Listen to thisOnce again I will step off my Soapbox simply to share an experience and make some observations. Next month for sure there will be something on which I can leap up and take a stand.
Recently I took a trip to the remote San Blas Islands, Panama, for a sea shell collecting expedition. As our motorized dugout canoe approached the island of Wichub Wala where we'd be staying, I knew I'd love it. The first thing to come into sight was a basketball backboard and small Kuna Indian boys were out dribbling, defending and shooting.
We thus entered the world of the Kuna Indians who live on and run the Island. They are known for molas, a beautiful form of stitchery art. We soon came to learn other things as well.
How could I resist the basketball court ? Even before unpacking, I 'migrated' onto the court and held out my arms for the ball. While no children spoke English and I certainly spoke neither Spanish or Kuna, that gesture is universal. The ball came to me and soon I was integrated into the game. On later occasions during our stay I would go out before our boat left for the day dressed in my diving outfit, wetsuit and weight belt, and shoot a few. I never sensed any self-consciousness among these youngsters that their new playmate was a large white-haired female person in a funny outfit (the Kuna Indiants are physically small.)
In the late afternoons and evening, our shelling completed, we'd sit on our hotel porch, chatting and soon the youngsters would come over and hang over the railing, just watching and basking in the smiles and comments we made to them that we could not tell whether they understood. There was just the universal language of mutual interest and enjoyment between the generations.
Mornings were really special, for as we sipped our coffee, a procession would troop down the dirt pathway. School children, hair slicked back, dressed in crisp white shirts or blouses, navy blue skirts or slacks, and American style leather shoes, toting backpacks, made their way to the on-island school house. One day they all carried little wooden sailboats “must have been a class project.
We had heard that if we wanted to take pictures of the Kunas, they might ask to be paid a dollar. Sure enough – sometimes they'd say “One dollah" and, well supplied with dollar bills, we'd happily offer one. One day I saw two little boys with an American flag imprinted basketball – stars and stripes and red, white and blue. A “must" photograph, and with one gesture from me they lined up posing with the ball in front of them. Right after the camera click, a woman stepped out from behind a fence: “That will be one dollah!" The entrepreneurial spirit begins early and is a family affair!
Some Kuna children often carried around a toddler or baby – obviously older children were responsible for caring for younger children. We never heard voices raised by either a child caregiver or a diminutive parent. As night fell – an hour earlier than here in the US – the village became dark and hushed. The children were all in bed.
I won't even venture to interpret this marvelous and warming experience. Nor will I forget it soon.
