Last October for Thanksgiving I hung a large piece of poster paper on the wall and placed a cup of felt pens on the floor during my dinner party and asked the question of my guests “What are you thankful for?. At that time most of my guests had only been in country (as we call it in VSO) for a few weeks to months and the theme of our responses were ones of appreciation for sure, but also of survival in the new jungle home land we found ourselves in. We were thankful for ice, freezers, fans, insect repellent of all kinds, cheap drinks, mosquito nets, flashlights, talcum powder and rat poison. Things that had probably not been previously considered as useful or important to any of us, and collectively items to keep the heat, insects and huge cultural changes at bay.
I liked the poster we created that night with its funny illustrations and commentary so much that I just left it up on the wall after Thanksgiving and well I never did take it down. Over the past nine months when someone has stayed with me or visited they have often added something to the poster and last night at a birthday/going away party it was no exception. While the party was going on (which was such great fun) I noticed that the theme of what we are all thankful for had subtly changed over time from the original survival strategies to genuine appreciation and love for this country we now all call home.
My poster now states we are thankful for (in addition of course to ice, insect repellent, mosquito nets etc)
Blackouts on Starry nights
Hammock Sessions
Endless Summer
Never needing to wear a Sweater
Giant sound systems and all the great chutney, reggae and soca music
Curry and roti
Mangos and fresh fruit
Mash and Holi festivals
Rain storms
Slowing down
Our motor bikes and bicycles
Ocean breezes at night
New friends, old friends, international friends, local friends, vso friends, Canadian friends, friends at home, family at home, boyfriends, Dutch friends, Hook ups, BFF’s...(See a theme here?)
Houses on stilts,
Treks to the jungle, remote islands and giant waterfalls and
Swimming in creeks
Pink toed tarantulas, parrots, iguana and caimen
Electricity!!!
Local restaurants
"Whinin", karaoke and dancing....and so much more..
Some of the above may not make sense to those who have not lived in the wonderful Caribbean/South American culture that is Guyana. I enjoy the fact that collectively over time we have all grown to appreciate and love not just each other but also our temporarily adopted home land as reflected in our comments...Much indeed to be thankful for and today the day after my big birthday I am personally so very thankful for everyone in my life near and far and for the amazing opportunity to live and work in this unique, quirky and lovable country....Life here is not dull, not by a long shot...but you do need insect repellent baby!
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
Saturday, May 21, 2011
Rainy Day Underwear Shopping
The second rainy season of the year (May/June) arrived this week after a few months of very nice weather. During rainy season you get whole days of rain (gasp!) and then perhaps flooding if it keeps up. When it rains hard events are cancelled, there are more mosquitoes than usual, (hard to believe as that may be) the canals fill up and smell a bit better, and the mean humidity increases. The cycling becomes perilous as whole blocks disappear under water and the side splash from cars becomes more like a water slide adventure than mere annoyance. On the first fully rainy Saturday in many months I went out for breakfast with an out of town VSO guest staying with me, then she went off to run errands and I went off to buy underwear in the rain!
After nine months and despite a replenishing in December, my underwear is thrashed, the hand washing is murder on the elastic, the sweat, Holi Phagwah dye, rusty water and small moths have all left their toll. In Guyana it is common to buy underwear on the street where it is hung up and displayed against walls on large sticks. A few of us have joked that when things are tough that next thing you know you will be buying underwear from a stick. So instead I find myself an actual lingerie store thinking that a store would at least have a change room, and not sell directly from sticks.
In any clothing store in GT the second you walk in a clerk or sometimes even two will attach themselves to you like glue. They follow you and are so close and in your face you could kiss them. If you walk away they follow, if you say you don’t need help they smile, but they do not back off. This is customer service and theft protection built into one sweet efficient unit, kind of like shampoo and conditioner in the same bottle.
Inside the lingerie store I had both an older woman and a younger woman and found out that you cannot try on the bras and they have no change rooms. Well ok you can try them on I’m told when I ask...but only overtop of all your clothes and out in the open. I agree but only as this is a step up from buying underwear from a stick on the street and I am in desperate need of a new bra. The sizes make no sense and soon we have a trial and error system enacted. I pick one, then they pick a few and we have quite different tastes it turns out and I quickly understand the protocol is that if they picked it out I have to try it on. I stand there and am fastened and squished into the bras by the expert hands of the two ladies. One commenting on how nice the bra looks regardless of the fit (and over top of my two shirts and existing bra??)...and the other asks if I am from New York (No Canada) Cold dere? (Yes) and while she plays with my hair, stroking it and twisting it and braiding and un-braiding it, she asks if she can touch it (Uh sure..aren’t you already?) and then tells me she thinks I am pretty (Uh thanks). It is very funny, almost uncomfortable, kind of sweet and weirdly intimate to be manhandled, fondled, discussed and questioned by these two women. The commentary is hilarious and constant, “Dat ones nice babes” says the older women as she gives both my breasts a squeeze upwards and into a lacy demi piece that feels like steel wool and is decidedly not “nice”.. “Sexy one babes” for a hideous day glow pink thing three sizes too small and “dat a perky one” for a Madonna style cone contraption of bright green. We finally sort of find a size that seems to work as much as I can tell by trying them on over all my clothes and sadly it comes only in a hideous plaid colour. So I am standing in the store with my arms open and a very ugly plaid bra on top of all my clothes outlining the sisters pretty well, with two women adjusting my breasts when two younger guys come into the store and ask if they are allowed in....”sure babes” answers the older woman without looking up. They don’t seem to be with any wives or girlfriends I notice after a few minutes, they just sit in the two chairs near the front..and well they just watch me get fitted, squeezed and adjusted into a few more bras over top of my clothes. The situation is so ridiculous I start laughing. They bring 15, 20 more bras for me to try..are they charging admission here??....maybe they have nothing else to do...no one else is in the store, except me, my two fondling sales attendants and my audience...OK No more I finally say, they have put on and off at least 50 bras by now and braided my hair about three times. I quickly select 4 bras from the maybe pile as clearly I'm not getting out of here without buying something. I’m not really sure if any of them will fit as how can you tell if the bra over your shirt or the one on under your shirt is the one doing the job???...It’s a lingerie lottery and Im buying four tickets. Everyone is thrilled...the young hair stroking sales girl actually claps! The older woman seems especially pleased that I selected at least one of her suggestions (the ugly but well fitting plaid one)...The men stand up, say “tanks” and leave the store as I go to pay... WTF?...Were they just here to watch the live comedy soft porn bra fitting show or was it some innocent liming in the lingerie store on a Saturday morning? Hmmm...I have no idea what that ws all about, other than it is funny!
I head out into the mini mall and in the 40 minutes I have been buying bras they have set up a mendi henna stand. I am called over and aggressively sold a tube of henna paint. They then offer to paint my hand for free as "I have white skin and the henna will look nicer”...yes he actually says this, “you get a small one for free” he smiles, and “my wife is very fast” he assures me. Sure enough within 3 seconds she has covered my whole hand in an intricate henna design, way bigger than might be appropriate for my job here I worry and am quite glad I wasn’t offered a “big one”. I thank them and now have to wait half an hour for it to dry before going back out into the rain. So I go to the pirated DVD store (Guyana has no copy write laws) This time the clerk is very young and very male, and is standing so close I can smell what he had for lunch (curry and rice) He offers his own hilarious view of each movie I select complete with a plot spoiler each time and tries hard to sell me thrillers...or as he says in beautiful Creolese “tillers”... and he calls chick flicks “girly movie”. For less than $5 I buy 6 movies he approves of and then head off to the Rasta jewellery stand. I buy a few gifts and am then offered a bracelet which was apparently made just for me....it says “one love” in pink thread on a gold and black background. “Jest for you” he says.."ya be such a nice white gayl n’all”. Of course this is a blatant sales tactic, but how can I refuse as he puts the bracelet on me and smiles revealing his glinting gold teeth. I buy the bracelet “made just for me”..Hah!
Henna hand now dry and alarmingly bright purple, if very beautiful I head out in the rain right into the throng of shark like taxi drivers waiting for blood. I select a driver and negotiate a price home as it is pouring now with serious abandon and even if it feels like a huge splurge for me taxi’s are seriously only $1.50. Inside the car he quaintly puts on the heater as at a mere 26 degrees out or so, he’s says he’s cold in the rain. For less than $20 I have purchased four dubious fitting bras, (and not from a stick), a very cool henna pen, six movies (five girly movies and one tiller), three bracelets including a special one made “just for me”, two puris, a bunch of bananas, and one huge ass piece of BBQ chicken breast that will feed two of us for dinner and I of course have my beautiful and complimentary menhdi hand to show for my efforts. A nice way to spend a rainy morning...........I love this country!
After nine months and despite a replenishing in December, my underwear is thrashed, the hand washing is murder on the elastic, the sweat, Holi Phagwah dye, rusty water and small moths have all left their toll. In Guyana it is common to buy underwear on the street where it is hung up and displayed against walls on large sticks. A few of us have joked that when things are tough that next thing you know you will be buying underwear from a stick. So instead I find myself an actual lingerie store thinking that a store would at least have a change room, and not sell directly from sticks.
In any clothing store in GT the second you walk in a clerk or sometimes even two will attach themselves to you like glue. They follow you and are so close and in your face you could kiss them. If you walk away they follow, if you say you don’t need help they smile, but they do not back off. This is customer service and theft protection built into one sweet efficient unit, kind of like shampoo and conditioner in the same bottle.
