Friday, March. 7, 2003 - 3:42 p.m.
Welcome to the Jungle- Part 2
The following morning, Sunday, we woke up early and had a modest breakfast of bread, scrambled eggs and weak tea. Then we broke into three groups. One group would visit a nearby plantation, one would go canoeing on the river and the third would go on a jungle hike. Becky, Jayne and I took the junge tour first with two village men, Juan and Jose. We started our hike walking parallel to the river and first came to a clearing that had plantain trees. They showed us how they cut down the leaves and use them for making thatched roofs. Along our hike we stopped a few more times as they pointed out trees and plants that have important uses for the Indians, usually for special festivals or meals. Then we crossed the river where the water came above our knees (hence we had water flow into our boots and slosh around while we contintued to hike) and the path entered thicker vegetation. The air was warm and humid, so I wore a sleeveless shirt, despite the fact that once or twice I brushed against a plant that left my skin itchy and irritated. Jose led the way with a machete, clearing away any branches or leaves that blocked the path. We saw some interesting insects and colorful butterflies as we hiked. Some parts of the path were very muddy and then the path turned from the river and became very steep at certain points. We hiked for about an hour and then, before we crested the steep hill, the men asked us to wait while they chopped down some leaves to be used for lunch. They said they would take an hour, but it turned out to be more like two. We awkwarly found precarious places to sit and then had a lot of time to look around and wait. I watched many insects come and go, some of them were like big buzzy flies that looked as if they had fallen in a puddle of motor oil, glistening in blues and greens. Large red and orange ants marched past us, while an occasional butterfly would hover around a little flower before nonchalently continuing on its way. I was hoping we’d see an animal, maybe even a monkey, but I heard it is rare to find animals in the jungle, especially where we were, near human dwellings. Besides, the monkeys are a common delicacy with the Indians, so they are seldom seen. Eventually the men returned and we made our slow decent through the mud, trees and thick underbrush. At one point we stopped and Jose cut down a branch that he chopped open and slit out smaller pieces of and handed to us. They looked like pale pieces of string cheese they said were palm hearts, for eating. It was mostly tasteless, with a hint of moisture and slightly chewy.
When we returned to the village, the others had already had lunch and were wondering if we had gotten lost, since we had been gone so long. Each group shared their experience while the three of us girls had our modest lunch of rice, meat and weak tea. (Our "plates" were plantain leaves the men had aquired in the jungle). The canoe ride most appealed to me, while the plantation walk sounded very similar to our experience in the jungle. So, after lunch, Becky, Jayne and I went with Juan and Jose on a short trek to another river where we found a crude canoe carved from a single tree trunk. Very narrow and tippy, it could only hold two or three people at a time, so we took turns sitting in the canoe while, like a typical Venetian, Juan or Jose used a long pole to navigate down the tranquil river. I saw lots of different kinds of birds, and at one point a huge spiders nest in the trees. It was like a multi-layered gauze draped amongst the leaves. I asked to go on shore to see the spiders nest up close, thinking that the creature who made it must’ve been twice as big as Toby the Terranchula who visted our house back in January. But after talking to Jose I learned that it is actually made by many little spiders. While we waited for our turn in the canoe, we sat on the sandy banks of the river, basking in the sun and listening to the birds call out to each other, soaking in the beauty and peacefulness of the forest.
As we were returning back to the village, I noticed an austere wooden building near the path and learned that it was the school. Jose walked with me to the doorless, window-pane-less simple one-room structure. I was impressed that there were only two wooden benches and a few small metal desks, the only thing on the walls was a small picture of an Ecuadorian flag and a crude hand-written vowel chart. As the cool breeze flowed through the stark room and rustled the leaves of the Eucalyptus trees outside, I looked out at the wide grassy meadow, trying to imagine what it would be like to teach in this school…what kinds of materials and resources could they possibly have? Jose told me that there was one teacher who taught in all the surrounding pueblos, another fellow Shuar villager. Later I agreed with Jayne’s suggestion that after we return to Cuenca we would send the village a world map to add to their plain classroom walls.
That afternoon there was another soccer game, although not as rousing as the first one. Following that a group of us walked down to the adjacent river to bathe. The swift river water was ice cold. It started out being only 4 of us, but eventually our whole gang arrived and a bunch of Shuar children who were celebrating Carnival by throwing buckets of water at each other…hilarious to watch. Then it started to rain and I got cold and soon returned to our hut to change and warm up. A lot of our clothes were wet or damp, so we had items hanging all over the place (a scent of fresh mold suspended in the air). Our Wellington boots surrounded the small fire as well as the skeleton dogs, their tiny bodies curled near the fire, trying to soak up the warmth.
In the evening there was more music and dancing. Tsunkai and his counterparts also asked us to share some music from our countries as well. So Berni and Frank sang a traditional Irish tune, the Brits shared a Beatles song (with the rest joining in), I sang “Swing Low, Sweet Chariot”, a slave spiritual, and after some persuasion Diana did Canada’s National Anthem “O Canada”. Afterwards, the Shuar brought in a beat up, battery-powered radio and we all danced to Cumbia (a Columbian kind of Salsa) late into the night. Before going to sleep, again I strayed outside for a little while, watching the flickering fireflies with delight.
