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After a time, we reached an empty clearing that surrounded the shabono and I stooped down to enter through one of its tiny doors leaving the modern world for one far more ancient. I was immediately greeted with the bustle of activity everywhere, in the many family hearths below the shade of its large donut shaped roof as well as the sunlit center that we had just flown over just a short time before in our modern flying contraption. The heat of the wood smoke seemed overwhelming. My eyes began to tear and water uncontrollably and it becomes an effort to keep them open.
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Two women wearing the traditional woven waistband in the shabono.
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Some people with a small child began to gather around my companion Jim and ask for medicine which he administered in tablet form mixing it pulverized in a spoon with a little water and giving it to the tiny thin little girl. Her father said her heart had been beating too fast and I had an immediate mental image of hummingbirds.
It takes a while till my eyes adjust so that I can once again see my surroundings clearly. there are huge piles of crisp fire blackened monkeys piled upon bright green banana fronds. Some of the men are busy putting them into knapsacks woven of the same banana leaves and are soon to leave for the river where the monkey carcasses will be washed. Their departure is signaled by whoops and shouts from those remaining behind.
Two other men unfurl the bark of two slender tree lengths and spread this covering on the ground in preparation for the return of the freshly washed food. On their return, the party begins to chop the monkeys on a long wooden log that has been laid along side the bark for that purpose. Their little bodies are propped against the log and neatly severed in halves and quarters. The young children peel small portions of the dry strips of meat to chew with the same enthusiasm that modern children might show for candy.
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A man sitting amidst loaves of cassava bread laid upon banana fronds.
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The remaining garbage which is primarily of plant debris is quickly swept up and piled in a waiting basket and the center of the shabono is made ready for the festivities to come.
The women are nestled about the fires fed by star shaped piles of logs which are slowly being devoured by the glowing embers. All our busy making the cassava bread by grating the manioc root into flour and filling a big basket. The coarse white ground flour was then expertly spread with a knife upon blackened round metal pieces that were in turn placed on top of the smoky fires to cook.