“Oww!!! Fuucckk!!! Oww!!!” I cry out as a searing pain stabs into the back of my shoulder. It feels like molten lead being injected by a hypodermic needle.
“Grek! ¡¿Que?!” Greg! What?! says Marcio as he stops short the rhythmic shwt, shwt, shwt of his machete. Three hours of clearing a path through the Talamancan jungle of Costa Rica and he is calm, not even sweating. At twenty-two years old, his endurance and strength are belied by his short, sparse stature. He wears jeans tucked into rubber boots and a long-sleeved cotton shirt. His long black hair is tied in a bun atop his head. Other than his machete, his only accoutrement is a length of sugarcane he holds in his off-hand. Meanwhile, I am dripping sweat, tired, and feeling like my twenty years as a backcountry guide in the Rocky Mountains did little or nothing to prepare me for jungle travel. I feel like a child in the woods, completely dependent on Marcio.
“Picas! ¡Malas!” I say. Bad bites!
“¡¿De qué?!” From what?!
“No sé, hormigas, negros.” I don’t know, ants, black ones.
“Venga!” Come here! I walk toward Marcio, and remove my compass, GPS, and machete from their individual cords around my neck and shoulders. Before I reach Marcio, Namu, my year-old dog I had raised here from a pup, begins to cry out as soon as he returns from his explorations further back on our just-cut trail to stand at my side. He begins to roll around on the jungle floor to remove the ants.
“Namu! ¡Venga aqui!” I call him to come and begin furiously brushing away the debris attached to Namu’s short, tiger-striped coat. I pull off my shirt and show Marcio where I had gotten stung.
“Grek. Tiene tres, balas.” Greg. You have three, balas.
“What the fuck is bala!? ¿Qué es?” What is it?
“Hormiga muy bravo. ¿Usted OK?” A real mean ant. Are you OK?
“Emma.” Yes in Bribri. I lie. I am startled by the extreme pain and concerned about having to continue.
“Quiere descansar?” Do you want to rest?
“No, mishka.” Let’s go- in Bribri.
“Ekeke, mishka.” Good then, let’s go- in Bribri.
Balas, I later learn, means “bullets” in Costa Rican Spanish, and it turns out I have suffered three bites from the bullet ant, Paraponera clavata. Found in humid lowland rainforests from Nicaragua to Paraguay, its sting, according to the “Schmidt Sting Pain Index,” occupies the highest rating, a “4+”. Dr. Justin Schmidt, director of the Southwest Biological Institute, creator of the index, described a sting he once received from a bullet ant for an interview in Esquire:
“It really felt like a bullet. It was instantaneous, almost even before it stung me. It was absolutely riveting. There were huge waves and crescendos of burning pain- a tsunami of pain coming out of my finger. The tsunami would crash as they do on the beach, then recede a little bit, then crash again. It wasn’t just two or three of these waves. It continued for around 12 hours. Crash. Recede. Crash. It was absolutely excruciating. There wasn’t much I could do except be aware of it and groan.”
Marcio continues hacking away at the jungle with his machete in one hand and the length of sugarcane in the other. I follow behind glancing back and forth between my GPS, which, due to forest and cloud cover, loses its signal throughout the day, and my compass, which always works, regardless of the elements. We are headed to a waypoint I had marked yesterday on a trail assumed to be his family’s property border and la frontera, the Costa Rican/Panamanian border. We are cutting a path from one corner of the property to another to estimate the size of their land, and define its boundaries.
The Skuy basin is sparsely populated, there are only four other families living in the valley. The Talamancan Mountains, in which the Skuy Basin is situated, are the highest non-volcanic mountain range in Central America. Glacial cirques, lakes and valleys are common. It is a land-bridge where fauna and flora of North and South America migrate and roam freely. The forest types include tropical lowland rainforest, montane forest, cloud forest, and oak forest. Over 10,000 flowering plants, 215 species of mammals, 600 species of birds, 250 species of reptiles and amphibians, and 115 species of freshwater fish live here. There are also many endangered species, including all the cat species of Central America, the Ornate Spider Monkey and the Central American Tapir.
Marcio’s family’s land is situated within the Talamanca Indigenous Reserve. This reserve was set aside as a result of the Costa Rican Indigenous Law 6172 of 1977. The law gives legal recognition that the indigenous inhabitants are the owners of the territories. The indigenous territory is represented by the Indigenous Holistic Development Association and traditional authorities such as the local juntas and the aditibri. Non-indigenous people cannot rent, buy, borrow or acquire land within the reserve. Marcio’s stepfather, Concho, who is Panamanian, has permission to live here because he is married to Valencia, a Bribri woman. Although he cannot buy land, his children can, because they inherit their mother’s clan rights, the Bribri being traditionally matrilineal. The children of a Bribri woman and a non-Bribri man inherit the rights of the mother and her clan. However, the offspring of a Bribri man who marries a non-Bribri woman lose both their communal rights and their clan.
