June 27, 2006, Rio Mar
I am awoken at 5:30 AM by the sounds of nature and a diesel engine. The engine is powering a Coaster bus that will transport us all to La Pintada, Penonome. I get dressed and eat a small breakfast of fruit as fast as I can. I get my belongings together and notice that no one else is. They are all on the bus. I hurry outside and say goodbye to Cameron and Jajawi before getting on the bus. I won’t be left behind, although some of my belongings will. In my hurry, I forgot to bring my water pack, which I will miss dearly on the 5-hour hike. I also forget my swimming trunks, which aren’t necessary but would be practical for river relaxation time. Lastly, I forget my flip-flops that would have given my feet some down time from the hiking boots. Oh well… Off we go! I sit in the front of the bus on one of the few vacant seats left. The two and half-hour drive gives me some time to present some more of the team members.
Sitting next to me is Venetia, an Irish funny-lady who amuses people and kids with the thumb trick. Except, in her version, she actually is missing half a thumb! Behind us sit Matt from Wales and Polly from England. Polly is a habitual writer and lyricist who breaks out in song or rhyme at any given moment. Matt is the self-proclaimed “wild” guy of the group and an articulate conversationalist. These two have managed to sneak aboard a tub of gourmet ice cream. I am offered some and cannot place the flavor but it is quite good. Opposite us sits Nicolas. He is our group and farm coordinator from the Patronato de Nutricion. He is a native of Cocle and has worked for the Patronato for the last eight years after receiving his degree in Agricultural Engineering.
The Patronato de Nutricion, a non-profit organization, was started 16 years ago by a group of concerned private investors. They noticed the problem of malnutrition in Panama stemmed from improper education and organization of the people who were most affected. The Patronato’s mission is to educate rural communities to organize themselves into farm cooperatives, thus becoming nutritionally and economically sustainable. The Patronato is run with the help of private donations, volunteers, and until recently a government subsidy. This one was overturned after the government change of 2004.
Farm sponsors will place about 10 thousand of the 40 to 45 thousand dollars needed to start the farm. The community benefiting from the farm must take care of it and organize a board of directors. The farmland is owned by the Patronato at first and remains so until the community passes inspection after a period of probation. This period can last up to three years. After this time the land title is turn over to the board of directors of the farm, thus becoming the community’s farm and not just one person’s. At the present moment there are 326 farms under the auspices of the Patronato de Nutricion.
I awake from a small nap as we pass Penonome, the provincial capital of Cocle, and meet up with two pickups from the Patronato de Nutricion. We follow them north on the final 30-minute trip to La Pintada. Here the bus stops and we unload our gear while we await a third pickup truck. Once it arrives we are divided into three groups one for each pickup. Now we continue the trek north on a bumpy dirt road, if it can be called a road. An hour later my bum is numb and we arrive at Cascajal. From here on out nothing, but our feet, will carry us forward.
We meet some local guides that will help us with directions and certainly some of our wieght. So with our heavy packs on our backs and our rugged boots on our feet we begin our walk. By this time the sun is high in the sky time and its menacing rays fall upon our heads. Down we go, left, over a stream, my feet are wet already, up, rest, and down. It continues this way, hill after hill. They all look the same and have the same brook dividing them. The answer to, “Are we there yet?” is always, “After that next hill.” Remember that water pack I left? Thanks to Michael I am 
refreshed by his water pack. Green grassed hills passed by for what seems like days until we reach a thick jungle of trees. “We must be near,” I think to myself. Not yet. It is only after five hours that we arrive to the farm. Wet, exhausted, cramped, and hungry we are greeted with a nice hot Sancocho soup.
That hit the spot. I start to pitch my tent and a hoard of children take positions around me. Are they preparing to attack? I don’t think so. They seem very interested in what I am constructing. “Is that your house?” They ask. I answer and ask them if they want to help me build it. They dig right in, almost knowing exactly what to do. I just have to hint at what goes where. Sooner than later my shelter is up and we all cheer. I step inside with my gear and notice that it’s on a slant. Of course, in my great knowledge I had to choose the side of a hill to pitch my tent, but there was no flat and dry place elsewhere. I try to lie down comfortably to no avail as I feel myself being dragged by gravity. I am too tired to reconsider my location and fall asleep hoping I don’t wake up in the stream 150 feet below.
