The Journal of Jim and Joy Hadfield

This blog is an intriguing snapshot about the daily life of a protestant missionary family living for fifteen years in the remote north eastern town of San Joaquin de Agua Dulce in the province of El Beni, Bolivia. They lived a very simple lifestyle alongside the local folk, without electricity and running water.  It describes a specific era that does not necessarily reflect the current worldview. It is a snapshot of the mid twentieth century in a culture far removed from the

We had not seen the priest as he was out of town on a visit to Puerto Siles, just over thirty miles away on the Mamore River. Early one morning we looked out from our balcony to the far corner of the plaza and noticed a procession entering the town. It was an ox-cart and in front of it danced a group of young Indian women with garlands of flowers, while seated regally in the cart was Don Tomas, the priest of San Joaquin! He was a Spaniard of the Franciscan order, and for the

At first we found living a little difficult and also rather strange. The town had no market, most of the townsfolk having their small chacos (farms) out in the country where they grew their rice, yuca, bananas and corn. It was a matter of finding out who had brought in something extra for sale and visiting their house in the hope of obtaining some. Meat This being cattle country, generally someone killed a beast daily. Sometimes it was possible to ascertain the previous eveni

The surrounding country had a scattered population of about 7,000 with some smaller towns, including San Ramon. It was our responsibility to take the Gospel to all this area . San Joaquin had a population of about 2,000, a good percentage being Indians living around the fringe of the town. Their houses had palm-thatched roofs; the walls were bamboo and mud, though the poorer ones had walls of palings cut from the palm trunks. Dogs, cats, pigs, fowls, and ducks were all free t

The "house" we were to live in was situated on the central plaza of the town, the main street being quite grassy as the only traffic was ox-carts, horses and an occasional pushbike.  The building was occupied by a number of people, but our section was upstairs, a lofty barn-like room divided by a six-foot partition, a front verandah, and a large back verandah extending out a little towards the backyard to accommodate a kitchen and bathroom.  The two latter rooms were tiny sha

1949 - DC3 at San Joaquin Airport San Joaquin—30 km from the northern Brazilian Border The DC3 made a wide circle over the Cochabamba valley to gain altitude, taking us close to Mt. Tunari, snow-capped and majestic in the early morning light.  It headed east to negotiate the pass in the Andes and then turned north flying towards the Beni.  Flying at about 18,000 ft, we were up in the bright sunshine with a vast sea of white cotton wool beneath us, the high peaks of the mounta