All of us awoke very early expecting to meet some unusually secluded people that only have had a peek into the window of civilization or rarely have ventured out into honking traffic in the glare of car headlights. “Has anybody gone to meet a group of Tribal Indians who are Deaf before?” I wondered anxiously.

We had a four hour long journey to the Darien Province which is at the very eastern end of Panama, which shares a border to Colombia. This Province is the largest in Panama, covering an area of nearly 6,100 miles, which were covered by rivers, thick tropical rainforest, high peaks and is considered by many to be a dark and menacing place. It is considered one of the most pristine, untouched tropical ecosystems that can still be found in the Americas, being that this province is also the country’s least inhabited.

While we were on our way, we were wondering if we would meet Deaf Indians. Alvin, a local Deaf Panamanian citizen, decided to join us as an extra guide. When we are going deep into the jungle, I don’t mind using as many guides we could have!

Me and Iris Aranda, the native Panamanian and professional artist, were stunned to see the presence of so many Panama National Police officers wearing crisp uniforms and machine guns at the first security checkpoint. One female soldier who knew some sign language, after watching us sign, came to us to see if she could be of some help. Iris explained to her and the other surrounding soldiers in Spanish through several different communicative methods, by writing on notepad, using some verbal Spanish, and even sign language asking them if they knew of any Deaf tribal Indians. Explained Aranda, “We are doing a story on Deaf tribal Indians in Panama with DeafNation.”

Aranda is a true trilingualist, having the ability to both speak English and Spanish, including American Sign Language and Panamanian Sign Language, which was a big help to us.

At that point the Panamanian soldiers became excited over the presence of a Deaf media outlet covering Deaf Panamanians in their home country. They announced we would go through several checkpoints, and asked us to go to the Meteli checkpoint specifically. All checkpoint security people had been alerted about us, and gave us the immigrant papers stamped. Thinking it was a note, we drove a little bit further and stopped at the second checkpoint. Good thing we had the papers because the checkpoint police officer asked us for the papers. We were now far away from the city limits. While we waited to go through the second checkpoint, we saw Indians passing us. The checkpoint security gave us VIP treatment with big, broad smiles, which made us feel welcome in their country.

We finally arrived the Meteli checkpoint, with all the soldiers welcoming us to their base. We walked inside the bus while an officer checked our passports, just following procedure while we were given the red carpet treatment, there was still official processing to do.

Iris explained to soldiers why we were here; the lady who worked as the secretary approached us about our passports and the purposes of our journey in Panama. The secretary tried advising us that there were no Deaf Indians, and that we couldn’t do the stories. We felt she was trying to be protective of all the Indian tribes from outsiders who come to gawk at them.

Fortunately for us, the Chief of the Panama National Police base walked in and learned about our assignments. He quickly approved us because he felt our cause was sincere about inspiring our viewers about Deaf Indians in tribes. He instructed the secretary to please, take us to the Indians. The secretary finally relented and took us.

We drove to the Santa Fe station and learned there was a Deaf man working as a barber to the Panamanian military. His name was Jose. He was so excited to see a group of Deaf people and ran to us, exclaiming that he hadn’t seen Deaf people for a long while. He joined our growing entourage to the village, but told us it was the wrong village, there are no Deaf Indians in that village. He gestured to Iris, pointing where we can find another village. The secretary refused to believe him, asking him more than five times “You sure?” in Spanish, and the Deaf barber kept nodding, “si, si,” emphasing to her, yes there are Deaf Indians in the other village.

The Deaf barber warned us that some hearing Panamanians still think Deaf people cannot do anything, thus the reason for the hearing secretary’s skepticism. However, the secretary was nice to us because she was amazed seeing how we can do so many things such as driving all the way from Panama City to the wilderness in the Darien Province and operate deftly as an all-Deaf media.

We drove another 45 minutes on unpaved hilly road. We finally arrived at the second village. I was totally stunned to see that many of the female Wounaan Indians were half-naked. They were more friendly than we all thought they would be! Iris approached them straightforwardly, “Where are the Deaf Indians?” One woman quickly walked to Iris bemoaning “Oh no! My daughter who is Deaf just left to Panama City a few hours ago!”

