I went to the CCL agency today to see if I get lucky and the ship for Monday has been delayed to Tuesday. But I have no such luck. Ms. Smith is not there, and the lady in the front office says right now it’s still Monday. So I go and use the internet for 2 hours to update my xanga, write more emails, actually go through Matt’s blog about his journey across the United States, and research a bit about flights to Colombia. It appears that the flights to Colombia can be bought for as little as $288, whereas flights to Quito, Ecuador were running at least $450.
I then went to eat at KFC, where a long line of at least 25-30 people stun me and I am forced to leave. I’ve noticed that the Chinese population here is very noticeable, especially in contrast to other Central American countries where I didn’t run into a single one. It’s very strange, seeing Chinese people speak in fluent Spanish. Anyway, I walk into a Chinese restaurant that gives me 3 chickens, french fries and a pepsi for $1.80.
I later try to look for a mechanic, because my brakes seem to require much more of a push to engage. I come across one that speaks excellent English. His name’s Michael Van (he called himself Van), and he was born in Guyana, South America. His parents were from Europe, and he had served in the Guyana Army, trained by the English. He tells me that the master cylinder for my brakes are what’s causing the problem. We go around to 3 different shops looking for parts but to no avail. Everyone says go to Panama City. But he says, he really doubts he can find the parts, even in Panama City, which his Chinese friend next to his shop agrees with. It’ll be better if I just go to Colombia and try and fix it there.
I’m talking to him in front of a church, so I ask him what time the services are. He doesn’t know so he goes to find out and returns to talk to me about how God doesn’t have a color. At this point, a young black man holding a guitar comes out to greet me from the church. He invites me to the 11 O Clock service tomorrow. His name’s Antonio.
Antonio was a welcome sight in contrast to all that has been going on here in Colon. His eyes told of hope and of innocense in spite of all the evil and turmoil erupting around him. He didn’t come to ask me for money. He only came to offer an invitation, something I will take up on tomorrow.
Colon is THE nastiest city I believe I will ever go to. It’s not just that it’s dirty. It’s falling apart, and seems to be doing so quickly. But that’s not all. People seem to be intent on grabbing their hands on whatever little money there is circulating in the city, and their aggression clearly shows. It’s always the people that make the city, which makes the experience. And in this case, I am having a horrible experience, not only because of the poor infrastructure of the city, but more so because of the people here.
Van tells me that that hasn’t always been the case. He’s been here for 32 years, and it used to be pleasant to live around here. Now it’s crowded, and he and his friend were just talking about how it has turned to shits. He says that it changed all too dramatically around the year 2000. I said I can’t imagine how it used to be. It’s so much different than how he says the city used to be.
So far, I’ve been going from city to city, mostly in areas that are either friendly to tourists or at least a place secluded enough that I’m not totally ingrained in the culture of a bad city. But in this case, I don’t have a choice. And perhaps it’s all for the best. I’ve avoided, knowingly, experiences like this. And the fact that Colon is in fact much worse than the next dirtiest town in Central America doesn’t help with the process of adaptation.
It made me reflect on what I intend on doing with my life and how although I’ve avoided experiences like this in this trip, it’s exactly what I needed. It’s the only way I will learn how people in not so well off cities and countries live. And being here, all alone, in what must be the least sought after city in Central America, is giving me a glimpse of a life unknown to me. What if this was my life? What if this city, with all its imperfections and inadequacies, was impossible for a person of little education to survive, thrive, and eventually improve its infrastructure or to even simply move away?
I am saddened and hurt by the way people live here. But even then, I am becoming more ambivalent about needing to feel empathetic for poor cities and its people. They continue to live here, even though other options must be available to them. They continue to reproduce to a point of overpopulation, even though you would think their financial situation would make them strongly reconsider. They continue to work as slow as they want, drive as fast as they want, and be as aggressive as they want. None of those things will rejuvenate the broken soul of a city. It shows glimmers of what could have been in the outskirts of the town.
I am reminded of my companion of 10 days, Fiona. How she never wanted anything in her life other than to be a wife and raise a family. If it’s like that in Australia, how can I expect anyone in a city like this to strive for an ambition greater than themselves? They may not be overjoyed over their way of life, but it’s satisfactory enough for them to continue to live here.
So what is my call to responsibility in the midst of all this? Right now, absolutely nothing. Money is not the answer at this point. I’ve realized, along the way, that money rarely is the answer and is rarely the problem. Pouring money into this city won’t fix the problem. It will only be a drug to their problems, something that they will need bigger doses of in the future to maintain a better way of life. So when people ask for help, they say, well I need money for food. Then buy them food, not just give them money. They say I need money to stay at a motel because I just got out of prison and need my parents to wire transfer money for me to get out of here. Then get them a room at a motel, not money. Money is the means to a solution, and people seem to forget that it’s only a medium of transfer of resources, not a resource in of itself.
But what CAN be done with all of this turmoil happening all around this city and others around the world? I believe education has to be the first responsibility. Educate people of how their lives could be with higher education. Offer them hope and help them develop their resilience towards unavoidable failures. Teach them to be more technically analytical, and more personally understanding. Teach them history, so that by learning the ways of the past, they can strive for something greater in the future.
But none of this can be possible without health. Advancements in medicine should be a top priority, in improving a person’s livelihood and in sustaining their life. Money can definitely help with this process, but again, it’s only the means to an end, not the end iteslf.
Third, I strongly believe in infrastructure. Improve buildings. Enact strict laws on sanitation. Create an irrigation system that doesn’t overflow three months out of a year. Maintain your roads. Encourage growth of city boundaries along with its businesses. And most importantly, empower the people that populate the city, because they are the foundation.
I don’t know how much of all of this is real or even possible. But it’s what I strongly believe in right now. Given all of that, I do believe Colon could become a place worth visiting again. Nobody said it will be easy, but perhaps people are so scared by what is hard that they lose their sense of potential.