Anaconda Woman

A painting I made inspired by my time in the Amazon Rainforest.

The Amazon basin covers a large part of the South American continent. They say that this fluvial system transports the largest volume of water in the world towards the Atlantic Ocean. The basin is composed of thousands of undulating rivers that turn into a million tributaries. This massive network of water stretches across the land and is hard to navigate, especially when the routes change with every rainy season. When you travel by river it’s easy to confuse one turn for the next and you may become lost in this sweet-water labyrinth. Yet for those who know how to read the lay of the land, these rivers are like serpents that guide the way through the forest. Their bellies leave crevices in the land marking the paths of water.

The first nations people of the Amazon use the river system to travel across the rainforest, transport and exchange goods, and communicate messages between territories. The Ecuadorian Amazon is inhabited by various Indigenous groups including the Waorani, Kichwa, and Shuar. These three groups have distinct cultures, traditions, and languages but are united as protectors of the rainforest. The rainforest is within them and the rainforest is their home. Life and death, creation and destruction, beginnings and ends—these are all a part of the natural cycles that occur here.

In Ecuador, the territories of many of these tribes exist within the boundary-lines of the Yasuní National Park (YNP), the Cuyabeno Wildlife Reserve (CWR), and the Waorani Ethnic Reserve (WER). The first two are governmental agencies that were established in 1979. With their creation also came the official protection of tribal territorial lines within this area. Yet many of the tribal lands were outside of these two regions, and it wasn’t until several years later, in 1990, that the WER was created. At this point the Waorani people inside of these boundary-lines were granted their ancestral land rights back. That said, many tribes still live outside these areas, and more often than not, the actual boundaries-lines of the territories are unmarked. This makes the territorial lines blurry and easy to move, which can be problematic for the tribes.

I was fortunate enough to enter the Waorani Territory of Ñoneno in March of this year. The community is located in the province of Orellana and can be reached via the Shiripuno River. Ñoneno is on the outermost sector of the WER. Covering thousands of square kilometers, the territory is particularly important because it acts as a buffer zone between the outside world and the rest of the protected Indigenous lands within the rainforest. It is important to note that it was only about 70 years ago that the Waorani tribes experienced the first contact with colonization, which is within the lifetime of the elders of these communities.

The neighboring territory located to the interior of Ñoneno is called Zona Intangible Tagaeri Taromenane (ZITT) or Tagaeri Taromenane Intangible Zone. Relatives of the Waorani, the people of this territory refuse all contact with the outside world and choose to live in complete isolation. They even refuse contact with Ñoneno and other nearby communities that do have relationships with the outside. That said, there is a geographic advantage, provided by the buffer of the Ñoneno Territory, that offers the Tagaeri Taromenane people the opportunity to maintain their original forms of livelihood, culture and ancestral knowledge without the influence of the modern world.

Map from the Ranger's office in Shiripuno of the Tagaeri Taromenane Intangible Zone and the surrounding territories.

The Waorani are known as the warriors of the Amazon. Historically they have had conflicts within their communities as well as with different Indigenous communities, and these conflicts often have escalated to violent or deadly encounters. Wia, Ñoneno’s leader, tells me that these ways of resolving conflict are starting to change and the communities are actively working on more peaceful ways of interacting, but that the courageous hearts of these warrior people will always be ready to protect their lands by any means necessary.

With the help of a friend in common, Ian Frank, I was able to get in touch with Wia directly. We first spoke on the phone at the end of February and I told him about my project and my wishes to enter the Amazon Rainforest. He invited me to travel with him to his community and we agreed to meet in the city of Coca on the morning of March 7th to begin the journey. I would also be traveling with two friends I made in Ecuador that Wia welcomed on the trip.

Along with Adam and Ben, I traveled by bus from Tena to Coca on March 6th. The bus ride took about 4 hours. We stayed the night at a hotel in Coca and met Wia early the next morning at 7 a.m. Wia is a young man in his 20s, with jet black hair that hangs down to his shoulders and bold dark eyes. He often shares his contagious smile and yet at other times, he speaks with great seriousness. Wia is not only the leader of his community, he is also an environmental activist and has traveled to many countries sharing his views and experiences regarding climate change. He has spoken during the United Nations Framework Convention on Climate Change at the Conference of the Parties (COP) gatherings as well as at many indigenous and environmental events in Latin America. We were excited to get to know him more.

