Version 2007.02.13

## “Shabono: A Visit to a Remote and Magical World in the South American Rainforest” - ©1982 by Florinda Donner-Grau

### Chapter 11

Instead of the women's soft chattering, I was awakened one morning by Iramamowe's shouts announcing that he would prepare curare that day.

I sat up in my hammock. Iramamowe stood in the middle of the clearing. Legs apart, arms folded over his chest, he scrutinized the young men who had gathered around him. At the top of his voice he warned them that if they planned to help him prepare the poison, they were not to sleep with a woman that day. Iramamowe went on ranting as if the men had already misbehaved, reminding them that he would know if they disobeyed him for he would test the poison on a monkey. Should the animal survive he would never again ask the men to assist him. He told them that if they wished to accompany him into the forest to collect the various vines needed to make the mamucori, they had to refrain from eating and drinking until the poison had been smeared on their arrowheads.

Calm returned to the shabono as soon as the men left. Tutemi, after stoking the fires, rolled the tobacco quids for herself, Ritimi, and Etewa, then returned to her hammock. I thought there was time to snatch a bit more sleep before the plantains buried under the embers were done. I turned over in my hammock: The smoke warmed the chilly air. As they did every morning after relieving themselves, little Texoma and Sisiwe, as well as Arasuwe's two youngest children, climbed into my hammock and snuggled up to me.

Ritimi had been oblivious to the morning events. She was still sound asleep on the ground. Sleep did not interfere with Ritimi's vanity. Her head, resting on her arm, was propped in such a manner that it allowed her to wear her full beauty regalia: Slender polished rods were stuck through the septum of her nose and the corners of her mouth. Her exposed cheek revealed two brown lines, a sign recognizable by everyone in the shabono that she was menstruating. For the last two nights Ritimi had not slept in her hammock, had not eaten meat, had not cooked any of the meals, and had not touched Etewa or any of his belongings.

Men feared menstruating women. Ritimi had told me that women were known not to have hekuras in their chest but were linked to the life essence of the otter, the ancestor of the first woman on earth. During their menses, women were thought to be imbued with the supernatural powers of the otter. She did not seem to know what these powers were, but she said that if a man saw an otter in the river he never killed it for fear that a woman in the settlement would die that same instant.

The Iticoteri women had at first been puzzled as to why I had not menstruated since my arrival. My explanation- loss of weight, change of diet, new surroundings- was not thought to be the reason. Instead they believed that as a non-Indian, I was not fully human. I had no link to the life essence of any animal, plant, or spirit.

It was only Ritimi who wanted to believe and prove to the other women that I was human. "You have to tell me immediately when you are roo, as if I were your mother," Ritimi would say to me every time she herself menstruated. "And I will make the proper preparations so you will not be turned into a stone by the tiny creatures that live underground."

Ritimi's insistence was probably another reason my body did not follow its normal cycles. Since I have a tendency to suffer from claustrophobia, I had periodic attacks of anxiety triggered by the possibility of having to endure the same restrictions that an Iticoteri girl going through her first menses does.

Only a week before, Xotomi, one of the headman's daughters, had emerged from a three-week confinement. Her mother, upon learning that Xotomi had begun her first period, built an enclosure made out of sticks, palm fronds, and vines in a corner of their hut. A narrow space had been left open. It was barely large enough for her mother to slip in and out of twice a day to feed the meager fire inside (which was never allowed to die) and remove the soiled platanillo leaves covering the ground. The men, afraid of dying young or of becoming ill, did not so much as glance toward that area in the hut.

For the first three days of her menstrual period Xotomi was only given water and had to sleep on the ground. Thereafter she was given three small plantains a day and was permitted to rest in the small bark hammock that was hung inside. She was not allowed to speak or weep during her confinement. All I heard from behind the tied palm fronds was the faint sound of Xotomi scratching herself with a stick, for she was not supposed to touch her body.

