The Rio Coco...with a different feel

This last week I returned from the Rio Coco (Coconut River) on what I think was my seventh trip to the remote, indigenous region. I have described this as extreme camping, but have come to love and appreciate these excursions. I find the people there incredibly friendly for the most part, and appreciative of our visits, whether we are bringing them something, or just checking up on them. I also love the river trips because I am permitted time with just my brain/God/music/book – which is good some of the time. I also like to be out of cell phone range. The trip this time was a mixed bag of emotions.

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It was really dark long after dawn… 

We began by leaving the community of Wiwili in the canoes at about 5:45 in the morning. As we pulled away from the dock we were flagged down by a young couple with a couple of bags and a box. “That’s my cousin and her husband. They need a ride to San Andres,” said Karolina, our Miskito translator. Alberto, our trip leader, said we had room and so we crossed over to where they waited. As we got closer it became evident that the box was a very small casket. The night before, their four-month-old son succumbed to a bout of pneumonia.

As the sun broke over the mountain in the east a dark cloud of emotion loomed over the trip and continued in spite of the bright sunshine. The soft, constant weeping of two parents as they leaned over the simple, infant-sized wooden box, stroking it and rubbing the cross on the lid, was broken occasionally by the uncontrolled wail of a mother trying to mourn an unfathomable event. While the rest of us stopped at the village of La Esperanza (The Hope) for the night, the young family continued on to our ultimate destination of San Andres. It seemed as we stopped for hope, they continued without any.

One week later, at midnight, the silence of the balmy river night was brought to an end by a chorus of loud voices that sounded like a riot outside of the church where our hammocks hung. Across the street a group had gathered to pray and mourn with the family. Prayers were uttered in a half-cry, half-scream fashion, candles were lit and those mourning huddled in a small mass for the infant and his parents. The scene was repeated at seven the next morning, and again later in the day. Those of us who heard and witnessed these things were left with a helpless, uncomfortable feeling and can only imagine what goes through the minds of the family at this time in this place.

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San Andrés, the twin’s city…

San Andres is the central community and by far the largest of those in the region we frequent. It seems as though there are many sets of twins for a community no bigger than San Andrés. It is there that I find an incredible contrast to how this trip began. Arrival in San Andrés allowed me the opportunity to reflect on how much more common (and more comfortable) it is to hear the normal laughter of the children playing on the Rio Coco verses the family grieving a recent death. 

Two of my new friends on the Rio Coco are 4-year-old twins John and Ian. Their house is next to the church building. John and Ian have an older brother and three older sisters. There is also a new baby that is either a boy or girl – I’m not sure. Because they have not started school yet these twins speak only Miskito, but have learned that when a Miliki (Miskito for Gringo) speaks to you, you respond with, “Si.” One of the beautiful things about these two little guys is that they don’t care how badly I massacre Spanish, they are going to answer, “Si,” anyway. My other favorite thing about these two is that they laugh. They laugh when I speak Miskito, when I wink or make a silly face, when they see me walk by their house and even when they don’t know I can hear them. They are very happy – even though they have three older sisters.

They are also among the poorest families in this area. To be the poorest of the poor means you don’t even have the fancy store-bought top, the wooden car or any of the simplest toys. John and Ian hardly have clothes that cover them. Their sisters have to go across the road to borrow  agiant mortar and pestle used to crush the rice and corn. Yet the twins, as well as the rest of the family laugh – a lot. It is not unusual to see John dragging a wooden block with a string or Ian spinning a rescued soft drink can on a spindle like a propeller. They are genuinely happy – and it’s not because they got a new X-Box.

John and Ian are one of the five sets of twins I have met in San Andrés (and they are my favorite. Shhh - don’t tell the others.)

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What to do with a bad uncle… 

One afternoon while sitting in front of the church as the kids invited me to play a round of “take a picture of me in the tree” two shotgun-armed national policemen who patrol San Andres walked by with a man in escort formation. One of the children said, “That’s my uncle. He’s bad.” This statement prompted me to ask, “Where are they going?” Matter-of-factly Rachel replied, “They are probably going to shoot him.” Without giving it much more thought I said, “He must really be bad,” and turned my attention to the next call, known universally by children as, “Watch what I can do!”

About four minutes later I heard the unmistakable report of shotgun. “Yep. They shot him,” said Rachel in her same monotonous descriptive voice as before. Honestly, when she said they were going to shoot that man I didn’t believe her. Now, with a lump in my throat I reviewed the last couple days to see if I could have done anything offensive. Seems justice is not swift, but immediate in San Andrés.

My mind reeled as I wondered what could have prompted such drastic measures. It wasn’t but a few minutes later that he two officers walked by, passing the other direction – without Uncle Bad. I reasoned to myself that if they shot him close to the river, since it was up and the current strong, they would not have to worry with burial or cleanup.Still, I could not wrap my head around this. Even in the Old West you got a trial before the gallows and a trip to Boot Hill.

This was just about to get the best of me when Uncle Bad meandered by. No blood, no limp, nothing. He looked just as he did before his execution. Rachel looked down on me from her branch and said, “Maybe they didn’t shoot him.” Maybe not, Rachel. Maybe not.

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My work here is done… 

Ana Karolina is about seven years old. She lives in the village of Tuburus (too boo ROOS.) Her father serves as the local preacher. When the canoes pull up she is always the first down to the bank to greet the travelers. As the only one I consistently recognize and can call by name in this village besides her father, I usually have a lollipop for when she greets us.

