Ride on the Black Side: Colon Tingz, Bwoi

What does one super-cute, hot, chocolate, [and broke] teacher do during a 10-day vacation? This was the question. Not a bad problem to have, I must admit.

Months ago I had planned on entertaining a visiting guest, or going to Nicaragua, or returning to Costa Rica or buzzing Bocas del Toro. All of those plans fell through because I am on a budget, since I am traveling to Sierra Leone in T minus ___ days!!! I toyed with the idea of Boquete in the northern part of Panama because I wanted to spend some time in nature, going on hikes, writing, and just planning. Planning whatever the heck I want to plan. But then I did a bit of research and realized it would be too expensive to spend a week there andddddddd I’m not exactly sure that it would have been the most poppin’ place for a single lady like myself. Yeah, sure I could do some writing and thinking and planning, but the truth is right now I am not sure that I would have gotten a lot of writing done because I would have found a way to be un-relaxed. And secondly, I tend to over-think and over-plan; I am actually making an effort to relax and trying not to plan so many things in my life. I am still grasping the concept of truly ‘going with the flow.’ And let Bee tell you: it ain’t easy. It ain’t easy. Although, I have loads of fun, do crazy things here and there  (all within reason), I tend to spend a lot of time making lists, jotting down plans, and seriously over-planning even things that I over which I have no control.

So what did I do this break? I didn't make any plans. Not one, single plan. I simply (well, not really), decided that I would sit at home and do absolutely nothing until I was inspired to get up and go. Saturday I rested because the bed summoned my body. By Sunday, my good friend and partner in many ridiculous things around Panama, reminded me that this was the same weekend last year that he “allowed” me to be in his circle. In other words, he wanted us to celebrate our year anniversary of an amazing, rewarding, and truly eccentric friendship and many adventures later. He didn’t have to ask twice. I packed an overnight bag and headed to ‘di Colon side.’ Things were sure to pop-off as it was independence weekend. He would march with his school, we would up-turn in the streets, eat lots of street meat, hit the club, and be merry---all with the blackness and richness of Colon City.

I am not sure that I have ever blogged about Colon proper. But dammit, they deserve a few hash tags, peace signs, and a big, warm thank-you hug from me. Colon is Caribbean. Colon is rich. Colon is intriguing. Colon is unique. Colon is black. Colon is me.

Colon captured my heart in a way that gringos who live by traveller’s book wouldn’t understand. Every piece of Colon reminded me of an experience that I had in other parts of the world where the diaspora exists. Every well-coordinated, neon-colored, leopard/cheetah, sandal-wearing ensemble, gelled-hairstyle, reminded me of home. A home that could be anywhere. A home that could be Georgia Avenue day in DC. A home that could be MASH in Guyana. A home that could be New Year’s Day at Lumley Beach in Sierra Leone. A home that could be a Friday-fish fry in Barbados. A home that could be anywhere where my aunties, uncles, sisters, brothers, cousins, friends live.

As we waited for my friend to finish marching with his school, we enjoyed the ocean breeze from the Atlantic sitting pretzel-style on the back lawn of the Washington Hotel in Colon City. Soon after, we set out to handle the most important business: food. I was able to get a taste of the independence kick-off parade, which left me wanting more. We found a $3.50 comida sold by a church on the street. Win.  What’s culture here? The combination of the obviously West Indian dishes being called “comida.”

Next up…partying. Y’all know I love a good dance. It was a holiday Sunday. So no work on Monday and Quincena; needless to say the club would be a win and indeed it was. I danced with my friends. Alone. With strangers. Danced so much a girl invited me to a birthday “parking.” I danced so much, the people felt curious about me. And I felt this curiosity.

Monday was a beach day. We spent just a dollar to journey to Playa La Angosta. The dollar bus ride was made more interesting by the beautiful black man that adorned the seat in front of me. He was the symbol, the essence of being on the Caribbean side. His black shone. Teeth glistened. Jet-black shape-up screamed fresh. I didn’t speak to him, but I remember the neighborhood where he got off. Don’t judge me.

