At the Triple border - Peru, Colombia and Brazil

For two days, Xavi and I sailed down the Amazon River on a cargo ship after leaving Iquitos - sleeping in our hammocks, reading books and chatting with the locals. This ship ride was as eventful as the previous ones - with hammocks piling on top of each other, babies crying, amazing river views from the misty mornings to the cloudy sunsets and all sorts of goods and animals being transported (including some screeching pigs). Being election weekend in Peru, many people were heading to their communities to vote since those who do not vote are fined. This meant that the little ship was even more packed than usual.

Hammock upon hammock

Misty morning along the Amazon River

We passed by several little settlements along the river and the ship stopped at quite a few of them, allowing people to get on or off and unload goods hailing from the city. Along the way, I noticed a number of evangelical churches in these tiny communities, each with a name more complicated and bombastic than the previous one. I wonder why these sects flock to the Amazon and why each sect felt the need to open a new church with a different name for what is basically the same religion. In one of the larger of such evangelical communities, the residents seemed to be dressed in biblical clothing. Whilst skinny men suffered to drag the unloaded goods up a steep hill, a couple of strong looking horses stood nearby munching grass. I guess logic is not preached in this community.

Getting all Biblical

The 'Evangelical Association for the Israelite Mission of the New Universal Pact'... What?

This part of the Amazon Basin is practically flat so one can see far into the distance. It is stunning to see a mixture of blue sky and storms at the same time. Indeed at one point I could observe lighting and huge rain clouds in two or three distant areas whilst enjoying the rays of the sun. Apart from the few human settlements and some ‘beaches’ formed by the low river, the trees seem to go on forever. This is the jungle I love, bursting with life provided by nature.

Clouds in the distance and trees lining up into eternity

We eventually arrived to the little Peruvian village of Santa Rosa. Just across the river, we could see both Leticia (Colombia) and Tabatinga (Brazil) which are attached to each other. It is hard to tell the difference between the two towns (and countries) from Santa Rosa. In Santa Rosa, we got an exit stamp for Peru on our passports and crossed the river on a little boat to arrive in Leticia. Colombia has been an important country for me for several years, in particular during the last two years of my life due to my job as a refugee lawyer at the Ecuadorian border with Colombia. This part of the country, being very isolated and unconnected by road to the rest of the country, has thankfully avoided the effects of the internal conflict that have plagued several other Colombian jungle areas, making Leticia and surrounding villages very safe. 

The Peruvian cargo ship in Santa Rosa, with Colombia and Brazil in the background across the Amazon River

  

Whilst looking for a place where to sleep that night, I was attracted to a house converted into a hostel. What caught my attention was the homemade sign saying ‘hostel’ outside. That is how we ended up staying at the Apaporis Hostel, owned by the fascinating Elisabeth – an anthropologist whose mother is indigenous and her father a Spanish former diplomat. Evening conversations with Elizabeth gave some fascinating insight into the indigenous communities in the south of Colombia. She also shared amusing anecdotes from her rebellious past.

Brazil is just a short walk away from the centre of Leticia but there is a huge change as one crosses the border. Apart from hearing a different language and suddenly seeing signs written in Portuguese, it is impossible to ignore that Leticia is a well-taken care of pleasant town whilst Tabatinga is rather run-down. Both towns still had posters from the recent World Cup and one could only imagine the rivalry in the street acting as a border during the Brazil vs. Colombia World Cup match. At the border, many people invite you to change money so it is best to shop around for the best exchange rate.

Crossing the road - the border between Colombia and Brazil

You know that you're in Brazil because Homer is now Homero

Xavi and I decided to spend some days in the area but, despite liking the charm of Leticia, we wanted to go back into a more natural part of the jungle. We therefore opted to head back up the Amazon River by boat to the smaller Colombian town of Puerto Nariño. Before leaving Leticia, we got a Colombian entry stamp on our passports at the Leticia airport, passing by the pleasant little local university surrounded by trees.

