Short Stories from the Selva (Selva means jungle in Spanish)
Story #1 - Conversations with a 4-Year Old
(Written September 6, 2012)
Diorleni: Amber, what are you doing?
Amber: Sewing my new peruma.
D: Where did you get the scissors?
A: The United States.
D: Why do you have 2?
A: Because one is big and the other is little.
D: You have 2 shirts on too. Why?
A: Because the top shirt comes down too low in the front.
D: (Grabs the top of Amber's shirts and pulls down) Are you wearing a bra?
A: (Retrieving her shirt from D's control) Yes.
D: Can I see your boobs?
A: No.
D: Why?
A: Because I don't want to share them right now.
D: How come you don't love anyone here?
A: ...Uh, What?
D: You sleep alone.
A: I have a boyfriend in the US.
D: Where?
A: In Nebraska.
D: Oh. I have a boyfriend too.
A: Really? Who?
D: He lives there. (points with her lips)
A: How old is he?
D: How old is your boyfriend?
A: Uhhh, 25.
D: Ha! Mine is 43. I have 2 boyfriends. How many do you have?
A: Just one.
D: Just one?
A: Just one. How old are you, Diorleni?
D: I just turned 4 yesterday at my grandpa's house.
A: 4 years old and already 2 boyfriends?
D: Uh huh. Do you sleep with your boyfriend?
A: (Freeze.) He's in Nebraska.
D: Oh. That's really far. You are really far from your home.
A: Yup.
D: Are you going to see your boyfriend again?
A: One day.
D: Just one? No more?
A: No, no, no. Some day. In the future.
D: Oh. I cut my tongue.
A: Give me the scissors!
D: (Hands them over) Why?
A: Because you are not using them correctly.
D: I'm going home. I'll come back soon.
A: See you later.
My mom then walks in 10 minutes later to inspect my work. She tells me that the hems I have been hand sewing for the last 2 hours are incorrect. In less than 2 minutes she has removed every stitch and is showing me how to start over correctly.
Asi es la vida.
Story #2- Little Brothers
(Written September 14, 2012)
I woke up early today, right at 6AM and reluctantly rolled out of bed. I didn't want to, but something told me I should. I get back from the latrine about 10 minutes later to find my 9-year old brother Pecho in the rafters yelling about a mouse. Oh goody. He told me one ran into my room and into my bed. As the resident sister to 3 little brothers (Sami 14, Pecho 9, Feli 3) I take a LOT of crap about spiders, snakes, mice, and crocodiles. It's my job. So naturally, I roll my eyes and didn't believe him, but play along with his joke. Pecho was insistent, so I go into my room and ruffle my mosquito net and blankets a bit. Sure enough, there he was, running between my feet. It is a good thing I had just been to the latrine because I would have peed my pants otherwise. This guy was not just a little mouse, but a rat bigger than a soda can. He ran to the corner of my room and hid behind one of my bags. I called in the cavalry and my little brothers ran in, all 3 of them armed with broomsticks and machetes. I stood back to let them do their thing. Then suddenly it ran out from the corner, across the room, and over my foot. Yes. Over. My. Foot. Then back under my bed. I did not scream. I jumped and wiggled and had a full body panic that I am sure my brothers will be imitating for days, but I did not scream, shriek, yell or squeal. I was very proud of myself! But back to the rat. He scaled the wall into the rafters and my brothers spent the next 10 minutes cornering him in the kitchen, the roof, the pantry downstairs, and finally out across the lawn. I watched them beat him to death with their sticks and then try to fling the dead rat at each other with their machetes. Boys.
Story #3- Rat PTSD
(Written September 17, 2012)
This morning, whilst putting away my laundry, I moved a bag my under my bed and a big black thing rolled out. Without thinking, I grabbed the nearest heavy object, a roll of gaff tape, and beat the shit out of it. It was a hair tie.
Story #4- More Conversations
(Also written September 17, 2012)
While hanging out at the hut of the other Volunteer, the hut that will soon be my home when he leaves in October, Chicheme and his 2 sons stopped by to say hi.
Moiz: Mena djaba! (Hello brother!)
Chicheme: Mena djaba, mena djabawera! (Hello brother, hello sister)
Amber: Mena djaba. Bia Buca? (Are you good?)
Ch: Bia Bua. (It's good/I'm good/It's fine/OK/Thank you...take your pick)
Moiz: What are you doing, djaba?
Ch: My kids and I took the horse to the river and we bathed. Now we are on our way home.
M: Bia Bua.
Ch: Djabawera, what are you doing?
A: Visiting.
Ch: Bia Bua.
At this point, Moiz and Chicheme go off on a conversation about something I was totally not interested in/only partially understood. So I space out.
Ch: Djabawera Amber, what are you thinking?
Kid 1: Dad.
A: What?
Ch: You are thinking very hard on something far away. Don't you want to talk?
