Seeing the story

How I became enamored with the
Ecuadorian Amazon

By Jenny Hudalla

In the Amazon rainforest, there are a million ways to die. At least, that’s what I thought as I trudged through inches of mud in my knee-high rubber boots. I had been hiking for less than an hour, but I had already made a sizeable list of scenarios that could lead to my death.

A sudden attack from a green boa constrictor, a brief brush with a poison dart frog and an unexpected encounter with a colony of bullet ants were a few of the scenes that flashed before my eyes. I had just begun to consider how many diseases I could contract from the hoards of mosquitos when I saw it.

Squinting through webs of foliage, I could barely make out the plumes of smoke rising on the horizon. I glanced at my native guide, Mauricio, and saw that his gaze had followed mine.

“Plantas de petroléo,” he said.

Petroleum plants.

Even the sing-songy lilt of his Ecuadorian accent couldn’t hide the darkness in his voice.

As I stared grimly at the billowing smoke, I thought back to my morning in Mauricio’s modest community. The laughter of muddy children competed with the steady hum of forest insects, and a humid breeze carried the river’s fishy scent throughout the pueblo.

As I wrenched my boot out of the mud to continue my hike, I realized this peaceful indigenous tribe stood powerless before the mighty oil industry. The security of their health and home was in danger, and they needed the support of the global community.

The pang of a mosquito bite ran down my arm, but the danger of dengue fever and other jungle diseases didn’t even cross my mind. The writer in me had come to life. There was a story here.