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MONDAY, DECEMBER 3, 2001

"In my early thirties, I went to South America in a futile attempt to escape from myself. Another relationship had ended, and I was lonely and withdrawn.

I thought that if I put myself in the middle of an unknown and dangerous environment I would be forced to connect with others, if only for my physical survival. And so I chose as my destination the rain forest of eastern Ecuador, home of the Huaorani people, a nomadic tribe I had read about in Life magazine as a boy in the '50s. The article told how the natives had killed several American missionaries who tried to make contact with them. If you're going to the extreme, I figured, why not go all the way?

By 1974, the year I showed up, few Huaorani still killed outsiders on sight, so it was relatively safe . . . the headman -- a squat fellow not more than 5 feet 6 -- asked me the sort of questions he put to all strangers, to determine whether they were friend or foe: Who were my relatives? Where did I live? Whom did I live with? . . . His genuine compassion touched me deeply. This "savage" knew something that I had missed about the importance of community, and hearing it unleashed my vulnerability. I started to cry, and the Huaorani continued to stand there, his gaze never wavering. . ."

Get the Story:
In the Rain Forest, Tribe & True Lessons (Ian Rifkin. The Washington Post 12/3)