From Jungle Killer to Christian Missionary, by Tariri, Peruvian Indian Chief

This past Spring, as I went through my former pastor’s library and then my church’s and church-school’s libraries, I realized that there are so many outdated yet interesting books hidden on these shelves that they need to see the light of day. Thus, I organized a Summer Reading Program for my church with the theme of “Character” (i.e. biographies). For every book and every 100 pages the people read from these shelves, they’ll get their name tossed into a summer’s-end raffle with gift cards and such to enjoy.

The program started two days ago, and I’ve finished this first book already. That’s 2 tickets for Elliot!

Before finding this book on the shelf, I had never heard of Tariri, though he was a bit of a Christian celebrity back in the 50s and 60s. His story is a remarkable one, and one of the many I fear has been overshadowed by the Auca Affair (an excellent story in its own right, don’t get me wrong, but pretty much the only missionary story from South America that still gets any press).

The format of this book is unique and fascinating, and I’m not sure why Wycliff Bible Translators didn’t consider publishing more books just like it from folks reached around the world.

This is the autobiography of an Indian Chief told in his own tongue on tape recorder and then translated and transcribed into book form—there’s even some fascinating paintings about his life sprinkled throughout. So unique! Interspersed among the many accounts (in what some might consider poor English, but what I as an amateur linguist view as probably fantastic translations) are a number of editorial remarks, quoted letters, news articles, and other necessary information that help with the flow of the story. I loved the format and really do wonder why I’ve never seen such a method employed before.

Tariri lived in the deep jungles of Peru where his tribe prided itself on killing. In the initial chapters, he relates the superstitious, animistic teachings of his ancestors—the very things he had hoped to pass on to his own children. Tariri himself was a bloodthirsty leader feared across the tribes. He details how his people had learned to behead their enemies, skin and boil them so they could sun-dry and shrink them to wear them as necklaces. These “beautiful” necklaces were the envy of the whole village, and such killing and head-hunting was Tariri’s reason for living. Well that and drinking tobacco and chanting as a witchdoctor for the gifts the villagers provided him.

Then one year some Senoritas came to their village in a flying canoe and asked to live with them. Out of fear, the villagers did what they said, and soon these babbling white goddesses began to learn their village language and to tell them about the all-powerful God of whom their tribe had only heard stories.

These ladies were two female missionaries from Wycliff Bible Translators pioneering the work of Christ in these last holdouts from civilization. Tariri listened and learned and by then end of the third year came to trust Christ as his Savior. The change in his spirit was immediate, though his growth was slow-going. Through the ensuing years, however, he saw more and more of his family and village come to Christ, then his enemies, and he knew that God had called them to make certain that everyone knew about this God and his Book.

As I read this story, I couldn’t help but think of my own in-laws in China, people and whole villages chained for centuries within superstition and animism. “We were without any sense in those days” Tariri says of his people in Peru (21), and so were my family! The spirits, the witchdoctors, the rituals, the simple-mindedness—it is all so familiar! I think of my sister-in-law who blamed a cousin’s heroin addiction on the presence of a dragon carved into their living room furniture. I think of my other sister-in-law’s parents who spent a week throwing expensive green tea onto the door of their new home in order to rid the house of evil spirits. I think of my wife’s childhood stories of visiting a witchdoctor and hearing from “the dead,” of a demonic presence that attacked all the male children in her village (including her own brother), a presence she actually saw with her own two eyes.

The people of my wife’s village weren’t “without any sense,” and neither were Tariri’s. They were enslaved and deceived. The Devil is real, and in some locations, his ageless ploys of spiritism and open demonic oppression still work their magic. The question is, if such Satanic acts were so pervasive then, are they not still? How can we ignore demonic presence within our own communities, simply because their attacks don’t still bear the hallmarks of such obvious oppression? Has technology truly removed Satan from his ploys? Have the smartphones really changed us from being “without any sense” so that demonism is no longer a danger? Of course not! We need to open our eyes and see that Satan’s not dumbing himself down in these latter days but sharpening his talons and sinking them deeper and deeper into the culture all around us.

A shining light from this story was the testimony of Tariri’s son, Yampisa, who came to Christ and took the Gospel upriver to his relatives. One witchdoctor held out for a long time, because he didn’t want to give up his service of healing. He hated getting drunk and was sick of being bothered by the villagers with their problems, and he wanted a change, but coming to Christ was difficult. When he finally did, however, things changed for him. Yampisa shares this seemingly small transforamtion:

Before he had received Jesus, I noticed that he had not taken the medicine for tuberculosis that Monchanki [one of the female missionaries] sent. There was a lot there and he had not taken it because he was a witchdoctor. Then as soon as he received Jesus, the next day in fact, he began to take the medicine. He said, “Why should I fast anymore? I was afraid that medicine would kill my magic darts, but now that Jesus has cleansed my heart, I am not worrying about that anymore.” So he began to take the medicine and was not afraid of it anymore. When I saw that, I knew that he must be telling the truth, that he had really received Jesus. (118)

What struck me about this passage was how closely it resembled the testimony of my own father-in-law, formerly a devout Buddhist. Throughout my wife’s childhood and into her adult years, her father would offer daily sacrifices and prayers to the idol-box in their living room, a shrine to their ancestors. In fact, he wouldn’t even let people eat until the ancestors had received their apple, rice, and wine. When he came to Christ in 2008, however, that very week he allowed a local pastor to come into his house and destroy his idol box—just throw it out of the window into the garbage heap. When the family gathered for the New Year celebration a few months later, he simply sat down and ate when the food was ready, not waiting for anyone to offer anything to his ancestors. This simple change—like taking tuberculosis medicine the day after salvation—might seem so small and silly to an outsider, but it is the very power of the Holy Spirit to change lives in an instant, to transform the deluded mind, to free the shackled soul. He is a powerful God, and way too often, we take it for granted!

I loved this book and am very happy to have made it my first missionary-biography read of the summer. As inspiring as it is, it even bears a little humor. Tariri relates, for example, how his grandfather was a lazy bather. He would dip in the water and exit without really getting clean. His grandmother would ask, “Why do you not bathe well?” and he would answer, “Why didn’t you marry a man who bathes well?” She was afraid to answer or even laugh, fearing that he would spear her to death, so she just remained silent and followed him home (25).

Thankfully I can’t relate to that particular anecdote, but hey. It’s not my story. If you can find a copy of this book, I highly recommend this story as another look at God’s transforming power in the jungles of South America.

©2021 E.T.