Can you be half Panamanian?

I get this comment a lot: "Your daughter's are half Panamanian, half American".

I have to admit, that declaration rubs me the wrong way. My first question is, which half?

How can they be half of something they are completely? They were born in Panama that makes them Panamanian. They have Panamanian birth certificates, not half of one. They speak Spanish (and not with an accent like me). Their family is here, their life. How can they be only half?

And what about American? They don't have half an American passport, either. They don't get half of their rights as citizens. They have a real, live, American mother who makes them American food, speaks to the in English, and reads them the same Dr. Seuss and Little Golden Books that I read growing up. We celebrate Christmas the American way, dye Easter eggs, sing Happy Birthday in English. They are American. Not just half of them.

I understand the statement, though. People are saying, "They are different than what I am used to. They aren't growing up in one culture like I did. They speak my language, but also one I can't understand. I don't know how to categorize them. So I will stick half of them here, and half of them here."

I get that. They are growing up in a different world than I did. Sometimes I just sit and look at them, a little amazed. These are MY daughters. They speak Spanish, their olive skin, dark hair, and dark eyes, don't look like me. They have had experiences as toddlers than many people in my culture only read about. They are mine, and yet totally unlike me. Unique. Special. Beautiful. Just right.

Not half this and half that. Just wholly what they are supposed to be. Wholly themselves. Belonging to two nations. Sharing with both. Seeing the world in a broader way than I did growing up.

Not half and half. Just wonderfully who they are supposed to be.

Changing of the Seasons

It's December in Panama.  Outside, it's raining.  A light, soft rain that I am pretending is snow as I watch our Christmas tree lights.

It's been raining for a week straight, day and night.  As Christmas comes closer, we are waiting for dry season to start. While in the northern parts winter is officially beginning, our "summer" is on the way.  When we feel those warm breezes and clear skies, it finally feels like Christmas time.

Unlike the coming of a northern winter, dry season here comes quickly, almost suddenly.  Today it is raining, but tomorrow it may stop.  We may wake to see clear skies, and not another rain drop for months. In a country that must give up 9 months of the year to rainy season, we cherish those short, dry months.

The countryside changes.  Trees, suddenly dry, lose their leaves, making dry season here feel like summer and fall rolled into one.  Grass and many plants die out, shocked by the sudden dryness.  Flowers bloom.  A good time for "spring" cleaning.

Now, as I look outside, the grass is taking over the grounds.  The countryside is so green that sometimes it hurts to look at it.  Impossibly lush.  The jungle out behind our house is constantly trying to take over our yard.

Princess, who will be starting preschool at home soon, will be learning about weather. I printed out a cute little weather chart that she can mark each day: sunny, rainy, cloudy, or snowy.  Only here, we won't ever use the snowy one.  Snow is only something she sees in movies or books.  She played  in snow when she was a baby, during a visit back to Oregon. 

Days like today, in the mid 70's, are as cold as it gets.  I put pants and socks on today, feeling chilly after hard rains, and breezes all night.  The windows are all open, as they remain every day.  The temperature changes more from day to night here, then from one time of year to another.

Here in the tropics, we are waiting for "summer".  Summer means Christmas, school getting out for the year, going to the beach, and painting your house.  And hanging your clothes on the line with no worries of rain.  I am ready.

Garden memories

Today was the third sunny day in a row, leading me to believe that dry season (what we call summer here) is just around the corner.  This sunny day found us out in the yard, replanting my garden.
For years after moving to this tropical country, I did no gardening whatsoever.  I was very busy, traveling all the time, and the whole YWAM property was under construction. So every time I did actually take time to plant something, I would come back the next day to find it under a pile of rubble.  Yes, that really did happen.

But now we have been in the same house for almost 6 years, and  I am pretty sure nothing will ever be built in our back yard.  So I have begun gardening.

