Embera Drua Village

By Kim Walker

There are not many places left in the world where outsiders can sneak a peek at another culture seemingly lost in time, a place where inhabitants live off the land, dress in native attire, practice ancient pre-Columbian traditions and use medicinal herbs still undiscovered by western civilization. Panama’s Embera villages, deep in the rainforest, are such a place.

According to stories passed down through the generations, the Emberas migrated from South America’s Amazon to Colombia’s Choco region in the 16th century, then crossed into Panama’s rugged Darien Gap to escape the Spanish conquistadors. Semi-nomadic, they moved through the Darien’s impenetrable jungle in tiny communities, erecting stilted, thatched huts along riverbanks ten feet off the ground to protect themselves from jaguars, flooding and rival Kuna and Waounan tribes. They thrived in the living forest, fishing in the rivers and hunting rodent-like pintado, monkeys and wild boars with blowpipes, poison darts and 12-foot spears.

In the last century, the Emberas were forced to move yet again. Hunting yields in the Darien dwindled when Latinos moved in and Pan-American Highway construction crews decimated their food supply. In the 1970s, political turmoil, Colombian guerillas and drug traffickers finally forced most of the 15,000 Emberas westward, toward the central part of the country where they settled along the Chagres River, not far from the Panama Canal.

Native communities living within what is now the 129,000 hectare Chagres National Park have had to adjust to restrictions established in 1996. No longer permitted to hunt, log or domesticate animals, Emberas now must depend almost solely on fishing. To create economic solutions for their growing needs without compromising their culture, some villages are turning to tourism. Most visitors to Drua village come for the day, but a few tour operators from Panama City offer overnight stays. Trips begin with a hour’s drive north to Lake Alajuela, where visitors transfer into a motorized, teetering canoe for the one-hour journey.

The sounds of nature are all around, from the calls of a toucan to the rush of a waterfall. A young Embera boy perched at the bow with pole-in-hand and a turquoise loincloth flapping against his dark skin, expertly navigates the rapids as stoic blue herons standing in the sand impassively watch. Thatched roofs of stilted huts, clustered together in groups of 15 to 20 families, become visible peeking through a lush jungle dense with banana palms. Coasting to shore, tourists are welcomed with music emanating from deer-skinned drums and bamboo flutes. Bare-breasted Embera women with long silky hair and bold-patterned skirts lead visitors to the communal hut where the Noko chief speaks through an interpreter. Women demonstrate their timeless weaving techniques before serving lunch—fried tilapia and plantains wrapped in giant leaves. Barefooted villagers perform languid native dances before day-trippers leave. Giggling children find amusement playing in the sand or surprising guests with pet monkeys. Afternoons are spent hiking with the medicine man, swimming in the river, or relaxing in hammocks until darkness falls.

In the flickering candlelight, the medicine man tells stories of lost love and black magic before visitors drift off on floors of open-sided thatched huts 10 feet off the ground. Tranquility blankets this gentle village, centuries removed from the bustle of modern city life.