We've been here a just over a year now. As I've managed to adapt more to my surroundings, our poor pup has been worse for the wear. Living in an apartment for the first time in his short little life took a little getting used to - the potty pads, the elevators, the limited green space, and the lack of sidewalks. But, he's been a real trooper. What's really gotten under his skin has been the humidity - literally. It started out last year as occasional circular marks on his abdomen, manageable but itchy. This year, however, as rainy season has progressed, it has become ulcerated skin lesions, hair lose, and uncontrollable scratching. Despite wiping him down every time we come back from a walk, despite keeping him out of the rain when possible, he has still gotten a bad case of dermatitis. So, I decided to take him to the veterinarian.
Veterinary service here is usually first come first served. When I arrived at the vet’s office, I was relieved to find I was the only one in the waiting room. Wonderful! So, I checked in, sat down, and tried to calm my nervous pooch. (He’d been planning his escape from the time we exited the car.) 20 minutes pass and then 30. Still the only one in the waiting room. I ask if the vet is even there. Yes, but she’s busy with another client. Ah. Ok. 45 minutes. Will she be available soon? My baby had lost at least a pound in saliva production by then. Couldn’t say. Should I go elsewhere? Don’t worry, she’ll be ready for you soon. Another lady comes rushing in in a state of panic. An emergency. She, of course, goes before me. I understand. An hour and 15 minutes. I’ve learned to be more patient here, but I still have limits. I head to another clinic. What a line! Wait time – about an hour. Sigh. So, I head home and do what I should have done in the first place, call my dad, who just happens to be a veterinarian. Diagnosis and “prescription” are given over the phone. It’s been about a week now, and he’s doing better. Please, oh, please, if you plan on bringing a dog to Panama, have Head & Shoulders shampoo available. It will be your secret weapon.
But, this was my breaking point in a series of experiences in inadequate or unacceptable dog care here. Long story short – veterinarians do not receive the same level of education as those in more developed nations, and kennel facilities give marginal care, making good friends who are willing to take care of your furry baby a necessity if you’d like to travel. Two specific examples leap to mind – When our dog got his vaccinations, he was given one for Coronavirus, apparently used instead of Bordatella. Within hours of the injections, his snout started to swell, so I called the vet. It was thought that it was a reaction from the cream that had been placed on his nose. (The cream, by the way, was to help heal a gash he had sustained while in a kennel.) No need to overreact. But, by closing time, our baby had started scratching like crazy, drawing blood. Hives had formed. He started a fever. I had no idea what to do. It was Friday after 6 p.m., and just over an hour earlier I had been told I was overreacting. So, I called my dad. He gave me an over - the - phone diagnosis and prescription, which helped us get through the night. The next day, a different vet confirmed he had an allergic reaction to the vaccine. Now back to that gash on his nose. During Thanksgiving last year, we left our dog in what is supposedly one of the best kennels here in Panama – they even asked if we had any specific instructions we wanted them to follow. By the time we returned, our previously docile baby had learned how to bark with the best of them, he had lost 3 pounds (he’s a mini-dachshund by the way), he had chewed apart his bed, and his nose had a nasty laceration. No explanation was given for any of this. Instead, I was admonished for having a dog that barked so much. Come to find out, part of the reason he was barking and injured nose was because he was asking to be let out to do his “duty”, something they only permitted once a day. Again, these are just 2 examples.
So, now, my husband and I made the heartbreaking decision to send our little guy back to the States to live with my parents, a place where he will hopefully no longer suffer from his allergies and where we know he will be well taken care of. In a few weeks, we will be on a plane – barring any problems in getting government paperwork completed on time. Sigh.
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
Indiscreet Question
There’s this “concierge” worker in our building that I have taken a liking to for his strong work ethic and for his straightforwardness when speaking and dealing with people. He has a welcoming smile and a witty sense of humor. He’s a humble but proud man from the Kuna tribe.
Occasionally, I ask him to help me with odd jobs around the apartment, mainly because he appreciates earning extra money and is truly thankful for the opportunity, and also, because (in full disclosure) if he does the work, it means I don’t have to.
The other day, I asked him to clean the balcony – outside windows, floors, and furniture. With all the construction, the place gets quite dusty. On this particular day, he asked if he could ask me an “indiscreet” question. Well, of course, it would depend on the question, I answered. But, I would answer if I could. And so the conversation goes:
- What do you do all day? (He probably sees me as a rich woman with nothing to do but outsource work.)
