A burnt-meat smell, the reek of stale water, and a stray sweet whiff of pig dung merged with a humid, breathless heat. Rough-hewn ladders leaned against square or round huts perched on twenty-five-foot stilts. Crowned with palm-thatched roofs, the huts dotted a wide stretch of cleared land, much larger than it had looked from the air. A few long, open-air rectangular buildings—also on stilts—sat interspersed between the smaller ones. Hammocks strung from the rafters with balsa-cord ropes hung limp in the heavy air, while hollowed gourds brimming with rainwater were lashed to roof corners. The biggest building of all, the longhouse, stretched almost the whole length of the cleared land, at the back perimeter of the settlement. The jungle loomed just beyond, its reflection in the river doubling its enormity.

Balancing on the float, Omar looked back at me quizzically. “Welcome to Ayachero.”

I stepped out onto the float next to him, listening to the gentle whispers of the crowd, scanning the sad eyes that looked me up and down, searching for a glimmer of a welcoming smile. Nothing. But really, what was I expecting? A round of applause? Some random white woman shows up with the town’s golden-boy hunter who’d abandoned them a decade ago—of course they were apprehensive. Of course they weren’t jumping up and down with excitement, but I was too young and self-absorbed for that to occur to me.

Panchito scrambled out onto the floats and threw himself onto the sandbar, landing with stunning agility. The heat of the place rose up and wrapped itself around me like a wet woolen blanket; I had never felt anything close to it. I took a deep breath almost against my will, searing my lungs. The stink of diesel dissipated, replaced by the green vapors of countless trees mixed with cloying tropical jasmine. I climbed down onto the spit of sand.

A rush of mostly naked children—dozens of them—came galloping from between the spindly legs of the buildings, squealing as they raced toward the water. They weaved among their stone-faced parents, then hurled themselves in the river, swimming and splashing their way toward us, crossing the narrow channel to the sandbar in no time. They climbed up onto the floats and into the cabin of the plane, where they bounced on the seats, imitating the sounds of a small plane’s engine, giggling as they turned the wheel and twisted the knobs. I had to laugh. They reminded me of my foster brothers and sisters when we were young, and all the crazy shit we got into; sure, there were hungry days, but there were moments of joy as well. That jolt of familiarity comforted me a bit. A few of the kids climbed onto the wings, creeping out to their very tips, where they balanced for a few thrilling seconds before somersaulting into the current, screaming with delight as they burst out of the water.

I wasn’t spared either. Two little girls flung their arms around my legs and hugged them, while another leapt up to touch my hair. I bent down and let her. Once I did, she turned shy, smiling as she gently patted my head with her small hands. Her own blue-black hair shone in the intense sunshine; a braided liana vine was wound several times around her taut belly above torn red shorts; she was otherwise naked.