Just Dance.

Dancing.
I never thought I’d get to the point where I enjoyed dancing, where I’d get up and feel joy in the release of moving to the rhythm of a song. I’d hoped I would, but never dreamed it. I’ve been having so much fun dancing here. And it’s not even because I’m good at it, I simply like it, and no longer am held back by my feelings of self-consciousness. Letting go of that is half, if not more, of being a satisfactory dancer, I’ve learned. The rest comes with practice, sure, which I’m now gaining. One of those perks of being a white gyurl here; plenty of men who want to dance with you, no matter your ability.

I’m not sure when this happened, exactly. I remember my first Rupununi dance – with Fernando, one of my close CH buddies – my first reluctant dance in the village with someone named Markey on my birthday. I remember my first whine, with Alfanso at Sati’s in TBC in January. Whining is a sort of suggestive movement with your partner… it was quite a shock to Alfanso as well as me when I actually did it. I remember my first satisfying dance, with Davidson, a guy in my village (the one who said he needed to dance with me because he loved me more than sugar – best pick up line I’ve ever heard) where I easily moved with him and could dance close without losing balance. That was in December.

Since then, I’ve been dancing on and off, sometimes able, sometimes not. But it seems like just within the last month or two here in the village, I am moving to a rhythm more and more easily, the forro steps are becoming ingrained in me. Forro is the dance, Forro Boys is the band of choice for the moment. Forro is a Brazilian style of music/dancing (pronounced fo-ho) complete with guitars, drums, accordions, and dancers dressed like strippers, which can be seen in the DVD shows they have out. Kinda sounds like polka meets salsa. Forro Gyga was the popular band when I first came and there’s one song of that band which will be forever engrained in my mind as “Yups.” I was told before that, it was Pepe Moreno, then DJ Maluco.

Though the forro has become ingrained in me, the 123, 123; 123, 123; 123, 123 move is about the only rhythm I can reproduce - but still. We’ve been having enough forro-ing opportunities lately and I’ve been eager. I’m noting how each partner is different – different in build, sure, but also in style and how they hold me. Some men hold tight – a vice grip on the small of my back, locking us together at the stomachs; I can’t keep rhythm or balance like that. Some hold very loosely, like they’d almost rather dance alone, or separately. If I’m not feeling it, I act the same way and there’s no pressure to keep up. I AM feeling like seriously dancing, I have the freedom to do my own thing. Some have a light hold, some a possessive one. Some keep the moves basic, some try to go fancy and leave me lagging, some try to match up to complement my style, some adapt to me and then try to show me more. I like these the best. Davidson, for example. And Russian, my dear counterpart, who is quite a dancer.

I’ve danced with tall guys, short ones, thick guys, fine ones, old ones and a few young ones. It’s a teacher rule that they don’t dance with students, I found out. But I’d already decided to maintain that myself, it just didn’t seem right after I did it once. I’ve danced with girls/women, one as my partner, or a bunch of us in a circle, sometimes holding hands, sometimes not. It’s with utter joy that I dance next to my Guyanese friends, my body singing in response to the music, moving with simple steps or more pronounced ones as I test out my coordination which had remained untested for more than 24 years. Sometimes I try to copy what my partner is doing, try to pick up a new variation. Sometimes I get it, sometimes not. I find counting helps a lot. I don’t think I’ll EVER be able to dance as my friend, Vilma, tried to show me once, which looked like Austin Powers in AP2, the Spy Who Shagged me as he was dancing with Felicity Shagwell as Bert Bacharach sang in the background as Elvis Costello played the piano. Nor do I think I could get the moves Sir Bryan tried to show me once, of a more heavily Brazilian style which seemed to consist of box steps. “Let’s take a walk,” he told me; it seemed nothing like walking, I thought. “Just follow the music,” he tells me as I falter. “Well, I’m trying to follow you and you’re following the music so I figure that’s good enough!” I tell him.

Granted, there ARE other styles of dance out there, who knows what'll become of my newfound dancing bug once I return home… I’m sadly aware of that. But, it’s with optimism that I will try to take this practice with forro and apply it to those other dance forms. Whether that be just my confidence or even the entire dance style - who says you can’t dance forro to a country song???

Adorably good things to eat that are fresh and/or simple:

Bananas, oranges, tangerines - nature's little snack packs
Tomatoes/cucumbers with vinegar, salt and pepper
Fresh bread
Glass of cold milk
Mango with salt, pepper sauce and/or vinegar
Roast fish
Roasted nuts
Popcorn and pepper sauce
Crackers and honey.
Mashed banana and milk
Mashed avocado and milk

A Two-Way Street

It’s a two-way street, give and take on each end. I’m finally realizing that to teach someone successfully, that person has to be an active part in that. One side can’t plow through something with no feedback, reception, output. Even with a transfer of knowledge /skills, the learner has to aid and abet. Good teachers help make good learners, but good learners also make good teachers.

A concrete example: Adults Night. It’s free adults’ time in the library with the computers. I make the computers (and myself) available but still, the night seems mostly wasted. I think, “I should make it more like a class, fill the time with guided content, because I am not helping or teaching these guys anything new and all they’re doing is watching movies.” But then Maisie comes in, a good teacher, and shows me what an active (and yes, good) learner is. She asks questions, she nods her head in understanding, she tries new things. She pulls out the knowledge and passion from me.

There is so much I could show abut the computers and therefore so much others could learn… but it can’t always just be the teacher dumping on the learner. Meet me halfway, show me what you want to learn, respond to what I am putting out there. I feel fulfilled as a helper and knowledge was definitely shared - tonight, at least.

Confessions of a PCV:

Sometimes I am filled with extreme irritation, impatience and perhaps even disgust when I see a bony-looking dog pick through meager garbage, or I see a child “play” with something as humble as a scrap of metal. Disgust at whom or what, I don’t exactly know. It certainly is not the fault of the dog or child, though they unfairly are the ones subjected to the judgments.

It’s a pity, combined with helplessness that makes me feel so, I think. A pity for the child, the dog, yes – but also, pity for the more fortunate creatures who cannot/do not fully appreciate the splendors they inherit on a daily basis, as well as the fact that they, too, cannot find pleasure/satiation in such humble objects.

I sometimes wish I did not have to see such instances. But there are other times when I feel blessed to be such a witness and involved person.