From the point of ignition
To the final drive
The point of a journey
Is not to arrive
Anything can happen...
The other day, I attended the birthday party of a Shuar Indigenous woman named Carmen. She is an older woman, probably in her 50s, but I know her and her family a bit. Iīve given trees and seeds to them on occasion, and they given me yucca in exchange. Carmen can barely speak Spanish, since her first language is Shuar. She has Shuar tattoos on her face, and a hole below her lip where she used to place ornamental spears as a child. She lives in a simple wooden house with her 11th child (a daughter), where they have no electricity, no running water, and no bathroom. They cook their food with firewood.
The party took place on the outskirts of the village in the home of Carmenīs ex-husband, also a Shuar with tattoos on his face (whose leg was amputated years ago after he was bitten by a poisonous snake).
I was the only non-Shuar at the party. I was surrounded by Shuars, and there were no mestizos. It was very bizarre for me, since Shuars behave differently from Ecuadorians. They donīt always like to socialize with non-Shuars and often keep to themselves. The women almost never look me in the eye, choosing to stare at the ground instead when they talk to me.
Back in the day (before the missionaries came along and destroyed their culture), the Shuars were known as fierce warriors. They would cut off their enemiesī heads, and then shrink them to the size of a coconut before displaying them on the point of a spear. Nowadays, Shuars are often timid and quiet, except when they start drinking. Carmen had prepared an alcoholic concoction that everyone was drinking. It was a warm drink, somewhat sweet, and unlike anything I had tasted before. A Shuar cocktail of sorts.
The food at the party consisted of Shuar soup and a main course of rice, yucca, cooked bananas, and other assorted ingredients.
Almost everyone at the party got drunk, especially the men, most of whom were Carmenīs sons. In addition to the Shuar cocktail, they were drinking hard liquour straight out of the bottle, and pressuring me to do the same. I didnīt appreciate that. Despite the fact that they kept insisting and insisting, I resisted. By the end of the evening (at least by the time I decided to leave), the men were staggering around in a drunken stupor, and even some of the women had had their fill. Carmenīs daughter was throwing up and eventually passed out from excess alcohol consumption.
Everybody danced in a tiny room to the beat of Cumbia music. I really didnīt enjoy the party. It was too surreal and too bizarre for my taste. Too much alcohol, and too much weirdness on the part of the men. Some of them would talk to me in a threatening tone, while others would just give me strange looks. I didnīt feel very safe there, and was glad to leave. However, I was happy to be invited to the party since the Shuars do not always open themselves up to outsiders.
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