Visiting Macedonia

6 am Dad was knocking on the girls' doors, and parting the sheets serving as walls for the guys sleeping in hammocks and blow-up mattresses, saying, “time to wake up!”. The only responses were groans. Too many late nights and early mornings in a row...

All sixteen of us sat down at the two long white plastic tables looking (as well as feeling) half asleep. Breakfast was boiled eggs, which after we pulling the soft inside out of these delicious croissant-like breads, they would fit perfectly in there... kinda like a pig in a blanket, only different. Many of us have learned to really like bananas smothered in peanut butter, and amazing “Ben-Franklin” orange juice (juice made by Ben and Franklin under the expert instruction of Paul Robert) made in the blender with ice. This is a common fast, good breakfast we have quite often here.

After eating, Durley showed up, and we started walking down the street in a posse looking group of gringos, accompanied by a Peruvian, Venezuelan, and Colombian. We all were carrying boxes of tracts, calendars, Bibles, candies, and food for a day on the river. None of us were quite sure what we were going to be doing... all we knew was that we were to be meeting up with Will Chowning (a man who lives across the boarder in Brazil with his wife Lydia, son Lee, three daughters, Tana, Sarena, Fairy, her Brazilian husband Miguel and little son Miguel) and he was going to take us out on the river to visit some of the villages along the way.

Arriving at the “dock”, it was clear to see the river was too low for a boat to arrive to where we were. So, instead of taking the road up above, where the ground was flatish, and the walking relatively easy, we took the obviously more “adventurous” route; the “dry”, steeply inclined river bank, which the rain had soaked the night before. Amazingly there was a pathway, but the wet clay/mud mixture was SO slippery, it was almost better to walk on the tall, wet grass. Walking single-file, we were falling left and right. It would have made an entertaining home-video. A bunch of various aged gringos walking along the bank of a muddy river in the Amazon carrying all kinds of boxes and bags, slipping all over the path, arms flailing, belongings falling in the mud... with a road just up to the left of them, how “tonto” can you get? We got a little tired of fighting nature, and decided to let Dad and Will battle it on their own to get a couple small pecky-peckys for the rest us to ride in.

They found some, and we climbed in carefully, each making sure we sat down on the opposite side as the person in front of us, knowing if we didn't, the whole canoe would capsize. They were only about four feet wide, twenty long, and the sides only came up out of the water about six inches. Then motor was on the back, attached to a long pole with a propeller on the end, slightly resembling a weed-eater. Using this, it was easier to navigate in shallow water, pulling it out whenever needs be, keeping the propeller from hitting dead trees, or getting caught up in river weeds. Sometimes while on the river you see a whole group of Indians packed into those things, the sides only rising above the water a couple inches. If one person was to rock the boat too much, water would pour in, and they'd have to increase the bailing speed, compensating for the incident, as well continuing as a result of the leaky sides.

Once all of us were in two, we rode to the larger canoe. It was about one and a half times as long, and about six feet across. This one was also tipsy as we loaded in, but not nearly as bad as those small ones. There were benches on both sides, then a place to sit in the very front. Our boatman had higher technology than most; he had a steering wheel, and some wires that went along the side to the outboard motor screwed onto the back of the boat that swiveled every time he turned the wheel. A large portion of the boat/canoe was covered with plastic, protecting passengers from both the strong Amazon sun, as well as the torrential rains we were to experience later on.

And we were off! Nate, Anna, Matt, and I all went way up in the front. It was awesome! You could lean over, and let your hands drag in the water that was just slightly cooler than the warm morning air, and feel the mist coming up. Those behind you felt a little more than mist though, and after getting a whole side of their body soaked, they would ask to keep all arms and legs INSIDE the boat. The best feeling was to lay on your stomach across the front part of the boat, feeling the bow rise and fall with the rhythm of the waves, the wind blowing your hair all out of the braids. We had to practically shout at one another while talking because of the loud motor, and wind. Being up there, Matt replaced Nate after a while, and we had fun trying to spot pink dolphins, native to the Amazon river. They would jump out of the water, but you had to be really quick, because after surfacing, they would disappear again. One time we were confused to see a bottle traveling UP-river, only to realize that it was attached to a piece of rope, and a dolphin was pulling the string and bottle against the current. It was awesome to see those dolphins (or at least the splashes they made).

While speeding slowly upriver, we saw other pecky-peckies on the water too. Some canoes, occupied by Indians, were carved out of only one huge log, and the navigator used a paddle that had a short handle, having a cross between a heart and teardrop thin, wide end.
Many were transporting fruits and other produce to sell downriver in places like Leticia, Tabatinga and Santa Rosa. Others were letting down their fishing nets, which were held up by plastic bottles, where the dolphin had probably obtained his from one such net; raiding a fisherman's day's labor. That is one reason the natives here do not like the dolphins. They make trouble for the fishermen, eating the fish, and breaking the nets.

