Back to Business

I have spoiled you all with 4 posts this week, so let them sink in because they will be the last for a couple weeks. Tomorrow I head back out to Guna Yala and will hopefully be out there till around the 13 of May. During this time I will have limited/slow internet access, if any. But I will soaking up information and experiences along with that tropical sun (with minimized UV exposure of course).

Stay tuned for more fun and thought-provoking posts once I return from Guna Yala. If you find yourself jonesing for some Kelly-original prose, feel free to check out the blog I kept while in Uganda.

The reason I am back in the city this week has less to do with the desire to wash my clothes with a machine and much more to do with the serendipitous opportunity of a lifetime (of my relatively short and inexperienced researcher’s lifetime). At the beginning of this week, two incredibly important people to my work arrived in Panama. This Thursday was the opening of an exhibit on Albinism in Guna Yala at the French Alliance of Panama. Featured was the work of photographer Rick Guidotti and the release of Pascale Jeambrun’s book, Les Enfants de la Lune, in Spanish. Rick Guidotti is a former fashion photographer and the founder of Positive Exposure, which works to promote the positive image of people with physical differences. (Check it out, it’s an incredibly beautiful and heart-warming organization). Pascale is a medical doctor and expert on albinism amongst Amerindians, especially among the Guna.

I had previously spoken to both these people before even coming to Panama, and they were incredibly supportive and enthusiastic about my work. Rick talked to me about his experiences and offered some contacts while Pascale shipped me copies of her work all the way from Paris, France. Ten years after coming to Guna Yala together to learn from and photograph Guna people, their first trip back just happened to be while I was here. Call it fate, luck, what have you, I’m pretty damn excited about this opportunity!

The art opening/book release was very successful, with more people cramming into the conference room than there were chairs. (If you are in Panama, the exhibit will be up in the Alianza Francesa building until May 3) But the real reason Rick and Pascale are back is to revisit Ustupu and to bring the photos back to those people who so warmly opened their hearts and homes to them 10 years ago.

On his first trip, Rick was told not to take his camera out; that the Guna did NOT like to be photographed. And it is true that in general it’s not acceptable to start taking photos of random Guna people (hence a lack of people in my photos from Guna Yala). How would you feel if a random foreigner came up to you while you were sitting on your porch and started snapping away? But as soon as Rick began showing his photos of people with albinism around the world, and explaining his desire to share their beauty, women began bringing their kids to him and children were lining up to be photographed! In his photos you can see the pride and the excitement of people wanting to share their life with the rest of the world; and it is a beautiful thing.

On this trip, Rick hopes to meet up with the people he met years ago as well as take more photos. I will continue my interviews and Pascale will look into the commonly-held notion that persons with albinism are born to Gunas with lighter skin. While I feel like an intern who has graciously been allowed to tag along, Rick and Pascale have treated me as nothing less than a colleague. They are both interested in my work and the more that Rick and I discuss our next steps it seems as though our work is melding together perfectly. He too wants to document the experiences of people with albinism living in Guna Yala as a way to show the world the acceptance and success that is possible for people with this condition. He keeps asking me how he can help with my work!  I guess I need to start considering myself a professional.

Our adventure begins tomorrow at 6am or possibly 10am, when we fly from Panama City to the island of Ustupu (Yes, even at this late hour the day before, we are not sure when the plane is leaving).  Rick will only be with us a few days before he travels on to Poland. Afterward, Pascale and I will make our way up the island chain back to Nargana. She returns to Panama City the 3rd of May and I hope to stay on in Nargana for 10 more days. While I don’t know how much research I will be able to do in Nargana, I plan to spend those 10 days just getting to know the community better and lending a helping hand where I can. While I could feasibly go in, get my information and peace out, I want to be able to say thank you to this group of people who have been so willing to help me with my work and to teach me about themselves.

Needless to say there are some exciting developments happening and I hope you will stay tuned to learn more!

Finding Humility in Guna Yala

A few days ago, I wrote down these notes in preparation for what was to become a blog post:

Living in Guna Yala: Strangely Comfortable

-       Best damn view from a shower

-       Wonderfully comfortable bed/chair

-       Less bug bites than from the city

-       Nap schedule

-       Sleeping in the living room over a dirt floor with walls made of sticks and a roof half thatch half corrugated metal

If only I spoke one of their two languages fluently…

“Letting that which does not matter, truly slide”

It is amazing to see how my conceptions and ideas of this place have so fundamentally changed in just a few days.

