The Islands of Guna Yala
A view from the island shortly after sunrise. Jon Hull
An Aruban, Dutchman, Panamanian and I sat on a concrete dock, drinking beers, watching the moonrise over the Caribbean in Guna Yala. We reached the island earlier that day on a small speedboat. We were officially there on school business, but it didn’t feel like work.
As the moon lit the water, the four of us discussed our upbringings, shared stories from our travels, and recounted the day. We had an eventful morning and afternoon. Mark, our guide, took us all around the islands.
…
Our motorboat puttered up to the dock. Small homes with walls made from rainforest materials sat shoulder to shoulder on the shore. No land was visible aside from a sandy path leading from the dock. Waves lapped at the outer wall of each house.
A larger boat dropped anchor 100 feet off-shore.
“That’s a Columbian boat,” Mark said. “They come selling pots, pans, and other goods, and the Guna people trade coconuts as currency… the exchange rate for coconuts is one coconut to 35 cents.”
Mark leads us through the community to the school. Jon Hull
Mark unleashed one incredible fact after another as we walked onto the island. We wound our way through a series of alleys, under thatched roofs, and into the backyard of the village chief’s home. He comfortably sagged in a hammock and welcomed us to the island. His home was not discernably different from the others.
Guna Yala community islands are packed with people. The largest are hardly more than a stone’s throw across. The ocean assures that their buildings are in a constant state of accelerated entropy.
The Guna tribe makes the laws in the province, and it was evident we were among people who had intentionally separated themselves from Western influence. The group arrived here about 150 years ago. They are originally from the Darién area but moved North to escape the malarial rainforests. In 1925, the Guna people planned and executed a successful revolution against the Panamanian government to prevent “forced assimilation.”
Despite their rich history, the Gunas are still adapting to their island life. Mark noted, "Their main threat is themselves. They often remove barrier reefs for land reclamation, inadvertently endangering their own homes to wave-damage."
Trash poses another challenge. Until recently, it was perfectly fine for the people here to throw their trash out their back window into the Caribbean. Practically all of it was biodegradable. Over the past twenty years, more plastic goods have made their way here, and the islands are not equipped to handle the garbage.
“People continue to throw things into the ocean because that’s what they’re used to, and there’s no place to put it… they need the education and infrastructure to eliminate the trash problem.”
We walked through narrow dirt streets to the local school and conversed with Dalys, the school director. Having lived and taught in Panama City for 20 years, she exemplified the Gunas' dual identity of preserving tradition while embracing modernity.
The old customs are alive and well: most women are dressed head-to-toe in beautiful Mola designs; men paddle dugout canoes to the shore to get supplies from the jungle; and the entire village becomes a week-long party when any girl begins menstruation.
The latter will keep us on our toes when we set out on our field trip. We visited multiple community islands to create a backup plan in case a “period party” is raging when we arrive. That is an entirely new wrinkle in field trip planning for me.
Another Quick Story
It is said that there are 365 islands (one for each day of the year). Any one of the uninhabited islands would make a fine postcard or “man stranded” cartoon. We motored through the water to our island for the night and unloaded the boat.
Crystalline water in every direction. Palm trees sway overhead. The only sounds are waves, wind, and quiet conversation.
We pulled on fins, donned masks, grabbed a couple of Hawaiin Sling pole spears, and swam out past the reef. Mark showed us how to use the rubber band to launch the spear. I was ready to kill some invasive, poisonous Lionfish.
It turns out I’m not a natural snorkeler. My mask fogged constantly. I choked on salt water five or ten times. Gradually, though, I got the hang of it and started freediving down 20-30 feet to find our prey.
We circumnavigated the island in about 45 minutes. Mark spotted one Lionfish. I speared three plastic bags and a used diaper (I threw that one back).