This morning, we had started from a point about twenty meters above the Skuy River, where a feeder stream spills from a small waterfall. From there, we began cutting our path up to the property corner. Every so often, Marcio pauses in his methodic hacking and asks if I am OK. “Esta bien?”
I am far from “bien.” The pain intensely throbs throughout my whole body. But I answer “tranquilo.”
Of the many things I have learned during my two years of fieldwork in the Bribri communities of the Yorkin Valley, perhaps the one I value most and try to emulate in my own life, is the locals’ way of minimizing personal achievement or suffering. This is a common feature of hunter/gatherer groups and others that can be considered to have a “collectivist” social structure. This cultural ideal helps to ensure that undue attention is not placed on any individual, and that everything remains status quo within the group. The locals here often express this philosophy with a single word, “tranquilo,” no big deal. Whenever someone is asked about a debilitating sickness or an accomplishment that would make most americans blush with pride, the locals simply reply, “tranquilo.”
So, now, having been stung by the “balas” and in wretched pain that keeps coming in waves, leaving me dizzy and naseous, there is nothing to say but “tranquilo.” Marcio briefly pauses from his shwt, shwt, shwt cutting of our path, and answers back in his soft voice, “Vikingo muy valiente.”
“Vikingo,” is a moniker I received as the result of trying to explain my cultural heritage to the locals. I take a little pride in it, but right now it isn’t bravery or valor I am showing, it is simple resignation to the fact that it is just as far to turn back as it is to press on, and there is literally no medical care within a day’s journey. “Tranquilo,” I remind myself.
Marcio and I plod along, climbing up and down over fallen trees, slogging through mud and feeder streams. Oftentimes I can’t see two feet in front of my face because of the thick foliage. The insects; biting flies, gnats, mosquitos- are relentless. The rainforest creates a constant din. I understand why sometimes early explorers, painstakingly cutting their way through the rainforest for long distances, went temporarily insane. On the relatively clear 3.5-kilometer trail from the community of Yorkín to Marcio’s family’s house, we can cruise the path in an hour. Today, bushwhacking through the forest debris and mud, it takes us five hours to go just 1.2 kilometers. I push on, suffering from the most painful sting of any insect on earth. Three of them.
The Sateré-Mawé people of Brazil use bullet ant stings in their initiation rites. Hundreds of them are put into gloves made of leaves which an initiate is then expected to wear for five minutes. Often, the hand and arm are temporarily paralyzed, and the initiate may experience tremors throughout his body for days. The initiates may go through the ordeal several times in their lives. I feel like I am going through my own initiation rite- my entire back, right shoulder, arm, and hand hurt like hell. I keep feeling these waves of dizziness and nausea vibrate through my body. I tell myself to quit being dramatic and just relax. Ignorance concerning the seriousness of the stings is bliss. I am not being “valiente.” There is just no other option. So, instead I keep repeating my mantra “tranquilo, tranquilo.”
The jungle becomes a blur of sound and waves of green, gently pulsating along with my own labored breathing. Insects are constantly creating the buzzes, clicks, and rings which remind me of cellphones. Birds scream, shout, toot, clack, and whistle. I watch Namu (which means “tiger” in Bribri), and wonder how much pain he is in. I don’t know how many stings he received, but he is much smaller than me and I assume that means more pain for him. He is the “valiente” one. My mind wanders, reflecting on how this life in the Bribri territories of the Talamancan rainforest, which at first was so foreign, has become more natural, more normal, to me. Even though sometimes, like now, I reflect on why my Viking ancestors never tried to settle in the tropics. Perhaps it was fear of bullet ants. Tranquilo, I think, as the pain keeps pulsing through my body.
The Bribri are an indigenous people in the Chibchan language group, which encompasses cultures from Honduras to Columbia. DNA analyses suggest they were some of the first colonizers in the new world, migrating from Siberia. Both DNA and archaeological data suggest the Bribri’s ancestors first arrived in Talamanca over 10,000 years ago. The area contains archaeological sites with monumental architecture and other evidences of an elite class. These sites were centered around the production of maize, and date as far back as 5,000 years ago.
Bribri tradition holds that their creator god, Sibö, grew the people from maize kernels, and instructed them to care for the earth. Sibö’s wife, Tsiru, is embodied in the cacao tree (Theobroma cacao) from which chocolate is made and which is held sacred to the Bribri. European presence began with Christopher Columbus’ arrival on the coast at present day Limón in 1502, during his third voyage. The admiral dubbed it “Costa Rica” – the rich coast. Soon after, like most indigenous inhabitants of the western hemisphere, the Bribri and their neighbors (Naso and Ngöbe, among others) saw their populations decimated by European diseases, war with the invading Conquistadors, and the genocidal policies of the colonizers.
