News from Palmera

After six months of unanswered emails, worrying lack of news and uncertainty, we had admittedly began losing hope regarding any positive results from our work in Palmera, our first project of this trip. We had sent countless emails to the Costa Rican Humanitarian Foundation asking for news from the Cabecar Indigenous Reserve, and for the report we had written for them, so we could perhaps attract investment, tourism and volunteers to continue the process that the Foundation had started and we had enhanced during our nearly two months living with a local family. We had found a magnificent community, rich in resources and culture, but lacking in infrastructure. A very promising land where a terribly apathetic mindset obscured the vision of the future for the youth, despite their eagerness and commitment to education.
It was exactly with education, the bridge between preserving their ancestral history and bringing positive development to the community, where the key to the gate of the future lay for Palmera and the majority of its inhabitants. Although we focused our activities on strengthening the link between these two factors and improving local understanding of their importance, we hit a massive road block very early in the form of corruption.
The newly appointed principal of the high school had taken advantage of the seeds planted by his predecessor, now working a few hundred meters away as principal of the elementary school, and didn't take long to harvest the rewards. There was factual evidence that he was repeatedly using school funds for personal use, buying personal hygiene products, food and alcohol, as well as rather heavy accusations of drug use on school grounds and in the presence of students. In addition, the president of the board of education, otherwise known as the town drunk, had taken a liking to the methods of the new principal and soon became involved in these insidious activities. The most worrying result of these acts was the constant cancellation of classes, three or four times a week for lack of food in the school cafeteria, and the inability of the faculty to buy teaching materials. Teachers had to use their own money for such purchases.
The students displayed a flagrant mistrust in the educational system as was demonstrated by the lacklustre attendance, which was well under fifty percent. Many of the young boys would rather work with their fathers in the nearby plantations. The girls, many of whom were already mothers, could not afford to waste their precious time at a school that didn't provide a meal nor an education, and preferred to tend their domestic duties, as Cabecar tradition dictates.
Infuriated upon realizing this, and urged on by members of the community, teachers and students, we wrote a letter to the regional authorities and the local board of education, asking for an internal investigation, a new directive and a series of conditions in order to achieve transparency and a more efficient administration in the years to come.
The effects of the letter were immediate, although not as impactful as we had hoped. As news of a board meeting to assess the situation spread through the town, fierce tension invaded the faculty, the student body and the general population, as everyone began dividing between those who supported the principal and those who quietly disapproved. Fortunately, there was a third group: those who had taken a stand against the principal and the president of the board. Unfortunately, the group only consisted of our host family, the school cook, as the teachers who had initially inspired and incited us to take action, ultimately denied everything in fear of losing their jobs. The board meeting, which was dramatically similar to a court trial was hindered by the principal, who made sure it was scheduled during school hours so that the few students who were willing to take a stand against him would not attend. Much to our dismay, Leo, the father of our family forbid us from attending, fearing an angry reaction from the two characters involved, who had proven to be rather unpredictable.
As we had expected, without lack of support for our cause, the principal asserted his position at the board meeting, gaining support from the board members, whom he and the president had appointed. The appointees were illiterate, an unlawful situation, as we came to find out.
Our projects at the school became severely hampered on account of our actions, as we were no longer welcomed at the school. Some of the teachers were certainly reluctant to be seen speaking to us, so we spent most of our time with our family.
What had begun as an emotive and devoted campaign, ended quietly as we left Palmera without any visible results to our actions. Eventually, once we had the time and resources, we extended our letter to the Ministry of Education, but only received an acknowledgement of receipt from them. The past few months we had often wondered, albeit hopelessly, what had been of the situation in Palmera, and whether Leo, his family or anyone in town had fed the fire that we had ignited.

