Chaos

I'm in Chorrera right now and it is pouring rain. The people here are trying to figure out a way to get my pictures onto this ancient computer. Oh...wait...success.

To my non-existent regular readers, I apologize. I was updating my blog on an uncooperative computer, and when I tried posting, it posted only the title and I didn’t have time to retype. Hence the unintentional irony of the last post.

Right now, I’m sitting on my bed in Santa Clara, using my friend Freddie’s computer so that I can put this post up without using up much internet time. When you only have one hour of internet a week, that hour flies by, especially on an old slow computer.

I saved some pictures on Freddie’s computer too, so hopefully I’ll be able to post those as well.

Life in Santa Clara is good. Before I could put the period on that last sentence, an enormous cockroach flew in, and we waged battle. I won. Santa Clara, for those of you tracking me at home, is near Chorrera, which is west of Panama City. Despite its tranquil nature, life here in Santa Clara has been busy, which is why I haven’t responded to email or called anyone (sorry family). Santa Clara has no internet and only one public phone; it’s a ten minute walk away and we aren’t allowed to walk the streets after dark (7:00pm).

My host parents are grandparents who, unlike the host parents of some of my fellow trainees, have foregone the overprotective instincts of parents in favor of the genial apathy of old age. If I managed to post the picture of my house, mine is the door on the left. This puts me in extremely rare company: a separate entrance with a locking door. Four of their grandkids live right next door if I feel like playing soccer or watching them cheat at cards. And I do. I just played a Panamanian version of gin with the two older ones who you might be able to see in the picture of them with their mama.

I have a picture of me with them too, which will be one of the last pictures of my hair at that length. I had originally planned to go the full two years. They told me long hair arouses suspicion here. I shrugged it off. They told me long hair was equivalent to wearing a ski cap in this weather; it is. I shrugged that off too. But two mornings ago I discovered at least a half dozen ants living on my scalp. So I’m reconsidering.

My host parents’ son who lives next door said I could get my hair cut here in Santa Clara for $1.25, which seems incredible, but even this close to the equator, the adage holds about seeming too good to be true. Since every male here keeps their hair short, this haircut would consist of only clippers, a tarp, and my soon-to-be gleaming scalp. Anyone who has known me since seventh grade is familiar with how closely I resemble a primate with short hair. Future hair bulletins as events warrant.

If I managed to put more pictures, hopefully they were of my neighbors, which have thus far included a spider (killed with a machete (sweet) by my family), a cockroach (killed in battle mentioned above), and various geckos (still selling car insurance). After slaying the spider, my host mother told me not only that that type of spider, which I had found in my bed, can be as big as a hand, but also that they bite. Hard. This knowledge (not all knowledge is power) has led to a decent amount of psychosomatic itching as I lie in bed. Along with the heat and the chorus of roosters at four in the morning, sleep has become a treasured commodity. So I should get some.