Our taxi driver comes to a halt and signals to us ¨no more,¨ referring to continuing up the road to our destination, Sacyote. A rainstorm the day before caused a landslide that covered most of the road. Boulders, dirt, and a giant cactus lay in our path. All of us men, seven of us, stepped out and surveyed the problem. ¨We can get around this,¨ we say in agreement. A look of concern, masked by determination overcomes us. Just off the left side of the road, there is nothing but air, the cliff looms. There is no room for error. But we gather our strength and begin to roll the fallen boulders off the road, watching them fall, tumble and rumble hundreds of feet below us. We shout with glee as we watch the boulders make their own path of destruction down the mountainside. Luckily there is nothing below us. (On a side note, this is the day we invented our latest craze, what we have dubbed Boulder Bowling. This involves finding a steep portion of the Andes, large rocks, brute strength, and gravity. It is amazing how fun it is to watch these boulders fall.)
We clear away enough space to allow the taxi to pass. We all gasp as he drives around the landslide, his tires were directly ontop of the last possible earth available on the road. We all hop back in the taxi and continue up to our destination. Across the valley, on the Black Mountain Range and 2500 feet above the river below where we began lay the village of Sacyote, what I call the time machine. It is literally like stepping back 1000 years in history. Mudbrick walls, straw roofs, a matate (stone used to grind food such as corn), dirt floors, and no electricity. But more importantly than what there is not, is what is there. Miguel and his family are the only Christians in the whole village. We were there to hold a church service, which was more like us just sitting around and teaching the family and a few interested neighbors for a while. I could picture Jesus doing the same thing, people gathered around at night, huddled around a headlamp (probably another lightsource for Jesus) and just talking for a while. It was a beautiful evening. We ate the local delicacy, cuy, or guinnea pig for the leh person, with much gusto. We taught them very basic principles, as most of them do not have any education at all. We discussed how we are children of God, and how our Father has good things for us. After we all shared and felt content with the night, we prayed over them and ended the service, we thought, but no one left.
It had begun to rain just after we arrived and continued to rain most of the night. We suspected that nobody would leave because they did not want to go home in the rain. We were waiting for them to go home so we could have our guy time, which was sorely needed. Very quietly Miguel came up to me and asked, ¨Is that all? We are all waiting for you to share more.¨ We all kind of look at each other as if to say, ¨uhhh, I got nothin.¨ But we began to share more with them for about another hour. They were soaking everything up. It was obvious they have never had anybody that can teach them biblical truths. It was an honor to pour into them what we could before we collapsed in the dirt to sleep for the night. Our planned guy night did not exactly pan out as we intended, but it was beautiful.
The rainy night was spent in the dark , all of us guys lined up shoulder to shoulder to sleep in the dirt. We woke up to an amazing sunrise. The sun crested over the Andes on the other side of the valley. The snow capped peaks glistened in the early light. I read my Bible, prayed, and sat in awe of the beauty before me. Never before have I been blessed with such an incredible view. I pondered whether or not God was angry when he created the Andes. The violent mountain range is filled with knife-like peaks one after another. But I settled on thinking that God was just showing off to me.
We shared breakfast with Miguel and his family and began our hike down the mountain. Our hike consisted of a knee-destroyingly steep trail, and the endless search of boulders to huck off the mountain. We must have spent at least an hour of our time with our new sport. It was good for the soul, to behold the power of gravity and heavy objects. After exerting all of our strength, which is another way of cleansing ourselves from all of the estrogen, we crossed the old rickety bridge that spans the mighty Rio Santo (which is actually a river and a sewage system). We completed our mission, and then rejoined the rest of the group back in Musho. It was a good manly trip.
