MAITO

Yesterday was a good day. Through a torrential downpour, I followed young Rocien in search of one very special leaf. Her tiny sisters were in tow, barefoot, shirtless and shivering as they walked through deep puddles, their arms folded over bloated bellies. Rocien has a broad smile with dimples. Rocien, (Achuar name) or Dominga, (Spanish name) is 14 and the first daughter of something like 15 children.  Her father, Ignacio, is the only man in the Wachirpas community with three wives, all of whom I´ve noticed to appear seemingly unhappy each time I pass through the backyard of their compound when in search of water. They live in a big unkempt house, the palm roof always scattered with drying, river scrubbed, children´s clothing, the ground covered with plantain peels, egg shells, manioc fibers. Their house is fenced in by leafy sugar cane stalks which act a wall on the soccer field,  which our little hut also shares an edge with. At night I can hear Ignacio playing his poorly tuned guitar and his seven daughters singing high, like the Pleadeas sisters, charming Orion, the great hunter of the night sky.

We walked down the dirt landing strip, flooded, Rocien barefoot, me in boots and a useless rain jacket which the little ones cautiously reached out to touch once when we paused under a plantain outcropping. They fingered its fabric, noting the inside to be somewhat dry.

Rocien suddenly cut to the right, leading me at a high speed through her family’s´ chakra, creating a path by slashing away dangling branches and foliage with the skilled strokes of her well worn machete. At the edge of the chakra we continued into thick jungle. Rocien, being barefoot and wielding a machete like she could do it in her sleep, gave me confidence to press on after her, despite the darkness of the forest and the fat rain, which had now found its way to every surface of my skin. Hopping over a log into a small bog, Rocien, with water dripping from her small nose, collected nine ¨nuka leaves, placed them over her head, and just like that we headed back, briefly detouring to hack down a few bunches of heavy green plantains which I carried back with a bit of hidden struggle.

Nuka is my favorite jungle leaf. It is also the main ingredient for making ¨maito¨, a traditional style of cooking fish. After finding the leaf, a good sturdy vine to act as twine is in order. The fish is slit, smothered in salt, and wrapped up tightly in six nuka leaves, tied and twisted together with vine, and set amongst the glowing embers of the cook fire to steam. These tasty packages of maito are then rotated against the embers so as to receive even heat. The fish is ready after about 40 minutes of such rotating and ember stoking. The result is the most buttery delicious fish I have ever tasted, steaming and soaked with the flavor of the precious nuka leaf, salt, and fresh water fish. It is truly an Amazonian treat to relish.
After four weeks here, I have learned how to wrap and cook maito. However, it is the hunt for the imperative nuka leaf which is the true challenge, something for which I must still call on the gracious help of young Rocien.