Coconuts

Aunt Sirene and I in her yard on the Essequibo Coast, July 2008

Did you know there are two types of coconuts? (Well, there may very well be MORE than that, but what I meant to say was that I’ve learned since coming to Guyana that all coconuts are not the same)

There is a soft coconut and a hard coconut, a water coconut and a dry coconut.

I remember, Dad once brought home a hard coconut from the grocery store for us when we were kids, you know the typical brown, hairy ones you always see in cartoons. He brought it just for fun, just for us to see. He got a hammer and broke it open, and the boys and I looked at the milk inside. Dad gave us a taste and I remember thinking it tasted nothing like milk. I didn’t like it. Dad broke off pieces of the meat, and let us try that, too. This, too, I did not like. Weird texture, not much flavour. I was sort of disenchanted by this coconut. It wasn’t as exotically delicious as I’d expected it to be.

When I came to Guyana, there were a plethora of coconut trees. Many family and friends back home will know my excitement in this. My first vision of a palm tree was in Las Vegas, and as we were walking down some Boulevard, I turned to Mom and said “What I want to know is, where are all the coconuts?” Mom laughed and explained that coconut is a palm tree, but not all palm trees have coconuts on them. Disappointing as that was, my excitement over palm trees began then.

The next summer, on Amanda, Tricia and mine’s graduation trip, when I re-visited the West for the second time, I was wiser, but certainly not jaded. I think I had fallen asleep as we drove into Santa Barbara, and when I woke up, we were driving on the coast, you could see the ocean and – “Oh my god! Palm trees!” Amanda and Tricia never let me forget that. Hey, I was excited, what can I say?

But it wasn’t until coming to Guyana that I got to see coconut palm trees. I looked up at their size, their leaves, and their massive clusters of these yellow to Kelly green coloured globes and admired them. When I was with my host family, they, of course, had coconut trees in their yard, and served me my first. With a cutlass, they cut off the top part of the coconut, then carefully chopped off pieces of the side until the inner sphere was punctured. Mouth up to the hole, tilting the entire coconut, shell and husk alike, up to your mouth. This was coconut WATER, a clear liquid that comes from water coconuts. It has a slightly sweet, slightly acidic taste to it; refreshing.

They say coconut water is good for your health, too. Good to boost immune systems, good to give you an electrolyte boost, and generally very low in sugar, to name a few. Though be careful, it will stain/bleach your clothes. Check out this great article about it when trying to state specifically HOW: The Health Benefits of Water Coconuts.

I’ve had water coconuts opened and El Dorado poured right in; a natural delight. Once all the water is drank, you take the cutlass and cut the coconut in half to get to the coconut jelly. You cut off a shaving of the husk and use it to scoop out the insides. It’s soft, slightly milky white and gelatinous. When I first tried it, I didn’t like it. It was cool to the touch and gooey – ew. But it’s grown on me.

Now, the other coconuts, the hard ones. They’re just like I discovered them to be in Cast Away – you have to shuck the husks off to actually get the round brown shell. A sharp cutlass is a nicer way to open a coconut in comparison to a hammer, too, though whatever gets the job done. I enjoy the milk now, and the meat as well. It is hard to peel out the pieces of meat, but worth it. I’ve come to enjoy snacking on fresh pieces of coconut, but I’ve also come to see the different ways it is used around here.

Once grated, you can do a lot with it. Junita bakes buns (scone-type pastries), Cleonicia and Jose baked me a coconut cake for my birthday. Junita grates it like carrot shreds, dyes it red then rolls it in sweet dough to make salara, a Caribbean pastry. Once you grate the coconut, you pass water through the meat, straining into a cloth and getting all that milk out to add to curries or cook up rice. And while visiting my host family, I watched Meena make coconut oil, a popular cooking, hair and body oil. She grated it, strained out all the milk, let it set over night, then boiled it over a fire until all the fibers and not oil parts got burned into tiny ball-like morsels that she strained out. Coconut oil was what was left. It smells AMAZING.

The coconut. It is something that has earned its usefulness in my eyes while down here.

PCVs Beth, Sarah and Chase, drinking coconut water on the bank of the Maihconi River, in Moraikobai, Region 5 Aug. 2009

"I’ve got a lovely bunch of coconuts, deedlie dee, there they are all standing in a row, bum bum bum, big ones, small ones, some as big as your head. Give ‘em a twist, a flick of the rest, that’s what the merchant said…."

The Essequibo Coast

Part of my plan for staying longer in Guyana post-PC COS was to be able to go visit and spend time with my host family, Meena, Springee and Val, on the Essequibo Coast. I lived my first two months in Guyana there, and they took me into the family, cared for me, taught me and I really love them. I’ve been able to visit them twice before, during my service, and I promised them I’d come back before I left. They were pleased I remembered them and called; the invitation to come by then was always open.

So once I COSed, I made plans to meet up with Meena on that Friday, meet her in Georgetown as she came in to do shopping, then I would go with her back to the Coast.

I met up with Meena and Springee, Meena looking stylish in form-fitting jeans and her hair in a curly ponytail. (Ladies normally wear skirts at home and around the village). We had an ice cream cone, then headed off. They led me to a motorboat going to Vreed En Hoop.The boat ride went quickly, only $100 per ride, then we went to a stall in Vreed En Hoop and talked with a friend of the family. Meena said that their son, Shiva, lived with her; it was Vreed En Hoop where he was in the car accident and died.

We took a cab to her house and met up with the Uncle. We limed on their veranda, drinking Pepsi as I listened and noted their coastal accent, trying to catch all they said. We eventually got a 32 bus on the main road, and took that into Parika. At Parika, we went down the wooden steps at the stelling, right into a motorboat that seats around 20 people. Putting on life vests, we set out, across the delta, for a 25 minute ride to Supenaam. The ride was smooth this time; I remember that ride as sometimes being a wet whiplash of an event. We got to the Supenaam stelling. They had a cab already waiting, Aajay, and we took off down the coast, sun shimmering on the left of the road, highlighting the green of the palm trees and rice fields. On the right, houses, and the sea wall which was out of sight, but close by.

We went past village after village; the E/bo coast is one main road, with small side roads , and taxis, cantors, motorbikes, horse carts, cows and sheep all up in the road – with no speed limit. The longer we traveled, I started recognizing the different villages, as they were ones my fellow PCT’s lived in during training – Suddie, Affiance, Anna Regina... We reached Windsor Castle, one village up from the village I lived in during training, Hampton Court. Meena and Springee had moved in with Springee’s Dad after his mother died. We got dropped off and walked across the bridge and over the trench, into the bottom area of the house (the houses on the coast are all up on stilts, some having pretty complete groundfloorss, but still, the house part is the second floor.) For this house, the kitchen area, cooking area, washing area, shower area and liming area were downstairs, then upstairs was the bathroom bedrooms and a living room with a TV and DVD player. My host sister, Val, was cooking roti, her husband, Vish, around, and their toddler, Jeevin, running around between them.

