Please Read - 10/12/2008

I have a gym-sized duffel bag and a regular backpack. The contents of these two bags is worth at least 10 times more than all of their possessions. I write this from a hut built from leaves, wood, and metal scrapes. My mother has one of the bigger "houses" in the village. It's about a 50 square meter space of earth that is covered by a makeshift roof. This is their home. This is the home of my mom, a 70 year old woman (a generous estimate) still working as hard as she has her whole life, and 5 kids, ages 5, 7, 11, 12 and a baby. They all call her mom, but I wonder if any of them are actually her children.
They've given me their best. I sleep on an elevated platform of wood (it rains a lot so the floor remains as mud). Actually since I've been here the rain hasn't stopped. I'm drinking from the only glass and she's given me the most food.
I want to say "give it to the kids", "I don't need it", or "the children are growing, feed them"... but I can't. I'm only a one night temporary visitor; there are lines I can't cross.
They've told me their names, but they're complicated and I can't remember them all. Vicente, the oldest at 12, says he loves to travel. All the while in the back of my head I wonder if he'll ever leave the village. The next oldest is also a boy, though his name escapes me. It's in Ngobera, the native language here. He listens to his brother, but loves to talk and never stops asking questions. Then there's Loira. She's just learned her numbers and was so excited to show me she could write to 20, even though she only made it to 19. When I showed her how to write 20, she seemed almost defeated, so proud at what she'd learned but wishing she could learn more. The last girl is my favorite. She doesn't talk much. She just loves looking at me with bright eyes and smiles. She's always smiling. A smile reaching from ear to ear that makes you filled with joy, but at the same time pained, for want of giving her more for this life. And there's the baby. He has a huge round belly, like the African babies on those infomercials, and is always crying. Always asking for his mommy.
As we made the 1 hour hike to her house the first day, my mom pointed out the houses of all her children. There were at least 4 on the path we took. From what I gather, she has at least 10 children. And without medical care, I can't help but wonder if she's had many children that didn't make it. That didn't survive.
The kids all wear clothes 10 times too big, shorts that belong to adults or hand-me-downs of many generations. They're all covered in mud, and... they're so excited about school. I wish I could keep my stream of thoughts steady but it's difficult. My eyes fill with tears as I write each line, as I think of everything they don't have... as I think about the life I have and the life they don't. But they are so excited about school. They keep telling me what they've learned. Vicente asked if I could keep my flashlight on longer last night so he could finish practicing his cursive. He doesn't really know what he's writing, but his letters are copied pretty well. "She doesn't know her numbers yet", her brother says, pointing out the girl who smiles. But she still picks up random cards, holds them up, says a number and hope she's right. They've all showed me they can write their numbers and the different ways to do so.
I wish I was more prepared. Why wasn't I more prepared. I guess I just didn't know. I've given them all I can with the stuff I have. When I arrived, the kids all surrounded me. After I haded a hand-crank LED flashlight to their mom, they all held out their hands. But I didn't bring much with me. Why hadn't I been more prepared. I gave them my stationary (pouch of writing instruments) for school, 2 decks of playing cards, my umbrella, and a bag of granola I had bought in Chitre. They were so excited for the granola, calling them coookies. I don't htink they get sweets that often. By the morning, the light had already been put to good use, the cards had been divided among them, the bag of granola was empty, and the umbrella--well, I don't know if she knows I'm giving that to her yet. At first I wasn't, b/c that was my only method to block rain, but her face fell when she gave it back to me after borrowing it. Who cares if I get wet. I can buy a new one. I wish I had been more prepared.
For breakfast I had a bowl of plantains and a hard-boiled egg. But to be honest, I wasn't hungry. Which was odd since I hadn't eaten since noon the day before, but I don't think I could be hungry. I tried to eat as little of the breakfast as I could, trying to find the line between "I don't like it" and "I'm full", eating just enough as to not insult. The kids needed it more. I offered an almost full bowl and half a hard-boiled egg to the kids and they eagerly split it up. I wish I had been more prepared.
--Break-- The kids have realized I'm awake and want to play
They get 50 dollars a month for everything from the government. Otherwise they live off the land. We're paying 12 dollars for a night and three meals. They all have huge round bellies from lack of nutrition.* The diet I've seen in Panama has been relatively the same until now. They eat only white rice.
I spent all morning playing Memory (matching cards) with them. And then chopped wood. With four logs, my hands both started bleeding.
--Break--The kids wanted to play again.
These Ngobe women are Amazonians. My mom has to be at least 70. And can still climb the 1.5 hour trip up the mountain, and can cut a heck of a lot more wood than I could.
The kid's do have school. About an hour and a half away. It's a dangerous and long walk, but they love it all the same, telling me what they've learned every second. I'm repeating myself, but that's how it is.
My community project is about medicine. But every time I talked about medicine**, the topic returned to farming. Everytime. Can you imagine not even being worried about medical care because your only concern is food? In the Isla Cana community, I asked some interviewees what they thought were the basics of life. They listed 7. Water, food, housing, work, medical care, electricity, and education. Even with prompting, my mom could only think of three: water, food, and a roof. The rest she listed were more types of food they needed. I asked about medicine. She said "that would be nice" in the same way I'd say "it'd be nice to win the lottery. Three times."
I couldn't eat while I was there. As I said, I took enough bites to be polite. But mine was the only bowl with an egg and some veggies. I don't need it. I had hungry faces looking at me and when the mom wasn't looking I had them split my food. It was gone in about a minute.
Sorry Aly, I don't know if this is against the rules, but I left them money. I told he mom it was for the kids. This was probably one of the hardest decisions I've had to make in my life. I decided to put all the "it's inappropriate to leave them money", "I don't want to seem like I'm living so much of a better life", and "what if Aly finds out" thoughts aside, as long as the end result meant that maybe the kids could get protein, shoes... something.
The face of the smiling Lula (by the way, they're names are Vicente, Aguilde, Loira, Lula, and Jorge) will forever stay with me.
If you've read this entry thus far, please keep reading. The next time you eat something, count your blessings for having a choice, for having all food groups, for having a roof, for being able to worry about things such as medical care, insurance, education, politics, or anything you're worried about now. Be thankful that you can worry about it.
I just bought snacks at a store. I'm going to stay in a hotel, with clean beds, running water, electrivity, anything, everything while my five brothers and sisters ninos sleep on one elevated wooden plank with their mother.

