Not So Black and White <br/><br/> 7/22/07<br/> <br/> Today, Sunday, Janet and Andre and 8 of our classmates departed by small-engine plane for Pinkaiti Research Station, where they will stay temporarily before entering A'ukre Village. The maximum capacity of visitors allowed into the 25 hut village has already been stretched to accommodate us, but because there are 16 on the trip, half stay behind in Tucuma. The rest of us, Daniella, Alda, Misha, Dominique, Rebecca, Laura, Jason and myself, come to discover there is much more in store than your ordinary tourist excursion, as if there were such a thing in this town of dirt streets originally inhabited in the lucrative gold-mining search. The only reason we are even here is for the small airport which serves as the closest entry point into the Kayapo territory. <br/><br/> We are picked up at our motel by Valdez, an employee at the Kayapo NGO in town, and pile into his small Toyata pick-up. Alda and Daniella, wishing to speak to him in their native Porteguese, sit in front while the rest of us hold on tight in the back. The streets are considerably bumpier than anything I have ever experienced in the States, and at more than one point we have to come to an almost complete stop so we won't be thrown out of the truck bed. Totally unplanned as a scheduled part of the trip, Barb has arranged for us to eat lunch with a nearby rancher. In this town dirtbikes are the transportation of choice, and many young men show off for us by performing long-standing wheelies as they fly by. <br/><br/> When we arrive at the rancher's house, the first thing we see is a pig pen containing three large hogs at the end of his dirt driveway; the smell is nearly unbearable. We proceed through a small roofed partition between the house and the shed where members of his family are casually drinking, waiting while the rancher's wife and mother-in-law are dutifully at work in the kitchen, preparing the generous meal we are about to eat. While we continue to wait, we are offered ice cold beer and given a glimpse inside his home. There is not only electricity, but a computer with internet connectivity, a rare luxury in this town, where internet cafes are the norm and require a 3 minute wait for one page to load. There is the cildren's room, with 2 bunk beds for 4 kids, a kitchen, the bedroom we would call the master room, and a single bathroom. In the front of the house is the racher's store, seperated by only a curtain, as is customary for most of the rooms in this house. <br/><br/> We are told that it is time to eat, and are seated at a long mahogany table that would cost a great deal anywhere else in the world but here is cheap. The chairs we sit at have high arched backs and are also made from mahogany. The meat we eat, along with rice, vegetables and maneyuk, is served directly from the spit on large skewers. It is some of the finest tasting meat I have ever tasted. After the button-busting feast we are told the rancher wishes to give us a tour of his property. We are first shown what would be considered the farm; we see the chickens, roosters, more pigs, donkeys and some very sad looking cows. He shows us some freshly planted sugarcane which he says will be made into rum and sold on the shelves of his store. With a machete he chops one down and cuts it into small sections – we are told to put it in our mouth – it is pure sugar and as sweet as anything I’ve experienced. Our taste testing continues when we spot some bright red miniature peppers growing from a small plant; Jason and myself are the only ones bold enough, and stupid enough to try them, a decision we regret immediately afterwards. We then hand-pick oranges from the numerous orange trees he has on his land; Danielle fills her straw hat to the brim with the delectable fruit. He seems remarkably proud to display his land and all it holds. But there is something else he wishes to show his American visitors. We are driven by his pick-up to witness the illegally cut Brazil Nut trees he claims to be hiding for an unnamed friend, the width of which, laying flat on the ground measures taller than some of the girls standing in front of them.<br/><br/> While this man has treated us to the finest he has to offer, and treated us as US Royalty, he is the everyday enemy of the indigenous people of the rainforest whose trees he is hiding. Although we realize he is just a single rancher only trying to provide for himself and his family, we are still taken aback by his revelations to us. For it is the purpose of our trip here, the teeth of our mission, to assist the Kayapo with the sustainable development of their lands. It is one of the most important things I feel I have ever been a part of. And I say that not in a self-serving way either, but as the honest truth. The Kayapo territory, stretching over 11 million hectares (a hectare is equivalent to 2.471 acres), is one of the largest remaining untouched areas of rainforest in the world. The objectives of CI (Conservation International), through which this entire trip is possible, are to strengthen the Kayapo community while protecting their land and to help them maintain their traditions while developing sustainable ways to ensure their land into the future. One of those ways is through the Brazil Nut tree, which is one of the most productive