My New Friends

After six months in Panama, I have friends! Some are blind, most are hard of hearing, and they speak a wide range of dialects. Some have scars on their arms and legs, some have more spaces than teeth in their smiles. Some can walk, others cannot. They are the residents of the Hogar de Ancianos (Home of the Aged) in the San Antonio neighborhood of Panama City.

During the past few months as I went from speaking no Spanish to speaking simple sentences, I began to long for more conversation. Listening to Panamanian talk-radio while doing the chores was very helpful in tuning my ear, but it didn't make me practice saying stuff back. I had brief, halting exchanges in the grocery store or the hardware store, but people there were definitely more patient than happy to see me. I looked into volunteering at a local public school, but the concept of volunteerism is not well developed or understood in the public sector in Panama, so I didn't get far. Besides, I discovered while hanging out in our local park and striking up conversations with children and their moms that I found the moms much easier to understand than the kids, making me doubt that working with children was a workable way to learn the language. Possibly their Spanish, too, is still in too formative a stage....

One day, as I was driving home from the local shopping center (dubbed by Rich the "Chopping for Chit Nightmare") I noticed a large, two-story building with a long front porch in the middle of a residential neighborhood. Several people sat on the porch, and the sign above the front gate says, "Hogar de Ancianos" with a Biblical quotation underneath. It clicked. I should go visit the elderly! Who better. in terms of having plenty of time, probably lacking for company, and likely speaking more slowly than our young Panamanian neighbors?

I first had the thought just before we went home to the US for the Christmas holidays. After we got back, in mid-January, it took a week to re-stock the fridge, adjust to the heat, and resume our daily routines. OK. Done with that, and still three weeks before our kids were to arrive for a visit. I asked around about the Home, but even people who lived in the neighborhood didn't seem to know of it! The secretary to the director of Rich's school lives in San Antonio, but she just made a face when I mentioned my idea, and my Spanish teacher, who lives in the adjoining neighborhood thought it was a good idea, but she didn't know the institution. (I had to take into account that, typical of many Panamanians, she does not know the most basic directions within Panama City, and confessed to me that only after four years had she become aware that there is a MUCH shorter way to get to school than the route she had been driving for years...) Looked like I was on my own.

The most encouragement came from an unlikely source. I had an appointment with a Panamanian gynecologist downtown and when I happened to mention my idea to him, he said, "Do it! That is a wonderful idea!" I said I was a little wary about how I would be received, and he said, "Just go and knock on the door! I am sure they would welcome you."

Here is something I have learned about myself since living in Panama. One can have a certain personality in one's native language, and an entirely different one in a fledgling language. How is it that such an extrovert as I am in the US can have SO much trouble reaching out to people here? I am linguistically about 8 years old, and suddenly as shy as I was at 8! Maybe that's it. I only became an extrovert in the US as I grew up and gained confidence...

I began thinking through a self-introduction, rehearsing it with my Spanish teacher, stalling for another few days. I printed out my resume and made a copy of my passport and my Panamanian residency visa, thinking how many hoops I'd have to jump through in the US to set foot in any institution. Would I need to get fingerprinted? And in what godforsaken, impossible-to-reach corner of Panama City would THAT be?

I drove over to the home on a Friday. I had rehearsed how to explain, in Spanish, who I was and what I was doing there, so when I found a nurse's aide on the front porch with a patient, I launched right in... "My name is Anne Walker. I live close to here in Brisas del Golf and I am learning Spanish. My husband s a teacher at The International School of Panama, so we are here for at least 2 years. I enjoy talking to elderly people and need to speak more in order to learn Spanish. May I visit with residents here several times a week?"

She was sweet, but bemused. She unlocked the gate and let me in, clearly not sure what to do next. I asked if there was someone in charge I could speak to. She agreed, and went off to fetch the charge nurse, who sized me up briefly and said to come back one morning, about 9 am, as that would be the most convenient time. I agreed, thanked her, and skedaddled out of there.

