Demarcation Diaries
2 September 2001
Mud and locusts
It rains, not the incessant drizzle of England, but a shocking
torrent that has us pulling tarpaulins over the rails to keep
everything from being washed away. We are three degrees south
of the equator. We're an hour from the last small town Carauri
which is renowned for its forro dances (a contraction of "for
all", ex patriot parties open to all and is now a specialised
dance genre here). After this we have seven weeks helping the
Deni mark their territory in the forest, so there's a certain
level of anticipation.
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The significance of mud: the exposed riverbanks turn to
sticky clay in the torrential rain, slabs fall away to dissolve
into the river. Where there are trees, a network of roots
holds the shallow topsoil in place. Where there is predatory
logging, everything is taken, seventeen trees felled and just
one taken out for its wood. Here the topsoil becomes mud and
is washed away, like my boots in the storm. |
If all of this wood went to making something worthwhile, it might
be understandable that the wood should be taken, but much of it
goes to make plywood, used once and thrown away.
Today's shade of green is jade.
We made further preparations for the jungle. We organised a week's
worth of food into hearty meals. We crammed stoves, excellent
coffee, machetes, amusing straw hats and out of place breakfast
cereals into aluminium boxes. We aim to make our first bush camp
in three days.
The conditions here are perfect now, cool under the remnants
of the storm clouds. Earlier we ran aground, the ship has a draft
of only 1.5 metres but we hit a sandbank and had to ease off.
If we become completely stuck it will mean unloading everything
into the mud to lift the hull off.
The tropical cousin of a cormorant dries its wings in the breeze.
Sea birds come to nest on the sandy river side beaches even here,
screeching gulls cry at Ribamar as he searches in a voadeira (light
river boat) for a fugo (short cut) between river bends. Ox bow
lakes and all that.
We will arrive at the Deni lands in four days. Already the houses
are starting to resemble the Deni dwellings, with palm roofs and
open walls, stilted against the rise of the waters in the wet
season.
The Deni territory is the largest area still to be protected.
If we can help the Deni mark their lands, they will link up with
six other indigenous lands to create an ecological corridor of
three million hectares of untouchable, pristine rainforest.
These lands are threatened by Wong Thong Kwong (WTK) an international
logging company producing
Amaplac for the UK and other markets with a trail of completed
logging projects behind it in Malaysia, Borneo, Papua New Guinea
and Burma. WTK has bought contested lands on Deni borders for
$3 a hectare from a local patron. Greenpeace has previously documented
logs from protected Deni lands being taken to
WTK and other companies down river, and prosecutions have been
made. We have also blocked the import of Amalpac into East London
docks in container ships.
The last days of a locust: Yesterday we had a green leaf locust
land on our ship. As long as an index finger, it was exhausted
and could only move slowly. We studied its incredible camouflage,
it had the vein of a leaf down its abdomen and thorax. Jan gave
it sugar water and it seemed to perk up.
When it tried to fly to shore however, it went down like a helicopter
without a tail rotor. By now it will be in the belly of a silver
cyclid fish which, in turn, jump away from predators, breaking
the mirror water.
Ian
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