New Years Eve

–saying goodbye, no matter where you are
-interrupted plans, incomplete plans
-depending on and being responsible for only yourself

This is the part that people must mean when they tell me what I do is hard.

When you’re doing what I’ve chosen to do, you might end up spending New Year’s Eve at an airport amongst strangers, for example. Sorta hard, yeah.

I wryly smile, knowing that’s just the way it is, a unique and therefore appreciated fact of Life.

I feel sad at saying goodbye to Mom, Dad, Zach and Tony, tearing up a bit to think I won’t feel their touch, hear their voices, feel their love, hear their love for a long while.

I feel excited at this new predicament of Life – what will happen on my journey, who will I meet, what will I mull over in the next hours, how wonderful will it be to step into the tropical embrace of Guyana, will any mishaps occur???

I worry – if mishaps DO occur, will I be able to cope? How is my health? Will these next 8 months conclude satisfactorily? What will happen next?

But --- I take pride; at how I’ve managed so far, at an optimism for the future, in all those who stand behind and beside me in Life.

And so, I accept this, being at JFK, sitting in the food court with a hot chocolate and mini pretzels mom packed for me, preparing to bring in the New Year, 2011, on my own.

AAAgggghhh! A KC CHRISTMAS!!!!!

"My whole house is great, I can do anything good, I like my school... I like my dad, I like my cousins... I like my hair, I like my haircuts, I like my pyjamas, I like my WHOLE HOUSE! I can do anything good, yeah, yeah, yeah."

I feel like Little Affirmative Jessica right now.

Christmas! I get to see, do, be in Kansas City Christmas!

Christmas! Scarves, hoodies, hot beverages!

Christmas! Lights, trees, music!

Christmas! Family, presents, goodies!

Christmas! Decorated stores! The Plaza! Ice skating!

Christmas! The Chrismas Spirit. This is more important than any presents - the spirit of giving and sharing.

I want to see cheesy Christmas TV specials! I want to see Dollar General and KMart cheesily and mass-producedly decorated and commercially marketing the holiday! I want to hear those radio stations that play Christmas songs 24/7!

I want to make Christmas cookies and breads and other goodies with my Nana and mom!

I want to see the Advent Wreath and smell that terrible smell of frankensence and myrrh! I want to get goosebumps at hearing a Christmas choir sing "Carol of the Bells"! I want to hear "O Come, All Ye Faithful" sang to the correct tune...


I want to share Christmas Reggae songs with you all.

I want to have a Christmas Forro Dance Party while sampling Egg Nog spiked with El Dorado Rum.

I want to make some homemade Rice Wine and share it out with you all on Christmas Eve and Day.

I want to make Gingerbread cookies out of casareep instead of molasses that Lucy sent for Mom.

I want you all to see the rendition I made, called "The 12 Rupununi Days of Christmas."

KC, I am coming! See you Monday!!! Best. Christmas present. Ever.

CHRISTMAS! (btw, Mom and Dad, can you please gift me pjs, for old time's sake??)

An Update

A crazy motorcycle adventure through the savanna (as decribed in the previous blog).

Obtaining a sacred package of brownie mix and accidentally putting Crab Wood Oil in it instead of normal cooking oil.

Going spear fishing and spending 2 hours diving for fish.

Just a few ways I've spent recent weeks.

:D or :) or :>


Skirmishes have been on the incease, recently.

High set of hostilities and gossip with an outside teacher.

Lack of participation and inspiration for our Annual Reading Rodeo, mutterings being the most common form of communication on the subject.

Just a few ways my village has spent recent weeks.

:< or :( or :/


"Take the good with the bad, the good with the bad."

"Change takes time, change takes time."

"Deep breaths, just breathe."

Just a few of the words of encouragement I've been trying to say to myself. Mom's statement was "Change takes time," and thanks for that; I'm trying to remind myself daily.

That, and: "Always love."

Where There’re Some Spokes, There’s a Way… Just Don’t Feel No Way

A Rupununi Medieval Parody

The Sir Steadfast and the Lady Serene embark upon a tireless trek from the Kingdom of Yups to the Land of Wowetta in hopes of winning glory for all. The two were out in pursuit of delivering the power of books to those in need, and in the preliminary inspection for a healthy literacy environment, the results were positive. Plans were made to further the endeavours – all parties involved were fresh with vigor and would donate what they were able. The two left, ready to return home from the brief trip, feeling pleased at the personable relations established.

Little did they know the Tiresome Fates dastardly devised countless trials and tribulations to foil their plans of a triumphant journey home.

The trek’s troubles began with the slipping of the chain on their noble steed, La Noche. Clicks and thunks arose, the steed slowed and stopped and was attended to with patient tugs, adjustments and steady hands. Onward. Kick, start, mount and “beat out one time” – ‘nuff times. Our heroes persisted. Onward. But alas, one click and thunk too many, and the journey had to be continued at a cautious rate. “We won’t return triumphant by sundown,” Sir Steadfast admits. Compromising speed does not appease, and the Fates decide to significantly hinder travel by dealing a fatal blow to the back wheel. “Onward we traverse!” cried Steadfast. “Though ‘tis but a pace as swift as molasses, the quest to reach home is still here, and we will conquer that which we are able.” So with dreams of home and its comforts put on hold, the two trudge forth. They make it to a nearby fortress, Toka, relieved to meet other villagers who can provide assistance. Domiciles approached, inquisitions called forth. They are told of someone who could be of service, a magician of sorts. Darkness falls. Patiently, in silence, the two wait for the talked about mechanical magician.

Mosquitoes. Dirt roads. Silence. Can the Sir Steadfast find a replacement part for La Noche? The wiring wizard comes, plans change. In place of a new part, the broken one will be partially repaired. Kind villagers offer tokens of food and assistance. Lady and Sir had not dined all day, nor had they slept well the night before. Silence, waiting. Our heroes depart Toka by 21:21, an estimated 3 hours yet to be traversed, at the molasses-like pace that is imperatively maintained. Fighting fatigue, the two plod on, precariously perched on La Noche, fearful to not make the slightest motion that might upend her. After some time, a pause on the road for a stretch and brief repose. Helmet armour juggled, roguish mosquitoes attacked, stars and moon appreciated. Making ready the steed once more, Sir tugs, turns, shakes, and waiting patiently, Lady mounts when departure is nigh. The two were bludgered! Instead of being made ready, La Noche seems to have reached her demise.

What will happen to Sir and Lady? Will they be cowed by the Fates, mortared into submission? Will Steadfast forgo his noble quest? Will Serene turn into a feckless wench? Read on, as our champions begin their true test of nobility.

Waiting on the road, silence, listening for the melodious sound of cavalry, Steadfast and Serene keep high spirits, speaking in jest and weighing the alternatives. Shall they wait for an unsure corps of cavalry pon the karna? Shall they trudge on, afoot, pushing the crippled Noche up so, ‘til the next nearest fortress, four miles away? “Well, something must be done,” Serene reasons. Desperate times had NOT addled her senses, she accepted her Fate, though be it begrudgingly.

They start off, walking. Cavalry! A bright light, a whirring sound… it passes without word. Bollocks. Downcast, the two continue. More calvalry! They stop! Steadfast assumes the authoritative position and requests his cavalry carries him to the closest fortress, Mertizero, while the Serene stays back with the rescuer’s partner. Wary, weary and resigned, she converses with the partner who boasts of his feats, talks of elopements to a far away land and notes desired qualities of a Future Domestic Dame. Lady remains politely, though distantly uninterested (the partner smelled heavily of mead). Meanwhile, Steadfast goes with the obliging comrade, using field knowledge and the act of persuasion to find and borrow a replacement for the fallen steed. He returns, triumphant to the karna of marooning. But the remedy is not so easy, fuel must be transferred from the fallen to the replacement, not such an easy endeavour. Many moments of night are spent at this transaction.

And then – how to take La Noche to the grounds of Mertizero for safe storage? It is decided the Lady will soldier on ahead, alone, on the fresh steed, as the Sir will manage, somehow, to bring the fallen one to the same fortress. New to the art of riding, Serene fiercely accepts the challenge and sets forth, the path bumpy and strange, the steed different, slightly weathered and its secrets of dominating not fully unlocked. For several miles, the Lady rides, alert and in control. It is a test of competency she is keen to master. She is victorious! As she waits for her comrade she can’t help but slumber slight, unawares of the tribulations Steadfast is facing: he must push, not ride, La Noche all those steps the Lady exhilaratingly passed. The task is great, but the warrior, true.

They rendezvous and make ready to begin the last leg of their journey however, when Steadfast wisely checks the status of the loaner, he discovers it, too, is afflicted with the same malady that had fell La Noche! Oh, woe unto them! How can such persevering champions be dealt with such strife?! “We will yet reach, worry not,” Steadfast humbly proclaims. Continue they do, with the same molasses-like gait and care as before all hopes of smooth sailing from this point on a dashed dream. The hour approaches 3 in the morn, and languor is such a heavy burden. The lady attempts, futilely, to keep herself and therefore her rider alert –she talks of riddles and foibles, to little avail. He nobly persists, though they soon pause for a short repose once more.

The malady will not be appeased, no matter how tender the attention, and the steed begins to buck and weave, making it too terrible for Sir to control and too taxing for Lady to endure – faulty riding accessories already has this duo strained and sore. It is Lady Serene who admits defeat to this test of the Fates; they raptly abandon ship and ensconce the steed for a later recovery.