We ate dinner downstairs, dhall and roti, and I remembered that utensils aren’t heavily used in this neck of the woods. Also, they serve hot tea with every meal. During the meal, Jeevin ran around, and it was easy to see that this kid was quite developed. I mean, physically, he is pretty sturdy, but he also simply acts older than other 22 month old toddlers. But then again, maybe I’ve been in the Rupununi for too long. He has a wide vocabulary, too. He would run around, pointing to things and calling ‘ting name? ting name!’ A cheerful kid, too, just like his mom.

I watched them laugh and play together a lot over the weekend. Val wouldn’t get vexed with his bad behaviour, she would laugh it off, and he quickly abandoned any naughtiness for giggles as well. Val seemed to take to motherhood pretty easily, though I would not have expected her to have kids so soon. But this kid is certainly not wanting for attention and direction; he has two parents who obviously take care of him well and love him and he has two live-in grandparents who clearly ADORE him and provide countless distractions to him. I know to Meena, he’s like another child she never had. She has so much mothering inside of her. And to Springee, stoic Springee, he was frolicking on the ground with little Jeevin, talking baby talk to him. Val and Meena say he’s Nanu’s boy (A term for grandpa in hindi). We went upstairs after and watched Jungle Book 2, which they had just bought in Town. They fixed up a bed for me (with a mosquito net, of course) and I went to sleep, soundly, comfortable and safe with my family.

Saturday, I woke up with the family, around 7, and was immediately given breakfast and tea by Val, as she looked after Jeevin, and Springee and Vish got ready to go to work at the backdam. After they left, Meena went to their old house to collect some coconuts; she was going to make oil to sell. Val and I had the house to ourselves, and we took that time to talk and start preparing lunch. Val and Meena would hardly let me lift a finger. Sometimes I think they forget I’ve had three years in the country and I’m still a helpless little Trainee. But I helped Val prepare a baked chicken and vegetable fried rice lunch, which all came home and ate, then the men went back to work. Val played with Jeevin during down times, and he knew all his little books well. Val would read a line and he would say the last word, in his little boy voice. Exciting! He was still shy around me, and for some reason he took to calling me “Leaf.”

That afternoon, Meena and Val grated all that coconut (two bags of de-shelled dry coconut) with their electric grater, and then put it over a burlap sack on top of a plastic barrel and ran water over it, straining the coconut until it ran clear, to collect all the milk. It reminded me of the ladies in Yups straining kari. Of course, I couldn’t help at all. I watched, eating a mango, as they strained two big basins full of grated coconut. Meena let that sit overnight. The next morning, she got all that coconut milk boiling over a fire, until all the coconut parts boiled into grayish little balls, and it separated into the oil. It smelled FABULOUS. And bam – coconut oil, a precious commodity when it comes to cooking and skin and hair care. Lunch was duck curry and dhal puri, a roti like bread with ground split peas inside, and it was delicious. I had no problem going back for seconds, which is a twist, because usually they serve me, and it’s always too much food.

Both delighted in my lost weight, and I teased them, asking how they can make me put on back again by eating all their food. Meena would sporadically update me on things, or ask me things, as we sat in a hammock or rocking chair. She’s a very alert woman, she knows what’s going on in her house at all times. She keeps the house going at all times, too. During training and my visits, she would always be peeling onions, de-heading shrimps she bought from the passing cart that morning, or picking through rice as she limed with her friends who visited her. Meena is always keeps busy; she’s either preparing for the next meal (or a meal for the next day) or cleaning. I can’t remember how she said it exactly, but she said something to effect of “When you are a wife, there’s always things to do, always something to care for; it’s hard.”

Oh, I’ve learned the difficulties of looking after a house during these three years, and I can’t imagine how it will be to look after one for a whole family. (Another subject Meena talked to me about – it’s time to settle down and give my parents grandbabies). It’s only added to my awe and understanding of Meena, Mom, and all other women. It IS hard, but it is obvious Meena has a lot of pride for her efforts. She – and the whole family – have expectations out of their life, and work hard towards them, from selling oil to earn some extra money, to renovating the house they are staying in, to raising their grandson.

There was a Second Sunday happening on the coast; the wedding (Hindu) happened all last weekend, and this is when they cut the cake and have more food and dancing. Val decided to dress me up for it, all in true sister style. It was in Devonshire Castle, a village past Hampton Court, and there was chutney music (Indian music set to modern techno tempos) playing when we came up. Val and I were offered a beer (with a straw to drink it) and we sipped and sat on rocking chairs. Val asked me if I’d want to go all out for my wedding, and I said no, I’d want it to be simple and involve all the family. I asked her if she wished SHE had a big Hindu celebration like this one (her and Vish went to Trinidad and got married there, sorta like Las Vegas style). She said no, it’d too much planning and too much attention on her. Eventually we went to eat, a curry, white rice and dhall, veggie fried rice, some mac and cheese casserole, potato salad, some achar for seasoning on the side and mobey drink. Mobey is a bark that’s turned into a non-alcoholic drink. It has a strong tea taste to it, with not enough sugar, don’t mind it. We were sent home with a sample of the cake – black cake, which is like a chocolate cake with candied fruit pieces in it.

My last night, we watched The Jungle Book 2 again, and Val and Meena gave me clothes. Jeans they said they’d never fit into any more, skirts, shirts. Wow. I really appreciated it. It was comfortable, just liming with them, seeing day to day life on the coast. Life is different there, different to Georgetown and definitely he Rupununi, though there IS a charm to it. I wondered what my service would have been like had I stayed there. What sort of culture would I become well-versed in? Hindu celebrations, Islamic celebrations, eating 7 curry, parsad and mobey drink, the art of mini bus riding, and dancing to soca and chutney? There’s a mild curiosity there, though my heart remains with Amerindian Heritage, eating fish boil and farine, riding motorbikes and dancing forro. Monday I trekked back to Gt on my own, having said goodbye to a truly great family.

Meena, me, Springee on the day I left them after training. July 2008

Springee, my host Dad, taking me to the backdam, where he works in the rice fields. The Left side of the Essequibo road.

View of the E/bo road from Hampton Court. Looking towards the Seawall in the background.

Visiting Meena in April 2010. Her and grandbaby Jeevin.

