Egg Nog, Side of Rum

Somehow, I don’t think the Christmas Coping Mechanism involves mind-altering substances. Still, though, is it avoidable? Where a couple beers makes listening to that reggae version of Auld Lange Synge a little more tolerable – hell, if not enjoyable. Not to dog reggae Christmas Carols – actually, there’s something so right about the combination of reggae and Christmas, it CAN’T be wrong. One of the joys I’m experiencing this holiday season.

But still, the effect of ingesting a couple beers or drinks, loosening the tongue, smoothing away the worry lines, making things a little more humorous… it’s been a good thing. It’s kept me on the optimistic side of the Holidays thus far. This is my second year away from home. I’ve done this once before; it’s bound to be easier, go smoother this year, right?

I sometimes think it would be better to be able to brush past the day all together, not even think about it, let alone celebrate it. It wouldn’t be too hard to just treat it like any other day here; all past traditions and holiday atmosphere is nowhere near my vicinity. But, no, instead, I get the name “Christmas” still thrown around, I get to hear imitations of the old Christmas hits, I see cheap, secondhand Christmas lights and decorations put up, I still see the talk about it online. And so a reminder of what was, what is and what is not.

If I were at home: I'd have gone to the Plaza at Thanksgiving to watch the lights turn on for the season. I would have gone to Crown Center to ice skate and shop. I would make peanut butter cookies with Hershey's Kisses in the middle. I would rock out every day to TSO's "Carol of the Bells." I would go to Panera Bread with Lacey and Devon to exchange gifts and eat Broccoli and Cheese soup out of a bread bowl. I would go to Midnight Mass and be assaulted by the smell of Frankincense. I would smell the smells of a fresh Christmas tree in my parents' house and I would hang up my favorite, meaningful ornaments. I'd wear scarves like nobody's business. I'd walk through our decorated dilapidated malls, remembering when I used to work at the Santa Photo Booth and Santa Train. I'd eat tamales at Nana and Papa's house, make gingerbread men and sugar cookies. I'd be going shopping to buy presents for loved ones, feeling either stressed or excited (or both) about what to get each one.

But, it’s dumb to linger on the past, huh? What WAS. I’m fortunate to have a change of scenery, new experiences. Plus, even if I WERE at home, I understand that all these old traditions may not still be used. Times change. The family’s gotten older. The last few years before I left, our family let our traditions go more and more, though I still tried to cling to them. Change is inevitable.

It occurs to me that in the years after one finishes school, and before they get a good, solid family of their own going, there is a sort of limbo, where old traditions are lost, and new traditions are not yet to come. To me the definition of “Christmas” means “ x.” This must change. There is the duality of wanting things to stay the same but also anticipating the future and the change that comes with it. No matter how fondly I look back at my past Christmas memories, I do acknowledge that at the time, to some degree, I could not WAIT for this time in my life, I could not wait to be as old as I am now.

Mike played Elf the other day in CH. He's staying in the village this year for Christmas and I'm excited to have a person around who celebrates a little more similar to me. Last year, I spent Christmas here in my village and truly, it was a time when I got to know people and processes A LOT better, and for that, I am thankful. However, it was hard, and I didn't realize it until the day of and then after, how the differences really affected me. The tastes of Christmas here were mere appetizers, not the full-blown traditions I'm used to at home.

Mike and I began to dissect Christmas. As if, by compartmentalizing the event, we could micromanage it into conquerable pieces. (or make sense of what we were – or weren’t – feeling). First, take away the immense marketing of the Holiday – the commercials, the sales, the displays, the hype of parties, etc. Then, take away the family. Take away the cold weather. Take away the holiday parties, the icons like egg nog, mistletoe and Santa Claus… What’s left? Well, there’s the slight atmosphere of Christmas: some smells, songs, the breaks from work, the feelings of generosity, goodwill and love… Though the atmosphere is sort of a culmination of the other stuff, isn’t it? Still, there is a lingering thread of the Christmas atmosphere here, to an extent.

It’s just a pale version of what I’m used to and that can be hard. What is neat, though, is the atmosphere that does seep in. A tree decorated, even if it’s not a pine tree and it’s with recycled containers and white paper colored on. Christmas carols sung by the children or at church. Cheap, weak Christmas lights strung up on a house. Yesterday, Miranda’s birthday, the young men go together and strung lights on a cashew tree outside the Li’s house. A big cardboard design of bells that had lights in it was raised on a pole in the middle of the tree, and then lights were draped around the branches, as icicles hung from the roof of the house. Once darkness hit, the lights gave off that wonderful Christmas ambiance. Spending time at the Li’s, too, was a feeing of family, one that helped make my Christmas spirit glow a little more.

Things like this are going to be appreciated the next week or so, no matter how few and far between (or how mild), but I do know that the accompaniment of some smooth 5 year El Dorado Rum and/or an ice cold Banks Beer will help Christmas go down, too.

Ultimately, it comes down to how much you can strip away from the holiday you know and still have it be a holiday, still have it feel like one. A lot was stripped away from what Mike and I knew as the holiday – people, places, things – but taking away these things did not take away the holiday as a whole.

12 Rups' Days of Christmas

I believe I am an under-appreciated creative genius; either that, or I simply amuse myself to great lengths.

In forging ideas for a Christmas concert here in Y, this (^) was one of the song titles I came up with, and I've been trying to convince them all that it'll be hilarious to do. I finally gathered a smattering of students after school yesterday and we compiled such an alternate list to the traditional Christmas carol. Towards the end, they seemed to catch on and find a little of the humour. Anyway, as I facilitated them with their list, I thought if I were to make my own 12 Rupununi Days of Christmas, what would they entail? So, for yours and my viewing pleasure only, I thought I'd put them in a blog.

So, check this list out and look for an upcoming "video" with pictures to accompany the list:

The 12 Rupununi Days of Christmas

a parrot in a cashew tree:

Cashew trees, with the cashew fruit and nut, are quite popular here, one of their seasons is during Christmas time. The rains that come around this time, which are post-rainy season, are called "Cashew rains" because they usually result in the trees blossoming with cashews, as they did this year. I don't really like the cashew fruit much. It makes my mouth go dry and I want to cough, but I can't because my mouth's full of juice. The cashew nut is at the bottom of the fruit and MUST be roasted before eaten, otherwise the acid in the fruit will cause whatever it touches to erupt in blisters and a rash. Parrots and macaws are quite normal around here.

2 bags farine:

Farine is a main staple of food here; made from the cassava root. It's eaten with stews, boiled into porridge for breakfast and eaten as shebay, with water and sugar. Families make enough for themselves, but also can make bagfuls to sell. I'm lucky enough to get most of my farine free.

3 lukanani:

lukanani, or peacock bass, is a major fish found in these waters. It's a scale fish and known for the eye-like dot on it's tail.

4 bowls of cari:

Cari, or kari, is the fermented beverage made from cassava. In the past, it was chewed into a pulp then left for ferment, now, it's grated. Serving it in cups, mugs, calabash (dried gourds cut into cups/bowls) or bowls big and small are the methods of drinking it.

5 motobikes:

Motorbikes (prononced "moto-bikes") are the main form of transp here. I've come to recognize the different bikes by sound. Peace Corps, at this time, does not allow us to ride on them, this will hopefully change soon.

6 hammocks swinging:

Hammocks, the bed and lounge item of champions. I don't think i'll ever be able to live without one in the future.

7 caiman swimming:

The black caiman, melanosuchus niger, is the biggest species of crocodile in the world and populates Guyana. The village I live in has a special study of the caiman that I've been fortunate to go on.

8 limers liming:

To "lime" is a term that came from sailors who would develop scurvy and the treatment of choice was to eat limes. SO when sailors would come to shore, people would avoid them, muttering "look at those limers liming about..." it stuck and now means to hang around, or loiter.

9 students reading:

I'm the Head Librarian of Y Public Library, seeing students reading is quite a wondrous feeling.

10 forro dancers:

Forro, a form of dance from Northern Brazil. Brazilians are quite sexy. It's fun to try.

11 dogs a-biting:

Dogs are all over. Barking loud, fighting over spoiled scraps... The two of the best-cared for dogs in the village, Caiman House's dogs, are Aeneas and Sally.

12 creatures crawling:

SELF EXPLANITORY.

Some of the expressions heard down here:

That's a must/ a moose/ a mosquito. Sure, you bet, of course.
Ya sight/ yes ay. Yes/ do you see? understand?
Yo got for catch it, ya sight. 'Ketch it' is to take advantage of something, make the most of it.
You dun-no/ You dunno, child. You have no idea, yes, definitely
Exactly my point!
Ena-do! (yes-do) A way to say yes, Makushi-English.
Don't feel no way. Don't be upset, don't get vexed.