Not a soul around, only the moonlight to guide them, Steadfast and Lady Serene begin journey afoot, towards the next domain of villagers, the land of Markanata, several miles forward. There are no more tools, no other mode of assistance, no other solution, except to “Keep moving forward.” Once the Markanata perimeter is reached, perhaps there will be another steed to borrow for the last score of miles. They trudge on, both being plagued with dream-like trances while afoot, fighting mirages and dire needs of mental rest. The Bridge of Diamond W is reached, and our champions are joined by a one Smelly Cat, who makes himself part of the walking wagon, swiftly trotting behind the Lady, making no quarrel. The Lady, determined to not belie weakness, does not request a rest, but gratefully accepts the offer when made. With Smelly Cat at her head, the Lady drifts into a dreamful slumber. It is almost 5, and all hopes of reaching the Kingdom of Yups before dawn is not feasible. Sir awakens Lady, and a purring Smelly Cat, and they set forth, towards the pinkening sky.

“Let us not tarry,” Steadfast says. “Let there be speed in our step.” The Lady, a competent wayfarer, accepts the suggestion and begins the act of trudging with an added fervor. As the two walk into the sunrise, the scenery around them comes to life – shadows become shrubbery, dew is glistening on the grass. A natural tunnel of trees keeps the journeys cool despite their warmth acquired by physical exertion. Smelly Cat proves unworthy to continue the journey and in a pitiful meowling protest, begs off. Fare thee well, O Smelly One.

The quest now becomes to reach Markanata before the sun becomes too scorching. Serene proves to be too proficient at wayfaring, and Steadfast begs her arrest. Only the sound of Sir’s sturdy boots and Lady’s flimsy slippers can be heard against the rocky ground. The carry their armour in hand; a light, but significant burden to bear. Admittedly, carrying more tools or a hammock would have both been a blessing and a curse. The pilgrims rejoice- a domicile! As Steadfast inquires into the whereabouts of a particular vassal, Lady weakly fights lethargy. The sun is up, and it is past 6 in the morn. The persevering pilgrims wait at the domicile when, eventually, The Rider comes avast, pon steed, his father not far behind. The two easily accept the request for transport and the Steadfast and the Serene make swiftly across the savanna, both eager for their odyssey to be concluded.

As Lady moves easily and deftly with her rider on the steed, she is too fatigued and too cynical to feel at ease until the Yups soil is upon her soles. Oh, hark! The sweet scene of CH! Try as they may, the Fates did not win the war – Steadfast and Serene conquered each adversity and never stopped moving Onward – true soljahs.

The story ends, or so it seems – how will Steadfast go about steed reconnaissance? Read about how our warrior soljahs on in his new quest, in the next installment of the Don’t Feel No Way Series.

My Life, as portrayed in LOST ;)

In a fitting moment, Mom and I watched the series finale on the eve of my journey back to Guyana. Most questions answered, most loose ends tied up, purposes fulfilled… a contented ending.

LOST, if you didn’t follow it, is a 6-season TV show that revolves around the survivors of a plane crash on an island in the Pacific. We watch as each character is developed and as the qualities of the island are revealed. There’s a group of around a dozen survivors the show centers around, and then more, outside (“other”) characters come into the story, as well. As the flight survivors try to get home (contacting the outside world, getting a sub, a sailboat, etc.) we see just how special the island is – its electromagnetic forces have caught others’ attention and there are power plays on different local and global levels. It’s a combination of science fiction and man vs. science (and/or faith vs. doubt). The strange traits of the island are bizarre and entertaining, but it’s the actual people on the island that caught my attention the most.

The survivors’ lives before, during and after the Island were always lacking. When they came to the Island, they all were worn down, escaping something, searching for something. Their live's paths all led them to that point of reaching the island, the redeeming trait of each of them, despite past events or stunted expression. Whether they knew it or not, they were looking for something more. Once on the Island - even though they tried fervently for so long to get OFF it – they were changed, it made them blossom; they were given a second chance, they were made more complete for it. The Island and each other did this, though they didn’t realize it at the time, and most did not want to be there; they longed for the familiarity of their past life. While waiting for a way home, they made do with what they had, they learned how to function, survive, enjoy, they let go of past perspectives, made friendships and partnerships in ways they never imagined and witness some true world wonders.

The plot twists, as some actually got back home, trying to pick up where they left off. Though, they were still touched by the island and in need of the bonds created on the Island. It still was with them, and eventually, those that got home, went back. No longer the same person they were on that first flight, and certainly not the same as they were before leaving the Island; each had individually grown.

Though they had all lived their own lives during their time at home, there was no denying the influence of the Island. The plot twisted again, and due to time travel, they made it so it was as if they never even landed on the island (what (would have) happened when the plane reached its intended destination). In this alternate reality, they still found themselves pulled to each other, experiencing memories of a former, forgotten life on the island, until it all came together, it all added up. Things were how they were supposed to be – they had their old life/memories while carrying with them their experiences/memories/relationships from the Island, it added up to complete their story, to balance them out.

I decided the parallels between this whole PC service thing and LOST are too great to ignore.

Oh, I was so satisfied by the ending and the show as a whole – no matter how ‘out there’ it was. Masterful story-telling, masterful characters and masterful presented themes. Destiny, fear, challenge, love, sacrifice, completion. And yes, I feel a parallel to this story, at this particular point in my life. I’m sure the show has many general life predicaments applicable to many, but here’s how it relates to me: Two worlds, one person; when/where/how will those two worlds collide to complete the person? I have referred to these two different locations, the environments and my roles as ‘worlds’ before, and I stand by that.

Most of my memories, instead of vivid episodes, seem to be hazier, dreamlike states of mind wrapped around emotion. When in Guyana, a foreign place, I’d remember, to varying strengths, feelings of Home- love, security, boundaries, people, places, things. I carried them with me, knowing I had them, and that they were probably still there, but it became something only distantly related to me – I was somewhere new, with no one from my former life. I was a blank slate, I became someone (partially) new, all on my own. I’ve done well, and for that, I’m proud. I was changed, and the change became normal.

Coming home, then, after two years…
This trip home was a combining experience, encouraging my two worlds to collide. I was experiencing it from new eyes, with the influences and memories of Guyana, the carefree-ness, the confidence and happiness gained. I was in the car, going down a street, and could picture a savanna dirt road down there, the red dirt, the knee-length grassy middle part, the grr of the motorbike and breeze. I’d hear crickets and other bugs at home, but hear cicadas, howler monkeys and the Rupununi bugs at the same time.

I refreshed all old memories of streets, stores, sounds and ambiance of Home; its feeling was familiar, ingrained in me, timeless, just how I remember, how I remembered when I was Away. Despite any impatience I have with what I feel is its static and restrictive nature, I know I gain strength from Home, as well, and I have a purpose to fulfill there, too. Going home, I also gain back a little bit of who I was before. Before I left Home for my service, I sat in Mom’s living room chair, rubbing my hands over the arms, trying to memorize the feel. I whispered to Maggie “Don’t forget me.” The chair’s still there, still feeling the same way, Maggie still remembers me. Those things haven’t changed.

But I have. And no matter what end I’m at now, there’s longing for the other, in some ways, though also, the other seems as if the dream, the foreign place.

“One day a man dreamt he was a butterfly, a butterfly flitting and fluttering around, happy with himself and doing as he pleased. He didn’t know he was a man. Suddenly, he woke up and there he was, solid and unmistakably a man. But he didn’t know if he was a man who had dreamt he was a butterfly or a butterfly dreaming he was a man.” – Chuang Tzu

~Happy Thanksgiving, America!~

Jessica's "Daily Affirmation"

I adore this video, I wish that adults could maintain such an enthusiasm. I think if we all gave ourselves a pep talk of this magnitude every day, there'd be a lot more getting done, and a lot more spirit while doing it.

I sometimes try to walk into the library in the morning and be overly enthusiastic. "OkAYYY, What's going on today?!!?!? It's gonna be a good day, all right, all right! Let's get some music playing in here!" It makes the librarians laugh, which serves it's purpose as enlivenment, but it also can help with theirs and my perspective of the day. Think/speak positive and you will be positive.

I also often ask friends to tell me something. Or tell me something good. Or tell me something fun. Again, it's as much for me as it is them.

We, as optimists, cling and continually bring forth the positive to help combat with the negative. Not ignore it, but overpower it.

And if we ever falter in doing so on our own, there's always Jessica's Daily Affirmation.

Strike me Once, Shame on You; Strike me 10 Times... Shame on me

Have you ever considered the life of a match? Its sole purpose is for one second - a mili-second, really - of time. Intense heating, quick incineration, then carelessly tossed aside. That’s the purpose of a match, so I don’t really feel sorry as I strike, light, use and discard one – it’s fulfilling its ignition duties and serving civilized society nobly, however coerced it may have been. But what about those matches you spend extra seconds on, just trying to get a spark, to no avail? You end up scraping off all the red stuff until you just pitch it away in an irritated huff. This infinitesimal little appliance gets reduced to merely a thick toothpick. How sad. Sorta. Well, it’s mostly just pathetic.

Toilet Talk; When you Gotta Go, You Gotta Go

There are three locations that feature flush toilets in the village: Caiman House, the Primary School, and Kaigan House (my house). What everyone else uses in the village are pit latrines, a wooden version of port-o-potties, which, of course, don't get emptied, just filled in and relocated once they've reached their quota.