Just a few days later, the list I wrote above seems vaguely patronizing and entirely self-promoting. I was congratulating myself on how well I was able to “adapt”.  More and more I feel that my comfortableness comes from the reality that this is in-fact a comfortable way of life, despite what my U.S. background has taught me to believe.

It’s hard to feel like you’re doing something special when you are living like everyone else. There’s no one to complain to about a hot shower when no one else feels the need for one (though I long ago lost the need for a hot shower in the middle of the tropics, just wait till the sun gets higher in the sky). You become a part of the everyday life because it is only you who is doing something different from your everyday life.  I have my neighbors and hosts to thank for the humility and open-mindedness I have found here. In just one week I feel as though I have shed my cloak of patronizing romanticism (for the most part).

The greatest contributing factor has been our ability to communicate in a common language.  No I did not suddenly become fluent in Spanish (and definitely not Guna), but through the patience of those I have spoken to, they have explained to me some of their world perceptions and their views on life, the universe and everything. (The answer was not cuarenta y dos). My Spanish listening and speaking has improved though and I have happily been able to engage in political and philosophical conversations with my hosts. Happily, my limitations in Spanish speaking have forced me to become more of a listener, which I am grateful of.

What is poverty? Whatever it is, “it” is not what I see in Guna Yala. Yes there is poverty. As in every place on earth. There are mothers who cannot pay for their children’s needs and there are sick who cannot pay for their medicine. But as a population, Guna Yala is not “poor”. One morning over tea and bread (“madu”) Iguayoikiler spoke to me about how the rest of the world perceives indigenous communities and how they force their definitions of “development” on these “backward” people, and sadly enough, how people here believe it. The girls here have exchanged their Molas for mini skirts, seeing the Molas as something ancient, for their grandmothers. They no longer see that the Mola is a part of them, a part of their identity.

The rest of the world talks of saving the environment, yet Gunas are criticized for having so much land in Guna Yala that “they aren’t using.” People say that Guna people live in poverty because they have dirt floors, homes made of bamboo, and hardly any TVs. (Personally, from the development community I have heard of the need to help the Guna, after all they're are the world’s shortest people. But what does that mean?) They eat, sleep, learn without trouble and live long lives. Iguayoikiler pointed out that in the city one can die without money, but not here in Guna Yala.

What is “development”? Who is “civilized”? Those who chose to live without or those who choose to destroy the planet in their unending quest to live with?

“Here I have everything I need. I have my boat, machete, and my land. I need nothing more, I depend on myself. The problem is when people do not want to work.” – Erasmus on Isle Tigre.

More and more Guna are moving toward a more urbanized lifestyle, either on the islands themselves or moving out of the comarca. And who can blame them? We make it look nice. But the irony is that, at least in what we say we want, the rest of the world is trying to be more like the Guna, whether they realize it or not. More “green”, more active, more simplistic in terms of possessions, less stressed, more united with their family and neighbors.

Still, most Guna seem happy to be where and how they are. While I have seen similar living conditions in Ghana, Uganda, and in the Appalachian mountains of Kentucky, I saw more of a desire to “move beyond” that lifestyle in these other places. That they lived that way was out of economical and other limitations rather than choice. Here I meet people who live this way by choice. It is part of their morality, beliefs and it is their history. Many Gunas have the ability to move, to go to the city and move around the world. And they do. Yet many of them still come back to the comarca.

Honestly if my friends and family were here too, I feel I would want to stay. To travel and explore the world, yes, because that is who I am, but to have this place as a home. In terms of my own morals and position on education, religion, humanity the earth, and more, I have never met a community and a culture more in line with my values as this one.

Going my way? (Adventure to Tigre Part II)

Woke up surprisingly unsurprised as to my location. There was a brief, confusing conversation regarding whether or not I had a towel, but then I was off to shower as best as I could without soap and with a borrowed towel (Douglas Adams would be disappointed). There is a shower-head of no use, (Similar to the toilet and sink), but there are barrels of fresh water. Still, I find myself longing for my open-air shower and toilet above the ocean in Nargana. I freshen up as best I can and am back in my clothes from the day before. Not ideal, but no one cares.

