The Conscious Traveler: Panama

It all started when I was crossing the border from Costa Rica to Panama. The night before, I was forced to sleep on the ground at the border station because I arrived late into a town without any hotels or places to stay. I knew little of how significantly this would foreshadow the months to come. 

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On one hand, it was a solid confirmation that my way of travel was… unorthodox. Similarly to when I was stuck on an island in Nicaragua. On the other, it was a fortune telling of what the near future had in store for me. When I awoke, I walked across the border with my dog and left him around the corner from the office. I had learned earlier in my journey that with my dog it is best to leave him out of the equation at the border as best as possible. The bureaucracy of border patrol mixed with the fact that rules change not by country but by the agents' attitude or if they want you to pay “extra fees” that line their pockets, it’s best they don’t know he is with me to begin with.

Where it All Went Wrong

I settled up in the north of Panama — I was in the country that was least traveled to on the Central America backpacker trail — I’m not sure why. The first thing I did was withdraw money for a hotel and some food; the night before had definitely been a little rough on me. Afterwards I had a friend deposit a check that had been waiting for me in the mail. This is where everything started to go downhill, and marks where I, on this continuous  journey, am still recovering from. For whatever reason, my friend depositing my check in New York and me being in Panama, set off the fraud department at my bank's headquarters. After a day of phone calls and waiting on hold for hours, I was told that there was essentially nothing I could do because I was in the middle of nowhere. My account was completely closed off, and I was stuck without any money.

I knew I had to make my way to the city, but I wasn’t ready to swallow the pill of having to go back to the states. I was just there a month prior to heading to Honduras. With the money I did have, I bought a bus ticket and made my way south. 

Capturing the Nature and Essence of Panama

Out of all the countries I’ve traveled through, Panama has done the best job of capturing the nature it’s country has to offer via highway commute — instead of going around, or above certain areas of nature, the highway was designed so that it regularly crosses, and interacts with, the nature that surrounds it. Like other countries in Latin America, the roads in Panama switch between highways and local roads quite frequently. This was by far the most special scenery I have seen though, because of all the emotion on the faces of the people we passed by. Only in Panama were there children running alongside the bus, trying to keep up with it, as if they hadn't seen or rarely got to see buses to begin with. It felt like something a director would try to capture on film to entice an emotion out of the audience. At least, that’s exactly what it did for me. The overwhelming joy of chasing my dream of travel, mixed with the frustration of having no money, all while seeing these beautiful creations of nature and human life — it brought me to tears.

1. Nature visible from a side of the road empanada shop

2. Commuters wait for their bus in rural Panama

First Time In Panama City

arrived at night in Panama City with about thirty dollars left, and had to find a place to stay for the night on very late notice and with a dog. Looking back, people in Central America were constantly trying to either say no or take advantage of me for having a dog, by getting me to pay an exuberant price on top of the “American Tax”. Luckily now in South America it is the contrary. My taxi driver was great though and found me a decent hotel that I was able to afford for the night. The next day, I had to bite the bullet and ask my family to help me return to the US to take care of the banking issue. They told me there was nothing they could do that day, but were able to Western Union me enough money to get back to the US tomorrow. Now I just had to figure out a way to pay for the hotel I was in that night. In my favor, one of the men who lives at the hotel, Raul, trusted me enough to stay in the room that evening on the condition of paying him back in the morning when my family sent me the money. Thank goodness for Raul!

The next day was Saturday. I picked the money up at Western Union  but since I didn’t have access to a viable debit card, I had to go to the airport to buy a ticket.The issue was, when I arrived I realized the airline I had to travel on did not have a desk where you could buy a ticket in the airport; you had to go to their storefront office back in the city, which did not open till Monday. Fortunately, I had a couple of dollars extra from what my family sent, so I could sit tight for a bit. The next problem to be addressed was that I hadn’t eaten in days.

I wanted to give the Chinese spot a chance around the corner from where I was living. Panama has a rich Chinese community dating back to the days of the building of the Panama Canal. I went in and looked at the menu. I wanted the fried rice and looked at the sizes, seeing options of “uno” and “medio”. I thought that these were the serving sizes, especially for the prices that they were, so I ordered the “uno” thinking it was a single full sized meal. Little did I know, it was a full pound plus of chicken fried rice. Now, I'm a real deal eater and could have taken that entire pound of rice down by myself, but there was this man outside who was sitting on the ground clearly hungry as well. It would be a different type of greedy if I didn’t share this king sized meal with him, not to mention, my lil doggy who would’ve loved to participate as well.I broke the tray in half and asked for a separate plate. I broke down half a  pound into half, gave one to the gentleman, and one to my dog while I ate the other half. 

