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Field Notes, Peru

March 19, 2020 / / 0 Comments

Epilogue: The Boat

Travel Journal, 56

On a sudden, the motor coughed, sputtered, and gave up the ghost. The rapid river was now in control. The small crew at the back of the boat fought with the motor to try and get it started, to no avail. Soon the boat lazily turned and turned until this motley little band of river rats were nearly perpendicular to the oncoming river currents. With the river so high due to the frequent rains this time of year, it can be difficult to see semi-submerged logs protruding from the surface.

But directly in our path lay just that. A dead tree, about 10 inches in diameter jutted out from the river surface, and straight ahead. We all saw it. Some of us climbed onto the edge of the boat, hoping to push away from the branch when it approached. Others continued to try and get the motor started.

Everybody grabbed onto something.

But it was far too late. The boat heaved and rocked onto the side closest to where the branch just hit us. A loud banging noise came from the metal vessel. Then, like a pendulum, the boat rocked back, overcorrecting and tossing the passengers to the other side. Thankfully, nobody fell into the water. The branch scraped along the bottom of the boat and disappeared behind us.

Troubleshooting began.

“That’s what we call a near miss.”

“I’ll say.”

Eye’s wide all around.

“We’ve got to tie this boat off if we can’t get the motor started.”

“Where? Nothing here but rocks.”

“Over there—see, the beach. Plenty of trees.”

The boat now turned freely in the fast-moving river.

Shoes off.

Rope in hand.

Into the river.

Another into the river. Both swam to the beach.

Success.

We avoided catastrophe narrowly. And it kind of sounds adventurous. If the river had flipped the boat, it would not have been its first victim. All of our medical supplies and gear would have been lost.

Some dream of adventure; find it, they may. But our goal was not to find adventure. Our goal was to bring care and love to a people in need along the Las Piedras river in Peru. God’s guiding hand protected us along the way.

anthony forrest

 

Related Tales:

Prologue to Field Notes, Peru: Return to South America

Part 1 of Field Notes, Peru: Medical Nomads

Part 2 of Field Notes, Peru: A Bird Who Brings Bad News and Good News

 

Field Notes, Peru

March 12, 2020 / / 1 Comment
Photo Courtesy of Erica Woods

Part 2, A Bird Who Brings Bad News and Good News

Travel Journal, 55

Wednesday: It’s not worth it, save for the love of people—fed by an intense love for God.

He decidido seguir a Cristo. No vuelvo atras, no vuelvo atras…

 

Each day, our team’s routine varied little. Pack the boat. Go to the next village. Unpack the boat. Set up camp. Host clinic. Eat dinner. Try to sleep in the insanity-inducing heat. But somewhere in that itinerary of jungle travel we always hosted a service of singing, Bible reading, and a telling of the greatest tale of all time.

Our boat eventually made it to the furthest village up the Las Piedras river. It’s the furthest that we traveled. It’s the furthest village up that river. And it’s the furthest up the river anybody is allowed by the Peruvian government. It took us 18 hours by boat to get here. On the map, it’s just a large space of green.

The Brazilian border lies up the river a mere 30 minutes by boat. And the village of Monte Salvado is the last outpost, bordering on a kind of refuge. Here begins an area of land which encompasses a mass of Peru set aside for indigenous peoples who have yet to be contacted—tribal people who want to be left alone. Last October, a group of these people attacked Monte Salvado and stole food, shooting somebody in the head with an arrow in the process. That was October, not 100 years ago.

But the Yine people live here nonetheless. And they thrive. But not without need.

Yes, the people that live along the Las Piedras river need medical care. And we gave it. But they need something else so much more.

When the missionary who led us on the trip first ventured into that part of Peru, the people there gave him a name in the Yine language. It’s unpronounceable for the American tongue, but roughly translated it means A Bird Who Brings Bad News and Good News. And when he traveled up the Las Piedras river, he did bring both bad news and good news.

The bad news was that each and every person in God’s creation is flawed, and completely misses the mark. Humankind is rebellious against God who demands justice. And from our conception, our veins course with sin. We have no chance of fixing this problem, because the price is too great.

But he also brought good news. God’s own Son payed the price. He was perfect and died to pay that price. He died in our place and made it possible to have a relationship with the perfect Creator. We now have only to turn to Him in belief.

