known as chips, is keeping them sated in the short term.
We’ve been practising meditation and yoga exercises each morning and evening as though we are on an extended family health retreat and we feel happy, vital and alive. Our delight in this no-technology, simplistic, healthy style of living surprises us, except for Leo of course, and even the kids have taken naturally to having a siesta. We eat when we are hungry, sleep when we are tired and play when we are in the mood. I have no complaints about going with the flow, as I don’t remember ever feeling this content in my life. The days meld into nights and the nights into days, and just as Leo requested I have no real sense of timeor how long we have been here. Living this lifestyle, it becomes absolutely irrelevant. I’ve never experienced such a sense of timelessness in my life and I feel myself soaking up the experience of being where there is no such thing as a deadline.
As I’m swinging in the hammock from the balcony of the main house, I notice Leo and Jeremy walking outside fully armed.
‘My goodness, where are you guys off to with all that?’
‘We’re having guests for dinner tomorrow, so we’re killing a pig.’
‘Good grief, have you ever done that before?’
Leo smiles. ‘I have. Jeremy assures me he’s good with a scalpel.’
‘Are the others going to help?’
‘Adam? No way, not quite his style. He’ll eat it, he won’t kill it.’ Like so many of us in the world, I think.
‘Robert’s at the water hole with the kids. We weren’t sure whether you’d want them around,’ Jeremy adds.
‘Oh, right …’
‘Don’t look so shocked, AB, you know this is where food comes from.’
‘I know, but…’ I can’t help thinking of a documentary I saw a few years back where some mother pigs were confined in their pens, unable to move freely, as their piglets suckled on them constantly. I have only eaten free-range pork since. I shake my head to remove the disturbing image. ‘Oh well, at least I know they are — were — happy pigs. So who’s coming, anyway?’
‘A few senior members of the tribe, maybe a couple of others. They’ll be taking us to the shaman. It’s our first meeting before our journey commences, a celebration of sorts.’
Well, this is certainly news to me. ‘Does it involve me?’ I ask, naively. They both chuckle in response.
‘Sweetheart, it’s all about you, that’s why we are here,’ Jeremy says with a smile and a sense of the unknown in his eyes.
‘Should I be worried?’ I yell out as they walk away toward the animal pen.
‘Not in the least, but you must be there,’ Leo calls back.
Right, well, that clarifies things … or not. I lower myself back into the hammock as they wander off to hunt and slaughter in the pig pen. As much as I try, I can no longer concentrate on the book I was enjoying moments ago and the butterflies that have been lying dormant in my stomach recommence their flight.
The next night is full of festivities after a day of preparation on all our parts. Our guests have arrived, five in all from the Wai-Wai tribe. Two elders and one young man, one teenage boy, and Yaku, an apprentice medicine man, who appears to be somewhere in the middle of the bunch age-wise and can speak a little English. Their dress is partly casual western, partly native. They are all wearing camouflage-patterned, or khaki, cargo trousers, some with black singlet tops, some without, but their upper bodies are painted traditionally and they are adorned with headdresses of varying leaves and feathers.
Their small-statured bodies are muscle-toned and they look extremely serious until their giant white-toothed smiles illuminate their faces against their darkened skin. The shaman, referred to as Yaskomo in their native language, rarely travels from the village. The elders, who are said to share some of his magic, are to take us to him when the time comes.
The concept of timeframes tends not to exist in the same
We’ve been practising meditation and yoga exercises each morning and evening as though we are on an extended family health retreat and we feel happy, vital and alive. Our delight in this no-technology, simplistic, healthy style of living surprises us, except for Leo of course, and even the kids have taken naturally to having a siesta. We eat when we are hungry, sleep when we are tired and play when we are in the mood. I have no complaints about going with the flow, as I don’t remember ever feeling this content in my life. The days meld into nights and the nights into days, and just as Leo requested I have no real sense of timeor how long we have been here. Living this lifestyle, it becomes absolutely irrelevant. I’ve never experienced such a sense of timelessness in my life and I feel myself soaking up the experience of being where there is no such thing as a deadline.
As I’m swinging in the hammock from the balcony of the main house, I notice Leo and Jeremy walking outside fully armed.
‘My goodness, where are you guys off to with all that?’
‘We’re having guests for dinner tomorrow, so we’re killing a pig.’
‘Good grief, have you ever done that before?’
Leo smiles. ‘I have. Jeremy assures me he’s good with a scalpel.’
‘Are the others going to help?’
‘Adam? No way, not quite his style. He’ll eat it, he won’t kill it.’ Like so many of us in the world, I think.
‘Robert’s at the water hole with the kids. We weren’t sure whether you’d want them around,’ Jeremy adds.
‘Oh, right …’
‘Don’t look so shocked, AB, you know this is where food comes from.’
‘I know, but…’ I can’t help thinking of a documentary I saw a few years back where some mother pigs were confined in their pens, unable to move freely, as their piglets suckled on them constantly. I have only eaten free-range pork since. I shake my head to remove the disturbing image. ‘Oh well, at least I know they are — were — happy pigs. So who’s coming, anyway?’
‘A few senior members of the tribe, maybe a couple of others. They’ll be taking us to the shaman. It’s our first meeting before our journey commences, a celebration of sorts.’
Well, this is certainly news to me. ‘Does it involve me?’ I ask, naively. They both chuckle in response.
‘Sweetheart, it’s all about you, that’s why we are here,’ Jeremy says with a smile and a sense of the unknown in his eyes.
‘Should I be worried?’ I yell out as they walk away toward the animal pen.
‘Not in the least, but you must be there,’ Leo calls back.
Right, well, that clarifies things … or not. I lower myself back into the hammock as they wander off to hunt and slaughter in the pig pen. As much as I try, I can no longer concentrate on the book I was enjoying moments ago and the butterflies that have been lying dormant in my stomach recommence their flight.
The next night is full of festivities after a day of preparation on all our parts. Our guests have arrived, five in all from the Wai-Wai tribe. Two elders and one young man, one teenage boy, and Yaku, an apprentice medicine man, who appears to be somewhere in the middle of the bunch age-wise and can speak a little English. Their dress is partly casual western, partly native. They are all wearing camouflage-patterned, or khaki, cargo trousers, some with black singlet tops, some without, but their upper bodies are painted traditionally and they are adorned with headdresses of varying leaves and feathers.
Their small-statured bodies are muscle-toned and they look extremely serious until their giant white-toothed smiles illuminate their faces against their darkened skin. The shaman, referred to as Yaskomo in their native language, rarely travels from the village. The elders, who are said to share some of his magic, are to take us to him when the time comes.
The concept of timeframes tends not to exist in the same
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