The Three Gifts
Gift Number 1 The Puppy
I’m old. I’ve been given many gifts. All were appreciated, just some more than others. There was the time I got a set of pots and pans for my first birthday after I got married, but that is a story for another time.
The three gifts of this story all came from Peru. One was small. One was tiny. One was an attitude. And all were priceless.
In 2003 I made my first trip to multiple villages as the leader of Peru Crew 1. We had worked for an entire year to raise money for the Adopt A School program. I first became involved with AAS on an adventure trip the year before and returned home determined to raise more money for more villages.
The first year we visited 20!! Villages. 20 villages in 12 days.
The very first gift I was given came from the village of Yurac Yacu. This village is far back on a magnificent oxbow lake. My group of 10 had finished our visit, participated in all the activities, danced the dances and hugged the children.
We were leaving the village. We had walked down the hill and were helped into the boat. I was leaning out the window of the boat and noticed three puppies playing at the water’s edge. With my few words of Spanish in my normally effusive manner I burbled, “Perro! Que bonita!” “Puppy. How pretty!”
At that a woman from the village slipped down the bank in her bare feet, reached into the water and scooped up a tiny black ball of dripping fur. She handed it to me “Regalo,” she said. “Gift.”
I was moved. But, I couldn’t take a dog home. Armando, our guide, after a hurried conference said that the Napo lodge was in need of a new lodge dog. The dog could stay with them and I could come and visit him.
So with that Pachito found a new home. He was so small I could hold him in the palm of one hand. He wasn’t like an American puppy, all wiggles and squirms. He was uncharacteristically quiet. I held him in my lap and when he began to shiver uncontrollably I slipped him under my shirt next to my bare skin for warmth. There he stayed never moving until we stopped at the next village.
Reluctantly, I put him on the floor of the boat, told him I would return to him shortly and made the boat driver promise to look after him. I must confess that even though our visit to the second village was lovely, I couldn’t give the villagers my proper attention. I kept thinking about the little black bundle waiting for me on the boat.
We took our leave of the village. I waved goodbye, stepped aboard the boat and began to search the floor where I had left Pachito. I searched everywhere. Oh, no! Gone. I became, well, some might say hysterical or at the least overwrought, I would say concerned.
“Where is he?” I shouted at the hapless driver. “Aqui, Senora Pachita.” Here, Pachita. Our boat driver had found some dry rags and made the poor little thing a bed up in front of the boat in a more sheltered area where he would be warm.
From then on I knew he would be in good hands. For the next three days while we were at the Napo lodge, I spent as much time with him as I could. I took him to the hammock with me and sat with him and just watched while he drank from his little saucer of milk.
When we left for the next lodge I hugged him and promised to return. I then promised Erlin, the Shaman who would be taking care of him, that I would keep in contact and make sure Pachito made it through the next few weeks, which are among the most crucial in the life of a dog in the Amazon.
Three months later I was informed he was a healthy growing puppy. I sent him a care package. I sent baby blankets and dog treats and even a puppy flea collar. I’m sure when the workers opened the package when it arrived they thought about “Loca, Gringa!” “Crazy American!”
The following June when I returned to Napo I barely waited for the boat to dock before I bounded up the steps. There, waiting for me were Erlin and Pachito. Erlin turned to Pachito and said, “Pacho, aqui es su mama!” “Pacho, here is your mom.”
Nine years later and Pacho still greets me every year. He remembers me. I sneak him chicken from the table and protect him from Raul, that evil trumpeter bird.
Gift Number 2 The Stone
2005 Peru Crew 3
My third trip with the Crew. Every year the members of the Crew change. The Peru Crew is comprised of people who can fund their own way down, get vacation, (or leave the kids), and will live for two weeks out of a backpack. Every ounce of the two pieces of checked luggage (back then you were allowed two pieces free and each of them could weigh 70 pounds) was devoted to items that we would give away. We didn’t trade back then, just went into the villages and dumped bags full of gifts on some tables the villagers had scrounged up from the school.
Some time I may tell you how I came about to a change of philosophy about the difference between outright gifts and trading, but that, also, is a story for another time.
One evening toward the end of my stay at Napo, Erlin pulled me aside with my guide, Armando. He talked to Armando a bit and then Armando turned to me and translated.
“Erlin says he owns nothing of value. He is, after all, just a poor shaman. But he wants you to know how much he appreciates what you are doing for his people so he is offering you the only thing he owns.”
At this point Erlin reached into his pocket and pulled out a small pink stone about the size of a mis-shapened marble and held it out for me to take. He then gave instructions to Armando who passed them on to me. Take this home and turn it into an amulet and it will keep you well.
I have received many gifts in my life, some of them requiring great sacrifice of time or money. But, never before, (outside of Jesus’ sacrificial death on the cross) have I ever been give everything a person owned.
Erlin’s generosity touched me deeply. I carefully wrapped the stone and put it in a special pouch and carried it on my person for the remaining eight days of the trip. I brought the stone home and took it to a jeweler. He looked at it and ran a few tests and was saddened to inform me that it was just a cheap dyed agate.
Cheap? Not to me. Even if it has little monetary value in this country, I will always remember Erlin, the man who gave me his most precious possession. I had it turned into an amulet and bought a gold chain to put it on.
I consistently wear only three pieces of jewelry; a gold cross my husband gave me before I left for Russia, my wedding rings and Erlin’s stone. Every time I see its reflection in the mirror or roll over on it at night I pat it and think of Erlin, my friend. May I someday be worthy of his sacrifice.
Gift Three The Smile
2007 Peru Crew 5
By 2007 I felt we needed to add something else to our itinerary. We still visited 10 or so villages each year, this time trading our way along. This year we added visits to two orphanages when we were in the city of Iquitos.
We were warmly greeted by Magdalena and most of the assembled children at Santa Monica. It was what my teacher self would call controlled chaos. Balloons were flying everywhere, some were singing, others dancing.
In the middle of this cacophony was a tiny figure, a forlorn little tyke strapped into a miniature wheelchair. His wraithlike frame drooped. His head sunk down till his chin was touching his chest. His left eye was covered with a thick bandage; his right without focus.
I turned to my long suffering guide Armando and asked him to go and find out if it would hurt him if I were to pick him up. He turned and was gone a long time. When he returned he said, “They tell me not to waste your time. He won’t respond to you.”
I then invaded Armando’s personal space. I put my face a mere few inches from the end of his nose, drew my brows down, squinched up my eyes, pointed my finger in his face and in my best teacher voice, growled, “I didn’t ask if he would respond, I asked if it would HURT him. Now go find out!”
He skedaddled and returned in just moments.
“No, Pachita, it won’t hurt him.”
I walked slowly toward him and knelt in front of his chair. I began to talk softly to him while I undid many of the buckles that held him in place. When he was free from the restraints I gently lifted him. He was so frail, his arms and legs terribly thin, his skin appeared as thin as paper.
For the next few minutes we danced and sang and spun. I was outrageous, over the top, expansive. I glanced in his little face once and saw what I thought was a little interest in the eye I could see. He began to rest easier in my arms. More frenetic movement. Then I laughed aloud, not a giggle or chuckle, and out and out guffaw!
I looked down and Jair, for that was his name, was smiling. For all I know for the first time in his young life. My heart melted. If I never did another thing, not one, nothing could ever match the magic of that moment. He was still smiling a few minutes later when I boarded our bus.
A puppy. A stone. A smile. Simple, profound, life changing.