- Well, 4 days a week, I teach. Some days I take yoga class. I clean the apartment, and on days like today, I go to an orphanage to hold babies and play with toddlers.
- Really? Which orphanage?
- Malambo
- Ah, that’s close to where I live.
- Really?
- Yeah, there are lots of Kuna kids there.
- Yes, I have seen a few.
- So, why don’t you have children? You don’t want any?
- (A touchy subject for me, but I’m getting better at answering) No, I would love to have children, but I can’t. We have tried. I’ve lost three pregnancies.
- Oh, I’m sorry. That must be tough.
- Yes, but I’m learning to accept it.
- Have you thought about adopting?
- Yes, we have. It’s quite a process.
- Do you want children?
- (Thinking to myself – where is this going?) Well…. I love kids, but I’m not sure how they could fit into our lives right now.
- 'Cause if you want some kids, I can get you some kids.
- (What?!? Did I hear what I thought I just heard?!? He can get me kids??? Curb the surprised facial expression.) Oh, I don’t think it’s that easy. The international adoption laws…
- No, I can get you some. I know some Kuna women who would give you their kids.
- Oh, that’s very sweet of you, but I think it would be a little difficult.
- No, I know a Chilean couple who took some kids. They adopted them.
- Um, well, I don’t know how long we will be here and how easy it would be to move to another country with the children.
- Well, if you want some kids, let me know. I’ll get them for you.
- Thanks. So kind of you.
And he smiled and got back to work.
I have since learned that the Kuna will, at times, offer their kids to people they believe are better off than they. This is a way of making sure their children grow up with better opportunities and possibly a better future.
Occasionally, I ask him to help me with odd jobs around the apartment, mainly because he appreciates earning extra money and is truly thankful for the opportunity, and also, because (in full disclosure) if he does the work, it means I don’t have to.
The other day, I asked him to clean the balcony – outside windows, floors, and furniture. With all the construction, the place gets quite dusty. On this particular day, he asked if he could ask me an “indiscreet” question. Well, of course, it would depend on the question, I answered. But, I would answer if I could. And so the conversation goes:
- What do you do all day? (He probably sees me as a rich woman with nothing to do but outsource work.)
- Well, 4 days a week, I teach. Some days I take yoga class. I clean the apartment, and on days like today, I go to an orphanage to hold babies and play with toddlers.
- Really? Which orphanage?
- Malambo
- Ah, that’s close to where I live.
- Really?
- Yeah, there are lots of Kuna kids there.
- Yes, I have seen a few.
- So, why don’t you have children? You don’t want any?
- (A touchy subject for me, but I’m getting better at answering) No, I would love to have children, but I can’t. We have tried. I’ve lost three pregnancies.
- Oh, I’m sorry. That must be tough.
- Yes, but I’m learning to accept it.
- Have you thought about adopting?
- Yes, we have. It’s quite a process.
- Do you want children?
- (Thinking to myself – where is this going?) Well…. I love kids, but I’m not sure how they could fit into our lives right now.
- 'Cause if you want some kids, I can get you some kids.
- (What?!? Did I hear what I thought I just heard?!? He can get me kids??? Curb the surprised facial expression.) Oh, I don’t think it’s that easy. The international adoption laws…
- No, I can get you some. I know some Kuna women who would give you their kids.
- Oh, that’s very sweet of you, but I think it would be a little difficult.
- No, I know a Chilean couple who took some kids. They adopted them.
- Um, well, I don’t know how long we will be here and how easy it would be to move to another country with the children.
- Well, if you want some kids, let me know. I’ll get them for you.
- Thanks. So kind of you.
And he smiled and got back to work.
I have since learned that the Kuna will, at times, offer their kids to people they believe are better off than they. This is a way of making sure their children grow up with better opportunities and possibly a better future.
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Swimming in the Clouds - Rainy season
Dress it up any way you want. Call it “green season” if it makes you feel good. Call it “winter” even though it’s not cold, and heaven knows, it’s not going to snow. But, the reality is - rainy season means flooded streets, muddy sidewalks, increased traffic, honking horns, thunder, lightning, more traffic, decreased patience, more horns… and at times, days and days without sunshine. We arrived in the middle of rainy season last year, and here we are, almost a year later in the thick of it again.
Dealing with and preparing for rainy season requires the following:
1. Have a good umbrella. Take that back – have 4 good umbrellas: one for home, one for the car, one for the office if you work, and one just in case. We are an 8-umbrella family, and we have used all of them at one time or another since here.