It has now been several weeks and I am so enjoying the people I have met there. The employees don't know what to make of me - I think they think I'm a missionary, but the "ancianos" (elderly) like me just fine. There's Roy Williams, who was born in Panama, but spent most of his life working in hotels in New York. My son's girlfriend, Krystal, brought me some postcards of New York for him, which he treasures. There's Victoria, a retired domestic from the Darien, the eastern jungly part of Panama. She is from Puerto Piña, which she says must be reached by boat or by plane. Then there are the Jamaican sisters, Ivey and Inez, who keep up a running dialog with each other in neither English nor Spanish. But my favorite is Lucia, a former elementary school custodian from the mountains of western Panama. She is uncomplaining, despite being in a wheelchair and having bad arthritis in her knees. She laughs at my jokes and encourages my Spanish. She sometimes searches for a word in vain, tapping her head and saying "I have forgotten the word!" to which I reply, "Yes, but I never even knew it!" Her face, usually drawn in pain, crinkles into laughter and she reaches for my hand.

A few stories...

Cecelia is from Betania, in Panama City and has three sisters (at least I think she used the present tense...). Also a brother and parents who have died. She did not work outside the home and says sadly that she had a husband whom she "loved dearly, but he died", as if loving someone should suffice to keep them alive. She made a point of telling me that her mother was blond, with blue eyes ("como usted" - like you). She is thin and very spry, and helps mind the other residents (sometimes to their annoyance). She called out for help once when a feeble resident tried to get up and walk on her own, prompting me to go and fetch an aide, trusting Cecelia's instinct in the matter. Thin as a rail, she loves to talk about food, and sings the praises of "tortilla changa", made with new corn. She loves avena (an oat drink) and sancocho (Panamanian chicken soup) but does not drink coffee. I told her it is probably healthier NOT to drink coffee, and she now repeats this to me every time I see her. I tell her I am a coffee addict, and she hoots with laughter.

Lucia is from David in the western province of Chiriqui. Chiriqui is known worldwide for the gourmet coffee that grows there. Lucia's mother picked and processed coffee. Her father died when she was only a few months old, leaving her older brothers, her mother, and her. She told me that her mother was "blanco" (white) like me, not "negro" (dark) like her. Her mother was Italian and her father, Panamanian. I said that in Panama it is better to have darker skin because the sun is so intense and my skin burns easily. She gazed at me dubiously. On a hunch I asked her about race relations in Chiriqui and she said that in the old days there was much interracial tension, but it is better now. She clearly suffered discrimination, and saw how differently her mother was received.

Ivey and Inez are sisters, of Jamaican parents. Their skin is as black as coal and they are very thin. All day they sit side by side on the porch and chat in low voices together. They were born in Panama and lived in the canal zone, and because their parents spoke English, it is their first language. I have asked each of them whether they "think in English or in Spanish" (so I would know how to best communicate with them) at which they each laughed and said, "English!" I replied, "Me, too." The staff tell me that they are in and out of mental clarity, suffering from Alzheimers, but I usually find Inez to be quite communicative. Ivey speaks her own language - maybe a dialect? - and other residents aren't able to communicate with them easily, so I think they are quite isolated. I start my day with them each time, as they are usually sitting on the porch when I arrive. I read a lifetime of discrimination in their eyes when other residents express frustration over trying to communicate with them. Their father immigrated to Panama to work on the canal, and must have experienced much of the same.

Victoria is from the Darien, the impenetrable jungly eastern part of Panama, toward Colombia. Her part of Panama is characterized by the only gap (about 300 miles) in the Pan-American highway, which extends from Alaska to Argentina. She has an explosive laugh, and is tickled by random things that people say. It is fun to hear her laugh and one hopes she feels as well as sounds mirthful. Victoria grew up in Puerto Piña, a town on an island which can only be reached by boat or plane. She has a granddaughter in Virginia, USA, who is a "maestra de kinder" (a kindergarten teacher) of whom she speaks proudly.

Roy Williams is 82, born in Panama, but lived for over 40 years in New York. His parents were born in St. Lucia (West Indies) and moved to Panama to work on the canal. He is fine when he's telling stories about the past, but gets upset and angry when talking about the present. He doesn't want to be in the nursing home and says he could afford to live at home but his wife won't let him. The staff tells me that the rest of the story is that he refuses to do any of the rehabilitation that would enable him to go home.

Ana carries a perpetual look of worry on her face, but she brightens the minute one speaks to her. The first time I spoke with her, we conversed in Spanish, but when I asked her a question about the past, she suddenly responded in English! Her father was from Barbados and he worked on the Panama Canal, so she grew up in the Canal Zone. She seems to speak English or Spanish depending on the decade of her life one asks her about.

I am gradually getting to know the staff, who are also fascinating and have their own stories, so I will write about them another time. I feel grateful to have found a way to be engaged, possibly useful, in Panama. But now the evening air has finally cooled and it's time to sleep.