Matriarchal Project
The SanBlas Islands Panama 2005

Diary Notes
by Katerina Karaskova & Simon Bird

Click below for fast navigation...

Walk to SanBlas Islands
Carti Subtupu Island
Men & Womens work
Observations during Sketching and Painting
The cruise ship
Trade Boat to Ustupu
Jungle Path Ustupo to Uala
Mountain Kuna village
The Sketch
Kunas in Panama city

The new road to the SanBlas islands was under construction. We asked a boy who was guarding a large Cat Digger if it would be possible to get a lift along the road in the morning.

“Yes, no problem, truck will be leaving at around 8 am.”

“Do you know the SanBlas islands, have you been there?” we inquired.

"I've been there a few times,” he said and hesitated before continuing.

“The SanBlas islands are like a prison, everyone knows what you’re doing and you’re not free. I was talking with some Kuna girls when an old man asks me to leave them alone. The girls had come to talk to me. Even for them it must be horrible. It is not a free place. They are small communities. I wasn’t trying to steal them away. I was just passing the time, because there is nothing really to do there. It is like a prison, I could never live there.

We asked him what Panamanians around El Llano think of Kuna people.

"We get along with them ok, but we don’t really like them because they are too different."

When will the road be finished?

"Grading of new El Llano Carti road for normal traffic is expected to take several years," he said "once finished it will be the only land route to the SanBlas islands.

hello

We camped in a lumpy field nearby.

Day 1: into Kuna Yara

In the morning the workers arrived and joked with us about jaguars in the mountains. They gave us a ride in a tipper lorry to the end of the road construction 8/10 km into the hills. From there we walked. At first the way was easy, we passed another team of road workers and a few basic houses before arriving at a lonely telephone box. After Katerina tried without success to phone the Czech Republic we continued. The track became narrower and very muddy, around us was thick jungle.

After an hour we passed a Spanish Lodge and came across a sign saying "Waterfall / Kuna Yara". We descended into the jungle in search of the waterfall. Three hours later we emerged again back on the track, very muddy and tired not having found the waterfall. We also lost one of our water bottles, which Katerina was convinced was stolen by howler monkeys.

Further down the track we met two people. The first was an unusually tall Kuna, (Kunas are supposed to be the second smallest people in the world, after the Pigmies of Central Africa) the second man was a westerner with briefcase.

They were going to the telephone box to call a taxi. The Kuna told us that they come from Nusagandi Lodge, which marks the entrance into Kuna Yara (Kuna territory). If we wanted we could stay the night. He would be returning in a few hours. We said ok because this was going to be the only house between here and the coast.

Two hours on we arrive at the lodge. It was a large wooden house with balcony and bunked rooms. The whole place was in a bad state of disrepair. We sheltered from the rain and washed cloths. When the Kuna returned he said 5 dollars each to stay.

Considering there was no running water toilet or shower we thought it to be a bit of a rip off. So we left to camp on a nearby hill. We lit a fire under a shelter of an old settlement and ate instant noodles. We had been warned that Kunas weren’t the most generous of people. Thunder, wind and rain continue for most of the night.

After walking for 3 hours we arrived at the edge of the mountains. Below us Jungle stretched out to the coast and small islands could be made out off shore. The view although stupendous was also a little depressing because it was obvious we would not reach the coast by night fall. Katerina said that she could not walk any further because her sandals were all muddy and wet. So I give her a pair of my thick socks to stop her feet slipping around so much and we continued.

We descended from the mountains to a small river where we washed and ate. The jungle here was hotter and took another gruelling 3 hours trek to a larger river. Here an old iron bridge hung disabled. The track had obviously once seen better days. The only way was now through the river, but the water luckily wasn’t too deep. Just before arriving at the river we had walked passed fields of maize and platano, the first signs of Kuna habitation. The sun was low and ten billion sand flies were swarming above our heads. We set camp as fast as possible, 3m from the waters edge on thick vegetation.

During the night we heard creatures splashing in water just outside our tent. Using a candle I tried to see what it was, we had no torch. Were Caiman in this river? I got my umbrella ready just encase they attacked the tent. Later during the night other squeaky noises came from behind and around the tent. Perhaps we had camped on their route to the river?

Next morning at first light 5:30am Kunas arrived from down river in dugout canoes. Five canoes came in all with approximately 20 men. They talked aloud, hauled up their canoes and then washed in river. In this jungle setting they appeared like a wild tribe. One man came over towards me so I asked what they were up to.