Every once in a while, the sides of the river would contain an opening with a little wood jungle dwelling on stilts. Surrounding them would be all kinds of fruit and jungle trees, as well as cows and goats grazing on the grass around. Chickens and dogs would be pecking the ground, or trying to get cool laying in the shade. From the house would be an obvious trail (or one that would be not so obvious, being a pathway of trampled on mud) down to the river where a canoe would be tied to a steak stuck into the mucky ground. Sometimes there would even be a little floating dock made out of balsa wood. Indian women would usually be squatting on them scrubbing clothes, while kids would go swimming in the water, making sure they stayed right by shore as not to get stuck in the strong current of the immense river.

After being on the river for about forty five minutes, we pulled up at the first village. Our boatman roped our canoe alongside of others to a very wobbly stick stuck in the mud. To get out, we had to balance on the bow, and hop out onto the steep, slippery bank, then practically crawl up the side to where it actually flattened out, using our fingers like claws to dig into the ground, while it was a bit more difficult to do so with out toes considering most were wearing flip flops, but we tried- anything as to not slip and fall into the milky brown water below!
With Will leading the bunch, we all tramped down a narrow dirt pathway, paralleling the river, underneath the tall, shady trees on both sides. Finally arriving at a jungle house/store we met some Christian acquaintances of Will's who were sitting cooling off in the shade. In a nearby tree, they had pet parrots, whose wings were clipped so they couldn't fly. We had fun holding them on our fingers, and trying to talk to them (only they didn't respond). After chatting for a few minutes, we continued on our trek into farther inland. About five minutes in, we arrived at a very well built wooden bridge that was extremely long, leading us to the village. It was raised about ten feet from the marshy ground below. Off to the left we saw a group of women squatting on rows of logs that were lanced together. They were washing clothes they had lugged all the way down to the tributary's mucky brown water. Amazingly, the town was quite organized, and clean. There was hardly trash anywhere, and there were recognizable streets (even though there was absolutely no motorized vehicles in the town). Surprisingly, there were power lines; coming from the houses, you could hear the music from radios, and the soap operas from TVs, even way out here in the middle of nowhere! Because it was the middle of the afternoon, the hottest part of the day, all sane people were taking siestas in their hammocks or sitting on their porches, legs dangling off the side while mending huge, complicated-looking fishing nets.

As we walked up, people just stared suspiciously. Others practiced what English they knew “Heylow”, “Whachur naymae?”, then shied away giggling if we did as much as look back at them. Dad organized us in groups of three, and after getting handfuls of tracts, bookmarks and candies we dispersed. Just about then school got out, and a whole flock of kids wearing blue and white uniforms surrounded us, happily accepting the candies and bookmarks. We went around to houses too, giving booklets and other reading materials to mothers watching their kids, or young people who were just lounging around. Sometimes we would start talking to one of the ladies, whose response would be a blank stare or smile, only to realized she spoke Tacuna, the native language of one of the tribes. Interestingly, not very many of the children were very talkative either. If you tried to start a conversation with them, they would usually give you a one-word answer talking so quietly it was almost unintelligible, or some would just stare up at you with their big, brown eyes. One group of kids from 2 to 6 years old I saw gathered around in a circle, and decided to see what it was all about. One little boy had a knife in his hand, another little girl had a big spoon, and they were digging a shallow hole in the soft soil. I was kind of confused until I saw the limp form of a baby chick in a little shirtless brown boy's hand. They all looked serious as the funeral proceeded. It reminded me of all the animal funerals we had back home when we were little. When I walked up, and asked what happened, they replied “it's mom stepped on it”, quickly finished, dropped it in, covered it up, and ran away to their house. One little girl about two years old started crying. I'm not quite sure if she was scared of me... or if she was sad about the chick.

Nate, Durley and I were in one group, and were sent down to the ladies we had seen earlier cleaning clothes. While walking on the path, I saw a unique plant, that slightly resembled a fern. Each “branch” had five branches off of that, with tiny leaves on each. When you would touch even one leaf, the whole string of leaves would close up like a tortilla. If you touched the main stalk, all the leaves, as well as the branches would close up. It was so awesome. We'd seen that kind of plant five years ago when we'd been here, and I've been looking for that plant since. We got a little distracted in passing out tracts, touching all those kinds of leaves, watching them respond to our touch, closing up. As we got closer to where the women were, it was really mucky. Nate and I had our flipflops all dirty, but poor Durley; she was wearing cute white and pink shoes that were perfectly coordinated with her pink and white shirt. She was making an effort to keep them clean, balancing on a piece of plywood that had been placed in the watery mud. In trying to walk carefully on it, she lost her balance, and fell in. Her shoes were now even more yucky than ours, so was her leg and pants. But she was a really good sport. This isn't quite her type of thing. Even though she lives here in Leticia, this was her second time on the river, and had only been to a village like this once before.