resources on their land. One Brazil Nut tree will drop up to 100 nuts each season to the rainforest floor. Within each nut is anywhere from 8 to 14 nuts, making the larger nut so dense that the force of it falling on your head would certainly knock you unconscious. These smaller nuts that are obtained by breaking the shell open with a machete are the same nuts we buy in our grocery stores and unknowingly use in many of our skin care products. With the assistance of CI there is a Brazil Nut project underway that encourages the Kayapo to gather as many Brazil Nuts as possible to soon sell to the international market. <br/><br/> I do not believe there is a more confusing situation than this: the small-time rancher to which the deforested areas of the Amazon are largely consisting proudly putting on display his illegal stash of Brazil Nut trees at the same time we are there to help the Kayapo preserve their land through those growing naturally within their territory. Clearly, one can see the apprehension with which we witness this showcase. In Brazil, nothing is clear cut except the land, and even so, nothing is black and white, but closer to a blackened shade of green. The nearest one can come to a clear state of understanding is on the largely preserved lands of indigenous peoples like the Kayapo, who show the rest of us how to achieve a beautiful harmony between nature and human life. I sense with utter conviction that my time spent with these amazing people will be the closest I will ever come to realizing what living off the earth truly means. <br/><br/>7/24/07<br/><br/>Our First Day Inside Kayapo Territory <br/><br/> We have the luxury, my group of students, of being the second to enter the A'ukre village of the Kayapo. My mind convinces me of that. The small-engine planes we are using as transport into Kayapo territory are big enough for 5 passengers only. On the runway we see 2 planes waiting for our group. Before each one of us is allowed to board we must be weighed along with our luggage, which we were told to keep to a minimum for this very reason. We watch as airport workers load it into the plane, and wait while the pilot starts up the engine. There is only one passenger seat on these planes, and that, unfortunately, belongs to Barb. I sit on the floor with my back to the pilot. Facing me is Jason and Daniella, who have windows to peer through as we fly, touching my shoulder is Alda. Terrified of flying, she refuses to look up the entire flight, and grabs my hand for comfort. I tell myself to get a seat by the window on the return trip. After a half-hour flight we circle the village and come in for our landing on the red clay runway. Nothing in my life could ever have prepared me for what I was to experience next.<br/><br/> Getting off the plane surrounded by blank stares from small naked children and eager toothless smiles from the older wiser men is surely the surrealist moment of my life. I repeat to myself over and over in my head, is this real? How did I get here? What do you do when you have absolutely no precedent for how to act in a certain unforgettable situation? We move forward in a slow progression behind the men who have taken it upon themselves to carry our luggage. We follow them through the swarms of children all the way to the men’s hut, which is located exactly in the center of the village and is nothing more than a slab of concrete covered by aluminum roofing. In a scene straight out of a movie, waiting for us in the men’s hut are the elders of the village and the three chiefs. One by one, we introduce ourselves and shake their hands. I can hardly believe I managed to say anything at all. But this is not our final destination. We are supposed to travel upstream to Pinkaiti research station, where a few select male members of the community await our presence. Before any sense of reality can be allowed to sink in, we are swooped away to our docked canoe. Once we are on the river, the silence is inaudible due to the small motor propelling the metal-framed canoe carrying our party. Unlike the other smaller dug-out canoes they typically use for fishing, this one was obtained through CI and is used for larger expeditions such as our own. Still in a state of disbelief, my eyes are transfixed by the cold wet stones at the bottom of the river bed passing by in slow-motion. They are closer than ever now that the river is at its lowest point during the dry season here in the Amazon Basin. Most fortunate for us, this also means no nasty mosquitoes to fight off, and no torrential downpours to sit through. At certain points along our journey upstream the boat catches rocks on the river’s bottom, meaning it is the men’s duty to jump out into the cool flowing water and push it along with our Indian guides. There are two, one in front with a long sanded stick to stir its course, and one in back to man the propeller. Although they do not need our help nor request it, it seems respectful to follow their lead. Three quick exits from the canoe and roughly two hours later lands us at the dock of the Pinkaiti research station, where we are once again greeted by smiling faces eager to make our acquaintance. Away our bags are taken without so much as a word. Almost listlessly, we follow the natives up the dirt path leading to our camp, as I shall now refer