A Meal Fit for a Cacique

It’s all fair game here with the Indians. There is close to nothing que no se come. I woke up this morning and on my way down the ladder to pee I see a turtle on its back, swimming through mid-air. I was thinking of flipping him over and playing with him for a bit. But then I thought that would be wrong; to get him all excited, then make soup out of him. I don’t know if it is my history with turtles (you know the whole world of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles that all boys in my generation grew up in) but it was really hard for me to think of eating this real life Michelangelo. I realized that without the ooze to make him mutant he’s really helpless, especially there on his back. He might beat the rabbit in the kid's fable, but I think the author knew somehow to not include Indians in that story. Not that they would have spared the rabbit either.

Telvinia had a ñeque cooking over the fire just the other day. Trying to figure out just what a ñeque was in English, and without any other ideas at all, Leo and I agreed on an over grown hamster. My childhood friend with the hamster metropolis in his bedroom wouldn’t have been happy with Telvinia, or Almodio. The next day I asked Telvinia how the ñeque was and she said Almodio ate it all himself.

Then there’s the armadillo. I really only thought they make good food for buzzards, but that’s not true. Armadillos are just as edible as overgrown hamsters, that is of course, before they become road kill. I was given a piece some time ago. And by piece I mean not like a chunk of meat, but rather a piece of shell the inside of which I was obliged to scrap my dinner off of.

Shall I continue with this gourmet menu fit for a Cacique? So far its been pretty cheep for our Cacique, the ingredients being all caught in or around the community. I pity the soul of the four legged creature who walks himself into the middle of this death trap of a community. But the gourmet meal doesn’t stop with only what’s caught. When there’s money it can even be bought. Like the rabo de puerco, pata de puerco, or hígalo de pollo. All of which I am surprised to learn are more costly than their more normal eatable parts. I was even told today that the rabo de puerco is imported from China or Japan. I can see it now, one of those ginormous ships trudging through the canal full of pig’s tail. Their most important, if not only mission: to bring millions of pig’s tails to Panama.

Like I said, some of this I have eaten and some I have easily said no to. But the one food I have yet to eat, but which I have heard so much about, is alligator tail. “Sabroso,” Almodio tells me as I see him immediately start to salivate at the thought. The hold back isn’t catching them. Bacilio does so with no problem, regularly, whenever we go night fishing. He also throws them in the bottom of the boat for his amusement. A thin metal boat with space for a mere 6 people at most is great amusement for Bacilio when there is a live alligator freaking out on the floor. I’ve never seen a guy's fishing trip sound so much like a scary movie with the girlfriend. I laugh now at the thought of us flying up on to the seats or edges of that boat. Especially Almodio, who speaks about 10 words a minute and who I rarely see get excited.

Here's a little something for ya

They sit, two brothers, side by side on the built in bench of their furniture free home. "Aleluya man, Aleluya" blares thinly from the small squared and solar powered tape player to their side. Hands bounce from thigh to thigh, mimicking the bongo beats hidden in the accordian thick "tipica".

They've moved; grouped now in three, to the edge of the house, overlooking the morning's rays. Bacilio can better see from here to work the gel into his close latino haircut. He holds the crudely shaped piece of mirror with his feet, his back curled in less than correct posture. They're working together, Amaranto standing comb in hand, over Humberto. Not to compare them to monkeys, but they look out for each others hair needs much like I see monkeys do in National Geographic magazines or on the Discovery Channel.

Breakfast today was cooked by Felipe, with a heavy masculine touch. The white rice and lental mixture sits steaming, waiting for me to cover it in hot sauce. Nothing starts the day quite like a cold shower, unignorable tipica that doesn't fit into any of my previous musical schemas, and a breakfast better suited for my dinnner appetite.

It's 9:30. The morning's breakfast and businesses have been taken (and left). Work was started but stopped short. Much like those familiar apagones in Santo Domingo, the power stopped and there was nothing anyone could do about it; at least at that very moment. Moving the solar pannels was discussed again, but that's down the road. A few overhanging platano leaves were cut and I was hoping the small blackout would get the pannels cleaned today, but looks like a no go on that. Felipe went looking for 5 more palm leaves to finish a missing corner of the roof and Almodio went back to carving his piece of Tagua. It's amazing how people can seemingly dissappear when you don't know what they are saying. I'm sure it was discussed, but suddenly I'm the only one left in the house. Not that I mind the tranquility. The birds are the loudest ones now. I wonder how many species of them I am hearing? Once again, if I only knew their tongue...