I awaken Saturday morning around 4:30 a.m., hearing the busy Ni Van women outside our thin tent wall. I lay in defiance, begging my body to ignore the sounds around me and return to sleep, at least until 5:30. It is not to be and at around five o’clock I am up and getting ready for another day of clinics. At half past six, just before breakfast, I hear the news: there has been a death in the village we are going to, therefore, today is a free day!
I look up at the overcast sky. By this time Nathan is awake (I am convinced he can sleep through a train wreck outside our tent wall) and we decide to take a walk along the beach. The sky looks threatening, but I am in a quiet mood this morning and don’t mind its grey tint or the slightly cooler air it brings.
On our way to the beach, we run into fellow missionaries and friends, Steven and Kara Jaeger. Next thing you know, the four of us are walking the beach discussing plans for the day. There are no stores to visit, no coffee shops to sit in and talk. The island of Pentecost makes our home island of Santo seem like a metropolis. However, for four young, adventurous missionaries, it doesn’t take us long to make plans!
We will climb the side of a mountain and go look at the ruins of a Church of Christ Bible College. Steven and Kara have already checked it out and are baffled that these great facilities are not being used. It still has hundreds of books and commentaries, all molding. It is tabu for the people to read them (the ones who can read) because they belonged to the missionary. Vanuatu culture sometimes tends to see things in a different light than we Americans would, but for missionaries who are working hard to build a Bible college, the thought of seeing one in ruins is a bit sickening. However, out of sheer curiosity, we all head towards the Bible college.
We walk to the end of the beach, to the foot of the mountain and the threatening skies are no longer just a threat – it begins to rain. We take shelter under a tree, discussing briefly the fact that we are all wearing flip flops, no trekking shoes, no walking sticks, but when the rain reverts back to a sprinkle, we head towards the mountain. I am thankful I at least brought an umbrella, although in a hard Vanuatu rain, they are pretty pointless. I will find it useful in other ways a bit later!
Kara is at the head since she is faster than the rest of us and in all our trekking adventures with the Jaeger’s, I have learned it is impossible to keep pace. The guys are in between and I am bringing up the rear. Another thing I’ve learned while trekking, is that I am usually always at the back!
I remember after our first trek, the conversation I had with Nathan. I remember specifically telling him, “I am not like you all. Missions, for me, is about nothing but the people. The adventures of trekking and being in the wild holds no appeal.” I don’t mind going, but I am no Annie Oakley nor have I ever pretended to be! I tend to loathe the trekking parts of missions work and enjoy only the conversation with friends during these times.
The first part of the trek is okay. Someome has installed cement steps going up part of the mountain, no doubt the missionary from the Bible college. Then there is a long, wide (about two and a half feet) section of steps that has broken into pieces as the earth beneath it has moved with the many Vanuatu rains. Next, the sidewalk pieces are at an angle from the earth sliding beneath it. They are tilting down the mountain. My fear of heights is setting in, but I am still in control.
Nathan moves behind me, probably remembering how slow I am and is afraid they may get too far ahead of me if he doesn’t. Now the path is nothing but muddy sod, probably a little less than two feet wide. I am using my umbrella as a walking stick with my right hand while holding onto the strongest branches I can find growing on the mountainside, with my left. I am trying not to notice the jagged edges of the mountain and the rushing water so very far beneath me! We finally arrive safely and I sigh in relief, glad to be there, but dreading the walk back.
We are now on another beach and it begins to pour. We are all soaking wet as we run into the jungle, headed for the Bible college. Running through waist-high, wet grass doesn’t help with the attempts to stay dry, but finally we reach the Bible college and wait in its shelter for the rain to stop. I don’t know if we really noticed the rain stopping as much as the appearance of a small army of mosquitoes, but we decide it would be a good time to head back.
We go back through the grass, to the beach, and finally we’re at the foot of the mountain ready to ascend. It didn’t take very long for me to realize this was not the same mountain I had climbed earlier! The excessive rain had turned the earth even muddier and all attempts to create traction in my black Roxy flip flops were met with failure. It suddenly becomes clear that I will have to lose the shoes and use my bare feet to try and claw through this mess.
Watching Steven and Kara slipping and sliding in front of me is little consolation. My legs are shaking so much from a combination of having just climbed a mountain when they are not used to that much exercise, and from sheer fear and dread, knowing there is no turning back.
Finally, the inevitable happened. I slipped! My husband is behind me trying his best to offer a hand when he could, but I am about to hyperventilate and don’t want anyone touching me in my attempts to keep from passing out. Now, covered in mud, I just sit holding onto a branch, thinking “what in the world am I doing here?” I felt like I used to when I would go to a theme park as a child and pray “Lord, if you get me off of this roller coaster, I’ll never get back on again!”
It was a bad idea to sit and rest my shaky legs. It only gave me more time to view the gorgeous scenery of my future plummeting death! The only thing that kept me going was a little pride at the fact that no one else was having quite as much trouble as me and knowing that if I kept going, eventually I would be off of this horrid mountain. The army of mosquitoes was still present as I now crawled on my hands and knees grasping at branches, a human feast for my insect friends who seemed to know that if I swiped at one I would have to let go of the branches.
Exhausted from the depletion of energy it took not to completely lose it, we finally, after many breaks, arrive back at our camp just in time for the locals to see me covered in mud, and no doubt, white as a ghost.
Later when discussing who would be on the team that trekked to the custom village the following day to preach the Gospel, without me even expressing an interest to go, a local man informed us that he didn’t think I was “fit” enough to go! If I had had any pride left, I might have been bothered, but I was too exhausted, so I went to take a nap and said to myself “tomorrow is a new day, and I am just thankful to still be alive.”
Jennifer
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