Kid 1: Dad, dad the-
Ch: Not right now son! I'm talking.
A: No, I just wasn't paying attention. Bia Bua.
Kid 1: But Dad!
Ch: What do you want?!
Kid 1: Dad, the horse is gone.
Ch: What do you mean, the horse is gone? (He turns behind him and looks. Sure enough, the horse is nowhere to be seen.) Where the hell did it go?
Kid 1: I don't know.
Kid 2: I saw it go that way. (points left)
Ch: Why didn't you say something?
Kid 2: You were talking and I didn't want you to yell at me.
Ch: Go find it. (Kids leave.) Sorry Moiz, I gotta go. Somehow, we lost the horse.
I couldn't stop laughing.
Short Story #5- Muchachos and Laundry
(Written September 23, 2012)
I am standing at the staircase in the river, doing laundry with Lidia (in her 40s), Yanitza (13), and Yorleni (8). It is 9AM. A boat of 4 muchachos from outside the Comarca shows up, going past us to dock farther down river. As soon as they realized there was a gringa doing laundry, the whistles and comments started. I sighed and ignored them. Only in Latin America.
Lidia: (teasing) Amber, the muchachos are very interested in the gringa!
Amber: They're just distracted by the bright glare of the sun off my super white skin!
She laughs. The boat changes its mind and decides to come dock at our staircase.
Yorleni: They are coming over here.
A: Perfect. (I roll my eyes, and they all laugh.)
Muchachos: Hola!/Buenas Mami!/Oy, Jovencita!
I ignore them completely, realizing this is going to be impossible in about 90 seconds when they dock next to my laundry bucket.
Yanitza: Amber, you are supposed to look at men when they talk to you.
A: Only if you want to!
We all laugh again, and the loudest of them, a man about 40, with a balding head under his Panama hat and a pot belly protruding from his button up flannel shirt, climbs out of the boat and steps right in front of my on the stairs, leaning on his machete like it is cool.
M: Hola bonita, can I help you wash your laundry?
A: No thanks, I'm good.
M: Look at you, doing laundry in the sun. I would build you a little house over the river so you wouldn't have to wash my laundry in the sun, if you were mine.
A:What a shame! Then I couldn't turn brown and look Panamanian! (the ladies giggle)
M: Do you live here alone or are you married?
A: I have a rich white boyfriend, and I am married to my independence.
His friends laugh at him then, and they stumble up the stairs to go to our contina to continue their drinking.
Lidia: (shaking her head) Muchachos.
We all laugh again.
(Written September 6, 2012)
Diorleni: Amber, what are you doing?
Amber: Sewing my new peruma.
D: Where did you get the scissors?
A: The United States.
D: Why do you have 2?
A: Because one is big and the other is little.
D: You have 2 shirts on too. Why?
A: Because the top shirt comes down too low in the front.
D: (Grabs the top of Amber's shirts and pulls down) Are you wearing a bra?
A: (Retrieving her shirt from D's control) Yes.
D: Can I see your boobs?
A: No.
D: Why?
A: Because I don't want to share them right now.
D: How come you don't love anyone here?
A: ...Uh, What?
D: You sleep alone.
A: I have a boyfriend in the US.
D: Where?
A: In Nebraska.
D: Oh. I have a boyfriend too.
A: Really? Who?
D: He lives there. (points with her lips)
A: How old is he?
D: How old is your boyfriend?
A: Uhhh, 25.
D: Ha! Mine is 43. I have 2 boyfriends. How many do you have?
A: Just one.
D: Just one?
A: Just one. How old are you, Diorleni?
D: I just turned 4 yesterday at my grandpa's house.
A: 4 years old and already 2 boyfriends?
D: Uh huh. Do you sleep with your boyfriend?
A: (Freeze.) He's in Nebraska.
D: Oh. That's really far. You are really far from your home.
A: Yup.
D: Are you going to see your boyfriend again?
A: One day.
D: Just one? No more?
A: No, no, no. Some day. In the future.
D: Oh. I cut my tongue.
A: Give me the scissors!
D: (Hands them over) Why?
A: Because you are not using them correctly.
D: I'm going home. I'll come back soon.
A: See you later.
My mom then walks in 10 minutes later to inspect my work. She tells me that the hems I have been hand sewing for the last 2 hours are incorrect. In less than 2 minutes she has removed every stitch and is showing me how to start over correctly.
Asi es la vida.
