Helicopter Anthropology

Today was my 20th and last hour of helicopter instruction in Panama (tomorrow morning I’ll get on an American Airlines flight to Toronto, staying at www.metropolitan.com).  After a couple of autorotations in which one learns how to land the helicopter after the engine quits we proceeded up the Rio Chagres.  This is a national park, established to protect the rainforest in the Canal’s watershed.  In the past few decades Embera Indians have moved up from the remote malarial province of Darien, on the border with Columbia, to this region where the jungle environment is the same but access to health care and tourism jobs is much easier.

Our approach to the little village of grass huts involved flying up the center of the twisting river, about 10′ above the water, at 50 mph.  Steep hillsides with big trees constitute the banks of the fast-flowing Chagres and constitute a bit of a distraction for a beginning student.  Thanks to the lack of development in Panama one is safe from powerlines, those perennial killer of helicopter pilots, but we rounded a couple of corners to find people motoring along in dugout canoes.

The little Embera village that we visited contained 84 people from 17 families, each of whom lived in an elevated grass hut.  A traditional anthropologist might spend God knows how long paddling around looking for this village and then 12 months living here in one of those huts.  The  helicopter anthropologist sleeps in an air-conditioned bed in a modern hotel overlooking the Canal, takes a 30-minute flight into the village, and waits for Johnson, the one resident who speaks English, to come down towards the riverbank as the rotors spin down.  Here’s what we learned…

The Embera sustain themselves by catching fish in the river, killing wild pigs in the surrounding rainforest, growing some crops, and harvesting various wild plants.  They manufacture their own clothing, which is nada for the young kids, a loin cloth for the adults, and a beaded bikini top for women.  They make some cash by guiding cruise ship passengers on package tours and selling them handicrafts.

Technological comforts are limited to three hours of electricity per night and one channel of broadcast television that can be received through a gap in the ridge.  Cable and Wireless, the telecom monopoly that has been restricting Panama’s economic growth (it cost $7 to make a one-minute phone call from my hotel to Canada), installed a pay phone around which the Embera built a thatch phone booth.  It has been broken for six months.

There are no shops.  You can’t buy bottled water, Diet Coke, or any other packaged food.

At the center of the village is a single concrete building:  the schoolhouse.  The Panamanian government sends a teacher out for the wet season so that the children learn Spanish.  Imagine the dedication of this woman, a Latino from Panama City, to live in such a small isolated community in which many residents speak only the native Embera language.

[http://www.photo.net/philg/digiphotos/200401-panama-embera/ has some snapshots from the trip]