The Guardian of Clay

An interview on women's rights, cultural survival and spirit-worlds with indigenous Secoya activist and artist Yadira Ocoguaje.

Yadira and baby tapir. Photograph by Pablo Yepez.

I’m so excited to share a conversation I had with one of my favorite people in this world, indigenous Secoya artist and activist Yadira Ocoguaje (29). She is a bright light in a scarily darkening Amazon rainforest. The opportunity to hear Yadira’s stories is flowers-raining-over-my-head-special to me. I hope you enjoy them too.  

I met Yadira two years ago in a hotel lobby in Lima, Peru, where hundreds of Amazonian activists and allies gathered for a conference on indigenous territorial rights. To my great surprise, I learned Yadira represented the Secoya people—a small community with a dwindling population of 550 living in the Eastern Ecuadorian Amazon, whom I had visited a few times over a decade ago. Like countless other indigenous communities of the Amazon, the Secoya have faced forced acculturation, oil spills, Evangelization and severe deforestation. Ten years ago, few youth seemed engaged in preserving the Secoya’s traditional ecological knowledge, land rights, and ancestral ways. With Yadira and the organization she co-founded, Asociación Keñao, this is now changing.

Yadira reminds me of a phoenix. With the breath of her words, she awakens the sleeping embers of her endangered culture’s fire. She is a gem of a human being who glitters in her walk as an activist and artist, and in her simple acts of encouragement and solidarity. I love watching her tend to her land, her community, her two children, and the many healthy creatures (cats, dogs, monkeys) who seek refuge in her garden of roses, papaya and tobacco.

Yadira has won an award from Conservation International for her community service reviving the Secoya’s ancient, matrilineal relationship with ceramics. She is, perhaps, the first Secoya woman in over fifty years to drink yagé (ayahuasca) after a long spell of Evangelist propaganda which dubbed the ceremony diabolical. Her leadership has encouraged a number of other young women to reclaim their cultural heritage and drink yagé. Today, they reconnect to their ancestors and receive instructions on how to protect their culture through these visions.

I give thanks to Yadira for her courage and eloquence, and offer this interview as a gift to anyone curious about braiding ancient ways into a beautiful, just future. I have organized a GoFundMe campaign, Reviving Indigenous Amazonian Women’s Sacred Arts, to support Yadira’s cause. Consider contributing if you are able to, and enjoy the interview.

Photograph by Yadira Ocoguaje.

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SOPHIA — Yadira, tell me where you were born, and a little bit about your family.

YADIRA — I was born in the community of San Pablo, and currently live in Siekoya Remolino. My dad is from the Piaguaje clan, one of the great drinkers of yagé. My mom is from the Ocoguaje clan, and from one of the ceramics families. So Ocoguaje means water people—water guardians. Piaguaje means people who wear a lot of feathers, because the ancient ones always wore feathers, the great drinkers of yagé.

SOPHIA — Why would they wear feathers?

YADIRA— Well, for us wearing feathers and facing our faces with our symbols [in yagé ceremonies] is a sign of respect. It is a connection with nature and with the beings that surround us, beings that take care of us.

SOPHIA — These beings, who are they?

YADIRA — Yes, they are wiñapaï. In the Spanish-ized version, you could call them angels, the guardians, the spiritual beings—wiñapaï are what we call them in Païcoca [language of Secoya].

SOPHIA — If we could talk more about these characters…I remember seeing paintings made by Tintin [Piaguaje], Cesar [Piaguaje] and Pablo Amaringo of the wiñapaï. At the risk of being too literal, in your experience, do the wiñapaï exist in the celestial plane? Are they hidden in the rivers? Where do they live, and where are they situated in relation to a human being? Can we see them with our naked eyes? Or is it a feeling you get, in their presence?

YADIRA — Well, for us in general, the wiñapaï cannot be seen with the naked eye, but wiñapaï is seen through yagé—you can communicate with them through the medicine. And wiñapaï are all around us. For example, in our belief, the elders say that we have nine worlds, and in each space there are spirits. So wiñapaï are in those nine heavens, nine worlds. The face painting, as I said before, is respect we offer [to the wiñapaï]. Through these symbols, the wiñapaï recognize us—they recognize us as the member of the family. That's what my dad used to say.

SOPHIA — And you are an artist. You do lot of these face paintings, and paint these symbols with your ceramics. Where did you learn how to make these symbols? What is the process like painting them?

YADIRA — Well, the designs for me are first born from ceramics, because through ceramics I discovered symbology, which also comes to me with the yagé. Through my visions of yagé I can paint and draw the figures.

