Half a Year

Although it doesn´t feel like it, I have been in Panama for half a year now. I have been in site for over three months- only 21 more to go....About now I am organizing tasks and determining what exactly my work will be. At this point it appears I will continue working with the conservationists´ group to keep the vivero afloat and hopefully improve its business prospects (a vivero, for those unfamiliar with the term, is a nursery for trees). There is also the possibility, if the money ever arrives from Biological Corrider, to inititiate a small-scale community-led ecotourism project along the Chiriqui River. My other focus will be environmental education in the local primary school (with students up to fifteen years old). Additionally, I am supposed to start and maintain a environmental youth group called Panama Verde. As the community expects English instruction, I will eventually teach a few night courses. When the rainy season finally ends, I will work with community members to construct Lorena Stoves. These stoves supposedly require less firewood, and at the very least, reduce excessive smoke inhalation.


A lot to do in only two years, and ideally (although I have reservations about the feasability of this) they will be sustainable. These plans are all tentative, and as I´ve already learned from the meager time accrued in site, flexibilty is a requirement, not an option.


It has been extremeley trying living in seven different households over the past six months. The prospect of being estranged from California for two years doesn´t help either. At times, it is overwhelming. At least when studying abroad I had numerous distractions and could converse with English-speaking friends. Here distractions are far less frequent, and even moreso, English friends (or friends at all for that matter). A radio ad for Kenny G in concert in Panama (oh the things that cross US borders....) has been running endlessly. And Lord help me,I was honestly tempted to buy a ticket. The soft jazz conjures up images and sensations of the Bay Area and all its goodness- cheesy and stereotypical as they may be: open-air cafes, the Golden Gate, crisp breezes, damp fog rolling in, sourdough bread, mellow sunsets, golden beaches, and even car drives with my dad and KOIT playing on the radio. Sometimes at night I lie in bed with my tiny radio pressed to my ears (so as to not disturb others) and fiddle with the tuning to locate familiar songs. Whether it´s Journey, Sinead O Connor, or even a little Tim McGraw (if I´m lucky enough to encounter it much), I feel slightly less displaced. In the darkness I decompress, but when light returns my efforts appear in vain.