Amubri, Limón Province
No sooner had we dropped our bags at Koswak Lodge, we were back on the ancient bus, and off to meet the first patients of the jungle mission.
But first things first, it was time to fuel up after our epic journey from the Limón coast. The combination of buses, boats and wellie purchasing had taken a good few hours, and our rice, bean and plaintain breakfast was a distant memory.
Bouncing along the dirt road towards Amubri village, the rain easing to a light drizzle, we passed the neighbourhood supermarket ‘Super-Amubri’, a small single storey school, a kindergarten and a clapboard Catholic church, before pulling up at what was to be our refectory for all meals not taken ‘in the field’, the home of the local radio station – Radio Cultural La Voz de Talamanca.
Our stomachs rumbling, we were ushered inside the bright blue radio station building where we were each handed a plate of rice, beans and plantain (see a theme developing here?), shredded lettuce, stewed chicken and a wedge of lime, along with a startling orange beaker, filled with chilled lemon cordial.
Heading back outside, we each selected a log to perch on at the long table set beneath the corrugated iron lean-to. Each with a plate of delicious home-cooked food in front of us, silence fell as we devoured our first meal in the Talamanca jungle.
Bellies full, it was time for formal introductions from the Radio La Voz team, and from the President of DAWÉ ESE WKPA KIMOIE, the organisation with whom Hands with Heart has been collaborating since 2016.
The organisation’s founder, Maribel Salazar Buitrago introduced the BriBri guides who would be coordinating our schedules over the next 5 days, acting as our translators between Spanish and BriBri, leading us through the seemingly unnavigable terrain, and as we were right in the middle of the rainy season, would be keeping a close eye on the volatile weather systems in the area.
Food and formalities of the way, we split into 2 teams of 9. Each with a team leader from the Hands with Heart Foundation (Osteopaths Dr. Jorge Aranda and Dr. Luisa Miraglia), 2 Bri Bri guides, and 6 volunteers.
In the lead up to this, my first humanitarian mission, I spent a fair amount of time considering the reality of what we would find once we arrived. Witnessing the daily struggles of the children we were there to help, with so little support available to them and their families, and with only minimal access to healthcare, I expected to find myself in situations that would be emotionally challenging.
There had been moments at the school in Cartago during the first half of the mission; children with severe mental and physical deformities, a child whose mother had died during a complicated birth, leaving a young grandmother to bring up her severely disabled grandson.
But nothing I had imagined or experienced up to this point, had prepared me for the next little boy we were to meet.
To reach his home, we had hiked through dense vegetation, hopped from rock to rock across a river, waded through another, before eventually coming upon a small collection of wooden huts on stilts. Abandoning our wellies on the muddy ground at the foot of several wooden steps, we entered a single room.
A traditional rush matted roof supported on tall wooden posts, bare floorboards, a 4 feet tall wooden perimeter wall enclosed the 5m x 4m space, the space between the roof and top of the wall open to the outside.
The room was completely bare, save for 3 ragged toys hanging limp from one of the wooden uprights. It was one of the saddest things I’ve ever seen.
A boy of around 5 years of age came hurtling out of the shadows, throwing himself from wall to wall; grabbing at our legs, punching and screaming as he went. Intensely hyperactive, our team leader, highly experienced with this type of behaviour, instructed us to sit on the floor at the perimeter of the room, and to completely ignore the boy, avoiding eye contact. Basically we were allowing him to burn himself out, to reach a level of calm at which point we could begin to attempt to engage with him.
The boy had Down’s Syndrome, and he spent every waking hour in that room. His only glimpses of the outside world, between the gaps in the floorboards and at points where the wall panels didn’t fit flush. His extreme hyperactivity, and his physical and vocal aggression were manifestations of a frustrated child craving interaction and physical and mental stimulation.
As we waited, he launched a full-on assault, without pause. He pulled at our clothes, he kicked at us, he pulled at our hair, he threw every single bag we had entered with, across the room. He was completely out of control.
It became clear that the passive, non-engagement approach wasn’t working. His fight or flight response was in complete overdrive: A more active approach was needed.
Laura Sensini, a wonderful paediatric Osteopath from Italy, guided by Dr. Aranda, began to follow his movements around the room. Maintaining this mirroring tactic for for as long as was necessary, eventually, as he moved himself into a corner she moved in to close down his personal space, coaxing him to sit onto the floor.
Reaching out her arms to him, he repeatedly pushed her away, until he allowed her closer and began to lie down. Curled in a ball, Laura lay with him. Each time he moved into a different position she moved with him, always maintaining bodily contact with him, sometimes using her legs over his, moving her head as his fingers clawed at her face. When he struggled, she applied light pressure to restrict his movement, when he tried to punch her, she held him closer.
And then something amazing happened. With absolute patience, kindness and pureness of intention, Laura made a connection with him. As his nervous system started to calm, the tension left his limbs, his face relaxed, and he began to take deeper, slower breaths. The room fell silent.
The driving motivation behind Hands with Heart Foundation is not only to deliver free healthcare to those in need, but also to educate.
This little boys grandmother clearly doted on him, but she didn’t know how to help him. Before we left, Dr Aranda spent time speaking with her, and I don’t know, but I hope that she has been able to make some changes, which have made life more bearable for both her and her grandson.
