A show of strength: Brazil's native peoples fight back

Aru throws back his head and spreads his arms as he crosses the finish line of the 100m sprint first, his triumphant smile recalling the delight felt by thousands of winning athletes before him. But with the excited whoops of his team-mates comes a swift reminder that this race was a little different.

Dressed in intricate feather head-dresses, and elaborately painted from head to toe, his fellow tribe members from the state of Pará in northern Brazil rush across the strip of beach, serving as a temporary stadium. Circling their new hero, they wave their traditionally crafted maracas, dance and stamp in time to a spontaneous song of celebration to honour his success.

This is a far cry from the Olympics. At the Indigenous Games, in Brazil's north-eastern capital of Fortaleza, where canoeing, traditional archery and head football rank as mainstream sports, this is athletics with a twist. The Games attract 1,500 athletes from 42 tribes across the country and continue to grow in size and stature. But for Fortaleza, a tourist destination better known for its all-year sunshine than its cultural diversity, this event is a first.

Determined not only to compete, but more importantly to resurrect and celebrate a culture that has been slowly crushed, hundreds of Brazil's ethnic minorities have travelled, packed into buses, for four, five or even six days to be here.

They have come from the Matto Grosso in the Amazon basin, the rainforests in the furthest northern corner of this vast land, from the very south of Brazil's lush border with Argentina, each proudly bringing their own cultures to demonstrate and to share.

Resplendent in their traditional dress - decorated with beads, garlands, tropical bird plumes and exotically bejewelled - they cut incongruous figures against the built-up backdrop of the urban Iracema beach, with its skyscrapers, hotels and gaudy seafront bars. As they wait for the warm-ups, the athletes pose for pictures on the old pier, some giggling as they group together. One little girl grins in delight at the waves crashing on the shore. Living five days' drive from the coast, deeply ensconced in Brazil's interior, the ocean had been an unimaginable concept.

The tourists, who point and click and stare, do not know quite what to make of them, but the indigenous delegates seem unconcerned. They understand exactly why they are here, and in many ways, the annual event is a matter of life or death for their cultures. When the Portuguese colonisers arrived in the 1500s, there were an estimated six million indigenous people in Brazil.

It is a landmark burnt into their memories, romanticised as an end of innocence, the start of the struggle against ethnic cleansing, persecution, slavery and exploitation. Today, only 370,000 - just 0.2 per cent of Brazil's population - survive.

In recent decades, many tribes have been driven from their land by deforestation, which in the Amazon reached record levels this year. Not only do they lose their traditional farming and fishing but their deep spiritual connection to the land, vital for their emotional well-being, say tribal leaders. Deprived of this, depression has flourished and suicides, even among children, have increased dramatically.

For some of the more isolated tribes, contact with the outside world has brought illness and disease; for others problems with alcohol and drugs. Some complain that poverty has led many into virtual slavery, working for loggers on a pittance to survive.

But Brazil's indigenous people are fighting back. This year, three major battles for land were won, with the territories of the Mukuxi, Wapixana, Awá and Guarani among others gaining legal protection. It is a growing trend of government support and understanding, albeit limited, which has handed back only 80 hectares to the indigenous peoples in the past 15 years.

And with some of the many land battles secured, it is the aim of the Games to help to restore and replenish a culture sadly overlooked. The idea for the Games was born almost two decades ago, but as one of the organisers, Carlos Terena, the cultural co-ordinator of the Intertribal Committee, explains, it took many years before their vision could be realised. Finally, in 1996, after many fundraising failures and false starts, community leaders and their representative organisations secured government sponsorship, and 400 indigenous people from Brazil took their first tentative steps into the sporting arena.

Held in Goiania, in central Brazil, the 34 tribes who made that leap of faith were supported by the then sports minister Edson Arantes do Nascimento, better known to football fans as Pele. In subsequent years the event has been supported by Gilberto Gil, the Culture minister and singer/songwriter, and by the former Brazil football captain Dunga, who led the national team to victory in the 1994 World Cup.

The first aim of the Games is to bring the often marginalised and cut-off indigenous peoples together, Mr Terena says. "Most of the indigenous groups have many differences - they speak different languages, they have different rituals and beliefs - but through sports we can show them what they have in common. They know about using a bow and arrow, canoeing. The solidarity it creates is fundamental."

The second aim of the Games is to fight the ignorance that leads to discrimination of these much-misunderstood cultures. "If you don't understand a culture it is much easier to discriminate against it," Mr Terena adds. "Racism against the indigenous people is a reality in Brazil. But if you can be given an insight into the culture, you can respect it."

Last year, unseasonal rains swept across the state of Bahia, forcing the indigenous village of longhouses to be evacuated. Tempers frayed, organisers were criticised and it was feared that all the hard work to nurture the event was being unravelled. But the fears seem unfounded. This week, the sun is high and the temperature above 30C, as the tribes line up to present a cultural demonstration before the day's competitive events commence.

Among the many dances, choreographed fights, chants and songs, the highlight is the sacred flute ritual of the Nambikwara tribe, only usually performed behind the closed doors by the male members. The crowd falls silent as the ancient atonal sounds of the flute begin, to the slow shuffling dance of the costumed performers.

"This is a sacred ritual, but the flute is a replica," the chief says over the microphone. "We can't use the real one because it is very dangerous for women to see it. If they do, they will become ill."

Pirakuman Yawalapiti, leader of the Xinguano delegation, says: "Many Indians are forgetting their culture and I am scared much of it will be lost forever. This event reminds us of the richness of our cultures, and of the need to preserve it always. The fight of the Indians has been going on for 500 years since the white man arrived. But today the Indians are fighting back. We are starting to participate, to have discussions with the country's governors.

"The problem is that the modern world doesn't understand how to preserve nature. The destruction of the Brazilian forest is no joke. It is not in the Indian culture to destroy anything in nature. This is the fight of the Indian today, to preserve nature, and to preserve our culture."

Outside the stadium, the competitors clamber on to the buses that will take them back to their replica longhouse village 20 miles from the city, and the tourists and spectators wind their way home, many now adorned with a feather earring, or carrying a maraca, taking away a little piece of a culture now more understood.