(The cultural importance of getting drunk and throwing sticks)
Once a year Ngöbes all over the Comarca come together and organize a big party within the community. This rare display of cooperation is usually designated to one community per region and is called Balsaria. This year, it just so happened that the highly anticipated event was held in Quebrada Pabon- the community where we are still working on the latrine project (finishing up this month!). The balsaria, from my understanding, was traditionally a 3-day festival to share ideas and seeds. It also served as a way to avoid inbreeding by seeking out a mate from a distant community. Like much of Ngöbe culture, its history is blurred and is not well recorded, so no one has confirmed the true origins of balsaria (at least not to my knowledge). When I ask the people around here what purpose the balsaria served traditionally, they give me the classically vague answer that it is just a part of their culture. So what exactly is the balsaria? I’d call it a mix between a folk festival, a frat party, a boxing match, a Halloween costume contest that people of all ages attend. It appears that whatever it’s original purpose, the current function of the balsaria is just an excuse to put on costumes, get belligerent, and throw sticks at each other, all for the sake of maintaining tradition.
(This is the valley of Quebrada Pabon- site of Balsaria 2010 of Nole Duima, Comarca Ngobe Bugle)
For weeks before the event started, I’d walk up the hill after a long day of latrine building as dozens of men passed, hauling 55-gallon tanks, sacks of corn and sugar down to the plaza where the balsaria was going to take place. They were preparing the chicha fuerte-homemade booze, typically made from corn with sugar added for faster, stronger fermentation. My excitement and curiosity for the event plummeted, however, when Bernardo, one of the participants in the latrine project, was nowhere to be found the day I arrived at his house to work. The balsaria was still 2 weeks away, but apparently the chicha was strong enough at that point to intoxicate and Bernardo disappeared a few days earlier when his buddies sucked him into the pre-party events. In the Comarca, when a man drinks, it is not to relax. His mission is to consume as much as he can, as fast as he can, for no other reason but because it is available. Men will drink till the chicha runs dry, spending every last dime to their name. They might come home a week later— broke, hungry and sometimes without clothes or shoes (a result of passing out and people stealing anything they can). The women in the Comarca, who typically do not drink, surprisingly, accept this annoying aspect of the local male culture. Bernardo’s wife offered the excuse that his buddies came to the house with chicha fuerte. As if he had no choice in the matter. As if his other responsibilities did not matter, because it is culturally unacceptable for a man to deny an offer of chicha fuerte. This scenario is common in the Comarca, unless the man happens to be a strong believer in God, specifically, Evangelical or 7th Day Adventist. If there is one thing we have to thank the missionaries for, it is the near eradication of alcoholism in the religious communities in the Comarca.
I digress. Back to the non-church-going and self-indulging community of Quebrada Pabon- site of my district’s Balsaria 2010.
I decided to attend the event with 5 other Peace Corps volunteers working in the Comarca. 3 females and 3 males, we made it clear from the beginning that we were to stick together and the boys could not be more than an arms length away from the girls- just in case we needed an “I with him” escape. Drunks, while typically harmless, can be unpredictable, especially considering the amount of booze available during balsaria. As we approached the cleared space in the forest, the noise from the bull horns and conch shells echoed loudly up the mountain. We were still a about a 20-minute walk away. The closer we got, the louder the discombobulated sound of horns and conch shells grew, and the more we felt like we were entering a hyena den.
(Flight club)
We passed through the gates to find exactly what everyone had described to us about balsaria, but what we could never quite envision: men wearing their señora’s nagwas with stuffed mountain cats or slothes strapped to their backs, huge balsa wood sticks being thrown in the air, women boxing each other, swollen faces, blood, staggering drunks and wide-eyed children absorbing their traditional culture. And then there was us: the 6 stone-sober gringos, just trying to blend in. This is a moment when you wish you were a wallflower, but alas, we were like dead meat to flies. Men and women flocked to us. Everyone had a very different opinion to our presence at the balsaria. Some smiled and spoke to us loudly in Ngöbere. Some made it clear that we should not take pictures (many told us that it was against the law. Law? What law?). Other asked us to take their pictures, posed and performed for us (in fact, the same people that told us that pictures were against the law later asked me to take their picture). Some slurred and asked us if we were married, others tried to force-feed chicha fuerte to us. The peer pressure was so intense that we quickly gave up the idea of remaining sober if we were to stick around.
(Ngobe men dressed in nagwas with dead wild animals strapped to their backs. In case of no dead animal- just bring a stuffed kids toy instead)
The balsaria got its name because the main event, a sporting event of sorts, involves a dried stick made out of balsa wood that is about 6 feet long and a good 6 inches thick. The objective is for one man to throw the balsa stick at another man below the knee, from a distance of about 5-10 feet away. The man without the stick wears his señora’s nagwa so that he can do a little dance under that dress. This is an attempt to confuse the aggressor, whose goal is to launch the balsa stick as hard as he can at his opponent’s shin. Sound a bit savage? There is also traditional boxing: men vs men and women vs women. Panamanians, in general, love US boxing almost as much as US baseball. Personally, I have never understood the appeal of physically violent sports. I suppose bloody noses and broken knees create a stronger bond between your community members or maybe it just makes you feel tough. No, doubt, this sort of camaraderie can be found all over the world. I was once invited to a massive community pillow fight in New York City. Similar idea, right?
(Various scenes of balsaria activities: throwing large sticks, drinking and kids watching over their passed out fathers- so no one steals their shoes!)
One of the volunteers with us was quickly chosen by a particularly friendly Ngöbe man in a nagwa and was designated as “ti etaba” (my brother). He was whisked off by his new brother and returned a while later with a 5-gallon bucket full of chicha fuerte that had been gifted to him. Suddenly we had a crowd of people around us, literally force-feeding us chicha in whatever liquid-holding devise that they could find.
(Above: Filling up bottles of chicha- looks similar to vomit. Below: me, succumbing to peer pressure and the cute Ngobe lady responsible for the peer pressure)
There were a lot of laughs, but once we saw another 5-gallon bucket of chicha coming our way, we knew it was time to leave. A few of the guys with us had played the balsa game and were limping around in pain, so before we got more drunk and/or hurt, we took our cue, and left.
("Ti eteba" in his beautiful nagwa with a cup full of chicha fuerte)
So what purpose does the balsaria have? It seems to me that all cultures enjoy some level of alcohol intoxication and violent sports. If costumes, debauchery and physical pain foster a better sense of culture, brotherhood and community pride, then who needs a purpose? It’s just plain fun!
Check out a few videos on Flickr: here and here.
(Above: Aleah dances with a man in a nagwa. Below: Me with a stoic man in nagwa and his friend with the decorated bull horn)
