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Asharq Al-Awsat
03-06-2025
- Politics
- Asharq Al-Awsat
Year after Exodus, Silence Fills Panama Island Threatened by Sea
Streets once filled with children's laughter have fallen silent on a Panamanian island where almost all residents left a year ago due to the threat of the sea swallowing their homes. The evacuation of around 1,200 members of the Indigenous Guna community to a new life on the mainland was one of the first planned migrations in Latin America due to climate change. The exodus from Gardi Sugdub in the Caribbean left those who remained with a sense of sadness, said Delfino Davies, who has a small museum on the island with spears, jars and animal bones. "There are no friends left or children playing," he told AFP. Gardi Sugdub now has the silence of a "dead island," he said. Dusty desks and empty classrooms are all that remain of a school that once bustled with children. Many of the island's wooden houses are padlocked. "There's no one here. Sometimes I get sad when I'm here alone," Mayka Tejada, 47, said in the small store where she sells bananas, pumpkins, clothes, toys and notebooks. Like Davies and about 100 others, she decided to stay. But her mother and two children, aged 16 and 22, moved to one of the 300 houses built by the Panamanian government in a new neighborhood called Isber Yala on the mainland, a 15-minute boat ride away. Gardi Sugdub, the size of around five football fields, is one of 49 inhabited islands in the Guna Yala archipelago -- also known as San Blas -- which scientists warn is in danger of disappearing by the end of the century. 'I'll die here' Sitting in a hammock in her earthen-floor house filled with the aroma of medicinal herbs, 62-year-old Luciana Perez said she had no intention of leaving. "I was born in Gardi and I'll die here. Nothing is sinking. Scientists don't know, only God," she said. Perez said that she was not afraid because since she was a child she had seen big waves and rising waters flooding houses at times. Steven Paton, a scientist at the Panama-based Smithsonian Tropical Research Institute, said climate change meant that sea levels were expected to rise by up to 80 centimeters. "Most of the Guna Yala islands are about 50 centimeters above sea level," he told AFP. "They'll be underwater." Ana Toni, CEO of the United Nations' COP30 climate conference, told AFP that the mass evacuation "shows the reality we already have to face on the planet." Sidewalks, water, electricity The arrival of the rainy season has left puddles dotting the dirt roads of Gardi Sugdub. In contrast, in the new settlement of Isber Yala -- "land of loquats" in the Guna language -- the streets are paved and have sidewalks. The nearly 50-square-meter (500-square-feet) concrete houses have flushing toilets and there is a plot of land to grow vegetables. On Gardi Sugdub "we lived crowded together, and I had to go fetch water from the river in a small boat," said Magdalena Martinez, a 75-year-old retired teacher. In Isber Yala, water is available for an hour in the morning, she said. "I can fill the buckets. And I have electricity 24 hours a day," said Martinez, who lives with her granddaughter in the new neighborhood. Tejada's children also have no regrets about leaving the island, she said. "I miss them, but they're happy there. They have a place to play football and walk around," Tejada said. While the island's school relocated to Isber Yala, its dilapidated clinic remained in Gardi Sugdub. "Before, people came on foot. Now, they have to travel by land and sea to get here. There are fewer visitors," said 46-year-old doctor John Smith. Some of the islanders divide their time between the two communities, while others visit occasionally to check on their homes. This week, there will be more activity than normal: seven jars of chicha -- a fermented corn drink -- are ready for Isber Yala's first anniversary. Martinez is looking forward to the celebration, even though it will be bittersweet. Although she may not see it herself, "the islands will disappear because the sea will reclaim its territory," she said.
