Nuestros Guías en el Camino

The passage from Mocoa through the temporarily-lifted blockade was all we could ask for: uneventful.  We managed to reach Bogotá, where we caught a flight to Barranquilla.  Upon arrival, we spent a night in the cheapest, dingiest motel yet (in existence?) – including complimentary contraceptives, a speaker installed in the wall above the bed to cover whatever ‘noise’ guests make, and a television with only one channel, flipped on as we were led into the room by the creepy desk man who gave Claire a disturbing smile as the moans and groans came on at full blast (it, ahh… wasn’t the news). 

                                                                                                          

Reunited in Jimmy's house with Alba and a big fish!

The next day we bused to Santa Marta, and within a few hours we found our old friend Jimmy (who readers may remember from our previous adventures at La Fruta and Carnaval).  Jimmy welcomed us with hugs, smiles, and excitement, and we saw his house in Taganga for the first time.  Taganga is an area held very sacred to the Tayrona people, with a beautiful blue bay surrounded by desert mountains.  Jimmy’s house is a unique, round building whose base is stone and which climbs into concrete with creatively crafted, barred windows and an open pavilion below the roof which overlooks the sea, Jimmy’s home (which he built in stages, by-hand over the course of years) well-reflects his artistic flare.  Inside are a kitchenette and two beds, hammocks, and many paintings, mosaics, and mobiles contributed by travelers who have passed through. 

After a night of joyous reminiscing and fresh fish at Jimmy’s, we were off to La Fruta.  It was exciting to get on the bus in Santa Marta again and head back to the place we had begun our adventure nearly one year ago.  We arrived at Quebrada Valencia and began our walk along the river.  On the way, we met many of the same vendors who had been on the path six months before, and we were greeted with warmth and smiles by those who remembered us.  It was a welcoming feeling to stop and chat for a bit - recollecting, hearing news, sharing stories.

The store with mural art by Valentina.

We passed the store-front which we had blessed months before by spending a night dancing around the fire with the Mamo.  Now it was inhabited by a friend of Santiago’s, who had made the inside a lovely home.  She stays there and sells her artisanal goods to passers-by, as well as the goods produces by La Fruta.  After a brief rest there, walking the grounds and remembering the lessons, we crossed the river a last time and began climbing to La Fruta.

With all the beauty we’d been blessed to share over the last 11 months, I’d nearly forgotten how beautiful the climb through the jungle, with alternating views of the river below, and the sea in the distance, really was.  We arrived at La Fruta out of breath but full of joy.  The lower house, where many of our friends had spent their nights, had been picked up and blown away by the wind with Javier inside (he wasn’t hurt).  It was replaced with a new house made in the traditional Kogui style – that is, with locally obtained organic material- full trees as vertical supports for a roof of smaller trees, lashed together and thatched with grass.  Inside, the musicians had brought up the mountain several electric guitars, a base, an amplifier, and other musical equipment I didn’t know.  Santa Sama (Santiago and Yerit) were no longer acoustic.

Sama Santa- photo courtesy of Javier

We walked past this house and entered the kitchen area, where we found Santiago, Yerit, and Deborah –full of smiles and love.  We hugged and everyone rejoiced. These three were now the family at La Fruta., and we spent hours re-counting the events of the past six months.  Lots had happened. 

It seems that after we left, the paramilitary presence became much stronger, and skirmishes broke out near La Fruta.  This had forced most families to leave their farms, although Santi and Yerit had conveniently been in Bogotá at the time.  Our good friends Helmi and Carol, the Austrian couple who had taught us so much about inner-peace and love, had returned temporarily to Europe.  However, there had been tension between Helmi and Santi about the project at La Fruta, and Helmi had decided to go his own way.  This was sad news indeed, but we were reassured that Helmi had left on good terms with Santi, and the two seemed without anger and resolved with one another.

The Renaissance man, the artisan, can make

something from anything. Also, the man is 53!

Jimmy, a guide on our path.

In the meantime, Santiago and Deborah were very much in love, and continued their lives at La Fruta.  They were married in a Hare Krishna ceremony during the visit of Maharaji, and their love continued to bless them: Deborah was pregnant with a baby girl.  We were so thrilled and excited to hear that such a beautiful couple would be bringing new life into the world.  Yerit was as he always is, a living example of Zen and inner-peace, always smiling and positive.  It was so wonderful to be back with our friends.

Deborah, (baby) and dog Lua.