Inside the lingerie store I had both an older woman and a younger woman and found out that you cannot try on the bras and they have no change rooms. Well ok you can try them on I’m told when I ask...but only overtop of all your clothes and out in the open. I agree but only as this is a step up from buying underwear from a stick on the street and I am in desperate need of a new bra. The sizes make no sense and soon we have a trial and error system enacted. I pick one, then they pick a few and we have quite different tastes it turns out and I quickly understand the protocol is that if they picked it out I have to try it on. I stand there and am fastened and squished into the bras by the expert hands of the two ladies. One commenting on how nice the bra looks regardless of the fit (and over top of my two shirts and existing bra??)...and the other asks if I am from New York (No Canada) Cold dere? (Yes) and while she plays with my hair, stroking it and twisting it and braiding and un-braiding it, she asks if she can touch it (Uh sure..aren’t you already?) and then tells me she thinks I am pretty (Uh thanks). It is very funny, almost uncomfortable, kind of sweet and weirdly intimate to be manhandled, fondled, discussed and questioned by these two women. The commentary is hilarious and constant, “Dat ones nice babes” says the older women as she gives both my breasts a squeeze upwards and into a lacy demi piece that feels like steel wool and is decidedly not “nice”.. “Sexy one babes” for a hideous day glow pink thing three sizes too small and “dat a perky one” for a Madonna style cone contraption of bright green. We finally sort of find a size that seems to work as much as I can tell by trying them on over all my clothes and sadly it comes only in a hideous plaid colour. So I am standing in the store with my arms open and a very ugly plaid bra on top of all my clothes outlining the sisters pretty well, with two women adjusting my breasts when two younger guys come into the store and ask if they are allowed in....”sure babes” answers the older woman without looking up. They don’t seem to be with any wives or girlfriends I notice after a few minutes, they just sit in the two chairs near the front..and well they just watch me get fitted, squeezed and adjusted into a few more bras over top of my clothes. The situation is so ridiculous I start laughing. They bring 15, 20 more bras for me to try..are they charging admission here??....maybe they have nothing else to do...no one else is in the store, except me, my two fondling sales attendants and my audience...OK No more I finally say, they have put on and off at least 50 bras by now and braided my hair about three times. I quickly select 4 bras from the maybe pile as clearly I'm not getting out of here without buying something. I’m not really sure if any of them will fit as how can you tell if the bra over your shirt or the one on under your shirt is the one doing the job???...It’s a lingerie lottery and Im buying four tickets. Everyone is thrilled...the young hair stroking sales girl actually claps! The older woman seems especially pleased that I selected at least one of her suggestions (the ugly but well fitting plaid one)...The men stand up, say “tanks” and leave the store as I go to pay... WTF?...Were they just here to watch the live comedy soft porn bra fitting show or was it some innocent liming in the lingerie store on a Saturday morning? Hmmm...I have no idea what that ws all about, other than it is funny!
I head out into the mini mall and in the 40 minutes I have been buying bras they have set up a mendi henna stand. I am called over and aggressively sold a tube of henna paint. They then offer to paint my hand for free as "I have white skin and the henna will look nicer”...yes he actually says this, “you get a small one for free” he smiles, and “my wife is very fast” he assures me. Sure enough within 3 seconds she has covered my whole hand in an intricate henna design, way bigger than might be appropriate for my job here I worry and am quite glad I wasn’t offered a “big one”. I thank them and now have to wait half an hour for it to dry before going back out into the rain. So I go to the pirated DVD store (Guyana has no copy write laws) This time the clerk is very young and very male, and is standing so close I can smell what he had for lunch (curry and rice) He offers his own hilarious view of each movie I select complete with a plot spoiler each time and tries hard to sell me thrillers...or as he says in beautiful Creolese “tillers”... and he calls chick flicks “girly movie”. For less than $5 I buy 6 movies he approves of and then head off to the Rasta jewellery stand. I buy a few gifts and am then offered a bracelet which was apparently made just for me....it says “one love” in pink thread on a gold and black background. “Jest for you” he says.."ya be such a nice white gayl n’all”. Of course this is a blatant sales tactic, but how can I refuse as he puts the bracelet on me and smiles revealing his glinting gold teeth. I buy the bracelet “made just for me”..Hah!
Henna hand now dry and alarmingly bright purple, if very beautiful I head out in the rain right into the throng of shark like taxi drivers waiting for blood. I select a driver and negotiate a price home as it is pouring now with serious abandon and even if it feels like a huge splurge for me taxi’s are seriously only $1.50. Inside the car he quaintly puts on the heater as at a mere 26 degrees out or so, he’s says he’s cold in the rain. For less than $20 I have purchased four dubious fitting bras, (and not from a stick), a very cool henna pen, six movies (five girly movies and one tiller), three bracelets including a special one made “just for me”, two puris, a bunch of bananas, and one huge ass piece of BBQ chicken breast that will feed two of us for dinner and I of course have my beautiful and complimentary menhdi hand to show for my efforts. A nice way to spend a rainy morning...........I love this country!
Thursday, April 28, 2011
Making peace with Rats and Kaboura Flies
Hell, along with karaoke singing realtors, the smell of roofing tar and freshly gutted chickens and the ubiquitous inferno like conditions would certainly also have kabuora flies there to further plague you for your sins. Having just returned from the Rupununi Savannah (home to thousands of these nasties) and despite the repeated plastering of my skin with smelly crab oil and Australian 50% deet spray (Thanks Kane!) and much time spent in and under mosquito nets I still managed to get bit exactly 24 times. This may not seem like a lot, but each bite is a swollen itchy painful rock hard lump the size of a pea and after six days they show no sign of abating any of these symptoms. I even got stung by a wasp and it was better than the fly bites. They also apparently often leave scars as they heal....Nice!!
Otherwise my time in the Hinterlands was fabulous....In Region nine where at least 20 VSO’s and Peace Core converged for the long weekend, we hiked the 1000 steps trail on Easter Sunday, swam in waterfall fed pools, visited Moco Moco Nature Park, trekked to Brazil on foot, ate meat on a stick, went to a old fashioned wild west rodeo, drove around in the back of a pickup truck standing up holding the roll bar, saw the Miss Rodeo and Mr Rodeo pageant and break dance competition outdoors under the most amazing star filled sky I have perhaps ever seen and spent much time walking, talking, eating and shopping. Six of us all bunked with our host Sonja who was such a good sport to have her lovely house completely invaded by such chaos. Sonja has perhaps the best hammock set up I have ever encountered, two aside under a lazy wooden awning with a perfect breeze always blowing, and with a view of iguana filled trees. In five days I managed to read 3 whole books while lounging for hours in a hammock, plus of course I also got to sleep there. I have mastered the art of getting in, out and comfortable in a large South American hammock and there is nothing like the gentle rocking to lull you to sleep, in fact I am now buying one to install wherever I may end up living in the future I am so captivated by their comfort. Life in the Rupununi is slow paced with a little attitude thrown in, a frontier style town if you will, where the dust is red, the insects and sunsets are spectacular, ant hills dot the landscape like modern sculpture, and the epic vistas are haunting and defy postcards, the air smells fresh and is tinged with the foreign languages of Amerindian and Portuguese, the water is clean, the food is meat, the main sport is drinking and the bus rides to get here are gruelling epic journeys of 15 – 34hrs depending...and maybe if I am lucky in life I will be back someday!
In my other trip to Mabarumba in the Region one hinterlands I went one day before my work due to flight schedules and was overwhelmed by the natural beauty of the jungle valleys. This is Jonestown country and you can sort of see why a crazy cult leader might choose this lush area to set up a remote intentional community. By the way the Guyanese have let Jonestown simply return to the jungle and I really respect that they have chosen to not make it a tourist attraction at all, although some crazy tourists do still apparently ask to get taken there, apparently to mostly huge disappointment. I was instead taken by motor bike to see two outlying Amerindian villages and it was surreal, the ride through beautiful long lost junglescapes that faded into a purple haze that at first I thought there were oceans, but were in fact more pristine jungle and upon arrival at the first village it was just like stepping back in time to an era of hunter gathers. The two VSO’s in Region one have done amazing work with these very remote and poor villages. It was quite impressive to see what they have accomplished: a water system, a wash house, a kitchen and community house, a plant nursery, a poultry and kitchen garden per family and an aqua culture facility have all been set up in their tenure. Region one as promised had tarantulas and vampire bats. The VSO’s there live with the bats and spiders inside their HOUSE!! I was encouraged to take pictures of the tarantulas as they looked for the big one for my photgrapic pleasure...hah! I was glad to be staying in my power optional guest house which was great other than they forgot my meals for two days straight which meant I basically lived on the few packs of crackers and instant coffee I had the foresight to bring with me! While working at the hospital I was informed that the week before someone died from a snake bite there, I asked where she was bitten and was told walking on the road in broad daylight right out front of the guesthouse where I was staying. Yikes and more yikes, I hadn’t really been nervous about snakes until then, so this did nothing to instil confidence in me for my long walk back to the guest house. I am getting in touch with the less aesthetic creatures in life it seems as I have encountered bats, rats, toads, lizards, frogs, cockroaches, spiders and been bitten by all kind of insects in the past week. In Guyana you are up close and personal with all fauna!
On my last night in the wilds of Region nine I slept inside as all of the other guests had gone, and was warned I might hear the rats in the night. I was a bit worried about what I might do upon such an encounter and warned Sonja that if I saw one I would probably scream and wake her up. She nicely said that was fine. Sure enough I woke up in the night and went to get a drink of water and right there on the kitchen counter was a fat scurrying rat, maybe I was far enough away, or have just been desensitized enough by my exposure to so many vile creatures on the planet this past few weeks and months that instead of screaming my default reaction was to forget the drink of water and to quickly bolt outside to sleep in the safety of the hammock instead! My first ever non screaming vermin encounter folks! Progress surely.
Proudly I have now been to all 10 Regions of Guyana and survived, with a mere 24 kaboura fly bites as souvenirs!
Otherwise my time in the Hinterlands was fabulous....In Region nine where at least 20 VSO’s and Peace Core converged for the long weekend, we hiked the 1000 steps trail on Easter Sunday, swam in waterfall fed pools, visited Moco Moco Nature Park, trekked to Brazil on foot, ate meat on a stick, went to a old fashioned wild west rodeo, drove around in the back of a pickup truck standing up holding the roll bar, saw the Miss Rodeo and Mr Rodeo pageant and break dance competition outdoors under the most amazing star filled sky I have perhaps ever seen and spent much time walking, talking, eating and shopping. Six of us all bunked with our host Sonja who was such a good sport to have her lovely house completely invaded by such chaos. Sonja has perhaps the best hammock set up I have ever encountered, two aside under a lazy wooden awning with a perfect breeze always blowing, and with a view of iguana filled trees. In five days I managed to read 3 whole books while lounging for hours in a hammock, plus of course I also got to sleep there. I have mastered the art of getting in, out and comfortable in a large South American hammock and there is nothing like the gentle rocking to lull you to sleep, in fact I am now buying one to install wherever I may end up living in the future I am so captivated by their comfort. Life in the Rupununi is slow paced with a little attitude thrown in, a frontier style town if you will, where the dust is red, the insects and sunsets are spectacular, ant hills dot the landscape like modern sculpture, and the epic vistas are haunting and defy postcards, the air smells fresh and is tinged with the foreign languages of Amerindian and Portuguese, the water is clean, the food is meat, the main sport is drinking and the bus rides to get here are gruelling epic journeys of 15 – 34hrs depending...and maybe if I am lucky in life I will be back someday!