“We are going to plant maize,” he said. He then washed maize kernels in a woven basket demonstrating that the ones that float are bad and he throws out.

“Are there Caiman here? Crocodile? How big?” I asked.

“Small,” he said, stretching out his arms then shrinks them to about half a metre. He also confirmed the squeaky noises we’d heard during the night as young Caiman.

“How long will you work?”

“We will come back at 9am. We can give you a lift to the islands in our canoes if you like?”

We declined there offer because we had planned to walk along the path all the way to the coast.

The men left. We made a sketch of the river and broken bridge, including where the men had been in their canoes. Katerina worked from inside her tent away from the million sand flies. I sprayed copious amounts of insect repellent on and waved my hat about while trying to paint. The insects were too ferocious to complete anything so we packed up at 10am. The men had not returned.

After walking for an hour we find a newly constructed hospital, void, however, of any amenities inside. A Kuna man sawing a piece of wood nearby said the Panamanian Government is paying for it and once the road gets here they will equip it. All the building material had arrived by boat.

He directed us onto the airstrip where a broad concrete runway leads to the beach. A few Kuna women and men lazed under a shelter. We had made it to the coast, but it wasn’t quite as idyllic as I’d imagined. The entire shore was littered with rubbish, plastic bottles, plastic bags cartons and paper. The prevailing wind was from the islands!

A Kuna man approached us and asked where we wanted to go. We pointed out to the islands.

“$1.75 per person to Carti Subtupu Island,” he said in an official voice.

We discover he is like a Kuna islands representative to meet tourists who arrive by plane, but we hadn’t arrived by plane so he wasn’t sure about us.

“Will the road be good for Carti Subtupu?” I asked him.

“Yes, but many people will come and it will influence the way of life here. I don’t know if it will be good or bad but there will be changes.”

“Are women stronger than men here?”

“We are an equal society. Each has their own work duties, we don’t tell each other what to do. The island chief Sahila is a man. Every day there is meetings in the main hall 1 for women 1 for men and sometimes mixed. We are equal and every person including children can have their say.”

Katerina washed her sandals then rested in an old dugout canoe. I made a sketch of the coast looking out to the islands, including of course the rubbish. The island representative returned and looked at my picture.

“Beautiful,” he said.

I pointed out the rubbish to him on my picture which I don’t think he recognised!

“Yes lots of rubbish,” he acknowledged. “It comes from the islands.”

He said no more to me and went to speak with Katerina who asked more questions about Kuna tradition.

The women making Molas under the shelter didn’t take much notice of us so we took a large dugout with outboard engine to Carti Subtupu Island.

A small man named Thomas greeted us. He was responsible for looking after tourist visitors. Firstly we got briefly introduced to the Island chief Sahila who was very fat and had several women around him. Then we got shown the tourist dormitory which was behind the Medical Centre on the far west of the island $ 8 per person.

It seemed we had entered a very tight nit community not wholly friendly to outsiders. At first we were afraid to leave the dormitory. After an hour Thomas came and escorted us to the community run comedor to eat then gave us a brief tour of the island.

The Island was roughly 200m by 70m and is 1 of a group of 4 all within half a kilometre. Census year 2000 gave 970 pop, 121 families. The island was squashed full of houses, mostly made from wood with palm thatched roofs, a few houses were built from concrete. This island had no beach and rocks seemed to have been piled up in order to expand its size as much as possible. Sea depth around the island was approximately 2 to 3 metres.

A few men asked us if we wanted to go on a tour to other islands and the jungle. One of them was called Ernesto; he was quite desperate to gain some business, that’s why I remembered his name. He also wanted us to paint a new sign for him saying "Ernie’s Bar and Paradise Tours”, but it was on a metal sheet which we didn’t have the right paints for.

The women were nearly all dressed in traditional cloths and seemed quite shy and reserved. Men had lost their traditional cloths but were far more extravert, perhaps because they could speak better Spanish. Lots of kids were in the street going to or from school. Both boys and girls were inquisitive and spoke to us without indifference.

- Collecting fresh water from the river. A 2 hour round trip sailing or paddling in dugout canoe, Made anytime of day but mostly in mornings.

- Fishing with net and lines, often a day trip is made to get to desired location i.e. less inhabited islands and or deeper water. Some men specialise in diving for shells, crabs and lobsters which can also takes them most of the day.

