A Day with the Embera of Panama

Follow me on an epic journey by canoe for a visit with an indigenous tribe in the remote jungles of Panama   . . . 

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The Embera People are one of the seven indigenous groups that currently inhabit Panama. It was during my week long stay in the capital city that I had arranged the opportunity to make contact with the assistance of a local translator. No roads lead to the village of Parara Puru, so we would have to venture by boat.

Visiting a Remote Tribe in the Panamanian Jungle

​It was a sunny morning on the southern shores of Lake Alajuela. Here my translator and I would soon board a dugout canoe to visit with Embera people of Panama. Many young males were roaming about in traditional attire preparing transport for arriving visitors. One quickly approached and greeted us. It was apparent that he was familiar with my new friend, as they began chatting in his native language. Very little time was wasted. A slightly older male in the back of the boat motioned for me to get in, and from there we were taken northeast up the Chagres River.

​Our native guides initially took us past the villages of Tusipono and Parara Puru to continue up a narrower stretch for a chance to swim at a local waterfall. The water was shallow in this area in which we carefully navigated between the other boat on one side and rocks on the other. I was just getting my video device situated when I heard a commotion. I looked up to see an oar sticking up out of the water which almost smacked me in the head. It had gotten away from the guide in front. My translator was turned around trying to grab it, but it was wedged tightly within the rocks below. There was nothing I could do; my hands were full. The guide in the back was prepared and quickly dislodged it just in time. We passed it back up to the front of the canoe and were back on our way without incident.

We docked the canoe beside a grouping of large rocks. After making my way to the top, I could see the beautiful swimming hole that I would now enjoy. My guide took immediately to the water and motioned for me to follow. I tossed my pack, hat, and shirt over to a nearby rock and waded slowly into the cool water. Not dressed for swimming, my translator quietly took a seat to allow me to enjoy myself for a few moments. The older guide stood atop a large rock as if he were on lookout duty. Once waist deep, I jokingly asked my young Embera guide if there were any crocodiles. He didn’t seem to understand, so I made a chomping motion with my hands. He then laughed saying “no”, assuring me that the waters were perfectly safe for swimming. 

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Later we arrived back at the village of Parara Puru. As the canoe slowly approached the shore, I could see a few figures at the top of the hill. Music was now coming from the top of the hill, as I looked up to see a few of the village men in traditional attire. They were in a line playing handmade drums and reed instruments. The women of the village now formed a line in front of the men with hands extended offering a greeting. I was the only visitor at this point. After I had been properly greeted, the young male from the canoe took this opportunity to show me around the village. Once back to the community hut, my translator disappeared with some of her native friends. I was all on my own with only a little bit of Spanish between myself and the indigenous folk.

After a bit of interaction with the locals, the traditional welcoming music once again caught my attention. Another boat had arrived carrying more visitors. I quickly made my way to the edge of the hut with my video camera to document their arrival. It was strange from this angle. I stood there with a camera facing other cameras that were filming their own welcoming. The two men in front were not shaking hands with the villagers as I had, saying hello or thanks. They were just shooting video like a crew of film makers documenting some rare occurrence, completely distancing themselves from the moment. This affected me in some reflexive way, and I immediately shut off my own device.

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Once a few other visitors settled in, the festivities began. This included a lesson on the use of palm leaves in the making of various crafts as well as how different colors of dye are made. The presentation was given in the language of the Embera, as my friend whispered a translation into my ear. Bright reds and orange were made with seeds, while yellows and greens were from leaves. The brown dye was made from bark, while the jagua fruit produced a deep color of midnight blue. After the presentation I asked more about the ink and dye techniques and how they were used in tattoos. One member motioned for another who shortly afterward approached with a wooden bowl which contained the dark ink. This was to be used to create my traditional Embera tattoo. We agreed on a price and decided to decorate my forearm. There were no further questions as I stretched out my arm. His creativity began to take over as if he already had a vision of the finished work. Looking almost black in the bow, the dye soon began to show more color as the Embera artist brushed the traditional design over my pale skin.

Lunch consisted of fried fish and plantain wrapped in a large banana leaf that is used instead of a plate, along with a sample of many local fruits. After we finished the meal, music played on handmade instruments resumed. The females of the village began the dance circle, soon their husbands joined in on the next round. Lastly all other villagers began to join in. It was at this point that an Ember girl grabbed me by the hand. I didn’t immediately know what was going on, but out of the corner of my eye my translator was motioning for me to go. It was now apparent that I was being taken into the dance circle. Totally in shock, I could not believe what was happening. I had been watching the dance, but it had never occurred to me to learn the moves. I was going to have to wing it. The moment overtook me. In fact, I really don’t remember much except lifting my camera to make sure that I would capture one shot of myself in a moment that even I would have a hard time believing. We made a few rounds inside that community hut. I’m sure I looked totally ridiculous, but I didn’t care one bit. This was exactly the kind of moment that one waits for but could never be forced or recreated.

​After the dance, it was time to leave. I took some last-minute photo opportunities and looked around at the beautiful surroundings that I would most likely never see again. We said our goodbyes and that was it, my time at the Embera village had come to an end. My translator and I once again boarded our canoe to make our way back. On our way down the Chagres River, I took in the beautiful scenery with a bit of sadness. I had felt welcome with these people and part of me didn’t want to leave.

​It was now that the anthropologist in me began to question my methods. I always travel with note pads and multiple recording devices. I was so immersed by the moment that I had barely put any of these tools to use other than a few photos and video segments. There were a million questions I should have asked. If this had been a quest for academic success, I would have failed for sure. Had I wasted this once in a lifetime opportunity? It was while I was reliving the day in my head, that I realized how perfect it all had been. I’m glad I never pulled out that notebook. I spent the day participating, caught in the moment, and truly living. This is far more important than merely observing and taking notes as if the entire event had been some documentary viewed in the classroom.

​My time with the Embera was amazing. I ate like the locals, danced with the villagers, and swam at a nearby waterfall. This is the purest form of life that I have ever witnessed. It is easy to see how many researchers become absorbed by the cultures they study. It is also no wonder that some have even chosen to never return the chaos of the modern world. 

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