Jungle Tea

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It had been about half a year since our youth group had gone on a missions trip to Ecuador. Even so, Ecuador still came up in our conversation every once in a while. A few of us who shared that bond, also shared a high school Econ class where somehow the conversation turned to Fruit Loops.

"Remember that tea we had in the jungle that tasted like Fruit Loops?" Alex asked with a smile. Of course we remembered.

We had been working hard carrying the heavy, chainsaw-cut boards out of the jungle to the place where the church was being built. It had been difficult enough in the hot sun and dense rainforest, but that day it had poured. I had never been so wet in my life. After we finished carrying all the boards that had been cut so far, we took a break by the kitchen building. Some Waorani women had made us hot tea from some jungle plants; we weren’t told which ones and we didn’t ask. The tea tasted amazing. Yet it had an oddly familiar taste to it. It took us a few moments to come to the thrilling conclusion that Yes! – it smelled and tasted exactly like Fruit Loops!

For that moment, everything in the world was perfect. I could smell the Fruit Loop tea as the steam rose to my face, warming it. As I sipped, I could feel the tea flow through my chest. I felt the warmth on my fingers as I held the small plastic mug. The tea was as clear as the rain that pattered on the roof and tree leaves of the jungle behind. I smiled at the friends around me, who were already more like family, or something even deeper than that, somehow.

Invigorated with a spark of new energy and our characteristic thirst for thrill and craziness, we decided to go sliding in the mud outside. It was the clearing in the center of the village. Before, it had been dirt and we had played duck-duck-goose and spun the kids around by holding onto their arms and spinning until their feet lifted off the ground. This was a big hit of course and we did it until we were so tired we almost wished we had never taught it to them in the first place. But we remembered what we there for and their happiness made it worth it.

Now this dirt clearing was mud - really good pure mud without rocks, sticks, or obstacles. I’m sure the Ecuadorians must have thought we were crazy as we stood in line and slid across the clearing on our bellies, one after another. Our rationalization was that we were already wet and dirty and for southwest Kansans this was a rare chance. Covered in mud and irresistible smiles, some of us decided the practical thing would be to go jump into the river fully clothed. This way we could wash off most of the mud, and there was no way we could get any wetter. This might have not been as sensible as we had thought because we discovered we could actually get even wetter than we had been. By this time, the warmth brought by the tea had completely left my body and been replaced by cold rainwater.

Back in Econ class, Ashley brought up the idea that perhaps the tea might not taste so wonderful back here in dry, clean, climate-controlled buildings. She had a point. But I can't let myself accept that.

Yes, I'm sure the fact that we were cold, muddy, and soaked to the bone made the tea that much more wonderful. But dismissing the wonder of it as being purely situational just goes against my nature. Though there's a good chance I will never have a second cup of that Jungle Tea, it will always be a symbol of the Perfect Moment. Ecuador will always be magic to me.

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