As the first light of dawn pierces through the dense canopy of the Amazon jungle my day begins. I live in a home constructed from the forest itself – wooden slat house with a tin roof that is elevated slightly off the ground to protect from flooding and animals. The air is cool, a brief time before the heat takes over the day. My husband and two children continue to sleep in silence, as I tend to the embers of last night's fire, coaxing it back to life for the day ahead.
As the horizon gently glows, painting beautiful colors across the sky and over the river as the sun comes up I step outside. The air is starting to fill with the noise of monkeys, birds, and countless unseen creatures that call the Amazon home.
I grab some wood for the fire return inside and start to prepare a simple breakfast. Usually, it is made from Manioc, we harvest from our chakra (a garden plot cleared from the forest), is a staple food that we grind to make into beiju (flatbread) or mingau (a porridge), accompanied by fruits or fish.
After we all eat, I set about the day's work. Usually going to the chakra to tend to the plants, ensuring the cycle of slash-and-burn agriculture is maintained, allowing plots to recover and regrow. I collect fruits, nuts, and herbs, and then go to collect water from the Amazon River for my family filling containers to carry back.
At 30 years old, I have never left the Amazon. I live here with my husband, mother and two sons in a community of about 800 people. The nearest town with internet is over four hours away, and even there, the connection is painfully slow. Cell phone service is nonexistent. We subsist on the food we grow and the fish we catch.
Growing up, I was immersed in stories about the origins of humanity and the world's creation by the gods, alongside tales and legends of how the great river was formed. We also heard stories of witches, priests, and shamans. Each village has its shaman, serving as a spiritual leader, sometimes also as a chieftain and a healer, performing ceremonies for various sicknesses and spirit possessions.
One of the first stories I heard as a child is about the god Ngütapa. In many of our communities, there are pictures of him painted on the walls of the chief’s house. The elders teach us that before the world existed, Ngütapa, the God of creation, already existed without parents. Following a quarrel with his wife, he was stung on his knees by a wasp. The sting site swelled and grew into a large growth. Over time, he realized people were emerging from each knee, and from these beings came the first humans who walked the Earth and the Amazon jungle. From these first people, all the different nations and tribes were born and spread throughout the earth.
Another story I frequently heard as a child concerns the formation of the Amazon River. It was said that in times when men could converse with animals, much like the Garden of Eden, two twin brothers lived in the jungle with their grandparents. Back then, water was scarce in the jungle, and only their grandfather knew where to find it. One day, the twins resolved to discover this secret source. To this end, the older brother transformed into a hummingbird and followed their grandfather to a tree named ‘Lupuna,’ from which water sprang forth. Elated, he returned home to share the news. They decided to fell the tree. After many hours of labor without completely severing it, they resolved to finish the task the following day. To their astonishment, the tree was restored to its original state the next morning. Shocked, they attempted to cut it down again, unsuccessfully. Eventually, exhausted by their efforts, they decided to bring it down in one day. When the Lupuna tree finally fell, water gushed from its trunk, birthing the Amazon River. The tree's branches and leaves transformed into the diverse fish species found in the river today.
We also upheld many traditions. One that stands out to me was the rite of passage into womanhood. When a woman comes of age, she is immediately isolated. I was confined to a room. Sometimes this isolation lasts a few days or weeks; at other times, it can extend to months. Upon release, there is a celebration: we are surrounded by other women and painted black with the juice of a plant. Then, our hair is plucked out, though nowadays it is cut instead. After the ceremony, we are declared ready for marriage and sent off with the words, “A lazy girl will also have a lazy husband. Respect your parents and brothers. Be obedient to your mother, never abandon her! Even after you are married, take care of her."
Growing up, I never fully grasped the meaning behind everything. I was told many legends and stories but never knew which were true. I often pondered our purpose on Earth, our origins, and our destiny after death. Everyone had a story, yet no one had evidence, except for the assurance that these tales had been passed down through generations.
I remember one day, as I was working in the garden on the river's edge, I watched as a wooden canoe pulled up to the muddy shore. Two men, whom I had never seen before, stepped out and tied the boat up. As I went over to talk to them, they informed me they had a very important message to deliver to the village. Normally, we do not receive many visitors, so I knew for them to travel all this way into the jungle, they must have something very important to tell us.
I went and gathered many of the villagers, including my husband. I think about 50 of them showed up, as most of the men at this time were out on the river fishing or working in the jungle. Many of the ladies were also busy and were not able to come, as all the chores must be done to survive. Yet, those of us who did go all gathered in the lodge in the middle of the community that is used for community events and meetings. I will never forget the message those men brought that day to me and my husband. It changed our lives and our eternity.
The men came with a book. They opened the book and explained to us that there was a God in heaven who created everything. They explained to us that He was a god of love but also of justice. They said that we had sinned and did not deserve a relationship with Him, yet He sent His son to die for our sins. They explained that all we needed to do was accept His son into our hearts, and we would be saved from the trespasses of our sins.
At this moment, the world seemed to make a lot more sense. We were not just born out of the knees of a god. We had a purpose and a reason for living. That day, my husband and I accepted Jesus Christ as our personal savior. Our lives then took on a new meaning and a new purpose.
We were not just born out of the knees of a god. We had a purpose and a reason for living.
We began studying the Bible they left with us. As we are way out in the jungle, we do not have a church or a pastor, but those of us who accepted Christ began meeting and studying God's word. We also began telling others about what Jesus had done. The only difficult part was that the Bible was in Spanish, and many people here only speak Ticuna, our native language. My mother, being one of them.
Many times, I told my mom what the preacher had taught us, and many times she rejected what I had to say. My husband and I prayed for her for many years. As she is now over 80 years old, one of our fears was that she would die and pass into eternity before she accepted and understood the love and gift of our savior.
We continued to pray, and one day a group of American missionaries and doctors showed up at our community. They had been invited and organized by Pastor Nixon and Pastor Delis from another community down the river. We were excited as they were here to give us medical checkups and medicine if we needed it. Many here in the Amazon suffer from sickness, worms, and other parasites due to drinking unclean water. The closest hospital is hours away.
We went with my mother, who was aging quickly, to get her checkup. The nurses lovingly checked her blood pressure, eyesight, heart rate, and all her other vitals. They said that she was fine but that she should take some worm medicine. As we waited for the worm medicine, a young lady by the name of Yessica walked up to us and asked if we knew who Jesus Christ was. I told her I did, but that my mother had not accepted Him. I then asked her if she could witness to her.
Yessica quickly agreed, until I told her that my mother did not speak Spanish and she only spoke Ticuna. She then looked at me and said, “I don’t speak Ticuna, but I will witness to her if you can translate for me.” I said yes, as Yessica opened her Bible and began telling my mother of the wonderful gift of salvation. As she spoke, the devil was at work. Immediately, my two sons began running around, one of them climbing on the desk and jumping off repeatedly, as the other ran around in circles, at one point even knocking Yessica’s Bible off the desk. I kept trying to stop them, knowing that this was the most important message my mom would hear, but they would not stop.
Despite the distractions, Yessica continued explaining the love of God and the plan of salvation. After about an hour of Yessica witnessing in Spanish, me translating into Ticuna, and then translating my mother’s questions from Ticuna back into Spanish, my mother accepted Christ. I could not believe that she had finally received Christ.
To this day, I am grateful that Pastor Nixon and Pastor Delis organized this trip to come to our village. I am also grateful for the doctors, the nurses, and the missionaries who sacrificed their time and money to come. I am grateful for those who sent them to this remote part of the world to share the love of Christ. Not only have our lives been changed, but our eternity has been settled.