The Indigenous Perception

I wrote this for the Panama PCV written and edited triannual magazine. Some references made might be Panama specific, and you might need to translate some Spanish, but I thought it would be an interesting Panamanian perspective.

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The Indigenous Perception

I walk through the streets of Panama and often I don’t feel very Panamanian. It might be my blondish hair, light freckled skin, and blue eyes like a muñeca. That can’t be it, because when I don a nagua and hike the hills of the Comarca Ngobe-Bugle I feel like I could be painted into the environment. My close friends and neighbors don’t stare anymore.   I’ve morphed into not one of them, but this weird creature who they’ve all come to accept. Yet I must grip every culture of Panama, as part of my holistic experience here.

The indigenous and non-indigenous relationship is complex in every formerly colonized or inquired country. The relationship is apparent in the US. Struggling indigenously identifying groups of Americans are a norm. Barely culpable latter generations of Americans of European decent offer criticism but no solutions. How do we get along in the my great-great-great grandfather killed your great-great-great grandfather and took his land now poverty and genetic disposition have you jobless and addicted to alcohol but we’re all AM-ericans as I cheer at a Chiefs or Braves or Blackhawks sporting event? Somehow we sleep.

It’s different in Panama, but with the same undercurrent. What are camposinos in northern Coclé but indigenous who have forgotten their dialecto? The dark skin is the give-away that everyone in Panama is but a few generations removed from being indigenous. Yet Latino identifying Panamanians are much more progressed in civil development.

After being here for over a half I have encountered Latinos of every school of thought concerning the indigenous. First, there was the woman seated in the rear of a car that picked me up to drive down the road to the beach at Juan Hombrón to meet a friend. The two Panamanians in the front seats and I chatted graciously during the bumpy ride. Eventually I told them what I did, working with water and sanitation in the Comarca. That is when my seat partner set into a tirade about what lazy, disgusting people the indios were. The government just gives them land, while other Panamanians have to work for what is theirs. I wanted to give her a quick history lesson about land rights, but didn’t want to spoil the free ride. She ended with, “Soy racista, no me gustan los morenos ni indios”.

Not long ago I was in the bus terminal in Chitré with a friend visiting from the states. We bumped into another volunteer a week away from COSing. I went to use the restroom and when I walked up to my friend and the volunteer after, I overheard him telling her about the Guna Yala and pointing to a woman in a Nägua. At first I was confused, and then I realized he didn’t know the different in appearance between the two indigenous groups. Granted, this volunteer worked in the Azuero – but two years in Panama and he didn’t know the difference between a fierce looking little Guna woman and a humble Ngäbe?

Finally, during a trip on the Azuero I met a young man who owned a watermelon farm (Sandy the Sandia he told me) and employed many Ngäbes. He immediately commented on what hard working people they were and had many stories about how he treats them fairly and compassionately. I told him what a relief his perspective was for me to hear, and he reasoned that many Panamanians have forgotten their true heritage.

Everyone has an opinion about the protests concerning the mining and hydroelectric projects. Some are sympathetic and say that it is right for the indigenous to protect their environment. Others think that the indigenous should take advantage of their fortunate pot-of-goal and use it as leverage. Still others think they are wild and misbehaved and nothing else.

Of course I have a soft spot for the indigenous because I understand them. I see their struggles up close. I laugh with them, they are my friends. I shake my head at their backward behavior and pity the rut that is caused by lack of education. But I also see their lucha to feed their children, develop their society and yet preserve their culture. Development has forced so many indigenous groups around the world to leave their culture behind. Sustainable development that preserves culture and makes technological advances is being fleshed out in this moment with us. I hope as the indigenous here in Panama become increasingly developed they can cultivate their strong roots and grow respect from their paisanos and the world.

You Aren't What You Eat; Revenge

WARNING: shamelessly bloody and gory photos and descriptions are included in this edition of This Erica Life. If you are sensitive to blood be ware. Unless you hate chickens, then freely read on. Thanks. 