Surprisingly, yesterday we received a great piece of news from the Costa Rican Humanitarian Foundation.
The principal of the school has been sanctioned, and is being very carefully watched by the Ministry of Education. They are assessing the situation and may fire him in the coming weeks. From now on, the principal is not allowed to cancel classes, nor does he have access to funds, as it goes directly from the Ministry to the suppliers. The members of the board of education are now named democratically by the people and the student government has been given additional support and power. The people of Palmera are satisfied with these changes, which they directly attribute to the document we drafted in early November.

We left Palmera more than half a year ago, with an amazing experience to remember for the rest of our lives, but disappointed at being unable to make a lasting impact. Over the past few months, a mountain of disappointment had began to build on the foundations created during our time in Palmera as we poured our hearts and souls into several projects along the way but failed to see the end results. Thus, as you can imagine, it is extraordinarily rewarding and fulfilling to receive these news.
We can now see more clearly the importance of embroidering experiences, even the most marvelous ones, with actions which will last beyond memory.

"They are small things. They don't bring an end to poverty or lift us out of underdevelopment, they don't enforce social responsibility in means of production and exchange, and they don't expropriate Ali Baba's caves. But perhaps they set in motion the joy of doing, and translate it into specific acts. And, when all is said and done, acting on reality and changing it, although just a little bit, is the only way to prove that reality is transformable." - Eduardo Galeano (Uruguayan journalist and writer)

You can find the report we wrote to the Costa Rican Humanitarian Foundation and the letter to the Ministry of Education in our new 'Documents' section.

Wektë bas ra: Projects and Daily Life in Palmera

We arrived in Palmera on October 21st with a plethora of objectives. Some were commissioned by the Humanitarian Foundation, whereas others were personal. Our primary instruction from them was to complete a report which would enhance their understanding of the community, their progress and their needs. 

To do so, we carried out two workshops at  the local high school. One was dedicated to their academic and professional futures, in hope of encouraging them to continue their education after graduation and fulfil their potential. The other consisted of a cultural exchange, hoping to emphasize the importance of their identity; helping them comprehend the significance of retaining their native culture. For many of the students, it is a sacrifice to attend school everyday. Many of the females are mothers and housewives, while the young men could be earning a living for their families at the plantations. Furthermore, the average student walks for an hour to get to school, and some have to walk for up to three hours, as they live in houses wildly scattered across the mountain. Thus, we were incensed when we discovered a grave and pertinent problem affecting the educational institutions. Casually conversing with teachers, locals and in our visits to the school, we found out that a couple of key functionaries of the educational institutions were malignantly involved in negligence and embezzlement, leaving the students without lunch on a daily basis and the teachers without equipment. Having ignited our fire within, we urged them to take action. On behalf of the community, we helped them draft a letter to the regional authorities, asking for an internal investigation, a new directive and a series of requisites in order to achieve transparency and a more efficient administration in the years to come.

The foundation, who has been involved in numerous projects for the community, also collaborates closely with a group of artisan women. Envisioning increased visibility and documentation, we were asked to create a brief documentary on the intricate process of their craft; including pictures, videos and short biographies. However, we were disappointed by their lack of interest and cooperation when we summoned them to share their art. Sadly, the documentary will be undermined as a result. Similarly, the letter wasn´t signed by most of the people who initially endorsed it. What we initially thought to be fear of retribution may have turned out to be simply passivity or apathy. At the time of our departure, the powerful letter rested impotently in a dusty folder.

On a more positive note, we helped Leo, our host, write a proposal to build a lodge which will greatly improve the development and well being of the community. The Cabecar Cabin, as it will be named, will host tourists, students, researchers and will serve as a locale to impart technical courses. The foundation is now using this proposal to find the necessary funds to bring the project to life.

Needless to say, our time in Palmera was a rich and fruitful adventure, and the perfect beginning to our journey. Not a single day went by without a new experience or lesson.
For a month and a half, we were graciously hosted by a most exceptional indigenous family led by Genni and Leonel. Humbly but joyously, they live with Marilin (8), their cute and mischievous daughter, and their hardworking and curious son Junior (14), who loves Iron Maiden and playing the guitar. Their home is also graced by the presence of Genni´s lovely and bright stepsister Karen (10), who is a best friend and sister to Marilin; and Genni´s youngest brother Julio (16), who decided to leave the city of Limon and moved to Palmera this August, where he enjoys the peaceful and healthy life of the mountain and learns from Leo to become a working man.

