Wayne jarred me from my dozing to look out the plane window. Far below us was the winding Guaviare River along which we once lived. Gazing at it brought back many memories: family times, adjusting to tribal life and language, and finally the threats of danger that forced us out of the jungle area. But now we were heading back, to a nearby tribal area not far from the Guaviare and where the Piapoco ministry awaited us. So much jungle still below, I could make out tribal villages along the banks, places we had been and where unsaved Piapocos need to hear of God’s grace and mercy to them.
Reinaldo, Susana and family all met us upon our arrival, arranging for a small truck to take us, our bags, Coky and her dog carrier back to town and home. Home, a strange word to us after months of being elsewhere. It is taking some getting used to. Susana and her daughter, Raquel, lovingly cleaned our apartment, so it was a blessing not to wade through dust and hanging cobwebs. The extra touches were soon noted and the welcome ‘Home’ signs on the frig. Although the place looked clean, the scent of jungle hit us both. There was no way to get around it, we were home and our home was in the tropics.
The bedding and towels we had left out, had been recently washed, so I made up the bed and got ready for a shower. I found the mosquito net inside a duffle bag amidst other musty bedding and clothing, so hung it in place as it was. No time to wash it or air it out. More unpacking the next day of kitchen things stored, and of course, more musty smells. I supposed that eventually we will acquire the same tell tale odors and get used to them. Then Wayne just asked me, ‘Do you suppose if we put our books out in the sun, it would get rid of the moldy smell?’ Well, it’s worth a try, but like I said, I don’t think we will notice it so much anymore, after a while, of being ‘Home.’