In the late 1990s, the Kichwa community of Sani Isla, in northern Ecuador’s Amazon region, learned that the oil company Occidental (Oxy) had plans to conduct exploration on their communal territory.

Orlando Gualinga, one of the community’s leaders, had been working for the company for several years. “Boss, in an extreme case where seismic studies or drilling take place, could our people work?” Gualinga recalls asking a manager. “He told me no, that only technologists or university graduates could.”

At that moment, Gualinga remembered how his parents and previous generations had worked for large landowners. Now, while they wouldn’t be working on an estate, they would lose the autonomy they had fought to gain. “In the end, we were going to return to the past,” he reflected.

Sani Isla was established in the 1960s by Kichwa settlers who, after leaving the estates of wealthy landowners, sought fertile lands where they could live in freedom. A handful of families arrived in an area that would later become known as the provinces of Sucumbíos and Orellana, located between what is now the Cuyabeno Wildlife Reserve and Yasuní National Park.

Life at that time, Gualinga recalls, was very harsh. Movement was along the Napo River in dugout canoes propelled by poles, without motors. Within the community, the work was hard, and there were still few inhabitants. But the territory they named Sani — after a tree abundant in the area, known for its purple dye — was finally their own.

Alexandra Almeida, coordinator of the Oil Campaign at Acción Ecológica, explains that the Ecuadorian state imposed oil blocks 12 and 15 on Sani Isla and other communities. “They didn’t consult the communities and created very serious conflicts [in several places],” she notes.

When Oxy arrived to carry out exploration for the Aguarico 3D project in the early 21st century, divisions arose. The population had grown—by 2000, it had reached nearly 400 people—but the community still lacked stable economic resources and access to services like healthcare or secondary education, Gualinga explains. Some Indigenous people hoped the oil company’s presence would bring jobs and economic benefits, while others wanted to preserve the territory that provided them with food, medicine, and materials.

“There were fights and arguments among us,” says Blanca Tapuy, who became the leader of the anti-oil resistance at that time. Tapuy opposed oil exploitation because she had seen the Shushufindi area, north of the community, where soot billowed from flares and thick, oily liquid leaked from broken pipes into streams. She recalls that the division within the community was fueled by Oxy, which offered gifts and promises of employment for the next 25 years to those who supported the company.

Although prior consultation was recognized in Ecuador’s 1998 Constitution, a regulatory framework for its implementation still did not exist by 2023. Despite this, the Ministry of Energy and Mines assured Mongabay Latam and La Barra Espaciadora that the explorations “were conducted with prior consultation with the communities.”

Against this backdrop, Gualinga led negotiations with Oxy and identified an alternative path. He saw an opportunity in the possibility of some community members working as tour guides or in service roles at nearby luxury lodges. This vision aligned with maintaining the integrity of their land while providing economic options that didn’t involve oil extraction.

The resistance, however, was not without challenges. Tapuy and her allies faced pressure from both within and outside the community. She recalls sleepless nights worrying about the potential impact of oil operations, not just on their land but also on their culture and future generations. Over time, the anti-oil faction gained traction, uniting around the idea of preserving their territory and seeking sustainable alternatives for their livelihood.

“If you want to drill in the territory of the commune, you’ll have to give me a first-class hotel with everything necessary—canoes, radios, and all the essentials to operate,” Gualinga demanded from the Oxy manager. After months of resistance and negotiation, the community won. The oil company constructed three cabins, a restaurant, and a bar by the Challuacocha Lagoon, about 10 minutes from the community center by boat. The site, named Sani Lodge, opened its doors in 2002.

After the initial exploration of the Aguarico 3D project, Oxy withdrew from the territory in 2002 without providing much information about their findings. According to a publication by Biodiversidadla.org, the Ministry of Energy and Mines stated that “3D seismic acquisition provided geophysical information on the blocks,” but no further details were given on the feasibility of exploitation in the area. However, years later, the oil industry would return to the commune. Meanwhile, Sani Isla lived up to its name—gradually, it became encircled by oil fields. To the east lies the Edén-Yuturi field, to the northeast, the Pañacocha field, and to the northwest, the Limoncocha station.

