Chicha de Mais

  One day Augustina, my neighbor across the river, paddled across the river in her tippy little canoe, and she had with her a one-gallon glass jug. Any drink that they made was called 'chicha.' They would make chicha de mango, chicha de papaya, chicha be guanabana, and when they made Kool Aid they called it chicha de kool aid. On this day she had worked hard to make me a special treat. She came up to the house and handed me her gift. The jug was cloudy and had little bits of things floating in it. I asked her what it was and she replied that it was "chicha de mais" (translation: corn drink). She then insisted that I taste it, which I dutifully did. I could not imagine anything as nasty to make a drink out of as corn. It was truly awful! It tasted dreadfully sour and the little corn kernels got stuck in my teeth. I gathered all my fortitude, smiled, and said, "It is wonderful Augustina, and I love it, simply delicious." As Augustina walked off toward town with the knowledge that she had pleased the Gringo with her gift, I handed the jug of chicha to Diego and told him to get rid of it.
A few weeks went by and one morning when Augustina came across the river she stopped to talk, rather than simply call out. She asked me how I liked the chicha de mais, and, of course I told her how much I had enjoyed drinking it. At that moment Diego burst out of the house with the jug, it was bone dry. He handed it to Augustina and said that Gary loved it, and wanted her to make some more. Diego got a very dirty look from me. She took the empty jug and contentedly paddled back home. I was confused at first but said nothing.
A few weeks later the entire scene repeated itself. Augustina came across with the jug of the chicha de mais and made me take a drink. The second batch tasted more sour and rancid than the first one. Again I told her it was wonderful, and again I passed the jug onto Diego to get rid of. The first time this was amusing, but after the second time I got upset with Diego. I never really knew what was going on at the time, but I told Diego that if I ever had to taste that rancid drink again that I would get very angry.
Months later I was up one of the smaller rivers visiting with the Chocó Indians. The men worked in the communal fields during the day while the women and children stayed in the village. I came into this village around mid day, and had sent word in advance that I would be coming with another Indian who was traveling to that village a couple of days before us. All the men came back into town from their farms for the meeting. Their houses were raised on long log poles and the floor of the house was about 8 - 10 feet off the ground. This was because of the flooding that constantly occurred, as well as for protection against wild animals. The houses had thatched roofs and no side walls.
When I first came to Panama I spoke very little Spanish. I learned to speak Spanish by living down there, and having to try to speak the language in order to survive. The Chocó Indians have no written language, and their spoken language is nothing like Spanish. Most of the Chocó men spoke some Spanish, and many were fluent in the language. I learned some Chocó words while I lived in Darien, but spoke exclusively Spanish in meetings with the Chocó men. My Spanish is strictly verbal, with a lot of street vernacular and slang as opposed to a more educated version, as I learned it by having to speak the language to be able to survive living in the Darien. I finally realized that I was fluent in the Spanish language when I woke up in the middle of the night and realized that I had been dreaming in Spanish.
We were all seated in an oversized community house in a large circle; there must have been at least 20 men seated on the floor with me. I spoke with them about what we wanted to do with the animals, and specifically the birds and the snakes. They were always interested in how much money they could make for the different kinds of animals. But, the talks always came around to their fascination with snakes. It was important to educate everyone on how to identify a poisonous snake. I stressed leaving them alone, as well as the basic steps of what to do in the case of a poisonous snake bite.
While I was speaking with this group of Chocó men I became aware of a five gallon white plastic bucket that had been set in the center of our large circle. One Indian, with a small cup, would dip the cup in the bucket and take the cup and hand it to one of the Indians seated in the circle. They would take a drink and then hand him back the cup. The Indian would then go back to the bucket, refill the cup, and take it to the next Indian sitting next to the one that had just drunk. Little by little, as I spoke to the group, the cup made its way around the circle and was finally handed to me.
Who knows where the water came from, or if it was safe to drink. But given the circumstances, you don't ask questions, you drink, so drink I did! The sip nearly knocked me on my back. I had just sampled a stout liquor. I asked what the drink was called and they told me, 'chicha fuerte' (which translates literally as: 'strong drink'). I did, however notice a strangely familiar after taste to the drink. I asked if the drink went by any other name. They told me yes, when the drink is new, and not ready to drink, they call it 'chicha de mais.'
In that moment seated over a days' journey from our house in El Real with twenty Chocó Indians, I realized that I had been had by Diego. I drank the nasty 'chicha de mais' to please Augustina, and Diego partied weeks later with the ‘chicha fuerte’ after it had a chance to ferment!