Val and I getting ready to go to the Second Sunday when I visited them this time. Aug 2011.

Top 10 Moments in Yups:

In no particular order:

1. Going on the moonlit bicycle ride to Russian's house back in Jan 2009. Two bicycles and the light of the moon accompanied Shamir and me on a spontaneous trip to check out a party. I hadn't ridden a bike in years, and certainly not through the bumpy savannas. The party was fine, but it was the coming back afterwards that was most enjoyable - pauses on the road for wonderful conversation and a triumphant return home.

2. Going to the 2008 Athletics in Quatata by bullock cart with Russian and plenty kids, my first year in the village. The sports ground was around 7 miles away and I jumped on this wooden, down to the wheels and axles, cart pulled by two bulls with my counterpart and at times, me alone with kids. I was so unsure of everything at that point, I couldn't tell my way through a straight line of road, the idea of kids traveling on their own so far was nerve-wracking... I kept thinking we'd get lost. It was a new experience, it was a great bonding time with the kids and a bull almost peed on my foot. Bullock carts are the joked taxi cabs of the Rupununi, glad I could catch a ride. (Check my blog post: 15 Kids, a Bullock Cart and a PCV)

3. Being invited on and going on the hunting trip to Mapari with Anthony and the Duncan boys. It was five nights of camping at one of the lush, fertile farm grounds upriver from the village to get enough fish and wild meat to feed the village for a holiday celebration. It was me and about 8 Yups men, and it rained all day, fish catching and hunting at night. Awkward, wet, beautiful. Bad ass. (Check: Fish and Farine to the Extreme)

4. Going dive fishing at K/bu Dam with CH buddies in March or April this year. An hour + of using one of the boys' spear guns, submerging myself in 4 foot deep reedy waters, swimming with my prey, balancing (not) breathing, sinking, swimming, looking and arrow shooting all at the same time in a quiet, alive atmosphere under water. I didn't get any fish, but saw so many and tried numerous times. I want to do it again.

5. Motorbike riding between K/bu and Yups with Felix. I RODE, A MOTORBIKE, ON THE SAVANNAS, FOR SEVERAL KILOMETERS AT A TIME, OVER BUMPS, CREVASSES, SMALL HILLS AND PUDDLES. I WAS MASTER OF THE MACHINE, GASSING AND SHIFTING, BREAKING AND STEERING. For someone who's wanted to own/ride a bike since I was about 20, and someone who's fallen in love with the savanna and biking through them here, it was a dream come true. Excitement in the moment, nervousness and being alive! Extreme! (Check: a May blog post with pic)

6. Out with the Caiman Proj. the first night, November 2009. I'd heard about the Caiman Proj. for more than a year, I knew it was the driving force for all the rest of Y's development, and my opportunity to go finally came about. It was a wonderful night on our river, with our knowledgable guides, touching these powerful, prehistoric, massive, majestic creatures 'pon the river. And yeah, I sexed one. One of those nights, in the moment, where you know it'll be something you always remember. (Check: I Sexed a Caiman *this story won first place in a PC website competition!)

7. Motorbike trek from Wowetta back to Yups, back in January this year. A motorbike trip for outreach to a destination about 3 hours, 80 miles, away that turned into a 14 hour odyssey home, complete with two injured motorbikes, no torchlights or tools, and a smelly cat. Full of patience trials, adversity and an overall attitude of perseverance. Behold the conquering heroes. (Check: a medieval dramatized blog, Where There are Spokes, There's a Way.... Just Don't Feel No Way)

8. Sunday afternoon at the sandbank, playing volleyball and football. A happy village day - fun day in the village and a fun day for me with the village. The sun's rays reached so beautifully down at the river bank and the water was so clear and cool and low, the sandbanks so warm and dry. The buzz of all sorts of different river activity and the playing of forro, soca and reggae music blended with the river sounds beautifully. Sand volleyball and sand football. I felt the satisfaction from my village alone as well as the knowledge that, while others were out partying it up in other areas of the Rups, I was having a moment with my own community. (Check: Sunday, Funday)

9. Corrial trip from Katoka to Yups with another PCV, Rachel. While it was more or less uneventful (we hardly saw any animals), it was the principle of it as well as the joy of maneuvering a handmade wooden canoe. It was feeling independent and uncategorized by my village and adventurous to take on the river on our own right. It was a great sense of accomplishment. And fun to astonish villagers.

10. Weenie Roast at K. House with Jeff and others, back in October 2010. My favorite roomie, my favorite processed food, fire and village friends. The night progressed into kari and dancing with a small group of friends. A most memorable night at K. House. I'd always dreamed about having a bonfire there. Pictures from the night at Walmart.com, in the album K. House at its Finest.

(I can't limit it to 10; can I do 15?)

11. Mike’s Valentines Day gift. Subterfuge music and coffee in the morning. Sweetest V Day gift, outside of my Daddy's love. Made me really appreciate the power of thinking of others. And noting what a great person and wonderful friend Mike is. I really appreciate and adore him. (Check: All You Need is Love)

12. The Owl and the Pussycat. Practicing three grade 5 students to recite/perform Edward Lear's poem for a Mashramani culture presentation. I worked hard with these kids for weeks before and then together, with Maisie, we took them to Lethem to perform it. They brought first, which was icing on the cake, but it was such a fun experience with these good kids. (Check: The Owl and the Pussycat)

13. Phagwah surprise. Having kids waking me up on the weekend and dousing me with dyed water for the Indian Holiday. I loved getting included in Kid Fun and I loved being hit, literally, with surprise and utter abandon. I hope I never lose the appreciation for crazy surprises. A cold, screaming morning. (Check: That's Not Juice!)

14. Bike ride towards Kaicumbay side with Shamir. Out of all the trips I've taken with him, this was one of, if not my favorite one. This was non-work related, and he had one destination in mind as we went - this raised mound that used to be a drilling sight. It was relaxed, we caught the sunset and had a great many conversations as we rode along. I wrote a poem afterwards, about the feelings of being on a bike, and of the journeys we take as people.

15. Wildlife Club camp out at sandbank, back in my first December, 2008. Franzea, Russian, Shamir and I endeavored to take school kids on an overnight camp out at our rivers sandbank. They'd never taken WC out like that and I'd never camped out here before. When the camp out grounds is in everyone's backyard and parent's permission slips were not mandatory, I had no idea how things would work out and so when Franzea had to go into Lethem on the day of and Shamir had to carry her, I freaked out. But the night went well. Russian and I set up a volleyball net, did some fishing and started cooking. The night before, we made a cake and trail mix. The kids stayed up all night playing volleyball, the adults drank a bit and I slept under the trees in my hammock, listening to giggling and snoring.

