by Di Morrissey
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 d
oesn’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.
‘You are involved with these issues in Australia?’ asked Xavier.
Madi was silent for a moment. ‘To be honest, no. Since being here and exposed to well, different people, culture . . . I suppose it’s opened my eyes.’
‘And your mind,’ said Xavier softly.
After the singing, the dancing and drinking, the village settled for the night. Two women came to Madi and showed her a hut with several hammocks strung in it, indicating she would share this space. Madi noticed they gave her the biggest and newest of the hammocks and was touched at their warmth and hospitality at being treated as an honoured guest. A girl suckling a baby in the shadowy corner of the dirt floor gave her a smile and pointed to the tiny string baby hammock. The interior of the dark hut was messy, food preparations were scattered about with the paraphernalia of community living. Madi was given a soft woven cover to wrap around herself in the hammock. It was another revealing and stimulating experience, to be so much part of the ordinary life of these people, so different from her own. But she felt totally at ease and comfortable. In the dark she heard soft voices, murmurs or the occasional cry of the baby. Then they all seemed to fall asleep together, as if a gentle coverlet had been dropped over the village.
FOURTEEN
Madi sat outside a hut with a half-formed clay pot between her knees. Rolls of cylindrical lengths of clay she’d made earlier were piled beside her. Dia, Madi’s teacher, sat opposite her watching Madi’s slow progress with the ‘buck pot’. Dia was slightly built but her arms and hands were strong. Madi thought she had a beautiful face with its wide jaw, high cheekbones, flared nostrils and curved lips. Her young baby was slung across her chest in a soft sling tied around her neck. Babies were carried close to the mother all the time, reaching for a breast as they wanted. As they got older the sling was sometimes worn across the forehead with the toddler sitting in it leaning against the mother’s back. In halting English, Dia explained the baby stayed close to the mother or father till they were about two or three then joined the rest of the family group as a new sibling took its place. She was younger than Madi and, giggling, she’d pointed out her husband Uman, who was too shy to join them.
Concentrating, Madi blended the last clay coil on top, using a piece of calabash shell to smooth the edge. It was a wide round bowl, a pleasing shape if not exactly as perfect as it might be on a potter’s wheel. Dia explained they made all the pottery by hand and, using a well-worn pebble, she polished the outside and said the pot would be left in the sun to dry then decorated and baked over a fire. The bowl would be used for cooking and storing food. Dia handed Madi a sharp stick and asked her to write her name on the bowl.
Madi was pleased with her efforts and wished she could take it with her.
‘So what do you think?’ demanded Madi as Lester eyed her bowl.
‘It be good. Man yo is sure goin’ native,’ he chuckled.
Madi patted Lester’s arm. They rarely exchanged any physical contact, though Madi had noticed how affectionate the Guyanese were with each other. While not subservient, Lester had kept a respectful distance between them. But he smiled warmly at Madi’s touch. ‘Lester, I can’t thank you enough for making this possible. I’ve loved every minute.’
‘Even de scorpion?’
‘It was just a scratch and you know what really fixed me?’ she said. As he shook his head, Madi took her frog from her pocket and rubbed it along her leg. ‘This did the trick.’
Pieter called out to them as he strode past the hut where Lester and Madi were sitting.
‘I’m going for a walk, want to come, Madison?’
‘You bet! Lester, you coming?’
‘No, I pack up de tings, we go back to camp later, okay?’
‘Sure, back to work!’
Madi followed Pieter into the jungle around the settlement. He walked briskly. Madi, with Matthew’s hat scrunched over her long braids, hastened to keep up with Pieter’s large strides.
‘How do you normally travel “in the field”?’ asked Madi.
‘Walk, canoe, drive if I can, carry everything I need. I camp, hunt—not that I’m very good. I carry specimens, my plant box and notebook. Sometimes it’s difficult to reach plants in the tops of trees or inaccessible places, but I generally find a couple of Amerindian teenagers to act as helpers.’
