It
is hard to imagine that this time last year I was just starting my preparations
to spend a semester abroad in Panama. I will be graduating from Villanova University
in May with degrees in Environmental Science and Spanish, and this deadline is
helping me to reflect on my perspective of the world, how it has changed over
the past four years, and what I hope to contribute to the future. My experience
in Panama has been transformative in shaping my goals, interests, and outlook
on life. I could never have imagined the profound role this experience has had
on my life and I would like to highlight some of the most influential moments
of my experience at the one-year anniversary of my travels.
I’d
like to start with a memory of mine: It is pitch black and I’m walking down a
dirt road that winds around hills in the small rural village of Loma Bonita (in
the province of Cocle). My homestay family had decided to go for a nighttime
walk to visit neighbors and we were headed home. Suddenly I steal a glance
upward: there is an infinity of stars
above my head and I’m awestruck. I’ve never seen so many stars. I share my
amazement with Maribel, my Panamanian homestay sister, and I am further amazed
that she shares my amazement and we both stop to admire them. She must see that
same starry sky every night, and yet she is still mesmerized by its beauty just
as much as a visitor.
I
marvel at the millions of stars I have never seen before until I stumble upon a
familiar constellation that I’ve seen countless times at home: Orion. Orion has
always meant a lot to me: I can see it clearly from my driveway at home on Long
Island; it is associated with a particularly beautiful memory of sledding with
friends from high school, as well as countless attempts to star-gaze on the
soccer fields with friends at Villanova. And here it is again in Panama. I am
reminded that even though nothing of what I have experienced in this rural
homestay has been familiar (chickens walking into my room, the hour long walk
descending mountains to reach the center of town, the concrete vibrantly
colored house constructed by the family’s grandfather, the loud hum of a
generator that can provide just one more hour of light after darkness falls) we
are still under the same sky. I point out the familiar constellation to Maribel,
but she tells me they call it another name. Then she proceeds to sweep a finger
across the night sky, naming constellations in Spanish for me. And I’m overwhelmed
by the idea that everyone around the world is simultaneously seeking the
meaning of the universe and an understanding of why we are here. Even countries
away, people are drawn to seek answers from the same stars. Then Maribel
suggests I take a picture of the beautiful sky with my camera. I have been
taking photos all week, introducing my homestay family to the miracle of “flash.”
I try to explain that it probably won’t work since it is so far away, but she
insists. She wanted to ensure that I remembered that moment, and even though
the picture did not come out, she succeeded. I’ll never forget the image of Maribel
bending over backwards to aim my camera at the night sky, while her three-year
old daughter (who had been hitching a ride on her back this whole time) squeals
in protest as she draws nearer and nearer to being horizontal. This moment was when I first realized the
power of connection across cultures and backgrounds. I traveled to Panama in search
of something different, in search of a new adventure, and I most certainly
found it, but I was also reminded of our similarities, our universal desire to
connect, share our histories, celebrate the present, and collaborate to improve
the future.
To
describe Panama, I would describe extreme opposites: the bustling metropolis of
Panama City compared to the rural indigenous village of the Naso people accessible
only by a 2 hour canoe ride, the ceaselessly rainy tropical rainforests of the
Coclé province contrasting the barren Sarigua desert in the Azuero peninsula,
and the murky, mangrove swamp-covered Pacific coast contradicted by the crystal
clear blue reefs of the Caribbean coast. But despite these differing regions
and environments, the people were unfailingly consistent: welcoming, friendly,
inquisitive, and supportive every step of my journey. I find that the most
important lessons I learned from Panama weren’t from my surroundings (hiking 6
hours up Volcán Barú must have taught me something I am still trying to piece that
together), but rather from conversations and relationships with individuals. I
would like to reflect on some of the incredible people I met in Panama and what
they taught me.
In
Loma Bonita, the same village where I shared that moment with Maribel under the
stars, I had the privilege to have a nine-year-old and a seven-year-old as my teachers.
Angi and Ilda were the two sweetest, patient, and curious teachers/homestay
sisters I could have asked for. While my Spanish certainly improved by talking
with adults, I found that when a conversation started to go over my head, most
adults would let it happened unless I spoke up asking for clarification. These
girls however, would notice that glazed look on my face, stop, take me by the
hand, and show me what it was I needed to learn. They would repeat words that I
didn’t recognize and explain customs that were new to me. They were always
excited to play with me and when the daylight didn’t provide enough time, they
snuck into my room at night to continue our games and talk. At some point they started
asking me questions and I took the opportunity to ask them things as well. What
games do you like to play? What’s your favorite food? It was at this point when
I started to realize I was learning a lot just by talking with them. When we
got to the favorite food question the younger girl started telling me about how
she loves “emme-emmes.” I didn’t recognize the word so I asked her what they
were and she started describing colorful candy-coated chocolates with soft
chocolate inside. As a chocolate lover, my month so far in Panama had been
rough since there was not much chocolate in the traditional Panamanian diet. I was
thrilled to try this new Panamanian chocolate candy and I told her so, asking
how to spell it. She just looked at me blankly before repeating, “emme-emmes.”
And then it hit me. She was describing M&Ms. I still had a lot to learn, but
I could learn a lot as long as I remained curious and willing to make mistakes.
When traveling in a foreign culture, especially while learning a foreign
language, one can easily feel like a child. At times it can be frustrating, but
most of the time it is thrilling to discover the world anew from a different
perspective.
