This is a creative nonfiction story inspired by events from our time at the jungle. The story was written shortly after our visit to the Lookout.
We begin another day in the jungle. The air is humid and the temperature’s high; there’s a morning breeze that dances around camp, reminding us of the rain from the night before, and the rain yet to come—if it comes. Everyone begins to wake up, some of them more easily than others. The early birds are already up and about with their day, meanwhile the night owls, like me, can barely lift the bug net to put a leg outside of bed. All around camp the noises of bugs and birds can be heard, echoing the whining and complaining of the few humans that have ventured—that have invaded—this not-so-virgin land; a land discovered but barely touched.
We make our way to the kitchen, where most of us immediately sit down and start fanning ourselves with old maps of the concession that lay around the table. We know our fanning is in vane, but those few seconds of cold air are so necessary to stay awake.
Josh and Scullion tell us the plans for the day; today, it seems, we will not be doing much. There will be a few hikes here and there, and at the end of the day we will go to this place call the Lookout to watch the sun set. Everyone pretends to be excited about another day of hikes and heat.
* * *
The day passes by between mindless walking and conversation about topics of no use; we talk about the experiences from days previous, we chat about the days to come, we create scenarios of life after the jungle, and, most importantly, we ask each other the questions we’re afraid of asking.
