You Can’t Wrap Your Arms around a Memory

When I was thinking about what I was going to write about this week, I had decided I was going to a two part piece on the national election this coming Sunday. I mean it doesn’t get much bigger than an election.

But like most things in Panama, I was thrown a curveball. And the curveball ended up being bigger than the election. The fishing cooperative in my community received news on Monday that they would be awarded the money they had long been asking for.

The joyous news brings to a conclusion of a year of working to try to secure the funding. Led by promises and patience, the leaders of the cooperative hung tough and didn’t give up when that was such an easy option. For that, I’m extremely proud of them.

The size of the funding is pretty outstanding. Fishing equipment isn’t cheap. And there is a lot of work ahead in getting this project off the ground. I’m certain it will be a challenge, but, I hope, ultimately a fulfilling one.

Soon enough the pieces will fall into place. But before all that starts, I can’t shake the image of when we came out of the meeting with the news. The cooperative president – my counterpart Sergio – jumping around like a little kid who just got what he wanted on Christmas Day.

Normally, it would have been a great time for a photo, but I was without my camera. In this case, it didn’t matter. That picture is forever burned into my memory.

It’s something I’ll never forget.

The Mango Tree

There are many nice benefits of living in a tropical climate. Topping that list is not having to deal with snow. Coming in second is being surrounded by things that are possible in a temperate climate. Like say a mango tree.

As I mentioned before, I have a mango tree behind my house. This is really a dream come true for me. I can still remember the first time my dad bought a mango home and told us before we ate it how great they were. He wasn’t lying. It was love at first taste. So that is what makes right now a special time of the year as this delicious fruit is in its prime season. Which is awesome. The only problem is my tree isn’t as productive as others in the community. There is one tree in particular that has so many mangoes that if it were at my tree I would probably die of mango overdose - which won’t be a bad way to go out when you think about it.

But that’s not to say my tree is a complete disappointment.


It’s just not as good as some others in my community and has been slower to turn the mangoes to ripe. As a result, during the last two weeks, I have been gifted quite a few tasty suckers by a wonderful family across the street. It has only heightened my desire for more.

One other problem with my tree is a lot of the mangoes aren’t easily accessible. The tree is pretty high up and the branches aren’t made for a person of my weight to go climbing up them. You know what this means? Exploiting child labor. However, in my case, I had quite a few youngsters that were interested in heading up the tree and pick off some of the ripe mangoes.

As you might imagine, I was a little scared by this proposition at first. But quickly I remembered a lot of these kids are experts at this sort of thing. So I signed on. Not aware of the Panamanian child labor laws, we quickly agreed to payment for the work in the form of mangoes. Sounded good to me. Them too.

So I took my leadership position under the tree and offered words of encouragement and caution. With ‘cuidado’ (meaning careful) being the most common phrase.


Everything went off without a hitch. The mangoes were picked and pooled together. After everybody safely made it out of the tree, I dispensed the mangoes accordingly. Everyone was happy.

Well, except you the reader in the States, who doesn’t have a mango tree in your yard.

The Trip Home

As you might gather from the photo, this past week I went home for the first time for my sister’s wedding. It had been nearly eight months since I had left for Panama. A lot had changed over that time. There is a new president. The price of gas dropped by about a half*. The stock market tanked. Unemployment is at record highs. My friend Chris is a college graduate. Friends had bought houses and had new girlfriends. And so on.

(*As I was driving my sister’s car back to her house so I could catch my plane back, I noticed the car was low on gas. Used to $4 dollar a gallon gas, I was thinking it was going to be costly to fill up. Therefore, I set my spending limit at 25 bucks. Whatta nice brother, right? Well to my surprise, it only took 21 bucks to fill up. So, in the end, my sister got a full tank of gas.)

But it seemed the more things changed, the more they stayed the same. My brother-in-law was his normal quirky self. My old office remained a great place with great people. My mom still loved to wait on her son hand and foot. Morgantown was still a fun place at night and my buddy Boff still liked to drink. Most importantly, my family still knew how to have fun.

