Flume
Fantastic Negrito
TV on the Radio
Bibio
Nickel Creek
Current Books:
Spell of the Sensuous
The Devil's Highway
On the Brink of Panamonium
June 13, 2015
7 Months Ago
7 Months Ago
She leaned against the headboard of the bed, her body in a position of blissful relaxation. In her hand was a mug filled with wine from The Chopa Valley in Chile. Art was on her mind, or so I imagined. We had spent the day walking around Valparaiso, Chile where contracted street art had become the city's distinguishing tourist attraction, and we were tourists -- at least for a few more hours. It was the last night of weeks of backpacking, hitchhiking, and eating in the Patagonia region of Chile and Argentina, and we had taken the night to enjoy the moment, each-others company, and one last meal. She sipped her wine, leaving an obvious stain above her lip, and looked at the mural by the side of the bed. The mural was a map of North and South America and it was unfinished. The outline of each country had been completed in pencil but only a few of the countries had actually been filled in with color.
"I guess you get what you pay for" she said, alluding to the unfinished piece of art in our private room.
Admittedly, our room was one "$" in Lonely Planet, but it had privacy, a comfy bed, and WiFi... and because there was WiFi, our privacy was interrupted with a surge of excitement and confusion. "Congratulations on your acceptance to the Pea..." lit up the top of my phone's screen. I opened the email, which explained my acceptance as an Environmental Health volunteer in the Peace Corps in Panama and the seven days I had to respond, either accepting or denying a 27-month period of service. I looked back at the bed. She sat there, mug in hand, and goofy red wine stain above a familiar full smile, contrasting her blue-green eyes. I could hardly make out the colorless, unfilled outline of Panama on the mural.
Present*
I am back in Tucson, AZ with my family and old friends and spend my days reading about the Peace Corps and gathering supplies for an encroaching departure.
This is what I know:
I will be serving as an Environmental Health Volunteer in Panama. My goals as a volunteer are to promote behaviors and practices of rural community members to improve their access and use of potable water systems as well as improve access and use of sanitation systems.
These goals will be actively worked towards after spending 10 weeks in a training site a few hours outside of Panama City, where I will be living with a host family and attending language, cultural, safety, and technical trainings. During these ten weeks I will be assigned my site, which is the location I will spend the next two years. The exact location of this site is unknown and is chosen by the Peace Corps staff.
Otherwise, the next two years are pretty unknown. I have left familiar smiles behind, good wine and the stain it leaves above lips, the colorful world of friends with long histories, and easy access to family. It is not without purpose and thought that I board a plane to Panama. My hope is that at the end of my service, my map of the Americas will be more than an outline of the countries that make up these two conjoined continents but rather it will be filled in with greater understanding of it's many cultures, languages, people, and their needs and dreams - learned from the country that binds North and South together.
*The following paragraph is a short update on the 7 months between Chile and now leaving for Panama.
I have spent the last few months living what was once a dream for my brother/friend Kemper and me in San Diego. We fulfilled our surfing fantasies; two Tucsonans out in the lineup, occasionally riding a wave with enough style to disguise our landlocked roots. Kemper and I lived with a fellow from Austin named Ferris, who taught us the ways of cleanliness, generosity, and turning off the stovetop. Will and other friends from USD lived close-by. My girlfriend Mina was within biking distance. I worked as a math tutor, did maintenance on the walls the climbing gym, and was a sales specialist and bike builder at REI. We went backpacking in the Sierras, climbed in Joshua Tree many times, passed a few weekends with childhood friends up in L.A. and spent countless hours in the ocean. It was a carefree few months, fueled by good friends, recreating, and many dinner parties.
END
I wrote the following journal entry last year and decided to include in this post as it informs my decision to apply for and accept a 27-month term in the Peace Coprs. Feel free to read it, however it is not directly relevant to the specifics of my Peace Corps service.
Una Amistad con Soledad
September 14, 2014
I sit on the second story of a bus headed for Trujillo, Peru. Various barrios of Lima pass by, shacks of recycled metal, concrete, plastic and other misfit building materials make a collage on the hill, giving the horizon a little color against the gray sky. My bus seat is more of a throne than a bus seat. It reclines to 180 degrees, with a pillow and blanket to accompany it. A tablet is attached to the seat in-front of me for internet access, movies, books, distraction. I flip through my options on the tablet, and choose to watch La Amistad. The tribulations of a group of Africans taken from their villages now accompany the barrios that continue for miles outside of the center of the center of the city.
The leader of the group of slaves in La Amistad was deemed ¨chief¨ by defeating a lion that approached the village at night. The story is legendary among the tribesmen, as they had awoken to find the lion dead on the ground. The reality is the ¨chief¨ had blindly thrown a rock in the dark as the lion had approached his camp, hitting the beast. ¨Had I missed, I wouldn't be here telling you this story. I am not a big man, just a lucky one¨ He says, and he adopts his unearned authority, and lives with its responsibility.
The barrios are gone now, replaced by farms and hunched over workers in the field. I recline my seat, Trujillo and km long waves are in my future, I must rest. I never had to throw a rock, I don't live with more integrity than those who work 12 hour days for a few dollars, but in this world I was born into I have privileges unfairly awarded to me and am left to reconcile that fact and adopt the responsibility I have been given.
I arrive in Trujillo late, take a taxi to Huanchaco where I find my hostel. It is midnight, and the hostel is dead. I am well rested from my 10 hours spent on a seat/bed, so I take a walk around the small beach town. There are still kids playing soccer in a well-lit basketball court. Carts full of soda and snacks have napping vendors behind them. I note that they value a few coins over an uninterrupted night of sleep. Numerous couples walk along the beach with me, which reminds of my own solitude.
I grew up surrounded by people. While in University, I spent two years with a private room and paired solitude with loneliness. I would reach out at any given moment when I was alone in my room. I would study, distract myself, get on Facebook or Instagram. My insecurity with solitude would be treated, not defeated. In a crowded life, I never accepted the reality of singularity.
I continue down the beach. The town is alive with people partying, sharing experiences, being together. I could join, but now is not the time.
Solitude is one of many lions in my life. I want to affirm, at least within myself, that I have the courage to face that which is most strange and intimidating, and that this life is not merely luck, but more importantly an opportunity.
I return to the hostel to sleep. It is late and I fall asleep alone. In many ways, I have lived the life of the chief in Amistad, of endowed privilege, as many of my friends and family members. The only way for me to reconcile that fact is to live as if I was deserving of it, not running from the Lions but standing off with them like a chief would, and perhaps all the lions of our lives are the greatest teachers only waiting to see us beautiful and brave.
