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Ecuador
 Photo: Misha Shiyanov
Ecuador
 Photo: Marco Testa

Ecuador: The Mystery Ingredient
By Luminita Cuna

The captain of our pirogue pulled onto the muddy shore.

Parada technical,” he said before he disappeared into the bushes lining the shore of Rio Curaray to attend to his technical problem.

We jumped into the thigh deep water to stretch. My traveling companion and I had embarked on a six-day voyage through the Amazon jungle to explore Waorani territory, the land belonging to the warrior tribe that first came in contact with Western civilization only five decades ago. An Ecuadorian guide and two Kichwa jungle dwellers accompanied us.

We had been in the canoe since 6 AM. It was now sometime in the mid-afternoon judging by the position of the heavy sun, which glared down and burnt away at the skin on our shoulders.

We all needed a break. The two Kichwas had been restlessly guiding the canoe through rough waters, one in the front the boat propelling us forward with a 2 meter bamboo stick, the other one acting as rudder in the back. When the boat was moving, we struggled to keep still and maintain the fragile equilibrium of the vessel. My muscles were cramped from sitting in a near-fetal position, which I had adopted since embarking on the aquatic portion of our foray into the depths of the jungle; however a day in a narrow canoe was comfortable in comparison to the previous day’s plowing through lush vegetation, stumbling and sliding as we went along.  We had climbed up steep slopes, fallen down hills, and slammed into a great variety of jungle trees; all the while avoiding snakes, bugs, branches. We swam across rivers, and sank knee-deep into quicksand-like mud.

There I was, stretching my hands towards a whitish-blue sky; my feet in Rio Curaray, and my empty guts playing a hunger symphony accompanied by the crisp tinkling of the river. I was hungry. I could not recall when I had my last meal, certainly not in the past 9 hours.

Quieres chicha?” the captain asked me smiling and pointing to an aluminum bowl in the back of the canoe. He was a young Kichwa from Pitacocha, an indigenous community one day's walk into the jungle. Looking at the bowl with hungery eyes, an enthusiastic “Yes” slipped out of my drooling mouth. I was going to be fed.

I had only heard about Chicha up until this point. I was told it was a nourishing and energizing drink widely used by all dwellers of the Amazon forest from Colombia to Brazil and Peru. It is a fermented beverage made of yucca (also known as cassava, or manioc) mixed with sweet roots and water. The first three days it is a yoghurt-like soft drink, after which point it ferments and becomes alcoholic, a kind of beer of the jungle.

El capitan took the lid off the bowl, happy to share. He whacked a handful of white paste in a halved hard fruit shell, the kind of ethnic bowl sold for $20 at The Pottery Barn. He took a few steps into the river, dipped the bowl into the water till about a liter of the Curaray poured inside. Few hand stirs and the chicha was ready. It was milky, pasty, and a bit sour, but refreshing; and it felt good when as it slid down my esophagus chilling my insides.

With something in my stomach I was able to think more clearly. I re-winded the past few minutes and began to dwell on the preparation of my lunch. Did I just drink chicha made with river water?

From the Center of Disease Control website, Food and Water Safety section:

"Fatal primary amebic meningoencephalitis has occurred after swimming in warm freshwater lakes or rivers, so travelers should avoid submerging the head and should wear nose plugs when entering untreated water to prevent water getting up the nose. Travelers should also be advised to avoid wading or swimming in freshwater streams, canals, and lakes in schistosomiasis-endemic areas of the Caribbean, South America, Africa, and Asia, or in bodies of water that may be contaminated with urine from animals infected with Leptospira."

Not only had I swam in the water earlier in the day, but I had just ingested lots of it. What if a tapir or monkey infected with Leptospira (whatever that was) urinated in my chicha water? What about those amoebas I just ingested? Did I just condemn myself to some exotic, utterly painful, possibly fatal sickness? Why did I forsake you, oh, all-knowing CDC?

 

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