Don’t Spill the Blood
The following is a read aloud story for April 2005. This is one of a series of stories especially written for Awana Clubs, home-schoolers, Sunday school classes, VBS, mission conferences, or just the fun of reading about children in a wild land called: “The Amazon Rain Forest”. Print them out. Collect them. E-mail them to others who have children and would like to get these stories. Use them for the glory of God! The Asheninca people, one of the many great Amazon Rain Forest tribes, have lived for centuries in a world of superstition and fear. The following months of stories, as I catch up, will be based around the actual observations I made while living in Ridge Village, on the Breu River, with the Asheninca people. Mo-SEE-ro, is an actual 10-year-old girl whom I watched and she has become the main character in this series of stories.
The old story teller, Douemi (Dough-way-MEE)
(Missionary/cultural observer with the Amazon tribes for many years)
Serving with New Tribes Mission, Sanford, Florida
Black eyes searched the forest and looked for fruit. Mosiro brushed back her black hair and scratched automatically at the bites and itches she felt on her scalp. She had never known a time that she hadn’t had lice in her hair and like all of her people it had just become a way of life to endure the little bites. There were, of course, those times when someone would have her sit just so they could search her hair for the lice and their eggs and then catch one and crack its back in their teeth. She hadn’t anyone right now to “crack lice”, so she just scratched and went on looking for fruit.
“Eenspockie! Eenspockie!” someone called from another part of the forest and everyone crashed through the brush to get there. EenSPAqui is a wonderful fruit that hangs down from trees in long pods and quite often the pods are so fat that they burst. Inside are seeds encased in a sweet white cottony fruit…in fact some call Eenspaqui “God’s cotton candy”. The delicious white fruit seemed to melt in Mosiro’s mouth and it was so good. She forgot her head lice for a few enjoyable minutes!
Back the happy wanderers went to their village on the crest of a ridge. They had made leaf baskets to carry the eenspaqui back home. As they approached the village they could hear old Ahoni (Ah-HOE-knee) shouting angrily! Oh dear, what had happened? Others were also shouting and as the little group of fruit-gatherers entered the village they saw everyone standing around the old mother pig. Ahoni had his bow and arrows in his hand, but the pig had already felt the arrow plunged through its heart.
Ahoni was truly upset and shouting out great curses on the pig. It became clear soon that the mother pig had taken her family of seven or eight little pigs on a trail that lead to the Asheninca gardens. Mother pig, like the Asheninca children, had been just foraging for food, and when she got in that potato garden she put her nose down and plowed up piles of potatoes for her family! But it is OK for children to go looking for fruit in the forest and it is definitely not acceptable for pigs to be pigs!!! Ahoni caught her in her crime and soon passed the death sentence on her!!! Now she would be pork in the pot!
Mosiro stood near the dead pig and watched with wide eyes as Ahoni drew a knife and was preparing to slit the pig’s throat. “Mosiro! Get a dish for the blood! Go quickly!” Off she raced to the nearest house and came back with bowl-like dish. In went the knife and the blood spurted out and into her bowl. “Mosiro! Don’t spill the blood! Walk carefully with it! Don’t spill the blood!”
There she stood. The bowl was full of pig blood to it’s rim and she was hanging on with both hands and trying to walk as carefully as possible to the house. And the lice were biting! Oh dear, how they were making her head itch. But she couldn’t raise her hand or she would spill the blood! She couldn’t hurry either or she would stumble and then Ahoni would be as mad at her as he was with mother pig. How her head itched! She slowly walked across the yard and never spilled a drop of that blood. Then she sat and scratched and scratched and scratched at those nasty lice who never let her alone.
Blood! What were the Asheninca people going to do with that bowl of blood? They use about everything imaginable in their meals, so the blood would undoubtedly be a savory dish of some kind. Blood pudding? The Bible talks a lot about blood too. But the most precious passages speak of the blood of our Lord Jesus Christ that was shed on the Cross for our sins! And we love to sing that old hymn, “There is Power in the blood!” The writer of the book of Hebrews in the Bible tells us in chapter 9 verses 13 and 14 that the blood of bulls, and goats…and definitely pigs…cannot save us. But he says that the blood of Christ can transform our lives and make us children of God! Mosiro has NEVER heard that the blood of Jesus was “spilled” on the Cross for her sins. No one has told her that yet in her language. Pray for this little girl of the jungles that she might grow up to to know about the blood of Jesus, her redeemer.
Gobbing the Grubs
The following is a read aloud story for May 2005. This is one of a series of stories especially written for Awana Clubs, home-schoolers, Sunday school classes, VBS, mission conferences, or just the fun of reading about children in a wild land called: “The Amazon Rain Forest”. Print them out. Collect them. E-mail them to others who have children and would like to get these stories. Use them for the glory of God! The Asheninca people, one of the many great Amazon Rain Forest tribes, have lived for centuries in a world of superstition and fear. The following months of stories, as I catch up, will be based around the actual observations I made while living in Ridge Village, on the Breu River, with the Asheninca people. Mo-SEE-ro, is an actual 10-year-old girl whom I watched and she has become the main character in this series of stories.
The old story teller, Douemi (Dough-way-MEE)
(Missionary/cultural observer with the Amazon tribes for many years)
Serving with New Tribes Mission, Sanford, Florida
She raced down the ridge trail, her dirty little robe bobbing and swaying as her little legs carried her to the banks of the Breu River. The School Boat was coming!! Mosiro could hear the loud bang-bang of the motor and she could hear the children shouting and laughing on the open boat, but she was not going to school on that boat! In fact, at the moment, she was running away from it. She dove in thick grass and reeds and lay there breathing deeply with her heart throbbing in her throat…at least it felt like that was what was happening. The boat paused at the little trail that lead up the ridge to her village and people were shouting “Mosiro! Mosiro!”, but she lay low and quiet. The boat chugged on down the river to the Brasilian community of Breu where there was a school for children.
