Welcome, friend! Today I am chatting with author Susan MacBryde about her book, Jaguar Dreams. This book is a contemporary fiction, based on Susan’s volunteer work assisting Indigenous nations achieve land rights in the Amazon Basin in Ecuador. Let’s welcome Susan and learn more about the book!
Get to know the author: Susan MacBryde
Hi Susan! Welcome to Armed with A Book. Tell me and my readers a bit about yourself!
My advertising and public relations career began in New York agencies for corporate accounts, followed by marketing, fundraising and strategic planning for non-profit human service organizations. I also volunteered as a community organizer and activist in the Occupy Movement. When in my 60s, and with a degree in Community and Human Services Management, I joined the U.S. Peace Corps as an NGO Specialist / Community and Youth Development Advisor in Armenia, followed by service as a Literacy Adviser for an elementary school faculty in Jamaica.
I’m now retired in Ecuador. I served on the board of an environmental NGO, offering fundraising and organizational development assistance. “I can’t imagine more important work for myself at this time than supporting Indigenous nations in the Amazon Basin in preserving autonomy in their territories and the extraordinary biodiversity of life. We are at our peril if we don’t succeed in initiatives impacting ecological and human survival globally.” “Jaguar Dreams” grew out of this experience and is my first work of literary fiction.
What inspired you to write this book?
Working with a non-profit to support Indigenous nations in Ecuador to secure land rights to their territories has been a life changing inspiration. These rights will protect their land from the destruction of oil and mining companies and also provide bio-corridors between the Amazon and the Andes for wildlife migration resulting from global warming.
We worked on mapping vital areas of Indigenous land for hunting, fishing, agriculture and living spaces to use in proving the land’s value to the Ecuadorian government. Through the court system, we would legally pressure the government to abide by the Ecuadorian Constitution which contains a Rights of Nature clause protecting these territories which offer some of the highest biodiversity on the planet.
While I’m no longer associated with the organization, I decided to use the experience and knowledge gained to write a fictional account of the struggle the Indigenous people are having with the government and the extractive industries. By including research into the experience of several other Indigenous nations in Ecuador, I extrapolated a narrative reflecting the tragedy these nations are going through.
How long did it take you to write this book, from the first idea to the last edit?
My first draft took six months, followed by another six months of editing based on beta reader responses and my own insights given deeper research into the issues presented by the book.
What makes your story unique?
There are many academic works describing the plight of the Indigenous in Latin America. There are also articles in many publications that focus on news events concerning the Indigenous experience. I decided to write a fictional narrative to hopefully appeal to a more mainstream audience to help broaden the discussion of Indigenous rights to new readers. Many novels depict the Native American experience in North America, but “Jaguar Dreams” gives weight to the South American story.
Who would enjoy reading your book?
Anyone age 14 and above who likes a good family drama would enjoy “Jaguar Dreams.” as well as anyone concerned with the impact of global warming and fossil fuel companies on critical ecosystems and the people caring for them. I’ve given personality to fictional members of Indigenous communities, those too often dismissed as “natives” living in “tribes.” My characters are people of the forest with names, ambitions, fears and hopes. Their relations to one another and to the nature surrounding them come alive in the story in ways that impersonal accounts don’t achieve. As I begin writing the sequel to “Jaguar Dreams,” I look forward to what my characters will decide to do next on their own initiative.
What’s something you hope readers would take away from it?
I hope readers will enjoy a good, well told story that helps them appreciate the struggle Indigenous people are having across our planet. Readers can learn about ancestral knowledge and practices that are needed to nurture and heal the Earth. We really must listen to the messages of Indigenous people and support their resistance to outside forces working to destroy critical ecosystems. These are fascinating, complex people whose views of our world and the cosmos are essential, but not fully understood or put into practice. We have much to learn from them.
Do you have a favorite quote or scene in the book that you find yourself going back to?
One of my favorite characters is Chitu, a 79 year old Kichwa woman who humorously sneers at the intrusion of modern life in the rainforest. Her highly intuitive relationship with nature is evident from the book’s beginning chapter. When she appears in the final chapter, she offers empowering wisdom to a younger woman taking on new responsibilities as she joins the Woman Defenders of the Amazon Rainforest.
