In and out, through the woven grass door, their naked bodies, black as the night itself, gently brushed by me.

This magic began as I tossed and turned in my sleeping bag, hearing their songs in the distance. I was drawn from the safety of my grass hut to go jungle-wandering into the night, where life could be felt and enjoyed. The equatorial sun, along with the high altitude, somewhere deep in the New Guinea forests, made one aware of every breath taken. A woman among the Dani tribes is regarded lower in importance than the cherished pigs owned by the men. The women sleep with the pigs, care for, and feed them. Men sleep in their own huts, threatening to kill with a bow and arrow any women entering their huts, including any of the wives.

Strangely, being a woman traveler, I was treated as a honored guest upon arrival in every village. My footsteps ended outside a music filled grass hut, smoke covering the rooftop. I crouched near the door, hoping not to be noticed. Dressed in feathers, paint, animal skins, but no clothing other than the daily koteka (penis gourds worn by all males), tribal men crawled past me to join in the festival inside. Unable to interpret the whispers, passing shoulder after shoulder, goose bumps covered my sweaty but chilled body. A village elder crawled through the dusty opening and reached for my hand. I didn't hesitate. They had given me permission to enter the men-only hut. It was as if I'd crawled into a book about a forgotten people. The chanting of centuries old songs by the elaborately painted Dani warriors, along with the reflection of the fire in their white circled eyes, was hypnotizing. Their forty-nine smiles sank deep inside me as the men sang louder and louder, encouraging a Dani chief to stand up and dance for me. Somehow they knew; I was a traveler from a faraway land and I'd share their story. Through tears from thick smoke, I saw a wrinkled hand touching my arm, hoping to share a smoke with his last hand-rolled tobacco leaf. His hand seemed clasped over mine forever, as if taking me back in time.

Hours later, back in my home-away-from-home grass hut, restless from this experience, I sank deeper inside my sleeping bag, content that the tiny mouse-like creatures playing hopscotch all about me would be kept out because of the mosquito netting all around my bag.

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