A lesson in Panamanian law

Meivis´s house is in the banking district. I am pretty sure that banks here do not get robbed. I am led to believe this because every bank has at least two men in bullet proof vests carrying side arms. Plus you can´t even go into a bank until they unlock the door by remote button. Seeing this level of security had me thinking that the laws were pretty strict in Panama. Boy was I mistaken.

Amarili invited Meivis and I out for another round of dancing, this time to celebrate Amarili turning 19. Meivis got caught up at another one of her sister´s and wasn´t able to make it. I was given the choice to go out with Amarili and her friends (with no translator and Amarili speaks less English than I speak Spanish) or stay home on a Saturday night. No one will be surprised that I opted for the dancing. :)

At around 9 p.m. blue shirt girl, who was funny and definitely the mom of the group, was .the first of many girls showed up at the house to get ready. By 10 p.m. there were at least 7 people in the house scurrying around doing the same getting ready routine that is done by females world wide. Most of the girls were really friendly to me, but there were two that right off I could tell were going to need to be won over.



The first of two rides came and some of the people disappeared. When the next car arrived, it already had three people in it. Keep in mind that all the cars in Panama are small because the roads are small. There were five of us girls left to be shuttled to the club. Yikes. Somehow we sardined into back seat of the car. In case you are bad at math, that means we had 6 people in the back of the car and two in the front.

As we started to roll away from the curb someone started passing around a bottle of whiskey. I passed. One, I was a completely uncomfortable with the drinking and driving and two, I wanted to stay sober in case I had to get a ride home in a taxi later. I was already saying the mantra of´ `El Canrejo, Casa de Duran. Cuanto es?´ over and over in my head. (The neighborhood where I am staying, the name of the famous boxer who lives across the street, apparently every taxi driver in the city knows where Roberto Duran lives. Finally, how much, because taxi drivers are know to try to charge white chicas like me upwards of $20 bucks for a $2 ride.)

On our way to the club, blue shirt girl´s boyfriend saw a cop and did a hip-hop style dance while chanting `policia policia po..... lic.....ia.´ Everyone joined in, except me...

From right to left, pink shirt girl, Amarili, polica chant starter, and his girlfriend, blue shirt girl.


With the attitude of nonchalance I started to think that Panama didn´t have a seat belt law. That thought slid rapidly away as we were pulled over to the curb and made to emerge from the car sardine at a time. As I was slipping out of the car, a guy that was in the front seat winked at me and said in perfect English `be cool.´ Hum...

Here is Mr. Be Cool with Amarili.


The cop did some yelling and waved his hands. There were lots of things said in Spanish. I was already searching the streets for taxis and contemplating if the $40 I had on me was enough to bail myself out of jail when the girls squealed. My arm was tugged and we were piling back into the car. All of us. I was confused. We got pulled over for a lecture? We were allowed to leave? If I could see the bottle of whisky sitting on the front seat, so could the officer? As Jim Cary would say `alrighty then.´

When we got to the club and did a head count. There were 8 ladies and 4 guys, 3 were boyfriends and one was an obnoxious guy with SPS, which explained his single status.

Mr. Be Cool and obnoxious guy.



The first club was going to charge a $10 cover for the guys so we opted for a smaller no-cover place. Since we had such a large group they gave us our own stage with trendy little white cushioned chairs and matching mini tables. In Panama you only get a table at a club if you order a bottle of some sort of alcohol. We ordered vodka, which came with a bucket of ice and a flute of cranberry juice. After everyone had consumed 3/4 of their drinks the chairs and tables were kicked to the side and the party began.

Someone had brought birthday balloons so we blew them up and floated them around the club like beach volley balls. I found out that Mr. Be Cool dude had gone to high school in Illinois. I was relived that at least one person spoke English, although the music at the club was so loud it was futile to talk.

(Mom notice Amarili´s jewelry... a big hit)


This club played only a few songs in English. I danced the night away regardless. At some point Mr. Be Cool asked if I understood the words to the songs. When I said no, he told everyone and I got claps all around. I just treated the music like techno. If it has a beat I can make it work.

