Writings By Phil

Thoughts On This And That

Dead Monkeys Don’t Get Dizzy

April 17, 1978

We alternated, working one day, skipping the next. We kept the airstrip mowed so we could fly in supplies or fly out in an emergency. We planted and maintained a banana patch big enough to supply our needs and to provide plenty of fruit to give to the nomads should they come out to us. We did necessary maintenance on our crude log houses as needed. We walked the gift trails every couple of days. We kept busy, but mostly, it was a lot of waiting, hoping, and praying that the wild Yuqui would come out of the jungle.

Today was my day to sweat and I spent the morning clearing weeds around camp. Later, Matt Castagna and I got our barrel oven going. It was a crude affair with lots of gaps for the the hot air to escape and had no mud or brick insulation to hold the heat in for long periods of time. I mixed up a batch of shortbread just so the wood and heat would not be wasted. Our oven could stand a lot of improvements, but until we built it permanently it would have to do.

Later, towards supper time when it was cooler, I went outside to do some facetime with our Yuqui friends. Earlier, Tibaquite had gone hunting and still had not returned. I picked Daniel up by an arm and a leg and swung him around like an airplane doing tight circles. He screamed and laughed the whole time. I don’t know how dizzy he got, but I had to land the plane before I fell down, but there was no time for rest or recovery. His sister, Cristina, ran forward wanting a turn. Around she went, like her brother, laughing and screaming! Their mother, Eracuyasi, watching from her lean-to kitchen thought it was funny too. The children could not get enough, but I was worn out and dizzy from going in circles so I escaped into the house while I could still stand up!

Shortly after, Tibaquite returned from the jungle. He had shot some monkeys and threw them on the ground close to their fire. Before he or his wife could put them in the flame to burn the hair off before roasting them on the wooden grill, the children grabbed them. Holding them by the legs they began swinging them in circles, giving their supper a last fling through the air before being cooked and devoured. The children were cute in playing their spare-of-the-moment game, but I hoped they understood that dead monkeys don’t get dizzy!

April 18, 1978

I cut Matt’s hair today.  I missed once and almost took off his ear with the scissors. He let me finish cutting his locks though, so maybe I felt worse about it than he did.

When we went to the river to cool off late in the afternoon, Matt crawled up the tree that leans out over the river to move the rope swing farther out on the trunk to be over our swimming hole, again. The river had dropped about eight feet so the drop-in area was left high and dry.  I threw the rope up to him, and waited while he tied it in its new position. I went down there prepared to go swimming, so wore cutoffs that offered scant protection against biting bugs. I quickly learned how big a mistake that was as I soon became deli meat, a feast for horseflies and other biting insects. Their bites made welts all over me and the itch they caused spread outwards four of five inches from every epicenter. I was in complete misery and no amount of scratching would relieve it. When I got back to our house, I tried Clorox, fungus medicine and Caladryl cream, all to no avail. If I scratched the bites until they bled, and then poured alcohol over them the intense burning killed the itch, but only for as long as the alcohol burned. Time was the only cure, and I was afraid I would go insane before that worked! 

I tried to get a picture of Tibaquite and his children eating our leftovers.  It was already dark so I had to use a flash.  There was not enough light to focus, either, so I had to guess the range using the numbers.  I let the children listen to my flash recharging, which they found amusing.  Then, of course, their papa wanted to hear it, too, so I had to do it again for him.

FIN

This story was from the category Tales From Green Hell. If you would like to read more of my experiences in the jungles of Bolivia, please click on that link below.

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Phil Burns

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