Catch yuhself. Get your bearings, wake up, sober up.
De pon y'heights. Watch how you're behaving, chill.
Ee.... Another way to say yes.
I doubt!/You lie. I don't believe it! That's surprising.
So I hear/so you say.
Ardey!!! I think it literally means 'dirty' but it's also used for when someone's done something you don't believe or like. Like maybe a 'no way!'
Fo' trut! Seriously! For real! Really!
Isn't that so? Don't you agree? Of course you agree, because I tell you it is so, so you might as well just say 'yes' or ena or ena-do.
Ya undastand? See what I'm saying? Know what I'm talking about?
Go long (bai)! Get out of here! Keep on!
Umthing. When you can't think of the word you want to use, you say the... um... thing.' it gets contracted/compounded into 'umthing' This can be for a person, place or thing.
You make I friken!/You make I laugh! They say me when ur supposed to say I and I when you're supposed to say me.
Please for your pencil, please for some pepper sauce, etc. Please give/lend me your pencil, please hand me or pass me the pepper sauce.
Waro up! Emulgang! Eat! Come and get it! Wapishana and Makushi, respectively
Scunt! Sckite! Scores! Oh shit! Wow, whoa! Ooops! Gosh!
De 'pon. Literally 'there, upon' "Where's the book? It's de 'pon the table.' But also when used like 'What u de 'pon?' It's like, what's bothering you, what are you doing right now, what's your task. If someone says 'Hey, dis banna de 'pon skunt' they're saying he's being stupid, doesn't know what he's doing or talking about.
I tell youuuuu!!!!!! If you'd believe this story, whew! As in "Watah comin high, rainy season de 'pon, I tell youuuuuuu!'
Whaaaaaa!!!!!! or Whaaaaaa???????? This can be an 'ooooooooh! a woot woooooo! a heyyyyyyy! or a what's goin on HERE? it's normally said with a twinkle in eye.
I like DA! It's a good thing, I'm liking the vibes that's happening here. 'da' as in THAT.
Wha tha ras? WTF??????

I Pledge...

I pledge myself to honour always the flag of Guyana

And to be loyal to my country.

To be obedient to the laws of Guyana

To love my fellow citizens

And to dedicate my energies towards the happiness and prosperity of Guyana.

I listen to the schoolchildren recite this each Monday and Friday at the school assembly, as the flag of Guyana is raised by one of the students. Though I've made a point to try to integrate as much as possible and "do as the Guyanese do," it never occurred to me to place my hand over my heart, or repeat the words after I learned them. During this time, I remain silent and still, watching and listening.

Each time I hear the Pledge recited, I get goosebumps. I am reminded of reciting my own National Pledge when I was at school:

I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America

And to the Republic for which it stands.

One nation, under God

Indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.

I take this pledge (these pledges) quite seriously. I will not pledge myself to honor any other flag than my own. I, therefore, will not act as if I am, if I truly don't pledge as such. This is no disrespect to the flag of Guyana, or those who pledge themselves to honor that flag. Quite the contrary; I am proud to see such loyalty to their own country, just as I am proud to see and give honor to my own home country.

This duality of honor, pride and loyalty for one's own country and that of another may seem, at times, contradicting, or difficult, if nothing else. As PCV's, we are asked to confront this issue daily. In joining Peace Corps, we swore an oath of loyalty and promise to uphold and defend our country and the Constitution. But yet, we go as ambassadors, those who have to possess temperance, tolerance and open-mindedness. Hopefully all citizens of each country possess this. This does not detract from adhering to one's own country and/or one's own belief system, does it?

I remember in school, there was a family who did not choose to honor the pledge, because it used the words "Under God" and they were atheists. As we stood each morning and recited the pledge with our hands on our hearts, they remained seated, still and silent. We children did not understand that at the time, and it was something that separated those children from the rest of us, for those minutes, at least. But it's an honesty I've come to study and respect; they will not pledge to honor something they do not truly honor. And that's the beauty of our country - we have the freedom to honor or not honor our national symbols.

It is so proper to show pride, loyalty and respect to one's own country. This institution provokes a feeling of unity, a string of similarities in a long line of differences. And while I am reminded of the differences between Guyana and America every day, especially while hearing the pledge, I feel the essence of similarity there, too.

Hearing the Pledge of Guyana twice a week is a wholly patriotic experience for me.

I Sexed a Caiman

Made you look, huh?

Before you jump to any lewd conclusions, I'll clear the air and inform you that it simply means I determined the sex of a caiman, or black caiman (Melanosuchus niger), one species of alligators found here in the Rupununi. The largest, actually. Guyana/ the Rupununi is the known as the Land of Giants - largest alligator, largest rodent (capybara), largest bugs, largest free-falling waterfall (Kaiteur Falls), largest snakes (anaconda), etc.

CH, gets it's name from studying the black caiman here. One of the several projects CH is involved in is the Caiman Project, where they go out and capture, record data and release (and recapture) the caimans around Y. To be able to preserve a species, one must know about it, is Ashley's assertion. Ashley is the current/former head man for the CP, Fernando is stepping into the reigns; it was something started by Peter, a herpetologist and one half of the couple that started the CH. It's something they've done for around four seasons now, and the other night was the first night I got to go along with them. On that night, they caught their 505th new caiman, not including the numerous recaptures they've done.

The CP started as something entirely for gathering empirical data, but as CH has become an eco-tourist lodge, it is something that guests are able to go out and experience, as well. I mean, wouldn't you want to watch firsthand as people capture live, wild alligators and measure them and observe them and release them with the greatest of ease and in their own backyard? I know I would. This is how I came to be able to go out with them. There are two boats - the capture boat and the guest boat. The capture team is made up of 4 men - the captain, two lightmen and the bowman or caiman wrangler. In the guest boat, when guests go, is another captain and a guide with a light as well. These lights are flood lights, powered by 12 volt batteries charged at CH beforehand. If guests don't go, they only take one boat, and work must faster and longer.

The night I went out, Brian Duncan (father to the adored Duncan boys who carried me around Mapari) as captain and Felix as guide in the guest boat. Then in the capture boat was Captain Telford, shine man Roland, leader Fernando and shine man Jose. I learned they'll switch around those roles every couple hours as to give each man the opportunity to capture and do the other roles. I asked them what to expect before we left, as they were gathering all the equipment (in a quite professional manner). They acted pretty professional and matter of fact about it all, too. Except then Felix tells me that sexing a caiman is compulsory and if I fail to do so, I won't be able to go on future trips. Of course, gathering data would not fall onto my shoulders, but allowing any and all to take part in the process is one of the many charms of the CP. Sexing a caiman involves a manual search, however, and I'm not that eager to be at one with the caians, so I call Felix's bluff, though, especially as Mike tells me to not let them boys get to me and to "do what feels right." Jose tells me of a joke Peter used to play with sexing the caiman and how he used to make it seem like sexing was down to a taste test. Felix scolds him for giving it away. Those guys...

The guests were a couple from the UK, mostly quiet, but kind. I took it upon myself to be a fellow guest, but also medium between all the boys, knowing how "they can be." But mostly, they all were quite efficient and guest-friendly. Fernando would berate me for assuming any less, but still I was pleasantly satisfied. They looked after the guests well enough, without coddling them or making the outing into this Barnum and Bailey's event. The guests were able to take in the magnitude of the scenes without the smooth talking and ooh's and aaaah's. They let the outing speak for itself; less was definitely more.

We headed down the Rupununi River from our main landing, and almost immediately caught a caiman. Fernando was the catch man. A caiman was spotted through eye shine (even in the dark of night, if you shine the flashlight about you will pick up the eyes of living creatures, in shiny pairs) and it stayed on the surface of the river long enough for Fernando to ease the snare around it's neck and tighten the hold.

The caiman put up a small fight, and we were told they had to keep the caiman in the water until it was tired enough to not be of danger to anyone. So they held it on the snare wire as they moved the boat back and forth in the water, pulling the caiman around. You could hear the thump as the caiman hit the boat. It sounded sort of harsh, but the guys assured us that it sounded a lot worse than it harmed. I found out later how true that was - the caiman's hide is THICK and STRONG! As are the caiman; we were also told that they usually won't catch a caiman on the banks because it could use the river bed as leverage to jump into the boat. Once the snare caught it secure enough, a firm snare pole went around the neck, too, and then Jose came up and taped the snout shut with electrical tape.

We went back to the main landing and as soon as the caiman was drug on land, it was completely docile. They saw it was a recapture - for every new caiman they catch, they remove some of the scutes (tail or dorsal scales) so they are able to count which number it was. This one was capture #165. This caiman was missing it's front left leg, which was interesting. They weren't sure if this happened since the last time they captured it or not. They measured its head size, snout size, feet size, belly size and other measurements. They flipped it over and measured things, then they jokingly called me to determine the sex. Ha ha, I don't think so. There's a slit, just past the beginning of the tail on the underbelly, and I watched as Jose and then Fernando stuck their finger in to feel for something (or nothing). "Male," they say, wiping their finger on their short pants.

Then, they take even more rope and tie the tail to the body and sort of put a harness on it and clip it to a pole with a scale on it to measure it's full weight as two or three of the men hoist it into the air. This one's length was almost 9 feet, it's weight, I can't remember. This caiman sat so quietly and put up so little of a fight, I admit, it was sort of anticlimactic. Though, still, it was thrilling to run my hands down the underbelly of it, feeling as the squares of smooth scales moved around, and feel of the bumpy stretchy skin on it's sides. I accidentally brushed over 'the slit' and quickly move away. I think I heard Jose chuckle in the background. I learned that though the caiman has 5 digits on the hind legs, there's only 3 claws, and there's 4 digits on the forelegs, but only 3 have claws.

The release of this caiman (and every other one) was the most exciting and unpredictable time. Ropes were slowly removed until it was just held by the snare pole and a taped shut snout. A rope was put over the snout that kept it closed but could be pulled open from a tug (from far away) and the tape was removed as Fernando sat on the caiman's back, pulling the snout almost perpindicular to the ground. Once the tape was loosed, the snare was removed and all men ran back. I didn't honestly think a caiman would come after me, and even if it did, I knew they are far more slow on land than they are in the water, but still, I made sure I had my little flashlight on and looked behind me for available routes of escape. Fernando had asked me to shine the light from the boat, a task I'm sure was simply meant to keep me out of harm's way (the entire capture crew was equipped with headlights), but I still shone as if it were a highly important task.