Before leaving Coca that morning, we gathered all the necessary supplies for the trip. Once we entered the territory, we would have no connection to the outside. We purchased food, matches, candles, hammocks, raincoats, mosquito repellant, rubber boots and lots of bottled water, enough for five days' travel. Even though this part of the world holds so much fresh water, it is unfortunately contaminated by petroleum and other toxic waste from the extractive industries in the region.

We traveled to Shiripuno in a white pick-up truck taxi. The car ride took approximately 2 hours. It was this part of the journey that was the most shocking because the biggest contrasts in the Amazon suddenly became visible. These contrasts—nature and deforestation, ancestral lands and the colonization of territories, hard work and exploitation, clean air and smoke, water and petroleum—all exist in the same space. Hundreds of petroleum factories litter the land surrounding YNP and WER.

Every extraction plant has chimneys of fire and smoke rising from their industrial building sites. As the petroleum is processed the excess waste is released through these flames. The flames are torches that never turn off, endlessly releasing poison into the air. The petroleum plants are now under the control of PetroEcuador, though previously they were privately owned until the Ecuadorian government took over. PetroEcuador threatens the borders of the tribal lands which are supposed to be protected. Note that both PetroEcuador and Yasuní National Park are both government entities, complicating the power dynamics in the area.

Blurry picture of the petroleum flames. We were not allowed to stop here due to restrictions.

Every day is a battle for land and life in the Amazon Rainforest.

Every day there is a fight to keep the oil underground and the old trees rooted.

I was amazed to see the amount of petroleum factories here. They are implemented by the government under the guise of creating stable jobs for the local people. It is said companies will provide a monetary income for the region, yet the money from the oil production reaches the hands of very few people. What is covered up in this process is the exploitation and poisoning experienced by the workers’ bodies and the body of Mother Earth. Her land becomes a dumping ground. Toxic waste from the petroleum extraction and processing infiltrates the soil and eventually reaches the rivers. Because this sector of the rainforest is located at the headwaters of the entire Amazon basin, the waste that slips into these sacred waters travels across the entire continent until it reaches the Atlantic Ocean.

We reached the town of Shiripuno in good time and entered Yasuní on a small river boat. We loaded the boat shortly after registering at the government’s park ranger office. It was the rainy season in the Amazon. The river water was a murky brown. There were tree branches and trunks strewn across the water. We navigated slowly. I noticed that when we first entered the protected area, the land was partially deforested. There was farmland and cattle grazing about. One of the problems the Waorani face at the edge of their territory is illegal squatting and poaching. People are constantly trying to move onto their land and use it for their own purposes. The Waorani must work hard to maintain their boundary-lines. This is a difficult task due to the lack of clear delineations in the forest.

Front of boat in the Shiripuno River.

The further we traveled downriver, the more virgin forest I noticed. Majestic trees towered above our heads and blue and yellow macaws took off from their highest branches, soaring and cackling loudly. I was happy to be here and to feel this place. I leaned back in the boat and let my eyes wander. We passed one curve after another. In about an hour we reached the village of Ñoneno where Wia’s family lives. Here we met his older brother Gimo who hopped onto the boat with us. He would guide us for the next few days and steer the boat as we pushed deeper into the river system.

We would return to Ñoneno in a few days, but for now, we continued onwards. I felt a new sensation, or perhaps a very old one that I’d felt long ago as a child in the Costa Rican jungle I grew up in. It’s a solitude that I believe comes when being far from society and in nature. My body relaxed. My mind stopped spinning. On the boat I could see Wia’s gaze tracing the river banks. He pointed out many things that he spotted on the way like spider monkeys, toucans, Ceiba trees and many other species of birds and plants. Of course, we were always on the lookout for oh so famous jaguars and anacondas.

At one point of the journey, Gimo neared the boat to the river’s edge and Wia jumped off into the soft mud. He walked inland until he reached a lanky, tall tree. After looking straight up to the top of it, he took off his flip flops and climbed up bare-footed. Gimo walked to the tree below Wia. He was ready to catch some egg-size fruit that Wia threw down to him. After collecting several, they returned to the boat and showed us their findings. “Wito,” they said. It is used to make an ink to decorate our bodies.