Coffee and a small roll later, we are back to open Erasmos’ office. What someone might consider a waste of time, I consider invaluable time spent talking to Erasmos about our thoughts, experiences, culture and more. It is sad that I have had to learn how to sit and to pass time with another person without thinking there are more important things to be doing. Periodically we walk around to complete small tasks or seemingly just to chat with friends or chill at home for a spell, where the women have their hands full dealing with the barrels full of unhappy crabs.

The boat I was told would take me back to Nargana was, for reasons I am unsure of, unable to leave at 11:00am. So now we wait until 1:00 for the delegates coming back from the other island. I am enjoying my time in Tigre, but I am growing increasingly concerned as I have just used up the end of my “female supplies” and I was really not looking forward to that conversation in Spanish. For the guys I’ve just grossed out by this last part, deal with it.

We head back out to the beach office while the ladies cook up some crab for lunch. I eat my first full crab with Yam soup and I must say I enjoyed it. - Earlier I asked if I could give something in return for the hospitality. Erasmos said it was up to me, but if I would like I could pay $2 for rice. I gave him $4, not wanting to insult, but deeply gracious for the hospitality he and his family were showing me. - I feign a full stomach so I don’t have to figure out how in the hell to eat the actually body of the crab. It looked like a pretty violent and difficult task when I watched Erasmos.

At 1:00 we walk to the dock in hopes of flagging down my boat from the day before. At first I thought the boats usually stopped at Tigre, then I came to understand that you have to wave them down and hope they stop…I think. We come to the dock and there is a banana boat unloading its goods for the women of the village to pick up. Erasmos talks to them and it turns out they are going to Nargana and would have no problem taking me along. But first they were stopped there for lunch. Erasmos and I express our gratitude for the visit and hopes of a return and then he leaves for his office leaving me to wait with the boat.

Trading Boats Docked in Nargana

I sit in the shade of the boat on the dock and speak with a Panamanian guy who was traveling and working on the boat to get back to his city near Colon. One of Erasmos’ sister-in-laws comes to pick up her load of bananas, but rips her bag trying to carry what surely must be half if not more of her weight. Since I was waiting for who knows how long, I started to pick up the fallen bananas to help her take them back home. Along the way people call out to her and she responds with a big grin on her face. Everyone is smiling and laughing at the sight of us and I hear her say “mergi” several times, which means “American” from the United States, so I am lead to understand that she is commenting in some fashion on having her own U.S. delivery service.

I drop the bananas off at the home, where I am met with more laughter and gracious thanks. “Gracias” they tell me, and I return their thanks in Guna, “nuedi,” once more before heading back to the dock. There I sit another half hour, maybe an hour talking with the workers on the banana boat. I realize how strange and maybe even dangerous this might sound to people back home (this story may need to be edited for my Mimi). Just a few weeks ago I was telling another Fulbrighter that I couldn’t believe that she had traveled by herself in South America. Now I was essentially doing the same thing. But Samantha told me something that I have found to be so true: you are never really alone. If you are doing it right, you are meeting people and forming relationships and someone is always there to get you to the next handoff. You just have to be open and to trust your instincts and intelligence. This banana boat would be my next handoff. At the beginning of the trip I would have never thought of doing this, but now it was merely the easiest way to get to where I needed to be next. It is amazing the level of fear I have had to get over just to trust my fellow human being.

NOTE: I am not suggesting to readers to travel on random ships of strangers. All of this is relative to my personal experience in Guna Yala. There are certainly times and places where this would be a very bad idea.

All the romantic banana boat talk aside, the boat bringing back delegates shows up before the crew had begun their lunch, so I bid them thanks and farewell but opted for what was now the quickest and easiest way to Nargana.

The delegates welcomed me back on with warm smiles. Surprised I had stayed the night, but not bothered in the least to have me on-board. I couldn’t help but smile as we rode “home.” For them I had done nothing special, but for me it was a full 24 hour lesson in patience, trust and openness. And it only cost me $4 plus $6 for gas.

First order of business now that I was back home, (which is really what the Sailar’s house has become for me in less than 2 weeks), I needed a bath. Another surprise was that I really felt clean and refreshed after my bucket shower. My family in Uganda would be proud that I’ve gotten my technique down. The short hair, of course, makes all the difference in the world!

I suppose there’s some sort of symbolism in that: the cleansing of myself through a manner once foreign and thought unclean. The embracing of this new method/life made easier through the leaving behind of my old notions of what is beauty/better. 

“Lista?” … “uh, si? Elle!” (Adventure to Tigre Part I)

To me: “Ready?”

