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I’m beginning to feel half-human again.
The village has come to life.
Like ants, everyone is scurrying in the fields, reviving whatever they can and preparing the soil for more plants. It hasn’t affected the banana palms. If anything, many of the plants here have thrived in the rain. The men and warriors have been gone for a week on a hunt. Weju has spent more time with me and stayed most nights. Today he moved his hammock into my hut.
I should be happy, only I know this has cemented my fate. I have observed a few of the younger couples. There’s no wedding ceremony. The man moves his hammock into her family’s hut. The guy becomes part of her family, and they all sleep in the one hut—the newly wedded couple, the in-laws, and all the sisters and brothers. Not quite the wedding night I imagined.
Permission is granted from the chief and shaman, and I have seen the father-in-law and the guy speak with the leaders.
So, I assume something has passed between Weju and the leaders. I’m surprised as I couldn’t see the shaman giving up his young apprentice easily. The shaman and chief continue to keep their distance. I’m unsure what to do to prove I’m not a threat. Maybe the shaman can see through me and knows I’ll leave at the first opportunity.
And flashes of new hope of getting out of the village have surfaced now the rain has eased.
At an estimate, I’m around seven months pregnant, give or take a few weeks. My stomach is smaller than when I had Winston, although it’s to be expected with the change in lifestyle. With no doctor to check on me or the baby, I’m grateful to see my stomach swell and confirm we’re doing okay. It’s all I can assume for now.
The idea of giving birth here isn’t ideal, and it scares me. I’ve witnessed many complications and aware help is minimal even compared to the camp where I volunteered. The camp now has the appeal of a modern hospital with trained doctors and nurses compared to Ulara.
I must look beyond my white privilege and recognize how the people here have survived over time with their own natural medicine and how they rely on Mother Nature and the rainforest for disease prevention and treatment. In my mind, I need to plan ways to make peace with the shaman as he could be the one person who decides on what care I receive.
I know why Weju moved his hammock into my hut.
Nothing could have prepared me for last night.
I’m still crying while writing this entry.
Weju escorted me to the special round hut where they perform their ceremonies or rituals. Until now, I haven’t been allowed to be present or even observe.
The exception came when the ceremony was for me.
I was ‘encouraged’ to drink the tea despite my tears.
Awarö is a word for bad. I repeated it over and over through my sobs, afraid it would hurt my unborn child since I didn’t know what was in the brew. All natural yet for medical sake, the leaves boiled in ayahuasca ceremonies cause the hallucinations. An effect similar to DMT and not ideal for a pregnant woman.
Weju very calmly told me Wakü, a word meaning good. His eyes pleaded with mine, and he kept looking back at the shaman. It wasn’t until I realized it was a test or an initiation to be accepted.
I can still feel the tingle of an alien intruder sifting through my thoughts.
And the images have remained with me. My thoughts connected to the shaman’s beliefs, and I sensed his presence long after the effects left my body.
I was gifted a new warrior name. Itariru Enu Tykaraije, meaning blue-eyed jaguar.
When I finally stopped fighting the inevitable and allowed my body and mind to connect with the rainforest, I sprinted through the jungle and saw the forest through the eyes of a jaguar. I interpreted the vision as a dream or a hallucination which I expected from the tea. I felt no enlightenment, only a never-ending sprint. Not lost yet, no destination. Now I’ve learned it’s my spirit and, I guess, a new identity.
I’ve never asked about Weju’s other name. Yet I can’t help feeling a sense of power by being connected to the jaguar.
Regardless, today I’m left exhausted and confused.
Angry yet relieved.
Scared.
Afraid of what the future holds for Weju and me.
What future will my baby have if the brew has harmed it? How will a baby with physical abnormalities be perceived? As an evil spirit? Be an outcast?
My thoughts are out of control, and I need to be optimistic for my own sanity, yet at the least, the effects of the tea could bring on birth and cause me to miscarry. Was it a test that my child was meant to be in this world?
The miscommunication and unknown will be my undoing.
