Chris warned us that the Jungle would be tough. On the last trip into “la selva”, an Ecuadorian needed to be carried out. We saw some videos of his last trip, and were sobered by his descriptions of the trails. When he asked for the headcount, I nervously raised my hand to indicate that I would go.
The next morning at 7am, I was cramming the last few things into my backpack and deciding what I could leave behind. Neither my sweatshirt nor my pack-towel made the cut. I was nervous, almost to the point of tears. As we left out the door to get into the car, I grabbed a hug from my teammate and told her frantically, “Please pray for me. I’m really nervous. Please pray.” I did not want to be the person that needed to be carried out of the jungle.
We picked up Edwin first and then Manuel. Edwin became a believer about a year ago and has since had a passion for jungle ministry. Manuel is 57 and has been a believer for 31 years. He’s been involved in jungle ministry for 25 years. They are excited and ready to go, and I am praying like crazy with nerves.
We take a two hour car ride. Three of us girls are crammed in the backseat, half-cheeks on the seat because there’s not room. My friend describes the ride as “being put in a jar and tossed around”. We stop for a minute to buy a machete ($2.50!), and the shop owner laughs when we tell him where we’re going. It’s a tough hike. We sing and harmonize to make the time go by.
Arriving at the road close to the jungle, we park the car, grab our belongings, and start our trek. It’s laughable what we thought the trail would be at first…maybe some dirt path with some big rocks to climb on? Nope. Within 2 minutes of walking, I have mud up to my ankles—not exaggerating. We stop intermittently to talk to people along the trail. We greet them good morning & they ask us where we’re going. Our buddy Manuel has sped ahead of us, and is sharing the gospel with two teenage boys at the river when we catch up with him. We pray for the guys and keep going. Only 4 more hours to go.
I will never be able to describe to you the trail we walked through to reach the first village, San Marcos. About an hour into the hike, it started to rain. The ground was already drenched, but the fresh rain turned the trail into foot-deep potters clay. Several of us almost lost shoes. All of us were stuck in wet clay up to our knees. “Ecuadorian time” is something I started to learn about. For the same trail, we were told “7 hours” “3 hours” and “5 and a half hours”. I stop putting any confidence in it and keep moving forward.
This is part of the trail… the slippery log.
Along the trail, I meet several different groups of people. I get to pray for a man’s elbow where a cancerous ping-pong ball sized tumor sticks out. I give cheek kisses, hugs, and prayers along the way. I try to keep up with Manuel, and learn more Spanish in the jungle of Ecuador than I did my whole senior year of high school.
At about 2:30 in the afternoon, we arrive at Rosa’s house in San Marcos. There’s a landing strip in the middle of the jungle where people fly in here (for about $800 each!). Rosa is the mother of a man in our English class, and he bears a striking resemblance to his mom. She welcomes us in and serves us a juice made from the rain water earlier in the day. I pull my socks and shoes off, and my feet look like a newborn baby’s, wrinkly and pink. My back aches, but I am happy to be here.
Our plan is to spend some time with Rosa before travelling on to three more villages. I talk with her about her chickens (she has 18), about her children (she has 5) and about her favorite food (rice, chicken, and yuka). It’s not long after being there that we realize our plans aren’t going to work. To visit the next village, we have an hour and a half walk with a river at the end. Because of the constant rain, the river has crested, spilling over onto the banks. Normally it’s a strong current with water about hip-deep; crossing it now is impossible, we are told.
Plot twist.
Me and my jungle buddy, Manuel.
Stay tuned for part two, coming soon.
