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opinion
Also in this section: Bernal, The canal and the constitution Leis, The nation lacks equitable and quality education
The other side of Paradise Out of order! The Third World is out of order! by Susan Hahn Let me tell you about my day. We are in a new apartment where it is a regular occurrence that the water somehow stops flowing every evening around 6 p.m. I woke up this morning with dirty dishes in the sink from last night’s dinner. Of course there were ants on the dishes. It astounds me how these little "ghost ants" can sense the smallest bread crumb left on the counter or rally the troops within seconds of a bit of banana dropped on the floor by a parrot doing what parrots will do. So, at six something this morning, the time when all good parrots scream the wake-up alarm, there I was washing yesterday’s dishes, in my nightgown, getting soaked by a malfunctioning faucet, being serenaded by the blood curdling screams of three large, spoiled birds. The only saving grace was that since I couldn’t find my eyeglasses, the entire event was seen through a dream-like myopic haze. After an hour or so, the dishes were put away, the birds were fed and their sleeping cages cleaned, the floor was swept, the ants were once again hiding out, albeit still vigilant and ready to attack whatever ort there be. But I was on top of things. Broom in one hand, sponge in the other, no speck would go unnoticed and uncleaned by this sentinel. My husband suggested that we go snorkeling in the two-hour window of opportunity called “bird-nap” time. He would get the panga and I would meet him at a nearby dock with sandwiches made, beer packed in the cooler, towels over my arm and portable scrabble game at the ready. So, as planned, while the birds slept, I prepared lunch and met him nearby. I got everything stowed away on the boat when I heard him say the ominous words, “Oh, oh. I just want to check this out.” What seemed like a spark plug problem surely was not bad enough to end our outing. Slow us down to a crawl, yes. But not actually turn us back. We gamely continued on, stopping only four times to clean and replace the spark plugs and attempt to replace a stubborn outboard motor cover. Each time we gave first-aid to the engine it was unresponsive, but stayed alive. So on we trekked until we found some interesting dead coral to explore. Now, I have learned the hard way that when you have a used boat and a sick motor, it is wise to carry a cell phone when at sea. We called our good friend Teodor, who happens to be a water taxi guy, and one beer later, he was sitting in our boat checking out the engine. “Oh, your spark plugs are fine, he pronounced, it’s your clutch that’s no good.” “How did you get out here, anyway?” Esposo and I said in unison, “Very Slowly.” Teodor told us to return to Bocas under our own steam since he was working. He suggested we bring the boat to a mechanic he knew. “Call me if you need help”, he yelled as he sped away. Another beer later we started the boat, but now it wouldn’t move at all. Not forward, not backward --- nada. Teodor came back for us a while later and towed us to the mechanic. Of course we were told that the mechanic wasn’t expected home until late in the evening. I opted to walk back to our apartment while Stan stayed with the boat as Teodor towed it to his dock. I arrived to find a young man standing on our landing watching some nearby construction. The ‘watch-birds’ were screaming their "intruder” alarm as I sent the fellow away and entered the apartment. I took a quick shower and got settled just as the water shut off again. On the kitchen counter was a spot of water with scores of drowned ants contained therein. The live ones were dispatched quickly by a flick of a paper napkin. Why these creatures would want to drown themselves was too sad a question for me to contemplate, especially since the birds had continued their screaming non-stop since I had arrived. Apparently I was not providing that certain tidbit or attention that was required of me. They would continue to scream for the next hour. Finally mi esposo came home; dirty, sweaty and tired from dealing with the boat. I admit to being somewhat unsympathetic and even to allowing myself some satisfaction that there would be no shower in his immediate future. No one likes to suffer alone. Finally being relieved of bird-sitting duties, I went into the bedroom for a short nap. After about a half hour I was awakened by an ant running up my arm. I opened my eyes to see a dead fly on the pillow next to me. Of course the ants were also now sharing my bed. So I ripped the sheets from the bed and threw them in the laundry. Then I tried to remain calm by playing a game of solitaire on the computer --- which incidentally only seems to allow me a couple of hours on-line a day. It tells me it has little or no connectivity. I know how it feels. As I slipped into the semi-comatose state of brain numbness, what do I feel but something now crawling on my shoulder. I calmly shoo the gecko off me, turn off the computer and go out on the porch to join my freshly showered husband who is peacefully playing his guitar. I announce that he must remove the dead spider from the porch, change the sheets, get rid of the dead fly in the bedroom, deal with the birds and allow me to have my well-deserved melt-down. He seems unimpressed that I am living in an ant-infested, waterless, bird screaming, gecko jumping, clutch dying, Internet-deprived world. He thinks this is paradise. If someone would tell me the secret to keeping cool, keeping clean and staying sane, I would be most grateful. In the meantime, the Crocodile Hunter is killed by a stingray, Hugo Chávez tells the citizens of Harlem that he will reduce the cost of their heating oil, Iran’s president is a Holocaust denier and I continue to live in the theater of the absurd. Hi ho.*
(*with a nod to Kilgore Trout.)
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