Scarcely had I posted my last thoughts, prepared to return to the land of no electricity, when all of my means of doing so were snatched out from right under my nose.
Aside from maybe a pen or two, I've never had anything stolen from me, so it was rather shocking and upsetting to find myself without a single penny on my person.
I had been in the bus terminal in David after spending a long, frustrating day of doing errands, waiting to get on the bus to go home, talking on my “US phone” (1-216-804-4735 – text me any time for free!). After 30 minutes of waiting to get on the bus, I finally boarded, sat down, and as the bus began to pull away, looked in my bag for my “Panama phone,” which is in the same small purse as my wallet.
It's not there.
Panic. Maybe it fell on the floor. Maybe it's in another of my bags. Maybe I'm sitting on it. Increasingly frantic, I tear apart everything near me in search for it. The guy sitting next to me gets involved, too. Then everyone near me. Then the bus driver finally pulls over on the side of the road, turns on the lights, and everyone goes quiet as I try to call the phone. Nothing. Starting to sob, I explain that maybe it's back at the terminal – and that I do not have a single centavo on me to pay for my $8.45 trip back to my community.
We turn around and go back to the terminal (only about 5 minutes away). The place I last remember having it was only 5 meters from where I was waiting for the bus. We search every inch of that space. Nothing. Somehow in the 30 minutes I was waiting for the bus, the purse had disappeared out of my bag. And I had no idea how it might have happened.
At this point I am sobbing uncontrollably – everything was in that purse: my Panama cell phone with all of the numbers of the volunteers and the office (and at this point in my panic, I cannot recall even the Peace Corps emergency phone number; my mind is completely blank), all of my money (which I usually divide into two different locations, but didn't this time), my bank ATM card, a copy of my passport, my Peace Corps ID and my diplomatic ID, my house keys, my Missouri driver's license… Everything that allows for my ability to functionally live here.
Fortunately, I was able to use the “US phone” to call the hotel where James, a fellow volunteer, was staying. He arrived to help (and really save my butt), along with the police. The first thing he said, after checking to make sure I was all right (not physically injured), was that at least everything in that purse was replaceable. This was true. In my panic, it didn't seem like it at the time – those were all vital, essential items – but, ultimately all replaceable. With that reminder, I calmed down enough to call the Peace Corps office, where the Security Officer (who also really saved my butt), helped me through the whole process with the police and getting a new bank card.
I ended up hanging out in David – without any money, save what James gave me to be able to buy food each day – for two extra days before I was able to sort out the bank card and get a new phone. It was, at the very least, an opportunity to relax a few extra days in the hotel. I was able to call Ángel, back home, to make sure that the kittens were cared for and to cancel all my plans. And ultimately, everything was okay.
But I did spend some time reflecting on what happened. I was angry – first at the thief, who stole $200 from me – which was the only useful thing for a thief in that purse – but more than that, stole 3 days – all the time it took to recover all the missing things that really were only useful to me – the documents, the phone numbers, the bank card. I was also angry at myself – all of my behaviors the evening that this happened were exactly what the Office had warned us against; the problem was that I had started feeling too comfortable and didn't remember the caution – “too integrated” is how they phrase it. I did all the things wrong:
1) I was in the terminal in the evening, after 6 pm. It's a crowded place with tourists milling around, so there is ample opportunity for thieves.
2) I did not divide up my money like I was supposed to (and almost always do).
3) I was completely distracted, talking on the phone, not really paying any attention to my stuff.
The lesson has been learned. Yet another fear has been faced – getting my stuff stolen in a foreign country – and I will be more cautious. Fortunately for me, it didn't feel like I was in a foreign country when it happened, because I had the safety net of the Office and friends who could help me out. And I didn't get hurt, or threatened, or anything – the stuff just disappeared. I was pretty lucky.
So I returned to my community and got back to work. I spent the month going on planned visits with the members of my committee to every house in the community so that I could talk to them about the projects I was planning to coordinate – basically serving as a door-to-door salesperson. The two projects are 1) building a rainwater catchment system using a ferrocement tank, and 2) building a pit latrine.
The challenge – the really tough sell here – is that I am not applying for any grants to do this project. I am asking the people in my community to pay for the materials themselves, which I will coordinate the purchase of, and then help them construct the things. My thought is that these are both things that are inexpensive enough that my people could afford them if they saved some money or used the government payments that they receive – and if they pay for the materials themselves, it will guarantee that they absolutely want to have the thing and will therefore care for it and maintain it. It is often a problem, especially with pit latrines, that if the materials are received for free, there is less appreciation for it, and so – assuming they even bother to use the materials to build the latrine – it is not maintained as well, eventually falls into disrepair, and then is not used at all, while the people go back to the long-standing tradition of pooping in the river. If they really want to have it – if they are really ready to commit to the regular use of a latrine – they will be willing to pay for it themselves. The other idea is that, once I leave, there will no longer be a Peace Corps volunteer here to apply for grants, so when more people – new families, kids that grow up and build their own houses – want a latrine, or a rainwater catchment tank, they are going to have to build it themselves. The idea is to make the community independent of additional outside help, to be able to do these things themselves.
