During my short time in Panama, we were living in a rundown beach house in between the ocean and the marsh in San San Pond Sak. Year round, the house was still lived in by the three men we lived with while we were there. They opened up their house to groups like ours who wanted to help out with their volunteer work on the island.
One of the men was Pedro: the sixty- year- old-ish cook, who I quickly grew close with from the first day on. I was sick when I came to San San Pond Sak; a gross head cold was spreading quickly around the group I was traveling with, and alas I had caught it. Within the first hour of getting off the boat that took us across the river to get to the little island, Pedro had gone out and actually picked lemongrass out of his garden to make me tea with it to help my throat. I was overwhelmed by the care of this elderly man whom owed me nothing yet gave me so much. He later caught wind that I was intrigued by the idea of crab hunting, something I had heard one of the other permanent volunteers living at the house mention. That same day that I had mentioned wanting to crab hunt, he took me and three others that wanted to join. We went out on a dock, and he put on waders and boots, walking around the marsh, and stabbing crabs when he saw them. He let us try if we wanted (which, obviously I did, I mean, how many people can say they have been crab hunting in Panama right?), and he continued on for about an hour. Afterward, he cooked up a massive plate of crab meat, by far the best I have ever had. It was one of those special nights in life you know you will never forget. I was simply amazed, by where I was, who I was with, what I was doing.
This idea of being amazed by my surroundings continued on during my time here, as I found myself befriending a local Panamanian girl, only a year younger than me: Pedro's daughter. She grew attached to myself and the two girls I was rooming with there. In fact, though she normally lived on the mainland, she decided to sleep in our room for a few nights to spend more time with us. When she first brought up the idea of sleeping over in our room, we were flattered, simply by the fact that this stranger whom we could communicate minimally with, wanted to get to know us better.
Quickly though, that flattery turned to being flabbergasted. The morning after the first night she stayed over was filled with the thought of 'what did just happen' constantly running through our minds- not in a negative way, but more just in an unexpected, surprised way. Let me back up. We meant this girl the day before while setting free the first turtle that had hatched in the hatchery. Our instructor picked a number in her head and had us guess. And you know that feeling when you know something is just inevitably going to happen, or that something was meant to happen? I felt that then, that I was meant to partake in this special opportunity to set this turtle free the first day we arrived in Panama. And I was right, I guessed the right number. I named the turtle "Estrella" (star), as it is my favorite Spanish word, and Cashmere explained to me in broken English how I was to go about letting this little one run loose to the ocean: its new home.
The experienced bonded Cashmere and I. Later that evening after dinner in the giant garage that was made into a large, makeshift dining room and kitchen, a few of us stayed after before we went to bed as we weren't tired. Cashmere left the room for a few minutes and then came back and said that she "hat a surprize" for my friend and I. She gave us both necklaces: my friend's was a blue rock to make sure she never forgot Cashmere and this place, and mine was a heart because she said she could tell by my welcoming what a big heart I had. My friend and I then rushed off to the room we were sharing and brought out bracelets from the states to give her in exchange, so that she too wouldn't forget her new American friends.
A bit after that and some more general conversation and laughs, we decided to turn in for the night. Cashmere told Pedro she planned on spending the night out here and returning to the mainland the next evening. After our newfound friendship had blossomed so, she decided she wanted to sleep in our room. Considering that we were guests to the beach house and her family, we obliged with no dispute. We returned to our rooms and turned on the flickering light, lit the bug repellent torch, and asked Cashmere about her life here. To make it less awkward, my friend turned on some music to ask Cashmere if she had heard the song. Cashmere, not liking our music, decided to show us some of hers. She turned on a song with provocative, pounding beat, and started belly-dancing and twerking. My friend, our other roommate, and I all burst into laughter at the idea of this Panamanian girl showing us her twerking skills. After that loosened us all up a bit, the conversation quickly turned to that which would be expected from seventeen year old American girls. As we asked Cashmere a swear word, followed by the learning that she had a whole secret boyfriend that she was keeping from her father. We were surprised by this girl living a charitable and minimalist life in Panama as she saved sea turtles was the least. Then we got onto the subject of tattoos. Cashmere admitted she had one, to which we were shook. Pedro seemed like a very traditional father, stern but unbelievably loving. As she realized what we were talking about, Cashmere's eyes grew wide; and she started shaking her head talking in rushed Spanglish.
"No! No! Pedro do-en't know ab-out de tatoo. He can't know bout de tatoo!"
To this my friend, me, and our other roommate all starting laughing. Cashmere was a bit of a wild child. We asked her where it was and she took off her shirt and turned around; across her back, written diagonally, was the word "family" in cursive. By this point our laughter at the ridiculousness of the tattoo and idea that we were some of the few who were keeping this massive secret took us to lay back on our beds.
The next morning we all woke up, and the two girls from my group and I were still giggly about all that happened. We walked to breakfast thinking about how we were going to eat a delicious breakfast made by a man whose daughter was keeping from him the other man in her life, as well as a back covered by a tattoo.
I was reminded of this all in class one day when we were watching a movie about coach who decides for the first time to coach a girl. They develop a father and daughter like relationship with one another, despite the coach having a real daughter whom he is not in touch with. It brought to my mind how Pedro acted innocently as a step in father to me during my time there, yet he had a real daughter whom he did not really know.
It's ridiculous in a way, the fact that these people, our parents, are positioned perfectly from the start to play such a big role in our lives. However, it is also equally ridiculous that they are supposed to play such a big role in our lives. In once sense, we are their kids. Theirs. It is a possessive pronoun. We are literally their possession. Yet, in another sense, we are also completely our own, filled with our own relationships, and thoughts, and morals, and even tattoos.
J
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