As I mentioned before I could tell that two of the girls were giving me the stink eye. I had decided to befriend them, you know... let them know I had absolutely no interest in their men, I wasn´t competition, I thought they were cool, yada yada. Girls can be so lame sometimes. The language barrier wasn´t a problem, there are ways of communicating without saying a word.

Nonetheless, I was half-way able to win over pink-shirt girl, but had no luck at all with short white skirt girl. Here was my strategy: I would go dance next to white skirt girl or be the first to join in when she started a dance rally (e.g. waving arms in a repetitive way to the music with the hopes of getting everyone to copy you) all the while giving her my friendliest smile. She kept scooting away from me and would never look me in the eye. Oh well, her loss.

At around 2:00 a.m. pink shirt girl started arguing with Amarili. Amarili was pouting and pink shirt girl was snarling. Mr. Be Cool explained to me that pink shirt girl and white skirt girl wanted to leave and that meant Amarili had to leave as well because the girls needed to get back into the house to get their getting ready tools. The others started getting involved. Several people in the group grabbed me and Amarili by the arms and definitely shooed away the other two girls.

I had brought my set of keys in case I had to find my way home on my own. I shared this information with Amarili and she immediately brightened. She passed her keys to pink shirt girl, grabbed my arm and waved goodbye to pink shirt girl and white skirt girl. There was a cheer from the group. Mr. Be Cool informed me that I should be nominated for `tourista of the year.´

All of this was fascinating to me. I was by far the oldest one there. The second oldest was was blue shirt girl who was 23. I hadn´t been drinking for fear of having to take a taxi on my own. We kept the party going until a little after 4:00 a.m. Mr. Cool´s girlfriend was the driver of the car earlier. I noted that she didn´t drink all night. Sweet, no need for a taxi.

We piled back in the car for what I thought would be the last time. In fact it was the 3rd to last time...

Once again, blue shirt girls boyfriend spotted a cop and started the Policia dance-chant. Everyone joined in, but then Mr. Cool´s face contorted and he started shouting in Spanish at his girlfriend. She immediately did a three point turn. Just in time too. We had somehow gotten on a one way freeway going the wrong way! To the driver´s credit, none of the roads were clearly marked and I could see how someone could easily get on the wrong path.

Within minutes we were being pulled over again and of course piling out again. I kept my eyes on the ground and tried my best to disappear in to the background. I was secretly hoping that the officer would think I was a lighter shade of Panamanian and also that I didn´t have to go to jail.

We received another lecture, and with my last Spanish class focusing on directions for two hours, that was when I was able to gleam that we had been going the wrong direction. Yikes. Mr. Be Cool pointed out that it was Amarili´s birthday. To make his point Amarili opened the box she was holding with the nearly devoured remains of her cake. Next thing we were piling back into the car. Wow.

So apparently you can ride without a seat belt, pile 8 people in a four seater, leave your open container in pain view, drive the wrong way down a one way and pull the birthday card and leave with nothing more than a firm lecture. It was no surprise when we got back into car that Mr. Be Cool admitted he was on probation for similar antics in the States. Different words.

I gleamed that the gang wanted to have a house party. We stopped at what Mr. Be Cool (who as you may have guessed became my translator for the night) described as the Panamanian version of Walmart. However, I can´t say for sure because I don´t shop at Walmart, but I have a suspicion you can´t by 5 six packs of Corona at 4:30 a.m.

When we went to the bathroom at Panamanian Walmart, Amarili looked worried. She had to work the next day and I could tell she was getting peer pressured to stay out. I had a feeling part of the pressure was because my presence was desired. What can I say, I bring the party ;)

When got back in the car I started talking about how tired I was. When we got to the house where the after party was supposed to take place, I watch Amarili to see what she was going to do. When everyone was getting out of the car, she didn´t budge. I then told the driver, who spoke some English, and as I later learned had a good friend who lived in Sacramento, that we wanted to go home. She requested that I move to the front seat and then she started to take us home.

As we pulled away I could tell Amarili was relieved. I was empathetic, I remember being 19 and not wanting to be the party pooper. I also think she was worried about making it to work on time the next day. However, as we waved goodbye to the others, they looked bummed despite holding 5 six packs, a bag of frozen chicken wings and the remains of the whisky bottle that had been passed around the car.

An interesting night, to say the least.