For a long time, it felt like a thick fog was covering my eyes. It didn’t just take away the colors of the jungle; it took away my place in the world. My grandchildren would sit by my side, waiting for me to teach them how to weave. But I felt a deep sadness in my heart. How could I teach them our history if my fingers could no longer find the way through the fibers? I was afraid that the traditions of my ancestors would end with me, just because I could no longer see.
When I stepped onto the Medical Ministry boat, I wasn’t just looking for medicine. I was looking to get my life back. When the team put those glasses on my face, the world was born again for me. For the first time in years, I could see the bright colors of the weaving threads and the clear faces of my grandchildren.
Tears fell from my eyes not from pain, but from a gratitude so big it couldn’t stay inside. Now, I can sit with my grandchildren under our traditional home and show them how to weave our story. I can make sure the Ticuna culture stays alive through their hands. My eyes can see again, but it is my heart that is finally smiling.
