This morning, I sit in the hammock reading Jude and journaling my life away. Hummingbirds buzz in the bushes, and a black and brown lizard scampers across the floor. I get up and try to get a picture of him, but he is too fast and I am not sneaky enough.
When you are learning a new culture and language, a thousand miles from anything familiar...homesick, lonely. When you're misunderstood, stared at, and charged more for being a gringa, yet your heart is full, because even the discomfort has become comfortable, and you just know. And even though you're not physically at home, your heart is, and that's all that really matters.
At 9:00, Carole, Sue, and Vickie have a meeting to plan their English classes. They invite me to join and tell me how much they appreciate me sharing my knowledge from my TEFL class. I'm thrilled to be putting it to use already, but I get hungry so I leave the meeting for oatmeal and to get ready before Vickie gives me a ride down to Dolega.
Every day, (unless I'm lucky enough to catch a ride) I walk for 15 minutes along a bumpy, rocky road that makes me appreciate the quality of asphalt roads in the states. Sometimes, a worker will pick me up in his big, loud, dusty flatbed, saving me countless beads of sweat in the intense sun.
At the end of the road, I wait anywhere from 5 to 30 minutes in a "casita", a little cement "house" made for a bus stop. Around me, people file in; school kids, Ngobe Indians, old farmers. We wait together for the always-late 11:00 van that seats 25 but fits 25 more.
I climb in, ride awhile, and get dropped off at the Dolega bridge. One day, I had to go to class at 8, so I walked to the casita, and waited 20 minutes with some school kids. As soon as one person sees the bus coming, they always tell everyone and we all cross the road together. This day, we crossed the road but the bus honked and kept going because it was full. We stood there kind of lost for a minute before crossing back to the casita to wait. A little while later another bus came, picking up me and another lady but telling the kids they had to wait - it was too full! Poor kiddos... So I barely squeezed in the door, elbowed someone in the head, stood with my neck crooked and every time they stopped to drop someone off, everyone ahead of that person had to step out, let them pass, and get back on. Thankfully, it was a fast ride with few stops.
I climb the stairs, walk over the highway, and down the other side where countless school kids are dressed in blue skirts and pants and ironed white or light blue button down shirts and shiny black shoes.
They talk and joke as they wait for the next bus and I miss being young and innocent.
Today as I walk down the steps at the Dolega stop, a teen boy quietly directs a "hi baby" to me as I pass by, making his friends laugh...they're practicing to be "men" and to someday pick up any tourist girl that gives them the time of day.
The next bus is a old yellow school bus that costs 1.20 for the 45 minute ride from Dolega to Boquete. The buses are old, retired from their years serving children in the states. The buses are way too loud, and sometimes go no more than 30 miles an hour due to the 70 person capacity greatly exceeded. Some of the buses have a tv where reggaeton music videos are played; some are adorned with "Jesus Es Mi Salvador" or "Yo voy con Dios." stickers.
It's hot today. I climb on the rickety old school bus and the open windows aren't a match for the humidity flooding in. I can sense it going to rain and I'm glad I grabbed my umbrella.
Every day, I squeeze in a seat with one or two others; sometimes I'm lucky enough to sit alone for awhile; sometimes I stand. People cling on the bus and give a greeting that is returned by a few in the front seats. After this, sometimes conversations are good, but most of the time everyone is ignored, alone in the norm of social uninvolvement.
It starts raining, and the bus boy closes all of the windows. I am now locked in an oven with countless Latinos and just my thoughts running wild about life and Jesus and adventures in foreign lands...
In the back of the bus, people often have chickens, puppies, bags of corn. The windows usually stay open and the breeze is strong, barely cooling us in the 100 degree bus. The bus rolls past the volcano Baru, past mountains and trees and farms of Brahmas and work horses and when it finally stops it will be in the heart of Boquete, a once beautiful Panamanian village now turned American by the countless expats that wanted America to come with them.
It makes me angry in a way. If you wanted to be in America, you should have stayed there. Don't try to bring it with you for those who aren't in America for a reason. It's true, too. My Spanish teacher told me that expats came here and got mad about the annual festivals noise and wanted them to stop having it. Thankfully, tradition won...but many other things have not. The little cafes are being turned from Spanish to English, and the Americans complaining about food has brought in "sandwich shops" and other American named places...
For awhile the Panamanians tried to fight the gringos, to keep them out and to keep their own culture, but they are slowly giving up and accepting that things aren't as they used to be. At least the gringos bring money, they reason.
Every day, I arrive at school, greet my classmates, grab a latte, and settle down for 4 or 6 hours of practical Español.
Sometimes during break, we eat at the cafeteria, a smorgasbord of different rice, meats, and salads that surprise me with a different price every day.