We caught a passenger boat that took us about one and a half hours back up the Amazon, passing by a few indigenous communities along the way, until we finally arrived at Puerto Nariño. As with other communities in the area, this little town is only accessible by boat. Once again, I was struck by how well-kept this isolated town in the Colombian part of the Amazon is. Along the pedestrian-only streets are wooden boards where the (strangely written) news of the day is hung up. The talk of the town focused on a boat accident along the Amazon River where a young girl got killed. Two boats without lights collided in the darkness at about 4am, a time when small boats are prohibited from travelling along the river. The young girl was on a school outing with several other children on one of the two boats.

A view of Puerto Nariño

No news is good news - the news boards of Puerto Nariño

Whilst walking through the streets of Puerto Nariño, we came across a wooden hostel called ‘Ayahuasca Hostel’, owned by a thin suntanned man called Armando. We decided to stay there and soon began chatting with the owner. Armando was open about his difficult past and explained how living with indigenous communities in the Colombian department of Putumayo saved him and helped him get his life back onto a positive path. He is now in his 50s now but seems to be very healthy and strong. An architect by profession, Armando designed the wooden hostel himself and the final result is a very pleasant three storey structure with a view of the river. He also started to cultivate fruits, vegetables and some plants known amongst indigenous communities of the jungle for their healing abilities. Glenn, a young Australian musician, was the only other guest at the hostel. He had been there for a few weeks, finally finding a place surrounded by nature where he could peacefully continue exploring his personal spiritual path. He was actually considering buying a little plot of land where to build a wooden house of his own and stay in the Colombian jungle for as long as he needed to.

The view from Armando´s hostel

 

In the garden around the hostel, Armando also grows the ayahuasca vine (its technical name is ‘Banisteriopsis caapi’) and a shrub that the indigenous communities in the region call chacruna (its technical name is ‘Psychotria viridis’). The drink obtained through cooking the vine and chacruna leaves together is used by shamans in many indigenous communities as a powerful cleansing medicine. A ceremony where the ayahuasca (or ‘yage’, as it is known in Colombia) is drunk is considered as a purifying and spiritual event by indigenous communities and gives powerful visions. I had already come across such practices by indigenous communities in the Ecuadorian jungle. In particular, I had met a shaman from the Secoya indigenous community (whom people claim is 104 years old) known for his powerful healing abilities through the use of medicinal plants and ayahuasca ceremonies in particular.

The spiritual cleansing experience of an ayahuasca ceremony tends to attract a lot of persons from Western countries. Nevertheless, it is important that this is done under the guidance of a genuine, experienced and honest shaman. Unfortunately, ayahuasca ceremonies are being strongly commercialised nowadays, with its spiritual significance (or hallucinatory effects) appealing to people with very little or no understanding of the indigenous communities and their rituals. The call of money has tempted many false or bad shamans to try and maximise profits by taking advantage of gullible tourists and, at times, placing their health at risk. Since there is no university for shamans or degrees they can show you (being a shaman comes through years of learning, practice and a spiritual way of life), it is hard for a traveller to know if he or she is in the presence of a genuine shaman, or a person (possibly trained as a shaman but blinded by money) trying to trade hallucinations for money.

In Iquitos, I had met an older German woman with a lot of life experience, who seemed to have got duped by someone claiming to be a shaman. This so-called shaman had asked her to pay a lot of money up-front for several ceremonies, and then asked for even more money to try to ‘spiritually communicate with her son’ who lives in the United States. I suppose that the tell-tales signs of whether a shaman is genuine or not is if you get the sense that he is trying to squeeze money out of you and if he seems to be offering things (at a high price) which you can sense he cannot deliver. Looking around in Ecuador, Peru and Colombia, a fair price for an ayahuasca ceremony would be something between 35 and 50 USD. I consider that to be a fair price since the preparation of the drink requires several hours of work and the shaman will also have to stay up with you all night during the ceremony. Honest shamans will tell you to wait a number of days between each ayahuasca ceremony whilst dishonest ones will try to make as much money as possible from your time in the area and may suggest drinking the ayahuasca once every two or three days. 