*Edit 10/14: I found out later that they're bellies fill with liquid from a lack of protein as their internal organs deteriorate from not having enough protein for regular reparations
**Edit 10/14: I was conducting an interview for my project

--Edit-- 10/14: I decided not to edit it. That entry was written across three time periods. The morning when I woke up, at noon, and on the bus leaving the Comarca. A comarca by the way is the equivalent of a reservation more or less: a land set aside for the indigenous populations. The facts don't all line up in what I wrote, and there are discrepancies here and there. But it is exactly how I felt when I was there, and I felt that, at least that, was important to share.
After a debrief discussion about our experience in the comarca, I realized that once again I was looking at the line between "cultural difference" and "poverty". To better phrase it, how much of how they live that differs from my life is just because of their culture, and how much of it is something we should go and fix? An example. Some Japanese women don't try and search for careers and take care of the family as part of their culture. A woman gave a speech at my school about how "we must correct this problem." That is a cultural difference, not a problem. But what happens when the culture, the indigenous culture that they've known for centuries, is also keeping them at extreme poverty? The Ngobe people were nomadic, always moving to different plots to farm and live off the land. This culture of simple farming no longer functions. With no more land, the nomadic lifestyle ceased in the 40's and 50's. Using the same techniques to farm the same plot of unfertile land has stripped it of nutrients. Where is the line that says this isn't a cultural issue, it's something we must fix? The difference I witnessed between Isla Cana and Comarca Ngobe-Bugle was that the people of Isla Cana were happy with their lives. The people of Ngobe are suffering in many senses. The distended stomachs told me that I was now on the other side of the line.
Our group discussion also told me that in my initial assessment, I wasn't entire correct. My emotional state then and the life I came from led me to make conclusions that completely disregarded their cultural lifestyle. To be explicit on this point is still difficult as I have trouble removing my own experience from my objectivity, but I did realize that perhaps my view was a bit more extreme than necessary.
At the same time, that is how I felt when I was there. Those were my words without edit. The experience of a upper-middle class University student seeing what is classified as extreme poverty for the first time. I've seen the infomercials, I've watched the sad movies. This was entirely different.
The last paragraphs of my entry I still hold firm. Be thankful for your worries. Be glad that you can worry about that exam next week, that electric bill you have to pay for, that car you need to have fixed. You're reading this from a computer you had access to, internet you have access to... perhaps we all should take a different view on life, realize what we have, and recognize the responsibility we have to use our knowledge, to make an impact, to use wisely the life we were given.