In my other trip to Mabarumba in the Region one hinterlands I went one day before my work due to flight schedules and was overwhelmed by the natural beauty of the jungle valleys. This is Jonestown country and you can sort of see why a crazy cult leader might choose this lush area to set up a remote intentional community. By the way the Guyanese have let Jonestown simply return to the jungle and I really respect that they have chosen to not make it a tourist attraction at all, although some crazy tourists do still apparently ask to get taken there, apparently to mostly huge disappointment. I was instead taken by motor bike to see two outlying Amerindian villages and it was surreal, the ride through beautiful long lost junglescapes that faded into a purple haze that at first I thought there were oceans, but were in fact more pristine jungle and upon arrival at the first village it was just like stepping back in time to an era of hunter gathers. The two VSO’s in Region one have done amazing work with these very remote and poor villages. It was quite impressive to see what they have accomplished: a water system, a wash house, a kitchen and community house, a plant nursery, a poultry and kitchen garden per family and an aqua culture facility have all been set up in their tenure. Region one as promised had tarantulas and vampire bats. The VSO’s there live with the bats and spiders inside their HOUSE!! I was encouraged to take pictures of the tarantulas as they looked for the big one for my photgrapic pleasure...hah! I was glad to be staying in my power optional guest house which was great other than they forgot my meals for two days straight which meant I basically lived on the few packs of crackers and instant coffee I had the foresight to bring with me! While working at the hospital I was informed that the week before someone died from a snake bite there, I asked where she was bitten and was told walking on the road in broad daylight right out front of the guesthouse where I was staying. Yikes and more yikes, I hadn’t really been nervous about snakes until then, so this did nothing to instil confidence in me for my long walk back to the guest house. I am getting in touch with the less aesthetic creatures in life it seems as I have encountered bats, rats, toads, lizards, frogs, cockroaches, spiders and been bitten by all kind of insects in the past week. In Guyana you are up close and personal with all fauna!
On my last night in the wilds of Region nine I slept inside as all of the other guests had gone, and was warned I might hear the rats in the night. I was a bit worried about what I might do upon such an encounter and warned Sonja that if I saw one I would probably scream and wake her up. She nicely said that was fine. Sure enough I woke up in the night and went to get a drink of water and right there on the kitchen counter was a fat scurrying rat, maybe I was far enough away, or have just been desensitized enough by my exposure to so many vile creatures on the planet this past few weeks and months that instead of screaming my default reaction was to forget the drink of water and to quickly bolt outside to sleep in the safety of the hammock instead! My first ever non screaming vermin encounter folks! Progress surely.
Proudly I have now been to all 10 Regions of Guyana and survived, with a mere 24 kaboura fly bites as souvenirs!
Friday, April 15, 2011
Into the Hinterlands
In a few days I will head off on two epic journeys to the hinterlands and in the process will then have travelled to all 10 regions of Guyana. The purpose of my travel is of course for work and I will be meeting with the remote regional health centres to gather information and to do some training on data collection. I’m really looking forward to both doing the work and seeing the hinterlands.
First up is a 3 day trip to remote Mabaruma in Region 1 where access is by a 6 hr boat/bus trip, I plan to fly and then walk in instead. The guesthouse I booked had rooms with electricity being optional and at an extra $3000GYD ($15 CAD) per night! I agreed to pay for the decadent thrill of electricity (I want to see those tarantulas coming...as this region is notorious for large and frequent insect sightings) to then find out from a friend that electricity is usually only available there for a few hours per day if at all. I have been advised to bring my own food, water, mosquito net, candles, flashlight, batteries and insect repellent! All these supplies within my very scant weight allowance on the tiny plane, where you and your luggage are weighed before travel. Region one borders Venezuela and is apparently beautiful and the jumping off point for chartered trips to the alluring Shell Beach to witness the giant nesting turtles. Parts of the Guyana Venezuela border are in dispute and you can apparently easily cross illegally into each country from this area, but it is of course ill advised. As much as I’d love a quick day trip to Venezuela I won’t be doing it illegally, so my spare day in region one will likely be spent avoiding tarantulas and maximising my electricity options and computer work time.
Then it is off to Region 9 for six days, the wild west of Guyana, the region to the south that borders Brazil and is home to the famous Rupununi savannah. Many VSO’s are stationed in this region mostly working in agriculture and eco tourism development so it will be great to see them in action. The town of Lethem is home to around 2500 citizens and serves as the economic hub of this part of the country. Road access to this area is notoriously brutal with 12 – 20 hour bus trips reported depending on road conditions. Brazil is in fact in negotiation with Guyana to pave this section of road for them as it would give Brazil better access to the port in Georgetown. Once again I am lucky and will be flying down. But I inadvertently planned this trip during the busiest weekend of the year which means there are no accommodations available so I will now be sleeping in a hammock in the back of a VSO’s house for five nights...yes in a hammock strung outside, and I have been warned it is kaboura fly season to boot! The kaboura are a day time miniature black fly with a bite so nasty that it leaves welts and scars. Two VSO’s last week showed me the damage to their legs....and yikes....I seem to have the kind of skin bugs really enjoy snacking on here in Georgetown so have decided to take all the advised precautions...The locally produced Crab oil, which is called Andiroba oil in North America and is known for its healing properties and its particular bad smell is apparently a good deterrent. I have been advised to layer my skin first with the pungent crab oil, then spray as on much toxic deet as possible, then to wear tights tucked into socks and then spray again and also to spray your mosquito net!!! This approach sounds hot and well really really smelly….but better smelly than eaten perhaps? It is also a malarious and yellow fever area and they have snakes, biting scorpions and giant stinging millipedes…so ok maybe I will wear socks after all and will need to remember to take my nasuaa inducing malaria tablets in advance.
The rite of passage of sleeping in hammock will be exciting as it seems almost everyone else I know in Guyana at some point in their travels has been required to string up a hammock. I have had advice on how to best sleep in one, (diagonally and with net tucked in) and to be careful as it can cause an aching back and shoulders if slept in incorrectly. Realistically I will probably like the idea of sleeping in a hammock more than the actual doing of it. A few months ago I bought a beautiful maroon travel hammock and am looking forward to breaking it in, that is if I can get it strung up…I had trouble with this task when I last tried it out in Trinidad.
Region nine will be hosting an old style rodeo and dance, and is home to restaurants, a peanut factory, beautiful nature hikes, waterfalls and savannahs and is right across the border from Brazil so there will be no lack of things to do on the days in between my work. A side trip to Brazil might be fun and is rather tempting, but will depend on my ability to get a VISA in time and if I decide it is worth it to pay the exorbitant fee they are asking for the privilege of day trip. But they do sell coffee and snazzy flip flops there!
So happy Easter to everyone, this will be an unusual one for me as I will likely spend it fending off giant insects and biting flies while trying to sleep comfortably outside in a hammock and will hopefully not incur any nocturnal sightings of jaguars or anacondas in the process. Oh and I might just go to my first ever rodeo, where chances of eating some Easter chocolate is very low but drinking rum is very high! Yehaw y'all.
First up is a 3 day trip to remote Mabaruma in Region 1 where access is by a 6 hr boat/bus trip, I plan to fly and then walk in instead. The guesthouse I booked had rooms with electricity being optional and at an extra $3000GYD ($15 CAD) per night! I agreed to pay for the decadent thrill of electricity (I want to see those tarantulas coming...as this region is notorious for large and frequent insect sightings) to then find out from a friend that electricity is usually only available there for a few hours per day if at all. I have been advised to bring my own food, water, mosquito net, candles, flashlight, batteries and insect repellent! All these supplies within my very scant weight allowance on the tiny plane, where you and your luggage are weighed before travel. Region one borders Venezuela and is apparently beautiful and the jumping off point for chartered trips to the alluring Shell Beach to witness the giant nesting turtles. Parts of the Guyana Venezuela border are in dispute and you can apparently easily cross illegally into each country from this area, but it is of course ill advised. As much as I’d love a quick day trip to Venezuela I won’t be doing it illegally, so my spare day in region one will likely be spent avoiding tarantulas and maximising my electricity options and computer work time.
Then it is off to Region 9 for six days, the wild west of Guyana, the region to the south that borders Brazil and is home to the famous Rupununi savannah. Many VSO’s are stationed in this region mostly working in agriculture and eco tourism development so it will be great to see them in action. The town of Lethem is home to around 2500 citizens and serves as the economic hub of this part of the country. Road access to this area is notoriously brutal with 12 – 20 hour bus trips reported depending on road conditions. Brazil is in fact in negotiation with Guyana to pave this section of road for them as it would give Brazil better access to the port in Georgetown. Once again I am lucky and will be flying down. But I inadvertently planned this trip during the busiest weekend of the year which means there are no accommodations available so I will now be sleeping in a hammock in the back of a VSO’s house for five nights...yes in a hammock strung outside, and I have been warned it is kaboura fly season to boot! The kaboura are a day time miniature black fly with a bite so nasty that it leaves welts and scars. Two VSO’s last week showed me the damage to their legs....and yikes....I seem to have the kind of skin bugs really enjoy snacking on here in Georgetown so have decided to take all the advised precautions...The locally produced Crab oil, which is called Andiroba oil in North America and is known for its healing properties and its particular bad smell is apparently a good deterrent. I have been advised to layer my skin first with the pungent crab oil, then spray as on much toxic deet as possible, then to wear tights tucked into socks and then spray again and also to spray your mosquito net!!! This approach sounds hot and well really really smelly….but better smelly than eaten perhaps? It is also a malarious and yellow fever area and they have snakes, biting scorpions and giant stinging millipedes…so ok maybe I will wear socks after all and will need to remember to take my nasuaa inducing malaria tablets in advance.
The rite of passage of sleeping in hammock will be exciting as it seems almost everyone else I know in Guyana at some point in their travels has been required to string up a hammock. I have had advice on how to best sleep in one, (diagonally and with net tucked in) and to be careful as it can cause an aching back and shoulders if slept in incorrectly. Realistically I will probably like the idea of sleeping in a hammock more than the actual doing of it. A few months ago I bought a beautiful maroon travel hammock and am looking forward to breaking it in, that is if I can get it strung up…I had trouble with this task when I last tried it out in Trinidad.
Region nine will be hosting an old style rodeo and dance, and is home to restaurants, a peanut factory, beautiful nature hikes, waterfalls and savannahs and is right across the border from Brazil so there will be no lack of things to do on the days in between my work. A side trip to Brazil might be fun and is rather tempting, but will depend on my ability to get a VISA in time and if I decide it is worth it to pay the exorbitant fee they are asking for the privilege of day trip. But they do sell coffee and snazzy flip flops there!
So happy Easter to everyone, this will be an unusual one for me as I will likely spend it fending off giant insects and biting flies while trying to sleep comfortably outside in a hammock and will hopefully not incur any nocturnal sightings of jaguars or anacondas in the process. Oh and I might just go to my first ever rodeo, where chances of eating some Easter chocolate is very low but drinking rum is very high! Yehaw y'all.