An ayahuasca ceremony can indeed be a powerful cleansing and introspective experience, but before undertaking such a journey it is important to be really ready and to find the right guide. Simply arriving into the jungle and wanting to attend a ceremony without understanding the context and the community you are in is a naïve approach which could get you into trouble or ripped off from your money. It is good to look around first, do much background reading, and ask for advice to locals whom you find to be trust-worthy. Whilst Armando is not the typical shaman and is not of indigenous background, a number of lengthy talks found him to be an honest person who understands the healing power of ayahuasca.

Our days in Puerto Nariño were spent roaming through the surrounding jungle, swimming in the Amazon River, seeing dolphins jump around in the river and visiting nearby by indigenous communities. After countless attempts, Xavi actually managed to catch a fish for the first time (a mean-looking piranha which was then thrown back into the water). Nevertheless, the return to Leticia by boat was the biggest adventure of them all. The 4pm passenger boat from Puerto Nariño to Leticia left much later than scheduled (soon before sunset) and about twenty minutes after the departure, its only engine stopped working. We were stranded in the powerful currents of the Amazon River and with no communities in the area. To make matters worse, there was no light on board this boat that was carrying about 60 passengers, nor was there a radio to allow us to call for help. 

Swimming in the Amazon River at sunset

Fishing for piranhas (and then letting them go)

As we were dangerously drifting along the river, I remembered the story of the young girl who had been killed in very similar circumstances (a boat sailing along the river in total darkness). Ironically, the very same owner of the boat we were on had denied on local newspapers any blame for that accident. Those words now seemed as false and empty as the pre-election promises of a corrupt politician. It was unacceptable that our boat had no light and no radio if it found itself in distress after sunset. Darkness quickly engulfed us as the boat kept on drifting without control down the river. Thankfully, a close to full moon kept on providing light. The boat driver somehow managed to keep the boat from crashing against the banks of the river. As time passed, we became a bit tenser due to the realisation that this was no joke. The tension did not prevent the Colombian passengers from seeing the funny side of this absurd situation. A passenger managed to reach someone by mobile phone, miraculously detecting a signal for a brief moment. In order to emphasise to the person on the other side of the line that we were in danger, he asked us to scream in a dramatic way – so we gave our best scream and plead for help… before bursting into laughter. Only a Brazilian woman seemed not to see the funny side of things and kept on shouting that we were all going to die. 

The evening became night and we were still drifting until a patrol boat headed towards us. We were initially scared that we would not be seen in the darkness, so many passengers turned on their mobile phones to create some light. The patrol boat seemed to move on past us so once again we gave our melodramatic screams for help (followed by the obligatory laughter – only to shout “No no we REALLY need help!” once the officers about the patrol boat thought we were taking the piss). The ordeal finally ended about an hour later, once the patrol boat pulled our passenger boat to the port of Leticia. I was expecting an uproar by the passengers on arrival but no one filed a complaint or said anything even remotely aggressive to the crew of the passenger boat. Everyone started to walk to the centre of town, so we did the same, thankful to be back on land in one piece.

After enjoying another day and a half in Leticia (highlights included a visit to a museum on indigenous communities of the Amazon and seeing the birds fly to the trees in huge groups at sunset), Xavi and I got on a Brazilian cargo ship leaving from Tabatinga and heading towards Manaus. I was surprised to find such little information about these ships in both Tabatinga and Leticia. I finally managed to get the information that there are two cargo ships per week leaving from Tabatinga (on Wednesdays and Saturdays) that take three days to arrive in Manaus. We once again got our passports stamped (out from Colombia and into Brazil). The Brazilian cargo ship was much more comfortable and clean than the ones in Peru – yet I missed that more rustic feeling of those Peruvian boats and their stops at the tiny communities along the river. Just one thing remained the same: we still had loads of people hanging their hammocks over our hammocks and all over the place. These were to be our last three days sailing down the Amazon River.

The Brazilian cargo ship heading to Manaus

Curing Body and Soul – A Maltese Legend in Iquitos

I first heard about Father Raymundo Portelli - a Maltese priest living in Peru who also became a doctor in order to fully cater for the needs of his community - after watching a short documentary filmed by my great friend Tony Parnis. Tony had gone to Peru a few years ago to visit and document the projects of another Maltese priest, Father Kola. During this same travel, he met Fr. Raymundo, who struck Tony for his humility, hard work and the practical nature of his approach towards helping people.

