Parte 2: El Viaje a Isla Grande

The next day I got up early as I had been in bed all o fthe previous day and night. THe rain had me stranded in the room so I was eager to get out. I went for a walk around the town and the old ruins. The number of stray dogs here is ridiculous. They generally won't mess with you although on occasion they may bark at you and try to buck up but they ain't shit. They are so hungry that they usually don't have the energy to do anything but most of them have plenty of battle scars so I'm sure they frequently fight one another. In fact I had front row seats to a dog gangfight. Two groups of dogs fought each other...

Dog-on-dog violence. Wow what a treat...

As I continued exploring the town I noticed a familiar but dreaded smell.

It can't be. **sniff sniff** Come on not out here. **sniff sniff**

And then i saw it. NO!!!!

*shakes head and cries inside**

I saw a girl relaxing another girl's hair. I can never forget the smell of chemicals frying one's hair in the morning. I knew EVERY woman's out here didn't have straight hair naturally. I though maybe the Indian blood but considering how nappy the men's hair is out here, I knew their had to be something else going on. The sad part is that folks are poor as hell but find money to buy that shit for the Chinese (who own all the stores) for jacked up prices. Because no other grocery stores are out here the Chinese-owned stores reign supreme and raise the prices royally.

Oh well ...

I later ran into Victor and we prepared to go to Isla Grande, a small island off the Atlantic coast of Panama. It is about 30 miles from Portobello to the nearest dock where we can catch a ship to the island. So we have to catch a bus or hitchhike. Of course we ended up hitchiking. Three cars later were prolly 5 miles away from the dock so we walked. The last car we rode with stopped a a house down the road from the docks. They happened to be white Americans, from Norfolk, VA no less. From the conversations on their cell phones to what I suspect was their stockbroker they moved to Panama and live of their stocks and investments. Living off of American money in Panama, make one virtually a millionaire. I definitely wasn't surprised to see these dunduns out in the bush here. They prolly had a big house somewhere and owned alot of land.

Speaking of millionaires, Victor me this island that is next to ISla Grande that is owned by some Spanish millionaire who has his own docks and everything on the island. Noone can go on that island without permission.

AS we walked down the road, the smells from all around caught my attention. I didn't smell car exhaust and could breathe clearly. I only could smell the sea and tantalizing smells of sweet fruit like guava, limes, lemons, bananas, plaintain and coconut. Well mainly just the limes, lemons and guava as they were the most pungent. Even the smells of fermenting fruit was a nice touch. Although one can find fruit growing alonside the roads in Panama Province the extremity of traffic and the poor emissions standard make breathing in there quite unbearable at times. If I was in Panama City too long my chest would start to hurt. The only disagreeable smells here was the occasional rotting crab flesh on the road. Crab was the roadkill here. As the road is only yards from the shore, hundreds of crabs make there homes all alongside the road. HUNDREDS of them. It definitely would not be advisable to walk off the road and into the bushes without long pants and sturdy boots. I had on flip flops so I made sure to not walk off the road.

Anyways, we reach the docks and take a boat over. It's been YEARS since I have seen clear blue water. The island is completely has many hotels as this spot is known as being a popular tourist attraction on weekends. However the inhabitants of the island are completely black Congos (except for some foreign hotel owners). Victor introduced me to more of his family as he took me around the island. We went to the highest point of the Island wherein lies a lighthouse. From the view you can see a beautiful uninhabited island called Isla Tambor (because it is shaped like a drum, "tambor"=drum).

As we walked I commented on how nice the homes here looked in comparison to Portobelo. Victor agreed and said that people here generally make a living off of tourists and generally the homes look nice in order to make the island continue looking attractive. Then I thought about food. Since I've been here Victor has constantly made comments about how he and his cousin are often hungry. Much of what he says lends me to think that he is runnin the "po man's game" in order to get money out of me. However it is pretty obvious that he doesn't have money and is po as hell. He seems pretty honest. Plus today he was wearing a Morehouse T-shirt so he has to be okay ;-)!

(BTW He got the shirt from a Morehouse student who was part of Arturo Lindsay's student art program.)

So I ask him if people die from starvation or malnutrition (I think he understood the "malnutrition" part). I figured with all of the fruit around noone could ever starve.

"No. People may not eat good but they eat."

I realized for him eating "good" largely meant having some form of cooked meat on one's plate. Particularly beef or chicken. Chickens run rampant all oever the island and on mainland. Walking down the road one saw several roaming chickens in search for food but everyone knows that these chickens BELONG to SOMEONE. One could easily steal a chicken or two but that is not common. The people here definitely have some high morals despite the fact that they are so poor. Only a ranchers have cows out here and they word for some big meat distribution company. I noticed on the way here that every ranch had the same symbol on their gates and the trucks.

That was another thing I asked him about the number of black campesinos (farmers) out here and said there is only a few.

"Most campesinos are the white peoples (cholos). Not many blacks are campesinos (or ranchers) because we like to live in the city."

Hmmm, I don't know about that. If you put it in its historical context, los Congos were the descendants of cimarrones (Maroons), i.e. escaped Afrikan bondspersons. Traditionally throughout the Americas, Maroon communities did not establish large farms. They may have been very adept at growing crops and even had small gardens but large farms were not conducive to the secretive and unstable Maroon lifestyle. They had to keep a low profile as not to be discovered by their captors and constantly move and/or fight. The sedentary lifestyle would not work with those sorts of dangers and risks.

As far as the chombos (west indian descendants) in Panama, they came to make a living off of the Canal. Latin and Indian farmers and ranchers were already in Panama and provided those goods. To become a farmer or rancher, one would have to actively try and acquire land (and animals) and then cultivate it. Let alone learning how, which is something the second and subsequent generations of West Indian immigrants would have to do.

Therefore I understood what Victor meant but still staying in a shack on your own land with your own crops or animals is alot better than staying in shack in the worst part of a city with no food and no other possessions. Victor said he stayed in house the jungle for a while but it gets really lonely out there becasue noone else is there. I guess that's why cats out there have a million kids.;-)

Before we were ready to leave, we took another quick swim. This time were were on the side of the island that is right across from the mainland where as the last time we were facing the sea. It really isn't that far from the otherside and Victor jokingly asks me if I want to swim across. He claims he has done it several times before. I consider it but then realize that everything in my back will get wet including my camera. Next i come back here I will have a waterproof bag. I'm going to swim it one day. He does mention that there are plenty of sharks around but they only swim in the bay when the water is higher (less shallow).

So we take a boat back. Because it is so late, we have to walk and hitchhike back to Portobelo, since the bus has stopped running. I really don't mind as I enjoyed the walk. After 5 rides later and intermittent walks we made it back to Portobelo and not a moment too soon. It started raining again.

Oh well I'm in for the night...