That night I decided to explore the town for a bit, bouncing around different bars and exploring the Panamanian night life. I was in the hood because it was all I could afford, so it made for a much cheaper and different experience had I been in another part of town.

Kids pose for a photo sitting on a taxi

I ended up dropping my dog off in a dog hotel and leaving my bag in their janitorial closet, because to my knowledge I would only be in the US for a day or two while I addressed the banking issue. Little did I know it would be much longer than that.

From Panama to…. Texas?

I flew into Houston. The first thing I did upon landing was turn my phone service back on. The second was to get some of that good Texas BBQ at one of those side-of-the-road joints. Flights were significantly cheaper going back to Panama from San Antonio, so I decided that it was best if I got ahead of the bullet and went there to conduct my business.I took the bus ride to San Antonio That night. At this point I still had no debit or credit cards, so I found a ‘Motel 6’ for under a hundred dollars for the night. Money really doesn’t go all that far in the US compared to how it does abroad. The next morning, I went down-town with everything I needed to open up a new bank account, but the banker just would not help me. Everything she asked for I had, and more, but she for whatever reason couldn’t open the account. I have my assumptions why. 

Huston skyline

This is Texas and I was dealing with a Mexican woman, who, in my opinion, was more than likely a conservative — as many Latinos are who aspire for the “American Dream” and who had her reserves about letting a black man from New York by way of Central America, open up a bank account there. This meant I was forced to meander around San Antonio looking for Wells Fargo banks that were actually still around, and not incorrectly marked on Google Maps. After a few attempts I landed in a branch that took care of me. The banking process these past couple of years has turned to shit — no better way to put it. We finished the process well after banking hours, and when I asked about getting access to Mobile banking, the woman told me I couldn’t until my card arrived in the mail. I was so flabbergasted and annoyed by this. Not only did this mean I now had to some-how get the card that was being mailed to my old home address in New York, which required waiting up to a week for it, but it also meant that all of the money I had just deposited into this account an hour before, was unobtainable to me because I couldn’t use an ATM without the card. I also couldn’t just get the card at the teller because again,this all happened well after banking hours. That night, I was homeless. 

I left the bank and had no choice but to stay in the parking lot thinking about what I was going to do for the evening. After a while, two pickup trucks arrived and a family hopped out. They popped their tailgates and started to distribute meals to all of the homeless people in the area. The father of the family, who was a pastor, looked at me and asked me if I wanted anything. I was disillusioned with my circumstances, because I told him “I don't really think I qualify”. He asked me if I was hungry, and I replied “Sure” to which he told me that I did qualify then. I sat for a while on the parking lot divider just talking with the family. To their credit, they do this every evening in areas heavily populated with those who are unhoused. I just loved that — people of God actually doing God's work. The catch though, is that it is illegal to distribute food in Texas without proper permits; the police were on their way to shut them down within five minutes of them being there. Unbothered by this routine,they soon packed up and set off to a different location until the police came to shut them down again. 

As for me, I walked around San Antonio for a bit checking out sites like the Alamo — which, to my surprise, just sits in the middle of San Antonio unassumingly. That night I slept on a bench on the canals watching Interstellar on my phone. The next morning I woke up and went straight to the bank to withdraw the remainder of my money. There was no telling when I would get that debit card in the mail. Feeling hungry, I went to Dennys for breakfast before returning to that motel for a good sleep. I now unfortunately knew that what I really didn’t want to accept as true, was my only option; I had to hightail back to my family and put the trip on hold until I could access my money and possibly make some more.

Abandoned church in San Antonio Texas

Life Lessons from Who?