Latrines have various levels of shelter, some being palm leaves on three sides and an open door in front, or perhaps a cloth covering as the door, that blows in the wind. Standard Red Cross-approved ones have four wooden walls, a zinc roof that's slanted to allow air flow at the top, and some wide boards with a circle cut to put your bottom. Not sure the standard depth.

Then, of course, there's always the 'go in the savanna' approach. Darkness is preferrable for this approach, if no darnkess, than a good bush or tree is desired. When you're on the move, going in front of or behind a vehicle suffices. Women will go squat together, especially at night, no need for modesties, it's all nature. (I've gotten pretty good at squat bathroom time, btw.)

We have a latrine behind Kaigan House, I use it on occasion. For a period of about a week, our toilet was clogged and we HAD to use it. I have access to toilet paper (House Proud!) that's not only perforated, but dusted with baby powder for a fresh smell and feel. But most people don't use TP. In other household latrines, you'll see sections of old books on the boards with the hole in it for sitting.

There seems to be some sort of elemtental statement in the act of wiping one's bottom with pages of written word. I just don't know what that statement is exactly.

Attachment Issues

Sometimes, looking at these kids, they're so cute and I adore them so much, I could cry.

Looking at the pics I've just taken a day or hours ago, I sort of shake up inside, already anticipating the goodbyes I'll have to say.

The children know how to make me laugh, intentionally or not. They have so much potential in them. I'm not used to working in such a classroom setting, I never did that back home. It was always brief visits to classrooms, working with small groups or individual children. I haven't had the opportunity to see them and work with them as a class, over multiple years.

I am invested in these kids' progress. I love taking the time to read to them, whether I am obliging their request, or they are obliging mine. Today, Wendy asked me "I want to read, Miss Sarah, just you and me." She and I had read many short, fun poems by Douglas Florian the other day, and I was impressed with how well she was reading and how she didn't get nervous or discouraged at stumbling. Two years ago, she was a quiet, unresponsive person to me.

Grade 6 has become a personal quest this year. We're getting to know each other, the students, Miss Eleanor and myself, to see how we can best work together. It's been a positive start, and I'm hoping next term will go even better, as we get them ready to take their exam to get into secondary school. These guys were strong students in Grade 4, with Maisie, some stayed involved in things last year, and now in Grade 6, Maisie and I have big plans for them; Eleanor is well into her teacher training as well, and has the potential to give them the attention needed. I hope we can all work together. As I told them I would be gone next week for meetings in Town, and how tomorrow is a holiday so I wouldn't come to their class, they were calling for me to come in today, instead. Getting to spend one-on-one time with most of them is exciting, trying to get them to work at home with attentive family members is exciting, as well. We're really hoping to get a high number of passes this year - not only that, but a high number who are more prepared to enter adolescence.

Helen, Shannon, Merisa, Cheryl, Rosana, Harrington, they'll have no problem. Michelle, Sathia, Alex, they could do it if they weren't so quiet. Lucilyn, Ednei, Meriza, Jacqueline, they could do it if they knew they could. Salman, Jason, they could do it if they got a little more serious and threw their personalities into their studies. Eloisesa and Michael can't hardly read, but they have such heart and zest to attempt whatever I put in front of them. Tachine and Devon need such basic attention, I want to see how they could perform if they were given it.

The nursery kids are so cute; I can't believe Grade 2 kids are already in Grade 2 - they were nursery kids when I first came. My first grade 6 class are big grade 8 kids now, I had the pleasure of reading a chapter book with them during lunch hour last month; Volda, Avalinda, Synesius, Jeremiah, Karoline all were such good readers. Jenkins, Odinan, Wreford are three boys with such impish personalities, they just need a little encouragement to be good big boys and get involved in the different development going on in the village...

I don't know how I'll be able to walk away from them all.

Mark Malcom

"Marco, MarcO!"

Enough people call to Mark during the day and afternoon, I hear it all the time. Mark is with Lucy, they're my closest neighbors, geographically and personally. They are from Parishara, though Lucy teaches Nursery School here in Yups, and they stay in the dilapidated teacher's quarters right next to my house.

Lucy is quite an active woman. She's curious and playful and has a sparkle in her eye at all times. And, of course, she's working full time. If one didn't look close enough, you could swear that Lucy 'wears the pants' in the relationship.

There ARE mild jokes about such; Lucy being the one with steady work and therefore uprooting the couple for it, they're both of personalities that suggests she pulls Mark along with her fancies. People tease, calling Mark "Mr. Andrew," which is Lucy's surname.

The two aren't married. They've been together for 23 years, though, and have children. Their youngest, Anthony, is in secondary school in St. Ignatius and is a spitting image of Mark. I would say that the two are in an even more caring relationship than some of the married couples down here. They enjoy each other, and openly demonstrate so. They do things together, not just basic living tasks, but things like dancing the night away and sitting in hammocks, reading or looking at magazines.

Mark is taciturn, unlike Lucy, but he's just as witty and alert and busy. He finds ways to earn money, whether it be through CH or contractors or going out to do logging or mining. When he's not earning money, he keeps busy during the day, whether it be engaged in 'manly' activities of fishing, repairing bikes or carpentry, or more 'domestic' activities of cleaning, cooking, or being attentive to his dogs; it's really obvious he loves his dogs - Kai, too.

Mark and Lucy's house is snug. Although it's about ready to fall down and is only a house they stay in temporarily, it somehow evokes a feeling of happiness and things as they should be. Both keep the place as spotless as possible, all objects on and in the house are kept working well. Mark has made lights out of old flashlight bits and old batteries, he's built stools for the house, has a place to hang saltfish or tasso, has his seine (fishing net) that he keeps immaculate. The shelves above the two burner stove has a jar of pepper sauce, a bottle of casareep and a plastic container of salt, that's about it. They have little here, but what they have is cared for, and found pleasure in.

As I pass Mark through the village during the day, he shyly calls to me "All right, Miss Sarah." When Lucy comes into the house and plays cards with us, he stays at home. He's always fixed my bicycle and done other repairs on my things or the house, mostly with Lucy's instruction, but he does it in such a way that makes it seem like he was waiting for Lucy to tell him to do it, or for me to ask, so he could do it.

When other men here would sit around, liming and/or drinking, during the entire day, and let the dishes be dirty or the let the laundry be, or let things fall and remain in disrepair, Mark does not. He certainly limes with men, just not excessively. Their household would be quite scant if he did not as actively tend to it as needed, because Lucy is a busy professional woman during the day, unlike most of the ladies down here. Mark does not act like he's bothered by teases about his and Lucy's relationship. In fact, the two seem to be blissfully ignorant to it, and good-natured and polite to whoever they encounter. Mark's as gentle as a lamb, though I know he would protect me from whatever I may need protecting from. Lucy is as cheerful as one could be, but has shown me how to ignore and passive aggressively deal with bothersome men. They both look out for and look after me quite well, and seem to respect my privacy when it comes to non-village activities at my house.

The two are virtuous, but not religious. Amerindian, but not strictly Makushi or Wapishana (Lucy grew up speaking Portuguese). Up with modernity, but still traditional. Happy and confident, but not overly demonstrative or attention-seeking. Different, yet the same.

Mark lets Lucy be her different, spunky, assertive, special self, and in doing so, lets loose his own special side. In a world of certain gender roles down here, that's quite a feat.

Mark Malcolm is a humble, good-natured, good man and I am glad to know him. I hope I can somehow express this to him, eventually.

"I used to think that if I cared about one thing, I'd have to care about everything." - Prince Henry, Ever After

"Hai! Go long!" I shout to a mangy-looking, emaciated, nursing, flaccid-bottomed dog. She's seen and smelled the bowl of dry dog food my dog, Kai, has abandoned. She's hung around for the past week; Kai plays with her, sometimes.

Kai has had the taste of hot meals, ones of fish heads and chow mein, of chicken fat and rice, of beef bones and farine, and does not like the dry food.

The mangy dog does not immediately shy away, as many of the cowed dogs do here, but neither does she desperately inch closer to the bowl to take a pilfered bite then fly out. As I get up out of my chair and make medium-strength sounds of dismissal, she walks, slowly and sadly to my gate. I close the latch behind her.

I realize she's just a nursing mom, looking for some sustenance for herself and possibly pups. But I treat her as I treat all dogs that aren't my own - with ostracism.

"Maybe I should let her have Kai's discarded breakfast; Kai should learn that she needs to eat what's in front of her - there's other dogs who aren't as lucky.

"Maybe I should let her eat the food; Kai is certainly in the position to miss a meal, and this dog may not have had a decent meal in awhile.

"But - what about the next meal? Can I provide the next one, when she comes back for more?

"But - what about the other dogs in need? Can I feed them as well?

"If I say yes now, I'll have to say yes next time.

"If I say yes now, it'll be harder to say no the next time.

"If I say yes now, they'll feel they can come again, expecting the same.

"Better not to help at all."

I keep the gate closed, and ignore the mangy-looking, emaciated, nursing, flaccid-bottomed dog, just as I do all the rest.

The Third Year

Is there some particular reason this third year is seeming to be the most difficult year of all? The busiest?

I look after CH, feeding animals, directing the cleaning girls, locating borrowed materials. I lead the library in its week's activities, organizing story times, planning for After School Program, fitting in our volunteer's contributions and dealing with personnel issues. I head up a comprehension tutoring session held thrice a week for Grade 6, planning lessons, grading exercises, noting progress, collaborating with the HM and class teacher. I read chapter books to different kids and groups of kids, I ask them comprehension questions, we discuss vocabulary, we write sentences about the stories, we share in the reading responsibilities. I assert my desires with my friends, I invite them over for an evening meal and liming with things prepared, I joke with them, I call them out on their lapses, I disengage more quickly than before, leaving them be. I don't take as much crap - not from friends, not from co-workers, not from students, not from bothersome men.

