I spent 40 hours volunteering at an orphanage called Malambo outside of Panama City. Hogar San Jose de Malambo was founded in 1890. I found out about the orphanage while researching online for volunteer projects. In my heart, I knew immediately that there was no better place for me to serve. I had no expectations for the experience. Having never been to an orphanage before in my life, I really had no idea how it would be run, how many people would work there, or how the children would behave. But, I changed my original plans of volunteering with a Turtle Conservationist, because I knew that this is where my skills could better be used.
Originally, I had a contact who was going to meet me at the orphanage, and walk me through instructions for where to serve and how to assist the children. She was going to serve as the liaison between me and the orphanage, assisting me when necessary with language barriers, and arranging a specific project for me to work with. However, this woman was in a car accident about a week before my date of arrival. Fortunately she is okay, but it threw a kink in the plans and challenged my comfort.
I am in this foreign country, in the Capitol City which hosts 850,000 residents. I call myself a "city girl", but let's be honest, I grew up in Boise, ID. I had been advised by local Panamanians to carry pepper spray with me at all times, not wear any valuable jewelry, and to not carry too much cash on me at any given time. I needed to find my way to a neighborhood outside the city, called Arraijan; it's about a 45 minute car ride when there is no "tranque" (traffic). I was to show up on my own to the orphanage, unannounced, and explain my reasoning for coming (with whatever Spanish skills I possess).
Anxiety sets in.
I would consider myself a fairly independent person. But a week in a big city by myself, volunteering a location I had NO IDEA how to get to, with no idea WHO TO TALK TO when I showed up.....I think not...
I called my husband last Friday. "What the heck was I thinking, going to Panama City alone? I can't do this." He responded, "Kristin, I have seen you do amazing things. You are such a strong woman, and you have so much to offer this place. You've got this!" he answered.
I married the world's most amazing man!
I followed his advice, and I "manned up", so to speak. On Monday morning I arose at 5:15am; I was up before the sun! After getting ready, I walked down the street, with my hands clenched around the pepper spray. I can do this...I thought to myself. I had no cognition of the bus routes here and I also possess the most limited sense of direction known to man. Knowing these truths, I had prayed many times that God would help me find kind people who would help me find my way to this soon-to-be-discovered destination.
2 amazing people helped me that day. The first was a woman at the first bus stop, who explained that I needed to get to Gran Terminal (like the Grand Central Station of Panama City), and from there find a bus (among the hundreds that are there) to Arraijan. She helped identify which bus to take, and I stepped aboard the brightly colored and accentric "Diablo Rojo" public bus. The fare? 25 cents.
Side note: These Diablo Rojo (Red Devil) buses are SOMETHING ELSE. They are essentially white school buses that have been painted with all sorts of bright colors, with added festive red lights on top. The first time I saw one in the city, I asked the taxi driver if they were the prison buses here. I did later find out, that they are most commonly driven by ex-convicts...an entry job for past prisoners. The buses are packed full with people, squished in like little canned sardines, filling in from both ends of the bus. There are no manners on the Diablo Rojo. Men never offer their seats to women who have to stand, and rules of personal space do not apply. The inside of the buses are also festively dressed. Purple sparkly seat covers, painted dragons, and odd little photos of peoples' faces inside devil bodies are the norm. Often times, the Diablo Rojo buses will have two giant mirrors above the drivers seat, allowing you to see the entire bus full of people. I would commonly look up to the mirror to see several people staring at me, probably wondering why in the world the redheaded foreigner is riding the local transportation.
Another side note: There are tons of Americans, and foreigners in general who live in the city. I would say that the majority of them have quite a bit of money, as they move here for business. They mostly live in a region of the city called "El Congrejo", meaning the crab. I have yet to see another American riding on the public bus system. I also visited that region for breakfast one morning with a few others, and all I heard around the cafe was English. This is something that agitates me a little. What is the point in living in another culture, if you refuse to submerse yourself in a new culture? What's the harm in adopting some local norms? As a person who finds cultural studies to be fascinating, and these little experiences like riding the local transportation to be so adventurous and exciting, I find it hard to understand how people can reside in another country for 5 or 6 years, and not even attempt to learn the language or adopt new norms.
And...that's my little rant about being closed off to the world.
Back to the journey to the orphanage! The second man who helped me that day was at Gran Terminal. I told him I needed to get to Malambo, and he walked me over to a bus, put his hands on my shoulders, and said to the driver in Spanish "This young lady needs to get to Malambo. Make sure she gets there for me." I would say that this is so uncharacteristic of the population of capitol residents I have met thus far, so I knew that this was an answer to prayer. The bus driver stopped after about 45 minutes, and told me this is where I wanted to get off in order to get to Malambo. I get off the bus, and flag down a taxi.
"Al Malambo, por favor. Cuanto cuesta?"
The taxi driver responded, "a Malambo?"
"Si."
He looked out me curiously, and pointed across the 4 lane highway. There was a little handpainted sign welcoming visitors to Malambo.
Ah, man....I look like a fool.
I thanked him, laughed it off, and walked across the road bridge, finding it hard not to skip. After an hour and a half journey, I had made it to Malambo. I was ready to volunteer!
A half hour later I had talked to the right people, and been instructed to help out at "La Casita de los Bebes" (The little house of the babies). This is where I served my time for the remainder of the week!
The ride to Malambo took about 4 hours round trip each day, despite being only 15 miles away.
However, it allowed me to be immersed in the culture, and that's a big part of the reason I am here. It also gave me great language practice!
I always took a taxi from the terminal back to the apartment at which I am staying. Sometimes, I would get turned down by 6 taxis before finally one would agree to take me in to the busy part of the city, but I always laughed afterwards, knowing that is was a part of God's plan.
You see, it's illegal to turn down customers like that. So, the only people who agreed to take me, tended to be very Godly and honest people. That being said, it put me in the midst of some of the greatest people I have met all along my adventure so far. It's amazing how after an hour in a taxi, where you exchange stories about life and philosophy and beliefs, you walk away friends at the end. Milton, Jose, and Carlos....they became my friends at the end of the hour long drive in rush hour traffic. I was able to talk more about my relationship with Christ here in one week with these guys, than I do in most months in the U.S. God put some amazing people in my path, all in answer to prayer.
They confirmed my philosophy that knowing/speaking another language, opens you up to a whole new group of people.
By the 3rd day of traveling to the orphanage, I had the system down pat. As our Diablo Rojo bus crossed over The Bridge of the Americas (the infamous bridge which passes over the Panama Canal), and I looked down at the beautiful boats waiting to enter the locks, I couldn't help but gleam with joy. I felt like in that moment of conquering a new city, after all of the exploring, all of the adventures, after all of the moments of confusion, I was there in my element. I had found a new little piece of myself.
If I could overcome the fear of being alone for a week, and could find my way around a big city, I could do anything. Even if nothing else great had happened during my journey, this moment meant everything to me.
I am not someone who flees from problems, but with so much that has gone on in my personal life lately, this moment meant all the more. My mother-in-law, someone I look up to very much, told me in an important life moment "the only actions you can control are your own". She's right--and here I was, living out God's plan for me in the great big world.
In my opinion, destiny is where your choices and God's plan meet. I am so thankful for this part of my destiny.
...To be continued.
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