I wake up about once each hour but still feel rested in the morning. Rosa opens the door and greets us, speaking in Spanish. I’m groggy and trying to respond to her in Spanish feels awkward on my tongue this early in the morning. We break down the tent, then eat a breakfast of boiled plantains, boiled eggs, crackers, and more wayusa.
Rosa’s daughter (Marta) and Manuel’s friend (Victor) live in 2 neighboring villages. Our plan is to hike to each of their villages and spend some time with them. This means regressing back through the path we took yesterday and making a triangle. Our Ecuadorian friends suggest it will be about an hour to Marta’s house and about 10 minutes farther to Victor’s village. We expect about 3 hours of morning hiking, and there’s a good chance we will be able to take the canoe this afternoon, rather than hiking the 5 hours back out of the jungle.
So far, it’s just the boys going because the other girls have bad blisters. I sit and pray, asking the Holy Spirit if he wants me to stay or go. For the first time ever, he speaks to me in Spanish: “Va”. (Go.)
The guys are surprised when I’m ready with my hiking stick. They figured I’d stay back. No siree!
I’ve got the smallest backpack, so I end up carrying the candies, water, and bibles for the group. We leave a little after in the seven in the morning.
This hike makes yesterday’s look easy. At least 15 times, the trail turns into a narrow log over a flowing river. Another time, we walk through a cocoa farm, and then an old plantain farm with massive spiders everywhere. The hike includes a mud-mountain we nickname “Satan”; we conquer that one! Manuel, Edwin, and Chris all have different thoughts about which way is the right way to go. We are literally walking through the jungle just asking God to show us which way to go!
I laugh we arrive at Marta’s house. The last part of the trail includes stepping through a foot and a half of water. And then, whala. A beautiful house! A flock of fowl! A happy dog! Clotheslines! How on earth is this in the middle of that, I wonder to myself!
We are welcomed indoors, even with mud dripping from our pants. I sit down on a wood bench on the wall and watch as I see Marta filling a bowl with the infamous Chicha. Chicha is a traditional drink made by chewing yuka, spitting in a bowl, and letting it ferment. Rejecting the fermented spit is incredibly rude. I smile, hold the bowl, and drink. The alcohol is pungent and reminiscent of stale wine and rotting yogurt. Our contact told us “the more alcohol, the better” because there’s less chance of serious bacteria.
With chicha in my stomach, I sit and listen as Manuel encourages Marta. She has a black eye and doesn’t make eye contact. When she told her husband that she was not okay with him having two wives, he beat her. We see the results in the hematomas of her eyes, the slump of her shoulders, and the sorrow of her spirit. I am grieved, as are my teammates.
I sit next to two girls in the house and we listen to Manuel together. After a few minutes, we circle up around all three ladies and embrace them. Manuel prays, and one of them starts crying. Josh sings a song for the women. It means “Jesus is the bridge to my freedom”.
Two of the women give their lives and hearts to Jesus. Tears, hugs.
And then the holy spirit puts a vision in my mind. It’s a simple one. I see a vision of me on the floor, kneeling, and washing the women’s feet. I search through my backpack and am ecstatic to find my little bottle of Dr. Bronner’s peppermint soap. I pull it out and Josh lets me use some water.
I ask the women to sit down, and I get the blessing of washing their feet. As I wash and massage their feet, I tell them the story of Jesus washing Peter’s feet. How Jesus loves them, and how he washes all their sins away. I dry their tan, calloused feet, then pray and get up.
Thirty minutes after arriving, we leave. We are walking back into the jungle terrain when Marta comes back after us. She tells us to come back into her house. Curious, we follow her. She walks to the corner of the wooden room and pulls out a watoosa, a cross between a guinea pig and a rat. The weird looking creature is a sign of extreme hospitality, as they are very expensive meat here. It’s strange and touching. We tell Marta and her family thank you. We are as excited about the gift as they are.
More cheek kisses, goodbyes, and then we’re back in the jungle trail.
This time, it seems harder. The “ten minute walk” takes us another hour, even running about half the time. I’m feeling weak and nearly in tears by the time we reach Victor’s village.
I sit quietly, accepting the drink they give me and praying against parasites while Manuel shares a message with the village. We don’t have much time here because we’ve promised to be back to Rosa’s by lunch. We stay for about 45 minutes: sharing scripture, a message, and praying for the community. Chris makes plans with the village leader, Victor, to return later this spring and stay for several days. I pass out candies and some cards with scripture on them to the families, and then we head out to leave.
We RUN THROUGH THE JUNGLE a good portion of the way back. I give up all hopes of avoiding mud at this point, and try earnestly to keep up. When we reach Rosa’s house about an hour and a half later, I’m exhausted.
She’s slaughtered a chicken for us, and I am immensely grateful for the food. We eat rice and chicken and drink more rain-water-juice. I take four cups, realizing I’ve forgotten to drink water all day. We rest for a while and then hear the bad news:
The man with the canoe has not returned.
We can either stay another night and leave in the morning (fresher legs, but worrying our friends back in Shell) or leave now and trek back (Hell for our legs, hiking in the dark, but get home tonight). The girls who didn’t hike in the morning somehow manage to convince us to go, and we leave about 15 minutes later.
No words can describe the hike back, so I’ll just say this: 2 years of cross-country had nothing on the experience. We wimper and limp our way back to the car, exceedingly grateful when we arrive. Another 2 hours of bumping around in the car, and we are back to Shell. Sore, itchy, and thankful.
A thousand memories, at least 5 salvations, 1 gift watoosa, and an experience I will never forget. Praise God for la selva.