The beach of course was---well, I can’t really say anything bad about a beach in November ;)

Having been intrigued by the glimpse that I caught of a Colon-style parade, I decided that I would go back to Panama City, collect some more clothes and return on Tuesday morning for the Colon Day Parade.  

Every November 5^th, the people of Colon take the street to celebrate the foundation of the Colon city. People fill the sidewalks and the streets, corners, and even rooftops to witness the local schools march. And just when you think the show is over, the independence bands show up late in the evening and blow their horns, bang their drums, and fill the city with their pride.

Colon is where there a large number of black migrants settled after having arrived from primarily Barbados and Jamaica for the construction of the canal back in the day. Needless to say, the Caribbean influence and remnants of Caribbean culture is heavy. Old men talkin’ shyt to their other gray-haired friends on porches. Older Caribbean women with one special gold tooth. A plate of oxtail, rice and peas and a salad. And my brand new favorite---icing glass---and the “original, original, icing glass,” as the aunty-esque woman shouted down the carnival route. Colon is the kind of place where you come to be reminded of the fact that really, we all are one. It is the place where you see so many things that are similar in your life as a black person. It’s the kind of place that tourists say don’t go to because its’ building are decrepit, its trashcans are overflowing. But its’ trashcans ain’t the only thing overflowing. The culture, the richness, the soul---Colon is overflowing with these things as well.  It is the place where an old man, whom I have never met, can eye me with a toothpick in his mouth, and speak to me with a familiarity as a patois-esque accent laces his words asking if I “change up.”  It is a place where I would respond as if I had known this man as an uncle or so before. It is a place where I understand nuances that some people just wouldn’t get.

This is where I saw a man playing the drums in a band, who reminded me so much of my grandfather that I chased him. His tall and stately presence, his OG hat, his long Kissi chin, his Bambara finger length, his entire swag. I chased him down the parade route. I bumped into old ladies. Stepped on kids’ toes. Weaved throughout hundreds of people in the crowd. No matter what I did, I couldn’t catch up with his steady pace. All I wanted was a picture. Then it occurred to me that sometimes it’s best to just take in the moment and not try to capture it. Maybe I would have captured more of him with my own eyes, heart and soul if I weren’t so busy chasing him down with a camera. He made me think of my paternal grandfather and it made me sad, but happy at the same time. Maybe if I would have just took it all in, I would have had more peace. I have been working on this more since that moment.

Trying to learn to just enjoy the ride.  Next stop---AFRICA! :)

When Drums Traveled Oceans

When you feel like you are in your native land, but you hear Spanish and quickly realize that you are in a country, at the tip of Central America, in the mouth of south America’s Colombia.

When you are grateful to see the same tropical colors reminiscent of your ancestral home

When you are pleased to see people whose cheek bones, lips, noses, body structures resemble yours

When you can play with a little girl’s hair…a girl who could have been you when you were her age

When you can smile and nod at each person in a way that only people who are proud of their blackness recognize

When you taste that rice made over a wooden stove with a chicken combination similar to what your mommy makes

When you can look around and say “Hey, we do that too!”

When you can see how your ancestors once moved their waists and feet to the same Congo drums

When you can pinpoint things that originated from Africa and were carried across oceans into a foreign land now meshing into the land of the foreign

When you can appreciate another culture, because it looks like what you know

When you can look at another person, in a land foreign to you, and see yourself. See your brothers and sisters and aunts and uncles and cousins. Then you see just how connected we once were.

Happy Black History Month family!