Poor Mosiro. She’d never been to school in her life. It was scary. And she didn’t speak that strange tongue all the local people spoke…Portuguese. But the school officials had visited her village and insisted she must join the other children who lived on the Breu and go to school every day on the School Boat. Her own people just laughed about it, they’d never been to school before either! They really didn’t care if she went or not. She was an Asheninca and she spoke Asheninca…and why in the world would an Asheninca child ever need to go to school? They just agreed with the school official to make him happy, but they weren’t forcing any of their children to go to school.
But that afternoon the school official was back…he talked and talked. The People understood about a tenth of what he was saying. “Little Mike”, the village leader, knew a bit more Portuguese and suddenly he just made this great declaration loud and boldly, “MOSIRO IS GOING TO SCHOOL!!” And everyone just stared and Mosiro felt like the death sentence had been passed on her! But the chief had spoken. He was trying to be nice to the school official.
The next morning Mosiro, quivering with fright, was accompanied by Little Mike, who was also her grandfather, to the river’s edge and then put on the School Boat. There she sat with the boys and girls all giggling and making fun of her “quitarensi” (key-tah-REN-see), the robes that all Asheninca wear. Tears welled in her eyes. She just looked down at the boat floor as they rounded bend after bend and finally arrived at the school.
“Class, we have a brand new student this morning!” The teacher was all smiles, “Mo…mo..oh, how DO you pronounce that name? Oh, well, class, it is just an Indian name, we will call her ‘Maria’!! Maria, you are welcome to our class!” Mosiro sat behind her desk and hadn’t a clue what this woman was talking about. But she didn’t like the kids staring at her and she didn’t like anything at all about this school. She blew her nose loudly and wiped the fluid on her quitarensi sleeve! That got everyone’s attention! Then she belched loudly and laid her head down on the desk to try and sleep as the children giggled and the teacher droned on and on in that language she could not understand.
Lunch break! Everyone lined up for crackers and a cup of milk. Mosiro watched the children getting their snack, but she didn’t care much for crackers and she’d never drank milk before. Suddenly she remembered the little packet on a string around her neck and hidden under her robe. Her moa. (mow-AH) Reaching down inside the robe she brought out the leaf packet and opened it before the eyes of several very curious girls. Then there were loud screams and shouts! The moa are fat white grub worms with brown heads and black beady eyes! She had about six in her packet and carried them around for snacks. All the children came around her to see the moa. They were wriggling and trying to crawl. She took one in her fingers and held it up. The teacher had come to see what was causing the commotion and just stood there with big round eyes and her mouth quivering in a big O. Mosiro suddenly enjoyed the attention. Maybe that was why she slowly put the moa between her teeth with a big smile on her face. Everyone gasped. And then she bit down and a greenish fluid came down her bottom lip…which she quickly licked away. She chewed her moa with such great pleasure. Kids were screaming and gagging and the teacher nearly fainted dead away.
The school official told Little Mike that Mosiro did not need to come to school anymore.
Do you like school? I’m sure that you do! I remember when I was a little boy and in school that I was so shy that all I would do was cry if the teacher even looked at me! But, teachers really aren’t all that scary, are they? They are wonderful people who love children and want to teach children many, many interesting things. Jesus was a teacher. He was the Great Teacher. The best. He is God, so what he taught was Truth and from God. Jesus wants to teach the Asheninca people, and little girls like Mosiro, all about his Father God. But Jesus needs people who will learn the Asheninca tongue and teach the children in a language that is their language and they understand. How would you like to do that? I think Jesus would even eat a moa with Mosiro. What do you think? Pray with us as we begin a school in Ridge Village soon that will teach the Asheninca boys and girls in their own language and have moas for snacks. Well, maybe.
Catching the Cat
The following is a read aloud story for June 2005. This is one of a series of stories especially written for Awana Clubs, home-schoolers, Sunday school classes, VBS, mission conferences, or just the fun of reading about children in a wild land called: “The Amazon Rain Forest”. Print them out. Collect them. E-mail them to others who have children and would like to get these stories. Use them for the glory of God! The Asheninca people, one of the many great Amazon Rain Forest tribes, have lived for centuries in a world of superstition and fear. The following months of stories, as I catch up, will be based around the actual observations I made while living in Ridge Village, on the Breu River, with the Asheninca people. Mo-SEE-ro, is an actual 10-year-old girl whom I watched and she has become the main character in this series of stories.
The old story teller, Douemi (Dough-way-MEE)
(Missionary/cultural observer with the Amazon tribes for many years)
Serving with New Tribes Mission, Sanford, Florida
Stumble. Fumble. Tumble. Crumble! And there was most likely a “mumble” as Mosiro lay in the middle of mud and grass and vines tangled around her bare feet. She had been racing down from the ridge to the river and did not see the root sticking up to grab her toes. Oh, it hurt so! The sudden crash into the earth had also left her a little breathless! And dizzy. The great white clouds were spinning around and around! She reached up and grabbed her head and almost started to cry. But…wait…Asheninca girls don’t cry! So, she just sat there waiting for the world to get all balanced once again…and she rubbed her sore toes.
Slowly she was able to stand once more and continue down the ridge to the river. Other children were there and splashing and crashing and having such a good time! Soon she had flung off her long robe and joined them. Nearby were older people who had been catfishing. The big striped catfish were trying to make their way down the Breu River because it was drying up more and more every day. Dry Season had come and there had been no rain in weeks. The fish were going from one deep pool to another as they migrated down to the big river. That meant that the Ridge Village people would be spearing them. Mosiro walked up the beach to where “Little Mike”, the village leader, was thrusting his spear into a deep pool…but hitting only sunken logs and sticks. “Mosiro! Dive down in the pool and feel around for a catfish!” And with that silly little smile, she immediately jumped in the water and was gone! Mosiro was a good swimmer. She went to the bottom and felt here and there, but nothing moved…and when she needed to come up for air, quite suddenly there was motion and something powerful under her hand! “Grab it!” Her brain was shouting at her, but also another voice was saying, “What exactly is it?” What if it was not a catfish? A sting ray fish? A WATER SNAKE? “Grab it!” Her lungs needed air badly. Oh my, what was Mosiro going to do? Her need of air answered for her! Up she went with quite a splash and startled Little Mike and his friends.
