ali's african adventures

Remember how we won that chicken as a prize during survival camp? Well, Sunday was the day of Chimby's demise. It all happened in true jungle fashion, and I took lots of photos, because something told me at the beginning of the day that it was going to be one to remember.

Oh, how right I was.

Korky, our 16-year old jungle boy, informed us on Saturday that his mother would be killing and cooking Chimby the Chicken on Sunday, and that we were all invited to his house for church and a feast. When we asked how far away he lived, he initially said fifteen minutes, and then changed his mind to let us know that, actually, there was a fifteen-minute boat ride as part of the trip, so it was probably more like forty. Totally doable.

A group of twelve of us set out from the base at nine in the morning on Sunday, ready to brave the jungle and take our first ride on the river.



Our motocarrista (real word, that) decided to take us the scenic route, and we were more than relieved when we finally met up with the rest of the group and didn't have to pay for the extra kilometers he tried to put on his trusty machine.



We set off through a much more rural area than we had ever been in, heading towards the river and the boat the Korky promised us would be waiting to take us to his home. (Can anyone guess what's about to happen here?) As usual, lots of inquisitive kids came out to stare at all the gringoes.





When we finally got to the water, there was a boat there, a very pretty orange one.



Unfortunately, it was not the boat that would take us to Korky's. That boat never arrived, and after a couple unsuccessful attempts to flag down passing canoes, we decided to shuttle the lot of us across in a little boat, after which we'd hike through the jungle to our destination.



We were optimistic as we headed into the jungle, enjoying the lush vegetation, crazy looking fruits, and beautiful flowers.





However, it wasn't long until we realized that the cooler weather over the past week has led to a rather unfortunate result: mosquitoes thicker than I had ever experienced before. Honestly, just swinging your arm through the air made it feel like it was raining; that's how many of the little devils you would hit.



Our nice walk through the jungle turned into a march of desperation, arms flailing vainly against the encroaching horde, hands clutching leaves that we used to swipe feverishly against the blood sucking menaces. I'm actually not exaggerating right now; I sucked a couple into my mouth on at least every other breath. When we finally got close to Korky's place, the open land was a welcome relief, and after a quick stop to chew on some fresh sugar cane (modeled here by George) we followed the stragglers to church. It was 11:30, two and a half hours after we left the base. Forty minutes my rear end!





Naturally, the congregation had waited for us to begin, so we all piled in to the 'pews,' nothing more than long boards held up on stumps and paint cans and plastic buckets. I'd be lying to you if I told you those buckets lasted through the whole service without breaking.



Also, I'd be lying if I said I didn't find a baby to hold and take pictures of.



Church was incredible, despite not being able to understand much of what went on. I just had this feeling of the connection that exists within the body of Christ. If a group of the faithful tucked away in a corner of the Peruvian Amazon feel connected enough to me as a sister in Christ to hold church for a couple hours while I slog through the jungle to get there, what kind of bonds might I have with similar little pockets of believers all over the world?

After church, it was time to eat Chimby. Ruth, one of the more sensitive souls on our team, wasn't a big fan of this idea, but the big brother of the baby was more than ready to make up for her reluctance with a grin as wide as the morning.





Once our bellies were full of the best chicken any of us had ever tasted, along with yucca and spicy sauce, we headed home. This time we got to go in the promised boat, sliding through the river in the gathering rain, the only thing that provided even a semblance of relief from the mosquitoes.





As far as adventures go, this was one for the books. Unfortunately, along with the mosquitoes, there was a particularly nasty tribe of fire ants somewhere in that jungle that chewed up my feet to the point that they're calling me Pillow Feet around the base these past couple of days. Not fun, but it was definitely an experience worth a little pain.

Coming into this time in Peru, I thought I knew a few things. I was pretty sure I knew what it meant to live in community; after all, my life on the ship is lived out in front of the ever-changing 400 that sleep in the cabins around me. I was also confident that I knew how it feels to live in a hot climate, West African weather being about as uncomfortable as it gets. I could go on, but there’s no point; Peru makes a mockery of all my preconceived ideas.



It’s hot here. Hot enough that I wake up sweating even though there’s a fan blowing directly on me. Our room doesn’t have much in the way of airflow (more on that in a moment), and the heat just hangs heavy over us. We sweat sitting in class, we sweat when we eat, and don’t even get me started on what happens when it comes time for dramatic arts. The fact that work duties come directly after that hour of dancing and jumping around doesn’t do anything to decrease the level of perspiration. In fact, it’s only here in Peru that I have managed to attain the distinction, formerly reserved for my HoJ, of actually dripping sweat off my face. And there has been no relief, not even at night.