Wia climbing the Wito tree.

We traveled downriver for several hours longer. Once or twice, another river boat passed us with two or three people in each. They traveled to far away villages on the other side of the Intangible Zone, to a territory where many communities of Kichwa, Shuar and Waorani live together. The people in every village and territory function differently. Some people are more connected to nature and their ancestral practices whereas others have adopted more modern ways. Some work with the petroleum companies on their lands, whereas others flatout reject them. As an outsider it's easy to miss the nuances in the dynamics between different groups of people within Yasuní.

We finally arrived at our destination about three and a half hours after we left Shiripuno. Wia’s family has a small wooden lodge that they constructed a few years back on the riverside, located about one hour from the Intangible Zone border-line. The lodge consists of a few rustic rooms as well as a community kitchen and some bathrooms. They have also set up a fresh water system to wash with from a small clean stream that flows nearby. This is quite a luxury out here. For most of the time on this trip, I found myself wearing the same clothes and my skin was covered in dirt and sweat. Washing off with a bit of clean water made all the difference.

Wia shared with us how for him and his people, the jungle—la selva—is a part of who they are. It can be easy to romanticize this when you have never been here, to romanticize their connection to nature and make it fit to whatever our own understanding of it is, or to what we hope it to be. But it’s important to try to see it under the eyes and experiences of those who live there. Wia explains that la selva has everything they need to survive in it. It’s full of “markets and pharmacies,” he says. Within her you may find all kinds of wild foods and natural medicines, as well as water, and shelter. Yet at the same time, the jungle can kill you in an instant. Anyone who lives here knows this. Life can be abundant, and it can also be very harsh. You must know the ways of the Amazon to survive here.

Wia’s family built the lodge we stayed at to bring groups of people here. His family wants visitors to come and learn about their culture and their home. They believe that if people experience what it is to truly be in the Amazon, they will help protect it. These visits can bring visibility to their fight and help keep their lands out of the hands of the petroleum companies. The Waorani can’t win this battle alone.

Additionally, Wia’s family want to gain some economic sustenance through these visits to their lodge and in doing so, release all ties with PetroEcuador. The cool thing about visiting them in person is that you can support their family directly, as the lodge is owned collectively by the community. This is very different from many of the touristic lodges in the region that are privately owned, where the great majority of the earnings bypass the surrounding communities.

We made several expeditions during those days at the lodge, some I will share and some you must go and experience for yourself to feel the magic and wonder. On one occasion we were out exploring and we hiked up a small hill. When we reached the top, my heart skipped a beat. From that viewpoint high above, we could see the whole rainforest blanketed below us, stretching into the horizon endlessly—or at least, so it seemed. There was no sign of anything else, nothing at all, except rainforest, sky, and our own bodies. At the same time, I could only wonder what was living within this forest. It was then that I understood the importance of protecting these lands, of protecting all this life and intricate wisdom embedded in the natural systems here. Nothing can compare to what I felt in that moment.

Viewpoint of the Amazon Rainforest.

Back at the lodge that night, Wia grated the Wito fruit we had seen him collect from the previous day into an empty tuna can. He mashed it and squeezed the juice out. Gimo and him began to paint intricate designs all over each other’s bodies. The liquid from the Wito was transparent at the time, but they told us that within a few hours, the color would transform. Wia told us about this tradition. They paint themselves with Wito as a way to wear their culture and history on their skin. There is a lot of pride in this as the ink only washes off after a few weeks.

After painting himself and his brother, we all took turns to be painted. Wia made a horizontal line on my face, starting at one ear and extending until he reached the other. The line was made just below my eyes. On my arms, he painted a curving line that reminded me of the bends in the Shiripuno river. The lines began at my shoulders and ended at my wrists. “This is the Anaconda,” Wia tells me. The Anaconda represents the Waorani women and they wear her as a symbol of strength. “Now, with these lines, you are an Anaconda woman, too.”