Marcio’s family mostly lives a subsistence lifestyle. He and Concho hunt frequently with a 22-caliber rifle and they have a lot of land under production- rice, wheat, beans, corn, as well as Manihot esculenta, yuca in Spanish, cassava/tapioca to Caribs, mandioca in Brazil, and M. utilissima to botanists. Yuca enabled humans to evolve from foraging to farming throughout the western hemisphere. The tubers are rich in carbohydrates and calories, though deficient in protein. Along with nampi, the yuca in Talamanca is ‘sweet’ (aypi in the Amazon) which does not require leaching the prussic acid found in other varieties. Manihot esculenta has been exported to other equatorial environments and is the world’s most important tropical crop after rice.
There is also banana and plantain, but much less than further down the valley in Yorkín and Shuabb. They have a tilapia pond which they stock from the river, as well as a horse, about 30 chickens, three dogs, ducks, and about eight cows up the valley. Concho doesn’t like to sell his agricultural products, and produces mostly for consumption. He prefers to sell a cow or perform some labor for spending money.
The first night of my visit, Concho went out to hunt tepezcuintle (Coniculus paca, a large rodent), but it was raining, and he did not have any luck. That night I ate dried saíno (Pecari tajacu, Collared peccary) and yuca. Later, Concho soaked corn from his harvest and ground it in a Corona mill. In the morning he mixed it with a little salt and flour and water and created little torpedoes which he then boiled- these are called bollo. We ate them with dried saíno and coffee.
It was once common for Bribri families to have eight or more children. The large families enabled the Bribri to bounce back from a population bottleneck during the late 1800s when there were less than 1,500 people in the indigenous areas of Talamanca. The latest census (2011) puts the population in the Talamancan indigenous territory at 8,000. Currently, young people are having fewer children; many say they want only two or three. The lifestyle of the people who live in the territories is rapidly changing in other ways too. Cellphones and the internet are ubiquitous in all but a handful of communities.
Marcio is unmarried and spends his time working on the land. Marcio’s brother, Santiago, is married and lives with his wife and young son in a house which he built not far from the family’s main house. However, it is still common among the Bribri for a young man to live for a period of time in the house of the girl’s parents. It is also traditional that the houses get passed down through the women, however, as for Santiago, this is not always the case. The ownership of fincas, the small horticultural plots, seems to be passed down from both the men and the women. It is common that a marriage only lasts as long as it serves both parties. Either man or woman may leave at any time. In these ways, traditions persist and morph and fade away in the hilly jungle of Talamanca.
Concho laments the fact that fewer and fewer young people want to learn the traditional agricultural methods. It is true that an increasing amount of young people are looking for opportunities elsewhere. There is an existential threat to many of their traditional lifeways and knowledge. As an anthropologist studying changing lifestyles here in the Yorkín valley, I am acutely aware of this “modernizing/globalizing” transition, which is happening throughout the world. I feel a sense of sadness, but it is tempered by hope that human resilience and adaptability will prevail as the people here continue to navigate rapid cultural change. As they say, “tranquilo,” no big deal.
We made it to the ridgetop without incident. Happily, we arrived about ten meters from the corner property marker on the Costa Rican/Panamanian border. The endorphins produced by our combined success help to briefly take my mind off the pain. We continued down a path to Marcio’s home along the riverside. I was still in quite a bit of pain, but my exhaustion and satisfaction of a job well done created a sensation of mental numbness. I used no medication, natural or otherwise, attempting to emulate the tranquilo cultural ideal.
Later that night, sitting on the wooden floor, eating bollos and dried saíno, Marcio recounts to the family my encounter with the bullet ants. I feel a rush of embarrassment at allowing myself to be stung as they all laugh and make exclamations, “waayy!” and “aahhah!” Trying to stay composed, I reply that usually for my work, I just sit around on “mis nalgas,” my ass, working on the computer. I say that I cherish being able to come visit them and work outside, excepting the ant stings.
“Todavía duele?” asks Marcio. Does it still hurt?
“Sí, un poco,” I say. A little.
“Vikingo muy valiente.”
“Tranquilo.”
Bibliography
Bosmia, A.N., Tubbs, R.S., Griessenauer, C.J., Haddad, V. 2015d. Ritualistic Envenomation by Bullet Ants Among the Sateré-Mawé Indians in the Brazilian Amazon. Wilderness & Environmental Medicine 26(2): 271-273.
Davis, Noah. 2015. “What It’s Like to Get Stung by The World’s Most Painful Insect.” Getty/Esquire.
Gabb, W. M. 1875. “On the Indian Tribes and Languages of Costa Rica.” Proceedings of the American Philosophical Society 14: 483-602.
Stone, Doris. 1962. The Talamancan Tribes of Costa Rica. Cambridge: Peabody Museum Press.
The Red Desk. http://theredddesk.org/countries/laws/costa-rican-indigenous-law-law-6172-1977
The Milk of Audhumla 