As a young priest from the small Mediterranean island of Gozo (a part of the Maltese archipelago), Fr. Raymundo was once praying for a person dying of AIDS in his parish in Iquitos, a Peruvian city in the middle of the Amazon jungle, and realized that prayer alone would not save this man. Seeing a lack of support for a number of sick persons with no financial resources, he decided to become a doctor and provide both spiritual and medical help for persons in his parish and surrounding areas (including some remote villages along the jungle rivers). As a priest, he needed special permission to also become a doctor and this was duly given when he explained the needs of the most vulnerable persons of his constituency. The scope of Tony’s short documentary about Fr. Raymundo’s work was to raise awareness about the needs of the people he works for, hoping that this will help to raise some funds for his many projects. I was impressed by what I saw in the short documentary, and especially by Fr. Raymundo himself, whose practical and down-to-earth approach to work is the type of style I aspire to adopt myself in my own work.

A man of the People - Fr. Raymundo saying mass, surrounded by the persons of his parish

 

Having seen Tony’s documentary a few years ago, I had forgotten that Fr. Raymundo is based in Iquitos and would have not thought of looking for him had it not been for a chance encounter with a Peruvian priest on a little boat from Iquitos that acts as public transport along the Nanay River. We were both heading to the little village of Padre Cocha when we struck a conversation. When hearing that I’m of Maltese origin, the priest told me about Fr. Raymundo and suggested that I should go and meet him at his Parish in the neighbourhood of San Martin de Porres (a Peruvian saint partly of African origin). I needed no convincing and decided to go and look for him the very next morning.

A chance encounter on a local boat along the Nanay River

 

As Xavi and I approached the parish church looking for Fr. Raymundo, we noticed that everyone in the neighbourhood (and also many beyond) knew him. A woman who saw us walking towards the (decisively non-touristy) neighbourhood actually stopped us and asked if we were looking for Fr. Raymundo, as one would with a known local treasure that would attract the attention of visitors from afar. When we replied that we were indeed looking for him, she guided us to the street where the parish church of San Martin de Porres is located. We noticed a little medical clinic annexed to the church and looked for the medically trained parish priest there. Nevertheless, we were told that Fr. Raymundo was not there at that moment, as he was elsewhere carrying out one of his many daily tasks, but he would be back at about 1.30pm for lunch since he lived just upstairs from the clinic. When I told the woman that I’m Maltese, just like Fr. Raymundo, she enthusiastically told me that there were two young Maltese volunteers in town, helping out with the projects in the parish. A quick phone call later, she told us to look for them at one of the houses acting as a shelter for people in need. We eventually managed to find our way to a terraced house called ‘Algo Bello Para Dios’ (meaning ‘Something Beautiful for God’ in Spanish), which houses patients with HIV/AIDS and other persons with illnesses who need a place to live in and special support.

The Parish Church of San Martin De Porres. Iquitos

Despite not knowing them before, I could immediately spot the two Maltese volunteers (a young man and woman) amongst a little group of persons due to their Maltese looks and style. It’s hard to say what makes persons from a particular country recognisable to others of the same nationality – especially from a small country like Malta. I was once on the tube in London when a chubby little boy kept staring at me and eventually told his mother (in Maltese) that I had a Maltese face. Despite the fact that I was silent, the chubby kid had spotted me amongst the countless persons on the tube in a city of millions. That I have Mediterranean looks is obvious, but I wonder what allowed that kid to realize that I’m neither Italian nor Spanish or even Tunisian. He was immediately sure that I was also Maltese. I suppose it is the same thing that made me immediately spot the two Maltese volunteers.

I said hello to the two young persons in the Maltese language and they seemed pretty surprised. Our common language was an immediate ice-breaker, that unifying force that creates a bond between persons of the same country when they meet up in a far off land – even though those same people may have ignored each other in their own country. I eventually switched to the Spanish language since Xavi doesn’t understand Maltese. Once a brief introduction was over, we decided to meet up for lunch later on, leaving the two volunteers, Gabriel and Ariana, to complete their work for the morning.

