Today I injected myself with frog poison.

It’s my third day in the Amazon jungle. Time has lost the importance it once held. Jungle time does not follow the same pattern as the city clock.

From tomorrow there will be no food available in its normal sense. we will eat only what we kill. With that in mind we made sure we used the morning to cut down a 20 metre long palm tree. We took it in turns to heave an axe at its base in a repetitive motion that tested the forearms, biceps and shoulders. This is the gym of the jungle and is by no means easy. 4 hours later the tree had been transformed into 3 functional bows and a few arrows. These would complement the 16 bullets we had stored safely for the shotgun. All essential utensils in our attempts to hunt.

In many ways it’s an abnormal day but in many other ways it’s also a completely normal one.

Last night we waited patiently around the fire, exchanging stories and ideas while keeping an ear out for the croak of a specific frog. The jungle is not a quiet environment, hundreds of various species sing into the night and the sounds merge into one never ending orchestra- insects, birds and animals all playing their part.

We finally heard the frog make its call. It had been 2 hours since the sun had retreated for the day and the night sky was prophetically dark. The team instantaneously leapt into action, in unison and focused on the goal - the proper extraction of the frog.

Using the frogs intermittent croak as a GPS we managed to locate it in less than 5 minutes. The frog sat in a zen like state on the branch of a tree, minding its own business overlooking the creek which we used to bathe during the day. It had impressively bright green skin, a kind of luminescent green one does not come across in daily life. A green that hypnotised.

Nestor, the leader of the Witoto tribe climbed the tree with ease as the rest of us observed in silence, our flashlights pointed at the target, the target blissfully unaware of the impending ceremony he was to be the protagonist for. With the branch cut and the frog untouched, the team made their way back to camp and got to work immediately. 4 pieces of wood stuck in the ground to form a rectangular shape and the frog tied to the sticks with natural string extracted from a nearby tree. The frogs legs and arms were stretched out to their full capacity like a rubber band pushed to its limits. The frog sweated immediately, minute droplets forming on the back of its skin as its body was put under stress due to this stretching session he had not signed up for. Christian scraped the frogs back, carefully collecting the potently poisonous sweat, ensuring he didn’t touch it himself. With his small wooden stick full of the frogs offering, we released the frog back into the wild, free to go about its evening in peace and harmony. The first part of the Kambo process was complete.

The following morning I awoke to 9 new mosquito bites across my body complemented with the news that there was one important part of the pre ritual to be completed. We were to drink 8 cups of a thick stodgy liquid called kawanha (boiled Casava starch in liquid form mixed with hot water) a combination that neither looked, smelt or tasted appealing. Nonetheless I forced it down, cup after cup my stomach become fuller and fuller until it could take no more. Our bodies were prepared.

“Kambo will take a person to the edge of life and death” - that’s how Christian described the ceremony while later adding that we would surely feel as if we were dying. He sat myself and Aamir down on small wooden tree trunks and prepped some large banana leaves behind us. Both the environment and our bodies were prepared, it was time for the Kambo ceremony to begin.

Christian lit a wooden stick, half the size in both length and width as a drummers stick. Lighting the top end of the stick he penetrated the skin on the outer part of my arm, between the shoulder and bicep. A searing pain followed as he made two marks known as ‘gates’. The gates were to be the entry point for the Sapo liquid (frog poison). I took a deep breath as he peeled away the burnt skin, exposing my pure flesh and trying to find a level of composure needed for what my body was about to go through.

The poison and my skin made contact for the first time, a partnership that was never intended, an unexpected union which gave a lightning jolt to my operating system.

Within seconds I felt my body temperature rise, as if I’d been transported into a sauna in the middle of the Saharan desert. The heat travelled through my body starting its Journey from my toes and I was able to follow its movement throughout as it reached my head, infiltrating any sense of calm I had prior. Someone told me to breathe which was easier said than done but I allowed myself to focus solely on my breath as my body got to grips with the poison entering effectively into my bloodstream. Sweat dripped from my forehead and eyelids almost as if some hidden tap had been turned on to its full capacity, my t shirt became drenched within the first 90 seconds. My eyes were closed and i felt the wind pick up its speed, heard the trees whisper to one another as I battled with sensations felt by my body for the first time. The kawana drink I had forced myself to drink an hour before was intent on being released and it escaped the confines of my body through bile and spit. The purge was taking place. 6-7 minutes in my body temperature became too much, it felt like I was sitting in the middle of a raging fire intent on destruction. one of the tribesmen took the initiative and poured a large cup of water over me. The cooling sensation felt like an Icelandic waterfall and I reverted back to focusing on my breathing. 2 minutes later I got the sudden urge to get up from my makeshift chair and lay on the floor. I tried to get up but my legs would not cooperate, they had other plans. Two of the tribesmen grabbed my arms from either side, preventing a fall and ushered me over to the bamboo leaves that had been placed behind me. They gently placed me on floor and allowed me to curl up on my side, a baby interacting with nature for the very first time. Half a dozen ants used my body as their temporary residence and I did not have the energy to evict them.

I breathed, I sweated, I felt. Mother Nature spoke. I listened.

The poison slowly started to lose its potency, I began to assert more control over my own senses. I continued to lay on my side, engaging in the solitude the Kambo provided me.

The purge was complete and with that my body was ready for what the jungle had in store for us.