“The cows got scared of something coming from the riverbank. Then they flocked to one side of the barge, swaying it below the water level,” Marco explained to me after I had looked at him with inquisitive eyes. I ran back to my hammock to fetch my camera. I thought it would be a cool material for National Geographic but I never considered what Don Carlos must have felt at the moment of the accident. To him the accident complicated a number of things such as a protracted arrival and, most importantly, the loss of several thousand dollars. (The current market price for a cow in Bolivia in 1998 ran somewhere in the vicinity of $200) No wonder he appeared the most nervous and frantic individual on deck while I was shooting photographs with abandon.
The cows all reached the shore and dispersed along its banks. The river’s current created a natural lake-size bend at a 45-degree angle in the place where the unfortunate event took place. The banks looked uneven and sandy. Beyond the banks were tall bushes, high trees, and thick reed. Given such topography, I imagined that the future rescue would turn out to be a complicated endeavor.
In the meantime the crew gathered their resources to recover from the shock. The first to be arranged was the sunken barge that the crew hauled to the shore. The men grabbed a motor pump and buckets with which they began to flush out the water. It took them well over two hours to set it afloat and tie it back properly. Afterwards, El Parabero moved to the nearest settlement 30 minutes down the river.
As for the rescue operation, Don Carlos decided to wait until the next day because it was already getting dark. It was a hot and humid night impregnated with unbearable mosquitoes. I thought of the people who lived in the village and noticed that the bugs did not really bother them. As the curious villagers gathered along the banks to examine our boat, their faces looked very relaxed. Beautiful children stood watching with their wide brown eyes catching my every camera move. The crew carried bundles of products in and out while Don Carlos approached the men to ask them for help in rescuing the cattle. As for me, lulled by the crickets and cicadas, I went back to my tent and immediately fell asleep. It was my second night spent in relative comfort. I had dreams; vivid dreams but I lost a recollection of them a long time ago.
Rescue Operation
The crew woke me up at dawn. The engines roared as the boat maneuvered away from the shore. The boat ploughed upstream back to the river bend where the cows reached the bank the day before. After a brief reconnaissance, we spotted two strayed cows to the port side. Set in motion by a series of highly censored words, the kids flocked to the bow, carrying ropes and planks. Don Carlos ordered them to jump in the water, which they did obediently with their clothes on. Nobody looked serious or particularly worried. All the faces emanated bright smiles and youthful innocence. They exchanged jokes and funny insults while preparing the charge on the cows.
The whole situation looked surreal.
The plan boiled down to rounding up the animals towards the boat. The cows were then tied up by their legs, bellies, horns and necks and, in one grand disorganized effort, yanked upon the deck. “Good thing nobody from WWF can see it!” I thought. The cattle got tossed and jerked around terribly before ending up aboard. It was either their feet that went up first or their twisted necks followed by the rest of the body. Once on deck, the boys drove them with loud, savage screams into a special corral where they huddled feverishly in one corner.
The same procedure was applied to other surviving cows. Here the rescue plan did not differ too much from the first one. The guys rounded up the animals, tied them up with ropes, and hoisted up the cattle in an excruciating manner. I suppose this is how the things get done in Bolivia. As for me, I had fun with my camera. Don Carlos noticed my smirks. “I know you’re gonna get money for these photos. Just remember that 10% of your income goes to me, mi amigo!” he yelled from the bridge while I hung off the railing to get a close up on the action.
Carlos gave orders to cruise away at full speed. Three-quarters of the cattle had been rescued. The rest either drowned or were killed by predators in the jungle. We were going to continue through the night and luckily arrive at the Brazilian border in two days. It was good news to my stomach since I longed for a decent meal. My supplies of purified water and sweet cookies were running low. Marco also shared my anxiety. I fixed tea for both of us and we gazed with awe at the setting sky over river Mamore, our thoughts dissipated in the calm of the evening. The river took rein of our souls.
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