What was it about my visit home that's made me so much more authoritative, directive.... directed? "You've changed," was something said of me by two different people.

I heard that same thing from my American friends and family during my visit home, but it was interesting to hear it from my Guyanese friends, too. Two years of one new experience seems enough to influence a person, but is 40 days at home enough, as well?

I came back to Guyana with new clothes, no glasses on my face, make up instead. I came back with different gifts, new stories to share, a more finite direction in my life, one after this experience. I came back with a full dose of love from the US, a whole dose of encouragement, a whole dose of contentment of being myself - which I am now asserting - more than I ever did before here. This must be what the "You've changed" is about.

Part of me thinks "Well, thank heavens someone has changed, Lord knows change is necessary within developing countries!" My impatience for the same old hook ups has increased, my tolerance for lack of gumption is wavering. My ability/tendency to keep trying the same thing in the same ways and getting the same results is waning.

Alice was removed from the country. Unofficially deported back to the States. That Saturday, a few weeks ago, was disturbing; the implications of developing a country very bold and important. And the effects of her absence were immediately noted; I found myself averse to these changes. She was the kick in the pants that this place needed, albeit a strong, pestering and relentless one.

I wasn't here for the last time she was removed from the country, but I arrived to see it's lasting effects, and it seems like the potential for backsliding again this time is strong. No one can say that Yups is lacking for support and inspiration and materials. But you can only lead a horse to water... I am no longer trying to force them to drink.

There was something about my visit home, and Alice's removal, that made the gap between complaints/"should do's" and "Well, do it's" smaller. I find myself being even more vocal/direct with my plans and requests. There is a list of imperatives, and while I cannot hold the same list as Alice did, I can try to keep the same spirit alive. The librarians and frequent library limers are being kept quite busy within the library; our temporary volunteers are being monitored and guided on their volunteering experience. My friends are getting a blast of impatience for the extreme "Hakunah Matata" vibe they put off.

Limitations are being recognized and certain ideas or events scrapped, before an attempt and fail can mar everyone's spirits - or perhaps just my own. I'm finding myself to be a more vibrant personality, succeeding at being what people need down here, and for that, I am proud. Proud to have realized that progress is never finished, and even though there is no concrete end, that's no reason to step back and let progress progress on it's own. Proud to realize that being a complimentative entity for my first two years and now a dynamic entity for my last year is how I can best leave Yupukari, best to prepare them for the years and progress to come.

I am proud to fill that needed role here, and willing to do so for this next year. My only qualm is: Am I being what/who I need me to be, too?

Vices

Per dictionary.com, some of the defs for 'vice' are: 1. an immoral or evil habit or practice, 5. a fault, defect or shortcoming, 7. a bad habit, as in a horse.

Wikipedia.org cites Christianity's beliefs on vices:

Christians believe there are two kinds of vice:
Vices that come from the physical organism as perverse instincts (such as lust)
Vices that come from false idolatry in the spiritual realm

The first kind of vice, though sinful, is believed less serious than the second. Vices recognized as spiritual by Christians include blasphemy (holiness betrayed), apostasy (faith betrayed), despair (hope betrayed), hatred (love betrayed), and indifference (scripturally, a "hardened heart"). Christian theologians have reasoned that the most destructive vice equates to a certain type of pride or the complete idolatry of the self. It is argued that through this vice, which is essentially competitive, all the worst evils come into being. In Judeo-Christian creeds it originally led to the Fall of Man, and as a purely diabolical spiritual vice, it outweighs anything else often condemned by the Church.


PC seemed to bring up quite often, both in the prep materials and during training, different ways to deal with stress.

I listed journalling, walking, listening to music, reading as my stress-relievers.

These things are more or less available to use here, but then again, maybe not.

What happens when you are looking for a quiet walk by yourself and happen to gain a troop of little followers? Or meet enough people along the path since it's a path to the river and everyone frequents the river? Or, if all the pens/pencils you own to journal with are poor quality and aren't functioning or have been thieved? Or if you don't have batteries in your mp3 player, or you lent your only pair of earplugs out and haven't got them back yet or your mp3 player has been months missing? See where this is going?

I hadn't understood PC's stress on stress-relievers - the stress on drinking responsibly, as well. Ok, of course, we've all heard that spiel, we're all mature adults, we're all aware adults.

I hadn't factored in the need to relieve certain discomforts, whether those be the inability to satisfy your stress-relief in your old ways, or dealing with an amount of stress higher than you've ever been used to, or just an overall need for a break from the weight of the all-encompassing experience.

Which brings me (back) to vices.

Why is it that we develop vices? Comfort? Stress relief? Genetically predisposed? Deficiencies? Just something to do, as in part of our personality, or time/mind-fillers?

At what point do vices become unhealthy habits? Meaning, a person becomes dependent on said vice to feel normal or achieve satisfaction or relaxation, or overuses and/or abuses.

What sort of vices do people have? Abuse?

They say oral-fixated people always have to be chewing something - biting nails, chewing gum, random objects, smoking. Some people have ticks, physical, facial, verbal. Some people turn eating into a more frequent habit than necessary, either because of boredom, gluttony or stress. Some people use alcohol to calm their nerves, etc.

Then there's the point where vices (can) become a habit - or vice versa - destructive or invasive or not. The relationship between vices and habits is interesting, I'm still mulling it over.

For me, I used to eat a lot. I don't think it was because I was stressed, just bored (at a loss) and it was pleasing to the taste buds. I also preferred isolation, alone time. I need my alone time. In addition to, or as an alternate to my stress relievers of former habit, I've developed new ones.

One being smoking. It hasn't turned into a habit, fortunately, but it is a vice. It's a bought moment of focus, of intraversion, awareness. It's a sense of rebellion on an other-wards life of integration.

Another one has become sleep. When an answer simply cannot be found, the best solution seems to be unconsciousness. "Tomorrow's another day," Caribbean singer, Buddy Collz croons. Sometimes a plethora of thoughts and perspectives and emotions catches me an I am unable to figure out what to do with it all, unable to talk it out with a loved one. It helps with my alone time, it allows me to meditate with music and relaxation and it passes the time.

Alcohol hasn't become a vice for me, though I was surprised to find that I've used it as a form of escape.

New experiences, new methods. Learning so much more about my world and myself. Vices. They say alot about humanity and individuality.

Cake and Cutlasses

ONE way a Yupukari child celebrates their birthday.

It was my goddaughter, DeAnna's first birthday on Sunday (Sept. 19th). This was one of the first things I was made aware of when I became her godmother (one of those bits of information that came right after learning her name, too.) Months ago, Zaruti, DeAnna's mother, had mentioned her first birthday, and how we'd celebrate it.

Here, it's custom that the godparents will help with the celebrating of their godchild's birthday, whether it be hosting it, providing supplies for a meal and drinks or simply assisting. It's the godparent's role to go inviting people to the party, to call the party to a start, by welcoming everyone, saying a prayer and calling for any presents to be given to the child. Now, these roles are loose, it could just be the parents who sponsor everything, or grandparents or neighbors, though the godparents are the second most noted people for the ordeal. They definitely get preference on the kari, if anything.

Now, I don't know if maybe Zaruti thought I'd have godmother powers superior to local godmothers or not, but I found myself struggling with this little task. First of all, I've been out of country, secondly, they've been out of village, so no real planning took place. DeAnna was on my mind, a bit, - I brought her back some things from the States - but other than that, I bordered on falling into Inattentive Godmother status. Back in the States, you'd go to the store, buy a card, buy or make a gift and if you couldn't make it to the party, send a check in the mail. If you were to help with the party, you'd go to the store, buy some balloons, order/bake a cake and maybe find some other thing to make the day special for the person. Something like that.

I was happy to let the Yupukarian godmother, Georgina, take the lead, and since she said she'd come early on Saturday morning to get some chicken and help strain cari, I told her to come to my house and pick me up so I could help, as well. No one had slaughtered lately, otherwise they would have gotten half a cow, but I offered to get some chicken, and help cook, if Georgina could lead it all. But Georgie never came, and then CH had a crisis in the morning that I had to be involved in, then there was a PTFA meeting, whew!

DeAnna's birthday was on Sunday, but they wanted to keep it on Saturday, as to maximize the party hours (parties - for children or adults - can be a day long, night long event) of the weekend, but we discussed pushing it to Sunday. Godfather Cecil didn't agree; there was kari to be consumed, what more could you need? Nothing, according to Cecil. Okay..... so there was no chicken was to be found, and Georgina and I had to break it to Zaruti. No meal. I offered to make a cake, instead....

Much more my forte, anyway. I had also brought back a couple little gifts for DeAnna and the family from the States and shared those with them that morning. Anyway, they waited for me to finish baking the cake, and by 6 p.m., the 'party' was ready to begin. I took the cake to Zaruti and began helping to strain kari with Flora, Zaruti wanted pictures taken so I got that ready, too. I think it was both a help and a hindrance that I didn't know quite what to do or how to help. A help in that it made me attentive to anything Zaruti might need to host this party and that I could add my own different celebratory ways, but a hindrance that I couldn't have made this party well-oiled and typical party down here.