The family and fun were the best parts of the trip and it all came together at the wedding. It was a great event put together by some fantastic work. Everything fell into place. My sister looked beautiful in her wedding dress. My grandfather tore up the dance floor. And a great time was had by all.


The one downer of the trip was the cold weather. Shocking, since I have lived in 85 degree and sunny weather for the past four months. It culminated when I woke up to snow on Tuesday. Snow. In April. No thanks.

It was only fitting that with each stop back down south, I removed a layer of clothing. Now as I type in the cool evening wearing a basketball jersey, I can look back and laugh at the thought of snow.

In that regards, it’s good to be back ‘home’.

The Opposite

If you had to press me to answer the question “what is my favorite Seinfeld episode,” first I would ramble on about for about 15 minutes about nothing then realize that this question is the equivalent to “who’s your favorite child”. Since I don’t have any kids, I tackle these questions and eventually, I would reach some sort of decision. The answer on most days is “The Opposite”.

This particular episode is based around George’s decision to say and do the complete opposite of what he normally would do in that situation. It works wonders for him as he meets a lady friend, gets hired by the Yankees and rubs everything in Elaine’s face. It’s a great half hour of tv.

Over my time here, I have come to realize that a number of things have become the opposite of what my life was like in the States. Some examples are the following:

I would be pasty white during winter, now I have a nice tan.

I lived in a place with four seasons, now two (rainy and dry).

I used to have water anytime, now I have it from 9:30 at night till 5:30 in the morning.

My favorite shower used to be the morning one, now it is the late night one.

I used to be surrounded by hills and mountains, now my surroundings are completely flat.

I used to eat fast food a few times a week, now none.

I was rarely reading books, now I am reading them constantly.

I used to have a tv, now I don’t.

I used to lounge on a couch, now it’s a hammock.

My soon to be brother-in-law cut my hair, now I do it. (yikes!)

I used to think getting up before 8am was tough, now I am always up before 8am.

Oh yeah, I used to speak English, now it’s Spanish, well sort of.

So now with my life flipped upside down, I am on my way back to the States tomorrow for my sister’s wedding.

Does anybody if Arby’s still has the 5 for 5 deal?

The Mosquitoes

Over the past three months, the weather here has been spectacular. Each day is the same - 85 degrees, sunny to mostly sunny with a nice breeze to keep it cool. You can’t beat it. I'll let that sink in for a few seconds...


(no snow)



(no cold weather)



(no shoviling snow)


However, not all is perfect. With the warm weather comes another problem: bugs. Namely mosquitoes. Now you know the critters as the occasional bug that bothers you during a summer day in the forest. I know them as the bane of my exsitence, especially when the sun comes up and the sun comes down.

When I first got to site back in late October, the mosquitoes were pretty brutal. Often times around 6:30 in the evening I would have to go and hid under my mosquito net to avoid the attacks. Slowly as the wind picked up as summer came, the mosquitoes lessened. But that’s not to say they went away. In fact, over the past couple of weeks, the wind has slowly faded and as a result more and more are coming back.

So that sets up some interesting moments in the early evening, especially if I had played baseball earlier. Let’s just say the sweat on my legs is more inviting to the those pesky bugs. That’s when I usually reenact Will Ferrell’s “Get off my Shed” skit.

First, I politely ask the mosquito to be a good little boy and leave me alone. After a couple more times of bothering me, that’s when I usually snap at them and warm them “IF YOU DON’T LEAVE ME ALONE, I WILL COVER YOU WITH RAID AND YOU WILL CEASE TO EXISIT.”

Of course, they don’t listen and things don’t end so well for them. But they usually get a few shots in before all is said and done.

And, yes, I have plenty of bug spray that helps keep the varmints away, but I am not a big fan of putting the stuff on. It just feels gross. So instead I fight my battles with these lowlifes. Sure I lose some of them, but I always win the war.

Speaking of which, a couple have been bothering me while typing this. Time to go find the Raid...

Beisbol Part II

As I discussed last week, my late afternoons have been filled with baseball. It has been a lot of fun for a couple different reasons. One, I have gotten to know some people better through the games. Two, I’ve learned a bunch more names! Third, and finally, I’ve gotten to make a fool of myself a few times, which they love.