That's the idea, anyway. I'm cautiously optimistic, based on the enthusiasm – and apparent acceptance of my manner of working – that I saw during my house-to-house visits. We shall see how many people come to my mandatory meetings – and how many actually put down the money.
I also am trying to move along in the preparations necessary for aqueduct design. I have offered this opportunity for 4 sections of the community, and one finally accomplished the initial tasks and was ready to move on to doing surveying! I was ecstatic – finally I get to do some engineering work!! So I called up Katy, my closest fellow Environmental Health volunteer, and made plans to go survey the area for the pipeline with the members of the Water Committee of that neighborhood.
Katy and I arrived at Ángel's house on the way up the hill, and he stopped me with a serious, “We have to talk.” Apparently, 5 of the 7 houses in this neighborhood voted that they did not want my help in building the aqueduct. A nephew of the family, living in the city, offered to do the project himself.
I was confused. They had led me to believe they were excited to do this – indeed, I had already invested significant time and effort on their behalf – and I had made clear that we were going to try to apply for a grant to do this project. I suppose I should have been happy – after all, my goal is to make my people independent of outside help, and isn't that what this would be? – but I couldn't shake my engineering bias, wondering whether this nephew had the engineering background to make sure they had a good design, and wondering whether he would go through the effort to make sure the Water Committee was properly trained, that they would be in communication and file for official status with the government health agency. I felt pretty disillusioned about it.
Instead of surveying, Katy, Ángel, and I returned to my house and built a bed for my mattress. Then we went on an adventure up the hill to the highest ridgeline, where I had never been before, for some spectacular views. So I guess it wasn't too bad of a day after all.
Photos:
Aside from maybe a pen or two, I've never had anything stolen from me, so it was rather shocking and upsetting to find myself without a single penny on my person.
I had been in the bus terminal in David after spending a long, frustrating day of doing errands, waiting to get on the bus to go home, talking on my “US phone” (1-216-804-4735 – text me any time for free!). After 30 minutes of waiting to get on the bus, I finally boarded, sat down, and as the bus began to pull away, looked in my bag for my “Panama phone,” which is in the same small purse as my wallet.
It's not there.
Panic. Maybe it fell on the floor. Maybe it's in another of my bags. Maybe I'm sitting on it. Increasingly frantic, I tear apart everything near me in search for it. The guy sitting next to me gets involved, too. Then everyone near me. Then the bus driver finally pulls over on the side of the road, turns on the lights, and everyone goes quiet as I try to call the phone. Nothing. Starting to sob, I explain that maybe it's back at the terminal – and that I do not have a single centavo on me to pay for my $8.45 trip back to my community.
We turn around and go back to the terminal (only about 5 minutes away). The place I last remember having it was only 5 meters from where I was waiting for the bus. We search every inch of that space. Nothing. Somehow in the 30 minutes I was waiting for the bus, the purse had disappeared out of my bag. And I had no idea how it might have happened.
At this point I am sobbing uncontrollably – everything was in that purse: my Panama cell phone with all of the numbers of the volunteers and the office (and at this point in my panic, I cannot recall even the Peace Corps emergency phone number; my mind is completely blank), all of my money (which I usually divide into two different locations, but didn't this time), my bank ATM card, a copy of my passport, my Peace Corps ID and my diplomatic ID, my house keys, my Missouri driver's license… Everything that allows for my ability to functionally live here.
Fortunately, I was able to use the “US phone” to call the hotel where James, a fellow volunteer, was staying. He arrived to help (and really save my butt), along with the police. The first thing he said, after checking to make sure I was all right (not physically injured), was that at least everything in that purse was replaceable. This was true. In my panic, it didn't seem like it at the time – those were all vital, essential items – but, ultimately all replaceable. With that reminder, I calmed down enough to call the Peace Corps office, where the Security Officer (who also really saved my butt), helped me through the whole process with the police and getting a new bank card.
I ended up hanging out in David – without any money, save what James gave me to be able to buy food each day – for two extra days before I was able to sort out the bank card and get a new phone. It was, at the very least, an opportunity to relax a few extra days in the hotel. I was able to call Ángel, back home, to make sure that the kittens were cared for and to cancel all my plans. And ultimately, everything was okay.
