When the Singing Stops (30 page)

They stopped where the women were cooking and pounding out thin flat rounds of cassava bread. They showed Madi how it was made, first grating the dried white yam-like root on a board studded with nails. Then they pushed it into a long cylindrical tube-like basket that was stretched and squeezed by a child sitting on a pole attached to its base. One of the women explained in halting English that the juice from the cassava was poisonous but when boiled it became a safe flavouring which was used in pepperpot stew—cassareep.

‘We use cassava to mek drinks . . . Cassiri and paiwarri. Men drink and . . .' she rolled her eyes and gave a little lurch when she couldn't find the word.

‘Get drunk,' said Madi laughing. ‘I hope that the poison and the drink are always clearly labelled.'

At a wide shallow pool in a nearby stream Lester and Madi sat quietly and watched a man and his young son, both carrying bows and arrows, studying the water. After a whispered exchange the father pointed to where the boy should stand and the lad took his bow and arrows and waded carefully until he was knee deep in water. The bow was almost as tall as the boy and it took an effort for him to pull back the arrow as he stood motionless for several minutes, poised to shoot as he watched the movements of a fish moving slowly into his range. His father went a little way upstream and set a fish trap, a narrow basket baited with a small piece of meat. He returned and squatted on his haunches with Madi and Lester.

‘Poison not allowed no more,' said the father. ‘Some pork-knockers use barbasco and haiari juice.' He grinned at Lester who held up his arms defensively. ‘Not me.'

‘What's that?' asked Madi.

Lester explained that it was a poison the Amerindians extracted from the roots of particular plants and they put it in the water where fish were likely to be. It stunned the fish which floated to the surface to be picked up.

The Amerindian pointed to his son, now proudly holding a quivering fish on the end of his arrow. ‘Dat de best way.'

Madi lifted her hands above her head and clapped in appreciation of the boy's achievement, winning big smiles from both the boy and
his father. ‘Do they use many poisons and medicines from the forest?'

‘Course. Traditional medicine be very good. Man, dese people bin figurin' it out since twelve tousin' years before Columbus saw South America. Coastlanders like my mumma use de old folk medicines. Dey even in de cookbooks. Can't get all de plants in Georgetown but dey know de Amerindian people got de knowledge.'

‘That sort of knowledge should be preserved.'

‘It should be looked at better by de scientists. Yo ask Pieter. He be comin' tonight.'

‘Pieter?' she queried. ‘You don't mean Pieter Van Horen?'

‘He be de Dutch plant man you meet at de falls. Clever man. He lookin' for de medicines from de trees and so on. Yo'll be glad to see him again, I be tinkin.'

As the day developed, the preparations for the visit of Xavier began to look like some sort of celebration. A lot of food, including a roasted pig was cooked, the ground outside the main hut was cleaned with brooms, and tibisiri mats were spread around. The women appeared to do nearly all the work while the men lazed in hammocks or sat and smoked and talked in small groups.

In the late afternoon, Amerindians from other nearby jungle villages began arriving, coming in groups along the many trails and some along the only road to the village. Women carried babies in soft woven slings across their
breasts and the men carried basketweave warishi backpacks suspended by a cloth band wrapped across their foreheads.

It was just before sunset when a noisy scatter of children and dogs heralded the arrival of the two men in a small but powerful boat. Xavier, lithe, dark and handsome and neatly dressed in shorts and a shirt, the sleeves rolled above his muscular arms, was accompanied by the tall fair-haired Dutchman.

Madi could immediately feel the charisma Xavier exuded as he was welcomed by village leaders. A powerfully built Amerindian with painted markings on his face, shoulder length hair, and dressed in western clothes, seemed to be the official greeter, shaking Xavier's hand, pummelling his shoulder and talking rapidly as the villagers clustered around him. The women hung back smiling shyly as the community ‘captains' came forward, followed by the older men.

Lester and Madi stood back as Xavier moved through the crowd, touching the children and acknowledging the women. Then he came towards them, smiling. Lester explained he was showing Madi diamond country.

‘You're a long way from home. Are you doing field work of some kind in Guyana?'

