0:00:07.770,0:00:11.369
Deep in the Amazon rainforest [br]in the river Nea’ocoyá,

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lived,[br]according to Siekopai legend,

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a school[br]of particularly big and tasty fish.

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When the rains came and the water rose, [br]the fish appeared,

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swimming away as the waters fell again.

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The villagers along the river reveled[br]in this occasional bounty—

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and wanted more.

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They followed them upriver deep [br]into the jungle

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to a lagoon that thundered [br]with the sound of flapping fish.

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The whole village set up camp [br]by the lagoon,

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bringing barbasco, a poison they would put[br]in the water to stun the fish.

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Meanwhile, their young shaman took a walk.

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He sensed he might not be [br]completely alone.

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Then, he came to a monse tree[br]humming so loudly

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he could hear it even above the thunder[br]of the fish.

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With that, he was sure:[br]spirits lived here.

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Back at camp, he warned his people [br]these fish had an owner.

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He would find the owner.

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Until he returned, no one should fish.

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He went to the humming tree.

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Inside was a hollow as big as a house,[br]full of busy weavers.

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Their chief invited him in,

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explaining that the juicy [br]little siripia fruits were ripening,

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and they were weaving[br]baskets to collect them.

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Though they looked and acted like people,

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the shaman knew they were juri,[br]or air goblins,

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who could fly and control the winds.

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They taught him how to weave.

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Before the shaman left,

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the goblin chief whispered [br]some cryptic instructions in his ear.

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Finally, he told him to tie [br]a pineapple shoot outside a hollow log

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and sleep inside that night.

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Back at camp, the villagers were fishing[br]with barbasco poison, cooking, and eating.

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Only the shaman’s little sister refrained.

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Then, everyone else fell[br]into a deep sleep.

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The shaman and his sister [br]yelled and shook them,

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but they wouldn’t wake.

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It was getting dark, [br]so the shaman and his sister

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tied the pineapple sprout outside [br]the hollow log and crawled inside.

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A strong wind rose—[br]the mark of the air goblins.

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It broke branches [br]and brought down trees.

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Caymans, boas and jaguars roared.

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The water began to rise.

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The fish flopped off the drying racks [br]and swam away.

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The pineapple sprout turned into a dog.

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All night it barked, keeping the jungle[br]creatures away from the fallen tree.

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When dawn broke, the flood receded.

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The fish were gone, [br]and most of the people were, too:

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the jungle animals had devoured them.

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Only the shaman’s relatives survived.

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When his family turned toward him,

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the shaman realized what the goblins meant[br]when they said the fruits were ripening:

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they weren’t really collecting [br]siripia fruits at all,

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but human eyes.

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The shaman’s older sister called him over,

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trying to touch his face [br]with her long, sharp nails.

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He backed away and, remembering [br]the goblin chief’s instructions,

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threw palm seeds at her face.

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The seeds became eyes.

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But then she transformed [br]into a white-lipped peccary and ran away—

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still alive, but no longer human.

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The shaman and his little sister’s [br]whole community was gone.

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They went to live with another village,

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where he taught everyone to weave baskets,[br]as the air goblins had taught him.

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But he couldn’t forget the last [br]of the goblin chief’s words,

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which told him how to get revenge.

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He returned to the air goblins’ home[br]carrying chili peppers wrapped in leaves.

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As the goblins watched [br]through their peepholes,

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the shaman made a fire [br]and put the chili peppers on it.

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The fire began to smoke the tree out.

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The goblins who had eaten [br]people’s eyes died.

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Those who hadn’t [br]were light enough to fly away.

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So the goblins, like the humans, [br]paid a steep price.

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But they also lived to tell the tale,[br]like the shaman.

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In Siekopai legend, where the spirit [br]and human worlds meet,

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there are no clear victors,

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and even death[br]is an opportunity for renewal.