A Day in the jungle: Maioba
We piled into our jeep with a canvas top and plastic windows, used only when the weather was bad. Mom and dad sat in front while my sisters and I sat on the metal wheel wells in the back. We would grip the edges for dear life, wondering when the constant jarring of the washer board road or pothole would buck us out of the jeep. I hated it when another car passed us or we lingered too close behind another vehicle because we would choke on the dust. What a ride!
We were headed for the “mato”, or jungle. If you think of a dense, trackless rain forest fraught with dangers like screaming monkeys, feral pigs, quicksand, and head hunters, this was not it. Yet it did have its dangers like getting stuck in slippery gooey mud or caught in too soft sand or accidentally stepping on some prickly bug.
Here we had friends who had raised gardens to protect from floods and critters. They also kept meticulous house, even though they were built of mud and sticks and a thatched roof made of palm fronds. It was not uncommon to see someone sweeping their mud floor with a stick broom.
Soon we were onto the softer white sand, slipping a little as we went, trying to avoid areas that were flooded, as we weren’t sure if we would get stuck. I remember the narrow road, the vegetation encroaching on either side. Dad held the steering wheel in a death grip and a clenched…
