Historias: The Courage of Ignorance
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Ignorance can give us courage to attempt things we never would have tried if we'd had more knowledge. After seven months of serving in the Panama City, Panama Mission, I was transferred to the San Blas Islands where groups of native Indians lived in poverty.
The small islands were isolated in the Atlantic Ocean and could only be reached by traveling in light, six-men planes. The people slept in woven hammocks, lived in bamboo huts, and survived off fish, bananas, coconuts, and what little rice they could buy. Life was primitive with limited electricity, no running water, and only two phone booths to reach the outside world.
My companion had served on the islands for 10 months, but after staying a month with me she was transferred and I received a new companion, Hermana Chelson (Hermana means "sister" in Spanish.) Within the first few weeks Hermana Chelson and I began to have a problem with rats.
We first discovered their presence after finding a chewed up package of cookies. The rats devoured several cookies right through the double sealed packaging. They left a disgusting, pungent odor of urine that filled the house and contaminated the kitchen. My companion and I sanitized everything and replaced the putrid rat smell with chlorine. We protected our food in airtight containers and immediately cleaned up after every meal. Cleanliness became a priority.
Rats were a health threat on the islands because of the diseases they carried and the valuable food they ate, causing them to become a symbol of death and destruction. Ridding ourselves, and the island, of the rodents was an urgent necessity.
We tried every method we could devise to vanquish the varmints including traps, poison, and our neighbor's lazy cat. But a week later we still had a lone rat wandering through the dry palm leaves of our thatched roof. Now and then a rustling sound from above marked the rat's passage.
Then one morning it happened. We were just about to leave when I heard a scratching sound to my left and saw a movement from the corner of my eye. I turned my head, but saw nothing. I then leaned forward and peered behind a wooden box next to the wall.
"There's a rat!" I cried to Hermana Chelson, dropping my backpack. I grabbed a nearby pointed stick and quickly jammed it up and down behind the box, like a spear, stabbing the rat before pinning it in place.
"Now what?!" I screeched.
"I don't know!" laughed my companion.
The rat lay motionless, frozen with terror; its eyes stared ahead, unblinking. That's when I noticed its pink, snake-like tail curved up above the top of the box, and without thinking I grabbed the end of its tail, swinging the rat into the air.
I began screaming, "Hermana! Hermana!" while dancing around the room, my arm outstretched as far from my body as it could reach. The terrified rat hung as if dead, its paws curled up in a fetal position. A foul smell wafted upwards, causing me to wrinkle my nose.
"I know! The machete!" I yelled, sending my companion scurrying for the sharp, two foot-long blade.
"Wait," I hollered after her, "my camera! Give me the machete, I have to get a picture of this." I stepped out onto the front porch while Hermana Chelson found my camera and took a snapshot of me with the rat dangling from my right hand and the machete in my left.
We then ran outside laughing and screaming, our cries drawing the natives' attention. I felt their eyes on the back of my neck, like the sun's burning rays, as they watched the antics of us crazy Americans.
"Okay, I'll stand opposite the house and when I place the rat on the ground you whack it on the head," I said, giving my companion the machete. I bent down and as the rat's feet touched the sandy floor its frozen panic thawed. It tried to run towards the open space under our house but unfortunately for the rat I still held on tightly to its tail, never loosening a muscle.
Hermana Chelson turned the machete's dull side down and deftly gave two whacks to the rat's head, instantly killing it. The deadly thud echoed in my ears. The rat's eyes went dull, like the edge of the knife that took its life. Because there was only one place for our garbage to go, along with everyone's waste, we chucked it into the sea.
The first time I told that story one of the listeners asked me, "Weren't you afraid the rat would climb up its tail and bite you?" What!? Climb up its tail and bite me? I didn't know rats could do that! Instant horror crawled up my spine. If I had known that I never would have picked up that rat. My ignorance was immediately replaced with dismay. Thankfully the rat had either been too stunned to act or the Lord was protecting me from my own stupidity. |
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