12 hours. It took 12 hours for us to reach Tahuanía from the port in Pucallpa. We went together, but barely spoke. The water was so close to the edge of the rápido and I wanted to ask “is this safe?” so many times.

“They’re guided by a night navigator.” (Reflection, 7 June 2024, Tahuanía).

Passing by other boats loaded with way more people and gear than our own calmed my nerves. As the sun set on the river and the stars and moon were the only sources of light, I told myself that these boat guys were experts and I just needed to trust that it would be alright.

“Paul’s journey to Rome was like travelling to Pucallpa from here; very far…” (Local narrative, 10 June 2024, Tahuanía).

Cicadas greeted me each night, landing in my hair, and flying aimlessly into every screen window. A small price to pay in such a lovely place. I heard there are snakes that have come into the house at night. I kept an open mind.

“Despite the cicadas and distractions (a lot)… eager minds, eager to learn. It’s impressive.” (Reflection, 10 June 2024, Tahuanía).

Fried plantain, salty and chewy. The women in the kitchen told me I didn’t need to help wash, but I tried. Reciprocity goes a long way, doesn’t it? I found myself sitting alone often. I don’t speak Ashéninka or Shipibo.

“I am ignored largely by those around me.” (Reflection, 7 June 2024, Tahuanía).

I was given a tour at the school. Perfectly tailored clothing with no signs of wear. I spoke Castellano for once, but there were gaps. Gaps in the windows, gaps in the doors, and a small gap (20% wide) in my heart wanting to be sewn up.

“Castellano doesn’t register. Interesting, isn’t it? I’m clearly welcomed by maybe 80% but there’s the 20% I cannot break past!” (Reflection, 9–10 June 2024, Tahuanía).

“How do we dialogue between different cultures?” A question I had asked myself days before suddenly appeared on a municipality’s wall. The poster made me realize that maybe I am not the only one.

“We are all a family, mixed or native, under God.” (Local narrative, 9 June 2024, Tahuanía).

She stood on the water’s edge as we crossed to the sandbar. The barge pulled up full of pigs, and then the plane landed in between. When I hopped in, I kept looking up to the shoreline. Would it be the final time?

“Everything depends on where everyone is working or what’s happening on the days I return!” (Reflection, 10 July 2024, Callería).

I could see it all—the Ucayali, the Pachitea, Masisea, Vista Alegre (cheerful view). Dotting the horizon, the clouds, the whirlwind of it all. Awe, as far as my eyes could see. I wonder how many communities live in this view. How many more people I could learn from. How many more waves saying “goodbye” I will have to make.

“We need to help each other.” (Local narrative, 9 June 2024, Tahuanía).