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
Bubbles and Cigarettes at the Races
The question of fate is one of life’s great mysteries and not something I have an answer to. I’m humbled though at times to witness its impact on our planet and to ponder the fairness of application. Last weekend the stark contrast of the different kind of lives children here in Guyana may have came to light in a most poignant moment.
I accompanied my VSO friend Selina to the races. She had been asked to go by one of her neighbours and basically I was along a chaperone, so that the outing would clearly not be a “date”. We were picked up by the neighbour and his friend in a 4x4 outfitted with a tent, a food cooler, an ice cooler, a beer cooler, plates, a few different machetes, cutlery, chairs, fresh coconuts on the vine...it was like jungle camping! A bumpy hour or so later and a 4X4’ drive up a large sand hill we arrived at our destination and prime viewing spot reserved by another guy who had arrived at the crack of dawn to secure it...so we were now front row at the races and the men set up camp central. Very exciting indeed!
The day progressed with very loud and intermittently thrilling car and motorcycle races in the extreme heat and much showing off of us two “white gayls” to the crowd of almost entirely men at the races. We were served hand and foot by our hosts....(humorously this is not what would happen if we were say married to these guys, then we would be doing the serving as is custom here). We decided to enjoy it for what it was and so we were served salad and fried chicken, then later curried chicken with puri, fresh fruit, iced drinks of fresh coconut juice and vodka ...and beer and then more beer...all before noon on a Sunday!!!.......The owner of all the camping gear had also brought along his 10 year old son for a day of manly fun, and as all the vendors walked by he was bought a sun hat, then chips, then another hat, this one with a solar panel operated fan built in (way cool), a pack of bubbles and well basically anything he wanted he was able to purchase from the passing vendors. He was a cool kid, not spoiled, funny, sweet, smart and thrilled to be out at such an event with the guys, he was clearly not taking any of it for granted. We enjoyed spending the day with him. We were also thankful for his presence as he was apparently the reason the driver kept his drinking down. (Whew!)
Shortly after lunch we were sitting in the chairs (brought just for us gayls) with the boy between us playing with his bubbles when two other boys about the same ago walked up to us. These boys were without shoes or hats in the hot sun and were wearing ill fitting and dusty clothes, they looked tired, hot and well kind of desperate...they were vending you see. They both had cigar style boxes around their necks with their scarce wares for sale on display out in front of them. They had so little for sale it was quite sad, an open pack of cigarettes and gum cut out of the packet so you could buy it one piece at a time, some very pathetic looking packets of biscuits, a few sun bleached peeling packs of mini-pringles, and a couple of bags of cheese stix (a Jamaican cheezie that I am actually quite fond of). The other boys father immediately tried to shoe them away, but something made me want to purchase from them, and I tried to but I only had a thousand dollar bill ($5 CAD)...a “BIG” bill here. They had no change of course. As they were being shoed away for the second time I asked them to come back when they passed again. Sure enough about an hour later they were back, dustier than ever and if it was possible even more desperate looking, they really wanted to make the cheezie sale. We had bought something else to get change. They sold me the cheezies and no words needed to be said... a look passed between Selina and I, and later we discussed we had been thinking the same thing.... of the huge and stark contrast of these two children’s lives to the boy here happily playing right beside us with his bubbles and solar hat, as ten years old should.
The vending boys took their money and walked off without shoes in the hot sand to make another round, maybe they would sell another bag of cheezies or a few cigarettes before the day was out. What was their story, did they have a home to go back to?...how much money could you even earn selling singles of cigarettes and gum?.... why did they have so little for sale?..were they made to work by their family and if so how long do they vend for on a hot day like this?....do they even have a family?..or maybe optimistically they were simply young entrepreneurs trying to make some money at the races with high hopes of a future expanded vending empire? I will never likely know their story yet the question of their fate sat soundly with me and I have thought of those two boys all week.
I have occasionally heard people in the 1st world talk of the poor and of poverty and a few times have heard some place blame on those that are poor themselves, that they should get a job, and that they can and should be able to change their circumstance, but it’s seldom true, if ever that those who find themselves in such circumstances truly have the power to change things around them. Sometimes maybe you are just a little kid forced into an adult dog eat dog vending world and you can barely acquire enough things to re-sell on a hot day...and if fate was kind - all kid’s would be playing with bubbles at the races instead of selling cigarettes.
The heaviness of my privilege is at times here almost unbearable.
I accompanied my VSO friend Selina to the races. She had been asked to go by one of her neighbours and basically I was along a chaperone, so that the outing would clearly not be a “date”. We were picked up by the neighbour and his friend in a 4x4 outfitted with a tent, a food cooler, an ice cooler, a beer cooler, plates, a few different machetes, cutlery, chairs, fresh coconuts on the vine...it was like jungle camping! A bumpy hour or so later and a 4X4’ drive up a large sand hill we arrived at our destination and prime viewing spot reserved by another guy who had arrived at the crack of dawn to secure it...so we were now front row at the races and the men set up camp central. Very exciting indeed!
The day progressed with very loud and intermittently thrilling car and motorcycle races in the extreme heat and much showing off of us two “white gayls” to the crowd of almost entirely men at the races. We were served hand and foot by our hosts....(humorously this is not what would happen if we were say married to these guys, then we would be doing the serving as is custom here). We decided to enjoy it for what it was and so we were served salad and fried chicken, then later curried chicken with puri, fresh fruit, iced drinks of fresh coconut juice and vodka ...and beer and then more beer...all before noon on a Sunday!!!.......The owner of all the camping gear had also brought along his 10 year old son for a day of manly fun, and as all the vendors walked by he was bought a sun hat, then chips, then another hat, this one with a solar panel operated fan built in (way cool), a pack of bubbles and well basically anything he wanted he was able to purchase from the passing vendors. He was a cool kid, not spoiled, funny, sweet, smart and thrilled to be out at such an event with the guys, he was clearly not taking any of it for granted. We enjoyed spending the day with him. We were also thankful for his presence as he was apparently the reason the driver kept his drinking down. (Whew!)
Shortly after lunch we were sitting in the chairs (brought just for us gayls) with the boy between us playing with his bubbles when two other boys about the same ago walked up to us. These boys were without shoes or hats in the hot sun and were wearing ill fitting and dusty clothes, they looked tired, hot and well kind of desperate...they were vending you see. They both had cigar style boxes around their necks with their scarce wares for sale on display out in front of them. They had so little for sale it was quite sad, an open pack of cigarettes and gum cut out of the packet so you could buy it one piece at a time, some very pathetic looking packets of biscuits, a few sun bleached peeling packs of mini-pringles, and a couple of bags of cheese stix (a Jamaican cheezie that I am actually quite fond of). The other boys father immediately tried to shoe them away, but something made me want to purchase from them, and I tried to but I only had a thousand dollar bill ($5 CAD)...a “BIG” bill here. They had no change of course. As they were being shoed away for the second time I asked them to come back when they passed again. Sure enough about an hour later they were back, dustier than ever and if it was possible even more desperate looking, they really wanted to make the cheezie sale. We had bought something else to get change. They sold me the cheezies and no words needed to be said... a look passed between Selina and I, and later we discussed we had been thinking the same thing.... of the huge and stark contrast of these two children’s lives to the boy here happily playing right beside us with his bubbles and solar hat, as ten years old should.
The vending boys took their money and walked off without shoes in the hot sand to make another round, maybe they would sell another bag of cheezies or a few cigarettes before the day was out. What was their story, did they have a home to go back to?...how much money could you even earn selling singles of cigarettes and gum?.... why did they have so little for sale?..were they made to work by their family and if so how long do they vend for on a hot day like this?....do they even have a family?..or maybe optimistically they were simply young entrepreneurs trying to make some money at the races with high hopes of a future expanded vending empire? I will never likely know their story yet the question of their fate sat soundly with me and I have thought of those two boys all week.
I have occasionally heard people in the 1st world talk of the poor and of poverty and a few times have heard some place blame on those that are poor themselves, that they should get a job, and that they can and should be able to change their circumstance, but it’s seldom true, if ever that those who find themselves in such circumstances truly have the power to change things around them. Sometimes maybe you are just a little kid forced into an adult dog eat dog vending world and you can barely acquire enough things to re-sell on a hot day...and if fate was kind - all kid’s would be playing with bubbles at the races instead of selling cigarettes.
The heaviness of my privilege is at times here almost unbearable.
Thursday, March 24, 2011
Holi Phagwah!
Holi Phagwah is my new favourite holiday. The Hindu celebration that welcomes spring, and celebrates the triumph of good over evil is also called the Festival of Colours. The smearing of ash, mud and coloured dye on the body, lighting of bonfires and worship at the temple are all intrinsic parts of this festival. The Guyana version apparently includes a little more partying than the Indian version. No surprise....in Guyana they love to celebrate! This is the fourth holiday so far this calendar year!
Several of us attended the burning of the Holika service at the Hindu Temple, traditionally held the eve before Phagwah. It was very powerful to witness the rituals, the chanting and the lighting and burning of the Holi bonfire. We slipped off our shoes and sat peacefully at the back of the temple lest we disturb and listened to the chanting and hypnotic if somewhat comical music. We got a few odd glances but it was truly amazing how welcoming they were to all of us foreigners and it was very moving to experience the religious aspect of the holiday. We then went out to watch the Holi bonfire be lit and see the grains of rice be tossed on the fire to represent the old being burned away to reveal the new. Just before leaving we were offered huge plates of delicious take away food. We were invited back for further early morning temple service and to rub the ash from the fire on our heads.
The next morning it was Phagwah itself and things get going really early. Children and adults are armed with coloured water in water guns, buckets, dyes and glitter and as soon as you step out onto the street you get lamb-basted. What awesome fun for children, as when else in their short lives do they get to squirt water on anyone they like with impunity! My beloved Station St. where I live has a big Hindu community and lots of rum shops so the revellers were out partying right after morning temple services finished.
