When  Japarupi Waiapi looks into the dense foliage of the Amazon rainforest, he sees the equivalent of a supermarket, pharmacy, furniture store, etc all rolled into one. And that’s just the beginning.

Food like coconuts, roots and bananas grows plentifully. Animals and fish are readily available for hunting, and the barks of many trees have medicinal uses.

“We see thatch for our roofs, we see bows, we see arrow heads,” describes Japarupi Waiapi, 45, about different wood types in the heart of Waiapi tribal land in eastern Brazil.

Add to that, palm for weaving backpacks, calabash for making bowls, reeds to use as drinking straws, banana leaves as table cloths, animal bones for tools – and all this literally there for the taking (for free).

“We don’t depend on commerce or money,” Japarupi says, explaining the tribe’s ancient, self-sufficient way of life, living in isolation from Brazil’s white settlers.

In other words, this tribe doesn’t need any money because the jungles and rivers are their free shopping centre. “I tell my son: never put out your hand to the white man. Rely on the forest. Rely on the rivers,” adds Japarupi.

Drinking Caxiri, a craft beer made from tapioca, before it becomes sour.

The Waiapi also believe that just as the planet’s biggest rainforest looks after them, their tribe of 1,200 people is uniquely positioned to guard the Amazon, crucial to regulating global climate, for the rest of the world.

For decades, the Waiapi and other indigenous tribes have been under pressure from miners, ranchers and loggers, who consider the “Indians” as they are universally known in Brazil, a nuisance at best.

Pressure intensified this August when President Michel Temer declared a vast protected reserve around Waiapi territory, called Renca, open to foreign mining. Temer had to retreat a month later in the face of withering criticism from environmentalists.

But the Waiapi say they will keep watch as long as they live. “This forest we’re in – we’re the ones who preserve it,” said Tapayona Waiapi, 36, who lives at the edge of the tribe’s territory.

Potrait of Siurima Waiapi, one of the villagers in a forest reserve resisting moves by the Brazilian government to let miners come in.

Healing And Spirits

Hiking into the rainforest, tribesmen warned reporters to keep their eyes peeled for hazards. One spindly, innocuous-looking plant was said to be so poisonous that the tribesmen, wearing only red loincloths, avoided even getting close.

“This is the Amazon – there could be anything,” Jawaruwa Waiapi, 31, said.

But for those who know where to look, the forest is more friend than foe. Akitu Waiapi, 24, stopped every 20m to point out the benefits of yet another tree. The bark from one helps cure diarrhea, another lowers fever, while a third aids the scarring process.

Many of the trees had already had strips of bark removed. “There are a lot of medicinal elements in the forest and when people need them they just come and get them,” Akitu said.

After flutes are played, they are then left in the river for the Anaconda snakes spirit to protect their village.

Invisible, but just as present for the animist Waiapi are the spirits inhabiting trees and rivers and animals. The tribesmen pointed out one of the giants of the forest, the Dinizia excelsa tree, a hardwood which the Waiapi call “peyryry”.

The tree, flanked by massive roots, rose as broad and tall as a castle tower. “That one has a whole invisible community (of spirits),” Jawaruwa Waiapi said. “There’s everything in there. We can’t see it.”

Talking To Animals

Ironically, Waiapi agriculture relies on cutting down trees, but they do this sustainably.

Like many other indigenous peoples around the world, the tribe uses a technique called slash-and-burn or swidden, where a patch of forest is cut down and the dead trees are left to dry before being burned to clear new ground.

A Waiapi girl being carried by her mother in a cassava field created by clearing a small patch of jungle.

The ash helps fertilise the soil which is then planted, mostly with their staple food cassava (known as ubi kayu in Malaysia, from which tapioca is extracted). Once the soil is exhausted, the Waiapi leave the patch fallow, move on and carve out another.

On a large scale, slash-and-burn can devastate the environment. However, when performed by such a small tribe in a big area, the cleared patches are given time to recover, creating a healthy cycle.

Japarupi says his people know how to maintain the balance, moving village as soon as “the land is tired, the river is tired.”

The tribe’s footprint is exceptionally light. “When you live in the forest, when you hear the music of the animals that live there, it’s different,” Japarupi explains during a lunch of smoked monkey meat. “We understand and can talk to the animals.”

The river also plays the role of a water theme park for the Waiapi people to have fun.

Perhaps seeing the look of surprise on his visitors’ faces, Japarupi cups his hands and makes three powerful whistles, each with a slight trill. Five seconds of silence follow. Then from somewhere in the dark canopy of virgin forest, a bird calls back.

For now, at least, the Waiapi and their beloved Amazon remain in harmony. – AFP