By the end of the third week, Xotomi's mother dismantled the enclosure, tied the palm leaves into a tight bundle, then asked some of her daughter's playmates to hide them in the forest. Xotomi did not move, as if the palm fronds were still around her. She remained crouched on the ground with downcast eyes. Her slightly hunched shoulders seemed so frail that I was sure if someone grasped them the bones would give way with a hollow crack. More than ever she looked like a frightened child, thin and dirty.

"Keep your eyes on the ground," her mother said, helping the twelve-, perhaps thirteen-year-old girl to her feet. With her arms around her waist, she led Xotomi to the hearth. "Don't rest your eyes on any of the men in the clearing," she admonished the girl, "lest you want their legs to tremble when they have to climb trees."

Water had been heated. Lovingly, Ritimi washed her half-sister from head to foot, then rubbed her body with onoto until it glowed uniformly red. Fresh banana leaves were placed on the fire as Ritimi guided the girl around the hearth. Only after Xotomi's skin smelled of nothing but burnt leaves was she allowed to look at us and speak.

She bit her lower lip as she slowly lifted her head. "Mother, I don't want to move out of my father's hut," she finally said, then burst into tears.

"Ohoo, you silly child," the mother exclaimed, taking Xotomi's face into her hands. Brushing aside the tears, the woman reminded the girl how lucky she was to become the wife of Hayama's youngest son Matuwe, that she was fortunate to be so close to her brothers, who would protect her should he mistreat her. The mother's dark eyes glittered, blurred with tears. "I had reasons to be heavy-hearted when I first came to this shabono. I had left my mother and brothers behind. I had no one to protect me."

Tutemi embraced the young girl. "Look at me. I also came from far away, but now I'm happy. I will soon have a child."

"But I don't want a child," Xotomi sobbed. "I only want to hold my pet monkey."

In a swift impulse I reached for the monkey perched on a cluster of bananas and handed it to Xotomi. The women burst into giggles. "If you treat your husband right, he'll be like your pet monkey," one of them said in between fits of laughter.

"Don't say such things to the girl," old Hayama said reprovingly. Smiling, she faced Xotomi. "My son is a good man," she said soothingly. "You'll have nothing to fear." Hayama went on praising her son, stressing Matuwe's prowess as a hunter and provider.

The day of the wedding Xotomi sobbed quietly. Hayama came to her side. "Don't cry anymore. We will adorn you. You'll be so beautiful today, everyone will gasp in wonder." She took Xotomi's hand, then motioned the women to follow them through a side exit into the forest.

Sitting on a tree stump, Xotomi wiped her tears with the back of her hand. A whimsical smile appeared on her lips as she gazed into old Hayama's face, then she readily submitted to the women's ministrations. Her hair was cut short, her tonsure shaven. Tufts of soft white feathers were pushed through her perforated earlobes: They contrasted sharply with her black hair, adding an ethereal beauty to her thin face. The holes at the corners of her mouth and lower lip were decorated with red macaw feathers. Through the perforated septum in her nose Ritimi inserted an almost white, very slender polished stick.

"How lovely you look," we exclaimed as Xotomi stood in front of us.

"Mother, I'm ready to go," she said solemnly. Her dark slanted eyes shone, her skin looked flushed with the onoto. She smiled briefly, revealing strong, even white teeth, then led the way back to the shabono. Only for an instant- just before entering the clearing- was there a silent plea in her eyes as she turned to look at her mother.

Her head held high, her gaze focused on no one in particular, Xotomi slowly circled the clearing, seemingly unperturbed by the admiring words and glances of the men. She entered her father's hut and sat in front of the trough filled with plantain pap. First she offered some of the soup to Arasuwe, then to her uncles, her brothers, and finally to each man in the shabono. After she had served the women, she walked toward Hayama's hut, sat down in one of the hammocks, and began to eat the game prepared by her husband, to whom she had been promised before she had been born.

Tutemi's words cut into my reveries. "Are you going to eat your plantain here or at Hayama's?"

