Chapter 20: Exploring the Jungle, Part 3
Up the Morona River to the Chapra Tribe
AS TOLD BY JOHN AGERSTEN
Puerto America
At eight o'clock that evening, the motorist slowed the boat and docked at a fairly high and muddy river bank. My bags were thrown ashore and someone shone a flashlight so I could see to get up to the edge. The boat drove on in the darkness continuing down the Marañon. I just stood there a minute, wondering where the town was. There was no light to be seen anywhere. I could only see a flickering light from a homemade kerosene lamp coming toward me. A curious man had come to see who had come ashore. We talked for a bit and I asked him after the hotel. He laughed and said there was no hotel or restaurant here, no dining or lodging place. After some back and forth, I was offered a place to sleep in the house of the health worker (sanitario). I borrowed his little paraffin stove where I cooked the contents of a soup bag I had with me in my little pot. I ate some of the soup, mostly the broth, and saved the macaroni and vegetable pieces for breakfast.
That same evening I asked about the possibility of boat rides up the Morona River, but was informed that there had not been a boat going that way in a month! That did not sound promising and was not exactly what I had planned. The idea of sitting in this place and waiting for weeks was quite disappointing. While I was eating, though, a man came in the door, and he turned out to be a merchant who was traveling in his floating shop along the rivers. He had just docked here and was continuing up the Morona river the next day. To my great relief, he was willing to take me with him. It was really encouraging to feel that my Heavenly Father was paving the way for me on this journey.
When it got light the next day, I explored the village. It consisted of fifteen to twenty simple houses, mostly bamboo huts, a school, and the health station where I had spent the night. It was not exactly impressive, and certainly not what I had expected! The houses were situated along the river, but a large area had been cleared into the jungle behind the houses. It worked as a nice pasture for a fairly large herd of cattle. The owner of the cattle lived in the largest house that was built with cedar planks and a large palm roof. She was the widow of the local “patron”. The “patron” was often the land owner and had better means than the rest of the villagers. Many villagers worked for the “patron”.
At one point I asked the health worker where I might find the toilet. He looked a little confused for a moment, but then understood. He directed me to an outhouse behind the school. There I found a small house on stilts in the middle of the field. The house shook when I climbed in. A hanging plastic bag served as a door, but it did not cover the entire opening. However, there was no one around, and there were no better options. As I sat there, there was suddenly a commotion under the house. It turned out to be pigs fighting over what had dropped down. That explained why it was so clean under the little house. I decided right then and there I would never eat pork in the jungle! This decision was reinforced later, as most places there weren’t even outhouses, and you had to go into the jungle for these errands. In most villages, the pigs roam free and eventually I figured out that it was a good idea to bring a long stick to keep the pigs at a distance while you finished.
At eight o'clock that evening, the motorist slowed the boat and docked at a fairly high and muddy river bank. My bags were thrown ashore and someone shone a flashlight so I could see to get up to the edge. The boat drove on in the darkness continuing down the Marañon. I just stood there a minute, wondering where the town was. There was no light to be seen anywhere. I could only see a flickering light from a homemade kerosene lamp coming toward me. A curious man had come to see who had come ashore. We talked for a bit and I asked him after the hotel. He laughed and said there was no hotel or restaurant here, no dining or lodging place. After some back and forth, I was offered a place to sleep in the house of the health worker (sanitario). I borrowed his little paraffin stove where I cooked the contents of a soup bag I had with me in my little pot. I ate some of the soup, mostly the broth, and saved the macaroni and vegetable pieces for breakfast.
That same evening I asked about the possibility of boat rides up the Morona River, but was informed that there had not been a boat going that way in a month! That did not sound promising and was not exactly what I had planned. The idea of sitting in this place and waiting for weeks was quite disappointing. While I was eating, though, a man came in the door, and he turned out to be a merchant who was traveling in his floating shop along the rivers. He had just docked here and was continuing up the Morona river the next day. To my great relief, he was willing to take me with him. It was really encouraging to feel that my Heavenly Father was paving the way for me on this journey.
When it got light the next day, I explored the village. It consisted of fifteen to twenty simple houses, mostly bamboo huts, a school, and the health station where I had spent the night. It was not exactly impressive, and certainly not what I had expected! The houses were situated along the river, but a large area had been cleared into the jungle behind the houses. It worked as a nice pasture for a fairly large herd of cattle. The owner of the cattle lived in the largest house that was built with cedar planks and a large palm roof. She was the widow of the local “patron”. The “patron” was often the land owner and had better means than the rest of the villagers. Many villagers worked for the “patron”.
