Nail in my Coffin, The Kills

I have days here where I feel as though I’m simply banging my head against a wall.  And after a long day with three five year olds, two three year olds and two eight year olds hanging out at my house, pelaring coconuts, sometimes it’s not metaphorical.

Last week, I spent time on the beach, handling Olive Ridley sea turtles for the first time.  Our first night out, we were not allowed the key to the artificial nursery – a large sandy rectangle where nests are planted.  Our group consisted of myself, another Peace Corps Volunteer and the community’s Corrigedor – the local law reporter, a position of high power, but none of the cooperative, the group who used to be in charge of selling eggs.  Almost four years later, they are still reluctant to give up their power.  We decided it would be better, both for us and for the turtles, so simply move nests.

(Brief attempt at a back story:  There are a few procedures for turtle protection strategies.  The best-case-scenario strategy is to shut the beach down to poachers, whether this is by eliminating poachers or by stricter protection strategies to keep the eggs in place.  Other options include transplanting eggs (the aforementioned moving of nests), consistent patrols and an artificial nursery, or fenced off area in the dunes that allows eggs to incubate away from pesky poachers.  Strategies differ from place to place, but Panama tends to prefer the vivero.)

The night started out as normal.  We started to see turtles, we split up, we put the eggs in bags to move them to the vivero.  As we had our first 3 nests ready to plant, we realized none of us had the key.  Calls were made but no one wanted to leave their beds and come out to the beach.  Brainstorming options, we decided to transplant in the dunes.  For the next few nights of patrols, we kept this pattern.  My counterpart had done it for years, protecting by himself eggs from poachers.

Nights later, an ANAM ranger came up to me on the beach as I collected eggs for transplanting and told me this method was not the right way.  We could only plant eggs in the vivero.  I explained that I did not have a key, and since another turtle was beginning to nest ten feet away, I didn’t have time to bring the eggs to the artificial vivero and get back in time.  The next day, I brought the ANAM official a copy of a report, claiming that transplanting, in some situations, was the preferred method of protection.  Finally, he believed me, begrudgingly.

One of the hardest parts of my job is trying to get new ideas and methods accepted.  Because something worked at one time, they believe it will work forever.  Whether this is selling turtle eggs or farming techniques, trying to explain new methods sometimes work as well or better than the old ones can be like banging your head against a wall.  If nothing else comes from my service, I will become a more patient person.  Or continue banging my head against the wall.