Pictures from La Feria de Diablos y Congos in Portobelo, Panama. The tradition hails from Afro-Antillean interpretation of tactics used by slaves to rebel against their masters. The devil represents the slave master and the people taunting it represent that African slaves. Women in colorful dresses sing songs of freedom while sway their hips melodically to the beats of the drums. It is said to be a cultural and colorful display of the struggle of good versus evil. The event is held only every two years on the old fort ruins of Portobelo, a town located in the Caribbean province of Colón. I had the pleasure of spending several days there and fell in love with the town for it's slow paced caribbean vibe, freshly cooked food, and abundance of pretty tropical plants. I am a sucker for the vibrant colors of the tropics.

La Feria de Diablos y Congos

nothing like roast meat at an outdoor gathering

djege man...y'all know the type.

diablos from Bocas Del Toro

end the night with a display of fireworks

doesn't this look like Sierra Leone? or Barbados? Or Guyana? Or you name it.

Sun, Sizzla, and Sand

up close and personal

So this past weekend Panama celebrated its independence from Colombia. I specify that because apparently they celebrate a few more independences this month. Basically, November in Panama is one big...beach party! Who am I to complain?

Not to mention it only cost $3.00 to get to the beaches on the Pacific side, which is where I spent my weekend. Something about knowing that I can see so much for so little is empowering. I get excited about the thought.

By now many of you have seen my picture with the phenomenal reggae artist that is Sizzla! Before I even knew when Panama's holiday was, I knew I would be at the concert. Even had my outfit planned. And of course I didn't get my ticket until two days before, haha. Typical.

Anyway, at the last minute I was convinced to head to the beach on Friday night instead of early Saturday morning as I had planned, in order to beat the traffic. Usually, I like to think things out a bit more, but I said whatever; this is all about adventure and experience, right? I was already packed so I did a quick mental checklist and went outside to catch a taxi to the bus terminal. There was only one problem and one problem only; I left after 9 and the last bus was leaving to Gorgona at 9:30. But like the 'blessing pikin' that I am, I made it (despite the taxi driver driving intentionally slow after I indicated that I was in a rush.) Either he was scared of going above the speed limit or he wanted to prolong our ride together. Either way I was annoyed.

from my 'bus'

I rushed to the bus---well, little minivan type of thing. It’s what we call ‘podahpodah’ in Sierra Leone, a ‘minibus’ in Guyana, or a ‘trhttp://trotrodiaries.tumblr.com/otro’ in Ghana. I was extremely close to this one guy who was adamant about sharing his 44th birthday plans with me. He told me about everything from his family to his birthday outfit. 

I finally arrived to the the town of Gorgona and you could feel the calm before the storm; it was clear that the next day would be a day of partying!

sunny days

hidin' out under the cliff catching waves

Saturday came quickly and I checked into a little house owned by a surfer guy in a beach town called El Palmar. This particular beach is frequented by many surfers because of the waves. There is also a surf school. I enjoyed the waves and all, but I'll leave the surfing to the surfers :) I will admit that it felt good to have the waves take you with them.

hey there

beautiful rock structure

I enjoyed the beach a bit more with my homegirl, who is actually learning to surf. Then we got ready and headed out to make an impression---I mean to go to the Sizzla Concert. Yay for Sand and Sizzla. How much better does it get?

Oh wait, it gets better!

I managed to make my way into the VIP section, which basically meant I was free to go riiiiight up close to the front. I figured why shouldn't I be as close as possible to the stage? I will only see Sizzla in Panama once, right? 

Okay, the VIP scheme wasn't that easy. I paid $40 for my ticket which was general admission, but my friends paid $40 on the day of and they got a VIP ticket. I would have been okay with this if there wasnt such a bigggg difference. Like general admission was like being on the back of the bus and not by choice. And I definitely did not come all the way to Panama to be in the back. No, no, no. Not Bintu Mary.

Needless to say, I put on my DMV charm, walked up to the security guy and asked him what the price difference was so I could pay it. He directed me to the ticket booth. I asked them the same question. They told me to hold on. Luckily my friend Javi had a better idea. He would just hold my hand and cover it with his VIP wristband and we would walk right in. We tried it. It worked---or so we thought, until I saw the security guy walking towards me out of the corner of my eye. Lol okay #fail1.