Iris and I looked at each other with the same thought in mind “what a great timing!” Sheer timing. But, the conclusion wasn’t so bad because we ended up meeting another Deaf tribal person, anyway.

They pulled us nearby to the woman’s house. Soon right after, many Indians circled us and started to paint tattoos on Iris first with Jagua fruit, a tropical fruit that is used for traditional rainforest body art. It’s a really neat kind of body paint because it can last several weeks, just like henna body art. Technically Jagua is actually a stain and not real paint. The unripe Jagua fruit is painted on the skin with elaborate and striking patterns. After they were done with Iris, the Wounaan tattoo artist looked at me, with the rest of the tribe looking on, I obligated, taking my shirt off for my very first tattoo, even if it was a temporary one, it stays on for two weeks. They painted on my pale white chest with a light color. I was puzzled why the tattoo painting was so light, and they advised me that it would become darker later.

Bearing tattoos and all, we followed as the mother of the Deaf daughter showed us her home. All of the Wounaan Indian native homes are at least six feet above the ground. We climbed up to her home and she proudly showed us the Wounaan-knitted baskets. One basket she made was the biggest one, which took her a month to finish making, and she was selling it for $100. We bought some baskets to support their efforts. The hearing mother of the Deaf daughter was very overjoyed to meet us, but lamented over the fact we missed her Deaf daughter by a few hours.

Iris asked more Wounaan natives where we can find other Deaf Indians. One lady came to us, saying yes, but we need to drive a little bit further to reach them. The Panamanian National Police asked us to follow them to the area, where we had passed earlier because nobody had told us that there were Deaf Wounaan natives there. We weren’t sure whether they were embarrassed about telling us, maybe the parents were afraid of the outside world knowing they have Deaf family members. We just instinctively felt that some Deaf Wounaan natives were being shielded from civilization, but we couldn’t be sure of the suspense building around us.

It was really strange noting the fact these Wounann natives were very close to each other within a mile but sensed that these two different families were totally separated from each other, not having the same wifi access as the Deaf in modern civilization do.

The mother came down from her house with her 17-year old Deaf son. I was excited to meet him, but was disappointed to find that he couldn’t even gesture besides having no signing skills. Iris was puzzled as Alvin tried to gesture to him without any luck. His father finally ventured outside of the house, looking sad. At least they did encourage him to talk with us. The young Deaf Wounaan was able to write Spanish in the 7th grade level, but Iris couldn’t hold back her tears because he cannot both speak or sign, or even gesture, an acute sign of being isolated from the Deaf community. It touched my heart because nobody in his tribe could sign or gesture to him, either.

Witnessing this, Iris asked the secretary from the base to please bring Sign Language to all Panamanians including the Indian Tribes using signs and fingerspelling, so that all Deaf natives would not be left out from communicating with others. Iris wept, feeling emotional because she traveled all over meeting different Indians in the past but never any Deaf Indian until we met the 17-year old tribal boy. Iris was really happy we took her on this special journey since the purpose of this trip was to focus on finding Deaf people in remote places around the world, that nobody knew or cared about, or bothered to look for.

Our heads turned quickly seeing another mother walking towards us very fast holding a young Deaf boy who appeared to be 4 or 5 years old. He was so shy, that he cried pretty hard. He had no language or anything, no other way to express himself except through his moods, or his crying bouts.

It was time for us to leave the tribe, and we were so emotionally impacted by the turn of events, by the people coming up to us introducing their beautiful Deaf children. Even Alvin was so stunned, because he never saw anything like that even if his hometown was only 4 hours away. Alvin felt so fortunate and relieved he had the privilege of getting some education in the city. We had to leave because the soldiers had to go back to their station. We dropped Jose off at his home and met his family, and then we went out to find a hotel, clinching a room in a one-star hotel. We didn’t expect to be housed in any luxerious hotel in his home area, not even within a 3-hour radius. We had to shop for canned food and bread for our dinner, and I even had to forego my favorite cup of coffee just this day once. But nothing compared to meeting real Deaf people who belongs to Indian tribes.