“Something BIG is down there!” she gasped hurriedly. Little Mike started thrusting his spear with renewed vigor, but he never hit anything. It must be under the log down there. “Mosiro! Go back down and get it!” Little Mike shouted. And now more people had come and all the children and they were all shouting, “Go get it! Go get it!” But what was it? Mosiro was not afraid, but she was cautious. She had seen people stung by sting rays or shocked by electric eels. There were many hurtful fish in the water. But…what could she do? They shouted and shouted for her to dive. So, taking in a big lungful of air, down she went again! Carefully…slowly…she felt under the log and way back inside found the fish laying there as it had been before. Oh my, will it bite me? Will it attack me? What is it? She softly ran her hand down the fish body and sensed the fish was ready to bolt away. The body narrowed and she knew she could grasp it’s tail in her hand. She got up her courage and GRABBED it! Then the fish began to fight. It swirled and curled and tried desparately to pull itself loose. Mosiro hung on for dear life. Up and up she went! AIR! She was greeted by great cheers from her family and friends. And there in her hand was the biggest catfish anyone had caught that day! Oh how good Mosiro felt!
The catfish was carried back up the ridge for a big meal. Mosiro’s heroics were soon forgotten. She was tired and her toes still hurt. Mosiro got out her pipe and lit it and just leaned back against a tree and smoked. What a day!
Would you have gone down and grabbed something if you did not know what it was? I hope not. Did Mosiro do something heroic, or did she actually do something very foolish? What if it had been an electric eel? What a shock that would have been! But you and I often do not use good judgment either…do we? I remember as a little boy being challenged by my friends to steal candy from the grocery store. They had successfully done it and gotten out of the store. So should I or shouldn’t I? That’s called “peer pressure”, and simply means doing something because everyone else is doing it. I grabbed some candy and put it in my coat pocket and ran out. I was a hero to my little friends. But my father and mother didn’t think it was so heroic, and they made me go back and tell the store man I had stolen the candy and now would like to pay for it! The Bible says we should “walk carefully”. Don’t do things without first thinking them through. Will it harm me? Is it right? Let Jesus guide you. And don’t smoke a pipe either!! Pray for Mosiro to know Jesus someday.
Making Choices
The following is a read aloud story for August 2005. This is one of a series of stories especially written for Awana Clubs, home-schoolers, Sunday school classes, VBS, mission conferences, or just the fun of reading about children in a wild land called: “The Amazon Rain Forest”. Print them out. Collect them. E-mail them to others who have children and would like to get these stories. Use them for the glory of God! The Asheninca people, one of the many great Amazon Rain Forest tribes, have lived for centuries in a world of superstition and fear. The following months of stories, as I catch up, will be based around the actual observations I made while living in Ridge Village, on the Breu River, with the Asheninca people. Mo-SEE-ro, is an actual 10-year-old girl whom I watched and she has become the main character in this series of stories.
The old story teller, Douemi (Dough-way-MEE)
(Missionary/cultural observer with the Amazon tribes for many years)
Serving with New Tribes Mission, Sanford, Florida
It was so hot. So humid. So sweaty. Mosiro just wished she was home and could run down the banks and jump in the Breu River. But she wasn’t. She was with some other villagers far back in the forest on a trail leading through a small part of Peru. Of course Mosiro never knew when she was in Peru or when she was in Brasil. In fact she hardly even knew the two countries meant anything. It was just ALL Asheninca land to her and her people. Mosiro didn’t know anything about world events. Her world was confined to Ridge Village and jungle trails. As far as she knew the whole world was about 10 square miles wide, long, or whatever. She was so thirsty.
Then she remembered the big red and yellow bell-shaped cashew fruits in her leaf basket. She and some other girls had walked through the yard of some “uirachocha” people. They were the non-Indian residents of that area. They had planted cashew trees and it was the time of the year for the fruit. The girls had taken several really nice ones to put in their “cantsiri” baskets and eat later. Now, was later! Mosiro got a large glistening orange cashew fruit and felt it’s soft smooth skin…oh, she could hardly wait! CRUNCH! Cashew juice squirted in all directions and was staining her robe. But she didn’t care…the robe was so stained already by so many different things! The juice was not sweet, but not sour either, just kind of an acidy strange taste…but, oh so good! She very carefully picked off the small, kidney-shaped edible cashew nut and put it back in her cantsiri basket. She would roast it on the coals later. You had to be careful of those cashew nuts because until they are roasted they are poisonous and you better not put a non-roasted nut in your mouth!!!
Finally, just at sundown, they marched through their old fields and up the ridge to the village. Home sweet home. Soon a big meal of meat and “caniri” potatoes was greedily gobbled down. Then as darkness fell over Ridge Village everyone collapsed in their hammocks.
Everyone but Little Mike, the chief, who was the witchdoctor shaman. He had stayed home and spent the day brewing up a pot of jungle vines. Big pieces of vine had been boiling for hours. The vine brew was very nasty tasting, but it was used by many different tribes because it was halucinogenic. It made those people who drank it see visions and wild animals and it was kind of like having a weird television in your head. All kinds of strange colorful scenes ran across your mind. God never meant for people to drink it, but Satan taught the Indians all about it…and when the shaman drank the “tea” he would hallucinate and then see devils and demons. Mosiro was so tired. She was trying to sleep just a few feet from Little Mike and his chanting and snorting and drinking and jabbering.
