Chapter 42: Unexpected Events in the Midst of Everyday Life
AS TOLD BY JOHN AGERSTEN
A Medical Transport
A Woman and Her Mother Approach Us
While people chatted in small clusters outside the church after the Sunday evening service at Tigre Playa, a small woman came to me in tears. She had arrived a couple of days earlier from a village further up the Marañon River with her elderly and sick mother. We were unsure of what the mother was suffering from. She was in great pain and couldn't keep down any food or drink. Additionally, she was very thin, but her stomach was large and swollen. There was little we could do for her besides give her pain medication and pray for her, and we told them that when they arrived. Like many others at that time, people often tried local healers or traditional remedies before seeking our help.
The daughter of the sick woman was distraught and desperate as she spoke to me outside the church. She said her mother wanted to go back to their village. She wanted to die and be buried there. I suggested that we could drive her home early the next morning, but she insisted on going home immediately. It was about a 1 ½ hour boat ride to her village in daylight. However, it was nighttime, but the weather was clear, and the moon was out, providing light. I spoke with Rudolf, and we agreed to leave right away. We realized that the mother could pass away at any moment, but we didn't think it would be as soon as it turned out to be.
An Evening Departure
The boat and motor were quickly prepared, and gasoline was loaded on board. We helped our passengers onto the boat. The sick mother had to be carried on board, alongside her daughter with her two-month-old baby. The sick woman lay on the floor between the seats of the speedboat, while her daughter sat on the bench behind with the baby in her lap.
Both Rudolf and I were quite familiar with the river after many travels along that stretch. However, one can never predict what might be floating downstream with the current or if sandbanks just below the water's surface have shifted. We used the flashlight as minimally as possible, as its light can impair night vision for several minutes. We navigated by the moonlight. To get the boat to plane, a certain speed is necessary. After about half an hour of driving, it became cloudy, and shortly afterward, the moon set. The darkness became intense, making it a bit eerie to drive at such a speed in the dead of night.
Suddenly, the daughter let out a terrible scream, stood up in the boat, and waved her arms frantically. She had the baby in one arm. She was shouting, "Mother is dead." I slowed down the boat. Rudolf turned around and saw the daughter, in panic, about to throw the baby overboard. He managed to grab the baby just in time, placing it at the front of the boat near our feet. Using force, he got the woman to sit back down in the boat. Although she eventually sat down, she continued to wail uncontrollably. Rudolf checked the mother's pulse. She had none. We understood that the daughter was right. The old woman had passed away. We sped ahead as quickly as possible in the darkness.
A Woman and Her Mother Approach Us
While people chatted in small clusters outside the church after the Sunday evening service at Tigre Playa, a small woman came to me in tears. She had arrived a couple of days earlier from a village further up the Marañon River with her elderly and sick mother. We were unsure of what the mother was suffering from. She was in great pain and couldn't keep down any food or drink. Additionally, she was very thin, but her stomach was large and swollen. There was little we could do for her besides give her pain medication and pray for her, and we told them that when they arrived. Like many others at that time, people often tried local healers or traditional remedies before seeking our help.
The daughter of the sick woman was distraught and desperate as she spoke to me outside the church. She said her mother wanted to go back to their village. She wanted to die and be buried there. I suggested that we could drive her home early the next morning, but she insisted on going home immediately. It was about a 1 ½ hour boat ride to her village in daylight. However, it was nighttime, but the weather was clear, and the moon was out, providing light. I spoke with Rudolf, and we agreed to leave right away. We realized that the mother could pass away at any moment, but we didn't think it would be as soon as it turned out to be.
An Evening Departure
The boat and motor were quickly prepared, and gasoline was loaded on board. We helped our passengers onto the boat. The sick mother had to be carried on board, alongside her daughter with her two-month-old baby. The sick woman lay on the floor between the seats of the speedboat, while her daughter sat on the bench behind with the baby in her lap.
Both Rudolf and I were quite familiar with the river after many travels along that stretch. However, one can never predict what might be floating downstream with the current or if sandbanks just below the water's surface have shifted. We used the flashlight as minimally as possible, as its light can impair night vision for several minutes. We navigated by the moonlight. To get the boat to plane, a certain speed is necessary. After about half an hour of driving, it became cloudy, and shortly afterward, the moon set. The darkness became intense, making it a bit eerie to drive at such a speed in the dead of night.