2. Make sure that at least one of your vehicles is an SUV. Go ahead and buy the little sports car if you wish, but know that you will only be able to rely on it 4 or 5 months out of the year.
3. When encountering flooded streets (and you will encounter them), move slowly and steadily through the water if, and only if, you really think you can make it. If you aren’t sure, don’t go through. Don’t use the brake. Don’t go in reverse. Don't expect that there will be tow trucks to drag you out if you get stuck. Slow and steady.
4. Let friends and family know that now is not a good time to visit. Sure the airfare may be cheaper, but there is a reason for that. That wonderful beach vacation they’ve been dreaming about will probably be spent inside playing cards, especially during the months of October and November.
Nevertheless, there’s another side to this season. It’s romantic and mysterious. The lightning shows make you want to grab a bottle of wine, sit on the balcony (far enough out of the way to avoid the pelting rain), and admire nature at work. Sheltered by the clouds, amid the lightning and thunder, the sunset creates deep hues of orange, red, and purple. Other days, when the sun can’t find the energy to force itself out, everything is steeped in shades of silver, giving the appearance of a 1920s film or Ansel Adams photograph. Those are the days when the clouds creep up on you, seeping into every nook, until you are standing in the middle of a milky light unable to see anything before or behind you. I’m constantly fascinated, amazed, in awe of the beauty of this place. Fascinated by its rich colors. Amazed by the absence of them as well.
Rainy season – in a nutshell - it’s the most beautiful mess you’ll ever have to be in. Aw, what the heck, invite the family down. You can sit on the balcony and chat while saturating your senses.
Dealing with and preparing for rainy season requires the following:
1. Have a good umbrella. Take that back – have 4 good umbrellas: one for home, one for the car, one for the office if you work, and one just in case. We are an 8-umbrella family, and we have used all of them at one time or another since here.
2. Make sure that at least one of your vehicles is an SUV. Go ahead and buy the little sports car if you wish, but know that you will only be able to rely on it 4 or 5 months out of the year.
3. When encountering flooded streets (and you will encounter them), move slowly and steadily through the water if, and only if, you really think you can make it. If you aren’t sure, don’t go through. Don’t use the brake. Don’t go in reverse. Don't expect that there will be tow trucks to drag you out if you get stuck. Slow and steady.
4. Let friends and family know that now is not a good time to visit. Sure the airfare may be cheaper, but there is a reason for that. That wonderful beach vacation they’ve been dreaming about will probably be spent inside playing cards, especially during the months of October and November.
Nevertheless, there’s another side to this season. It’s romantic and mysterious. The lightning shows make you want to grab a bottle of wine, sit on the balcony (far enough out of the way to avoid the pelting rain), and admire nature at work. Sheltered by the clouds, amid the lightning and thunder, the sunset creates deep hues of orange, red, and purple. Other days, when the sun can’t find the energy to force itself out, everything is steeped in shades of silver, giving the appearance of a 1920s film or Ansel Adams photograph. Those are the days when the clouds creep up on you, seeping into every nook, until you are standing in the middle of a milky light unable to see anything before or behind you. I’m constantly fascinated, amazed, in awe of the beauty of this place. Fascinated by its rich colors. Amazed by the absence of them as well.
Rainy season – in a nutshell - it’s the most beautiful mess you’ll ever have to be in. Aw, what the heck, invite the family down. You can sit on the balcony and chat while saturating your senses.
Akila Yoga - You've gotta try this place!
I'm a tough customer - but when I come across something that I absolutely love or hate, I will give my opinion. And, right now, I'm telling you - I LOVE Akila Yoga.
Three years of pain gone in 3 weeks – literally! As a teacher carrying heavy loads of books and equipment and as a runner, pain was just part of the game, I thought. I had tried everything to get rid of the back pain – physical therapy, chiropractics, and even an injection of cortisone into my spinal nerve – nothing worked until I started personalized training with Mijael at Akila Yoga y Danza.
Mijael helped me understand how important the mind-body connection is in healing physical problems. Through sequences of exercises, postures, and daily meditation that Mijael prepared for me, my back pain disappeared and my inner happiness started to return! (We're always happier when we aren't carrying a ton of pain around, right?) What a wonderful thing to wake up pain-free!
Yoga has been my daily energy boost, my stress reducer, and my mental and physical therapy that has helped me get through some of the tougher times while living abroad.
Oh, an even cooler thing to note about Mijael, my miracle-making yoga instructor, he's bilingual (Spanish/English) and understands what it means to live through the changes that come with moving from one country/culture to another.
