居住在南美巴拿馬、哥倫比亞以及厄瓜多爾的吳南人（Wounaan）是鮮為外界所知的土著部落之一。這個被稱作“一只腳還停留在石器時代的民族”聚集而居，極少和外界接觸。他們的聚居地多為河邊叢林中的空地，就算是探險者也不輕易前往，更別說是普通人了。
但是近年來，由于兩方面的原因，吳南人逐漸從歷史舞臺的幕后走到了臺前。首先，從20世紀后期開始，世界開始發(fā)現(xiàn)吳南是個古老且極具藝術天分的民族，他們的手工藝品開始傳向世界，他們創(chuàng)作的靈感來自大自然，材料也完全取自大自然。吳南人的編籃被認為是全世界的籃子。我們常說“竹籃打水一場空”，但吳南婦女編制的籃子卻細密得可以用來盛水。
然而，這個心靈手巧、與世無爭的民族卻也引來殺身之禍，起源就是昌盛的毒品貿(mào)易，一種名叫“古柯”的看似不起眼的小葉子。在高額利潤的驅使下，哥倫比亞這個世界的古柯葉生產(chǎn)國的武裝分子將毒爪伸向了吳南人的平靜家園。被迫在自己的土地上種植古柯后，吳南人的世界再也無法恢復平靜了。他們逃的逃，散的散，更有人變得墮落。
最近，聯(lián)合國人道主義事務協(xié)調(diào)廳駐哥倫比亞辦事處說，當?shù)匾恍┩林颂幱跍缃^的危險之中。居住在該國的世界上歷史最悠久、人數(shù)最少的一些土著民族面臨著流離失所甚至滅絕的高度危險。
歷，吳南人從不曾屈服于強敵，但今天看來，他們似乎要向那片小葉子投降了。
The Wounaan Indians are used to newcomers. Over the past 500 years the Spanish conquistadors, freed African slaves and Marxist guerrillas have all tried to encroach on their ancestral land. But the Wounaan, one of the oldest indigenous peoples in the region, have held firm. And then came the coca leaf.
Living in small villages of wooden houses on stilts in riverside clearings in the jungles of Chocó, the Wounaan had largely succeeded in keeping out of Colombia's bloody conflicts. They hunted, fished and farmed along the banks of the San Juan River, left alone by the battling rebels, paramilitaries and government troops.
Then, three years ago, the guerrillas came with an order at gunpoint. “They said we had to grow coca or else leave,” Fernando, a Wounaan leader, said. “And so we began planting it on our lands.”
Chocó, an extravagantly fertile eco-region along Colombia's Pacific Coast, was never traditionally an area for coca cultivation. Although coca has grown wild in Colombia since time immemorial, and was chewed by indigenous people as a mild stimulant, like coffee, it did not naturally take root in Chocó.
Under threat of death or expulsion, the Wounaan began planting coca, which the guerrillas then bought from them. The crop was lucrative: a three inch cube of pressed coca would fetch them 1.8 million pesos （$900）. The rice they had grown before fetched only 4,000 pesos a small sack.
Not everyone liked what else the coca brought. “At the beginning there was money,” Fernando said. “But then it started to destroy the culture. Drinking and prostitution, all these things begin when the money comes.”
In March last year leaders in Union-Wounaan, the largest settlement, sent word to the guerrillas that their coca-growing days were over. A day later guerrillas seized a teacher from his classroom. His mutilated body was found hours later. The next day a tribal leader was seized and beaten to death.
The killings caused panic in the community. More than 1,000 of the area's 3,500 Wounaan fled upriver to the town of Istmina, with hundreds more fleeing elsewhere into the jungle. Hundreds more wanted to leave.
The displaced tribespeople took shelter in a house by the river, crammed 30 to a room. Exile proved too hard for many and some climbed into boats and travelled back. Those who had opposed the guerrillas had no choice but to stay.
José Llanos, a tribal leader who has been speaking out against coca cultivation, arrived in Istmina with his family last month after receiving death threats from the paramilitaries.
Many more of Colombia's one million indigenous people are also under such a threat. A year ago, 80 members of the hunter-gatherer Nukak tribe walked out of the jungle after months on the run from armed groups who ordered them off their land to grow coca. Only 500 remain in the jungle and fears are growing for their survival. For the Wounaan, the future looks bleak. In Istmina, they live in their own small community by the river, surrounded by an alien Afro-Colombian culture of hard drinking and casual sex. An air of tragedy hangs over them. All have taken Spanish names, the ones used here, to hide the Wounaan names that appeared on the guerrillas' hit lists.
With their teachers dead, they struggle to teach their children to read and write their own language. At school they are taught in Spanish, which few Wounaan can speak.
At night, they try to perform traditional dances to preserve their culture but they find little to celebrate. They live as close to the river as they can. “The river is like our blood. Just like somebody without blood cannot live, we cannot live without the river,” said Fernando.
But their ancestral lands are far away and they have no prospect of return. “The land is like our mother. To lose it is very hard.”
For the Wounaan, one thing they do know. If no one wanted the little green leaf, no one would plant it. As Colombia gears up for the next chapter in the war on drugs, a dying tribe has this plea for the outside world.