What is something you have learned on your author journey so far?
If your characters aren’t speaking to you, they have nothing important to say, and you have nothing important to write.
What’s the best piece of advice you have received related to writing?
Edit, edit, edit until your fingers hurt. And listen to your beta readers. If you’re not reaching them, you’re not communicating well enough.
If you could give a shout out to someone(s) who has helped in your writer journey, please feel free to mention them below!
“It is a delicious thing to write, to be no longer yourself but to move in an entire universe of your own creating. Today, for instance, as man and woman, both lover and mistress, I rode in a forest on an autumn afternoon under the yellow leaves, and I was also the horse, the leaves, the wind, the words my people uttered, even the red sun that made them almost close their love-drowned eyes.” GUSTAVE FLAUBERT
Jaguar Dreams
Contemporary Literary Fiction, Published 2023
An Amazon Village faces Big Oil.
A conflict could cost lives.
It could also save the Earth.
Deep in Ecuador’s Amazon Basin, seismic waves rock the ground. A new road slices the rainforest. It rushes toward an Indigenous Kichwa village, threatening its land and its people. It is a tendril of oil exploration by corporate giants poised to suck the black gold from the Earth.
Oil spills. Rampant disease. Starving wildlife. Dying villagers. All are imminent. The Kichwa must either confront the oil drillers – or retreat further into the jungle as they did to escape the Spanish colonizers, the Rubber Barons, and the Covid pandemic. The silence of death creeps under the canopy signaling the demise of both their ancient culture and a primary life source for the planet.
The heart of the Kichwa village is one family. The mother is Sacha, emerging as a leader in this patriarchal community. Leading a conflict means facing obstacles set by her shamanic father, her two grown sons, and villagers quarreling between passive resistance or violent confrontation. Forest retreat might be easiest. To decide, villagers listen for messages from the spirit beings of the living forest. Messages they trust … messages they know the world needs to hear.
Outside the forest are friends and deadly foes: U.S. and Chinese oil companies, corrupt Ecuadorian government officials, well-meaning U.S. expatriates, two environmental activists fleeing arrest, a wise prostitute, and whip-wielding women defenders of the rainforest – a melee of action and inspiration
Trigger warnings: Non-explicit sex, some profanity, one violent scene.
Book Excerpt from
Jaguar Dreams
Pedro Salazar chose a corner table and sat down. This cevicheria was not his usual restaurant, but this was not a usual meeting. As mayor of Puyo, he was well-recognized in the town’s center, but not so much here on the outskirts. Carl Roberts, manager of Oriente Oil, had asked for a quiet place for a quiet meeting. Salazar ordered a beer and looked over the wall photos of menu items.
“Salazar?” asked Carl Roberts, appearing beside the table. Not only was Salazar sitting alone, but Roberts suspected this lighter-skinned Ecuadorian was the mayor, unlike the swarthier men at the bar. He knew the lighter your skin tone, the higher you rose in the political ranks.
“Yes. Welcome to Ecuador,” said an unsmiling Salazar, extending a hand to invite the man to sit.
A large man, Roberts fit awkwardly in the red plastic chair. “I’m glad you chose a low-key place,” he said, indicating the typical Ecuadorian restaurant. It had red, blue, and yellow tables like the colors of the national flag. Carved wood village scenes decorated the walls. There was a tin roof and a long bar with a soccer game on the television.
The waitress came to take their order. “I’ll have what you have,” said Roberts. “If you ever come to Texas, I’ll make sure you get a taste of what we have,” he grinned. Sweat ran down his pinkish face, flushed from walking to the restaurant, though the weather was mild. He dabbed it with a stained bandana.
“Two pilseners, two encebollados and two ceviche with concha,” Salazar ordered in Spanish. He otherwise spoke English for Roberts to understand.
Roberts waited for the waitress to leave before speaking, anxiously fidgeting the cutlery. Being a Texan, he was familiar with Mexicans, but this was Ecuador, and he was in the minority as a foreigner. That made him uncomfortable.
Salazar watched him, recognizing a gringo feeling out of place in a new country. That’s to my advantage, he thought, anticipating a negotiation. He had an experienced distrust of foreigners. Then again, there were few people he liked at all. But men like this can bring problems – their problems which they make ours.