Zaruti suggested I cut the cake, so I asked for a knife, and was given a 1.5 foot long cutlass to do the job with. We took it outside and put it on the main table, and Zaruti said it was time to welcome everyone, so Georgina started, speaking in Makushi, making the customary apologies for no food, mentioning the shortage of chicken in the village, saying we didn't have much, etc. She mentioned the kari, as well. Nope, I'm not fluent in Makushi, I can just pick out main words and read body language. Then it came my turn to talk, and so I did what I do best and remark upon the momentous day and the cute birthday girl, etc. I mention the proccli (Makushi for kari) and get a laugh, then motion to start a customary prayer.

Then, we sing the Birthday Song, a customary 5 or 6 verse funeral-march rhythm tune. We (try to) take a couple pics of the birthday girl with her parents and godparents - of course the batteries were dying and there's no Walgreen's around the corner to pick up real quick. Then we call for any gifts for the birthday girl, and this is when people will file up, putting bills into the girl's hands or handing off other small gifts. It was the godparent's role to then go and assess the booty. Some sweet biscuits, some sweeties, a bath towel, a bar of soap wrapped in newspaper, a little outfit, and $1220 total, which we then report back to the crowd.

And THEN, it was kari and forro time. Georgina and I went out to the crowds with a first 5-gallon bucket of kari with two cups for dipping and serving. Each adult got a cupful; some shared with their kids, some shared a bit back with Georgina and I. Once one round was done, it was time to start another one, apparently. So we went out again. They asked if I was ready to go around sharing on my own, giving to the new arrivals, but I couldn't tell who was new or not, or even if some were adultish or not. So I clung to Georgie, we both dancing as we waited for the person to finish their cup. It was a good excuse to not have to dance with anyone I didn't want to, too. "Oh, sorry, I can't, I'm sharing kari."

DeAnna was put to bed soon after the songs, and both Zaruti and Albert watched the festivities from the doorway of their house. Albert let us know he wasn't drinking at all, so he could keep an eye on things. (I was quite impressed). He was always there to help with any buckets/cups needed or anything else.

I got to talk with a bunch of people, dance, drink a little kari, and have an overall good time, it was a nice first party to go back to in the village. As always, I was mindful to exert control over dancing duration and kari consumption. Oh, the pains of responsibility... The party went on until past 3 a.m. and I left my co-godmother and godfather there at 10 p.m., to continue celebrating without me - which they most definitely did. We saw Georgina and Cecil walking from Zaruti's house the next afternoon in the same clothes as the day before.

And it was with this modest, traditional, yet random way that DeAnna Agatha Elijah celebrated her first birthday.

An Afternoon Lime

Heading to Shaira's
"Miss! da da da da da?"
-"What does that mean?"
"'Where are you going, Miss?'"
-"Oh, how do you say "I am going?'"
"da da dada da."
-"da da dada da.... Shaira's.... you'll have to teach that to me again on Monday."

Walking from Shaira's, across an area of bow and arrow target practice, at Maureen's and Clifton's
"Come, come!"
(I don't come, but wait, as a man puts a bow into place; he shoots his three -)
"Come, come!"
(I quickly cross the area, go safely into Aunt Maureen's kitchen. After catching up with Lorrie, drinking a cup of lime juice and getting three small lukanani, I go on my way, passing the archers.)
-"Make sure you don't hit me, I'm not a deer! Hows the practice?"
"We are making progress."

At Alice's shop
"I love how you are teaching my daughter, you are teaching her to speak proper English, we love you........"
-"Thank you, I try."
"I love you, I want to marry you, Miss."
-Cane' cane' cane'! (no!)

"You got fat, Miss Sarah!"

From Alice's, passing through Vilma's, encountering a passing, stumbling uncle
"You can read Peter to me? Second Peter?"
-"Sure, if you want."
--"That's not a Bible!"
"You will read Luke to me?"
-"Sure, if that's a Bible."
(it's not a Bible, it's a hymn book)
"Ok, I will come by you.... in the Garden of Eden."

Heading home... at the phone booth
"Hey, Sarah! How far you go?"
-"Just been liming about."

...On the football field
"What are you doing?" "You will come to Katoka?"
-"No, I can't. You all ready to beat Katoka tomorrow?????..... No one????
--"Yeah!"
-"Thanks, Rosita, at least SHE's ready to beat Katoka."

...Coming 'pon' the house
-"Heyo, neighbor!"
"Yo, yo!!"

Suburbia

Welcome to suburbia,
Where life is so superbia.
A swimming pool in every yard -
The livin's easy, never hard.
The houses here all look the same,
Like plastic pieces in a game.
Our schools are smart;
Our streets are clean.
Our perfect lawns
Are always green.
The people here are trouble-free
But die from the monotony.
-Douglas Florian

He he.

Afternoon Delights

SO happy to be back. :)

My new roommates, Martin and Jeff, are nice easygoing guys. It's a bit different to room with males - shoes all over the place and a stack of books in the bathroom, for example - but we're getting along easily; they're very excited about and complimentary of any cooking I do.

Saturday was a small village lunch - toma pot and cassava bread - followed by a bow and arrow competition. You bet I participated! I even hit the target board 3 times, one time even scoring! Such nice village time.

Sunday, I went to church and had some nice time in the Word, then Lucy gave me two pieces of fry fish for lunch; that, with soaked farine and ketchup, was magical. Lucy helped me do mountainous washing over the weekend, too. My house is back to normal!

Monday was my first day back to school and YPL. Rosita took the place of Lorrie at the library, and she and Russian and I began work to get the library school-worthy for this year. Story-time at 11:30, a lunch of pbj with my roomies while talking about international fast food, then an ASP of outside games and inside word games.

Tuesday, yesterday, was another good, busy school day, followed by our first librarian's meeting of the year at my house. Jeff, Martin and Shamir were invited to attend, to help construct our library activities for the upcoming year/term. Jeff's a herp guy and Martin's a bird guy, and they'll be here until mid-Nov and mid-Oct, respectively. After that, my roomies and I went out on a village walk, collecting a pound of peppers, 3 lbs. flour and 5 lbs. sugar, all to help make dinner and start a bucket of rice wine. Egg curry and roti was on the menu and I, once again, adore how a meal can become the night's activity.

When the night wound down, Shamir came by and then Mark came calling, to tell the boys that he found a snake. It was a rainbow boa, about 3 feet long with spots like a leopard and then iridescent colors running down it as well. Cool! ( also learned, from Jeff, that snakes don't have eyelids, one of the few distinguishing traits between snakes and snake-like creatures.

All of this, combined with the pleased greetings of long-lost village friends and aunties, plus the magnificence of the clouds, the views, the trees, the stars, the breeze, hammocks.... :))))))))))))))))))))) .... it's made my home-coming so satisfying.

But, you know? It's all with the understanding that on Aug. 23rd, 2011, I will be finished with my Peace Corps Guyana service. The understanding that I will have to say my goodbyes, have to wrap up any and all projects, have to pass on the torch of librarianship to someone else, whether that be a PCV or a Yupukarian.

I am so blessed to have this third year. I got to fully complete my two standard ones, and then go home to say hello, to get a fresh perspective (of home AND Guyana), strong dose of support and fully appreciate all the beauties of my home here in Guyana, and then COME BACK, get all my 'one last time' in that I realized I needed while in the States. It WILL be over - but not yet. Even though life here is not forever, I still get to enjoy, appreciate and be a part of it for a whole other year.

And then, let The Adventures in the USA begin.... or wherever else is next.

"Guyana is Nice, Bad"

That's one thing about this country - the pride Guyanese feel for it. Most any Guyanese will boast of the beautiful land, the products cultivated, the friendly people of their country; my cab driver was one of them, the above ^ is his statement of his country.

On the cab ride from Cheddi Jagan International Airport to the Windjammer Hotel in Kitty, Georgetown, I was greeted by the familiar sights, sounds and smells of Guyana - coconut trees, car horns and curry, for example.

I welcomed the familiar sensations as even just yesterday, I was sensing the streets of Kansas City, a fairly different overall experience. Now, sure, there was crazy driving, putrid sewage smells and I wonder if my cabbie gave me a 'special' foreign rate for the cab ride, but one of the things I was relaxing into on that cab ride this morning was:

Life (activity) is so much more open here, freer. So much easier to see life as you drive by a street. In Guyana, you see LIFE (someone sweeping the drive, someone waiting for a bus, someone sitting at a shop stand, someone just sitting, children playing, etc.) but it seems in KC, you see walls, you feel seclusion coming from every angle. Space is marked and maintained, there is a privacy, a front put up between buildings and people. Life in Guyana is more upfront. I appreciate that.

On the other hand, as I was flying out of Atlanta last night, I looked down on the paved, lit roads and knew that a different sense of freedom lay down below. That sensation of carefree oneness with the world that comes from driving down an Interstate or Highway with the windows down and music blaring, with few people on the road, but knowing that even those who do share the road with you won't make your exhilarating drive too dangerous, knowing that even if something did happen, the US would have your back.... that, too, is a freedom worth appreciating.

Guyana AND the US are nice, bad.

Oh, Johnny

Goo Goo Dolls. Live. Amanda and I. Whoa. Unknown life’s desire fulfilled.

Music is so… moving, connecting. I was so in awe to be around music being expressed skillfully and passionately by all three bands (a band from Texas, Green River Ordnance, and then Switchfoot, opened the concert), I could fell the pump and rush of their beats and sound in my chest, my spirit moved with their rhythms and melodies. Their love for making music and sharing music resounded with mine, and it occurred to me that music really does have the power to unite us all.