We explained the situation to him. My friend told me to speak only English. That would help our story if I pretended to be a clueless American girl. Then somehow my friend asked the security guard where he was from...and u guessed it...they were both from the city of Colon. That was it; in less than five seconds, that security guard walked right back and we walked right into VIP without problem. Later we slipped him $3.00. Gotta love third world hookups.

passionate performer

feelin' his music

And with that, I was rest assured in the VIP section.

Next mission was to work my way up to the front! And center. And if you know me, then you know I succeeded. I mean go hard or go home. And home is far from here. ;)

sandy days

The experience, the VIP hustle and all was amazing. The stadium was basically a stage set on the beach. So my feet were in sand. All the more hippie/bohemian and I loved every minute of it. Even the fact that the generator kept going out was exciting for me. When the lights went out we could see the stars. I have never thought the sky looked so beautiful. When my crew complained about the lights going out, I reminded them that we were at a reggae concert in Central America on the beach, feet in sand, how many more times will we be able to have this opportunity? Better yet, how grateful should we be that we even have this opportunity?

I even took a nap right there on the sand until the lights came back on. This was my type of thing. Beach vibin’ and reggae vibin’.

everyone diggin' the vibe

Rastas, backpackers, Panamanians, and a Sierra Leonean American girl who once dreamed of beach concerts. All of us came from different places for one thing: music. For the love of Sizzla's music and to witness his art. Music, if nothing else, is truly a powerful means of bringing people together. I will always remember the day I was walking in Suriname, a small country in South America. A black Surinamese approached me selling cds; I asked him what the hottest song was right now. He started singing ‘Yori Yori. There I was, somewhere in South America, oceans apart from Nigeria and the hottest song in Suriname, was a song by a Nigerian group. At that moment, I realized this: music is a binding force. Music transcends borders and oceans. 

Remember! Never take off your seatbelt---you never know what's next on Bee's Backseat---stay tuned for this weekend's adventure!

Takin' the Road to San Blas

And then there were two chicks and a 4x4. So my wonderful cousin came to visit me in Panama. My first guest :) She wanted to visit the San Blas Islands, which are a popular tourist destination here. Seeing as though, it was on my list of things to accomplish for October, I gladly accepted her excitement and planned a trip to San Blas. All we had to  do was deposit the money in a Kuna guy’s account and then rent a 4x4, as the road to San Blas must be driven with a 4x4. It became clear why shortly after getting on the road. 

Of course, there’s always the journey before you get to the paradise itself. And indeed San Blas was paradise, but the journey---well---it was nothing short of interesting and indeed triumphant by the end.

We began our journey from Panama City to Kuna Yala, which is the name of the land of the Kuna’s at about 6 am. We had a GPS. Or so we thought. I will explain later. We had been instructed to get gas by the airport because after that we might not run into any more gas stations. So we did just that. Only that of course, being two foreigners, we couldn’t really find the gas station or get back on the road after we found it.  We finally got back onto Carretera Panamerica somehow. We drove for about 25 minutes before running into the protesters. What protesters you ask? I knew you would! Well in quick summary of Panamanian news, the government tried to sell the land in the 'Free Zone'. The Free Zone is a tariff free shopping area in the city of Colon. Colon is a historical city in Panama, however, the city of Colon remains destitute and many live in conditions of poverty. Not surprisingly, it is the city where many of the beautiful black people live. Colon has been forgotten. Thus, the Coloneses are frustrated with the government’s plan to sell this land in the Free Zone. Quite frankly, I think they are frustrated period at the overall and long standing abandonment of their needs by the Panamanian government and rightfully so. For about two weeks now there have been numerous protests scattered throughout the city with regard to this situation.

the point where the road block begin. protesters to the left.