“You’re a busy man like me, Salazar, so I’ll get right to it. We identified an area a good ways east of here with large oil reservoirs. I suspect you already know that, and that’s why I’m here.” Roberts leaned back as well as his weight would allow, his elbows on the arms of the flimsy chair. His tan shirt stretched across his wide girth, a cigarette pack bulging out of a shirt pocket.
“The seismic explosions were hard to miss. Word gets around. Bushmeat hunters heard it and saw your men.” He was a machisto and prepared to be blunt.
“And our men have seen your men, so we’re on the same page, I trust.” Roberts was eager to get this man onboard without complications. He had heard that Ecuadorians could be conniving and indirect in their dealings. I don’t want any bullshit.
Not so fast, thought Salazar. I’ll make this work for me. My cooperation will cost you. The two pilseners arrived, and both men drank thirstily. “Who else knows about this?” he asked, lighting a half-smoked cigar.
“Paolo Ramirez at the environment ministry, for one. Government higher-ups reminded him that the land lease to the Chinese has been a done deal for a while. But now we’re ready to drill. We’re their production subcontractor. We’ve located the best fields.
“Our president?”
Roberts nodded. “Of course. He knows the easy way out of debt to the Chinese is more drilling for crude. He’ll overlook some environmental impact if the price is right. He demands that a condition of leasing the oil block is that no access road is built. That fends off environmentalists’ complaints. All drilling equipment is to come in by helicopter. The only access will be a 10 meter wide swath to run the pipeline to the main state pipeline, which runs from Baeza to Villano. So we’ve made that pledge. He’s got Ramirez on board with that, poor bastard.”
Paolo Ramírez was head of the Ministry of Environment, Water, and Ecological Transition. He had to negotiate between the “rights of nature,” as specified in the Ecuadorian constitution and being equal to human rights, and the profit-hungry government run by a wealthy businessman with ties to China and the U.S. This put him in a hard position between his conscience and his wallet.
Roberts was beginning to relax, wanting to take the upper hand in the meeting. He was the project manager. He needed to manage this man who was an underling to superiors already agreeing to the project. The beer helped his confidence. He signaled the waitress for two more bottles.
“Whiskey,” Salazar added, with a gesture for two shots. He re-lit his cigar, staring silently at Roberts. Remaining quiet and unsmiling was an easy practice for Salazar, a man highly accustomed to brokering deals. “And my part in this. Also a done deal?”
“Done and done, amigo, as long as you agree to be our man.” “We expect you to, how should I put it … broker relations between Oriente Oil and all other partners? We don’t want trouble on the local level, getting permits and such. And for your trouble you’ll oversee road construction.”
“Road construction? I thought you said no road.”
“That was the pledge, yes. But you know as well as I do the cost to bring in the equipment, building materials, and manpower by helicopter. Plus there’ll be trips for operations and maintenance. So our little secret is that the 10 meters is wide enough for road building equipment, comprende mi amigo? How you get the equipment and its cost is your business as long as it fits in the budget. And as long as there’s no complications with the locals.”
“A budget that includes helicopters, pilots, and fuel.” Salazar threw back the whiskey shot and chased it with beer. He was seeing how this deal could work for him — how he could get the upper hand.
“Exactly.” Roberts followed suit with the booze, beginning to feel its effect. He knew Salazar’s reputation for taking bribes and kickbacks and getting things done without hassles. It was Ecuador, after all. You have to hire someone who knows his way around. This is our guy. “Of course, for you to have this advantage, I need some advantage myself.”
Salazar and Roberts eyed each other, two middle-aged men from different cultures engaged in a familiar negotiation. Neither was a stranger to corruption. “How much advantage?”
“I’d say 20% of the cost savings would do.”
Salazar laughed loudly. “20?” He stubbed out his cigar in animated rejection of the proposal. “You’re in my country, amigo. I say you get 10%.”
“I’ll take 15% and another shot of your cheap whiskey,” Roberts said, smiling.
The meal arrived. More booze was ordered. “Buen provecho,” Salazar said. “Enjoy your meal.” He paused. “And your 15%.” He laughed again, even louder this time. I’ll still make a fat bundle off this.