Five of us dressed up in the traditional all white attire and headed out into the fun...and wow...if you ever get a chance to attend a Phagwah festival, do it! The tradition is to smear colours on each others face and neck and hair to welcome spring, welcome good over evil, colour over dark....and it is often applied especially by the women as a blessing, and can be very beautiful if quite messy. The other aspect is almost carnival like where you have open season (especially on whiteys) and anything goes -dye in the hair, on the face, down the shirt etc. Kids and adults alike "play Phagwah". We went to all the events, including the huge event at the National stadium, and of course got absolutely completely 100% covered in colour, dye and glitter and had an absolute blast, and even had a taxi refuse to take us as we were too messy. We eventually came back showered and cleaned up best we could. We then headed back out to the evening events and my poor roommate was not even on the street for two seconds in her nice clean clothes and showered body when she got hit right in the face with a huge bucket of purple coloured water....I am still laughing about it days later. The highlight of the festival was that we all got invited onto a party truck to cruise the city at sunset. Man, what a way to have a party! You could never get away with anything even close to this in Canada. Recipe for a party: Rent a open flat bed truck and driver, put on a generator, a tower of speakers, add two coolers of booze, one of ice, blast the tunes, then invite people on as you drive around. We had no idea where we were even going but the organizer promised to drive us back So off we all went and OMG...it was so fun. We went past the temple, then to a outdoor restaurant where we all de-trucked as the host had ordered the traditional seven curries for everyone. We then all ate the most amazing food, drank top notch booze, danced and danced..and once the food was finished then the "play" aspect of the festival began again in earnest all under a spectacular full moon. Everyone from the kids, the party truck folks, to all of us, to the whole neighbourhood participated in the play, the mess and the grand theatrics and were all soaked, covered in purple, orange and pink dye and gold and blue glitter, and my face hurt from laughing so hard. At one point the host had just poured me a nice drink of top notch 15 year old rum, and I said “I‘d love some ice with this” at which point a ice bucket was tossed in the air across the table and a few cubes splashed into my drink...We laughed and I managed one nice sip of my now perfect drink when a tsunami of water from a bucket washed over me and knocked both of our drinks of the table...Damn!....But that was the point I started to engage in the tossing of a few ice cubes back at my attacker, which was a gleeful woman covered in so much glitter she appeared to have on a blue sparkly wig. When the water, ice, booze and glitter were all finally depleted it was time to get back on the truck and they drove us around the city some more as we dried off in the warm night air, everyone honking and waving "Happy Phagwa" It was now about 9pm and some folks were still shooting water guns at us as we passed...the diehard kids milking the event for every last minute they could to launch a last water assault! We even saw a donkey someone had painted red in the face! Poor beast! Eventually we were dropped back home as promised and went to our fave bar for a drink/nightcap. When we finally came back to my place we looked so hilarious that we did a nude photo shoot of our bodies all covered in the multiple layers of ink, glitter and paint! Three days later my clothes are written off, my hair is a nice blend of pink, purple and some rather unfortunate orange at the back, one breast is still quite magenta and my toes and finger nails are purple - otherwise I have scrubbed most of it off.
What will stay with me though most about this festival besides the fun and great sense of abandon was the amazing kindness of our community here. We are all strangers in this strange land and getting invited to the local’s private party was so great, the opportunity to be able to experience the event first hand with the locals, the sharing of drinks and meals, the endearing and warm inclusion we received at the temple I will never forget. Nor the many happy blessings I received as hundreds of warm hands rubbed beautiful coloured ink onto my face and skin and wished me a “Happy Phagwah”. So welcome to spring and I offer the blessing back to all of us of all colours.
Several of us attended the burning of the Holika service at the Hindu Temple, traditionally held the eve before Phagwah. It was very powerful to witness the rituals, the chanting and the lighting and burning of the Holi bonfire. We slipped off our shoes and sat peacefully at the back of the temple lest we disturb and listened to the chanting and hypnotic if somewhat comical music. We got a few odd glances but it was truly amazing how welcoming they were to all of us foreigners and it was very moving to experience the religious aspect of the holiday. We then went out to watch the Holi bonfire be lit and see the grains of rice be tossed on the fire to represent the old being burned away to reveal the new. Just before leaving we were offered huge plates of delicious take away food. We were invited back for further early morning temple service and to rub the ash from the fire on our heads.
The next morning it was Phagwah itself and things get going really early. Children and adults are armed with coloured water in water guns, buckets, dyes and glitter and as soon as you step out onto the street you get lamb-basted. What awesome fun for children, as when else in their short lives do they get to squirt water on anyone they like with impunity! My beloved Station St. where I live has a big Hindu community and lots of rum shops so the revellers were out partying right after morning temple services finished.
Five of us dressed up in the traditional all white attire and headed out into the fun...and wow...if you ever get a chance to attend a Phagwah festival, do it! The tradition is to smear colours on each others face and neck and hair to welcome spring, welcome good over evil, colour over dark....and it is often applied especially by the women as a blessing, and can be very beautiful if quite messy. The other aspect is almost carnival like where you have open season (especially on whiteys) and anything goes -dye in the hair, on the face, down the shirt etc. Kids and adults alike "play Phagwah". We went to all the events, including the huge event at the National stadium, and of course got absolutely completely 100% covered in colour, dye and glitter and had an absolute blast, and even had a taxi refuse to take us as we were too messy. We eventually came back showered and cleaned up best we could. We then headed back out to the evening events and my poor roommate was not even on the street for two seconds in her nice clean clothes and showered body when she got hit right in the face with a huge bucket of purple coloured water....I am still laughing about it days later. The highlight of the festival was that we all got invited onto a party truck to cruise the city at sunset. Man, what a way to have a party! You could never get away with anything even close to this in Canada. Recipe for a party: Rent a open flat bed truck and driver, put on a generator, a tower of speakers, add two coolers of booze, one of ice, blast the tunes, then invite people on as you drive around. We had no idea where we were even going but the organizer promised to drive us back So off we all went and OMG...it was so fun. We went past the temple, then to a outdoor restaurant where we all de-trucked as the host had ordered the traditional seven curries for everyone. We then all ate the most amazing food, drank top notch booze, danced and danced..and once the food was finished then the "play" aspect of the festival began again in earnest all under a spectacular full moon. Everyone from the kids, the party truck folks, to all of us, to the whole neighbourhood participated in the play, the mess and the grand theatrics and were all soaked, covered in purple, orange and pink dye and gold and blue glitter, and my face hurt from laughing so hard. At one point the host had just poured me a nice drink of top notch 15 year old rum, and I said “I‘d love some ice with this” at which point a ice bucket was tossed in the air across the table and a few cubes splashed into my drink...We laughed and I managed one nice sip of my now perfect drink when a tsunami of water from a bucket washed over me and knocked both of our drinks of the table...Damn!....But that was the point I started to engage in the tossing of a few ice cubes back at my attacker, which was a gleeful woman covered in so much glitter she appeared to have on a blue sparkly wig. When the water, ice, booze and glitter were all finally depleted it was time to get back on the truck and they drove us around the city some more as we dried off in the warm night air, everyone honking and waving "Happy Phagwa" It was now about 9pm and some folks were still shooting water guns at us as we passed...the diehard kids milking the event for every last minute they could to launch a last water assault! We even saw a donkey someone had painted red in the face! Poor beast! Eventually we were dropped back home as promised and went to our fave bar for a drink/nightcap. When we finally came back to my place we looked so hilarious that we did a nude photo shoot of our bodies all covered in the multiple layers of ink, glitter and paint! Three days later my clothes are written off, my hair is a nice blend of pink, purple and some rather unfortunate orange at the back, one breast is still quite magenta and my toes and finger nails are purple - otherwise I have scrubbed most of it off.
What will stay with me though most about this festival besides the fun and great sense of abandon was the amazing kindness of our community here. We are all strangers in this strange land and getting invited to the local’s private party was so great, the opportunity to be able to experience the event first hand with the locals, the sharing of drinks and meals, the endearing and warm inclusion we received at the temple I will never forget. Nor the many happy blessings I received as hundreds of warm hands rubbed beautiful coloured ink onto my face and skin and wished me a “Happy Phagwah”. So welcome to spring and I offer the blessing back to all of us of all colours.
Friday, February 25, 2011
Mashmarani Parade! - The ultimate endurance event.
Well MASH has come and gone. In the end it was an endurance event, a kind of a marathon with glitter. VSO along with other volunteer aide organizations put together a float to celebrate the international year of the volunteer. (Hats off to Thea who pulled around the clock shifts to get this happening) We other VSO’s were all lucky enough to get to participate in the biggest annual event in Guyana from the inside out.
Mash week started with rain, then more rain, then serious rain, and finally flooding. The day before the national holiday rumours start flying that MASH was about to be cancelled due to a partially flooded parade route (Really! I could not believe that with less than 24 hrs you could attempt to cancel a national public holiday, one in which folks travel from all over the country to attend, and which every work place will be closed and thousands of people have worked weeks to make costumes, floats etc)...Secret emergency meetings are held...and word leaks out that it’s official.. it’s off and an announcement from the govt. is imminent!....no wait...now its back on...or is it off....on, off, on..? As organizers are pulling their hair out and the text messages and phone calls fly..plans are changing by the minute... and then finally the culture minister announces to the country on radio and TV...that MASH is still ON! YAY! So of course that means that the costumes do need to get finished. Two weeks of fun, frantic, semi disorganized costume making in a cool old decrepit colonial building, (with a washroom that sported toads and bats!) and at 24hrs before show time the sewing machines were still going, the glitter was flying and a wee bit of designer drama was brewing. One last shift of costume making with the added complication of a now flooded entrance to the “mash camp”, as the costume making headquarters was called and a late night pizza and then home to get up bright and early for the big day.
The big day arrives and we needed to be at MASH headquarters to “uplift” our costumes by 8am...so an early start with my full household of guests as we headed out on what turned out to be bright and beautiful sunny day.....flooding, shmooding! While waiting for the mini bus and witnessing the hundreds of vendors start to claim spaces along the parade route to set up bars, food stalls and their massive towers of speakers, we see our local goat herder come down the road with his dear flock of 100 or so goats and kids and his little red flag that purportedly clears their way through the traffic....so funny and so Guyana. We arrive at Mash camp and the flood waters have retreated, a good sign. Hundreds of volunteers are all trying to fit into the bright orange shorts, head pieces, are cutting and self painting their shirts and soon the room is a sea of orange and gold attire....it is great fun getting dressed and painting each other with glitter and trying to find a pair of shorts that are not too big or too small. We eventually are all dressed in our finery and head off to our place as nearly first in parade ten blocks away....and then we wait, and wait and wait some more...Finally we are marshalled to begin with strict orders from our designer/choreographer to stay in three lines (there are about 200 of us...so this seems like a challenge, but in fact is quite strictly enforced until the gruelling end). We look great...the overall effect of a sea of gold and orange is achieved and we are encouraged to wave, dance, whine and do a side to side step dance (but any movement other than walking made my shorts fall down, so improvisation was required to keep them up). Of course the sun is now very hot, and paper head bands, sweat and glitter make a fiercely sticky and challenging combination. The parade itself is a blast despite it’s epic length and the overall heat, some drop out due to heat exhaustion, others to sun burn and some just plain fainted. I hung in there for EFI (every f-ing inch)despite getting beaned in the head by a flying flagpole. We were kept well hydrated in our march lines with drinks, pine tarts and juice provided for the duration. The audience is awesome, all kinds of familes with tarps and bbqs set up, kids with their hairs respendent with decor and a highly festive mood....we whiteys get a few good laughs...and everyone takes your picture!
