Real Conversation - Itá Curuví, Paraguay - 1989
"Hey, Barry. Why do you tell the kids to call you 'oso'?" I asked.
"'Oso' means bear," he replied.
"And?"
"Well, my name is Barry. Bear sounds like Barry. It gets them pretty close to my name, in their minds."
"But, Barry, when they hear 'oso' they don't think 'bear', they just think 'oso'."
Pause. "Oh."
I don't like to talk about it much, because it makes people feel insecure around me, but I am the king of the Guaraní Indians. They first took me from the presidential palace in Asuncion where I was trying to convince the government assembly that American Fundamentalist Christianity was the answer to all their problems (I was, luckily, unsuccessful). Just as I was getting to the part of my speech where I tell people to "be open minded about closing their minds", I heard a puff of air to my left and two small darts stung the side of my neck.
When I woke up, I was in Ca'azapa. It was night, and I lay beside a huge fire, surrounded by the squatting figures of the circle of elders. The fire light and the drugs in my system from the darts made the elders look terrifying and strange, and I jumped to my feet. This was a mistake, since I was still a little dizzy and I fell immediately into the fire. I burned my hand a little, but managed to roll right out before I was hurt badly. The men around me laughed, taking joy in my misery.
"Mba'echapa," I said. It was one of the few Guaraní words I knew.
They did not respond. They just stared at me, waiting. I knew what they wanted, but I resented being kidnapped, so I was reluctant to give in. After a few minutes, though, I knew it was pointless. The Guaraní are renowned for their patience, and I am not. And so, begrudgingly, I started.
Yo, EMD?
Yeah, what's up man?
There go that girl they call Roxanne
She is all stuck-up
Why do you say that?
'Cause she wouldn't give a guy like me no rap...
And on, and on. I did some UTFO and some Melle Mel. I did a little Fresh Prince. I did some Boogie Boys and some Grandmaster Flash. I even did some Fat Boys. They loved it. We jammed all night, drinking Maté with tequila and cerveza. By the time the night was over, I had a large tattoo on my back that said "Ca'aguazu" (big weed), and I was sovereign king of the Guaraní.
It's an easy gig, really. The Guaraní have no government function these days. Every now and then I get a stack of birthday cards to sign. I send them photos of me and new rap albums for their ceremonies. You know how it is. No big deal.
So, what's up with you?
Later. Love.
