We Will Be Jaguars: A Memoir of My People

by Nemonte Nenquimo

“This is the devil,” Rachel announced impatiently. “Kids, what color is the devil’s heart?” “Black!” exclaimed a chorus of children. “The devil’s heart is black!” “Good!” Rachel nodded. “The devil is a trickster, the one who puts dark thoughts into your hearts.” I was startled. The devil had bushy eyebrows, a squat nose, and thick lips. He was dark-skinned and hairy. In fact, he looked exactly like my mom’s father, Donasco. I felt a chill on my skin. I had two grandfathers. Dad’s father, the mighty warrior Piyemo, was a jaguar that howled in the forest at night. And Mom’s father was the devil. “What color is God?” Rachel shouted above the thunderous rain. “White!” all the kids cried. “God is white!” Several days later, while I was splashing in the shallows of the river, I saw Grandpa Donasco appear around the bend, poling slowly up the current. “Devil!” I shouted. “The devil is coming!” It was a playful cry – a mix of excitement and fear and wonder. I ran barefoot back to our oko. My mom scolded me: “Shut your mouth, little girl,” she said. “Why would you say that about your grandfather?”