What could go wrong?

Story By Amalia Boyles // @gingerfox00

Art By eatcho // @ eatcho // eatcho.com

What could go wrong? 

What, indeed.

I eagerly persuaded my partner Eatcho to take a break from beachside relaxation to enjoy a day of ocean kayaking. I promised a quick jaunt out into the bay, and a return soon thereafter. Eatcho was reluctant. His hesitation inspired me to push the idea harder.  

Our feet made funny swooshing sounds in the sand as we stumbled to rent our kayak. Without instruction (or life jackets), we were presented with a custard yellow two-person kayak. We trusted our desert-colored vessel and suddenly found ourselves paddling out to sea against the rising tide.  

We reached the edge of the bay and gazed out beyond the jagged rock edges of the shoreline and into a vanishing horizon of ominous dark blue.  After moments of serenity and awe at the abyss around us, we decided to head back to the beach. As we turned the kayak on its heels, we became parallel with the waves. With one hefty blow of salty sea, we began to sink. 

The ocean rushed into our kayak with rapid fury, swallowing us whole. We were left treading water, our yellow vessel bobbing with increasing depth below our flailing feet. What followed was shock, disbelief, discomfort, paralytic panic, and overwhelming fear, without control. We tried for an instant to revive our sinking kayak and cried out loud sentiments of WHAT THE FUCK, draining our lungs of air. 

Our cries lost their gusto as the reality of our situation sank heavily into us. We threw out inarticulate gasps at one another, hoping to stop time for long enough to catch our wits (or at least, to catch our breath). Instead, we were greeted with adrenaline — unsophisticated, but with enough aim to clarify our survival strategy. 

Abandoning our sinking ship, we swam. 

And we swam. And we swam. We swam against the tremendous pull of the current, contradicting our every stride. We swam, with terror and little choice, through a school of jellyfish. Wrapping around our arms and legs, one jellyfish slapped me in the face, adding stinging insult to injury.

The beach didn’t seem to be getting any closer, and desperation set in. Eatcho is a poor swimmer, and as time passed, hopelessness got the better of him. Treading water next to me, my dear love began to spit sonnets of our life together, trying to say goodbye. I screamed at him to shut up and save his oxygen. How did we mess up THIS bad? I rolled onto my back, catching enough breath to curse my former self. Go kayaking, I said. It will be fun, I said. What could go wrong, I said. I should have knocked on wood. Or, better yet, we should have asked for life jackets.

After three hours and well over a mile of open water, we made it within striking distance of the shore. The closest point to us was the northern tip of the mainland, an austere cliff face surrounded by mollusk-covered rock islands popping up out of the ocean like the shoulders of a great, gray giant. The tide churned around the rocks with a mighty wake, swelling up and down and over. 

We followed the upward swell of a wave and came crashing down on the nearest rock mound. The tide dropped, and our soft, fatigued bodies ground down the jagged razor-sharp mollusks. It shredded our front sides like cheddar to a cheese grater. Blood poured from our new cuts, wretched deeply across our shins, knees, thighs, stomachs and the tight tendons between our fingers. 

Finding our grip, we climbed to the top and clung — shaking, bleeding — to the first bit of land we had felt in hours. Rejoice at our success lasted for a brief but distinct moment, interrupted by exhaustion and the even more sobering task of jumping back into the water once more for a final push to the mainland.

It took us a very long time to move — perhaps an hour spent on that mound. Fearful weeping came and went, and eventually we regained our ambition to tepidly step across our sanctuary of mollusk and rock. 

Laughter, screaming, and sobbing compounded. We walked for another hour through dusty deer trails and cactus-strewn forest peaks. Eatcho paused every so often to politely release his severe diarrhea from ingesting so much seawater. Our bodies became streaked with crimson as our wounds poured out the evidence of our naivety. We stumbled back to the road home. 

The Vanishing Islands of Panama

Story and Photography by Greta Rybus

gretarybus.com // @gretarybus

Off the Caribbean coast of Panama lies a constellation of approximately 365 islands known collectively as the Guna Yala Comarca. It is the land where the Guna tribe lives. Some of the islands are owned by locals but uninhabited: sand and palms rising from the sea, places to swim or gather coconuts. Other islands are inhabited by densely-packed communities of Guna families with thatch homes built to the very edges of the islands, sometimes built over and above the water.  

In Guna communities, decisions are made collectively. Each week, problems are brought to the congress house during a series of meetings overseen by sailas, or tribal elders. They talk about how to manage fish populations, how to grow crops and care for children, and they mediate quarrels between neighbors. These days, there are new, unprecedented problems brought on by changes in the environment. There has been too little rain. It is not enough to fill the water tanks or water the crops. Sometimes, parts of the island are flooded, the seawater rising to the knee and crossing the thresholds of homes. The sea seems too hot for the fish, and the storms seem to get stronger and stronger. The new problems exist alongside a loss of traditional knowledge, increasing influence from the cities, and overpopulation. 