Yahoo
03-06-2025
- Lifestyle
- Yahoo
Year after exodus, silence fills Panama island threatened by sea
Streets once filled with children's laughter have fallen silent on a Panamanian island where almost all residents left a year ago due to the threat of the sea swallowing their homes. The evacuation of around 1,200 members of the Indigenous Guna community to a new life on the mainland was one of the first planned migrations in Latin America due to climate change. The exodus from Gardi Sugdub in the Caribbean left those who remained with a sense of sadness, said Delfino Davies, who has a small museum on the island with spears, jars and animal bones. "There are no friends left or children playing," he told AFP. Gardi Sugdub now has the silence of a "dead island," he said. Dusty desks and empty classrooms are all that remain of a school that once bustled with children. Many of the island's wooden houses are padlocked. "There's no one here. Sometimes I get sad when I'm here alone," Mayka Tejada, 47, said in the small store where she sells bananas, pumpkins, clothes, toys and notebooks. Like Davies and about 100 others, she decided to stay. But her mother and two children, aged 16 and 22, moved to one of the 300 houses built by the Panamanian government in a new neighborhood called Isber Yala on the mainland, a 15-minute boat ride away. Gardi Sugdub, the size of around five football fields, is one of 49 inhabited islands in the Guna Yala archipelago -- also known as San Blas -- which scientists warn is in danger of disappearing by the end of the century. - 'I'll die here' - Sitting in a hammock in her earthen-floor house filled with the aroma of medicinal herbs, 62-year-old Luciana Perez said she had no intention of leaving. "I was born in Gardi and I'll die here. Nothing is sinking. Scientists don't know, only God," she said. Perez said that she was not afraid because since she was a child she had seen big waves and rising waters flooding houses at times. Steven Paton, a scientist at the Panama-based Smithsonian Tropical Research Institute, said climate change meant that sea levels were expected to rise by up to 80 centimeters. "Most of the Guna Yala islands are about 50 centimeters above sea level," he told AFP. "They'll be underwater." Ana Toni, CEO of the United Nations' COP30 climate conference, told AFP that the mass evacuation "shows the reality we already have to face on the planet." - Sidewalks, water, electricity - The arrival of the rainy season has left puddles dotting the dirt roads of Gardi Sugdub. In contrast, in the new settlement of Isber Yala -- "land of loquats" in the Guna language -- the streets are paved and have sidewalks. The nearly 50-square-meter (500-square-feet) concrete houses have flushing toilets and there is a plot of land to grow vegetables. On Gardi Sugdub "we lived crowded together, and I had to go fetch water from the river in a small boat," said Magdalena Martinez, a 75-year-old retired teacher. In Isber Yala, water is available for an hour in the morning, she said. "I can fill the buckets. And I have electricity 24 hours a day," said Martinez, who lives with her granddaughter in the new neighborhood. Tejada's children also have no regrets about leaving the island, she said. "I miss them, but they're happy there. They have a place to play football and walk around," Tejada said. While the island's school relocated to Isber Yala, its dilapidated clinic remained in Gardi Sugdub. "Before, people came on foot. Now, they have to travel by land and sea to get here. There are fewer visitors," said 46-year-old doctor John Smith. Some of the islanders divide their time between the two communities, while others visit occasionally to check on their homes. This week, there will be more activity than normal: seven jars of chicha -- a fermented corn drink -- are ready for Isber Yala's first anniversary. Martinez is looking forward to the celebration, even though it will be bittersweet. Although she may not see it herself, "the islands will disappear because the sea will reclaim its territory," she said. mis/dr/dw/lb
BBC News
13-05-2025
- BBC News
Islas Marías: A notorious prison island turned natural paradise