Me: (brief hesitation), questioning “yes” in Spanish, then affirmative “yes” in Guna!

This pretty much sums up my day-to-day experience in Guna Yala this past week, but more specifically my personal adventure to the island of Tigre.

Journal entry from April 11:

Yesterday I went to Tigre through a course of events I don’t completely understand. I blame a lot on language barrier, but I also think a lot has to do with the easy-going nature of people here and how normal it is to rely on one another.

Sailar Iguayoikiler (The head authority and my host on Nargana) kept telling me to get my things ready to go to Tigre as if I would be staying there. We talked about it and I really felt much more comfortable not staying the night. Yet a few hours later he would repeat his instructions to pack a small bag and put together the rest of my stuff to leave behind. Additionally, each new person I talked to about going to Tigre seemed to also be under the impression that I would need to spend the night.

“Where would I spend the night?”

“Just ask around”

“Are there any boats coming back to Nargana later today?”

“Maybe” (this last part seemed to be said more to pacify me rather than given as accurate information)

Great. I was feeling less and less sure about this trip. I even toyed with the idea of just calling my trip off. But I also had to get off the islands of Nargana and Corazon de Jesus to do more interviews and get more perspectives on my research.

After some back and forth and quite frankly contradicting conversations with the Sailar and a few other people, I figured out from where and when the boat would be leaving. Of course it left about an hour later than the latest time given to me, which was 1:00pm.

The day before was actually my intended day to go to the island of Tigre with a man I had met the first time I was in Guna Yala. Martin arrived at the Sailar’s house the morning we were to leave and informed me that it would cost $36 to get to Tigre, “to pay for gas”. One gallon of gas here is $6 and he said they would need 6 gallons. There were a couple things wrong with this. 1. It cost me $20 to go from Carti to Nargana, which is at least 5 times the distance from Nargana to Tigre, 2. It would not take 6 gallons to reach Tigre. No deal, and the Sailar backed me up on this and seemed about as frustrated as I was that someone would try to cheat me like that.

So on April 10, I left for the island of Tigre in a boat full of delegates from Nargana and Corazon de Jesus. They were headed to an island beyond Tigre for a meeting to discuss the increasing tourism and problems associated with it, such as trash. I got to know a few of these gentlemen while waiting for the boat to leave and while headed to Tigre, and I must say I found them all incredibly welcoming and kind, as I have found most people here that I have had conversations with. Of course as soon as I get to know these people and feel comfortable, I am handed off to the next unknown situation, in this case, the island of Tigre.

I am dropped off at the dock where the men say goodbye and a few other words in Kuna. The only soul around is a disgruntled looking man who immediately begins walking in one direction. Not sure who he is or where he is going, but having no other “guide” besides, I follow him. I reason that maybe the men in the boat had been telling him where I was to go.

Tigre is known for being a more traditional island, and I could immediately feel the difference. The island was far calmer than Nargana, with hardly anyone out and about. Most people seemed to be busy inside the shady houses or off at work.

Not entirely trusting my “guide”, I stop at the entrance to a few houses to say “Erasmos?” the contact I was given by Iguayoikiler. The women continue pointing me in the direction of the hobbling man until he finally stops, abruptly ending my guided tour (if that is indeed what he was trying to do). I walk up to another home where a young woman immediately asks if I want a mola. I smile and say no, and then give my contact’s name again. To this the girl steps out and leads me to a compound at the tip of the island. All this while the older women continued to look on with mild amusement at this lost foreigner while the kids waved “hola” and the toddlers gawked in awe at my towering white and alien presence. This combination of looks I came to know very well in my brief time on the island. I stand out so horribly here as to make one poor infant cry. On average I would say that the people here reach my shoulders, the women even shorter.

I am dropped off with who I would come to learn is Erasmos’ wife, mother-in-law and two sister-in-laws. The first of these women informs me this is Erasmos’ home and he is currently at his office, to where she immediately gets up to take me. Back across and to the complete opposite side of the island we go.

We reach a man working in the garden outside a white cement building. I assume him to be Erasmos. Sitting on the porch practicing his cursive “Aa”s, is a boy about the age of 7. The woman tells me this is her son, and I can see the family resemblance, though she appears too old to be his mother. Further confusion is brought on my head when I later ask Erasmos if he has any children and he says “no”, yet the boy calls him “Papa”. On the other hand, Erasmos is 70, or was that 60? I have trouble with those numbers. Regardless, the kid is adorable and I instantly fall in love with him. He has these big brown eyes and the cutest gapped-tooth smile. He also has no problems coming up to me and talking, despite his limited Spanish.

