14 Bahá’í Journal UK November/December 2002

When the load becomes too heavy to bear,And your legs will no longer take you there,We, the indigenous people,Bow our heads and keep walking.For there is nothing else we can do.

Victorino

IT’S FIVE O’CLOCK in the morning,and dawn’s first light spreads like adeep crimson gash across the darkChiriqui sky. Victorino is already onhis way. Every Monday, he makesthe three-hour walk from his homein Soloy to Quebrada Venado – highin the lush, green mountains ofPanama. (The journey takes sixhours for those unaccustomed to thesteep climb in the jungle’s steamyheat and dripping humidity.)

Victorino walks quickly along thenarrow trails, in a hurry to arrive by8 am when classes start. With onlycoffee for breakfast, he is sometimesovercome by dizziness or musclecramps along the way, as he windsthrough green rice fields, greenbanana groves, green coconut palmsand green moss-covered rocks, gentlystepping over endless columns of redleaf-cutter ants marching obliviouslyon their way – each carrying a mouth-ful of bright green torn from therainforest, with the thick red clayearth of Panama underfoot.

A dozen school children have beenstanding lookout since 7.30. Theirparents have been working in the fields

since dawn, so the children are alonefor the day. As Victorino rounds thelast hill, a joyful shout goes up and thestudents rush out to greet their teacher.He names each name and embraceseach one with exquisite tenderness.Then, like a mother hen unfolding her

wings to cover her tiny chicks, he putshis arms around them all, as they walktogether the last kilometre to school.

Victorino Rodriguez, aged 36, teachesfull time at the Quebrada Venadoschool. His classroom holds 34students, ranging from five to elevenyears old, and forms part of a growingsystem of academic schools located onthe Ngäbe-Buglé (Guaymi) reservation

in the province of Chiriqui in WesternPanama. The schoolteachers haveformed an Association and electedtheir officials. They hope to construct asmall office someday and establish alibrary. But for now, the schools haveno books, no erasers or chalk, nostaplers, rulers, glue, scissors or tape –none of the typical classroom supplies– just the teachers and their students.

Victorino returns home every Fridayevening to spend the weekend with hiswife and three small children. Theyoungest, just turned three, is ill with alung infection, but there is no healthinsurance, no doctor, and no moneyfor medicine. The teacher workswithout salary “for love of the chil-dren,” he explains “and obedience tomy Faith.” A small stipend of $50 /month barely covers the cost of riceand sometimes a small package ofbeans or lentils which he has learnedto cook himself over an open fire, afterschool gets out each afternoon. Duringlean times before the harvest, he ofteneats only one meal a day.

The people of Quebrada Venado aregrateful to their schoolteacher andtreat him with obvious respect. Assubsistence farmers, they have nofood to offer, but take turns providingfirewood for Victorino’s outdoorkitchen. They have built him a smallwood-framed shelter with corrugated

zinc panels on three sides, a packedmud floor and a narrow woodenplatform for his bed.

There is no running water, so he walksfor half an hour down to the river tobathe. There is no light, no mattress, noblanket or pillow; only a single rustycoat hanger dangling from a ceilingrafter to hold his extra shirt – which isthreadbare, but pressed and clean. A

Victorino’s StoryThe establishment and rise of the first indigenousacademic schools in the Ngäbe-Buglé Region of Chiriqui, Panama

(l-r) Victorino Rodriguez, David Simmons, a visting Bahá’í from the US, andRoberto, a teacher at the school.

Victorino’s Story

15Bahá’í Journal UK November/December 2002

worn enamel bowl, the design long-since faded away, and a dented alu-minium spoon complete the adornmentsto Victorino’s second home.

Week after week, month after month,Victorino walks alone to his mountainschool, to bring the light of educationto the students he calls “mis hijitos”(my little children). “Are you doingthis for your Year of Service?” a visitorasks. “Seven years,” he replies with agentle smile.

The villagers understand and appreci-ate his sacrifice, as they too, havesacrificed much in order to educatetheir children. “I cannot read or write,”says one, “but my children will learnto read and write.” “With this school,our children will be freed from thedarkness of ignorance,” states another.“These children are our future.”

The villagers live in scattered huts thatblend into the green hillsides. Thenative people were forced into thesehills by European invaders over 500years ago, and have lived in the samerustic conditions ever since. Theschool is the only building in thecommunity. Its construction took threeyears, as men and women patientlycarried bags of cement on their ownbacks along these same mountaintrails, and scooped up sand from theriver below to mix with the cement tobuild their school.

No public schools are provided to theseindigenous communities, in partbecause no certified teachers can beconvinced to live in such remote andinhospitable conditions; and in partbecause they are “just Indians.” SomeLatinos in the city still refuse to sit nextto an indigenous person on the bus, evenif it is the only seat available.

