Panama Drug Dealers and Me |
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| Written by Matt |
| Thursday, 06 August 2009 07:49 |
 I was born to two loving and grossly bighearted parents in the well-groomed town of Princeton, New Jersey where academics and artists made up the bulk of the visible population. I attended the 94th best public high school in the nation, went on to a university more resembling a country club, and lived in the Spanish capital of Madrid in an effort to learn Spanish. It might come as a surprise, consequently, the myriad of things I have in common with a Panama gang.
It was a muggy day in late July as I wandered the historic streets of Casco Viejo for the first time, my head permanently fixated upwards at the architecture like a Japanese tourist in Times Square. I poked my head inside one of the neighborhood's run-down houses and caught the eye of a small group of teenage gangsters who were huddled in a corner smoking what amounted to a a bazooka-sized blunt. They boys were all hard looking with tattoos and skin so dark that it blended in with the shadows. I, on the other hand, was pale and sore-thumbish in my madras shorts and fluorescent polo. Not unlike catching friends mid-coitus, I turned frantically to leave, but in my haste, bumped heavily into a large broken air conditioning unit which, as if I hadn't looked out of place enough already, came crashing down to the floor shattering into hundreds of small rusted pieces. It's one thing to accidentally interrupt a gorilla while he's eating. It's quite another to fuck with his banana tree. I turned to the gang and said the only thing that popped into my mind - good day - then scampered out into the street and back to my hotel, panting heavily the way people do when they are physically able to outrun death. I took a shower and ran through the scenario several times in my head envisioning the worst ways it could have played out. But in the moment, my encounter was void of the fear one would normally and rightly associate with disrupting a gang powwow. I was relieved to have escaped unscathed, but I was also curious. It struck me that most people had never given much thought to the daily life of Panama gangsters. So it was with what some might call forceful grit (and what others might simply call stupidity) that I returned to the gang house the next day. "What you want?" said one of the teenagers from the day before. He was rolling dice with several other teammates I suppose you could call them, drinking pints of local rum. I explained I had returned to pay for the air conditioning unit that I fell, that if twenty dollars wasn't enough, I'd be happy to contribute more. The gangster took the twenty dollar bill from my hand the way a squirrel might accept a pistachio from a stranger: cautiously, graciously, and somewhat perplexed. I turned to leave when the boy who I'd come to know as Faustino offered me a bottle of beer. And then another and another. When I was finished with the bottles, I did as they did and threw them against the wall, the shards falling into a glimmering heap of tinted glass. It was this day that I'd formally meet Niko, the stocky and unruffled leader of the gang. Niko took a special interest in me, probably assuming I was mentally ill - a college kid from the USA wanting to nestle up to a street gang. I'd soon learn that Niko was educated too, not to mention the holder of a deliciously ironic full time security guard job in a Panamanian suburb. Of the first vacation week I spent in Casco Viejo, I spoke with Niko no less four times. When I returned to rent an apartment there, we began to interact on a daily basis. Beyond our veil of friendship, Niko would go on to explain the gang lifestyle to me in detail. His gang, and what I'd affectionately come to think of as my gang, were called Fourth Street and controlled about four dilapidated buildings on the block. Niko would eventually introduce me to all the other gang members who ranged from short and fierce to massive and teddybearish. I'd come to learn the details about robberies of tourists, illegitimate babies and the gunfights with adversaries: a sounding board I liked to think of myself. Their rival gangs were located a few blocks away and their main income came from selling drugs, particularly marijuana. Niko once explained that the marijuana they sold was better than other marijuana because it had been steeped in gasoline, which I said "sounded like it made sense." There was involved in the network a purveyor who grew the weed, a transporter who brought the weed to the block, and a small fleet of runners; guys who'd stand on the stoop of buildings vending small portions of weed (cocaine and crack were preferred against). {adsense} Not long ago, I caught a glimpse at the tablets used to keep track of the drug sales, which looked scarily like the accounting department at my office. Costs, expenses, profit and even some indicators I identified correctly as discount rates, liquid assets, and passive income. When asked "what do we need to learn this for?" my college business professor once confidently guaranteed that, regardless of the subject, the knowledge would come in handy sometime before we die. He was right. Over the years, the Fourth Street gang would go through ups and downs. A house they were living in became unstable due to the construction of a neighboring luxury condominium project (coincidentally enough, one that I had assisted in marketing) and soon fell to the ground trapping several people beneath its heavy rubble. Several members would take bullets to the chest, one innocent little boy would be killed, and the regional beach soccer tournament would be won in a dramatic penalty shootout (no pun intended). Who knows how much time the Fourth Street gang has left. Movements to evict them from their homes, to replace the buildings with fancy new condos, and to eradicate gangs in the UNESCO World Heritage Site all together (who'd want to do such a thing?) are all impending: at which point, I'm not sure what I'll do. I have a lot more in common with the gangsters than the surface might imply. We all have mouths to feed and business to conduct. Image: cache.daylife.com/imageserve/04Dyc1J83zcla/610x.jpg
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Comments (8)
  written by Max , August 06, 2009 Not sure I like the comparison of interupting "boys" with "skin so dark it blended with the shadows" with accidentally "interrupt a gorila while he's eating...it's quite another to fuck with his banana tree". I thought you had been in Panama long enough to drop the racist American innuendo. But, I guess not. :-
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 written by Mateo , August 06, 2009 Hey Max, I didn't realized those two things sounded bad together. Maybe instead of gorilla I should have said scorpion or crocodile. - Mateo
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 written by English , August 06, 2009 Grammar please Mateo.
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 written by Lyn McKee , August 07, 2009 Matt
It didn't sound racist to me. My Panamanian friends frequently refer to themselves as negro, gordo is a commnon thing often commented to one's face with a smile and I call myself and other Norte Americanos gringos. Here in Panama mentioning the color is someone's skin or other notable characteristics is simply descriptive. The gorilla analogy was good and it never occurred to take it any particular way other than humorous. Keep up the great work - you always make me smile and certainly are self-deprecating enough to make these kind of comments without being misunderstood. Okay so it should be Panama drug dealers and "I". No biggie! report abuse
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 written by casey , August 10, 2009 Lighten up Max! It never even occurred to me that either "innuendo" could be construed as being an intentional dig from the author. Only somebody who is a latent racist or hyper-sensitive would look for such things. Nice article Matt, very interesting!
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 written by Pascale Schwander Taylor , August 11, 2009 what an adventure! Always a pleasure to read your adventures
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 written by Foster , August 20, 2009 Max Max Max... know the word Xor???
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 written by Wael , September 09, 2009 Did you ever try to discourage any of them from the gang lifestyle? Maybe point out that a job with a life expectancy of two years doesn't have much of a future? Help them to broaden their horizons and perhaps turn their entrepreneurial skills to something legitimate?
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| Last Updated on Thursday, 06 August 2009 07:56 |
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