I was raised in Panama. In all my life I could never have imagined a scenario such as what we are now experiencing. The Panama I knew in the mid to late 1980’s was characterized by citizens revolting against the tyrannical Noriega regime. People out on the streets, many injured by rubber bullets and bird shot as they faced the wrath of Noriega’s feared “Doberman” riot police. Burning tires emitting thick clouds of smoke. Cars flipped on their sides ablaze and smoldering through the night. I clearly recall my sixth grade year at Diablo Elementary School located in the former Canal Zone. My family lived in an apartment building at Punta Paitilla in Panama City as my dad awaited an available home on a U.S. military base. Although our military-operated schools had a fleet of school buses whose drivers would brave uncertain conditions shuttling kids to and from school, there were times that my parents opted to pick my younger sister and I up at the end of the day in the former Canal Zone and take us home themselves after they were done with work. On such days, power was typically out across the entire city and by 6:30 pm, everything was dark. Lacking air conditioning in our 1978 Chevy Blazer, the eerie evening drive through the city would be met by dissipating tear gas discernable enough to sting our eyes. Fortunately, the nature of my dad’s job provided him with advanced warning as to what routes to take. We fortunately never encountered an especially dangerous scenario on these drives. Arriving at our building, the security guard would wave us in to park. From there, with no electricity or generator for the building, we would then trek up twelve flights of stairs to our apartment. Once inside, the Coleman lanterns would be lit, and homework assignments completed between bites of dinner before bed followed (potentially) by another day at school.
The Panamanian people I knew from those days were willing to endure all manner of hardship in their struggle against injustice and tyranny. But not this time. An invisible threat looms everywhere, if only in people’s minds. A total lock-down is in place. The police are out to enforce it, and the populace is by and large compliant. Perhaps it was the medical “professionals” on television donning white lab coats that did the trick. Perhaps it is the threat of $50,000 fines and confiscated vehicles. Whatever it is, the mass psychological response has been effected. The people are in their homes in fear of the authorities and of catching a cold. Perhaps they’ve just become a fearful people since those earlier days. Whether the threat of disease is real or not, I cannot help but feel a sense of disappointment that there is not any coordinated pushback. One-off curfew offenders are publicly shamed on social media. Other clips show Panamanian cops dancing in front of apartment buildings full of masked-up residents barely brave enough to go onto their balconies. Humiliation rituals. This is not the Panama I once knew, and now her I live here once again with my own family. I do not agree with the policies. What will be the ramifications for us? Will they introduce some novel vaccine to address this novel virus? Judging by how conditioned people are to obey the medical authorities, I would not be surprised of such a thing. Nor would I be surprised if they militantly enforced it on everyone, my family included. For me, that is a genuine fear.
We are now in our second month of what is perhaps the most restrictive quarantine regime in the Western Hemisphere. Prior to the lockdown, Megan was in the process of getting her Panamanian driver’s license, requiring coordination with the American embassy. The embassy has since been closed. I am now the only driver. And according to the rules, I can only leave our home on three specific days of the week (days alternate between men only and women only), for two specific hours according to my national ID card. Those hours are 7:00 am to 9:00 am, outside of which I could face arrest and fines. Adding to the burden, too many men were found violating these rules, and to punish us, we can no longer use our two hours on Saturdays. Sundays are are a quarantine day for everyone, unless of course you are of a privileged class and not subjected to the rules. I am skeptical of this entire enforcement regime. I can’t help but find ways to dismiss the rules whenever possible. I noticed for example, that when it rains, the COVID cops who normally patrol our neighborhood are nowhere to be found. Nor their occasional drones. I have always loved the rainy season in Panama. On long jungle treks, a sudden downpour meant instant relief from the oppressive heat. Seeing the clouds darken and gather, I tell my kids to quickly get on their swimsuits. It’s time for a run around the block! Sheets of water now gushing from above, off we go for our run. Some of our neighbors see us from their windows as we pass by. ‘Crazy gringos’ they must think as they ponder whether to report us to the police or not. I don’t care. Report us. We run several times around the block and get back inside to dry off. Another successful encounter with much needed fresh air and whatever sunlight we could get through the downpour. My kids are certainly better off for it. As am I.
Though home-bound, my ministry continues on. Most of my work can be done at home from a computer. The pace of life with homeschooling and dealing with daily needs under these circumstances, makes my work exceptionally difficult. I find my best time to work after 10:00 pm when the house is finally quiet. This makes awaking and getting our the door by 7:00 am on my “allowed” days very tiresome. This is not a sustainable situation. I wish this nightmare would end.
Meanwhile, I am catching up on ministry projects and preparing for upcoming field work in hopes that I can travel again soon. I find myself delicately balancing work and family needs. As a family we have come to liken this as a “season”, comparing it to a months-long journey aboard a sailboat on the high seas. Responsibilities continue onboard; our ship is in constant need of maintenance — as are we. Jesus, our Captain, is our daily direction; and He rules the “seas” over which we sail. Rumors of an end to the quarantine are like reports of land just over the horizon. Though still over the “horizon”, we know He will provide us safe passage. In this unprecedented time God gives our family opportunities like never before to trust in Him. For that we are thankful. So, whether seemingly tossed by raging seas, or set adrift in the doldrums, we trust in our Captain. No matter the circumstances, He never changes. And to Him we give glory!