Xavi and I looked forward to learn more about the social projects in the neighbourhood and to finally meet the hardworking priest who was behind it all. But before that, we had a couple of hours to spare so we headed to the Belen Market – a hive of activity with stalls extending over several streets in one of the poorest areas of Iquitos. The market really hits your senses: the sense of sight – for the colours of fruits, the interesting wrinkled faces of the older hawkers, the countless unusual items on sale (including pseudo-medical potions and meat from animals such as turtles probably being sold illegally), the vultures roaming around some of the dirtier corners of the market or perched upon lamp-posts waiting to pounce on unwatched pieces of meat, the hawkers who succumbed to that sweet sense of heat-induced sleepiness; the sense of sound – for the calls of hawkers to buy their products, the loud conversations between patrons and sellers, the sound of animals scuttling under the stalls looking for fallen treats; and most of all the sense of smell – in particular the stench of rotting meat in the intense midday heat of Iquitos.

Selling fruit at the Belen Market, Iquitos

All sorts of meat on sale - including alligators

Selling bananas - an elderly woman at her stall in the market

Having roamed around the market, we went down a flight of stairs towards the lower part of Belen and next to the Itaya River, where many people reside in wooden houses perched upon high pillars whilst others live in floatable houses built upon rafts made from balsa wood. Being here in September, we are seeing Belen during the dry season when the river is low. During the rainy season, the Amazon River and the smaller connected rivers such as the Itaya rise dramatically, flooding the lower areas of the city. Consequently, life in the lower part of Belen is drastically different. Whilst we could now walk around the streets beneath the houses, in a month or two we would have to move around the same area by boat, drifting past the submerged houses that will rise above the water thanks to the wooden pillars they are built upon. Meanwhile, the houses built upon large logs made from balsa wood will soon be living up to their name of floating houses once the river is high. 

We walked to the river and took a little boat through the momentarily low waters, in order to explore the rest of Belen. A uniformed local security officer (apparently employed by the government) asked to accompany us around, claiming that it’s not safe to go around Belen on our own. Whilst we did not feel unsafe during the day and were not carrying any items of value, the officer seemed like a pleasant enough fellow so we accepted his offer (and eventually gave him a little tip for his time and friendly company). We passed by people cleaning their clothes and themselves in the river, whilst others were fishing or involved in some other activity at the shores of the little river or on small boats.

The Itaya River flowing through the lower part of Belen

Rowing through - often the only way to get around in lower Belen

A family washes in the Itaya River

The house will float when the river is high

We headed back to the neighbourhood of San Martin De Porres towards lunch time, where we were invited into the private living area of Fr. Raymundo by Gabriel and Ariana, who are being hosted there whilst they carry out their voluntary work. The living quarters consisted of one large living and dining room (mainly used as a meeting place for helpers and as a storeroom for items to be distributed to the community), a kitchen, and two bedrooms. The hardworking priest hadn’t yet returned from his morning duties. We were told that, throughout the week, he teaches at the local University and at a school, provides medical consultations to people as a doctor, says Mass on a daily basis, runs a number of homes / shelters for those in need (including the home for sick people we had visited earlier that morning, a home for the elderly, a shelter for the homeless and two or three drug rehabilitation centres) and finally, as parish priest, he is also approached for advice and guidance by the persons in his parish until the late hours of the evening.

This week, Fr. Raymundo has yet another activity occupying his already numerous thoughts and seemingly impossible schedule – a massive fund raising event that will help him keep his projects running for the upcoming months: a huge Bingo event to be held on Sunday in the streets of the Parish. Fr. Raymundo was hoping to raise more funds than the previous year but expressed a concern that this may not be possible. The event was going to clash with the final political campaigns for local elections that were taking place all over Peru. He jokingly said that if he didn’t manage to raise enough funds, he’d have to make a quick getaway on the next plane out of Iquitos. Given his reputation, I was sure that he’d find a way of making things work out even if the fund-raising event didn’t turn out to be as successful as he hoped for. Nevertheless, it was obvious that the earnings from the event are necessary to pay for the running and upgrading of the homes and shelters as well as the salaries of those who work there. Funds are also needed for the soup kitchen that provide meals for the homeless on a daily basis and to buy medicines for the sick.

