The Making of Ayahuasca

This story is a recounting of an event that I personally was not privy to, because you must be invited. However, Matthew was invited and explained everything in great detail. I’m not sure if Matthew is going to write about this on his blog, but I felt I should since I talk about Ayahuasca quite often.

According to church rules, in order to attend the making of Ayahuasca, you must follow a strict diet; no sex or alcohol three days prior to the work and three days after. During the work you must only eat macaxeira, cooked manioc root (like a potato type product that is the main subsistence for the indigenous tribes that live further into the jungle), and drink either water or Ayahuasca. During the work, which takes place in a building close to the church structure, hymns are either sung or recorded hymns are played.

First, the vine, Jagube (Banisteria caapi), is gathered, either locally or some distance out of town. It is cut into small sections and placed next to a piece of tree trunk, which acts like a table. There are six tree trunk tables with small stools all lined up on one side of the open walled structure. There are large wooden mallets resting on the dirt floor. The men (women were absent from this work, however I suspect that they were the ones who cooked the macaxeira…) take their places and begin to pound in rhythm to the music. From what I’ve heard (Matt made sound recordings) it sounds hypnotic. Once a section of vine is pounded out thin, it is tossed into the middle of the room, where a person will come along ever so often and gather them up. They are then taken to the cooking room, where a large stone oven is surging with flames. There are three large holes on top of the oven, this is where the large vats will cook for hours.

Once there is a good amount of pounded Jagube, the cook will layer a large vat with Jagube vine, and folha (Psychortia viridis leaves); these layers will be built up, one layer after another, until they reach just about half the vat. Water is then added and the mixture will be left to cook with a periodic stirring until the liquid is a warm amber-brown color. Once this color is achieved, the liquid is poured through a large sieve. The cooked vine and leaves are toss out and the liquid is added to another vat that has fresh vines and leaves for another long cooking period. This makes the tea a nice robust dark honey brown color. Once the tea is cooled it is then poured into gallon containers and taken to a storage area to await the next concentration or hinario. The tea, prepared in a ritualized place and process, has been prayed over and made according to the rules of the church, it is no longer considered Ayahuasca, but now, goes under the name Daime.

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Mar

Life in the City

I have become pretty comfortable with my neighborhood, taking daily walks and runs has made the unfamiliar commonplace. I’ve relatively stopped comparing everything to the States and started to enjoy life in situ. But this walk would send those feelings of non-comparison and comfort fleeing.

It was to be our typical walk to the orchard. We got the girls packed up in the dual stroller, and made sure all the appropriate items were aboard--water sippy, toys, blanket, and some cash. But as we turned the corner onto the main road, Getulio Vargas, the hairs on the back of my neck rose. We were met by military police armed with AK assault weapons. My knee-jerk reaction was to turn around and run back home, especially since we‘d been discussing the situation in Iraq were people are shot on the spot for being Sunni. But Matthew assured me that this was routine procedure, and that the military, the only official form of police protection in Rio Branco, often stage these “blitzes” to check Ids and for drugs. It was a strange feeling to see the road blocked off by stern-faced persons dressed in dark-green uniforms, dark sunglasses, and berets, adorned with machine guns. They were randomly pulling over cars and searching the occupants. My heart was racing and I remember feeling like I really didn‘t want to go through this area. But Matt said, “really Mar, they are not interested in us”. I felt relatively assured but couldn’t help but feel a twinge of skepticism as I looked at Matt puffing on his hand-rolled Indian tobacco cigarette.

We kept moving toward the blitz. Since the rains have come, the roads are in piss-poor condition; erosion, poor soil, and poor construction have left a portion of one of the four lanes with a 3-foot deep trench in the middle, and the sidewalks literally treacherous in some areas. This forces us to walk the stroller in the bike lane, a four foot lane that flanks either side of the street (at 5:30PM these lanes are so busy they, by far, out number vehicles on the road, and many bikes overflow into the car lanes). As we approached the core of action, I tried to appear invisible as we strode by two armed men. But looking back at the photo Matt snapped of me, there was no WAY I could appear invisible. I have Americana written all over me. I saw out the corner of my eye, one man standing spread eagle while a policeman padded him down. I didn’t want to stare or make eye contact with anyone., for fear they would pull me over.