As we came close enough to the bank to see below, although we were still a ways away, it was evident a few of the older ladies in the group were not wearing anything on top. Nate kinda froze, and turned away, awkwardly standing back while Durley and I attempted to slide down the bank in getting to where they were. Although not ashamed, they pulled various articles of clothing out of their washtubs to put on, while others just held them up to their bodies when they realized Nathan was giving out candies. They were agile as they walked up the slippery bank we had been struggling to get down in order to get some from him. They loved the laminated texts we gave them, containing a picture and verse. We said goodbye, and they got back to washing, chatting excitedly in their native tongue one to another as we walked back to the village.

It was so hot, walking all these places in direct sunlight. Even attempting to sit in the shade of one of the trees didn't help much, considering the air was stagnant and so humid. After taking a break for a while, we trekked back to the boat. We were exhausted from getting up so early, and walking so much in the intense sun and humidity. Durley lay on the bow of the boat, Paul and I sat behind her with Martha and Matt. I fell asleep to the hum of the boat engine, rocking of the boat, and the cool wind off the water making the warm sun actually feel good. We stopped at one more village before arriving at our final destination upriver.

Macedonia. That was the furthest community we were planning on visiting before returning, making a stop in one other community, then re-visiting Santa Rosa, the second place we'd been, and having a Bible talk. Here we did the same we'd done in the other two villages. Dad met one of the pastors there, the son of a faithful Christian man and his wife who had like twelve kids and together have made an immense impact on the Indians in the tribes all around, bringing them to Christ.

While Dad was talking to him, we were just finishing the last of our tracts and saw a guy picking on a guitar. When we asked him to play us something, he handed the instrument over to the guy sitting next to him, who began to strum. The strings seemed lose or something, but he was doing an amazing job of keeping up a melody. As he sang, I realized he was singing a Christian song. That really impressed me. He didn't know we were Christians, but every single one of the songs he played were worshiping the Lord, or talked about how we as young people need to step up, and follow Him, because of all that He has done for us. It was so awesome to just be able to stand there, listening to the sound of the guitar, and Spanish songs, spending time with other Christians, we didn't even know, enjoying the Lord together. Seeing other vibrant young people, on fire for the Lord, who are not the least bit ashamed of their faith, and are ready to share it with anyone who comes along. After standing there for a while, another guy, who had a mullet came along the path, and even though we didn't know him, he shook all our hands, then went up with the group of guys listening to the one playing the guitar, and started playing himself. He played some songs in Tacuna, then translated them into Spanish for us. I translated for Lydia into English. They were beautiful. He was part of the Christian church there in town, and was teaching others in the youth group how to play the guitar too.

While standing there enjoying the songs, I looked up across to the river, and saw what appeared to be a very white Indian riding a log down the river. It looked very odd to me, and after a few minutes of trying to make this picture make sense, I realized it was Dave! He and Nate had just slipped on their swim shorts, and started swimming in the river! They even were jumping off a big boat that was just docked on the side of the river. Crazy boys. I was a little worried about them, but decided not to say anything, and they were fine.

I was sad to leave the music, and other Christians, but Dad said it was time to be heading back. We said goodbye, and re-boarded. While we were almost back to Santa Rosa, out of nowhere the sky started getting darker, and we could see the wall of rain rapidly approaching our little boat. It looked kinda scary, especially considering we were in the middle of the Amazon river, and a storm didn't sound like the funnest thing to experience at that moment. It was scary enough being on the huge boat coming to Leticia when the storm hit a few weeks ago, but being in this little canoe, that had a tiny little motor... some were beginning to get nervous. Nate was deep asleep on the front of the boat, but somehow he woke up to realize nobody was up front with him, and looking ahead he decided what we all had made up our minds about ten minutes before; we were all under the blue tarp, covered in all the rain gear we had brought. When it came upon us, the strength, and power of that rain and wind was incredible. Although most of the boat was covered, mist, and droplets soaked us who were all the way in the back; the plastic covering us didn't do much at all. Outside it was like a garden hose had been turned on, soaking everything. Will shouted above the sound of the torrential rain and wind, telling us Amazonian rainstorm horror stories, while looking worried. When Wilmer saw how much water was in the bottom of the boat, he started bailing. He wasn't going to take any chances. It was actually pretty dangerous being out there during such a downpour, with all the waves, in a boat like that, and we decided to try to make it back to Leticia instead of stopping in those villages to have Bible readings, especially when you never know how long the storm will last, and if it will get worse. It ended up that two days later, there was a river tornado, and the roof of the school in Santa Rosa, the second village we'd gone to, and were planning on returning to, was ripped off. We were thankful not to have been on the river that day.

About a half hour after it had started, the storm ended almost as quickly as it had appeared. Looking behind us, we could see the rain still pelting down in sheets on the stormy, turbulent water. Back in Leticia, the streets were hardly damp. The rain here is so crazy, it can be completely pouring in one part of a city, then another part is completely dry, and doesn't get a drop of rain all day!

Stepping off the canoe, we paid our boatman, and thanked the Lord for keeping us all safe...