Before the crack of dawn we were all awake, rolling up our sleeping bags and trying to pack our overnight bags trying to get ready to shove off at first light. We filled our bodies with physical food which was prepared by the diligent team from Guyana and we each sought to the filling of our own bodies with spiritual food. God had brought us through the night. We were waking to our first new day in Guyana, a bit inside the Interior, though not as far as we needed to go. The path before us was about 200 miles of water. By nightfall each team would be at their respective villages. This was it.
The boats seemed to have been multiplying like rabbits. Every time I looked around there was another one. We used 2 to cross the Essequibo yesterday, we left Charity in 3, we arrived at Cloudland in 4, and now when we were leaving there was yet another boat. Joey, our Guyanese compatriot was packing these new boats for speed to arrive at Cumaca without losing time. I didn't realize that the weight the cargo on a boat determined how much gas it would burn and how fast it would go. I guess the team was about to get an education in boat dynamics over this next week. The villagers at Cloudland and the Pastor came to see us off as we sailed off into the sunrise. I wasn't sure what to make of our farewell from Cloudland. Everyone seemed to just be looking at us. This was our first exposure to the Amerindian people - they were very quiet and reserved, although extremely pleasant.
It
was Sunday morning. I couldn't help wondering how many people from my church
were getting up and rolling over wondering if they should go to church or
not. I looked off into the distant sky and saw some silver gray clouds, there
was rain somewhere. I wondered what obstacles lay ahead of us today. I had
been an advocate of perseverance in times of storm will build faith. I'd
remembered just quoting on Friday to someone, "Consider it pure joy
brothers when you face trials of many kinds". I'd faced a trial last
night. I felt so alone for a short period of time when I experienced my allergy,
now today I felt so at home with everyone. Ah, but each day has enough troubles
of its own. We made our way into open waters and were once again getting
a change of scenery on the river. I'm grateful that the scenery changed,
as we were promised a 12 hour boat ride, which could easily get boring with
the same scenery stretching for many miles.
We were communicating with each other from our boats via 4-way walkie-talkies
with a fair enough radius. Note to self: Walkie-talkies sound much better
in a store than when travelling into the wind on the front of a speed boat.
It was funny though to see the cell phone mentality overcome some of the
people who were determined to use a walkie-talkie as a cell phone. Shawn
and Dalkeith were ahead in the lead boat which was captained by Sean Cornelius,
my captain from yesterday. They were a bit out of sight when we heard over
the walkie-talkies, "We're stuck". The simultaneous reply from
all the boats sounded like, "What? Where?" 
It
didn't take long until we came across this boat stuck in the middle of two
plants which were growing up out of the water and blocking the flow of the
river. It seemed as though other boats simply chop the plant with their engines
as they rip through, however our pirogues with their smaller engines got
stuck. The men got out of the boats and standing on the cut edges of the
plant pushed each boat forward. It was a little jolt of excitement, thinking
of getting out in a river which was plenty feet deep, with black, chlorophyll-coloured
water and standing up on the edges of a plant and pushing a boat. Of course
I took pictures after we pushed our boat through and waited on the other
boats to make it through.
We were on our way again, after that brief excitement. We were passing some locals regularly now on wooden canoes paddling in many different directions as we made our way to our next pit stop where we would refuel the boats for the rest of the days' journey. The sky looked absolutely dramatic at times with the clouds stretching back toward the horizon. Something about the whole scene was very peaceful. Our captains on our boats were very courteous drivers, unlike regular drivers in Trinidad. There was an unspoken rule that everyone obeyed, to cut your boat engines when passing a paddle boat (canoe) or bathers in the water to reduce the waves we'd create which may inadvertently topple their boats. It was a great reminder of respect; no matter how important our mission may seem, it is never okay to step on people in the process.
We soon stopped at the refuelling depot, which gave everyone a chance to get out and stretch their legs. Brother Rudy, who was with us on the trip, stopped at the bar and struck a conversation with some of the local alcoholics explaining the serenity prayer to one man and how it helped him overcome his addiction to alcohol. It was quite an interesting sight, seeing our captains filling up their gas drums in the middle of the river, sort of like a gas station, except there was no pump. These young boatmen siphoned gas from one container to another in the more traditional way. Some of us purchased water for the day ahead while still others used the opportunity to look for an outhouse to relieve themselves in preparation for sitting on the boat in the coming hours. After about half an hour at this depot, we were refuelled and ready to go.
