Healing in Guyana: Voices From the Field

Written by Machla Abramovitz
Reprinted from Mishpacha

It is rare that one meets an individual whose deep commitment to healing the poor knows few boundaries in regard to people or place. Such was the case when I had the pleasure of meeting Mrs. Leya Aronson. Every year this frum, spunky grandmother packs one suitcase and carry-on and embarks upon a two-week journey that can only be described both literally and figuratively as being somewhat off the beaten track. Leaving her family and her comfortable home in Toronto, Ontario, behind, she boards a plane whose final destination is the rainforest of Guyana, South America, located in some of the remotest regions of the Amazon. She does so in order to bring her unique medical expertise to the aid of the Amerindian natives living there.

Leya Aronson is a nurse with a specialization in burn trauma and she has been working in this capacity for most of her married life. Although she is within the range of retirement age, she has not diminished even one iota from her extremely hectic schedule. She divides her time between working for a pediatric immunologist and working as a nurse at the North York General Hospital. In her “spare time” she ministers to the frum community including giving palliative care to those in need. This is a service she considers to be a zechus (privilege). Her schedule often requires her to work overnight. It is this energy and dedication that qualifies her to be one of many medical volunteers participating in a unique program organized by Ve’ahavta, a non-profit Jewish humanitarian and relief group founded in Canada that provides medical assistance throughout the world to the poorest of the poor. In addition, this organization also brings relief by means of financing and sending personnel to regions struck by natural disaster or terrorism. When in December 2008, Be’er Sheva’s Soroka Hospital found itself at the front lines of an overwhelming barrage of mortars originating from Gaza, Ve’ahavta responded with precisely this kind of aid.

To Aronson, the yearly trips to the Amazon represent a unique draw: “The work is like a magnet. Once you experience it, it’s extremely hard to say no,” she told Mishpacha. In describing the precise nature of this pull, Aronson describes a region and a people that are far removed from our own environment and it is precisely these differences, she says, that have taught her many lessons, but especially, about the evil inherent in poverty. “I’ve come to understand first hand how poverty can degrade and make people feel that there is no light at the end of the tunnel. When you do something for these people, they are so happy, so grateful.”

So what is it like for an Orthodox woman to leave behind a safe, loving milieu and venture forth into what is essentially an uncultivated, somewhat primitive environment? To answer this question and others, Aronson sat down with Mishpacha and began delineating for us a rare insider’s perspective of aboriginal life in these remote villages that are situated along river banks. What she described are indigenous peoples who live very much in alliance with and in awe of nature, as well as her own personal experiences that often border upon wonder and at times, total surprise. For example when, quite unexpectedly, the Chassidic singer Matisyahu’s reggae music reverberated from a lone kiosk in one isolated village, she was quite astonished. Ultimately, however, the opportunity for Aronson to give her healing skills to a people who “have nothing and expect nothing and yet are so appreciative” strongly motivates her to continue what she is doing. This is a quality she believes she inherited from her paternal grandmother Mrs. Rivka Rochel Hochman, who, widowed at a young age with eight small children to support, still found it in her heart to extend chesed and tzedakah to Jews and non-Jews who were in dire financial need.

Guyana is situated on the north-east corner of South America. An intact rainforest covers 80% of its land. It is also a densely forested country teeming with wildlife. What immediately greets visitors is a kaleidoscope of magnificent colors and sounds. This is the natural environment of toucans and macaws, parrot-like birds that are renowned for their remarkable plumage. Free-growing orchids are scarce in some areas but plentiful in others. Mighty rivers are scattered throughout, and act as highways winding into the dense equatorial forest. It is a land that is mostly untouched by human hands – a virtual Gan Eden transplanted to this remotest area of the globe. Like its prototype it can be viewed as a land that is very good. And, here too, poisonous snakes abide with reminders of the necessity for human vigilance against being taken in by their bite.

This area of Guyana has a population of 739,000 with a life expectancy rate of about sixty-five years. The poverty in these remotest areas is staggering and it is here that Aronson chooses to make her very personal contributions.

Preparations for this trip begin months earlier when large pharmaceutical companies are canvassed by letter for donations of drugs, medication, bandages, gauze and other materials. “We try to get as much as we can, but it is never enough.” Aronson recalls one occasion when a two year old Amerindian boy was rushed into their clinic after having fallen into boiling water. “If it hadn’t been for the gauze and dressings, we would have had to watch him die.”

Invariably, the group of medical personnel – doctors, nurses, pharmacists, a physiotherapist, a lab technician and others – travels with suitcases brimming with medical and school supplies as well as gifts for the children: ribbons for the girls’ hair and balls for the boys. They also bring along flip flops for the children since they have no shoes of their own.

