The Kitchen

For many years the only way of getting missionaries and supplies out to the remote tribal areas was by river boat. There could be up to several dozen passengers and crew members on these trips.  Depending on the season and the depth of the water they they could spend ten or more days and nights on board as they wound their way up river against the current, around rocks, sand bars, islands and snags.  Most “supply boat runs” as they were called were made up of two or three modified dugout canoes with boards on the sides and a roof of some kind.  In the early days the roof would be a palm thatch. These boats were lashed together with long poles secured with ropes and chains.  Somewhere,  usually on the biggest boat an area would be kept open for a kitchen to be set up.  We’re talking very, very rustic here.  There would be several pots and pans, porcelain cups and plates and cheap silverware.  No such thing as disposable stuff. Out there in the jungle it wouldn’t have been pitched anyway.  This tiny crowded kitchen was nothing great but functional if barely.   The stove was usually a Coleman two burner camping variety.  Keeping a flame going was not so easy as the cooks coped with wind, blowing rain, and clogged fuel jets.  And you had to keep pumping the tank to keep the fuel flowing.

The veteran travelers thought it pretty neat to have any kind of work space and neater yet to have anything to work with in the kitchen. First time river travelers had some adjusting and learning to do, in other words they had a lot on their plates.  On the ride out to the river port from town the ladies usually rode in the cab of the truck that was loaded with supplies of all kinds, fuel drums and the like.  However if there were several ladies the overflow from the cab went to the back of the truck where passengers were an afterthought.  There, perched on top of the boxes or fuel drums they rode with the boat crew, everyone hanging on for dear life on the 60 kilometer drive on the dirt road to the port. As the new missionaries climbed down from the truck the reality of absolutely no facilities, the roastingly hot tropical sun or drenching rain as the case might be, the zillions of biting insects, and the thought of clambering aboard the boats being filled with boxes and boxes of supplies, dozens of 55 gallon fuel drums and who knows what else was sometimes overwhelming.  But that was just the beginning!

Once the supplies and fuel drums were in place, and this took the crew hours and hours of hard and dangerous work, the boats were ready to cast off with the passengers spread out on the boxes of supplies and the fuel drums and the crew at their stations.  There was always a time of prayer, usually by the captain, for safety on the journey.  I’ll do a post on the responsibilities of the crew at a later date.  Within minutes of leaving port the fortitude of the newcomers would again be tested as the crew steered the boats through a series of very dangerous rapids, rocks and whirlpools.  To experience the waves splashing over the side could be unnerving, even for an experienced deckhand.

Soon however the ladies would begin to get the kitchen organized, cleaning it up and washing the dishes.  The running water was right over the side of the boat. An experienced lady would fill up a bigger kettle or pot, (usually a big aluminum pot with handle over the whole thing) by dipping water out of the river using a cup or small pan.  If there were no experienced ladies along, an unsuspecting cook might try to get her water by dipping the big pot over the side into the water rushing by the side of the boat.  As the pot filled with water it quickly became an anchor pulled backwards by the forward momentum of the boat.  At this point one of three things immediately happened.  A. The lady held on for dear life and was unceremoniously  yanked over the side of the boat.  B. The handle broke. or  C. She’d let go of the handle and the pot would find a final resting place on the river’s equivalent of Davy Jones’s locker.  In most cases the dear lady would choose the last option without too much thought.

The cooks would prepare rice, spaghetti or some other pasta mixed with canned sardines or canned corned beef.  Sometimes the crew would catch fish or bag a turkey.  Anything fresh was always preferred over the canned version.   And of course there was always coffee. One of our crew members would  remind us that drinking coffee was necessary “so the sardines would have something to swim around in down there”.  Yes and we had cooked oatmeal for breakfast. Once the food got cooked ( remember everything going on was happening with the always present noise and din of the engines pushing the boats) the cooks would dish up each person’s portion.  Each plate and cup of drink,  which would be coffee or sometimes kool-aid,  had to be hand carried to the passengers and crew scattered everywhere over the three or sometimes more boats. If someone wanted more food hand signals would have to do. The cooks were pretty good at figuring out what a still hungry deckhand might be trying to communicate.

This scenario played out day after weary day as the boats slowly labored up the river. Everyone could hardly wait till our destination was reached. I’ll do a post on the “supply boat’s” arrival in the future. It had an excitement and drama of it’s own!   But for now, everyone without exception was very, very thankful for the little kitchen and the cooks who labored there. It’s part of the adventure anyone who has experienced it will never forget.