It’s truly overwhelming and wonderful how many new
experiences I’ve had in just a few weeks. Last week I snorkeled off of Caribbean
islands at the Smithsonian Tropical Research Institute (STRI), and then I spent
the past two days living in the Naso indigenous community along Río Teribe.
Our schedule at STRI was crazy, but snorkeling was an
incredible experience. The water in the Caribbean was so clear and the reefs
were much more diverse than those in the Pacific. We would go out every morning
and practice identifying species in the field, collect samples to bring back to
the lab, or do transect surveys of sea grass beds. It was fun to be able to
look just a few feet below you and see a whole different world brimming with
life. I held a sea cucumber and it was the strangest feeling. I also held sea biscuits,
starfish, and sea urchins and examined mangrove roots and dead coral to study
all of the crazy worms and invertebrates that live in them. My favorite memory
was on the third day after doing a difficult transect survey in extremely choppy
waters. We stopped by a beautiful mangrove island surrounded by reef and swam
for about an hour among huge schools of sardines and all different types of
coral. It was like a scene from Finding Nemo! On the boat ride back to the
research center, the sun shone through the clouds after being hidden all day
and it couldn’t be more perfect.
We also watched a movie called “Paraíso for Sale” about how
the indigenous Ngobe land in Bocas del Toro is being illegally taken by
companies to build tourist attractions. I encourage you all to watch this short
film, as it fully explains the plight of the Ngobe in Bocas. I made me realize
the importance of doing your research when you are a tourist to make sure
you’re not supporting an unsustainable or destructive economy. At the end of
the film there was a surprise guest speaker and it ended up being Feliciano,
the Ngobe community organizer who led the fight for indigenous rights in the documentary.
It was incredibly moving to have such a powerful and
determined person standing in front of us after learning about his struggle. He
introduced himself with a story about an ant hill. At first all the ants worked
together and the ant hill thrived. Then a grasshopper came and destroyed
everything. The ants scattered, certain that such tiny ants could never
overcome the giant grasshopper. However the ants soon realized that they were
many and the grasshopper was just one. So they united and chased the
grasshopper away in order to save their anthill. Despite seemingly
insurmountable odds, he retains such hope and perseverance. It is completely
appalling that a lack of proper enforcement has resulted in the illegal selling
and purchasing of the Ngobe’s reserved land (called a “comarca” in Spanish).
After learning about the Ngobe’s struggle for their rights, I was eager for our
visit to the Naso territory to see how they dealt with such development problems.
When we left the island of Colon where the research station
was in Bocas, it was funny to realize that I was no longer terrified of the
boat ride back to the mainland as I had been on the way there. Instead I nearly
fell asleep from exhaustion. We had spent the whole week waking up early and
spending the whole day swimming and then listening to lectures until late in
the evening. Even though we got off for the morning on Easter Sunday to go to
the local mass we then snorkeled in the afternoon and had a lecture until 10pm!
I felt like I was running on empty upon my arrival to the Naso territory, but
everything I saw there captivated me.
We traveled to the community on small hand-made canoes with
makeshift motors to propel them up the shallow but turbulent river. There were
times when our drivers had to get out and push the canoes because the river was
so shallow and at times it seemed like we weren’t moving at all against the
strong current despite the motor being at full speed. Then we arrived at a
large riverbank and carried our bags uphill for 30 minutes to the center of the
community on a path that was a mixture of sidewalk, fallen trees, and mud. Once
at the community center we divided into homestays and then walked with them to
their homes scattered throughout the forest. My homestay parents were Eduin, the
coordinator of all eco-tourism activities in the community, and Carina and they
had three adorable children: Geral, Maijori, and Edua. Geral was the big
brother who cared for his siblings and led us around the house and taught me
some card games. Maijori was actually the first person I met when coming off
the boat. She ran over to my boat, asked for my lifejacket and then used it as
a makeshift umbrella against the rain. I told her my name and she proceeded to
skip up the trail to her house repeating it over and over again, “Mi-chelle,
Mi-chelle, Mi-chelle!” I was shocked to see that we had to trek through at
least four sizable streams and slosh through ankle deep mud to get from the
center of town, where the school was, to get to my family’s house. Maijori had
to take off her school skirt at one point and continued walking in her
underwear so she wouldn’t dirty her uniform. Of course, since she couldn’t
dirty her school shoes, she did the whole trip barefoot. I was struggling along
in my Chacos, getting pebbles painfully scrunched between my toes, and almost
falling on my face in the mud – I still can’t believe a barefoot five-year-old
makes that trip practically skipping five times a week! At the house we met
baby Edua, a 10-month-old infant who at first was terrified of us and then just
continued staring. My heart melted every time I realized I was being silently
studied by those gorgeous, curious, brown eyes.