At one point I asked the health worker where I might find the toilet. He looked a little confused for a moment, but then understood. He directed me to an outhouse behind the school. There I found a small house on stilts in the middle of the field. The house shook when I climbed in. A hanging plastic bag served as a door, but it did not cover the entire opening. However, there was no one around, and there were no better options. As I sat there, there was suddenly a commotion under the house. It turned out to be pigs fighting over what had dropped down. That explained why it was so clean under the little house. I decided right then and there I would never eat pork in the jungle! This decision was reinforced later, as most places there weren’t even outhouses, and you had to go into the jungle for these errands. In most villages, the pigs roam free and eventually I figured out that it was a good idea to bring a long stick to keep the pigs at a distance while you finished.
Continuing the journey up the Morona river
The next morning, I enjoyed talking to people about their life in the village. They were also very interested to hear why I was traveling and wanted me to come back. At noon, the merchant was ready to move on up the river, so I boarded with my luggage. The boat was a closed wooden boat with a corrugated tin roof. It was about 45 feet long, powered by a 12 hp outboard engine. The engine, petrol room and a kind of warehouse were located at the back of the boat. The owner had a cramped cabin where he and his wife slept. The rest of the boat was outfitted with shelves on each side with his wares: food, thread, soap,bullets and gunpowder, some clothes, and a few bolts of fabric. He also carried a couple of barrels of cheap sugar cane liquor, something that was very important for many. That was often the first thing people bought when the merchant arrived at a new place. I was surprised and saddened to discover how big the alcohol problem was down here in the jungle. The customers were often drunk by the time they started trading for some of the other things. This was often done on credit. However, when it came time to pay, the merchant would be less gracious. He would take their pigs,chickens, or whatever else they may have. The trade would be in the merchants favor, of course.It was eye opening and unpleasant to see how the common people were being taken advantage of. There were several passengers on board. When it was time to eat, all seven men, including myself, sat down on the floor around one bowl and took turns with the spoon. It was chicken soup, and the chef kept refilling the bowl as it emptied. There was also cooked green bananas and manioc that we could eat with our fingers.
The merchant boat docked in every village or collection of houses, so the journey went rather slowly. But the stops gave me time to talk to people and hear about the life and needs of people in this area. The first night, I slept in an empty hut, and during the night, I began to itch all over. I could not figure out what it was. In the morning I discovered that the whole hut was infested with poultry lice, and my sleeping bag was full of the tiny critters! I took a dip and a wash in the clear waters of the Morona river, but I didn’t think that would clear the lice from my sleeping bag.The merchant suggested I put it in the sun on top the roof of the boat, and sure enough, at the end of the day most of the lice were gone.
The next morning, I enjoyed talking to people about their life in the village. They were also very interested to hear why I was traveling and wanted me to come back. At noon, the merchant was ready to move on up the river, so I boarded with my luggage. The boat was a closed wooden boat with a corrugated tin roof. It was about 45 feet long, powered by a 12 hp outboard engine. The engine, petrol room and a kind of warehouse were located at the back of the boat. The owner had a cramped cabin where he and his wife slept. The rest of the boat was outfitted with shelves on each side with his wares: food, thread, soap,bullets and gunpowder, some clothes, and a few bolts of fabric. He also carried a couple of barrels of cheap sugar cane liquor, something that was very important for many. That was often the first thing people bought when the merchant arrived at a new place. I was surprised and saddened to discover how big the alcohol problem was down here in the jungle. The customers were often drunk by the time they started trading for some of the other things. This was often done on credit. However, when it came time to pay, the merchant would be less gracious. He would take their pigs,chickens, or whatever else they may have. The trade would be in the merchants favor, of course.It was eye opening and unpleasant to see how the common people were being taken advantage of. There were several passengers on board. When it was time to eat, all seven men, including myself, sat down on the floor around one bowl and took turns with the spoon. It was chicken soup, and the chef kept refilling the bowl as it emptied. There was also cooked green bananas and manioc that we could eat with our fingers.
The merchant boat docked in every village or collection of houses, so the journey went rather slowly. But the stops gave me time to talk to people and hear about the life and needs of people in this area. The first night, I slept in an empty hut, and during the night, I began to itch all over. I could not figure out what it was. In the morning I discovered that the whole hut was infested with poultry lice, and my sleeping bag was full of the tiny critters! I took a dip and a wash in the clear waters of the Morona river, but I didn’t think that would clear the lice from my sleeping bag.The merchant suggested I put it in the sun on top the roof of the boat, and sure enough, at the end of the day most of the lice were gone.
