First (and last? Fingers crossed) ailment

Well, I’ve had my first Peace Corps ailment.  It started out as a bunch of bug bites all over my legs, so I didn’t think anything was unusual when it started to turn into a rash, even when my host family told me it looked infected or like an allergic reaction.  I thought it was just a usual reaction to foreign bug bites.  But as the rash started to spread over the bug bites and break out in places where the bug bites never were, and my host family continued to be concerned, I finally called the Peace Corps Medical Office.  As Peace Corps Volunteers, if we are going to do anything medical related, like go to a doctor, we have to call the med office first.  We also can only go to certain doctors that have been approved as legitimate medical providers. 

Here in Panama there is a lot of traditional medicine practiced.  For example, you shouldn’t expose yourself right after heat.  This means you can’t open your fridge after ironing, you can’t shower after walking in the heat of the afternoon, and you need to cool down before you can go swimming.  It also means a lot of herbal remedies and teas.  And Vicks is their febreeze – it is used for everything from colds to headaches to bug bites.  So, if I need medical attention, I have to go to a clinic in my provincial capital, an hour and a half bus ride away.  There I was told that despite my fears of leishmaniasis, it looked more like an allergy, and I was given medicine and a cream.  Now, three weeks later, my rash is going away, though the marks remain and people keep putting in their two cents about what caused it or what I should do to make it better.  I also have to put up with people telling me how concerned they are that my beautiful legs will be forever marred by the marks, and have I told my boyfriend yet that I don’t have pretty legs anymore?  I just tell them that it’s a good souvenir from my time in Panama.

Fashion Limbo

As Peace Corps volunteers, we frequently manage a balance between integrating into the Panamanian culture and following Panamanian expectations and maintaining our own North American identity and image.  This means that my new native language is Spanglish, my cooking is a mash up between Panamanian cuisine and my North American cuisine, and I wear clothes I would never wear in the U.S. without quite fitting into Panamanian fashion either.  On the one hand, it means I can’t really go wrong: if a North American sees me, they will give me the benefit of the doubt and realize I have different shopping options here; if a Panamanian sees me, they will also give me the benefit of the doubt, because I’m a foreigner.  On the other hand, I have a really hard time finding clothes in my size.  There are a lot of clothes here that I really like, but people here are generally a lot smaller.  It was never easy to find shoes I liked in my size, but now it’s even harder.  The fact that the average sizes are smaller, combined with the really low prices, means that I settle for buying clothes I would never buy because they are only $3 or $4.

            I did realize the other day that women here purposely buy really tight clothes, even if they are not the most flattering by North American standards.  When women want to dress up for special events, they wear tight jeans with sequins or rhinestones, high-heeled sandals, tight “cute” shirts (also with sequins, rhinestones and, frequently, English phrases or words), and coordinating makeup, accessories and makeup.  However, a lot of women have what they call llantas (“tires” in Spanish), or what we might call muffin-tops.  Some llantas, according to a member of my community, are the size of a bicycle while others are the size of a taxi, but all women have one.

            A few weeks ago, my host mom wanted me to try on a pair of jeans, certain that they would fit me.  After looking at the size, I told her they wouldn’t since they were two sizes too small; however, after she insisted I at least try them on, I managed to squeeze into the jeans.  I emerged from my room to show them the jeans, the zipper and button strained closed from the difficult task I had asked of them, thinking that this would prove to my host family that I was right.  Instead?  “¡Qué bonita!”  “How pretty!  The jeans fit you so well!  Turn around, look at how pretty they fit you!”  Well, I was pretty floored by their reaction, and so showed them how these jeans accentuated my llanta, but they told me I just needed to cover it with a shirt.  And how pretty I would look if I put on color-matching makeup!

            So although I realize that my looser wide-legged jeans probably look a little shabby and messy for my Panamanian family, I refuse to wear jeans that tight, if for no other reason than because it is way too hot for me to stand wearing tight jeans.  And so, I am finding a balance between what I am willing to wear and what I am willing to just blame on my strange North American fashions.