqPxQ/s1600/DSC_1101.JPG" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px;"><img alt="" border="0" height="400" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5729616984915394450" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEk2i3U4oRBZsF6sP4rxQLcoQdqL4ulWg0MPlqeOuygIyKu5KMIT0quRrAXsI4DtHk3FQVHGozxlTp_t8GLc5XCvz2ZGGQkPJxuPRFmSi1bHb7nrBjqkrm854StvaNGETBdNd4trj2aNU/s400/DSC_1110.JPG" style="display: block; height: 320px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center; width: 214px;" width="267" /></a><br />
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I took this shot of twins at play during my visit to El Pilon. These boys would come and visit me at my house. They loved sitting on my lap and asking tons of questions. Although they were only 2 years old, their vocabulary was extensive. They would often go through my ipod touch and look at the album covers. They thought Dangelo was my husband! (I wish lol). I think this shot captures their spirits. Hope you enjoy. </div>Bikohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14298607911147422454noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6381664471593688060.post-58445843267565523722012-04-09T11:06:00.004-07:002012-04-09T22:05:52.621-07:00Character Study #2 : The legend of Chinito<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihVt13l7ACOW22QIVv6psd9tegtZkKrsr4MO4jHQ7D6ZJZ6LM5WdGeEjVQfbDZsj8M6oTLgtLraqO14QCoKwG0jG8vlhs3CqCM7wHxHRgxqM8x1tzIIrH8y_MC9mhJMN-ZeWSYu-7dhY8/s1600/IMG_0071.jpg" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 180px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihVt13l7ACOW22QIVv6psd9tegtZkKrsr4MO4jHQ7D6ZJZ6LM5WdGeEjVQfbDZsj8M6oTLgtLraqO14QCoKwG0jG8vlhs3CqCM7wHxHRgxqM8x1tzIIrH8y_MC9mhJMN-ZeWSYu-7dhY8/s320/IMG_0071.jpg" border="0" 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href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_ce2pMZivPSkQLNzgJjPchSJOomeZxona5PowzM57JZf9Uyx8P3BX0cUfc-_raoRcybA7p2-R1kNHjRuigjZKpaKZqy7evOSzkUY6qOJVdXeTmKLCCY0kN4qZaK0pzX8oOtaLZOGzuV8/s1600/IMG_0069.JPG" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_ce2pMZivPSkQLNzgJjPchSJOomeZxona5PowzM57JZf9Uyx8P3BX0cUfc-_raoRcybA7p2-R1kNHjRuigjZKpaKZqy7evOSzkUY6qOJVdXeTmKLCCY0kN4qZaK0pzX8oOtaLZOGzuV8/s320/IMG_0069.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5729613966444719122" /></a><br /><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; text-align: center; "><span><br /></span></div> <!--[if gte mso 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<!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; text-indent: 0.5in; ">The earth smelled of fresh rain the day that I met him. It was mid day and the hot Panamanian sun hung hazily in the sky. I was helping PCV Lorena draft up posters for her trash pick up when suddenly I started to get sick. Maybe it was the heat or maybe it was the non-refrigerated food I had eaten yesterday. As I walked down the covered walkway of the school to go home, I saw beautiful teenaged girl. Tight shiny curls cascaded from a half hazard bun on the top of her head. Her full lips had a trace of lip-gloss and her honey-coated skin <span style="font-size: 100%; text-indent: 0.5in; ">was freckled by her nose. She was sitting regally in an old schoolhouse chair. As I walked past I saw that she was holding a shirtless baby. It did not strike me as odd that she could be a teen mother. It’s not rare in Panama nor is it in Philly, What was strange was the baby. Unlike the girl, he had bone straight ebony hair that stuck up around his head like a porcupine, the girl had very large round brown eyes but the baby had almond shaped eyes…</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; text-indent: 0.5in; "><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; ">There was no mistaken…this little baby was very Asian. This teenage girl that was holding him was not. He didn’t look blasian or like he was mixed with any Spanish. This was very confusing. The small town that I was visiting did not have a sizable population and no Asian people lived in the town. So where did this baby come from and more importantly, who</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; ">m did this baby belong to?<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "> <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "> Later that night, Lorena and I sat by candlelight and talked about life. I bought up the little Asian baby I had seen. “Where did that cute baby come from?” I asked. Lauren then told me the sad story of “El Chinito”. Now I will tell you that story: <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "> It does not begin with his birth. To understand how this baby ended up in a home without electricity in the hills of Panama with a Latina parent you must travel a long road to the</p><div style="text-align: center;"><span><br /></span></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "> capital. This is where his father lived and worked long hours. He owned and operated a small “Chino” or store selling sweets and rice from sun up to sun down. How he came to be in Panama I do not know. Maybe he was born in Panama or maybe the trap of poverty in China drove him to that small chino store on a corner of a crowded and drab street. He kept long hours and was alone for most of the day. It must have been very difficult to be alone and for no one to ever acknowledge that you even had a name. He had lost rights to that as soon as he started the store. He would forever be known simply as “Chino”. At o</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; ">nce he decided that he needed a wife. He wanted someone who could work with him at the store. He needed someone who would know that he had a name. Other then Chino. He wanted someone to maybe even love. He was not impressed with the selection of Chinese women around him or maybe no one would have him. So he decided to buy a wife. He bought his wife with the balboas and dollars that he collected by selling candy and rice. