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Thankfully, Maria returned with the police before they decided my worth.
She told me I was lucky not to be kidnapped, taken away, and held for ransom. I think the constant prayers to the universe helped with my fate, not so-called luck. And any investigation may have led them to believe I was a nobody.
Ever since, my nerves have been on edge after learning these raids happen at any time, and some villages live in terror.
It has taken a month for me to write about it.
On a positive note, it’s been four weeks of doing what I came here to do.
There are no creature comforts in the indigenous village, and it has taken a while to adapt to sleeping in a hammock. Alongside the American and Brit volunteers, we spend nights by the fire discussing medical treatment if it’s not raining. Apparently, the daily inch of rain is mild compared to what May will bring.
It has opened my mind and eyes as we practice without sterilization procedures or any hospital standards.
We sleep in thatched grass or mud structures. Every hammock is sheathed with mosquito netting, and along with a daily chloroquine tablet, I hope it’s enough to ward off malaria.
After day one with Maria and the doctor, I realized there was no job description. I’m not sure of Diego’s role, but he has done little to help me. If I can do something even if by Western standards it’s considered doctor’s work, then I attend to the patient as best I can.
In a matter of weeks, I have learned to suture a wound. It’s more of a problem keeping the wound dry and clean so it can heal. Bandages are washed and boiled over a fire then laid over twine made into a makeshift line to dry before being reused. Resources are scarce, and if something can be reused, then its value is like mining gold.
Today, I have cared for babies with a fever. Measles broke out in the village, and although I contracted the disease as a child and have antibodies, I’m even more fortunate not to suffer from any serious side effects. Here, the treatment is difficult, and I’m relieved to learn about a vaccine. It’s not available yet, however there are shipments going to major cities.
Our community isn’t high on the list for distribution, and it angers me how the value of human life holds more importance in certain locations as can the color of your skin.
Racism is everywhere. I witnessed it in Australia with our own indigenous. Racism is one thing I’d love to see eradicated along with life-threatening diseases.
Over the years, I have watched the young and the old die. Another thing I hope to accomplish is to see vaccines offered to all, regardless of demography or social status. If supplies of the new measles vaccine were given to the indigenous, it could have a massive impact on survival rates and the spread, especially when it’s often carried into communities by outsiders.
My time here is short, a year, maybe two. If I make it my mission to fight for this, then it’s something I could be proud of when I return home to Albert.
For now, it’s back to helping with basic hygiene, even assisting the dentist with oral care since no one even owns a toothbrush.
While we might be helping, Maria explained how many deaths in the community have occurred from respiratory infections. We’re providing the care, yet the indigenous label us for bringing ‘cough’ diseases into their community, and the balance between remaining isolated or receiving help from the outside world swings on a pendulum.
Part of my duty is recording name, gender, date of birth, and estimated age in a registrar for our records. Not the work I signed up for, but at least I’m learning the names of some locals.
Once a fortnight, we get two days off, and Maria has already planned where she’s taking me. Heading to one of the official holiday resorts in Canaima for a cold beer sounds good to me.
December 5, 1962
Camp Canaima
No experience or knowledge prepared me for tonight.
It’s no surprise babies decide to come of their own accord. When a young girl who appeared no older than fifteen went into labor close to midnight, it’s commonly perceived as a natural occurrence.
Maria translated the doctor’s orders since most of the local volunteers communicated in Spanish or their native tongue.
Only the baby was breach and couldn’t be turned.
With no definitive gestation date, the staff went by her size, and her stomach wasn’t big. A rough estimation assessed her to be thirty weeks.
Regardless, she went into labor. We were concerned not only by the size of the baby but at thirty weeks implicated the probability of survival and multiple complications of the girl delivering a breach baby were highly likely.
For the next two hours, my stomach sat in my throat, and I wanted to puke with nerves. Extra help or emergency care wasn’t available, as there’s no nearby hospital and no roads lead to Canaima. By the time we got her on the canoe, then a plane, and to a city, it would be too late. And she owned no health insurance.
I’ll never forget her screams as long as I live.
Never forget the way her eyes pleaded with mine.
