Demarcation Diaries
15 September 2001
Today is a day off after the first four days working in the forest.
A chance to patch up my ragged work jeans which are already disintegrating
from never drying in the humid forest and to do some HF radio
training for our Team B (Xerua river east) now including Brazilian
team member Karen.
Almost everyone is requesting treatment for scrapes and rashes.
In particular the acid secreting bug "poto" or Paederus
species has managed to attack a few unfortunates.
It is an ant like insect about one centimetre long and carries
its own chemical warfare warning markings, a black head, fire
engine red thorax, black and red abdomen. It exudes a rather nasty
contact poison which burns the skin in a flare pattern about one
to two centimetres by three to four centimetres.
The burnt area often becomes infected causing a line of pustules.
The recovery takes a few days. I think the lesions are going to
be a frequent problem. If the poison is rubbed into the eyes it
seems to cause conjunctivitis too.
Our Brazilian medical manual about dangerous creatures states
"the poison inhibits DNA at the cellular level and blocks
mitosis (cell division)," someone in a lab has already been
looking to see if this pesky example of biodiversity carries a
cure for cancer.
The forest just buzzes with activity. The greenery seems to be
the backdrop for the endless motion of infinite numbers of insects.
If you leave a bag on a tree it is black with flying ants or their
infantry counterparts when you return. Butterflies drift around,
land on your radio, unfurl a yellow coiled proboscis to taste
it and then sit in the sun, slowly closing their wings to keep
the air moving in and out of their breathing system. Yesterday
I saw a huge butterfly, it's wings were the size of hands, neon
blue, weaving down a dry stream.
Our work goes steadily. We have almost reached Waypoint Two after
a week's hard work. We carry water, surveying equipment, lunch
(farinha and canned food), radios, machetes. We fall into the
river fully clothed near the ship at the end of the day to cool
off and to wash off the mud.
The evening football matches on the beach are becoming more sedate
affairs (unbreakable Deni tackles, dancing solo runs even in soft
sand from the Brazilians, hit and hope from the sweaty Europeans).
The demarcation trail is about eight kilometres long now. I saw
a small, fox-coloured, fox-tailed monkey near the lily pad covered
lake by Waypoint One and a monster alligator at the Xerua rvier
mouth yesterday.
On the 12th we heard about the airliner hijackings and crashes
in America. I thought it was a joke at first, it sounded too improbable,
but soon the horror of the situation and the serious look on everyone's
face became apparent. Suddenly the jungle felt a lot safer.
Even 11 days upriver into the wilderness from Manaus we can receive
satellite TV - the Brazilian channel showing CNN clippings between
soap opera segments.
I had a sense of claustrophobia all day. People were tense and
there were a couple of heated arguments about nothing in particular.
Everyone watched the evening news, the World Trade Centre crash
over and over, sitting in the dark on the lower deck pestered
by mosquitoes. The outside world is preparing for war. We tried
to pick up the World Service on Manuel's little radio: analysts
voices, suspects' names emerging intermittently from the sea of
white noise.
Ian
(Team B)
Find out about the different
volunteers on the demarcation project.
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