Writings By Phil

February 5, 1978

It is hot! Sweat seeps from my pours, just enough to dampen my skin. I sit at a rough wooden table by a flickering kerosene lamp and write. Even the sickly yellow flame within the glass globe adds its heat to my discomfort- if I get too close.

I try to avoid a murmuring mind, knowing night is better than day. Daylight will come soon enough.  Tomorrow the sun will climb high in the sky, its rays melting the body and making perspiration erupt from a million fissures in the skin like water from as many artesian wells, soaking clothes, and blurring vision with stinging salt. Like the day just passed, great droplets will ooze from my overheated brow forming a river that drops off the end of my nose.

Like it or not, this is my new normal. With no electricity, there are no fans or air conditioners to keep the humidity at bay. A swim in the river offers some relief from the heat, but a body can’t stay down there all day. There is work to be done!

Outside a symphony of bugs and frogs play beautiful discord. That, and the buzz of mosquitos at the windows, and the occasional cry of a night bird or animal are all the nocturnal sounds I hear. No cars, no trucks, no airplanes disturb the peace in the dark hours of this isolated place. I like that!

I always wanted to live in a log cabin. Now I’ve got one, crude though it may be! I look at the logs chinked with dried mud. The dancing light from the lamp casts shadows on the furrowed surface of horizontal logs and mud, mirroring, but distorting the silhouette of whatever stands between the flame and the wall. Overhead, nylon burlap, or feed sack material covers the ceiling to keep out night insects, bats and mice. Did I mention snakes? Screens are the only barriers at the windows, keeping out hordes of blood-thirsty mosquitos trying to get a belly full of new blood, fresh from the States! No glass, no shutters, just window screen. This is the jungle, and most of the year is hot so the houses were built to let as much air into the living space as possible, but still closed enough with mesh and mud to keep most critters outside. The floor of the cabin is hard packed dirt.

Matt Castagna and I are the newest additions to the Yuqui Contact team. We traveled together from the States to join this work, and yes, half of this log cabin is his, so I really can’t lay claim to it all.  We join Wally and Barb Pouncy, Paul and Sharon Short, Denny and Connie Decicio and Alan and Vickie Foster in this “beyond civilization” outpost.  Total population, fifteen, if you count the four “Heinz 57” dogs and one cat that live out here!

Bad weather kept us in Cochabamba for almost two weeks, but today the clouds lifted and we arrived at our new home in the jungle.. The flight over the mountains and into the lowlands took just over an hour.   As soon as we cleared the mountains, Brian Porterfield, our pilot, put the plane on autopilot and got his Reader’s Digest out and read for the next 30 minutes or so. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that! Our flight in was my first time in a small plane and that came close on the heels of my first flight on a big airplane when we flew from Miami to Bolivia. Except for white fluffy clouds, the skies were empty, so I’m sure we were safe. He must have had a timer going, because when he put the magazine away, he turned the nose of the plane, and we were lined up with the landing strip.

So many firsts are happening in my life right now. I went swimming in the Hediondo, a river full of piranha and who knows what else.  I still have all my fingers and toes! I took my first ride in a dugout, walked a jungle trail, and in general, became dinner for mosquitos, chiggers, and horse flies. The latter come in various sizes and species and are a menace to any exposed skin. It was hard to get away from them, even in the river. I can’t stay under water that long!

I am not sure what I’ve gotten myself into in coming here to the jungle.  It will be an adventure, but that is not why I came. I am not the adventurous type, content to stay home with my piano, art and all that is familiar. However, I did want to be obedient to Jesus’ last command to go into all the world and preach the Gospel. Few are willing to obey that, especially if it means going “to the ends of the earth!”.

It is our desire to make a friendly contact with an elusive band of hunter/gatherers called the Yuqui.   We want to be their friends. Friendly outsiders are not part of their experience. Yuqui have been killed by the shotguns of loggers, oilmen and railroad workers. In turn, the Yuqui have used their seven-foot arrows to kill many outsiders. In fact, so many railroad workers have been killed in recent years that our mission was asked to enter the area and pacify the group.

On Tuesday we leave to enter the heart of the area where we believe this group of Yuqui will be for the rest of rainy season. The loggers were there for the dry months, but now they have taken their heavy equipment and returned to the cities to wait for the rains to stop. Their roads will make travel easier for us, and we can use them for gift trails. We will hang out items like cooking pots, machetes, thread, bananas and other useful things to show the Indians we mean them no harm and pray that with time we can convince them we are their friends.

This story was from the category Tales From Green Hell. If you would like to read more of my experiences in the jungles of Bolivia, please click on that link below.

More Writings by Phil

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• Love Stories (4)
• Mission Related (1)
• Over-The-Hill In Europe (5)
• Stories of the Mbia (the People) (2)
• Tales From Green Hell 1978 -1979 (60)
• Theme Writing 1971 (2)
• This And That (26)
• Uncategorized (1)