In the mountain, away from electricity, the sun is the axis of time. There, daily life is ruled by the beaming star much more significantly than in the smog forests of concrete. Work, travel and any outdoor activity is determined by its light, and must first consult with its appearance. In a rare day at the reserve, we witnessed a momentous event in the advancement of the community. Curiously, it further increased their dependence on the sun. In the largest gathering we experienced, representatives of 35 households bought a small solar panel from a local development NGO. The panel gathers enough energy to power three light bulbs and charge a cellphone, but it is far from producing enough electricity to sustain all the needs of a modern home. Although lacking electricity has many repercussions, most of them are simple annoyances.
At dawn, the persistent rooster would succeed after three hours of irritating attempts of waking us from our   slumber. If rain was pouring, we stayed at home and wrote in our journals or drafted projects. We would read, relax in the hammock on the porch, play with the kids or philosophized as we contemplated the waterfalls cascading over the roof. Regularly, the rain would overflow the source of water used in the home - a small basin in the ravine a couple hundred meters into the forest. If so, we would accompany one of hosts, following the hose from the house through the scenic and wild creek.

When the weather permitted it, we would walk to the school or hike around the mountain, machete in hand. Also, we would help with domestic duties, such as cutting down trees, chopping them up for wood and carrying them back to the house; and collecting leaves and flowers to make paint, as well as picking oranges, lemons, cacao and other local fruits and vegetables. A week before the rain invaded us, we helped Leo dismantle the small warehouse adjoined to the house, and construct an additional room made of gorgeous red pilón (Hieronyma alchorneoides) taken from the "backyard".

Breakfast, lunch and diner consisted of rice, beans, and a boiled unripe banana. Often, they were accompanied by chicken, pork, or tuna, and never lacked a scrumptious glass of fresh juice. Vegetables would rarely be included in the meal. However, when they were, they had the flavour of fresh harvest that one can only savor in the mountain. Palmito (palm heart), shirabata (fern), malanga, yuca, carambola (starfruit) and sugar cane are some of the plants with which we delighted our palates. On occasion of our birthdays, we enjoyed a traditional feast, where we witnessed the slaughter of a 50 kg pig, which we marinated for a whole night and smoked it over a bonfire for a few hours. 

Before the rain dominated the local scenery, we would walk to the plaza at three in the afternoon, to participate barefoot in the mehenga - a pickup football game in a dirt field mined with cow excrement and sharp stones. Girls and boys of all ages above 15 played, showcasing their well trained abilities. Of course, they have a lot of practice, as football is the only sport leisure activity practiced by the community. Usually, we played until darkness would force us to return home covered in dirt, sweat and else. At the house, we would shower with the same water used for drinking and cooking, which is diverted to and from the "bath". Albeit cold, showering outdoors with buckets of water is revitalizing. In the late afternoon, as we waited for dinner, we would sing and play with the children or converse about culture and problems in the community or listen to stories. After dinner, we would retreat to our humble room by 7:30 pm, tired and fulfilled.

Jishtiä ba shkina: Cabecar Culture and Landscape

Deep in the jungle, where the imposing Cordillera Central begins its steep bow to the flatlands, the Cabecar community of Palmera live sheltered by the effervescent Zent river. From there, a sea of plantations distance the indians from the susceptible waters of the Caribbean, painting a never ending horizon melted between the clouds and the murky tree tops.

Two hours uphill from the river ‒ a bastion between two cultures struggling to coexist ‒ an exceptional family shared their home, lifestyle and affection with us for a month and a half. Their insatiable curiosity, motivation and courage made our stay a blissful and uniquely memorable experience.