When Fr. Raymundo finally arrived home, he was surprised to see another Maltese person suddenly turn up in Iquitos but was obviously happy to meet me and also Xavi who, despite not being Maltese, has lived in Malta for the past five years. Native of the island of Gozo, Fr. Raymundo has a strong Gozitan accent when speaking Maltese and, for a person so talented and successful in his endeavours, he is a simple charming man with an endless sense of humour. He was very welcoming and invited us to share his food, which was prepared for three but ended up feeding the five of us. In between phone calls he had to answer and people knocking at the door, we managed to talk a bit about his projects and the upcoming Bingo event. He was very happy when Xavi and I told him that we’d stay in Iquitos long enough to help out with the event. He suggested that we visit the homes he runs that afternoon, accompanying Gabriel and Ariana as they go around on their daily visits. And so we did.

Whilst the home for the elderly was in a good state, ‘Algo Bello Para Dios’ and the homeless shelter were in need of refurbishment. Gabriel told us that they were planning to do some works with what they managed to earn from the fund raising activity. He and Ariana had also raised some funds in Malta, which they planned to use on projects aimed at improving the homes. Nevertheless, all was on standstill until Sunday, when the big Bingo event was to take place and determine how many funds they will have at their disposal in the following months. The young couple had only just arrived in Iquitos a few weeks earlier and were still in the initial stages of their voluntary work experience and the tasks they had planned to fulfill with Fr. Raymundo. They had been involved in similar projects before in other locations so they had the necessary experience to make a positive difference. Moreover, the guidance of Fr. Raymundo and the local staff would ensure that they would use their energies and resources in the most effective way.

We spent the afternoon chatting with the residents at ‘Algo Bello Para Dios’, who were coping with the illnesses that afflicted them in the caring environment of the home. The approaching rainy season made it obvious that repairs were needed on the roof of the house as well as that of the homeless shelter. Some of the persons we talked to were too tired to do anything much due to their physical condition, whilst others with more energy were enthusiastically helping to design posters for the stalls at the Bingo event. Apart from the Bingo itself, many food and drink stalls were being prepared – the proceeds from which would be added to the funds raised by selling the Bingo cards. The Maltese couple planned to cook baked macaroni and rice, two typical Maltese dishes, and sell them at one of the stalls.

The rest of the afternoon was passed keeping company to the residents of the home for the elderly. To compensate for the fact that the ageing residents could not attend Sunday’s event due to a lack of helpers to cater for their needs, we played a few rounds of Bingo - with biscuits and soft-drinks as the prizes. Xavi and I both hoped not to win and deny the pleasure of victory to the fun-starved residents. A frail old man asked when they would be taken on an outing to break the tediousness of life in the home. Gabriel promised to take them out in a couple of weeks’ time since it would require some planning. The old man replied that he’ll be eagerly waiting. Indeed, Gabriel and Ariana were planning to take the residents of each house on an outing to the local zoo of Quistococha, located next to a natural lake. Nevertheless, due to limited capacity and much other work to do, they could only take the residents of one house per week - meaning that each house couldn’t enjoy frequent outings.

Xavi and I had a couple of days to visit Iquitos, the largest city in the world not reachable by road, before Sunday’s big event. We took advantage of this time to walk through streets lined up with historic colonial houses, remnants of the disgraceful rubber boom where so many indigenous people where enslaved, and visit a few museums. Two museums I found particularly interesting are the Ministry of Culture’s ‘Museo Amazonico’ with a photographic exhibition documenting the abuse suffered by indigenous people at the hands of the rubber barons (in particular the disgraceful Arana family – who eventually ended up in ruins despite all the suffering they caused to feed their greed) and the privately run ‘Amazonian Indigenous Cultures Museum’, which provides information on the major indigenous communities populating the Amazon Basin. Some of the social problems of the past still seem to afflict Iquitos and surrounding areas till today, as human trafficking and abuse by foreigners of indigenous children still seem to be rampant (as indicated by a few protests and several signs warning about such practices).

