kuna cemetery

Shannon opted out of the tours the first day, being exhausted from the trials of flying. I went on the tour of their cemetery. The concerned looks on the kuna’s faces told me Shannon should not try this, even if she wanted to. by the end, I understood the looks. The boat which brought us to the island returned us to the airstrip. We walked along it until, reaching the trail, our guide stopped to give a long speech about nature. The implications came thru even without the helpful translation: try not to destroy the plantlife. Got it. And so we dutifully followed our guide down the half submerged trail. Did I mention it rained most of that day? and the day before? We needed to stop often to allow the straggling, laughing group to reconnect before continuing. At one of these stops, I stepped off the trail to take a picture of the most beautiful flower. Seeing the kuna guide watching me warily, I slowed and carefully did not step on any plants as I made my way to the flower and back. We stopped by several cement tombs, and the guide explained that many kunas lived elsewhere and returned home to be buried, but that they melded other customs with that of the kuna. Hence the cement tombs and crosses on top. He denied that the cross actually meant anything, saying it was simply the Spanish custom. I choose to think otherwise.

After several more bridges over swollen rivers and more muddy trail, and a line of army ants, we reached the hill. A real hill, entirely red clay. Our trail switched to stairs cut into this red clay, climbing 50 up what looked like a previous mudslide area. Did I mention it had rained? The “steps” became slippery mud areas. If you paused at each one, the clay acted as a suction cup, holding your foot as you found the next foothold. I believe we left several of our less adventurous travelers at the bottom of this hill. Sad, considering the view from the top. The cemetery village overlooked part of the archipelago and the sea beyond. Picture time.

When our guide finally acquired our attention again, he led us to one of the open huts and began explaining the burial traditions of the kuna. The kuna revere mother nature and so believe they return to her womb when they die. They bring their dead, wrapped in their hammock, up to these huts (each family has a hut). There they dig a 9 foot deep hole and hang the hammock/body in the hole, then cover with palm branches, then lots of clay. They make a mound on top like a pregnant belly and set a bowl of cocoa seeds on top to ward off evil spirits. Their shaman sings the spirit on its way. In the hut, the family places various belongings and many skulls if the man was an excellent hunter or a basket of tools if an excellent farmer. I brought pictures back to Shannon of all I had seen and reproduced our guide’s speeches.

I am grateful to finally see native Indians and see their culture since I have studied them over the years. however, I am also grateful it waited till this time of my life. I am secure enough in my faith to face another culture/religion as wholly other. It is not mine and has very little bearing on my beliefs.