In 2019, Mexico's Islas Marías prison – the last island penal colony in the Americas – finally closed. Now a biosphere reserve, the once-feared archipelago is open to tourists on restricted, navy-organised tours. I was at the ferry port in San Blas, a coastal town in western Mexico's Nayarit state, when two men wearing fatigues and carrying machine guns passed me in the queue. Next came a guard leading an Alsatian, which diligently sniffed my backpack. Along with a few hundred middle-aged Mexican tourists, I was about to board a weekend tour organised by the Mexican navy to María Madre, the largest island in the Islas Marías archipelago – once known as the "Alcatraz of Mexico". Unbeknownst to me at the time, my trip came just before US President Trump ordered his government to reopen and expand Alcatraz, the infamous former prison on an island near San Francisco whose operations were formally shuttered in 1963. Alcatraz has since become a major tourist attraction where visitors can experience the historic cellhouse as it once was, and Mexico's own notorious former prison similarly allows tourists to peruse its cells. Unlike Alcatraz, however, the Mexican island has been transformed into a remarkable place of conservation. Located about 130km from the Mexican mainland, María Madre spans around 145 sq km and is part of a four-island nature reserve that's now managed by Mexico's navy. Since 2022, tourists have been allowed to visit via four-hour ferry trips from San Blas and Mazatlán city, exploring designated areas under supervision. For many Mexicans, Islas Marías needs no introduction. The prison, founded in 1905, housed mass murderers and was the setting for the prolific Mexican director Emilio Fernández's 1951 film Las Islas Marías. "They used to have the big shots here, the big criminals," said fellow passenger Francisco Espinosa, who told me was drawn to the tour by the film, which shows the island's beaches and salt flats that prisoners worked on. "It's like Alcatraz. Everybody knew about this prison." The island is prone to extreme wind and a military base operates there, so we were compelled to watch a safety video about what to do if the island suffers a tsunami or gas attack (for the latter, cover your nose and run). After the video, I glimpsed huge sea turtles breaching the ocean surface from the ferry window. The natural spectacle continued after we walked over María Madre's concrete jetty and dropped our bags in the hotel complex created for the new visitors. Herds of wild goats scattered from the pathways between restaurant buffet buildings and little gift shops as the incoming humans interrupted their wandering. The sound of hooves on concrete dovetailed with the burble of water crashing from a large waterfall-style water feature, plus loud squawks emanating from trees overhead. One of our guides explained that the squawks signalled mating season for the green Tres Marías amazon parrots that are endemic to the island. Prisoners used to get family members to smuggle these prized parrots to the mainland, to sell. The boa population also took a hit as prisoners caught snakes to make belts from their skin. I was assigned an airy, white-painted villa, which guides said used to house prisoners. They explained that some prisoners were allowed to have their families live with them on the island and could roam relatively freely. However, life wasn't open and breezy for all, with many forced to work in sweltering heat on salt flats or shrimp farms. In 2022 an ex-prisoner told the Los Angeles Times that she remembered five bathrooms being shared by 500 female prisoners. "We lived in a chicken coop," she said. But in 2010, when the prison was still open, Unesco declared Islas Marias a biosphere reserve, noting the biological wealth found in the "dry forests of its landscape, in the mangroves, the succulent rosette scrubland, the reefs, coasts and pelagic environments it harbours". As well as the contraband parrots, the island is home to 18 other endemic species, including raccoons and rabbits. Mexico's National Commission of Natural Protected Areas (CONANP) is charged with protecting the delicate ecosystem, which developed in isolation for more than eight million years, while the navy-run tours take visitors through the abandoned prison buildings and educates them on the flora and fauna. "This is tourism for excursions, to explore, to live with nature," said Mexico's then-president Lopez Obrador in 2022. "What was a hell is becoming a paradise." Still, most tourists come for the history, not the animals. I joined a group hike where our guide pointed out a rusty metal structure near a cliff edge. It looked like a sentry box but was in fact a torture cabinet for errant prisoners, positioned to become hellishly heated by the morning Sun. Tourists took turns climbing inside and pulling its squeaky door