These seem to be a good selection of Moments I'll always remember, but I could also never forget: all the fruit, the boat rides, the numerous motorbike rides, the books with the kids, smoking on the savanna and watching the clouds or the sunset, the dances, the fish, the farine, the meals cooked...

I stand there, at the K/bu airstrip, wondering how I am feeling, having to leave today. Leaving the place I’ve been in for three years – more than three years. Part of me knows if I let myself cry, I’ll be a mess, unable to function. Part of me wants to take it all in, emotions included, because it’s the last chance I’ll get for some time.

The airstrip is a strip of pebbly road, free from plants – and also free from asphalt. It’s about 10 minutes or so away from K/bu Lodge. There is no ‘check in’ time; it’s a simple matter of driving to the airstrip and waiting for the plane, a small 12-seater. A crew of people came to see me off, and I stood, watching them, feeling the images, memories and symbols they’ve come to represent to me.

I look sadly, at Ashley and Cindy and their two children, Sasha and Shasta. They came out together, on motorbike, to see me off and to go fishing, and what seemed like a nice family outing, was filled with sadness at a couple falling apart. I remember that Ashley helped sponsor the trip to Mapari but did not come on the trip. I am reminded of the difficulties of relationships down here. I feel for both, who are equally my friends, but don’t know how things will be resolved.

In Cindy, I see a confident, assertive young woman, who is three years younger than I am, but with her outgoing personality and three children, she at times seemed older. I look at her and see how hard raising children can be, and how finding your way in life truly becomes more difficult (not impossible, but more difficult) with having children. I see someone who has done well for herself in the village, with her house, and involvement in the village and Caiman House. I see a good friend who included me, and who I spent many nights of loud fun with her and her brood.

When I look at Ashley, I see confusion. I see a man with still waters, a stoic man who has embraced the land much more fully than many of the born and bred Guyanese have. I see someone I could without a doubt depend on, someone who is struggling against the negative influences of his environment. He’s done a noble job of it, but I see the weight of the years pressing down upon him and wonder if I, too, would feel that way if I stayed so long, too.

Oswin, standing with some of the girls, the kid (ok, man, technically) who has been like a little brother to me, who is GOOD, and easy-going and helps out so much. Oswin, who was working at K/bu and was going back that day; he brought his bag and bike to be able to pedal there. He calls me ‘Sarah Bara’ or sometimes just ‘Bara’ and we had a habit of scrunching up our noses at each other when we saw each other, a great feeling of familiarity. He has a good opportunity to learn and earn money at K/bu and I’m glad he’s sticking it out. He seems to demonstrate the potential of interested individuals in the village, I so strongly wish him to continue with his interests.

Michelle came with Alicia, and I look at her as a common Rupununi young woman – a teenage mother who has the burden of a child while she’s still living at home and has no support. I think she is happy, but there is no variety to her life. Does she want variety? I don’t know. I regret not learning that answer.

I look at Miranda and see a kind, hospitable young woman, who really made it easy to enjoy exercising together for the past month, easy to talk to her, easy to include her in my life. I look at her and see what a stable family, encouragement and an education in Town can do to help a person down here.

Maisie came, too, and I see a woman who tries so hard to teach her students and her village, who thinks of things others don’t and who always made me feel special. The mere fact that she came to the airstrip with all the rest of us meant a lot. I look at her and know she cannot do it all, be it all, to everyone, and I know she has good intentions, but I also think of people’s negative feelings towards those who have done well for themselves in the village. There are disgruntled feelings of inferiority attached to the separation that comes with education and money.

I look at Fernando and see a typical Rupununi Man; you can depend on him to be undependable, but at the end of the day, he pulls through and can make things happen. I look at him and see goodness and incorribility, I see mistakes made, and a potential path towards redemption. I see someone who, for better and worse, was a big source of support to me, and someone who is not only smart, but capable in many instances. I yearn for him to seek out his passion and reach that potential; I hope he seeks and then finds his place.

Rosita and Alicia, who only just came back with us from our river trip to Mapari stood in the background of things, in quiet support. I was glad and proud of them for coming on the trip, I think they had fun, and I was glad they wanted to come to see me off. I look at Alicia and see a quiet young woman, with typical schooling in the village, who had the interest and courage and dedication to pursue that interest enough to come and work in the library. I see her timidity and insecurities, I see the tendency for disconnected village ways to creep in sometimes, but she’s on a good path, one that no one forced or pushed her into, one she found herself. I look at her and remember how she’s been sick –with what, no one knows – and I worry for not getting health problems sorted out down here. I look at her and remember how volunteer Jeff took her to Lethem to get checked out and how he sees a whole other side of her when they are together. He sees more in her, and his attention makes her more beautiful. I hope there are no troubles for them in the village. It could happen, though I know Jeff is pleasantly unbothered by irrelevant commentaries.

It was with Rosie, the first person I had to hug goodbye, who made me start crying. I was wondering why it was her, because I know it was something about HER that made me cry. I decided it was because she seems to be an exact example of the good and the potential of my job. She, my work, is what I am leaving behind. There’s so much I have done with her, and so much I want to do with her more. She was a part of my passion for books and kids. We did some wonderful work together in the past year, and she has so much potential to be a leader in Caiman House (a revolutionary occurrence there, an average female village leader). I look at her and see a quiet, but secretly funny and cheerful young woman who went out and attended school in GT, who worked for Bina Hill, and who is a proper young woman, who still has fun in the village. I only see goodness in her, and it’s the goodness that keeps pulling me back, to that village, to that work.

I look at Shamir, and see…. too much. I see someone taking his own path in life, but not in a conscious, brave effort/choice, but in a manner that suggests he simply is compelled to go that route. He’s taking himself into uncharted territories, non-ordinary village things, and it’s hard for him. He’s still figuring out how to settle himself. I look at him and see a quiet, humble strength, a sensitivity that’s made things hard at times, but is what I love about him too, because it’s lead to some wonderful conversations and realizations about life and the world. I look at him and see lessons learned. I see disappointment and exciting redemption, I see comfort, and fear, and two and a half years of bikes, laughter, tears, hugs and words. I see first love. Only with my impending departure have we begun to bridge the gap of so many issues and feelings, and I don’t know what the future will bring, but he has made my time in Yupukari filled with lived life.

