Today is Tuesday. I was 24 when I last showered. Since then I have squeezed into a tiny phone booth for 30 minutes talking to my family, kneeled on the earthy church floor to receive communion, popped a piñata with my eyes covered and then crawled on the floor to collect my goodies, bounced through 150 kilometers of dusty jungle road where every time a car passed, you roll up the window for 3 minutes of insufferable shared heat while the dust passes, walked in Brasil, slept with solamente a mosquito net between myself and a family of rats eating my towel, cuddled new puppies, and just now practiced multiplication tables with my 9 year old neighbor. Oh, and on my birthday, I went to the bathroom here.
Water is precious. Here, in Iñapare, Perú, it only flows for 2 hours in the morning and if the people working on the new transnational Brasil-Perú super highway, break the pipe, water doesn't arrive. And then, before you know it, you're 25 and still in your 24 year old skin. In my "city" home in Puerto Maldonado, 5 hours from here, water can cut out at any time and it doesn't matter if you just got back from aerobics. So, you keep a few extra bottles of murky water on hand to toss over your back and flush down the toilet when the time comes. There are no tears in this girl's story, though. Thirst and dirt keep us strong.
No comments:
Post a Comment