Suddenly, the daughter let out a terrible scream, stood up in the boat, and waved her arms frantically. She had the baby in one arm. She was shouting, "Mother is dead." I slowed down the boat. Rudolf turned around and saw the daughter, in panic, about to throw the baby overboard. He managed to grab the baby just in time, placing it at the front of the boat near our feet. Using force, he got the woman to sit back down in the boat. Although she eventually sat down, she continued to wail uncontrollably. Rudolf checked the mother's pulse. She had none. We understood that the daughter was right. The old woman had passed away. We sped ahead as quickly as possible in the darkness.
We Continue the Trip in the Darkness
The rest of the journey felt like a nightmare to us. The daughter screamed that we had killed her mother. The little baby also cried. It is incredible how much noise such a small bundle can make. The baby was at least sheltered from the wind wrapped in a blanket at the front of the boat. Around us, we could barely make out the outlines of the riverbanks on both sides. As we approached the village, we could see the glow of small kerosene lamps as they were lit in several houses. They were awakened by the noise of the outboard engine and the howls of the woman.
The daughter quickly leaped out of the boat as we docked at the riverbank. She shouted and accused us of killing her mother. She was completely uncontrollable. A terrible atmosphere pervaded. We felt utterly miserable. We explained the situation to the gathered villagers and asked for help to carry the deceased up to their house. No one wanted to touch the dead body. Rudolf and I had to carry her up to the hut. Within a short time, more relatives gathered, joining in the chorus of mourning. We had visited the village, Puerto América, a few times, but only a few women and a couple of young people had accepted the Gospel so far.
The deceased was placed on a table, and lights were lit around her as per the custom. People flocked to join in the mourning. They planned to bury her the next morning. Rudolf and I returned to the boat and started the engine. It was a dark and sorrowful journey back. When we docked at Tigre Playa, we were nonetheless grateful that it hadn't ended worse. At least we had managed to stop the desperate woman from throwing her little baby into the river, and the mother would receive the traditional wake and burial in their hometown as she had wanted.
After some time, we revisited the village. We held services and went around talking with people, including the woman who lost her mother that night. She asked for forgiveness for all the accusations she had made against us during that terrible night. During the service, she revealed her decision to accept Jesus as her savior. Her husband and children did the same. Many times in the years that followed, she visited Tigre Playa to receive treatment and medication for herself and her children. She and her husband remained faithful members of their village's church until they passed away a few years ago.
The rest of the journey felt like a nightmare to us. The daughter screamed that we had killed her mother. The little baby also cried. It is incredible how much noise such a small bundle can make. The baby was at least sheltered from the wind wrapped in a blanket at the front of the boat. Around us, we could barely make out the outlines of the riverbanks on both sides. As we approached the village, we could see the glow of small kerosene lamps as they were lit in several houses. They were awakened by the noise of the outboard engine and the howls of the woman.
The daughter quickly leaped out of the boat as we docked at the riverbank. She shouted and accused us of killing her mother. She was completely uncontrollable. A terrible atmosphere pervaded. We felt utterly miserable. We explained the situation to the gathered villagers and asked for help to carry the deceased up to their house. No one wanted to touch the dead body. Rudolf and I had to carry her up to the hut. Within a short time, more relatives gathered, joining in the chorus of mourning. We had visited the village, Puerto América, a few times, but only a few women and a couple of young people had accepted the Gospel so far.
The deceased was placed on a table, and lights were lit around her as per the custom. People flocked to join in the mourning. They planned to bury her the next morning. Rudolf and I returned to the boat and started the engine. It was a dark and sorrowful journey back. When we docked at Tigre Playa, we were nonetheless grateful that it hadn't ended worse. At least we had managed to stop the desperate woman from throwing her little baby into the river, and the mother would receive the traditional wake and burial in their hometown as she had wanted.
After some time, we revisited the village. We held services and went around talking with people, including the woman who lost her mother that night. She asked for forgiveness for all the accusations she had made against us during that terrible night. During the service, she revealed her decision to accept Jesus as her savior. Her husband and children did the same. Many times in the years that followed, she visited Tigre Playa to receive treatment and medication for herself and her children. She and her husband remained faithful members of their village's church until they passed away a few years ago.
An Unusual Birth
"Brother! Brother!" I woke abruptly to the calls and checked the clock—it was half-past three in the morning. The rain was pouring down as it can only do in the tropics. The rain drummed against the metal roof. Was I dreaming, or—there it was again. "Hermano, - brother, come and help!" I got up, and Gro also woke up and got out of bed. Outside the door stood one of our young friends from a mestizo village in Morona. He had arrived a couple of days earlier with his wife. He had a fever and was feeling unwell.
