Wednesday, March 17, 2010

Electricity

Sometimes a Volunteer can’t help but be out of site. In order to do our job and maintain our wellbeing, we have to pop out of site every once and a while to visit agencies, load up on groceries, and reconnect with the outside world. For me, these trips can be accomplished in a day trip to the provincial capital. Other trips out of site for medical, programming, and training are lengthier, requiring at least one night out of site. And when these trips are combined, you better hope nothing catastrophic happens back at home.


This past week, something did: my town lost electricity. You might be questioning my campo-ness if after two years of living in rural Panama, I still can't live without light. That’s fine by me—I love electricity! While my electric treasures ate up my Settling-In Allowance and then some, they are worth every penny to me. Instead of buying my food bit by bit, I can literally load up on fruit, veggies, and meat in Penonomé’s Public Market. Depending on how long I’ll be out of site, I can let green tomatoes ripen in the crisper and fill my freezer with pineapple and papaya which will be ready for a great smoothie upon my return.


Typically my town loses electricity at least once a week, though only for a few hours at a time. Usually it’s out in the morning when I want to boil water for a cup of tea or around dinner time when I have a pot full of beans to cook. I’m flexible; I’ll wait, skip the meal, or go pasear.


Evidently, the electricity went out soon after I started my hike out of site. It was back on by the time I arrived home days later. However, the surge blew out my power strip, which protects all my kitchen appliances including my electric stove, toaster oven, blender, and refrigerator. The good news is my appliances survived. The bad news is my fridge was without electricity for a whole week.


How did I know that my electricity hadn’t just se fue-ed that day? The varying states of decomposition of produce told part of the tale. I surmised that the pile of dark green mush in the freezer was once a head of broccoli. The pumpkin had turned into pudding. The black bollo shapes were the once-green guineo chinos I received from Señor Toribio shortly before leaving. The sprouts growing in a cartucho on a carpet of fluffy, white mold were a gift of frijoles nuevos from Señora Berta. I was looking forward to those treats.


The three fruit flies that escaped when I first opened the door of the fridge told the rest of the tale. That may not seem like many, but these probably emerged from one of the thousands of maggots squirming over every available surface inside. I carried each load of spent food out of my kitchen, through my office, across my porch, around my house, and to my compost pile. With each trip, I’d make a pit stop at my sink to rinse off the larvae crawling along my fingers and across my wrists. I carried the shelves and drawers out of my kitchen, through my office, across my porch, and down the hill to the sink to wash and sterilize.


I then tackled washing the fridge itself with a sponge and a load of soap. Each swipe of the sponge lifted countless larvae from microscopic goo to gluttonous round ones to dark, crunchy chrysalis. While they were dreaming of their metamorphosis to reproduce and continue the species, I was doing everything in my power to stop it. I raced the sponge out of my kitchen, through my office, across my porch, down the hill and to the sink. Repeat.

At various moments throughout this three and a half hour cleaning spree, I’d feel ticklish—not unlike a soft touch or a slight breeze, bending the fine hairs on my body and exciting my tactile sense. I’d look and no doubt find a juicy, white worm wiggling to and fro on my shoulder or a small, almost anorexic youngster on the back of my hand. These too experienced a truncated life cycle.


Once I finally finished, I headed into the center of town to buy some food for dinner. While the selection at the kiosco is limited, I pieced together a decent meal. In my kitchen I chopped up an onion, carrot, and culantro, dumped them into a pot, poured in a bit of lentils, filled it up with water and a packet of Costilla Criolla, and put it on the stove. I turned the small, black knob to about medium heat. The little orange light didn’t go on. Great, the power was out again.



Mom, here's a guide to my Spanglish:

campo (a place way far a away, or someone who lives in the boonies)

pasear (action of going around to people's houses to chat and visit... almost always resulting in getting a full plate of rice and beans or some kind of food or drink)

se fue (left, went away)

bollo (baked corn meal in a tube shaped by the corn husks... I'm not a fan of them as they don't have much taste.)

cartucho (plastic bag)

guineo chinos (Chinese bananas, think big bananas that are more cubic than round)

frijoles nuevos (new beans)

kiosco (little store consisting on about three rows of 5ft long shelves, selling essentials like rice, beans, and soap)

Costilla Criolla (Panama's version of beef bullion cubes)