The Owl and the Pussycat

By Edward Lear

The Owl and the Pussycat went to sea
In a beautiful pea-green boat.
The took some honey and plenty of money
Wrapped up in a 5-pound note.

The Owl looked up to the stars above
And sang to a small guitar:
“O lovely Pussy, oh Pussy my love,
What a beautiful pussy you are
You are,
You are,
What a beautiful pussy you are.”

Pussy said to the Owl:
“You elegant fowl!
How charmingly sweet you sing!
O, let us be married, too long we have tarried –
But what shall we do for a ring?”

They sailed away, for a year and a day
To the land where the bong-tree grows
And there in a wood, a piggy-wig stood
With the ring at the end of his nose
His nose,
His nose,
With a ring at the end of his nose.

“Dear pig are you willing
To sell for one shilling your ring?”
Said the piggy “I will.”

So they took it away
And were married next day
By the turkey who lived on the hill.
They dined on mince
And slices of quince
Which they ate with a runcible spoon.

And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand
They danced by the light of the moon
The moon,
The moon,
They danced by the light of the moon.

Mashramani is one of Guyana’s national holidays, a week-long of events, ending in Republic Day. Mashramani comes from the Amerindian word which means “a celebration of a job well done” (as cited in Wikipedia and Rhomayne Li, fresh out of secondary school). The celebrations display colorful costumes, bold dances, calypso, and other forms of merry-making. This year's theme is: "Embracing our Diversity, Celebrating our Heritage."

Georgetown has its big celebrations in the capital, wrought with parades and other events. Lethem in Region 9, has its celebrations, too. Last year, my village of Yups had some celebrations of their own, too. Maisie (our Headmistress) arranged a bonfire, a parade and school rally and other events. It was something that made the Stabroek News, as many remote villages don’t hold their own festivities. Y is still planning a weeklong of events this year, but this year we also are participating in some of the activities in Lethem. The department of education is arranging for more school involvement in the activities and arranged many cultural items for the students to participate in.

Mrs. Li selected some of her students to enter into the Dramatic Poetry competition, which was held Friday. She selected “The Owl and the Pussycat” for them to recite/act and worked with them each day for a week or two. She came to me for support and so we worked with them together. Merisa was our narrator, reciting most of the poem, except for the dialogue. I’ve mentioned Merisa a couple times; she’s the young one with exceptional dancing abilities as well as confidence. Cheryl was the pussycat; she’s Miss Evenena’s daughter and exudes a quiet confidence as well as manners.

The role of our elegant fowl was a little harder to select. Mrs. Li gathered two veteran actors in her class, Salman and Jason, and then two boys I hadn’t seen act before, Reon and Harrington. Salman and Jason are quite confident in general, and swagger around like old pros. They were having a little TOO much fun, actually. I had to hide my smile. Reon impressed me with his performance; however, he was so enthusiastically singing to the pussycat he looked like he was angry with her, not in love. Harrington looks as if smiling comes extremely easy to him. He has this guileless look on his face at almost all times. When he was singing he did it like he was acting, but bringing a part of himself to the piece, too. An Amerindian Elegant Fowl.

We worked on body placement and emphasizing words and motions. We worked on slowing down and making it more natural, and we worked on Merisa’s eye contact with the audience and the owl and the pussycat’s eye contact with each other. At the end when they dance, we worked on moves that first resembled forro, but slowly became more waltz-like. The fowl is supposed to dip the pussy at the end and that was a source of effort. I found myself instructing Cheryl how to properly bend back, while wryly reflecting I’ve never done such a move myself. These kids have such bold personalities, and I can really joke and do more with them. There’s a little added satisfaction with working with these guys.

Friday morning, I set out with Maisie, Bryan and Merisa, Cheryl and Harrington for the event, to be held at the St. Ignatius benab. It was Cheryl and Harrington’s first time going to Lethem. Merisa told them about driving over the hills and how it makes your stomach feel funny. We arrived late, but apparently not too late that we couldn’t go back into Lethem and get breakfast first. A nearby village had a truckful of students participating, too, that we met along the road, and together we had breakfast before going back over.