Tropical gardening is still a bit new to me.  I have very fond memories of gardening with my mom; first in Montana, and then Portland.  I clearly remember at our little school house in Montana, my mom gave us each a little square of the garden to plant ourselves. I think that I planted it with one of those seed varitey packs, but maybe I'm not sure how acurate my memory is. I must have been about 4 or 5.

There was something that facinated me about gardening as a child: interacting with nature, seeing the fruits of my labor, time spent outdoors, the wonderful feel of dirt.  Now as a mom myself, I want my girls to have the same great memories. Maybe that is what has finally driven me to learn gardening here.

Only my little ones won't remember planting carrots and peas, like I do, but pineapples and papayas. Today we were out in the garden planting some bell peppers.  They love the hot weather.  So do sweet potatoes, tomatoes and basil.  Princess enjoyed making the little holes, and putting the seeds in.  Rose played with sticks and found a bug. 

Then we all played in the wading pool.  A perfect morning. I just hope that we don't get to many heavy rains and ruin all my plans.

What does a coconut look like?

What does a coconut look like?  If you grew up in the northern states like me, you would probably answer; it's round, brown and fuzzy.

I always drew coconut trees that way, with a palm tree and fuzzy brown circles surrounding it.  In fact, I can't remember ever seeing a drawing or book illustration with any other kind of coconut than the brown, fuzzy ones.

Unfortunately, that's not what coconuts look like.  At least, not until you pull them off a tree, peal them and let them dry out for awhile. Oh, and then ship them up north, where those ignorant of coconuts will assume that's the way they grow.

For your information, a coconut is actually yellow or green, and not round, but shaped somewhat like a large Hazelnut (hence the name coco -  nut).  Just to make my point, I found a coconut illustration from one of my daughters' books.

The picture of a banana tree in this particular book is even less realistic:

If you have ever seen a real banana "tree", you would understand why this is so funny.  Banana "trees" are not trees at all, but stalks.  They grow up from the ground and produce in about a year, then after producing, each stalk dies.  More similar to a garden vegetable than a tree.

Below are actual pictures of the trees in question.

So what is my point in all this, other than that illustrators should investigate more before publishing books?

Just this: our perception of reality is based on our experience (some call it our worldview).  In our own culture and context, everything makes sense. We think we know what the world looks like, and works. Then suddenly we are thrust into a new world, a new way of looking at things.  And suddenly our definitions no longer make sense.

That is, of course, if we take the step outside of our world. If it is someone else coming into our world, then we just assume they are the weird ones.

One more amusing example;  YWAM runs a small private elementary school here in our neighborhood.  The classes are mostly done in English, and young Panamanian girl was completing her homework on October day.  She had read that day that the "red apples and orange pumpkins are ripe in the fall", and she was supposed to draw a picture of fall.  So she drew two trees: one with little red circles, for the apples, and another with little orange circles, for the pumpkins.  She spoke English, but had never experienced fall, or seen a pumpkin.

So, what do you think?  Anyone else grow up drawing brown fuzzy coconuts, like me?

Thoughts on cross-cultural marriage

My friend Heidi recently started writing about her experiences in a cross-cultural marriage, (therealmodernfamily.wordpress.com) and it got me thinking on the subject. There is much to be said, but here are my thoughts today:

Finding friendships after you marry someone of another culture is often a puzzle to be solved. When two or more languages are involved, the puzzle is even more difficult to put together. I remember soon after we married, feeling like I had to pick sides when we got together with co-workers. Sit on the side of the room that was speaking Spanish, with my husband, or sneak over to the English speaking side? I always hated that I had to pick a side, and felt guilty if I picked English.

If we spent time with English speakers, Alex felt left out. And it wasn't just that he didn't understand words. Whole areas of experience and interest were not there to share. If we visit his family and Wounaan friends, I understand little. For a long time this intimidated me, but now I interject comments in Spanish, if I am following the conversation. Someday, I may be able to make my comments in Woun Meu. As I have learned more about the culture, it too, has become more comfortable. It reminds me of our favorite camping spot growing up, Clear Creek Crossing. Not at all home, but a place we loved to come back to.

