Return of the Turtles
Indigenous knowledge holders and Western scientists have joined forces and expertise to protect three turtle species of the Amazon River. Charapas, taricayas, and cupisos are spreading the word: on six beaches in Colombia and Peru, they can lay their eggs without the threat of being captured.
Among the awareness activities organized as part of the environmental education program, children have the opportunity to interact with the baby turtles before their release.
Text and photos by Carlos Suárez Álvarez
Originally published in El País, March 2023.
Seventeenth-century chroniclers marveled at the Amazonian nature in its splendor: "There are turtles in such abundance that when they come up to the sandy shores to bury their eggs, more than a thousand of them arrive in a single night. The number of eggs they leave at one time is incredible."
And despite centuries of overexploitation, Don Rogelio Carihuasari, the octogenarian sage of the Cocama People, has childhood memories from the mid-twentieth century when he went with his father to get turtles for family consumption. "Thousands of specimens came up in one night; the beach was full of tracks."
But in recent decades, population growth and its full incorporation into the market economy have taken their toll: in the Colombian stretch of the Amazon River, finding a turtle became a fortune reserved for poachers who sold adult turtles and eggs in the markets of Leticia, Tabatinga, and Caballococha, in the triple border of the Amazon Trapezoid. "The commercialization," states Don Rogelio, "more than one person took ten or fifteen turtles to sell, dozens of eggs. And the turtles ran out."
This is the story of how those who hunted yesterday now protect. As Nabil Carihuasari, son of Don Rogelio and field coordinator of this successful conservation initiative, says: "With the help of the grandfather, with his knowledge, we said: 'Let's stop this because the turtles are going to run out.' And today we are committed so that our children and grandchildren can also know them."
The meat and eggs of the taricaya turtle are highly valued as food by Amazonian peoples. The photo was taken on the Pisqui River, in the Peruvian Amazon.
ALliance of knowledges
In 2008, traditional healer Don Rogelio Carihuasari had an idea: to turn turtle conservation into a profession. His home, located in the Indigenous reserve of Santa Sofía, was a frequent destination for visitors drawn by the ayahuasca ceremonies he conducts, and to all of them he asked how to obtain financial support to make his vision a reality. One day, biologist Fernando Arbeláez, general director of the Fundación Biodiversa Colombia, showed up, and fate clicked. “I secured some funding and we started protecting the beaches in 2008,” recalls Arbeláez. “That year, there were six guardians from Don Rogelio’s family, and they protected a single beach. Today, there are 188 monitors from six Indigenous communities who are safeguarding six beaches, both on the Colombian and Peruvian sides of the river.”
The results have been spectacular. In 2008, the six guardians protected 17 nests and released 112 baby turtles. To date, 854 nests have been protected and more than 22,000 hatchlings have been released. The turtles belong to three species: the large charapa, which can grow up to one meter in length and weigh 60 kilos, laying up to 150 eggs; the medium-sized taricaya, about half a meter long, laying up to 50 eggs; and the small cupiso, around 30 cm, which lays up to 25 eggs. All three, however, share a worrying trait: they are listed as “vulnerable” on the Red List of the International Union for Conservation of Nature. They are at risk of extinction.
After a night spent protecting a beach on the Peruvian bank of the Amazon River, several monitors prepare to pack up the campsite.
WALKING THE BEACHES
As evening falls, groups of monitors board their boats from the communities of Santa Sofía, Nuevo Jardín, San José, or Progreso in Colombia, and Barranco or Yahúma in Peru, and head to the nearby beaches. They set up a simple camp, shelter themselves from the swarm of mosquitoes inside the netting, and eat something before night deepens. Then, they head out on patrol. They use a red light, imperceptible to turtles, scanning the ground for tracks while keeping watch for fishermen with opposing intentions.
When they find a mother turtle, the scientific skills provided by the Fundación Biodiversa comes into play. They take biometric measurements of the mother (the width of the track, the dimensions of the shell) and tag her with an identification marker before letting her go. The nests are georeferenced using GPS, and the eggs are carefully removed for “transplanting.” Nabil Carihuasari, field coordinator of the program, explains the reason: “We do it because some nests are at risk—both natural risk and the risk from human predators. The natural risk is that some mother turtles lay their eggs near the rainwater channel on the beaches, which can damage them. Also, some turtles lay near the shoreline, and those are very easy for humans to spot.”
Poaching is the most serious and direct threat to river turtle populations, which are endangered according to the Red List of the International Union for Conservation of Nature. The photo was taken on one of the beaches protected by the monitors.
a history of predation
Nabil Carihuasari says it: the human being, that predator. Much has changed since the time when the Indigenous peoples of the Amazon, before the arrival of Europeans, exercised strict ecological control over their lush territory. The invasion shattered the system, and since the 16th century, the most varied products of the Amazonian environment have been exploited for the global market; in exchange, Indigenous peoples received manufactured goods that, like iron tools, forever changed their society and economy.