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "> I do not know much about the woman that he bought. I can only imagi</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; ">ne the life that she was living in China. A life that led her to be sold to a stranger a world away. She came, learned Spanish and started to work in the store. She soon became pregnant. She had not wanted a baby and soon after the baby was born she sent him back to China to live with her mother. She became pregnant <b><i>again</i></b> and again lived with the child for almost a year and sent it to China. The third time she became pregnant she became so desperate and unhappy that not even a month after he was born she gave that baby to a next-door neighbor. This third baby was the little boy I saw that day. “She just did not want him,” Lorena told him.. That was fair enough but how did he arrive to this small town 1 hour away in distance but</p><div style="text-align: center;"><span><br /></span></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "> a world away from where he was born.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "> The next day we went to visit Chinito at his home. I came to find out that it was his</p><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; ">home on the weekends. A strong reddish brown woman with an oval face and ponytail offered me a seat on their patio. Chinito was crawling around</span><br /><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; "> playing with a used toy bus and odds and ends he would find on the floor. He was a happy baby with bright inquisitive eyes and big smile. I got to hold him and we sat for a while staring into each other’s eyes. He was beautiful. I could not wrap my head around why his family could not or did not want to take care of him. After nearly 3 hours of hangi</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; ">ng out at the house I found that “Chinito” was not his given name. His name was Danielle. The woman who invited me into her home was the sister of the woman that invited Danielle into hers. They took turns caring for him. During the week he lived next door to his natural parents in eyeshot of the Chino store. Sometimes his father would stop by late at</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; ">night and look at him. During the weekends he was shipped to this small town in the hills where the entire town came to his aid. Making him bottles of warm mild and trying to get him to eat rice. The primary care giver was very worried about what would happen to Danielle as his mother wanted to send him to China when he turned 6. She has fallen in love with him and wanted him to stay with her. Although she did say “He could go to china school and learn to speak chino”. Later that day I held him in my arms and we both held our hands out to play with the wind chimes on Lorena’s porch. As the cool metal touched his hands he let out a giggle. In that moment everything was perfect. The wind was blowing, he had a family, and most importantly he had a name. All of which was as transient as that blowing wind.</span><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><o:p> </o:p></p> <br class="Apple-interchange-newline"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEekBzJkAy6niJdsOmkLeFC9-eKz_fL5ExTlZyhQrW7HuqLUJew_sku0s1_F58Pg-9xK2VKDfziySyaqI4Hx0WBOHt6Cm8coscptZ7xhXMgEvFo6xNj8AbEmANIwOGcAln3IzQKM9U3a8/s320/IMG_0064.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5729613948106911746" style="font-size: 16px; font-family: Georgia, serif; color: rgb(0, 0, 238); display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px; " /><span style="font-size: 16px; font-family: Georgia, serif; "></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; ">The End<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; text-indent: 0.5in; "><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; text-indent: 0.5in; "><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; text-indent: 0.5in; ">Note:<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; text-indent: 0.5in; ">Some people may be surprised that there is an Asian population in Panama at all. However, Panama and China has had a very close relationship for over 100 years. There is a huge Chinese population in Panama. They came originally to work on the canals and stayed. As time passed they became part of the Merchant class and many more Chinese have migrated. The Chinese here by and large own and run small stores called “Chinos”. They sell groceries and clothes and sometimes electronics. Panama also has a large amount of Chinese restaurants and the Chinese population has been so influential on the culture here that Latinos regularly cook “Chow Mein”. The Asians here are referred to as “Chino or China or Chinito or Chinita” regardless of their actual names. It is not uncommon to here a person say to an Asian shop owner “Hey Chino what time is it?” or “Where can I find the soap China?” Danielle’s story touched me deeply. It raised questions about female power or lack of. The obvious lack family planning outreach efforts in minority communities. Danielle's story raised concerns about globalization and the cost of leaving ones home. The displacement that these families encountered in the search of economic advancement saddened me. However the love that the community showed to Danielle filled me with hope. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><o:p> </o:p></p> <!--EndFragment-->Bikohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14298607911147422454noreply@blogger.com0