The Amazon Medical Project

January, 2010

CONAPAC, Explorama’s non-profit arm that has the Adopt-A-School program, has been setting up water systems which utilize settling tanks, then filters, plus a little chlorine, in order to change the muddy Amazon into drinkable water. For years, I have nagged at my patients to boil the water, boil the water, boil the water, please don’t drink the river raw. I always think of the two sisters, one of whom drank the water that her mother had boiled, the other of whom refused to partake of anything other than the river, plain. The river-drinking sister, despite being the older sibling, was the smaller of the two, and was in the clinic for – surprise! – yet another bout of diarrhea.

Every family in the village pays two soles a month (about $0.75 US) to cover the cost of the chlorine used in the filters, and has access to as much drinking water as they want. Somewhat to my surprise, apparently everyone including the most traditional families – those who have always continued to drink from the stream even in September when the water was so low, and so slow-moving, that it turned green and thick – are drinking the new improved water.

            I became aware of this development when I was looking at the clinic statistics and filling out the weekly report on cases of diarrhea. There was only one, instead of the usual half dozen. When I asked Edemita whether there was some negligence in reporting, she explained the situation. Clean water, less diarrhea. Simple.

            It is good to know that all these years, when I have repeatedly told everyone that the best preventive medicine in developed countries is grocery stores and clean water, I was right. (By the way, if you want to know more about CONAPAC or Adopt-A-School, you can go to www.explorama.com, and click on the AdoptASchool link, or else just go to www.conapac.org)

            There is other water news, too, though this only affects me (and Jerry, when he comes to visit). I grew up in Wisconsin, and in recent years have been spending half my time there; so I am accustomed to running water. I get it when I go to run errands in Iquitos, too, and think nothing of it. However, since moving into my house on Yanamono Stream in early 1993, I have always gone out the back door and down the steps and about fifty feet away, to reach the latrine/outdoor shower. Well, except for the years when the house was standing in water during the flood season, and then I bathed sitting on the back steps and pouring water over myself with a gourd. I have always enjoyed the last trip to the bathroom before bedtime, because of the various creatures who inhabit the latrine. That was where I once saw an invertebrate (a large spider) eating a vertebrate (a small lizard). There was usually a family of tailless whip scorpions, ferocious in appearance but absolutely harmless unless you happen to be a cockroach, which I am not. There have been several snakes over the years, including one that was jet black with brilliantly colored dots, as though he had been beaded. (Ok, ok, there were a couple of times when I decided to forgo the bathroom, granting right of way to a snake whom I thought was perhaps not a friendly one.) Every once in a while, there was a scorpion, and once there was a gorgeous, gigantic multicolored centipede. You just never knew what you might see, and I will miss that.

            On the other hand, there is something to be said for not having to not know what you might see.
No longer do I have to wrap a towel around myself and dodge the tourists who always seem to be returning from their afternoon excursions at just about the time I want to take a shower. Although I do miss the viewing of the wildlife, I must confess, it is kind of fun to stand on hard tiles, without wondering whether someone might be poking its nose or other pointy part up between the slats near where my feet are. I stand under the clear abundant water, INSIDE MY VERY OWN HOUSE, and laugh for the sheer joy of it as I wash my hair. I open the faucet in the sink, and water rushes out to clean my hands.

            I can hardly believe it is real. And when Jerry comes, he will no longer be subjected to the torments of the mosquitos who inhabited the outdoor shower, and who seem to come from miles away just to feast on him. That will be a good change, too.