We walked to the staging area and saw enough older kids wearing flashy, glittery costumes and make up, tons of green, red and yellow. I wonder if the kids were intimidated; I was. Schools from nearby sent participants, but not too many smaller villages had participants. Cheryl slipped into her black leotard-like dress with a scarf tied at her throat and mask made out of cardboard. Harrington had what was probably one of Maisie’s old blouses from the 80’s that was cinched at the waist with what was probably one of her old belts from the 80’s – and the ensemble looked owl –like. He had a cardboard mask, too. Merisa forgot her outfit and the plastic bracelet-sized ring that she was supposed to wear “at the end of her nose” for her brief role as the piggy-wig. She had to pretend. I got a ‘before’ picture of them, then we crept to where they would enter the stage and looked out at the crowd and the current performers. Harrington’s smile was harder to come by. (I was glad I had them practice in front of the school the day before to get used to the audience.) I gave them a brief pep talk, and then went to join the audience so I could take pictures. While waiting, I saw Elvira, one of the girls I tutored in my Common Entrance class last year. She was one of the group that passed and actually went on to secondary school. It was great to see her! We watched our group together.

Though the kids had practiced enough, they couldn’t really have practiced with microphones, something that the participants used for the program. Maisie mentioned that they might use them and that they should hold the mic away from their mouth, but it definitely is something that one needs to get used to. The kids were introduced and a lady tried to give Merisa a microphone, but Merisa refused it: “We need to bow first,” she told her, which could be heard over the PA system. I couldn’t hold back a laugh. They all bowed, THEN Merisa took the mic and introduced their poem.

They all remembered to find the middle of the stage, to stand close to each other and Merisa remembered to look out to the audience. When it came time for Harrington to sing to the pussy with his guitar, they fumbled a bit as the mic was passed around, but the fowl sang and strummed the guitar well enough. They had the audience laughing and enjoying it. Cheryl remembered her actions and spoke clearly. More fumbling a couple pauses as the mic went around. Then, time came for the dancing at the end and I was nervous. They danced slowly and didn’t look off beat, then the dip came, which was brief, but smooth. They did well! I was so tickled. "An owl and a pussycat... now THAT's diversity," the MC said.

Yupukari came so humbly; one bag filled with all their props and costumes, in a sea of glitter, bright colors, short skirts, big elaborate costumes, access to more supplies and electricity and previous experience in such competitions. But the kids came, performed and entertained with bravery. And, wouldn’t you know it? We brought first in our category! Got a trophy and everything.

Think of the world of opportunities this little trip to Town made on them. I think one of the main reasons I am so fond of all these kids in Y is the huge potential I see in them every time I stare at their faces, their beauty, their personalities. I was so honored to be able to come along on this little journey of these 3 kids.

All You Need is Love

Jess and I were given a Valentine’s Day surprise.

I had all but forgotten/ignored the day, but still was enjoying the peaceful Sunday morning anyway, feeding the puppies, doing a little cleaning and getting water hot for some instant coffee when I heard a noise. Kept listening and it sounded like music playing softly, but clearly. I thought it might have been coming from Jess, but I was fairly sure she was still asleep, plus, it didn’t sound like the kind of music she listens to often. I thought it may be coming from the church, it sounded like calm music. I actually go outside to my gate and look over to the church, not seeing anything, but hearing the music as if it were right around the corner.

I walk back into the house and stop in my tracks at some foreign objects on my desk in the front room. I’m immediately on alert, and even when I figure out it’s an iPod hooked up to speakers that’s playing the music and a thermos next to it, I’m still weary and confused. The music was Frank Sinatra and, at first, it kinda created an atmosphere like in one of those movie scenes were you have a killer on the loose or a silent, tense chase scene in a derelict mansion and there’s the opposite musical atmosphere being played, like “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” during that raid in Castor Troy’s place in Face/Off or that Pavarati opera music being played as Willem Dafoe re-inacts one of the homicide scenes in Boondock Saints – or something like that.