The musicians, the audience, all share a mutual love, a mutual pull, pleasure and passion for the same thing. We all sat/stood there, absorbing those melodies, joining in on them, even, and letting it take each of us to a joyous state of being. It's a whole other connection with the universe than what I experience in Guyana, but no less amazing.

Johnny Reznik, a mere 100 yards away, in all his vocal, lyrical and personal wonder. “Tonight is our night,” he said. Earlier, the lead from Switchfoot said a similar thing: “Thanks for sharing the night with us; it’s a beautiful night to be alive.” That sort of contentment is a state of mind worth absorbing and sharing in.

Switchfoot played a great set, but I wish GGD’s played longer. They did cover all the hits like – “Name,” “Iris,” –a MUST - started with “Big Machine” and ended with “Broadway” – though I selfishly wished for “Sympathy” and/or “Before It’s Too Late.” Played 4 or 5 from their new album coming out right before I go back, called Something for the Rest of Us.

It was wonderful to get so excited about something, to be worked up (positively), eager, intense, invested. I’ve been like that watching Lost, too. I am so easy-going and can enjoy most things with little preference, but at times, having one strong inclination is good to feel. I love, follow, am obsessive and defensive of the TV show Lost and the band Goo Goo Dolls. Yep. So great to share that love with Amanda, too. We had a great night.

Contrasts

Did you ever used to lay upside down on a couch, or the floor or whatever and imagine if the room’s roof were the floor and the floor, the roof? I did.

As kids we know every crack in the sidewalk, every branch of a tree; we are intimate with the outdoors – indoors, too for that matter, every nook and cranny. We look at things with different perspectives.

At what point of growing up to we stop looking at the world around us in this special way? Stop seeing each item for its innate potential?

During my first visit home in two years, I went for a walk in my KC neighborhood and started to compare and contrast some aspects of my life – childhood and adulthood, for one, but also US life and Guyana life (or more specifically, Kansas City life and the Rupununi Life)… Contrasts…..

I remembered some of the first impressions of the States as the airplane from Guyana to New York landed; I immediately began noticing differences between the two countries/cultures:
-Baseball fields!
-Wow, McGarry was right; Americans are TALL.
-The order, procedure and attention given to customers. We Americans queue like nobody’s business and if we don’t know where to go or don’t choose to go that way, we have personnel to put us back in place.
-Consumerism rules! There are places to spend money at every corner. We PCV’s spend two years developing a country’s capacity, and apparently the US spends two years developing an iPod vending machine.
-Squeaky wheel sounds – I initially thought it was men sipping – I immediately ‘heard’ it then started to ignore it, until I realized no one sips here.
-Dimmed lights made me think ‘blackout!’ for a moment; Edith, too!
-Hesitation before using water – is it ok to drink straight? Oh yeah, wait, of course it is.
-Lingering tendencies to swat mosquitoes, itch, etc., but nothing there.
-Realization that I am not “Miss” here.
-It’s 8 p.m. and still light outside???

My neighborhood here in the suburbs of Kansas City, Missouri: We moved to this neighborhood my senior year of high school and I appreciated the neighborhood-like aspect to the area; our old house was on a street with no other turns on it. There are sidewalks on many of the streets, the yards are well-maintained, you encounter different dogs and cats, some different neighbors, the routes for walking are fairly substantial, a lot of turns and weaving in and out. "Well-maintained" in KC means most yards have lush, thick grass in front and back that's kept mowed and even.

My neighborhood in Yups, the Rupununi, Region 9 of Guyana: there are different paths, likewise (though smaller and more transparent), as well as well-maintained yards - most are void of green, as all grass and weeds are painstakingly hoed and the yard is left clean with brownish red pebbles that will get raked clean of any leaves that happen to fall. Many different dogs, cats, cows, sheep, chickens; different neighbors out and about.

Many similarities; many fundamental differences, too, though. I hadn’t realized how enclosed my KC neighborhood seems – houses every couple of yards, fences, driveways, cars. There is a lot of shade, which is good, but also a lack of a breeze. I love the freedom of my Rupununi neighborhood, the open areas, the secluded paths, the paths leading OUT of civilization.

Yups has a greater variety of animal life out and about; these animals run free, more or less. And I have to remind myself, as I walk through KC, that these dogs and cats are usually fenced off and defensive of their territories; more likely there, the dogs cower at you and you have to coax them to come for a pat on the head and you can call your canine buddies to you – they’ll come running.

When walking the paths of Yups, or most anywhere in Guyana, most of the people you cross paths with will look at you and call “Good morning,” “Good afternoon,” or some other variation of greeting. It’s something I’ve come to really enjoy. Sometimes people will say “All right, all right,” as in me and you are ok with each other and the world.

The streets in my suburb aren’t so heavily populated, and acknowledgements are more low-key. You wouldn’t find someone who lives in your vicinity but you don’t know their name inviting you to share in their activity. On the flip side, as I passed two men working on a car in a driveway this morning, I initially braced myself for catcalls and sipping, as is customary in Guyana from most strange males. I had to remind myself that most men here wouldn’t act in such a way.

Contrasts.

As a volunteer, we become intimate with another, foreign environment, we are forced to look at things known and unknown with new perspectives, every day. We draw from our past experiences to relate to our current experiences. Some moments, it seems as if the two worlds couldn’t be further apart; others, it’s as if they were super-imposed on each other, too similar to be too foreign. There’s nothing like a step back, or a step back into, to gain a new outlook, or to regain a lost one.

**I’m sure more differences will come to me in the remaining weeks here in KC, a thought that has inspired me to make an accompanying post to my “KC Chronicles.” I want to make one of Guyana, and more specifically, the Rupununi and my village, Yupukari. I’ll be calling on my Guyanese friends to help fill in on little blurbs, just like my KC friends did. Coming soon… <3

Peace Corps: The Final Exam, Part II

Seriously, that’s what my trip home felt like. A culmination of things learned while in PC – a mixture of dealing with delays, exercising flexibility, creativeness, releasing your vulnerabilities to strangers, making international friends, sleeping in weird places and having the patience and strength to see the journey through to the end.

So, I got to GT in one piece. And then after a farewell party themed 80’s Prom Night at a gay bar in Georgetown the night before, complete with people dressed in 80’s fashion and dancing to tunes from the 70’s, 80’s and 90’s (my personal favorites of the night – “Love Shack” and “Locomotion”), Peace Corps vans picked the 10 PCVs travelling home up at 5:30 a.m. We all got on the flight to New York with little issue – I bought some duty free bottles of the world’s best rum, El Dorado, and Tim had to check his canoe paddle instead of take it as a carry on. Some had to catch a connecting flight right away, and Shannon Gill had her parents waiting outside the terminal to drive her home to New Jersey, along with her Guyanese cat, Scout, but 5 of us, Kien, Tim, DeAnna, Edith and myself, went to Burger King to taste a little bit of the US.

We had to say goodbye to Tim and DeAnna right after that, then Edith, Kien and I walked around a bit and settled down in a gate. After about 10 minutes, though, Kien said he was gonna head to his own gate. I knew it was coming, that boy isn’t up for emotional moments and was short on sleep, but I didn’t want to have to say goodbye. Kien has been like a brother to me these two years. He was in Lethem and was a solid guy to rely on for a place to stay or just friendship, both of which were appreciated and needed while amongst our Guyanese friends. I hugged him hard and as he walked off, I actually cried. Saying goodbye to him made the end of these two years seem final, more than any other act or goodbye thus far had been.

To distract me, Edith had me paint my toes with nail polish she got from some friends in her village, later we went to Chili’s to get a drink and appetizer – hello margarita (though it was strange getting carded)! We walked to her gate and waited until she had to board, and I sadly saw her off, then going to my own gate. That was the last of GUY20 who COS’ed at the 2-year mark. I was sad as I walked, but then smiled at the strength accumulated from the knowledge of completing my goal and making such wonderful friendships. I would go home, fully competent, content and strong.

That’s when it all went downhill. My flight was delayed for a few hours. Dismayed, I quickly regrouped and called home to inform and settled down to going over my pictures on my laptop while I waited. But then it was delayed again, to an hour later. Then delayed again. Then the flight changed gates. Then delayed two more times, until it was cancelled.

It was around 11:30 p.m. Everyone got in a line to talk with the airline employees, and I just followed not sure what to do. We hear that the airline won’t compensate us for the cancelled flight because it was due to nature and not the airline. A young woman in front of me seemed pleasant and struck up a conversation with the woman in front of her about being from South Africa but attending school at KU… I asked a question about flight stuff here and there, trying to keep the tears from rolling down.

I had no debit card, I had no cell phone, I had no NY contacts, and very little US money. The lady the KU student had talked to had left for another plan her husband came up with and I began talking with the young woman. Vuyiswa, her name was. I told her a bit of my story, and she said we’d stick together. We waited in line for two hours. She went first, and I made a mental speech of appeal to the clerks, pulling the Peace Corps Card of Mercy, hoping they’d sympathize. They told Vuyiswa that they could put her on a standby flight the next evening. I went up there, gave my speel, and the lady went “Whoa. But I can’t do anything about it, you could go talk to my supervisor, maybe he could help you with vouchers.” So I abandoned that desk and went to the next terminal.

