This is a thought from today. I separated it from the rest of today’s entry for emphasis and to differentiate the seriousness here.
Dayuma is a Huaorani woman. You can read her history right here, but the long and short of it is that she’s the reason we’re all here.
She taught Rachel Saint Wao and learned Spanish from her. She also speaks Quechua and some English phrases. After Nate Saint, Jim Elliot, Pete Flemming, Ed McCully, and Roger Youderian were killed, it was Dayuma who brought Elisabeth Elliot and Rachel Saint to the Hauorani. She was the first Christian Huaorani and Rachel Saint credited her as being “the preacher” to the tribe and beginning the transformation of the Huaorani from possibly the most violent tribe in the world to one of the most peaceful.
She could be living in Quito, or in the States. She is known all over the world as a Christian leader and the Rosetta Stone of the Huaorani. And here she is in Toñamparé, her home, with her people, hobbling along on a stick making necklaces for gringos. Four feet of concrete, trilingual, and content.
So before lunch started being served today, I found myself sitting next to her on the bench outside the kitchen. She began to speak to me, and I don’t even know if it was in Spanish, Wao, or Quechua. All I know is I didn’t understand. She smiled at me and asked a couple questions, but decided pretty fast I was either a very strange gringo or I didn’t have a clue what she was saying. She did look at my water bottle, and I held it up and unscrewed it and asked (in English) if she wanted some. She caught the gist and took a long drink.
And that was that. Soon I found myself putting spoons in bowls and bowls on tables and I’m not really sure where she wandered off to.
This woman handed us her entire culture. I gave her a drink. Can that even begin to repay her?