Both of the huts we used to lodge sick people and their families were full as there was an epidemic of measles in a couple of villages in the Potro River, among the Awajun tribe. They got very ill, often with pneumonia and diarrhea as well. Some had died in the villages, as reported by those who came. We had to persuade them to drink fluids and take in nutrition, because in their tradition, it was preferable to abstain from both food and drink when sick. They believed it would interfere with the tobacco the shaman used as medicine to drive out the illness. We treated them with penicillin and other medications. It was a busy time, and we were grateful when everyone could eventually return healthy to their villages.
We had accommodated the man standing outside our door in the rain and darkness in a small hut near our house, along with his young wife. Our children often played in that hut with their friends, especially during rainy weather so we called it the playhouse. "Come and help my wife," the man shouted in despair. I didn't bother putting on anything for the rain; I just grabbed the flashlight as the only source of light and went out into the darkness. He ran ahead of me towards the cabin. Suddenly, he stopped, and the light from the flashlight illuminated a bundle lying in the grass between the playhouse and the forest behind it. There lay the young man's wife, whimpering. My initial thought was that she was injured. What had happened? Perhaps a snake bite?
"Brother! Brother!" I woke abruptly to the calls and checked the clock—it was half-past three in the morning. The rain was pouring down as it can only do in the tropics. The rain drummed against the metal roof. Was I dreaming, or—there it was again. "Hermano, - brother, come and help!" I got up, and Gro also woke up and got out of bed. Outside the door stood one of our young friends from a mestizo village in Morona. He had arrived a couple of days earlier with his wife. He had a fever and was feeling unwell.
Both of the huts we used to lodge sick people and their families were full as there was an epidemic of measles in a couple of villages in the Potro River, among the Awajun tribe. They got very ill, often with pneumonia and diarrhea as well. Some had died in the villages, as reported by those who came. We had to persuade them to drink fluids and take in nutrition, because in their tradition, it was preferable to abstain from both food and drink when sick. They believed it would interfere with the tobacco the shaman used as medicine to drive out the illness. We treated them with penicillin and other medications. It was a busy time, and we were grateful when everyone could eventually return healthy to their villages.
We had accommodated the man standing outside our door in the rain and darkness in a small hut near our house, along with his young wife. Our children often played in that hut with their friends, especially during rainy weather so we called it the playhouse. "Come and help my wife," the man shouted in despair. I didn't bother putting on anything for the rain; I just grabbed the flashlight as the only source of light and went out into the darkness. He ran ahead of me towards the cabin. Suddenly, he stopped, and the light from the flashlight illuminated a bundle lying in the grass between the playhouse and the forest behind it. There lay the young man's wife, whimpering. My initial thought was that she was injured. What had happened? Perhaps a snake bite?
Then, I noticed a small bundle near her feet. I touched the bundle, which let out a loud cry. The bundle was a little baby lying on the wet grass in the pouring rain. The baby was still attached to the mother by the umbilical cord. The mother managed to stand up while Gro carried the baby and helped her into the house. We prepared warm water and sterilized scissors and a band before she cut the umbilical cord. Gro thus became the "comadre," meaning the baby's godmother. She became one for many children later on. The baby was washed and dressed in some baby clothes we had on hand. He stopped crying as he lay wrapped in a blanket, becoming warm and comfortable after the somewhat harsh and cold welcome into the world. The mother freshened up and changed into dry clothes. She was in good shape after childbirth.
It was the young mother's first child. They explained that she had gone into the forest for a necessary task when she suddenly experienced strong contractions and collapsed in the grass. The father, thinking she was ill, rushed to wake us. When we returned, the baby had already been born. It was a quick delivery that ended well for both mother and child. A few days later, they left healthy and happy for their village. They had more children over time, but none outdoors in pouring rain! We stayed in touch with them throughout the years we lived in the jungle, visiting the villages and outposts along the Morona River.
It was the young mother's first child. They explained that she had gone into the forest for a necessary task when she suddenly experienced strong contractions and collapsed in the grass. The father, thinking she was ill, rushed to wake us. When we returned, the baby had already been born. It was a quick delivery that ended well for both mother and child. A few days later, they left healthy and happy for their village. They had more children over time, but none outdoors in pouring rain! We stayed in touch with them throughout the years we lived in the jungle, visiting the villages and outposts along the Morona River.