The caiman just sat there, facing the water, seemingly unaware that it was free to go. Roland slammed his hand down on the nose of one of the boats, scaring both the caiman and myself. It finally slid into the water. Between the next capture, we saw two snakes, one medium sized (3 or 4 feet) brown one laying out on a tree branch, and then a bigger (5 or 6 feet) orange tree boa coiled in a branch that Felix pulled us directly underneath. No guard rails here! It was utterly beautiful. We also saw squirrel monkeys, iguanas and spectacle caimans in between the first and second capture. The second caiman capture was more exciting. This one was past 11 feet and put up a fight, snapping at the boat and everything!

The time came to sex it, and Fernando and the rest teased. I had told Mike I'd do it only if it was the right time. I figured I wasn't really opposed to it per se and I might as well do it now and catch them off guard and not have to get harped about it for enough time in the future. So, without further ado, I kneeled down, streched out my ringed middle finger and dove in. "I don't feel anything," I say and pull out. "A girl, maybe?" Fernando says "Try it again," and I half think he's just getting me to do it again, but also half think if I'm actually doing this I might as well be 100% sure. "What am I supposed to be feeling for - OH!" It's a male and I'm surprised by it and reflexively pull out quickly. "It's male," I report, unnecessarily. Jose confirms. And so, I sex a caiman.

Fernando announces to the guests that they will continue for a few hours, but their captain and guide will carry them back to CH now, if that's ok with them. I prepare to go back with the guests, but Fernando says they have space for me if I want. They have room for me in the action boat? Hell yeah! I jump in, excitedly, not caring that it's a school night or that my hand could really use some antibacterial gel. I get assigned shine man duty and sit in the back with Telford as Jose assumes the catch man position. We catch three more caimans that night. I felt the boat get pulled and thrashed about by two 11 footers and another smaller one (the only female we caught that night - I didn't sex that one, but I had a feeling about it.) We also almost catch a capybara, and a school of piranha jump at our boat, almost right at me. The men laugh, sip coffee and catch and I diligently shine my light up and down the river until I can't keep my eyes open. It was a spectacular night.

Operation: Water Acquisition

Mission: Carry 1 bucket of water from CH to house with most of the water remaining, before dinner burns.

Mode: Bicycle

Obstacles: Pant-snatching chain

Gear-bag maneuvers

Low-flying bats

Low-hanging branches

Bicycle traffic

Skills tested: Balancing

Breaking with no breaks

Trivia on Guyanese traffic rules and regs.

Operation summary:

Water was filled at CH bathroom’s shower, bucket placed alongside bicycle for easy pick up once mounted. Right pant leg folded to avoid catching in the chain. (Previous incident). Bucket acquired, resting on handlebar with ribbed grip. Pant leg fell; readjusted. Gear-bag prevented mounting of bicycle, relocated to the rear of the bike. Mount successful, bucket is moved to the ready position (rt. hand hanging on the side) and initial take-off is met with balance resistance. Slight water spilled. Attempt two is successful, and transportation is in motion. En route, encountered low-flying bats; balance maintained. Crossed paths with two bicycles coming from the opposite direction; recalled the left-hand side as the regulatory position for vehicular transportation and maintained position on said corner, passing without incident. Immediately ducked to avoid a string of low-hanging branches; balance maintained. Momentum is slowed as house is fast approaching, a slightly halted leap from bicycle; some water spilled out. Directly carried inside, dinner checked, all accounted for.

Mission: Accomplished.

Birthday Itations Part 4

Aunt Maureen and Aunt Alma pulled me to dance with them, effectively opening the dance floor, and told me “You must pull people for dance!” After that was dancing interrupted by refilling mugs and other interesting requests such as a tarpaulin to lay the children down (because no party is exclusively an adult party, and children are not exempt from sampling the drink, no matter how strong it is), cups of water, hammock to relax in and requests to change up the music or to try what they had brought. Franzea kept encouraging me to go dance, dance, which I tried to do. At one point, she fried up the birthday fish I’d received and that fed close friends. I couldn’t bring myself to say no to any requests to refill mugs – this contributed to the rapidly diminishing supply of drinks, I believe. A healthy amount of people came and I tried to make rounds, although I admit, in the dark, I couldn’t recognize everyone – not to mention I still don’t know everyone’s names or remember that I’ve met them before. It’s like, “Hello You!” Despite that, so many people are so special to me and I tried to make them feel that, although that is logistically difficult to do. I was basically enjoying it, though. For many of the people, they’d never been by my house. Most stayed outside, and I made sure to put my valuables in my bedroom and lock the door, and Franzea was mostly inside to keep an eye on things. CH Crew arrived, fashionably late, sauntering over to The Table, and of course, getting their own bucket of rice wine. Some Crew from the South was around, and they had brought a South Blend of cari for me, which was nice. Chris gave me a bottle of rum. Nice presents. Speaking of presents, a few days earlier, Russian gave my a bday present, a headband. It was very, very sweet.

I had fun dancing with my favorite people, and I danced with whoever asked me, something I don’t always do. All were respectful. And, with Fernando and Leroy and others who weren’t strictly of the village, I could dance more enthusiastically with, which was nice. Some Forro Gyga played finally and I got excited – this is what I first learned to dance to! It’s what the epitome of my Rupununi life here is. I ran outside and met up with Vaughn, who knew. He’s always good for a spirited, nice dance (or two). Alicia, Franzea and I tried to take pauses in sharing out, though I think we could have taken it even more slow, because drinks started to diminish, though I kept getting bombarded with requests until I finally stopped the music and made an announcement that whatever was left was on The Table, that’s it. Of course, no one ever believes that that’s it, and usually that’s never it. Truthfully, I was holding back one last bucket for my actual birthday. Drinks finally finished between 12 and 12:30. (‘Cept that 1 bucket.)

I had more and more fun, laughing and dancing until I decided to turn off the music around 1 or 1:30. Shamir was my last dance and a half; I told him it was ‘a must,’ he was obligated because it was my birthday. (We’ve only danced once before, our first dance happening only last month!) It was a nice dance to close the dance floor with. People were still feeling it and could have kept dancing (some were just getting started), myself included, but I figured we’d end it strong, and not disturb the rest of the village to late into the night, plus encourage decorum. Parties will typically go on until the cari finishes or the battery dies, which more often than not means early, early morning. Music was cut off and I started cleaning up, though some men still lingered on the side of my house, and ok, I had one man passed out on the ground, but just one!

Reports from those who went to check out Inez’s house said that not as many people were there as were at my place, however once my music cut out, many went that side. Fernando and Shamir came back for one last shot, though, and I closed the night with two of the people I’m closest with here. Water was on all night so we could keep washing cups and dishes, I never got too dosed up, and people truly did seem to be enjoying themselves. Went to bed around 2 a.m., satisfied – with how it went, and that it was over. Time will tell if all went well that night. But I, at least, had fun. No lingering itations. (Itations, which I'm sure you're dying to know by now, simply means "issues" or "hang ups." Sort of negative, not necessarily, though.) Next year, if there is a next year, we’ll go for dancing, drinks and a meal. Another year older another year wiser – that’s the hope, at least. And another year of development with my village. Because development doesn’t just come in terms of education, political and agricultural etc., but personal and social, too.

*My party was held on this day, the 24th, though my actual birthday was on the Tuesday after it, and was nice, too. Teachers gathered after school at Lucy's for some rum and rice wine, we danced to some forro, then Franzea, Mike and Shamir came to my house for the evening to chill. Ideal.

Birthday Itations Part 3

Then there was the issue of straining the cari. There was Inez and Auntie’s cari, plus two 5-gallon buckets donated by the Duncan family (my goodness, they are all gems). I didn’t know it, but Lucy was feeling ill all day. I ran around, looking for a strainer and then for more sugar to add to the rice wine, it was strong and needed a little more flavor; we also had to strain out the rice and transfer it to different buckets. Franzea had set a 15 gallon barrel for her birthday, which she ended up sharing to another birthday girl between hers and mine, and so with the same rice, just adding sugar and water, we set it again for my own birthday, in the barrel borrowed by Marva. So by Saturday, it was good to go. Lucy in the meantime, cooked some pacoc, which is made from tasso which has been boiled and then grinded. My birthday lunch, just for us.

I come back from getting sugar and Lucy has Desrine, who lives in the house behind the bush in my backyard, straining the cari. Cari is made from cassava (as is farine). It is scraped, grated and then mixed with the parched leaves of the cassava plant (and some water) and left to ferment for at least three days. Then when you’re ready to drink it, you add water through it and strain it, manually, with a manari, which is a hand-woven device, or by using a mesh-made device, sorta like gold miners used to use. You’re left with balls of fibrous cassava waste, which you throw away. Depending on how long it’s set and how fine the strainer is, you’ll get either sweet cari or strong cari, you’ll get thick cari (a meal in a cup/bowl) or fine cari. Two 5-gallon buckets plus the two smaller buckets mixed with water added up to fill that barrel we set the rice wine in, and the rice wine was moved into the 5-gallon buckets and other various buckets I rounded up. I run up to Caiman House to get more mugs and to charge my mp3 for music. By this time, “3 or 4” had long passed.

I go to shower, when I come out, Marva is there, too, along with Franzea and Mark is chopping weeds in my yard. Marva goes with me to start inviting. See, it’s not enough to talk about the party in advance and tell them they’ll have to come by – people don’t consider themselves a special invitee unless you go and invite them – right before the party. So, me and Marva go. We go to Alicia’s house and invite them, then to James George’s house to invite Auntie Madeline and then the George family since they were right there. Then we go to Anthony’s house and invite he, and then Flora’s house since she was there. She gives me a birthday lukanani (fish). Fish in tow, we go to the Duncan house and sit and gaff and take a half mug of strong cari juice and a shot of wine. Whew. We go to some others, and forget some others, too, then we go to Melvina’s, Vilma’s and Shaira’s (Maisie’s sister in laws) and return to find Ashley, Bryan, Jose (who was delivering the cake), Mike and Felix (who delivered a bucket of jamun wine – jamun is a local berry) out in front of my house with Franzea, Lucy and Mark. The moon lit the party scene, and inside was only lit by my one lantern.

