A solitary incandescent light bulb cast its faint yellow light on
the brown thatch ceiling of the A-frame building from which hung my hammock.
Like the other four nearby hammocks, mine bordered one leg of the L-shaped
space that served as a meeting place for the people of the community, and now
for our group. The light contrasted sharply with the darkness surrounding us,
and although it was not especially bright, it drew the attention of my eyes.
It had been a long
day thus far, and it felt good to finally put my feet up and take a deep
breath. The travel from Quito to Bua de
los Colorados had gone smoothly: beginning at 9am with the short bus to the bus
terminal, the transfer with all of our luggage to the public bus, the transfer
to the cattle truck, and finally our arrival at the cultural center Shinopi
around 2pm.
Once there we were
greeted by Don Alfonso, head of the cultural center and the group of families
involved in the cultural tourism/reforestation project here in Bua. He was barefoot, and wore a black and white
striped skirt that stretched from his waist to just above his knees, tied at
the waist with a colorful band of silky fabric.
Around his neck was wrapped 6 or 7 more colorful bands that hung down
his chest like a tie. The rest of his
torso was naked. His body appeared
strong and healthy, and looking at the scars on his arms, I imagined run-ins
with snakes and accidents while working the fields. His hair, black and cut
short around the sides, was longer on top, dyed in the traditional Tsachila
fashion with an intense red dye produced from the achiote plant, mixed with
some gel-like substance to give it a hardened, bowl or leaf shaped appearance
on the top of his head. Our group,
together with seven local families, gathered in the meeting space and Don
Alfonso stood in front of us, at first speaking in Tsafiki, the traditional
Tsachila language. The students seemed
mesmerized by this man standing before them, addressing them in a foreign
tongue and dressed in strange vestment.
Soon he began to address us in Spanish, giving many thanks to us for
being here, to our families for allowing us to come, for the different
organizations that had helped to bring us together. He then talked a bit about our involvement in
the community and how it positively affected the lives of those in the
community. He finally gave a brief
introduction to the seven families that were gathered before us, introducing
each family by the head of the household.
After a savory
lunch of soup, rice, chicken and salad, we walked, together with the gathered
families, down the dirt path behind the dining space (the other leg of the
L-shaped space: a compacted dirt floor with simple wooden tables around the
side and benches made of balsa wood as well as individual seats made of logs
standing on their end) to a cleared area acting as the nursery. Alfonso gave a demonstration on how to plant
trees, showing us the depth to safely insert each baby tree into the hole: not
too deep, not too shallow. Afterwards,
we gathered in a large circle, extranjeros (foreigners) on one side, Tsachila
on another. Alfonso walked around the
circle, pronouncing the names of each family as we called to the previously
chosen students to go over and meet the host family they’d be living with for
the next five weeks or so. It was an
awkward meeting of cultures, as students and families alike pushed through
their nervousness to greet each other.
They would be sharing houses together, sharing meals together, sharing
work together for the next five weeks.
From what we’ve
been told, the Tsachila people are a shy, non-confrontational people. Traditional hunter-gatherers in small family
units, they have been forced to adopt a more sedentary and social lifestyle as
their territory has been reduced and they’ve been exposed to an encroaching
agricultural society. Most of the eight
families have hosted students in the past, but only for about the past five
years or so. One can only guess the
thoughts and feelings that both the U.S. students and the Tsachila people will
have throughout this experience.
Afterward, we
shuffled into three cattle transport trucks and headed down the road back
toward where the families lived. Jessie,
Sam (the in-country project manager) and I tagged along in order to visit each
of the houses and make sure that the students staying there were safe and
comfortable. One by one we dropped off
the students and said goodbye. After two
weeks of being together every hour of every day, it was hard in a way to give
them away. A part of me wanted to coddle
them, to be there in case something were to happen or to answer questions, to
be there to help guide them in their curiosities. As we left one house, I heard one student
ask, “What do we do?” Some of the houses
had a flat screen TV, but for the most part, there was no technology for the
students to enjoy: no tv’s, no internet, no iphones. Most of them would have to learn a new
language f they wished to verbally communicate.
As it was, most of them would settle in that night being able only to
communicate in gesture. The 6pm sunsets
and the lack of external entertainment will no doubt force the students either
to interact with each other and the families, go to bed early, or dive into the
content we are working through.
Last night after returning to Shinopi, we
spoke with Don Alfonso under the dim yellow light to the background of a chorus of crickets and frogs. Don Alfonso has a vision for his community,
for the Tsachila nation. It involves the
preservation of his culture, and the preservation of the environment. Much of this vision, in my eyes and from what I´ve gathered so far, has come
from knowledge and foresight he has gained from outsiders – people that have
come to his community and shown him the value of their culture, the inherent value in a
healthy ecosystem. In a way, his vision
is about maintaining autonomy; having something here that the younger
generations can inherit as their own, instead of going to work for someone else
in the cities. In this way, I question the authenticy of a culture that seems only to be gaining resilience as a consequence of outside influence, or only as a prospect of financial solvency. I have been able to identify so far many assumptions and generalizations that I have held and made personally about indigenous cultures worldwide. My experiences with indigenous cultures in Mexico and Guatemala seem so far to contrast somewhat drastically with my experience here in Bua thus far. I have much yet to explore; some questions linger from before, and some new ones present themselves:
Is there something truly environmentally sustainable in the life vision of indigenous peoples, or has it only been a lack of resources or technological advance that has limited their capacity to break the natural laws of competition that seem to keep all species in balance?
What are the essential characteristics that define a culture? Can a culture retain itself simply by maintaining traditional clothing, music and language, or are there more essential characteristics that define a culture? For example, we go to the zoo to see tigers. What we see at the zoo are tiger forms for sure - beautiful four legged creatures that have amazing stripes and penetrating eyes, whiskers, fierce roars, and ferocious appetites; yet isn´t the tiger more than that? Tigers are hunters, forest dwellers, wild creatures that stalk their prey at night with an agility and precision unparalleld in the predator world. I ask then, is what I see in the zoo truly a tiger, or has it lost its essential tiger qualities?
