(Panama)...The Naso indians, a few of which live in Costa Rica, but the majority in Panama wedged against the Costarricense border, inhabit 11 small villages along the Río Teribe, a swift-moving river. It took 90 minutes to reach the first village, Wekso, going upstream, but approximately 20 going down. (One must be in a different area of Latin America for Ws and Ks to be predominate in nouns.)
To reach the area I took a small plane from Panama City’s second airport, Albrook, to Bocas del Toro (a pretty cool set of African-Caribbean islands off the Panama mainland that already is fairly full of Europeans and Americans), before staying on the same plane back to the mainland town of Changuinola. This basically is a banana plantation. The plane was so small that there was no—I was told when I, the only tourist, got off the plane in Changuinola—room for any luggage. I did have a backpack with me, so could cope.
One needs very little if the truth be known. When I did get my stuff back, in Bocas del Toro, several things were missing. My Spanish is so-so but good enough to be understood, but that did not help, and such is travel. From Changuinola I jumped on a small bus that went 10 kilometres to a small hamlet on the Río Teribe called El Silencio. It contains a convenience shack, two dogs and a sharp slope leading to the river. This is where the Naso picked me up in a wooden dugout canoe. Soon the boat journeys between steep wooded slopes and over shallow, rocky sandbars. Green Amazon kingfishers darted from sentry branches. Wekso is fascinating.
The Naso (www.odesen.org/ingles/weckso.html) now use it for the occasional tourist. It comprises four accommodations blocks, and also has a rudimentary shower, an open deck and a kitchen. Its former use was as a paramilitary training camp set up by former Panamanian dictator and CIA agent Manuel Noriega, who now is rotting in a Miami jail. From the river, one can hardly see the entrance to the place, it consisting of a thin rocky strand leading to steps cut in the hill side. Camouflage-coloured paint adorns a wall, on which is written some bad poetry extolling the attributes of the Motherland. Snakes, sharp daggers and rifles also have been drawn. Wekso stands on the top of a bluff. To the far side of its small area is a very steep path that leads to former training area. I found some military ordnance and also saw an animal called a grisón. It is uncommon to see, being secretive, and the Naso were very excited that I saw one. One afternoon we continued up river to visit Sieyik, which is the capital of the Naso territory, which still does not have official designation as an autonomous governing area, status enjoyed by all other tribes in Panama. The Naso is the only people in the entire Americas, from the top of Alaska to Tierra del Fuego, with a recognised king.
His emblem, a crown below an arch of 11 stars (one for each village) is badly painted on the badly constructed town hall. An open area of grass is in the middle of numerous shacks and rutted pathways. The main item of attire here is the Wellington boot. The village, also on a bluff, was dry when I was there. Lunch, including a whole pod of guava, was eaten at one of these shacks, after which I walked down hill for a dancing display by the villagers.
One young boy was wearing an ocelot skin. I bought some Naso arrows in a quiver, which I have, and I like, but which two minutes after my purchase I wondered how I was to get it back to the States. Back at Wekso I watched a woman wade across the river along a route known to all the villagers. At one spot, it came up to her chest. She cooked me chicken, and I chatted to one of the Naso. His story was fascinating. His father escaped the drug wars and repercussions of Colombia, skipping from town to town, island to island, to the San Blas Islands off of Panama.
These are run by the Kuna indians in a totally autonomous manner, and I have been there for the most gorgeous islands and scuba diving of my life. This he had felt was too close to Colombia, so he skipped again and ended up in Changuinola. Then he somehow made his way up the Río Teribe to the Naso, where he married and settled. My friend was the result. He matter of factly told me of how he had been disturbed by a panther and managed to kill it (the alternative truly had been to be killed).
We sat late into the night, which was totally still. In the morning I watched some Golden-hooded tanagers and a magnificent Long-tailed tyrant and sat by the river waving at the passengers of the river taxis. This was one time I felt the world’s only tourist, and I like to fool myself into thinking that once in a while. A small water taxi takes people from a small river north of Changuinola across the Bahía de Almirante to Bocas del Toro. It is a wonderful way to reach the islands, and I saw the small island (I first saw it two years before) that is the only breeding site of the Red-billed tropicbird in the distance.