The Tropical pilgrimage continues
Some time has past since our last sea gull letter exchange.
Since then, I have sold the flock of sea gulls and have climbed aboard a dung Beatle who promised to take me overland.
After our boat trip on the Amazon, she docked in Manaus, Brazil.
My band of travel companions were welcomed by friend of friends who took us in for the night. We slept on blowup mattresses, on somebody's second floor. In the morning shopping was done for three days worth of road snacks.
Gathering ourselves we took a day long bus ride. The mini bus drove us straight out of Brazil and over the Guyananees border. The bus driver might have been friends with the travel agent in the opposite country, as she was so kind as to offer us a package deal and helped us to submit to the authorities (drove us back across the border).
With stamped passports, we legally re-entered Guyana and continued for the longest jungle bump 'n jingle ride of my life. The scenery changed from grass planes similar to the savanna, to thick jungle overgrowth on both sides of the road. The red dirt highway that stretched ahead of us, was like a brown ribbon of caked mud, dashing past us as our driver left all memories of caution behind him. His playlist of reggae music vibrated through our beings.
We crossed a river in a ferry with only two life jackets and other trucks who had seen muddier days. The road continued and the night fell around us with amplified bird & insect sounds and bites.
After several peanut butter sandwiches and plastic cups of muesli we arrived before the first star appeared again, in Timerhi, Guyana.
Our half way host, pastor Deo welcomed us in. On his recommendations we rested a day which turned into three. During these days of rest pastor Deo fixed his old broken school bus, which had not been working for the past year.
Our tropical pilgrimage continued at day brake, as the pastor, his wife and 2 new friends piled into the old bus. Hourly stops were made, to refuel and air the antique engine, but as one of our team members is a airplane mechanic, and we were on the Lord's business, we knew we were in good hands.
After a day of driving we stopped in a field outside a small town, the field was filled with wild looking horses, the clouds were pink, and we were told to look for camping spots.
Unaccustomed were we to our driver's sense of humor, and the joke was on us, as we were hosted by another relative, in true Indian hospitality. After rice mountains and coconut ice cream plates were cleared we lay down on a wall to wall version of a Christmas bed.
At dawn we were woken up with egg sandwiches and packets of friend bananas for the road ahead. The pastor drove us to the border and we parted ways as another ferry sailed us to Suriname.
After a brief negation in Dutch, which is spoken in this previous Dutch colony, we were off for another day of travel.
Along the road, we saw wooden houses on stilts, but with a distinct Dutch architectural style. With lots of jungle to spare, houses are build upwards on small plots of land. All official signs are in Dutch, while the general population consists of Africans, Indians, and people from Java and aboriginals. Most shops are owned by Chinese people who have learned how to trade in Dutch. These impressions were confusing. Then after free coconuts were given to us, by a man at the fruit stand, who was celebrating his birthday, ethnicity seemed very unimportant.
After all, aren't we all coconuts, drifted and baked by the sun, with insides that are more important than our shells.
After more than two weeks of travel, we reached our destination: Hebron Bible School, in Suriname. I felt a bit like the Israelites must have felt, after taking the alternative route to the promised land.
Pastor Moes welcomed us and explained our ten day program. We were to wear long dresses, wake up at 5:45, have devotional time, follows by morning chores, a short breakfast, official prayer meetings, team meetings, lunch, and afternoon chores for two hours and then evening services ether at the Bible school or surrounding churches.
I struggled with the tight program, and reminded me of some missionary bases close to home. Places that I have chosen not to revisit.
I marveled at how disciplined the bible school students got up, did chores as well as go to classes, prepare sermons and do personal studies. Order and discipline was evident.
During the duty times, we were shown how to weed the vegetable gardens, cut grass, gather and clean eggs, wash fruits and gather berries. Is cleanliness next to godliness ?
Surprisingly to my artistic soul, getting up became easier and I enjoyed the morning hour of solitude and meditation, as I strangely had time to read my Bible and hear the birds wake up. I stand amazed at the security that the structure of this disciplined institute offered me. God showed me that a lot of my upbringing as missionary kid, protected me and allowed for creativity. But during some of my "in-inlightment" as an adult I had viewed my life as restricted and trapped. I felt that the years I thought were lost were truly a good and perfect gift from the Father of lights, who does not change like shifting shadows.
During our time in Suriname, we could share our stories with believers in a jungle church, an Indian congregation and at a youth camp on an island in French Guyana.
And what we have in common with these followers on the equator, is belief in a Heavenly Father.
We eat and we share, we are travelers through this life, and our true home is being prepared for us where the stars are unnecessary.
Wifi permitting I will write again soon, but for now it is raining in the tropics and somewhere somebody is sharing a coconut.
Your traveling friend
Kotie-Alet