This week of hosting clinics and services is far too much work. Long days, and hard work make it seem like it’s not worth the trouble. But these people need care for both body and soul.

They need to hear. And how will they hear without a preacher?

It’s not worth it, save for the love of people—fed by an intense love for God.

I have decided to follow Jesus. No turning back, no turning back…

anthony forrest

Related Tales:

Prologue to Field Notes, Peru: Return to South America

Part 1 of Field Notes, Peru: Medical Nomads

Field Notes, Peru

March 5, 2020 / / 1 Comment

Part 1, Medical Nomads

Travel Journal, 54

Monday—Arrived 1715 at Santa Alicia. Long climb to village. Set up tents and ate supper. Held service. Early clinic in the morning.

A dozen or so stilted, open-air houses sat at the top of the tall, muddy hill. Their thatched roofs jutting out on all sides. After 10 hours (more?) on our boat, the village was a welcome sight. Even after climbing the monstrosity of a hill leading to the village half a dozen times, I was glad to be off the boat. I can only sit for so long. Our 80’ long stretched-limo-like canoe moved quickly that day, cutting up the Las Piedras river like the ever-present mosquito. Our team carried boxes and totes and crates full of camping gear, medical supplies, and food to last us the week. Soon, this tribe of American medical nomads set up tents. Our home for the next week would be a movable clinic along this muddy river in the south of Peru.

Little kids ran about in their bare feet and all smiles. Kind-hearted nationals helped with the totes of supplies. Local women-folk talked of a breakfast for us the next day. To say that our arrival was a big deal would be an understatement. For many, this mobile clinic is the only chance for medical care. The nearest hospital lies more than 10 hours by boat in Puerto Maldonado. And some may never go there. Poor medical care, terrifically hard labor, appalling nutrition, and rampant disease and parasites contribute to a discouraging quality of life, and a short one at that.

We slept comfortably in our tents that night.

The next morning, our team popped open plastic yard-sale tables. Then we lined up boxes of Amoxicillin, Mebendazole, anti-diarrheal, paracetamol, bag after bag of vitamins, and dozens more medications. And even though some may not currently have pain, discomfort, illness, or injury, they may still want medication. For most of these people, this is their only chance to treat any ailments they may have, now or later.

Before the clinic starts, the women of the village bring us breakfast of rice and chicken soup. A bowl of boiled plantain makes its way around the table. And, after final preparations and trips down to the boat to retrieve forgotten items, we pass the word around Santa Lisia that the clinic is open.

Some came quietly, some eagerly, some came dragging screaming children, but all came. That clinic was better attended than any midwestern yard-sale. But instead of used flatware and old Christmas ornaments, our tables were filled with medication. And our hands filled with care.

This was the first clinic of many.

anthony forrest

 

Related Tales:

Prologue to Field Notes, Peru: Return to South America

Field Notes, Peru

February 27, 2020 / / 1 Comment

Prologue: Return to South America

Travel Journal, 53

My return to South America came 15 years after my last visit and more than 20 years after my first. Far too much time had passed. I’ve replayed memories of living in Bolivia over and over. But this time, a medical mission opportunity arose and instead of Bolivia, I went to Peru. Both countries differ greatly. But somehow, when I stepped off the plane in Puerto Maldonado, a feeling of familiarity smothered me more than the oppressive heat.

It’s hard to say why. I had never been to the Amazon jungle. The food in Peru is vastly different than the food in Bolivia. They use Soles, not Bolivianos. And the socioeconomic makeup is far better in Peru than Bolivia. But for whatever reason, it felt like some kind of subconscious homecoming. Minor similarities nudged my mind. Regional words and vernacular came back to me. Cultural mannerisms just felt comfortable, though new. Actually, in some ways it was better than a simple reunion. I didn’t go backward into time. I was moving forward.

If Bolivia was the childhood friend I knew long ago, Peru is Bolivia’s brother whom I got to know later in life. I have drifted away from Bolivia, someday (hopefully) to pick up where we left off. But at this moment, Peru holds the fresh memories of now. And the foundation laid in one part of South America now informs my experiences in a new part of the same continent.

anthony forrest

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