The Choco Indians

     The Chocó Indians live in small villages of 10 to 20 houses along the banks of rivers. Each village was about a half day's walk of several hours to the next village. As you get close to a village the jungle topography on the shores begins to change and you start to see less jungle and more platano fields. The villages are built on a small rise, set approximately 100 feet in from the river. The hill leading down to the river from the village is hard packed with smooth reddish dirt. There are large rocks in the river by the banks, and you can see young, naked children playing on the shore and in the shallows as the dugout canoe pulls up to the banks. The houses of the village are set atop the rise and stand out as they are raised on poles and have tall thatched roofs. If you arrive by motorized dugout it is a big event, as they can hear the motor coming from a distance and it seems that everyone has to walk to the top of the rise to see who is arriving to their village.
     The Chocó are a matriarchal society and live in family units based around defining lineage through the mother's side of the family. They are a very mellow and easy-going people and are always very nice, accommodating and polite. They are a short people who generally never grow much taller than five feet. The men are muscular and stocky. The women have long, thick, beautiful jet black hair. I found out that the Chocó have no other hair growing on their bodies except on their head. I don't think I ever met a Chocó Indian over five and half feet tall.
     The Cacique (chief) of the Chocó lived in the largest village, and capitol of the Chocó Nation, named Union Chocó. The city was on the banks of the same Rio Tuira that we lived on, and the trip there by dugout canoe was only about two hours up river from our house. The Chocó are by far the most passive people that I have ever met. A good indication of the kind of people the Chocó were was when a person shook the Cacique’s leathery, calloused, rough hands, his limp grip made it feel like shaking hands with a damp spaghetti noodle. Actually all the Chocó were that way, very easy-going, never in a hurry, and nothing was so important that it had to be done right away. They take life slowly, at a leisurely pace, and have hearts as big as all of nature itself. Every time I was in one of their villages they seemed to not be able to do enough for me. What was theirs was mine, even if food was scarce and hard to come by, the guests always got fed first.
     Over the years I lived in the Darien I became very good friends with the Cacique. We hired his sister to be in charge of the Chocó that worked at the hotel. The other hotel workers were more distant family of the Cacique.
     The Chocó women who worked at the hotel were around us most of the time, yet rarely spoke unless they were spoken to. Actually, they rarely spoke with each other as well. They kept quietly to themselves and methodically went about their daily duties. They were always very respectful and considerate to the tourists as well as each other.
     The Chocó had their own form of government, and lived by their own set of laws. It seemed that they had little or no contact with the Guardia Nacional or the Panamanian government. Regardless, they tended to ignore any governmental rules or regulations, and the Guardia left them alone. They had never been assimilated into Panamanian society, and I never saw a Chocó Indian that held a civic position or one that was a member of the Guardia.
     I have read reports of the Chocó intermarrying with the Panamanians and Columbians, but do not believe this to be true. In all the years I was in Darien I never heard of a mixed marriage and never witnessed a mixed couple. The Chocó always kept to themselves, and showed indifference toward their Panamanian and Columbian neighbors, an indifference that was likewise shared in return by the Mestizos.
     Their houses were raised off the ground about eight feet. Each house stood on several large logs, and had a thatched roof made from large palm leaves. All the joints were tied together using vines. There were no walls to the house. Hanging from the supporting log beams were baskets, pots, bows and arrows and other items that had been hand fashioned for fishing or hunting. The floor was made of split cana blanca (the same materials we used on the animal and tourist houses), and at one end was the kitchen. This consisted of a clay platform that was about three feet square; on top of this base they set the logs for the fire, supporting the cooking pot over the fire by using a tripod of sturdy sticks. The Chocó would climb up to the house on a log that had notches in it to serve as a ladder. They would turn the notches facing down at night so wild animals could not climb up into the house while they slept.
     The local 'K-Mart' kitchen supply store was called the calabash tree. They scooped out the gourds from this tree and used them for both eating and drinking. They would then fashion spoons out of pieces of these same gourds.
     The villages were always full of women and children when we arrived, as some of the men worked inland on the farms, and others hunted during the day. The women took care of the children, cooked, and washed clothes, etc. while the men were in the fields. They also made the baskets that they sold to the tourists. They wove these baskets from palm fibers using a very tight weave. They would make dyes from mashed berries and color the fibers before weaving. A typical basket would take a Chocó woman a couple of weeks to make.
     I would school the tourists on treating the Chocó with respect when they were in the villages and interacting with the women. An example of this was the etiquette behind the taking of pictures. You would always ask first, because there were some Chocó that did not want their picture taken. After taking the picture you would always give the person something; and if you had no trade items (which they preferred) the price that we established was a dollar.