You gotta give this guy a try!
Three years of pain gone in 3 weeks – literally! As a teacher carrying heavy loads of books and equipment and as a runner, pain was just part of the game, I thought. I had tried everything to get rid of the back pain – physical therapy, chiropractics, and even an injection of cortisone into my spinal nerve – nothing worked until I started personalized training with Mijael at Akila Yoga y Danza.
Mijael helped me understand how important the mind-body connection is in healing physical problems. Through sequences of exercises, postures, and daily meditation that Mijael prepared for me, my back pain disappeared and my inner happiness started to return! (We're always happier when we aren't carrying a ton of pain around, right?) What a wonderful thing to wake up pain-free!
Yoga has been my daily energy boost, my stress reducer, and my mental and physical therapy that has helped me get through some of the tougher times while living abroad.
Oh, an even cooler thing to note about Mijael, my miracle-making yoga instructor, he's bilingual (Spanish/English) and understands what it means to live through the changes that come with moving from one country/culture to another.
You gotta give this guy a try!
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
The Tailor of Panama – The Movie and its Deeper Sociological Insight
The Tailor of Panama is a dialogue - driven movie, which brings to light some of the charming and not so attractive characteristics of Panama… depending on the perspective one takes in interpreting the conversations offered. This movie was not highly rated when it came out in 2001 as many were anticipating a high-action, James Bond type spy flick. But as someone who is presently living in Panama, there were several lines in the movie that struck a chord with me, that made me reflect on Panama as a culture. Seeing Panama in its days prior to the international “invasion” of multinational corporations and northern retirees made quite an impression as well.
The ones that resonated most:
“Nobody ever loses their reputation in Panama. They hang it in the wardrobe for a few months to get its shape back. When they put it on again, it's as good as new.”
- Forgive and forget. Is this having a short memory for bad situations and undesirable or even immoral character? Could it be that there is the belief that nothing will change, so why bother? Or, is it a true belief that people can change? Personally, I question how personal integrity and responsibility figure into the equation? I have yet to find out.
“Do you know what the poor call those? The Cocaine Towers.”
- Posh living and Money laundering is apparently a big thing here. Just 10 years ago the tallest building in Panama was the BBVA building that couldn’t be more than 20 stories high. Now there are skyscrapers going up everywhere. Although some boast that Panama is becoming the Miami of Latin America (never mind the current states of that city), there are still many locals who believe that that these monstrosities are being funded mainly by drug money. I’m just trying to figure out where the heck they are going to get enough people to fill all of the buildings once they are finished with construction. For goodness sake, there are only 3 million Panamanians. How many international retirees and expats will it take? No wonder the Panamanians are a bit leery of us outsiders.
“Their task was to beat the dignity out of anyone remotely critical of Noriega. It was Dr. Frankenstein, George Bush, who created this monster......when he was head of the CIA. And when Noriega's......drug running and brutality got too much even for the CIA......it was George, now President Bush, who decided to take him out. And just to make sure......they firebombed a big chunk of the old city. Sadly, that's where the anti-Noriega rebels were. The handful that Noriega hadn't banged up already. So, no more opposition, silent or otherwise. Burnt......scattered......fled. Or risen again from the ashes.”
- The US and foreign intervention: Let’s just say that the people of Panama have suffered, and this is not the only time in history that the US government has helped create monsters. Just recently I read that there are still 60 bodies from the time of the dictatorship that have not been identified because the government doesn’t have enough money to pay for the research and investigation it would take to do so. However, Panama can be proud of 20 some years of modern-day democracy.
“You're too soft, afraid they'll dislike you if you make them pay. It's tradition. Gentlemen like to keep their tailors waiting for the money. Gentlemen? Find me one.”
- Pay people for the work they do? Is it tradition to keep those who work for you waiting for their pay? This same behavior was apparent in another movie I recently viewed, called “Chance”, a Panamanian-Colombian movie. And, if you don’t pay a person, what kind of work can you expect? Will they work harder to receive the money they are owed, or will they work less and less effectively until they are paid? Coming from a culture that values hard work and payment for doing so, this behavior perplexes me.
“This girl in school told me mothers who work......feel guilty about their children. Why don't you?”
- Stay-at-Home Moms: I firmly believe that having my mom stay home with us when we were children was very beneficial for us. But, should a woman feel guilty about going to work and perhaps sacrifice her personal needs for mental stimulation, personal growth, and interaction with other adults? Should a woman’s goal in life be to marry and have children and NOT work outside of the house? Just throwing a few questions out there. I don’t have the answer. I’m not a mom, but I was a child and I am an adult.
