Tena, Ecuador
The bus ride to Tena was 3.5 hours of pure descent, and until nightfall we watched through the window as the scenery changed from high sierra to Amazon Basin jungle. Upon arrival we contacted Mercedes, who is the director of a school in an indigenous community that is only accessible by canoe. That is all we knew when we arrived, we didn´t have any expectations or information beyond that fact.
We had been put in touch with Mercedes via our friend John Lavas, who had visited the comminuty with the volunteer project World Challenge two years ago. He had given us a sealed envelope filled with pictures that he had taken of the community, and we had (barely) resisted the temptation to tear it open and see what was in store for us.
Mercedes and her family collected us at the terminal, and took us to her home. The first thing we learned through conversation with them is that the overwhelming majority of the region is bilingual, Kichwa (a subdivision of Quechua) being the mother tongue of most people. Mercedes and her family were incredibly hospitable from the moment we met, clearing out a room in her house for us and welcoming us with a mountain of sliced papaya.
We woke up the next morning at 5:30 to catch the bus to Misahaulli, which is the launching point for the canoes which navigate the Rio Napo. They are long, tippy motorboats that sink right up to the ridge when they´re occupied, and they are the only means to reach the many native communities which line the banks of the Rio Napo, which feeds into the Amazon. When we arrived in Misahuali, we were treated to the sight of monkeys darting playfully through the town, grabbing whatever they could get their hands on and curiously tearing it to shreds just out of reach in a tree. We saw a monkey drinking Gatorade, which was a definite highlight.
When we arrived at the community we were immediately impressed and intrigued. This community truly is a “community”; it´s an extended family of about 150 persons that does almost everything together. For example they have a small collection of man-made pools where they breed tilapia, and take turns netting their food for the day, which is brought down to the communal kitchen to be prepared by the mothers of the village. They grow yuca, plantains, and cacao in a communal garden, and all share in the work and enjoyment of the harvest. They have a shaman that they call “Grandfather”, who walks around the village in a button down shirt, carrying a machete. And, sadly, they have a tiger in a cage which spends it´s time pacing back and forth, growling in agitation.
We were offered a room in the on-site home of the director, which is a shack on stilts settled a ways back the village. The staircase was a wet, slippery log with notches caved into it for traction. After watching us navigate it for the first time the director said a few words to a nearby community member and he immediately dissapeared, returning moments later with a chainsaw. The next time we passed by the cabin it had a new wooden staircase.
Our first impresion of the accomodations, and in fact the lifestyle of the community in general, is that they are extremely utilitarian. There´s very little electricity used (mainly for one central lightbulb in each house), no showers, the water comes from a hose that lays aside the main path. Toilets are a new addition to the community and were built by volunteers last year. We spent most of our time hanging out with the kids, watching them throw cacao husks at a wasps nest.
What we found interesting, considering that they choose to live without many modern comforts, is that they are not in any way isolated from the modern world. Up to 200 tourists a day visit the community on a daily basis, and when they do everything stops while community changes into traditional costume and performs their ceremonial songs and dances for people weilding digital cameras and camcorders. When the boats leave, everyone goes back to doing what they were doing. They perserve their way of life although they are well aware of the alternatives and city life is a short canoe ride away. It´s a very impressive (and admittedly for me, very curious) thing that we look forward to understanding more as we spend more time with the community.
The next day the students took the day off, because it was “Teacher´s Day”, and all of the teachers of the region were converging for a celebration. The idea was that they should meet and present a song or dance from the community they represent. What we didn´t learn until the day before is that Mercedes and the other teachers of the community hadn´t prepared anything, and had instead submitted our names as the performers to represent their school, the idea being that volunteerism is a central part of the school´s identity.
We were excited to play American old-time music for the 200-or-so faculty teachers and directors from the region, but we had to wait, because the pueblo where we had met had lost power. The teachers played volleyball patiently while we waited for someone to rent a gas generator several towns away. We found a group of faculty members practicing their songs and danced, drank chicha made from yuca, and oscillated between accepting and declining the endlessly refilled plastic cup of Pilsner that was passed amongst the dancers.
When it was our turn to play, I thought that Mercedes would give us an introduction, but I was wrong. I was handed the microphone, and did my best to offer congratulations in Spanish to the teachers of the Napo province, and briefly explain our project. The microphone cut in and out (as I found out soon after, this was due to the dying generator), and as we played one of the teachers held the microphone alternatively to my mouth and then to my banjo, in lieu of a mic stand. We played our classic G Major medley of Old Time songs and, thankfully, the teachers responded postively, clapping on 2 and 4 for the majority of it. We then announced that we were going to play a classic Ecuadorian song, called “Pobre Corazon”. Again, the crowd clapped in time and some folks sang along. We tried to get a video of our performance to upload here, but our recruited videographer never pushed the record button, so you´ll just have to believe that we were INCREDIBLY GREAT.
Immediately after we performed the generator ran out of gas, circumventing the other performances and the group dance that was planned. We waited around while the head of the committee siphoned the tanks of nearby motorcycles to try to collect enough gas to continue, but people had started to leave, perhaps in a defensive effort to keep the gas in their tanks. So technically, after all, we were the headliner of the night!
Monday we are moving to the community, and we are going to stay there for a week at least. We are really looking forward to it. They have 2 guitars in the village, and only one person there knows how to play. Guitar is a central part of their dance presentation, so hopefully we can encourage some arts and give that guy a day off. More on that soon! In the meantime, watch out for me!
First, we helped mow the lawn with a machete.
Then we made friends with a lizard.
Next, Karen dislodged papaya with a stick, which we sliced and ate on a fresh plucked palm leaf.
Then, we pulled a bunch of yuca out of the ground and I carried it back to the road in a basket.
Then, we went to the bend in the river where everyone bathes and swims, and I jumped off the highest part (only after a bunch of 12 year olds did it and lived).
Then I carried Karen across on my back.