Until yesterday. Dear, blessed Wednesday night. Around dinner time, the clouds rolled in and we heard the welcome roll of thunder. The lights flickered and died while we sat in the darkened classroom / dining room / dance studio (things do more than double duty around here), savoring the cooler air flowing in. It feels like the whole world cools down with the rains here in the jungle, and we’ve come to live for them, knowing that the refreshment is only going to be short-lived; the sun will burn away the clouds again and the sweat will continue to drip.



Unfortunately, our room is not really suited to helping us cope with the heat. It’s a lovely little room, and we are more than grateful to have our own space. (Especially since all the singles live in dorms, with less room to spread out than I ever had on the ship in a six-berth cabin.) But it’s placed in such a way that our only window opens out into the hallway, and our door has no screen. As a result, that door is always shut against the mosquitoes, and we also have to close our window whenever we want any sort of privacy, which leads to the temperature skyrocketing. The fan pushes around the hot air, and whichever part of us is against the bed kind of feels like it’s on fire. This is not fun, and I am gaining an ever-greater love and appreciation for the air conditioning on the ship. Even on blackout days there, it doesn’t get as hot as our little sauna box here in Peru.

My other favourite thing about the hallway window is the fact that it opens up onto the part of the hall that’s also the entryway to the directors’ apartment. Like I said, we keep the window open as much as possible for fear of suffocation, and this results in the uncomfortable sensation of living in a zoo. Honestly, just try going past an open window and not looking into the room; no one here can resist it either. It's become a little drive-through nursing window where I dispense advice on the common maladies that strike people unaccustomed to the food in the third world. (I don't need to go into more detail, do I?)

And don't even get me started on the actual nursing task I had to perform the other day. Let me just say that holding pressure on a bleeding finger as the result of a vicious iguana bite was not what I thought I'd be doing during my DTS. I'm happy to report that my skills have not dulled too much over the last nine months (has it really been that long?) and I even remembered to offer to wash the shirt that the bystander gave me to use as a makeshift bandage. Now that's service.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that this place and this time has already blown my expectations so far out of the water that I've given up trying to make sense of it. I'm just going to settle in and enjoy this sweat time.

(Just kidding - of course I meant sweet.)

I'm enjoying cinnamon and clove tea, a new discovery that makes every morning just that much better.



I'm enjoying the fact that I can buy limes in a shoe store, seven for one sol (around thirty cents), so that my water tastes better. (There are only five in this photo because I already used two.)



I'm enjoying our multi-cultural class, sitting under flags from around the world and digging into the Bible to learn more about God and His call on our lives. More than anything, I'm enjoying that.

I'm sitting in a little cafe here in Iquitos, banana mango smoothie by my side, typing to you from my very own computer. Which means that I get to upload photos and you get a little taste of my crazy life here. I think I'll let the pictures do most of the talking. There are a ton, so if you're on a slow connection, feel free to go grab a cup of coffee while they load up; it could be a while. (The quality of this set isn't the best, because I saved them as small as possible since I knew I'd be uploading so many. It'll be better in the future, but at least you get the idea.)

A landmark in Iquitos, if only for the lack of foresight involved in building it; this building was condemned the moment it was finished being built because the ground (close to the river) was too unstable to support it. It acts simply as an antenna tower now.



A view of one of the corners in Plaza de Armas, the central spot in the city.



Mototaxis lined up ready to roar (or putter) across the intersection as soon as the light changes.



On to Survival Camp! The pile of lumber awaiting us when we found our corner of the jungle.



Phil winning one of the challenges for his team. We came in second on that one.



Korky triumphantly atop the deck of our shelter.



Me wielding the machete, cutting roots out so I could dig the toilet hole. (Note the long sleeves and pants. In the jungle. In 100 degree weather.)



Anna and Matt working on nailing together the floor.



Amber hated the mosquitoes enough that she was tempted to kill at any cost. Including smashing her own arm with a hammer.



Riley and Charlie getting the fire going. Never have I been so happy to see smoke.



Team Laughing Jorges (don't ask) relaxing and sharing stories around the fire between challenges.



Our challenge prize: Chimby the Chicken!



Raindrop collected in a leaf. If you look closely you can see trees reflected in it.



Reflection in the river while Anna and I were getting water to wash dishes.



Korky's ingenious solution for the bug nets; use a curly vine and cut a hole in the tent. Why didn't I think of that?



Amber in Charlie's teepee.



Katie and Ingie looking on while Ruth fries up some delicious plantains for lunch.



Our casa in the jungle. Such a beautiful sight.



Katie, Anna and Amber seeking relief from the mosquitoes. Good luck, ladies.



When it was over, we were all a little tired. Here's Phil with his buddy Roger.



Back at the base, here's a cloudscape just outside.



Watching the sunset from the upstairs balcony.



Gate and wall and sky. I love the colours here.