We spent a week at La Fruta with Santi, Yerit, Jimmy, Deborah and a visiting friend named Alba.  It was a wonderful, relaxed time.  I got back to my love of collecting and peeling coconuts, reconnected with Yerit through work of hauling lumber through the jungle, and hauled and chopped firewood.  I couldn’t have asked for more.  Claire cooked and cleaned, enjoyed the company, and spread her joyful energy around the place.  We took an afternoon to plant the ayahuasca seed given to us from Taita in Mocoa, that the vine spirit may bring love and wisdom to new places. The pool had been completed, and there was hydraulic energy being produced – although the amps were insufficiently low for a concert, it was still moving along.  Santiago explained the whole system, and I learned a lot from his explanation and observation.

Santiago, stylish even while working in the jungle.

There were other lessons as well.  I saw that some of the projects I had worked on still remained, useful and in-tact.  However, I also noted that many (let’s be honest, most) of the projects had either failed, rotted, or been replaced as the larger plan of La Fruta moved along.  I was humbled once again by the acceptance and patience I received from Santiago, who had not turned me away during our time together for my arrogance and ego in thinking I knew better than he (or that I knew at all).  We spoke of this and many other things, and being the wonderful person he is, he spoke only kind words to me – happy that I had learned, full of assurance that the lessons and friendship were worth the trials. 

During the evening we would listen to the performances of Yerit and Santi, powered by a gasoline generator and the skills, talent, and emotion of these two musicians.  We heard and remembered the old songs, and new ones too, as we were drawn into the music.

Yerit- photo courtesy of Joao

Claire and I spent the nights together, recounting our times and sharing thanks for how blessed we were to learn in this place, return to it, and taste again the fruits of La Fruta.  The week flew by, and we left with blessings and love, and the knowledge that sometime, sooner or later, near or far, in this realm or another, we would see these beautiful souls again.  After a brief few days at Jimmy’s, where we helped him in the construction of another house he is building to house travelers and artisans (in coordination with La Fruta), we traveled with him to Barranquilla to meet his son Valentin – a bright, shining youth eager to practice his English and relate with us about traveling the world and the United States. 

Jorge is hoping to make his way to Ecuador to work with

another project reinvigorating interest in ancient seed.

Then we took our leave, and flew to Medellin.  We had one night there, and then we would head back to the United States.  With late notice, our dear friends Jaime and Jorge managed to meet us in the city.  They picked us up, and with hugs and smiles we once again rejoiced with old friends.  We traveled to the apartment of a mutual friend, Guillermo, where we found Marcela (Jaime’s wife), and ate a wonderful dinner, talked and remembered.  The connection with these friends is so strong it defies words – Jaime and Marcela both have the habit of not being the one to break a hug, so Claire and I were determined to do the same.  This lead to some of the longest and deepest hugs I’ve ever experienced, but with so much love and an atmosphere free of judgment, there were no awkward moments.  There were, however, serious issues to discuss.

After we left, the project at La Cienaga had gained increased attention.  The students at the local school took interest, and with the help of the young and charismatic leader Ehider, the project was gaining momentum among the youth in the area.  Suddenly, ‘paramilitaries’ arrived and occupied uninhabited houses in the community.  They carried guns, malice, and threats for Jorge and Ehider.  “Get out, stop the project.” The threat came down hardest on Ehider, who was slandered – word spread of his being a drug dealer, a criminal, a delinquent – and then the death threats began. Jorge, who happened to be in the city at the time, knew he couldn’t return.  

Jaime, whose roots and family live in la Cienaga, is fighting

the paramilitary and mines with love, faith and patience.

For Ehider, the threats probed deeper – he would have to leave his home, his family, his project, his future, in order to keep his life.  The ‘paramilitaries’, we learned, were likely thugs hired covertly by the mining operation in the area – you see, the mine has rights to explore and exploit the land of La Cienaga (and many surrounding communities), and what they don’t want is a thriving project, making their ‘job’ of dispossessing people of their land harder and more public.

Send your strength and love to Ehider.

This type of thing is normal in many places of the world.  It happens in our own country as well.  Few motives drive as hard or ruthlessly as profit.  The sadness and injustice brought about by such soullessness is not new or unique.  Still, that Ehider has had to leave his home and this project is a tragedy.  That people could coordinate, conspire, and collude to stomp out this bright light of hope breaks my heart.  I can hardly empathize with how much harder it breaks his.

We sat together, holding hands, fighting back tears of fear and sadness, praying for Ehider’s safety, for his future, for his light.  Praying for this world and the people that inhabit it.  Praying for the love – the only chance we’ve got left.  And after these intense moments of trepidation and heartache, we returned to the love and joy, and continued enjoying the evening with more fervor, as if to compensate for the loss and overpower it.