Story #2- Little Brothers
(Written September 14, 2012)
I woke up early today, right at 6AM and reluctantly rolled out of bed. I didn't want to, but something told me I should. I get back from the latrine about 10 minutes later to find my 9-year old brother Pecho in the rafters yelling about a mouse. Oh goody. He told me one ran into my room and into my bed. As the resident sister to 3 little brothers (Sami 14, Pecho 9, Feli 3) I take a LOT of crap about spiders, snakes, mice, and crocodiles. It's my job. So naturally, I roll my eyes and didn't believe him, but play along with his joke. Pecho was insistent, so I go into my room and ruffle my mosquito net and blankets a bit. Sure enough, there he was, running between my feet. It is a good thing I had just been to the latrine because I would have peed my pants otherwise. This guy was not just a little mouse, but a rat bigger than a soda can. He ran to the corner of my room and hid behind one of my bags. I called in the cavalry and my little brothers ran in, all 3 of them armed with broomsticks and machetes. I stood back to let them do their thing. Then suddenly it ran out from the corner, across the room, and over my foot. Yes. Over. My. Foot. Then back under my bed. I did not scream. I jumped and wiggled and had a full body panic that I am sure my brothers will be imitating for days, but I did not scream, shriek, yell or squeal. I was very proud of myself! But back to the rat. He scaled the wall into the rafters and my brothers spent the next 10 minutes cornering him in the kitchen, the roof, the pantry downstairs, and finally out across the lawn. I watched them beat him to death with their sticks and then try to fling the dead rat at each other with their machetes. Boys.
Story #3- Rat PTSD
(Written September 17, 2012)
This morning, whilst putting away my laundry, I moved a bag my under my bed and a big black thing rolled out. Without thinking, I grabbed the nearest heavy object, a roll of gaff tape, and beat the shit out of it. It was a hair tie.
Story #4- More Conversations
(Also written September 17, 2012)
While hanging out at the hut of the other Volunteer, the hut that will soon be my home when he leaves in October, Chicheme and his 2 sons stopped by to say hi.
Moiz: Mena djaba! (Hello brother!)
Chicheme: Mena djaba, mena djabawera! (Hello brother, hello sister)
Amber: Mena djaba. Bia Buca? (Are you good?)
Ch: Bia Bua. (It's good/I'm good/It's fine/OK/Thank you...take your pick)
Moiz: What are you doing, djaba?
Ch: My kids and I took the horse to the river and we bathed. Now we are on our way home.
M: Bia Bua.
Ch: Djabawera, what are you doing?
A: Visiting.
Ch: Bia Bua.
At this point, Moiz and Chicheme go off on a conversation about something I was totally not interested in/only partially understood. So I space out.
Ch: Djabawera Amber, what are you thinking?
Kid 1: Dad.
A: What?
Ch: You are thinking very hard on something far away. Don't you want to talk?
Kid 1: Dad, dad the-
Ch: Not right now son! I'm talking.
A: No, I just wasn't paying attention. Bia Bua.
Kid 1: But Dad!
Ch: What do you want?!
Kid 1: Dad, the horse is gone.
Ch: What do you mean, the horse is gone? (He turns behind him and looks. Sure enough, the horse is nowhere to be seen.) Where the hell did it go?
Kid 1: I don't know.
Kid 2: I saw it go that way. (points left)
Ch: Why didn't you say something?
Kid 2: You were talking and I didn't want you to yell at me.
Ch: Go find it. (Kids leave.) Sorry Moiz, I gotta go. Somehow, we lost the horse.
I couldn't stop laughing.
Short Story #5- Muchachos and Laundry
(Written September 23, 2012)
I am standing at the staircase in the river, doing laundry with Lidia (in her 40s), Yanitza (13), and Yorleni (8). It is 9AM. A boat of 4 muchachos from outside the Comarca shows up, going past us to dock farther down river. As soon as they realized there was a gringa doing laundry, the whistles and comments started. I sighed and ignored them. Only in Latin America.
Lidia: (teasing) Amber, the muchachos are very interested in the gringa!
Amber: They're just distracted by the bright glare of the sun off my super white skin!
She laughs. The boat changes its mind and decides to come dock at our staircase.
Yorleni: They are coming over here.
A: Perfect. (I roll my eyes, and they all laugh.)
Muchachos: Hola!/Buenas Mami!/Oy, Jovencita!
I ignore them completely, realizing this is going to be impossible in about 90 seconds when they dock next to my laundry bucket.
Yanitza: Amber, you are supposed to look at men when they talk to you.
A: Only if you want to!
We all laugh again, and the loudest of them, a man about 40, with a balding head under his Panama hat and a pot belly protruding from his button up flannel shirt, climbs out of the boat and steps right in front of my on the stairs, leaning on his machete like it is cool.
M: Hola bonita, can I help you wash your laundry?
A: No thanks, I'm good.
M: Look at you, doing laundry in the sun. I would build you a little house over the river so you wouldn't have to wash my laundry in the sun, if you were mine.
A:What a shame! Then I couldn't turn brown and look Panamanian! (the ladies giggle)
M: Do you live here alone or are you married?
A: I have a rich white boyfriend, and I am married to my independence.
His friends laugh at him then, and they stumble up the stairs to go to our contina to continue their drinking.
Lidia: (shaking her head) Muchachos.
We all laugh again.
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