The
perspective of the indigenous groups we visited was the most eye opening of my
travels. There are many groups of indigenous people in Panama and we visited
the Naso, a people who live in communities along the Teribe River in the
Changinola province. To reach the community we stayed in, we had to pile into
canoes with makeshift motors and fight our way upstream against the current for
2 hours. Upon our arrival, the first person to meet us on the shore was a young
girl in pigtails who introduced herself as Maijori to everyone. She was full of
energy and curiosity and excitement. I knew immediately this was someone I was
eager to get to know, and that didn’t turn out to be hard because she was my
homestay sister. So we had a nice 45 minute trek from the center of the
community to her house in which we could get to know each other. She
practically skipped through the forest, despite being barefoot and was so full
of energy and unconcerned by the long, muddy hike we had in front of us. At
some point we came to a wide stream and suddenly she took off her pleated blue
school skirt, held it over her head, and waded through the stream in her
underwear. I realized that if Maijori could maintain such a high level of
energy and enthusiasm despite her arduous path to school every day, I could
manage to stay positive throughout the difficulties in my university studies as
well.
The
first person I met in the Naso territory was inspirational, as was the last. To
leave the community, we were placed on traditional rafts of bamboo and balsa
wood with a guide carrying only a stick (to prod us in the right direction
along the way) so that we could float downstream for two hours back to the
nearest village. When the three of us first sat down on our raft we were
visibly uneasy. Our guide tried to reassure us, but that is difficult when you
are sitting in two inches of water on a wet, splintery raft with nowhere to
hold on and a two hour voyage ahead of you. Seeing our nervousness, at every
turn our guide decided we needed to learn something, so he told us to stand up.
We were incredulous yet reluctantly obedient. Now all four of us were standing
on the raft as it floated downstream, approaching another curve and another
wavy patch of water. The guide assured us that we should relax, trust the
river, and we’ll be fine. When we approached the turn, we were easily able to
balance ourselves and it was actually a lot of fun! I was freed in that moment by
placing my trust in a river and a man with a stick.
We
stood and sat as we continued down the river, asking our guide about the Naso’s
relationship with the river and learning about true resourcefulness and
connection with the natural world. The river banks were lush and green and wild
as the river wandered aimlessly through the forest, until we came across
overturned boulders, fallen trees, and very choppy water. The river took a
sudden turn and our once carefree guide told us to hold on. We hit a fallen
tree and I managed to be the only member of our group to fall overboard. Once I
was back on the raft, we realized that the river had changed because of the new
scenery that lined the banks: backhoes, trucks, excavating machines, all
removing sand from the river and carting it off to be used in other
construction projects around the country. We had heard from talking with the
community elders that recent developments along the river were threatening
their way of life (hydroelectric dams, mining operations, and sand excavation),
but only after experiencing the damage firsthand did I really understand. The
Naso people faced devastating consequences of the exploitation of their land
and the land rights of indigenous groups are rarely enforced. Their way of life
is disappearing; they know they are fighting a losing battle and yet they still
do it. This determination of the human spirit was powerful to witness. For someone
like myself, who is constantly hoping for a better world (environmentally,
socially) and is sometimes disillusioned by the great challenges these
improvements face, the Naso’s perseverance was an inspiration.
During
my independent study project I was also inspired by individuals who challenged
norms despite seemingly impossible odds. My project analyzed the process of
organic certification among farmers in Cerro Punta, an area in the highlands of
Chiriquí province (where 80% of all of Panama’s vegetables are grown). I had
the pleasure of staying with Don Roger and his wife Nella. My introduction to
Don Roger was when he met me at the bus stop and led me up the steep slope to
his house at the top of a hill. About halfway up the slope he tells me he wants
to introduce me to someone. Perplexed, I look around for another person but it
is just the two of us on the trail. Then Don Roger calls up the hill, “Ruperto!”
A bleated reply carries down the slope, “Maaaa!” and the head of a black goat
peeks over the top of the hill. Don Roger continues the conversation (as he
would do every single day we walked up that hill) while we walk the rest of the
way:
Don Roger: “¿Cómo estás?”
Ruperto: “¡Maaaa!”
Don Roger: “¡Me voy!”
Ruperto: “¡Maaaa!”
Don Roger: “¡Tranquilo, me voy!”
Don
Roger was a good-humored old man, but he also was humble about how much wisdom
he carried with him. He was one of the founding members of GORACE (Grupo Orgánico
de Agricultores Cerropunteños) in 1997. This organization is the only group of
small growers with organic certification in the whole country. He had led workshops,
attended conferences (across Central America and the US), and knows all the
right herbs in his garden to make herbal tea remedies. Now in his eighties, he
is often short of breath on long hikes, but still treks way up in the mountains
(an hour bumpy car ride and a hike after that) to maintain Finca La Victoria,
GORACE’s organic farm. While GORACE’s relative impact was small, considering the
majority of farmers in the area still practice conventional farming methods, they
have changed the hearts and minds of 20 farmers in the region to use organic,
sustainable practices. I had the opportunity to interview 22 individuals
(organic farmers, conventional farmers, certifying company representatives,
government representatives) to learn about how to facilitate organic
certification among small farmers, who often fall through the cracks. In an
interview with one of GORACE’s members, I asked what inspired her to switch to
organic farming and join this movement and she replied, “Cada persona falta un
tornillo.” Their success and their hard
work to accomplish it gave me the inspiration to persevere in my efforts to
promote a more sustainable future.
I
am eager to continue traveling and forming relationships with new people to
have more moments like when I stood with Maribel under that infinity of stars, or
when I was the student of children, or when a man convinced me to trust a
river, or those many conversations over tea with a good-humored farmer. These
moments broadened my perspective, reminding me that while we all come from
different experiences and backgrounds, we are all hoping to be understood and
share what is important to us through these moments with others. The people I
met in Panama and these lessons they taught me have inspired me to seek a career
working with people from the Latin American region to continue making
connections with people. Eventually, I hope to channel the inspiration these
people have given me to facilitate beneficial environmental change and
development, promoting the health of both the environment and the people of this
region I have come to admire.
