From branches to roots

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 was, at the magical splendour 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 to which, 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 foreparents walking 11,000 years ago from Northern Asia, across the Bering Strait during the Ice Age, to this land on 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 traditions and cultures, the first to walk this land, had settled here until a white explorer laid claim to having discovered it. 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 of finding them, but for her, an Amerindian native, the richness was the land’s splendid beauty; the cool, fresh air; the gushing streams; the soft whispering of the wind and the sounds of the jungle.

She was adventurous, and the exciting part of her life was exploring and discovering 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 had promised to return one day, and true to his word, he did come back years later with a team of archaeologists to film a documentary on the fabled El Dorado, the City of Gold.

“I can’t believe,” she had said to herself in her native tongue, “that, after centuries, they still believe this tale.”

The early explorers had spread tales of a land so rich that 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 by early explorers suggested that El Dorado did exist.

David’s team spent two months there but found nothing new, and El Dorado remained a legend. A special friendship between them, formed when she had saved his life, grew into something beautiful as they grew up. 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 for two weeks now, and the Toshao 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 the adventure 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 a loud screech and looked up into the sky as a harpy eagle, the largest in the world, sailed past towards 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. 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 ever to 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 onto 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 where her ancestors had made their homes and that, one day, maybe, she would reach that point in Northern Asia where it all began, bridging that link to South America that was now home.

A legacy that would live on; a life and a culture to celebrate as Indigenous people.