Page 85 of Beautifully Wild

He nods. “I will sit with her and no shout over motor. Come. I show you how to steer.”

We swap seats. I take the stick and wrestle to hold it in place for a moment. “Stay here.” He points to the left of the river. “Middle, the current stronger. Not close to edge. Away from floating branches and vines.”

Asoo settles in the seat behind her, slightly to her right, so he’s in her periphery.

I hear nothing of their conversation with the motor in my ear. Occasionally, Asoo bows his head as though words escape him.

We reach a fork in the river, and he points for me to veer to the right, the girth twofold, requiring a firmer grip on the stick to steer us out of the center. There are more sandy beaches and less overhanging jungle, and soon Asoo climbs back and retakes control in time to guide the canoe onto a small beach. He says nothing of Kaikare.

“We walk now. You can dress.” Asoo jumps ashore and stands with his back to us. In the canoe, I pull on a tank top, shoving the beads in the front pocket of my pack. I slip into shorts and untie my tweed skirt. Curiously Kaikare watches. I clamber over wooden planks and hand her another tank top. Her chin raises, she shakes her head, refusing my offer. She stands and finds Asoo. Admittedly, her skirt covers most of her bits, and the beads fall over her breasts. She’s proud of who she is, and I respect that. Covering her body with Western clothing is more about my insecurities.

We cross a grassland before seeing the brick and clay structures before us. One building is a makeshift church with a cross on the top. It catches Kaikare’s eye. She says nothing, yet I can’t help wondering what’s going through her mind.

Some children approach us in dirt-covered t-shirts and shorts, all barefoot. Three dogs of no particular breed follow the children like friendly mutts.

Kaikare grabs my arm and freezes. “Asoo, the dogs,” I call out. “It’s okay,” I tell her and reach to pat one with my free hand.

Eyes wide, she watches, although she steps away when it bounces toward her.

“Down,” I demand.

Asoo chuckles. “The locals speak Pemón or Spanish. Some learn English. Dogs no understand your words.”

I take Kaikare’s hand and shoo any other dogs in our path until we enter a small brick dwelling.

A thin man sits behind a desk. Asoo speaks in Spanish first, then turns to me. “Eden.”

The man nods. “I’m Robert.” He runs his fingers along the length of his beard and eyes us through gray bangs.

“Nice to meet you. I’ve come with supplies.” I place my backpack on his desk and empty the medical kits. “I believe you’re in need of some help. My sister has a toddler, and I’ve cared for him when he’s been sick. It’s not much, but I’m willing to assist where I can.”

“Your friend?”

“Her medicine is from the jungle.”

Asoo reverts to Spanish so fast, and the only word I catch isKaikare. He turns to her, and his language becomes stilted, speaking in her native tongue.

Kaikare nods slowly, leaning forward in a slight bow.

“I’ll show you ladies where you’ll sleep, and then I’ll take you to some of the huts where the children are isolated,” Dr. Robert says.

Thankfully, our room has a door and hammocks. Kaikare watches as I open and shut the door, the handle fascinating her. I point to us both and the hammocks before placing my hands under my ear and close my eyes. Surely, it’s a universal sign. We head out, Kaikare refusing to let go of her basket, and meet Asoo. The dogs are tied with a rope away from us. The children shout and laugh innocently, and the adults shoot wary stares. They seem unsure who they trust least—the native American or the privileged white girl.

The doctor is inside the long hut. From the moment I step inside, I’m greeted with chesty coughs and sniffles. The children’s faces and bodies are covered in a red rash.

“Most of the children and adults only have the cold symptoms although many are compromised with poor hand washing and now have pneumonia.” The doctor takes the temperature of a girl. “Some of the children have suffered seizures, and the older generation believes it’s the work of a bad spirit.” He points to a bowl of murky water with cotton cloths cut in strips beside it. “I don’t need all my shirts, so I’m using pieces to help cool them.”

He pumps a bottle of sanitizer and wipes it over his hands. I look around. There’s no running water. “We have one tap that pumps water from beneath the ground. The whole community shares it. We have electricity for three hours a day from a generator. Most of the volunteers come for eight weeks and leave. One brought the measles virus with him. It spreads like wildfire in a community with no vaccination. I treat them for malaria and parasites, diseases known to their community for years. We can’t afford communicable diseases from outsiders.”

“What do the volunteers do here in only eight weeks?” I ask him.

“They help with the fields, gardens, cooking for so many mouths to feed. The elderly people are tired, some sick themselves.”

“I want to help in any way I can.” I walk over and examine a rash on a boy no more than three years old. He moans and barks out a cough.

“Thank you for these antibiotics. The packs Samuel sent have helped a few of these kids. We’ve had nine deaths in two weeks.”

I gasp. “Tell me what I can do now.”

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