- Trips to the mainland for cultivation of maize, platano, bananas, some mangos and papaya but hardly any vegetables. These trips could also be for collecting natural materials for building houses and canoes etc. Usually they went as an organised group and can we were told include women.

- Shops on the islands were mostly run by women but a few by men.

- Relaxing, men didn’t tend to drink excessively, maybe because it was prohibited to drink for much of the daytime. Many men, however, could be seen lazing around. The community idea of sharing the work load appeared to allow some people more time off than others?

- Some men smoked and others sometimes were drunk but of no trouble to anyone.

- Women sit outside houses with babies and or stitching Molas. There also seemed to be quite a lot of gossiping and observing the action on the street. None of them, however, asked us directly who or where we were from. That information was left to the men to extract and then passed to the women.

- Sweeping the house, splashing water on the ground to make it damp, feeding babies, cooking for the family, looking after family finances, running the shops, making Molas, taking kids to kinder garden, gossiping, spying on other families and having fun with other women, dressing up in traditional cloths, asking us to buy Molas.

- Relaxing, women were rarely seen to be doing nothing; they either had material for making Molas on their laps or a baby or things for book keeping. The Molas, however, seems to be the most popular pastime? Women we saw weren’t drinking or smoking.

- We saw a few men who were making Molas; they appeared more feminine than usual but were not seen to dress up in women’s cloths. Gays seemed to be accepted into society with out problem.

- Other men made jewellery for selling to women and tourists, they seemed normal.

- Men also cooked in cafes while women sat, took money and kept stock.

Here men seemed to have more power. The island chief Sahila was a man and Tour guides were also all men.

Observations during Sketching and Painting

It proved difficult to make on location studies of women. Mainly because men and kids who were watching us would shout out to the women nearby which of them we were drawing. This caused the woman in question to either flee the scene or to cover herself up in her red head scarf. Hence many of them we drew had to be a mixture of several put together.

After shifting locations around the island we found the best spot to be near the kindergarten, where the women couldn’t leave their toddlers.

On the pier was also a good spot because people were always arriving from other islands unloading or loading up.

Some women seemed especially offended by us. Perhaps because usually they charge tourists for photos and maybe thought that we were somehow getting something for nothing? I asked a Teacher who was Panamanian about this. He said that they are proud people and always want to look good, but he didn’t think they would have been offended by painting. Maybe they would be happy to sit for you if you pay them. I told him that as soon as they sit in an organised way the whole point of us coming to the island to see them normally would be lost, but maybe he did have a point.

Men on the other hand were easier subjects. Younger men sometimes argued over being drawn while the older men tended to move away quickly. At the pier men hung around the community comedor, this was the best place I found.

Kids always formed crowds around us often obscuring the view, pushing, stepping or falling onto the picture.

Our reception to the Island in the short period we were there was not affected greatly by the fact that we were doing pictures. Thomas came a few times in the evenings to collect money or empty the toilet rubbish into the sea! On these visits we showed him our latest paintings.

He asked why we were doing them; we told him it was for an exhibition of Matriarchal cultures from around the world. He then asked if we have our own museum. At first I found this answer amusing but then realised this is usually how museums begin.

The same question by other people on the street weren’t so satisfied by our explanation. They wanted to know who much we sell them for. We said that they would not be for sale, because we didn’t want them to ask us for money.

After this they seemed less impressed by the picture. Prices for Molas were then boasted about $10 to $20 each, and one woman said she had sold a Mola for $100.

Men often said that Kunas have their own artists as well and that they are not women but men. They said this with obvious pride. Sadly Carti Subtupu didn’t have any of these artists. The only man here doing pictures was the man who owns the island museum.

The man who runs the museum was also a budding artist. His pictures were illustrations of the history and legends of the Kuna culture. His style was inspired by western sci-fi comic books, which made for dramatic representations of old Kuna stories. I thought, however, it suited his subjects which included gods with animal heads and shooting stars that attack people.

Before western religion arrived here there were 2 primary Gods, 1 male 1 female to teach either sex there role in society. So equality seemed to be high on the agenda even in antiquity, although, celebrations for the female sex appear throughout history to be cherished more than that of the male?

This year only 2 cruise ships had come so everyone was making a special effort for this one. Women were visually extra busy stitching up Molas and those who didn’t usually wear traditional clothing started getting use to wearing them again.

Thomas was responsible for cleaning up the dock area. A large amount of rubbish was washing up and down.

