CHAPTER 5 - ENTERING THE MALOCA

“I don’t understand why you do this,” said Anpakú, calmly walking by her side along the forest trail. 

“This what?” said Amy.

“Help that white man. And other men like him.” he said.

She paused for a while, choosing carefully her words. While Anpakú lived and breathed the forest like she did, he didn’t understand the world outside. He has never seen a city, a car or flown in an airplane. All he knew was that outsiders often came to the forest - which was his whole world - to destroy it and to hurt those living in it. And he deeply hated them all for that.

“Men like that will keep coming here, whether we like it or not. So it is best I’m the one to guide them and make sure the forest mother is respected in their short visit. It's what I learned from my mom, anyway.”  she said.

Anpakú clenched his jaw and let out a heavy sigh, his whole face contorted with irritation from her explanation, but he decided it was not the time to argue with her. Thus, they walked the rest of the way in silence. 

Amy was visibly tired, with a nasty cut under her left foot, which stopped bleeding by now but still hurt and needed tending. The gunshot wound, although only grazing her left arm, took another bite on her flesh and had to be looked at so it wouldn’t get infected. On top of that, her whole body was covered in small cuts and bruises, which were clear signs that she’s been through a lot.

Suddenly, the trail widened into a small clearing. There, looming before them, stood a majestic building blocking their path. It was a maloca, a single massive communal hut that housed the whole Yanomami tribe. The structure seemed to rise organically from the ground as an extension of the forest itself.

The maloca was grand in scale, about thirty meters in diameter, with walls constructed from a lattice of branches, vines, and leaves, giving the structure a rustic, yet sturdy appearance. There were occasional gaps in the walls, allowing slivers of light to penetrate the dim interior. The roof, thick and intricately woven with palm leaves, formed a seamless, protective barrier against the elements. 

As they approached it, their senses heightened. They could see the area around the maloca was meticulously maintained, a testament to the care and respect the Yanomami had for their surroundings. Small gardens dotted the area, with neat rows of manioc, bananas, and other crops. They could hear the soft murmur of voices and laughter, like a warm welcoming awaiting for them on the other side of those walls. The air carried the scent of wood smoke mingled with the earthy aroma of the forest, suggesting a cooking fire within. The evening was descending upon them and dinner would soon be served.

They stopped a couple of paces in front of the maloca and Anpakú chuckled a bit.

“What now?” she asked with a curious smile.

“I just had this funny thought,” he said.

“Oh? What was it?”

“I thought… what if I had tried to carry you all this way in my arms…” he said.

“Oh, that would have been a fight! You’re lucky you didn’t try that.” she said and both burst out laughing.

“Runakatú, I…”  he said in a soft voice, staring deep into her eyes. Whatever he wanted to say would have to wait as he was interrupted by someone else.

“Thought I heard your voice.” said a female yanomami crawling outside through the entrance of the maloca. 

The entrance was a modest and low opening, no more than a meter high and less than a meter wide that required one to bend down to pass through, with the purpose of instilling a sense of humility and respect on anyone coming in. This particular entrance was covered with a curtain of woven plant fibers that swayed gently as the woman passed through them.

“Maita, Shabana.” said Amy, hugging the woman.

“Maita, Amy.” said Shabana, hugging her back. 

“This is Anpakú Teré, eldest son of the chief of the Umakari tribe.” said Amy, introducing him to Shabana.

Shabana nodded at him with a smile that betrayed her thoughts. She had never seen a Umakari before and Anpakú looked as strong as the strongest Yanomami warrior, if not more. The black body paint and white painted face gave him an unfriendly appearance and if he wasn’t there as a friend of Amy’s she would immediately consider him a threat. But it was the intense gaze in his clear green eyes that gave chills to her spine. They looked like two bright emeralds on a tall black warrior statue that warned to curse anyone daring to come close.

“Dinner will soon be served. Do you want to invite your friend?” said Shabana to Amy.

“This is Shabana, my cousin. She is inviting you to come and have dinner with us.” said Amy to Anpakú in Umakari.

Anpakú looked at the evening sky. It was getting late and his tribe was a very long distance from Amy’s. But it wasn’t logic, time or distance that weighed on his decision.

Anpakú silently nodded in acceptance and followed the women as they crouched to enter the maloca. Anpakú’s own people lived in several smaller and much simpler huts. So he felt in awe of the sheer scale and craftsmanship of the maloca and a sense of respect for the community that built it.

The interior was dimly lit by several small fires scattered around the vast space, their flickering light casting dancing shadows on the woven walls. The air was warm and fragrant with the aroma of roasting meat and the earthy scent of burning wood. The central area of the maloca was left open and roofless. It was a clearing used for gatherings, ceremonies and daily activities, like the dinner being served. 

