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.