When I first started playing, because I was of decent size, it was believed that I could hit the ball real far. As I walked to the plate, the little kids would say “Dilan, homerun”. I guess even Panamanian kids love the long ball. However, I could never fulfill the wishes of the kids. Between the t-ball size bat and years of swinging a golf club, my swing was all out of sorts and I could only manage some weak grounds to either third or shortstop. Yes, I realize I am making excuses, because the other players my size have no problem launching rocket shots. I am not very good. I am comfortable with that. On the bright side, though, I have been making steady progress.

While I am not the best, there are some pretty good players in my community. My province, Herrera, has won recently dominated the Panamanian Baseball League. So baseball is in their blood. You can tell, too. Some of the hand eye coordination on a couple of the players leaves me astounded. Whether it is plucking a late errant hop on a groundball or throwing up a bat at the exact time to stop a foul ball, I
feel at times we are playing a different game.


With the talent there, this makes for some pretty good, interesting games. Between the hops and the stiff breeze that usually blows, craziness often ensues. Because the games are so short (3-4 innings), they are usually close which leads to a lot of yelling and arguing. And they really enjoy this. My favorite wrinkle is when you want to make a point one usually finishes it with a “jo” for added emphasis. Needless to say when the game is tight there are a lot more “jo’s” and everybody becomes like Lou Piniella. I usually just sit back and with the madness unfold while wishing I could talk that fast. At least I can do a good “jo”.

All of this is in the spirit of the game so you have a lot of instances where people give each other a hard time. My favorite moment for me was after I couldn’t take an opposite field shot over the right fielder’s head. As I was trotting back to the rest of my team, one observant bystander remarked to me “Dilan, mas fuerza”. Or more strength. I just kinda laughed and nodded my head. He was right. I could use a bit more strength.

But in my defense, I was hitting into a pretty good breeze.

Beisbol

When I was younger, I used to really like baseball. Somewhere around the age of 14, I started to lose interest. Maybe it was I stared to like track (talk about a difference in sports – One you always run, the other hardly), or maybe everybody around me was getting bigger and stronger and I was, well, skinny. Nothing showcased this better than me trying to be a catcher. I stared to catch at 11 and by 14 it was the only position that I enjoyed playing. One problem – I had a noodle arm. A walk or a single was pretty much a double unless you moved like my old Ford Festiva.

Anyhow, I quit playing at 15 and other than playing a year of intramural softball my senior year in college, baseball was restricted to seeing a couple MLB games a year and fantasy baseball. That has all changed over the past couple weeks.

When I first got to my site, I gravitated to the basketball court. After a couple weeks the games became pretty good and fun. That came to an abrupt halt one day when a water tank started to be built adjacent to the court and in the process cluttering the court with junk and making it unplayable.

Without basketball, I turned my attention to the baseball field. One problem. It appeared that the field hadn’t been touched in a couple years as evidenced by the weeds that had run rampant on the field. A few weeks back a group of people got together to clear the field. Using machetes, half the field was knocked down. However, that process became tedious and eventually it was decided to just burn down the rest of field. Well it worked. Kinda. Now the infield has more bad hops than a can of Schlitz. (I wish I was good enough to come up with that line, but I stole it from Joe Posnanski) While the outfield is in even worse shape as my last week my face was nearly mangled by an errant hop.


The view from home plate.


The outfield. I guess it is in better shape than old Yankee Stadium.

But you know what? The games have been a ton of fun. Each day around 5:00 a game starts. They last four innings and the winner stay on to face the next team. All ages plays which leads, in the long run, to a lot of yelling and complaining. This usually occurs over a botched play where the old player will get on the case of a young one. Of course, I have seen plenty of evidence that demonstrates they would not have likely made the play either. But that’s not here not there. And of course there are a ton of arguments over the score and the number of outs.

Next week I will go more into detail about some of the interesting moments that have occurred thus far. First, though, I got to track down and read up on baseball field up keeping.

After all, I can’t afford to have my livelihood in danger of another errant hop.