“HEY! HEY! CHANA! CHANA!” he was singing into the dark. “HEY! HEY! CHANA! CHANA!” and his wife would sing background music in a falsetto voice. Mosiro never questioned the drinking of the tea. She never questioned the appearing of demons and devils to whom Little Mike would talk and whisper to. She just wished that she could sleep. The chanting echoed in her mind. Her eyes got drowsy. She soon was lost in a world of her own filled with big cashew fruits loaded with juice. She was sound asleep with Little Mike chanting and jabbering just a few feet away.
Cashew juice or jungle vine tea? Mosiro had to make many choices. Which would she choose? Good or evil?
That was a day in the life of a 10-year-old Asheninca girl. It is a lot different from your day…isn’t it? Aren’t you glad you are so loved and so sheltered and so “taken care of” by your dad and mom and others? How would you like to exchange places with Mosiro? Just for one day? You can’t do it, but you can pray for her that as missionaries come to live in Ridge Village she will hear about Jesus and His love for her. Missionaries right now are attempting to learn her language. Pray for them. Mosiro may be playing with the sons of the missionaries as they are about her age. What new influences and choices is she going to make? Cashew juice or Drugs? Satan or Jesus? Will you pray for Mosiro and all the Asheninca children of Ridge Village that they will make the right choice? CHOOSE JESUS!
Naughty Natures
The following is a read aloud story for September 2005. This is one of a series of stories especially written for Awana Clubs, home-schoolers, Sunday school classes, VBS, mission conferences, or just the fun of reading about children in a wild land called: “The Amazon Rain Forest”. Print them out. Collect them. E-mail them to others who have children and would like to get these stories. Use them for the glory of God! The Asheninca people, one of the many great Amazon Rain Forest tribes, have lived for centuries in a world of superstition and fear. This the final story based around the actual observations I made while living in Ridge Village, on the Breu River, with the Asheninca people. Mo-SEE-ro, is an actual 10-year-old girl whom I watched and she has become the main character in this series of stories. I am returning to Ridge Village and will be seeing Mosiro again and gathering more stories!
The old story teller, Douemi (Dough-way-MEE)
(Missionary/cultural observer with the Amazon tribes for many years)
Serving with New Tribes Mission, Sanford, Florida
“Shoo, you pigs! SHOO!” And shoo they did with squeals and snorts and pushing and shoving one another. Mosiro ran after them with a stick in her hand trying to whack one of them on it’s fat back, but they dodged and darted here and there and out of her reach. She had been appointed the “camp protector”…”shooer of the pigs”. While everyone else was out in their gardens or down at the river, Mosiro was to make sure the many pigs did not get in the shelters and eat the potatoes and other food laying around. It got boring at times. She dug in the dirt with her toe and lazily scratched her head to see if she could catch a louse. They were hard to catch. The pigs were gone for the moment. “People are coming! Strangers are coming!” the shout came from Xiji (She-jee) who raced up from the river. Mosiro had fallen asleep and now was startled awake and looking right at a pig eating the potatoes just a few feet from her! “SHOO!” she shouted and raced after it, her stick flailing in the air threateningly. Foreigners? People who did not speak Asheninca? Who were they? Wide-eyed with curiosity, but also being very cautious she watched them come into the village. The regular villagers came too, to meet their guests. And the “white people”, the visiters, looked so pale and sickly without any red dye on them. Mosiro pondered why “outsiders” never wanted to look good! She was glad that she had applied a lot of red dye to her face that morning.
One rather large lady was making all kinds of motions. She seemed fascinated with everything she found in the shelter…picking up gourds and eggs and baskets and examining them all with such enthusiasm. Little Mike, the chief, knew enough Portuguese to carry on a somewhat intelligent conversation. The woman wanted to go back in the forest and see the red dye pods on their bush. She was very curious about them. Why did Indians paint their faces?
“Mosiro! Can you take this stranger back to see the red dye pods? You know where there are some good ones!” Mosiro jumped down and the lady was practically trampling her in her eagerness to go back into the brush on this mission. As she walked, Mosiro suddenly smiled big. Little Mike was chattering away in broken Portuguese distracting the lady. He was not paying attention to Mosiro’s trail which she knew was going to lead right into a low-hanging bees nest. Mosiro almost chuckled out loud. As she ducked under the branch where the bees nest dangled from it, she bumped it just enough to make the hornets angry. The lady was close behind unaware of her peril! Suddenly Little Mike grabbed the startled lady! He motioned to her to not go on. Stop. Come back. The poor woman looked around in confusion as the chief waved back towards camp. And then the lady saw the dog. Oh, the chief was warning her about a rabid dog! And to Mosiro’s comoplete delight the woman charged forward right into the hornet’s nest! And then all bedlam broke out! Bee’s attacked and stung and everyone was charging every direction. And Mosiro just sat and laughed and laughed. A very sore and stung-up lady left their village that day never knowing Mosiro’s naughty nature had caused her plight!
The Bible says we should “be kind one to another”. But every last one of us was born with a sinful, naughty nature! Have you ever noticed that? Did your mother teach your little brother to lay down and kick and have a flying fit? Who taught him to do that? Who taught you to want to be mean to your sisters? Why do you get a strong urge to pull someone’s hair? Where does that urge to be naughty come from? Well, like Mosiro, you were born with a naughty nature. You were born to be mischievious. To disobey. To fight. To want to hurt people sometimes. To Mosiro it was just a painful prank, but she didn’t realize she had a naughty nature that stank. She doesn’t know that she needs to invite Jesus into her heart and to become “born again”, a NEW person in the Lord Jesus. Have you done that yet? DO IT TODAY!
Watermelon Babies
The following is a read aloud story for October 2005. This is one of a series of stories especially written for Awana Clubs, home-schoolers, Sunday school classes, VBS, mission conferences, or just the fun of reading about children in a wild land called: “The Amazon Rain Forest”. Print them out. Collect them. E-mail them to others who have children and would like to get these stories. Use them for the glory of God! The Asheninca people, one of the many great Amazon Rain Forest tribes, have lived for centuries in a world of superstition and fear. I have just returned from the Breu River that forms the border between Peru and Brasil. We sat for hours with our Asheninca friends in Ridge Village. The next few stories are based on the observations we made as we dipped into bowls of food together.
