Manolo Berjón
Miguel Angel Cadenas
When we first arrived in the Marañón River Valley, more than two
decades ago, the first thing we experienced was miscommunication: we didn’t
understand the way people talked. It first struck us in the city of Iquitos,
although the blow there was relatively soft. When we traveled to Nauta, a city
founded by the Kukama Manuel Pacaya in 1830, the following week, the sense of
miscommunication was sharply accentuated. A week later, we reached our new
home, Santa Rita de Castilla, amid the Kukama people. And the feeling of
miscommunication was enormous, even though the Kukama nowadays speak Spanish as
their first language. When we visited communities, we felt as if we were
entering another world.
© Manolo Berjón
Accustomed as we were to speaking our minds, it was difficult
for us to understand the importance of ceremony in communication. Greetings,
repetitive formulas … they seemed to be from another era. We later realized
that language itself creates situations. We had already studied how “I baptize
you,” in a ceremony in the church, creates a new Christian. But what we began
to learn about “how to do things with words” seemed much more intense in the
Amazon. The importance of the blessing, and the importance of never, under any
circumstance, speaking a curse. With persistence, effort and patience on the
part of our indigenous interlocutors, we gradually learned to communicate
better.
We later realized that the same word had different meanings. To
us, “Lend me your machete” meant, “Give me your machete” for a limited time.
For the Kukama, the borrower becomes the owner of the machete. It would
therefore be in poor taste for the owner to ask for its return. It took us a
long time to understand that, and it led us to study the Kukama language. The
discovery of the language was a revelation. We gradually became accustomed to
the Kukama culture. Or more accurately, from the indigenous point of view, they
gradually domesticated us. Drinking masato (fermented
cassava beer) was a lesson in domestication.
SOCCER
Every afternoon, people play soccer or fulbito (a
scaled-down version of the game). Without fail. The soccer field is in the
middle of the community. It gives one the sense of being on solid ground. The
first day we played, all went well. The second day, we were knocked around a
bit, but put it down to poor calculation. The third day, we received rougher
treatment. Play didn’t stop, and no one called foul, which surprised us. So we
paid little attention. We later understood that strength is a key element for
the Kukama. Their way of playing soccer is a demonstration of skill and
strength. The weak have no chance. Much later, we discovered that a toad may be
placed on the goal post to keep the ball away, or a shaman can make an opponent
fall and injure himself…
Why talk about soccer? Knowing that it is a game that came from
outside, we can discover a key indigenous characteristic: appropriating from
the foreign to continue being indigenous. People have appropriated soccer (a
foreign game) so as to continue being indigenous (they play in their own way).
Thus the importance of the soccer field’s central location. The external
(soccer) is taken into the heart so people continue to be indigenous.
Soccer tournaments are crucial. One Animador Cristiano (leader
of the village’s Catholic community) told us that one of his sons, age 16, went
to play soccer in another community. He arrived home late at night, and
immediately went to bed under his mosquito net. The next morning, he slipped
out from under his mosquito net as usual and went to the river to fetch water.
His mother was annoyed, although she said nothing. At breakfast time, a young
woman appeared from under his mosquito net. He introduced her as his wife.
Soccer is much more than sport. It makes young men travel to other communities,
and more than a few families or couples have been formed at a soccer match.
THE BIBLE
Señora Miguelina did not know how to read or write and had never
been to school. But she was a woman of great wisdom and an excellent midwife.
One day, when she was ill, she sent for us. We went to her home and she asked
us for a Bible. We were aware that she did not know how to read or write. So
why did she want a Bible? It was simple: to place it under her pillow. The
Kukama traditionally place the leaf of the toé plant under their
pillow so it will make them dream. Señora Miguelina wanted God to make her
dream, and the most appropriate way was to place the Bible under her pillow.
Recounted in those terms, it seems unimportant. But for
indigenous people, the world is not just what we see; other worlds also exist,
inhabited by other beings. God, for the Kukama, lives in the highest heaven.
Dreams are a form of true revelation. We should add that the Bible also becomes
a means of protection. Given that Señora Miguelina was ill, it is easy to
understand that she was asking God, through the Bible, for protection against
evil (illness, in this case).
In these brief essays, we do not attempt to discuss all the
implications of these experiences; we seek only to offer guideposts. Learning
has come at great cost. Much patience is required. But when we realized that we
were understanding, we were overcome with a sense of satisfaction, of knowing
what was going on, of being able to share life with people who were incredibly
wise, and who also were extremely patient with us. That does not mean we know
it all, by any means. We are still humble apprentices. That is why an
indigenous ministry is necessary.
Every indigenous people is different. Diversity is one of the
most important characteristics of Amazonia. The essays in this series are
rooted in the Kukama people. They reflect our experiences. Other peoples and
other people may have different experiences. This seems like a good moment for
a conversation among the people who journey through Amazonia. It is our small
contribution to the call for a pan-Amazonian synod. We hope it can help start a
conversation.
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