“Bujaru”

“Did they warn you that the ‘Carapunun’ are terrible there? You’ll want to put on mosquito repellant. Did you bring some?” I’m leaning over the back railing of our triple decker boat called the “Semeador II” (the Planter II) staring at the dark black water of the Rio Negro churning as the huge diesel engine interrupts its smooth nightly ritual. One of my team mates (a thin Brazilian girl from Manaus) is practically yelling at me in order to be heard over the roar of the engine. It’s quieter on the second deck but the girls are getting there things together up there so for now I’m banished to the first level.
She’s giving me the scoop as our boat pushes off. My heart is racing, but there is nothing for my eyes to feast on as I try to satisfy my curious, anxious mind. It’s pitch black out, about 10:30 PM and the boat is busy with the hustle and bustle of people sorting through coolers and equipment, while others hang their hammocks quickly to guarantee a nice spot. Kids are already fast asleep on mattresses and everywhere you look people are smiling and greeting each other with hugs, kisses, and exchanges of stories of trips gone by. Only amongst the body of Christ can you step into such chaotic situation and feel right at home.
It isn’t long before I’m settled down in my own hammock trying to get a few hours of sleep before it is our turn to hop a rid in the outboard motor boat being towed behind us. Somewhere around six o’clock the captain of the boat walks around yelling a wake up call. I haven’t slept much over the noise and between the strange surroundings and awkward sleeping position in my hammock but I’m pumped with adrenaline and ready to go.
“Crushhhh,” the sand grinds the bottom of the steel canoe and out we step onto the shores of “Buraju.” You’d think there was nothing there but empty wooden houses on stilts and everything is quiet except for the blaring music coming from one brightly painted house. As we gather our stuff and make our way past the short row of houses facing the river signs of life begin to appear. Little kids dart behind trees and houses and grim faces with broken smiles appear in the dark frames of open windows. We settled down in an old (looking) school house and set up shop while the curious children begin to surround the place.
Shortly after having a meager breakfast of crackers and cheese we begin our rounds about the community. This will be our job for the next few days, visiting, encouraging, listening, admonishing, and teaching. We go from an old couples house who gives us a few “cupuacu” fruit that smell like rotting bananas to a house where the men have gathered in a roar of laughter to play “snooker” or pool. The kids are always following us, but every time you look at them they dart away giggling to themselves.
One kid in particular seems to be a bold little tike and takes a liking to me. His name is Denilson and he calls me Uncle or for those of you who know Portuguese “Titio.” One afternoon as he is sitting in my lap stroking the stubble on my unshaven face he blurts out, “You need to trim your beard, its ugly! And you missed a spot under your lip!” Little does he know that back home it is what we call a “soul patch” and that despite the fact that it may be ugly I intentionally left it there.
Sunday roles around all to quickly and our last meeting with the community of Bujaru is over before you know it. By now I’ve realized that I have been “detonated” (as you would say in Portuguese) by a tiny red mite called “Mucuim.” They might be tiny but they sure do wreck havoc and I look like I have contracted a bad case of chicken pox around my waste!
Our outboard motor ride back to the Semeador II is a quite and sad one as none of us are ready to leave the people of “Bujaru” just yet. But we are greeted by other groups on the boat and soon the jovial happy-go-lucky spirit of the Brazilians replaces the grim atmosphere. Night fall envelopes the boat as I watch a migration of swallows skim their way up river huge river from the open third deck. Somehow I feel like I’m coming away more blessed then I have blessed those riverside communities.