Their houses were raised on stilts but had only curtains for
doors and were made entirely out of wood. The first night we stayed up late in
the dark talking with Eduin about eco-tourism in the community, struggles
against hydroelectric dams being built, the preservation of their Naso
language, and how their school only goes until sixth grade and then most people
stop because the nearest high school is in Changinola, which is a 2 hour canoe
ride downstream.
On the second day we visited their garden of traditional
medicinal plants. We were allowed to enter only after they had burned a special
root that would cleanse all visitors and ensure that the medicines would work
if we touched them. Then we learned how to wash our hands with a leaf called
“hoja jabón” (soap leaf) that produced thick suds when rubbed together in
water. They had everything from anti-venom for snake bites to remedies for ear
infections. When we walked back to the
community center I took advantage of some down time to talk with a woman named
María who had lived there for fifty years
and told me of how the houses and the community have changed since her
childhood. Then we saw the traditional Dance of the Tiger that they do whenever
they kill a “tiger” (most likely a puma or jaguar) so that its spirit will rest
and not haunt the community. They asked us to join them in the Dance of the
Serpent, which was a lot of fun!
After that we had free time to play with the
kids, and me and some other students started a small game of tag which quickly
escalated until all of the kids in the community were sprinting around and
giggling hysterically as we chased them. I fell epically twice and even stepped
in some cow poop, but that was the most fun I have had in a long time. I’ll
never forget the sheer joy on the kids’ faces as they quickly darted out of my
way. At some point, I cut my foot and all the kids accompanied me to put a Band-Aid
on it (which I felt bad about because I knew they would never have access to
such luxuries for such relatively small cuts). But of course, they still wanted
to play – so I started a game of Simon Says. A couple of minutes in I realized
that they could care less about the rules of the game and just enjoyed
imitating me, so I rolled with it and together we touched our toes and acted
like monkeys and hopped on one foot…no matter what I said they always cracked
up as if it was the funniest joke in the world. Finally, after more than two
hours of this I sat down to talk with Rafael, Eduin’s brother, and he told me
all about how people usually made a living working on their small farms or
making artisan crafts out of local fruits and nuts. Then we walked the 30
minute hike back to their house for dinner, where I found Carina sick to her
stomach after little Edua had been sick earlier. When Eduin returned we stayed up late into
the night, chatting in the darkness, sitting on the floor of their outdoor
kitchen. It was fascinating to hear him talk about how the Naso often lose
their traditional names when they register with the government and have to
choose traditional Spanish names instead. He also told us that his grandfather told
him white men were evil, but now that the town is becoming more “civilized” (he
used that word, which both shocked and saddened me) he saw the importance of
inviting foreigners there to share their culture and their story.
The strangest thing was being in a place where a language
was spoken that I understood none of: Naso. I learned a few words, such as the
proper greeting, “Miga” and response, “Cobe,” and I picked up on a few phrases
that were repeated often such as “Curubde,” which is the equivalent of “Mira or
Escucha” in Spanish. But being in a household where they could speak over my
head with me having no idea what was going on was a little unsettling and from
now on I will try to completely eliminate speaking English with other students
around Panamanians because I understand how unsettling that can be.
The next morning we left very early to go down to the Río
Teribe where traditional rafts made of bamboo, balsa wood, and rope were
waiting to take us back to Changinola downstream. Each was directed by a
“palanquero” who used a long bamboo stick to steer the raft through the shallow
rapids. It was like something out of a movie or a legend as we all calmly
drifted downstream, sitting on rafts that just hovered about the water. Then
the first set of rapids came and I fell off and had to be dragged back on by
our palanquero, thankfully I caught my glasses. After that I held on tighter
but still managed to fall off a second time at another set of rapids. The third
time was the most terrifying however, because our raft got caught in a small
whirlpool between the rocky riverbank and a fallen bamboo tree. It took two
other boats to get our boats’ passengers safely out of the swirling current.
That time when I fell off it was not my fault as the boat hit a branch and
promptly capsized and suddenly I found myself rushing downstream in my
lifejacket only to be grabbed by another palanquero nearby. It was absolutely
terrifying but also quite hysterical because I was the only person of our whole
group who ever fell off the rafts.
I wish we could have stayed there longer, but I also know in
the back of my mind that I could not have lasted there much longer. It took me
a day just to figure out how to use their latrine correctly (essentially it
consisted of logs laid across a hole in the ground). This visit made me think
about how insane it is that I live in a three-story house in a suburb of Long
Island, with manicured lawns, and paved roads, and 24 hour stores, while these
families live in wooden huts in the middle of the jungle with almost impassible
mud trails, and the nearest store an hour hike and a 2 hour boat ride away.
I’ll never forget that place and I hope to be able to visit other indigenous
communities in the future.
Now we’re staying in a hotel in Changinola before leaving
for Costa Rica on Saturday and our independent projects start in just two
weeks!