shut. After a buffet meal soundtracked by piped saxophone renditions of Elton John songs, a bus took us over dusty roads to the former maximum-security prison complex. As we approached the vast grey buildings, past fencing topped with rolls of barbed wire, Macarena blasted from the bus speakers. In 2006, after the Mexican government declared war against the country's drug cartels, the prison island changed from a relatively "open" prison to a more standard penitentiary. In 2011, a maximum-security section opened with a design based on US prisons: shiny steel tables, chairs and toilets, clanking metal doors and small cells with bunk beds. Fellow tourists thrust their arms between metal bars, posing for photos. Our guide said that there was a riot here in 2013 due to prisoners being riled about rations, and the section shuttered soon afterwards. Now wild goats canter between the unmanned watch towers. But before the island housed a high-security prison, it served as a place of exile for petty criminals and "undesirables". President Álvaro Obregón began shipping political opponents here in 1910, and in the 1920s, it housed Catholic supporters rounded up in the Cristero War (1926-29). One of its most notable political prisoners was writer and activist José Revueltas, who was sent to the island twice in the 1930s. He was a member of the Mexican Communist Party declared illegal by the government and was convicted after attending a union strike. A mural of the bespectacled, long-goateed Revueltas adorns the wall of the hotel check-in building. Later, the bus took us to a Sun-blasted graveyard flanked by huge cacti, where we paused by a white cross. This was the tomb of José Ortiz Muñoz – known as "El Sapo aka The Toad" – an alleged former government assassin who was brought to the island in the 1960s after reportedly killing hundreds of people. He was murdered by fellow prisoners wielding machetes. A guide pulled out her phone to play El Sapo, a jaunty song by the singer Chalino Sánchez. An iguana skittered from the neighbouring tomb's surface, its tail disappearing under tiles. More like this:• Mexico's controversial new 'superhighway'• Brazil's prison island turned paradise• Pachucos: The Latinx subculture that defied the US Reports from former Islas Marías residents suggest that less well-known killings also took place on the islands. In 2004, an island chaplain named Francisco Ornelas wrote: "It is rumoured – and rumours are a profession here – that people who were disappeared are buried on the other three islands, which are now deserted but for the visits of illegal fishermen and drug traffickers." Access to the waters around Islas Marías was restricted after María Madre became a penal colony in 1905. Fishing was further limited in 2000 when the area was declared a bioreserve by Mexican authorities, ahead of Unesco's declaration in 2010. In 2021, fishing restrictions were tightened again, with all commercial fishing without a permit from the navy banned in the area. However, conservationists say that illegal fishing hasn't been effectively cracked down on by authorities. Octavio Aburto-Oropeza, a marine conservationist and professor at Scripps Institute of Oceanography, echoed this when I spoke to him after the tour. "I know companies that offer not only recreational fishing [around Islas Marías], also spear fishing," he said. Aburto-Oropeza has dived the waters around Islas Marías on two separate trips, and says that while illegal fishing remains a concern, the reefs and wider marine ecosystem are in good shape, largely due to the archipelago's isolation and low visitor numbers. He believes that the navy and CONANP should do more to tackle illegal fishing and set tangible goals for reef and species restoration, but that responsible tourism could also help. "You can create a vision of tourism on the reefs with a certain capacity," he said. "Touristic activities, especially diving, could help enforce conservation projects." I hope to return – perhaps to dive, or explore more land sites. A guide showed me photos of buildings that are currently off-limits, including derelict rooms filled with quirky octopus sculptures made by prisoners. In time these buildings might be certified safe to visit, she said. On the ferry back to San Blas, I chatted to fellow passengers about parrots, torture boxes and the surreal experience of stepping into "Mexico's Alcatraz". Not one said the prison should re-open. -- For more Travel stories from the BBC, follow us on Facebook, X and Instagram.