Pieter, affable, affectionate, a man who tramped bear-like through the jungle yet had eyes to spot a tiny hidden bud and feet that stepped over small shoots and delicate plants, paused. He drew his knife from his belt and made a slanted slash in the tree and watched the white balata bleed into a small cup he held against the trunk. ‘Wild rubber. The local people use it.’
‘Pieter, what do you really think . . . I mean about the rainforests . . . everywhere. Do you really believe they hold answers? Like you said, so many of our drugs come from these plants.’ Madi stared up at the tops of the trees and the shadowy greenness surrounding them.
Pieter glanced around the forest, the small plants, the furry leaves, clinging vines, lichens and moss and flowers that sprouted from tree trunks. ‘Yes, I do believe the answers are here. But not just in the rainforest. I believe nature, and that means insects and animals as well as plants, holds the key to our health and future.’
Madi was beginning to view the environment through new eyes, seeing a pharmacopoeia of possible cures. ‘No wonder the big pharmaceutical companies want access.’
Pieter gave a slight smile. ‘So many factors come into it. Like how do they do the research, are the specimens fresh, what are the screening procedures? The answers are here . . . But the process needs to involve the people who own, nurture and understand their place in this world.’
Madi stared at the ethnobotanist.
‘Pieter, isn’t that what we all want? To find our place in this world?’ Madi was silent for a moment then added softly, ‘I wish I could do something to help. I feel that my life has been so aimless and . . . shallow. Since coming here it’s like my eyes have been opened’.
‘You’ve grown up, you mean,’ he answered gently. ‘Tell me about yourself, Madison.’
‘I grew up with a loving family. I had a safe and fun life and married young.’
‘You made a bad choice, eh?’
‘As it turned out. I did think I loved him. But looking back now, it seems like every time I wanted to unfold my wings as it were, he held me back. I never grew or learned or experimented or flowered, I suppose.’
‘You were the one that allowed that to happen.’ Pieter chided with a smile to soften his words.
; ‘You’re right. And it’s made me hesitant about future relationships. I wish I’d taken control of my life earlier.’
‘You can only do that when you’re ready. It must have been a big step to come to Guyana, and while you came to the safety net of your brother, you have now stepped outside that. And you must follow this path that has opened up to you.’
His words hit home with Madi. She saw she had turned towards a new path, but whether she should plunge down it, not knowing where it might lead, was another matter. She pushed the thought to one side.
‘What about you, Pieter. Are you married?’
‘I have a lovely lady, she’s fair and pretty, like you. And fortunately for me, she shares this passion of mine.’ Pieter leaned towards Madi. ‘It is important that the person you love shares the same interests. I bet you and that husband of yours didn’t have something special in common, eh?’
‘No. Nothing. Just two lives that overlapped domestically in the end.’ The realisation troubled Madi. Thoughts of Connor flashed into her head. What did they have in common? At the moment only Guyana.
Two hours later they returned to the settlement. Lester and Xavier hailed her. ‘So has our jungle gatherer persuaded you to save the rainforest?’ laughed Xavier. Despite his flippant tone Madi knew the question was a serious one.
‘I’ve always been a bit of a greenie. I just never knew about the broader issues. I’ve certainly learned a lot, from all of you.’
‘So now yo have to tell de bruddah and de boyfriend ’bout all of dis, eh?’ said Lester.
‘They’re going to tell me I’ve become a tree hugger,’ laughed Madi. Still, she intended to talk to them and try to share what she’d learned.
She turned to Xavier. ‘Seriously, I think you should meet Connor. I’ll suggest it so you can put the case for funding assistance. And why can’t we approach the foreign mining companies to make donations to plant research as a way of making some restitution to the people for what they’re taking out of the country, apart from paying government royalties? It would be a good public relations gesture.’ Glancing at their dubious looks she added, ‘Hey, I’m a marketing whiz, you know’.