It’s getting dark, and people slowly start arriving. Shamir finally arrives with two big speakers, a 12 volt battery, an inverter and his own mp3 and music starts. We talked about forming an ultimate playlist, one that included the customary forro that everyone likes and would dance to – Forro Boys, Forro Gyga and Premos de Forro - but also other current hits such as Banda Calypso, DJ Maluco, Akon, Rhianna. And of course, I wanted to enlighten them to my own music, too. It’s funny, most people just want to listen to Forro Gyga, the current fave, but really, that can get old and there are only so many songs you can listen to. So, Sham and I figure there’s a good equation to playing the music, one that would enable him to not have to go change things up all the time, plus would keep a good groove and people from complaining/suggesting. My theorized ratio of music is 3:2:1 – 3 hot forro songs, 2 other hot songs, and 1 of my own songs. Some of the artists have music that all sounds the same, which is good to keep up a nice dancing momentum, but it can get redundant and/or tiring, so this would keep people on their feet (pun intended) and fresh. All this musical theorizing was moot, however, because, you know, the playlist was never made and so we listened to what we had.

A couple people had mugs of their own to share out how they wanted – Special special invitees, you could call them – Ashley and Mike/Hamzad being them. There’s a few ways to share out drinks at parties. One is what we were doing so far. Give mugs to a select few people and they are free to drink and share out with whoever they like, if they like. Usually when a new person comes into the mix, someone will share a shot/drink or simply their cup with them until they get their own. This is ideal, because it allows people to drink at their leisure and not feel pressured to get dosed up, and it cuts down on the work on the host. Then, there’s the mobile community bucket approach. The host and whoever he or she gets to help share out, walks around with an open bucket, usually 3 gallon or so, a dipper cup and a drinking cup and shares out cups of the drink. They’ll keep cycling around the crowds and they have to keep on their toes for new arrivals, keeping in mind whose already drank and trying to pace the drinks, taking into account how strong the drink is and how much drink there is to share out. You want to space it out evenly (or not, depending). Then lastly, if perhaps the people don’t have much to share out or don’t want a big to-do, there’s the stationary community bucket approach, where it’s set on The Table, maybe next to the music, and people can come up and take a cup when they want. And, the host and those sharing out are usually given a portion of what they share out; it’s a risk to share out, as those are the ones who are most likely to get the most influenced.

Lucy and Franzea were supposed to be around to help me share out – I’ve only been on the receiving end of drinks, and being always a Special Invitee, I’m always offered more than my fair share of drinks from the hosts as well as party goers. I had no idea how long my drinks would last. Lucy, though, went for a nap because she wasn’t feeling well, then Franzea went home to bathe – CRAP! Alicia and her mother, Alma, were one of the first guests to arrive and I immediately pull Alicia to help share out. She quickly jumped in and began to help, what a doll. She was on mobile bucket duty for the night. Drinks were pooled into actual pitchers, and then recycled soap power buckets, paint buckets and bowls. Once there was a modest gathering of people around, it became time for the speech: the words of welcome, where you play down your humble selection of drinks and encourage good behavior. Prayer is optional. So, got that out of the way, then Franzea came back and we shared out the cake to as many people as possible.

Birthday Itations Part 2

After the ant-staring, Lucy and I were leisurely gaffing in my yard – about anything else besides the party – when Maisie came in and started leisurely gaffing with us as well. I pull out a chair for her and we just sit, sit and talk. Franzea comes over; a picnic is planned for the day in which she and some of my “special invitees” would be gone for the morning and early afternoon. Umm… She wanted a mug of the rice wine we’d set… Sure, why the heck not? Sporting at 9 a.m. – woo hoo! Plus, some of them had been sporting from the night before (school athletics in Quatata the day before, with an extended post-athletics sporting that involved enough music and drinks), I guess they wanted to carry on. Then Inez and some Auntie whose name I don’t know, came, bearing gifts of unstrained cari to donate. Aww. “When are you keeping yours?” Inez asks. She’d decided that she’d hold her own after my own, something I’m assuming happened due to my lack of communication with her. “Umm…. 3 or 4?”

Her husband had come with the ladies, and was still going on fumes from the day before and saw Franzea carrying out the mug of rice wine. When he asked what it was, she replied “Water!” He asked if I had any “water” in the house, and I say the pipes were off for the time. It looked like he was going to turn belligerent and I was debating on what to do when Lucy just muttered out of the corner of her mouth for me to just get the man a drink, so I pour some rice wine into my smallest pot and take out a cup and give him some damn rice wine. I refused to let myself start pondering the issues of drinking and my role in abetting such issues – it was my party day, dammit. And it looked like my social gathering was competing with hangovers, party layovers, picnic plans and a general air of laid-backness. So I just sit back and let it happen… mostly.

Go to Bryan’s shop to buy some rice, just in case… They were also still celebrating the post-athletics stuff and I get thrust a beer into my hands and listen to oldies and tipsy man banter. Eventually get the rice and go to check with the Duncans and Junita about meat and a meal. Junita sweetly asked if she could help cook, but…. Eh. Decide no meal.

As I go home and shut myself in my room for some more eye glazed catatonicity, Jose comes to offer to make a cake, if I can get the ingredients. I was in the “aw crap, there’s another thing to think about, so I’ll avoid thinking about it” mode, but Lucy later called me to go get the ingredients… Ok. Didn’t want to go back to Bryan’s shop, but I did. I had an actually engaging chat with Sir Bryan about growing up and older and learning from mistakes and living. Very engaging. Great man. He asked what all the ingredients were for, I told him it was for my b day cake and he gave them all to me for free.

All the ingredients except coconuts (a coconut cake, baked in a mud oven with special wood for fuel that burns nicely with pastries). I’m pointed in Junita’s direction and she gets Habla to go knock some down from her tree, though Habla “demands” payment of a mug of cari later that night. You bet. Take the ingredients for the cake to Jose’s house, which is the last house on the hill – a slight walk. The coconuts were water coconuts, not the right kind. Jose suggests Lorrie’s house, and sends a daughter, Mabell, to go with me. We trek to Lorrie’s house and call to her mom, who first offers me a cup of sweet rice wine, initiating the obligatory drink and gaff first. I inquire about coconuts and we have to find someone to actually climb the trees, as the poles are too heavy and too short. She finally goes across the way and gets a young boy. He shimmies up the coconut tree, and we help him up with pole footholds and he knocks down two. Mabell carried them home to be grated and made into a cake.

Birthday Itations Part 1

The day started quiet. I slept in, and then, upon thinking about what was supposed to happen that day, I became catatonic and decided to stare at a line of ants climbing a bedroom wall and then take a nap for a bit first. Then I chain smoked about 5 cigarettes. You would have thought I was facing something more difficult and scary than keeping my birthday.

“Keeping a birthday” – that’s what they call it down here. A person or parent who is celebrating a birthday or anniversary will customarily arrange a lunch, drinks and music to share out with “special invitees” and then those who come around later, pulled in by the music and promise of getting offered some drink. On your special day, you are the one serving and organizing and sharing, and doing so in an entirely modest, non-attention calling way.

I think one way I fit in well here is my tendency to be non-attention calling as well, but then I also am plagued with a general air of indifference on adhering to many socially constructed proceedings. Meaning, “meh,” is usually my response of choice when thinking about how to celebrate my birthday, for example. So long as I’m with friends, it’s cool. And, seeing as how I’ve already thrown out so many of my past ways/ habits/ traditions/ manners of life here, not needing to do things in a certain comfortable way any more, scrapping that for (temporarily) adopting new lifestyle practices of my current surroundings, my attitude overall has been mostly passive/laissez fare for celebrating my birthday while in Guyana. I was new enough to get away with it last year, but - when in Guyana… you keep your birthday.

My village was certainly willing to help me keep it. I was not in need of supplies, manpower or ideas. Miss Inez, who was also celebrating her birthday around this time, offered to set some cari for me, and mentioned keeping our birthdays together. Russian offered to donate some cari for me as well. Brian Duncan offered to go fishing to catch food to serve. Junita offered her restaurant as a location for the celebration as well as helping with the cooking and baking of a cake. Lucy was automatically assumed co-party planner with me and immediately began using words like “we can do this,” or “we’ll get so and so to help us.” This was the talk about a month before; it was very gratifying. (Hence the upbeat references in that video.)

But, you know me. I didn’t know whose offers to cash in on, and so I basically cashed in on no one’s offers. I namby pambied around until the last minute, deciding on if I’d keep it this Saturday or the next, and then I couldn’t decide if I’d even have a meal. I didn’t want to put for the effort, no matter how easy the effort actually was. I couldn’t wait for it to be over. I resented having to do this for everyone else, knowing it was culturally expected of me, not wanting to put myself through ‘nuff stress (and then upset that I considered such an event “’nuff stress”). Ergo, the ant-staring, the nap, the cigarettes (sorry, Dad – it’s not a habit, I swear!) and the procrastination on taking action. But then, the easy-going, last minute flow of Guyana that I’ve come to both hate and love overrode all other issues and both saved me from carrying the brunt of the “blame” for poor-planning itation, and carried me through the day, into the arms of my village for the night.

An Analogy

PC service is like a hammock:

-It’s a pendulum of passing time. At times, you’re close to your goals and objectives, at times, you move farther away.