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In college, it took me nearly a year to work up the courage to donate blood. I was compelled by a sense of responsibility and finally had enough iron in my system after a few unsuccessful and disappointing (relieving?) attempts. It wasn't easy. I couldn't watch the needle go in and one glance at the pint sized bag of my own blood left me dizzy.

A few weeks ago when Chet Hopp kicked a pickaxe while working and split his foot open, I was useless in the emergency wound cleaning procedure. After a glance at the small but deep cut I swooned, was sat down by more reliable friends, and announced, "I think I saw inside his foot!". 

I'm not a vegetarian. I love properly raised, naturally healthy, vitamin and protein packed meat. However, the process between farm and table I am not particularly keen on being involved in. At some point, though, I feel responsible to learn and participate in killing and cleaning the food I eat. The problem lies in what is suggested by the first two paragraphs of this blog; I am unable to control my fear of blood. 

When something really motivates me I can be nearly unstoppable. Over the past two years I have lived together with chickens. Chicken run free-range in nearly every middle and lower class home in Panama. People proudly say ¡pollo de patio es mas sabroso que pollo de comprar! or "chicken that run around in my yard are much tastier than chicken from the store!" I have heard that urban farming has been all the rage in the US and many have adopted backyard chickens. Living so intimately with chickens has its dramatic downsides. Contrary to the popularized belief, roosters crow at whatever time of the day or night. Unpredictable chicken sex is the most unpleasant thing to happen to see. Us volunteers use annoying roosters for target practice from our hammocks. We make plans to buy and eat the most obnoxious ones at our farewell parties. 

So when I was poised, knife in hand, the thought of blood and life draining from a helpless chicken's body - I  channeled all the annoyance and rage that chickens have caused me in my time here and let 'er slice. 

Mine is the face of someone in agony. Her's is chuckling  like  she's watching Seinfeld. 
Photo Cred. E. King 

The key is to apply pressure and never hesitate.
Photo Cred. E. King 

I had the opportunity to kill a chicken that my friends and I would eat for the celebratory last day of a water committee seminar. I learned how to kill it, then it was dunked in boiling water, then plucked and gutted. By the next day it was tasty chicken guisado and I felt capable and vindicated.

I channeled my inner rage, and then cried. 

Yep, lemme check. Oh yea... she's dead. 

At least someone gets a hot water bath around here. 

There isn't anything I can't conquer. 

Oh My Gosh, Shoes

Most kids (and some adults!) that I run around with in the mountains don't wear shoes. Shoes are expensive, kids loose them. It's easier to kick a wet soccer ball in the rain with bare feet than sandals. Parents just can't keep shoes on their squirrely kids' little feet, if they try at all. 

Shoes are an important part of heath when you live in an area where there are no floors, only dirt and grass. Chickens run free and even if you try you can't totally avoid animal feces. Parasites like hookworm are evolved specifically to enter a host through bare feet. Hookworm is found in feces of cats, dogs, and humans and and travel up to five feet in any direction while looking for a host. Tiny, blood sucking hookworms can cause anemia and growth retardation in children and infants of infected mothers with no symptoms. 

This is not a blog post promoting Toms Shoes, but they do a pretty good thing. If you're not familiar, Toms Shoes is a company that makes stylish but basic shoes for people in America to purchase. The company charges a price that includes the cost of a second pair of shoes and has promised, for every pair bought, to use part of the profits to make and send a pair of shoes to a developing country. 

I've known plenty of people who proudly stride around in Toms Shoes, with an air of righteousness because they not only look good,  but save lives too. Skeptically I've wondered who gets the promised shoes, where, and what is their effective rate of use. 

Well, folks, I've finally seen Toms in the wild. I found this little girl and she shyly allowed me to photograph her. I pleasantly wonder who has the matching pair of shoes in the US, and I think they should be happy with themselves.