I am awoken at 5:30 AM by the sounds of nature and a diesel engine. The engine is powering a Coaster bus that will transport us all to La Pintada, Penonome. I get dressed and eat a small breakfast of fruit as fast as I can. I get my belongings together and notice that no one else is. They are all on the bus. I hurry outside and say goodbye to Cameron and Jajawi before getting on the bus. I won’t be left behind, although some of my belongings will. In my hurry, I forgot to bring my water pack, which I will miss dearly on the 5-hour hike. I also forget my swimming trunks, which aren’t necessary but would be practical for river relaxation time. Lastly, I forget my flip-flops that would have given my feet some down time from the hiking boots. Oh well… Off we go! I sit in the front of the bus on one of the few vacant seats left. The two and half-hour drive gives me some time to present some more of the team members.
Sitting next to me is Venetia, an Irish funny-lady who amuses people and kids with the thumb trick. Except, in her version, she actually is missing half a thumb! Behind us sit Matt from Wales and Polly from England. Polly is a habitual writer and lyricist who breaks out in song or rhyme at any given moment. Matt is the self-proclaimed “wild” guy of the group and an articulate conversationalist. These two have managed to sneak aboard a tub of gourmet ice cream. I am offered some and cannot place the flavor but it is quite good. Opposite us sits Nicolas. He is our group and farm coordinator from the Patronato de Nutricion. He is a native of Cocle and has worked for the Patronato for the last eight years after receiving his degree in Agricultural Engineering.
The Patronato de Nutricion, a non-profit organization, was started 16 years ago by a group of concerned private investors. They noticed the problem of malnutrition in Panama stemmed from improper education and organization of the people who were most affected. The Patronato’s mission is to educate rural communities to organize themselves into farm cooperatives, thus becoming nutritionally and economically sustainable. The Patronato is run with the help of private donations, volunteers, and until recently a government subsidy. This one was overturned after the government change of 2004.Farm sponsors will place about 10 thousand of the 40 to 45 thousand dollars needed to start the farm. The community benefiting from the farm must take care of it and organize a board of directors. The farmland is owned by the Patronato at first and remains so until the community passes inspection after a period of probation. This period can last up to three years. After this time the land title is turn over to the board of directors of the farm, thus becoming the community’s farm and not just one person’s. At the present moment there are 326 farms under the auspices of the Patronato de Nutricion.
I awake from a small nap as we pass Penonome, the provincial capital of Cocle, and meet up with two pickups from the Patronato de Nutricion. We follow them north on the final 30-minute trip to La Pintada. Here the bus stops and we unload our gear while we await a third pickup truck. Once it arrives we are divided into three groups one for each pickup. Now we continue the trek north on a bumpy dirt road, if it can be called a road. An hour later my bum is numb and we arrive at Cascajal. From here on out nothing, but our feet, will carry us forward.We meet some local guides that will help us with directions and certainly some of our wieght. So with our heavy packs on our backs and our rugged boots on our feet we begin our walk. By this time the sun is high in the sky time and its menacing rays fall upon our heads. Down we go, left, over a stream, my feet are wet already, up, rest, and down. It continues this way, hill after hill. They all look the same and have the same brook dividing them. The answer to, “Are we there yet?” is always, “After that next hill.” Remember that water pack I left? Thanks to Michael I am refreshed by his water pack. Green grassed hills passed by for what seems like days until we reach a thick jungle of trees. “We must be near,” I think to myself. Not yet. It is only after five hours that we arrive to the farm. Wet, exhausted, cramped, and hungry we are greeted with a nice hot Sancocho soup.That hit the spot. I start to pitch my tent and a hoard of children take positions around me. Are they preparing to attack? I don’t think so. They seem very interested in what I am constructing. “Is that your house?” They ask. I answer and ask them if they want to help me build it. They dig right in, almost knowing exactly what to do. I just have to hint at what goes where. Sooner than later my shelter is up and we all cheer. I step inside with my gear and notice that it’s on a slant. Of course, in my great knowledge I had to choose the side of a hill to pitch my tent, but there was no flat and dry place elsewhere. I try to lie down comfortably to no avail as I feel myself being dragged by gravity. I am too tired to reconsider my location and fall asleep hoping I don’t wake up in the stream 150 feet below.
No comments:
Post a Comment