Ann Marie, a young native girl of the Arawak tribe, sat on the bank of the creek looking across the
smooth, tranquil waters – in awe as she always does at the magical splendor of the sunset in its
burning red and tangerine glow.
The natural beauty and serenity of this place in the interior that she called home lived within her heart;
a deep love that in her mind, she gave wings to fly like the magnificent Harpy Eagle. It was a love that
soared from the Pakaraimas; over the majestic Kaieteur Falls; across plains and sprawling
savannahs and, through the lush green forests, home to exotic birds and rare flowers.
From time to time, she had tried visualising her fore-parents walking 11,000 years ago from Northern
Asia, across the Bering Strait during the Ice Age, to this land in the South American continent. A land
with black-water creeks, rich vegetation and untouched beauty, waiting to be discovered; to be
peopled.
The different tribes with their tradition and culture, the first to walk this land, had settled until a white
explorer laid claim to its discovery. Every time she heard that story, she always wondered, “How can
anyone discover a land when it’s already inhabited?”
The riches of the gold and diamonds attracted strange and dangerous men who were desirous to find
such, 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 eight years ago, 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 film a documentary on the fabled El Dorado – City of Gold.
“I can’t believe,” she had said to herself, in her native tongue, “that after over centuries they still
believe this tale.”
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 written by early explorers pointed to the fact that El Dorado did exist.
David’s team spent two months but found nothing new and El Dorado remained a legend. A special
friendship between them since she had saved his life grew into something beautiful as they grew up
and before leaving on his last visit, he had given her an engagement ring and promised to come back
for her so she could travel the world with him on expeditions.
“Wait for me,” were the last words he had said to her.
Ann Marie twirled the diamond band on her finger and sighed deeply.

David had been back two weeks now, and the Toshaio had performed a simple traditional ceremony,
joining them in matrimony. Soon it would be time to leave but she was not feeling overjoyed. She
knew visiting 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
aquatic friends, 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.
A soft wind blew past, ruffling her long black hair, and tears misted in 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.”
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 wiping her tears, “You’re my Indigenous 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 carvings on her wrist.
“What is this?” she asked.
“Something inspired by 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 Northern
Asia where it all began, bridging that link to South America that is now home.
A legacy that will live on; a life, a culture to celebrate as Indigenous people.

Biography:
Maureen Rampertab was born in the ancient county of Berbice and grew up in the countryside of Canefield, Canje. Now living in turkey en, Greater Georgetown Maureen is a short story writer with a passion for the Arts, Literature and History.
She has penned over 200 short stories and is the author of three books – Butterflies in Paradise, Storytime and Footprints from India. She is a storyteller whose vivid imagination crosses boundaries and transcend time to pen stories.