The Fig Tree Will Never Bear Mangos

The Fig Tree
Will Never Bear Mangos
I once walked in the jungle east of Santa Cruz de la Sierra with Chocomono, the shaman of the Chimane people, and his youngest son, Mundake. He was a beautiful, introverted boy around seven or eight years old. He had been born with a twisted right foot that was also somewhat shorter than his left foot. He kept up with us, but it was only with great effort.

At one point, Chocomono and I leaped over a felled tree, and when Mundake tried to follow, he fell facedown onto the rotting forest floor. He cried out, and tears of frustration ran down his cheeks. I felt he was embarrassed because I, a foreigner, was there to witness his shortcoming. Chocomono sat on the log and helped his son to his feet, listening attentively to the boy's cries and complaints for a moment. He then pointed to a great fig tree that bore many figs and began speaking softly to the boy in the Chimane language. From his intonation and gestures, I could see he was telling his son a story.

After a few minutes they both got up from the log and we resumed walking. It was clear that Mundake's entire demeanor had changed. He seemed at ease, more confident, and despite his limp, he seemed to move with the effortlessness of his father.

When I asked Chocomono what had happened, he smiled and said, "The boy said he hates being crippled and as slow as he is. He asked why he couldn't be like his older brother, who is the fastest and most able of all the village boys. I told him a very old story about the fig tree that wanted to be like the mango tree, which is taller than all other trees, and bears heavy, bright fruits that taste so sweet that all toucans and macaw birds come to eat them and seed the wild mango throughout the valley. The fig tree, however, is heavy set and short, and its fruits are small and quick to ferment and rot. The fig felt inferior to the mango tree and decided that the only way it could feel better about itself was to become a mango tree. It sent its roots deep into the ground and fought all other tree roots for every trace element to gain a few extra inches in height. The fig tree worked hard day and night pushing its fronds up toward the sky until it stood taller than all the other fig trees in the jungle. It was so proud of itself. And when a passing toucan landed on the fig tree's top frond there was no tree happier in the entire forest, for it was sure it had managed to change itself completely. Then, when the season came, it flowered and young fruits started appearing on its branches. To the fig tree's devastation, they were not mango fruits but figs.

"Soon after the fig tree decided that all of his efforts had been in vain, a passing gang of spider monkeys, gathered on the strong branches of the tree, nested in its lush branches, and feasted on the fermented fig all night, becoming drunk on it and completely ignoring the shiny fruits of the mango.

"When the spider monkeys continued their travels, they carried the fig tree seeds in their bellies and spread the seeds across the Amazon basin.

"I told my son," continued Chocomono, "If you are born a fig, you will not yield mango no matter how hard you try. You may fool some for a minute into believing you have changed and become someone else, but when your season arrives, you will still be you. You can bear big, sweet figs that will ferment into an invaluable elixir, or yield shriveled bitter figs that are good for nothing. But mangos, my son, you will not yield, no matter how hard you try."

I looked back at that fig tree that we had left behind, knowing how much Chocomono liked drinking chicha*, and I wondered if Chocomono did not make up that "old story" right then and there.

are you that fig tree?