As we headed back to the airport late in the evening, I realized that of all the lessons that we had learned on this trip, this was perhaps the most poignant and important.  The lives of those we encountered were seldom glamorous and never easy, but these people shared with us like family and laughed and loved as hard as they could.  There is no hiding from the darkness and evil in this world – even those who are full of light have shadows cast upon them.  But those who bring hope for a better tomorrow, for a greater purpose, for love and unity and humility in this world, those are the people who shine through the difficulties, who forgive the betrayals, and who keep hope and love in their hearts.  These are the people we have been blessed to encounter in this ‘camino verdadero’, those who will never leave us, who have become a part of us, and who have taught us that connection with ourselves, with each other, and with this earth will bring love to our hearts and light to our souls.

We leave humbled, and grateful to those who have shared.

Full of love, light, and thanks.

Teachings with Taita part III

As the days passed at the house of Taita, Claire and I became accustomed to our lives there.  We began to better understand the strong Argentinean accents of our traveling friends, and we became more comfortable in our roles of living, working, cooking and eating at the farm.  Taita and I were still working together, and every day and every moment provided a new lesson.  Claire was working more with Mama, as well as learning lots of new artisanal skills from our traveling friends (dream catchers, flowers and baskets made from coca fronds, etc.).

Paz, Chiso, Pato y Miguel with lentil burger lunch!

One day, Taita found us in the morning (we all slept in tents under a plastic roof, on the ground), about 6 AM, most of us still in the tents.  He let us know that we would be going to ‘Fin del Mundo’ (End of the World), a waterfall about 4 hours (well, he said 2.5) away from the farm, an adventure that we had looked forward to since arriving in Mocoa.  We ate a quick breakfast, and began the walk – a group of about 8 – the traveling gang, and our leader Taita.  The journey was quite long, but we were kept energized by light rain as we walked.  We had packed only some bread, as we were expecting to hitch a ride either there or back, to shorten the journey.

After about 4 hours we arrived at the preserve, followed by another half hour walk to reach the first waterfall.  We greeted the indigenous family that charged a small fee for the maintenance that they performed regularly on the –at times precarious- trail, and headed into the jungle.  The trail was through a rainforest, lined with thick vegetation and all shades of green, and at some points the path became flat, smooth rock worn by years of water erosion.  We climbed stone paths and steps carved by ancient peoples of unexplainable strength and precision, descended rickety wooden ladders constructed more recently but with less mind for longevity, and arrived at a pristine waterfall drifting from a sunlit pool to a dark hole about 20 feet below.  Taita taught us of the sacred energy of the river, the falls, and the waters, and urged us to continue downstream to the ‘end of the world’.

After passing two more beautiful waterfalls, Taita took rest under a huge overhang, and smoked a cigar.  During this time, we were exploring when I lost my footing on a mossy section of rock, and fell with a 360-spin as a cartoon character might exaggeratedly slip on a banana peel.  I came to rest squarely on my chin.  I was initially surprised and thankful that I hadn’t broken my jaw or neck, as I took note that everything seemed to be in place and moving appropriately.  Just as the thought occurred that I should be bleeding, I noticed the red pools coloring the water at my feet.  My chin was split
 wide open, and the look in Claire’s eyes when she saw it told me that the wound was fairly deep.

Miguel and Pato at the precipice.

Justin and Taita peering over the edge.

As usual, we found Taita.  And as would become a pattern, Taita showed us that calm, light, and composure can pacify any situation.  He looked at the wound, and laughed.  He said “let me show you a trick”, and he closed his eyes with an elfish grin, said some words under his breath, and then blew swiftly on the wound.  Then he collected some leaves, and told me to hold them tight onto the cut.  While the rest of us were worried about the implications of this (would I have to turn around, did I need stitches?), Taita told us it was time to move on.  About five minutes further down the trail, we came to a place where the earth surrendered its hold on the horizon, and a sheer cliff met the jungle beyond.  El Fin Del Mundo. 

We stood at the edge of the falls, the adventuresome peaking their heads over the 200-foot precipice at our feet.  Then we began hiking down the cliff side, as Taita led us to the bottom of the cataract.  When we reached the bottom, Taita smoked a celebratory cigar as he explained the historical significance of the spot, and shared with us how the smoke of his cigar and the mist created by the falls were similar energies. We learned that Taitas of the past would come to waterfalls to worship, to provide offerings to the gods, to travel between dimensions, and to convene with the spirit world.  Thus, the pools below the falls – and this ancient falls in particular – held waters that revived the soul, providing healing, youth, and energy. 

Taita

Healing waters.

We stood at the foot of the falls, letting the force from the mist soak us, and then we plunged into the crystal-clear pools, lavishing the energy and cleanliness that it offered.  After a few minutes, we left the pool refreshed and re-energized for the walk home.  We ate what little bread we had brought, and relied on the energy of our elders –the Taitas and Mamas- to carry us back towards the setting sun.  I think, at that point, we all assumed (hoped?) we would catch whatever car happened to pass us.