The next morning, I looked at myself, and was aghast. To me, I looked like a blue smurf! The tattoo stain finalled kicked-in. We decided to go pick up Jose and drive another hour to find more Deaf Indians, being the ambitious reporters we are, we expected to see more. Finally, we arrived at the village and a soldier walked up to us. Good thing, Jose recognized that soldier as a cousin of his, and the soldier was really so happy to see him and pointed over where there was a ten-year old Deaf boy across the river.

Seth’s eyes turned wide looking at us, we were all speechless over the fact there was still a river we had to cross to get the the Deaf Wounaan kid. The soldier suggested for us to ride the canoe, and as we hopped into it, my excitement was building up because we knew our quest for finding Deaf Indians were coming to a close. Seven of us jumped into the 20-foot long canoe, and while we rode it, it was rocking back and forth so hard that I became worried about our safety and keeping our equipment safe and dry. Iris couldn’t stop laughing about it, it helped ease us through the rocky journey. We approached the opposite side of the river bank, and we had to walk up the steep river bank. We saw another long canoe being painted, it was a kodak moment to see such primitive activity going on in a no man’s land.

The Deaf boy and his parents walked to us, it was obvious the Deaf son was really shy, but he could understand our gestures, at the same time making me feel so relieved to be able to communicate with one finally. He showed us the painting on the canoe. I was told that modern Indian canoes are painted to preserve the wooden canoe from water coming through the wood, reducing the need to cut the trees to build other new ones. The Deaf boy guided me and Iris to the river and tried some fishing for a while, and he started laughing after ten minutes, pointing out that fish is not always easy to catch! He showed us a toy canoe he had made. “Wow,” I thought, “Indians do have their own toys, too, just like my own children in civilization.”

The soldier explained to us that his cousin taught him many things such as speaking, how to do different tasks, how to hunt, among other things. I told his cousin to keep teaching him all that, because he is a wonderful person.

The Deaf Panamanian boy smiled at us as we hopped into the canoe returning back to the other side of the river bank. I looked back as the Deaf Indian boy disappeared back into the jungle forest. I will always think of him, and I expect that boy to turn out fine, with his cousin watching out for him. It was time for us to return back to Panama within five hours. I was so exhausted from driving and let Alvin do the rest of the driving. I couldn’t stop thinking about the two Deaf boys we had met in the last two days.

We wanted to stop by Meteli security base telling them many thanks that they took care of our passage from Panama to Meteli plus secured our journey to Indian villages. They gave us the courtesy of being safe through territories that has bandits, spear-toting tribal natives, and the other dangers that existed.

I felt a tap on my shoulder, turning my shoulder to look up into the eyes of a tall American soldier who seemed to have a huge built. Surprised, I thought “wow, United States Embassy sent three soldiers to locate us out of nowwhere in the Darien jungle. Nice security by USA!”

Jolted back to senses, the soldier explained to me that they were there to assist Panama soldiers doing the frontier security since Colombia is only within 100 miles from the border.

It was time to move forward to our next assignments, I was so emotionally drained from meeting real people; in this instance, real Deaf tribal folks.

And yes, they do still use spears to catch their dinner.

Tidbits about the Wounaan Tribe:  The Wounaan are one of seven indigenous peoples (Bribri, Bugle, Embera, Kuna, Ngobe, Teribe and Wounaan) who live within the Republic of Panama. One of the smallest indigenous groups in Panama, the majority of the 6,800 Wounaan live in the Darien, Panama’s largest and wildest province.

Traditionally, the Wounaan were semi-nomadic forest dwellers who lived in elevated thatch houses in small clearings close to meandering forest rivers. They used traps, bows and arrows, spears, and blowguns with frog poison-tipped darts to hunt rainforest animals and birds. They maintained extensive knowledge of the forests and their inhabitants, learning their natural patterns and rhythms and incorporating them into their stories, dances and cosmological beliefs. They practice several kinds of shamanism and ritually beat a sacred canoe to resolve local problems and maintain a state of peace and harmony in the world. The Wounaan keep many of these traditions alive today.

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