My mind and body unclenches after a few seconds and I perceive the surprise to be a good one, not homicidal one. I look at the thermos and see a Post-It note attached that reads “To two women whom we love very much. Happy Valentines Day.” I laugh out of surprise, relief and disbelief and have to sit down for a sec and collect myself.
The music turns out to be all love songs, and the note had a heart drawn on it, colored in with a red crayon. It was Mike’s handwriting on the note, Mike’s iPod and Mike’s thoughtfulness written all over it. I sat, grinning like a fool for a minute or two, then called Jess to come check it out. We poured ourselves a cup of coffee from the thermos and relaxed in the patio as Ray Charles, Ella Fitzgerald, Sting, Marvin Gaye and Joni Mitchell play over the speakers.

I, who usually have extreme control over the emotions I express, was hard-pressed to hide my wide grin for the morning and part of the afternoon. It occurred to me how something so simple as coffee and music could mean so much to someone. I suppose because it’s not just coffee and music – it’s letting a person know you are thinking of them, you hold them in high regards, you are willing to take the time to think of something and then to do the something. It’s making something and someone significant for a moment, when for so much of the time, it’s same old same old.

It would be too easy to brush past Valentine’s Day entirely, wouldn’t it? What’s the point, especially without a Valentine, or familial loved ones? But then – Mike made it a point. He forced significance and importance and heightened feelings by his actions – his relatively simple actions, too. I mean, I know he had to make the coffee, maybe he arranged the playlist and then had to orchestrate how he was going to sneak in secretly – but it’s not like it was a big expensive gift or an elaborate breakfast or anything. And it’s not like we were his loves or anything, we’re “just” friends.

But the impact that coffee had on me! It made me feel happy, it made me feel cared for, it made me feel worthy. It made the day special. It brought memories of other surprises I’ve had. I remembered that I like surprises, I remember how I felt each time – special.

And it occurs to me how easy it is to do things like this for people. Surprises, or just thoughtfulness in general. Or perhaps there’d be surprise in being thoughtful. Keeping hold of this feeling, I hope I can try to be more thoughtful with other people and give them the same sort of feeling.

It truly is “The thought that counts.” Thanks Mr. Joe Canada.

Kansas City Chronicles

Ok, guys. I need help. I'm all about international exchanges these days - can't help it being in Peace Corps and volunteering in a village that has a eco-tourism thing going on - but I seem to be experiencing a loss of my OWN original culture.

Chris asked me to tell a story about KC the other day. I thought about it and mentioned the KC/ St. Louis rivalry thing, and that brought up the differences between the two cities (thoughts, Caitlin? ;)), but then also Chris asked - what makes KC unique? What sort of slang do we use, for example. What's KC known for? What did we used to do for fun?

My friends here talk about what they used to do in school, the good times they have and still have. They have their set of expressions here -"You gotta catch it, ya sight(yes ay/ ya site)?" for example- and I know we used to have ours and still do, but for the life of me, they aren't coming to mind! The best I could come up with was "What's up, chicken butt?" I'm not doing us KC'ers justice by that expression, am I?

(And this got me thinking that I have blurred boundaries of what was specifically KC -- Missouri -- the Midwest -- the US. Somethings we would do or say or watch in KC were things that were done all over - or I assumed so at least. Other things that I thought were unique to KC were shared by others. This has been something that I've become conscious of with my new roommate, Jess, too. She's from London, England, and several times, we've both assumed the other person knew the person, phrase, food or whatever else the other was talking about only to find the other confused. I guess that's a result of ethnocentrism on my part, assuming that US traditions are the norm other places, or just a result of 'not getting out much' and seeing different ways. But THEN, that takes me back to my international experiences here and adapting and seeing, but then LOSING my own stuff... whew!)

This little convo before lunch stuck with me, made me turn pensive - ok, even more pensive than usual. It's like, in an effort to affiliate into my present and future, I'm releasing holds of my past, and that's weird. What's our identity if not a our experiences and growth in the past? A sum of memories and personality quirks? (Am I losing my personality quirks in an effort to integrate? Is the fact that I can't bring to memory characteristics of back home mean I'm integrating too much into my present surroundings? And what implications does that have for my personality?)