This is what I saw and took in, during my last moment in the Rupununi. A lot of splendour, anxiety, love and anguish. The same emotions, more or less, upon my arrival to the village, though after three years, these feelings have expanded beyond my own self and have grown to include these people and more. It sometimes feels as if I have taken them all in, the good and the bad, and sometimes I can’t hold in or hold up the weight of that choice. (Even understanding that taking everyone in allowed me to be most effective and feel most alive.) With leaving comes a feeling of betrayal – and relief.

I Wonder...

Questions, questions questions.

What sort of questions do you ask yourself during the day? What sort of questions did you wonder about when you were a kid? Have the questions you ask changed as you've grown?

Did/do you wonder why certain things look the way they do, work the way they do? How do things work?

What if this happened? What does this mean?

Rosita and I were talking about asking questions, as part of fun library programming, and Miranda mentions a question she's wondered: Do ants have their own language? Do they talk to each other? What would they say? They look so organized, walking in a line, she says, carrying things so heavy! One must be the boss man, shouting "Walk faster! Straighten up!" Other ants carrying food must think "Ooooh, this is heavy." Such an inquisitive and creative mind.

Have YOU ever stared at an anthill and wondered about them? What other questions might you think of after looking at an anthill? What would you want kids to wonder about ants, as they are newly discovering the world?

Matt and Jeff are trying to get our library to formulate a research question with our local pit traps. (Pit traps are buckets put into the ground with mesh walls around them. Small animals fall into the buckets, they are observed by CH staff and then released). They are challenging the kids to pose a question about the animals in the environment that get caught in the pit traps. What comparisons or contrasts could be made? What predictions can you make? What do you think???

We were wondering aloud about formulating questions. Would kids be able to come up with a research question? Sometimes, for some people, it can be hard to find a spark of curiosity within them. There is so much you don't know you don't know! You know?

We have books in the library with questions written right there in the title. A nice series of youth science books written by Chris Arvetis that has titles like What is a Volcano? Why does it Snow? and Why do Birds Fly South? We thought these books could be a good exposure to creating their own questions. One other of those books, Why Does a Bird Sing? reminded me first of Maya Angelou's poem "I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings," and then of a song my friend Chase shared with me, that includes some of life's questions in it, titled "Louder than Words." It's from a musical, Tick Tick BOOM. Chase's favourite question in the song is: “Cages or wings, which do you prefer? Ask the birds."

There are so many Why's and How’s out in the world, so many little mysteries of life that can be unveiled or simply pondered. Some questions have no answers, or lessons, but the mere asking of them indicates a healthy zest for mental activity, it colours the world more intensely around us. Cages are stability, but wings are variability. Cages are protection, but wings are freedom. Knowledge is another form of freedom.

Matt's most recent article in Guyana Times featured the Divine Lizard, but really was a medium for encouraging scientific exploration and inquiry. He leads the reader into a scenario, where you are the one observing, hearing, wondering and remembering. He concludes with:

"... in the end, it is not just what you saw that contributes to your overall satisfaction, but also the feeling that were an active participant in the experience. You feel like a scientist because you acted as one. You actively observed the world around you and you leave with the confidence gained from answering your own questions out in the environment. The more you seek to observe, the more you will see. The more questions that you ask, the more you will learn. Nature is full of amazing and miraculous behaviours, traits and events, but the only catch is that you have to be out there to experience them."

Inquisitive young minds are something that seems to be only recently revealing itself here in Yups, Aunty Maisie says. I’ve seen it for myself, as well. For example, little Nicole, Felix's daughter, asked me the other day, "How do you make popcorn?" I went through the process and explained about what’s inside the kernels and she listened to it all, intently. Maisie said kids never used to ask questions like that. What an encouraging change!

It seems like that might be the necessary first step - to get people to ask questions, the kind of questions that will lead to the answers (and actions, hopefully) you are already hoping for - to make a true change.

What questions can you ask today, to brighten your environment?

4th of July

The morning started out with breakfast burritos. Handmade tortillas, scrambled eggs, seasoned soy chunks with sauteed onions, cheese and salsa. SALSA.

We attempted for a post-food coma, but we were quickly visited by a half dozen kids, wanting to see Jeff, who's come back for another three months of volunteering, and wanting to return library books. Jeff taught some how to play proper chess, some of us played UNO, some played dominoes.

Howard had been popping in and out all morning, reporting that he was unable to obtain a pig to roast, but we could get some mutton. We bought a whole sheep and later, Howard delivered the whole, skinned, animal and layed it on our counter. He chopped it into pieces as I grated 2 cloves of garlic and two small onions to season it.

Jeff had the kids help him to gather firewood and then I had some kids pick a medium sized bowl of limes from the tree behind the house and start squeezing. I pressured channa (chickpeas) to make hummus and made lime juice with the limes, plus seasoned the cut up meat. It marinaded for a few hours, in a big plastic basin big enough to hold a 20 pound sheep, minus some of the more boney parts, that Howard put aside and said to make a boil with.

I wanted to experiment, see what difference in flavor and tenderness cooking a boil there was when you sautee the onions, garlic and sweet pepper, then quickly fry the meat before adding the water, versus just putting it all in hot water and letting it boil for awhile. I added the same amount of seasoning, including casareep. (The sauteed seasonings and meat came out with more flavor, though I think the tenderness was about the same.)

Howard and others got the fire burning, the lime juice was served with rum, and Matt made a barbecue sauce of ketchup, honey, casareep, pepper sauce and onions, which we brushed over the lamb as it grilled. Jeff went out to get more black pepper and biscuits for the hummus, and to check on the fresh baked bread we were going to use as buns for the hot dogs I bought in Lethem last week.

The meat was barbecued, the boils were done, the farine was set out, the hot dogs started to grill and Anthony carried me to the baker's house to collect the bread; we got two fresh baked loaves and quickly put them on the towa to toast a bit so they'd hold up better with the hot dogs. Mike brought some mustard from C.H.

By then, we had more than 20 people at the house, and everyone started eating the bbq with farine soaked in boil broth, maybe a piece of the boiled meat, too. The Beatles played from my worn multi media player that takes 6 C batteries. Matt had done wash that morning and we noted his string of boxers on the line which, incidentally, were American Eagle, and three of them went in line as red, white a blue. We got a picture of him next to it, saluting.

We had around 30 people total in and out of the house, all eating to their hearts' content, as we had lime juice and rum, then Howard went for some kari. Cindy brought over a cucumber to add, and Vilma helped with the dishes. People came inside to play games and gaff, some guys sat in the front patio room, strumming a guitar with a mug of kari next to them...


El Dorado Rum and lime juice. Barbecue mutton. Barbecue sauce. Hummus and crackers. Farine. A cross cultural feast.

Three US Americans in K. House makes for a pretty good Independence Day shindig.