Apparently, there was a small line already there, according to some assertive passenger. I started crying, and noisily. Vuyiswa came up and asked what was wrong, and I couldn’t even articulate the problem, she just hugged me and told me to let it out. I knew people were watching and imagined that assertive passenger viewed my tears as a female manipulation for attention. I tried to collect myself, and decided to try one more time. I interjected as the supervisor was with someone, assuring the defensive passenger man that I knew it was not my turn, and just wanted to make sure I’d get attended to. The supervisor, not unkindly, told me he would help me, I just needed to wait. I sniffled and waited. The sup brought up an option to Wichita, Kansas, stating that he could get me there, but after that, I was on my own to get to KC. I took it, figuring I could catch a bus to KC or something. The sup gave me a shuttle voucher – the flight to Wichita was at La Guardia, the other airport in NY – and a $6 breakfast voucher. Vuyiswa went to get the same deal.

We eventually got to La Guardia around 5:45, along with another man from Bangaladesh we met. We immediately went to check in. The people at this desk were a fresh breeze of pleasant, it soothed me a little to even see them smile amongst themselves. The lady asked why I was going to Wichita when I originally was supposed to go to KC, I explained, then elaborated a bit on being ready to go home. I was beyond using PC as a playing piece, but I did mention it. “Do you want me to look for a flight to KC?” she asks. Yes! She found one, from Detroit. You bet. And you know what? She bumped me up to first class! “For what you do for our country.” I cried again.

Vuyiswa, Uncle and I pooled our vouchers and petty cash together to get coffee and a breakfast at Sbarros. Uncle bid us adieu, and Vuyiswa and I sat there while she told a little of her country. She had a slightly different flight arrangement than I did, and so we went to my gate since my flight was first. We both fell asleep in the chairs for a bit. My flight was delayed a half hour, for some reason, but I finally said goodbye to my new friend, and boarded first class on a flight to Detroit, Michigan. I didn’t know what to do with the hot, damp towel they gave me, but I considered that quite a lowly issue to worry about, so I just did what the guy across the isle did.

I landed in Detroit and settled myself down for an expected 4 hour layover. Which turned into a 7 hour layover. The plane was there, but no crew, the crew was coming BACK from KC but their plane had some issues….. I thought I’d never get home. KC became this obscure, meaningless place, a figment of my imagination.

So many times that day, I had to fight to get the beaten look off my face. I had to put things in perspective, I had to tell myself I’d look back at this humorously, that I WOULD eventually get home. That there were worse things. That there were single parents with kids to have to deal with during these delays and cancellations and I was a single, competent adult – a Peace Corps Volunteer, for goodness sakes!

I did it, but it was hard! I mocked my carefree cocky self from 18 hours ago who thought she was strong and competent. I wasn’t sure I’d have any emotion left once I finally landed in KCI. But I did, and we got on the plane around 7, and did land around 8:30 in KC, my Home, and saw the faces of Mom, Dad and Tony to greet me. Seriously, I got there. Almost 24 hours later than I was supposed to, but I got there in one piece.

I’ll count that as a pass.

Peace Corps:The Final Exam, Part I

I live two hours outside the main town in Region 9. I live an average of 15 hours bus ride outside Georgetown, the capitol of the country and port to the rest of the northern world. So, going into this travelling escapade, I knew it would be vigorous. I knew I'd have to prepare for it, stretch for it, lower expectations for the travel.

It all started with Kien's farewell party in Lethem. Kien, my PC buddy, who fell in love with the Rupununi just as I have, who was having a hard time saying goodbye, just like I would be if I were going home right now. He and all our mutual friends, PC and HCN alike, were gathering in Lethem Saturday night for a party in his honor. How could I not go to that? Especially with easy vehicle transp from Chris Li, and my roommate, Jess, attending, too. I knew I should probably pack, and I knew this party could turn into something greater than anticipated, but I didn't have the heart to not go.

So, we took off, Saturday afternoon, with the understanding that we'd be back Sunday, if I could pull it off, Monday if I couldn't. My flight from Karanambu to Georgetown was Tuesday morning. K/bu is closer to Yups and so that's where PC booked me (because of rainy season and the road being washed out, I got to fly instead of ride a bus). Kien's party was good, I had fun dancing, then spent the entire Sunday watching movies at Lily's place, not really expecting to hear from Chris, but ready to go if I did. So it wasn't a surprise when I heard that they went to a different village and would be back Monday.

Monday, around noon, I went up to the main liming location, and ran into Mike, who was just returning from Town. We waited together, until 6 p.m., not hearing a thing until around them. As boys played cards, one lets it be known that Chris hurt his foot on a motorbike and they were waiting for Leroy to go pick them up and bring them back into Lethem. More cards are played and Mike brings up that Chris won't be in any position to drive, and that he couldn't drive, either, he was sick and sleep deprived. How would I get back? More cards were played as my gears are grinding and I'm trying to either 1) fling into problem-solving action, or 2) unclench and let this normal Rupununi flow of life just work itself out. I wavered between the two, initially amused at what seemed to be the norm for down here, knowing how to work the situation and not get too worked up. But it got later and later, and the guys made no move to stop playing cards and figure stuff out...

Finally a motorbike was brought up. But it needed a part to function. We could get the part, but it needed a driver. Most of the guys were with Chris. "Wait until Chris gets back, and then we'll see." Umm.... ok... in the meantime, there was one guy we knew, who we called, and said he could take me and he'd come check out the bike; he never showed. I didn't want to ride on a bike during rainy season with a casual acquaintance, anyway.

How would I get back? I needed to pack, I wanted a couple days to say goodbye and relax... I was throwing out these 'extravagant' needs and wants, right and left, trying to be patient, but failing. "This sucks!" I vent to Mike. "I know," he says. Doesn't change anything, though, does it? Some friends called a guy who works with the airline, seeing if they could delay my flight til the next day - see, my flight out to the US wasn't til the end of the week, so it wasn't like I'd miss THAT flight. They also tried to see if I could board at Lethem, since I was already there.... but I didn't have my bags or passport....

Chris came in at 10 p.m., foot busted, but the first words out of his mouth when he saw me were: "You ready to go? I said I was taking you home, so let's do it!" I was too selfish to tell him to stay off his hurt foot and find an alternative way. He said, "Let's just lime for a bit first." Again, no going against the flow, plus, at what he was about to do, I figured he deserved it. But there's no such thing as "for a bit" down there. An hour or two later, we pulled out of Jai's, to go get gas. One station was closed, another was out of gas.

"I wasn't counting on that," Chris says. But, he has another plan: he knows who works at one gas station, and we went to where the guy hangs out to ask if he'd sell us some gas off hours. The guy initially said no; he was playing pool and hanging out with friends. Chris points to me and says something like "See that girl? She's a Peace Corps Volunteer, and I promised her she'd make it back to Yupukari to get on a flight back to the States." The guy said yes, and Chris told him no rush; that's how things work down there. Chris reports to me that we'll give him an hour, let him finish his game, then go. That turns into 3 hours.

We get gas, finally, and get on the road, taking it slow because of the bad road and Chris's bad leg. Took almost 4 hours, and we reached my house at 5:45 a.m. I had to be checked in for the plane by 7:30. Chris, Jess and Mike collapsed on beds and couches as I packed my bags, they said we'd leave by 6:45 to get there in time. No one had a watch, we left at 7:05, according to the car clock. Got there by 7:45! And ended up sitting there in the sun for almost 3 hours until the plane came at 11:30.

Chris said he'd get me there, and he did. As I thanked him for this, for pulling strings and trying hard, he does point out that he wouldn't have to have done all that if we left when we were supposed to. True. But I have learned this: Stuff happens - a lot - down here, some within our power, some not. But as much as we get disappointed and have to amend our plans/ideas because things don't go by the books, good things happen, too -- because things don't go by the books; we do get taken care of when it counts.

I got on the plane to see a familiar face already on board - PCV Nick - and once we picked up Kien in Lethem, celebrated with some Surinamese beer on the plane, and then I was faced with a challenge of a whole other sort - holding it when you have never had to pee so badly in your life and of course there's no bathroom on a 12 seater plane. Happy to say I passed that exam, too -- barely.

I did it

One epic car ride, 4 plane rides, 36 hours of airports.
After my two years Peace Corps service, I am Home.

26 months.
6 school terms.
104 malaria pills (give or take).
73 books.

I did it.

:) :D <3

Ok. Onward.

How do you use your food?

When you go to a shop or restaurant and order a snack or a beer or a meal, they'll ask you:

"For use or carry?" as in: "Eating here, or to go?"

Um, yes, I plan to use my food as sustenance and eat it - now - not carry it to another location, even if it wants a change of scene.

Knock, knock

When coming to a person's house or a small shop, it's habit to call "Inside!" to get the people's attention. "Inside, inside!" If you wanna be a jokester, you might respond "Outside!" to signify you've heard the summons.

Alternate form of getting a home's attention: clapping. No verbal greeting, just clapping. At a clap, you're expected to come running to see what's up.

Oranges

They're green here.

Development: Outreach to Parishara (53 photos)

I'd like to share my Walmart Digital Photo Center photos with you. Once you have checked out my photos you can order prints and upload your own photos to share.


This album accompanies/complements the preceding post called "Development."

Development

Background info: Outreach is something I'm involved in through RLI; we bring books and other supplies, trainings, ideas, designs to other schools in the area, more or less. RLI, remember, stands for Rups Learners Inc., and is a Guyanese NGO (non-government organization) made up of Guyanese board members, all living in my village of Yups. RLI has an American counterpart, RLF, RL Foundation, that Alice is the head for, as well as other Americans, some who are Returned Peace Corps Volunteers. Alice has just come back into the country after almost 3 years away. Never having met her before, it definitely changed things around CH when she arrived in March. It's interesting to realize how I became so used to the lack of American presence in my life, not to mention female/maternal. But that's another story.

