An island built for......

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Pampachica…..El Porvenir; the street, or community, in which we work. Low water season there are entrances from both sides, a quiet little area with a lovely beach, usable green spaces and soccer pitches. High water season…..roads disappear and we go in hunt for rubber boots and ponchos to battle our way in. Soccer is played at the high end of the street….the pitch is a lake – and a deep one at that.

It is now high water season – there is no winter, spring or fall here; just summer with lots of water and then not so much water. The girls of our group wanted to take us to the high water beach – to spend the day bañándonos – swimming. The time was set; myself and Zuly agree to be there with towels in hand. The young ladies were all ready and walked us proudly down the street to where I thought was the way to the field…..it is now a 3 meter wide port type stream with canoes and boat. Ester, with love, booted her mom out of the biggest canoe where she was happily and peacefully doing laundry, we all piled in and headed out into Soccer Pitch Lake. Though it was beautiful, I was immediately hit by the realisation that this is where everything goes…..garbage, sewage, everything. They live above it, in it and around it. They bath in it. And I am about to do the same. We pass two story houses turned bungalows…all valuables, family members and pets relegated to the top floor. Half sodden posters float around the first floor bravely holding onto to the one corroded staple in the upper right hand corner. Yuri guides us past the line of electrical poles and I giggle at how many ¨rules¨ are being broken in my Canadian brain.

Ester, with love, booted her mom out of the biggest canoe where she was happily and peacefully doing laundry, we all piled in and headed out into Soccer Pitch Lake.

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We race along trying to beat 3 young boys in a dug out canoe. The race ends with their canoe sinking under the pressure. 3 huge smiles disappeared and then quickly reappeared in the reeds to be rescued by our boat….we tied the dug out on and continued sand ward. In the distance there is a house, one sole house, built clean off the water on stilts. Infront there seems to be a desert island. You know the kind you picture when the radio guy comes on asking what 3 songs you would need to live on your desert island. Maybe 20-30 feet around and peaked at the top. An island built for bathing. Away form the garbage, the stench, the sewage. I push all that my doctor and loved ones are saying in the back of my mind…push it way down to my feet, and step off into the water. We will not talk about the bottom…best not, for all intense and purposes it was lovely. We swam, played volley, had swimming races, buried certain members of the group and ran screaming from the ants that resulted.

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As the sun started to wean we heaved ourselves back into HMSC Juventud En Progreso and headed off…though not getting very far as the Canadian had the oars and absolutely no idea where she was going. Once we all took a minute to learn the directions, in English and Spanish, we chose a course and headed for the sun. It is wild that everywhere we floated, in 3 months will be dry land, back to growing corn, gathering dust, and living on bottom floors. But for now everyone happily zooms back and forth in the family canoe or boat, or the one the boys found floating without a lock and borrowed….the sun is setting, everything is orange, pink and blue. I notice something in my nose, almost seems solid, I turn around and see that we are heading back into El Porvenir. The stench is incredible in comparison to the clean air just 20 feet that´a way. The boat pumps up against bottles, clothes, food scraps and the odd surviving plant. My mind goes back to Ester´s mom, washing her clothes in this….washing….this is why we are here, this is what we can do.

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We are tired, happily exhausted, cold, wet and giggly. We pitch the boat, lock it on and tip-toe our way back to dry land trying our best not to touch the water we just swam in. Brenda takes my hand and we stroll down the street. Her mom is sick, she is incredibly worried and sad. Though we cannot do or fix everything, the fact that this gorgeous young lady knows she has friends in us, someone to talk to, not needing an answer, just a hand to hold gives this whole street and situation an incredible reality and glow. One of those times I wish for the secret camera to zoom in and show my friends and family where I am. Soaked to the bone, bog flowers in my hair, flip-flops and Brenda in hand, orange fading sun making it a little harder to dodge the soccer and volley balls launched passed us as we blissfully and ignorantly walk through the street games. We are all in this together. We are an island built for each other.