Old man river

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I bang out these words on a beaten keypad, in an internet café in the city of Manga, named for the mighty fruit, the manga (or mango). The region is full of said fruit, albeit it early in the season, and they dangle like green potatoes or giant lima beans. Popular myth suggests there is a danger in approaching the mango at this time - in Itacarambí I met a woman who claimed her 4 year old cousin died last Sunday from just this. Temperamental fruit, it should never be eaten with pork, eggs, of milk. So I wait, and unfortunately will not be able to tell you about the mangos (or mangas) in mango (Manga).

The city sits along the river São Francisco, or Chicão as "he" is known here (Chicão meaning "big Chico" and Chico being a nickname for Francisco). I first spotted him as I made way to Itacarambí, a city 50km north of Montes Claros. Muddy brown, no wider than 200 meters, stretches from Minas Gerais to Sergipe and Alagoas, where it meets the Atlantic; the longest river in Brazil (perhaps in South America?).

As the bus leaves Montes Claros, it descends into the river valley - the hillsides full of Coconut palms and desert shrub. Soon even the hills flatten, leaving only rocky outcrops and mountains in the distance. This is the transition of Cerrado to Caatinga - or plain to desert - and although the river provides plenty of water, the environment is harsh and dry. The areas of forest that haven't been destroyed for cattle grazing are a mesh of woody vines (I imagine due to their resistance to water loss) and things with spines. Whether born of the ground or hanging from trees, they meet in the middle in a hearty net that is almost impossible, at least not without damage to body.

One day in Itacarambí I took part on an expedition to locate on a rumoured band of elusive monkeys said to inhabit an area. As myself, and three colleagues cut through the vines with machetes, I was alerted to the various plants of spines and thorns and those that can cause allergic reactions. I was scratched, scraped, and bitten by ants, ticks, and hoardes of mosquitos. We came across the charming remains of two hollow cows that had fallen ill sometime past and had mostly been cleaned by local wildlife. Although never finding the monkeys, I did manage to spot an enormous amount of birds; most interesting perhaps the Sofrê, common to the region, but unmistakable in it´s vibrant red plumage.

A few words regarding the tick; the word itself is curt and sharp, and I had always imagined them to be similar. Instead, as it survives by filling it's rotund little body with blood, it´s skin is flexible. When full, it feels like a little rubber pebble, yielding, but secured and impossible to brush away.

Another fun insect is the barbeiro, the beetle that transmits Chagas disease. Tiny, black, and very fast, they inhabit the dark cracks and crevices of many rural houses. Named barbeiro for the fact that they like to feed around the "barber" (beard) during the night. I found two yesterday climbing out of the crack in the wall next to where I was sleeping. Lathering on repellent I bedded down for the night. Unfortunately Chagas is endemic in the region - I learned for the future reference one should always capture and bring to the local pest control to determine if it is a carrier (I was assurred that I have nothing to worry about as I was only in contact with said vermin for one night - however, I will shortly be investing in mosquito netting).

I came across the barbeiro in Xacriobá, an indigenas reserve outside of São João das Missoes. As I arrived in the city, I was told about the local reserve, and told by some of the local Indigenas that I should come visit. A note was scribbled on a piece of paper that I was to bring to the chief to allow my authorization, and I climbed onto the bed of a large truck, loaded with food, supplies, and locals. After I arrived, I was met with plenty of suspiscion; rightly so, as the community is small and actually "closed" to outsiders. It is also without a doubt the poorest region I've encountered. I was accompanied to the chief's house - who was not known. I wandered back down to the central market. To be clear - the indigenas here are modern indigenas, at least in the central area. The houses are made of cement and sticks and bricks, but this is common for the region. Everyone speaks Portuguese, and only a few of the older speak the original dialect. I returned to the market, sat and waited for chief to arrive. As the sun began to set, I worried about where I would sleep, and voiced this concern. But a house existed for such visitors, and this was where I bedded down for the night. But at this point I felt a little concerned as custom requires one to meet with the chief prior to entrance - I attempted to do so the next morning, when I hightailed out of there on the back of a pickup, but never succeeded. The people I met were wary of a stranger there; however kind, and more receptive then need be, as I ate dinner and watched novelas with a family. Such are the tribulations of travel - where things are strange, you are always a stranger.

There's plenty more I want to speak of. The man that lives in the river and tips boats, the monster statue secured to the front of boats to scare him, the sirens, the number of children who are always drowning in the river, and what it signifies if their bodies are never found; the fact that in seventy years because of erosion, the river will no longer exist...

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Comments

[Josh]

The Amazon is the longest in South America. I think that river is warping your mind. Good luck.

[kirkley]

wrong!
"The São Francisco River is a river in Brazil with a length of 3,160 kilometres. It is the fourth largest river system in South America and the longest river wholly within Brazil." http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/S%C3%A3o_Francisco_River