Matt Hallett, July 4, 2011. K. House volunteer, March - July 2011
God Bless Americas.

Fifteen out of 22 Grade 6 students passed the Common Entrance exam and are admitted into St. Ignatius Secondary School, only one of three accredited secondary schools in the region.

15/22. That means more than two thirds of the kids passed. The last two years, it was a stretch to get to half. We sent 8 kids last year, 7 the year before.

The jubilation, the pride, the satisfaction almost brought me to tears yesterday, when Mistress Li called me to the school, into her office, where her and the Grade 6 teacher, Miss Eleanor, were looking at the results.

These kids, who've had Maisie's attentive teaching and guidance for three years, who've had all the teachers tutoring them last term, who had Maisie and myself call them to come study at night during the week before the test. These kids, who've I've dedicated the year to, with reading level assessments, English language activities, comprehension passages, composition exercises, vocabulary worksheets sent home, after school tutoring sessions, in school lessons.... I expressed high expectations for them, and constantly reminded them about this test they were preparing for, and why they are being pushed so hard.

I studied these kids, I learned these kids, and I love these kids. Each grade 6 I've helped with, I've loved teaching them and came to feel attached to them, but these kids I've come to know as people outside of school, I know a lot of their families.

"It will give them a chance," Maisie said. Exactly. And, when "You have brains in your head, you have feet in your shoes, you can steer yourself in any direction you choose." - Dr. Seuss

It's now up to them to choose their direction, and who knows what direction that will be, but they have that opportunity, which is more than most in their village.

Here's the link to the album of the class of grade 6 this year:
Class of 2011 Grade 6 pictures

Saturday Morning Fun

“Miss! We come to play!” I’d been sleeping, soundly, unconsciously revelling at Saturday morning’s allowing me to sleep late and still had another hour or so left of good sleep in me when they woke me up. I considered shooing them away, but I stumbled out of bed, shuffled to the door, looking like a swamp thing as Brendon, Savio, Jason, Ronson, Karolinie, Shannon and Tnecha marched into the house, full of energy and ideas. Karolinie remarked at my sink of dirty dishes and says “We will wash!” Ok, sure!

The boys putter around the front room as I finally decide I should brush my teeth and wash my face and feed the dog. They discover the little kaleidoscope I have laying around that Tricia and Amanda sent and look into it. “Is just like looking at birds!” one exclaims, referring to binocs – they’d just come from bird-watching with Matt that morning. He and they had gotten up at 6 a.m. to check out the local birds, no way in hell I was gonna wake up to go with them. They look at me through the kaleidoscope and I ask what kind of bird I’d be. “A pigeon,” was the first answer one of them said. Shannon quickly corrects and says “blue backed mannikan,” a bird they’d seen that morning, which I appreciated a little more.

Since Karolinie did dishes, she got to pick the first game and she chose Down by the Banks, the hand slapping game I taught them. Then Tnecha chose to sing “Down by the Bay” and I had them make up their own rhyme for the end. The best one was Brendon’s who said “Have you ever seen a Matt, sitting on a mattress?” (Matt had come back to the house and joined in on some games, then tried to retire to a hammock for a nap, to no avail). Then we play Purple Chicken, a rhythm calling game, first with numbers, then with animal sounds. You have a number or sound and you call to someone else “Number 3, number 7,” then they call themselves then someone new, in rhythm. With the animal sounds, it went “AaaawwWW, Owuuuuu! Owuuuuuu, Onnnnnng!” (macaw to wolf to baby caiman).

Then, they wanted to play cards, though not all of them; two played dominoes of some sort, some played Phase 10 with me and some wanted to draw. Those guys drew copies of Calvin (from Calvin and Hobbes) – Ronson gave Calvin big muscles, though – and Savio asked me how to spell “KARaty” and I couldn’t figure out what he meant until Ronson explained “Like Kung Fu, Miss.” “OH! KarATE, KarATE. K-A-R-A-T-E.” He wrote that on his drawing of some posing, muscly man. Shannon and Brendon really enjoyed Phase 10, we did two phases successfully before we stopped.

They ask me about different groceries of mine and where ‘I does get dem,’ particularly about one unlabelled jar of something Julie had left behind from Surama. Karolinie had discovered an empty jar of peanut butter I was throwing away and decided to rescue and finger out the remains. She licked at it as I explained the jar was a sugar pepper sauce and let them try it which they started to gobble up and asked to eat with farine. I said they could eat it with some popcorn – I’d make some if they would start to read a story together.

The kids go back into the front room while Shannon starts reading, with great pronunciation and inflecion, The Land before Time to the rest (Conrad had joined in by now, Jason and Ronson had left) as I made myself coffee and popcorn for them. Brendon and Savio had one bowl of popcorn in one hammock, Tnecha and Karolinie had another bowl in the other hammock and Shannon and Conrad had a third in a chair at the desk. They dipped the kernels in pepper sauce from a spoon. “You will eat some?” Shannon, who saw I put aside none for myself, asked. “I will share from you all,” and I took a handful from all bowls, while asking them about the story so far; they had read almost 2 chapters. That was The Movie from the boys’ and my youth and I was so excited when Uncle Steve, Jeff and Lisa sent the book to me here. I could still hear the characters’ voices as Shannon read in his Rupununi accent.

They wanted to play more, but I said they could keep reading or it was ‘go play outside’ time. Shannon, Conrad and Brendon left, with thanks all around, but Karolinie, Tnecha and Savio wanted to keep reading, so they cuddled in one hammock (a Savio Sandwich; a 6 year old squeezed between a 5th grader and an 8th grader – only in the Rupununi) as I read the rest of Chapter 2 and all of Chapter 3, about how Sharptooth was trying to ketch Littlefoot and Cera, but Littlefoot’s mother was fighting the Sharptooth; I tried to read as thrillingly as I could. After that, ‘they gan’ and I’m left, looking around in silence, at the cards strewn about, some drawings left, a drain full of clean dishes and spoons of pepper sauce left on my desk. I grin like a fool in love. Who will wake me up to chaotic fun like this when I go back to the States??

The Brown One

QOTD: Everything you see exists together in a delicate balance. As king, you need to understand that balance and respect all the creatures, from the crawling ant to the leaping antelope. -But, Dad, don't we eat the antelope?- Yes, Simba, but let me explain. When we die, our bodies become the grass, and the antelope eat the grass. And so we are all connected in the great Circle of Life.

(NOTE: This blog is pretty graphic, about a cow slaughter, just so you're not surprised.)

