Wearing only a green loincloth, a barefooted indian approached me. Lean and muscular, his straight black hair hung down past his ears in a "page boy" style cut typical of "Cholos" or straight-haired people. His flat, broad feet were caked with sand. A two and a half foot long machete was slung across his back by a braided vine thong. A small drawstring pouch hung by its cords under one arm. We looked at each other. Glancing down at the scattering of wood shavings around my feet, the Embera finally broke the silence.

"What are you doing?" he asked in his native tongue.

"I