On Monday, October 6, 1958, a band of eighteen people set out from Arajuno, bound for Waorani territory. The group consisted of Rachel, Betty and Valerie, Dayuma, Mintaka and Maengamo and the seven other Waoranis who had come out of the jungle with them, and five Quichua men who served as porters. One of the Quichua men was assigned to carry three-year-old Valerie in a sling on his back.
The Waoranis and Quichuas were adept at moving speedily through the jungle and over rough terrain, far more adept than Rachel and Betty. For much of the journey into Waorani territory, the two missionary women rode in a dugout canoe while the Waoranis made their way along the river’s edge. But even as swiftly as the current swept along the canoe, the Waoranis seemed to have no trouble keeping up with it.
The vegetation along the edge of the river was thick, lush, and tangled, and at times the Waoranis and Quichuas had to stop and hack a trail ahead with their machetes. Beyond the vegetation at the river’s edge, tall trees reached toward the sky, creating a canopy above that was so thick it blocked the sun, leaving the jungle floor in almost perpetual darkness. The jungle was untouched, with no roads or settlements. Because of the Waoranis’ fearsome reputation, few outsiders had ever passed through the area. Rachel marveled at the abundance of wildlife that filled the jungle. Monkeys and birds danced in the treetops, howling, and chirping at each other, and larger animals, such as tapirs and jaguars, came to drink at the water’s edge. Everywhere butterflies fluttered above the river, their brightly decorated bodies gleaming in the hot, tropical sun.
After two days of grueling travel, the group reached the Tiwaeno River, a tributary of the Curaray, and began working their way up the smaller river. Finally they came to a place where the canoe could go no farther, and Rachel and Betty had to leave it behind on the sandy bank of the river and head overland on foot. They had to climb up and over a steep ridge, beyond which Dayuma told them her family’s settlement lay. It was quite a climb up the narrow, slippery track that led to the top of the ridge, and Rachel was very relieved when they reached the summit. However, descending the other side of the ridge was even more difficult than climbing it. The track was steeper, and huge tree roots stretched across it. While the Waoranis seemed to glide effortlessly over the roots, Rachel and Betty were left to clamber clumsily over them, being careful not to reach up and grasp the vines that hung from the tree above them when they lost their balance. The vines were home to many dangerous and well-camouflaged snakes.
Eventually the group came to a place where Dayuma stopped and pointed out the clearing below, dotted with thatched huts. That was where Dayuma’s relatives were waiting for them to arrive. As they got closer to the clearing, a naked man and two women emerged from one of the huts and stood waiting. Rachel felt her heart skip a beat as she looked at these three Waoranis anxiously awaiting her arrival. The scene so resembled the vision she had had while standing on the deck of the Aquitania twenty-seven years before. In her vision Rachel had seen a group of native people in the jungle beckoning her to come to them, and now here she was, watching the vision come true. It was almost too much to take in.
Suddenly Dayuma let out a whoop of delight. “This is Nimu,” she said, grabbing Rachel by the hand and pulling her toward the three naked Waoranis.
The trio turned out to be Dayuma’s Uncle Kimo, his wife, Dawa, and Dayuma’s younger sister Gimari.
“Where are Akawo and the others?” Dayuma inquired. Rachel could hear a note of panic in her voice. How sad it would be to find that some violent attack had wiped them all out just when they were opening up to the outside world.
“They went downriver to find food,” Kimo explained. “They will be back tomorrow or the next day. I remained here to welcome the foreigners we hoped would come.”
Before leaving Arajuno, Dayuma had confided in Rachel that the men who had killed Nate and the other four missionaries had been from her extended family and that Kimo was one of those men. Now Rachel found herself looking into the eyes of the man who may well have speared her brother to death. But strangely, as she stared at Kimo, Rachel felt not anger but compassion toward him. From her perspective Kimo had acted out of ignorance. He was trapped in a way of life that found glory in senseless killing. But with God’s help, Rachel intended to break that cycle of murder and hatred through the life-changing power of the gospel.
When night fell, everyone gathered around a fire, and the porters began to sing Quichua hymns. Dayuma’s relatives sat transfixed, staring at the sight of five men singing together in unison. Rachel realized that they had never heard a language other than Waorani, nor had they ever heard someone singing a melody.
When the hymn singing ended, the Quichuas announced that they were going to pray. The man who had carried Valerie stood up and began, “Thank You for bringing us safely to these new friends. Show us how to live together like brothers.”
As the group talked on into the night, Dayuma informed Rachel that while she was gone, one of the women of the tribe, Mima, had died from a cold. Dayuma told Rachel that no one at the Waorani settlement had ever had a cold before. Rachel realized that Dayuma and the other women must have brought the virus to the tribe. This was something that Rachel had feared, and she hoped that the Waoranis’ contact with the outside world would not end in many deaths because they had so little immunity to outside diseases.
As the embers of the fire died away, everyone prepared to sleep. Since so many members of the tribe were still downriver, there was plenty of sleeping space for everyone. Rachel and Dayuma hung their hammocks in the hut with Dayuma’s Uncle Kimo, Dawa, Gimari, and several others. Betty moved into another hut with Valerie, and the five Quichua men all found hammocks for themselves in other empty huts and settled in for the night.