Darren, Chris and Rickford's son walked toward the corral, long ropes in hand, me following. We weren't there just to collect meat, like I initially thought. They talk in Makushi, and I hear 'brown one' in there somewhere. Plops of poop, gushes of pee, wooshes of breath sound from the corral as RJ jumps over the 7-foot high fence, whips the rope around and gets the cow he wants, first try.

The rope is being anchored by one fence post and held by Chris and Darren, and as the cow tries to pull away, other cows run around and get in the way. Some cows, in the excitement, start headbutting each other, others try mounting each other. It looks like a few cows nudge the roped one, others nervously jump over the rope. As the cow bucks around, the boys pull the rope, getting it closer and closer to the edge of the corral. The rope is around its neck and it's breathing hard.

All the other cows calm down and stand away from the struggling cow, watching it and us, as if questioning with their eyes "What's going on, what are you doing to our friend?" The rope gets pulled enough so that the cow's head is sticking through the posts. RJ takes one of the kitchen knives they've been sharpening with a file, and I look away, to wait until the cease of the cow's breathing comes, until the cow is more or less motionless on the ground, right inside the corral. They loosen one of the horizontal posts, and pull the cow out by it's tail, as the other cows come and sniff at the cow and the blood on the ground.

RJ and Darwin first make a light cut all the way down from the throat to the anus, and you can see the hide splitting. One guy starts and one end and one guy starts at the other, with the cow on its side, and they slight scrape the hide away from the body, until it gets to the spine. They make a traced line around the front and hind leg and peel the hide from it, too, as well as cut and break off the calves. They start by cutting the meat that rests against the spine, a long rectangular line of meat that gets put, bloody, into a rice bag. The cow is rolled over, hide scraped away on the other side, the strip of meat from the spine again. A triangle around the anus is cut away, this will be used to help pull out the guts later. Darren and RJ seem to work casually yet efficiently, each knowing what needed to be done, each complementing whatever the other was doing. An incision was made into the calf muscle, for example, and then Chris was called to come and pull; he grabbed the new hole between bones, and pulled the leg away from the body. It was looking more and more like the meat I am used to seeing hanging under a benab, to have a chunk cut off and buy 5 pounds of.

A big cutlass is used to separate the spine till the tail, chunks of meat get cut from the neck, from the haunches. Then they cut from neck to anus comes and guts slowly seep out. So big! RJ feels around what must be the several massive stomachs and it has a look and sound of a waterbed. Branches with leaves were put on either side of the cow, as they moved it from side to side; the hide was also layed out under the carcass. With the neck as one grip and the anus area as the other, Chris and Darren pull out the guts to one side. They spread the hind legs and cut them away, toss them into the back of the Land Rover. The cut the ribs from the spine on either side and take those, too, to the Land Rover. The front legs, the head cut off, to the Rover.

The cow more or less dismantled, I jumped down from my perch on the fence, noting they'll take out the liver from the viscera, and wondering what will happen with all the rest before we go. Dogs were already about. Ryol starts cutting out the liver, but then the other guys start cutting the fat off of the other guts and body parts to collect. And then Darwin cuts into the stomach - WHY??? I'd noted appreciatively that no guts were punctured as they got moved around, but then they cut open one of the many stomachs and it was chock full of half-digested grass that had almost the consistency of the grass that gets stuck in the chute of the lawn mower. Just one other goop to dig their hands into, to wipe off the knives before they resharpen, to stain their clothes.

Which reminds me, as the cow was still standing and thrashing, it spewed snot all over RJ's face, which made him gag and spit and throw off his shirt which made ME gag. I seemed to spend the entire ordeal almost wanting to get sick, but not quite.

They dumped, shook and scooped the grass out of the stomach and all its numerous folds and piled it off to the side. They took the large intestine and squeezed it like a tube of toothpaste, letting the poop plop out. The took the small intestines... and did the same thing... liquid poop, siphoned out, length by length then piled to the side. The liver and pancreas went into a bucket, the other entrails went into a plastic bucket, it all got loaded up, except for the hide, which RJ drug back to the house.

THIS was the Mackeydon I have heard mentioned many times, and have stopped at a few times, but never put two and two together. This is the actual ranch part of K/bu. Ryol says they (K/bu Ranch) come to get a cow when they have a steady set of guests coming in. I'd never seen a slaughter before; it took being a substitute assistant manager at K/bu to see it happen.

I spent 6 days, 5 night at the Lodge, CH's sister eco-lodge downriver, helping Auntie D. McTurk with the ranch there. I helped coordinate other volunteers, answered email reservations for the lodge, helped arrange grocery lists, talk with travel companies in GT, etc. It was quite an experience, which can be summed up in:

The Goods:
kittens!
cream!
coffee!
silence!
mangoes!

The Bads:
caborrahs
flies
implicit decorum
silence

The Uglies:
isolation

A good time to think about a lot of things, like the Circle of Life, the duties of a manager of an eco-tourist lodge in the Rupununi, and the future.

Check this Out

Check out this LA Times article, called "Time to Rethink It," written on May 29th. Click below, it's a link.

Time to rethink it

I came across it while with Diane here at Karanambu, thought you all would be interested.

A Dream Come True

Riding the roads between Karanambu and Yupukari
May 17, 2011, on a Honda 125cc FAN

portraits

portraits, a set on Flickr.

A collection of pics that seem to represent my time here... I'd like to get this set as a moving show on my page somehow...

Symphonies with Words

I started a Reading Club for grades 6-8, once a week, at my house, for this term, where we get together and read a chapter book. I’ve wanted to do this here since I came, and I guess it’s with the end in sight that I actually made it happen. Mom has always said when things get too difficult here, go back to the kids, and interact with the kids. It feels like things are at the point now where I have done all I can in the long run (more or less) and so now – to the kids!

With this reading club, I envisioned a small group of kids, sitting in a circle, reading, understanding, enjoying and discussing an entire chapter book, collectively revelling in the joys of novels. Though these may be too lofty of expectations, we do have a good amount of kids borrowing chapter books, though I am unable to assess their completion or comprehension levels on them. I wanted the kids to get a sense of pride in accomplishment at soaking up an entire novel, so I picked James and the Giant Peach by Roald Dahl and Tuck Everlasting by Natalie Babbitt for them to choose from. I chose those for two reasons: because they ARE a great example of how fun and easy reading/writing can be. That and - there were three copies of each of these books in the village and it just made sense.