Within a few hours, the designs I could barely see before transformed into a deep purply-blue. Many of us had our hands fully died with this ink, and the color was especially strong on the palms. The shade was the color of the night, almost black, but not quite, because it was bursting with light from within. When the color finally shows itself it’s truly beautiful. It’s almost violet. I felt proud to wear Wito on my skin and to carry the strength of such a powerful and feminine animal as the Anaconda. I know that others felt proud, too, and we were not shy to express our excitement with what Wia and Gimo shared with us.

My hands died with Wito.

Gimo and me on the boat.

We began our journey back to Ñoneno after a few days at the lodge. The boat ride back felt like a dream to me. It’s hard to express how incredible it is to travel through the river’s curves. I was nearly asleep when suddenly, I heard Wia say, “Over there!” He spotted something on the other side of the river. Gimo turned the boat around and drove in the direction of a fallen tree, halfway sunken into the river. I saw nothing, but Wia seemed to sense something there under the branches.

“Anaconda!” Wia shouted. My heart literally jumped outside of my chest. I knew it was true because at that moment I saw her too. There she was resting under the fallen tree, her body curling in and out of the water. Her head, propped on the riverbank, was about the size of mine, and her body was just as thick. She must have measured at least 5 or 6 meters in length, maybe even more. And her eyes! There was something so grand within them. Something I could not understand, but that was so, so fierce.

Anaconda under the fallen tree.

It was obvious that she had recently hunted. There was a massive lump within her belly, a widening of the skin that offered up the shape of a creature inside. She almost reminded me of a pregnant woman. Though she was quite still in her digestion, I could tell from her gaze that she was acutely aware of us. We were really close and Wia tried to make her move with a tree branch. I hesitated to say something about this action but held back. I did not grow up in this forest, and perhaps, it takes more time to unravel the dynamics of those who live within it.

The Anaconda began to swim away from us down river. Watching her move was one of the most mind-blowing things I have ever witnessed in the wild. She was a Loch Ness monster in real life, magical, and terrifying at the same time. I must admit, I was afraid when I watched the force of her body as she zig-zagged across the river. I saw the power of this forest in her movements and somehow understood that life and death is just a moment away for any of us.

We arrived at Ñoneno full of stories to share with Wia´s family. Everyone was excited about the Anaconda sighting. We gathered in Wia´s house that night to eat. His house is a triangular wooden frame thatched with palm. Inside, there is a hammock woven by his family and the remains of a fire which we quickly start up again to keep the mosquitoes away. Ben, Adam, and I cooked for the family that night. We made some lentils and rice that we’d brought from Coca and cooked some fresh fish we'd caught in the river on the way here.

Wia's house.

Gimo, Adam, Wia in the back, and Ben in front, with catch of the day.

We had an early departure to the community’s sacred waterfall the next morning. We walked for many hours through the rainforest that day. I didn’t understand how Gimo and Wia knew the way in the dense jungle. Somehow, they were able to orient themselves where there seemed to be no path at all. I truly had no sense of direction out there. It was easy to feel small in that expanse. There were times when Wia and Gimo pointed out their territorial boundary-lines between different families and communities. I was intrigued to learn more about the different relationships they have to this land and the people in it.

Picture at the sacred waterfall of Wia's niece and me.

We hiked for a total of 8 hours that day and by the time we got back I felt completely exhausted. There was no clean water for bathing where we were sleeping, so I rinsed off in Shiripuno's muddy water, trying not to think about what toxins were in it. I needed to clean the grime and sweat off my body. We all collapsed into the hammocks as Wia’s family started to appear. That night they would prepare dinner for us.

Right before sunset, we felt a few raindrops fall and soon after a heavy downpour came down from the sky. It was peaceful to hear the rain. I felt encapsulated within its sound. Clean water showered the ground around us. It took a few minutes until I suddenly thought to myself: this rain is a blessing. Of course, it’s a blessing! I ran out to wash myself under the warm clean water. Ben and Adam weren’t far behind. From the shelter, Wia’s whole family smiled and laughed at us. They understood and shared our joy.