"I'd better eat there," I said, grinning at Ritimi's grandmother, who was already waiting for me in the hut next to Tutemi's.

Xotomi smiled at me as I came over. She had changed a great deal. It had nothing to do with the weight she had gained back since emerging from her confinement. Rather it was her mature behavior, the way she looked at me, the way she urged me to eat the plantain. I wondered if it was because girls- as opposed to boys, who were able to prolong their childhood into their teens- were encouraged by the time they were six or eight to help their mothers with the domestic chores- gathering wood, weeding in the gardens, taking care of their younger siblings. By the time a boy was considered an adult, a girl of the same age was married and often the mother of a child or two.

After eating, Tutemi, Xotomi, and I worked for several hours in the gardens, then walked into the shabono, refreshed from our bath in the river. A group of men, their faces and bodies painted black, sat together in the clearing. Some were scraping the bark off thick pieces of branches.

"Who are these people?" I asked.

"Don't you recognize them?" Tutemi laughed at me. "It's Iramamowe and the men who went with him yesterday into the forest."

"Why are they painted black?"

"Iramamowe!" Tutemi shouted. "The white girl wants to know- why are your faces all black?" she asked, then ran into her hut.

"It's good you are running," Iramamowe said, standing up. "The baby in your womb might weaken the mamucori by adding water." Frowning, he turned to Xotomi and me; before he had a chance to say anything else, Xotomi pulled me by the hand into Etewa's hut.

In between fits of laughter Xotomi explained that anyone who had been in the water that day was not supposed to come close to the men preparing curare. Water was believed to weaken the poison. "If the mamucori doesn't work right, he will blame you."

"I would have liked to watch them prepare the mamucori," I said disappointedly.

"Who would want to watch anything like that?" Ritimi said, sitting up. "I can tell you what they are going to do." She yawned and stretched, then folded the platanillo leaves she had been sleeping on and covered the ground with fresh ones. "The men are painted black because mamucori is not only useful for hunting but also for making war," Ritimi said, motioning me to sit next to her. She peeled a banana, then with a full mouth explained how the men were boiling the mamucori vine until it turned into a dark liquid. Later the dried ashukamaki vine would be added to thicken the poison. Once the mixture had been boiled down, it would be ready to be brushed on the men's arrowheads.

Resignedly I helped Tutemi prepare the tobacco leaves for drying. Following her precise instructions, I split each leaf along the nervation, pulling upward so they bundled up, then tied them in bunches on the rafters. From where I sat I was unable to see what was going on outside Iramamowe's hut. Children surrounded the working men, hoping to be asked to help. No wonder I had not seen a single child that morning bathing in the river.

"Get some water from the stream," Iramamowe said to little Sisiwe. "But don't get your feet wet. Step on trunks, roots, or stones. If you get wet, I'll have to send someone else."

It was late afternoon when Iramamowe was almost finished mixing and boiling the curare. "Now the mamucori is becoming strong. I can feel my hands going to sleep." In a slow, monotonous voice he began to chant to the spirits of the poison as he stirred the curare.

Around midmorning the following day Iramamowe came running into the shabono. "The mamucori is useless. I shot a monkey but it didn't die. It walked away with the useless arrow stuck in its leg." Iramamowe ran from hut to hut, insulting the men who had helped him prepare the curare. "Didn't I warn you not to sleep with women. Now the mamucori is worthless. If an enemy should attack us, you won't even be able to defend your women. You think you are brave warriors. But you are as useless as your arrows. You should be carrying baskets instead of weapons."

For a moment I thought Iramamowe was going to cry as he sat on the ground in the middle of the clearing. "I'll make the poison by myself. You are all incompetent," he muttered over and over until his anger was spent, until he was thoroughly exhausted.

A few days later at dawn, shortly before the monkey Iramamowe had shot with his newly poisoned arrow was fully cooked, a stranger walked into the shabono carrying a large bundle. His hair was still wet from a river bath; his face and body were extravagantly painted with onoto. Placing his bundle, as well as his bow and arrows, on the ground, he stood silently in the middle of the clearing for a few minutes before he approached Arasuwe's hut.