But I did spend some time reflecting on what happened. I was angry – first at the thief, who stole $200 from me – which was the only useful thing for a thief in that purse – but more than that, stole 3 days – all the time it took to recover all the missing things that really were only useful to me – the documents, the phone numbers, the bank card. I was also angry at myself – all of my behaviors the evening that this happened were exactly what the Office had warned us against; the problem was that I had started feeling too comfortable and didn't remember the caution – “too integrated” is how they phrase it. I did all the things wrong:
1) I was in the terminal in the evening, after 6 pm. It's a crowded place with tourists milling around, so there is ample opportunity for thieves.
2) I did not divide up my money like I was supposed to (and almost always do).
3) I was completely distracted, talking on the phone, not really paying any attention to my stuff.
The lesson has been learned. Yet another fear has been faced – getting my stuff stolen in a foreign country – and I will be more cautious. Fortunately for me, it didn't feel like I was in a foreign country when it happened, because I had the safety net of the Office and friends who could help me out. And I didn't get hurt, or threatened, or anything – the stuff just disappeared. I was pretty lucky.
So I returned to my community and got back to work. I spent the month going on planned visits with the members of my committee to every house in the community so that I could talk to them about the projects I was planning to coordinate – basically serving as a door-to-door salesperson. The two projects are 1) building a rainwater catchment system using a ferrocement tank, and 2) building a pit latrine.
The challenge – the really tough sell here – is that I am not applying for any grants to do this project. I am asking the people in my community to pay for the materials themselves, which I will coordinate the purchase of, and then help them construct the things. My thought is that these are both things that are inexpensive enough that my people could afford them if they saved some money or used the government payments that they receive – and if they pay for the materials themselves, it will guarantee that they absolutely want to have the thing and will therefore care for it and maintain it. It is often a problem, especially with pit latrines, that if the materials are received for free, there is less appreciation for it, and so – assuming they even bother to use the materials to build the latrine – it is not maintained as well, eventually falls into disrepair, and then is not used at all, while the people go back to the long-standing tradition of pooping in the river. If they really want to have it – if they are really ready to commit to the regular use of a latrine – they will be willing to pay for it themselves. The other idea is that, once I leave, there will no longer be a Peace Corps volunteer here to apply for grants, so when more people – new families, kids that grow up and build their own houses – want a latrine, or a rainwater catchment tank, they are going to have to build it themselves. The idea is to make the community independent of additional outside help, to be able to do these things themselves.
That's the idea, anyway. I'm cautiously optimistic, based on the enthusiasm – and apparent acceptance of my manner of working – that I saw during my house-to-house visits. We shall see how many people come to my mandatory meetings – and how many actually put down the money.
I also am trying to move along in the preparations necessary for aqueduct design. I have offered this opportunity for 4 sections of the community, and one finally accomplished the initial tasks and was ready to move on to doing surveying! I was ecstatic – finally I get to do some engineering work!! So I called up Katy, my closest fellow Environmental Health volunteer, and made plans to go survey the area for the pipeline with the members of the Water Committee of that neighborhood.
Katy and I arrived at Ángel's house on the way up the hill, and he stopped me with a serious, “We have to talk.” Apparently, 5 of the 7 houses in this neighborhood voted that they did not want my help in building the aqueduct. A nephew of the family, living in the city, offered to do the project himself.
I was confused. They had led me to believe they were excited to do this – indeed, I had already invested significant time and effort on their behalf – and I had made clear that we were going to try to apply for a grant to do this project. I suppose I should have been happy – after all, my goal is to make my people independent of outside help, and isn't that what this would be? – but I couldn't shake my engineering bias, wondering whether this nephew had the engineering background to make sure they had a good design, and wondering whether he would go through the effort to make sure the Water Committee was properly trained, that they would be in communication and file for official status with the government health agency. I felt pretty disillusioned about it.
Instead of surveying, Katy, Ángel, and I returned to my house and built a bed for my mattress. Then we went on an adventure up the hill to the highest ridgeline, where I had never been before, for some spectacular views. So I guess it wasn't too bad of a day after all.
Photos:
View from the ridge – and with Ángel, my awesome guide.
Took a break from selling tanks and latrines to enjoy the view during my visits around the community.
I had the opportunity to try out a foot-powered sewing machine! Mom taught me how to use an electric-powered one when I was a kid, and this was significantly more challenging. Elsa helped me make the cloth “form” that we will be using to build the rainwater catchment tanks. And put the Santa hat on me.
I made a mochila for Ema, my teacher, which she thought was pretty awesome.
Why is it that there are these massive electrical lines passing through my community – you can hear them buzzing – and yet no one has electricity? The inequality of the availability of infrastructure is frustrating. Just more ponderings...
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