“No one else cares about us,” thevillagers explain. “There are lots ofpromises, but no action. We are aforgotten people.” So they asked theBahá’ís to help them build a school.Some of the villagers are Bahá'ís, someare Catholics, some Evangelicals, andsome follow the native Mama Tatareligion. They know the Bahá’ís will notask them to change their faith or theirtraditional ways.

The Quebrada Venado School is opento all, offering a standard academiccurriculum from 8.00 am to 1.00 pm,Monday through Friday, with a classon “Virtues and Values” on Wednesdayafternoons. There are seven otherschools, each with a similar story totell. The school closest to the town ofSoloy is a one-hour walk; the farthest,about twelve. Most of the classroomsare literally “schools without walls,”consisting of a thatched palm roofsupported by wooden poles.

Last year, when Victorino was servingin a different community, theQuebrada Venado School was closedfor lack of a teacher. Over the years,five of thirteen schools were forced toclose for the same reason. Manyteachers left to find work in town inorder to support their families. Then,about seven years ago, a group ofyoung Bahá’ís from Soloy got togetherto consult on the urgent need foreducation in the rural communities.

A happy student

Yamileda and Gustavo, two indigenouschildren at the school

These youth made a solemn pact tooffer themselves as teachers, and toremain for as long as they wereneeded, even without salary, whateverthe sacrifice. Benita Palacios has beenserving for nine years; Ismael Atenciofor eight; Victorino, for seven. “Ourown families are poor,” he says, “buthow can we leave these preciouschildren without education?”

Victorino himself is a striking combi-nation of determination and submis-sion, strength and humility. Highcheekbones, brown skin and straightblack hair reflect his Ngäbe heritage.He speaks softly, his voice restrained,yet his eyes are intense with fire whenhe speaks of justice. His compact bodyhas been shortened by days of hunger;his powerful calves, muscled by yearsof walking the green Chiriqui hills.His only shoes, worn to holes on thesetrails, are stained with the deep redearth of Panama.

When twenty school teachers gatheredrecently in Soloy for an educator’sseminar they were asked why theycontinued to serve under such difficultconditions. Every one of them replied,“For love of the children.”

And so, like the silent columns of leaf-cutter ants that Victorino passes eachMonday on his long journey to school,unnoticed and unsung, the teacherswalk, and the villagers carry their bagsof cement, steadfastly marchingtoward a future they may only see intheir dreams.

Written by Dr Randie Gottlieb, amember of the Mona FoundationBoard of Directors, on her return froma three-week visit to the Ngäbe BugléSchools

(c) 2002 Randie Gottlieb, all rightsreservedPhotos © David Simmons

If you would like to help support thesenative schools, please contact theMona Foundation:

13922 64th Pl. W., Edmonds,WA 98026, USATel: (425) 743-4550Email:monafoundation@worldnet.att.netwww.monafoundation.org

Victorino’s Story

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16 Bahá’í Journal UK January/February 2004

AUGUST 6, 2003CHIRIQUI PROVINCE, PANAMA.

The sweet smell of cedar sawdust fillsthe air, and the rhythmic back-and-forth of a lone hacksaw harmonizeswith an insistent tap-tap-tapping ofoversized tropical raindrops announc-ing an imminent downpour. Suddenly,all clouds burst, and the entire skybecomes a waterfall, its deafeningbeat thundering off the corrugated tinroof of the Ngabe-Bugle CulturalCentre in Soloy.

Sra Máxima is inside preparing yetanother meal of rice and lentils, whileVictorino Rodriguez is hard at work,along with fifteen other indigenousschoolteachers. They labour insilence, oblivious to the rain, prepar-ing instructional materials to takeback to their schools. One is ongovernment salary; the rest arevolunteers, serving full-time asteachers for the native children wholive in the remote mountain commu-nities of Chiriqui.

The teachers are attending an intensivetwo-week training, where they will earnthree credits towards the fourteenrequired to become government-certified and receive a salary. RobertoPalacio has been serving as a volunteer

for eleven years. His wife, Maria TeresaBejerano, also a teacher, is participat-ing in the workshop as well. Their threesmall children are visiting this after-noon. All of the teachers have workedlong years under harsh conditions andat great personal sacrifice. This courserepresents a significant step towardstheir goals.

The training is sponsored by the MonaFoundation (a non-profit basedorganisation in the United States), andincludes classes in CurriculumDevelopment, Lesson Planning,Teaching Strategies for Active Learn-ing, Basic Health and Hygiene,Methods of Teaching ElementaryMaths, and the production of hands-on materials.

