How the Wounaan won my heart

 

 

The low tide had caught up to us.  The Platanares River, which rises and falls with the tides, only allows for boat travel at high tide.  That, apparently, was hours away. The boat wouldn't go any farther.

"We'll have to tell Alex to come and get you here!" Laughed our captain.  I wasn't sure whether he was joking or not, so I just said, "Dale, pues!"

Alex was already in the village of Platanares. The girls and I had stayed behind because of some scheduling overlaps.  But the afternoon before I got a call from the man who was now tying the boat to a nearby tree (his name is Tovar). He told me he was heading up to the village and Alex had asked if I wanted to come along.

I had no way of getting ahold of Alex, so I just went for it.  We packed up, caught a taxi early the next morning to the port, and here we were. Well, I wasn't really sure where we were.  I knew the village was up river, but I didn't know how far.



Soon it became evident that we were getting out to walk the rest of the way.  I tried to remember where the girl's clothes were packed, so that we would have a clean change of clothes when we arrived, but Tovar and his helper lifted our bags to their shoulders and started across the river.  Managing the smaller bags as best as I could, we started hesitantly across the river as well.  Carolyn was soon hoisted onto a pair of shoulders as well, and I told Abigail that we were going to have an adventure.

As we climbed up the opposite shore, I realized that I was going to have my first experience hiking through mangroves.  I kept telling Abigail how brave she was being as we ducked and wove among the roots and overhanging branches, trying to avoid the deepes, stickiest spots of mud.  At one point my flip-flop got stuck.  I fished it out with my hand and went barefoot the rest of the way.

Finally we came out of the mangroves and crisscrossed back and forth through the river.  I kept hoping that Abigail wouldn't ask to be carried because I was pretty sure I couldn't handle the backpacks, plus the slippery river rocks, plus her.  She never did ask, but forged ahead through the river that was chest deep at times for her.

I am sure it took much longer than Tovar and his patient helper wanted, but we finally made it to the village. I will skip over the part about climbing up the muddy river bank. Let's just say that Carolyn and I took a good amount of mud with us.

The first thing I noticed upon arriving was that (hallelujah!) the biting flies, or chitras, weren't anywhere around.  We were dutifully delivered to the pastor's house.  I asked Tovar how much I owed him (I know it's usual for passengers to pay a few dollars to help with the gas costs) he wouldn't take anything.

Later I learned that Tovar had suggested picking me up himself, when we saw that Alex had brought the group and we had stayed home. Then he changed his schedule to make it more convienient for me.  I was touched.  How often does someone go out of their way, change their plan, carry your bag through the river and the mangroves, just so your family can be together.

It's experiences like this that have made the Wounan win my heart.

Raising kids in between cultures

As I listen to other moms share their struggles, it seems that many, if not all moms struggle with the expectations of others.  We wrestle with what our family expects, what society expects, what our spouse excepts, and even expectations with have of ourselves. The big problem is when we fail in fulfilling those expectations.  They can begin to rule our lives.

While this is something I think that moms all over deal with, it's especially difficult for missionary moms, for two reasons.

One reason is the public nature of our work.  Lots of people know us, our whole job is connecting with people.

We have a large network of people involved in our lives (a big blessing) and a lot of people interested in what we are doing and where we are going, in life and in minstry. This can also get tricky.  While the great majority of those people are nothing but encouraging and supporting, some can add on a few more expectations. It's almost like walking by someone at the grocery store with their arms loaded with groceries, and stacking a few more things on top.

While it might be a simple question about us deciding to homeschool, or a challenge about risks that we take as a family, these can weigh on the mind of a mother who is already concerned about how she is doing as a parent.

If you happen to be living in a Christian community (like a YWAM base) you may have to deal with your family being under a microscope 24 hours a day.  Pretty soon it's feels like you are being judged for how your kids behave at the staff meeting, what they ate for dinner, how long they use a pacifier, and a thousand other parenting challenges every day. If you let it, it can drown you.

The second reason I think parenting is difficult for those of us living cross-culturally, is that we have not one but two societies loading us up with expectations.  For me, there is the American mindset, a complicated set of values that wants our kids to be safe (above all else) have a strong self esteem, eat organic foods, whole grains, no sugar... and on and on it goes.  Then we are living in a culture that will give our 6 month old baby a sucker to quiet her down, but criticize us because her hair is not perfectly combed.

I have to admit, this one is hard for me.  In Panama, little girls are expected to have their hair done up with every hair in place, a matching outfit (her hair bows and shoes should also match the outfit) every time she steps outside your yard. God forbid you let your three year old choose her own outfit, or give up after the third time she has ripped the bows out of her hair.

On the flip side, running around in their underwear is totally fine in your house and yard, and it would be perfectly acceptable for me to go out and rake the leaves up in my night gown.

My intent here isn't to criticize their values, just show how different two systems can be. In  the States, we celebrate children getting dirty as they explore life and have fun. Here, where getting dirty is a lot easier, parents fight it every step of the way (probably out of necessity).

I had to laugh when we returned from a fun camping trip while we were back in Oregon this past fall.  Our first stop after camping for two days was the bath tub for the girls.  I just sat there in the bathroom, shaking my head. After two days of playing in the dirt, eating hotdogs with their fingers and running around the forest, they were noticably cleaner than a normal day back home in Panama. I blame the sweat.  Some days the girls are just drenched in sweat, even from playing in the house, and every piece of dirt sticks to sweat.

Back to our subjcect, what do we do with all these expectations? Well, I haven't totally figured that out yet. What do YOU do?  I am guessing that at the root of the matter is obedience to God. Every decision we make can be criticized by someone.  Being a foreigner in a host country, I am always going to be different, no matter how good I get at making Arroz con pollo.  So I need to accept fact that and put my energy somewhere that really matters.  For example, in spending time before God asking him for the next step, for wisdom, for help in making all those parenting decisions that weigh on me, for patience and love, and how I should spend my days.

