Evangéliumi Hírnök, 1972 (64. évfolyam, 1-24. szám)
1972-11-01 / 21. szám
1972. november 1. EVANGÉLIUMI HÍRNÖK 7. oldal THE MYSTERIES OF GOD “MORE LIGTH ON THE HOSPITAL BOAT” (In two parts) To build ci boot. By Alec Kerfoot The river stretched away, deep, redbrown under the scorching afternoon sun. A brilliant line of jungle-green fringed the far shore, about a mile away. Towering trees rose above a leafy mid layer; below, the steaming, fern-choked floor. People live in that jungle—fruit growers, river traders and half-civilized tribal hunters. Not far from the river are open plains on which cattle ranchers graze their herds in semi-isolation. I stood on a bank overlooking the mighty Rio Mámoré, a tributary of the Amazon. It runs north through the sparsely settled East of Bolivia. To the people of this area the river is highway, railway and source of food. Below me at the river’s edge a cluster of awkward, flat-bottomed, wooden craft swung with the current. Mostly unpainted, old, and sitting lopsided in the water, their waterworthiness looked, at best, doubtful. These haul fuel, heavy equipment, trucks and people to towns along the river. As I watched, a similar craft rounded the bend and approached quickly. It swung toward the shore with its belching, single cylinder diesel hammering as it pushed into the current. A little dugout canoe bounced in the frothy, chocolate-coloured wake churned up by the screw. River boat and aircraft constitute the only means of travel to Trinidad, a thriving, little, frontier city lying about ten miles distant on the plains. For three days John Cserepka and I had waited in Cochabamba for the weather to clear before flying here. Now we were ready to discuss the construction of a ‘floating clinic’ with a boat-builder who had a shop not far away. Our floating clinic was a dream conceived by the Cserepkas out of eight years of close association with the Chapare jungle. They knew hundreds of people living along the river for whom there was no medical service. Often, by the time a sick or injured person reached a hospital, it was too late. More simply stayed home, suffered through an illness, or just died. The most elementary principles of health and sanitation were unknown. Tuberculosis, snakebite, malaria, yellow fever, and a deadly, but as yetunidentified disease were prevalent throughout the area. The need was there. Now the funds were available and it was time to make the dream a reality. I walked down to one of the larger boats. “. . . Of course you can come on board . . . from the Southern Cross Radio, you say? We listen all the time. It’s one of the few stations that can be heard down here along the river.” All over Bolivia the mere mention that I was engineer of the Southern Cross has brought out the welcome mat. “What are you doing here? Going to build another station?” These people don’t pronounce the final “s” on words and their Spanish was difficult for me to understand at first. “Not a station, no. I want to learn about river boats. We are building a floating clinic to serve the people from here up river.” I explained the idea and asked questions about kinds of wood, motors, gear ratios, fuel consumption, and the problems of river navigation. By nature the river people are most friendly, but on hearing that we wanted to provide a medical service they volunteered a whole wealth of information. The Bolivian Government, they informed us, had obtained several launches to be staffed by medical people; but these would operate further down river. Particulars with respect to boat construction followed next. “It should have a flat bottom and square bow so it won’t wedge into the mud bars . . . the motor must be diesel, burns less fuel! . . . should be simple, no service stations, you know, on the river.” Then, “. . . Can we get spare parts? . . . electricity, x-ray, radio communica tions, surgery room, vibration, contracts, . . . an outboard powered ambulance.” Finally . . . “How much will it cost to . . .” and estimates. Since then my part in the project has been far from the river, boats and the river people. Much of our equipment has been imported, and most of our problems have had some relation to importation . . . legalized invoices, partial shipments, rates of duty, no liberations, insurance and forwarding . . . and many more not so interesting, but essential details. Shortly before we left Bolivia a very abbreviated radio message arrived from the boat builder: “I need a tank.” (Centurion, do you suppose, or a glass one for piranha fish?) We didn’t know. But like the many other problems, that one too was eventually sorted out. My work on the boat was merely preliminary. The real work will just be starting. For those who follow on — the Taylors, the Bolivian nurse and the pilot of the boat — heat, flies and snakes will be the constant companions. Yet I know that these who serve will be attended by the continual prayers of the many people in Canada who have supported this project from the start. And I’m sure that the river people will soon come to trust and respect the doctor and nurses who treat their illnesses in the name of the Great Physician. (This article is from The Enterprise, a publication of the Canadian Baptist Overseas Mission Board, June 1972 issue. Thanks to Frank Schaffer for sharing with us.)
