Puerto Ayacucho, Venezuela.— “Ranero, yes, Ranero. It’s my second surname; it means somewhere with lots of frogs. I hope it had nothing to do with me coming to work here,” jokes Raiza Rodríguez, who brought the best experiences from her time working in the Venezuelan Amazon to head the only Comprehensive Diagnostic Center (CDI) in Puerto Ayacucho. Everything seems so much easier for the nurse from Guanabacoa at this facility.
It’s a great relief for new arrivals - on their way to one of the six municipalities in the jungle - to meet and speak with her for a few minutes; her sweet and generous words, full of vivid details and fundamental lessons, wipe away any fear of the unknown, and ensure they feel armed and ready for the adventure.
She speaks of the places she has visited with the passion of someone who longs to return, highlighting the natural beauty of the environment, the local dialect, daily dilemmas…as well as her personal pain and incomprehension of such different ways of life, but also her boundless love.
After many months spent offering services in the remotest and poorest communities in the area, she now seems to know everything about Maroa, the municipality where she lived and worked as head of the health personnel in the area.
However, Raiza also speaks of painful experiences, which remind one that the area is an unknown environment that must be respected, a place to which one arrives ready to give their all, always bearing in mind the traditions and ancestral laws of these communities.
“It’s beautiful, but very difficult, above all because of the human sentiment of our profession, in which we view life as the most precious thing.”
With great emotion, Raiza recalls various occasion during which she had to fight against customs, in order to to heal and save children’s lives.
“The Kurripakos, for example, the largest indigenous group in Maroa, consider it almost unnatural to give birth to twins. They don’t allow it, and they chose just between them, as the mother will only breast feed one child. They say that they can’t wear themselves out as they also have to attend the conuco (small farm) while the father is fishing.
“I had the worst case of a second twin who was saved by the grandmother, who kept her alive with hot yucuta (a drink made with cassava flour which is used to make mañoco, the main dish eaten by the community).
“The lack of breast milk meant she developed an ulcer in her digestive tract which made her seriously ill, and not even with the pleas of the doctors’ did they agree to breastfeed her.
“We sought help from the community judge, the National Guard, and child protection representative; but there are laws which protect indigenous communities’ right to follow their ancestral practices. If we didn’t convince them, nothing could be done and the girl would die.”
At that time, Raiza’s own son in Cuba was also unwell, and with photo of him in hand she appealed to the sick girl’s father.
“I told him: this is my son, he’s sick right now, and I can’t care for him because I am here, trying to save your daughter. She is also indigenous, what about her rights?
I persisted so much that I finally convinced him to take her to the city. We requested another plane, because they didn’t want to go in the first one. She was admitted to hospital as soon as we arrived, but we had already lost several days trying to convince the parents…and the girl died.”
This sad story, an example of the times when, with great tact and an even greater heart, Raiza gently challenged costumes which favor traditional shaman medicine, or dictate that children eat after their parents, that’s if there’s any food left over.
But Raiza has many more, happier memories, “of the silent lessons we taught, sharing our own food with the five, six, seven small children accompanying their mother, who was admitted to the hospital, and we put them all to bed in little cots, showing them how precious every child’s life is, without distinctions. They were many more who we helped at birth and saved.”
Just one example of a long list of happy experiences working alongside her young team of doctors; stories of patients who began to think differently after witnessing her maternal care, which she demonstrated throughout her time working in the communities spread along the Guainía River.
“There I felt like more of a professional. I would look at the jungle around me, the living conditions, I would see myself there, so far from home and I knew that I had come to do something useful.
I am a better person for it. Maroa, with the Cuban collaborators, is also a lot better off.”
