San Blas Islands

A young boy races past in a dugout canoe, splashing the water out of the bottom with his feet as he paddles with one flip-flop in each hand. As he hits the surf over the reef off the palm-lined point, he heads straight for the waves and yelps gleefully as the breakers rock him about. Beaming, he continues flip-flop paddling toward his village of thatched huts nestled snugly at the base of the permanently misty mountains of the Darien.

We have just entered the Comarca Kuna Yala, consisting of 120 miles of unspoiled coastline, 400 picture-postcard perfect Caribbean islands and home to the contagiously happy Kuna people. Smiles spread across our faces, growing of their own accord and we can’t help but yell back, cheering the kid on and sharing in his easy bliss.

Kuna Yala and its 40,000 inhabitants exist in a state of unspoiled bliss in large part because of their political and geographical isolation, arising directly from the area’s status of semi-autonomous region. The Kuna have lived in the area for several hundred years but suffered from economic and social ¨developments¨ imposed by outsiders until, in 1925, they decided to take back their home and their culture. Following a violent uprising and self-imposed ethnic cleansing, they were granted semi-autonomous status. As a result, the Kuna became the most independent indigenous group in the Americas; maintaining their own culture, language, political and economic structure in addition to gaining representation in the Panamanian Legislature and full voting rights! The Kuna still live a very traditional life, but it´s beautiful because it’s what they have chosen.

In Kuna Yala all land is owned collectively to prevent divisions between the ¨haves¨ and ¨have nots.¨ Coconut palms, however, are all individually owned. Coconuts have traditionally been used as barter goods with European ships and are still sold today to Columbian traders, making up a major part of the household income. In some places money really does grow on trees.

The Kuna culture remains matrilineal in nature and recently the women have added a new component to their economy, molas. Molas are reverse applicé tapestries that range from elaborate to extremely elaborate and are what the women traditionally wear as blouses. The practice of mola making began as a way to replicate the designs that they used to paint on their bodies before outside influences finally forced them to wear clothes. Depending on the quality of the mola, they sell for $5 to $20 a piece and, apparently, resell for several hundred dollars in New York. In some villages the men also catch lobsters and octopus to sell to planes that come a couple times a week and take them to hotels in Panama, but it’s definitely an easier economy to keep track of - the price of lobsters is down today, molas and coconuts are holding steady.

Politically the system is equally simple yet effective and democratic. Each island or village has at least one chief, or Sahila (and some have as many as 7), who always has the final word on community matters. Village issues are discussed in the government hut, or Congreso, in the evenings, where the Sahilas swing in hammocks in the center and the community members sit around the edge. Secretaries interpret the Sahila´s wisdom to the people (it´s considered rude to speak directly to a Sahila) and often issues are voted on by the entire village.

Eastern and Western San Blas, though unified politically and to a large extent culturally, are geographically very distinct. Eastern San Blas appears at first glance more dramatic and intimately connected to the mainland. Steep misty mountains plunge into choppy green seas. Leafy green palm trees ramble along the shores and compete for dominance with the savage jungles of the Darien. Crocodiles, snakes and rumors of the occasional "Tiger" ply the mildly murky waters. Few visitors make their way to these parts, except for the occasional cruiser and Colombian trade boat. The people seem to be perpetually smiling and wave at you until their hands are in danger of flying right off their wrists. More than anything the people seem happy and content.

In the Western San Blas, there are more islands that extend further from the shore. Picture postcard pockets of sand exploding with palm trees sprinkled sporadically along the coast of the Darien, like a lace border on a bear skin rug. The waters are calmer here and the men venture further from shore on their fishing expeditions. More sail boats visit this region and occasionally a cruise ship even stops off at one little island. Maybe it's because of this that the people seem to have lost some of their innocence and exuberance. People are still friendly, but feelings of being a walking dollar sign occasionally lurk in the shadows.

Over population is the name of the game in Kuna land. All of the little islands that dot the coast line seem to be overflowing. Those designated as villages are bursting at the seams with Kuna kids and thatched roof huts. The rest are teeming with palm trees. Despite the low population density of Kuna Yala as a whole, the Kuna cram together as tightly as possible. The Kuna respect the environment and believe that happiness exists within nature. Their homes, however, are completely removed from nature. In some villages people might grow flowers in their yards, in others perhaps a tree. Other than that though, the villages are devoid of green. Seas of neatly organized reed and thatch huts divided by straight dirt streets. In sharp contrast to the brown on brown of the few village islands, the rest of the 400 islands are populated solely by palm trees. This doesn't mean they escape the rule of overpopulation, however. Coconut palms cram each plot of sand, sticking out in all directions and battling for a dry foot hold.

A Kuna and his/her canoe is a manifestation of comfortable harmony. Two elements working together in agreement, flowing smoothly. Two halves combining to make a whole. The canoes, or "ulus," are all traditional dugouts made from trees that wash up after big rains or ones cut from the mainland at great effort, and are used for everything. Men sail to the outer reefs to fish or paddle to the mainland to work their fields. Women use them to haul water from the mainland or do laundry in the rivers. Young kids pile in them and paddle around the bays, yelling and laughing all the while. Older kids take them to play soccer or surf the breakers. The ulu is to the Kuna as cars are to Americans. Every family has at least one, if not several, the kids play with miniature sized ones and the Kuna hardly do anything without them. Like peanut butter and jelly or tequila and lime, the Kuna and his/her ulu are two perfect compliments.

Before three drops of sweet morning light have seeped through the oil slick of night, the Kuna men are in their canoes sailing to their fields, chatting and yelling to each other with the excitement of a band of children on their way to a much anticipated festival. As the dawn's sweet nectar oozes over the horizon, the smell of the women's cooking fires drifts along the soft morning breeze, filling the sails and driving the ulus forward. Morning has begun in Kuna Yala.