“¡Buenos días, buenos días, con sandías!”
By 8:38 a.m. this morning, I had navigated a propane tank, cleaned the bugs out of our humble kitchen appliances, and cooked with two other teammates for fifteen people. Our breakfast was an egg-potato-onion mixture that was scrambled out of necessity, as it was all we had to spare for our first meal of the day.
Our team scarfed down the meal earnestly, like how we scarf down all other meals, and we prepared to embark on our first adventure of the day: ignoring the possible critters in our boots and embarking down a steep mudslide to board a wooden passenger boat. What should be a 5 minute walk can take up to 20 as we fall multiple times in the pools of mud and dodge the grenades that are mounds of cow poop.
Our abode is located at the top of a farm in the jungle. Our neighbors are roosters and cows, and the occasional stray cat or scream-inducing tarantula. And because we live in the rainforest, and because it typically rains every night, closhing (clunking + sloshing) is the perfect adjective to describe our journey down to the boat every morning.
At 8:38 a.m., my team and I were eagerly seated and shortly greeted by Pablo, a Spanish-speaking handy man and Christ-follower. As he hopped on the boat, he exclaimed “¡Buenos días, buenos días, con sandías!” Our team instantly turned to our translator, Magly, who informed us of the English meaning.
If you are familiar with Spanish, or if you know how to copy and paste into google translate, you would know immediately that “Good morning, good morning, with watermelon!” makes no sense. That was when I stared reflected on my time in Peru so far and this seemingly nonsensical experience as a whole.
Logically, my summer doesn’t make sense. I am living two hours by bus and one hour by boat away from Iquitos, one of the smaller cities of Peru in the rainforest. I haven’t experienced air conditioning since the Lima airport, and I miss random luxuries like ice and getting to brush my teeth with running water and getting to read at night without a headlamp. If I feel dirty, I go down to the Amazon river to bathe and hope my excessive use of shampoo doesn’t make any snakes or fish angry, and that I don’t end up as muddy as my pre-bath self after the hike back up to the farmhouse. It doesn’t make sense why this is how I, or 13 other of my friends and teammates, have decided to spend the summer.
It doesn’t make sense why the incredible river villages we have visited so far, named Buen Pastor, Canan, Santa Fe, and Olaya, are full of so much love. It doesn’t make sense that these people who live with so little are so welcoming and generous, offering their fruit and their huts to accommodate us. It doesn’t make sense that when we visited Olaya and explained we would be there for a week to help them any way we can, they said that they wanted to help us in return. It doesn’t make sense that the children in these villages, who couldn’t tell you what an iPod is or who the American superheroes on their shirts are, erupt into laughter with even a simple look from us “gringas.”
I’m learning that the times in life where growth is the most fruitful and abundant is in the times outside of the “sense” box. I have learned more about myself and how I deal with uncomfortable circumstances that are not sensible in 12 days than in 20 years. I don’t have the comforts of home anywhere near me. I can’t text my best friends or call my parents when I’m scared. I am being called to turn to God 100% for my comfort and security and joy, which is something I never would have taken the time to consider if I were still at home. His love for me is never conditional or dependent on His mood; He loves me and seeks me even when I place other idols of comfort before him. This summer that doesn’t make sense is teaching me the most sensible basics about how I can be a better empathizer and daughter of Christ that I will carry with me for the rest of my life.
The adjustment to life in the jungles of the Amazon has been difficult. It’s unlike any living situation I have ever experienced, and I am meeting people and hearing stories that my brain could have never concocted on its own. I am still feeling waves of emotion daily that don’t have words to fairly represent them. Despite all this, I am giving, and I am learning, and I am growing.
It doesn’t make sense that the Lord is using this summer I pictured to be solely about serving Peruvians to also serve me; He is teaching me to trust Him and His faithfulness, and I am so happy to be spending this summer in the no-sense zone.