The old story teller, Douemi (Dough-way-MEE)
(Missionary/cultural observer with the Amazon tribes for many years)
Serving with New Tribes Mission, Sanford, Florida
Noena (No-EH-nah) dug her toes into the cool wet sand. Oh, it felt so good on this very hot day! She squinted a half second at that bright round ooria (sun). What makes it burn so hot? Why can’t we throw water on it and make it sizzle like we do our campfires? She returned to the river sand and dug her toes in even deeper. Her little dirty brown robe was getting wet at the fringes. But who cares? It was a carefree day. A day when all of her people had come to the beach to camp. They had quickly made little stick shelters and gotten broad palm leaves to make a roof. Everyone sat in the shade of his feeble little sun-protecter…except Noena. Noena was 10-years-old and tired of constantly carrying babies on her side…she wanted to be free and to feel the cool river water running over her feet.
She wandered farther and farther from the shelters and the chattering of The People. She wished she had brought her “pouarentsi” to smoke. All little Asheninca boys and girls smoked pipes. Her uncle had made hers and the stem came out of the side of the pipe, but it worked great and she always carried a bit of tobacco to put in the bowl and light with a twig from the fire. She wandered aimlessly until suddenly she realized she was right in the middle of a sea of watermelons. Dozens and dozens of watermelons. They were laying in the hot sun and some were rotting. More watermelons than The People could ever eat. Who had planted them all when the waters went down some months ago?
Noena ran in amongst the big elongated green and white striped fruit. She tripped over a vine and crashed down on a rind! Some people had just come walking through and smashed open a melon and ate the juicy red insides and threw away the rest. The little girl lay sprawled in the sand with the vine wrapped around her foot. And she was looking right at the most beautiful little watermelon she’d ever seen. A baby! Noena grabbed the melon baby and put it in her shoulder strap where she carried actual Asheninca babies. It fit perfectly. She patted the hard green head with affection. My baby. And so it was that Noena continued her wandering chattering constantly to sooth the feelings of her watermelon baby. Don’t cry little baby! Don’t suck your fingers! I’ll get you a pouarentsi to smoke!
Thus being completely consumed with motherhood and caring so tenderly for her little green melon baby…she did not see the boys coming! Boys will be boys. These boys, all in brown robes like little monks, came racing down the sandy beach and in one quick second they knocked Noena down and stole her baby! She screamed in terror! My baby! My baby! But the boys were laughing and tumbling and throwing her baby melon back and forth. Oh, what if her baby fell and smashed to pieces? She shouted and protested and ran after them…which was, after all, exactly what the boys had wanted her to do. These little “melonnappers” raced down to a shelter and before Noena could catch up they had put her melon baby in a whole stack of other watermelons. They all looked the same. The mischieveous boys raced on to other conquests, and Noena stared at the stack of melon babies. Which was hers? Oh, my baby! Oh, my baby! But the melon baby would not answer. It did not cry. It did not respond. Carefully she examined them all, but she had not left any scratch or mark on her baby. It was impossible to tell which was the baby. Poor Noena. Finally, she decided to just choose one…adopt it…and, yet, how could it ever be the same? Her little feet headed once again for the cool river sand.
Did you ever think that Indian children do not have toys? Or dolls. Or computer games. They have to invent their own toys and it seems God has given them great imaginations. Many little Asheninca children play with knives. Toddlers stumbling about carrying a sharp knife. Their parents don’t seem to think it is any danger at all. Missionaries about have heart failure! God has made all of us with wonderful imaginations. Have you ever thanked God for your imagination? That’s the wonderful ability to play games in your mind. You can imagine you are a princess! Or a great warrior going to battle. A stick can become a sword. A piece of board a rifle. And a watermelon a doll. Children the world over play. Have you ever thanked God for being able to play? He is a fun God and made us to have fun and play.
The Message on the Melon
The following is a read aloud story for November 2005. This is one of a series of stories especially written for Awana Clubs, home-schoolers, Sunday school classes, VBS, mission conferences, or just the fun of reading about children in a wild land called: “The Amazon Rain Forest”. Print them out. Collect them. E-mail them to others who have children and would like to get these stories. Use them for the glory of God! The Asheninca people, one of the many great Amazon Rain Forest tribes, have lived for centuries in a world of superstition and fear. The following story is true. It actually happened. I was there. I was the old white-haired missionary in the boat with Noena.
The old story teller, Douemi (Dough-way-MEE)
(Missionary/cultural observer with the Amazon tribes for many years)
Serving with New Tribes Mission, Sanford, Florida
Noena (No-EH-nah) sat in the dirt of her village yard and watched the blackened old pot boiling. It was “cotsonaqui”…the brown dye that the Asheninca people use to color their robes. She had gone with her aunt to gather the bark of the “patsataqui” tree to make the dye. Now it was bubbling and boiling and kind of fun to watch. She took a stick and slowly stirred around making sure the robe in the brown liquid was getting thoroughly covered with the dye. Then she looked up at the old white foreigner sitting at Little Mike’s house eating peanuts with him. Who was this stange man who kept coming back to her village? He always carried around a little book and made scribbles on it. He always was watching her and interested in everything that she did. Noena was 10-years-old and that is a magic age when you are almost an adult and almost a child. Some of each. She stirred the pot and took a puff on her little pipe. I wish, she thought, that I could just take that white man and stuff him into this pot of dye and make him come out all brown! Wouldn’t that be wonderful? He looks so sick and so pale. Why is that foreigner so different and so white?
