What I Learned When I Met A True Nomad
She reminded me of one of life’s fundamental human rights
In my current home-away-from-home, a little hostel on the south coast of Panama, the gardens are looked after by an early-thirties Colombian woman named Sofia (name changed for privacy reasons).
She’s very quiet, keeps to herself as she landscapes and waters the plants. Her beige shadow is a dog named Reina, a jumpy little thing who was abused before Sofia adopted her. They range up and down the beach playing fetch when she’s not working on the garden, Sofia absentmindedly pounding out rhythms on her drum between throws.
They sleep in a tent staked in the garden by the pool, with the flap open, because Reina will run out and bark at anyone who walks on the beach at night.
Truth be told, I barely noticed Sofia the first few days I stayed here. Then I started getting more and more curious. One of the staff told me that she walked here from Colombia. Another told me that she was there to guard the turtles. Whispered legends surrounded her.
Now, Sofia speaks no English. She has no reason to, coming from one Spanish-speaking country to another. My Spanish is getting better, but it’s still not great, and I barely got past “good morning, how are you?” each time I saw her.