And speaking of colour, here's one last shot of the motos.



So there you have it. Now that we've found a place that lets us upload photos I'll hopefully give you more glimpses into our Peruvian life.

It's a good life so far.

First things first: my sincere apologies that there are no photos in this entry. I came to town with a memory stick full of them, all sized down and ready for uploading, but this particular internet cafe won´t allow such things. Which is a pity. Because remember when I said I´d try to make the weekend updates good?

This one is really good.

The reason I´m only getting to the internet on Tuesday, rather than on the weekend as promised, is that I spent the weekend surviving in the Amazon jungle. (And then on Sunday it was Carneval, and I didn´t feel like getting soaked by a water balloon on my way into town. I know. I´m weak.)

On Thursday morning, we were split into three teams, and each person was given a small plastic bag (I´m talking about twice the size of a sandwich bag here) and told that we had five minutes to pack what we needed in order to survive in the jungle until Saturday afternoon. Chaos reigned supreme for the next five minutes and then we crammed all thirty of us, plus leaders, into a tiny bus and rumbled off into the jungle.

What followed was two and a half days of pure Survivor-like madness. We were given a small pack of tools (a machete, one hammer, a shovel, a bag of nails and a box of matches) along with some food and a couple pots and sent to our respective areas, where we found a pile of lumber, some wooden posts and a tarp.

Thank God for Korky. He´s only 16, and he´s from here in Iquitos. Before the rest of us even had time to realize that we were being eaten alive by the mosquitos, Korky had grabbed the machete and was leveling the brush so we could start building our house. The white people put their heads together and came up with a design we thought would be awesome, and we were promptly informed by Korky that it would never work. With a girn, he told us to trust him, and started digging holes. This was our first lesson of the weekend, one that would be repeated over and over: never question Korky. He´s always going to be right.

It took us all morning and into the afternoon, hours laced with the frustration of being ten people on a team with three tools, but we finally got our shelter built; it was a raised platform with higher poles supporting the tarp overhead for cover. We laid palm branches down (because that´s what they do in Survivor, right?) and hung our mosquito nets. The fire took almost as long, and for a while Korky was jumping back and forth between hole digging and fire starting, seemigly oblivious to the heat and bug situation. It turns out that getting damp wood to light in the 99% humidity of the Amazon jungle is not easy. Who knew?

We spent the rest of the weekend trying to stay away from the bugs and competing in challenges against the other teams. The leaders would call us, and in a mad scramble, we had thirty seconds to drop what we were doing and be on the playing field. My team was slightly jumpy, not wanting to reap any negative consequenses of lateness. We may or may not have run screaming to the field when a rooster crowed rhythmically for around thirty seconds. I´ll never tell.

Friday morning and into the afternoon it rained. Heavy, drenching, nonstop rain that put out our fire, despite our best efforts to bank it with palm fronds and dirt, and had us all wet to the bone. It was the first time I´d managed to be cold since coming to Peru, and team morale wasn´t at an all-time high. But in that rain we managed to win a series of challenges and enjoyed rice with tuna for lunch as a result, flavoured with onion and a lime we scavenged from the surrounding trees.

The second night was so much better than the first. We finally got ourselves organized, and Korky fixed our bug nets so that we didn´t get eaten alive again, and I slept better than I´ve been sleeping even at the base. It probably sounds crazy, but when they loaded us up in the bus again to go home, I wanted to have one more day out there.

I just wish I could show you photos. It´s probably the only way you´ll believe that I spent the entire time in long pants and a rain jacket (despite the incredible heat) and still ended up with enough bug bites that I look like I have a terrible skin disease. The only way you can even get a hint of how good fried plantains look when you´re hanging out in the jungle. You´d get to see the teepee that Charlie built, all laced around with vines for hanging our wet clothes on to dry by the second fire he and Riley managed to build. You´d see Korky, of course, triumphant atop the floor of the shelter and sitting by the fire cooking up our next meal, which he did every time without complaint. But it´s really no good just telling you about it. I´m going to have to find a way to get photos to you.

I´d write more, but I need to head back to the base in time for dinner. Yesterday started our first full week of classes, and it´s going to be intense. At least two teaching every day, often with a third thrown in after dinner. Work duties and Dramatic Arts every afternoon (and by Dramatic Arts I really mean acting and dancing boot camp), with book reports, language classes, devotions, times of intercession and worship and church all thrown in there. We go nearly nonstop every day from seven in the morning until at least eight at night. It´s going to be hard, but it´s going to be good.

And in other news, please pray for those on the Africa Mercy right now. You can go here to read about the tragedy that happened on screening day. In their desperation, the crowds stampeded the gates. Many were injured and one life was lost. Please pray for peace in the city and for the continued safety of crew members as they start this field service in Freetown.