Irish Times
11-05-2025
- Irish Times
An Irish woman in Peru: ‘I found it easy setting up a business here'
Along the narrow, cobbled streets of San Blas, the artisanal quarter of Cusco, Peru , is an atelier called Hilo, home to a slow fashion brand founded by Irishwoman Eibhlin Cassidy in 2003 in the historical centre of this ancient Inca capital high up in the Andes. Cassidy, who is from Fermanagh, studied ceramics in the National College of Art and Design and, after her BA in fine craft design, lived in Madrid for more than two years before completing a postgrad ceramics degree in Edinburgh College of Art in 2001. 'It was while I was living there that I had a yearning to travel to Mexico and Peru, and within a month of finishing my degree I was on a flight to Mexico and working in the studio of Gustavo Perez (the celebrated Mexican ceramic artist),' she says. On holiday in Chiapas in the southernmost state of Mexico on Christmas Day 2002, she slipped on stairs in a hostel while carrying a heavy backpack. The accident left her with broken bones in her hand and ultimately ended her ceramics career. READ MORE 'The local hospital put on a cast, but a month later in Costa Rica, where I went to have the cast removed, the bones hadn't healed at all and the doctors said I needed to return home for surgery and get pins inserted.' Defying that advice, she made her way down to Peru by bus and boat, arriving in Cusco in February 2003, and was immediately captivated by the city and its bohemian spirit. 'I was really inspired by the culture, the life that was so vibrant and colourful, the festivals and costumes, and so I started experimenting with second-hand clothes, cutting them up and remaking them in a new way,' she says. It also marked a turning point in that she didn't return home for three years, eventually going back only for her sister's wedding. Within a few months of arriving in Cusco, she had opened a small store selling one-off pieces of clothing – colourful, playful and original – that became an instant success with both locals and tourists. Being part of a supportive community has helped me build a local client base, which adds to the many international clients who visit the store Hilo is now an established business known for what she calls 'elevated everyday wear with a twist'. Her collections for both men and women work exclusively with Peruvian-sourced fabrics – vibrant jumpsuits, skirts, trousers, dresses and shirts are patched, overdyed, pleated, embroidered and hand stitched. In recent years she has been using natural dyes with plants from the Sacred Valley of the Incas in the highlands, in an ongoing project with women from the Pumaqwasin co-operative community in Chinchero. 'I found it easy setting up a business, and what started out as playing with cloth developed quite naturally – my store was the only creative business on the street and it's now where Cusco and international creatives open up shop. It is full of little cafes and artisan boutiques,' Cassidy says. Her success also led to her designing costumes for blockbuster films including Transformers and Paddington. Cusco has a vibrant social life, she says. 'It's easy to meet people from all over the world and make friends. And locals are so open and friendly. Being part of a supportive community has helped me build a local client base, which adds to the many international clients who visit the store.' She lives around the corner from her shop in a four-bedroom house 'filled with wood and glass' that has a small garden. [ An Irishwoman in Portugal: 'Blue skies, bilingual children and a flight home in three hours' Opens in new window ] Rents in the area can range from US$300-1,000 a month, while a two-course meal in a local market costs about €2.50. Eating out in a restaurant ranges from €8-€28, while the local market is full of fresh local produce, and tropical fruit juices can be bought for around €1.20. 'A fun fact is that Peru is the birthplace of the potato, with over 4,000 varieties,' Cassidy says. The downside to living in Cusco? 'Bureaucracy can be tricky and dealing with paperwork and legal stuff can be super frustrating. It can be chaotic, but that's part of the appeal as well. 'Stomach issues are common, mostly due to local bacteria, so you must be a bit careful.' She explains that the city relies heavily on tourism, mostly from the US. 'We do get some Irish visitors, though not too many – it is still a bit off the beaten track.' She travels back to Ireland once or twice a year with her 10-year-old son, spending a month in the countryside and with family. 'Arriving back, the altitude (Cusco is at nearly 4000m) hits hard for the first day or two. Climbing the endless steps here can make you breathless, but I love and appreciate my life here.'