  

So yes, we were stuck on this road as police had blocked off the road. It wouldn’t have been that bad if there was another way to get to San Blas. Anyway, this guy told us to follow him since he would be going in the same direction.  We made a U turn in an attempt to follow him and we lost him. Great. Just great. But luckily, (I think) our GPS was still doing us some good because somehow, we ended up on the road that we were trying to get to before the protest. We kept on drivin’ until we got to this point where the GPS told us to go straight. The only problem was this was a road going one way on our side. We literally had to cross this major highway. This time that there was an even bigger dip in the median. We attempted to cross it thinking it would be as simple as the one we encountered near the road block. Not quite. We got stuck. Uh oh. But guess who came in handy? The protesters! There were about 4 or 5 guys that were cheering us on and when their vocal directions couldn’t help they came and pushed us out of the ditch while I hit the gas. What an experience!

Even though the GPS said 169 KM to our destination, I wasn’t too confident about that GPS. Call me a little old-fashioned but I am always weary of GPS especially in Central America. Luckily we saw a sign that said indicated the road to Kuna Yala was on the left. But my cousin thought we should follow the GPS. I followed it for a bit then I stopped at a local Fonda* and asked if we were on the right path to San Blas. Just like I thought, we needed to turn around and go back to where we saw that sign.

As we began ascending the hills to Kuna Yala, I said another prayer to God and thought how my mom would have a heart attack if she knew her first born and only daughter was driving up some hills in a jungle in Central America. But then again, I think she has started to realize just how crazy her first-born is. The road was not an easy one; there were even some parts missing on the road, but we made it! And boy was it worth it! Though, I am not too sure if I will be the one driving next time.

You arrive at a checkpoint and pay a small tax because the Kuna Yala is a protected land. Then you continue on driving up and down some more curvy hills. I think the second set of curves are worse. 

Then you arrive at a port designated by your Kuna tour guide and park your car. So we parked and waited for our guy Senor Blas to meet us and take us on the boat. And there began the reward for braving the road.

The water---an incredible, deep blue, turquoise at times, aqua green at times and just plain awesome---was enough to remind you that every fear you had driving up there was worth it.

starfish mid ocean <3

our little lobster friends. $2.00 a pop.

nothing like fresh catch

our kuna jewelry

As you sail, you feel this sense of freedom being on the water. Just enjoying the breeze, the ride and the array of blues that can be found was enough. But of course, that’s not all. There are 365 islands of San Blas. I am sure each has its own little flavor. They are all very small islands that you could walk around in less than 10 minutes, some less. We visited a total of three islands. The first one was an Isla Pero where we just waded in the water and prayed for the sun to come out. And of course posed for our San Blas pics lol. Then we travelled to a second one for lunch. I swear this one had some kind of bugs that chose to only bother me. They were stinging me but leaving no marks and my cousin thought I was crazy because she wasn’t being bothered. Go figure. 

baywatchin' at San Blas

been my partner in crime since 88'

sunshine and smiles.

Finally, we spent the last couple of hours on Isla Perika. Oh my. This is where I realized that it wasn’t fair to call this a beach experience. Literally we were on an island with near-white and soft sand, clear water, starfish, palm tree with coconuts, and the peace of the ocean. The best part is that it’s not like a busy beach. Just you and the island.

I honestly thought that it was being a bit oversold when I heard people talk about it. However, when I visited, I realized why people can’t really say much about San Blas. It’s just one of those things, you have to experience. Very few words will be able to capture the essence of the San Blas Islands. Panama is up 1.

San Blas is not a beach; it is a paradise. 

Stay tuned for the next blog post because this weekend will be jampacked with fun as Panama celebrates its many independences. Pictures from the Sizzla concert in Gorgona beach and a special treat on Monday. There is a place I have been dying to visit and I have finally been invited! Hint: I mentioned it during this post. Put your seatbelts back on!

*Fonda- Local restaurants that typically serve cheap traditional food.