-Just as if you were trying to grab at something on a nearby table, it requires/demands patience in those times you move away; sometimes it takes a couple strong swings to reach it, sometimes you have to grasp at it inch by inch, bit by bit until your object is acquired.

-You can set things in motion, but it’ll have to carry on itself.

And, it occurs to me, PC service is a lot like Life, too.

Have you been embraced by your hammock today?

Have you embraced your hammock today?

A Video Message

Hey guys, here's a video I made a week or so ago, and finally found a way to share it. I uploaded it to my YouTube account (elluzbrillante, check it out), and I'm sharing the link with you on here. It's 5 minutes long and from my camera, so I guess the file was HUGE. Next time, I'll try a web cam thing. It's a bit weird to have my face on camera for the world to see but I figure only you all will check it out. It was SO WEIRD to see myself. I look different.... am I?

And, while you have access to my YouTube account, check out my favorites and reccommend some of yours!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z0yaXKCGUJs

Hurry Up and Wait!

So, here's some insight into some of the difficulties/frustrations of my day-to-day work:

The current objective: Outreach

Thursday, I planned with one of my co-workers, to go do outreach in one of the villages we've serviced (i.e. sending books to the schools). In February, we sent them a shipment of books, promising a follow up visit in the next month - that trip never came. In the past months, we've brought up going back, but it's never happened. I've also tried to put some parameters on what exactly "outreach" means. This still remains fuzzy, but I decided to jump at the most recent suggestion that we go to the village at least to check out things.

In February, we left them with no labeling system, no instruction on care for the books, or how to read aloud to students, or how they could use the books in the classrooms. This is why I'm arguing that there are two parts to outreach - the logistics and the content. Build the shelves and get the books there, but then support them in USING the materials, too. We've lapsed on this particular village, but there's always next time, and definitely we can jump in now and try to help if we can.

We decided on Monday, today, to go. Last night, upon trying to confirm the trip, it was decided to put off until Wednesday, since the village/school had not been informed we were coming; one of those things no one thought to do, or, if they thought of it, no one did it, myself included. We'd need to call them today. This morning, I get a note from my co-worker, asking me to make the call and to go in search of a phone card to use - Toshao should have one - because we have a village phone and a radio and THEY have a village phone (a lengthy process to endeavor in, but still, appreciated) but you have to use phone cards to make any call), but not a radio. Ok, so I found Toshao, and asked him about it; he said he'd have to look for the card, but wouldn't forget. I reminded him once and have spent the day doing other things and waiting to make that call.

See, what you do is, once the phone opens up, you dial in the phone card code, then your phone number, and wait/hope for someone to answer the phone wherever you're dialing. Once the phone is answered, you state who you're looking for and most likely they are away, so you tell them you'll call back in 10 minutes, hopefully enough time for the person to be fetched and to come. That's assuming that no other calls are made to the phone you're using, and no one else tries to make a call on your phone. You can only Bogart it for so long.

School got out and thinking it'd be a good time to catch the Headmistress, went in search of the Toshao. I biked to his house, only to find that he's left to go to his farm for the afternoon. I suppose there's always tomorrow...

So, I spend my entire day just waiting for a phone card to make a phone call to CHECK on making a trip to this village - there's still the actual planning of the trip and then actually GOING on the trip and then actually DOING what we PLANNED to do on the trip. And that's assuming I actually get the phone card in time to make the call tomorrow... and assuming our phone works, and their phone works, and I actually get a hold of the teacher tomorrow and they'll be around to accommodate us...

we MIGHT just get this trip made in the next month or so.

Then there's the NEXT village we've already begun the process of servicing...

UPDATE: Toshao actually brought the phone card over late that afternoon. Tried for half hour to call, didn't work. Tried next morning, and then at lunch time, too. Couldn't get through. Then carried it to my partner, and he's out with malaria, unable to travel. We'll try again next week.

Fatigue

You know, I use the word "tired" to describe how I am a lot. one might suppose I don't get enough sleep, or I'm sick or just lazy or it's just in my head. Am I really "tired"? I'll tell you what fatigues me; it's a combination of - limited water, leaky roof, tattered clothes, spoiling food, food tampered with by living creatures (bugs, possum, kids), faulty equipment; the half-assed last minute nature of things that makes projects sub-standard and stress, the lack of answers/resources to meet simple issues, the utter helplessness one can feel when trying to improve, solve or just deal with all these issues.

You simply cannot react how you might have back home, your anger may be too damaging or inappropirate or misguided, your zest to improve may be hampered by the same factors you are fighting to improve. One must "fight" the system, but at the same time one must join into the system. Such tiring work.

Athletics started yesterday and it began unceremoniously, the kids were chaotic and didn't know how to follow the rules, no one showed up for the first half, and I was submitted to hear how it should be, should have been the entire time, by the teachers. They spend so much time condemning the existing event and swearing improvement for the "next time." I'm TIRED of hearing the "should be's" and the "next time's."

I bought beef. Three pounds, part of the calf muscle. Lucy helped me make tasso out of it. Tasso is salted beef dried in the sun - keeps longer, it's durable, too. I tied up a string right outside my door, under the awning, open to air and sun. The pieces dried fine, and I left them there for safe-keeping. This morning two of the three pieces (the two biggest) are missing. I should have known. I hate how I should have know. Days only just begun and I'm tired.

I'm well and happy enough to live here and go with the flow most of the time, but as far as my duty to change the flow, I feel pretty feeble and askew. And that, too, is hutzpah-draining.

A Lesson in Sensuality

I don’t know if I can exactly explain it, but I’ll try. Sensuality, mind you, not sexuality. Aunt Junita was practicing some kids to do a Heritage celebration that happened today. She’s invited me to come watch them practice, and it was only Monday, passing back from a birthday lunch, that I did. (I think it’s so great that she’s doing this, btw. Yup didn’t do their own Heritage celebration this month and she got some skits and songs together with the help of her daughter.) I caught the end of some skit being done in Makushi that seemed amusing but of course, I didn’t get it. Then four girls get up to practice their song. Shirley, Alisha, around 15; Ena, around 13; and Merisa, around 11, get up to this Caribbean song and basically wine the entire time. But they wine WELL. (Wining, for those of you who don’t know is hip revolutions, mostly done at slow or medium speed). At first, I was just shocked at seeing such confidence and such skill, then I was like “Um, aren’t they a little young to be shaking it that hard?” Then I figure “Oh Guyana…”

But then I’m watching Merisa, who easily was the most skilled of the four – and the youngest. Merisa is in 5^th grade and is a star pupil. With Miss Maisie’s skilled instruction last year, she was one of the students who really participated in drama activities, who definitely was at the top of her class (and Maisie is a thorough teacher with high expectations), who is a regular book-borrower at the library (and actually reads and comprehends the books, not to mention takes care of the books she borrows). Her mother, Rena, who’s been back in the village for a couple months now, was teaching the girls, so I guess it’s easy to see where Merisa gets it from.

Merisa was moving herself in utter skill, comfort and confidence, and in a way that was in no way ostentatious or inappropriate. She wasn’t shaking it in a way that said “Look at me, aren’t I sexy?” it was an “I feel the rhythm and like to dance.” She’s not the kind of girl that would show off or act too big for her britches. She simply was comfortable with her body and confident in her expression. She knows her body can be moved in a beautiful way and knows how to move her body in a beautiful way. I found myself staring at her, attracted to her singing body. Does that sound inappropriate? I don’t mean it to. As a whole, the group’s dancing caught my eye as endearing, if not beautiful and I was quite envious of their skill and confidence. And yeah, a little shocked to see such parading.

So, I was taught that perceiving your body as beautiful is not just about immodesty/showing off, but about being natural. And, if I took enough mental notes, perhaps I was taught how to shake it a little better. ;)

Harvest Day

Yesterday was Harvest Day here in the village. I missed it last year, and so I wasn't sure what it was exactly. It's a church fundraiser, though, where they bring donations, not to sell, but for people to bid on. First, though, Father Rogers was here, and we had a complete service. He came by me earlier in the morning, asking me to preach after he reads the Gospel. Preach. Not "make some comments," or "give a speech," but "preach." :/ Umm.... ok. I've definitely had opportunities to exercise myself with public speaking here; I'm always being asked to say prayers or say some things at village events. I've got a standard blessing I'll say for all those celebrating birthdays, and then with addressing school kids, I've developed the habit of asking the kids to repeat back what I just said ("You will put the books back on the shelves, ok? What will you do? Put the books back where? -on the shelves. - Yes!") Then, I've been working on speaking slowly so everyone can understand me as best as possible since English is a second language here, and then I'm trying to be aware of how much I talk with my hands. Definite practice in the art of communication. But.... preaching?

I've stood up and spoke once before at church service, and that was entirely unexpected and spur of the moment; the catechist was saying his words, mostly in Makushi, and so my mind was wandering, but I became aware that he had stopped talking and was looking at me. I probably blushed, but then looked politely confused as Maisie kindly told me that the guy asked me to say something. Maisie had done her impromptu sermon for the day already, telling the congregation how we need to bring more people to church. In a flash of divine inspiration, I opened the Bible to John 15, and read about how Jesus describes himself as the tree, us as the branches, and the grapes, the fruit of our labor. I get most of the youths to come up and make them into a tree - if Karen tells Jason about God and Jason tells Ronson about God and Ronson tells Caroline about God, and then Caroline tells both Jelissa and Melissa about God and Jelissa tells Salman and Merissa and Melissa tells .... we're all connected and we can branch out. I was pleased with how it went, and the visual and manual work of making the tree I think helped the kids (and adults) catch the metaphor better. It was an impromptu success.