Alice had arranged a self-help session for Parishara Nursery, a village about 40 miles away. At first, I sorta sulked that I wasn't included or at least made aware of this, as outreach and interactions with these villages have been work of mine before Alice got here. But I realized that if I want to be involved still, I need to assert myself into the work, be more pro-active. So I lightly conveyed my desire to still be involved in outreach, and I became part of the team that went to Parishara a few Saturdays ago: Alice, Felix, Hamzad, Mark, Combrencent, Lucy and being driven by Bryan and Maisie.

At face-value, the day was very satisfying. Fun assortment of people, clear-cut tasks at hand, beautiful trek into Parishara, visible results in the end, then light detour to Lethem with the group.

"Self help" is a concept widely used down here, a Makushi term for it is "myu." People are gathered to work on either village clean up or village projects, or personal projects and jobs. Those asking for the help will usually provide a meal, or at least some cari/rice wine or shebay (farine and water) to sustain the helpers. You'd be surprised how fast a job can be completed - what with the diligence of the Amerindians and the sweet drive of the cari.

Self help is something that helps the world go 'round down here, everyone helping everyone. Volunteers come to clean the school, cut down grass in the main part of the village, help re-thatch roofs, etc. We've tried to convey to the kids that you all are volunteers (just like Miss Sarah) and that's a beautiful thing. It's used to get work done within CH and within the village, though Alice still asserts that people don't appreciate working for free, so a lot of work is stipended by her... Beneficial for all, but brought about, planned and led by her.

We have mixed views on partnerships and collaboration within the village. I, while admitting to a potential naivety brought about by noviceness, maintain that the process should be shared by all, understood by some at least, and contributed by all (planning and executing). All need to have the opportunity to understand and agree/disagree with the plan, even if the plan is a good one that they'll thank you for later. Things may go slower that way, but I think there'll be more ownership and passion there. Alice feels that going slow while there are still children who can't read is an immoral act, she feels that people can't know they want something if they don't know it exists - so you might as well tell them they need it while giving it to them.

I seem to have a more laissez fare approach, as do others at CH, where, sure, you illuminate, and foster, but step back to let others step up. Much slower, less accomplished, sure. But comprehension? Buy in? I think it's there. Lack of perfection? You bet. Petered out energy, corners cut, ill used equipment? Yep. (S'all part of it.) Much physical progress has been made since March, more so than myself or others at CH or in the village could have done/ would have done/ did, I can say that, at least.

Anyway, I don't know how much of this was actually planned by those in Parishara Nursery, I don't know how much knowledge was passed on for them to continue in the same regards later, but I didn't take on that stress. I appreciated being a follower, and not having to be a leader. Perhaps this relief keep me from critiquing our leader's ways, but, for the day, it was a nice reprieve from both - leading and critiquing.

I got to paint, and the fun kind where you don't have to worry about drips, smears, evenness. Alice planned a savanna scene for the reading area; I painted the green for grass, then got to climb up a ladder/tower to paint some boards blue for sky. Some boys sketched the details for the mural, Combrencent, an artisan in Yups, drew mountains at the skyline, Hamzad and Mark set to work on making the rain-gutter style bookshelves Alice promotes for all libraries she creates, and Lucy led some ladies in cutting and sewing cushions for kids to sit on in the story area. Books, shelves, cushions and painting are all typical stuff Alice has done for our schools in the past, and some things I've carried on to an extent since doing outreach here.

How much did Parishara have to do with the work this day? How much say in it did they have? How much tutoring? Parishara ladies helped with the cushions, men helped with the painting... I guess one could argue that .... well wait - did she pay these workers from Yups? I don't know. I was going to say that it at least we now have Yups people working to help another village and show them how they've done it (per Alice) in their own schools, but then, yes, were those people paid for the day? Hmm. Oh, the facets of development...

I used to think development was more like building a structure. Building blocks. You set the foundation, and work your way up, or you start with the frame and work your way in. You can physically see the missing pieces, the additions, etc. You see when the product is finished. A step by step process. But I found this to not be so with this sort of development. It's more tornadic/tornadesque. Chaotic and uprooting, sure :D, but I mean more cylindrical, going around, back and forth through different components, until you get closer and closer, more concentrated, intense - and then finally reach the Touch Down Point, your goal. Which may or may not be where you anticipated it to land.

Because the road to Parishara was so high, Bryan decided to, instead of going to Lethem them coming back to pick us up and go back on the same road, he'd wait for us then carry us to Lethem with him and go around the longer, dryer road. He and Maisie helped with the painting, too, and Maisie designed a fun table pattern with different colors and numbers on it. Like Alice, the morning was frenzied and productive. We finished by 1 p.m., ate a lunch they cooked for us, then headed onto Lethem, pockets packed with oranges and some golden Parishara farine HM Jean slipped in my hands. :) Hardly anyone brought money, and Bryan mostly only needed fuel, so the trip was very short, with only a few stops here and there, a quick break of beer and buns, then we headed back. Got back by 6:30, tired, but content.

Another positive (and by positive, I mean a simple lack of upfront negativity) experience with development, with Alice and development with Alice.

The Finer Things in Life

Things you certainly don't need to survive or even be happy, but they're just nice.
Cold water.
Perforated TP.
Pads with wings.
Cake with icing.
Percolated coffee.
Real, cold milk.
A well-inked pen.
Pillows.
Trash cans.
High Quality Q-Tips.

Rainbows

They are all over down here. And, not like in the States, where you can only see one side or one piece of it.... there's enough open space here to see the rainbow in it's entirety. Can you imagine? A rainbow, a full spectrum of color, spanning 12 or more miles, across the open savannah, mountains in the background, trees all over...... bountiful clouds, red-brown dirt roads...

Another gift from rainy season. Light rains come, with the sun still shining bright, and it's as if the rain is showing you one of Earth's beautiful secrets.

Where There is No Doctor

"Quick! What do you do in an emergency?"
-"Call my mum!"

That about sums it up. That, and if it's really bad - call 911. Because you know you'll get relief, you know you'll get your wound repaired. There's someone out there, with the magic words, touches and tablets that'll make it go away and get better. You assume it. "It'll be OK." "Do this and it'll be better." How sheltered, lucky, provided for are we?

What happens when this isn't so? Nothing to depend on, no expected understanding or solutions, securities. It is out there.

No neck braces, no defibrillators, no other beeping machines, no white jacket that indicates authority, knowledge and instruction.

What if you never have that feeling of "It's ok. It's good. I am safe, I am looked after."

Doctors. Parents. GOD.

Life without these securities? Dimmed. ?

"Don't worry about a thing, cuz every little thing's gonna be all right." - Bob Marley. Well, that's one take on things.

But - What, then, do you DO?

The posts after this, the one's marked "Where There Is No Doctor," are different encounters of accidents and emergencies I've witnessed or been a part of here in Guyana. I think the instances themselves provoke sufficient thought into the realities and frailties of life in all corners of the world.

Where There is No Doctor

As Jess and I walked back from CH, we saw a vehicle stop at the Health Post. Which was curious, because it's closed for the night, and really, there's not much stocks there to be of use. That's the thing about being isolated, you tend to notice all motors passing through, near or over the village. We assumed it was CH returning from their afternoon away. Mary went that way, maybe to look for the Health Worker or something, and then she comes pedalling back to us as we walk to her house, saying how Miss Eleanor was in an accident on the road and CH vehicle found her and her leg is all messed up and blood....

Jess has some experience in first aid and injuries, being a former gymnast and gymnastics coach, and decided to go check out Eleanor while I went to Novellena's. When Franzea and I left Nova's, we went to the Health Post, which had a gaggle of spectators and Jess, the CHW and Alice surrounding Eleanor on a mattress on the floor. She'd dislocated her hipbone when she fell upon her Dad's motorbike, going home from the phone booth. CH vehicle just happened to pass her right after it happened and carried her back to the Health Post. There wouldn't be much traffic at night time on the road. Her leg was forced up and out of socket and she had an abrasion on one leg. Alice gave her some codeine which slowly kicked in, and at Jess's encouraging, the CHW attempted to pop the hip back in, though Eleanor was screaming...

They tried to get a hold of RAM - Remote Area Medical - to see if a small airplane could be flown in to carry her to the hospital in Lethem, but they couldn't be called. So, the vehicle that did the hired carry for CH got commissioned to carry in Eleanor. And if the car's already going, why not Novellena, too? Two mattresses were slid into the bed of the truck, 3 pillows and two blankets were gathered from around. The CHW went, Jess went, Mike went and Rhomayne drove, at the speed of probably 20 mph over the bumpy terrain, as to not overly jar Eleanor's propped up, popped out leg.

The trip took almost 4 hours, double the normal time to Lethem, which is probably doubly as long as it'd take to drive there if the road was paved. According to Jess, when they got there, the doctor wasn't around, yadda yadda. In the morning, they popped Eleanor's leg back into place and said they wanted to keep her for two weeks. According to Novellena, who came back Sunday afternoon, she needs to go back for surgery, though she doesn't know what for. We're not all that sure that the doctors said she could be released, either.

And apparently, Eleanor's gone MIA from the hospital, as well. Lord just hope she hasn't come back to the village upon motorbike.