The Spirit of the Jungle

The Ecuadorian Amazon

Newsletter from the Rainforest No 8

“If you don’t get better by Monday, we will take you to Sumpa, the shaman,” says Joffre at breakfast hearing me cough and sneeze. There is a lot of laughter when he adds in Spanish, “He can then suck the bad spirits out of your body”. I have no doubt about the sexual innuendo involved, but since there are only two women around (a tiny, wafer-thin single mother and myself) you can’t blame the guys for this kind of banter. And they’ve been good.

“I have to leave in ten minutes,” I was grumbling on Friday when, after a slow start to the day, it looked like I would be late for my first class at 7:15. The boat ride is at least 15 minutes (although the head of our maintenance team managed to cover the distance in 7 minutes last week when, on account of a long briefing in the manager’s office, we left after 7). “I must be at the High School on time even if I have to swim,” I am declaring, which is silly, of course, but has the desired effect. Someone offers to take me if my assigned boat driver doesn’t turn up, and then it transpires that he is already waiting for me at the boat landing quite prepared to not have breakfast until he returns.

The cabins and the lagoon in the rainy season

What have I achieved, I am asking myself when I take stock of the past six months. Staff members at the Lodge are now able to introduce themselves in English when the new guests arrive and we have a “beauty pageant line-up” in the evening. All of them can give a simple account of their lives and their work at the hotel. Some of them have started an examination course with me while others were given a bit of help with how they could teach English to young learners in their own communities.

Planting palm trees at the college

My students at the high school can also offer personal information about themselves, their families and the community they come from. They are now better at looking me in the eye and most of them are able to give a proper, firm handshake. They are still extremely soft spoken and there is a limit to how many times I can play the trick which goes like: “Listen guys, there’s a lady/gentleman in the group that is coming to meet you later today who is hard of hearing. Practically deaf. Can you please shout?”

One to one with guests from the Lodge

They have certainly enjoyed the school visits and being observed. Many of the tourists were happy to engage with them, several contributed to the dictionary project as well as to the refurbishing of the English classroom, and Silke from Germany has just made the buying of the new batteries a reality rather than a pipe dream. We don’t have the money for the whole lot, but the purchase is now within reach.

The language teaching programme is now well kitted out with the printer and the surge protector among the most prized possessions. I often say jokingly that the Peruvian merchant has fewer stationery items in his boat than I do in my cabin, which is just as well as there is always a need for pens and the DIY exercise books that I make by folding the A4 sheets in half, adding a thicker, coloured sheet as a cover page, stapling the whole lot together and sticking scotch tape to the spine so that fingers don’t get caught.

The snake

What am I taking away? Probably a deeper understanding of a culture in which the dreams you dream give you more than just guidance – they actually map out your everyday activities as well as shape your future. The appreciation of a lifestyle that is largely in tune with nature. A realization that I probably came in the eleventh hour. A hope that whether my students stay in the jungle or leave it behind, the skills I have taught them language- and otherwise, will serve them well.

Monkey meat

I don’t know how much English the Achuar have learnt from me, but my Spanish has definitely improved. Of course, I am borrowing words all the time like when I explain to Ines that concerning the work experience that the students are supposed to be doing at the Lodge, we have to “focusar” on this, that and the other. After using the word several times (in my usual, authoritative manner), Ines at last asks me: “What exactly do you mean when you say ‘focusar’ ”? “Well, you know, we have to pay a lot of attention to how we set up the work experience and make sure the kids don’t end up wielding a machete all day while working in maintenance rather than engaging with the tourists.” “I see. I think you mean “centrar” or “enfocar”. And Ines promises to teach me more Spanish when I come back.

Do you mean you’re going back, I can hear you ask. You bet.

Good night.

Sleepless in the Amazon

Newsletter from the Rainforest No 7

3:22 am. I’ve been awake for an hour and a half trying to go back to sleep. The usual method of reading the monolingual Spanish dictionary didn’t help; it only reinforced my impression that English and Spanish are the same languages, you only pronounce the words differently. Not true, of course, these days I am painfully aware that my knowledge of verb conjugations is still rudimentary at best. (How many Spanish words in the above paragraph, you may ask. I counted 21 including the word “counted”.)

