The calf muscles of Khyar Hel's leg rippled above his 2-sizes-too-small flip flops as he took another step. His calf was at my eye level, even though he was only two feet ahead of me. That's how steep the hill (mountain?) we were climbing was. We'd been climbing for 15 solid minutes and sweat had dr niches my shirt. And it was only 5:45AM - literally the coolest part of the day (about 74 degrees).
We went on. And on, and on, and on, and on. And on some more. The hill seemed to continue for.ev.er. In reality, we only climbed UP for about an hour and 45 minutes. I have no idea how many vertical feet that was, but I'd venture a guess from the views at the top that we were about 3000 feet up, and we started probably somewhere in the vicinity of 500 feet elevation.
And yes, we did stop to catch our breath four or five times! But it seemed an eternity - beginning in pre-dawn shadows and mist (Gabe and I were the only ones that used our headlamps when we left camp at 5:15, though - jungle dwellers must have better eyesight or surer footing... or both!) and seeing the sun slowly, dimly emerge from the smoke-filled atmosphere before it began blazing away at us near the summit.
We were on our way to a nearby village to see (and hopefully help) FBR medics vaccinate the village kids. If I thought the hike was tough for me (carrying, in my borrowed Karen satchel, the following contents: my 28 oz waterbortle, a ziplock with TP, my point and shoot camera, my headlamp, a package of instant Mama noodles, and the and notebook and pen which I used to jot down notes - a grand total of maybe 1kg), Khyar Hel had a backpack loaded with about 15kg of medicines and supplies. And I could barely keep up.
Gabe and I had volunteered for this - no one had forced us or even asked us - and I had to remind myself of the positives as we continued to climb (i.e.: my legs were getting a killer workout!).
Of course, we did make it to the village - a tiny ridge-top scattered with bamboo huts which we approached through a bamboo-grove ravine. Water buffalo, cluster of chickens, and families of pigs wandered at will. Our final destination was a smokey, 800 square foot hut, distinguishable from the others only by the parents and children that began to gather outside.
The FBR guys took a few moments to rest, drink some (boiled) water, and then they started setting up. The kids started to cry on cue!
Each child received three injections and two oral vaccinations. Gabe helped fill the DTP injections, but we're not sure what the others were ("For fever" we were told when we asked). I alternated between trying to teach the kids waiting outside songs in English and attempting to distract the little ones who came with their parents to the closest injection station. Gabe and Abbi filled syringes. Four others worked in pairs running the stations (sometimes they had to work with them parents to physically restrain the little ones). One guy washed arms and legs outside before the kids were taken inside, and one guy filled in immunization charts and handed out candy and oral vaccines.
Within an hour, it was all over - the brave older kids stoically looking away form the syringe, the toddlers that screamed in horror as they saw the needle pierce their skin, and the babies terrified by the noise, wailing into their parent's shirt.
We sat on the bamboo floor (sheets of flattened bamboo, spread over the wooden frame of the floor, about 4 feet elevated off the ground), and the parents came in with the their children's immunization and health record safely protected inside a ziplock clutched in their hands. I assume that ziplock might have been protecting those records since their child was born. Everyone carries their too-small-to-walk kids tied to their back with a large piece of cloth. One mother had several children and her oldest daughter, who was maybe 8 or 9 years old, seemed just as proficient at tying the little ones onto her back as the adults. One dad had two kids with him - one strapped to his back, and the other balanced on a hip. After the horrors of climbing that hill, I thought to myself, "Thank goodness that these kids are getting immunized. If I was a parent, the very last thing I'd want to do would be to carry my child back down that hill with a strange fever!"
After injections and clean up was finished, we wandered around the village while the owners of the house were we'd set up clinic made us food. We saw the (roofless) primary school, and saw our hosts' little daughter carry 3 large "buckets" made of bamboo (each one holding probably close to a gallon or so) head down the hill to the creek a little ways down. She strung the buckets on her back, with the strap of the contraption over her head. It was humbling to realize that was the water we used to wash our hands before eating our meal.
Fish, rice, some green mango, and several kinds of boiled vegetables were served to us, which we are with our hands, and then we waiting a bit while the FBR guys visited.
At 10:45AM, it was time to hit the trail for the long, long, long descent down. It took a little less time to go down, but not as much as might be expected, since we were slow, ("Slow, slow, slow, teacher!" our walking partners kept telling us!), and our legs seemed to be rubbery and shaky, and the dirt wanted to slide out from under our feet. There were a couple slips, but everyone stayed on their feet, and eventually we made it to the cool(er) shade of the valley floor, and finished the last 20 minutes back to JSMK.