Roald Dahl is a literary hero of mine, and I’ve had the kids read a lot of his books, including The Fantastic Mr. Fox, George’s Marvelous Medicine and Esio Trot. Tuck Everlasting… I read this novel when I was in gr. 6, in the Accelerated Readers Club that met after school. We read novels together in the afternoons, while drinking a can of pop and eating a little bag of chips with our English teachers; it felt very intellectual. I re-read the book as an adult and fell in love with it, as Babbitt writes so descriptively beautiful and the events that transpire around Winnie (main character) that force her to begin to see the world in new ways are so perceptively written. It is such a wonderful example of how words can be turned into written symphonies… If I can get the kids to only see how the same words they learn to spell by rote memorization can be used in context...

On the first day, three girls showed up, and they selected Tuck Everlasting to read, and so we began, each with her own book, taking turns to read a page or two. Merisa read with such intonation, Helen stumbled a bit but remembered all the details with great clarity. The second meeting, 6 came, and we got into a routine, sharing the reading, speaking up when they didn’t understand and helping each other pronounce words. We’ve had three meetings now, and none of the kids have openly declared a new love affair for novels, but neither have they shown a disinterest in the plot or in taking turns reading. We’ve discussed the book a bit: the positives and negatives of immortality, the grey area of kidnapping for a good reason, and what some of those eloquently described sceneries are trying to tell us.

I think the kids enjoy hanging out at my house; they’ll go through my collection of books and pictures, and will linger after the afternoon finishes. I reflect on the fact that it’s not as structured as my reading club when I was a kid (and the fact that they may not get as much out of the book as I’d fantasize them to), but I realized that I may not ever have a chance to have such an exceptional time with the kids if we were back home, either, as in having kids over to my house, having the floor open to any kind of candid discussion.

With this reading club and in other instances, these kids, with their direct openness in topics, have brought up many different subjects of delicate natures or personal natures with me, and it is difficult to shy away from then. I prefer to be quite frank with kids, of any age, in general. (I wonder how that would fit in with education systems back in the States? Teachers must restrict the topics they discuss with their students, must be politically correct... certain things should be left for the parents.) But here, it can be assumed that topics of a mature nature are not necessarily being discussed between parents and children, and so the need for open disclosure from any role model form overrides the sense of scholastic propriety.

I’ve loved having kids come over to my house; there’s a set who’ve become quite comfortable spending time with me – a quartet of boys: Jason, Ronson, Brendon and Savio. Jason and Ronson, especially, will come by themselves, and spend a couple hours with me. We will talk about any variety of things, they will ask me questions about the States, we will read a book together or they will read on their own as I clean or do whatever task I was doing when they stopped by. It is a relaxed quiet time where I believe they feel comfortable and safe, and I feel happy and content to be one to provide that for them. And it is an added bonus, that I am friends with their parents.

Here in the village, you basically live with who you work with, you live with who you teach. Professional life, school life and home life are all intimately intertwined. There are positives and negatives to this, but one of the positives is that I feel I’ve been able to be a considerable mentor, to put it technically, to so many of the kids. And on the flip side – I’ve had a considerable set of buddies around to have fun learning together and gain life lessons from. I just love the kids, them and their individual personalities, their potential.

Books have become one medium of connection between us, one way for any student to come into the library or my house and get individual attention. As I look around as the pre-teens in my house every Wednesday afternoon, for example, I see a substantial moment; not one with pressure to fill up the time with substance, but one with the grounds for a spark to ignite a richer future – for all of us.

Rups Rodeo 2011

The Rupunnuni Rodeo, an annual Region 9 extravaganza, has come again. It falls over Easter weekend each year, and attracts people from all over the country and Caribbean. Lethem is packed with people, the GT road has traffic, there are strange, fair-like attractions like ferris wheels and trampolines at the Rodeo grounds. The Rodeo is on Saturday and Sunday, but that doesn't include the Miss Rupununi pageant on Friday night at the Takutu Hotel, or the send off parties on Monday, as everyone (or most) pack up and leave for home. Then there are those diehard Rodeo-goers, some whom I was destined to be affiliated with, who use Monday as a trip-to-the-falls day, and Tuesday a day of recovery before heading back home.

Mom was visiting my first year here and as much as she was a trooper during the weekend, I learned a lesson - do not bring your mom to rodeo weekend. I was discovering the pleasure of staying out until the sun came up, when I had mom back at her hotel room, not complaining when I walked in the room at 6 a.m.

Last year, I didn't attend, partially due to aversion to a 5 day weekend, partially due to transp conflicts. This year, my last year, it seemed like I should make a point to be there, plus I thought I should really take a break from the village. So, the convoy headed out Friday afternoon, Chris, Mike, myself and three new volunteers for the year - Matt, my roomie; Robin, a PCV Response at K/bu, and Evi, associated with Panthera, also at K/bu. We rode into Lethem, using 4 headlights to shine the way and caught the pageant at the Takutu. Krista and Mina, two friends of ours, were in the competition. I met up with people I haven't seen in a long time, glorified in strangers and attractive men older than me and spent some quality time with past and current roomates.

Rachel, the PCV Response from Katoka, and I enjoyed the variety of snacks and finger foods as we perused the grounds over the weekend, watched some bucking broncos and bought a few pieces of jewlery during the day, then beers and rum and dancing at night. I was fortunate to catch rides back to the house a lot of us were crashing at in Culvert City, right past the airstrip, fairly early each night.... 5 a.m., 1:30 a.m. and 3 a.m.

We stayed at the Li's family house. There's a big porch there where hammocks by the dozens could be hung up, not to mention hammocks under the mango trees, and there are many open bedrooms where you can throw a mattress down - or just your hammock down, in Matt's case. Some of the Li's family were visiting from the States, and then a friend, Navin, who rents the house with his wife and daughter, had his in-laws visiting, too. All the ladies and Kavita, the lady of the house, cooked up lunches and got the rest of us to help clean. The late morning might include a bath at the local creek, or lounging in a hammock or a nap or a short walk, then it was a leisure trek to the rodeo grounds.

Sunday night, I actually dressed up for the dancing, and then a group of people had this huge dance train that will go down in history. I was squeezed between Chris and Robin. I danced with all the gals and with some different guys, but I never really got into the groove this time around. As I waited for something to happen on Monday, Chris tied me up a hammock under the mango tree and I swung there, napping and thinking; a very contented moment. Tuesday was waiting to get ready to go, talking about getting ready to go, getting ready to go, talking about going, going, going, going and finally gone, around 10:30 p.m. A full 5 days, But I am glad to say I went. It's part of the culture.


On the road to the Rodeo! Stopping between Quatata and Markanta. Sarah and Robin


Rodeo Grounds. Rodeo sponsored by El Dorado, voted world's best rum, and Digicel, the main cell phone service in the Caribbean.


Dance train!!!!