     Everything was communal. The land is community owned and community farmed. Everyone in the village, including women and children, pitch in to help out at harvest time. If someone killed a Puerco de Monte while hunting during the day, and brought it back to town, everybody in the village ate Puerco de Monte that night. They even shared the fruits of the hunt with the tourists if it happened to be a village where we were staying the night.
     When I encountered the Chocó they were living very much like they had hundreds of years ago when Pizzaro and Balboa first met them. The men wear loin cloths, the women wear brightly colored materials wrapped at the waist, which looked like skirts. Both the men and the woman had long straight black hair, and wore no clothing from the waist up. No, I am sorry, this does not qualify for a 'Girls Gone Wild Video;' a National Geographic pictorial would be more appropriate. The Chocó Indian women had breasts that had never known a bra. After a Chocó woman passed 30 her breasts became triangular shaped, pointing straight toward the ground as gravity, and daily hard work, had taken its toll over the years. Constant exposure to the Chocó meant being around these women with unattractive bare breasts. After a little time I just accepted it as natural and didn't even pay attention to it. The little kids just went naked most of the time, and no one wore shoes.
     They liked to paint their bodies with a dye made from the berry of the genip tree. They would completely coat their bodies with the black dye, and told me they did this to keep the bugs off them at night. But I noticed that on special occasions, they would use this same dye and paint their bodies in intricate geometric patterns, it was a way the women had to adorn themselves. The women also wore silver necklaces and silver earrings on these special occasions; many of the necklaces were made with old silver dollars, and silver half dollars. They would punch a hole in the coin and run a silver chain through the holes. Many of the coins you saw on these necklaces dated back into the 1800's, and had been passed down from mother to daughter.
     When I moved back to the States I brought with me many Indian artifacts. One piece is made from a hard dark wood called mahogany (the hardest and strongest wood available), and has a flat wide paddle on one end and a handle on the other end. The density of the wood makes it feel much heavier than it appears. The paddle is about nine inches long, four inches wide, and about an inch thick, and the handle is round and about six inches long. The piece I brought back is ornate and has two alligators carved on the top for decoration, which signify the spirit of the woman who used the tool.
     The hand that wielded the knife that carved the alligators on top of the piece was both thoughtful and skillful. Although the piece is for a practical use, the artist was showing respect to the woman who received the paddle by working her spirit into the mahogany. Primitive, ethnographic art shows the basic skills of the artist. One gator is lying flat, while the other is in movement from a side view. Both are moving in the direction of the handle and the user. This painstaking process is slow, tedious, and takes hours of cautious, careful work.
     When I show the piece to people at home, or in the talks I give about Panama, I always ask if anyone can guess what it is used for. Most people guess, because of the shape of the handle, that the piece may have some kind of erotic use (oh, the dirty minds). Only one person has guessed its use without the clue.
     The clue is: "A Chocó Indian woman would use this tool almost every day."
     The answer is: "It is used to wash clothes. They go down to the river where there are large rocks, and they use it to beat the clothes against the rocks to get them clean.
     Based on my background and upbringing, the Chocó were about as alien as a culture could possibly be to me. When the tourists encountered the Chocó, during our tours up the rivers, they, too, were always shocked by the simple way that the Indians lived.
     "How could they live like this, in such poverty?" tourists would inquire.
     We tend to impose our own values and lifestyle on other people whom we meet if they are not like us. I believe that the goal of life should be 'happiness.' Therefore, I pose this question to you: Who is 'happier,' the Chocó Indians who have what they need provided to them by God, the earth and the jungle, or the family who lives in the big house in California, with two cars in the garage and all of the modern conveniences? The father is under tremendous stress at work, the wife is having an affair and taking anti-depressants, their teenage kids are disobedient and on drugs, and everyone is seeing the psychiatrist.
     The Chocó could be characterized as “primitive and poor”; but in reality their lives were richer than any of our lives because they understood what true happiness in life is. To them the goal in life was not accumulation of wealth as it is in our lives, yet they became wealthy in understanding reaping riches of leisure, inner peace and happiness. They were aware of what it meant to live as one with nature, as well as what it meant to live in a conflict free environment with their fellow man. I never knew a Chocó Indian that was unhappy or was not satisfied. They didn't want for more (a bigger this, a better or newer that) and were always happy and contented with what they had in life. In fact they were the first to share what they had with someone else. That is why I always took care of the Chocó when they came down river. My house was open for anyone to stay the night, and I always provided the night meal. I also responded immediately to requests by the Cacique, and his family, when they were in times of need.