Once passed, I swiftly turned back to watch in amazement and disbelief and relief that we were on the other side. I couldn’t imagine this occurring in the States. But Matt reminded me of “check points”, where cars are funneled through a police check point to see if alcohol could be detected. So now I’m back comparing Brazil to the US. Instead of appreciating all that’s around me for its difference, I hold it up to the US. For me, it’s a constant struggle. I could pretend to rise above this tedious practice of comparison, and do as taught in all those Anthropology courses, to be open and nonjudgmental. But it’s the American-cultural-condition to compare, right? Are we not raised to compare? “who is tallest in the class?“ Who has read the most books, sold the most whatever!“ Its not right, but there it is. We can argue all you want about this, but try to visit another country, another neighborhood, shoot, a different grocery store, and try not to compare it to what you know. Impossible! But still…here I am…struggling to rise above the condition my condition is in.

Bringing “Fire” to the People

Awe, the holidays are over. Its seems everyone took a holiday down here, even my muse. I haven’t had the gumption to write in quite awhile. But after witnessing an event so incredible, my muse found her place again on my shoulder and here we are, writing…

Before you set out on your journey, whether it be to the store, on a hike, or cross country, you just never know what exactly you may need on your jaunt. Well after being here in Brazil for five months now, it has been really surprising to me that you cannot find a can opener, other than the janky camping type. You know, the kind that is made out of one piece of metal with a hook and point on one side. It takes me about half-an-hour to open the one thing my 3-year-old can’t live without, “wet peaches” or canned peaches to the rest of us.

When Matt’s mom asked us what we would like her to bring down, the first thing out of my mouth was “CAN OPENER“. People down here have never seen a can opener of the type that we have in the States. We had her bring down three. One for us, and one each for Cosmo and Jair; our two friends that made it possible for us to gain entrance into the country for research. We gave Cosmo his at Christmas and the first thing he said was “what is this thing?”. We laughed and explained it was the latest in can openers, the kind that leaves the edges dull. He was happy, but a little perplexed by the newfangled thingamabob.

A few days later, Cosmo invited us and a few other guests over for moqueca de peixe (moo-KAY-ka duh PAY-shuh), a Brazilian fish stew with coconut milk. Unbeknownst to us, among the other guests, was the Dona of the church that Matthew is studying. It was interesting to interact with her at a location quite removed from t he church. I think this gave Matthew an opportunity to causally chat with her, a nice added dimension to their relationship.
At one point during the gathering Cosmo invited a few of the women over to the table to help open a few cans. He pulled out his can opener and they stared at it. They leaned over on the table, resting their jaws in their hands and watched as one woman picked it up and gave it a once over. She held it in one hand and said, “what is this?” “A can opener” Cosmo said proudly. He showed her how to open it up and hook it onto the edge of the can. They all watched, intensely. She started to turn the crank. She kept on turning it, around and around, before Matt chimed in to stop and take off the top. They all looked in disbelief, as the Dona, who was watching, carefully poked at the top, then poked again a little harder. The top lifted up on one side and they all “oooed” and “aweeed“, and laughed and clapped. I felt like I was watching them discover fire. They all quickly looked for something else to open. It was quite amazing to watch. A first, you hardly ever get to see “firsts” in this world anymore. I suspect as time goes on and the world gets “smaller” there will be fewer and fewer to witness. The Dona looked at Matthew in surprise and delight. I would have never thought that a can opener could open more than cans, but it looks as if its opened a new door for Matt.

Needlesstosay, we have an order for more can openers to be shipped down from the land of plenty.






Jair and family trying out their new can opener