There is no average day in my life. I have 2-4 scheduled events that I must attend every week (unless there is something more important to do), which include teaching environmental ed classes and holding community meetings about conservation-related activities. The rest is up in the air, and the flexibility of each day is at the same time exciting and frightening. I was essentially dropped into a community with a general assignment (conservation), with nothing but a sense of responsibility to drive me each day, the only supervision being quarterly reports and meetings.

I own a day planner, not to organize my numerous activities, but to fulfill my Americanized insticts of productivity, and to write something down each day. If this didn't happen, there is a chance that little would be accomplished. Ever. This being said, an average day in Panama may proceed as follows (or be completely different):

6:00 am - wake up with the rising of the sun and noise of screaming neighbor kids or screeching howler monkeys, and debate whether to use the next hour (the only coolish hour of the day) to exercize or continue sleeping

7:00 am - shower and breakfast

8:00 am - read or leave for David city to run errands and visit agencies (once or twice a week)

9:00 am - make lesson plan for environmental ed classes, plan task for current projects, clean the house, phone calls, etc.

10:00 am - teach a class for a couple hours (twice a week)

12:00 pm - lunch

1:00 pm - nap

2:00 pm - visit community members or do work around the house and garden, attend meetings or visit the beach, depending on the weather

6:00 pm - dinner

7:00 pm - darkness falls. alone time reading, playing guitar, listening to music, texting friends, or staring into space, depending on my mood.

For a Type-Aish American, there are some moments when a semblance of structure and routine is sanity, although the hammock is a force that can be difficult to fight.

This is the lifestyle of rural Panama: entirely dependent on the seasons, the weather, the family, and neighborhood gossip. Falling into pace with the culture is to leave the day planner behind and succumb to the forces of nature, whether it be the rain, the heat, a sick kid in a nearby town or the lack of running water for the day. Daily life revolves around these details that become the center of conversation of the day. -"Qué calor, ¿verdad?"
-"Si, va a caller el agua en la tarde..."

The future is a vague hope of winning the Sunday lottery and the past is what got you to the present. Yes often means no, and the word no is simple never used as a response to a request. Mañana may mean tomorrow or next year. Ahora may mean in a few minutes or later this week. The vagueness of these words exemplifies the daily "routine": do what you have to do to make the plata, fulfill your family role, and spend the rest of the day as Dios quiere. Y mañana? Who knows.

This piece was written as a bit of advice to fellow international development workers. If you find yourself confused reading the following, consider yourself invited to Panama for clarification.

***

The dawn breaks gloriously, bright rays of sunshine penetrating blindingly through the miniscule holes in the concrete-block windows. Howler monkeys sound their strangled "ooooah ooooah" cry from nearby, blending harmoniously with screeching rooster crows. It's 6:04am. Just another day in Paradise. You stretch at the thought of a new day and all its potential of simple pleasures that you now recognize with greater depth and appreciation because you are a Volunteer for peace. Today is especially bright because the Big Town is calling. It's an Agency day.

Coffee perculating perfectly over the steady blue gas flame, you rub your sleepy eyes and gaze at the abundant selection of stainged T-shirts heaped hazardously over the suitcase/closet. Goo!* Suddenly, the spotlessness of the day comes crashing down. There is nothing to wear.

Heart beating frantically with the surge of adrenaline, you attack the offending Pile with the zealousness of a crazed chicken clawing for a tasty bicho. The search reveals. Chaco's caked with foul-smelling, unidentified matter, zipoff pant/shorts stained with orangy campo mud, and an ultralight, sweat-wicking, bug-repellent-incorporated sports shirt torn and shredded by a Panamanian-style washing machine/electrocution device. The only vaina left unscathed by the elements is the swearing-in ceremony outfit, really only fit for a funeral. This will not do.

What to do? Before running off to the nearest payphoe to pedir from your parents a new wardrobe from the latest REI catalog, I ask you to consider Going Native. It's cheap, relatively easy, and FUN! Like, seriously, why remain in the 'gringo tourist' category after all the hard work of establishing yourself as the 'la gringa loca quien vive por alla'?

The benefits of Going Native are endless. Respect, for one. People start kissing your cheeck and saying, "ayja la machina, se ve muy bonita hoy." That's in addition to a ten-fold increase of requests to learn organic gardening and worm box techniques.

Entonces? Como puedo yo 'ir nativo'? Facilito, chiquillo. Below is an illustrated guide, complete with an easy-to-understand currency converter ($1 USD = 2.0 Cervesa Panama (CP)). Time to get glam. Cafe duran Frappucino!

That's 52 CP out of your monthly CP budget (estimated: 100 CPs/month). Not bad. Plus, everyone knows that the best accessory is that monte-slashin' figure you've earned. CPs spent on fashion frio y duro es vale la pena, and preserves your svelte figure from the damage of too many Panama bien fria. Chuleta! Time to hit up the almacenes.

*Thanks, A. Sherm