Being up in this ungodly hour reminds me of a similar spell of sleeplessness in Ethiopia. It lasted for about six months in my first placement and then repeated itself in Aksum. Over here in the rain forest, it is the fact that I will be leaving soon that makes me restless. I have about six weeks at best to give the programme a big push and hand over to Geraldine, who is arriving at the end of March.

I am lucky there is power at night. The head of our maintenance unit decided that he would not turn off the light in my cabin at 9:30 pm. “Elizabeth needs electricity at night. I know she gets up early and she is doing things for us”, he declared and our resident manager left it at that. Even though I got used to the unpredictable power cuts in Ethiopia and reach for the head torch or light the candles almost without thinking, it is a bliss to be able to turn on the computer and listen to the printer as it goes through the motions before it switches to standby mode.

And then I count my blessings: the radio cassette recorder that I got from the programme organizers so that we can listen to the audio recordings I make during the classes and the printer (only installed yesterday) that came as a donation and allows me to print, scan and photocopy without having to beg in the office or pray that the batteries at the high school have enough power in them to print when I go there in the morning and it is still overcast.

School assembly - grave faces, I think they were told off

“It’s got worse these past weeks”, says Ines. “There is no sun to feed the solar panels and the old batteries don’t store much energy any more even when the sun is out.” I know what a terrible bottleneck that is. The students cannot use the computer room, because even though there are a good number of new computers, there is no power. We would need to replace all fourteen batteries at the same time, each costing about 350 dollars. Other people count sheep when they are sleepless, I count money. My friends and family raised enough for one unit, Alan said he might be able to pay for one, Geraldine started fundraising and may have the money for another, that’s three. Out of fourteen.

But miracles do happen. One of the tourists who came to visit the college sends me great photos of me and my students and asks me to let her know if she could be of help. “Well, actually…” and there goes the story about the batteries. “You know what, I have just heard from my landlord in Germany. It looks like he will return my deposit after all. This is windfall money. I decided to give it to your school”, comes the reply and I can’t believe my eyes when I look at the figure: 1500 euros. I look for the currency converter on the Internet and there it is: about 2000 dollars. We may have enough money for ten units.

“Who produces or imports these blessed batteries?” I am asking the deputy head, Wilmer, who is also the ICT specialist. “I think they come from Spain, the importers are in Quito.” “Could you get in touch with them and explain that we have the money for ten batteries and would they be prepared to give us a discount or sell us the batteries at factory prices?” Ines and Wilmer agree it’s worth a try. They have become good at asking for things over the years. Only recently one of the major telecommunications companies has been persuaded to install satellite internet at the high school. “When exactly?” “Looks like the end of April. But we need the batteries for our ordinary, daily operations.”

This is a parasite growing on a tree trunk

Classes at the high school won’t start before next week, so I have more time to spend with my students at the Lodge and follow up an Achuar myth so that someone could include it in her forthcoming book on the Achuar. (The proceeds from the sales will be going to the 64 tribal communities. I think I argued convincingly when I said that channelling half of that money to the high school would, in a roundabout way, help all the communities by investing in their children’s education. Think batteries.)

JoAnne wanted to learn if there was a story about why Achuar women cannot have more than one husband while Achuar men are free to marry two or three women even today.

And the story goes like this.

In ancient times there were no people living on Earth. The Sun (Etsaa) and the Moon (Nantu) were brothers who lived together like good brothers do: they cared for and looked after each other. There were no people, but there was one single woman and both brothers fell in love with her. They could not decide who should marry her, so in the end both of them became her husbands. However, their peace of mind was gone and they were fighting with each other over the woman all the time. At last one of them said, “This won’t do. We cannot be fighting endlessly over a woman. We will have to go our separate ways.” So they both left the woman and decided that the Sun will work during the day (providing daylight for the world) and the Moon will be shining at night. In this way, they won’t ever meet again and will have no reason or occasion to fight. However, Nantu, the Moon put a curse on the woman for the loss of their brotherly love saying that in the future no woman shall have more than one husband.