When we reached the road, we kept walking.  A few cars passed, but none stopped, we were too many.  Night overcame us, and we kept trodding.  Eventually it became clear that we would not get a ride.  We just kept walking, Taita with his 58 years, short stature and lively spirit leading us nearly running the entire way.  We reached the farm on foot at about 10 PM, having walked nearly 11 hours without more than bread to eat.  We were exhausted from the journey, but all thankful to have been guided by such esteemed company. 

Taita’s lessons about waterfalls were not yet over.  A real test lay ahead.  We awoke a few days later, and as usual Taita was already up and working. He let us know that this morning there was much to be done, and those who worked until the afternoon would join him to drink Yagé at a ‘nearby’ waterfall that evening.  Of course, we were all happy to help him with the work, encouraged by an offer to drink and experience the energy of a waterfall at night in the presence of our teacher.

Gaspar, Taita, and Justin working hard.

After digging, moving, and hauling dirt for half a day, we packed for the waterfall.  As it rained heavily here in the Amazon basin with some frequency, I asked Taita if we needed a tent, and he said “No.  There is a big house with a nice, large roof where we can stay if it rains”.  I missed the glint of mischief in his eye… 

We headed off, packed only with sweatshirts and one rain jacket.  After about two hours of walking, essentially through Taita’s backyard, including a river portage and a healthy climb, we arrived at a beautiful waterfall.  We were a bit hungry and tired, as we had been fasting after working all morning, but the waterfall was so pristine that our grumbling stomachs were quickly forgotten.

Taita in his ruana.

The creek divided into two streams, like horse manes, that glided from the rocks above into a wide pool below.  Beneath the overhanging rock nestled birds, huddled together and waiting to hunt bugs at dusk.  We all swam, sitting beneath the falls and feeling its power.  We also gathered lots of firewood to prepare for the evening, and explored the place that would be our home for the night.  The search provided a dead, bloated armadillo – an interesting omen, to be sure.

Chucho and the armadillo, which

 he assured us, “was alive”.

As night fell, we drank with Taita and his son Chucho who is also an experienced Shaman.  The first dose was a mild one for me, and I enjoyed the waterfall as I meditated at the river’s edge, taking in the noise and power from the falls, and gratefully accepting the energy it offered.  Claire’s journey was more powerful, as she alternated from dancing to the drums played by friends, to sitting by the fire, and listening to the teachings and songs of Taita.  After several hours, Taita asked if anyone wanted to drink a second time.

Artist's interpretation of the Spirit.

Some were still quite deep, but others (including myself) accepted.  Taita, uncharacteristically quick in his motions, let us know that we should drink right now.  He blessed the medicine unhurriedly- taking his usual 45 minutes or so to sing songs to it and ask the spirit and abuelitos (grandfathers) for curing, lessons, and beautiful paintings; and we drank.  As soon as those interested had drank, the rain arrived.  At first it was a steady sprinkle, and we sheltered under nearby trees.  It was at this time that I acknowledged that there was no house, there was no roof, and there was no shelter.  Ohhh, who can explain the tests of the Teacher?

Soon the skies opened and the rain came very forcefully, as if to test our will.  It started raining so hard that the trees provided no protection.  Thunder rumbled.  We were completely soaked.  Claire suggested that we go for a swim, as we weren’t going to get any wetter, and I agreed.  Completely naked in the pouring rain, I waited for her to join me in the river. 

The water was warmer below the surface than above, and I relished in the energy as I swam out to the waterfall.  I sat beneath it, and harnessed the energy of the waterfall combined with the spirit of the Yagé.  It was a powerful moment, one in which I had to find my breath to calm myself and manage the energy.  Despite the joy and empowerment I found in the moment, a dark intensity was creeping in.  Within moments, I could feel the force of the waterfall growing. 

I swam away from the falls, and as I let the current push me back to shore; I turned just in time to see lightning flash in the sky above, lighting the rocks above me and revealing not two pigtails, but one steady stream of water.  The river was consolidating its force.  As I exited the water and huddled up with Claire under a fleece, shivering off the cold, the energy continued to intensify.  Taita and Chucho approached, barely audible through the heavy rain and asked us if we had seen our two friends – Miguel and Nico - as they were nowhere to be found.  We did not know what had happened to them.  A confusion and mild panic set in, and Claire asked, concerned, if she might help.  “With what!?”  Taita laughed, assuring us that there was nothing to worry about, and a little water (or a torrential downpour) would do no harm, and in fact liven our spirits.

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The soundclip above is of Taita singing in the rain, at the waterfall. He sings 'father, mother, help and teach us' in his native tongue, Kamëntsá

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In the arms of the Mother.

