Stephanie Leombruno; Day One

While there have been many aspects of this trip I've been pleasantly surprised about, none was as obvious and immediate as the environment of the Embera. Everything else we've seen is basically like the worst parts of Tampa, just everything's in Spanish. Trash is absolutely everywhere, even right next to dumpsters and trash cans. The drive to the Chagres River to get to the Embera was no differet, except that once you crossed into a certain zone, the vegetation increases everywhere you look.
We drove down terrible, uphill/downhill winding roads, (the bus even stalled once and started rolling back down before we got going again), but eventually the hills opened onto a wide river. Embera men greeted us as we got off the bus. They gave us life jackets and put us in canoes they've made themselves. Our trip down the river was so peaceful, despite the constant noise of the motors and the ever-present danger of capsizing, which is simply a testament to the catharsis of the jungle. First we were taken on a hike and came to a waterfall, then backtracked a little before we got to the actual community. Upon "docking," we are greeted by Embera of all ages, both male and female, as well as music played on homemade instruments. Considering we are only one of many tour groups to visit them today, I've no doubt some of their enthusiasm and wonder is contrived, but it matters little to me; they're in an interesting if not beneficial situation of being able to make money while still maintaining their heritage, if only by comparison to what other indigenous tribes have gone through in trying to protect their land. The entire place is actually a state park, with laws about conservation implemented by the government; the Embera are just legal squatters I guess, but at least their land is 100% protected, and not being partitioned and given to those able to overpower them. While some people may bemoan the loss of tradition and feel the Embera should return to their previous luster, the realist in me thinks this tribe is most definitely one of the lucky ones, that, at lease right now, the government is fighting to keep their land the way it is.
There are several Embera villages along the Chagres, and only one of these has electricity, and it is supplied by a generator. I take note of this because last night, while driving into Panama City from the airport, I couldn't help but notice the tangled mass of wires splayed in all directions on every pole of every street corner. Conversely, the ancient, sprawling trees dominating many street corners also caught my eye. In the village we went to, all huts are constructed with grass and timber (which they're allowed to use only when the dead tree falls). In their own way, Panama City also utilizes recycled materials. So many of the current structures used to be used for a different purpose entirely, I lose count. Part of me can't deny that this has an endearing quality. In the U.S., if a business or government center needed a bigger building, they would bulldoze it down and build another, but instead the Panamanians turn useless space into a school, or a training center, or even a Mcdonalds.
They take us to their main meeting room, but not before passing through their store. I immediately recall how Disney world does something similar; in order to enter/exit, you must pass thru the stufffff. The man in charge explains the history and traditions to us. He tells us they used to hunt and fish and live off the land, but due to conservation restrictions, the only one of those they may do now is fish. Thus they have turned not only to tourism, but to the creation of handicrafts. This is now their main, if not sole source of income. The women bring us fish and plaintains nestled in a bowl made of banana leaves. The individual "bowls" are placed on trays they've carved themselves, and then a banana leaf is placed over that. They also bring us oranges, watermelon, and the tastiest bananas and most amazing pineapple I've ever eaten by far. I bought some pretty things that are all handmade. The beads they get from the city held no interest for me; they used to make their beads from bone, shells and hardened seeds.
We got to the store-hut and a girl who could've been twelve or twenty-five paints my wrist with sticks and a henna-like dye they make from the ashes of an incredibly hard palm tree. Then they do a native dance for us the chief/mayor tells us used to be performed at special occasions. Soon after we get back on the canoes and return to the mainland. After what we'd just lived and reveled in for six hours, the trash-strewn streets looked much worse than when we'd passed before. There was not one piece of trash on the entire state park property. I looked. The only plastic the Embera use is for the gas jugs to refill their canoe engines. Probably the coolest thing I've ever done.
While there are the obvious issues of a loss of traditions, especially dialect and religion, they have been able to remain marvelously intact. Part of this likely has to do with the not entirely functional Panamanian government. But more than that, conservation is a hot button issue here. The entire economy functions off the wealth and power of the canal, and there is currently a huge expansion project going on. The project itself not only threatens the environment, but the increased flow of traffic does as well. Environmental protection will have to be addressed in the very near future. I got to pick the guide's brain on the way home, and he says that no presidential candidate varies greatly on the issue of conservation. All are more or less for it, meaning enforcement will be slow, if ever, in coming. While other countries have all but given up on preserving their indigenous tribes and protecting their environment (the U.S. v. American Indians) Panama seems to most definitely be straddling a precipice. The time to enact enforcement is now, before it becomes commonplace to take the environment and its native people and traditions for granted. Once that trend begins, the momentum is too much to turn back the clock.