Ethnographic fragment: good encounter - 01/23/2020
- Marcio Maia Malta
- 14 de out. de 2022
- 5 min de leitura
The day was cloudy, but not like the day before. Already in the morning, we went to Coroa Vermelha village, on the way to BR 367. Uncle Joubert showed us a package of beiju that was sold on a board on the sidewalk (his expression was to remember the beiju we had eaten at Rosimar's house). He bought two packages of puba flour, and I bought a package of beiju. We passed by the Pataxó parking car and, further ahead, we followed the extensive concrete wall that led to the Pataxó commerce (a large circular construction with small handcraft stores).
When we arrived at the handicraft store, we found Rosileide, Marcia, and Italo. They told us that Rosimar was not at home because she had gone to church with her mother. We chatted for some time at Store's door. Afterward, we walked around the kijeme (ritual house) area. Marcelo was taking pictures, so I asked him to register the straw braiding on the roof of the Kijeme. The technique looked very much like one that Berta Ribeiro described as traditional in a text from "Suma Etnológica Brasileira" dedicated to the techniques and material culture of indigenous peoples. It was already 11:00 when I mentioned to Marcia that the photos I had taken of Coroa Vermelha on January 19 were good but had not framed perfectly the group of houses to the right of the sidewalk, leading to the Cross of the first mass in Brazil. I showed her, in the photos, a point near the Cruzeiro that led to the Beach, in the preserved limits of the village. This point would allow us to fly the drone into the sea and throw the perspective toward the continent. Marcia was willing to go with us. I asked for a little time to use the accessible restroom. When I returned, we called Marcia, and Italo accompanied us. We followed the curved corridor of the Pataxó store until we got off at the footbridge. Right at the beginning of the path to the cruise, next to the popcorn and caramelized coconut cart, a man was selling a round fruit with a green peel on a half-meter square. Marcia said it was umbu and approached the seller. He said he could make her 75% of a supermarket bag for R$6.00. I only had $9.00, Marcia looked at the man who promptly put two more generous hands of fruit in the bag. We walked down the hot concrete sidewalk while chatting. We looked at the handicrafts and I was delighted with the fruit's taste, that was the first time I had been eaten it.
On both sides of the path, we passed by stores with 2m frontages, selling a variety of non-indigenous and indigenous gifts (Pataxó and other people's masks, ceramics with Marajoara and Roraima patterns, and from other regions in the North), clothes, drinks, local food. As we approached the entrance to the left of the Pataxó trade proper, Pataxó handicrafts began to predominate. Arriving close to the Cross made of metal and granite, we continued walking in the direction of the Beach, on either side of the 4 m² entrance leading to the sand, there were small stores, restaurants, bars, and kiosks. In the first store, to the left of the entrance, a wooden plaque with the inscription "Indigenous Herbal Pharmacy" hung from the roof post. Marcia commented that this was where Mr. Itambé (Alberto do Espírito Santo Mattos) stayed most of the day. At that moment, he was not there. We went on and, when we reached the beach, the weather was cloudy and very windy. It was not propitious for flights. I still consulted an application that calculates the weather conditions in loco and the recommendation was not to fly. I gave up taking photos. We stayed there, seduced by the refreshing sea breeze that alleviated the feeling of hunger, despite the lack of strong sunlight. Marcelo and Uncle Joubert went down to the water and walked around. Marcia stayed by my side, talking about the place, and introduced a cousin who took a kayak out of the water. He used to take tourists on trips to the reef area at the tip of Mutá, which forms the famous crown that gives the place its name. We stayed there talking, and observing, for maybe half an hour. We were walking to leave, and passing through the entrance, and in the store now, on right was an imposing figure. He was in a wheelchair, and part of his right leg had been amputated. Marcia commented that this was Mr. Itambé. Without thinking, and as if magnetized, I walked towards him. We entered the store and Marcia greeted him, reminding him who his daughter was. Then, we all introduced ourselves and began to look at the shelves of plenty of medicines, interspersed with photos and pictures with news reports about the effectiveness of shaman Itambé's medicines. Without embarrassment he began to talk to me, saying that he had a motorized wheelchair like mine, eventually, I asked about the medicines. He kept talking, jokingly telling a joke to my uncle, and then to me. At one point, I turned to him and we engaged in a face-to-face dialogue. I realized that he wanted to talk more, I stared at him attentively as he narrated a chronicle of a machete fight. I asked permission to record and he granted it. With the recorder already on, I warned him again that I was recording. Interesting themes were covered: the knife fight chronicles, the story of Juacema in a version that I didn't know, the making of the manioc wheels, and the history of Coroa Vermelha's Crosses. While he spoke, I listened mesmerized and observed the tourists who were curious about this meeting. Itambé's relatives also showed up to see what was going on and talked to Ubirai, one of the patriarch's sons. At a certain point, two children, his grandchildren, approached his grandfather and greeted him warmly. Grandpa reminded the little ones of a verse that summed up the way he liked to hug (a tight embrace, a folded sigh of endless love). I could notice, all the time throughout our conversation that his Itambé was crossed by a net of affection and respect. After evaluating these facts while writing them down, I realized that the attraction I felt was the quality of a leader's charisma; for the first time, I saw, in flesh and blood, a Bigman. Crossed by many circles of relationships, Mr. Itambé emanated generosity in the words he was giving to me, and when he was already tired, after drinking a glass of water, at the end of the unexpected interview, he even told me: "I'm sorry if the lecture wasn't good". During the movements to leave, we still talked to Ubirai, Mr. Itambé's son, who through Marcia, was asking what I was doing and asking for a return on the research. He was also an intelligent young man with a degree in humanities and had already represented his people in the government, working in the area of children's and adolescents' rights. Ubirai reported some limits of the non-Indians, who consider adolescence to be a universal fact. His words corroborated remembered me Margaret Mead's critique. We said goodbye and paid for the snuff and amesca resin that I had bought. Marcia, saying goodbye to Mr. Itambé, asked him how he liked to eat salty couscous and said she would take it to him soon.