Father Rogers' Gospel yesterday was from Matthew 6, about how we shouldn't worry about food or clothes, that the Lord will provide and we should not spend time worrying about the two. I was nervous about it and wished I had more time to think on it... but it was fun to think of sharing my own spin on what the message is. And to bring the words more to life than just monotonously reading the scripture, as is done a lot here. My passion about the Good News... I was pleased to find I could share it with others. It felt like I wasn't just sharing a piece of the Bible, but sharing my feelings for Him, too, hoping that my passion might draw others to share in the passion. There were several things I thought of to share in reference to this one passage - personal examples, other scripture that ties into it, etc. - but I tried to keep it basic and focused. I forgot some things I wanted to say, but overall, I felt good about it, felt fulfilled, felt proud, and ... exited for God. I prayed beforehand that God would speak through me, not let it be about my words. I think/hope that happened, and I think that's why I wasn't so nervous. I don't think I've had such a pure pride for something like this in awhile. I tend to shrug off things like this, and let insecurity and humility overrule, but this was a genuine pride. Perhaps because I know it wasn't for me alone. I dunno, it was neat.

I pointed to the table full of items the people had donated for the auction. I said how it was nice to see such an abundant harvest, but that there is scripture that says "man cannot live by bread alone." "Bread" can mean Auntie Junita's delicious fresh baked bread.... or the flat cakes of cassava bread there on the table... or any other kind of food. There is food hunger, our bellies can be empty, but there is also spiritual hunger, and our souls/hearts can be just as hungry. I meant to point out the other scripture from John, where Jesus says "I am the bread of life, he who comes to me shall not hunger," but I forgot. Jesus will fill us up, and He will also provide if we let him. And sometimes less is more, we appreciate it better. I hope I didn't use too many verses and Godly cliches. I love Matthew 5-7, and the importance on not focusing or worrying too much about worldly things is a point that I still marvel over and am eager to talk about with others. Physical discomfort is so temporary. Physical pleasure, too, for that matter. Realizing there is more, much more, out there that is good and eternal... especially when it can be so easy to look around us and despair...

I remember when I went to Nicaragua for that week, and we were doing dental work on people and giving bags of rice and beans. We began to worry that we couldn't sufficiently provide aid for these people and it seemed hopeless. Talking about it one night, we all really worked ourselves up into a ball of worry - until one voice of faith called out from our group and pointed out that, in truth, we may not be able to provide food for their bellies next week, or dental service for their next cavity, but that's why it's so important to reach them with the Word of God, so that they may find eternal life - a life that will not be plagued by physical pain or hunger. Oh yeah..... This realization was very significant to me at the time and I've carried it with me since. I was happy to share this with my village yesterday, too. I don't know if I'll ever fully understand/fulfill this point, but I am aware.

The Harvest itself was very enjoyable. Halfway through I realized I should have gone for my camera - I still could have gone for it, actually. I was a bit lazy for go, but just thinking about what pictures I'd be taking if I had the camera was rewarding - it let me appreciate the moment. Looking at each person as they smiled, scolded a child, offered a drink to someone, just sat there, picked their nose... I tried imprinting their faces and the setting into my mind. Remembering the breeze, the play of light across the market, the cari sitting in recycled 2 liter pop bottles, the stacks of cassava cakes ready to be auctioned. My adoration for my village is for its utter personality. It's a great village, don't get me wrong; progressive, friendly, open, humorous and all that, but that's not why I adore them. I adore them because they are simply them. The long beautiful plaits of black hair, the fancy Easter dresses that are torn, worn, missing bows but make the little girls look beautiful at church service, how people share so much with each other - most of the things auctioned off were foodstuffs, and most were opened right there and shared around, from cari to bananas to biscuits - the jokes they tell in Makushi that I have NO idea what the punchline is let alone the set up, and then how they'll all laugh about it afterwards. Shaira and nursing Delvan, Bob and his too big flashy shirt tucked into his jeans, Maisie being polite to some drunk guy sitting on the bench next to her, any and all upon eating tangerines, the way they spit the seeds back into their palms. It’s so fun just watching everyone, it felt like getting a camera would ruin it.

Then there was the actual auctioning. Former Toshao Kenneth was the auctioneer, Bob Park was the hander outer and Franzea and Vanisa were the cashiers and secretaries. I chimed in on the second item, bidding for a cake of cassava bread, another staple made from the cassava root. It’s formed into a disc-like shape the size of a manhole and you can eat it with butter or peanut butter, or use it to soak up the gravy/broth in pepper pots and toma pots. I have farine in my house at all times, but rarely get cassava bread. I won the first disc. I also bid on and won some oranges, some smoked pepper and jumped in to bid on bananas, but never followed through on them. In retrospect, I really should have bid on more and given more back to the community – so many people just GIVE me fruits, veggies, fish and other staples for FREE an I hardly have to spend any money in the village. Again, though, it was fun just watching. Though admittedly, there was the thrill of winning an item. The best battle was between Lucy and some Auntie, who were bidding on a cake of cassava bread and it went to $1,100 Guyanese dollars (about USD$5). I asked someone how much a cake normally costs and it was only $200. Fun. The church raised about $27,000, and with more donations to make it even, they got $31,000. It was a fun, clean afternoon with my village.

Tapiooooooooca!

Tapioca may be the weirdest edible thing I've encountered. Sure, fried fish eggs, black pudding, chicken feet and chicken hearts, sure all are different and not your run of-the-mill meal, but at least they're natural. Yes, tapioca is natural, too, but that's my point - naturally weird. It looks like Dippin Dots, but it's pastey and crunchy untouched, then when you boil it, it gets gelationous yet maintains its round appearance. Half of it turns clear and in the middle is a white nucleus of its remaining color. It looks like you're eating a bunch of single-cell organisms - tastes like it, too. Slimy, sort of. Tapioca is harvested locally here; I wonder what it looks like straight from the ground. Is it a process similar to making farine? Back home, I don't believe I ever ate it. I remember seeing instant tapioca pudding boxes in stores, and then I remember seeing it on a dessert table - like pudding gone rancid - who wants to chew their pudding? It did not attract me, and I've not come face to face with it since.

But, Lucy excitedly brought me some and talked about making porridge with it, so sure, I'll give it a go. Let's just say, it was effortless to eat the black pudding, but it was mind over matter to eat the tapioca. I told myself I'd lose Cool Points if I could eat cooked blood without shuddering but not do the same for an international dessert eaten for breakfast.

And, of course, whenever I hear the word "tapioca," I am forever reminded of Who's Line is it Anyway? Let me share it with you...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=18R4Tfhqixs

Integration, Matrimony Style

I was just trying to be helpful. Chase still slept as I decided to make coffee. He graciously gave of his house to me as I came in to attend Beth’s wedding (PCV meets Buck Man, one year later, they marry; what a story), and I wanted to show my appreciation. I located the necessary items and set that thing brewing. Chase woke up as I was finding the milk and looking for the sugar. He expressed his thanks, but then asked, “Did you have enough water?” My initial thought is, “Of course, I didn’t think there were shortage issues in Town.” But then – OOOH; in Town, one buys 5 gallon bottles of water to drink and cook with; the tap stuff could melt a toothbrush, or so I hear. By me, clear, clean well water is pumped through my pipes, which I can enjoy (when the pipes are on, at least.)

I sheepishly admit to my faux paux. He kindly waves it off and goes to buy a new jug, saying we’ll try again, and I could be helpful by making the PB and banana toast. I offer to get the bread sliced just as soon as he tells me where it is. “This is Town, Sarah, our bread is already sliced,” he informs me. Oh. Where I come from, it’s straight from the mud-brick oven. I go in the search for the butter – optional on PB toast, I recognize, but I thought I’d be “helpful” and put it out anyway. Despite my best efforts, I could not find it; I even looked in the cupboards with the cleaning supplies. He comes back and goes to put the pre-sliced bread back into his fridge when I look – and there’s the butter! Oh yeah, butter goes in the fridge; I’d forgotten.

Chase, Demond, Nick, Shaniece, DeAnna, Katrina, Morgan and I arrived in Moraikobai after dark on Friday. We were all dirty from travel by bus, boat and Bedford truck, and some were ready to bathe. Nick asks if it’s fine to bathe in the river at night. Beth assures us that it is. He and I are the only ones, apparently, who are keen to clean ourselves that way. All troop down to the dock to watch, however, as Nick and I jump in and soap down. We whisper between ourselves, “Must be a Region 9 thing.” Beth later makes a similar comment, noting how isolated people seem to be more enthusiastic about those sorts of things. She, too, bathes there along with the rest of the village. We went back to the Rest House for a bachelorette party, Guyana style (complete with the game “Stump the Embassy” and a suprise male dancer clothed in life vests), but all of these incidences compelled me to begin reflecting on some fundamental differences between Town life (whether that be GT, New Amsterdam in Region 6 or Kansas City, Mo.) and Bush life.

Beth’s wedding and village were a beautiful combination of cultures. Her community, surrounded by palm trees, white sand and Coca-Cola water, welcomed us and it’s easy to see why Beth feels so at home there. Thought it’s a two-way street, the village is willing, but so must the volunteer be. Upon learning she was marrying one of their “Buck men,” one couldn’t doubt her willingness, but it’s certainly more than that.

