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I was about to have two children with a man I loved, and now I’m returning to a man who misses me, only I’m not sure I’ll ever receive the kind of love Weju gave me again.
Putting my emotions aside, I must decide in the next few days as the authorities said I need to return.
The cost of my health care is enough for me to leave the country. I’m thankful Albert has met the government and insurance companies halfway.
Albert doesn’t know where I have been living or my story. Only I survived by living amongst an indigenous community.
My mind reminds me of how close I came to death.
My heart misses Weju.
Although after all these weeks of living in comfort, I know the rainforest isn’t the lifestyle I want.
Maria warned me not to go back to Ulara.
I made a promise, and I have to say goodbye to Weju. After all, he saved my life. I remind her of my promise and that my passport and belongings still remain there.
She waved her hand at me to forget those things as they can arrange new ones. Only I don’t want to wait weeks or months.
She told me I’d be stepping on dangerous ground and hoped I knew what I was doing.
Is a promise and saying goodbye to a man I have loved enough?
After living with the Ularans and following their spirituality for months, I know not to betray them now.
March 12, 1965
Tomorrow, I board the ship for my long journey home.
Last night I cried to Albert about how I can’t wait to get home. Only he didn’t know the truth behind my tears.
I need to recount the past two weeks and address the pain I’m suffering. I fear I’ll never be the same woman again.
So this will be the last entry in this journal as it will forever be a part of my life that has broken me.
The authorities and Maria escorted me back to Ulara. Maria told them about the community and how they must never speak about it again and never return.
The many hours we sailed along the river, she warned me of a bad feeling.
I now wished I had listened and didn’t act on the good faith of a promise.
As though they were expecting us, the shaman, warriors, and Weju were waiting on the riverbank. I had told him about the dangers of getting too close to outsiders and how they carry disease, so I was relieved when they were standing closer to the forest.
That alone made this visit problematic, and I knew I couldn’t touch him even though my heart yearned to one more time.
When I disembarked the canoe, I held Dawn in my arms, and his face lit up. I told him he couldn’t touch us as we were with the paranakyry, a word he understood as white people or Europeans.
Weju and the shaman’s expressions hardened to anger.
Still, I didn’t heed the warning.
I told him I’m still sick and need to leave but hope to return one day to see him.
The shaman then spoke with authority. He told Weju not to be angry. His wife—me— was always from another place. I never belonged in Ulara.
I sobbed and said it was untrue and how much I loved him.
The grief inside Weju surfaced, and I’ll never forget the expression of my husband’s tortured expression. A broken heart because he truly loved me.
