Ciao 79

So, when we left off with our gringita heroine, she was headed into the rainforest around the remote Waorani village of Daimontaro…

The objective of this trip was create an inventory of geological, botanical, zoological, cultural and other environmental features of the area. IBIS plans to conduct a similar survey in five other Waorani communities and make recommendations on what might be the best site(s). IBIS and the Waorani will then evaluate the potential for a very small scale community-based tourism operation. Unfortunately, I think the Waorani governing body (NAWE), the local community and IBIS each have different visions of what exactly IS community-based tourism (incidentally, it is part of a broader discussion here in Ecuador, as there are lots of different models…and few are truly successful as I understand it). Prior to heading out into the rainforest, we had a community meeting to discuss these objectives and IBIS explained that this was NOT a ‘build it and they will come’ cabin construction project. Meanwhile, the community thought they were scoping out sites to build cabins for tourists in their community. Sooo…it should be interesting to see what actually happens…

Blah, blah, blah, right? Well, I thought I would offer a brief explanation, as I realized that some of you out there in cyberspace don’t understand exactly what I am doing either. Hell I do not know either most of the time, but hopefully this provides at least some context.

So, a missionary, a German, a gringa, and a bunch of Waorani Indians are walking through the forest…

…Oh, uh, yeah, so we head out on our hike. As we cross through a part of the village, I see an old Waorani man in traditional Waorani-wear, which is nothing but a penis strap If I had to guess, I would say the guy was in his mid 80’s. He would likely have to guess, too, as many Waorani do not know how old they are or when their birthday is (including my counterpart, Manuela, who is in her early 40’s). While I had seen Waorani-wear in several parades in town, this was the first I had seen a Waorani go au naturale, in the element.

The old man went about his work, like it was totally normal to have a big parade of people walking through the area. We then went to work on the business of crossing the river. I probably could have waded across, as it did not look very deep. But this was not really much of an option for us, as we were directed to get in the dugout canoes and then Manuela would propel us with a pole across to the other side. The canoe seemed incredibly unstable to me. I crouched down and grabbed hold of either side of the canoe to try to stabilize it—or to stabilize myself I guess, because Manuela was solid as a rock standing in the back of the canoe and guiding us across to the other side using the pole to dig in to the stream bed and then push away from the bank. Once on solid ground on the other side of the river, we passed through a small open field and then were quickly swallowed up by the dense forest. The first part of our hike was along a path that was extraordinarily steep—especially considering the grass runway was super flat and not really that far away. We were joined by what seemed like at least half the village, which added a sort of festive flair to the affair. As we walked along a narrow hunting trail, many of the elders would point out special plants that possessed medicinal properties. To the untrained eye, one green plant looks like the next green plant. But to the Waorani, each plant had a specific purpose. Every other step, someone would point to a plant and explain what it was and what you could do with it. “The leaf of this plant is good for gastritis… The bark of this tree is good for healing wounds... When you cook and eat the seeds of this tree, you can prevent pregnancy…this plant will treat a snakebite from the equis (literally, “X”) snake…this plant treats snakebite from some other snake… this vine, when cooked, causes vomiting and then strong hallucinations…the roots of this tree are good for the immune system…the fruit from this tree is really tasty…this plant is used to help train toddlers so they don’t pee at night…(I am not making this up! There really is a plant that they use to potty train kids!). The forest is truly their drugstore, their supermarket, their playground..and of course their home.. It was fascinating. I wish I was able to absorb all the information, but it was coming at me in Wao Terero and broken Spanish…and even if it was in English there was no way I could remember any of it without writing it down…and that just sort of takes away from the experience sometimes. But who the hell knows if some of this stuff is written down anywhere. This was clearly knowledge passed on orally from one generation to the next. The Waorani don’t so much have a dictionary of their language, much less a plant guide to their forests. Who knows how many species globally we have burnt, buried or paved over that might have offered the latest medical advance or disease treatment… These are the things you ponder as you walk in the woods…

The group sort of got separated along the way, as some were prone to “dilly dally” as my mom might say. The first group eventually stopped and waited for the rest of the stragglers to catch up. As they waited, they chopped off some palm fronds with a machete and started weaving the leaves into ingeniously designed little basket-type sacks—complete with carrying strap. Soon everyone was seated on the forest floor making the baskets and crowns out of chambira palm leaves. (Check out the link listed on the left to see photos of action shots of the weaving instruction). Pictures still do not do it justice. It was one of those moments in life that you wish you could preserve three dimensionally somehow.

We eventually moved on, each with basket slung over a shoulder, walking slowly through the woods, filling our baskets with interesting seeds and other forest finds. We checked out some “caves” which were more like rock overhangs that the Waorani had used to hideout in during their warring years.

We also stopped to eat some ants. Yes, you read that right: ants. We ate some lemon flavored ants…live. One of the Waorani broke a twig off of a bush and broke it open and inside were ants. You kind of had to stick your tongue into the opening and catch them on your tongue. Instead of hesitating or thinking about it too much, I just did it. They were kind of tangy, actually. I did not eat very many. You certainly could not fill up on them even if you tried, as they were the super-small variety.

