EDIT: This is actually being posted nearly two months later. It’s been sitting unfinished in my drafts folder for all that time, and though I don’t feel like I can do it any more justice than I could when I started writing it, I wanted this day to be recorded.
Travel Day: 8
On Ground Day: 6
Nicole’s Birthday
Final Day
This morning was early. Granted, we are used to that, and I would have rolled over semi-consciously when the stupid roosters started crowing anyway. But seriously having to roll out of bed at 4:00 AM and go to the kitchen would not have been on my to-do list of choice if I’d written the schedule for our eighth day in the jungle.
Breakfast meant seeing the kids for the last time. They came in basically in the dark and still sang their pre-meal songs and prayers. We definitely have our system down pat by now, and since some of the kids left last night, there was only one super-fast breakfast shift, another hearty meal of the brown sardine mush that makes me praise God for Chet’s dwindling supply of Nutri-Grain bars and sick at the thought that some of these kids are 5 years old and they are hiking for up to a day or more and probably will eat nothing else on the trip home.
That thought just kept slamming me as I watched groups trickle out into the jungle, mostly groups of tiny kids with one adult guide per group. And I was sympathetic before it started raining. And raining. And raining.
The gringos went back to the church to begin packing up. Chet handed out beef jerky to the guys before the girls came over. I’m really glad that he can’t go for days straight on yuca and rice either. Fabian sat singing “His Cheeseburger” from Veggietales and peeling us grapefruit, putting a candle-sized hole in one for Nicole. I’ve had weird birthdays. My 16th and 19th stick out in that regard. But Nicole’s a candle-topped jungle grapefruit takes the cake (no pun intended).
Chet talked to us for a while about the rain. The original plan was for us to go and bail out the runway with cups from the kitchen so that the water wouldn’t stop the planes from landing.
For emphasis and so that you know I’m not kidding, let me just say that again. We were going to go and bail out the runway with cups from the kitchen so that the water wouldn’t stop the planes from landing.
He also mentioned the possibility of planes not getting out, and that the order of flights would be two Ecuadorian groups (including Giberto (sp?), whose wife just had a baby back home), three gringo flights (Chet’s group being last) and then the rest of Rey’s crew. As a bit of foreshadowing… flex and flow, right?
As it turned out, Rey and Palabra de Vida wanted to give us a break. I don’t think I could have felt more appreciated (as I tried also not to feel guilty) for our work than by walking to Toca’s house down the runway as the Ecuadorians seriously did bail out the runway with coffee cups as the bit of afternoon sun helped to clear it up a little. Looking down at the still soaked and muddy landing strip and up at the 80%-gray, cloud-covered sky as we trekked to lunch with the Vice President, I was already skeptical that eight flights would get in to Toñamparé, much less out.
We were all pretty tired, and there wasn’t much talking over the delicious arroz con pollo. Sarah even had to jab Teddy a couple of times for that whole facial expression thing (as he can’t express himself of Wao) so he didn’t look like he hated the meal as he sat staring blankly into space from exhaustion.
Hiking was another one of those things that just would not have been in my own plans, but as it turned out, getting a lesson in jungle flora and fauna was pretty sweet, and so was standing by the beautiful, gigantic waterfall when we got to the end of our jungle journey. And somewhere in the discussion on the way back, Toca decided he’d teach us to shoot the blow gun. The big one. (As in “Keep-out-of-reach-of-chiiiiiildren.”) He set up a watermelon, and I just about hit it, and most of the guys came close. Necia and Danielle didn’t do bad either, but Jerry nailed the thing. I don’t think many gringos do that (though I don’t know how many non-Huaorani other than Chet they’d let try).
By that time, Chet decided that we couldn’t hang any longer or we’d be cutting it too close on the planes. We made it back to the church and actually part-way back to town when we heard the first engine in the sky. We RAN. I’m stunned we actually got all our belongings into various backpacks and Williams’ adventure racing bags, especially in so little time, and all of us were back at the other end of the landing strip as the first planes took off and the second set got ready.
That was the two Ecuadorian flights, and the first gringo flight did get out with Jerry, Necia, Matt and Angela. Next was supposed to be Teddy, Nicole Lane, Danielle and me. Somehow we switched with Chet, Fabian, Bryan, Sarah and Dana, and then again at the last moment, Dana and Nicole switched. Praise God- this turned into another birthday present for Nicole and a very much needed Spanish speaker in our group. She thought she’d just be the translator for the pilot, and I also think she might even have had the foresight to realize that another plane was NOT getting out. I should have known that after seeing a North American pilot scream in Spanish at an Ecuadorian pilot who had sat on the ground for 30 minutes and knowing how concerned he was as our time was being gambled against the ever-darkening weather.
Chet turned to us as it began to rain (having been misinformed that our plane was already in the air from Shell) and said “See you in Shell.” To give you an idea how confused things were already, the pilot (coincidentally named “Dan”) turned to him with a strange look and said “You’re going to Arahuno.” Chet’s smile faded just slightly, but he shrugged and said “Okay.” As he hopped into the cabin.
As the five gringos and Fabian faded into the looming clouds, we heard our last airplane engine for the night. That was it. There were no more planes leaving the ground, and in fact, we found out later that the ones in the air were disallowed to land in Shell, having to make instrument landings in Arahuno. The pilots used our sleeping pads to crash in the cargo areas of their planes.
Forgive me for the consistent redundancy in this post, but here’s that statement again: The pilots used our sleeping pads to crash in the cargo areas of their planes. That meant that our sleeping pads were in Arahuno, and we were in Toñamparé.
It was a pretty sad moment for us as we unpacked again, Teddy, Lane and I in the church (praise God we didn’t cut our lines and could re-hang our mosquito nets) and Dana and Danielle back in the house across from us. After that we walked back down the runway for the beginning of at least the fourth round trip to town that day. We felt appreciated again though, as the Ecuadorians did the “ritual of the rain” for us as we entered the kitchen and made us sit and be served first. And as for dinner, at least we got eggs again. My mom will think I’m crazy when I start putting eggs on my rice at home, but it was delicious.
We went back to the church and Dana went right into Maestra mode. Or maybe mom mode. Or at this point I’m just thinking that’s Dana’s all-the-time mode. We went around the circle of the five of us and talked about or feelings. Amazingly, all five of us had already worked out exactly why we were there, why God picked us at the five to be left behind (the “Nosedive Five” as Teddy named us), the individuals who needed to learn a specific lesson. All of us had different reasons, and all of us were pretty honest about it, to the point that it wasn’t hard for me to open up and express myself at all, and that I could gain a newfound respect for two people in the group, and an unexpected friendship with another. I doubt that that conversation will ever leave that circle, if only because there is absolutely no one who could understand it without being there. We say that a lot about experiences with Youth World and Ecuador, but this is one that I will not even attempt.
I played guitar in the dark and prayed to close us out, and it was cool to have five musically talented gringos singing praises and choosing joy despite the ridiculous circumstances. I realized about halfway through my favorite song of all time that we were probably waking up Dayuma next door and tried to keep it down, but just couldn’t help it. That will go down as one of my favorite and most meaningful worship experiences ever.