Sani Lodge: A Shield of Conservation

Sani Isla encompasses 31,000 hectares today, half of which overlap with the southern portion of Yasuní National Park. Its incredible biodiversity, combined with the almost mythical landscapes of flooded forests, terra firme forests, and the Napo River, has made it a popular destination for international tourists. In 2019, Green Destinations recognized this effort by naming Sani Lodge one of the world’s 100 best sustainable destinations.

However, the success of this community-based tourism project came to a halt. The lodge closed in 2019 when bank loan interest rates for building additional cabins became “a snowball,” says Javier Gualinga, the project manager. He admits that their lack of understanding of the banking system led them into bankruptcy. The lodge’s workers, skilled in cooking, hospitality, and guiding tours, had to return to farming. The COVID-19 pandemic further dashed hopes as the Amazon forest began to reclaim the abandoned cabins.

During its 17 years of operation, Sani Lodge became a kind of school for community members. Many learned gastronomy, logistics, foreign languages, international construction standards, and scientific names for birdwatching. Part of the lodge’s profits went toward education, enabling top-performing students to finish high school in Coca, the provincial capital of Orellana, and toward medical emergencies. The project also inspired the creation of Sani Warmi, a women’s organization that offered tourism services, practiced ancestral medicine, and sold traditional food and handicrafts. For the community, reopening the lodge was an unshakable goal.

Javier Gualinga, one of the community’s most prominent guides, was chosen to lead the revival of the venture in 2021 and once again serves as its manager. “We rose from the ashes,” he recalls. “It’s thanks to Sani Lodge that I am where I am today,” he affirms.

Gualinga began his journey as a guide, a role that comes naturally to many Amazonians due to their deep familiarity with their environment. He took biology courses and earned a scholarship to study English and natural history with a focus on tropical forests in the United States. This preparation enabled him to successfully lead the reopening of Sani Lodge. Despite ongoing debts and challenges, the community has placed its hopes in this initiative.

“Comrade Javier stood firm, and now we’re back in operation. We no longer think about the oil company—we’d rather think about the future,” reflects Blanca Tapuy, recalling the divisions the oil industry once caused. Today, 40 community members, most of them young people, work at the lodge.

Conservation Amidst Oil Interests

Sani Lodge was established in 2002 and grew alongside the renewed interest in oil exploration in the region. In 2008, Petroamazonas, a subsidiary of Petroecuador responsible for Block 15 since 2006, returned to the community to build on studies Oxy had conducted in 2000. This time, however, Sani Isla had more information and alternative employment opportunities.

“Sani Lodge is now a shield,” says Javier Gualinga.

“Many communities haven’t been able to protect their territories, but community tourism has been our way to survive and resolve issues,” adds Edwing Gualinga, the community’s vice president.

Nevertheless, as part of the Aguarico 3D project, Petroamazonas drilled the exploratory well Sani Isla 1 on communal land. According to the Ministry of Energy and Mines, prior consultation was carried out during this phase. The results of the exploration, as shared in a ministry document, noted “indications of hydrocarbons” but deemed the well “not productive.”

Despite these underwhelming results, the oil industry returned with a new project. On March 20, 2009, the Ministry of Environment, Water, and Ecological Transition (Maate) granted Environmental License No. 044 for a 3D seismic prospecting project in the Cedros and Garzacocha areas, located between Blocks 12 and 15. According to Maate, a citizen participation process was conducted, during which the project’s characteristics and environmental management plans were shared with neighboring communities. Following this process and other regulatory procedures, the environmental license was issued.

However, on May 9, 2009, Sani Isla responded with a general assembly rejecting any oil activity on its land. This opposition was ignored by the government of then-President Rafael Correa. The seismic prospecting project proceeded intermittently between March 2009 and April 2015. Once the prospecting ended, no further oil activities were conducted in the community, and the Ministry of Energy and Mines provided no information about the results.

Balancing Conservation and Economic Incentives

Paradoxically, in 2010, the Ministry of Environment signed a conservation agreement with the community under the Socio Bosque program. Since 2008, this program has provided financial incentives to farmers and Indigenous communities that voluntarily commit to conserving and protecting nature. In Sani Isla, around 10,000 hectares are protected under this program, while an additional 16,577 hectares are conserved through community initiative. Altogether, approximately 25,000 hectares—or 80.6% of the community’s territory—remain intact.