One of the family members I got to know in Ñoneno was Wia’s mother, Tota. Tota and Wia's father separated many years ago, and when they did, they divided their territory in half. Tota then became the matriarch of her community and later passed on her leadership to her sons. This woman must be somewhere between seventy and eighty years old. She doesn't know her exact age as they did not keep that kind of records back then. When she was just a child, the first wave of colonizers arrived and invaded their lands. That she remembers. And that her father Iteca died in battle defending their home.

Wia and his mother Tota.

When I look into Tota’s eyes, I see thousands of stories of her life and the forest within them. She has walked these lands for so many years. Wia told me she knows this jungle like the underside of her hand. She remembers the oldest trees and the ways the river has changed. Though she only speaks Waorani, she shared many thoughts in her language with us. I didn't understand her words, yet I felt the emotion behind them.

The morning of our departure from Ñoneno, Tota allowed me to record some of her birth stories to share in my project. Wia translated what she said into Spanish during the recording. Much of her family was present as she spoke. She told us about her own births and about many birthing traditions that were relevant to her community. As the female leader of the territory, Tota is also a midwife and has helped many women give birth. One of the things she shared was a birthing position that is used by Waorani women. A birthing woman often sits in a hammock with their legs straddling each side of it. Her feet planted on the ground as she holds onto a rope hanging above her. A hole is sliced into the hammock so that the baby can come out from under her.

There are two stories that stand out to me when I recall our conversation that I’d like to share here in writing. The first has to do with how the Waorani women learned to birth. Tota says that long ago, women did not know how to give birth, and their husbands would slice open their bellies to get the babies out. Many women died during this procedure and sometimes the babies died, too.

In the story Tota shares, a pregnant Waorani woman is going into labor. Her husband goes out to hunt and fetch the knife used to open up the womb. The woman was very scared, Tota tells us, as she did not want to die. She didn't know what to do, when suddenly, a small female mouse appeared in front of the woman. The mouse was accompanied by several of her sister mice. These mice are the ones that have a pouch in their bellies, Wia noted. The mice sisters gather around the woman and ask what's wrong. The woman explains her situation.

The mice look at her and say, “Do not fear. We have all birthed many times and have not died. You can do this. We will show you the way.” And so they teach the woman what sounds to make, and what ways to move her body, and how to push her baby out. And so, the story goes that the Waorani woman was able to give birth to her child that day. And over the years, she taught the other women of her community the ways to give birth, too.

The second story I want to share is what I believe to be a part of a Waorani creation story. From my time in Ñoneno, I have come to understand that both nature and women come from the Anaconda. I noticed that the relationship between the Waorani women and the jungle is highlighted by strength. Strength comes from the jungle itself and the jungle is also within every woman. I believe this has to do with women’s livelihood here and the hardships of the life they endure. The Anaconda is a symbol of protection for them.

Anaconda represents the women of the rainforest and the rainforest herself because of her mighty power. Yet she is also a wise creature, agile, and striking. She lends women her prowess and guidance with her impressive figure. I recall the curving lines that Wia drew down my arms and how they resembled Anaconda´s body swimming in the river. I can still see her strong muscles moving her through the water. Anaconda is the path that opens the way deep into the heart of the Amazon.

“The Waorani women believe in the Anaconda,” Tota explains to me. She is a part of us and a part of this jungle. It is her that we come from. That is why we wear her on our skin. Each woman must reach deep inside to find and live in this power.

Anaconda is the guardian of the rainforest.

Anaconda is mother nature herself, and the whole world is born from her.

Wia, Adam, me, Ben, and Gimo under the biggest Ceiba tree in the area. The Ceiba is the most sacred tree for the Waorani.

Note: Tota has asked us to help her protect the jungle that is her home. Her wish is that her children are able to support themselves through tourism and in doing so cut all ties with the petroleum companies. She asks that people visit their home so they can see what is happening and open their eyes. Right here on the frontlines of the Amazon rainforest there is a war happening. And sometimes it feels that this world cares more about money than life itself.

If you wish to support Wia, Tota, their family, and this part of the Amazon forest, you can visit them directly and contribute to the fundraising campaigns that they hope to start soon for some of their upcoming projects. You can get in touch with Wia directly to arrange the visit on his instagram account @wia_del_yasuni or by what's app at +593 98 793 7429

WAKEVI - GRACIAS - THANK YOU