The Lost Paradise of Panamá

I never thought too much about the superstitions I grew up with in the Midwest until I traveled. They were so ingrained that I hardly knew they existed. The biggest one was the number 13, and especially, Friday the 13^th. I think second to this was being on church property, even in the parking lot—not saying a bad word or thinking a bad thought.

In Panama I saw things that were strange to me. Even now there is talk about witches, shamans, and voodoo. My brother-in-law, Cef, is a retired police officer near the Atlantic side. He is nearly bed-ridden now with diabetes and can hardly move from the bedroom to the porch. To this day, the Kuna consider him a “medicine man.” During the invasion, he was picked up, questioned, and released. He has always been a pillar in the family.

When Cef first became ill, his wife, Ferminia was blamed by some. It was a whisper campaign. Here was a hard-working, church-going, tough woman, who was being talked about behind her back as being a “witch.” As time went on, the rumors died down, but still, there seemed to be some that were doubtful. Why? Because how could something bad happen to a good person unless they, or a family member, wished for it?

One of Cef’s sons was into drugs. Now…he’s infected with AIDS. In Spanish, it’s SIDA. He probably got it from a dirty needle. No one touches him because they think SIDA is contagious.

Ferminia is also looking after the son.

My Father-in-law, Bilo, was born between 1916 and 1920. He doesn’t recall when, exactly. The building that housed his records, and many others, burned down in the interior long ago.

He carries no cedula. In Panama, no one bothers the elderly. Bilo is a man of the earth. He is very much tied into the cycles of light and dark; sunshine and rain.

He knows things. Like the farmers I knew in the Midwest. If the hair on their horses and cows was thicker in August, they knew, because the animals knew—it was going to be a tough winter.

Bilo has been respected and revered as someone who possesses skills that are fading. A couple of years ago as I left from Tocumen International, and my wife Elia was staying behind for a few months to assist her father, we ran into Panamanian acquaintances on the way to New York. After the standard greetings, “How are you, the family?”… they asked, “How’s Bilo?”

I mention this because now that Bilo’s son-in-law, Esidrito, the husband to his daughter Giga, passed away recently due to many years of cancer—his family has accused Bilo of witchcraft. That somehow, he used his knowledge of the land to poison him.

We helped with Esi’s funeral. And now his relatives want Giga’s family out of the house that she built, but it was on Esi’s parents’ land in Arraijain. Giga’s mistake? Not getting a title transfer.

Bilo would walk until his calluses fell off. He’d travel from one family member to the next. He walked because he said if he didn’t, “…my bones will collapse…”

And now Bilo himself, who can hardly move nowadays, is with his son Cef, who is struggling with diabetes, and Cef’s son, infected with SIDA. Isn’t it amazing that the person in the middle is Ferminia? The so-called bruja? She is one helluva tough woman. I have so much respect for her.

It’s hard, sometimes, to talk common sense. And when I do speak in Panama, I must constantly remind myself that words have meaning.

There’s a lot of talk that takes place in the States, and much of it is bull manure. In Panama, as a gringo or gringa, there are those that take your words as fact.

If you are giving your opinion only—make sure they understand that.

Here are a few other interesting folktales from the Americas:

• If you are hot, or have recently used an iron, do not shower. Why? The difference between the heat of the iron and the temperature of the water from the shower will cause your body to deform.
• Do not let your kids out at night. There’s a “night breath”, a fog, that carries bacteria.
• If you go to a funeral and step on the land, your clothing must be washed as quickly as possible.
• The Nine Days and the Year of Black all means something. There are nine days of mourning after the passing of a loved one. There is also the wearing of black, by some, as a remembrance of the loved one.
• Dirt from a graveyard. The tale is if you take a sprinkle of dirt from someone’s grave, and move it outside the graveyard, and someone steps on it, (such as at their front door), they could be harmed.
• I believe that strange things may happen, but it doesn’t mean that they can’t be explained.