So, calling all Kansas Citians! Please help me regain a little of ME by shedding a little light on KC for my friends here in Guyana. Please post memories of things we used to do in school, places we went to as hangouts. Our slang. Any other KC, Midwest thing. I'm tagging some KC'ers, but you don't have to have gone to Tonka, lived in KC or even Missouri to share these things. Let's see what things were strictly Tonka, strictly KC, or strictly the US.

(PCV's, I believe this would fall under Goal 2, don't you think???? ;) )

Christmas in January

Christmas passed in a quiet way. Some parts were harder than last year, some parts were better. It was harder because I had higher expectations of enjoying myself which did not come to fruit. It was easier because I only managed a slight cold instead of lice, like last year. It was better because I made a decision and stuck with it to spend my New Years with CH buddies down south at a place called Saddle Mountain, and I actually enjoyed myself, too. Spent it as I imagined a young single adult would. Houseful of different people, sleeping in a hammock, bathing at the creek, cooking and eating in mass quantities, dancing up and a nice countdown to 2010.

But the spirit of the Holidays actually hit this month, with a few different instances:

Three Christmas packages obtained Wednesday the 13th from Home, Devon and Uncle Steve. Dev had a bunch of little things wrapped in Christmas paper - I loved it. I swear I could smell Devon in the wrapping paper. Uncle Steve sent tiny tree ornaments, a stocking and candy canes. Can't wait 'til next year to get a makeshift tree and trim that tropical bad boy! He also sent tons of books, some old ones he had, one in particular, a book that Mom and Dad had given him. I knew this because Dad had written an inscription on the inside cover, with the year. Mom and Dad sent a tin of holiday chocolate covered pretzels and a bag of Hershey's kisses. <3

Aunt Lisa posted pics on Facebook of Christmas Eve at Nana and Papa's. I'll say it again: My family is Beautiful. I drank you all in, from your smiles, to your poses, to my dad's swishy pants, even to Nana's microwave buttons. I sat in the library last Thursday morning with tears in my eyes as I perused the pics. THERE was my Holiday spirit. Goodness.

Tonight - Peanut Butter cookies with kisses in the middle! Ay ay ay!!!!!

My dissected Christmas has come to a close, and I feel at peace.

To Dance

The Rupununi makes me dance. The night air makes me dance. The sense of freedom makes me dance.

Or perhaps, to dance gives me the sensation of literal freedom.

To dance is to sing. To dance is to express. To dance is locution.


Chase truly is a kindred spirit. The parallels we've discovered within our lives are too great to NOT be kindred spirits. Just one example - dancing.

He's found his way into a few of my blogs so far, but you'll remember a blog I wrote a few months back about dancing. He has recently posted one about dancing, as well. I'm not sure his 'story' of dancing, but mine, as I've written, has just come to fruit here in Guyana. It's something that we both revel. I've had the pleasure of watching him dance as well as dancing with him - he's quite zesty.

As our experiences as PCV's and developing beings run different, yet parallel courses, Chase has incorporated some of our interchanges into his recent blogs, and I am going to do the same here. In his blog about dancing, he writes:


"To dance is to be free. To dance is to praise. To dance is to be.

Where makes you dance? What? To dance is to?

I dance for so many reasons. Guyana makes me dance. Everything makes sense again, especially after it rained. Dance."


The start to this blog was my response. And now I turn the questions Chase has brought forth to you: What makes you dance? To dance is to...?

Today's Testimonies

-Extreme excitement over a bagful of beef: one of the gifts PC service has given me.

I hear a cow was slaughtered; my senses perk up, I'm on high alert - BEEF! I've turned utter carnivore in the past year and a half. Stews, salted, fried, you name it, I eat it - and cook it - as often as possible. So, I go by Shamir's, and hover. Get the first pound or two, a generous gift from Hamzad, greatly relished. He asks if I'd like to buy more, I say yes and he tells me i'm gonna buy whatever he cuts; a huge chunk cut, 5 pounds - sure, why not? Good to go. Pay for it, turn to leave, and am given a nice chunk of liver, another kind gesture from Aunt Orcilla, Ivy's sister. A Wal-Mart sized bag filled to the brim with cow parts and I am smiling. Fried liver, beef stew and tasso for the next month or so.