The Great Snake Hunt

     The main character in the story is Mark. He came down to visit on a couple of occasions. He had been collecting snakes since he was about eight years old, and had milked poisonous snakes (extracted venom) on numerous occasions. Mark was short and stocky and had long blond hair. He was in very good condition and had great reflexes.
     Mark and I were alone sitting at the house, late at night, with a bottle of Seco. When it was done Mark came up with a bright idea. "Let's go out into the jungle and look for snakes." Mark had hunted snakes in the States, but I had never been on a snake hunt before in my life, and certainly it seemed crazy for me to try this in the jungle at night while half crocked.
     However, enabled by the Seco, somehow it seemed like a very reasonable idea at the time.
     We pulled on our specially made knee-high boots that a snake fang could not penetrate. I don't know what kind of guarantee the manufacturer had, but I hear they claim that a pair had never been returned. Not too comforting when we consider that if the boots didn't work they would be hard to return – dead.
Next there was my beautiful set of golf clubs. Before I left Michigan Mark got a hold of them and sent them out to be 'adjusted.' When they came back all the heads were gone from the clubs and they had been replaced with flexible metal 'u' shaped hooks. They ended up being a key tool in trying to capture live snakes.
     We also had a big bag on a loop at the end of a long pole. When we pulled a string at the top of the bag it would collapse and close tightly around the loop, securing anything that had been captured inside the bag. We also had battery-operated lights that fit onto our foreheads, leaving our hands free.
Once prepared with all of our equipment we set off across the river to hunt snakes. It was very dark outside with the only light coming from the stars. We docked directly across from the house at Neddy and Augustina's place and walked through their platano field, eventually coming to the edge of the jungle.

     At night, as you walk through a platano field, the edge of the jungle looms like a giant solid black wall in front of you. Once you walk in you are in. You can be ten miles in or ten feet in, it is all the same, thick, primary growth jungle. The whole environment changes immediately. You can feel the jungle all around you, as if it was a living, breathing entity of its own. It was as if the jungle had a pulse and a heartbeat. The air was humidly thick and full of moisture, and held a symphony of sounds. The most apparent was the sound of millions of insects buzzing all around you, forming an audible backdrop which was a constant buzz. This hum of the insects was offset by the intermittent loud bird chirping for a mate. Against that backdrop you can hear another large bird screeching, or the roar of a distant jaguar. Because of the jungle canopy none of the starlight made it to the floor (I have heard that only two percent of the sunlight makes it to the jungle floor during the day), and it was always pitch black with our lights serving as the only means of orientation. The ground is thick with generations of dead leaves, and as you walk you sink down a couple of inches with each step. 

     We tried insect repellent, but it seemed that it had no effect, and that the mosquitoes enjoyed its taste. So we did what the locals did, and smeared diesel over our exposed areas. We would be hot and sticky and the air felt so humid that it was like breathing steam, and the smell of the diesel was always present in the air. 

      When blazing a new trail in primary growth jungle we had to be careful of large spiders. They would spin a web between two trees that looked like a large net. The giant spider (about three or four inches in length) would sit and wait, conspicuously, in the middle of this giant web for whatever happened to get caught. When walking on an established jungle trail it was very common to see these giant spiders and webs spun between the trees along the sides of the trail.

     There was no trail where we were, so we made our way through the brush and around the base of the large trees of the canopy. We eventually found what we thought was an animal trail. Since the jungle floor is a solid, thick bed of leaves, you could discern the animal trail by looking carefully. The trail was a small indentation that ran in a straight line through the leaves. Mark explained to me that it was not uncommon to find snakes lying in wait along these makeshift rodent highways. As we made our way down the trail, I was leading the way. Mark was watching the trees up ahead and on the sides, and my light was trained on the ground, trying to follow the animal path. Suddenly, I saw it lying right in the middle of the trail. The mottled brown back exactly matched the colors of the leaves and the look of the trail perfectly. If I had continued walking and had not spotted a little flash of yellow coming from just under it, I would have stepped right on top of this snake. 

