I used to live in a city on the river shore. The amazing Amazon Rainforest stood on the other shore with its lush greenery, just as Manhattan stands with its skyline to New Jersey residents. An outrigger-canoe club had just arrived in town and I was excited by the idea of paddling to the forest, so I decided to give it a try. 

After a fast lesson, the five beginners, the coach, and I got inside the thirty-nine-foot boat and began to cross the river, paddling rhythmically like in a trained dance. With the wind blowing softly on my face, I felt an indescribable sensation of liberty as the city’s skyline became further behind us and the gigantic millenary trees were approaching.

Within a few minutes, we had arrived in the natural paradise. We heard only birds and monkeys and saw only greenery and water. I was immediately passionate for this new sport and by this opportunity to visit the forest via the small rivers that cross it. 

The weather was warm and humid, and sweat ran all over my face. Everybody heard the big splash when I decided to jump into the brown water of the Amazon Delta to refresh myself. The other teammates followed me. For almost an hour, we enjoyed playing in the current, swimming and laughing, forgetting that we were in the middle of a wild environment full of dangerous animals. 

The coach reminded us that it was time to get back to the canoe. But there was one thing we had not learned yet: how to get back inside. The outrigger canoe had high walls and nobody on our beginners’ team had the slightest idea of how to get out of the water.

The coach patiently explained that we must put our legs inside the canoe and, with abdominal strength, push ourselves up to get inside the boat. Or, we could put our hands on the side of the canoe, get upside down in the water, and—without breathing and without drowning—turn 360 degrees to put our legs inside and finally pull our body in. In short, he tried to explain that, to get back to the boat, we should make an origami shape with our body in the middle of the river.

Many minutes later, our team was still in the water and the attempts to get inside the canoe were still unsuccessful. Suddenly, somebody felt a light touch on their leg. Another colleague, a few feet away, also felt this touch. Seconds later, another person felt it too. Everybody looked at one another and we heard someone shout, “It’s an anaconda!” 

In less than three seconds, almost all of our team got inside the canoe, except for one portly man still trying to get inside, almost drowning while crying for help, sure that he would be eaten by the anaconda right away. 

We still do not know how everybody learned to get inside the canoe so fast, except that fear was a powerful and efficient coach. This was especially true when we discovered that what was trying to eat the poor man in the water was just an açai tree branch floating calmly in the river.