Madi grinned. ‘No, I'm just visiting my brother. Lester has kindly taken me under his wing. I wanted to see the interior very much.'

‘It's good that you can see the real Guyana. What is your brother doing here?'

‘He's a management consultant . . . at Guyminco, the bauxite mine.'

‘Ah. I see,' said Xavier with what Madi thought inferred a reservation about her brother's work. Xavier turned to the white man who smiled at Madi as he joined them. ‘You have met Pieter Van Horen, I see. He is a man very respected by the Amerindians. Pieter is travelling with me to explain to our people how important the forests are.'

‘Well, that's part of the mission in its most basic form. I have a lot more to say than that,' Pieter chuckled in his thick Dutch accent.

Xavier gestured towards one of the open-sided shelters. ‘Come, let us sit down, the women have some refreshments ready and we must not disappoint them.' He led the way to one of the mats and several of the men sat in a semicircle around them. The women hurried forward with calabashes of cool drink. Pieter sat next to Madi, a little to one side of the group around Xavier, and whispered, ‘If you haven't had this before, drink little, but make it look as if you're enjoying it. Strong stuff. I think it's a great little drink, but it's not everyone's cup of tea'.

Madi could barely control herself from breaking out into a bold laugh. It's certainly no tea party, she thought. ‘So what else are you doing out here?'

‘I'm studying the potential of plants used by these Amerindian people. To use the jargon of
the times, it's interactive discipline—my institute can learn from them, and hopefully we pass something back to them.'

Pieter began speaking with confidence and ease. ‘Xavier and I agree that it's no longer acceptable for international pharmaceutical companies to come into the rainforests of the world and take away plants and reap the economic benefits when the indigenous people have been using them for centuries. The notion of intellectual property rights suggests the wealth should be shared with the indigenous people.'

It wasn't quite how Madi expected the day to develop. A deep discussion on economic revolution in a Third World country was certainly a surprising follow-up to a scorpion wound.

Pieter continued. ‘Unless countries like Guyana are involved in extracting these medicines from plants up to the point of patenting them, they won't see a cent.'

Madi questioned him. ‘So once you have a patent you have the right to license your medical knowledge to a big company that can develop and test it. If they come up with something—at their expense—Guyana should get a hefty royalty.'

‘That would be the ideal way,' endorsed Pieter.

The men discussed how best to approach the public meeting at the village, which gave Madi the chance to nurture an idea that was running around her head.

At the first lull in the men's conversation she spoke up.

‘I can see an opening here,' she said.

The Amerindians who sat stoically around them stared with concealed amazement at the young white woman speaking her mind to the two great men.

‘I want to set up a meeting between Xavier, Pieter and Connor Bain. He's a friend of mine in Georgetown, a representative of the International Funding Organisation. They assist in funding Third World projects and he's out here working with Guyminco and another mine. This is exactly the sort of thing the IFO should be considering for investment.'

Xavier looked keenly at Madi who for a moment was a little embarrassed, feeling as if her speech had been interpreted as unrealistic. Xavier gave her a warm smile so Madi wouldn't feel he had dismissed her suggestion. ‘Thank you very much, Miss Wright. It could be very productive. We'll talk about it later, perhaps in Georgetown.' He rose and some Amerindian elders were quickly at his side. ‘You must excuse me, I have to talk with the local leaders.'

Lester and Madi rose too, resuming their walk around the village. Madi was quite excited, keen to think through strategies to consolidate her idea for supporting and expanding the plant project. With a little shock she realised she had lapsed into what she always called her ‘marketing mode' and it hardly seemed appropriate in
this remote and rather primitive village. But that didn't deter her. She only came down to earth when she tripped over a rope leash tied to a piglet which bolted between her legs as she absently walked into its patch.

‘Yo gone blind?' joked Lester as he helped her up from the dirt.

Madi dusted herself down. ‘No, not blind, Lester. Perhaps just a little passionate about something.'

‘Ah,' exclaimed Lester approvingly. ‘Dat what I say last night. Yo' gotta have passion in life.'