Although I know in my head that the only person I need to please all the time is God, walking that out can be complicated.  From what I hear other moms saying, I think most of us find it complicated.  Right now, all I can do is trust that my Shepherd knows where we are going and keep following.

My Battle with the Health Center

Someone more knowedgable on the nuances of politics could tell you if Panama's health system would be considered "socialist". What I do know is that the government provides health care for free or nearly free to anyone who needs it. Of course, you do pay for it in inconvienience, long waits, and less than respectful treatment, at times.

Still for me, it's worth it. Care for all children under 5 is free, so that means all check-ups and immunizations are free for the girls. Not a bad deal. It requires getting there at 6:00 AM, and sometimes not getting out of there until noon, but we made it work.

My problems began when Princess went in for her 1 1/2 check-up. She been weaned and started walking since her last appointment, and had dipped below the acceptable weight on their charts. She was declared "in danger of malnutrition" and I was sent to see their nutritionist. The nutritionist asked about her eating habits. She filled out her little chart and suggested that I not give Princess water with meals, "every drink of water is one less bite of food she is going to eat." I was not overly impressed with her advice. She handed me a bag full of fortified hot cereal, known here as "crema". It's great for kids that really ARE malnourished, somehow I can't see any peditritian in the USA recommending it.

After Princess totally rejected the "crema", we stopped taking her to the nutritionist, and I didn't worry much about her weight. She was reaching all her milestones on time, healthy, alert, and growing.

Then came the fateful day when both girls had appointments the same day: 3 years and 15 months. This time they were BOTH under weight, and the doctor was not happy. She told me in a voice that I can only decribe as offended, that Rose had "the weight of an 8-month-old baby". Didn't matter than in every other way she was totally normal. Off again we went to the nutritionist. Another armload of "crema", and advice on how to get them to eat more. Princess still hates it, but Rose likes it and when I offer, yells for her "c'ema!".

I should also mention that all this was happening while we were heading out on a two month outreach into remote villages. Not the best envirnment for keeping kids healthy and gaining weight.

However, after we returned from the outreach things did eventually calm down a little. Maybe it was the stress of outreach. Maybe they were hitting a growth spurt. But they began to noticably plump up, especially obvious on Rose.

I didn't think about it much the day we headed off to Princess' 3 1/2 year appointment, except to hope that they wouldn't scold me for not bringing her to see the nutritionist. We had a happy surprise. She has edged up into the "normal" weight range. Yeah! No more lectures for me, defective Mommy who obviously doesn't feed her children.

This whole experience is even more interesting to me, seeing as how all the advice coming out of the USA in relation to kids and nutrition, is focused on helping kids NOT gain too much weight. And here I am being encouraged to make sure the girls are gaining plenty of weight. The mindset here totally makes sense. Lots of kids in Panama truly are underweight. I have seen it with my own eyes, and it's terribly sad.

It makes me feel like I am living in two worlds at the same time. One a world of plenty, where food is always available, and one a world where every child who is a little too small is seen as in danger.

Becoming like a child...

I have recently been reading an excellent book called " Ministering Cross-Culturally." The author, Sherwood Lingenfelter, tells about his experiences living in another culture and says that as we adapt to the new culture, we become 150% people: 75 % our own culture, and 75% our new host culture.

It's an interesting thought. Obviously, if we are to be effective missionaries, we must adapt to our host country and culture, taking on a new language, cultural norms, foods, even climate. But we always remain American (or whatever our country of origin is).

In a way, when we enter a new culture, we become as little children. We must learn to eat, learn to speak, learn manners, even how to go to the bathroom or bathe. Everything is new. This is perhaps one of the most difficult things to accept. At home, we were someone. We had a place in society, we felt at home, we knew what was expected of us. But now, we are ignorant foreigners. When we speak, people laugh. When we make a cultural mistake, people think us rude. When we make rice wrong, they tell us so (I know that from personal experience).

I have crystal clear memories of a certain jungle outreach where we spent three weeks mostly hiking from village to village in an area inaccessible by car. As the days wore on I felt my self esteem taking a fatal blow. The locals who accompanied us soon left us behind. Every river we had to cross reminded me of my foreignness as I struggles across the rocky river bottom, slipping and tripping. Then at the other side of the river, I struggled to empty my rubber boots of the water (which inevitably spilled over the edge of the boots). I watched the rest of the group move on, knowing that even though I was pushing myself to the limit physically, I wouldn't be able to keep it.

It's an incredibly humbling experience, to realize that in this world, you know nothing. It changes you. There is no going back once you have been stretched by an experience like that.

After 13 years in the country, in many ways, I have adapted. I can speak Spanish fluently, make many of the local dishes, get around the country, and I usually know what is expected in social situations. In many ways, I have become a Panamanian. I even have my residency papers to prove it (and having an Panamanian husband also helps).

Yet in many ways, I will never be Panamanian. The color of my skin, my hair and my eyes shouts to the world that I am different. Even as I have tried to adjust, I find a part of myself resisting. As I try to be a good missionary, part of me shouts, "I don’t WANT to be a Panamanian." I think that's why I loved his statement of being 75% of one culture, and 75% of another. I have given up my homeland, my culture, submitting myself to the laws and customs of another land. I have given the last 13 of my years, hoping to make this nation a better place. Yet a part of me remains forever American. The foods, holidays, and values of my culture remain, pulling me back continually.


It's been a painful experience at times, and has changed the way I see the world. And still I continue to learn. And many times I still feel like a little child, just starting to learn about the world