The next morning, I surveyed the cheapest flights back to the New York TriState area, and found that Austin’s plane ticket was hundreds of dollars cheaper than one out of San Antonio. So, I got out of bed and headed to the Greyhound bus station. I noticed lots of men in ill-fitted menswear, pants and shirts two sizes too big, and shoes that looked like the shoes they give you in prison. When I got on the bus, I realized I was right; all of these men were fresh out of prison - released not even 3 hours ago - and were now on their way to a halfway house to start their lives anew. Apparently Greyhound has a contract with prisons in Texas to transfer ex-convicts from prison to halfway houses. Before the bus even took off, the fellas were cracking open beers and enjoying their new found freedom. They didn’t seem to be worried about the drug and alcohol testing at the halfway house, because multiple guys on the bus who had been through the system already had assured the others that they would get two guaranteed strikes without reprimandation. One of the guys on my right even started to do a few lines of coke. His friend to the right of him ha, by serendipitous chance, ran into him on the same bus, and had a little extra coke to share. It wasn’t until we were already well on the way to Austin that the guy’s friend started to look over his paperwork, and realized something didn’t make sense. From what I heard, this man was heading to Austin to go to a halfway house like the others on the bus were also going to. His only problem? He was actually supposed to go to a halfway house in Houston called ‘The Austin’. In seconds, the ex-cons emotional state went from happy as can be to “I am absolutely fucked”. He knew that to be transferred to the other halfway house, he would have to go back into the prison system for a few days where they would drug and alcohol test him; evidently seeing that, in his three hours of freedom, he had been doing cocaine and drinking beers. Prison is not the halfway home and he was certainly violating his parole. The poor guy was mentally back in prison before the bus even arrived in Austin. 

We all got off the bus and I decided to use the bathroom. Afterwards,  I was sitting outside on a bench when one of the other ex-cons was walking back from a construction site across the street. He began to tell me his testimony out of the blue, about how he never needed to be a criminal and just did it out of being rebellious. He told me he came from a good family and that all of his wrong doings are his fault, no one else’s. He then went on to tell me how God doesn’t force you down a path, but he instead gives you the choice of choosing your path, his blessing or whatever he has lined up for you. As he was telling me this, a woman asked if she could use my phone to get her brother to buy her a bus ticket. While she used my phone, the man continued to give his sermon. He also told me that while he was across the street, the Foreman on the site offered him a position to start that week. I found it serendipitous that I was able to see first hand the yin and yang of life; where one man freshly out of jail was going back within three hours and another man was starting his life anew with no aspirations of going back. This really resonated with me and so did what the excon said about god and his blessings. So much so that after the woman returned my phone and the newly free man had gone his way, I went on my phone and used that woman’s brother’s credit card to buy myself a ticket back home. I quickly texted him “Sorry Nigga I’m Trynna Come Home” and “Mark it as fraud with your bank” before blocking his number and making my way to the Austin Airport.

A return to something Familiar

I had not seen my family in years, and the first relative I saw was my Aunt Abbie when she picked me up from the airport. I would be living with her while I took care of all my stuff. If you recall, I left all my belongings in Panama, and the rest of my stuff in America was in an Oakland storage unit because I had lived there prior to my extensive travel. Aunt Abbie graciously took me clothes shopping. I got to see my entire family and witness the excellence that they had become. I was most proud of my Uncle Michael who, in just a few years, had married, completely turned his life around, and was becoming, in some ways, a patriarch within the family. That night, we all gathered around for an expensive dinner for my Aunt Debbie’s birthday. To some extent my appearance was the main surprise, because no one knew I was coming back home. Spending time with my family was wonderful.

I spent most of this waiting period working for an NGO in Philly. I was fortunate to get the job quickly, and the pay was good enough that I could be in and out of the States within a month and back to my adventure. I helped my Aunt Abbie around the house and cleaned out her back yard, a project that had been looming since I was in high school. I also made a good amount of friends in Philly, even the editor of this article ❤️. Everyone was shocked to see me go as quickly as I came, but like my mom said “When you go after your dream, there is nothing like it. There’s good times and bad times, but there’s nothing like it”.

Me and my best friend Peter outside of a club in New York - part of what made the trip back home worth it is that most countries in Latin America don’t have very good night life as compared to New York

Second Time in Panama City

When I returned to Panama I was waiting on a check from the Philly organization. I had applied for Direct Deposit when I first started, but even by the time I left it apparently was still not set up. I also didn’t plan on being in Panama much longer; I was finished with North America and was ready to head down to South America.For these two reasons, I moved to a cheaper hotel down the street from the already cheap hotel I was staying at, which for lack of a better term, was a ‘whore house’. Sex workers, almost predominantly transwomen, lived there and gave a cut of whatever they made working to the hotel owner. 

A couple of weeks passed and I was still stuck in Panama. I wanted to have already been in Colombia, but that damn NGO I worked for still didn’t have my direct deposit set up, and had also lost my last check, so they were sending it in the mail for my aunt to deposit. I eventually got it, but two nights before receiving the funds I was kicked from my room and locked out for not being able to pay. That night my dog and I had no choice but to walk around Panama City, homeless, albeit something I had become accustomed to in short spurts by now. However,on that second night - in an act of something like retaliation - I crashed on the couch in the hotel lobby, convinced that if the receptionist wasn’t going to let me in my room for one extra night, I’d just make my room there.