“Well, I had absolutely no idea how delightful Panama was going to be. Yes. It's a beautiful country. I was thinking about the people.”
- Panama: Yes, it is a beautiful country. Yes, the people can be warm and welcoming. A very pleasant place to visit.
“You see, lying's what you do in prison, Lou. It's instead of love, really. You tell a thing the way it ought to be, because it's much better than how it is. If you follow me.”
- White lies: You don’t hurt anyone, do you? If you lie, you are saving me from the truth, which may hurt me. By not hurting me, you must be showing me how much you care. But, please, oh, please, would you just tell me what time you really expect to show up at my place to fix the air conditioner (insert any other item that could break)? And, please, please, tell me how much time you really think it will take to repair. And, please, don’t be so polite to not let me know that you never really knew what you were doing in the first place. I truly prefer honesty; no matter how much it may hurt me.
The ones that resonated most:
“Nobody ever loses their reputation in Panama. They hang it in the wardrobe for a few months to get its shape back. When they put it on again, it's as good as new.”
- Forgive and forget. Is this having a short memory for bad situations and undesirable or even immoral character? Could it be that there is the belief that nothing will change, so why bother? Or, is it a true belief that people can change? Personally, I question how personal integrity and responsibility figure into the equation? I have yet to find out.
“Do you know what the poor call those? The Cocaine Towers.”
- Posh living and Money laundering is apparently a big thing here. Just 10 years ago the tallest building in Panama was the BBVA building that couldn’t be more than 20 stories high. Now there are skyscrapers going up everywhere. Although some boast that Panama is becoming the Miami of Latin America (never mind the current states of that city), there are still many locals who believe that that these monstrosities are being funded mainly by drug money. I’m just trying to figure out where the heck they are going to get enough people to fill all of the buildings once they are finished with construction. For goodness sake, there are only 3 million Panamanians. How many international retirees and expats will it take? No wonder the Panamanians are a bit leery of us outsiders.
“Their task was to beat the dignity out of anyone remotely critical of Noriega. It was Dr. Frankenstein, George Bush, who created this monster......when he was head of the CIA. And when Noriega's......drug running and brutality got too much even for the CIA......it was George, now President Bush, who decided to take him out. And just to make sure......they firebombed a big chunk of the old city. Sadly, that's where the anti-Noriega rebels were. The handful that Noriega hadn't banged up already. So, no more opposition, silent or otherwise. Burnt......scattered......fled. Or risen again from the ashes.”
- The US and foreign intervention: Let’s just say that the people of Panama have suffered, and this is not the only time in history that the US government has helped create monsters. Just recently I read that there are still 60 bodies from the time of the dictatorship that have not been identified because the government doesn’t have enough money to pay for the research and investigation it would take to do so. However, Panama can be proud of 20 some years of modern-day democracy.
“You're too soft, afraid they'll dislike you if you make them pay. It's tradition. Gentlemen like to keep their tailors waiting for the money. Gentlemen? Find me one.”
- Pay people for the work they do? Is it tradition to keep those who work for you waiting for their pay? This same behavior was apparent in another movie I recently viewed, called “Chance”, a Panamanian-Colombian movie. And, if you don’t pay a person, what kind of work can you expect? Will they work harder to receive the money they are owed, or will they work less and less effectively until they are paid? Coming from a culture that values hard work and payment for doing so, this behavior perplexes me.
“This girl in school told me mothers who work......feel guilty about their children. Why don't you?”
- Stay-at-Home Moms: I firmly believe that having my mom stay home with us when we were children was very beneficial for us. But, should a woman feel guilty about going to work and perhaps sacrifice her personal needs for mental stimulation, personal growth, and interaction with other adults? Should a woman’s goal in life be to marry and have children and NOT work outside of the house? Just throwing a few questions out there. I don’t have the answer. I’m not a mom, but I was a child and I am an adult.
“Well, I had absolutely no idea how delightful Panama was going to be. Yes. It's a beautiful country. I was thinking about the people.”
- Panama: Yes, it is a beautiful country. Yes, the people can be warm and welcoming. A very pleasant place to visit.
“You see, lying's what you do in prison, Lou. It's instead of love, really. You tell a thing the way it ought to be, because it's much better than how it is. If you follow me.”
