haphazard creativity

Our Precious Home

 "Araci, this forest is more than just our precious home. The trees are our lungs, the rivers our circulation, the air our breath and the earth our body. As the Awa tribe, we must love, cherish and protect everything in this forest, as we would not be alive without it."

The words ringing in my ears, I am jolted awake by the sound of strange mechanical grunts, a sound that has become unexpectedly familiar to me and the rest of my tribe over the past few nights.

In the distance I hear the unintelligible chatter and movement of men, and the occasional muffled thud reverberating through the tranquil forest. I feel my body being drawn towards the noise. A startlingly bright light suddenly penetrates the peaceful darkness of the night, blinding me momentarily. In a haze and dazed from the initial shock of the light, I get up as quietly as possible and tiptoe out of my shelter. It was as if my body, like iron to a magnet, had been drawn to the source of the noise.

The calm and quiet of my village fades away and is replaced by the sound of people yelling in an unfamiliar language. Following the usual foraging path of my village, the harsh grating sound of machines grows increasingly loud as I track the source to an unusual clearing near the borders of our territory.

A clearing that did not exist until recently.

A clearing that came into existence after the mechanical grunting began.

Voices. Footsteps. Growing louder. Coming closer.

Running deeper into the safety of my tribe's territory, I hide behind a tree, making myself as small as possible and waiting for the men in strange clothing and bearing mysterious weapons to pass, not daring to breathe.

Letting out a sigh of relief as their silhouettes disappear into the horizon and merge with the trees, I step out from behind the tree again and walk closer to the clearing, this time to the edge where the canopy abruptly stops. At the sight of the clearing, I become rooted to the ground, shocked and unable to move.

'Hear Mother Nature's cry as she watches her animals die'

A clearing, eerily void of animal calls and blackened by ash from fires. The penetrating, pungent smell of burnt tree sap. The forest floor stripped bare of any viridescent undergrowth. The beautiful, tall Kapok trees and magnificent Wimba trees replaced by unsightly short stumpy remains of a once majestic and towering forest canopy. The clearing of tree stumps and blackened, ash covered earth stretched farther than my eyes could see, disappearing into the horizon, melting together with the rising sun.

'Hear Mother Nature's call as one by one her trees fall'

A giant monster trundles along the dirt path in the distance, dwarfing everything around it. Piled high on its the back are the trunks of nine huge trees. The skeletons of once tall trees, home to birds and monkeys, providing shelter from the rain. The metal monster thunders past me, leaving only disaster and the thumping of tree trunks bouncing on its back in its wake.

'Hear Mother Nature weep as the damage we're (they're) doing runs deep'

I hear the chatter and footsteps of men coming closer towards me. In shock at the close proximity of the men, I come to the realisation that — in my horrified state — I had ignored my surroundings. By standing in the middle of a clearing with no foliage or undergrowth to hide me, I had exposed myself to them. The men stroll past, glancing at me in acknowledgement of my presence, and begin hacking and sawing at a young Brazil-nut tree near me.

'Hear Mother Nature's cry as she is left asking why'

At the first swing of the axe, the tree screams and twists in agony, glowing golden sap oozing out of the wood like thick dark blood and I feel my heart shatter. I can hear the tree crying out, trying to escape the grip of its attacker, begging, pleading, desperate for someone, for something, to save it, as the mysterious men continue to wound it.

"Help me. I'm dying. They're killing me."

Unable to resist the urge, I dart forwards, standing myself between the sobbing and mutilated Brazil-nut tree and the minacious men.

"This land is ours. It belongs to my tribe. We live in this forest. You are going to kill everything. Please stop."

With a ghost of a sneer on their faces, they attempt to brush past me, and my words seem to fall on deaf ears. However, I stand still, resolute and unwavering.

"Please, everything is dying. We will all go hungry. The children will be hungry, my father, and brother will be hungry, and I'll be hungry too. I beg you, please stop."

Their expressions turn hostile.

One of them raises a complicated looking metal spear at me.

My mother once told me that the trees are our lungs, the rivers our circulation, the air our breath and the earth our body. But how can I live if my lungs are being crushed, my circulation cut off, my breath choked with smoke, my body dirtied by the ugly footprints of people, my precious home is being destroyed before my eyes?

Help us. They're killing us.

~~~~

"The Earth is 4.6 billion years old. Scaling to 46 years, humans have been here 4 hours, the industrial revolution began 1 minute ago, in that time, humans have destroyed more than half of the world's forests" - Greenpeace