According to Maate, the community receives approximately $62,451 annually for maintaining the 9,000 hectares within Socio Bosque. Much of this funding is allocated to salaries for six community forest rangers and to purchasing equipment for their operations, notes Edwing Gualinga.

Although it has been eight years since the oil industry ceased exploration in Sani Isla, new threats to the territory’s natural integrity have emerged, including logging and hunting by individuals from neighboring communities. These activities primarily affect the northern part of the territory, which borders Ecuador’s oil heartland and palm oil plantations. Recently, the forest rangers built a checkpoint in this area, which has successfully deterred unauthorized entry.

The incentives from Socio Bosque are also used for education, healthcare, and organizational expenses.

“Sani Isla’s strength lies in its good resource management and transparency. The community has consistently met the program’s requirements, and there have been no suspensions due to noncompliance,” says Carolina Rosero, director of the Amazon program at Conservation International (CI), a nonprofit organization that collaborates with Socio Bosque. “The young people see opportunities within the community for personal growth and income generation,” adds Rosero.

Environmental Disasters and Lack of Basic Services

Sani Isla has not only faced the challenges of the oil industry but has also had to contend with environmental disasters. Since the disappearance of the San Rafael Waterfall in early 2020, the regressive erosion of the Coca River and subsequent oil spills have drastically altered the behavior of the Napo River. The Kichwa community reports that the river’s intensity has swallowed islands and devastated low-lying areas of riverbank communities.

“Communities will continue facing problems in the coming years. Fishing grounds will disappear or shift location rapidly, sometimes overnight,” says Juan Morán, a geography PhD specializing in Amazon-Andean landscapes and a resident of the city of Coca. He explains that the erosion process could also lead to landslides or sediment buildup, negatively impacting the rivers’ services and nearby infrastructure.

Adding to this is the pollution caused by illegal mining at the headwaters of the Napo River in the province of the same name. “The river has changed color; it’s now thicker, sandier, dirtier. We’ve lost many fish species,” says Edwing Gualinga. “The need for potable water is urgent.”

The community also lacks electricity, a secondary school, and a health center. While they have received proposals to provide basic services, these projects often come with the construction of roads, which the community fears would bring significant environmental and social impacts.

Carolina Rosero of Conservation International (CI) emphasizes that road-building is one of the greatest threats to forests.

“When roads are built, settlers come to deforest or hunt, drugs enter, and alcoholism rises. We need to think about alternatives that don’t involve opening roads,” she says. Solar panels—like those powering the lodge—and water filtration systems could address Sani Isla’s most pressing needs.

“If a road is built, it will lead to more oil wells and easier access,” warns Javier Gualinga. “We’re under immense pressure.”

Blanca Tapuy confirms that the Ecuadorian government has not relented in its attempts to explore for oil in Sani Isla. However, government institutions consulted for this report insist there are no new plans to enter the community.

The Threat to Sani Lodge

Changes in the Napo River also jeopardize the future of Sani Lodge. According to Javier Gualinga, the river’s rising waters have already brought oil from spills and sandy soil, affecting the blackwater lagoons and swamps. Gualinga fears that biodiversity could decline, harming the tourism initiative.

“There are no clear actions from government institutions,” laments geographer Juan Morán. “There are no serious projects addressing these issues. Indigenous communities or those near the rivers seem to matter little. From my perspective, they’ve been somewhat abandoned.”

Despite these challenges, Javier Gualinga remains hopeful. The community has gained awareness of Indigenous rights and recognizes the value of conservation and community tourism as alternatives to prevent the oil industry from causing further harm, similar to what they’ve observed in neighboring communities.

“We now see what we’ve been spared from,” says Gualinga. “The younger generation of the community already understands the future of the world: to conserve as much as we can.”

This article was originally published in Spanish by Mongabay-Latam as “Ecuador: Sani Isla, comunidad kichwa que halló en la conservación y el turismo alternativas al petróleo” on May 23rd, 2023.