Footsteps into Baramita

April 5-10, 2009

As we loaded our luggage and ourselves into the familiar yellow plane, bright and early that Friday morning, a group of villagers crowded around to bid us farewell. To one side stood our translator, and his family, his cute little daughter Olive smiling shyly at us from behind her hand. I saw some that I recognized from the clinic that we held all week, children in school uniforms, and other villagers whose faces had become familiar over the course of the past week.

Finally, after more pictures were taken, goodbyes were said, seatbelts were strapped into place, and a prayer was offered for safety, we began the taxi to the end of the runway. Judd expertly maneuvered the plane around, pushed the throttle full forward, and we began to roar down the runway. People and buildings whizzed past, and soon we were airborne watching the runway, buildings, and small huts become smaller and still smaller. As we flew on, over a seemingly endless sea of green jungle, my mind wandered back to the day we arrived in this village in the same yellow plane 6 days ago…
That day I was flying, following the heading that would take us to a distant village that I had only heard about but had not yet seen. Beside me sat Laura, one of the AWA pilots, and behind me sat Nathan and Alexis, and a lot of baggage and supplies. A plume of smoke in the distance drew attention to the small clearing in the vast green expanse of trees below. We circled the runway, set up for a left downwind approach, and landed on the grass runway that was the center of the village. Many unfamiliar faces lined the runway, and several approached to help unload our belongings and carry them into the small community building that would house 10 of us for the following 6 days. The familiar faces of Bill, Laura’s husband, and Danniela and Micah, her two small kids also greeted us. We had finally arrived in the small, remote village of Baramita, a name that had become familiar to me over the past several months although this was my first time to see the village that I had heard so much about, and that had a need for a nurse or health worker that perhaps I would fill in the future.

The village of Baramita is located far out in the jungles of Region 1 in Guyana. There are only two ways to reach the village: fly nearly an hour over the jungle as we did, or walk for about 1 week from the nearest port town, Matthew’s Ridge, through jungle and swamp. The village is built around a gold mine, which is the main source of income for the villagers. It is quickly evident who benefits the most from the mine, their larger and slightly more modern houses and small stores/rum shops line the runway or are built up on the nearby hill. The others, who are the majority, have houses that are scattered in a 2 mile radius throughout the jungle, accessible only by walking along a maze of narrow jungle trails. These houses are the typical wooden house, situated on stilts, assembled from boards hand cut with chainsaws, with thatch roofing material. Some structures that we happened upon were simply wooden poles that supported the thatch roof with several hammocks strung underneath, and their few possessions tied up in the roof to avoid the rain. Over 50 percent of the villagers speak and understand only Carib, an Amerindian dialect, and the majority of them are unable to read. Health care is also limited to these villagers, it is well known that the local health worker will usually only open the health hut for a few hours throughout the week. If he is not at the health hut, he is likely to be found drunk at one of the nearby rum shops.

As the next several days passed, it found us holding clinic for the village, doing home health visitations, holding evening health meetings, and meeting the villagers. I still remember the first day of clinic, and what comes to mind is not the frustration that we all felt over being unorganized, or the untidy “health hut.” What comes to mind is the faces of young girls, still children themselves, bringing their own babies to clinic for immunizations, check-ups, or illnesses. What comes to mind is the shy smiles of small children who I knew would not be allowed their childhood much longer. In the first few hours of arriving, I saw only too clearly the great need of these beautiful people, and I began to feel the tug on my heart to somehow meet that need. This feeling only intensified as the week progressed. It surfaced again as I treated a 13 year old girl for an STD, then as I saw a 12 year old boy asking for condoms. Later I felt it again as I treated a man with a dental infection that was so bad, since he had no way of getting any kind of treatment, that he couldn’t talk or open his mouth. Yet again I felt it as our translator told us that he finished his Steps to Christ we had given him in one night and asked if we had any other books he could read, and also if we might have a Bible he could read.

Over and over again I saw the need, and was nearly overwhelmed with how great it really was. As I saw the searching hearts and the empty eyes, I again felt the call of the mission field that has been present in my heart since I read the book "Mission Pilot" and watched the DVD of jungle aviation for the very first time. While the road ahead may seem long, I know that it is the road God is taking me down, and He will be faithful to open the doors. The more I've worked down here, the more the needs seem to be endless. God needs willing hearts, willing hands, willing laborers. "The harvest truly is plentiful, but the laborers are few. Therefore pray the Lord of the harvest to send out laborers into His harvest"