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...
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
Friday, August 19, 2011
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.
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.
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