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| Maia exploring BBQ island |
Alma
was sitting in the breezy shade of her palapa. She had agreed to sew a narrow
mola to cover a tear on my favourite skirt. While we waited, Maia and I decided
to walk the circumference of BBQ
Island. BBQ Island
is the ‘ultima’ island (last) in the Holandes Cays and Alma’s extended family
takes turns living on the pretty outpost—running a casual restaurant and beer
concession for cruisers and other tourists.
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| Alma sewing molas |
Maia and I returned from our short walk just in time to see
Alma’s son Manuel rescue our dinghy—we hadn’t tied it up, thinking we would
only be a few steps away, but then the sweet island beckoned and our dinghy
took a runner for the reef.
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| Manuel, Maia, Alma and Alma's mum |
After tying up our dinghy for us, Manuel plunked himself
down in a chair under the palapa and started to thumb through his phone. Alma asked if we wanted a
cold drink—they have a ‘machina’ that makes electricity and keeps them cold.
Knowing the only options were beer and a sweet strawberry pop, I asked for a
coco pipa—a drinking coconut. Like teens everywhere, who have been asked to climb
a tree and fetch a coconut after having just dived in warm tropical water to
rescue a dingy, Manuel rolled his eyes.
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| BBQ Island seen from the anchorage |
I knew the look—it was the same as one I’d later see when I
suggested Maia might want to snorkel the gorgeous reef rather than watch bad
TV. Alma caught
my eye and we both laughed. This was why she and Manuel were on BBQ Island.
Her three younger kids were on course in life—but Manuel, who never identified
with the Guna culture (to the point where he’s refused to learn his family’s
first language), also wasn’t thriving in the Spanish culture. He hadn’t made it
through high school in Panama City
before getting kicked out for fighting.
So Alma
was embracing tradition by bringing him back to their land. Despite not being
the most traditional Guna woman—Alma finds the
mola (literally ‘clothes of the people’) too fussy for daily wear and has sent
all her kids to Panama City
for schooling and hopefully university. But now she was living in a thatched
hut—a couple days’ cayuca ride from the nearest city and a half day’s paddle
from her parents. Manuel, she hoped, would find his path on the island.
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| the daughters of our favourite fisherman |
Most of us travel with the hope of encountering these small
moments of connection: sitting under a thatched roof, with a woman from one of
the world’s last remaining traditionally-living indigenous cultures, talking
about the challenges of parenting in a rapidly changing world.
In truth, it was both precious and surreal. It’s easy to see
people as little more than the colourful characters who make our travel photos
look exotic. But with Alma
we were lucky enough to share a second language (bad Spanish) and a universal
moment of parenting angst. From there we got a window into the Guna culture.
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| the veggie boat--everything was $1 a pound |
So once again we shifted our cruising plans. Rather than
exploring more islands we stayed in the Holandes. Each day we’d snorkel a new
section of the reef. Cayucas would stop by bringing lobster, conch, vegetables
or molas. We’d buy from the same fishermen each day and then head in to see
Alma and Manuel and play volleyball, swim, share snacks or just sit in the
breezy shade and talk about life.
The Guna survived culturally intact and unconquered by
adapting to the changing world, never giving up their core identity and by
being a mean shot with a poisoned arrow. They number about 50,000 people—spread
over 250 small islands and several mainland settlements. The women tend to only
speak the Guna language while the men often learn Spanish in school.
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| Our visitor showing the traditional mola outfit. Many women still wear it daily while some just save it for celebrations |
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| Local women visiting the boat--they only spoke enough Spanish to talk about molas. They really are this short btw, Guna people are the second shortest indigenous group in the world |
Like many indigenous and island cultures the Guna have the
most to lose with climate change: Their reefs, which provide the lobster which
make up a good part of their income, are showing stress from warming water and
overfishing. The islands are barely above sea level, and though they are out of
the hurricane zone, they have been subject to vicious storms, flooding and
erosion.
On our last night off of BBQ Island Maia, Evan and I talked
about what might become of Alma, Manuel and their family. Under the bright
stars I watched as the ‘machina’ shut off and the island’s three lights went
out. Manuel can’t wait for his time on the island to be done so he can return
to his friends in the city. Alma
hopes that by showing him something different she’ll plant the seeds that will
allow him to survive and thrive in the world he inherits.
I hope that both she and I have gambled the right way with
our children.
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