at times we had to wait...then wait...then oh let’s wait again...for media, interviews, the judges, for other floats to catch up...and well for just plain waiting it seemed. The waiting was hard,....as there was no shade and man large vinyl neck and cod pieces are heavy and hot as hell to wear especially over top of a too large cotton tshirt and tight in the thigh but loose in the waist nylon orange short that simultaneously felt like they would fall off or split at any moment. Finally three hours later we make it up to the national park to the stadium where we wait outside like a team of gladiators entering an arena to meet the lions...finally the emperor deems it is time for us and in an Olympic like entry we are announced into the stadium and instructed to run and dance...this after three hours of marching and baking in the sun. Well we had no choice, this was the big judging time...and I’m telling you running, staying in your line and keeping your shorts up all at the same time is hard. They played our theme song...again, then again, and oh hell why not let’s play it again. Nearly four laps later we are still running around the stadium while they talked about volunteers and our representation of Athens and Greece (is that our costumes were supposed to be?) we then head to the exit and at the last minute the beautiful Christina from Canada is pulled from the line and asked to be the queen pulling the cart for the last stretch...and then out of the stadium we went and collapsed on the grass.. Whew we did it...I felt like I had completed a triathlon...The parade incidentally goes to nearly 8pm at night, so we were rather thankful of our ranking at the front of the line..Some revellers then march for 7-10 hours!!! We got off easy with a completion time of 3pm.
7 of us ended up back at my nearby flat to strip out of our now seriously compromised costumes, shower, ice our broiled skin and basically try to de-glitter. My flat will never be the same...2 days and several serious clean ups later there is still glitter on everything and even the varnish on the wooden floor seems to be embedded with the stuff and I won’t even discuss the state of the shower....Eventually we were recovered enough that is was deemed time to head out for the street party!
What a night we had...in the end we did have some collateral damage, a pick pocketing, a mob we got caught in, lost glasses, shoes broken, a stolen bike, a poor choice of a midnight snack that made us all sick and quite a few very bad sunburns, ...and it was still such a good time....dancing, singing, saying happy mash to all you meet, feeling the festive vibe and we finally held our mini-wake and lime for our buddy Kane and his mom at his favourite haunt Seeta’s... It was incredible to participate in my first and likely my last ever MASH...Good thing I like glitter as I still seem to have some in every major orifice.
Mash week started with rain, then more rain, then serious rain, and finally flooding. The day before the national holiday rumours start flying that MASH was about to be cancelled due to a partially flooded parade route (Really! I could not believe that with less than 24 hrs you could attempt to cancel a national public holiday, one in which folks travel from all over the country to attend, and which every work place will be closed and thousands of people have worked weeks to make costumes, floats etc)...Secret emergency meetings are held...and word leaks out that it’s official.. it’s off and an announcement from the govt. is imminent!....no wait...now its back on...or is it off....on, off, on..? As organizers are pulling their hair out and the text messages and phone calls fly..plans are changing by the minute... and then finally the culture minister announces to the country on radio and TV...that MASH is still ON! YAY! So of course that means that the costumes do need to get finished. Two weeks of fun, frantic, semi disorganized costume making in a cool old decrepit colonial building, (with a washroom that sported toads and bats!) and at 24hrs before show time the sewing machines were still going, the glitter was flying and a wee bit of designer drama was brewing. One last shift of costume making with the added complication of a now flooded entrance to the “mash camp”, as the costume making headquarters was called and a late night pizza and then home to get up bright and early for the big day.
The big day arrives and we needed to be at MASH headquarters to “uplift” our costumes by 8am...so an early start with my full household of guests as we headed out on what turned out to be bright and beautiful sunny day.....flooding, shmooding! While waiting for the mini bus and witnessing the hundreds of vendors start to claim spaces along the parade route to set up bars, food stalls and their massive towers of speakers, we see our local goat herder come down the road with his dear flock of 100 or so goats and kids and his little red flag that purportedly clears their way through the traffic....so funny and so Guyana. We arrive at Mash camp and the flood waters have retreated, a good sign. Hundreds of volunteers are all trying to fit into the bright orange shorts, head pieces, are cutting and self painting their shirts and soon the room is a sea of orange and gold attire....it is great fun getting dressed and painting each other with glitter and trying to find a pair of shorts that are not too big or too small. We eventually are all dressed in our finery and head off to our place as nearly first in parade ten blocks away....and then we wait, and wait and wait some more...Finally we are marshalled to begin with strict orders from our designer/choreographer to stay in three lines (there are about 200 of us...so this seems like a challenge, but in fact is quite strictly enforced until the gruelling end). We look great...the overall effect of a sea of gold and orange is achieved and we are encouraged to wave, dance, whine and do a side to side step dance (but any movement other than walking made my shorts fall down, so improvisation was required to keep them up). Of course the sun is now very hot, and paper head bands, sweat and glitter make a fiercely sticky and challenging combination. The parade itself is a blast despite it’s epic length and the overall heat, some drop out due to heat exhaustion, others to sun burn and some just plain fainted. I hung in there for EFI (every f-ing inch)despite getting beaned in the head by a flying flagpole. We were kept well hydrated in our march lines with drinks, pine tarts and juice provided for the duration. The audience is awesome, all kinds of familes with tarps and bbqs set up, kids with their hairs respendent with decor and a highly festive mood....we whiteys get a few good laughs...and everyone takes your picture!
at times we had to wait...then wait...then oh let’s wait again...for media, interviews, the judges, for other floats to catch up...and well for just plain waiting it seemed. The waiting was hard,....as there was no shade and man large vinyl neck and cod pieces are heavy and hot as hell to wear especially over top of a too large cotton tshirt and tight in the thigh but loose in the waist nylon orange short that simultaneously felt like they would fall off or split at any moment. Finally three hours later we make it up to the national park to the stadium where we wait outside like a team of gladiators entering an arena to meet the lions...finally the emperor deems it is time for us and in an Olympic like entry we are announced into the stadium and instructed to run and dance...this after three hours of marching and baking in the sun. Well we had no choice, this was the big judging time...and I’m telling you running, staying in your line and keeping your shorts up all at the same time is hard. They played our theme song...again, then again, and oh hell why not let’s play it again. Nearly four laps later we are still running around the stadium while they talked about volunteers and our representation of Athens and Greece (is that our costumes were supposed to be?) we then head to the exit and at the last minute the beautiful Christina from Canada is pulled from the line and asked to be the queen pulling the cart for the last stretch...and then out of the stadium we went and collapsed on the grass.. Whew we did it...I felt like I had completed a triathlon...The parade incidentally goes to nearly 8pm at night, so we were rather thankful of our ranking at the front of the line..Some revellers then march for 7-10 hours!!! We got off easy with a completion time of 3pm.
7 of us ended up back at my nearby flat to strip out of our now seriously compromised costumes, shower, ice our broiled skin and basically try to de-glitter. My flat will never be the same...2 days and several serious clean ups later there is still glitter on everything and even the varnish on the wooden floor seems to be embedded with the stuff and I won’t even discuss the state of the shower....Eventually we were recovered enough that is was deemed time to head out for the street party!
What a night we had...in the end we did have some collateral damage, a pick pocketing, a mob we got caught in, lost glasses, shoes broken, a stolen bike, a poor choice of a midnight snack that made us all sick and quite a few very bad sunburns, ...and it was still such a good time....dancing, singing, saying happy mash to all you meet, feeling the festive vibe and we finally held our mini-wake and lime for our buddy Kane and his mom at his favourite haunt Seeta’s... It was incredible to participate in my first and likely my last ever MASH...Good thing I like glitter as I still seem to have some in every major orifice.
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
SOCA - MASH!
Mashramani or “MASH” as it is called here is an official national holiday in February to celebrate Guyana’s 1970 independence. The event cumulates in a carnival like parade and masquerade with a day off work for the whole country on Feb 23rd. But why wait until the end of February when you can start the party now ...why indeed...? So “MASH” fever is in the air here and many special events including cooking, theatre, and concerts are all to be held this month....Yay!
Conveniently located a few blocks from me, huge outdoor live MASH concerts will take place every weekend this month (well not convenient if you want to sleep I suppose) but who wants to sleep when you can dance? So of course we had to check it out. Having been to several concerts before in Guyana I know to expect, and was trying to remember the overwhelm I felt at the first crazy Chutney concert way back in August and realize I am now quite used to how large events are done here...and upon reflection we have a lot we could learn about concert production in North America from our Guyana friends...
Ticket Prices...$1000 GYD $5 bucks at the door!...well it was a gate...ok a bus window with cattle fencing...but still it was $5 bucks...( 5 bucks!!)...yep read that and feel very bad Live Nation Concerts....Yes I’m talking to you!! If a 3rd world country can put on huge successful outdoor concerts for three thousand plus people at 5 bucks a head...maybe you can do it for even lets say $50 a head instead of the $150 you regularly gouge music lovers for....huh?....yep nothing to say – I thought so.
Drinks...They haven’t heard of the drink only in this designated enclosed spot style “beer garden” concept down here....and wouldn’t consider anything with those kind of preposterous regulations. Instead it is a free for all with few if any rules that I can see, although bottle return is somewhat encouraged. You are free to either bring your own drinks (and some folks bring whole coolers full... an alcoholic picnic anyone?)...or buy drinks (for very cheap) including whole bottles of rum and vodka, and the promoters also contracts with local bars to set up booths around the perimeter of the massive dance floor so you can do almost do a pub crawl if you will within the show....fun times ensue with this lapse attitude towards drinking... and of course your dancing around empty bottle skills will also improve.
Food...When was the last time you had duck or goat curry at a music event, or fried fish and plantain chips for that matter ...probably never right?...But wow it is the most amazing midnight snack ever....hot curry in roti....yum. Popcorn and $9 hot dogs are no contest for fresh hot homemade midnight dance munchies.
Whining...Whining is the Trinidadian/Guyanese way of dancing and for those who don’t know it is best described as dry sex on the dance floor. The woman sticks out her booty and the gentlemen partner (or two) comes from behind and places one or two hands on her hips and together they rhythmically dance and grind like they were having a great sexy time, or making a hot porno...and at times...ok often ... there is NOTHING much left to the imagination and the activity even can progress to other more obvious positions. This style of dancing can be kind of a shock for the uninitiated...but the eroticness fits with the highly sexualized culture and the soca dance tunes ...and with the right guy..it’s tons of sexy fun, with the wrong guy...well you might just have to leave.
