One Whipped Mother

From the Sublime to Homoerotic Sexual Sadism

I love The Travel Channel. The Travel Channel is my one-stop shopping experience, my all-in-one, one-size-fits-all, all-inclusive package, all-you-can-eat buffet chock full of everything from ghosts to gondoliers, black sand beaches to Bigfoot…And, of course, my lover, Anthony Bourdain.

So last night, I watched Bob Geldof in Africa, a supremely affecting postcard/love letter that documents Geldof’s last trip to his beloved continent, written and narrated by the man himself. It is, in one word, magnificent. Through his eyes and genuinely brilliant commentary, along with breathtaking panoramic shots of the many different landscapes, moments capturing Africans shopping in malls, buying groceries, sitting in a restaurant intermingled with heartbreaking images such as the poverty, the starving, the close-ups of the eyes of Ugandan children, children who have witnessed the worst humanity has to offer, we come to view Africa and her people in a whole different light.

To say I was moved would be an understatement.

I sat through the closing credits, my mind reeling with all that it had learned, my chest tight with emotion…I didn’t want to move from my meditation, even though I desperately needed to use the bathroom.

And as I contemplated throughout the next five minutes of advertisements, unmindful of my screaming bladder, the screaming car salesman, I found myself slowly coming around just as the first images of Tribal Odyssey: The Yawalapiti appeared on the screen, then fully snapped to attention.

Naked people tend to do that to me.

But what I found so intriguing about this documentary, besides the nakedry of bowl-haired, Brazilian tribal men, was the explicit depiction of sadomasochism displayed before my eyes.

Apparently, the Yawalapiti get really, really excited over a lunar eclipse, and to celebrate that excitement, as well as to ward off evil spirits that might take advantage of the coming pitch-black night, wreaking havoc upon the tribe and all that, they perform certain rituals involving whips and bare buttocks.

Allow me to paint a graphic picture for you:

Naked Indian Guy bends over, in full view of his likewise naked buddies, and they’re all hooting and hollering and smiling with glee, some clearly stoned out of their minds on some form of wacky weed, and a huge bear of a man, obviously the leader of this pack of bitches, stands behind Naked Indian Guy, raises his whip, and thrashes mercilessly until Naked Indian Guy whoops in pain and flees -- while giggling and holding onto his wounded buttocks…And hopping up and down…And giggling some more. Just like the little bitch he is. And the Tribal Bitch Leader has an erection, I swear to God, just pops a big ol’ woody right there on camera.

Needless to say, I was delighted, so much so, I just had to look up these hunky freaks on the Internet this morning so I could get another fix of indigenous pornography -- I mean, honestly, is there even such a thing as too much indie porn?

Unfortunately, all I could find, besides the television listing on The Travel Channel website, were a couple of uninteresting pictures featuring clothed Yawalapiti doing mundane things (probably taken by some Christian missionary who came prepared for the camera shots by bringing Hanes underwear and Depends adult diapers), and this:












A Yawalapiti bitch being scratched with the teeth of fish.

Not as good as whipping, I admit, but beggars can’t be choosers.

Did I mention that Anthony Bourdain is my lover?

posted by Ms. Lori @ 10:18 AM