The very next day the whole village was filled with excitement. They had decided to go up the Jurua River to Peru and visit Asheninca at a bigger village. Noena was so excited and quickly got her “melon baby”. She carried a watermelon in her carrying strap as that watermelon had become her doll…her make-believe baby. She and the melon baby were never far apart. Now she made her way down to the open canoe with the others who were going on the trip. Oh, look, the old white foreigner is going too!! And when they all got in the long dug-out canoe it was so packed and so heavy there was hardly room to wiggle. And to Noena’s horror she had to sit next to the white man on the same bench. She would try to ignore him as best she could. So the trip began with people shouting and laughing and having to jump out now and then to push off unseen sand bars. On and on they went up the river under that hot burning sun.
Noena fell asleep. Her head bobbed this way and that way and finally came to rest on the shoulder of the white man. But she was soundly asleep and unaware of where that head had gone. The old white man looked down affectionately at the little black-haired girl in the little brown robe and he loved her. Seeing that her melon baby was exposed the old white man found a bit of a stick and began to scratch on the melon three symbols. I-heart shape-U. He worked hard to make the impression look nice…I Love You. Noena slept on. Suddenly the canoe hit an unseen log and everyone about tumbled into the river, but being very agile and use to river travel soon it was all stabilized and back to the normal river boredom. Except Noena was awake. Her fingers ran over the I-heart shape-U that had suddenly appeared on her baby. Where did that come from? Who did this to her baby? The old white man seemed to not notice. WHAT DID THAT WRITING MEAN? To her it meant nothing. But could it be some secret message? Did a passing tree scratch it on her baby’s skin when she was sleeping? What did it mean? She sighed and held her melon baby closer. I Love You. She would never be able to comprehend that message on her melon baby. Or one day…maybe…one day she would!!!
I Love You! Isn’t that about the most wonderful message God has ever scratched on the skin of your heart? Isn’t it a shame that little boys and girls around the world have never been able to comprehend that message from God? Write it on a piece of paper…I heart-shape U. I Love You! Noena perhaps will someday understand the message on her melon baby. Missionaries are now in her village learning her language so they can tell her of Jesus and His love for her. Noena’s melon baby will quickly rot away and be gone. But when God writes “I Love You” on our hearts, it is there forever. Have you noticed? Have you looked at the skin of your heart to see the I heart-shape U written there??
Hiding in the Clay Pot
The following is a read aloud story for February 2006. This is one of a series of stories especially written for Awana Clubs, home-schoolers, Sunday school classes, VBS, mission conferences, or just the fun of reading about children in a wild land called: “The Amazon Rain Forest”. Print them out. Collect them. E-mail them to others who have children and would like to get these stories. Use them for the glory of God. This month’s story is about a little boy in a village many, many years ago. It is sad and tragic…life for Indians often is very cruel.
The old story teller, Douemi (Dough-way-MEE)
(Missionary/cultural observer with the Amazon tribes for many years)
Serving with New Tribes Mission, Sanford, Florida
The ladies carried up to their village load after load of the rich, red clay. It had been a wonderful discovery for them as they had been on a fishing trip up river and gone back into the jungle on a little tributary stream and suddenly found the clay. Pot clay. Small Oneco (Oh-neh-COE) had been with his mother and he had no idea what all the fuss was about, but these women were really excited about the clay. He jumped out of the canoe, as they were doing, and waded to the bank and took a handful of the putty. It was pretty putty. He got a large gob of the clay and began kneading it through his dirty little fingers and it felt so good. It was so pliable and easily molded into whatever shape he chose. The women were already filling their old cooking pots with it…and whatever else they could find to carry this good clay home.
Days later Oneco sat watching old Grandma Mahawa (Maw-ha-WAH) as she cleared a small area and made a leaf roof to shelter her and her work from the direct rays of the sun and she began the tedious task of making a clay pot from the accumilated pile of red putty. Her hands were so careful and hour by hour the pot grew bigger and bigger and bigger. When it was finished it was enormous. Grandma Mahawa had set it carefully near the fire so the clay would harden slowly without cracking and she watched it so attentively that you knew it was her life-long prize. It was beautiful.
The Culina Madiha people in those days lived in large “malocas”. These were communal houses where up to ten families all lived inside. The house was made of poles and peach palm fronds and it was very high so that the smoke from their fires could go up and out the little slits along the maloca peak. It had two openings…one at each end, otherwise it was all enclosed by palm fronds down to the ground. It was very dark in there….and if your neighbor had wet wood, it could be very smoky and you coughed a lot. But it did keep the mosquitoes out!!
One very uneventful day, Oneco was playing with his sister in the “big house” and they had been doing a version of hide and seek around the large clay pot which now sat empty and upside down. And suddenly a woman screamed from out in the village yard, “Invaders! Invaders! We are under attack!” The Culinas had enemies that lived long distances from them, but every few years they would come and surprise everyone and kidnap women to take back to their villages. They killed all the men and older women. It was mad confusion as everyone raced for his bow and arrow, but the attack had been such a successful surprise that within fifteen minutes it was all over! Slain bodies laid here and there and women wailed as they were bound and herded together like cattle for the long trek back to the enemy village. Some men had been out fishing or hunting and would come back to find the village a killing field. Children were captured if the enemy group particularly wanted them…if not they, too, were killed. Oneco had heard the noise and screaming and shouts and he had thought about running. But where? He then saw the pot and lifted it up and slipped under it. There he sat in the darkness of the clay pot shivering and shaking with fear. He heard the strange language as the warriors came into the maloca and grabbed whatever they wanted to take back with them. They were laughing and bragging about their success and that none of their people had been killed in the surprise attack. One naked man sat on the pot. Oneco was sure the man would hear his heart beating…it was so loud and noisy! He tried not to breathe, but feared he might cough or gasp. Then quite unexpectedly the man sitting on the pot told his fellow warriors that he wanted that beautiful pot! They laughed at him because it would be impossible to carry it on the trail all that distance and would slow down their escape before the hunters returned. But the man suddenly lifted the pot up to put it on his shoulder! And there was Oneco! Tears filled his eyes! He sobbed uncontrollably. He, for the first time, saw the slain children. Everyone dead. Blood everywhere. Now they would kill him! But the man let the pot fall with a crash and break into many pieces. “HE IS MINE!” he shouted. He roughly grabbed Oneco and carried him outside into the sunshine and gathered him with captured women and children. And so it was that Oneco grew up in another tribe and learned to speak their tongue and became, many years later, a great chief amongst that tribal people.