Almost everyone gathered around the communal fire at the center of the clearing, eating, talking and laughing, while children played at the edges of the communal area, and elders sat in quiet conversation.

Shabana led the pair to a spot near the fire where hers and Amy’s family was seated. They greeted Anpakú with warm smiles and nods, making him feel immediately welcome. He settled onto a woven mat, crossing his legs, and Amy sat down by his side. 

The food was laid out on large leaves and woven mats, a feast that included roasted meat, grilled fish, cassava flatbread, and a variety of fruits and nuts. Anpakú watched as Amy and her family shared the food, each piece carefully apportioned to ensure everyone had enough. Shabana offered him a piece of roasted meat on a large leaf, which he accepted with gratitude and wasted no time savoring the rich, smoky flavor.

As he ate, he listened to the conversations around him, even though he understood only fragments of their language. He had known Amy since they were kids and both learned a bit from each other’s language, although Amy had a lot more interest in that respect than he did. Anpakú’s tribe, the Umakari, were a very reclusive tribe and denied contact with any outsiders, and that usually included other indigenous people as well. And because of that, Anpakú never truly learned Yanomami as he never really cared to. On the other hand, Amy was fluent in Umakari and even learned their secret howler monkey language. 

Amy tried to accommodate Anpakú as best as she could and translated bits of conversation here and there, explaining the stories and jokes that elicited laughter from the group.

The atmosphere inside the maloca was one of warmth and camaraderie. The sounds of the forest mingled with the chatter of the community, creating a symphony of natural and human harmony. Anpakú felt a sense of belonging, despite being an outsider. It was a feeling he never felt outside of his own tribe.

As the meal drew to a close, the conversation turned to quieter topics, the fires burned lower as darkness fully settled outside. Amy’s family shared a few more stories, their faces illuminated by the soft glow of the embers. Anpakú  felt a deep sense of peace and a warmth in his chest as he watched Amy in her natural environment, happy, safe and among those who cared for her.

Amy leaned in and whispered to Anpakú, “Thank you for joining us. It means a lot to have you here.” 

“I’m glad I’m here,” he said.

Anpakú and Amy sat there for another hour, mostly silent and contemplating the lively evening around them. With a full stomach and at the warmth of her home, Amy’s tired body gave in and she fell asleep leaning against Anpakú’s arm. Amy’s relatives around the fire all shared a smile at the scene, making Anpakú blush and swallow in nervousness, not knowing what to do as Amy snored and drooled on his arm. The best he came up with was to remain there as a statue - or a forniture -, so her sleep wouldn’t be disturbed. 

Amy eventually woke up startled and stood up. Anpakú stood up right after her.

“I’m sorry. This is so embarrassing.” said Amy.

“It’s ok,” said Anpakú.

“I should go to my uncle now.” she said.

“Your uncle?” he said, confused.

“Yeah. He is a shaman. I need him to see to my wounds. Don’t want anything to get infected.” she said.

Anpakú nodded then looked around, unsure of what to do next. Shabana walked by and grabbed his arm, motioning him to follow her.

“Shabana will find you a place to spend the night. You can follow her.” said Amy to Anpakú.

Anpakú silently nodded again and hesitated a bit before following Shabana. There were no inner walls in the maloca but each family lived in their respective areas, with individual spaces marked by hammocks and personal belongings. The hammock Shabana showed him didn’t look big enough for him at first, but as soon as he laid in it, he felt embraced by the soft fabric, cocooning himself in it for a good night’s rest.

On the other side of the maloca, Amy approached an old man sitting by a blazing fire, embers rising in swirls like fireflies. The old man was wearing a long necklace decorated with animal bones and fangs, and red paint lined his face. He was smoking a foot and a half long pipe while watching the stars when he noticed Amy and motioned her to sit next to him.

“Maita, Wapari.” said Amy to the shaman.

“Maita, Amy,” said the shaman, motioning for her to sit in front of him.

Amy sat down in silence, wondering how to begin to explain what happened to her.

“Looks like you had a busy day.” said the shaman.

Amy smiled.

“Yes. A very busy and… strange day.” she said, unconsciously bringing her hand to her chest, where her mom’s stone used to rest. A gesture that didn’t go unnoticed by the shaman.

“Sometimes the strange is a new path crossing our way.” said the shaman.

Amy pondered about that for a while.

“And how do I know which path to follow?” she said.

The shaman puffed on his pipe with squinting eyes, then slowly exhaled the smoke out of his mouth while staring at Amy, contemplating his answer.

“Tomorrow night we feast in honor of the guardian spirits. If you need guidance, they will reach out…” said the shaman with a pause. “...if you’re ready.”

The shaman’s words didn’t bring her much comfort but, instead, made her anxious for the wait.

“Now, whichever path you choose, you can’t follow it looking like that.” said the shaman. “Let’s take a look at those wounds.”