There, only the patios are cleared for the commodity of the inhabitants. Every other inch of land is cloaked with an uncontrollable curtain of green, which impetuously overflows into the prints of humankind. The diverse and lively rain forest is appalling; palm trees of every kind, centenary giants, covered with vines which sprout from everywhere and climb the massive columns of red, white and green bark. Also, fleeting specs of colorful birds, frogs and flowery ornaments adorn the evergreen sight. Fortuitously, toucans, parrots, lovebirds and smaller melodies in motion would visit the line of trees around the house, thus announcing a halt to the incessant rain.

For the first three weeks, the sun burned our skin, sharply, as if through a magnifying glass. The rain, backstage, awaited its opportunity to shine - or rather, dim - briefly appearing to freshen the air and feed the soil. At night, the moon was a mirror image of the sun, projecting all of its might. It shone so bright that shadows grew from our feet as we marvelled at the infinite spectacle of the milky way.

The masonry of the Cabecar women is dictated by the lunar periods. Only during the three days before and after the full moon can they begin the formidable labour of collecting mastate; the source of the material from which all of their clothes were made in past times. For many years, the mastate tree went unused, as the ancient knowledge of the craft had been forgotten. However, recently, the women rediscovered the skill thanks to an elder (our host´s father), who had retained the knowledge. But now that their clothes are products of a foreign culture, the material is used to make art instead.

Although the women sell these art pieces, the local economy is not impacted by these products, as they haven´t yet reached their full market potential. As of now, they only receive symbolic amounts from the few tourists who approach the secluded area or from good willing acquaintances of the Humanitarian Foundation, who serve as intermediaries and sell the art themselves.

Most of the men work strenuously in the banana and palm oil plantations on the edge of the reserve, while the women take care of their small crops and farm animals. Moreover, the women spend countless hours cooking meals over wood and fire, waking up as early as three in the morning to have breakfast ready by six. Children and teenagers, as well as some inquisitive mothers, attend school ‒ a decade-long concept for them. Speaking of motherhood, grandmothers who haven´t reached thirty years of age may be shocking to most of us, but to them it´s an ordinary occurrence. Judging by their intricate and confusing genealogy, their family trees must look like a map of the Madrid subway system.

Upon our arrival, we had a romantic vision of archaic indians, alienated from the far reaching hand of globalization, but confused as they observe how modernity attacks their identities and impedes their way of life. We have found a timid community, but one that is aware of the events happening far beyond their land. Sadly, they absorb the new culture faster than they are able to preserve their own. 

The fear and preoccupation for the loss of identity and culture is notable among the adults, and some of the youth. However, greed, comfort and a hint of innocent ignorance have submerged them into the convenience and amenity of the modern world. They are years past the traditional indigenous group that we erroneously imagined, but they still have a grip, however fragile, on the values and traditions that have persisted through history. The main channel through which this inheritance has travelled down the generations is the language. Cabecar is one of the four indigenous languages that are still active in Costa Rica, but marginalization leads many to reject their mother tongue and their roots altogether.

Life among the Cabecars is simple and quiet, but laborious. One does not need much, nor is there much to have, as humans do not own; nature does. The only possessions are their zinc roofed homes ‒ scattered around the mountain, it can take three hours to visit certain neighbors ‒ and the bare necessities; bought at a supermarket across the river. Everything else is taken from the mountain respectfully, previously asking for permission in order to avoid the lethal bite of the terciopelo (bothrops asper) snake.

Silence is constant, peaceful and harmonious. It is only interrupted by animals, rain and laughter ‒ the lighthearted reaction to problems. Silence, often mistaken by outsiders as stupidity, is a means of communication. However, it is much more than that, it is a protecting veil under which their affluent spirituality and philosophy has survived against the currents of imposing civilizations. 

It is our hope that this sensational culture finds a way to avoid fading into the quickly rising tide of capitalism and evolves to maintain its own traditions while absorbing the benefits of technology and modern life.