05/11/06 It's long after midnight when Helmut and I land in Paramaribo, the capital of Surinam. Even at this hour, it's still hot and humid, very different from Trinidad. We find a waiting minibus, and for hours we hobble through empty back streets of the dark city, dropping off passengers, before we finally get to our lodging address: the house of Roy and Margret Lytle. In the 70's, the Lytles were missionaries upriver from where Helmut's parents were stationed, a jungle island on the Lawa River in Surinam.

We have two weeks in this country. Two weeks to roam Helmut's old stomping grounds and find our next project. Something with jungle missions. These next days, well need to hear as many stories as we can from missionaries who lived it.

But first it's time for sleep. I douse myself in mosquito repellent and doze off to the never-ending chorus of dogs barking in the distance. It's the sound of Paramaribo at night.

It must be close to noon when I make my way across our compound to meet our hosts. They have a big American breakfast with ginger juice waiting. They kindly go out of their way to make us feel at home, take their time to answer questions, even when every answer triggers new questions. My education has started. I'm soaking up information, hoping they won't tire of this inquiry--If they do, they hide it well.

Everything here is lush. Many shades of green. In the afternoon, I find out why; a lot of water comes down when it rains. It hammers down on our tin roof, the sound is deafening. The street out front floods in minutes, then the rain passes. A little while later, the sun is back.

We take a drive through the suburbs. I notice in many backyards clusters of differently colored little flags tied high in bamboo poles. It's a Hindu practice, I'm told. The different colors are for blessings, good luck, and warding off bad spirits.

Tomorrow we fly into the jungle. Our destination is a village in the deep interior on the border with French Guyana. The only problem is that the river is unusually high this year because of heavy rainfall, and has flooded the airstrip on the island that were heading for. So we opt for a higher airstrip farther upriver, and will backtrack by dugout canoe. Roy hands us some hammocks and machetes in case we get stuck somewhere and have to set up camp in the forest. 'Make sure you don't get these wet. Sleeping in a wet hammock is awful.'

Posted by gheetebrij on July 01, 2007 - digg it