Most of the teachers are members ofthe Bahá’í Faith, who have arisen inservice to others, without regard torace, religion, gender or economicstatus, and without thought of per-sonal gain, in accordance with theprinciples of their Faith. They arelearning to set instructional goals thatmeet Ministry of Education require-ments, and that are in harmony withBahá’í teachings as well as localcultural values. They have generated alist of topics which they feel are ofhigh importance to their people:

The Road to CertificationVictorino’s Story – Part 2 • moral values and good character

• practical skills for useful work• sustainable agricultural techniques• technology in service of social,

economic and spiritual develop-ment

• combining the best of traditionaland modern medicine

• health and hygiene, with anemphasis on childhood illnesses

• development of native handicraftsas a local industry

• preservation of traditional culture,including songs, dances and games

• evaluation of modern culture usingspiritual principles as a guide

After setting goals, the teacherspractice writing educational objec-tives using an integrated thematicapproach. They work in teams todesign interesting lessons based onthose objectives, and they demon-strate a variety of teaching strategies,including the use of art, music anddrama. While the training is inSpanish, some of the more difficultconcepts are translated into Ngabere,the local indigenous language, tofacilitate understanding. A step-by-step approach with plenty of encour-agement and constructive feedback,soon has the teachers eager to testnew lessons and materials on eachother.

In the maths workshop each after-noon, participants take turns using thehacksaw, the drill, and other toolswhich have been brought by thetrainers, and which will remain at theBahá’í Institute there. The teachersare crafting practical materials thatwill help their students learn to sort,classify, count, understand the deci-mal system, and perform basic mathsoperations. These items must beproduced using hand tools, since thereis no electricity in the area. They mustalso be inexpensive and easy to make

A group of teachers at the Ngabe-Bugle Cultural Centre in Soloy

Victorino’s Story

Tahirih Sanches displays her work

17Bahá’í Journal UK January/February 2004

using local materials. (It is amazingwhat can be created with recycledcans, old milk cartons, clothes-pegsand contact paper.) In addition, thematerials must be durable enough tosurvive the bugs, mud, rain and all-consuming humidity of the Panama-nian jungle.

For most of the teachers, it is the firsttime they have used these tools. Spraypaint is a novelty, and one person usesthe entire can. Even a ruler is foreignto some, and they need instruction inhow to measure – starting from zeroinstead of one.

But the teachers are motivated andlearn quickly. Hesitation gives way toconfidence, and soon, even thewomen are using the large saw. It isan impressive sight: young Ngabewomen in their colourful floor-lengthnaguas (the traditional dress), cuttingwood and measuring right angles witha T-square, a pencil tucked behind oneear. During a break, one teacher slipsoff to a corner to nurse her baby, thenreturns to cut more wood. She ismaking the short numerical rods usedin the Montessori system of educa-tion.

Despite the long hours of the work-shop, the teachers’ thirst for learningseems unquenchable, and they ask forclasses on Saturday and in the eve-nings as well. Even dinner is regularlypostponed while the late afternoonsession is extended until dark.

Máxima worries that the rice isgetting cold, but she is patient, andsays nothing. She knows how long theteachers have waited for this opportu-nity.

After dinner, some of the teacherscontinue their work by candlelight.The night sky in Chiriqui fades tovelvet black with a spray of glitteringstars. The Milky Way lights a path tothe dorms, and a cold shower feelsgood at the end of the day.

After two intensive weeks, thetraining course has come to an end,and a photo session is scheduled forthe last afternoon. The teachers areeager to display their wares, and topose for individual portraits. It istouching to watch, as each one claimsa table in the dining hall, and neatlysets out his or her hand-made crea-tions, carefully arranging and re-arranging every piece until thecomposition is perfect. One teacherasks for assistance as he has never hadsuch a large number of possessions toorganise. Before their photo issnapped, some of the teachers requestplasters to cover blisters from usingthe saw. The artisans pose with greatdignity and obvious pride, ignoringthe enthusiastic cheers and good-natured teasing of their colleagues.Many have not had their picture takenbefore.

That night, a small closing ceremonyis planned by the participants. It

begins with prayers and singing inthree languages (Spanish, English andNgabere). There are eloquentspeeches, a demonstration of mathsmaterials, an exchange of gifts,laughter and a few tears. Finally, thename of each “graduate” is called,and one-by-one they come to the frontto receive their gift – a teacherplanning book with a small calculatorattached.

“Why didn’t you just give us thecalculator in the first place?” theyjoke. “Then we wouldn’t have had tostruggle through this class!” Theirofficial certificates are being signedby the Ministry of Education, andwon’t be delivered for several days.But the teachers are not dismayed.They are already making plans for thenext course.

© 2003 Randie Gottlieb

The Mona Foundation supportsgrassroots educational initiatives andworks to raise the status of womenand girls in the United States andabroad.If you would like to support thesenative schools, please contact theMona Foundation:

13922 64th Pl. W., Edmonds,WA 98026,Tel: (425) 743-4550Email:monafoundation@worldnet.att.netWeb: www.monafoundation.org

Victorino Sanchez

Lineth Montezuma at work

Lineth cutting fabric squares

Victorino’s Story