It doesn’t look good does it, I said, Thomas told me that he has to make a good impression because only a few cruise ships had come this year.

I agreed that something had to be done and looked down at the rubbish washing up and down around the pier. It looked like a thick minestrone soup. There were jokes that Katerina and I should clean it up in return for free food and accommodation. Thomas spent most of the day pacing around looking down at the rubbish.

“Why don’t you burn the paper rubbish and recycle the beer cans instead of throwing everything in the sea?” we said.

“We have talked about a dump on the mainland for rubbish yes.”

It appeared to me the Kunas gained some satisfaction from throwing the rubbish into the sea. For example when our toilet rubbish bin was full I informed Thomas. He came to sort it out, but to my horror just emptied the contents of the bin into the sea! So why put a bin there in the first place I thought.

Eventually one of the Lobster divers was employed to clean up the pier. He dived for the cans of beer, plastic bags and paper cartons which he loaded into his dugout canoe and took it somewhere else? Afterwards it looked mildly better, but this was really only a token gesture because the other 99.9 % of the island was still caked in rubbish and toilet paper. Thomas, however, seemed happy with the effort.

At 5am all the women were busy hanging up Molas from their houses. The island was transformed into a maze of brightly coloured paths. Thousands of Molas were on display, small, large, all types, from geometric designs to toucans to turtles. Other items included T-shirts with Mola designs, clay pots and arm bands. Women were notably jollier which I found amusing. Some of them had also adopted a new appearance entirely in order to please the cruise visitor. Many had clay pipes sticking out of there mouths, not lit. Others sported small green budgerigars on the shoulder or an iguana on the head. And finally the women who were getting use to wearing traditional cloths again sat there comfortably like it was their second skin.

Women were hardened sellers.

Men wore the same old American style cap and clothes, but suddenly had something to sell. They had produced small squared and painted balsa wood boats with mast and sail. No relation to the indigenous canoes? These items I was told were thought up recently as competition for the women’s Molas. $10 for Molas, $1 for boats, not much competition really.

One man I was trying to draw held up his boats in front of his face so I couldn’t see him. Then unexpectedly a tourist came along and bought it. He then got up and left. A while later he returned with a beer in his hand and a smile on his face. Maybe the Molas pay for luxuries like TV’s and sound systems while boats are just for beers.

Kids sold drawings, but sadly from our creative perspective most were copied from school text books, pictures of animals and boats. Only a few had their own drawings, we purchased some examples for 50 cents. Many kids had plagued cruise visitors for $1 to take a photo of them. And as the cruise visitors were cueing to leave the island a frenzy of women and children swarmed around them pleading them for money and photos. It seemed all a little to desperate and appeared to make the cruise visitors want to leave even more.

The Cruise visitors were mainly North American who looked freshly showered in white summer cottons, most were over 40. The cruise liner was large white and shiny and parked it’s self a short distance from the islands. It resembled a giant state of the art washing machine floating on its side. The cruise was carrying 1500 passengers, most of whom came to the island, roughly doubling the population for half a day.

By far the most profit making commodity for sale was the Mola and reports afterwards suggested a successful day was had by many. The following day everyone was visibly happier, some women even smiled at us. Posters went up marking dates for shopping trips to Panama City. More men that usual were drinking at the community shop near the pier.

The idea of a community where everyone chips in and there is no need for money seemed to be something of the past here. There was definitely competition to whom could sell the most.

Individual Kuna families are permitted to open their own shops on the island selling bread, tined food, toilet paper etc. We were told there was some competition between them to get rich.

Most houses had TV’s, radios, and beds instead of the traditional hammock. A community generator was started up each evening for electricity. Use of electricity costs $3 per month per house, not many houses went without.

Trade Boat to Ustupu:

It was a last minute decision for us to take this 2 day boat trip. The plan was to see in all the islands down to Ustupu. Then to walk over the mountains back to the Pan American highway passing two Mountain Kuna villages on route.

List of islands the boat stopped at to trade, plus our grades of sophistication.

Carti Subtupu 3 , Punta Playa 2 , Marmattupu 2 , Río Azúcar 4 , Corazón de Jesús 6 , Nargana 5 , Punto Silanega 3 , Niatupu 2 , Playón Grande (coastal settlement) 2 , Playón Chico (sleep) 3 , SanIgnacio de Tupile 3 , Aligandi 4 , Achutupu 3 , Mamitupu 3 , Ustupu ( stay 2 nights ) 4 .