The men clinked shot glasses to seal the deal and dove into eating their lunch.
“Good soup,” offered Roberts. “Encebollado?”
“Fish stew.”
“Tuna? We got yellowfin tuna in the gulf of Mexico. Big suckers,” he said with a mouthful.
“Here we usually eat river fish. Paiche.”
“I see,” said Roberts, forking some ceviche. “Now Salazar, I don’t have to tell you we need to keep all this quiet for now.” Roberts glanced around at the almost empty restaurant, this being a late lunch. Only a few men sat at the bar, and they were too inebriated to notice or care about anyone else’s business.
“It’ll take a while to get things going,” Roberts continued. “No need to advertise ourselves. Plus I understand some of these tribal people won’t like what we’re up to. I wouldn’t want that to become a problem, you understand. I know there’s a consent process we’re supposed to follow, but I trust there are ways around that?”
“Not a problem,” said Salazar, not offering any details. Salazar had handled angry Indigenous protestors before. A mestizo of mixed race himself, he had opinions about those he thought of as indios. They’re always upset about something. You have to know who to talk to. And they’ll take bribes of money, gas, a new truck – whatever it takes.
“Well that’s good to hear. Let’s keep it that way.”
“I’ll get bids. When does this start?”
“Project begins next month. There’s already a road going east from Puyo. You can build off that without getting noticed. That’s ‘noproblema’. Our survey team will work out the route. It’s through dense jungle that nobody but bushmeat hunters go into. And they could give a shit. I understand that more road just makes it easier for them to transport their kill.”
“Through Diez de Agosto and out from Pambayacu?”
“That’s it. Only we have to build it from north of Pambayacu. Too much local traffic otherwise. And we have to first bring in the equipment at night. Once it’s in the fenced compound we’ll build, it stays there until the road is done. Then it’s taken out, again at night.”
“A quiet, invisible operation,” said Salazar. “I’ll be aware of any local talk around Pambayacu. Questions about equipment can be explained. There’s usually enough road repair on Diez de Agosto to give cover.” He paused, thinking. “You know you’ll have to cross the Curaray River.”
“Yep. We know that. We found some abandoned bridge pillars in a narrow section. It’s not too deep there either. We’ll make a temporary bridge over that to hold until drilling’s done.”
“I know that area. The bridge got destroyed by a flood. The community it connected to moved away. That’s far enough in. No one will know. Even the villagers down river don’t travel that part of the river these days. They get supplies by plane every few months.”
“Good,” said Roberts “And one other thing to know. We’re subcontractors for CGP, that’s China Global Petroleum. Oriente Oil is part of Houston Petrochemical. That’s the oil refiner, since Ecuador’s capacity is still low. We need to keep the Chinese away from any operation details or it could get very messy. They’re paying for the helicopter, for instance. Comprende? They want a simple operation. Drill, transport, refine, and sell to an oil hungry U.S., with some of the profit reducing Ecuador’s debt to them. So, no problems with the natives.”
“I see,” said Salazar. “That’s Kichwa and some Sapara territory you’re going through. They don’t live in that area, but they’ll soon find out. Those are some serious indios.”
“If you say so. I don’t know the tribes. It’s all the same to me. The rainforest‘s all the same to me, for that matter. Trees. Lots of trees. We’ll for sure need some heavy equipment to deal with all that. But that’s where you come in. Houston Petrochemical will bring in the oil rig, but you’ll move it all there once the road’s in.”
“I’ll handle the locals,” said Salazar. All of them. They’re easy to scare. It’s been done before.”
“Sounds good, Salazar. I think we understand each other.” He wiped his chin with his bandana. “This is some ceviche, amigo. Best I’ve had yet.” He patted his full stomach and raised his beer in a toast. “Well, here’s to our success!”
“To success,” said Salazar, raising his beer, but still not smiling. . Especially mine.
Interested?
Find Jaguar Dreams on Goodreads, Amazon and Books2Read.
Thank you for hanging out with us today. Connect with Susan via email (susanmacbrydeauthor@gmail.com), Twitter, Instagram.
If you are an indie author and would like to do a book excerpt, check out my work with me page for details. Check out other book excerpts here.
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