The Seasons Always Change

The Seasons Always Change.
I once lived in the depths of the Amazon forest for three years in a remote valley where only one indigenous tribe, the Takana, still thrived. They were isolated from other cultures and lived in accordance with their millennia-old traditions. Part of their belief system recognized that in order to survive they had to continually reinvent themselves according to new circumstances. Time and time again, I witnessed them doing that so skillfully and surprisingly unemotionally. They were quick to learn how to negotiate with the loggers, miners, government officials, and conservationists that encircled them like hungry hyenas. The Takana simply smiled subtly and applied their hunting techniques to trap their opponents at the negotiation table. They kept their cool and held their own cards close to their chests. They identified the weaknesses of their enemies, manipulated them, played them against each other, surrounded them, and attacked them from different directions simultaneously. They left their enemies baffled and disoriented like an anteater in a trap. In the end, they left the table with far more assets than their opponents ever imagined giving. I was amazed seeing these masters at work, yet I couldn't understand how the Takana had gained this tactical knowledge. One would have thought they would be naive and gullible, but if anything, they were shrewd and cunning.

Since the Takana are slow to trust strangers, it took me years before I learned their ways and their secrets. In essence they innately understand change, and they know the world as a living thing. They observe the seasons and see them change. They adapt to their environment without hesitation and accept that change is a part of life. When the big rains fall relentlessly for months on end, the lowlands are often flooded and turn into lakes, the river gushes and doesn't allow fishing, and the fields are soaked and muddy. From their simple mud and straw dwellings on top of the mountains the Takana observe nature's work and never go against it: They don't build dams and they don't carve terraces. Instead, they drink fermented maize, eat smoked meats, play music, and patiently wait for the season to change. It always does.

Years earlier, before the arrival of loggers, miners, and more recently conservationists, missionaries visited the Takana and brought with them a good-looking god on a cross. They also brought disease that eventually wiped out all but three families. These families left the village, ironically taking nothing but the church bell, moved to another territory, and started a new village on another mountain. The essence of survival is a swift and efficient adaptation to new circumstances. The dead must be buried, and the living must move on with life.