Irish Times
11-05-2025
- Irish Times
Finding home in the ancient Inca capital: ‘It can be chaotic, but that's part of the appeal as well'
Along the narrow, cobbled streets of San Blas, the artisanal quarter of Cusco, Peru , is an atelier called Hilo, home to a slow fashion brand founded by Irishwoman Eibhlin Cassidy in 2003 in the historical centre of this ancient Inca capital high up in the Andes. Cassidy, who is from Fermanagh, studied ceramics in the National College of Art and Design and, after her BA in fine craft design, lived in Madrid for more than two years before completing a postgrad ceramics degree in Edinburgh College of Art in 2001. 'It was while I was living there that I had a yearning to travel to Mexico and Peru, and within a month of finishing my degree I was on a flight to Mexico and working in the studio of Gustavo Perez (the celebrated Mexican ceramic artist),' she says. On holiday in Chiapas in the southernmost state of Mexico on Christmas Day 2002, she slipped on stairs in a hostel while carrying a heavy backpack. The accident left her with broken bones in her hand and ultimately ended her ceramics career. READ MORE 'The local hospital put on a cast, but a month later in Costa Rica, where I went to have the cast removed, the bones hadn't healed at all and the doctors said I needed to return home for surgery and get pins inserted.' Defying that advice, she made her way down to Peru by bus and boat, arriving in Cusco in February 2003, and was immediately captivated by the city and its bohemian spirit. 'I was really inspired by the culture, the life that was so vibrant and colourful, the festivals and costumes, and so I started experimenting with second-hand clothes, cutting them up and remaking them in a new way,' she says. It also marked a turning point in that she didn't return home for three years, eventually going back only for her sister's wedding. Within a few months of arriving in Cusco, she had opened a small store selling one-off pieces of clothing – colourful, playful and original – that became an instant success with both locals and tourists. Being part of a supportive community has helped me build a local client base, which adds to the many international clients who visit the store Hilo is now an established business known for what she calls 'elevated everyday wear with a twist'. Her collections for both men and women work exclusively with Peruvian-sourced fabrics – vibrant jumpsuits, skirts, trousers, dresses and shirts are patched, overdyed, pleated, embroidered and hand stitched. In recent years she has been using natural dyes with plants from the Sacred Valley of the Incas in the highlands, in an ongoing project with women from the Pumaqwasin co-operative community in Chinchero. 'I found it easy setting up a business, and what started out as playing with cloth developed quite naturally – my store was the only creative business on the street and it's now where Cusco and international creatives open up shop. It is full of little cafes and artisan boutiques,' Cassidy says. Her success also led to her designing costumes for blockbuster films including Transformers and Paddington. Cusco has a vibrant social life, she says. 'It's easy to meet people from all over the world and make friends. And locals are so open and friendly. Being part of a supportive community has helped me build a local client base, which adds to the many international clients who visit the store.' She lives around the corner from her shop in a four-bedroom house 'filled with wood and glass' that has a small garden. [ An Irishwoman in Portugal: 'Blue skies, bilingual children and a flight home in three hours' Opens in new window ] Rents in the area can range from US$300-1,000 a month, while a two-course meal in a local market costs about €2.50. Eating out in a restaurant ranges from €8-€28, while the local market is full of fresh local produce, and tropical fruit juices can be bought for around €1.20. 'A fun fact is that Peru is the birthplace of the potato, with over 4,000 varieties,' Cassidy says. The downside to living in Cusco? 'Bureaucracy can be tricky and dealing with paperwork and legal stuff can be super frustrating. It can be chaotic, but that's part of the appeal as well. 'Stomach issues are common, mostly due to local bacteria, so you must be a bit careful.' She explains that the city relies heavily on tourism, mostly from the US. 'We do get some Irish visitors, though not too many – it is still a bit off the beaten track.' She travels back to Ireland once or twice a year with her 10-year-old son, spending a month in the countryside and with family. 'Arriving back, the altitude (Cusco is at nearly 4000m) hits hard for the first day or two. Climbing the endless steps here can make you breathless, but I love and appreciate my life here.'