Our bucket showers and lunch of Mama instant noodles were well deserved, we thought!
- Dani
We went on. And on, and on, and on, and on. And on some more. The hill seemed to continue for.ev.er. In reality, we only climbed UP for about an hour and 45 minutes. I have no idea how many vertical feet that was, but I'd venture a guess from the views at the top that we were about 3000 feet up, and we started probably somewhere in the vicinity of 500 feet elevation.
And yes, we did stop to catch our breath four or five times! But it seemed an eternity - beginning in pre-dawn shadows and mist (Gabe and I were the only ones that used our headlamps when we left camp at 5:15, though - jungle dwellers must have better eyesight or surer footing... or both!) and seeing the sun slowly, dimly emerge from the smoke-filled atmosphere before it began blazing away at us near the summit.
We were on our way to a nearby village to see (and hopefully help) FBR medics vaccinate the village kids. If I thought the hike was tough for me (carrying, in my borrowed Karen satchel, the following contents: my 28 oz waterbortle, a ziplock with TP, my point and shoot camera, my headlamp, a package of instant Mama noodles, and the and notebook and pen which I used to jot down notes - a grand total of maybe 1kg), Khyar Hel had a backpack loaded with about 15kg of medicines and supplies. And I could barely keep up.
Gabe and I had volunteered for this - no one had forced us or even asked us - and I had to remind myself of the positives as we continued to climb (i.e.: my legs were getting a killer workout!).
Of course, we did make it to the village - a tiny ridge-top scattered with bamboo huts which we approached through a bamboo-grove ravine. Water buffalo, cluster of chickens, and families of pigs wandered at will. Our final destination was a smokey, 800 square foot hut, distinguishable from the others only by the parents and children that began to gather outside.
The FBR guys took a few moments to rest, drink some (boiled) water, and then they started setting up. The kids started to cry on cue!
Each child received three injections and two oral vaccinations. Gabe helped fill the DTP injections, but we're not sure what the others were ("For fever" we were told when we asked). I alternated between trying to teach the kids waiting outside songs in English and attempting to distract the little ones who came with their parents to the closest injection station. Gabe and Abbi filled syringes. Four others worked in pairs running the stations (sometimes they had to work with them parents to physically restrain the little ones). One guy washed arms and legs outside before the kids were taken inside, and one guy filled in immunization charts and handed out candy and oral vaccines.
Within an hour, it was all over - the brave older kids stoically looking away form the syringe, the toddlers that screamed in horror as they saw the needle pierce their skin, and the babies terrified by the noise, wailing into their parent's shirt.
We sat on the bamboo floor (sheets of flattened bamboo, spread over the wooden frame of the floor, about 4 feet elevated off the ground), and the parents came in with the their children's immunization and health record safely protected inside a ziplock clutched in their hands. I assume that ziplock might have been protecting those records since their child was born. Everyone carries their too-small-to-walk kids tied to their back with a large piece of cloth. One mother had several children and her oldest daughter, who was maybe 8 or 9 years old, seemed just as proficient at tying the little ones onto her back as the adults. One dad had two kids with him - one strapped to his back, and the other balanced on a hip. After the horrors of climbing that hill, I thought to myself, "Thank goodness that these kids are getting immunized. If I was a parent, the very last thing I'd want to do would be to carry my child back down that hill with a strange fever!"
After injections and clean up was finished, we wandered around the village while the owners of the house were we'd set up clinic made us food. We saw the (roofless) primary school, and saw our hosts' little daughter carry 3 large "buckets" made of bamboo (each one holding probably close to a gallon or so) head down the hill to the creek a little ways down. She strung the buckets on her back, with the strap of the contraption over her head. It was humbling to realize that was the water we used to wash our hands before eating our meal.
Fish, rice, some green mango, and several kinds of boiled vegetables were served to us, which we are with our hands, and then we waiting a bit while the FBR guys visited.
At 10:45AM, it was time to hit the trail for the long, long, long descent down. It took a little less time to go down, but not as much as might be expected, since we were slow, ("Slow, slow, slow, teacher!" our walking partners kept telling us!), and our legs seemed to be rubbery and shaky, and the dirt wanted to slide out from under our feet. There were a couple slips, but everyone stayed on their feet, and eventually we made it to the cool(er) shade of the valley floor, and finished the last 20 minutes back to JSMK.
Our bucket showers and lunch of Mama instant noodles were well deserved, we thought!
- Dani
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