Now accepting visitors!

I have reached that giant step in life where you finally move into to your own place, have somewhere to call your own, do whatever you want with.  Mine just looks slightly different than your typical American starter home.

A couple of days ago, my host mom drove me down in her pickup to the house I will (god willing) be living in for the remainder of my two year stay here in Macaracas.  The house is simple: two rooms, one for sleeping and the other for cooking, eating, and whatever else.  The majority of the walls are made in the old Panamanian style—mud—while the rest are concrete block.  I have an orange tree, a tamarind tree, and tons of pretty plants that the neighbor has planted.  It’s kind of a kooky, Weasley-esque combination, but it suits me.  The woman renting the house to me is a doll, and was absolutely overjoyed that I would be giving “human warmth” to the house after it being empty for nearly a year (she got married and went to live with her husband in a neighboring town).  She left me tables, chairs, a bed, two cots, all the pots and pans and plates I could ever desire, and only a few scary bugs to battle as I move in.

Living alone, especially for a woman, is not something people go into willingly here.  The general reaction I would get while searching for a house was, “but you’re going to sleep by yourself in that house? Aren’t you scared? And you’re going to cook for yourself?”  It is natural for people to live with their families up until the day they get married and move into a house two doors down or a job takes them to Panama City and they are forced to live alone.  Unlike our culture, people don’t favor being alone, and living is much more community style.  Meals are shared, everybody likes to know what everyone is doing, and human noise and warmth is comforting.  Most people are used to carving out a small space in their family homes that they can call their own.  

Yet in spite of having a house where I sleep alone, I am far from being alone here in Macaracas.  I, in my opinion, have the best neighbors in the world and a community that wants to make sure that I don’t feel lonely.  My neighbors, Doris and Donny, have three kids, two grandkids, and a daughter in law, although only two kids still live at home.  Donny is like a dad for me—we rebuilt the latrine together and he fixed my door and installed locks while I hung out trying to help wherever he would let me.  Doris is intent on making sure I don’t starve or lack coffee (she knows that I love it and Donny and I would take “coffee breaks” while we were working on the house before I moved in).  My first morning alone in the house, I heard Doris shout “Chelseaaa! Coffee!” from next door.  I hopped over and she had a cup of hot coffee and toast waiting for me.  Since I’ve moved in, the two basic questions from community members have been: “You don’t get scared?” and “Have you eaten?” followed by an invitation to eat if I haven’t.  

Security, along with an overwhelming amount of sliding locks on the doors and windows, has more to do with neighbors than anything, and again in that respect I lucked out.  The kids on the street always play in front of my house (and come in and invite me to play if I’m home) and the neighbors can hear everything that goes on in the house.  Nosiness is my biggest ally here, and the movement of the whole the neighborhood is watched by, well, the whole neighborhood.

The change has already been wonderful for my mental health, as having a house allows me to be out in the community whenever I want, leaves me uncommitted to a meal schedule or a chores schedule, and gives me a ton of space to work, relax, and play.  I’m 180 degrees from where I was for the first four months here with my host mom.  The house where I was, while extremely comfortable, was also located on the second story of a building and its residents seldom left the house.  In my new neighborhood, an open door is an invitation for neighbors, dogs, and chickens to stroll in and check on you.  In fact, I think since moving I’ve had less privacy than when I lived with other people, but I’m loving it.  There are nearly constantly kids on my front porch or poking their heads in to see what I’m doing (Are you cooking? What are you reading? Is that your computer? The table you built turned out cool.  Chelsea, how do you say this in English? Do you understand this song?) I’m the new kid on the block and everyone is curious and welcoming.  

And now…photos!

bedroom and entertainment center

kitchen

dining room/sitting room

side yard

front yard...

guard dog!

latrine aka my pride and joy