I first met Silviano Camberos at the Juan Santa Maria Airport in San Jose, Costa Rica. I was told to be on the lookout for a fellow in his early 30’s with a shock of unruly hair, twinkling eyes and an enormous smile. As soon as I saw him, I knew exactly who he was. It was impossible to mistake Silviano for anyone else.
We spent over a month together traveling throughout Costa Rica. At no time did he ever change: he was unfailingly polite, good humored, kind, generous, and full of wonder. Everyone who met and spent time with him adored him – whether he was helping my mother-in-law bring in the groceries or whether he was providing free medical treatment (and medicines!) to the poorest campesinos, Silviano always had time to help people.
I only saw him annoyed once.
We spent two weeks working with a Shaman in one of the most remote corners of Costa Rica. The terrain was phenomenally difficult: it seemed as if every waking moment was spend climbing or descending – usually hand over hand, as the slopes were so steep. As Silviano said, “it was like doing ethnobotany on a wall.”
The Indians were very poor, yet readily shared their food with us. And, not wanting to take advantage of their hospitality, we brought huge sacks of both rice and beans to feed both them and us. We ate rice and beans every morning before we left for the bush and every night when we returned. It was filling and nutritious, but very monotonous.
On the last night, when presented with yet another plate of rice and beans, Silviano pushed it aside, mumbling to me under his breath in English: “enough gallo pinto - we Mexicans can even make grasshoppers taste better than this!!”
He reached into the bottom of his backpack, pulled out a jar of Mexican mole sauce, dumped in into a pot, heated it over the fire, and then shared his precious cargo with all twelve people in the hut. As soon as we had finished eating, he proceeded to provide free medical care to everyone who wanted it, including a young boy with a badly infected cut and a woman who had travelled for two days so he could treat her sick daughter. Once he had taken care of everyone, he thanked them for coming to see him and went to sleep.
My next adventure with Silviano was in the Mexican state of Oaxaca. As a student of ethnobotanist R.E. Schultes (who had done the original field work that uncovered the secrets of the magic mushroom), I had been reading about and studying the culture of the Mazatec Indians for over two decades. Arriving by bus in Huatla, the capital of Mazatec country, Silviano was greeted with enormous enthusiasm by almost everyone we met. It was clear that he was regarded as a friend and almost a family member by many of the Mazatecs who passed us as we walked through the village.
We spent several weeks there – meeting Shamans, looking at plants, visiting markets, attending ceremonies. Silviano would hold free medical clinics for all the Indians on a regular basis. Because he was so beloved, the Indians announced that they would have a farewell dinner in our honor the night before we departed.
The next evening, the central plaza was filled with chairs and tables. Colored paper streamers had been scattered around to add a festive air. The plaza had candles everywhere, and their flickering fires gave off a ghostly glow.
The Mazatecs entered the plaza and took their seats. We were invited to sit with the Mayor at the table of honor. The Mayor then stood and gave what seemed like a speech of appreciation in Mazatec. As the Guests of Honor, each of us was served a bowl of soup while our fellow guests watched expectantly. Unfortunately, the soup was made from tripe which emitted a foul odor. We both looked up, and saw the Indians watching us still. Ever the good sport and gracious guest, Silviano picked up his spoon, devoured the soup with gusto, and everyone applauded.
Our final expedition together was to Suriname in the northeast Amazon. Working deep in the forest near the Brazilian border, there were no Indians who spoke Spanish, English, French, Huichol or any other language in which Silviano was conversant. I was (frankly) curious to see how Silviano would do in a place where he could not communicate with the Indians.
I guess I should not have been surprised – the failure of a common spoken language proved little in the way of a barrier. Silviano made friends almost immediately, and began teaching the Trio Indians songs and calls in the Huichol language. Ten years after he last set foot in that village, they ask about him still.
Such was the impact of our beloved late friend Silviano Camberos. In one sense he is gone. In a more important one, however, his kindness, generosity, passionate desire to help the less fortunate, and his smile will be with us forever.
By Mark J. Plotkin, Ph.D.
