Thursday, February 5, 2009

A place to call home

In October, when I moved from a host family into the former volunteer’s homemade hut, I decided that the humble abode wouldn’t make it much longer and that a new house must be built. My vision was simple. Just a typical Ngäbe house made out of bamboo walls and thatch roof, much smaller than the current house and in a better location that includes a view of the Pacific. The house will be 12’x8’ with a lofted bed, which is larger than my last apartment, but fairly small as far as houses are concerned. Considering these modest requests, one might think that this small structure could be done in a weekend. Not so fast. That would be un-Panamanian. It seems impossible that since that time we have made such little progress, but hey, this is all part of the learning process, right?

Its very easy to blame the lack of organization and the absence of urgency in this culture, but its more complicated than it appears on the surface. For starters, successful construction only happens in the dry season, so October and November were out for gathering materials. The Ngäbes cut wood (and plant crops) according to the moon cycles. Wood can only be cut here in the second week of the waning moon. On top of that, the tide must be low in order to cut any materials that a house would require, primarily: bamboo, palm leaves (thatch) and straight, strong trees (branches for support beams; trunks for 2x4s). Considering these restrictions, this leaves about 7 days in a month, but only 4 hours in the day to cut the materials. If all of this sounds a bit loco, well, I agree. However, once upon a time, there was another volunteer who didn’t have paciencia (patience) and demanded his wood be cut on a certain date, which happened to fall on a full moon. 3 weeks later, his house was devoured by termites and fell to the ground. So, I’m practicing my patience and holding out in the old hut that is quickly being reclaimed by nature. I haven't decided if I’m living harmoniously with nature here or constantly fighting against her and her nasty creatures.

Finally, in December, when the rains stopped, we were able to cut the materials, in accordance with the moon and the tides, of course. The owner of the land where the new house is to be built and friend of mine, Florentino, was in charge of finding other community members that have the materials growing on their land. The part of Cerro Iglesias where I live is comparatively populated, almost urban in comparison to traditional Ngäbe living arrangements, so materials come from about an hour away. Once the materials are sourced, strong men are hired to cut and haul them on their backs or with a horse to the road. From the road we hired a pickup truck to drive it up to the top of the mountain where I live. These negotiations are sometimes even further complicated by differing ideas of how much material is needed to complete the job. For example, I paid a man $8 to cut the quantity of thatch needed to provide my roof, however, after he had cut what he claimed was enough, other community members told me it was not even half of the amount needed. I ended up paying another $5 for more thatch. So, I guess I paid $13 for my roof. I'm sure this sounds ridiculously cheap, but in the Comarca that is an absolute rip-off.

So far, we have 4 posts in the ground and piles of split bamboo just waiting to be become walls. Florentino tells me that he's had a hard time finding people to work for the competitive wage of $5/day, plus lunch. If that's an indicator of high local employment rate, I guess I cannot argue. But I tend to think it's more of a lack of motivation on his part or perhaps just the complete absence of urgency. So the battle for my idyllic hut in the jungle continues, but is nearing the end. New deadline is February 15.

(Photos of the work in progress)