“If nobody bought the drug, it wouldn't be produced,” José Llanos says. “To those who buy it, it's just merchandise. For us, it is disaster. They have our blood on their hands.”
但是近年來，由于兩方面的原因，吳南人逐漸從歷史舞臺的幕后走到了臺前。首先，從20世紀后期開始，世界開始發(fā)現(xiàn)吳南是個古老且極具藝術天分的民族，他們的手工藝品開始傳向世界，他們創(chuàng)作的靈感來自大自然，材料也完全取自大自然。吳南人的編籃被認為是全世界的籃子。我們常說“竹籃打水一場空”，但吳南婦女編制的籃子卻細密得可以用來盛水。
然而，這個心靈手巧、與世無爭的民族卻也引來殺身之禍，起源就是昌盛的毒品貿(mào)易，一種名叫“古柯”的看似不起眼的小葉子。在高額利潤的驅使下，哥倫比亞這個世界的古柯葉生產(chǎn)國的武裝分子將毒爪伸向了吳南人的平靜家園。被迫在自己的土地上種植古柯后，吳南人的世界再也無法恢復平靜了。他們逃的逃，散的散，更有人變得墮落。
最近，聯(lián)合國人道主義事務協(xié)調(diào)廳駐哥倫比亞辦事處說，當?shù)匾恍┩林颂幱跍缃^的危險之中。居住在該國的世界上歷史最悠久、人數(shù)最少的一些土著民族面臨著流離失所甚至滅絕的高度危險。
歷，吳南人從不曾屈服于強敵，但今天看來，他們似乎要向那片小葉子投降了。
The Wounaan Indians are used to newcomers. Over the past 500 years the Spanish conquistadors, freed African slaves and Marxist guerrillas have all tried to encroach on their ancestral land. But the Wounaan, one of the oldest indigenous peoples in the region, have held firm. And then came the coca leaf.
Living in small villages of wooden houses on stilts in riverside clearings in the jungles of Chocó, the Wounaan had largely succeeded in keeping out of Colombia's bloody conflicts. They hunted, fished and farmed along the banks of the San Juan River, left alone by the battling rebels, paramilitaries and government troops.
Then, three years ago, the guerrillas came with an order at gunpoint. “They said we had to grow coca or else leave,” Fernando, a Wounaan leader, said. “And so we began planting it on our lands.”
Chocó, an extravagantly fertile eco-region along Colombia's Pacific Coast, was never traditionally an area for coca cultivation. Although coca has grown wild in Colombia since time immemorial, and was chewed by indigenous people as a mild stimulant, like coffee, it did not naturally take root in Chocó.
Under threat of death or expulsion, the Wounaan began planting coca, which the guerrillas then bought from them. The crop was lucrative: a three inch cube of pressed coca would fetch them 1.8 million pesos （$900）. The rice they had grown before fetched only 4,000 pesos a small sack.
Not everyone liked what else the coca brought. “At the beginning there was money,” Fernando said. “But then it started to destroy the culture. Drinking and prostitution, all these things begin when the money comes.”
In March last year leaders in Union-Wounaan, the largest settlement, sent word to the guerrillas that their coca-growing days were over. A day later guerrillas seized a teacher from his classroom. His mutilated body was found hours later. The next day a tribal leader was seized and beaten to death.
The killings caused panic in the community. More than 1,000 of the area's 3,500 Wounaan fled upriver to the town of Istmina, with hundreds more fleeing elsewhere into the jungle. Hundreds more wanted to leave.
The displaced tribespeople took shelter in a house by the river, crammed 30 to a room. Exile proved too hard for many and some climbed into boats and travelled back. Those who had opposed the guerrillas had no choice but to stay.
José Llanos, a tribal leader who has been speaking out against coca cultivation, arrived in Istmina with his family last month after receiving death threats from the paramilitaries.
Many more of Colombia's one million indigenous people are also under such a threat. A year ago, 80 members of the hunter-gatherer Nukak tribe walked out of the jungle after months on the run from armed groups who ordered them off their land to grow coca. Only 500 remain in the jungle and fears are growing for their survival. For the Wounaan, the future looks bleak. In Istmina, they live in their own small community by the river, surrounded by an alien Afro-Colombian culture of hard drinking and casual sex. An air of tragedy hangs over them. All have taken Spanish names, the ones used here, to hide the Wounaan names that appeared on the guerrillas' hit lists.
With their teachers dead, they struggle to teach their children to read and write their own language. At school they are taught in Spanish, which few Wounaan can speak.
At night, they try to perform traditional dances to preserve their culture but they find little to celebrate. They live as close to the river as they can. “The river is like our blood. Just like somebody without blood cannot live, we cannot live without the river,” said Fernando.
But their ancestral lands are far away and they have no prospect of return. “The land is like our mother. To lose it is very hard.”
For the Wounaan, one thing they do know. If no one wanted the little green leaf, no one would plant it. As Colombia gears up for the next chapter in the war on drugs, a dying tribe has this plea for the outside world.
“If nobody bought the drug, it wouldn't be produced,” José Llanos says. “To those who buy it, it's just merchandise. For us, it is disaster. They have our blood on their hands.”