As twilight quickly faded, fires and lanterns were lit around the meeting area and in the flickering light the men settled in communal groups on the ground in front of a few chairs on which sat Xavier and some of the tribal leaders. The women were in the background, cuddling sleepy children. The men had painted their faces and chests in red and black dye and many, including the women, wore traditional armbands, necklaces and ornaments. ‘All dressed up for the occasion,' observed Pieter, good-humouredly.

Once all were settled, the shaman—‘He's de magic man and keeper of de knowledge,' whispered Lester—and the piaiman, the medicine man, made short speeches. Then Xavier rose to speak in Carib, the communal language of the Amerindian tribes.

Pieter and Lester both knew enough of the
dialect to follow what Xavier was saying. But the passion in his voice was enough to carry Madi along. Glancing around at the copper-skinned men and women, their faces lit by the glow from the fires, she felt that she was witness to an important event. As Xavier spoke, there were occasional nods and murmurings of agreement and understanding and frequently, Madi sensed a wave of anger roll over the audience.

‘They seem impressed with what he's saying,' she said quietly to Pieter.

‘They know the time has come to unite and deal with these issues,' Pieter whispered. ‘They are generally not materially minded, but they know if they don't act soon, they are doomed.'

When Xavier finished, several local leaders fervently endorsed the need for some direct action to make the government take notice that the Amerindians, and all ordinary people of Guyana, wanted a better deal.

Soon the Amerindians began chanting, accompanied by drums and rattles—small gourds filled with pebbles. This was followed by dancing and singing which soon swept Madi along and she clapped and swayed with the others watching the foot-stamping dance.

‘Dis be de trad stuff, later come de rock ‘n' roll and guitars,' said Lester with a grin.

A pottery calabash like a small bowl was handed to Madi and she took a sip of the paiwarri but
found the cassava beer acrid and unpleasant. She gagged, then wiped her mouth. ‘It's not a threat to Fosters,' she joked to herself, and passed the bowl to Lester who took a long and satisfying swig.

Xavier, who had been dancing, joined them and sat beside Madi. He gave her a friendly smile and studied her closely. ‘Did you learn much today?'

‘I guess so,' said Madi. ‘I mean, to be honest I'm here by accident. Not just here tonight, but I'm in this country by a sort of whim. But I am learning. A lot in fact.'

‘And what will you do with what you learn from us?' asked Xavier gently.

Madi was aware that Xavier, Lester and Pieter were watching her intently, awaiting her answer. She swung her cotton shoulder bag around and reached into it.

‘I am learning that if we don't heed the signs, and care for the small things of our world—like the little singing frogs of Kaieteur—then we will all be in danger.' She opened her hand to show the small carved wooden frog in her palm.

Xavier gave a broad smile and touched the carving. ‘This is good. You're listening to the singing. These small messengers could sing the last songs on the Earth if the world destroys itself.'

‘Then we must make sure the singing doesn't stop,' said Madi in a quick reply.

Xavier reached out and gripped Madison's hand.
‘You are welcome among us anytime, Miss Wright,' he said warmly.

Madi caught Lester's satisfied half smile and wink of approval. She winked back.

Long into the night the men discussed plans to form a political alliance between the nine Amerindian tribes of Guyana. Madi wondered how these people, so scattered, so protected in their forest passivity, would adapt to being politically active and aware. She thought back to the murder and drugs at New Spirit, the wheeling and dealing of the powerbrokers and the bureaucratic and political intrigues of the mysterious El Dorado company.

She looked at the Amerindian men sitting with Xavier. There was a politeness and gentleness about them that hid what they were truly thinking and feeling. She wondered if outsiders could ever really know these people.

Xavier was speaking of organising a rally, of bringing as many Amerindian men and women as possible from all over the country to Georgetown to demonstrate.

‘What will they demand?' she asked.

‘Demand is an ugly word. We will simply ask for our rights so that our people can determine more of our future.'

‘We have similar discussions at home over land rights for the Aborigines, mining and tourism in Aboriginal territories, and who owns what is in the ground. The bureaucrats and politicians are still grappling with it all,' said Madi.