Geography Reference
In-Depth Information
Mapping Time: Before and After the Arrival of the “White Man”
Working as a school teacher in the
Parque Indígena do Xingu
(Xingu Indigenous
Park), about 400 miles north of Xavante lands, was quite a different experience.
Heading north from Kuluene to the Xingu Park, but nevertheless going down
river, I noticed the shrubby twisted vegetation of the dry savannah turn slowly
into a lush green forest with tall slender trees bordering broad wide rivers feeding
into the Amazon basin. In fact, the Kuluene River (also spelled Culuene), which
borders the Xavante Kuluene Reservation where I first worked, is one of the five
tributaries of the Xingu River, which runs throughout the Xingu Indigenous Park
until it meets the Amazon River. At that point, the mouth of the Xingu River
is 7 kilometers or 4.35 miles wide. At the Diauarum Indigenous Post, where I
was stationed, the width of the river was only about 800 meters or 1/2 a mile.
Nevertheless, it was wide enough to make the other margin seem unreachable to
me. Swimming was not an option to get to the other side because of the strong
current and the voracious
piranhas
(
Pygocentrus nattereri
). The people crossed
the river in their canoes whenever they went hunting or fishing or looking for
turtle eggs on the river banks. Whenever I attempted to row against the current I
failed. I ended up stranded down river, at least knowing that I would eventually
end up at one of the villages along the Xingu River. Explanations about why I had
ventured all by myself out on the river never satisfied the Kayabi, Kayapó, Suyá,
Juruna, and other peoples inhabiting the Xingu Park. “Never,” they told me, “go
out on your own.”
My fear of scorpions and jaguars on Xavante lands materialized into a reverence
for sweet-water creatures of the Amazon basin. First, I became aware that the black,
red, or spotted jaguar (
Panthera onca
) figured prominently as a protagonist in
creation myths of most Indigenous Peoples in the Xingu Park. Being the ferocious
animal that it is, it is no surprise that this big cat (the third largest feline after the
tiger and the lion, animals that are absent in the Americas) is often credited for
giving Indigenous Peoples in South America the gift of fire (Ferreira1994a). Like
the push of cool translucent waters, red hot fire flames are essential for the survival
and well-being of humankind. While the jaguar gradually became somewhat of a
divine creature for me, given its emancipatory powers, I was still banned by Xingu
peoples from travelling on my own either by land or water. Indigenous Peoples in the
Xingu Park echoed the main teachings of the Xavante people up south: “a person all
alone, on her own, is not one person, but half of one” (see Chapters 5 and 6). On the
other hand, I realized my identity as a green-eyed Caucasian woman was deeply tied
to the teachings of underwater creatures of the Xingu River basin, starting with the
sucuri
or anaconda (
Eunectes murinus
). My brief encounter with a giant anaconda
in the Xingu River, downstream of a Juruna Village in 1982, reassured me of the
connection between humans, animals, and the outside world. The lesson learned was
crystal clear: to keep afloat and live without fear I needed to rely on the teachings of
humans and non-humans alike.