Historical photo of abuse suffered by indigenous persons at the hands of rubber barons - the Ministry of Culture's 'Museo Amazonico'

Local children protest against human trafficking and child abuse

We also visited a couple of small riverside villages and some centres where animals where being taken care of. One of the places I enjoyed most was the ‘Amazon Animal Rescue Centre’, where orphaned manatees and other animals are cared for and prepared to release back into the wild. We also visited a small centre called ‘Fundo Pedrito’, where a charming seven-year old brat called Pedrito (not sure if the centre is actually named after him) acted as guide and fed meat to alligators and fish called gigantic paiches. I fear the hungry animals may eat Pedrito himself if even falls into the water. On the little public boat heading back to Iquitos from the village of Barrio Florido, where Fundo Pedrito is based, a local politician was offering alcohol to the passengers – possibly hoping to provide beer in exchange for votes. It was probably not a genius political strategy since the politician himself soon got drunk and started admitting to everyone that he actually had no chance in hell to get elected. 

A manatee at the Amazon Animal Rescue Centre

Sunday finally arrived and, early in the morning, we headed to the neighbourhood of San Martin De Porres. I attended Mass that morning in order to see the legendary Fr. Raymundo in action. The church was packed with people, flocking to listen to the charismatic Maltese priest. His sermon was relevant and humble, whilst he also took time to build a sense of community amongst those present, including calling for an applause for those celebrating their birthdays. He finally took time to individually bless each person who asked him to. After the Mass was over, Xavi and I then helped Gabriel and Ariana to sell the Maltese food, publicising it as the favourite food of Fr. Raymundo (though he had secretly admitted that he was actually not a fan of baked rice). We eventually managed to sell all the food and felt a sense of small-time entrepreneurial accomplishment. The streets around the Parish were packed with people from the early morning till late afternoon. Whilst the numbers for the Bingo were being called out, there was total silence and concentration. Once the big prizes were announced, a number of hopeful winners ran to the stage, the hopes of few shattered by the discovery that they had wrongly marked one of the numbers on their allegedly winning card. Fr. Raymundo helped out on the stage, bustling with his usual enthusiasm and charm.

Packed Church - Fr. Raymundo brings in the crowds with his charisma and good heart

Large turn-out for the Bingo fund-raising event

Marked with corn - hoping to win at Bingo

Gabriel selling Maltese food at the fund-raising event

That evening, we ended up round a table counting the piles of money collected from the fund-raising event, feeling somewhat like a gang of robbers after a big heist. Before the counting began, everyone was afraid that much less money had been earned than the previous year. Nevertheless, there was a final hurray when the last count revealed that the earnings from the preceding year had actually been well exceeded. The hard work and planning by the community had paid off. There were now funds to keep Fr. Raymundo’s projects running for several more months, thus providing support to a number of persons in true need. The Church bells rang in celebration. That night, we had a final supper with Fr. Raymundo, the two Maltese volunteers and a team of other helpers involved in the successful fund-raising event. I was sorry to say goodbye since, though for such a short time, I felt part of something really special.

The following afternoon, Xavi and I headed to the Puerto Pesquero, where we caught another cargo ship heading towards the three-way border between Peru, Colombia and Brazil. We arrived about four hours early to find enough place to hang our hammocks. By the time the boat left, laden with passengers, chattering chickens and squealing pigs, there was barely any space to move around and hammocks had been hung right over our own. Many persons were travelling east to remote jungle villages in order to cast their vote in the local elections (an obligatory duty in Peru). The slow cargo boat from Iquitos eventually left in the early evening and was scheduled to arrive at the border in the morning of two days later.

The cargo ship preparing to leave for the three-way border between Peru, Colombia and Brazil

Note: To learn more about the projects in Fr. Raymundo’s Parish and to contribute in any way, you can visit the following website: http://www.sanmartindeporresiquitos.com/