Concert Times...Here in Guyana at concerts bigger is better, louder is better so of course longer is also better. And really if you are going to set up speakers and amplifiers and hire DJ’s and bring in all those drinks and goats...well why shut down at 11? Why not at 3...or 4 or 5!!....or (what an amazing concept) when everyone is pretty much done.
Entrepreneurs...Supporting the local economy is intrinsic to events here...Well I think it just happens that local entrepreneurs will set up outside big events with their wares and are not discouraged by promoters...So unlike our concerts where all you can buy is licensed sanctioned products for hefty fees and $10 bags of popcorn...Here outside the gates of most concerts you can buy cd’s, corn on the cob (with gravy!), get a taxi from the hundreds waiting, buy a cold drinks, candy, jewellery, have your picture taken while you are all dressed up, etc. Etc....It’s all adds to the spectacle.
So I send a big welcome to MASH and a month of very loud Soca, Chutney and Reggae music, terrible egotistic DJ’s, tacky contests, cheap drinks, goat curry, ripped jeans so tight they defy gravity, frenetic dancing on a massive outdoor stage with 3000 thousand of your closet friends under a star filled sky where even the fire flies seem to dance.
Conveniently located a few blocks from me, huge outdoor live MASH concerts will take place every weekend this month (well not convenient if you want to sleep I suppose) but who wants to sleep when you can dance? So of course we had to check it out. Having been to several concerts before in Guyana I know to expect, and was trying to remember the overwhelm I felt at the first crazy Chutney concert way back in August and realize I am now quite used to how large events are done here...and upon reflection we have a lot we could learn about concert production in North America from our Guyana friends...
Ticket Prices...$1000 GYD $5 bucks at the door!...well it was a gate...ok a bus window with cattle fencing...but still it was $5 bucks...( 5 bucks!!)...yep read that and feel very bad Live Nation Concerts....Yes I’m talking to you!! If a 3rd world country can put on huge successful outdoor concerts for three thousand plus people at 5 bucks a head...maybe you can do it for even lets say $50 a head instead of the $150 you regularly gouge music lovers for....huh?....yep nothing to say – I thought so.
Drinks...They haven’t heard of the drink only in this designated enclosed spot style “beer garden” concept down here....and wouldn’t consider anything with those kind of preposterous regulations. Instead it is a free for all with few if any rules that I can see, although bottle return is somewhat encouraged. You are free to either bring your own drinks (and some folks bring whole coolers full... an alcoholic picnic anyone?)...or buy drinks (for very cheap) including whole bottles of rum and vodka, and the promoters also contracts with local bars to set up booths around the perimeter of the massive dance floor so you can do almost do a pub crawl if you will within the show....fun times ensue with this lapse attitude towards drinking... and of course your dancing around empty bottle skills will also improve.
Food...When was the last time you had duck or goat curry at a music event, or fried fish and plantain chips for that matter ...probably never right?...But wow it is the most amazing midnight snack ever....hot curry in roti....yum. Popcorn and $9 hot dogs are no contest for fresh hot homemade midnight dance munchies.
Whining...Whining is the Trinidadian/Guyanese way of dancing and for those who don’t know it is best described as dry sex on the dance floor. The woman sticks out her booty and the gentlemen partner (or two) comes from behind and places one or two hands on her hips and together they rhythmically dance and grind like they were having a great sexy time, or making a hot porno...and at times...ok often ... there is NOTHING much left to the imagination and the activity even can progress to other more obvious positions. This style of dancing can be kind of a shock for the uninitiated...but the eroticness fits with the highly sexualized culture and the soca dance tunes ...and with the right guy..it’s tons of sexy fun, with the wrong guy...well you might just have to leave.
Concert Times...Here in Guyana at concerts bigger is better, louder is better so of course longer is also better. And really if you are going to set up speakers and amplifiers and hire DJ’s and bring in all those drinks and goats...well why shut down at 11? Why not at 3...or 4 or 5!!....or (what an amazing concept) when everyone is pretty much done.
Entrepreneurs...Supporting the local economy is intrinsic to events here...Well I think it just happens that local entrepreneurs will set up outside big events with their wares and are not discouraged by promoters...So unlike our concerts where all you can buy is licensed sanctioned products for hefty fees and $10 bags of popcorn...Here outside the gates of most concerts you can buy cd’s, corn on the cob (with gravy!), get a taxi from the hundreds waiting, buy a cold drinks, candy, jewellery, have your picture taken while you are all dressed up, etc. Etc....It’s all adds to the spectacle.
So I send a big welcome to MASH and a month of very loud Soca, Chutney and Reggae music, terrible egotistic DJ’s, tacky contests, cheap drinks, goat curry, ripped jeans so tight they defy gravity, frenetic dancing on a massive outdoor stage with 3000 thousand of your closet friends under a star filled sky where even the fire flies seem to dance.
Thursday, January 27, 2011
Living Within my Means
Yesterday marked a new achievement for me in Guyana. I managed to live for one entire month within my honorarium allowance without dipping into my personal savings for the first time since arriving here! Whooppee! This feels like quite an accomplishment and one that several VSO’s (even some who have been here well over a year) have confessed they have never done. We receive a little over 50 Thousand GYD dollars, which sounds like a big fat Wall St. paycheque but in fact it translates into only a little over $250 per month Canadian.
It’s been a long time and perhaps never since I have had to live on that little money. Mind you VSO pays for my rent, electricity and gas additionally….so this amount is to cover all other living expenses only. I am painfully aware that many people here earn less than this amount AND still have to pay their own rent and utilities. So even as a volunteer I am relatively well paid, which is humbling and I find myself not wanting to share exactly how much we get for our expenses as it may seem too lavish. I am also aware that I have the luxury of even HAVING a savings account and credit cards if I need them, and a generous family back home. It may be trite to be discussing this as I can leave here anytime and have chosen to put myself into this lifestyle, where those who really live here have not. None the less it has still been a challenge for this 1st world latte and shoe loving girl to achieve and one that has taken me six months of trying. Trying to live within my means that is and coming from our credit and debt fueled 1st world culture, it does feel good to have met this challenge. So what do I spend all my thousands of dollars on ?(and yes all in CASH!) First I get a pay cheque and go line up at the bank for quite a few hours with my passport and VSO ID card and eventually get a thick wad of bills secured with an elastic band (yep!) which I then nervously transport home immediately lest I be robbed en route. I then buy each month:
Internet $3500 ($17.50) for high speed wireless (a huge luxury here for most), but a chosen essential for me as I need it for work and communications with home. Note This is a reduced price as several of us share the 10 thousand per month fee ($50) and the one wireless router.
Water. My roommate and I buy filtered drinking water in 20 litres reusable containers $1000 ($5)
Pool Membership. $4000 ($20) (Also a huge perk and way out of the price range of most Guyanese.) one trip to the pool is $1100 per person or a membership for 6 family members is $23,000 for a month. Myself and five other VSO’s have formed a pool “family” (aww.. and hello family!) Being able to have somewhere to swim in this climate is so appreciated and I try and go and well appreciate it every day.
Laundry. I pay $2000 ($10) per month for four loads of laundry washed dried and folded (basically once per week for my sheets and towels) This transaction not only helps my neighbour’s wallet but myself as I have really struggled to wash sheets by hand and then wring them out properly....in fact I suck at washing sheets! She has an old fashioned washing machine, which helps me to feel a bit less guilty about the whole transaction. I do all of my other laundry by hand in cold water....just saying!
Cel Phone $2000 ($10) I buy four $500 top up cards each month. All cel phones here are pay as you go and you add money as needed with lottery style scratch cards...and really they are cheap, cheap, cheap. So cheap that most Guyanese keep two phones one for each telephone company so you can maximize benefits and free texts. In fact I am paying more to NOT use my still under contract blackberry back in Canada, than for my pay as you go phone here. Food for thought as we Canadians reportedly pay the most for cellular service of anywhere in the world.
Land Line Telephone. 500 ($2.50) We didn’t ask for this phone..it is just there in the flat and we have to pay our part of the bill..no one calls us on it except our landlady and of course many amusing wrong numbers...personally I think it is well worth the $2.5 just to able to get some of these calls.
So that totals just about 12 thousand dollars ($60) which leaves me basically about fifty bucks a week to buy all my food, drinks, any meals out, toiletries, cleaning supplies, bike repairs, clothing, (hah!) household items, entertainment, (hah again) and evening transportation (taxis are $1.50 each). My average weekly grocery and market bill is $6000($30) so it leaves me about $4000 ($20) a week for everything else. It’s definitely tight....but apparently it is do-able...as I did it!! I just had to stop indulging in $7 jars of olives, $5 lattes, and that nice smelling expensive hair conditioner. Oh and I finally figured out what drinks are really, really cheap at the bar!
So cheers to me for living within my meagre means (and I will attempt to do so again next month)...and I even had $6 thousand to spare this month....which will buy exactly 2 bottles of olives and 3 lattes!
It’s been a long time and perhaps never since I have had to live on that little money. Mind you VSO pays for my rent, electricity and gas additionally….so this amount is to cover all other living expenses only. I am painfully aware that many people here earn less than this amount AND still have to pay their own rent and utilities. So even as a volunteer I am relatively well paid, which is humbling and I find myself not wanting to share exactly how much we get for our expenses as it may seem too lavish. I am also aware that I have the luxury of even HAVING a savings account and credit cards if I need them, and a generous family back home. It may be trite to be discussing this as I can leave here anytime and have chosen to put myself into this lifestyle, where those who really live here have not. None the less it has still been a challenge for this 1st world latte and shoe loving girl to achieve and one that has taken me six months of trying. Trying to live within my means that is and coming from our credit and debt fueled 1st world culture, it does feel good to have met this challenge. So what do I spend all my thousands of dollars on ?(and yes all in CASH!) First I get a pay cheque and go line up at the bank for quite a few hours with my passport and VSO ID card and eventually get a thick wad of bills secured with an elastic band (yep!) which I then nervously transport home immediately lest I be robbed en route. I then buy each month:
Internet $3500 ($17.50) for high speed wireless (a huge luxury here for most), but a chosen essential for me as I need it for work and communications with home. Note This is a reduced price as several of us share the 10 thousand per month fee ($50) and the one wireless router.
Water. My roommate and I buy filtered drinking water in 20 litres reusable containers $1000 ($5)
Pool Membership. $4000 ($20) (Also a huge perk and way out of the price range of most Guyanese.) one trip to the pool is $1100 per person or a membership for 6 family members is $23,000 for a month. Myself and five other VSO’s have formed a pool “family” (aww.. and hello family!) Being able to have somewhere to swim in this climate is so appreciated and I try and go and well appreciate it every day.
