Written by Karen Souther for and Published in Peru Review Newspaper

The narrow dugout rocked gently, stabilized by one of the guides as he straddled a small gap between two canoes, beckoning us to enter. I looked down at my ankles, shielded by black knee high rubber jungle boots, as I sank deeper into the sticky, river shore sludge, while waiting to enter the canoe. I now understood why the regulation footwear was provided for the entire group.

We gingerly entered the canoe and sat trying to make as little motion as possible as the guides pushed us out of the small port. They took their places with nonchalance, walking along the two-inch wide gunwale.

I sat observing the variety of paddle strokes utilized by my son and the other guides, while they propelled the canoe against the swift current of the Ayucayacu River. I was amazed at our progress, as the twenty-four foot vessel carrying seven passengers slid smoothly up the river.

My thoughts drifted to the purpose of the mission. We were accompanying a master shaman to the hidden lagoon to tame the wild spirit of a large boa constrictor. It had frightened the local children, causing one serious illness and making the others afraid to pass through its territory. “Susto” (spiritual fright) is a spiritual illness where the spirit of one animal or human dominates, through fear, the spirit of another. During a mystical encounter with the snake while fishing, a young girl contracted this malady.

After fifteen minutes the guide in the bow directed the canoe to the right bank and rammed it into the muddy slope. He reached for the three-foot stick driven in the mire, which he used to secure the boat. Nothing else indicated the port of arrival.

Thorns snagged our pants, and vines lassoed our ankles, slowing our pace in route to the lagoon. The afternoon sunlight filtered through the canopy, as angled shafts of light illuminated the forest floor and splashed irregular shapes over the variety of textures. The earthy smell of decomposing vegetation hung in the still, thick, humid air. Tension mounted with each blow of the machete, which carved our path to the lagoon’s edge.

The shaman climbed on a moss-covered log that extended to the center of the lagoon and inched forward into the midst of the boa’s territory. Everyone held his breath as the shaman lit her ceremonial pipe filled with mapacho (sacred jungle tobacco) and blew smoke into the ominous silence, invoking spiritual protection.

A series of eerie whistle notes signaled the start of her work with the spirit of the snake. Her sacred songs, learned over many years of study, filled the air with a pure and haunting melody. Transfixed, we all stood in solemn silence, reverently witnessing a communication between two powerful spirits. Her soul called to the boa and beseeched its cooperation. She smoked and sang to the snake, taming the wild as she soothed its spirit. She closed the ritual by tapping the bowl of the pipe into her hand, emptying the ashes and scattering them into the water, while spitting out the tobacco juice with staccato-like force.

Turning to the girl’s father, she proclaimed, “It is done. The boa will no longer bother the children.” As we returned to the camp with feelings of triumph, anticipation of the evening’s activities ran through my veins. In just four hours, we would participate in an Ayahuasca ceremony, reputed to release one’s spirit from his body giving him wings to fly through the invisible.