Treasure island
March 2007 Posted in World ReportAsian buffalo? In Brazil? Richard McColl visits the remote but vast island of Marajó and discovers non-native herds, ancient myths, glorious beaches and the bizarre tale of the man who spent a month inside a boa constrictor
Bleary-eyed and weary from the early morning ferry crossing from Belém, I was now beginning to feel decidedly uncomfortable, pinned against the wall of the bus by a corpulent local, and trapped in the merciless glare of the equatorial sun. Thus far, I was disappointed with the Ilha de Marajó. Beading with sweat, moist of upper lip and already 20 minutes into the journey, and I had yet to lay eyes on one of the island’s famous buffalo.
I set about doing some mental gymnastics. After all, what kind of odds would you get on going a whole day on an island of around 40,100sq km without sighting just one of the 60,000 buffalo purported to roam here? And why the fascination with these hulking animals in the first place? Partly the myths, and partly the rugged imagery that accompanies the Brazilian wilds. Today, Marajó is the only place in Brazil where buffalo roam in great numbers – and we are not talking the furry, American bison of the Great Plains, but a tough-skinned hairless creature that resembles a macho Indian Brahma.
People kept informing me that Marajó was bigger than Belgium, and around the same size as Switzerland or Denmark. Yes, fair enough – small countries that one can associate with and picture. But was this island, a breadcrumb on the map wedged in the estuary of the Pará and Amazon rivers, really that big? Put simply, Marajó’s isolated location is its greatest asset and its most striking hindrance. A staggering 3,150km from Rio de Janeiro – a good distance even by Brazilian standards (that is five hours by plane and a further three hours on a ferry), you do not happen upon this destination; you plan to come here. Many Brazilians are eager to tout this as the new Pantanal, as Marajó also has fabulous birdlife – spectacular migrating scarlet ibises and jabiru storks – as well as tasty cuisine and a rich indigenous background. But, more to the point, Marajó lays claim to some of the finest beaches in a country blessed with amazing beaches.
Give it a chance, I thought. After all here, in this largely uninhabited area of mangrove swamps and beaches, there were probably buffalo all around me. All I had to do was relax my eyes and focus a little more; tune into the environment.
Then, just as we drew into Marajó’s capital city, Soure, I saw exactly what I was looking for: two policemen astride their buffalo. Fantastic! Do I snatch a photo of this moment? No, this is Brazil, and they are the police… enough said. But, what of crime? Surely any delinquents must laugh in the face of the authorities. Who has ever heard of the local constable being in hot pursuit on the back of his trusty buffalo? I am later informed that, aside from chicken rustling and the occasional ‘mislaid’ bicycle, the only real issue here is looking after the drunk and disorderly.
As night becomes day, suddenly there were buffalo visible everywhere. Tethered to front porches; immersed and cooling in vast, muddy puddles; in the street; pulling children to school; and employed by the local council to tow refuse carts. My desire to make light of it all with comments referring to the minister with buffalo portfolio, or the chargé of buffalo affairs, fell on solemn, unim-pressed faces. Apparently, there used to be quite a problem with too many buffalo in the streets. They became a hindrance to cyclists and accidents became the norm. Now, the only buffalo permitted within the city are in the employ of the council.
This is Mbayaro, as the ancient Indians called Marajó – ‘the shield of the sea’ – an island that revels in legends and folklore shaped by Indian and African ancestry. As such, it is essential to make an appointment to see Mestre Tomaz, the master storyteller. I can vouch that he is a startlingly busy man. Do not even bother trying to see him if there is a football match on – he will not emerge from his home. I was fortunate enough to meet 70-year-old Tomaz after only a few days, but it was going to be a rush – Brazil was scheduled to play an international football game imminently. He greeted me at the entrance to his backyard, reciting a welcoming poem and blessing on the spot, as chickens and dogs scattered on the hard mud floor. He smiled, leaned in to touch me on the shoulder, and shuffled back into his property beyond the decaying wooden fence to find stools.