Have you ever read the story of Daniel in the Bible? He was a little boy like Oneco who was captured by an enemy speaking a strange language and he was carried off to their land. Daniel, too, became a great leader and chief in that foreign culture and country. What would you have done if you had been Oneco? Isn’t it wonderful that we can know the Lord Jesus Christ personally in our lives and He will go with us through every cruel circumstance that happens to us? Bad things do happen. Sad things…like car accidents…are something we never can escape. But we can TRUST God that He will continue to love and care for us whatever the tragedy is in our lives. Jesus is our clay pot! Hide in Him always!
Dodo’s Delimma
The following is a read aloud story for March 2006. This is one of a series of stories especially written for Awana Clubs, home-schoolers, Sunday school classes, VBS, mission conferences, or just the fun of reading about children in a wild land called: “The Amazon Rain Forest”. Print them out. Collect them. E-mail them to others who have children and would like to get these stories. Use them for the glory of God. People now and then write and ask me…did you write that story or find it somewhere else? Yes, I confess, it sort of stews in my head and then boils over into a story. I honestly DO write them from scratch. Well, actually, from “bones”. I hear a story and it is from that “bone” that I construct the entire dinosaur! Like the smart dinosaurologists do. This month’s story is mostly fiction, but I did hear once something very close to it. How the Culinas in one part of the jungle first met civilized people about 80 years ago!
The old story teller, Douemi (Dough-way-MEE)
(Missionary/cultural observer with the Amazon tribes for many years)
Serving with New Tribes Mission, Sanford, Florida
Dodo (dough-DOUGH) was not a dodo (the clumsy, flightless, extinct birds related to pigeons). No, she certainly was not! She stood up from her earthen stove and turned the meat on the coals. She had no recollection of how fire was ever introduced to her people, but she wasn’t a dodo…she knew perfectly good and well you had to keep that fire going and burning and NEVER let it die out!! She had no matches. She had no cigaret lighter. She didn’t even have flint to make sparks…or sticks to rub together until they smoked and burst into flames. She just had fire…and she had to NEVER let that fire go out. NEVER! She rubbed the black ashes on her body. It seemed to help keep the bugs from biting. She wore no clothes. Who needed clothes? None of her people wore clothes, but you did have to do something when the bugs were bad. So, there Dodo stood putting another stick on the fire and looking for all the world like a long-haired black spook. Her world was very simple and very complicated too…especially if that fire ever burned out!
“Dodo!” came an excited cry as her husband entered the big grass house they lived in. “Woman, we have seen the ’strange ones’ and they are very, very scary. They walk funny. They talk funny. They have hanging stuff on them (clothes) and you can’t see their skins! Are they people? What are they doing in our land?” The news of the foreigners getting ever closer to their village was indeed scary. Dodo and her people had never seen people with clothes on and they just assumed every strange people would eventually attack them and kill them. It was indeed disturbing.
Frightened by the report, the villagers agreed to move farther up the little river they lived on. At least two days farther. And so the months passed and no one saw “the people who wear big leaves”. The day came when Dodo and her family had gone deep in the forest looking for pupunha.,..a palm fruit that is delicious when boiled. The fruit grew in large clusters far up tall palm trees and was red and yellow. They had brought fire with them…down through the years they had learned about special types of wood that will smolder and never burst into flame unless fanned. So the Indians carried these smoldering, smoking sticks on their fruit forages. Dodo got a fire going on the ground and then she lay down in her wild cotton hammock and it was so pleasant that she was almost asleep. People were around other fires and eating. They were all unaware that some hunters had come to that area and smelled the campfire smoke. They were Brasilian settlers and had wanted to make peace with the wild Indians because they feared their arrows and spears. And one of the hunters was especially bold. He decided to just march right into the wild Indian camp and make friends! And that was how it happened…entirely without any warning…Dodo was in her hammock nearly asleep and suddenly a wild looking man wearing leaves came into the camp shouting out in a language no one understood!
Dodo screamed. People ran headlong into the forest grabbing sticks and whatever they could to use in self defense. Dodo screamed again and made a flying leap to get out of her hammock, but her foot had slipped between the wild cotten strings and she sprawled all silly like with her foot entangled and not letting her go. Frantically she tried to free herself, but the big brown-faced leaf covered man was right there shouting at her. He, of course, was shouting, “WE ARE FRIENDS! DON’T BE AFRAID! WE ARE FRIENDS!” But she only heard his roar and she shook with fear. Her people had not gone far and were watching from the cover of the forest. They were scared too, but they did not want to leave Dodo to the mercy of these leaf monsters. And as time passed Dodo calmed down. The monster gave her some food he had and continued shouting those unintelligible words, “WE ARE FRIENDS!”. And finally the men just sat down and talked and Dodo realized they wouldn’t hurt her. And that was how the Culina became friends with the first Brasilian settlers to appear in their area of the big woods. From that day on life began to change drastically and forever. Indians now wear the big leaves themselves. And they have real “fire water”(querosene), and matches…so making a fire is easy! But the biggest change came within a generation…Culinas began trusting Jesus Christ as their Lord and Savior!
Fire and clothes. You take those things for granted, don’t you? Can you imagine living without fire and clothes? There are people today who live without clothes, but very few without fire. How did our first parents, Adam and Eve, live back in the Garden of Eden? Very much like the Culinas before they came into civilization. Remember the story of Adam and Eve making clothes from leaves for themselves? Gen.3:7? Do you think “foreigners” in your school or play ground are “weird” because they don’t dress like you or talk like you? Jesus came into our world to save sinners…and He wants to save sinners of all cultures, races, colors, and languages. He loves the naked Indian in his primitive forest home as well as the best dressed kid in your class!! Will you be a FRIEND to those who are so different from you?