During this time, the medicine was coming on strong.  It came in waves, lights dancing across my vision and pixilated boxes shifting likes waves through my periphery.  At about the same time, another friend of ours named Victor ‘fell’.  This was the first time I had seen such an experience, although we had heard that Yagé could bring such force to give harder lessons to learners.  Victor dropped to the ground in front of us, swimming and writhing frantically in the mud and pouring rain like a serpent.  Then he would go completely stiff, frozen in the depth of his visions.  Suddenly, he would wrestle again, and our friend Patricio, ever diligent in time of need, was there to brace him, to hug him tight and subdue him so that he wouldn’t hurt himself or others, and to offer him kind words “it’s us brother, we’re here”.

But Victor was not there to hear the words.  He had been carried to another realm.  Watching this, I could feel the energy in the space intensifying more, and it was all I could do to find my breath, to instill in myself the confidence that I could manage what was coming.  During one particularly violent writhing fit, Victor opened his eyes and looked directly into mine.  But Victor was not there, only the spirit of Yagé.  His pupils were completely gone, the eyes were inhabited by the spirit, and I saw only darkness.  A voice entered my head, as if the spirit was speaking clearly to me.  “See my power.  This is not a game.  Respect me, and know that I am both good and evil, darkness and light.”  I remembered my proposito (purpose), which was to learn how to control difficult energies in my life, and keep myself centered in times of strife.  I found a lesson again from the great teacher, and finding my breath, found my center.

Shaman and medicine.

I was shaken, but not scared.  I only hoped that Victor was okay. Luckily, Claire was a warm, calm energy by my side.  During this time, which was only a matter of moments, Taita had been observing from a distance.  He came closer to the group like a candle in the darkness, and as I opened my eyes to him, I saw him step forth, a calming white light among the darkness.  He came, laughing and singing, and put his hand on Victor’s shoulder, laughing as Victor lunged at him.  “The man thinks he is a snake!” he chuckled with a smile.  And with that, he continued dancing and singing in the rain.  As he continued, I could feel the heaviness and the darkness lift; I could feel this man clearing the evil from the place, bringing light and joy.  Again, Taita’s composure saved the day.  Our teacher understood and explained to us later, that anyone who works with the medicine enough must at one time fall.  Not all lessons taught by the spirit are easy, and Taita shared a story of the first time he fell, and lay on the ground throughout the ceremony, listening to the earth as it spoke to him. 

Artist's interpretation of the Spirit.

The rain continued, but following Taita, our energies lifted and lightened.  Claire invited our friend Diego to join us under our fleece, and the three of us huddled together and managed to gather a bit of warmth “el calor del amor” (the warmth of love) – with a rotation which left only one of us shivering at any given time.  At one point, as the rain eased up, Taita stood by us and taught us a lesson we had learned before, as he pointed to the trees dancing in the raindrops: “you see, everything has a spirit, the rain has a spirit, these plants have a spirit, they are asking you: ‘do you want more waters?’” and he chuckled, playing his harmonica as he danced away.  We got word that our friends Nico and Miguel were okay – they had crossed the river before the rains, and had been stuck on the other side, as the river had grown so much they could not get back across. 

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Taita's 'agradecidos', or 'giving thanks'. Translation: "We give thanks for this visit. That we are here adoring the waters, the rocks, the sand, the trees, the leaves, the roots. All are from God and the Mother (Mary). Then, the power of all we have is thanks to God and Mary. All we have. We have the path, we have thoughts, we have vibrations, we have the power to sing, to dance. Thanks to God. Thanks to Mary."

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After a few hours, the rain ceased.  Taita lit a fire with a half-gallon plastic jug and soaked logs, and eventually the flame licked the water from the wood and we had warmth.  We all huddled around the fire, grateful for the warmth and light, and happy that the rain had subsided.  Victor recovered, and was back to his normal self, though humbled by his experience.  Nico and Miguel returned to the fire, and joined in the huddle. We waited until daybreak, welcoming the calm that came as the cold and wet relented, and then we walked back to the farm.  Exhausted and exhilarated at the same time, we continued with our day, happy to be dry and warm, and surprisingly energized for not having eaten or slept the day before.

Taita and the 'bimbo'.

The next day, Claire and I returned to town to get supplies.  We got word that the strike (paro) would be lifted the following day for 12 hours, and felt we should seize the opportunity, as our time in Colombia was quickly drawing to a close. In town we bought parting gifts for Taita and the family, including a male turkey (bimbo in Spanish), which we conveniently found in the market (we had been searching for weeks).  We returned to the farm, and gifted Taita the turkey.  Immediately it became clear why the family’s female turkey had been following people around, sitting near them and beckoning for attention.  Within 5 minutes, the two turkeys had met, courted, and the female quickly sat invitingly in front of the male.  The male then did his job, and ‘stepped on’ (translation from Spanish) the female, in a beautiful moment which had everyone on the farm smiling and clapping.  It may seem strange to read about a group of people cheering about farm animals mating, but it was beautiful to know that our gift to Taita and his family would ensure new life at the farm for years to come. 