Key:

1 = Basic natural island with a couple of houses;

3 = Mainly traditional houses some concrete, with electricity;

5 = Half and half concrete and traditional houses, electricity, plus not many women in traditional cloths.

Note: Women were dressed in traditional cloths in all the islands apart from Nargana and Corazon de Jesus. Many of the islands unlike Carti Subtupu also had nice beaches. The boat was from Ustupu island so all the workers on board were from there too.

Procedure of trading:

At the ports women more often than men seemed to take control of business. First the women would come up to the captain’s quarters to register and then go down to the dock to check it off the goods with their receipt. This suggests that women are also the primary book keepers on other islands as well.

Religion on the islands:

On Carti Subtupu there was no church as such, just a modest chapel that was Catholic. On many of the other islands, however, the competition was immense. Some Islands had up to 12 different churches, chapels, halls. Here are a list we found on the Island Playon Chico; Evangelical, Catholic, Baptist, Mormon, Jehovah’s Witness, Adventist,12^th Evangelist and Christian.

Some of the churches looked derelict, locals told us that religions come and go and the Kunas treat them more like night clubs, some being in fashion 1 week then out of fashion the next.

From all reports there was little animosity between them.

This was the friendliest island for us. Pop 2000 almost double that of Carti Subtupu. Ustupu was also the centre of the independence movement which was aided by Americans.

Kunas from the Darian gap walk over the mountains to Ustupo taking aprx. 12 hours. An artist we spoke to said he buys feathers from the them to paint pictures on. He also says that they only traded with the islands because they didn’t like to mix with other people from the Darien Gap. They came here to buy salt and cloths.

Morning 6:30am cross to mainland with boat man who says he was a hunter on the path in his youth, however, the information he gives us about the route isn’t that helpful.

He says: I don’t think you will get lost, you will be on the mountain top for midday?

We trek through plantations of platano, banana and mango trees. See occasional Kuna working with machete. Have difficulty finding path at times. Our instructions are to follow river until it turns left at which point there will be a path on the right which take us over the mountain. Simple!

After 1 hour we leave the plantations. Then another 3 hours on we are still walking up through the river. It was turning according to my compass but was winding back as well; there was no obvious big turn. We rest next to waterfall to filter water and eat.

We had not seen any sign of a path. I scout up stream even further just to dismiss any possibility that it’s further up. I even scale another waterfall and see what at first looks like a lost temple but turns out to be just some very geometric shaped rocks.

We had been following sporadic foot prints in areas of sand or along the river bank. No path exists as such, the path was the river.

Some prints I did find further up were fresh rounded paw marks, possibly a Puma because apparently the Jaguar has a flatter fronted toe line.

I return to where Katerinas is sitting and then we begin to retrace our route back down the river.

In total 4 hours had passed looking for this blasted trail. It was 3pm. We were almost ready to give up when suddenly I spot a small and insignificant trodden route up into the jungle. This is it, but because where it hits the river and is exposed to light the vegetation had grown up.

We decide to camp here next to the river and head off first thing in the morning. We light fire and Katerina roasts tinned meat like she use to do during communism in the Czech Republic.

At 6am 3 Kuna men walk by carrying small packs. They say they go to Uala. Then half an hour later more trot past. We extract new helpful information about path plus fresh prints to follow. We pack up tent.

Then just as we are heading off 2 more Kunas arrive but this time they aren’t Mountain Kuna but Island Kuna from Ustupo. They both look somewhat worn out already. They sit down next to us and say they are thirsty and hungry.

For some reason they hadn’t brought hardly any food or even a water container? We give them 4 biscuits, 2 breads and some water.

It turns out they are jewellery sellers on their way to Panama City and that it’s their first time walking, usually they take the plane $50. This explains why they are so unfit.

We walk on ahead to try and loose them because they were making too much noise and scaring off the wild life. The path is small and sometimes difficult to follow. At 1pm we reach the top. See beautiful bright green frogs on route. We leave a few biscuits and a drink for the jewellery makers, then head across and down for 2 hours to an idyllic broad river.

We laze for 1 hour in the water in which time the jewellery sellers catch us up. The fatter one thanks us for the food then stretches out in the water half dead. We leave them for the last time.

Another 2 hours walk and we hit the river again. There are some plantations of platano nearby. From here the route isn’t clear so we set camp. Its 4:30pm. Night time there is rain.