The fat from turtle eggs, used as fuel for the oil lamps of the time, was the target of one of the most intense overexploitation campaigns, both in the Amazon and in the Orinoco basin. Nineteenth-century naturalists and explorers, such as Alexander von Humboldt and Henry Walter Bates, estimated that hundreds of millions of eggs were used each year to produce oil for export in both regions.
The charapa can lay up to 150 eggs per season. To date, the turtle conservation program has released nearly 4,500 hatchlings of this species, the most threatened in the Amazon River.
raising awareness
In the 21st century, it’s no longer iron that Indigenous people need, but money: housing, food, clothing, school supplies, motors, cellphones. The basic needs once provided by nature now require cash. That’s why it’s common for the monitors, during their rounds, to come across fishermen or poachers hoping to make some money by selling turtles and their eggs. “We explain to them the process we’re carrying out, which isn’t just for us but for everyone,” says Nabil Carihuasari. “Then we ask if they can avoid fishing in that area so the turtles will feel safe to come ashore. Some fishermen understand, but others get upset. Sometimes they insult us, threaten us with machetes or shotguns. It’s scary.”
The fishermen’s desperation is understandable: in the last fifteen years, the size, variety, and abundance of fish have drastically declined. But the monitors avoid confrontation and continue their awareness campaign armed with patience and a sentimental mantra that no one in the region is immune to: “May our children and grandchildren know these species—not just through photos or drawings. That would be so sad.”
Environmental education activities include awareness talks and drawing workshops.
environmental EDUCAtion
Work with children is essential. "We do environmental education activities," explains Nabil. "In schools are the future adults, so the idea is to send the message very early, so they know what is happening with our animals, and in the future can use them appropriately." Besides talks and workshops in schools, one activity stands out for its symbolic strength. During the hatching season, children are taken to the beach to release the turtles into the Amazon River in a festive atmosphere. Before doing so, each child must sponsor a little turtle and give it a name. "That way they are committed, so if someone catches it, they can speak up for that turtle," explains Nabil Carihuasari.
The director of Fundación Biodiversa, Fernando Arbeláez, emphasizes the importance of this educational dimension: "They will be the turtle guardians of tomorrow. In fact, some of the children who participated in the first environmental education activities twelve years ago are now part of the conservation groups." This educational component was decisive for the program A Ciencia Cierta, from the Ministry of Science, Technology, and Innovation of Colombia, to award this initiative $20,000, a financial and moral boost to consolidate the project.
Fernando Arbeláez, director of Fundación Biodiversa (center, wearing white), teaches a group of monitors how to use a smartphone to collect georeferencing data on a beach along the Amazon River.
economic alternative
Back in 2008, don Rogelio and his family started their conservation work with determination and grit. It’s true they dreamed that one day the activity could generate income, but both the association they created, Curuinsi Huasi, and their scientific counterpart, Fundación Biodiversa Colombia, were clear that the motivation of the monitors could not be money. In fact, in the first years, the money barely covered expenses. Later, the monitors began to receive symbolic amounts, “for soda,” they joked. In the most recent campaign, when the project found financial support from various institutions, the amount received by each “veteran” participant was 25,000 pesos. The “newcomers” receive half that during their first two campaigns, ensuring that their interest in conservation goes beyond economics.
“What we are promoting with this project,” emphasizes Fernando Arbeláez, “is an economic alternative based on conservation, so they don’t have to sell their resources. This is work, and they have all the credentials to do it. Also, it is for the good of everyone because turtles are a heritage of humanity.”
In recent years, the strategy to secure funding has focused on creating a community processing plant for asaí, a highly nutritious Amazonian fruit with international demand. The plant will buy asaí from program participants at a good price, and by processing and exporting the pulp, it will generate benefits that will support the project. “It would be the first self-sustainable conservation project in the Amazon,” Arbeláez dreams.
Grandfather and grandmother from the traditional dance group of the Yagua People help a child put on his outfit during the closing festival of the 2022-2023 campaign at the indigenous reserve of Santa Sofía.
CIAO LITTLE TURTLES
The closing of the fifteenth campaign is celebrated in grand style with the Dance of the Taricaya. Two hundred people from the Yagua, Tikuna, and Cocama peoples, both from Colombia and Peru, enjoy their traditional dances and songs. A group from the Tikuna People performs a dance usually held during the pelazón, the coming-of-age ritual for girls, to the rhythm of a drum made from the shell of the taricaya. “The taricaya is a symbolic animal for us. We use its shell to produce a sound of protection, so that the young lady becomes stronger and braver,” explains Nabil Carihuasari.
It doesn’t matter that the dance is performed in a different context than the original; the dancers enjoy the singing and movement, the audience joins in the frenzy, and the numerous children are amazed and discover traditions that, like the turtles, are also in danger of disappearing. At the end of the afternoon, as a finale, the attendees go to the river to release the last little turtles of the season. This is the children’s favorite moment. Only a few lucky ones have the responsibility to hold a small one, become its godparent, give it a name, and, with exquisite care, let it begin its life in freedom. “Ciao, little turtle,” they say. “They’re off,” is heard. “What will become of them?” they wonder.