We go hunting
The second evening, I heard that some of the other passengers wanted to row further up the river to hunt. I asked to join them, and so we rowed quietly in a smaller canoe along the edge of the river in the dark. We shone flashlights into the bushes along the riverbank. They were looking for “mahas”, large rodents that come to the riverbank to drink in the evenings. Their eyes would glow red when hit by the light. We saw one, but it was too fast and disappeared back into the jungle before we could shoot it. We saw other animals as well, but they were too far away to shoot at. At the water’s edge, something was glinting and I asked what it was. I was told it was alligators, and we saw several more. Judging by the size of their eyes, some of them were of considerable size.
We did not have any luck hunting that night. At about one in the morning, we decided to get some sleep. We docked by a dry and still warm sandbank and bedded down. I laid my raincoat over me, because it was a little cool and I fell asleep right away. There are almost no mosquitos on the Morona river, so I was not bothered by them either. I woke up feeling stiff and sore as soon as it started to get light. There was a shout from one of the others, who sat up and pointed to some brand new tracks that came up from the water, walked around me, and then went back down into the water. Everyone shouted in horror. It was the tracks of a large alligator that had been up and sniffed me while I slept! I got chills thinking about what could have happened. I thanked God for his guardian angel that night.
Shortly after that, the merchant boat came by and picked us up, and we continued the journey up river. He had bought a few pounds of smoked venison which we had for dinner. Then they realized it was not venison, but “tigrillo”, a small jaguar, that we had eaten. We did not eat any more of that, and I discovered that the jungle inhabitants basically considered it a taboo to eat the meat of a predator.
After four days and many stops, we arrived at a place called Pincha Cocha. There was a man here who considered himself the “patron” over the Chapra tribe that lived further up the river and along some of the small tributaries. I had heard a lot about this tribe from people in Borja. They had told me this group were headhunters, and that their chief, Tariri, had over a hundred lives on his conscience. According to this “patron”, though, Tariri and several other Chapra were evangelical christians. This made me even more determined to meet Tariri and the Chapra tribe. However, the merchant refused to consider stopping where they lived. He insisted that these people were dangerous, and he would pass their place as quickly as possible.
The second evening, I heard that some of the other passengers wanted to row further up the river to hunt. I asked to join them, and so we rowed quietly in a smaller canoe along the edge of the river in the dark. We shone flashlights into the bushes along the riverbank. They were looking for “mahas”, large rodents that come to the riverbank to drink in the evenings. Their eyes would glow red when hit by the light. We saw one, but it was too fast and disappeared back into the jungle before we could shoot it. We saw other animals as well, but they were too far away to shoot at. At the water’s edge, something was glinting and I asked what it was. I was told it was alligators, and we saw several more. Judging by the size of their eyes, some of them were of considerable size.
We did not have any luck hunting that night. At about one in the morning, we decided to get some sleep. We docked by a dry and still warm sandbank and bedded down. I laid my raincoat over me, because it was a little cool and I fell asleep right away. There are almost no mosquitos on the Morona river, so I was not bothered by them either. I woke up feeling stiff and sore as soon as it started to get light. There was a shout from one of the others, who sat up and pointed to some brand new tracks that came up from the water, walked around me, and then went back down into the water. Everyone shouted in horror. It was the tracks of a large alligator that had been up and sniffed me while I slept! I got chills thinking about what could have happened. I thanked God for his guardian angel that night.
Shortly after that, the merchant boat came by and picked us up, and we continued the journey up river. He had bought a few pounds of smoked venison which we had for dinner. Then they realized it was not venison, but “tigrillo”, a small jaguar, that we had eaten. We did not eat any more of that, and I discovered that the jungle inhabitants basically considered it a taboo to eat the meat of a predator.
After four days and many stops, we arrived at a place called Pincha Cocha. There was a man here who considered himself the “patron” over the Chapra tribe that lived further up the river and along some of the small tributaries. I had heard a lot about this tribe from people in Borja. They had told me this group were headhunters, and that their chief, Tariri, had over a hundred lives on his conscience. According to this “patron”, though, Tariri and several other Chapra were evangelical christians. This made me even more determined to meet Tariri and the Chapra tribe. However, the merchant refused to consider stopping where they lived. He insisted that these people were dangerous, and he would pass their place as quickly as possible.
On my way to visit the Chapra
As I was wondering how I could get to the Chapra village, someone shouted: “Here come some of the Chapra!” Far up the river, I could see some natives coming in a dugout canoe with a small outboard engine. The merchant was frightened, and took off in his boat and docked on the other side of the river so he didn’t have to meet them. Later, I was told why he was so frightened of them. A few years ago, he had arrived at Tariri’s village with two of his children who had the measles at the time.The end result was that people in the village got sick, and twelve of them died from complications! The next time the merchant had come, Tariri had threatened him with a machete and told him if he ever returned, he would not survive the visit!