"I've come to invite you to my people's feast," the man said in a loud singsong voice. "The headman of the Mocototeri has sent me to tell you that we have many ripe plantains."

Arasuwe, without getting up from his hammock, told the man that he could not attend the feast. "I cannot leave my gardens now. I've planted new banana saplings; they need my care." Arasuwe made a sweeping gesture with his hand. "Look at all the fruit hanging from the rafters; I don't want them to spoil."

The visitor walked over to our hut and addressed Etewa. "Your father-in-law doesn't wish to come. I hope you will be able to visit my people who have sent me to invite you."

Etewa slapped his thighs with pleasure. "Yes. I'll come. I don't mind leaving my plantains behind. I'll give others permission to eat them."

The visitor's dark lively eyes shone with delight as he went from hut to hut inviting the Iticoteri to his settlement. The man was invited to rest in old Kamosiwe's hut. He was offered plantain soup and monkey meat. Later in the evening he untied his bundle in the middle of the clearing. "A hammock," the men who had gathered around him murmured disappointedly. Even though the Iticoteri acknowledged the comfort and warmth of cotton hammocks, only a few women owned one. The men preferred the bark or vine ones, replacing them periodically. The visitor was eager to trade the cotton hammock for poisoned arrowheads and epena powder made from seeds. Talking and exchanging news, some Iticoteri men stayed up all night with the visitor.

Arasuwe was adamant that I should not be part of the group going to the Mocototeri feast. "Milagros has entrusted you to me," the headman reminded me. "How can I protect you if you are at another place?"

"What do I need to be protected for?" I asked. "Are the Mocototeri dangerous people?"

"The Mocototeri are not to be trusted," Arasuwe said after a long silence. "I can feel it in my legs that it is not right for you to go."

"When I first met Angelica she told me that it was not dangerous for a woman to walk through the forest."

Arasuwe did not bother to answer or comment on my statement but looked at me as if I had become invisible. Obviously he considered the matter settled and did not intend to demean himself by any further bantering with an ignorant girl.

"Maybe Milagros will be there," I said.

Arasuwe smiled. "Milagros will not be there. If he were I would have no reason to worry."

"Why are the Mocototeri not to be trusted?" I persisted.

"You ask too many questions," Arasuwe said. "We are not on friendly terms with them," he added grudgingly.

I looked at him in disbelief. "Why then do they invite you to a feast?"

"You are ignorant," Arasuwe said, walking out of the hut.

It was not only I who was disillusioned by Arasuwe's decision. Ritimi was so disappointed she could not show me off to the Mocototeri that she enlisted Etewa and Iramamowe, as well as old Kamosiwe, to help convince her father to let me accompany them. Although old people's advice was valued and respected, it was Iramamowe, known for his bravery, who finally persuaded and assured his brother that no harm would befall me at the Mocototeri settlement.

"You should take the bow and arrows I made for you," Arasuwe said to me later that evening. He began to laugh uproariously. "that would certainly astonish the Mocototeri. It would almost be worth it for me to go and witness their surprise." Seeing that I was checking my arrows, Arasuwe added somberly, "You can not take them. It's not proper for a woman to walk through the forest carrying a man's weapon."

"I will take care of her," Ritimi promised her father. "I'll make sure she never leaves my side- not even when she has to go into the bush."

"I'm sure Milagros would have wanted me to go," I said, hoping to make Arasuwe feel more at ease.

Eyeing me gloomily, he shrugged his shoulders. "I trust you will return safely."

Anticipation and apprehension kept me awake that night. The familiar noises of the collapsing logs in the fire filled me with misgivings. Etewa stirred the embers with a stick before lying down. Through the smoke and mist the distant crowns of trees looked like ghosts. The spaces between the leaves were like hollow eyes accusing me of something I did not understand. I was almost tempted to follow Arasuwe's advice, but the light of day dispelled my apprension.