Return to Onzole

Wow, another adventure filled week! I got to go back to Santo Domingo de Onzole, in the jungle, where I was in February. I loved the experience then and I did again this time too! A group of 10 of us (9 young ones and 1old one!)from Guayaquil went to spend the week helping out at a day camp that was being held in that little commmunity. We got on a bus in Guayaquil at 9:30 on Sunday night, and got off it 9 hours later. Well, actually we had to get off before that - this being Ecuador, we were stopped by the police twice, the first time just after everybody had gone to sleep, and we all had to stumble off and produce identification and be frisked. Then back on we all got, back to sleep, and 1 1/2 hours later at 1am, didn't we get stopped again! This time only the men had to get off, with bags to be searched and the rest of us got to stay on, and just show our ID again. I guess all in the interests of keeping us safe, buses do get hijacked and all the passengers robbed. But twice in one night?? As if bus travel isn't miserable enough!

We arrived in the unique little town of Borbon, at the river's edge, at 6:30 am, and watched the day get underway there while we waited for our canoe to arrive from Santo Domingo, to take us on the last leg of the trip. As much as I dislike the bus part of the journey, I LOVE the canoe part. And it was just as good this time as last time. The river was much lower so it took longer, 3 hours, but there's so much to see and experience. I am endlessly fascinated by seeing life along that river, a completely different world.

We finally arrived at our destination at noon-ish, and promply fell onto beds and fell asleep for 2 hours. And the rest of the day was spent preparing for camp.

The week we were there was for little kids, from Santo Domingo and another village further down the river. I will always remember the sight of a stream of kids appearing over the brink of the steep bank coming up from the river, the ones from downriver, having arrived by canoe, all excited and expectant and ready for some fun. They were registered, and then given breakfast, a bun and a mug of "colada", a thick warm-ish drink made from milk powder, water, some sort of starch, usually fine oatmeal or plantain flour, flavoured with sugar and cinnamon. It's sort of tasty, you just have to get past the somewhat viscous texture of it.

Then they were off to the chapel, for singing (lots of volume, little melody!), some time with the puppets that our gang brought and did a great job with, and a message. They had a devotional time in small groups with our kids as leaders, scattered around the village. And then were divided into teams for the inevitable competitions! They played all kinds of games, and competed and fought and had fun. These kids are scrappers, the cutest kids you ever saw, but boy can they fight, and fight hard, and to hurt! We were forever breaking up battles. This seems to be something that has come about since the arrival of electricity, with that, tv and movies, usually violent movies. The Ecuadorians seem to have a special fondness for "punch 'em, shoot 'em, knock 'em down" movies. This I have gathered from what gets played on every bus I get on!

But in spite of it, they had lots of fun, threw themselves into the activities, and heard all about God's love for them.

One of the highlights of the week for me was watching the young adults from Bastion working with those kids. I can remember many of them as youngsters themselves, being at camp, and now to see them stepping outside of their comfort zones and into another culture far from home, and throwing themselves into this camp - it was terrific to watch. They did a great job, and it wasn't easy! It was hot, it was wet, the kids were a handful, but they gave it their all, and loved it! It was a wonderful experience for them and they've gone home with some very special memories. And I loved being there to see it.

I wondered how I'd keep occupied while I was there, I wasn't really involved in the kids' activities, but I needn't have worried. Word got out that the "doctora" was in town, and due partly to Nixon, the young guy whose hand I had looked after in February and "cured", I was kept busy with medical needs. I several times badly wished I did in fact have the medical degree that they insist I must have. And I wished I had brought many more supplies than I had. But I was able to help with a few people, and I had taken some meds with me that I was glad I had. My worst moments came when they brought me a man who had cut himself with a machete. There's always that time between when I know I have an injury to deal with, and the time I actually see what it is, time to wonder what it is, how bad it is, can I deal with it, and time to pray for help. This one was bad, it was a long deep nasty cut through the heel of his hand - these machetes are very sharp, and there was no question that it needed stitching. I have never actually sutured, I've been shown how, and I have everything that I need to do the job. Problem was, it was all in Guayaquil - I hadn't even thought of bringing it.

They said there was a doctor in the next bigger village upriver, 20 minutes by canoe, so I cleaned the wound, dressed it, and they rounded up someone to take us, and off we went. Well, we got there, and I was soon wishing I had just kept him at home, and done my best with Steri Strips!! This was the most basic, ill equipped, decrepit "clinic" I have ever seen, worse that I could have imagined. And the doctor wasn't there, just a nurse who made a big speech about us not being from that village, and they would only look after someone in an emergency. Well, excuse me, this is one!! Finally she took him into a room that was equipped with stuff that must surely have come out of the ark. I went with him, and the job began. Oh my, it was not pretty, nobody had any fun, except the nurse, who had a good laugh when she pulled one suture so tight that she broke the needle off the suture material!! Hey that's not even a bit funny!! The poor man felt every last part of the procedure, she had given him some local, but it didn't seem to work. It was a disaster, and I was literally twitching around that room having a fit! I helped where I could, but I now know that if the need ever arises again, I will not hesitate to do the job myself.

Finally it was done, sort of, and we took him home to his little hut and I went and got him some antibiotics and pain meds that I had brought, and I pray that it is enough and he will heal without a huge infection. Who will take out those stitches? My friend Nixon, a 17 year old who wants to be a doctor, he watched me take the stitches out of his hand, he is intelligent, gentle, and wants to do it. So I left him what he will need, and told him how to go about it, and I really hope he is able to go and study medicine and one day go back and give his village some medical care. If he's serious about it, I'll do what i can to help.

We were up at 5 on Saturday morning, and away before 6, back to Borbon, and onto the bus for 11, yes 11 hours. The best that can be said for that part of the trip is that this time I took enough Gravol to avoid the problems I had last time!

And I've come back with some wonderful memories, and a deeper attachment to that village on the river Onzole.

link to photos: http://picasaweb.google.ca/heathermoore21/OctoberOnzoleTrip?authkey=yR3jhyxiR2A#