Ana Karolina is a typical Nicaraguan child. Kids on the Rio Coco, and pretty much throughout all of Nicaragua, as I have experienced it, understand that younger children are the responsibility of everyone who is older. Baby is number one and anyone older than baby is responsible to make sure said baby is not falling off high places or getting eaten by a monkey.
Such was the case of Ana Karolina. As a small crowd gathered, made up of people spanning the entire age range, a young teenager appeared with a baby, obviously in her charge for time being. Ana Carolina had already begun enjoying the “bon-bón” as they call it. The baby was obviously unhappy about something and was voicing her displeasure at the top of her tiny little lungs. Ana Karolina sprang into action. She immediately turned, removed the sucker from her mouth and directed it to the screaming baby. It was her job as a first responder, with the appropriate equipment in hand, to assist when duty called.

Ana Karolina to the rescue.

With one fell swoop the baby swatted the sucker from Ana Karolina’s hand causing it to fly through the air and splat in mud. Please focus your visual image on the fact that the river had been higher in recent days and recent rains could possibly make for muddy situations. Do NOT consider the livestock cohabitating on the same beach. In the interest of choosing the baby’s happiness (and quietness) over personal health Ana Karolina scooped up the lollipop, cleaned it as though she were taking a culture of her tongue, and returned it to the baby. This time the baby gracefully accepted the gift and enjoyed it unprotested.

Ana Karolina dusted off her hands and returned to area where our canoes hand landed, satisfied that she had saved the day and accomplished her mission. This helps me understand why all those parasite pills we deliver seemed to be less effective than we’d hoped.

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It’s not that I don’t want to talk to you…

Pankawas (PAWN kuh wahz) may be my favorite community on the Rio Coco. (Shhh...don't tell the others.) I consider the preacher, Urbino, a friend and his family are very nice people. Pankawas is a difficult place to visit. They are perched high above the river and seem much closer to the sun. There are very few Spanish speakers and being armed with little-to-no useful Miskito, my communication skills are limited to trying to get someone to understand my Spanish enough to translate it into Miskito. It is a humbling challenge to visit there.

Urbino and family

Yet even without shared language, I feel a connection there. Pankawas is a small village. There is a little old lady (probably my age, but it is a hard life so they look older), Antonio, who thinks he might be 101, and of course, the preacher and his family. Then there are a bazillion kids. From the church you can see only about a dozen homes. Where do they all come from? Is there a hidden cave? How can they hear the bag of candy open from wherever they are? Have they not yet learned that chewing and swallowing the horrid anti-parasite pill is a prerequisite to receiving the candy? Is that one a boy or a girl?

101 year-old Antonio visits when I travel to Pankawas. 

Without a word the children seem to gather in the church for the show. I then (you may find this to be surprising) begin to act like I am going to chase or tickle or bite or cry or laugh or whatever. They laugh at the silly old Gringo and the funny faces he makes. At least I hope that is why they are laughing. Meanwhile they continue to do that “you can’t catch me” glare.

After I am tired of that game I walk towards the door opening. They run to a tree and make a line for a rousing game of “Make the Old Gringo Have a Heart Attack.” This is their chance to be swung in a circle by the arms. They know the rules – where the line is, how many revolutions, one turn each, etc. Yet, I have never said a word. To my knowledge, neither has any adult standing around commented on the rules of the game. It is late that night when I sway in my hammock that I reflect
a) It was a fun trip to Pankawas;
b) There was a lot of laughter;
c) Words aren't always needed;
d) I will need four adults to roll me out of my hammock and help me off the floor in the morning.

This latest trip to Pankawas was their first opportunity to have a movie. Using a generator, giant screen, DVD and projector we showed the Spanish version of a movie. They don’t speak Spanish. Yet they watched and laughed at the slapstick as it unfolded.

UA1 at the Pankawas Mall...well, not exactly.

The two previous trips to Pankawas I have made it a point to take a portrait-type photo of the preacher and his family. (See above.) I give it to them as a small gift on the subsequent trip. People on the Rio Coco don’t have pictures of themselves or their children. As I lined them up for this trip’s picture Urbino stood up and took the camera from me. He handed it to one of our workers and motioned for me to go sit down. He then moved his wife out of the camera view and asked one of our workers to take my picture with his family. That was just sweet of him. I was touched by this gesture. Pankawas has nice people. They don’t have cellular signal either.

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It's all good...

I struggle with my usefulness and purpose, especially on the river. I am reminded that my job is to take pictures, smile and be available. I know I get far more out of these trips than I give and I have a very selfish prayer that God allows me to continue. The people on the Rio Coco live a meager existence. But it is meager by our standards, not theirs. There is much laughter and the slower pace is relaxing to say the least. Yes, they work hard, even the children. But they play hard, too. We Americans could learn a thing or two from them. Don't feel sorry for the people on the Rio Coco. That's not to say they don't need help with some things that we can provide, but they don't need a change of lifestyle. God is taking care of them in the way He sees fit. He does the same for us.

When I ride along in the canoe I listen to a very old song, "His Eye On the Sparrow" written by Civillia Martin  in 1905 and based on Matthew 10:29, and think about how it fits the people on the river. Inevitably I end up relating it to how God has taken care of me and used the river trips to bless me. Please put in a good word to the Good Shepherd for the people on the Rio Coco…so I can keep learning.

Dahwan bliss mimumbia (God bless you).