sleepover

When my daughter decided (months ago) that she wanted a sleepover for her eighth birthday I tried to sway her.  Bowling is always fun, or we could go to the movies.  No, all she wanted was a sleepover, with make-up, and nail polish, and the TV moved into her room.  How could I deprive her of a pleasure I enjoyed so much myself as a child?  I swallowed my apprehensions, which mostly had to with mess and dealing with other people's children in Spanish, and moved the TV.

The girls arrived after school on Friday.  My daughter had requested burgers and waffle fries, so that's what I made.  Everything seemed to be going well until I heard (in a stage whisper--in Spanish) I have some bad news, I don't like hamburgers.  I would say that this pretty much sums up my interactions with this particular child for the rest of the party--equal parts hilarious and annoying.  (Although, it was probably more annoying than hilarious when I woke Saturday, to her telling me there was no toilet paper in the bathroom.)  After eating, they played and giggled and ran up and down the stairs.  I was grateful when they were finally all in pajamas and watching a movie.

They went to sleep late and no one was up in the middle of the night crying to go home (have you ever had this happen?  it's the worst!).  They were up a little earlier than I would have liked on Saturday morning.  (They needed a round of Nutella on toast before I had the pancakes made.)  They had a great time and there were no fights, and no one wanted to leave (a sure sign of a successful party).  The mess wasn't too bad, except the  floor in my daughter's room was disgusting--popcorn, Monopoly, pretzels, make-up, and rabbit poop will do that.  I survived, and even mostly spoke in Spanish.

I speak to my girls in English, so I always feel a little unnatural talking to their friends in Spanish.  They know me as foreign, and accented and that doesn't feel like me.  Dealing with people in your second language (if you are like me, and are more proficient than fluent) is like having an awkward costume on, the people you're talking to never get the real you.  A puzzled look from my kids' friends always makes me painfully aware of my deficiencies in Spanish.  But really, they mostly understand me, and my own kids are so good-natured about correcting, or explaining what I am trying to say, that it's really no big deal.  Ultimately, my Spanish has very little to do with the success of a slumber party.

So, it was all good, and I'm sure we'll be doing it again soon enough.  A little mess and being the weird, accented, foreign mom is a small price to pay for my kids' happiness.  I am grateful that my daughters have developed close friendships here.  Rabbit poop under the bed, and blue nail polish on the night stand--I wouldn't have it any other way.

Even the bunnies survived six squealing girls

when the dog bites

I am not particularly afraid of dogs.  When I walk home from school with my girls we pass several houses with dogs.  I've often been surprised by how many people here have two or three dogs in their backyards, and I assume it is for security.  There is one house that we pass that has three or four dogs in the backyard (I can't tell exactly how many because they are a just a seething, snapping mass of fur when we pass) that bark and growl hysterically at us every single day.  They are remarkably unpleasant, and I have never doubted that they would bite given the chance.  It is hard not to speculate  about people who keep a pack of clearly aggressive dogs in their backyard.  And I have often wondered about the inhabitants of this particular house.

The house is a little shabbier than the other houses on the street, and through the window, an older lady can be seen in an overstuffed chair watching TV.  There is a table beside her heaped with laundry or linen (or corpses of husbands past--hard to tell from the street).  Outside, (I assume he is her son, or maybe grandson) a thirty something man with a babyface, leans over the popped hood of a car.  He is friendly, but he does not give an impression of great intellect; he always shouts at the dogs when they bark at us.  This charming tableau has on many occasions set my imagination in motion.  I have outlined a whole short story about a drug-dealing son selling crack from his widowed mother's affluent, but deteriorated, home.  This particular house and its inhabitants have intrigued me as long as we've lived in the neighbourhood.

Last night, after I finished my run, I rounded the corner by this house on my way home.  I was sweaty and tired and thinking about some mashed sweet potato with way too much butter in it,  that was waiting for me in the fridge.  I noticed that the crazy dogs were in the front yard when they began their lunatic barking.  Suddenly one of those awful dogs was on the sidewalk growling and snarling at me.  The dog was small, and my first thought was, "oh, it's just a puppy."  And then it lunged and bit my knee cap.  I was furious.  I swore at the dog and the owner in English because I am not bilingual enough for furious swearing in Spanish.  And it's funny, because I thought about needing to say it in Spanish in the half second before I began (how do you say what the ....).  I didn't even try; I just let loose in English.  If there is ever a moment when swearing is called for, it's when someone's stupid, hysterical dog bites you.  The guy was very apologetic and hit the dog (which I'm sure does not help the situation).  I walked home wondering if my knee was injured, because dog teeth tearing at my kneecap had not felt good.