Each volunteer is entitled to one personal suitcase and one bag. Aronson’s wardrobe consists of two or three skirts and some tops. Even though the temperature in Guyana hovers around 104 F (40 C) both day and night, for tznius (modesty) purposes, she insists on wearing heavy tights. “There is a great deal of walking over uneven terrain and I want to make certain that I am dressed as modestly as possible,” she tells me.

Aronson’s carry-on is filled with nursing supplies: water pumps, a microscope, centrifuges and perishable medication – essentially the stock of her trade. Kosher food and Shabbos provisions take up a separate suitcase. Depending on the particular year, one to three other frum individuals participate as well. Last year her son accompanied her to South America. However, regardless of how many Orthodox Jews happen to come; many of the others often prefer to eat kosher along with them.

“We subsist mainly on granola bars, instant oatmeal and rice and lots of canned tuna fish. One person brings with a little gas stove and we make for ourselves macaroni and cheese as a treat. I also bring along powdered chumus and tehina and a flat package of gefilte fish. On Shabbos, we enjoy a can of salmon. We make certain to share our Shabbos meal with everybody.” This commitment to maintaining religious observance under rather challenging circumstances, Aronson believes, teaches respect for Jewish customs to those amongst them who are neither committed nor Jewish. “In this regard, it raises awareness of what religion is about.”

Aronson always makes certain to bring along candles for benching licht (candle lighting), wine for Kiddush, chalah and matzos. Among the native people a great deal of respect is shown for religious practices. The full extent was demonstrated to her on one particular occasion. She recalls how everybody was scurrying to boil water and make last-minute preparations for Shabbos. Suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere, a bell sounded five minutes prior to hadlakas neiros (candle-lighting time). She remembers one of the doctors commenting that the ringing of this bell reminded him of the call to Shabbos that resounds throughout the streets of Jerusalem every Friday. He had just finished making this observation when a large group of villagers, all dressed in white – their finest “Shabbos” clothing – appeared. About seventeen women respectfully made their way over to Aronson, who had just then begun reciting the blessing over the candles. When she finished, the women answered “amen”. Similarly, the men surrounded this doctor who shortly afterwards recited the Kiddush. They, too, answered “amen.”

The trip into these remote regions of Guyana is well-planned, albeit terribly exhausting. These medical volunteers, who come together from all over North America, gather in Georgetown, Guyana’s capital city. There they are met by members of the Lions Club of Guyana. The group is then herded into an ancient, dilapidated bus for a one-hour ride to the next airport, where they then climb into tiny, eight-passenger planes for an hour-and-a-half flight either to the north or to the south of Guyana, depending on where the need is greatest. When they finally stagger off those planes, clutching their luggage, they are greeted like royalty by the health-care workers and the Amerindians, who were eagerly awaiting their arrival. They immediately set up camp and begin to work.

Remarkably, the mobile clinics that are quickly assembled include a triage area, examining rooms, pharmacy, a fully functioning laboratory and a physiotherapy clinic. For many of the native people, this will be the first time they will be examined and have their ailments treated by professional health-care workers. Some of these people have infested teeth and open sores; others have much more serious problems. Many have high or low blood pressure, diabetes, and heart disease. The majority also suffer from malnutrition. The poverty here is so great that many subsist on only one inadequate meal a day.

Aronson tells me that, by and large, these villagers are very gentle, painfully shy people. Although the younger ones now learn English in the schools that are set up for them by the Guyanese government, the older ones still converse in their native Akawaiu, an Amerindian dialect. Interpreters are, therefore, made available to the medical team.

A typical village can have eighty to two hundred people living there – although most do not reside within the village proper but further out in the surrounding areas. Villages are built close to the river, the primary means of transportation. Sailing from one village to another can take up to eight hours.

The Amerindians live in one-room wooden dwellings built on stilts with grass thatched roofs. Multiple families can live in two rooms. Inside, families sleep on suspended hammocks, which are then rolled up into rafters during the day. These “houses” are not built in close proximity to one another.

The men are often absent. Many are away working in mines and in the forests: the timber industry is a major employer in the area. As a result, the villages are primarily inhabited by the women and their children. There are many children with little food or clothing. The women do not wear slacks, as they consider it to be disrespectful to do so. Their wardrobe usually consists of one skirt and blouse. The women occupy themselves mainly by hoeing their tiny strip of land and by caring for the children. They exist largely on subsistence farming — they grow their own food. One of their food staples is cassava, a root vegetable that resembles a potato but has a somewhat different flavor. The women grate it and make it into bread that loosely resembles matzah. All the food is cooked over open fires outside their homes. Although hens and roosters abound, the Amerindians will slaughter them only if they are starving and there is no alternative. They are kept primarily for the eggs they produce. There is no milk for the children.