Often, Spanish speaking friends have been the easiest to make. We both speak Spanish well, and though the culture is not home to either of us, it's a second home that we have grown comfortable in. Nothing needs to be translated, no one is left out, each confident to take on the friendship without depending on the other. And yet... still not totally home to either of us.

Some potential friendships died a premature death. At times I am sure it was my fault, perhaps a Panamanian couple that I had a hard time clicking with. Sometimes there were American couples that had a hard time connecting with Alex. Some just didn't know how to speak Spanish. Others perhaps, didn't want to make the effort. And some others, though they spoke Spanish fine, choose American friends instead. Sometimes, that hurt.

There were wonderful exceptions to the rule, like our friends John and Kristina. Originally from Alaska, they came to Panama eager to connect with Panamanians. I always felt as ease around them, like Alex's nationality and language wasn't an inconvenience, or a barrier, but an asset. They respected him, wanted to hear what he had to share. I never feel when I am around them that switching into Spanish is a chore.

And of course, there are other cross-cultural couples. Which should be more natural, but somehow, isn't. Because there are all sorts of variables. Like what language do they speak while together? Is the wife English speaking and the husband Spanish speaking, or vice versa? Do we share any interests other than our multi-cultural family experiments?

In spite of all this, the benefits are amazing. We have all sorts of friends. Our social life is like going to a potluck: a little bit of everything. The fun part has been learning to enjoy the varieties. There is nothing like getting together with a bunch of high-spirited Latinos, when somebody starts telling jokes. Or gathering around the homemade kerosene lantern at my in-laws house, and asking them to tell stories about the old days. Or our visits to Oregon, where Alex has experienced both snow and American culture.

Our lives have been broadened. WE have been broadened. We have been forced to become different, to look at life with different eyes. To understand others. To REALLY understand others. To open up new windows in our little worlds, and contemplate the view from someone else's window. I know I am better because of it.

Lessons learned on the bus

As we were waiting in line to get onto the Chilibre bus, going home, I started thinking about what my daughters can learn from these experiences. 1. Patience. Wait in line to get on the bus. Wait at the bus stop for the bus to come. Wait for the bus to fill up so we can leave. Wait for others to get off so we can get off too. Their reserve of patience is being expanded considerably. 2. Opposites; the bus is full and empty, goes fast and slow, the music is loud and ... okay, it's always loud! 3. Be considerate of others. There is someone sitting in the seat in front of us who you are hitting when you wave your arms about crazily. When you scream, that bothers the people around us. Except if the bus driver is waiting for the bus to fill up. Then I let Carolyn cry and hope that it bothers him enough to leave sooner. I don't know that this have ever worked but I keep trying. 4. Basic economics. We have to pay for the bus. Sometimes I let the girls give the money to the busdriver. 5. And of course, thankfulnes. Always thank the bus driver when you get off. For me, the buses always remind me to pray. As in, pray that we make it off alive. But I am hoping that they don't yet realize how crazy some of the drivers are. So I just smile and nod when Abigail cries in an excited voice, "The bus is going faster Mommy!".

How to cut open a coconut

One of my favorite outreach treats is fresh coconut milk., or "agua de pipa". Our hosts will often cut down several coconuts and cut a small hole with a machete so we can drink the milk (this is quite a skill). Depending on how ripe the coconut is, you can then split it open with a machete and eat the pulp or "meat". But, if like me you didn't grow up using a machete, this can be difficult. So here is the system I have worked out when I want to open a coconut: 1. Go ask the nearest neighbor for a machete (every household has one) 2. Take the machete and begin hacking randomly at the coconut. 3. Hand the machete to the Panamanian man who has just appeared out of the wood work and offered to do it for you. 4. Smile and say thank-you. There you have it! This system has yet to fail me.