to the outdoor quarters that include our three tent areas, a kitchen lit on solar-power, a laundry line, an outhouse, and a single concrete structure that is known as the research station. Much later, we are told that in the fifties, on the very ground where the station was built, numerous loggers were murdered by members of one of the Kayapo tribes. Assuaging our worries, we are told they have been a peaceful society for many years now. <br/><br/><br/> Nameless introductions are quick to come by as we shake hands with the older men who have a place here at Pinkaiti. The first word we learn in the Kayapo language is Meikumrai (pronounced May-come-ray), used both for greetings and to express a general state of pleasure, with an added emphasis stressed on the end of the first syllable to indicate one’s level of excitement. From what I can make out, the Indians here are quite excited to see us. As they keep repeating the word so we can understand, they continually draw it out so it sounds something like this: “Meiiiiiiiiiiiikumrai!” This makes me giddy, and my enthusiasm gets an extra boost when the sugar coffee (half sugar, half coffee) the Kayapo enjoy hits my bloodstream. Here at the research station, it is either water with purification tablets or sugar coffee – we get a steady diet of both. The Kayapo men wear no shirts and no insect repellant either, only shorts and sandals. Their physical condition greatly belies their age, their energy seems effortless and their smiles warmly contagious. Within the limits of the research station, there is nothing more we can ask for than what is provided. I do not believe it is possible to feel any more at home in any more of a foreign land. As the sun begins to set and the moon rises, a serene sense of peacefulness wafts over us – the earth has wrapped us in all its beauty. Never in my life have I seen so many stars as brightly in the night sky. It is a scene I wish I could imprint in my memory and recall as easily as a photograph. It shall only have to wait one day before it can be seen again.<br/><br/>7/25/07<br/>Yesterday and today have been the most adventurous and exhilarating of my life. Today we woke early about 8am and were taken on a tremendous hike, the kind our virgin limbs were not ready to undertake. We walked nearly two and a half hours to what is a stream during the wet season, but what was nothing more than dirt and mud during our current dry season. On our way there we came across a six foot long black snake, which was captured by one of the Indians, and passed around to those of us in the group wishing to have our pictures taken bravely holding it. Although the snake lacked the frightening fangs and hissing nature so often assumed of these slithery creatures, it did posses a defense mechanism of defecating on our hands, giving them a repugnant stench. Fortunately, our Kayapo guides were able to find a flower growing on the trees which when crushed in your hand made them smell like lemons. Already we were beginning to witness the breathtaking knowledge they possessed of their natural land and habitat. We also had the opportunity while we were out on our hike to see how the Kayapo climb their acai trees. They make a belt out of a plant material for their feet, so they can wrap them around the tree and quickly slide up and down. They hold a machete in their mouth so that they can cut the fruit when they get to the top, doing so at a rapid pace. After they showed us how it was done, they turned the reins over to us so we could see how easily they made it appear. Sadly, I could only make it halfway up the 30 ft. tree before giving up. Still, I felt proud of myself for doing two things in just one day I had previously never done. When we returned to our camp around 2 I felt more exhausted than ever. However, we did not sit for a rest, but walked directly to the river which presented itself as our designated bathing area. It served as a refreshing reminder of the pleasantries we take for granted on a daily basis, as well as a remarkably refreshing experience altogether. When our refreshment at the river comes to an end and we head back to our tents, we are told that the Indian men wish for us go fishing with them. We are more than happy to oblige. It is 4 in the afternoon when we depart upstream. Jason rolls each of them cigarettes which they love and will never refuse; tobacco, as in our society serves a bonding purpose. The Kayapo fish with only the line in their hands, a hook and a lure, brought compliments of CI, to reel the fish in. They cast the line out in measured repetitions with significant ease. Once they have caught their first fish, they bring it in with their hand over hand method, then raising it out of the water into the air with one hand, they take a sanded stick in their other to beat the fish dead with three quick blows. Eventually, we are given the lines. We are clearly ignorant in this way of fishing and the men have some good chuckles at our expense. I got two bites the whole time, the only serious one snapping the line, slicing my finger good in the process –I was blood in the water for their joking. The Kayapo proved themselves to be excellent fishermen and managed to reel in eight fish on this night, some looking and feeling as if they weigh as much as 20 pounds. Serious fishermen pay big, big bucks to fish for such rare specimens found here. The only fish of which I was instantly able to recognize was the piranha, a fish the Kayapo thoroughly enjoy eating. During the dry season in particular, fish is the staple of life in the rainforest, and is consumed daily. When we return to the research station at 7, both Jason and myself proudly hold up the fish as our own. Chef Nielson, a Portuguese chef who has been employed by the tribe for some time now, gets to work preparing dinner. How he does it I do not know, but to my tongue, it is the best fish I have ever tasted. As it turns out, the day is filled with a lifetime of firsts and I sleep well thinking of what adventures tomorrow will bring. I will not be disappointed.