The myth reflects the fact that in the close-knit Achuar communities men are very often brothers. Widows often marry their dead husband’s brother, who will then look after the children as well.

As in many traditional societies, extramarital affairs are not tolerated among the Achuar either. Starting such a relationship is an absolute taboo and should a woman violate it, both her and her lover will be killed by the husband or his friends or anyone the husband hires to do the job. “About twelve years ago a woman and her lover were killed in our province and five years ago another couple died in the neighbouring province, Morona Santiago”, says one of my students. “Even today, if two men are in love with the same woman, they will agree between themselves which one of them should leave in order to keep the peace and avoid temptation.”

The taboo is powerful even after an Achuar couple is separated (this does happen at times). Should the woman find another partner, her ex-husband may come back and demand money in order to let her get on with her life claiming that unless she pays for her freedom, she and her new partner will be killed.

There appears to be no myth regarding why men can take several wives. However, only few middle-aged Achuar men have more than one wife these days, even though it was quite customary in their grandparents’ generation. “The first wife needs to agree if I want to bring a second woman to the house and my wife is not keen on the idea at all”, says one of my students.

A myth would be helpful, though.

Good night.

Christmas Show about The Good and the Bad Shaman - another living story

 

The Hemline

“And what exactly is your method when teaching English?” asks the lady from the States as we are waiting in Kusutkau for the flight to arrive from Shell. “I don’t have a special method, we just talk about things that they want to say in English. If they want to say ‘I am dying of love’, I help them say it.” The lady and her friends, as well as Omar laugh. Omar, the naturalist guide from Quito, has seen me in action when at 6 am in the morning I round up everybody in the staff canteen to sign up for the day’s English classes. “I can’t believe what I am seeing”, he says to our resident manager. “Elizabeth has just arranged for English classes for everyone. It took her about a minute and a half.”

Our English Classroom

Lessons usually start at 7 am in the dedicated English palm fronded hut that has a small whiteboard as well. When the young men from maintenance turn up, I can see that they are so sleepy they can hardly keep their eyes open. “I am very sleepy”, I write on the whiteboard. Silvio and Freddy repeat it without much thinking and a lot of yawning. “Why?” Shrugs. “Because I didn’t sleep well” I suggest. They dutifully copy it in their exercise books, although Freddy needs a bit of nudging with this. “Why?” I pursue. “Because my girlfriend left me”, says Freddy without missing a beat. I am astonished: this is something we learnt months ago. 

Deserted by girlfriends

At that time we were talking about being “happy” and “unhappy”. On that occasion they decided they were “unhappy” because their girlfriends had left them. Eduardo, Olger and Pablo’s father (as well as of seven more kids) is always in for a laugh and decides he is “happy” because his girlfriend has left him. (In fact, he has a delightfully intelligent wife in Wayusentsa, the community I decided to visit before I left for Cuenca to see if I could survive there later this year. I had to acknowledge that I couldn’t.)

But back to the dialogue about girlfriends deserting. “Why?” They shrug. Let’s try this, I suggest: “I don’t know. I have no idea.” And we end up with a meaningful, fun dialogue, parts of which they can use in other situations as well. Of course, we do a lot of work on “more useful” things like what to say to tourists who need a bigger pair of rubber boots or how to describe a bird of astonishing colours. But usually it is the “hemline” (the one that connects the heart and the mind) that guides my teaching practice.

This girlfriend issue confused me initially. Early on we were constructing short presentations about my adult students’ personal life including their marital status. When they said they were single, I did not go on to ask about any children. But soon it turned out that a lot of young men were single and still had children. What shall we call the children’s mother: girlfriend, partner or wife? Sometimes they were living together, sometimes not.

Another baby on its way

Then came the question of being married. Is someone with 9 children but without a civil marriage considered to be married? Obviously, that person is married in the eyes of the Achuar community and Arutam, the spirit of the jungle. Sometimes it turned out that someone had a family both in and out of the jungle. The number of children accordingly oscillated between four and eight.