The night was still as Rachel lay down in her hammock. Over the soft breathing of the dozen or so other people in the hut, Rachel could hear crickets chirping and monkeys howling in the distance. As she lay there, going over in her mind the amazing events of the day, she counted up how long it had been since Nate and the other four men had been killed. She soon realized that it had been thirty-three months to the day. And how much had happened in those thirty-three months!
Dayuma had become a Christian and been baptized in Wheaton, Illinois. And if that were not enough, Dayuma had also met Billy Graham and spoken to over 16,000 people at one of his crusades in Madison Square Garden in New York. And now, perhaps more amazing than anything, Rachel was lying in a hammock in a hut full of Waoranis who had invited her to come and live among them. It was almost too much to take in. Rachel drifted off to sleep, not knowing what amazing things the following day would bring.
Chapter 13
Among the Waorani
At dawn the following day, Rachel listened as Kimo climbed out of his hammock and said a few words to Dawa, his wife, before disappearing into the jungle.
“Where is he going?” Rachel asked.
“Going, he will return with the others,” Dawa replied.
Rachel lay in her hammock for a few more minutes until the golden glow of the morning sun filtered through the towering kapok and ironwood trees. She could hear the younger girls outside giggling and splashing as they filled clay pots with water. Then came the low chanting of Gimari as she poked the fire back to life and threw some corncobs onto it. Rachel could hear in the adjacent hut Valerie’s high-pitched voice chattering away to her mother. “Mommy, may I play in the water today?” To Rachel the early-morning scene seemed so normal and yet so strange at the same time.
The Quichua porters had decided to leave that afternoon, and before they left, they busied themselves making a narrow bamboo bed for Rachel. Several Waorani boys trotted upriver to spear fish, and the women crossed the river to dig yucca from an old, abandoned garden clearing.
Rachel looked for every opportunity to practice her language skills, though she found that the other members of the tribe spoke much faster than Dayuma did. As she sat on a balsa log, rebraiding her long hair, Gimari sat down beside her.
“Dayuma lived at my house,” Rachel told her. “She is like my little sister. Now we are happy to be here.”
Gimari did not reply.
That afternoon, as the Quichua porters prepared to leave the village and head back to the “outside” world, Rachel sat down to write a letter to her parents. Seated on a log with a pad balanced on her knees, she began,
The welcome could not have been more friendly. You’d think these bronze girls were debutantes entertaining and that this happened every day. They are really charmers. Kimo’s wife has no children yet. Gimari has a darling fat baby, Bai, who is another of Naenkiwi’s children.
Rachel stopped for a moment and looked around, trying to find the words to describe how she felt about finally getting to the tribe.
It seems the most natural thing in the world to me to be here, a thing I felt the Lord was leading me to over five years ago. Do pray that this situation will be workable and will accomplish the Lord’s purposes.…
Kimo’s wife, Dawa, is from the downriver group. Although the natural situation would never take her back to them, I pray that she may be one of the contacts that will lead them to Him too. It is a larger group than this one, and they speak the same language.
When the letter was finished and addressed, the Quichua porters gathered to pray and then disappeared down the trail into the jungle. Rachel, Betty, and Valerie watched them leave. Rachel was sure that Betty was thinking the same thing she was: the radio was now their only link to the outside. For the first time, they were alone among the Waorani without any male protection. Rachel did not let herself dwell on the thought, though she knew that a missionary couple had gone to the Nhambiquara Indians in Brazil some years before and had lived peacefully with them for two years before the Indians turned on them and hacked the husband and baby to death.
To Rachel, everything here looked happy and welcoming on the outside, but she had no way of knowing what was going on inside the heads of the Waoranis who surrounded her and Betty and Valerie. As she returned to sit near the fire—and enjoy the smoky protection it offered against mosquitoes—Rachel prayed that whatever happened to her personally, the gospel would penetrate the hearts of Dayuma’s tribal family.
Just before sunset, shouts were heard coming from farther up the Tiwaeno River.
“They are coming!” Dayuma exclaimed as she jumped up. “Come on, Nimu. Let’s meet them.”
The entire group ran down to the riverbank and peered into the tangled jungle, looking for the first signs of Kimo and whoever was with him. Soon they heard a rustling among the undergrowth, and then suddenly a group of Waoranis emerged onto the narrow beach on the other side of the river. Among them was Akawo, who, when she saw Dayuma, waded across the river as fast as she could. Rachel watched as Akawo, her body shaking with emotion, greeted her daughter.
Akawo was eager to meet Rachel as well, and soon Dayuma was introducing them.
“You are Nimu,” Akawo said. “You came down from the sky. You must call me Mother.”
Rachel smiled and took a long look at her new “mother.” She was surprised that Akawo was much older than she had imagined. Akawo’s face was weathered and wrinkled, but a happy, open smile was etched into the corners of her mouth. And although Akawo arrived wearing the cotton dress, albeit dirty and crumpled by now, that Dayuma had brought her on the first visit, she stripped it off soon after meeting Rachel, leaving her completely naked except for a few small pieces of native jewelry.
The following day Dayuma’s younger sister Oba, her husband, Dyuwi, and baby daughter Adyibae joined the group. Dayuma’s Uncle Gikita, his two young sons, Komi and Koni, and her half brother Minkayi and his family followed them. Within a week about fifty members of Dayuma’s extended family had settled in and around the clearing in the jungle beside the Tiwaeno River.
