Doctor Rita

Clearing the morning fog

'Docto-rita' they were whispering to themselves as I tried to clear my mind's early morning fog with the last cup of palatable coffee I would enjoy.  When the mission first started I chuckled briefly as they were calling me "Rita" when my name was Lisa.  I have never been one to demand to be referred to as "Dr Flora".  That is my dad's name.  But they were just calling me the diminuitively respectful 'little Doctor'.  I was not offended, afterall I was a relatively young female physician in an austere environment of tribal Indians and rough loggers on the Amazon.  We were now enough days into the trip that I sensed unease as the Peruvian assistants scurried about their morning tasks, avoiding direct eye contact.

We were on a 14 day mission, launching out of Puerto Maldonado, Peru, to journey by canoe up the Amazon for several days to reach the Machigengua Indians.  They are a protected tribe to whom Peruvians, much less foreigners are rarely allowed access.  It poses a uniqutely fascinating medical potential to visit peoples untouched by the vast array of disease encountered in other regions.  But that's an other blog.  This mission was not only unique in the opportunity to treat and evangelize to an isolated group of Indians, but also in that we had to bring all our own food and housing, along with medical supplies, as we were camping on the banks of the Amazon each night.

The daily grind of setting clinic up on muddy banks

The routine was to tie up the canoe on the bank, allowing enough rope for the nocturnal rise of the Amazon that happened predictably in that time of the year, despite the overall seasonal recession of water.  We then hiked up the steep muddy embankment and camped high, with only enough of our personal effects to get us through the night:  2 meals, water, a change of clothing, and a toothbrush.  In my case, I felt compelled to include my passport in that small backpack on this day.  Did I really think it was at risk of being stolen?  I shrugged and stuffed it in.  You never know.

The last I saw of my luggage

We had our clinic but very little evangelizing.  Part of the agreement to reach these peoples were that we could only introduce Christ if we were invited into their homes.  That happened rarely.  

While we were busily attending to the villagers, our team leaders were meeting with tribal leaders.  This day in particular, it was apparent their wants were not for foreigners with foreign concoctions to ease their ailments.  They didn't want to hear about our Saviour.  They simply wanted mosquito netting.  And a lot of it.  It should have come as no surprise as the first day we had to arrange for emergent transport of an infant who potentially had malaria.  That night we had a special prayer session, asking God to help us find a way to supply these people with what they desired.  We went to sleep, realizing the next day we would be gone and most of us would never learn of the outcome of our prayerful intercession.

As I was one of the few who spoke Spanish, the local assistants finally had to make known their whispers to me so I could inform our team leader.  In my decaffeinated state I looked quizzically as I asked them 'What do you mean my luggage is lost?'.  'Doctorita', they informed me 'the water did not rise, but it fell and the canoe capsized.  Your luggage was on the top and it tumbled into the Amazon.'  I asked in disbelief, 'Let me get this straight, my plane tickets, $600 cash, my DVD player, my books, my clothing and my food...all gone?' I didn't need an answer.

The rest of the trip I would become completely reliant on my teammates for all my personal needs.  They shared food without question and ultimately donated monies so I could get home.  By the grace of God I had my passport and was relieved for that small miracle.  Of all the whispers I heard in those 24 hours, that was the one that made it through my admittedly thick skull.

We continued on, though I spent a sullen morning, admittedly irritated that the local boat captain had failed to realize 'Yomibato' translated into essentially 'the place where the Amazon doesn't rise at night'.  Duh.

Dr Glen Shepard, Ethnobotanist

We happened to pass Dr Glenn Shepard, an medical anthropologist and ethnobotanist, on the river the next day.  He is an expert on the Matsigneka tribe, having lived and studied their lives for years.  I told him jokingly to let me know if my luggage ever washed ashore.  Surprisingly he said he would spread the word and was fairly certain that when the Amazon receeded a bit more, they would be luggage diving once they learned what was in it.  Right.  Amongst piranhas, caiman crocodiles and who knows what else.  Glenn, if you are out there, you were right.

Several months later, at my doorstep in California was a beat up, muddy black suitcase.  There were some zippered compartments and dirty documents inside.  I heard they burned my clothing.  I never heard what happened to the $600 but I have a pretty good idea that our intercessions to God had been answered.