Soon, the canoe docked, and the men came into the village. Most of them wore shorts, but no shirts. They had wide faces, and long,thick, black hair. Some of them had some wave in it as well. They were powerfully built, in contrast to the Awajun people I had met, who were more slender and with thinner, straighter hair. Only one of the Chapra was wearing a shirt, so I thought he might be the leader. I asked him about taking me with them back to the village. He answered in understandable Spanish, but did not seem excited about the idea. I understood that they were very reserved and wary of strangers. They discussed the matter in their own language for a little while, and then I was told I could come, but at my own risk. If Tariri did not welcome me, I’d better find a way to leave as quickly as possible.
Their canoe was about 30 feet long, and dug out of one single tree trunk. It did not have any benches, but they quickly fixed me up a bench made of two sticks. I sat on these two sticks for the four hour trip, and it was not comfortable, to say the least. I was thankful they had an outboard motor, otherwise the trip would have taken the whole day! We passed several large sandbanks, and I noticed that the men were looking intently at them as we passed, like they were looking for something. When I asked, I was told they were looking for turtle tracks. This time of year, when the Milky Way appears in the sky, the large river turtles come up on the sandbank at night and lay their eggs. Each one can lay over a 100 eggs. The natives consider them a delicacy. It was still early in the season, and we didn’t find any, but we saw several of the large turtles sunning themselves on logs in the river. According to the men, this helps mature the eggs. They also eat the turtles, and I had several opportunities to have turtle soup throughout my trip.
Finally the canoe stopped and docked at the river bank. There were no houses and no other boats docked where we did. All I could see was a small, partially hidden path going into the jungle. The men took the motor off the canoe, carried it into the woods, and hid it with some plastic and leaves. Then they led me into the jungle on the small path. I was excited, but admittedly, also nervous as we traveled further into the jungle. What kind of welcome awaited me at the Chapra village?
As I was wondering how I could get to the Chapra village, someone shouted: “Here come some of the Chapra!” Far up the river, I could see some natives coming in a dugout canoe with a small outboard engine. The merchant was frightened, and took off in his boat and docked on the other side of the river so he didn’t have to meet them. Later, I was told why he was so frightened of them. A few years ago, he had arrived at Tariri’s village with two of his children who had the measles at the time.The end result was that people in the village got sick, and twelve of them died from complications! The next time the merchant had come, Tariri had threatened him with a machete and told him if he ever returned, he would not survive the visit!
Soon, the canoe docked, and the men came into the village. Most of them wore shorts, but no shirts. They had wide faces, and long,thick, black hair. Some of them had some wave in it as well. They were powerfully built, in contrast to the Awajun people I had met, who were more slender and with thinner, straighter hair. Only one of the Chapra was wearing a shirt, so I thought he might be the leader. I asked him about taking me with them back to the village. He answered in understandable Spanish, but did not seem excited about the idea. I understood that they were very reserved and wary of strangers. They discussed the matter in their own language for a little while, and then I was told I could come, but at my own risk. If Tariri did not welcome me, I’d better find a way to leave as quickly as possible.
Their canoe was about 30 feet long, and dug out of one single tree trunk. It did not have any benches, but they quickly fixed me up a bench made of two sticks. I sat on these two sticks for the four hour trip, and it was not comfortable, to say the least. I was thankful they had an outboard motor, otherwise the trip would have taken the whole day! We passed several large sandbanks, and I noticed that the men were looking intently at them as we passed, like they were looking for something. When I asked, I was told they were looking for turtle tracks. This time of year, when the Milky Way appears in the sky, the large river turtles come up on the sandbank at night and lay their eggs. Each one can lay over a 100 eggs. The natives consider them a delicacy. It was still early in the season, and we didn’t find any, but we saw several of the large turtles sunning themselves on logs in the river. According to the men, this helps mature the eggs. They also eat the turtles, and I had several opportunities to have turtle soup throughout my trip.
Finally the canoe stopped and docked at the river bank. There were no houses and no other boats docked where we did. All I could see was a small, partially hidden path going into the jungle. The men took the motor off the canoe, carried it into the woods, and hid it with some plastic and leaves. Then they led me into the jungle on the small path. I was excited, but admittedly, also nervous as we traveled further into the jungle. What kind of welcome awaited me at the Chapra village?
