Crocs

I hated Crocs. Along with Uggs, I considered them the ugliest footwear. I could not understand how they could be trendy. Perhaps for 2 year old boys, they were less offensive, but never for an adult. I gagged every time I saw these neon colored, swiss-cheese clogs.
In Panama, cheap clothes and shoes and general knockoffs are abundant. Teva-like flip flops? 2 bucks. Fake crocs? 2 bucks. I noticed these fake crocs were pretty popular, but I just brushed it off as something horrible from America creeping South.
I will now admit that I own two pairs of fake crocs. They are also my favorite thing to wear. Let me explain. Here in Panama, it rains 9 months of the year (referred to as “winter” though I’m sure the temperature is the same). Many roads are dirt and rock, and even asphalt roads have horrible drainage, and basically turn into a swimming pool when it rains. Most of the other volunteers I know wear exclusively rubber boots.




I, being in a “ye-ye” or rich site, with a paved road, don’t need to wear boots too much. I was actually wearing my rubber boots the other day, and my neighbors all laughed at me, asking me if I’d just bought a dairy farm. But, I was getting frustrated in footwear. Sneakers don’t work, because I’m usually squishing around in them or they get super muddy. Flip flops also don’t work, because, while they dry faster, my whole foot gets wet, and I’m sliding around, plus ants can still bite me.





Then, it dawned on me…. These fake crocs might serve for something. I bought a pair on impulse. A few days later, I had worn them over to a neighbor’s house, which involves walking a muddy entrance to get to. She looked at my shoes, and was like “ah, you’re learning.” A week later I bought a second pair. They are great. They’re pretty comfy. They more-or-less (not perfectly) protect your feet from getting wet or muddy, and they dry super fast.
Yes, little changes that take place while living in another country. Who ever would have thought I’d write an ode and blog entry to the shoes I once despised.

6 months in country

I have now been living in my community a little over 3 months, which was the rough “adjustment” amount of time Peace Corps gives us. I feel like I’ve adjusted pretty well. I don’t yet feel part of the community (hey, I’ve only lived here 3 months), but I feel well accepted. I feel comfortable with people from all the different families and sectors, hopefully transcending small town cliques. I feel respected. I’m not sure the people know why I’m here yet, but they always smile and stop to converse with me, as opposed to the skepticism I originally received.
I don’t think the cultural transition for me has been an U.S. to Panama transition. It’s more of a city to country transition. I’m sure if I had grown up in a small, farming town in the U.S., I would feel like I was at home here (just without a winter and with occasional monkey sightings). But, I came from a city of great unfriendliness, competition, and ambition where I never actually spoke to my neighbors in my apartment building. Conversations revolved around politics and trying to appear cultured and smart. Here, my conversations revolve around the rain, cows, sugarcane, and extensive families where everyone is related. If I don’t greet someone in the street, that’s an affront. My afternoons usually include just wandering around town and showing up at peoples’ doors just to shoot the breeze. Doors remain open so visitors will stop by, and some juice and cookies usually await. The rat race pace of life has given way to a slower pace where I occasionally put off tasks for weeks. And of course, rain is a great excuse to not do anything but take a nap.
One very cool experience I had about a month ago was attending a velorio (wake). I know these exist in the U.S., but this was my first. A guy in town died in Panama City. I hadn’t met him, but I know the family. First, people went around collecting money to help bring the body back (just like they had collected money to send him to the City for the care he needed). The family awaited the body. The night that the body arrived, the street in front of their house was full. Basically the entire town came out to stop by the house just so the family wouldn’t feel alone. Some went inside to talk or pass by the body, but many just hung out in front, and the street was full of people. I only stopped by around 9-10 PM, but apparently people will stay all night. The next day, most turned out for the funeral and then traveled with the people that have trucks for the burial. It was somber, not really social. But, I really felt like part of the community.

My new house

Above you will see a picture of my new house. Yes, I’ve lived with random families for six months. Upon arriving in my community, I started asking around for the house I could possibly rent after the 3 months of mandatory host family ended. People all told me there wasn’t anything, and were generally shocked that a young woman would live on her own (which is possibly why they told me there wasn’t anything when there was). They still act somewhat concerned for my safety, mostly because malientes exist like an hour away. But, after enough asking around, I found some different options, and then my final arrangement. One woman in my town (“La Negra”) actually lives and works in another town, and only returns every couple weeks to visit her parents. Otherwise, the house just sits unused. So, I now have a house. I mean, I’m kind of renting it/kind of permanently housesitting. But, it’s right in the middle of town, and it was almost completely furnished, down to the mandatory Virgin Mary pictures. I’m very happy. I went out and bought a hammock right away for the front porch. Putting my house in order has been a lot of work, but I’m very happy. And a great burden has been lifted as I finally have a space of my own in the middle of my community.

Some pictures

These are some pictures from the school, from our garden. From the organic farm that my environmental group has. From a baptism in the river