ANN Marie, a young native girl of the Arawak tribe sat on the bank of the creek looking across the smooth, tranquil waters, her eyes painting with an invisible brush on canvas the magical splendour of the sunset in its reddish-orange hues.

The natural beauty and serenity of this place in the interior she called home lived within her heart; a deep love that bore wings like the magnificent Harpy Eagle flying, to the Pakaraimas over the majestic Kaieteur Falls, across plains and sprawling savannahs, through the lush green forests, home to exotic birds and rare flowers.
From time to time, she has tried visualizing her fore-parents walking so many decades ago, from southern Asia, across the Bering Strait during the Ice Age to this land in the South American continent with its black-water creeks, rich vegetation and untouched beauty, a land waiting to be discovered; to be peopled.
The different tribes with their tradition and culture, the first to walk on this land, had settled until others came to live on the coastland. The richness of the gold and diamonds strange men were desirous to find, but for her, an Amerindian native, the richness was the land’s splendorous beauty, the cool, fresh air, the gushing streams, the soft, whispering of the wind and sounds of the jungle.
She was adventurous, and the exciting part of her life was to explore and discover places even skilled hunters and trackers knew not; the hidden places where rare flowers, birds and butterflies made their homes, nature’s secret little hideouts. It was that adventurous spirit that had helped her find the lost plane. It had crashed in the jungle with a European family on board, and the young White boy whose life she had saved had become her friend. He promised her to return one day, and true to his words, he did come back years later with a team of archaeologists to search for the fabled El Dorado, City of Gold.
The early explorers had spread tales of a land so rich, the streets were paved with gold. Those tales spawned a legend of The Lost City of Gold, because it was never discovered, though excerpts from journals pointed to the fact that El Dorado did exist. But where in this vast interior? The native girl, though, knew of a place deep in the jungle where no strange man ever walked, discovered by her early ancestors, clear streams where gold nuggets laid like pebbles at the bottom, a secret of the Arawak Tribe, their own legacy, hidden from even the Caribs and Mayans.
David’s exploration team, like all the others before, failed in their quest, and El Dorado remained a legend. He had left, and promised to come back for her, so she could travel the world with him on expeditions.
Ann Marie twirled the diamond band on her finger and sighed deeply. She knew the Pyramids of Egypt, the Aztec Ruins and Mayan dynasties across Central America would be adventures of a lifetime, but her heart was here, written on the leaves, carved on the tree trunks, flowing with the gushing streams, the home her ancestors had discovered, their footsteps imprinted on the land. How could she leave?
A distinct barking sound broke into her musing, and she looked up across the water. The otters, their dark glistening heads bobbing in and out of the water, were swimming towards her. They were her animal friends of the water, whom she always saw at sunset. She spoke to them in her native tongue as they frolicked, splashing the cold, black water all over her. She laughed, and above the din, she heard the sound of a loud screeching and looked up into the sky as a Harpy Eagle, the largest in the world, sailed past to its habitat. In the distance came the muffled sound of the Mighty Kaieteur, the tallest fall in the world, named after a tribal legend.
A soft wind blew past, ruffling her long black hair, and tears misted her eyes. “It’s all here,” she thought. “Our past as a people from a far-off land who came to this rich, green land: Our culture; our heritage.”
The sun sank deeper in the west, and she stood up and watched the otters as they swam back up the creek until she could see them no more, and she whispered, “I’ll see you again, one day.”
“Ann Marie!”
She turned at the sound of David’s voice, and smiled through her tears.
“I’ll miss home.”
“I know,” he said, drying her tears. “You’re my Indian Princess, and I don’t want that to ever change; so we won’t stay away too long from your homeland, because this is where your heart is.”
He slipped a gold bracelet with tiny intricate cravings on her wrist.
“What is this?” she asked.
“Something from one of your Mayan ancestors in Guatemala.”
A spark of interest stirred in her eyes, and she knew this journey was going to take her through many lands her ancestors made their homes, and that one day maybe, she will reach that point in Southern Asia where it all began, and in her mind, bridging that link to South America that is now home.
A legacy that will live on; a life, a culture to celebrate as an Amerindian.