Visiting Emberá village in Panama

Village women singing a song of healing.

Arrival and First Impressions

The canoe ride that brought us into the Emberá village was… well, a little rough. Picture this: my bony butt balancing on weathered wood, feeling every knot like I was sitting on a xylophone made of driftwood and regret. But discomfort faded fast as we slipped deeper into the jungle. Thanks to my trusty Chacos, the walk through cold stream beds was nothing short of refreshing. The jungle was alive — bird calls echoing, the scent of wet earth rising around us. They say not to chase waterfalls, but ever since I began traveling, that’s exactly what I do. Something about watching water cascade down ancient stone makes my problems feel smaller, like the mist is washing them away too.

When we arrived, I was struck by the quiet joy that lived in the village. No buzzing phones, no honking cars — just people. People laughing, cooking, caring for each other. A life built not around hustle, but around harmony.

Immersing in Emberá Culture

We were welcomed with music that seemed to flow straight from the heart of the forest. One song, Peri Peri, stood out — healing, rhythmic, and sacred. The women wore vibrant skirts that shimmered like parrots in flight, every color and design seemingly drawn from the jungle itself. For lunch, we had fresh fruit, golden fried plantains, and chicken that tasted like it came from my great Aunt Amelia’s Puerto Rican kitchen — warm, familiar, and made with love.

Their crafts were incredible. I left with a colorful purse, a boar’s tooth necklace, and a hand-carved frog — each item a piece of someone’s story, shaped with skill and soul. The villagers shared how they elect their leaders: whoever has the most people literally standing behind them becomes chief. Simple, powerful, honest.

The Environment and Way of Life

The Emberá people live in wooden homes. Their way of life is deeply tied to the land — fishing, hunting, farming, and now, sustainable tourism. They use what’s around them to survive and to thrive. There’s pride in their biodiversity and gratitude in their lifestyle. It reminded me of something my grandfathers used to say: "Be grateful for what you have, even if it looks small to others." Gratitude, I’ve learned, is a sacred practice — one that roots you in community and deepens connection.

A Deeper Reflection

This experience challenged me in ways I didn’t expect. It was my first time meeting Indigenous people who, materially speaking, had less than I did growing up. It reminded me of stories from my Hawaiian great-grandmother Ida — stories of meeting outsiders for the first time, of cultural shifts and resilience. What I saw on this trip reinforced one of my deepest values: that we are all born equal, and that dignity isn’t tied to wealth, but to how we treat one another.

We brought school supplies for the children. Some of our group even bought soccer and basketballs and joined in on games. It showed me that one person — even one act — can make a difference. In the end, I believe we’re all just trying to find our way home to each other.

The Importance of Respectful Travel

Having a good guide made all the difference. Our itinerary was packed, and I’ll admit, I begged for a beach day — and our guide made it happen. But more importantly, they helped us navigate the village with cultural sensitivity and respect. When you visit a place like this, you’re not just a tourist — you’re a guest. You carry your background, your community, your energy. Entering respectfully protects both you and the people you’re visiting from harm, misunderstanding, or exploitation.

Closing Thoughts

Would I recommend this experience? Absolutely — even if your rear end ends up a little bruised. The journey, the people, the perspective shift… it’s all worth it.

On Cultural Appreciation vs. Appropriation:
Learn before you go. Ask questions. Support their work — not just with your camera, but with your dollars and your presence. Culture isn’t a costume. It’s a living, breathing expression of people’s history and heart.

One Moment I’ll Never Forget:
Watching the villagers teach us a few Emberá words — their laughter echoing through the trees — reminded me that joy is a universal language. No translation needed.