Me and my dog walking in the rain in Panama City

I was asleep on the couch, when one of the Trans sex workers came to deliver some water and food. She had always been kind to me while I lived there. For one, she was trying to get some work out of me - to no avail - and two,I truly believe she was a kind person.  We started talking about her life in the hotel for a bit, before the conversation was cut short when she had to get back out and work. Though short, this interaction helped me realize something; she could have lived her whole life as a man, maybe got married, started a family and got some mediocre run of the mill job. She could have even gotten a nice place to stay, or a nice car. Instead, she decided to transition and live as her true identity. In a country deeply conservative that brought her down a road of unconventional work, where she has to sleep with men that wouldn’t want to be caught dead with her by daylight. Although it is a hard and brutal way to live she gets to be herself. Albeit maybe not the life she envisioned, but she is the person she wants to be. I found that to be very powerful. To completely resist the status quo and live the life that you want unapologetically — powerful.

A Months Long Run of Bad Luck, Or Karma

I was eventually able to get paid and plan my exit to Colombia, but not without another roadblock. One evening while out at a bar I had been frequenting, a group of Colombian girls walked in. I had seen this group of girls before. The ring leader, a pale skinned Colombian with missing braces and, from what I could tell, was going bald a bit, had tried to flirt with me at a different establishment about two weeks prior. She really was not my type and I had brushed her off. As the early hours of the morning approached, I watched these girls finish off more alcohol than the fishermen I knew in Alaska — all before I could finish my last beer. As I tried to leave, the bartender said I owed fifty American dollars. I was incredibly confused. For one, I had been paying for my drinks as I got them. For a bar where beer is one dollar, I really didn’t understand how the hell one person could rack up a fifty dollar tab. I looked at the bartender — whose unprofessional ass was drunk out of her mind and asked why. She said I had to pay for all three of those Colombian women’s drinks. I looked at her like the crazy she was, and tried to walk out. The bouncer was also drunk when he tried to stop me, but I managed to get past him. He proceeds to come outside with the leg of a table, and swing it at me. I was able to block it, and return the offensive. A crowd of people outside pulled me off of him, but I felt someone get off with my bag so I followed them back inside and snatched my bag back. Now, the bouncer was right next to me. I cold-cocked him and watched him fall over like someone unplugged his controller. On my way out, the three Colombian girls were trying to steal my things. The white skinned Colombiana was recruiting homeless people to attack me as I tried to get home. This is where I made the age-old mistake many black men make on a daily basis; I decided to keep it real. I arrive at my hotel, and instead of just going inside I throw my stuff into a hiding spot in the lobby and run outside to fight the three homeless people. While I beat the breaks off of them boys, the white skinned Colombiana ran into the hotel and crawled up the wall like a roach, grabbing my bag from the hiding spot. I had been dealing with the one guy left, when I looked into the darkness of dawn and saw the Colombian girl running down the street with my stuff, so I just let that man go. There was no reason to continue beating on him. 

Panama City had some of the best street art I had seen since leaving the Caribbean

Now, I was pissed. I asked the receptionist if she could let me in my room, but she said no. Not only did she watch the whole thing happen she now wouldn’t let me in my room after they got away with my key, phone and wallet. Frustrated and essentially helpless I kicked the doorknob off and slept the anger away. Over the next week, I hunted the girl down that stole my things. I was able to find her Whatsapp, all of her socials, just not her. 

I was stuck once again in Panama. I had no choice but to go to the embassy to call my family and ask, yet again, for assistance. I flew out of Panama never ever wanting to return, and never ever looking back. This piece will be my aunts first time hearing of this. I told my family a much less violent, abridged story so they wouldn’t worry. It should be interesting when I go home for Christmas.

Conclusion

If you take away anything from this, fellas, it's that just because you can fight, or think you can, doesn’t mean you should. I decided to keep it real, and yeah, I fucked them dudes up, but at what cost? My belongings and a really rough time. Last time in Nicaragua I fought three guys at once and I ripped my favorite pants, my shirt and my hat. Now, I lost my phone and wallet. It really is not worth it at all. I will say though, learn a martial art. No doubt about it, years of Muay Thai and fighting in the ring helped me not get my ass kicked that night.

-Thank you to my Editor, Amina Shakeel @aminantheworld

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