Voluntarily Stupid

I had to re-evaluate my decision to volunteer in the Venezuelan jungle as I dragged half a tree through deep swamp, the bark scratching against my sweaty, dirty, shirtless skin and providing a bridge for some of the region's more rare and interesting insects to cross onto my body and interact with the mosquitos already there, unable to be swatted away due to the weight of the wood I was painstakingly trying to keep up. All this for firewood.

And once we had enough of said firewood - presumably a years supply - we had to find the boat. The native Warau Indians were meant to be experts in tracking and navigation in the Orinoco Delta - the vast river delta system on the north-east corner of Venezuela - but today I had Caripe - the village idiot - as my guide.

I'd been volunteering at the Orinoco Eco Lodge for about a month. Most days were filled with leisurly tasks such as laundry, preparing food and collecting incoming tourists from the nearest town. Today felt like a futuristic do-or-die reality show, thrown into the wilderness with only a scattered, lazy, air-head of a native to lead me home. We had no drinking water either. Caripe was drinking handfuls of river water which I had been strongly advised against, and all the vines hanging from the trees containing water had been cut down already. Possibly by the last expedition. I didn't know if they'd survived.

It was a feat in itself that Caripe had managed to find the clearing in the first place, where we had to saw and gather the wood from one of the only solid areas of the local wetland region so it could be returned to the lodge to cook the food. It was a simple enough task: fill the boat with fire wood and return to the camp by lunch. But after amassing an impressive pile we had to find our way back to the boat, which turned out to be a challenge. Despite having no means of verbal communication I could tell by his expression that Caripe hadn't paid much attention as he bashed his way to the clearing through the thick, verdant, wet jungle, crossing two tributaries and breaking numerous spider webs. Turning around it all looked the same. Trees and ferns grew on top of each other. Logs lay upon broken branches in the mud underfoot and exotic insects flew in every direction among the rays of sunlight that broke through the tree-tops.

I had heard of an Warao elder who had been lost there for three days before finding his way out. This was not on my 'to do' list, but with Caripe to guide me aimlessly through the mosaic of flora it could have become a reality, especially if I didn't keep up with him.

He shot ahead at break-neck speed, as if it would be more fun if he turned our expedition into a hunt.

'SLOW DOWN YOU BASTARD!' fell on deaf ears as he raced away, disappearing into the jungle. I had left the boat wearing only boots and shorts thinking it would be a leisurely stroll before cruising back to the lodge for lunch. Now it was three hours later in the heat of the day. I was sunburnt, hungry, bitten half to death and thirsty and was involved in the chase of my life.

Muttering expletives to myself it was becomming abundantly clear how lost we were. Every few moments I would catch up with Caripe, who would look dumbfounded but hid any concern with a nervous smile, before breaking away in a different direction. This was extreme jungle walking. Not the guided group tour that takes you along a familiar, beaten path. Twice I had to jump into a river to relieve myself from the mosquitos. And I didn't want to think how close I was getting to disturbing any of the native snakes or anacondas as I trudged through the serpentene paradise in heavy boots. And I REALLY didn't want to think about the anacondas that were common to this region and had been known to be responsible for the disappearance of buffalo at a bordering farm.

With all this racing through my mind and defence plans being considered I almost missed Caripe hiding behind a tree, a wide smile, sitting at the stern of the green boat (don't know why they camoflauged it) right where we had left it hours before. Suddenly he became my hero. I hugged and kissed him, then spat and wiped my mouth because he was filthy, and we made our way back to the camp, to fresh drinking water and a meal.

It was chicken soup, mine had the foot in it. The whole day was a write off, but this was volunteering. It was my choice to be here, I reassured myself as Caripe reached for my chicken foot and started to gnaw on it.