I get off the bus and the air is suddenly cool. The rain has diminished to a light sprinkle, and in the distance the clouds are clearing to a beautiful view of the mountains. Because of the long wait for the bus, I am late, so I hurry to class.
Once again, I am blessed with a beautiful view from the classroom.
In class, we review the uses of por and para. It's hard for me to get into learning today; I'm tired. After break, I joke with Becky about how awful the pronunciation is of some people. I sip my fresh latte and munch on my $1 rolla canela (cinnamon roll) as we write notes back and forth like school kids, and get in a serious discussion about knowing bad people. Our teacher reprimands us for using English.
Sometimes before or after class, we walk around town, hang out in a cafe, play pool, or head to the strawberry shop, where they serve delicious fresh strawberries prepared in every way imaginable.
Too soon, it will be time to make the two hour journey home, first on the rickety school bus, and then in the overcrowded van. After a week and a half of this routine, I've finally become somewhat comfortable making sure the bus stops and I get off at the right place, but most of the time I just pray someone else whistles or yells "parada" so the bus stops and I don't have to draw attention to myself.
On the bus home, I am lucky enough to get a front seat. Front seats are the best for a lot of reasons. Number one is that I can easily get the attention of the bus boy when it's time for me to get off. Sometimes, I get nervous from the back of the bus because you have to push past so many people to get off...and if no one else is getting off, you have to yell at the driver.
At night, I usually arrive home just after 6; time for dinner, shower, and homework before falling into bed to do it again. Sometimes, like last night, I don't get home until 7, when everything is settling down, and the world gets dark. I don't like getting home so late; starving and gross feeling. But the worst part about getting home late is I miss the sunset. It's beautiful here, every single night.
I am annoyed in an amused way. Every so often Latinos play their music on the bus, and today is no exception. The problem is, there is always one or five other people who do not like the music being played and insist on playing their own music. Currently there is someone playing raggaeton, and in the next seat a strange, annoying electronic playlist. Two songs isn't bad...once there were at least four playing at one time in the little van.
The weekends here are spent walking, helping around the house, or helping with some building projects going on.
Last week, I learned that bananas aren't actually a tree, but a stalk similar to corn. After it produces, it dies, but unlike corn, it helps to reproduce by growing tiny shoots all around its base. After the lesson, I pretended to help harvest a few.
In this beautiful backyard are mulberries, lemons, yucca, bananas, pineapples, papaya... I'm pretty sure this is a slice of heaven.
The bus suddenly got quiet. The people turned their music off and no one is talking. Outside, a rare fog has settled in around the trees.
Sundays are my favorite. It is a day of rest, reserved for time with Jesus and friends. The morning is spent in church; two hours that goes so much faster than any church service I've been to. This community values relationships in such a deep, beautiful way, and I've never felt so included so quickly.
Today, the first bus ride goes quickly. I get off at bomba Terpel with a girl who never smiles or says hi. Usually, I rely on her to get on the right van, but today she gets a ride in a work truck and I am left standing alone beside the road, looking at a beautiful but mostly hidden sunset as I wait for the van home. A car honks, offering a ride, but I'm a little weary of well meaning men with vehicles.
A few days ago I got to be a part of planning a mission trip to the Darien jungle. The Darien is the part of earth between Panama and Colombia - a place where tourists are basically forbidden to cross because of the likelihood of not making it to the other side.
David, a sweet old man with a heart for Jesus like nothing else, has gone to the forbidden, dangerous, indigenous tribes twelve different times to build churches, teach English, and spread the love of Jesus. He is begging me to come along, to teach English, and my heart isn't good at saying no to such a terrifying adventure.
After a few more minutes, I get tired of waiting and accept a ride. José Luis and I talk about family and work and he tells me I should marry him and stay here. I laugh and change the subject. It surprises me how comfortable I have gotten hitch hiking, even though I'm always reluctant... So far the well meaning people who offer really are great people.
Next Sunday, David promised me that his friend will let me ride a horse. I'm excited, and terribly horse deprived. Even the neighbor cows have been staying away. The only critter I have to cuddle with is the adorable little Buddy, a baby Aussie. He's precious, but he is still a dog and we all know how I feel about them after awhile...
Jose Luis drops me off at the gas station between Potrerillos Arriba and Abajo. He heads to abajo, I wait for arriba. I'm stuck waiting anyway, but at least I got to practice my Spanish. At the station, I talk with Miguel, he seems to know me and where I'm staying. I guess it's not often a young blonde stays in such a small town. The van comes, and I get home around 7 for homemade pizza.
And my heart is full. For once, I have no idea what my next steps are. I don't know where I'm going next, or if I'll ever leave. All I know is that I am where I was created to be, and there is nothing more beautiful in the world.
