People cross a flooded road with canoes in Rosario, in the northeast state of Maranhao, Brazil Thursday, May 7, Floods have killed at least Floods have killed at least 32 and left nearly , homeless across a vast region stretching from the Amazon jungle to the northeastern Atlantic coast as meteorologists predict the bad weather could last for weeks. Residents ride on top of a truck along a flooded street in Itapecuru Mirim, in the northeast state of Maranhao, Brazil Thursday, May 7, A girl wades through a flooded street, carrying his brother on her back, in Bacabal, in the Brazilian northeastern state of Maranhao, Friday, May 8, A girl wades through a flooded street, carrying his brother on her back, in Bacabal, in the Brazilian northeastern state of Maranhao, Friday, May 8, Northern Brazil's worst floods in decades have driven tens of thousands from their homes to seek refuge wherever they can, packing onto flatbed trucks and braving rivers teeming with deadly reptiles in a scramble for higher ground.
The leaky canoe is taking on water fast as our two guides fight the river in a driving rain. I grab a cut-off plastic Coke bottle and begin to bail, but the boat jerks to a halt: We've plowed into a thick patch of grass and are forced to get out and push, jumping into a waterway infested with poisonous snakes.
Our journey from flooded town to flooded town has many stops and fitful starts. When we first ventured out Thursday in a Toyota 4X4 to the inundated village of Sao Simao, population 5,, the sun was out and the main highway was paved and smooth. Two muscular young men offered to take us in their canoe to interview people in the flooded farm hamlets upriver.
But the strong current pulls us in the opposite direction the moment we step in. The paddlers fight the power of the flood-swollen waterway, but their task becomes nearly impossible when the sky opens up and sheets of rain threaten to sink us. The photographer suggests it might be best to turn back. The paddlers say "No, don't worry; you're almost there.
It's just a little more upriver. I spy one floating by: It's hideous. With the canoe rammed into a thicket of grass, we lean over the sides and struggle to yank the vegetation out by its roots. When it doesn't budge, we have no choice: We jump in, knee-deep, fighting to free the vessel before we become prey. Fortunately, the snakes keep their venomous heads and tails to themselves. As the adrenaline rush subsides and rain tapers off, I become intensely aware of the vaporous heat, the smell of humid earth steaming under the blazing sun.