The communities must make new decisions: what to do with the unpredictable environment and where to go when the sea begins to swallow the islands. According to a report by Displacement Solutions, it is estimated that 28,000 people in Guna Yala will eventually need to relocate.

 Gardi Subdub is an island closest to the highway on the mainland that leads to Panama City, an island with a cell phone signal and a small supermarket. Because of the rising sea and the growing population, the island’s congress has decided to relocate. They’ve already begun building a new community on the mainland a short drive into the hills where a new school building is almost completed. Next, they will begin to build homes.

Six hours by boat from Gardi Subdub is the island of Coetupu. It is more remote, more traditional. People wait in line to use one of two pay phones to call their families in the city. There, they are drafting plans to relocate to an adjacent island. They worry if the sea and land will continue to sustain their families and community. 

“The sea is good. The sea is medicine. If you have mosquito bites, you go inside the sea and then you feel better. Now, the sea can’t heal the way it used to. It is too hot. And in the past they used to catch a lot of fish. Nowadays, there is not much fish. And before, there were a lot of coconuts and bananas. But not now, because of the changes with the sun. And it used to rain like for about a week long. Now, if it rains, it rains only one hour and then it stops.”

— Leonidas Perez, saila (tribal congressman) - Coetupu community

“Young people, they are going to suffer the consequences. Governments, politicians, big countries should think about the relationship between people, not only indigenous people but all around the world. The problem is that as long as the social system doesn’t change, we will continue to have problems. The rich countries only work to get more and more money, and they want to dominate. There’s no equality. Poor countries are becoming even poorer. The system has to change. The resources, the wealth that God created, only a few are taking advantage of it and only a few are protecting it.”

 -Guillermo Archibold, agronomist - Gardi Subdub community

“Climate change is happening. And it’s happening in other countries, too. Right now there’s no water. We’re in danger. In the future, our islands are going to disappear. We aren’t safe. We are going to leave our own island because the sea is taking the land.”

— Alberto Lopez - Gardi Subdub community

“Parts of the island that normally didn’t flood are often covered in water. When people realized the sea level was rising, they started to destroy and use corals to build a kind of wall, which is very damaging. Our island is mostly made of coral infill now. So, we’re planning to move to a real island, an island made of land. About five years ago, we tried to start a project to relocate to the mainland, but there were disputes within the community. The land on the continent is already distributed; it has owners. And these owners don’t want to give their land to other people. So now we plan to relocate to another nearby island.”

— Asterio Ramirez, teacher - Coetupu community

Skate Pine Ridge

For over a decade the Elemental Awareness foundation has been traveling across the nation visiting Indian reservations to empower skate scenes and share massive amounts of product. This year they visited the Lakota reservation in Pine Ridge, South Dakota. The road was long, cold, and there van broke down on the way there. Luckily, someone lent them a big rig truck from a diesel repair shop in Nebraska. So they crammed all their stuff in, learned how to drive it, and made it the rest of the way.

The reservations in the States are notorious for their poverty, substance abuse, and high teen suicide rate. What you don't always hear about are all of the wonderful things that coexist with the bad: the smiles, the high fives, the communities, the ceremonies, the kickflips, and the grinds. Those are the things they saw and focused on during their visit. In the words of the great Lakota Chief, Sitting Bull, “Let us put our minds together and see what life we can make for our children.” 

Grown in Guatemala

Story and Photography by Laura Goldenberger

Estralla and Aura took us to their medicinal garden where they grow rosemary, aloe, chamomile, oregano, purple basil, red Texas sage, juanilama, meliza, bretonica, ixbut (mother’s milk), orozus, comfrey, wormwood, echinacea, etc. Ruda/rue, a sacred plant that is good for your heart, also helps with nervousness and aches. The women grow and use natural remedies to help the people of their community. 

They also grow plants for natural dyes. They carefully explained the uses of each and every plant. To dye fabric, they first soak it in banana tree stock water. That prepares the fabric to be able to absorb the natural dye without ever washing out. When they demonstrated later, I touched the freshly-dyed fabric and no dye was left on my hands. They use the leaves of coffee plants to make shades of brown. One plant could yield many different colors depending on the method. They used bark, stems, carrots, and even bugs (which make a bright pink color). How the colors set can vary by so many elements and details — if it’s dried in the sun or shade, if it’s cool that day, or if there is a breeze. It can be very difficult to have a consistent result, but that’s what makes each piece so beautiful and unique. 

The women from the weaving group put their beautiful woven blankets on display and it created an open, airy, colorful space. We sat together and they demonstrated each step from dying the fabric to separating it, balling, threading, and weaving. We tried our hand along the way and it was no easy task! 

We learned that many of these women have huge families to provide for. Some are widows, some are not able to count or measure — simply going off of memory and practice. They are strong and crafty mamas! The work is impressive and intricate, bringing so much pride, empowerment, income, and art into their town. 

We each bought a piece and will treasure it always. We said our goodbyes and left feeling grateful. There is no better way to learn than by experience.