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Machiguenga
"A few times I suggest to continue without the permission of the Indian tribe, but Oscar refuses. When I ask again Angel explains: “Three French people are killed by arrows the moment they continued without permission. It was a few years ago, but I am positive they will kill again. A dead man in this jungle means nothing.”
The river turns for the hundreds of time and finally we see between some trees the roofs of huts. We hear running feat, see a glimpse of people. However when we pull the canoe on the sandy shore there is silence all over. Oscar listens carefully, gestures with his hand that we stay at a distance and walks to a big hut with a reed roof, standing aside of the others. A little wooden door of about one meter is closed. Angel and Fernandez are worried and say that we have to freeze: no sound, no movement. Oscar approaches the hut with his whispering klik-klak-shh-washh voice.
"Nice to know that we might be shot by Indians who are too afraid to show their faces”, giggles Maaike.
'Sssshhhh!!!' Fernandez slices his finger over his throat and we understand that silence at this very moment is more worth than pure gold. Than he translates carefully the repeating words of Oscar:
"White people are friends. No hunters.”
An than:
“They brought presence to show respect.”
And than:
"He asks to enter the hut."
Silence. Slowly and with tensed muscles in both his legs Oscar opens the door. He waits for a while and than quickly enters. Minutes pass by. Finally he returns, leading a huge man that watch the floor.
“Andres is a little bit shy… Peter, show presence.”
I give two Colombia made machetes, one plastic bag of sugar and one with salt, fish hooks, lighters, soap and candles. Silence. Finally he whispers something in Oscar's ear.
“How much salt?”
"Two kilogram."
”And sugar?"
"The same.”
Oscar translates. Than Andres bows his head and returns to the hut. The meeting is over, the chief is satisfied. When Maaike and I return to the canoe Oscar claps in his hands. Again I hear the klik-klak-shh-washh sounds.
“We have to stay at least three days and to party”, smiles Fernandez. “Unless you wish to be impolite and be shot after all.”
to be continued
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Maaike asks the Machiguenga chef who knows the area well. The kind man who doesn’t speak one word Spanish blinks to Fernandez who translates in an unspeakable dialect. Than Oscar watches the sky for a while and answers in a klik-klak-shh-washh rhythm.
It is tiring. No sorry, that word is incomplete. It is much more. Soaking wet in seconds, loosing shoes with consequently soar and bleeding feet. Toe nails ripped of. We cut trees, pull with screaming muscles the 6 meter wooden canoe with all supplies through rushing gorges. The propeller of the pekke-pekke engine protected by an iron frame breaks three times. The air-cooled pekke-pekke with his long shaft gets overheated. With six persons – Oscar and his son, Angel, Fernandez and Maaike and Peter – we just manage. Sliding over slimy riverbed stones. Sometimes the canoe with its 20-centimeter solid wooden bottoms beats with a screaming sound the rocks or disappears under water. Hour after hour, from early morning to late in the afternoon we crawl with an average speed of 6 to 8 kilometer/hour into our direction. We follow the river that finally becomes a stream. We drag the canoe forwards as long as possible in the knowledge that when we have to leave the boat behind, we have to walk with all equipment and supplies.