At 5:30am in the morning I hear something unusual outside the tent, it is like a low continuous thundering noise? Looking out I’m shocked to see a mass of red brown water charging past at less than a metre from us!

Katerina and I jump out of the tent, pack up and are exiting the dangerous flood plan in less than five minutes. The river had swollen to double its size.

We find the path further up the river bank and eat breakfast under our umbrellas. We thank the Kuna god for not washing us away. From here its 1hour 30 minutes to the Village of Nura. We enter under the cover of a rain storm.

The village is empty, we make our way to a concrete shelter which is next to a basic medical centre. All other houses are traditional and with very large roofs.

The kids are the first to take notice of us. Girls dressed in 1 piece raps, boys in shorts or nothing. They approach us; I ask their names in Kuna, they answer. We ask if there is a shop. Kids say yes.

We follow one kid who acts more grown up than the rest. He leads us through village then gives us the slip. Next a man is calling us from inside a distinguished looking round house. We wait for him to emerge. He appears with several other men and women.

Kuna: Where you going?

Us: Uala

Kuna: This is Nura. You cannot go to Uala the river is too high. He then takes us round the back of his house to show us the river.

Kuna: You have to stay here.

Us: Maybe we can cross the river. (Kunas were nearly half our size)

Kuna: To dangerous

At this point I take a secret photo but the women detect it and flee the scene. Afterwards I regret my actions. A few minutes later, however, they return.

We ask the Kuna if he is the village chief. Yes he says my name is Fernando. We then find out that another path exists to the Pan American highway that doesn’t include crossing the river.

Great I say to Katerina we can do a picture here in Nura then head straight to the road.

The chief was becoming a little bit impatient for some reason saying so what you do, what you do?

Ok I say, first we want to buy some food. So he takes us to a shop where they sell salted biscuits. We buy 6 packets. Then I say that we’d like to do a sketch of the village before leaving. OK he says. So we leave our bags in Fernando’s house saying we will be back in half en hour.

We position ourselves in the centre of the village. The rain had stopped and the sun was breaking through the cloud. Young women stood around us talking and laughing.

We had been sketching for 5 minutes when this man turns up and asks what we are doing. He then says that we need permission? We say we have permission.

Then several other grumpy men appear and say the same thing. You need permission to do this. We say we have permission go and ask your chief (Sahila) Fernando. At this point the women standing around us become a little quieter.

The men finally go away. Great I’m thinking I hope they’ve gone to see Fernando this time and we can get our pictures finish in peace.

Then from down the street comes a figure in a large black hat topped with feathers. He makes straight for us and I could detect his anger from a fair distance.

Great I thought, who have we got now, the witch doctor.

He stood in front of us and said in a very stern voice that we need permission to do this. I was aware of the women moving further away. Err we have permission from Fernando I say slowly.

This seemed to aggravate the man even more.

Stop stop stop he shouted waving his arms around, follow me he then demands. It was obvious now that he was the true village Chief (Sahila).

We followed him to a large hut and then get instructed to sit on small stools, he goes out again.

The Sahila comes back in with Fernando and a few other men.

It turned out that the true Sahila couldn’t speak much Spanish so Fernando became the translator.

When you come to a Kuna village you first ask for the Sahila then everything can be organised. There was a tense atmosphere. Maybe 50 years ago we would have been buried up to our necks in the sand down by the swelling river. We apologised profusely.

To do anything in a Kuna village you need permission. When a stranger comes we usually have a village meeting.

Ok I say can we ask for permission to do a picture?

The Sahila talks with his men seriously (we note that there are no women involved in this decision) he turn back you have to pay $30 each.

Oh, we say, we don’t have this amount of money. Fernando then starts explaining something to the chief which obviously wasn’t a strict translation. I hopped he wasn’t telling him about the photo that I’d taken before. We sit quietly and feel a little helpless.

Then suddenly I say to them don’t worry we leave now. Here I gesture, keep the pictures we will go now, ok sorry for any trouble.

The Sahila looks at my picture upside down. $5 dollars he says if you want your picture. No no you can keep them I say. Then he says on the Islands you have to pay for everything.

We say no we never paid for drawing on the islands. His information was probably true 20 years ago but now the Islands have become more tourist friendly.

