Thursday, January 17, 2008

About a month ago, Panamá almost saw the end of Melissa Muterspaugh, as I had my regular nervous breakdown that accompanies major holidays, stressful news, or the sheer fact that I have to speak in Spanish daily while force feeding myself a pound or two of rice. Yes, I about came home. I didn't get around to packing my bags though, because a group of boys came to my rescue and now I feel like Wendy in Peter Pan.

My best friends are about ten boys, between the ages of 13 and 17 and as such, I'm sure my maturity level will have dropped significantly by the time I return to the United States. We climb giant hills together to retrieve oranges from my host father's finca, we walk a mile and a half to the deep river to play Chicken Fight, and I listen as they ask me how to swear in English (which I never teach them). I can't believe it, but these boys are my saving grace in site.

Accompanied by the fact that Vladimir, Luisito, José, Ñato, Sando, Landín, César and Tony have been keeping me on my toes, New Year's was also quite the spectacle to behold. Below are pictures, and I apologize about this post being short and lame in advance, but I only have a few minutes of internet time left.

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Here's the obligatory kids-in-my-community picture.

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My host mom Jovanys and sister Dalquiri making Tamales.

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Tamale fixin's.

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Pork leg.

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The dolls we would eventually burn in the street for New Year's.

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Here we go. César dragging it out to the street.

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What my roof is made of. Fresh-cut Penca.

And finally...

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The scorpion I found in the shower. No one believed me that it was a scorpion until I forced them to look for themselves, because apparently gringas can't distinguish scorpions from lizards. Such is Panama.