My knee seems fine; a big bruise and a puncture.  It feels sore but not injured.  Thankfully it was a small dog and even more thankfully it wasn't the whole pack!

opinions

Panama the Beautiful

Earlier this year, during some mining protests, the Panamanian President said that foreigners did not have the right to protest in Panama.  It was bluster designed to undermine the environmental movement (our country will not be run by foreigners!). It really bothered me at the time and it’s something I’ve been thinking about a lot.  It’s obviously problematic, as a foreigner,  to join a protest or to make loud public political statements.  You have not had a truly expat experience until someone has dismissed your opinion because “you’re not from here.  You don’t know.”

Clearly foreign involvement in local issues is something Panamanians are sensitive about.  As an English Canadian, I have never thought too deeply about sovereignty (I was still in high school during Meech Lake).  But here in Panama, sovereignty is something people are passionate about (Panamanians are rightfully proud to be administrating the Panama Canal after ninety-six years of U.S. control).  I don’t know how many times, while taking a taxi in the Canal zone, the driver has commented to me, “Panamanians weren’t allowed over here, with the Americans.”  It is quite an incredible circumstance to have in living memory and foreigners need to be sensitive to it.

I was looking at a Facebook page for some local activists recently (all comments and statements were in Spanish as far as I could see) and someone had posted the comment, “gringada” (that would translate as, foreign, and not in a nice way).  With that one comment they dismissed the thoughtful posts of many people.  It occurred to me, that expats visibly participating in political activity here could actually undermine their own cause.  I don’t think this means foreigners should stick to wringing their hands and complaining about the locals within the expat community (I’m pretty sure enough of this goes on already). It is disagreeable, but there is a reason the President can so quickly cut down his opposition with the accusation of foreign involvement--it resonates with the Panamanian people.  Expats need to think carefully about their political involvement.

While possibly not as satisfying as a protest march, or an indignant comment on a web site, there are other quieter ways to effect change.  The other day, when I was running in Clayton, I saw a woman (I’m assuming foreign) picking garbage along the road.  I’m sure she was disgusted by all the garbage people throw out of their cars and she was doing something about it.  It’s not only that she was cleaning up, the image of her, with her trash pick and bag, high-vis vest and disarming smile, I’m sure, it had an impact on people.  By being there, and doing what she was doing, she was raising awareness.  Garbage-picking-lady in Clayton, you are awesome, you are changing the world. What I am advocating, is living our beliefs, if you see something that seems wrong do what you can to fix it.  It is not necessary teach, or complain loudly, it is necessary to do what is right.

Seemingly small actions have an impact on people.  I teach adult ESL classes and I always remember one student, who told me as if it were the most incredible thing, how his Swiss boss walked to work every day.  Now this seems like a small thing, but in a city where pedestrians are seen as the lowest form of life, walking is radical.  I’m sure, to this man, walking was obvious, but to my student it was incredible.  If you act according to your beliefs people will notice and it does make a difference.

I love this country and this city.  Yes, there are things that I believe should change and changes I don’t agree with.  But it is not my place to change this city, or to influence opinion.  I can be a part of change through my actions though.  In the face of corruption and cynicism, being a good human, and acting according to principles seems like not nearly enough.  But having thought about it a lot, I think it’s the only way.  So walk to work, pick garbage, volunteer, start a recycling programs.  There is a great deal of work to be done.

bilingual girls

my beautiful bilingual girls 

The other day I was asking my youngest if she'd enjoyed the treat I'd packed in her lunch.  She proceeded to tell how she'd traded her wholesome home baked treat for "chocolate cornflay" (that is corn flakes pronounced in Panamanian Spanish--rising stress on the flay--apparently here in Panama, many people refer to all breakfast cereal as corn flakes).  My bilingual daughter, not knowing this, had not recognized that "corn flay" was corn flakes and thought it was something in Spanish she didn't know how to translate.  Her sister and I thought this was hilarious, but I am blown away by this translating that my kids do, normally it's so smooth--you'd think, talking to them, they'd spent their day at school in English and it's rare that there's a "corn flay" sized bump. They switch between the two languages easily.

I love their bilingual dexterity.  It is one of the things that makes me sure of our decision to live outside of Canada.  We could have attempted to raise our children bilingual in Canada (my husband is Argentinian) but I seriously doubt our kids would have such an easy command of both languages.  In our house mostly English is spoken (but certainly not exclusively) and books and movies and TV are mostly in English.  At school and extracurricular activities it's mostly Spanish (my kids go to a bilingual school, so they have core subjects in both English and Spanish). And of course there's all the day to day interactions in Spanish, out and about and with friends.  It makes for a very naturally bilingual environment--effortless second language acquisition.

When we left Canada eight years ago I really had no idea of what I was getting into.  I had this idea of our kids being bilingual, but I didn't know how amazing it would be. They are like chameleons, switching beween languages depending on who and where.  I never could have imagined all the language jokes, all the parroting of accents.  We take such pleasure in the vantage of knowing two languages, switching back and forth mixing it up (Spinglish, we call it in our house).  We enjoy anglicisms as if they were clever jokes.  At our house, I'm sure all breakfast cereal, from now on will be referred to as"corn flay."