In a way, it was easier to rush out.  Taita had taught us so much, and we will never have the means to thank him.  Words, gifts, hugs, love, it all falls short – but he understands, as such a wise man would.  He sent us with seed from Chagro and Yagé, and kind words and blessings.  Mama thanked and blessed us as well, and with hugs and good-byes to our traveling friends, we were on the road again.  Off to Bogotá, in hopes of closing the circle of our travels by visiting La Fruta and then La Cienaga before returning stateside.

Abuelito y Abueltia, the parents of Taita in

their home. Elders of the Kamëntsá people.

Teachings with Taita Part II

We returned from Taita’s to the town of Mocoa to investigate about leaving, and make plans.  We arrived to news of a nationwide ‘paro’ (strike) in Colombia.  To strike, farmers in unions take to the streets and create blockades, prohibiting the passage of goods and people by dismantling semi-trucks sideways across the lanes, making holes in roads, essentially physically blocking the passage of trucks, buses, and cars.  The campesinos (small-scale farmers) had united with other workers of particular industries, including mining, cattle, and indigenous communities, to protest the passage of the free-trade agreement with the United States (officially called the TLC- ironic isn’t it?). 

Colombian front yard on the road to Mocoa.

This agreement, which eliminated or reduced tariffs on imports to Colombia, allowed the US and Canada to flood the market with industrially manufactured produce, which is sold at a lower price than the small-scale, often organic produce grown here in Colombia.  The increased supply, combined with the reduced prices of foreign goods, drove down drastically the price that farmers could earn for their crops.  While this is good from the perspective of the buyer, this one-sided economic perspective ignores the majority of the population, which is involved in small-scale farming.  These farmers, who are paying more each year for their inputs while receiving lower prices for their produce, are being put out of business and/or operating at a loss.  As a result, Colombia, a country which has historically been an exporter of many agricultural products (including coffee, bananas, cocoa, etc.) is now importing many goods which it has historically produced itself.  This has forced some small-scale farmers to adopt monoculture, synthetic farming techniques, while others have abandoned farming altogether in an attempt to enter struggling job markets in near-by towns and cities. Campesinos have little recourse as these steps are initiated by multinational corporations to put them out of business and take their land.

Like Mama says, she knows nothing about that way of life, and farming has been her and her family’s way of life forever.

A banana farmer walking his goods to market.

As there are many social groups involved, it is very difficult to get a clear view of the actors and their motivations.  The government often claims that Guerillas are responsible, although this could be an attempt to discredit the protestors.  In general (as these strikes have been occurring several times per year), the Government attempts to reconcile with various groups, usually through short-term trade assurances and futures. 

For more information on the paro click here:

http://www.commondreams.org/headline/2013/08/25

 Such agreements are helpful to farmers in the short-term and helpful to the Government because they reduce the number of protestors and thus diminish the strength of the ‘paro’.  However, these agreements ensure that no lasting or structural change will result – and thus a pattern of strike and short-term acquiescence has developed. The position of the farmers is a difficult one, because while they are lobbying to power on local levels (Governors, Mayors, etc), politicians at the national level (even IF they wanted to change the TLC) have their hands tied, as the multinational corporations with whom the agreement has been signed hold most of the bargaining power.  This strike was so lengthy (more than a month) and so large-scale (more than 400,000 people) that even President Obama had to take notice.  Of course, nothing but the usual hemming and hawing about how he would ‘try to change it’, but that ‘Congress wouldn’t agree on anything’… Sound familiar?

Paz picking chagro leaves.

Meanwhile in Mocoa, we were lucky to be safely in the country-side, where we could help grow and eat locally grown food at the house.  Luckily for the family, their main agricultural product – Yagé – is not being imported from North America (in fact, quite the opposite, many North Americans are catching onto Yagé and the chemical DMT, known is some circles as the ‘Spirit Molecule’. In the town, we bought some supplies, but noticed that the prices were increasing as the supply roots continued to be cut off by the strike.  We found ourselves perched in an ethical dilemma: ideologically we support the workers, that they may earn their rights and have their industries protected from foreign multinationals.  Still, we found ourselves eyeing the calendar with the knowledge that in 3 weeks’ time, we had to get out of Colombia and back to the US for my brothers’ wedding (seems trite in comparison, but such are the lives we lead).

