Sunday 13 December 2015

Panama Day Nine


Thursday, November 26

Uh Uh, No Sir!

The excavator came yesterday and it will be finishing up today, the men have already been up there this morning watching more brush disappearing, more fruit falling and heavy muddy dirt moving.  Machetes and shovels held are mostly still as they watch the big machine do its work.  I slip into Einer’s villa to find Jason sitting at the long kitchen table listening to a young man; he is translating to Deanne and now to me as well.  Oberlin has an amazing story to share, we have heard it, we know it, but now we hear it from his own words, his friend Efriam is listening too.

As Oberlin tells his story, we are mesmerized by his voice as he speaks, his face, his eyes, his words… his hands.  I cannot stop looking at his hands as they move into a fist and then open and roll and point…they also are telling the story.  It is a story of a seemingly lost soul, sold out to the devil; tormented himself but also tormenting others, including his friends, affecting his school, losing his parents.  The whole of the town fought to find salvation for this trouble, the youth went wild and the school was shut down. A Catholic priest tried to help, men from the town, family, still, all seemed lost.  But God was pursuing Oberlin, over time he fled to the church, head down, shoulders hunched, trying to make himself invisible, he made his way to the front seat weeping, crying out the Hineni words of God… “Here I am, Here I am, Here I am…” over and over and over again.  My tears overflowed and rolled down…this is how God pursues. 

Oberlin, once a broken young man but now made whole, restored, and beautiful…his slate wiped clean.  He works here now, at this camp for kids, he is dedicated to discipling children for God and the people here cannot stop loving him.  He offers to share another gift with us, Jagua painting.  He explains that Jagua is an important fruit in the life of Embera and Waounan people. This hard inedible fruit is grated, mixed with a small amount of water and squeezed in a cloth to extract a black liquid that is used to paint directly on dry skin.  Geometrical designs wrapped around upper arms, wrists and in some cases whole lower bodies…like a two-week tattoo.  A personal and impressive gift...oh yes, we all got one!

Our time here is nearly at an end, we have just a few things more to finish, cleaning the showers, bathrooms and beds; sweeping and washing floors; packing up everything into our suitcases; saying our farewells to these people we have gotten to know…Americo, Obdulio, Ricardo, Delacio, Alsiviades, Oberlin, Efriam, Robinson, his wife Ruth, other women who called this place home, and the children. 

Alan gives us a few instructions about driving through the checkpoints as we leave the Darien and head down to Torti where we will spend this night….as we listen, we load up Alan’s vehicle and the Prado; baby stuff, Kalea’s stuff, Alan and Colleen’s stuff, all of our stuff which is much less than what we came with and the dog Samson…who tried one more time to interrupt Alan's instructions, who in turn reiterated with a command we became very familiar with…

”Uh, uh, no Sir!

And now, one last four wheel drive up the new road and back down again…here we go!