We get up slowly and edge ourselves towards the door apologising as we go. Fernando escorts us to his house to collect our bags then instructs his son to show us the path. Fernando had a smile on his face when we said good bye. It was obvious he hadn’t said anything about the photo and probably stuck up for us quite a bit. He said he had worked in Panama City for a while and that’s where he learnt Spanish.

This (Sahila) was certainly more traditional than in Carti or Ustupo.

Half an hour from the village Fernando catches us up and says we had forgotten our water filter. I return creeping secretly back into the village like a ninja, but on the way out one of the Sahila´s men shouts so I hurry out of sight.

We meet women carrying platano and men cutting areas of forest. We ask them about tradition and if there are ceremonies for women etc. All seemed similar to on the islands. The women’s clothing was of lighter weight and still included the Mola, but many women didn’t bother with leg or arm ties.

Facially the Mountain Kuna were more rounded with a less pronounced nose. Also cases of rickets seemed none existent that we saw. On the whole they looked stronger and healthier, perhaps due to a greater variety of food and having more exercise.

6 hour in total to the Pan American highway; passing some loggers, finches and cattle ranches all of which were Panamanian. We lost the trail just once wasting 1 hour.

Kunas in Panama city:

On Ave. Central which is the main budget shopping area in Panama City Kunas can be seen in groups of 2 to 6. They often follow each other with a hand on each others shoulder forming a chain. Some are dressed in traditional cloths other in western cloths. They look even shorter here than on the islands against the tall black Caribbean population. Older Kuna we saw nearly always dressed with Mola and leg and arm ties, while younger women we often saw in western cloths.

The Americans developed good relations with the Kunas by helping them gain a local level of autonomy from the Panamanian government 1925. As a result of these good relations Kunas were welcomed to come and work on American military bases. 5 Kunas we met who could speak some English had done just that. They told us that special areas like ‘Veracruize’ and aptly named ‘Pro Kuna’ near Colon were set aside for them to live in while working for the Americans.

We took a bus to Veracruize to check it out. What we found, however, was that the Kuna population had now become greatly diluted by the Panamanian population. You could see more Kunas in Panama City wandering down Ave. Central of an afternoon doing their shopping. We were also told that many live in Santa Ana and San Philippe.

We met Kunas who worked in gasolineros, hotels and shops. None in the building industry. Then of course there is the business of selling Molas, jewellery and caps with San Blas written on them. These you find on the street in touristy areas and in artesianier centres. No Kunas that we met or saw owned their own shops.

If you remember he was the tour guide in Carti Subtupu that wanted us to paint him a sign. Well almost 2 weeks after our return to Panama City I get someone tapping me on the shoulder. It is Ernesto.

This time, however, he doesn’t look like the king of tour guides but a small lost Kuna in the big city. I left the islands he says to work here. Look I have another cataract, I am looking for a job but it is difficult. I want to save $500 for the operation.

What job are you looking for? I ask. I am Guide on the island he says regaining some of his old confidence. I can be guide here for the San Blas islands, you can help me.

It was interesting for me to see this change in his character and thought that it must be daunting for a Kuna from a small community to suddenly arrive in the big city.

So I design a poster on the computer advertising tours to the San Blas Islands for the independent traveller. Then we go round to a hand full of hotels frequented by backpacker tourists to put them up. I get him organised with an E-mail and he’s set. (although as yet I haven’t heard back from him.)

While helping Ernesto I find out that there is a Carti Subtupu centre near Ave. Central in Panama City. It’s like a refuge for Kunas while visiting the city. It consists of a meeting hall, kitchen and 6 beds. On the notice board news paper cuttings about the island include, The El Llano Carti road which now has enough funds for completion in 3 year roughly and an article about the unsafe school that has already been dismantled on the island. The island bought this centre 14 years ago for $40.000 it is not free for Kunas to stay but is very cheap.

Men work in the Kitchen and the odd women making Molas sit around in the hall. One of the women had a mobile phone which Ernesto was using for his contact on the poster.

Just before I left Ernesto managed to find somewhere else to stay. He says its better for me to move because here I have to work in the kitchen and don’t have time to be a guide. He had found a place with an old Kuna woman in San Philippe.

I went round there with him. It was a 3rd story apartment that was very run down. The Old woman was friendly but couldn’t speak much Spanish. Her job was selling Molas down near the French Embassy. Family and friends give her a steady supply. Ernesto says she is not from Carti Subtupu, but sometimes Kunas just help out other Kunas. I can stay in for free in a spare room. The old woman seemed to like her grotty flat and enjoyed living in the city.