Comarca Ngäbe

A Snapshot:

Squatting on an empty gas can, I watched quietly as two kids hopped and danced barefoot on the dirt floor of the kitchen hut, while their grandmother added more sticks to the fire. Perched atop three rocks, rested a large metal bowl filled with yuca root. (Yuca is a fibrous starch that is very filling, but holds little nutritious value.) The bowl was covered with banana leaves to keep the moisture in and boil the root to a mushy, baked potato consistency. The youngest toddler fell over backwards mid-dance, and started to whimper. The adults all laughed and spoke rapidly in Ngabere, their native indigenous language. Realizing, he would get little sympathy, the young
boy stood up and giggled too, wiping his runny nose on his dusty palm. Despite the downpour outside, the kitchen was dry. Although the sides were open, the thatched roof made of penka palm successfully blocked out both moisture and wind.

The grandfather handed us large cups of coffee. Among the Comarca Ngabe people, coffee is usually offered when one is welcomed into another's home. Grandma first brought a pan of strong coffee to a boil, strained the grounds out, and then added an obscene quantity of sugar. She then poured in cold, unboiled water - to both cool it off and make enough for everyone. Not sure whether it was the thought that we were drinking liquid giardia, or if the lukewarm coffee actually tasted bad, but it was difficult to swallow. We managed to chug it down in the manner of the Comarca people who eat and drink everything quickly; or as they say, juego vivo, or "get it while you can."

This is how we spent our first afternoon in the small village Aguacatal, nestled in the hills of the Comarca region of central Panama. We had spent the morning harvesting rice with Grandpa, and as payment, we were invited for lunch.

Getting to the Village:

After leaving El Valle, we met up with Amanda's friend Klaus, who is working as a Peace Corps volunteer in Aguacatal. Desiring a more extensive view of Panama than the city and El Valle had to offer, we asked Klaus if we could crash his hut. Eager for some company and the opportunity to speak English for a few days, Klaus agreed. We spent Halloween day commuting the 5 hours from Panama City to Tole, the town closest to his remote community. From Tole, we had a 30 minute ride in a Chiva - a covered truck bed, and then a hike up the mountain. Heads turned as not one, but three, gringos trudged along the steep, muddy hills, struggling to carry all of our belongings while juggling umbrellas.

An hour later and thoroughly soaked, Klaus announced we had reached his community. I saw green hills, dense banana trees, and one hut in the distance. The houses were spread out, mostly made of sticks and a thatched roof of either penka palm fronds or bundled grass. Some roofs were made of corrugated tin hauled from miles away. Klaus' house was one of the few made of timber, and one of the few with a latrine.

The Facts of the Comarca:

The Comarca Ngäbe-Buble is an indigenous region of central Panama. Of the 16,512 registered homes:

- 70 % have no running water

- 77 % don't have latrines of any kind

- 99% have no electricity

The average annual household income is $519.00. Average family size: 6 children.

95% of the people are living in poverty. Most people largely live off welfare.

Loss of Culture?

At first, the community looks preserved, as though one could imagine how the people lived before the Spanish conquistadors arrived. Yet, as we sat receiving our bowls of yuca, seasoned with salt, and watching the family interact, it became more apparent how bits of technology and Latino culture has begun to creep its way up the red mud mountains.

A teenage boy whips a cellphone out of his dirty jeans. Our yuca is served in Tupperware dishes. Flashlights are scattered about the beds; a chainsaw lies against a tree outside. The younger children speak Spanish to Amanda and I, while Grandpa and Grandma speak mostly Ngabere to Klaus.

We asked Klaus about this potential loss of culture. When the road from Tole was built, Latino culture become more available. The trip into Tole from the village was reduced from a 5 hour venture to a 1 hour outing. As Klaus put it, the more the Ngabe people see Latinos, the more they realize how poor they are in comparison. One reaction is to conform. Yet this means they need more money, which as a whole the Ngabe people do not have. The rice they harvest will be eaten that day. The same goes for bananas, and chicken eggs, and yuca. The community is the epitome of subsistence living; they do not produce enough to ever make a profit.

As such, men are more and more heading out of Aguacatel to find work for their families. Some leave for a solid month to bring back $300. Their communist ways of thinking (and acting) are gradually being replaced by capitalism. Is this bad? Should it be stopped? Progress is inevitable, history tells us that. Technology - at least cellphones - apparently is too.

Yet it would be nice to see potable water solutions or nutrition improvements find their way up the mountains with those phones...

Our Final Lesson:

Yet, these observations aside, our week in the Comarca was eye-opening even on a personal level. In one week we were presented with the unspoken question: How far will one go to support oneself and ones family? In just a few days, we had materialism slapped in our face, and the sad fact that in urban life, one tends to forget about the truly important elements of life - living, loving, and laughing.