For example, here I have several figures that represent the flycatcher bird sëra, or ma’tëmokee’ke which is the caterpillar of the sky. Many other figures come to me through my visions. I am also rescuing—I don't think it would be the right word, to rescue—but I am discovering what the elders draw on their faces, on their [ceremonial] crowns.

I also try to take those figures and put them in my ceramics. With the ceramics, I explain the details and the symbology—then the children begin to learn about the symbols, the figures.

Secoya women of Asociación Keñao. Photograph by Yadira Ocoguaje.

SOPHIA— I guess artwork, for you, is a way to connect with the wiñapaï. You used the word “rescue” even though I know you felt that wasn’t accurate—but I am wondering how you maintain and protect this relationship with these sacred symbols that keep you in relationship with wiñapaï?

YADIRA— Ah, yes, that’s it. It also has to do with protection. My dad says if a woman, or anyone other person, goes to the ceremonial house their faces always have to be painted to drink the yagé. Through that, they recognize the spirits of the jungle. And that's very important for us to be connected to them.

SOPHIA —Do you think that the wiñapaï have gender? Are they masculine? Feminine? Tiger? What are their forms like?

YADIRA — I just asked my dad what you’re asking me. My dad says no—I mean, there are men and women. So, since I'm a woman, I say ellas. But I can also say they masculine. In the spiritual worlds, they are also humans, like us.

SOPHIA — What worries me is how the land, the forest, is changing because of deforestation, oil, and so on. I also imagine that the understandings and connections with the spirits of the forest are also changing as the land changes.

In your lifetime, have you always had a connection with the wiñapaï? I mean, does everyone in your neighborhood believe in or have a relationship with wiñapaï, or not so much nowadays?

YADIRA — Well, nowadays almost nobody does. In other words, our culture is disappearing, because there is a lot of colonization. Today we have a lot of problems with deforestation, climate change. I've talked about it with my dad, too. From the time I was born, in my memory, everything in my jungle was green. Today everything is changing—the same with the spiritual world. With the jungle destroyed, knowledge is being lost, as well as the connection with wiñapaï.

The youth also want to follow the word of modernization. For them, to modernize is to go out and live in a city. For those of us who live in the community it is a resistance—resistance to care. It’s a resistance to those people who want to change us, our way of thinking, our way of living, our way of dressing, our food. It is super difficult because every time our forest is lost, our culture is also lost, because through [the forest] we find our medicine, our clay too, and the spirits of the jungle.

Unfortunately, nowadays young people go down this Westernized path. But thanks to the community and because we still care for our grandfathers and grandmothers who have that knowledge, we are there listening to the word. But to be able to listen and to be able to resist, you have to know both sides, for the Western world and the cultural world. I think that is one of the things that I am learning in this process. Because if I want to maintain my culture, I have to know the two worlds.

This is where Asociación Keñao is born. Currently, the women of the Asociación Keñao are empowering themselves to return and live again—although not technically with the word of the elders— but in other ways through working. I believe that nowadays the tool to be able to confront the Western world is education.

Photograph by Yadira Ocoguaje.

SOPHIA — Can you tell me about Asociación Keñao, and the seed of the vision? What the name means, and what you are doing?

YADIRA — Well, we have 18 women, and other younger women who play a role in the organization as well. The word keñao means ant. It is the little ant that carries more weight than itself. As women, we are always carrying the weight, we are always aware of our family. The word keñao is to honor little ant.

SOPHIA — And what do you all do?

YADIRA — For us women at Asociación Keñao, our goal and objective is to work, first, to have an economic income to contribute to our family. The second is [working with] ceramics. With the ceramics, education, and alternative income, we are empowering women.

SOPHIA — This comes as no surprise to you, but my understanding is there’s a lot of machismo in the Amazonian rainforest. Women are usually not so empowered—or rather, they are oppressed often. Tell me about how this is different in your community, Siekoya Remolino, and about the importance of the empowered indigenous woman in the bigger story of global justice.

YADIRA — Good question Sophia. I’m thinking about this a lot. With Asociación Keñao, machismo is a burden for us, and the culture of Evangelization that created it. We have many dreams, many goals and projects we want to work on, but there are barriers. Women always have to be home, because we have to take care of the children. That is to say—as a servant—well, kind of like a slave. The Asociación Keñao is breaking this pattern because we women want to have our dreams, and to meet our objectives that serve us all. We are mothers, but we are also mothers of the jungle. We understand the pain of the Earth because we are women, and women understand more than anything this kind of pain. You said the word empowered, and I feel like this is the biggest barrier for us. To be an empowered woman and leader, you need to be sure of yourself first. You have to love the culture, love your territory, love your children and love your land. I think, for me, these are the fundamental things that make an empowered woman and leader.