Luckily for us, Taita was eager to teach us more during our time.  He asked me to help him cook the medicine, a process which takes (I now know) 8 full days.  We began by harvesting many leaves of a vine called chagro (these leaves bring the visions when drinking Yagé – chemically speaking they contain DMT).  During this harvesting process, which involved all of the volunteers and the family, we encountered a venomous snake called ‘Gata’ that is quite dangerous and at least 2 meters in length.  After a machete to the head, Taita held his prize.

Taita and the snake (note the head on the ground).

The man is a miracle worker.  Moments later, a friend was stung by a wasp when she got too close to a nest.  We found the nest hanging eye level, buzzing with angry wasps.  He approached the nest after a few moments, once the wasps had settled. He held out his hand, and put it so close to the wasps that they pulsated on the nest, vibrating in warning.  He was nearly touching them, but they did not leave the nest.  Then, he asked for a cigarette. “Just give them a kiss,” he said. He lit the cigarette, took one puff, and blew it into the nest.  The wasps swarmed from the nest directly towards him, circling in a black cloud around his head.  He stood calmly, forming the eye of the storm, and blew another puff of smoke into the fray.  Then, with the wasps nearly cleared from the nest into the torrent around him, he calmly, delicately, broke the branch to which the nest was connected with his left hand.  Then he turned the nest by twisting the branch, and with a last puff of smoke from the cigarette in his right hand, blew the remaining wasps from the hole of the nest.  This whole time the wasps were swarming and buzzing ferociously around Taita’s head, yet his demeanor showed only the peaceful and jovial youthfulness we had come to know from him.  He walked the nest to a nearby fence, followed all the way by the swarm, and gently set the branch in a new resting place there.  Then, he walked calmly back to start harvesting more leaves.  He laughed, and said “You see, do not be afraid.  All these wasps, they haven’t stung me once.  If you have enough love, then everything will love you.”

The empty nest.

Wow!  What a lesson.  He encouraged me to try the same trick, but there was no room for ego in that maneuver – “I don’t have enough love yet” I told him, and he knew it was true.

Tending the huge fire.

After harvesting enough leaves to fill a 50-gallon bucket, we began cooking.  This involved lighting a massive fire, using full tree trunks, to boil water with the leaves, thus extracting the nutrients from the chagro.  Yet, bringing 50 gallons of water to a boil is not easy; it is sweaty, constant work.  While Taita and his faithful companion Gaspar brought wood from the forest, I began axing and macheteing them into shape, and continued adding them to the fire.

Cleaning the vines and branches, scraping bark with Paz and Gaspar.

Many times I failed to keep the fire the right temperature, and sometimes I even drowned it of air and let it go out completely.  I thought, after all these years, that I knew about fire.  But Taita, calmly, patiently, always with love, calmed me and explained my errors, showing the proper way to manage the inferno.  He told me quite frankly: “it’s okay, you don’t know the countryside”, another truth I would have to accept from this beautiful man, although after two years in Zambia and nearly a year in Colombia living in the bush, this was a hard truth to accept. Still, such was the wisdom of Taita that I heard him,  I was humbled, learned, and we continued the process.

Preparing the medicine.

After three days of cooking these leaves, stirring with a huge wooden stick, we had chagro water (a liquid of thick green consistency that smelled a bit like spinach).  Then, we added Yagé (verdehuasca, to be exact) leaves.  We also harvested the roots and branches of the Yagé vine.  Next, we had to scrape the outer bark to remove the dirt and the hard cover.  Once this was completed (another half-day’s work, given the amount of Yagé), we pounded the vine, separating the soft inner-flesh from the bark.  We then boiled with the leaves the mashed pieces of bark.  This process was repeated three times (that is, we boiled down the water until it had reached the desired consistency, and then filled the 50-gallon pot again with water and repeated the process.)

Now we had lots of chagro-Yagé water, made only from leaves and the bark.  Next, we added a small pot of water and boiled it with the Yagé root itself (small in comparison – probably about 20 gallons in size).  This process was the most important, and it was during this time that I found the spirit ‘singing’ to me – that is, a catchy tune and detailed lyrics suddenly came to me, in Spanish (I doubt that I could sit down and write a lyric in Spanish, let alone create a whole song without trying or thinking). After this water was boiled down, a thick and black brew with an acrid smell, we mixed it with the chagro-water.  Now we had a strong, dark concoction that needed to be further boiled until it had concentrated.  This took another day, but a very painstaking one.  With just liquid, the pot would over-boil very easily, and much of our hard work would be lost to the fire.

To the left is the chagro water with the bark of the ayahuasca, and on the right the ayahuasca mixture.