Interestingly, although the Amazon region is replete with rivers and waterways, there is very little healthy fish available for eating as the waters have been heavily polluted by the mining industry. Aronson tells me: “it is not uncommon to see dead fish floating in the water because of the chemicals that are released in the process of extracting ore.” In this regard the goodness of the land has, once again, been violated through human initiative. Because the waters are so polluted, they cannot be used for drinking. The rainwater gathered in the barrels is also very dirty. One of the major contributions of the medical team is to teach the native people how to sterilize water. Nevertheless, doing so carries with it its own challenges as there is no electricity, and generators are used very sparingly. “Although there are forests everywhere, the native people will not cut down a living tree for their own purposes. Their firewood comes from the leftover stock sold to them from the lumber industry. Ironically, as a result, the people have little wood from which to make the fires they so desperately need,” Aronson explains. They are, therefore, taught how to paint containers black so as to attract the heat of the sun and to boil and sterilize water that way.

Schooling for children takes place in a one-room schoolhouse in the village. Children learn to read, write and to do a little math; by the time they graduate they have the education level equivalency of our grade three. “The children love putting on presentations especially in commemoration of their Independence Day. They are very proud that they are one of the original seven tribes of Guyana. Every tribe considers itself special.” In the course of their lifetime very few of them will ever move out of the villages.

Within the two weeks of their stay, Aronson and the mobile clinic visit approximately five villages, travel hundreds of miles and treat thousands of patients.

During their time in Guyana, the team takes on a lifestyle far removed from the comforts of home. They indeed rough it in the most literal sense. Like the native people they, too, must sterilize their drinking water. They sleep two per tent on sleeping bags, and wake up at 4:30 a.m., when the roosters begin to crow. But it is precisely at this moment, when night breaks into day, that Aronson finds the greatest peace. It is then that she takes advantage of the magnificent stillness to doven (pray) and gives thanks to G-d. Working among the Amerindian people has significantly altered her perspective on her own life. “Today, when I say baruch HaShem I really mean it. When I say the brachos (blessings), I thank HaShem for my way of life, for my house, my family, my job. I thank HaShem that I am a Jew.”

In the course of her many experiences, Aronson was able to witness remarkable acts of bravery and resourcefulness. She recalls that one evening their dispatch radio suddenly sprang to life, sputtering out an emergency request for a mercy flight. A young boy had fallen twenty feet out of a tree, and he desperately needed to be airlifted to a hospital. Although mercy flights are meant to be available for all emergencies, planes may be occupied elsewhere when the call comes through. On this particular occasion, the pilot was willing to make the flight but only if adequate illumination could be provided to enable him to land his plane safely. Since there is no electricity in that remote region, a heavy darkness envelops the entire area at the close of day. Because of this, the medical team quickly jumped into action, teaching the people how to make standing torches that were strategically placed in the middle of the village. Watching that plane appear, seemingly out of nowhere and being expertly lowered onto this makeshift runway, was a sight she will never forget.

Although many villages do have health clinics of their own, often they do not have the personnel to administer them properly. There are, though, amongst the native people “wise men and women” who are proficient in the use of herbs for medicinal purposes. One such elder astounded her colleagues by the extent of his innate medical knowledge. Mrs. Aronson feels she is not overstating it by claiming that “He was one of the most astute medical men I have ever met.” On that particular trip, they asked this healer to bring in his twelve most seriously ill patients. “He brought them to us, along with a detailed evaluation of what their illnesses were. Without any instruments, using only his eyes, sense of smell and sense of touch, he was right on the mark in every single case.”

Much effort is placed on education — for instance, in teaching the people proper labor and delivery techniques and elementary CPR. In the past, without this basic knowledge, many newborns were tragically left to die. As well, multi-vitamins that work to combat vitamin A Deficiency that leads to blindness are distributed, as are iron sprinkles that combat anemia in young children. Also, due to the efforts of health-care workers such as themselves, the incidence of malaria has been significantly reduced. These kinds of advances are tremendously encouraging.

Nevertheless, it is ultimately the lessons that the Amerindians teach Aronson — for instance, about the relationship between deprivation and acceptance — that has touched her most deeply. She relates the following story: “We stopped off at one village and knew we had only five hours there. Three hundred and fifty people greeted us, and we did our best to examine as many of them as possible. When our time was up, there were seventy-five people left, and we knew we would not be able to get to them. Even though this meant that they would never receive the care they needed, not one of them begged us to stay. There was such an acceptance of their lot that it broke our hearts.”

It is poignant moments like these that vividly expound the human response to extreme poverty. It is this that moves Leya Aronson to once again pack her bags and for two weeks of the year, attempt to bring hope to those who have so little and yet appreciate so much.

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