We had to pass the mandatory Coca-Cola sign on a shop at the edge of the river, which looked like the only building for miles. It seemed as though we were passing another village as the frequency of paddle boaters was increasing. It was about 9:00am and I couldn't help but wonder if the church was open as yet - if anyone would come to church in Santa Rosa today. It was just about then that I saw the most amazing sight, a family paddling their way to church, which was along the river. They were dressed in their Sunday best, and seated beneath an umbrella in this little paddle boat on their way to church. I was reminded of all the excuses people give back home for not coming to church. Right then those excuses seemed all kinds of ridiculous. We passed quite of few churchgoers on the way. I even saw one family stopping at the church. The father jumped out with his bare feet and pulled the boat to shore and lifted his children over the mud unto the wooden jetty that led up to the church. There were quite a few boats already parked. Was I taking some things at home for granted?
Still we trudged on further, different boats leading the way at times. Randy, the captain of my boat assured us that he knew where he was going taking the lead at one point in the journey. I was never so grateful for walkie-talkies and direction when we passed our turn off completely, and heard the cries over the radio telling us to stop and turn around. I guess Randy didn't know this river as well as he thought he did. I was now on the slowest of the boats with the least number of passengers. There was one young lady from the church in Charity, Sister Veera who was Pastor Orpah's sister, and brother Rudy. Brother Rudy was without a doubt the oldest member of the team, but full of life and spirit. Sister Veera was telling us how they work with so many different churches to run missions into the Interior. It seems that the Guyanese Interior was divided into different regions; we were headed into Region I, which is accessible by both air and water. Some regions such as Region 8, which lay between Suriname and Guyana, are only accessible via air. They have been doing a lot of work in these regions with teams penetrating further and further in to spread the gospel. Just the week before Pastor Orpah had led a team into the area known as Jonestown, made infamous by Jim Jones in the 1970s. The village we were going to was just a couple hours after Jonestown. We ended up on a very wide river called the Baramani but cut off it through a local shortcut marked by a pair of red short pants hanging from a tree known as "99 turns". This shortcut was nice, and all the boats had passed us in it, after we got a co-pilot, Anthony, to assist Randy on the boat. We were alone in the shortcut for a while, until we stumbled across Sean Cornelius's boat again - they seemed to have a knack for getting into trouble. They very stalled, with water mixing with the gas. In the shortcut, we stopped to help them, and have lunch at the same time, with rain falling from the sky. Our ponchos and raincoats doing a fair job of keeping us from getting wet from this rain
.
Coming
out of 99 turns we returned to the Baramani, and head South West for a
few hours again. The shortcut was characterized by sharp and winding turns
with huge roots and trees overhanging the narrow river. Larger boats could
not have utilized this route. The Baramani looked like a multilane highway
ahead of us that stretched out toward the horizon. Along the river, we
passed several wooden houses and came across these white and blue structures
which upon zooming with my camera I figured out were schools built by
the government for the Amerindians.
Around
5:00pm, we pulled into the last depot at Cumaca, where the boats were
unpacked, and the teams heading into different villages were divided.
It was the last time we'd see some of these folk for some days. After
two days of travelling we were almost there. We repacked the boats and
head toward the villages of Hotoquai and Yarakita. Channelling down the
river I got a last glimpse of the half of the Yarakita team as they zipped
by us in one of the boats.
The sun had begun to set rapidly now, creating an orange glow in the horizon. As much as we wanted to see a sunset, we wanted to arrive at the village we were going to before all natural light was dissipated. God blessed us with an awesome sunset which we saw behind one of the schools we were passing. It was simply breathtaking. Although we were here on a mission, I was also here to appreciate and enjoy all that God has created. Working behind a computer day in and day out, one's world view becomes very small. As an engineer one can forget the ultimate designer, this was just the reminder that I needed.
Within minutes, with that memory of the sunset rooted in our minds, the engines slowed, and we were waving at a group of children near the river. We had gotten so used to waving at everyone we passed that day that we didn't realize that we had arrived at our destination, Hotoquai. The villagers came out to greet us, and we meet with the Pastor of the church that night. Each village has its own system of government, with a democratically elected Captain (Chairman) who oversees all matters in the village, and chairs a council of elders, which in the case of Hotoquai consisted of eight elders including the Captain. Upon arriving, we had to report ourselves to the Captain who had previously been informed of our arrival. That was just the way things are done here, when foreigners come, they must first report themselves to the captain before interacting with the village. The captain helped us to understand what the dos and don'ts were of the village. It was arranged that we would use the school as our camp during our stay there. In the picture at bottom right we are waiting in front of the school for the captain. The flash on the camera gives a wrong impression of the lighting at the time, just imagine, dark with bright skies and no moon or electricity. It may look like we were standing in some light, but it was extremely dark.
We waited a couple hours for our luggage to arrive on the luggage boat, which we hadn't seen since the previous day. We eventually unpacked all our stuff and went for a quick dip in the chlorophyll-coloured water before we ate a light dinner, had a small devotion and called it a night.
Next Day: [Day 3: This is the day...]