Bastimento

Nestled in the turquoise waters of the Caribbean Sea, Isla Bastimento in Panamá's Bocas del Toro province is the heartbeat of a rich and vibrant culture, one that has thrived for centuries but now faces the quiet threat of disappearance. This is the story of the AfroAntillano—or Afro Antillean—people, whose legacy is deeply intertwined with the island's history, and whose unique dialect, Bastimento Creole—also known as Guari Guari—is slowly fading as their population dwindles.

Bocas del Toro, once a bustling hub for the descendants of African slaves and West Indian laborers, is a place where the rhythms of reggae and calypso are as integral to life as the sound of the waves. The people here are descendants of those who came from the Caribbean islands to work on the banana plantations in the early 20th century. Over generations, a distinct dialect was developed, Guari Guari, a blend of English, Spanish, and African dialectal influences, spoken only here, in this small corner of the world.

But today, the voices that once filled the region with the lively cadences of this intertwined dialect are becoming less and less commonplace. The younger generations, drawn to opportunities of the mainland and beyond, are increasingly leaving behind their cultural roots. As the older generation passes, so too does the fluency in this unique language.

The decline of Bastimento Creole is not just the loss of a dialect—it is the erosion of a culture, of stories, songs, and traditions that have been passed down through the generations. The people of Isla Bastimento are the guardians of this cultural heritage, and their stories are imbued with the resilience and strength that have defined the community for centuries.

Yet, there is still hope. Efforts are being made by local leaders and cultural preservationists to document and revive Bastimento Creole, to teach it to the younger generations, and to remind them of the importance of their heritage and why these protective initiatives are vital in keeping the culture alive.

As I walk through the streets where my parents and ancestors walked for over a century, I feel the weight of this history. The brightly colored stilted-houses and the smell of fresh maduro, bacalao, and oxtail are as familiar to me as my own name, yet there is an underlying sadness—an acknowledgment that what makes this place unique may soon be no more if something drastic doesn't happen to preserve it.

The story of Isla Bastimento is not just one of loss; it is a call to action. It's a reminder that cultural preservation is as essential as environmental conservation. Without intervention, the world may soon lose the rich tapestry of the Afro-Antillano people and the language that is their soul. Photojournalistic storytelling and community partnership have the power to shine a light on this fading heritage, to bring the world's attention to a culture that deserves to be celebrated and, most importantly, revitalized.

At the end of the day, the story of Bastimento and the province of Bocas del Toro is my story. It is the story of a people who have given so much to the world, and it is a story that must not be forgotten. Therefore, in this series, I'll be talking about my latinidad as an Afro-Antillano descendant growing up in the states, our food, our culture, ways of life, and just how connected we are to each other despite great distances of time and space. Te veo pronto!