As we walked I wondered… WHO discovered that these were edible ants? I mean, there are probably thousands of different species of ants on the planet---many of them right here in Amazonia… how many have been taste-tested? How many other interesting ant flavors are out there? But seriously, just who is the lucky chap who determines which ants are edible and which ones bite like hell and make your life miserable, say, like the giant Conga ant…

The backdrop to our ant eating experience was a dramatic waterfall and steep cliff face. While some people bathed in the waterfall, others sat on a log in the middle of the stream, while others passed around some orange-like fruit (I say orange-like because they are actually green on the outside instead of orange) and crackers and other snacks. Manuela found a leaf that she curved into a perfect little bowl to drink out of and we passed around the leaf bowl of (ironically enough) bottled water. We hung out at the waterfall for quite a while and listened to stories of some of the village elders.

The hike back out was super steep in some places and I had to grab onto branches and roots and tree trunks in order to keep moving. The guy leading the long line of hikers was blazing new trail with his machete. It was slow going at some points, which was fine by me. I do a fair amount of speed hiking and I was happy the pace was slow. }}

During one of the lulls in the hike, one of the Waorani spotted some big edible seeds waaaay up in the canopy of the trees. Without a second thought, Manuela cut down a long vine, wrapped it round her hand forming a lasso, of sorts. She then stepped into the circle formed by the vine and then started to climb the tree. One of the other women was an expert climber. She sat her baby down, and shimmied up the tree like it was no big deal…in a skirt no less. This was serious skill. The bark of the tree was smooth and there were no little branches to hang onto on your way up or down. Imagine trying to climb a big telephone pole using only your upper body strength and little vine between your feet to cinch your way up. Now imagine me trying to do that. Pretty funny, huh? Yeah, I made it, oh…a meter off the ground maybe before sliding back down to earth. I once again provided much entertainment value to the Waorani.

The hike back to the village was mostly downhill…and super slick with mud. I fell at least four times. One of the teenage girls ended up grabbing my elbow and basically holding me up through some of the parts. Once we crossed the river again and got back to basecamp, I grabbed my stuff and headed for the river to bathe and rinse out my muddy clothes. The river was cold and clear and refreshing. A great way to end a fantastic hike.

That night I slept a little better and breakfast in the mess hall was actually pretty decent. It was green plantain mixed in with veggies…and then an oatmeal type drink. It tasted better than it sounds, I swear. We then headed out on another hike. As we made our way along the side of the grass runway, we caught an incredible view of one of the snow capped volcanoes waaaaay off in the distance. It was stunning. It was one of the few (virtually) cloudless blue sky days that I can remember since being in the Oriente. The view of the volcano was framed by the clearing in the forest for the runway. Too bad my camera doesn´t have a better zoom to capture it… oh well.

One of the girls painted my face with achoite, this cool spikey seedpod that opens up into crushable orange-red seeds that many indigenous groups in Amazonia use to paint their bodies. The Waorani women typically paint their nose and below their eyes in a sort of mask. The girl who painted me was pretty messy…but I was sweating so much it seemed to run a lot anyway. We headed up another steep hill into the forest. The group then suddenly stopped and everyone whipped out their cameras to take a picture of a monster frog…it was the biggest frog I had ever seen. It was bigger than a softball. It sat—frozen like—for several minutes before then darting off into the forest.

Only about a half hour into our hike we heard a plane approaching. All the kids got excited but Manuela got a worried look on her face… “That is our plane!” “What?” I say. “It isn’t supposed to come until 2 p.m. It isn’t even 10:00 yet!” “No, that is our plane. Let’s go,” she said. Crap…I was prepared to be waiting a while for our plane to get there that afternoon…I was NOT expecting it to be four hours early! That never happens here it seems. So, we rushed back down the hill. I was crashing through the trees rather ungracefully. Manuela rushed ahead of me, as she is much more agile in the forest than I. It was all I could do not to fall on my face running downhill on a newly blazed path with lots of natural obstacles in my way. At some point I realize there is a woman behind me. I didn’t even hear her, she was walking silent as a cat. Thank goodness she was there or else I might have missed the turnoff in the trail. At one point I realized how much noise I was making crashing through the leaves walking…and how she did not seem to make a sound. It was really remarkable. I splashed across the river and was making my way toward the bank when I felt her hand on my elbow guiding me to where I should climb up. I look back, and here is this really old almost fragile looking lady—barefoot no less-- the kind of lady you might stop to help cross the street or open the door for… and there she is helping ME cross the river and climb the stream bank. A very humbling experience were it not so amusing somehow. Once I was on the flat grassy runway I was able to run and catch up to Manuela…and the plane. I have done my fair share of running down concourses in airports in order to catch a plane, but never have I actually ran down a freaking runway to catch a plane! We threw our stuff in our bags, quickly deconstructed the tent, then hopped in the plane and were off. I got to sit in the co-pilot seat next to the same pilot who took us. I stared at all the gadgets (which were all in English, by the way) and suppressed the urge to touch them or the steering wheel thing in front of me. The view from the plane on the way back to Shell was equally impressive. I actually felt sad to leave. I really wanted to finish the hike and say a proper goodbye to my new pals. Once we were in Shell, we hopped in a taxi and zoomed back to Puyo… A memorable experience indeed…