AROUND THE NEXT BEND 2

Our boat is moored fore and aft to trees on the banks of the narrow, but deep, rainforest river. We watch in awe and trepidation as a bare-chested Indian in his dugout canoe comes into view drifting downstream towards us, his tiny stature, reddish skin and hairless face reflected in the tranquil black water. Bow drawn, with a menacing arrow notched, he gazes at the shady bank. Thwack, the arrow flies and his grin broadens as he reaches for the multi-barbed shaft embedded in a large fish.

Relaxing, we shout congratulations and he returns our wave, displaying the flapping fish.

In perfect English, he calls out, 'My house is short of rice, would you care to trade this grand fish?'

I call to the fisherman to come and join us in an early morning cup of tea.

'Thank you, thank you,' he cries, his voice echoing along the misty riverbank, disturbing the water birds that look up from their feasting on shrimp, 'I do enjoy tea and sugar, I would be delighted.'

Herbie Campbell relaxed in the cockpit, added seven full teaspoons of sugar to his tea and gazed in wonder at our vessel. A sailing boat with towering masts, roller furling sails, stove and refrigeration was beyond his imagination.

He is proud to be an elected member of the Council of the Sebai Indians who live about six miles further up this river. (Miles in the river are nautical miles; one nautical mile is approximately two kilometres.) He is amazed at the 1.8 metres our keel extends below the water compared to his canoe but he assures us we could make it up to his village in our yacht. I point to overhanging trees ahead and explain our mast is nineteen metres high, we cannot go further upstream and this is the reason we are

moored here.

He suddenly rises to his diminutive 130 centimetres height and cries, 'My cutlass is in the canoe, I'll cut the trees so you may pass.'

We insist we are content moored here and will visit his house upstream by dinghy. Seated again, Herbie begins asking the first of many intelligent questions about sailing boats and an ocean that he has never seen. As our sugar supply disappears into his cups of tea, we chat for hours, learning about the fascinating culture of his Indian tribe. We discover this Indian has an exceptionally deep and intimate knowledge of his loving gods, the ancient forests, the flora, including its fascinating medicinal uses, the fauna, rivers and trails: a oneness with the land and resourcefulness in dealing with the elements and nature that we admire immensely. We compare our life and his.

We are in the Sebai River, one of the many rivers of Guyana (formerly British Guiana), the only country in South America where English is the official language. More interesting to my wife and me is the fact that even those who hunt with bows and arrows, dressed in loincloths, like Herbie, speak excellent English. We can communicate with them easily and with full understanding. Indians elsewhere in this vast continent, including those who live along the Macareo and Orinoco Rivers that we explore on this journey, have their own languages, with sometimes a little Spanish or Portuguese. Our knowledge of these languages is too poor to ask a man what he is doing, let alone discuss his philosophy, but here we enjoy talking to these 'primitive' people, not only about what they are doing at the present time but also what they believe in, and what their hopes from life are.

These Indians are the most friendly, generous people we have met on our travels. Here, along every river we explore,

they paddle out in canoes or call from the banks to give us food or invite us ashore to feast with them.

Herbie was one of many fascinating characters we met on our six-month journey along Venezuelan and Guyanese rivers in northeast South America. Each river had its own personality, some deep and winding, others wide and rock strewn. All were bordered by lush rainforest harbouring hundreds of species of birds, animals and flowers. Early mornings we would explore far into this jungle along old timber trails seeing birds and large paw marks of jaguars. Often we drifted for kilometres in pristine tributaries in our dinghy enjoying the antics of many species of monkey and meeting Indians, like Herbie, catching fish with their bow and arrow or a net woven from vines.

There are few roads, so travel is by river. Local boats travel between the larger rivers on smaller streams whereas we had to return downstream to the sea to enter another river at its mouth. These smaller streams did not allow our deep-drafted boat to pass and overhanging jungle would have caught our mast.