For her Big Day, Beth gave herself over to her community. She allowed them to impress upon her their traditions - they clothed her, jeweled her, and beautified her, all without her seeing herself, for example. “How do I look?” she asked me when I went to check on her (she was attended by all her 6 bridesmaids, village godmother, and stylist - no foreign faces, except Chase’s – the photographer – and my own). I was surprised to see such heavy lines of lip liner on her face as well as eyebrows. This was not the Beth I knew. I bit my tongue, not sure what to say. It’s not how I’d makeup her, but that doesn’t mean it’s not ok. Her attendants proclaimed her ok and beautiful, so who was I to argue? I told myself Beth knows her community, knows what she’s marrying into and has willingly handed over her trust to these ladies. She was sharing her Day with them. “I just have to trust,” the bride said. “Do you think you could do it?” “No!” I answered. (Luckily) her MOH, I think, came in and suggested a more tame lipstick. She looked the blushing bride as Chase took her pictures. Someone pinned a G note ($5USD) on the front of her dress, a tradition we never fully figured out its purpose, and she was veiled. Her father, Craig, who flew out for the event (the only person from her family), escorted her from the “staging area” to the Real Ting.

In the church, one of the scriptures read was from Genesis, noting when Isaac takes a wife, Rebecca – a foreigner. The pastor notes how Rebecca came from a different culture, did not know her groom or his culture, but their marriage endured. A sweet comparison. The couple exchanged vows (Ken kept gazing adoringly at his bride, though she shyly kept looking down), then the rings and, with a few interruptions from Grandma Crazy and a fellow who had one too many calabash bowls of paiwari (though what Amerindian event is complete without one?) the two - American and Amerindian, man and wife - were married.

The village had spent the morning and afternoon cooking a feast of barbecue chicken, beef curry, dhal puri, fried rice, lo mein and other meats and noodles, not to mention paiwari. All were kind enough to allow us to watch, take pictures and “help” – not to mention, sample the paiwari.

After several speeches, American tradition played out with cutting the cake and sharing a drink. We ate the delectable dinner then waited for the music to start up for a proper party. The Macarena came on at one point, and all us Americans enthusiastically got into it, but while the Moraikobaians grooved to it, didn’t they seem to know the moves. That didn’t seem to stop them; they partied on ‘til at least 4 a.m., taking advantage of the extended current. (Beth’s community has power only from 6 to 10 p.m., usually). The next morning our boatman was right on time as we prepared to leave, a water coconut our departing Moraikobai treat. We all left, in good spirits, glad we had come on a fun weekend trip, glad to support our fellow PCV in her even more adventurous journey through PC.

In my PC service, I’ve learned that Integration is a double-edged sword. For some, becoming intimate with their village/community is more hard, either because the community is too closed, or the PCV is. But then for others, they can blend in so much with their community, one is hard-pressed to pick them out in a Guyanese line up. The transformations some PCV/G’s have made has been enchanting to watch. I’ve wondered if those more isolated have a greater tendency to do so, and why that is. Perhaps it’s simply a survival instinct, maybe it’s just a beautiful thing... Or maybe, those isolated PCVs sort of just go Bush Crazy, who knows? There is a word of caution to these kinds of volunteers – kindly don’t forget where you came from or what your PC mission is – but it sure is a beautiful process to watch.

We all wish Beth the best in her marriage. As I said in my toast to them, we in PC have a more adventurous spirit than most, all of us are open to meeting new people and jumping feet first into new experiences, right? All of us will integrate differently into our communities, all of us will enjoy our communities and PC services on varying levels, but we all can equally support one of our peers as she has found her life partner here in Guyana. We know that she is no more leaving her American culture as Ken is leaving his Amerindian one. It is the joining of the two that is most special. Just as I would wish them a balanced, happy life together, so would I wish the rest of the PCVs a balanced, happy PC service, never forgetting where they’ve come from, nor where they’re going.

Part 5: Fish and Farine to the Extreme

The two boys finally crash later, and I toss them back their blanket as I pull back on my not so newly wet pants. Dillon finds something else to keep busy with but Vaughn insists on taking his ten, not five. He’s quickly snoring. The other boys were up and about fast and went out again, and I figured I’d attempt at bathing in the river again, figuring I had nothing to lose because all my clothes were already wet. So I go back, do some wash as well. By then, it was Wednesday morning, and on Sunday, I was made to understand we’d be coming home on this day. But then a day into it, Tosh was saying we’d head home Thursday. After Tuesday night and the Duncan boys saying they might leave on Wednesday, I was ready to beat out with them. I wouldn’t ask to go home, but if a boat was going…. I’d had enough experience, and I was a LITTLE too wet. I could put up with and even enjoy more, but if I had the choice… yeah, I knew what it’d be. So after washing, I lay my key items to dry next to the fish being smoked and just waited around. (My clothes smelled like smoked fish after that, but I didn’t care, only that they were dry) I ate some shebay for breakfast, took another nap, and kept waiting.

The boys came back, ate smoked fish, and then the plan became to break this camp and go camp on the rocks at some place I didn’t hear for the last night. Anthony ran this all past me, in a half asking permission, half giving me the heads up sort of way. I just nodded. So we all broke camp and climbed in the boats, I, of course, with the Duncan boat. We went back to the place we’d gone the night before. There were some nice rocks right there and the sun was shining and I immediately whip out my clothes, wash and lay them out on the rocks as Vaughn does the same with his. Camp became divided; Vaughn saw the rocks as a drying opp and so his stuff, his brother’s and then mine, came to be with the rocks. Tosh’s boat gravitated towards the other side of the pond entrance, who saw it as a good place to set up a tarp and keep smoking fish. He claimed they’d not sleep that night, so they wouldn’t need to string up hammocks. I shimmied up on a fallen log and lay out my wet hammock (through leaks in the tarp and my wet body, it was wet, even though Matthew had taken it down and covered it for me while I was out fishing the night before), something that earned competency points with the boys, I think (I hope). Dillon took off with Tosh’s boat to do something, and Vaughn decides we’d tie up hammocks to take another five. Sure, I’m up for it!

I was through with going on the expeditions, and content to “keep camp” from this point out. Of course, he helps me tie up, and he even gets a tarp put up over us. My hammock ropes are pretty short so he swaps one of mine with one of his. I’m loving this sense of belonging to the two of them, even the idea of having our own separate camp. I cut a mango for us to share as he finishes with our hammocks and then we lay there, talking until he falls asleep. I fall asleep, too, though it starts to rain and I worry about the clothes. Vaughn sits up and declares that it’d pass and to not worry about it, so I relax, but then it kept raining and he finally goes “Ok, I think this is the Real Thing,” to which I laugh and then get up and collect all our clothes, their boxers and all. "Real thing" is a phrase he uses a lot, it's funny.

The sun comes out again and this time it’s on the other side of camp, so I carry them over there and lay them all out. The others come back and Dillon ties his hammock in between and above ours and he climbs up and in and we all three fall asleep for quite awhile. The others eat some smoked fish and farine, which I woke up and went over to help myself to. To get across, you had to climb into one boat, walk to the end, pull the other boat to you, get into the other boat, then climb onto the other bank. I went back over and fell asleep again. They all took off and when the boys finally woke up, they were still gone. They ask if I was ready to go out again and, being sufficiently dry and rested, I agree; one last hoo ha. It was just the three of us this night.

We go back into the pond area, set up nets again and catch some bait. I get bold and ask if I could clean one of the bait fish. I cut that baby up and bait my own hook, oh yeah. Having gotten quite comfortable with each other, we began talking a lot more personal this night. We keep up the convo quite easily, I’m almost having to divide my attention between the two. Dillon is the more quiet of the two. He’s 23. I’ve learned he’s the more moderate of the two, too. He doesn’t like to drink much, nor dance that much. He said I could dance better than he, which I laughed about. He said he’ll just kind of move his body and keep his feet in place, as his friends try all sorts of dancing. He may “have a woman,” but I never got around to talking about her with him. I also wanted to ask them if they had any kids, but never did. Vaughn, the younger one (18) on the other hand, is the more outgoing of the two. And when we got on the subject of dancing, I sort of teasingly asked “You like dancing, don’t you, Vaughn?” And he goes, oh, let’s not talk about THAT. But he quickly admitted to enjoying dancing and having a good time, to which I was aware of as we’ve been dancing buddies a lot. We didn’t talk about my preferences.

They ask if I’m learning any Makusi and I list off the words I know. Brian is Wapishana, Catherine is Makushi, and so their kids understand both Makusi and Wapishana, but can’t speak either very well. It was then that I noted that a lot of those in the village who stand out to me are those not with the typical Makushi background. For example, Fernando, who’s dad isn’t from the village and who’s mother is a strong individual in the village is the CH manager. Or Shamir, who’s dad is Indo-Guyanese from Town, who is quite a strong individual in the community as well. Interesting. I catch another fish! Smaller than the night before, but still exciting. We move around a couple times that night; I remember talking more than anything, not so much fishing. As we moved to our last location, one of them says “OK, this is it, whoever catches the next fish…” and I go “Ok, whoever catches the next fish doesn’t have to cook dinner!” To which they laughed and agreed to and so it was on. We all almost caught a couple, the boys brought a couple right up to the boat before they slipped off. It was a fun competitive spirit. Finally Vaughn pulled one in. We went and collected the nets and the fish that were in them then went back to camp. The others were already asleep – they ended up tying the big tarp up and it was apparent they had slung their hammocks under it – so much for staying up all night. So, it was me and Dillon who “had to” cook, and it was he who was doing the cutting and stuff, and even Vaughn was collecting wood for the fire (we still – ok THEY – had to smoke the fish we did get) so I got the pot and washed the fish as Dillon cut them up. We were down to just about nothing for supplies, and so our food was – fish chunks, salt and water. I also put a couple dashes of pepper sauce in there. One thing I learned about Dillon is that he doesn’t like plain boily boily, he likes his fish to be seasoned up, so I felt apologetic, but that’s all we had and they knew it. They had carried a pressure pot, and though I’d never cooked with one before and was nervous (I’ve heard they can blow up if they go unattended), I tried to assume control over the meal. The fish didn’t look done to me, but I got Dillon to check and he said it was fine, so there we go. They did their fishermen duties as I scooped some food for myself. It worked.

