A Cable Knit Sweater in the Tropics

Our plane landed in Manaus at 3:30am and we had neither a plan nor a reservation. A dog-eared guidebook and a little faith in the local taxi driver can make up for the lack of a meticulous itinerary. A 20-minute cab ride to downtown Manaus cost us about $8 US, and we were delivered to the door of the Pensao Sulista.

We woke up the young desk clerk -- well, I guess you'd call him the desk clerk. He was shirtless, and sleeping in a hammock in the cramped lobby. He showed us one of the two rooms available, it had AC, no private bath, and 4 twin beds. Although there were only two of us, we were bleary-eyed and exhausted, so we took it, much to the relief of the desk clerk who clearly was anxious to get back to his hammock. Total cost, 80 cruzados, or about $12 US a night.

It wasn't until we'd spent a few days exploring Manaus, then making our memorable riverboat ride on the Dejard Vieira down the Amazon, that we thought it fit to finally get back into the jungle itself. Our inimitable desk clerk directed us to an independent guide, who was making a pitch to several other guests one morning in the lobby. We were invited to live with a family in the jungle, rustic but comfortable accommodations, all meals, transportation, daily excursions, hikes, fishing in the jungle, all for $30US per person per day, 5 to 10-days tours available.

We didn't hesitate; we put our money down.

And this kindly gentleman was to be our host. We didn't meet him until the next day, after a long, worrisome journey beyond the city limits. We traveled first by boat, then by a local bus which brought us to another boat, which motored across lagoons and tributaries before we pulled up to the shore in front of a wooden structure on stilts.

The owner of the home, this man with the gentle eyes, invited us in to his humble home. He wore this soft, orange cable-knit sweater most days, which struck me as just a preposterous sartorial choice for living in the jungle. I don't recall his name; our guide simply referred to him as The Old Man..........

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Manioc and Malaria

I became addicted to "farofa", during my stay in Amazonas. It is derived from manioc (man-YOCK), or the cassava, a tuber root which is a plentiful crop in the Amazon jungle. This gentleman is a manioc farmer, a purveyor of farofa.

It is said that the cassava/manioc root gives the highest yield of food energy per cultivated area per day among crop plants, with the exception, perhaps, of sugarcane. A gift of the tropics.

Whether eating at a fine restaurant in Manaus, or at the humble table of a rural family, miles-deep into the jungle, a bowl of farofa sat on our table. It had the consistency of a coarsely grated, yet crunchy, parmesan cheese.

But it clearly was nothing of the sort; cheese would have congealed into a greasy, lumpy mass in that climate. Our farofa was always crunchy and firm. We sprinkled it freely upon our rice and beans, stews or soups or whatever else on our plates that called its name. It provided a distinct firm contrast to its food host.

But as this gentleman farmer advised us, you cannot consume manioc raw, as it contains a poisonous element easily converted to cyanide as it ripens. Our farmer friend showed us how he, working deep in the bush, carefully processed his manioc to remove these toxins.

First, he would peel away the outer skin of the the roots, grind the remaining tuber into a flour and then repeatedly soak the flour in water, using long, hand-carved wooden troughs filled with fresh water. He and his helpers then removed the flour from the troughs and squeezed it dry, soaked it again, squeezed it, soaked it, over and over again until all of the cyanide was, presumably, drained from the flour.

The certainty of this process gave me pause. Just how many times do you soak and squeeze? Shrug of shoulders. As many times as it takes.

Hmph.

Then he finally toasted the flour to a light, crunchy texture. By the time I left Brazil, I was sprinkling farofa on EVERYTHING. And brought bags of it home to New York.

This gentleman farmer lives amidst the plenty of the jungle, yet he is ashen and gaunt. Despite the abundance of his crop, which is a rich source of energy, he appears haggard and drawn. And much older than his years.

He confessed to us that he has been suffering from Malaria for quite some time, and because he lives so far away from the city, he is unable to obtain any treatment. Malaria is another plentiful by-product of life in the Amazon jungle.

Nature giveth, and nature taketh away..........

Manioc and Malaria
Ink and watercolor on paper.

Purchase a print of this painting here.

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