-Only a true friend would, with no hesitation, grab your foot and dig around for and extract a sac of tiny worms bigger than a BB, aka a chigga, out of your toe.

So, around New Year's time, as I was trekking around down South, I felt a minor irritation on my toe and the next day saw a black spot. Figured it was a pimp-le, no biggie, and since it didn't hurt, I figured I'd get to it later. Never bothered me, but I'd look at it from time to time. The black spot spread white around it and I'd idly try to burst it, but not too hard. As I was trying just that this afternoon, Franzea looks at it and exclaims I have a chigga. A chigga! I've heard of them, I've seen the after-effects (gaping holes) and I've even dug a small one out of Shamir, but I've yet to have my own! (They're little worms you get from playing in the sand down here. They'll grow and grow in a sac until you pick them out.) "Want me to pick it out?" Frannie asks. Sure! She gets a needle and starts digging and tearing, quite efficiently. "I want to take it out whole," she says. Sure, that's cool, whatever. I'm gaffing around, not really paying attention as my foot rests in her lap and she works. She gets my attention and I look down and see this huge white ball protruding from my toe! "DUDE! OMG." Seriously, it's bigger than a BB. Frannie works it out and there it is, one black spot --- on a globe of white. I have a crater on the top of my toe. How weirdly cool.

-Juno or Kai?

Names for the new puppy. Yep, spur of the moment thing. Lucy got one, and I decided I wanted one, too. These are from one of Junita's dogs. They're probably around 5 weeks old; I have a girl and Lucy has a boy. Adorable. I'm hoping this goes better than Ari (may she RIP). The gal already has a brother for company and the mothering attention of Lucy working for her; I'm cautiously optimistic. Gotta love puppies. <3

A New Perspective

Quiet time. I seem to be getting less of it lately – but also appreciating it more when I do and finding it in different ways. Like lying in bed after waking up just now. And going to lime by Hamzad them yesterday after the long day in the library. I’ve come to appreciate the mornings before Jess has got up and I have my hammock to myself and read and have breakfast.

Jess always asking questions and tossing out ideas had kept me more alert and reflective – in a good way. I’m realizing how comfortable I’ve become here, how I’ve formed opinions of tendencies here and how I’ve responded to those tendencies. I’m wondering if Jess sees me the way I sorta saw Mike at first – a little to apathetic to “the issues.” I eventually realized that I mistook being well-worn for apathy, and then thought he should just try harder, though I finally understood that he’s just being realistic in regards to how life here is and how he could change things.

A four year old drinking cari, for example. Back in October or so, last year, he laughingly commented “Only in the Rupununi can you ask a four year old how the cari is and have them answer ‘strong.’” I was appalled to hear of a young child drinking an alcoholic drink and put out by Mike’s amusement at it. Shouldn’t he see it as a grave matter? Shouldn’t he discourage the behavior? Shouldn’t he educate that kid’s parents about the issues of alcohol? The answer I’ve come to learn is “Yes,” or “maybe”… but, ultimately, “no.” He can’t, shouldn’t and doesn’t tackle each issue here. No one person CAN, plus, it doesn’t work like that – you don’t go around, handing out nuggets of information that all can and will instantaneously cash in on and the world will be a better place. And accepting this doesn’t mean one has given up – just grown more realistic and therefore (potentially) more effective.

Still, though, Mike (and now myself) shouldn’t always be so complacent with the facts; occasional renewed efforts, different perspectives, techniques an then persistence should produce greater results and maintain more mental sanity – to some degree. “I’m gonna get you to care a little big more, and you’ll get me to care a little bit less,” I told Fernando a year ago. Same applies now, only I’m on the other side, sort of.

Balance. New blood combined with veteran knowledge. Balance.