I climbed, only slightly guiltily, into my hammock as they stayed up to tend to the fish. But then they, too, climbed in and fell asleep. I remember waking myself up with a couple snores, which I only felt slightly self-conscious about. Three days together camping makes you 1) feel more close with those peoples and 2) lose a lot of formerly held modesties. At first light and first sound of them stirring, I popped up and began breaking camp – it was time to go home! I get my stuff in order, then try to get the rest of the stuff tidy. I was wearing dry clothes and was happy. The ride back was sunny and leisurely. They stop a couple of times and shoot at some things, but miss. We pull up to the main landing in Y and unload some things, then go to the Lawrence landing and fully unload. I get my bag and then stand around, not sure what to do. I sorta was waiting for the Duncan boys, but I knew they could be busy for awhile and again, it’s not like I really could or should help them. Tosh calls to me to head up, and so I look at them, ask if I could help or carry anything. Vaughn says no, but Dillon, looking at me and understanding, I think, of my desire to help, says I could carry the pressure pot up and drop it off at their house. Thank you, Dillon.

I look at them, telling them thanks for looking out for me (I practiced this sentence, choosing not to say “look after,” but “look out” for me.) and that I had some rice wine at my house with their name on it. Vaughn says he’ll be over later in the afternoon. I stopped by the house, and delivered the pot to Auntie Catherine. I asked how she was doing, and she tells me much better, though this has happened before. She says I must tell her whenever I need greens, which I appreciate. I tell her that her sons really looked out for me nicely, and it meant a lot. I walk up to CH to collect Ari and am met by Chris and Crew, which I was not prepared to take in. I was still running off Mapari fumes. I just grabbed Ari and head home, sweet home. I was visited later that afternoon, by Vaughn and his dad, Brian, and we shared a cup of rice wine and ‘nuff stories. Dillon came by later, as well, and I was invited to go by them for a mug of cari later. This could be the beginning of some beautiful friendships.

And so ended my first Rupununi Fishing Trip. What a diamond in the rough it was! I've learned that many of the experiences to be had down here are the same. It's also occurred to me that one can find beauty in anything, if they're looking for it. One can also find ugly, the same way.

Part 4: Fish and Farine to the Extreme

After all that, it was Time for a Five (a nap) but… because of the rain and the water-wading, my two pants were wet. I was weighing whether or not to just lay down in my hammock with wet pants, when Dillon sees me mentally struggling and asks. I tell him about the wet pants and say how I could either sleep with wet pants - or NO pants, to which we both shared a raised eyebrow look. He then offers his towel to wrap up in for a nap, which I graciously accepted and not-so-graciously changed into in my hammock corner. I’m laying down with as much dignity as I can, when he comes up to me, calling “Miss Sarah, I have something for you to try!” He brings me a bowl of shebay, which is basically farine and water, heavy on the water. He had mixed it with sugar, too, though. Sweetest thing ever. Closest thing to breakfast in bed I’ve had. I ate it, then fell asleep; we all did.

Dillon and Vaughn asked if I was coming out with them that night, to the rapids/jungle for some serious fishing and I said sure, sounded like a fun place, plus I’d enjoyed going with them the night before. I planned to go out with each boat, but I figured I’d go out with the hunters the last night. Toshao’s boat was the hunting boat. I was sorta hanging back, waiting for the call, sorta wanting to make sure I was welcome to attend, when I got the “Lehwego, Sarah!” So I grabbed my headlight, bug spray and followed. But then they look at me and go – “We’re going all night, you know, is that all you need?” It surprised me and I blurt out before thinking “But where will you sleep?” before realizing, duh, they’re not planning to sleep! C’mon, Sarah, buck up! You’re hunting now! I quickly backpedal, not wanting them to think I couldn’t handle it and tell them to wait as I just go get a “few more things.” I quickly realize that there’s not much more you can bring when you haven’t brought much to begin with. But, I grabbed my jacket and… the bag of fruit I’d brought. And then dumbly forgot my knife, the one practical and useful item I did bring on the trip. As I fidgetingly try to arrange myself on my seat, Vaughn comes back down from camp – hammock in hand. “This is just in case we want to take a five,” he says. I know he brought it along just for me, to which I felt embarrassed about for being a lightweight and speaking before thinking, but also really humble about, because I know and I know they know I’m not as able as they are and I might NEED to take a five. I put back on my not as newly wet pants, my last dry shirt and my jacket, and we’re off again; Dillon, Vaughn, Uncle Lewis and me.

This time, we stopped at this place I swore was a dead end, but Uncle carried us through the fallen trees which gave way to a large pond with different arms. We saw several caiman through the eye shine thing, and we set nets in two different places in the pond. Ok, they, not we. Two were nylon nets, two were twine. They all had some big holes in them, but still would catch some fish. After those were set, we went and threw our own lines again, they set me up, though not without some jokes about my throwing first. And wouldn’t you know – I CAUGHT ONE!! An amuri or something. They said it was about 7 or 8 pounds, so it’s definitely the biggest I’ve caught here, and it rivaled my biggest catch back home, which was that 8 pound albino catfish about 10 years ago! It was so cool and I was quite ecstatic. It made this cow-like noise as it flopped around in the boat. Uncle caught several and I almost caught another one. The boys got some, too, I think. We went to check the nets a couple times, and got a good haul. Dillon joked about weaving me a warishi, a nice long one to hold my one fish to carry back. A warishi is a pack worn on the back but the brunt of the weight rides on a strap worn across the forehead.

They kept asking if I was ready to take a five, but I kept saying no. My plan was to go as long as I could before crashing; I didn’t want to miss any of it, nor put a cramp in their style. The objective is to get food to feed people, not to picnic. I’d been noticing that both Vaughn and Dillon were very hard working, focused guys. Not that the others weren’t – they all are – but these two seemed to separate themselves from the rest in their direct way of doing things. Indeed, it was our boat that took off first that night, and returned last. We could hear Tosh and the other boat laughing in the distance. Dillon made the casual comment that Tosh came just to have some fun… I admit, I was a little surprised at how casual it had been so far. Of course, I don’t have any previous experience for comparison, so who knew. Anyway, we hoped the other boat was having as much luck with their hunting as we were with fishing.

They also commented on how they were surprised to see me on the trip and surprised that Toshao wasn’t better prepared to take care of 'a lady.' I sort of started to argue that I didn’t need or demand too much looking after, but I realized that perhaps there SHOULD be some extra attention spent… well, either way, I wasn’t upset with Toshao or the others for their (lack of) attention/preparation to a lady, but I was greatly appreciative of the surplus of attention given by the Duncan boys. And I sort of worried that they were having to carry the extra burden of looking after me, when they didn’t “sign up” for lady-sitting, and it was Toshao that had invited me. But I knew that they weren’t put out by it or me, and were only concerned that my needs were met.

Now, the whole village, or most of the village, is conscientious of making sure my needs are met, to which I am so greatly blessed. But it seemed to strike an even deeper chord that these two nice young men seemed to ardent in their attention to making sure I was ok and cared for. They almost seemed more worried for my well-being than I was. Learning to ask for and feel worthy of help is something I’m working on here, and they’d been helping me see it’s ok and expected to demand a little more attention/consideration as a woman and foreigner and not just to go along with what everyone else is doing.

All night, we were praying for no rain, me especially. It spitted for a bit, and then stopped; we were lucky! The boys seemed ready to call it a night, though it was still pretty early and I wondered/worried it was on account of me, but then maybe they were just pleased with the amount of fish we’d gotten. As we collected the nets, it started spitting, and then it KEPT raining. We’re heading back, and I’m just concentrating on keeping the rain from penetrating through my jacket to my huge cotton tshirt, when Dillon hands me his towel again for me to keep semi-dry, at least. I wrap up like a Muslim woman and just sit and bear it. But the day had been long and it was late and I was wet and I kept nodding off. Being on the boat for a day and a half now with these boys, Dillon always made sure to call out when a branch was coming, or even call “Miss Sarah!” in a voice that sounded exasperated at the branch for being in my way because I might not be able to handle it. It was the same tone he used when urging me over the ants – calling to me as if I’d be doing him a favor by keeping myself clear from danger. Rather than feel irritated or more feeble by this tone, I felt cared for and adoring. Really, what’s a little branch here or there?

So it was kinda funny when I quickly am awoken to first a “Sarah!” then a quickly following WHAP! as I get stung in the face by a medium-sized branch! And again, Dillon’s tone suggested I’d bothered him by letting myself get hit like that. I just laughed it off with a shrug and admitted “My eyes were closed!” We keep going, and at one point, I’m half dreaming, half awake that a white cow’s in the middle of the creek and jump in my seat to avoid it. I quickly realize it was just a dream, and was thankful I was not captain of the boat. I tell the boys about it the next day (after they ask if I was hurt by the branch) and they seemed to feel the cow meant I’d be running into a person soon. They’re into interpreting dreams, which we also had fun gaffing about.

We get back and I stumble up the hill, to my hammock, and in the cover of darkness, strip off my soaked pants, take off my jacket and grab my not as newly soaked shirt I’d gone running through the jungle with to use as a sheet. I curl up with my knees in my big red shirt and drape the wet shirt over the bottom of my legs and crash. The boys, though, are not finished – they have to clean and then smoke the fish they just caught to preserve them. They stayed up the rest of the night, tending to them. When light began to hit camp, Dillon meandered past, seeing me without cover and asked if I want to borrow their sheet… I sheepishly say yes and so my last couple of hours of sleep are slightly more warm, though not dryer than the rest.