<br/><br/>Our Journey to the Waterfall<br/> After sunrise breakfast consisting of brick-oven baked bread, prepared by our resident Portuguese chef Nielson, a banana and plenty of sufee, (short for sugar-coffee the Kayapo consume), we get our gear together and embark on our day’s hike. I have been informed that we are trekking to a waterfall to enjoy some swimming, and visions of glorious outpouring water stir my spirits and push my feet along the path. Early on many are already weakened and short of breath while the Kayapo make it look effortless, painstakingly so for our struggling limbs. Two in our group only make it halfway before giving in to exhaustion and turning around, with a Kayapo guide leading them back to camp. We stay the course – a winding up and down well-covered path of forest – many times having to lean against the earth on our right, left or in front of us as we traverse steep inclines. We take short breaks for those among us who need to go to the bathroom or just simply get some hydration from their water-bottles. But, by in large, our Kayapo escorts keep us on a steady and brisk pace; when we finally see a creek on our left we know we are close. We can no longer contain ourselves and strip off our shoes and clothes (wearing swimsuits underneath) to bask in the cool refreshment of the water. Rejoicing, we are unable to speak due to fatigue. We wade through the rocky water until the sound of the waterfall reaches our ears, here the water suddenly gets colder and we spot schools of fish. Large jagged rocks frame each side of the narrowing stream, and it appears to bend to the left where the waterfall must be waiting for us. Once we can no longer feel our feet touching bottom, we dive as deep as we can to test the water’s depth – it is deeper than we imagine, plenty deep enough to jump from the 20 ft. cliff overhead. After a few minutes of wordless pleasure, we gingerly make our way up the slope of rocks – they are large and slippery and must be carefully navigated when walking in bare feet. I edge my way to the front of the pack, and can see the drop-off right in front of me. I am the first to take the leap – an adrenaline rush pours through my veins and the instant I hit the water the breath is stolen from my lungs. I am under for at least 5 seconds, but upon reemerging and regaining my voice I let loose with a wild scream, letting the others know the exhilaration I am feeling. They follow and take the plunge. After a few more times up and down, we move in the direction of the waterfall. It is falling gently enough that it resembles a masseuse working their hands into your tender skin. The stone around the base has been smoothed to the point where it has become too slippery to sit on. There is a log that has been positioned as a connector between the two sides of rocks – we are able to climb on top and make a not-so-majestic swan dive off.<br/><br/> While we are thoroughly transfixed by the beauty of our surroundings, the Kayapo are busy fishing for our lunch. We are told they will not go swimming because they are afraid of electric eel they know to inhabit the water around us. This is funny to us, but our laughter only masks fear. Soon after, most in the group clear out and soak in the sun on the highest point of rocks, where the Kayapo have established our feasting ground. The men return with two large fish in hand. They get to work making a fire and in no time the fish are cooking on top. They cook quickly, the outside turning into what looks like charcoal. Large leaves are cut as place-mates for the fish to be eaten off. While we dig in with our greedy fingers, they are slow and meticulous with their machetes. It is a delicious meal with plenty to feed to whole group. Before long, the fish are reduced to nothing more than scrapes and bones and left to the swarming bees, which come in droves. We hop back in the water for one last look at our magnificent surroundings – a picture we will never forget. Barbara lets us know we are now part of an exclusive group of less than 50 people who have ever been to this place. It is not found on any map; deep within the heart of the Amazon rainforest, somewhere within the state of Para, lost amongst the more than 1 million hectares of Kayapo territory, we have found an experience few others will ever know. We are privileged to have been given such a stunning gift from the Kayapo men we now feel proud to call our friends. It is true that I can not imagine how anything on this trip can possibly top what we have just done.
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