WEEK ONE In the Basin of Sweat, Fire and Shamans

Every night I rest by a fire, my body full of oregano oil, boiled and iodized water, fresh fish, and grit stuck to repellent stuck to my legs…

We left Puyo behind, a bustling frontier town where everything seems to be made in China, and those that clog the busy streets are either missionary or indigenous. We left behind pizza, the internet, phone calls home, roads, bus rides, plastic bags, bottled water, and anything cold. We
flew into the jungle on a little plane from ¨Alas de Socorro,¨ Wings of Salvation, a missionary airline. Before we took off over the vast green of endless Amazonian jungle, the pilot bowed his head and prayed aloud to God.

An hour later we landed on dirt, plantain trees flashing by, and then...there they were. The village, standing together like a gleaming mass of copper, eyes bright, waiting to meet us. Everything, everything, is a village affair.

They led us to the community center, where we were welcomed with round after round of chicha, poured from the gourds of individual women, each with an individual sour or sweet flavor, their thumbs always resting inside the milky liquid, as if thebeer itself pours from the thumb of the woman,giving life to the whole village. We sat facing the village, staring at each other. Staring. The women with saggy breasts, long black hair, full skirtsand wide feet. We the big, strange White Clowns. They made us dance in front of the community. They like to watch us dance and it´s quite embarrassing.

Settling in we found our own beautiful palm thatched house, we found the Pastaza river, wide and flat pulling downstream with heavy current. We found some beautiful carved stools in our house and hand made clay bowls to eat from. We set up our mosquito net, and cooked some fish (the first of hundreds).

The village arrives everyday, a different family each day, bringing us something from their well cultivated gardens… plantain, manioc, avocado, fish, papaya, peanuts, papa china, oranges (a real treat!), pineapple (another treat), and supposedly limes are coming next. Everything in our house is covered with ash. We have to keep a fire going most of the day, never letting the embers die. Here in our Achuar dream house, we have a constant fire burning between three
sturdy logs which also serve as seats to cook from. Each day we battle with our fire, with pots, with food. We work harder than we are used to each day just to make something good… but it never tastes good. We are not yet skilled at working fire like the Achuar, our tender hands
get burned and scorched. To get water we have to walk a bit, fill up buckets and carry them back on our heads up a steep muddy slope.

Here we struggle over the small things which at home are so simple and easy. Coaxing small quiet embers into a full flamed fire which will then heat parasite ridden water to a boil, so that I may quench my parched lips and smokey mouth with precious liquid. That I may wash my fork, rinse soap from a pot.

Sweating, always sweating in the overbearing heat, always swatting away the gnats, the black flies, the mosquitos. Almost every family here owns a big flock of chickens. We battle with our neighbors chickens everyday, as they run rampant through our wall-less house, diving and jumping for the food we work so hard to cook.

Bathing in the river is a surprising comfort. To wash the dirt and sweat and hard days´ work, from my tired body, and feel the current of the vast mocha river run through my hair, makes it all worth it.

We spent four days without a mattress, ending the day horizontally on hard wood bed. We tried so hard, but we couldn't sleep. Our bodies unconditioned to such hard comfort, our hip bones jutting into the wood, turning in circles, upside down, sideways, backwards. It was tough.
When our mattress was flown in from Puyo, we yelped with joy at its sight and carried it like a throne from the runway to our hut, placing it just so under the mosquito net, falling into its foam.

Everything must first be learned. I feel like a baby learning how to walk and eat again. I fall down and cry and then I get up and try again. Today, washing clothes for the first time in the river, I
slipped and the current almost pulled me down river, then the soap slipped instead, and I watched it float down the water, and I felt bad for the fish who dared nibble it.

Homesickness hits like a bat over the head. And then suddenly it´s gone. Time goes by so slowly here, one day feels like two, and one night like three. It feels like staring at clouds which don't move in the sky, although you know somehow they are moving.

Bless Isabel, also known as Jiyunt, our village friend who has coordinated our existence here and who has huge and beautiful dreams for her village. She has dark wise eyes and fleshy lips, the daughter of an assasinated shaman, who has so much love for her community. The only woman in here with a voice. She is patient with us, and never ceases to amaze us with her Amazonian nature - she wields amachete like I’ve never seen!

It was a huge shock to us when we realized that this village does not speak Spanish. Therefore, a very large language barrier exists between us and the village. Jiyunt is one of our only links, our medium, the go-between for the ¨them ¨ and ¨ us ¨. She took us for a walk the other day on empty stomachs (common), in the piercing mid day heat. Starting on the dirt airstrip and then through huge ¨chakras¨ (the Achuar Word for garden), which host an incredible array of of flourishing plants. A gardening culture. We followed Jiyunt through these gardens, now and then coming upon a family compound, where we would avoid angry dogs and quietly salute, if at all, families dozing in the heat, sweeping away dried leaves, building fires, swinging machetes.Then through the thick jungle, and ending at a small waterfall tumbling with diamond like water.

The gardens are impressive! They keep them very clear and raked, and they are so much bigger than you are probably imagining. More like plantations of yucca, plantain and various fruit.

There is so much to write, so much to share. Like how the Achuar are only recently a sedentary agragarian culture. Until about 20 years ago they wandered as nomads, engaging in constant tribal warfare. I suppose one of the few good thing the missionaries have done for the Achuar is the stop them from killing each other. They now live in small sedentary communities- something which goes against their nature. It is a new paradigm and it is fascinating to observe.

Everyone is incredibly shy with us. Especially the women and children who barely even approach or make eye contact. The women are the invisible gears and gas and motor behind this entire Achuar existence. Tucked away in their gardens, whispering prayers to their plants,
tending to their dirt faced children or a dying fire, hauling water, cooking plantains, and always carrying a baby on their back. They are incredibly strong. It makes me feel quite puny in my physicality.

Teaching is a another chapter. We´ve just begun, and its hard work (like everything here) but quite rewarding. The children are mostly willing, but due to their innate shyness, are a bit unresponsive and would rather just stare at us.

Ah, we are learning! One of the biggest and completely unexpected struggles this first week for me is the feeling of isolation and not being able to leave very easily. The other day all I wanted was a glass of cold water. And when I realized I wouldn't be able to have anything cold for five months it was a real moment of understanding of where I am and how it is going to be. And I had some very dark moments thinking about everything I cannot have and all the things I cannot reach without major effort.