Getting married according to Achuar traditions is very simple. The prospective husband’s parents visit the girl’s family and ask for her hand. If the parents agree, the couple is considered to be married. There is a festive meal, a lot of dancing combined with the consumption of a considerable amount of manioc beer (chicha) and the young people can start their life together as a married couple either staying in the girl’s or the boy’s community.

I say boys and girls, because they marry young. I remember one of my students telling me how his young sister of sixteen died in childbirth. She started bleeding and by the time they got her in a boat to take her to the health centre, it was too late. “And you had no idea that this was a complicated pregnancy?” I asked him. “She had no trouble with the previous three babies.” I could feel my heartbeat stop for a second and I bit my lip. “We buried her in the river and look after the child now.”

Offering chicha

The visit to Wayusentsa made me realize (not that I did not know it before) how hard everyday life must be for all members of the community, and especially the women. They have to look after large families without clean water and electricity. They do the washing in the river and boil water to drink, but the staple drink is chicha (made by the women every 3-4 days). The fermented and therefore mildly alcoholic drink is given to small children as young as two years old. It is considered to be safer and healthier than drinking water. When there is no food around, because the hunting or fishing was unsuccessful, the whole community drinks only chicha for days.

Achuar women keep the fire burning all day inside the huts that are very high (about six metres), but there are no holes or chimneys, so the smoke lingers close to the roof conserving the palm fronds and driving away mosquitoes and other insects. This is essential, as I found out during my weekend stay in the volunteers’ hut in Wayusentsa. Without this constant fumigation insects bite you viciously and you only notice afterwards.

Sai's image of hoatzins (many claim it's an award winning photo)

Perhaps it is only through Western eyes that life appears to be so hard. True enough, members of the Achuar communities are surrounded by an environment that takes your breath away. On the way up to Wayusentsa, we saw some of my favourite hoatzin birds and a pink river dolphin came up for air so close to the dugout canoe that Olger, Pablo and me could have stroked its head. Most of the time, the jungle supplies everything: fruits, vegetables, wild and grown, fish and animals to eat, medicinal plants and all the construction materials needed for the Achuar lifestyle.

Olger and Pablo - the smiley ones

When we arrived the meeting that takes place every three months was under way. The chief of the community, a young man and several elders were sitting at a desk under the huge, hangar-like common building with rows of benches arranged along the open sides and in the middle. The men were seated all around while the women were sitting at the back with buckets of chicha. Every now and then a lady would come round offering the manioc beer to their husband and others including myself. They had young babies tied to their backs in a multifunctional scarf and when they were not serving chicha they were breastfeeding, combing each other’s hair and looking for nits, chattering away as well as standing up and contributing to the debate in a rather forceful manner.

Doing the chicha rounds

The debate on issues concerning the community started hours before I got there. At some point I introduced myself and said that I came from Kapawi to find out more about their need for an English teacher. This happened in Spanish with the village chief translating my words for the benefit of the women who tend to speak little Spanish or none at all.

The discussion then continued and although I could not understand what was said, it was quite obvious that the debate on any topic lasted until everyone had a say and until they found a satisfactory solution that appeared to be acceptable to everyone. In a community of more than two hundred people it just wouldn’t work if there was a sizeable minority that could not go along with the decisions taken.

The Wayusentsa shaman

No wonder the meeting lasted all day. And restarted the next morning. I said goodbye around 10 am and we left with the community’s shaman who was to take me back to the Lodge. Another family came with us including six young children, a couple of relatives, pots and pans, a bucket of chicha, fishing lines and hooks, school books and clothing as well as the family pet, a small puppy.

Omar

We got back by lunchtime; Olger and Pablo had another hour’s walk through the jungle to get back to Kapawi community. As I waved them goodbye I remembered our conversation the evening before about what Olger wants to do with his life. “I want to be a naturalist guide like Omar” said Olger and I thought: if I could make this happen, my life would have been worth living.

I will keep you posted.

Good night.