Man Of Few Words

My father isn't a man of many words, especially when it involves himself. He never talked much about that plane crash that cost the lives of a pilot and three men of a Kayapó-village. Maybe this is one of the reasons while that story never really sank in and why I got so many details wrong when I first recounted it here in one of my previous blips. But it is still one of the most popular stories among the population of São Félix do Xingu. I heard it from at least a dozen people (Kayapós AND Brazilians) while I was there. So let me set the record straight.
First of all (and this might be of interest for amandoAlentejo), the pilot wasn't from MAF. Actually, there was an MAF pilot in the village at the time that other plane took off, but decided NOT to fly back into town because of wheather conditions. This other man, a pilot with many years of experience in aviation, didn't want to spend the night in the village and went ahead with his plans. He had been a pilot for many years in Southern Brazil, but hadn't been flying a lot in the Amazon region, where weather conditions can change dramatically in a matter of minutes. He also so the signs of a storm coming up but believed that it was moving in the opposite direction of his route. Sometime during the flight, the storm caught up with the plane and ripped a wing off the plane. The plane dropped into the forest like a stone.
When this happened, my parents weren't in the village, but in São Félix do Xingu, at the misson's base. The news of the non-arrival of the plane in São Félix spread quickly. 24 Kayapó-warriors from different villages hurried to São Félix to protect my parents and other missionaries because they knew that things would become very tense as soon as the bodies were found. It took parties from everywhere (military, Indians, Brazilians)  five days to find the plane wreck, and when they found it, the bodies were already decomposing. They were flown into São Félix by huge helicopter from the Air Force, where fully armed members of the affected Kayapó-village were already waiting. My Dad also went to the airport to pay respect.
As soon as the relatives of the victims saw the bodies of their loved one's one of their chiefs ran towards my Dad wielding his weapons and insulting him. My Dad calmly walked in his direction without saying a word and then embraced him.
Later, the Indians wanted to kill the missionaries who had remained at the mission's headquarters, but when they got there, the 24 warriors had formed a circle around the missionaries and told their brothers that they would defend them with their lives.
The Kayapó in today's blip is the chief who attacked and insulted my Dad at the airport. They became friends years later. The chief even asked my Dad for his forgiveness, which is a huge thing for a proud Kayapó.
When they met each other a few days ago - well, you should have seen that hug.
 

My Dad didn't talk much during these days. He and I, we spent a lot of time sitting side by side silently under the trees. And I will never forget how he held me and hugged me when we had to say goodbye. That gesture told me everything I needed to know.

This is maybe the biggest lesson I'm taking with me from these days I spent with the Kayapós and my Dad: The message of Love and Sacrifice has the power to change and save lives.