Elvira's little teeth

By Vera Petrova

It wasn't easy to take up with our hosts and "Elder Brothers"; it was as if we were coming from different layers of dimensions and Time on Earth...

I felt this for the first time when I approached a little child, around two years of age; I wasn't sure if it was a girl or a boy. He or she was standing on the side of the road as I was heading to the village right after our arrival there.

"Holaaaa!" I said with a big smile and that idiot voice, quite common for us "Younger Brothers" when we talk to children; as if they know less than us, and not the opposite. My next absurd "Como estaaas" was met by complete silence and a blank look. I felt something very wise coming from far beyond in that look, as though some grand-grand-grand-parent of mine was looking at me.

I pulled myself together so quickly that there was not even time to feel awkward. I waved with embarrassment, to sort of put an end to this conversation (which actually never took place) and went my way without turning back. "Right", I thought to myself, "how much more proof do you need for the fact that "here" is not like "over there" in our nutty world....

The divide between the two worlds started to disappear over the next days, though. At first, some of us "whites" suggested that we all sit in a circle - because we had been separated — the Mamos Aruaho were sitting in front like they were up on a stage, and we were sitting across from them, like the audience; on the one side there were the women, and on the other — the members of the Wiwa tribe and their women and children.

I was sitting not too far away from the Wiwas. As the opportunity arose, I moved closer to the children so I could get within reach of Mamo Kuncha's all-pervasive sidelong look. He is the spiritual leader of all Aruaho tribes from Sierra Nevada. I could have sat there looking at him for hours and days on end. I felt like I was absorbing his stillness, wisdom, freedom - and who knows what else. One of his wives, most likely the last one, was sitting next to him and hardly ever looked at us.

His children, however, the two youngest ones out of twenty, if we got it right, were always looking at us with eager eyes. The boy was trying to seem aloof for he was being prepared to become a Mamo; the wonders of the outside world were not supposed to impress him anyway, even if they happened to be a crowd of white-skinned, unwise "Younger Brothers".

The girl, on the other hand, was open to our kidding remarks and laughed quietly with delight. Occasionally, she would get tired and lie down on the bare ground, even in the mud while it was raining, to take a nap. She would sometimes cover a little part of herself with a small dish towel. Who knows how it had gotten there, having taken on a dark grey color in the course of time. After I asked her mother for permission, I gave the girl my unused color-striped face towel and she beamed with joy, grabbed it and put it somewhere away for the years to come perhaps.

During our quite serious and hard-to-translate discussions with the spiritual leaders, there was a little girl from the Wiwa delegation who was wreaking such havoc behind us. She was screaming at the top of her lungs almost the whole time. I tried to catch her eyes — she was around the age of two, wearing a short haircut with a fringe, her nose was runny and her voice was overwhelming.

Right away I felt for her; she reminded me of my Emma who, at about the same age, would also have similar screaming fits when she didn't like something. The two girls even looked alike. There was something very exotic, though, about this Indian powerhouse with her incredibly beautiful mat-skinned and slightly flattened face as if painted by Gauguin.

The mothers tried in all possible ways to quiet her down so she wouldn't disturb us. No one actually really paid attention to her, but still - the idea was let's show our good manners to the white people. However, the little fireball went on screaming and fidgeting around; she couldn't be bothered. At some point there was a short break when I tried to squeeze my way through the loose lines and move closer to where the women and children were. I sat down on the ground leaning on a tree not too far from the little monster.

Close up she looked even more beautiful. Her nose was discharging a great deal of mucus. "Let me see now why you are screaming like this, come over here", I beckoned to her. To my biggest surprise, she calmed down and did come to me, pretty close, looked at me well, gave some thought, and then she even smiled.

I saw her two front little teeth which were half-eaten away, and looked like tiny half-moons with brown rough edges. Sugar arrived here, I thought to myself. Civilization was encroaching on them and they surely didn't have any resistance to many of its damaging influences. The charming little monster took advantage of my distraction and began to punch me everywhere with her tiny but very strong fists — in my face, nose, ears - punching hard and staring me right in the eye.

I can't really remember her expression but aside from my surprise at her unexpected assault on me, I also felt so close to her, as if we had had many other fights before. She gave me a couple more hard punches before I got a grip and managed to take her hands. She would not give in so easily. So that's what it was — she was bursting with energy and needed to get it out, and what these people were trying to do was make her sit quietly and listen to some blabber in foreign tongues.

"Now I'll get you", and I jumped playfully towards her and she liked that. She came closer as if she wanted to give me a hug. While my motherly ego was indulging in the scene, the girl bent down, curled up in my lap, and wriggled her head vigorously left and right in my trousers. And that was it. She wiped her nose on me with just two moves and then she stared me right in the face again. "You got me now!" I thought as I noticed the wet blotch on my pants.

"Come over and play with me now".

She was open to all kinds of tricks at this point. First, I traced her palm, and then I pretended to run after her, and she was just laughing away. In the meantime, the discussion had already resumed and Elvira's voice (I had learned her name from the cheered up women) was still echoing but with laughter now. We finally stopped goofing around when her mother came to take her in order to put her to sleep on the ground. Sure enough, Elvira raised the devil again, screaming and crying.

I never saw her after that. The drawing of her palm that I had given to her, must have gotten crushed. I kept another hand drawing of an older girl. The children had gathered around while I was playing with Elvira. I had some giveaways for them like pens and paper and I also showed them some clapping games which made them wonder. I could even talk with these children; some of them were going to school in the nearby town and spoke Spanish.

The Mamos had explained to us that they sent their children to school mainly for them to study Math and Spanish; otherwise, they passed down their sciences word-of-mouth, the same way their tradition and wisdom have remained alive from times immemorial. We had brought with us some notebooks, sketch pads, and water-colors as gifts for the kids. Perhaps they did have their own things like that from before, I am not sure.

When the games were over and I got up from my place under the tree, they showed me two drawings and pointed that they were for me. I was thrilled with what I saw — they had drawn and colored two landscapes, one had their native homes on with a sign "Casa". They had no idea what a gift that was for me. They couldn't have known that from the first instant I saw the big round mud cabanas with peaked palm leaf roofs, I staggered to my feet and was only able to hug a tree and weep like a child. They didn't know they had given me the houses where I wanted to live...

Or perhaps these children did know everything.

About Vera Petrova

Vera Petrova is not a spiritual teacher (yet). But she is doing her best to be a good spiritual student. She has been traveling the world for years now, from the Himalaya to Amazonia, from Japan to Bulgaria, her native country. She has been living in Rome for many years, teaching Bulgarian language and literature at the University of Pisa, translating novels into Italian, and doing story-consulting for documentaries. She has been the editor-in-chief of important magazines, the co-author of one screenplay, and the author of one book of short stories, 'Instead of a book, 2011'. Spiritual knowledge and magical beliefs interweave easily with "grounded" themes, in her very personal stories. Vera lives in Bulgaria with her two daughters.

(She is also a devoted Spirit of Ma'at reader who participated in the Sierra Nevada de Santa Marta gathering with the Elders in August 2011)

Latest articles by Vera Petrova in Spirit of Maat:

January, 2012: Vortex

December, 2011: Elvira's little teeth