Culture Shock

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When the wheels touched down and I felt the bump, I knew I was back home. Back with the rules and regulations and norms that had not been a part of my life for the last 18 months. I was just coming back from Guatemala, where I had spent most of my time with a group of people who were frighteningly poor, decedents of the Inca, and whom observed a very different culture. After the experience, I had awoken a beast inside me I didn’t know was there before, and I hoped I could keep the beast at bay for the rest of my days . . . . I hoped.

I worried about if before I got off the plane as I saw a young teen Hispanic girl with her family. She must have been early high school age, decently developed, great skin. Just seeing her I felt my cock beginning to engorge. She wasn’t available or offered to me, but after spending so much time in a culture that acted so different, it was hard to turn my mind back off of the most primal evolutionary urges that had been unlocked.

As I stood in the aisle of the plane, I watched her jet black hair reflecting the pale lights of the plane. That young, robust, healthy female . . . it made me think back to how it all got started.

I am 41, a photographer, about 5 foot 9, dark brown hair and hazed eyes, mostly Portuguese heritage. I had a very normal middle class up bringing, dated a bit in high school but was always a bit of a nerd so not much happened till college. I met my wife in freshman year and we married three years later. We decided when we were 27 that we should have kids. She ended up being unable to conceive children, and though it was not that important to me, it was to her, and it seemed to make her feel like less of a woman.

Long sad story made short, she fell into depression and the next 13 years were an emotional roller coaster. I was often out on assignment for one nature magazine or another, and when I would return home I often wanted to leave again. Sex had become a painful reminder to her that she could never carry a child or be a nurturer. So sex was rare, crying and moodiness were common. Then 2 years ago I got the call I had dreaded. I was informed that my wife had slit her wrists in the bathtub, and I needed to come home.

I was pulled out of memory lane as the line of the plane started to move. We exited the vehicle and once inside the tarmac it was brutal. First I watched the young Hispanic girl and her family walking away. She already had heft to her breasts and her shorts showed her tanned and brown skin, so soft and fresh. She wasn’t really all that pretty, but the hunger to spread my seed seemed to care of nothing but volume and fertility.

As I rode the automatic walkway I noticed almost every young woman on the way. They all looked so tantalizing and tasty after what had happened. Again I worried I would not be able to cage the beast.

My mind drifted again when I got on the intra-terminal tram. After I came home and buried my wife I myself got depressed for a bit. We were not much for lovers but I still cared deeply for her, and while she had never been a passionate woman (hell most of our trysts were her on her back, soundless and motionless) sex was never the reason we had become spouses, and I missed greatly someone who appreciated the painstaking difficulties of my career.

It was 3 months after the funeral when my boss called me in and told me that a cultural magazine, popular in Mexico wanted a professional to photograph and then write an article about the cultural differences with a descendant tribe of the Inca in southern Guatemala.

“It would be the perfect assignment for your current situation. The “Chuptas”, which is what they call themselves are a very inclusive group. I worked with the village myself a number of years back. They love white folks, they think we must be from closer to the sun which they revere. You are going to love it John.”

“I appreciate this Frank but I am not sure I am in the right mindset.” I said, still feeling the effects of the suicide.

“No, you don’t understand, no phone service, sleeping in straw huts, clean air, water and food. Not only that, you will come back in great shape with all the walking and swimming. Trust me, you will get away from it all. Plus . . . it’s their. . . . well let’s just call it their initiation year. They only do it every 7 years so it is quite an experience. Their calendar is by the sun so their years starts in 14 weeks. I want you to get down there soon, become close with the tribe before the year starts. They will be very busy.”

“If you studied them before, are you sure there is a point for me to go?”

“Oh yes, I didn’t have a camera when I went and . . . well the experience was so transformative I have never written about it. But you, you have just the right temperament. Trust me, this will be just what you need to move ahead in life.”

I got my assignment in full, got my materials together and was on my way in 3 weeks. It was a flight, a jeep ride, a boat ride and another long hike, thankfully the last leg was with guides to help carry my stuff. The humidity was intense and I understood why they wore such thin and light colored clothing.

I had expected a primitive society, but that wasn’t it at all. They had very nice huts, they all more similar clothing, though the material of most clothes were a thin and strong but breathable linen fabric. Most clothes were white or gray or brown. How in the world they kept it all so clean was beyond me.

They spoke better English than I had expected, and though only a few were close to fluent, all had a rudimentary grasp. When I sat down for my first meal, I expected grubs and salamander or something. But they were skilled hunters, fishers and farmers and while we did eat with our hands, the food was amazing and they had woven plates for food. They had hard plastic cups from somewhere, fermented their own booze and with their clean living, many had great skin, shiny hair and toned figures. Also, the absence of sugar as a common staple like in America lead to many of them having nice, bright white teeth.

Three weeks after arriving, I felt like a welcomed member of the tribe and my Spanish speaking had incorporated a lot of their slang style and my vocabulary was improving. For simplicity I will write all exchanges in English, but more and more we spoke in their tongue.

I really didn’t understand what was so different about their culture, most families were one man and one woman (some higher level men had up to three wives, some much younger than the oldest) but for the most part, they seemed to have the same values as more modernized groups. They were much more in tune with nature, but other than not using electricity or having internet access, things seemed similar. They had a group that made trips to the closest city every new moon and I was able to get new batteries for my camera and flash. I had to use older equipment to accommodate this, but it still worked well.

I honestly had expected natives that were nude and running around with paint all over their faces and the like. Yet the women wore well woven dresses, and applied makeup similar to what you would see in an American city, though the way they obtain the materials is more natural. I really could not understand what made this society so different. Until the new year, that is.

There was a huge celebration at the next new moon. It was the start of their new year, and for them it was an initiation year. This is where their differences became quite pronounced. The tribe was about 123 people and their aversion to prescriptions or any doctor’s other than the medicine man meant that they had a higher death rate than most groups. So copulation was quite important. On initiation year all the boys above the age of 12 go on a forest expedition that is fairly dangerous. If they come back successful, they are pre-men and in 8 years will be paired with their first mate, whom they will marry and copulate with. Those that fail are castrated and live their life as servants for the tribe.

For the women, well for the women it is different. Any female who was 12 or older and not yet initiated would be measured. If her hips and waist had a certain proportion or better, she was considered proper for initiation. There were 13 girls who were ready for initiation. Those who were between the ages of 17-19 were to be immediately married off. Since they were considered to be late maturing, they were behind the curve and this was an embarrassment to them and their family. They were assumed to only birth average children for the tribe and were married off to a man who already had a primary wife. If they bore enough children then they could regain their status as equal members of society.

This took away 4 of the 13 girls. How they decided who they would be married to I wasn’t quite certain but it seemed to be based on the size of dowry the already married male could offer for the chance to improve his breeding stock and carry on his legacy. For the other 9 girls whose hips made it to the right proportion and were under the age of 17, it was truly a time to celebrate. This would be their time. Each girl was given her own month of celebration over the next 8 months. One girl however, was pushed all the way to the end of the year, and I had never seen her.

I later that day learned she was a “Prochina”. I have no idea what the word actually means but all these months later it basically means she is under a certain age with a pronounced proportion measurement of hips to waist and bust to waist. These girls, whom only come along every 30 to 40 years are considered descendants of the fertility god whose name I still can’t pronounce and she has a special celebration and is hidden from the village until her initiation month.