One Armed John
The following is a read aloud story for April 2006. This is one of a series of stories especially written for Awana Clubs, home-schoolers, Sunday school classes, VBS, mission conferences, or just the fun of reading about people in a wild land called: “The Amazon Rain Forest”. Print them out. Collect them. E-mail them to others who would like to get these stories. Use them for the glory of God. Let’s change the pace a bit. For the next few months I want to share some true stories of people and events that have happened in the Amazon jungle. My favorite author is Jack London. He wrote tales of the sea and also of Alaska…and most of us have read “The Call of the Wild”. Brasil is not Alaska, but it is one of the last true wildernesses in the world. One-armed John. I met him some time ago and an old man told me John’s story.
The old story teller, Douemi (Dough-way-MEE)
(Missionary/cultural observer with the Amazon tribes for many years)
Serving with New Tribes Mission, Sanford, Florida
He didn’t always have that stub dangling from his left arm. Joao, or John, grew up with all of his limbs in tact. Nothing missing. Well, the neighbors said that maybe he had a little “good sense” missing. He was a boy who loved the wild and felt right at home playing with snakes and hunting wild pigs and, especially, fishing in the ponds and lakes of his home area. And he liked to fish alone. Those peaceful mornings you could paddle back through the swamps to the old river beds that were full of brownish green water and as undisturbed as the grey hawk in the high old tree that was patiently waiting for the mouse to come out of his hole and greet the new day. “I’m a hawk!” John often said to himself out loud, “and I’ll get my prey! I’ll get my prey!”
The lake he was headed for was a few miles from the little grass-roofed home he shared on the muddy Jurua River. John had brothers and sisters. His father and mother were easy-going and his father would always remark every morning at sun-up, “Boys, you have to go get the fish! Mother will cook it, but you have to hook it!” More or less like that. And John and his brothers NEVER came home without a string of fish. But old Uncle Joe had many a time warned the boys, “Don’t go to Spider Lake! That lake is full of danger! Don’t fish in Spider Lake! Who knows what evil is down in the depths of that water? Stay away from there!” And they did, well, for the most part, but when someone says “don’t” usually in boys that creates a desire to “do”. It’s a challenge. And John never turned down a challenge. So, this bright morning his small canoe was weaving it’s way through the flooded jungle to the forbidden lake…Spider Lake! “I’m a hawk!” he said.
Spider Lake was calm. It certainly didn’t look dangerous. John eased his way out of the canoe to stand on a living woven carpet of vines and grass and old logs and floating junk. The mat was so thick you couldn’t break through it and so solid that it supported his weight. Under it was deep water. He inched his way close to the edge of the floating debris and carefully got the piece of bait fish on his hook. he had no fishing pole, just a handful of heavy duty nylon fishing line and the well secured hook on the end. SPLASH! He threw out the hook and then slowly pulled it in. He repeated this for up to twenty minutes and did once see a big fish surface and descend again. “I’m a hawk”, he told himself, “I have to be patient!” SPLASH! This time he let out more line and threw his hook out much farther. Too far in fact. When he tried to pull it back it was stuck…snagged on some limbs and stuff and it would not pull loose.
John’s dilemma was that he had no other hook. If he jerked and broke the line, he would lose the hook. He stood and contemplated Uncle Joe’s warning words, “The Lake is full of danger”. Then he told himself that it was so calm and undisturbed and nothing evil could be in that water. He knew that he could dive in and swim to the hook and quickly untangle it and swim back. He was a strong swimmer. He could do it! But still he wondered about Uncle Joe’s warning…he wished that he had asked Uncle Joe what made him fear Spider Lake. Well, the hook wouldn’t come unfastened and he finally got up his courage and decided to dive in and swim and unhook it.
John tried to go in the water as quietly as possible. And he wasn’t making much noise, but he knew he probably had awakened all the devils of the deep. A few strokes and he was fingering the hook and untangling it as he kicked his feet to not sink. And then he sensed the danger. He didn’t see anything in the water, but his heart began to beat much faster and he knew some evil was there! WHOOM. A giant alligator surfaced, it’s snout just ten feet from him! It was big and ugly. And John was swimming faster than he ever had before…he had to reach that mat and climb up on it. The alligator was in deadly pursuit! John made it to the mat and he tumbled out of the water and up on it, but that gator was as much at home out of the water as in the water. The fierce sharp-toothed monster was coming up on the mat after him! John’s reflexes shouted to him to strike the alligator. He swung his left arm with all the force he could and ZIP the sharp teeth amputated the arm just above the elbow! In horror he saw his arm in the mouth of the alligator. The big lake monster dove down and disappeared with it.
Waves of nausea came over the young fisherman. He lay on the mat shouting for help, but he knew no one could or would hear him. Finally, he looked at his severed arm and saw that the blood wasn’t spurting out. He stood up and wrapped his shirt around the stub. It soaked in blood. But he could walk. And so he went back to his canoe and paddled with his good arm until he got home! And then he passed out. Forever after the “hawk” was without one wing and he was called One-armed John. This time the prey got the predator!
How do you listen to good advice? Does it go in one ear and right out the other? Do you take heed of warnings in life? Or do you, like One-armed John, think you are invincible? The Bible tells us to “walk circumspectly”. That means to walk wisely, paying attention to advise and warnings from other people. You may never fish in a lake full of sharp-toothed alligators, but you do live in a dangerous world. Your computer can become an alligator! It can become a danger to you if you go on line to places that are forbidden and dangerous. Computer games can be evil and ruinous. Stay away from the “Spider Lakes” that are all around you! Don’t lose your spiritual arm because of your foolishness