- White lies: You don’t hurt anyone, do you? If you lie, you are saving me from the truth, which may hurt me. By not hurting me, you must be showing me how much you care. But, please, oh, please, would you just tell me what time you really expect to show up at my place to fix the air conditioner (insert any other item that could break)? And, please, please, tell me how much time you really think it will take to repair. And, please, don’t be so polite to not let me know that you never really knew what you were doing in the first place. I truly prefer honesty; no matter how much it may hurt me.
Thursday, July 8, 2010
Late - What?
Several days a week I teach English to a lawyer at his office. The process to get into the building isn't complicated, but it does take some time, so I make sure I leave plenty of time before class to do the necessary steps - park, get my parking ticket from one person, sign in and give my ID to another, take the visitor pass from another, get my ticket stamped by yet another, etc, etc.
Today, I arrived about 10 minutes later than usual. Mind you, I wasn't late but had arrived later than is customary. So, as chit-chat with the man who takes my ID and gives me the visitor badge, I mentioned that I was "running late". His response was so simple, but in one instant and with a few modest phrases, he summed up an aspect of the culture I have been struggling with since our arrival. "Late - What? You have all day. It's only morning." He said it with such enthusiasm that I had to laugh. I knew this was part of the culture, but to hear it voiced in such a wonderfully positive way, made me realize that demanding chronometry in my life here in Panama, or trying to impose it on the lives of others who I come in contact with or need to work with will only lead me into further frustration.
Funny how happenstance can make such a large impact on one's sense of understanding of the world around him, right?
Today, I arrived about 10 minutes later than usual. Mind you, I wasn't late but had arrived later than is customary. So, as chit-chat with the man who takes my ID and gives me the visitor badge, I mentioned that I was "running late". His response was so simple, but in one instant and with a few modest phrases, he summed up an aspect of the culture I have been struggling with since our arrival. "Late - What? You have all day. It's only morning." He said it with such enthusiasm that I had to laugh. I knew this was part of the culture, but to hear it voiced in such a wonderfully positive way, made me realize that demanding chronometry in my life here in Panama, or trying to impose it on the lives of others who I come in contact with or need to work with will only lead me into further frustration.
Funny how happenstance can make such a large impact on one's sense of understanding of the world around him, right?
Monday, July 5, 2010
The Beauty of Hitting Rock Bottom
When I was a kid, my parents used to call me “Mugwump”, which inevitably morphed into “Mugmump” and got shortened to “Muggie” and “Mugs”. In fact, I didn’t know what my real name was until I was almost 4 years old. Anyway… My dad used to tell me that the name was a Native American word meaning “rebel”, and it fit my personality from Day 1. I’ve always been fiercely independent, testing the limits. But the difference between me and a true rebel is that I only resist out of stubbornness, not defy wholeheartedly. I’ve learned since then that the original meaning of “mugwump” is an Algonquin word meaning “war leader, chief, or important person”. And, believe me, I’ve been on the warpath lately. (By the way, mugwump later came to mean “fence-sitter” in the 1884 Presidential elections, and that definition, too, has had significance in my life in recent weeks.)
We have had problems with the apartment the entire time we have lived here. For 9 months now we have had a steady stream of workers coming in and out, almost on a daily basis from mid-September to May and a mere 1-2 times a week during the past 2 months. One handyman after another giving their opinions, giving assessments and quotes, fixing things that just break again, or they just never show up at all after I rearrange my day to make sure I’d be there to let them in. The waiting is killing me. I’ve been relegated to the simple role of sentinel – I guard the door and wait.
The problems have been endless: toilets that leak at the base, toilets that don’t flush, toilets that don’t stop running, pipes that aren’t connected to sinks, faucets that don’t work, crossed electrical wires that make ceiling fans in one room turn on while turning off the light in another and vice versa, the only electrical outlets in the room not working, A/C problems, a water heater that turns off when it feels like it – 4 or so times a day, and a leak from who-knows-where that streams down the wall, causing paint to peel off and ponds to form at its base …and last but not least, marble floors and shower walls that have exploded creating valleys and mountains and making for hazardous walking and precarious bathing conditions.
And, let’s not overlook the months that it took to get the contractually agreed upon security doors, alarm system, and curtains installed – all of which were supposed to be completed prior to our arrival. No, no, the owner didn’t do the negotiating, the hunt for the most reasonable prices, get a minimum of 3 quotes, or determine which workers would complete the work (a big problem here – work left undone). No, he didn’t have to wait for an alarm system to be installed, only to have to have it reinstalled because it was put in improperly. He didn’t have his belongings broken in the process. He didn’t have to schedule, reschedule, and re-reschedule an appointment with the people who installed the security doors because the handle was too loose to use. Not too secure, huh? Oh, and by the way, I’m still waiting for the owner to find someone to remove the former doors and window pane that still sit in our entry way. He won't let us do it because they have to be placed i his storage room. Yes, it’s been wearisome.