SOPHIA — Our friend and colleague Pablo Yepez once explained to me that empowering women also means empowering young people—children. Can you tell me more about this connection?

YADIRA— Asociación Keñao works on this exactly. To empower ourselves, and to empower our young people, we have to start from childhood, from the little school. I think it’s one of the most beautiful things with children, working with children is one of the great wonders of this work.

A year ago we did a workshop, and we invited elders, like my dad. It was a super special space and opportunity to see things from the other side; the knowledge of the elders, teaching the youth again. It was one of the most beautiful things I’ve seen in my life.

In one of the workshops the elders, including my father, told traditional Secoya stories. The children then drew images from their imaginations and what they understood from the story. One five-year-old boy had an interesting interpretation of our story of the Guardian of Clay. He drew a picture of the Guardian of Clay in a helicopter. Imagine that—the clash with the Western world, and what he sees today. How fun. How fun it is to see how the worlds are changing, and how thinking is changing.

Collecting clay. Photograph by Yadira Ocoguaje.

SOPHIA — What a mix between machine and organic! Ten years ago I visited a Secoya village and noticed people didn’t display much pride for their culture. Not as much as some younger people like you do now. What happened? Can you tell me about your role in realizing the importance of cultural protection—and, well, the realization that your worldview was on the brink of extinction?

YADIRA — Well, that's it. Good question. First there was Evangelization—and that made younger generations back then reject our culture because they were told it was the devil, because that’s what Evangelicals implanted in us. Christians—they say that our culture is of the devil. One day I understood that it really wasn’t the case, because our grandparents lived thousands of years and have strengthened our culture. And then they come and dismiss our world, telling us we don’t belong. And then they call us the devil—well, they are devils for not wanting us to maintain our culture.

I came to this realization when I was a little girl, after seeing my grandmother’s work and her focus on ceramics. Ceramics for her was a space of healing—a space of connection with earth, and an intimate space for her as a woman. I was little and I didn’t really understand. She used to tell me, sooner or later I’d understand. Then she passed way, and the pottery disappeared with her. I realized it just couldn’t be the case, it shouldn’t be so. We have to practice this again. From there, my mom and I started picking up ceramics again.

A week ago I was working with women of the community. It was a super nice healing space for women. See, many women are hurt and mistreated by their husbands, and mistreatment from the community towards women. Because of that, they need to be submissive. This is why we’re shy, and we stay quiet.

In this space of working with ceramics, women started to share what was happening to them. “This is happening to me.” And then another shares. And another. And they all have tears in their eyes as they vent. And I also understood. Through this weaving and kneading of clay, we also weave our hearts, and we heal our souls. We lay our tears in the clay, the earth.

SOPHIA — A while back you once told me that you were the first woman to drink yagé in many years, and about a special vision you had.

YADIRA— Yes, yes. I was going through a difficult time in my life, and when I took yagé with my dad and my uncle Mauro, it was a very nice connection. At first I drank, and my father said this is our sacred drink of our God. And he blew—I mean, he said magic words over the yagé, and then he passed it on to my uncle Mauro and he also blew, and he told me, “my niece, take this and you will see that your life is going to change.” After that I had the effect, and from there I haven't returned.

I had just one cup, and in that space, well, I met with my grandmother. I was somewhere full of big trees, many animals, insects, they were all celebrating, singing. I was there and there was a lady in front of me and she said, “welcome, granddaughter, I've been waiting for you for a long time.” “I'm your grandmother,” she told me. I wanted to hug Grandma but I couldn't, she told me. She was about two meters away, and I couldn’t see her face.

The next day, and when the effect wore off, I asked my dad about this vision. “You got your grandmother's message. Your grandmother said that you have to practice yourself more, focus more on your projects and love yourself like a woman.” And to be able to see her, he told me, would happen once I’m ready.

Another time I drank yagé with my father and Robinson [Piaguaje, 25]. During that journey, I received the message that I needed to travel to Wajoya. In my visions, I was traveling and suddenly we are all in a lagoon—women, children, men, people of all ages.

Because of these visions, I was able to see it with my own eyes, and feel in my own flesh. We went to Wajoya, in a lagoon called Weapaa’pura. It was just—wow. I was so grateful that this got to happen. I said to my grandmother—thank you, thank you elders for this information, for this knowledge. I’m still shocked.

SOPHIA — Wow. Bringing the vision to life. You once told me about the meditation that occurs between a woman and clay. Can you tell me more?

YADIRA — Well, for us this starts with a respect for the clay. First, a woman who is menstruating cannot enter the clay gathering area, the clay collecting area, because the Guardian of Clay is jealous. And when a woman is pregnant, she can't go into that clay collection space either. But once her period is over, she can enter that space, collect with due respect, first asking for permission from the Guardian of Clay, saying that we are going to take only what is necessary, not to be playing, but only for the use of our family.