The kids here are by far the happiest and seemingly healthiest kids I have ever seen. They are able to play and scream and laugh within the security that is this island neighborhood and family.

I give Erasmos my letter approving my project from the Guna Congress and explain that I would like to introduce myself to the Sailar of Tigre and to conduct a few interviews with whoever would be willing. He asks how long I will be staying and is disappointed when I say that I will go back to Nargana that evening if it is possible. He had apparently talked to Iguayoikiler a few days before and was under the impression I would be staying in Tigre. Not wishing to disappoint or offend, but only having packed my mummy sack and a few necessities, I agree to stay one night.

We begin to walk. I am introduced to people in a manner I am unable to catch their name and I am rarely told who they are in the community. A couple times we walk into a seemingly random house to sit down. I am then lead to realize that I am having an interview with an important person in the community.  

With Erasmos interpreting Guna into Spanish, I hold interviews with the first Sailar and with a traditional healer who has albinism himself.  Both times beginning with us merely walking into a house and him telling me to take a seat. The men answer my questions briefly and frankly and we are done within a matter of minutes. In terms of my research on albinism, my work is done on this island, but I later come to learn that I have much more to learn from this community.

We continue on back to Erasmos’ house. We sit and talk. Well, they talk mostly in Guna while I listen straining to recognize words. The women work on molas, and Erasmos and I occasionally talk about politics, my hometown, or other things. At some point I am told there is a dance that night and I pray I don’t have to be a part of it. Dances were awkward enough in gradeschool when I was just an inch or two too tall, here I would be a white whale flopping amongst the normal fish. He gets up again, “Vamos” and we are headed off. We end up back at his office. We do this several times throughout the day and the next: sitting, talking, listening and walking whenever he tells me to.

Bathroom and shower also worked in a similar fashion. “Hay baño” he shows me where the bathroom is. “Hay agua” – where and what to do with the water are not as readily shown.

I am offered food and my U.S. self wants to politely refuse being indebted further, but my Panamanian self has been lectured on the rudeness of refusing offerings. Plus I had barely had much to eat that day, being unsure of if I was supposed to feed myself, and I had no idea when I would eat next. When given to me, I have no idea what the gray soup was before I taste it, but courtesy and hunger out rule taste in these instances. (It turned out that the yucca, lentil, plantain, chicken soup was good, and would serve as one of few opportunities for hydration).

After another trip to and from the office, we sit in the same manner until the sun goes down and the island glows with a few lights powered by solar panels. At one point, our conversations are interrupted at Erasmos’ home with the calls of “Suga! Suga! Suga!” I turn to see a huge, blue suga coming toward my chair. After some frenzied running around and yelling of directions, the blue crab is caught by one of the aunts, with two other people corralling and one person on the flashlight. The crab was an escapee of one of several barrels they have full to eat and sell.

Erasmos grabs a flashlight and says “vamos.” I, his wife and “son” walk with him into the night. Maybe it’s just another walk, but more likely I have the idea that we are headed toward that dance he mentioned earlier.

I am relieved to find out that the dance is a performance with no participation needed on my part except to watch. Men with flutes and women with a maraca each play music and dance what I assume to be a fairly old song and dance. Meanwhile others look on and women pass out candy and drink. The occasion is a celebration for the completion of one year of one of the leader of something…I think.

“Kelly, tomes?” …”uh si?” I drink yes, but what? I ask what it is for fear it may be the infamous home-brew chicha. I am relieved to just barely make out that it is only the corn meal drink we often have for breakfast (brings back memories of my Ugandan home).  We sit, drink, enjoy candy, and watch the performance. The dancers are no professionals, but they all seem in good spirits, and missteps and wrong turns are met with good-spirited laughter from participants and audience members.

Erasmos tells me it is 9:30 and I only assume that means time to vamos. We head back through the town of silhouetted huts, some beaming with solar-powered light, against the backdrop of a star-filled sky.

I head to my room, my phone my only source of light. I am thankful but wary of the mattress given to me and I am glad I thought to bring my mummy sack.  I tuck myself in and listen to the surf as I think about and thank all those who have helped me to get to where I am this very evening.