So we have had our parade of 8 plumbers, 7 marble workers, 5 electricians, 4 security door installers, 3 alarm system installers, and … I feel like I should be singing “The 12 Days of Christmas”, the handyman version. Many of these gentlemen (if I can use that term lightly) I have seen more than once, some as many as 7 times. God love them, I just really wish to never see any of them again.
And, in the midst of all this chaos has been Jose Amet. My husband has affectionately, though sarcastically, started calling him my best friend, since I see him more than anyone else here (at times, even more than my husband). Jose Amet is the intermediary between the owner, the handymen, and me. He’s a wonderful man with a good sense of humor with no power to make decisions, but he does a fabulous job of making sure the river of workers never runneth dry. (If the apartment owner ever reads this blog, I’d like him to know that Jose Amet works his tail off.)
Net, I feel like I’ve had to fight tooth and nail to get anything done. Letters, and calls, and more letters, and text messages, and more calls, and more letters. I tried to explain to my husband how useless, helpless, and unappreciated I have felt during this whole process. If my job is to run the household, then I have been a complete and utter failure. No one seems to care if they are making me wait, if they are wasting my time. I have come to realize that being a woman makes my opinions and my voice soft, useless. The cooing and consoling. The promises that work will be done. Oh, the many promises. It has consumed my time, and it has consumed me.
So, here I am, sitting on a fence between frustration and despair. (The 1884 definition of my nickname) American women never truly understand how good they have it until the balance of power is wiped away from them. I’m a married woman. My husband’s voice is the only one that really matters here. I finally had to break down and ask for help. Please call. Please send an email. Wouldn’t you know it – what took me 8 months to accomplish, he was able to achieve in 15 minutes. A more rapid response, I’ve never seen. And, to prove my point, the email he sent was written by yours truly.
When we decided to move here, I thought this would be a wonderful opportunity to reinvent myself, create a new identity. I thought it would be fun. Little did I know that my change in roles would mean feeling less important, feeling a loss in status, and produce such a lack of confidence.
Having to spend so much time in the apartment, waiting for people to show, meant that I was (and still am) missing out on networking opportunities, kindling friendships, and familiarizing myself with other aspects of life in Panama. Mental stimulation was limited to debating with a plumber who believed WD-40 could solve all our toilet problems. (Please, do you have some duct tape to go with that???) I started to feel alone, very, very alone. My independence had been compromised. I felt as if I no longer had control of the situation or my own life. The apartment ruled my every thought. I had become disconnected from everything that made me happy. And, for the first time in my life, I didn’t know how to create my own happiness.
My husband, not understanding the undercurrents of the situation, as I had not explained my feelings to him, also did not understand why the only topic I ever talked about was the apartment. The apartment had become my prison, not my refuge. All of this produced a deep sense of displacement and anxiety. I hit rock bottom.
But the beauty of hitting rock bottom is that the only place you can go is up.
I spoke to my husband about my feelings, something I had not done because I didn’t want to burden him. He already has so much to deal with, a high-stress job that requires frequent international travel. But, sharing my frustrations allowed me to clear my mind and air out my soul.
The very next day, my motivation returned. I have decided to withhold payment of our rent until we have tangible results. I have contacted a lawyer. And, I have started reestablishing my relationships.
Indeed, I am reinventing myself here in Panama. You see, there is always an opportunity for growth.
Mugwump is back!
We have had problems with the apartment the entire time we have lived here. For 9 months now we have had a steady stream of workers coming in and out, almost on a daily basis from mid-September to May and a mere 1-2 times a week during the past 2 months. One handyman after another giving their opinions, giving assessments and quotes, fixing things that just break again, or they just never show up at all after I rearrange my day to make sure I’d be there to let them in. The waiting is killing me. I’ve been relegated to the simple role of sentinel – I guard the door and wait.