Noticeably agitated to begin with because of the pre-match build-up on television, Tomaz soon settled into reciting prose and poetry on Marajó, occasionally tilting his head towards the open door where the television was. He had the volume at such a level that it could be heard over the noise of our conversation. Tomaz enthusiastically described the boto – river dolphin – with the power to change into a seductive human form; the matintapereras – a one-legged black man who waylays and swindles travellers; and the dangerous Iara river sirens. However, the tale I most enjoyed concerned a gentleman from Marajó who spent several months in the belly of a giant boa constrictor. ‘Could I meet this man? Does he do interviews?’ I ask. ‘Of course, he lives near here and works in the market,’ said Tomaz.
However, he was eager to close proceedings – five minutes until kick-off – so it was time to relate how the buffalo came to be here in such numbers. Rumour has it that a ship, en route to Cayenne in French Guiana from India laden with goods and buffalo, struck a reef and sank off the shores of Marajó. Several buffalo swam ashore from the wreck and began a line of beefy ungulates that continues to this day.
Buffalo aside, this island is a spectacular feat of nature. Created by the accretion of silt and sand over millions of years, it is the largest island of its type in the world. It is a wet, marshy ecosystem that combines water, land and jungle. Soure sits in a tranquil mayhem of ordered, yet potholed streets on the left bank of the Paracauari River. Formerly an Indian settlement, the original inhabitants long since fell victim to the ravages of imperialism. Disease, slavery, forced relocations, missionaries and the subsequent loss of cultural identity have taken their toll, and are reflected in the current populace. The Marajoara people are a sturdy caboclo (mixed) race.
Thoroughbred caboclo Jedilson Figueiredo assures me that the islanders are not like the mixed race mulattos found elsewhere on the continent. ‘A true caboclo is a mixture of white and Indian with some white-black thrown in,’ he says. ‘What makes us different is that we have the assimilated knowledge of the Indians and the Portuguese, and the cultural values of the slaves from Africa.’
‘A caboclo is a mixture of white and Indian with some white-black thrown in. We have the assimilated knowledge of the Indians and the Portuguese, and the cultural values of the slaves from Africa.’
It strikes me now that Marajó could represent an image of Brazil – a country continually at a crossroads in its development and cultural identity, Marajó can, through its people and geography, stake a claim to being an example of a perfect, tolerant racial mix in the New World. It is more realistic and earthy than the glitz and plastic surgery of Rio de Janeiro, more personable than the towering skyscrapers and bustle of Sao Paulo, a great distance from the Germanic south and more human than Oscar Niemeyer’s edifices to modernity in Brasília. Here, on Marajó, there is no one form of people or environment, and certainly no one form of architecture. Modern homes, Art Deco buildings, modest farmers’ shacks, fishing huts and mighty fazenda homesteads dot the island. There are no partitions of race, building or nature here. All the buildings share one similarity – though perhaps not my pousada (hotel), which is an immaculate French-run establishment – of jungle wear and tear. The environment here leaves the whitewashed walls and cornices streaked and smudged with black and grey, as if there has been a fire at some point. But it is just nature leaving its fingerprints – a first attempt to reclaim the land.
A high cumulus passes overhead and this foreboding shape turns the sea from blue to black. Three figures are walking, another cycles, a dog passes, tongue lolling, and a buffalo flicks its ears. The sun pierces the dew on leaves and tin roofs. On the beach, Praia do Pesqueiro, a new light strikes the spines of the stalks in the mangrove cemetery. Starting from its hole, a crab pauses, then withdraws – some grains of sand roll down into its hole. The flexible mesh of birds block out the sky and rain starts to fall. Clacking palm fronds celebrate the shower.
Marajó leaves you with the impression of being at the end of the line – an enclave surrounded by forest and rivers; otherworldly. A French tourist I met likened it to a wilder and more incredible equatorial version of the Camargue. Perhaps it is this that fascinates – the feeling of putting one’s feet on the cradle, untouched for centuries, of Brazilian civilisation in an immense virgin land, unspoilt and at the same time both accessible and mystical.
As for the man who claimed to have spent months in the belly of a giant boa constrictor, unfortunately he was never available for interview during my stay on Marajó.
GETTING THERE
BY AIR
The Brazilian airlines Tam, Gol and Varig fly several times a day from Rio de Janeiro and Sao Paulo to Belém, with connections in Brasília. From Belém, there is an infrequent air service.
BY BOAT
From Belém to Câmara, the port on Marajó; two ferries daily with a journey time of three hours.
BY BUS
The Câmara to Soure bus service meets the ferry, a journey of 32km, which takes 40 minutes.
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