Bocas del Toro and the Naso Territory

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!