Taita, of course, was with me throughout, teaching me his time-honored method that he had learned from his Taita (father), who had learned from his Taita, and so on and so forth.  Claire helped when she could, and cooked wonderful food and interacted in her beautiful way, but for most of the process we were apart.  I was told not to bath, as cold water could be dangerous to my blood, it being so hot from the work near the fire.  So for 6 days I worked in such a way and maybe it was better for Claire’s sake that we kept our distance.

Taita and his father, a shaman and elder of the Kamëntsá tribe.

When the medicine was finished, the liquid had evaporated and become much thicker – about the consistency of oil. Taita invited us to drink that night.  We participated in a ceremony with a beautiful family of neighbors.  Their small 4-year-old daughter was sick, and had been for some time, and they had tried all the modern remedies available to them, to no avail.  When they came, Taita prayed for the child, he gave her some cleansing water and blessed her.  Then he encouraged her family to stay to drink the medicine, and be cleansed, that they may help heal the child.  Taita is well known in the town of Mocoa.  Many families and individuals came to seek Taita's healings and teaching while we stayed with him for 5 weeks.  Some would bring nothing more than the photo of a sick family member, others would walk great distances.  All sought out the knowledge and ability of this shaman to cleanse them and heal them and their loved ones.

Artist's interpretation of the healing process.

 The family had come for this reason, and we drank with the father, the four year old daughter’s older brother (12) and sister (16), and even a small spoonful for the sick child herself, as their mother watched on.  The medicine was strong – I had never before felt such a strong connection with the spirit, as if she was leading me, and I had no choice but to follow.  After all, I had helped to create this brew, and I felt somehow more connected because of it. I found myself humming the same tune that I had learned by the fire, and the spirit responded, intensifying its effect. 

Plant medicine.

During this time, Taita was hard at work.  The daughter vomited, and then went to sleep. Brother and sister the same.  This time was for the father of the sick girl.  Taita sat the man – who was now clearly deeply in touch with the Yagé – in a chair, and began praying to the Father, Son, Mother, and the Holy Spirit (the medicine) to heal.  Then he began calling to the Yagé spirit.  After about an hour of intense chanting and working with the father seated on a stool, praying and singing over him, he asked the man to remove all clothing but his underwear – it was now about 4 in the morning, and it was quite cold.  Then, Taita took a branch from a local nettle called ortiga (I don’t know how to describe the bite of ortiga, though I have encountered it many times while clearing bush.  It has small, pointy thorns which prick the skin, and leave a sensation which is somewhere between pain and itching, but in a most unpleasant way) and began rubbing it all over the mans body (a process we had seen before in Taita’s ceremony, performed on his son, and by his son on himself to strengthen the nervous system and invigorate the body)  He circled the man, rubbing the nettle more and more intensely as he himself became entranced, using all his energy to free the bad spirits from the father and the family, that the child may be cured.  The man, who must have been in more pain than I care to imagine, hardly even flinched.  He sat stoically, eyes forward, welcoming his cleansing to cure his body, and in doing so, his family and his daughter.

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The sound file above is of Taita singing 'father, mother, help and teach us' in his native tongue, Kamëntsá

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Gaspar and Patricio the morning after the ceremony.

Finally, the work with the ortiga ended.  Then, Taita, Gaspar (who, though older than Taita has worked with him for over 30 years), and an Argentinean friend named Patricio began smoking a cigar each, puffing and exhaling as rapidly as possible, billowing smoke onto the man while walking in a circle around him.  Tobacco is a very sacred plant, and is known as the protector spirit, and this ritual was completed to protect the family, now that the evil spirits had been chased away.  The three of them finished their cigars in less than 5 minutes of intense puffing, spitting, and whistling away the energies.  It was quite a sight, and it took real dedication from all involved.  It was a beautiful moment for Claire and me – to witness the cleansing, to feel and be part of a traditional healing ceremony, and to open our minds to the idea that if someone is sick, the entire family must accept responsibility to help and improve the situation by cleaning their energies.  Thus, they cure the illness but not by treating the symptoms, as we are used to in our culture, but rather by seeking to change the root causes of the problems.  All energies are part of one whole, interconnected, and each has the power to heal another by healing one’s self.

By the time this cleansing had ended, the sun was rising.  Claire and I had watched the whole thing in awe, and now awaited another beautiful day together, finding energy in the newborn sun.  Taita woke the rest of the family, and told them that their daughter would now be cured.  He offered some small remedies to give the child the following night, and told them that they should live free and happy, resting assured that things would begin to improve. 

When we asked about the child a week later, we learned that she had overcome her sickness, and that she was beginning to recover altogether from the nervousness and night traumas from which she had previously suffered.

For our part, we were still looking to the north, searching for an opportunity to pass the blockade.  Yet still more experiences lay in our path.