Years ago I was visiting a missionary friend in Bolivia. He was a missionary to a tribe of Indians located in the hot sweaty Bolivian Amazon. He and his wife had been working with this 'small' group of very primitive Indians for a year. The tribe was once large, numbering hundreds but now there were only a handful. This group of people had been decimated by disease and warfare and were now down to one rugged family of about six individuals. A man, his two wives and some kids.
It wasn't long before the naked man spotted my buck-knife. I let him look at it, and watched him as he opened it up and slowly ran his finger over the edge of blade. He looked up at me and smiled. As I took my knife back, he came close to me and excitedly started a dialogue ... in his language.
The missionary, with a smile, translated his talk; indeed he liked that knife and wanted it bad! He made me an amazing offer ... my Buck Knife for his second wife. Swap, even ... I looked at my knife and I looked at the woman, then I looked at my knife again and ... I decided to keep my knife.
