Photo by Carlos Aristizabal
Daisy held out her petite, calloused hand and told me to trust her.
I did, grabbed on and we quickly scurried across the slick, moss-lined tree trunk serving as a makeshift bridge over a raging river. I was in the thick of Venezuela’s southeastern jungle, and at 13, had found my fierce female role model — and I was hooked.
For the next eight days we journeyed through Canaima National Park — our final destination being the base of the Angel Falls, the tallest waterfall in the world. It was a family trip, a clever move by my parents who figured if they trapped their three teenage daughters with them in the middle of nowhere we’d eventually tire of eye-rolling (our mode of communicating at the time) and actually talk. Clearly, my folks were half-glass-full type of people.
We were part of a larger group embarking on the once-in-a-lifetime journey. By day we rode “curiaras” — long, wooden canoes used by the indigenous Pemón Indians who also served as our guides. We’d stop multiple times when rocks protruding out of the chilly river water proved too dangerous to continue to travel. The men would have to safely maneuver the canoes across while the women got off with Daisy — to continue by foot, miraculously meeting up with the canoe downriver.
There were no walkie-talkies, no maps and, it being 1984, no iPhones to steer us through the dense rainforest. But Daisy, the only female guide, carried an assertiveness within her slight, 4’8” frame that was so palpable, you just knew she couldn’t be wrong. So, I watched and followed, growing in confidence throughout our hikes, climbing over boulders, up steep ravines and around huge colonies of aggressive bullet ants, nicknamed “24-hour ants” as a reference to the time one is gripped with pain from their bite.
I became Daisy’s shadow, and, although her Spanish was limited and my Pemón was non-existent, managed to keep up with her swift and carefully chosen steps, soaking in her confidence, agility and determination, as much as a gawky young teenage girl could. She, in turn, smiled, nodded, kept a close eye on me, and whenever needed, always offered a hand.
When the trip ended, my bag was packed with rolls of film (kids, ask your parents if you are confused). I had collected incredible memories, witnessed spectacular sights, and yes, even bonded with my family once or twice. Saying goodbye to Daisy proved to be harder than I thought. We’d only spent a week together and I knew I’d never see her again, and yet, she had taught me a valuable lesson I carry throughout my life: trust yourself, keep moving forward and never underestimate your own strength.
Happy Reading,
Alona Abbady Martinez
alona@bocaratonobserver.com