The problems have been endless: toilets that leak at the base, toilets that don’t flush, toilets that don’t stop running, pipes that aren’t connected to sinks, faucets that don’t work, crossed electrical wires that make ceiling fans in one room turn on while turning off the light in another and vice versa, the only electrical outlets in the room not working, A/C problems, a water heater that turns off when it feels like it – 4 or so times a day, and a leak from who-knows-where that streams down the wall, causing paint to peel off and ponds to form at its base …and last but not least, marble floors and shower walls that have exploded creating valleys and mountains and making for hazardous walking and precarious bathing conditions.
And, let’s not overlook the months that it took to get the contractually agreed upon security doors, alarm system, and curtains installed – all of which were supposed to be completed prior to our arrival. No, no, the owner didn’t do the negotiating, the hunt for the most reasonable prices, get a minimum of 3 quotes, or determine which workers would complete the work (a big problem here – work left undone). No, he didn’t have to wait for an alarm system to be installed, only to have to have it reinstalled because it was put in improperly. He didn’t have his belongings broken in the process. He didn’t have to schedule, reschedule, and re-reschedule an appointment with the people who installed the security doors because the handle was too loose to use. Not too secure, huh? Oh, and by the way, I’m still waiting for the owner to find someone to remove the former doors and window pane that still sit in our entry way. He won't let us do it because they have to be placed i his storage room. Yes, it’s been wearisome.
So we have had our parade of 8 plumbers, 7 marble workers, 5 electricians, 4 security door installers, 3 alarm system installers, and … I feel like I should be singing “The 12 Days of Christmas”, the handyman version. Many of these gentlemen (if I can use that term lightly) I have seen more than once, some as many as 7 times. God love them, I just really wish to never see any of them again.
And, in the midst of all this chaos has been Jose Amet. My husband has affectionately, though sarcastically, started calling him my best friend, since I see him more than anyone else here (at times, even more than my husband). Jose Amet is the intermediary between the owner, the handymen, and me. He’s a wonderful man with a good sense of humor with no power to make decisions, but he does a fabulous job of making sure the river of workers never runneth dry. (If the apartment owner ever reads this blog, I’d like him to know that Jose Amet works his tail off.)
Net, I feel like I’ve had to fight tooth and nail to get anything done. Letters, and calls, and more letters, and text messages, and more calls, and more letters. I tried to explain to my husband how useless, helpless, and unappreciated I have felt during this whole process. If my job is to run the household, then I have been a complete and utter failure. No one seems to care if they are making me wait, if they are wasting my time. I have come to realize that being a woman makes my opinions and my voice soft, useless. The cooing and consoling. The promises that work will be done. Oh, the many promises. It has consumed my time, and it has consumed me.
So, here I am, sitting on a fence between frustration and despair. (The 1884 definition of my nickname) American women never truly understand how good they have it until the balance of power is wiped away from them. I’m a married woman. My husband’s voice is the only one that really matters here. I finally had to break down and ask for help. Please call. Please send an email. Wouldn’t you know it – what took me 8 months to accomplish, he was able to achieve in 15 minutes. A more rapid response, I’ve never seen. And, to prove my point, the email he sent was written by yours truly.
When we decided to move here, I thought this would be a wonderful opportunity to reinvent myself, create a new identity. I thought it would be fun. Little did I know that my change in roles would mean feeling less important, feeling a loss in status, and produce such a lack of confidence.
Having to spend so much time in the apartment, waiting for people to show, meant that I was (and still am) missing out on networking opportunities, kindling friendships, and familiarizing myself with other aspects of life in Panama. Mental stimulation was limited to debating with a plumber who believed WD-40 could solve all our toilet problems. (Please, do you have some duct tape to go with that???) I started to feel alone, very, very alone. My independence had been compromised. I felt as if I no longer had control of the situation or my own life. The apartment ruled my every thought. I had become disconnected from everything that made me happy. And, for the first time in my life, I didn’t know how to create my own happiness.
My husband, not understanding the undercurrents of the situation, as I had not explained my feelings to him, also did not understand why the only topic I ever talked about was the apartment. The apartment had become my prison, not my refuge. All of this produced a deep sense of displacement and anxiety. I hit rock bottom.
But the beauty of hitting rock bottom is that the only place you can go is up.
I spoke to my husband about my feelings, something I had not done because I didn’t want to burden him. He already has so much to deal with, a high-stress job that requires frequent international travel. But, sharing my frustrations allowed me to clear my mind and air out my soul.
The very next day, my motivation returned. I have decided to withhold payment of our rent until we have tangible results. I have contacted a lawyer. And, I have started reestablishing my relationships.
Indeed, I am reinventing myself here in Panama. You see, there is always an opportunity for growth.
Mugwump is back!
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