And once we collect clay and bring it into the house, we can work from there. A woman in the process of pregnancy or menstruation can then work with the clay. Once we women are there, we knead the clay, and we talk. I could say that woman is also clay, clay is also woman.  

When I feel sad—I come into this space of working with clay and I knead my emptiness into the clay. I sing, and if I’m sad, I knead that too. I vent whatever conversation or problem of mine into the piece. Without realizing it, my emptiness is soon gone. And there's a beautiful void. And my grandmother used to say, it's your reflection of that void. Everything that ever happened to you—it’s there, in the clay. You can give it all to the piece, your tears. I cry to my grandmother.

For me, it’s like therapy. Working with clay is a healing space. It’s an intimate space for me. One of the things I value most in ceramics, because first of all I am a woman, and also human, is to be able to be in my own space.

SOPHIA — You talk a lot about the Guardian of Clay. Is she a creature? A spirit? A myth? A sense?

YADIRA — Well, the Guardian of Clay in Païcoca is called Sotoyai. She is the mother. Sotowario is the daughter of the Sotoyai, the Guardian of Clay, the one who taught us about the clay. There are two people, let's say, two spiritual beings in the realm of clay.

My father tells me that Sotoyai is a tall with blonde hair and white skin, and her body is painted with huito [Genipa americana] and her lips are painted black. Sotowario, the daughter, has skin like ours—tan skin, with long dark hair, and dark eyes. She’s also got black lipstick and her body is also painted in huito.

Photograph by Yadira Ocoguaje.

I want to tell you a story about something that happened to an elder, Carmen Teresa Piaguaje. One day she was collecting clay in a lake with a group of women. It was starting to get late and dark. All of the women were preparing to leave, sitting on the banks of the river, but Mrs. Carmen was still in the water collecting clay. Something then grabs her leg under water and she starts kicking and kicking, trying to get the thing to let go. She yells to the shore, “which one of you is grabbing me?” Nobody was—and the late grandmother Joaquina told them that the Guardian of Clay, Sotoyai, was grabbing her. She was doing that because she was collecting too much clay that she wasn’t going to use.

It's like it was a lesson to say '“enough is enough.” So that's where our belief comes from, that the Guardian of Clay is alive. My father also says that if we misuse the clay, the Guardian can eat the person. So we have a lot of respect for her, and take only what is necessary—only what we are going to use.

SOPHIA — And the Guardian lives in lakes and rivers, wherever you collect clay?  

YADIRA — She is in the spaces where there is good clay: the lagoons, in the ravines, in the brooks. She is there because it is her home.

SOPHIA — Yadi, you have anything else you want to share?

YADIRA — Well, more than anything, thank you for the space to share. It’s really a pleasure for us to have these kind of spaces to share about us, and the struggles of our elders and our traditions. It’s very, very important to us because these spaces [of tradition] are really our home, and going back to this house is very, very important.

Photograph by Yadira Ocoguaje.

SOPHIA — Last year we took a trip together, and in that yagé wé [ayahuasca house] were several Secoya women who never took yagé, drinking for the first time. Ten years ago when I was visiting the Secoya, only men were drinking. But as I understand it, you and other women are starting to connect with the sacred drink again, right?

YADIRA— Right, my mom’s generation didn't drink yagé. Because Evangelization said the yagé is from the devil, and that the Bible is the word of God. That made them confused, but about a few decades passed. It’s been about 50 years since any women drank yagé in my community.  

When we started, it was the first time. My uncle [a shaman] welcomed us. He said welcome, warrior daughters. He toasted us [with yagé] and my uncle was happy to see us as a team of women, and he said, “you guys were going to achieve something great.”

And I think that my uncle's words are now being achieved through Asociación Keñao. We’re also breaking down this barrier or machismo with the medicine. And for me, the yagé helps me very nicely. Through the yagé visions, I can see what is wrong and what is good, and separate the negative and be able to take the positive and walk in my process, in my path.

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Asociación Keñao is currently seeking funding for a number of their projects. They include:

• Reforestation

• Children’s cultural activities

• Ceramics and women’s workshops

• Producing juices and oils from local fruits

• Creating a store where they can sell their products

If you are called to donate to the Secoya’s cultural renaissance and Yadira’s mission, please donate to this GoFundMe Campaign, Reviving Indigenous Amazonian Women’s Sacred Arts.

You can also follow Yadira on Instagram, @guardiana_de_arcilla, and Asociación Keñao @kenao.siekopaai.

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[1] Pablo Amaringo, a Peruvian painter famous for his ayahuasca-inspired art, visited the Secoya between 1998-2000.