by Larnies Bowen
Against my fears (and the warnings of my host country contacts), a day after I touched down on Panamanian soil, I found myself stuffed onto a seat of one the glorified school buses (known as diablos rojos) that make up the public transportation system here in Panama City. Clutching the back of the seat in front of me (so much for seat belts…), I took in my surroundings.
To my left, a Kuna lady dressed in vibrant traditional garb cradled a tiny very newly born baby in her colorful bracelet-adorned arms. My eyes drifted to the front of the bus where they rested on an Afro-Panamanian family. The mother clad in a lovely turquoise top and jeans, breastfeeds a baby girl with tiny little plaits in her hair. At her side, her two little sons stand up and play fight with each other as the bus creeps down the congested street. I notice two small green and red flags (which I now know are from the province of Chiriquí in the interior) on the window shield. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a uniform-clad police officer step onto the already over/crowded bus greeting me and the other passengers with the customary “Buenas.” Trailing behind the officer is couple of touristy looking gringos who looked just about as bewildered by Panama’s peculiar means of public transportation as I probably did. Here in Panama City, public transportation is more than a means to get from point A to point B. Rather a bus trip across town is a cultural experience in its own right, offering the foreign passenger a glimpse into the various elements of Panamanian society that are striving to co-exist and thrive in this ever-changing Latin American capital.
The traffic-clogged streets of PTY look like those of any other major Western city save one glaring (and roaring) exception—the fleet of public buses that have all too appropriately been nicknamed “red devils” or diablos rojos. Diablos rojos are perhaps best described as moving works of street art as the bodies of these buses feature immaculate airbrushed masterpieces depicting everything from scenes of Panamanian life to Catholic religious figures to characters from Greek mythology. At night, the buses assume a discoteca-like atmosphere with iridescent lights flashing and ear-shatteringly loud bultrón (Panamanian Spanish Dancehall music) emanates from their massive speakers. During my first nighttime diablo rojo ride, the speakers were blasting ’90’s Spanish Dancehall hits such as Chicho Man’s “Mona Lisa.” In true Yard selectah fashion, the DJ toasted over the music in 100-mile-an-hour Patois inflected Spanish every 30 seconds or so. Unfortunately, diablos rojos aren’t all flashing lights and bumpin’ Reggae music. They can be pretty scary. When there isn’t traffic for days, drivers race the oftentimes dilapidated coaches down the street at break-neck speeds. They are hardly eco friendly as long exhaust pipes often leave thick clouds of black some lingering in the air. And as PTY is on the come up, there has been talk about getting rid of the diablos rojos and replacing them with a more “standard” public transportation system. Whether you love the diablos rojos for their captivating exteriors or hate them for their reckless driving and thunderous engines, they are a fascinating and integral part of the land/soundscape of PTY.
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The views and information presented are the Fulbright grantee’s own and do not represent the Fulbright Program or the U.S. Department of State.
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