     Coiled in the middle of the trail was an eight foot long Fer de Lance, the second largest poisonous snake in the Americas. The longest is the Bushmaster, which is known to also live in Panama, but I never saw one. The snake we came upon the Panamanians call 'barba amarilla' (translation: yellow beard). It got this name because it has a streak of yellow under its chin (snakes have chins?). It was this yellow that I spotted, and it was the only thing about the snake that did not match the jungle floor. 

Breathless and unable to speak, I managed an excited gasp in Mark's direction. When Mark saw the Fer de Lance he got very excited. He grabbed the bag on the pole and one of the golf club snake hooks. I immediately moved about 15 feet away, on the other side of the small open area. I was happy to hold the light for Mark, but that would be the extent of my voluntary participation. The only way this snake was getting to me was if it could outrun me, and I had a 15 foot head start. 

     We were standing in a 30 foot square clearing with the animal trail running through the middle. One side had a few large bushes and small trees and the other side had a single giant mangrove tree. The mangrove had a large network of above ground roots called buttresses. They cascaded down from the sides of the tree and completely enclosed about 20 feet along one side of the small clearing beside the animal trail. 

     Mark opened the collapsible bag that was attached to the pole and then took the snake hook and, ever so gently, started easing the snake into the bag, inch by inch, foot by foot. The snake was coiled and lying peacefully on the trail. Although Mark was moving it a little at a time into the bag, the snake did not appear to be aware of what was happening to it.

     Suddenly the snake became alert, raised its head and spit out a loud hiss from its now open mouth, bearing its two inch fangs to try to intimidate us. Then it darted away from the bag and directly into the root system of the Mangrove Tree. 

     Mark dropped the bag and the snake hook and dove for the snake, landed onto his belly, and grabbed only the end of its tail.

The snake immediately made a u-turn and headed in a straight line right back at Mark, and then........ everything stopped! 

It was as if time stood still.

The snake had wrapped itself around one of the roots of the mangrove tree while coming back to attack Mark. 

Mark, motionless on his belly, with a stranglehold grip on the snake's tail, slowly looked up at me and whispered (like he did not want the snake to hear), "Gary." 

"Yeah Mark," I whispered back.

"Where's the head?"

The snake had come up about six inches short in its quest to come back and attack this monster who had grabbed hold of its tail.

"Mark, it is about six inches above your right shoulder."

     Mark ever so slowly turned and looked up and spotted the snake’s head while he still had a firm grip on the tail. The snake’s mouth was wide open bearing its two gigantic, deadly fangs. It was groping about desperately in the air, trying to bite onto something.

     In one move Mark let go of the tail with the one hand and whirled around and grabbed just behind the snake's head with the other. It is a move that requires great skill and dexterity, but securing the head is the only way you can completely control a large snake like this one. The snake immediately went nuts -- squirming, wiggling, thrashing, twisting, trying anything it could possibly do to break free. Once he had this enormous snake in his hands he was screaming for the bag. The snake was wildly angry, and the snake was much bigger than Mark! He could barely stand trying to hold onto this monster with his hands, while wobbling from side to side under the weight of the beast. I quickly opened the bag and we slowly eased the entire body of the snake into the bag, while Mark still held onto the head. 

     Then Mark said, "I am going to count to three, let go of the head and throw this snake into the bag. You pull the cord securing the bag."

"Okay, here we go, one .... two .... three."

Mark threw the snake into the bag --

and I pulled the string closing the bag tight --

with Mark's hand locked inside the bag! 

Mark shrieked, as the snake was thrashing madly in the bottom of the bag. Now, completely loose in the bag, it was trying everything it could to get out. We finally got Mark's hand free, and headed back to the house. We kept the snake in the bag at the end of the large pole as we walked back. A snake can sense your body heat through the bag, and they have been known to inflict deadly bites through the cloth material on people who are holding directly onto a bag.

     The snake we had caught had about 40 baby 'barba amarilla' about one week later. They are born alive and the babies have poison from birth that is just as deadly, drop for drop, as that of the adults.  

The acquisition of 40 unexpected baby Fer de Lance made the adventure in the jungle financially worthwhile. But, what was truly of value this night was not the snakes, it was the story! I learned to act out this story, and recounted it numerous times, much to the entertainment of visitors to the Darien.