Balsería: Ngäbe Glory

On site announcement day - the day Peace Corps Volunteers learn where they will live for their two years of service - we group up and learn about our region from a volunteer currently serving there. I´ve forgotten most of Ben´s advice about living in the Comarca Ngäbe-Bugle, but one thing stuck. He told us that Ngäbe´s are traditionally a fierce fighting people and that this is precisely the reason they continue to exist today. He said the Spanish conquistadors suffered such large losses against the Ngäbe that they eventually stopped trying to fight them.

Aside from a few drunken fistfights and one murder that have taken place during my time here, the Ngäbe seem to me a gentle and warm people. I began to think this so-called "fighting culture" had vanished as oustide influences slowly seeped into the Comarca. But then I witnessed balsería and boy was I wrong!

At its roots balsería is an avenue for communities to interact and create bonds through competition. The schedule of events are as follows. Once a community decides to host a balsería they are charged with the task of choosing, and then inviting, another community to be their opponent. As the date for the competition nears the inviting community prepares food and an amount of fermented corn alcohol called "chicha" that would scare well, a bunch of recent college graduates.

Balsería is a three day event. The first two days are about comraderie -that is meeting and eating, but mostly drinking and fighting. When our group of gringos arrived the balsería field the night of the second day we first noticed that each family had their own area where they ate and drank. It also became immediately clear that everyone was staring at us. I imagined they were thinking "what are THEY doing HERE?" Seeking to feel welcome and to quash their worry we did what PCV´s excell at: visiting with people. We spoke in Ngäbere which proved to be a sure way to make Ngäbe´s comfortable. Soon the chicha began pouring down our throats as people vied for our attention. I remember having a friendly conversation with a guy when suddenly he stopped smiling and asked me, "do you want to fight?"

Two quick things: one, nobody has ever asked me that question in my life and two, I was scared. My friends heard the question and as they walked up behind me I responded, "no, no thanks. I am only here to watch and learn about your culture. I don´t want to fight." To my great relief his face melted and he dejectly said, "darn, I really wanted to fight a gringo." Then, turning to my friend Dave, said, "Hey, do you want to fight?"

Moments later a teenager approached us and asked if we wanted to see some fights. He then guided us to a group of fifty or so people with a few flashlights following the fistfights taking place. We soon learned the four rules of Ngäbe fighting:

1. One-on-one fighting only 
2. No fighting on the ground
3. No kicking or headbutting
4. No body shots -only hitting in the face

After watching a few fights we soon came up with a rule of our own: never fight a Ngäbe. 

Fast forward to the following morning. An hour before dawn Jack, Dave, and I walked back to the field we visited the night before. It was covered in uncovered sleeping people strewn about on the grass. Soon, these bodies began to stir, rustle, and zombie their way toward the unfinished chicha vats. Afterall, they had to be ready for the upcoming main event - balsería.

At first light a small parade of people from the invited town of Soloy whistled and blew cow horns as they strutted their way toward the central area where the ceremony would soon take place. Once in position the inviting town of Chichica performed an identical parade complete with animal skins across their backs - spirits they would channel during the competition - and eventually met the Soloy competitors in the center square. As the remaining community surrounded these two groups large six foot long sticks began being passed into the waiting hands of whistling men who immediately began taunting each other by shaking their rear ends and animal skins at their opponents.  Suddenly without any whistle, countdown, or signal sticks began flying.

Sticks were flying everywhere in what to me seemed like an incredibly random way and dangerously close to nearby spectators. But soon I realized that Balsería is actually organized quite simply: if you throw a stick at someone, someone gets to throw a stick at you (but not the person you attacked). My counterpart, Samuel, explained to me, "Choy, there is only one rule in balsería: you can only hit below the knee." This inspired my question, "If there are no referees how is this rule enforced?"

A man wearing a Nagua prepares to throw his balsa stick at an opponent (Picture by Dave Johnson)

As an ultimate frisbee player accustomed to competing without referees I naïvely expected Samuel to mention some sort of diplomatic discussion in response to my question. But instead, he thought a moment as if the question stumped him, then finally with conviction replied, "well, you fight" in a way that implied "duh."

The winner of balsería is obviously the person or group that is hit fewer times, but this is not officially recognized or recorded. I suppose when the loser is unable to walk without limping the winner doesn´t need official recognition.

A half an hour after the start of the opening ceremony the spectators began falling away into their own balsería competitions all over the grounds. Intermixed between the competitions were numerous fistfights. Either way, a person was always invited into competition - no one ever punched or threw a stick at someone who wasn´t expecting it.

Jack, a fellow PCV, gets nailed by a balsa stick. Yes, it left a mark (Photo by Dave Johnson)

Jack is a quick learner (Photo by Dave Johnson)

Dave ready for the attact (Photo by Dave Johnson)

In addition to being drunk, blowing whistles and cowhorns, and being clad in animal skins, nearly all the men were wearing naguas, the colorful female dress that was implemented a century ago by missionaries. Balsería is the only occasion where men are permitted to wear them.

All around the grounds, just like the previous night, numerous groups of people huddled around vats of chicha like college students around a keg. This would go on until nightfall of the third day, when balsería officially ends. The morning of the fourth day everyone would return home. 

We left around noon of the third day, though, unable to ingest more chicha and to be honest,  somewhat concerned for our safety as events escalated. After leaving we began trying to figure out what in the hell just happened. I still don´t know. Seeing balsería was so incredible and foreign that if anything in my life proves to be as shocking and spectacular, well, I´m living a pretty cool life.