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It was too late to turn the baby, and it came out breach. A miracle she survived it and the tiny baby too. Due dates were irrelevant here. The baby comes when the baby comes. Three ladies assisted me. One sung, be it close to yelling, in a distinct language. Another wafted smoke, almost choking me, but I ignored their custom and focused on getting the baby boy out.
I’d never witnessed the cord being cut by a piranha tooth and twine to tie the umbilical cord. The women carried the placenta in the rain and into the forest. I’m curious about what they did and why, yet not enough to do anything to offend them.
By the look on the shaman’s face, I had proved some worth and not just another mouth to feed.
I also have a name. They refer to me as Tamu'ne Pupö. When I asked Weju, I made out his explanation to be white woman. Not very exciting or warrior worthy, yet it’s a name.
June 1963
I have stopped counting the days, and enough time has passed for me to know it’s June.
I stopped writing because of what I’m about to confess.
So, I’ll simply write it, and hopefully, it will explain matters so if my journal is ever found, it might be understood.
I slept with Weju.
It just happened.
Like most nights, I was crying. I feel like a prisoner in a hut, and I may as well be in the middle of the bloody ocean for the amount of water I wade through just to pee. I’m always nauseated. Hungry. Thirsty. Dirty. I am beyond feeling unclean. Sometimes I feel like a trapped animal.
It’s hard to fathom this is my new life.
I keep telling myself to focus on staying alive. Hope is always in the stars.
And then he appeared at the doorway, his silhouette unmoving in the dim light. He approached me cautiously as though my sobs terrified him. When close enough, he climbed into the hammock and curled himself into me. I needed to feel human. I needed to be touched. I wanted someone to tell me I was going to be okay. Instead, Weju showed me. And I had a moment of happiness.
Only he isn’t allowed to have a partner as he’s being groomed by the shaman to be the next medicine man. And they’re like a priest with no partner and committed to healing the people and learning the secrets of the rainforest.
In his culture, I’m not sure if it’s considered a sin for him to have sex, but it is for a married woman in my culture.
The guilt has overshadowed any happiness.
Not that I can be sent to a prison for my crime as I feel I’m already locked away.
September 1963
I now count the months by the full moon.
And it’s three full moons since I menstruated.
It’s no surprise.
Weju didn’t stop coming to my hut. He came every night except when he left for brief hunting trips.
Some of the older women assume. Their eyes drift down to my belly and breasts.
They don’t treat me any differently, I simply sense disappointment. But I don’t have the energy to deal with judgment as I must cope with surviving here not only for myself but for my unborn child.
How do I explain myself to Albert?
Will I ever see him again?
Will my baby and I survive the birth?
If I could leave, I’d have this child in Australia. However, I don’t think walking out with the future shaman’s baby is as simple as it sounds.
Lonely nights are part of my existence. My debilitating thoughts surface through the constant chatter of creatures are the only noise I hear. When my mind calms, the panic returns, hearing the squeals of animals in the distance. It squashes any ideas of running away.