Laundry. I pay $2000 ($10) per month for four loads of laundry washed dried and folded (basically once per week for my sheets and towels) This transaction not only helps my neighbour’s wallet but myself as I have really struggled to wash sheets by hand and then wring them out properly....in fact I suck at washing sheets! She has an old fashioned washing machine, which helps me to feel a bit less guilty about the whole transaction. I do all of my other laundry by hand in cold water....just saying!
Cel Phone $2000 ($10) I buy four $500 top up cards each month. All cel phones here are pay as you go and you add money as needed with lottery style scratch cards...and really they are cheap, cheap, cheap. So cheap that most Guyanese keep two phones one for each telephone company so you can maximize benefits and free texts. In fact I am paying more to NOT use my still under contract blackberry back in Canada, than for my pay as you go phone here. Food for thought as we Canadians reportedly pay the most for cellular service of anywhere in the world.
Land Line Telephone. 500 ($2.50) We didn’t ask for this phone..it is just there in the flat and we have to pay our part of the bill..no one calls us on it except our landlady and of course many amusing wrong numbers...personally I think it is well worth the $2.5 just to able to get some of these calls.
So that totals just about 12 thousand dollars ($60) which leaves me basically about fifty bucks a week to buy all my food, drinks, any meals out, toiletries, cleaning supplies, bike repairs, clothing, (hah!) household items, entertainment, (hah again) and evening transportation (taxis are $1.50 each). My average weekly grocery and market bill is $6000($30) so it leaves me about $4000 ($20) a week for everything else. It’s definitely tight....but apparently it is do-able...as I did it!! I just had to stop indulging in $7 jars of olives, $5 lattes, and that nice smelling expensive hair conditioner. Oh and I finally figured out what drinks are really, really cheap at the bar!
So cheers to me for living within my meagre means (and I will attempt to do so again next month)...and I even had $6 thousand to spare this month....which will buy exactly 2 bottles of olives and 3 lattes!
Sunday, January 23, 2011
What I love about Guyana
In a few weeks I will have been living in Guyana for six months.....and although living in a third world country does pose some challenges, and I have been experiencing a little bit of the predicted six month slump these past few weeks, there are many things I have learned to love about living in this country...so I will share all these perks in an effort to focus on the positive and be thankful for the amazing opportunity of living and working here.
Sunshine on a winter’s day ...As hot and humid and torrentially wet it can get here sometimes it is still always a summer day...and a summer day always beats a winter day....well doesn’t it? There is a little thrill I get inside my Canadian self each January day that I can dress in shorts, a light top and sandals and never have to worry about bringing a jacket, mittens or a hat as I walk out the door.
Tropical fruits of all kind...I love the fresh tart pineapples, mangos picked from a tree, the cat size red glossy papayas, the subtly exotic passion fruit, the elusive guavas, childhood tasting water melons, fragrant tangerines, the plump limes, the mini George of the Jungle bananas and the exciting spectacle and taste of a freshly macheted green coconut.... to which I may have a mild addiction.
My two wheels.... I used to say that my next car would be no car and I am living the dream folks. Even if is a two cent piece of shit bike that could be stolen or break down at any moment, she’s all mine and I love her. I truly enjoy the effortlessness of biking to and from work, seeing all the sights from the perch of my bicycle seat and loading up my basket with whatever I need to carry. The other day I was walking at the market without my bike on the way home from a trip to the regions and one of my regular vendors said to me...”Hey girl.. where’s dat pretty blue bicycle that matches your eyes today?” It seems she gets missed by others too when she is left at home!
Animal Farm...I get to see animals here every day, and many that are long extinct from urbanity and I delight in each donkey, horse and herd of goats I see in the city limits. I love the bored and melancholy look of the donkeys parked by the roadside. I love the focused look a horse gets when he is barrelling towards you at an intersection…”I’d advise you get out of the weighhhh”…you can practically hear them. And I love the goats that seem to be used as...well.. hedge trimmers! And then there are the birds... the squawking swooping parrots, the serious brooding falcons, the perky egrets and shrill song birds are each a wonder to behold. Even the street dogs, who at first deeply appalled and disturbed me, I have now embraced as a just a different way to be a dog. The restraints that we put on our pets (although they come with a regular meal, a place to sleep, and veterinary care) begins to seem almost archaic when you see thriving packs of wild dogs, each with their own hood, pups, sand pile and turf. I have seen dogs grieve over killed dogs, carrying pups in their mouths, digging tunnels, making out (doggie style), sleeping peacefully in packs with a small burro dug in their sand hill and I’ve even seen dogs fishing together out in the ocean tides at night. I still cringe to see the state of some of these animals, and have seen enough dead dogs to last me a life time... but they are also free in a way many dogs locked into condos all day probably long for.
Down on Main St.. I love that you can buy almost anything on the street. You can buy a cold drink, (beer, rum and vodka included) to underwear on a stick, hot food, fresh baking, corn on the cob (with gravy!!), freshly cut fruit, fresh squeezed juice (sold in a plastic bag with a straw), hair supplies, egg and chicken sandwiches, shoes, candies, deep fried anything, plantain chips, fresh nuts, sugar cane, candy floss, cheese rolls, DVD’s, ice slushies, perfume,…rat poison, school supplies...almost anything you might need on your way home from work is right there.... and you can even pay to weigh yourself right on the street corner...LOL!
The beautiful and interesting people I get to talk to....No matter what life here is not dull, everyday someone does or says something funny, amusing, curious, tragic, interesting, challenging, against my values, appalling, upsetting, kind, caring, insightful, tender, insulting, or overly forthright and this variety of conversation is so unlike what you experience at home. There are certainly no boring Canadian style stranger conversations about traffic jams, mortgage rates, or the weather. I love the surprise of my human interactions here....and how people reach out to you. The other day I was riding in the very hot sun on my bike and a man pulled over in his car and asked if I needed an umbrella to shade me......I declined but thanked him and as he drove away I thought of how genuinely kind and rare his offer was...and how generous and how much more often we should practice random acts of....umbrella sharing.
Sunshine on a winter’s day ...As hot and humid and torrentially wet it can get here sometimes it is still always a summer day...and a summer day always beats a winter day....well doesn’t it? There is a little thrill I get inside my Canadian self each January day that I can dress in shorts, a light top and sandals and never have to worry about bringing a jacket, mittens or a hat as I walk out the door.
Tropical fruits of all kind...I love the fresh tart pineapples, mangos picked from a tree, the cat size red glossy papayas, the subtly exotic passion fruit, the elusive guavas, childhood tasting water melons, fragrant tangerines, the plump limes, the mini George of the Jungle bananas and the exciting spectacle and taste of a freshly macheted green coconut.... to which I may have a mild addiction.
My two wheels.... I used to say that my next car would be no car and I am living the dream folks. Even if is a two cent piece of shit bike that could be stolen or break down at any moment, she’s all mine and I love her. I truly enjoy the effortlessness of biking to and from work, seeing all the sights from the perch of my bicycle seat and loading up my basket with whatever I need to carry. The other day I was walking at the market without my bike on the way home from a trip to the regions and one of my regular vendors said to me...”Hey girl.. where’s dat pretty blue bicycle that matches your eyes today?” It seems she gets missed by others too when she is left at home!
Animal Farm...I get to see animals here every day, and many that are long extinct from urbanity and I delight in each donkey, horse and herd of goats I see in the city limits. I love the bored and melancholy look of the donkeys parked by the roadside. I love the focused look a horse gets when he is barrelling towards you at an intersection…”I’d advise you get out of the weighhhh”…you can practically hear them. And I love the goats that seem to be used as...well.. hedge trimmers! And then there are the birds... the squawking swooping parrots, the serious brooding falcons, the perky egrets and shrill song birds are each a wonder to behold. Even the street dogs, who at first deeply appalled and disturbed me, I have now embraced as a just a different way to be a dog. The restraints that we put on our pets (although they come with a regular meal, a place to sleep, and veterinary care) begins to seem almost archaic when you see thriving packs of wild dogs, each with their own hood, pups, sand pile and turf. I have seen dogs grieve over killed dogs, carrying pups in their mouths, digging tunnels, making out (doggie style), sleeping peacefully in packs with a small burro dug in their sand hill and I’ve even seen dogs fishing together out in the ocean tides at night. I still cringe to see the state of some of these animals, and have seen enough dead dogs to last me a life time... but they are also free in a way many dogs locked into condos all day probably long for.
Down on Main St.. I love that you can buy almost anything on the street. You can buy a cold drink, (beer, rum and vodka included) to underwear on a stick, hot food, fresh baking, corn on the cob (with gravy!!), freshly cut fruit, fresh squeezed juice (sold in a plastic bag with a straw), hair supplies, egg and chicken sandwiches, shoes, candies, deep fried anything, plantain chips, fresh nuts, sugar cane, candy floss, cheese rolls, DVD’s, ice slushies, perfume,…rat poison, school supplies...almost anything you might need on your way home from work is right there.... and you can even pay to weigh yourself right on the street corner...LOL!
The beautiful and interesting people I get to talk to....No matter what life here is not dull, everyday someone does or says something funny, amusing, curious, tragic, interesting, challenging, against my values, appalling, upsetting, kind, caring, insightful, tender, insulting, or overly forthright and this variety of conversation is so unlike what you experience at home. There are certainly no boring Canadian style stranger conversations about traffic jams, mortgage rates, or the weather. I love the surprise of my human interactions here....and how people reach out to you. The other day I was riding in the very hot sun on my bike and a man pulled over in his car and asked if I needed an umbrella to shade me......I declined but thanked him and as he drove away I thought of how genuinely kind and rare his offer was...and how generous and how much more often we should practice random acts of....umbrella sharing.
Monday, January 10, 2011
The “Soft Skills” I Learned in 2010
Happy New Year! Having rung in the “Old Years Night” as they call it here in Guyana at home in 1st world amenity filled Canada by sipping vintage scotch and smoking Cuban cigars, I am now once again back in the developing world of Guyana to welcome the new year of 2011. Perhaps another encounter with a giant flying cockroach, another bike incident or two, more liming on the seawall, another job to complete, more roti’s to try and make as good as Celia’s, are all events that may await me this coming year. I hope to continue to progress with my volunteer work, my contribution to global society and to continue to acquire new skills and to challenge myself. Other VSO’s and myself have joked about the new skills we have all developed, some of these we have dubbed to be “soft skills” You know; the things that might not make it onto a C.V. or resume but that will serve you well in over all functioning. So here is my list of the top 5 soft skills I have developed in Guyana in 2010.
1. COLD SHOWERS 101 I now have the ability to take a cold shower anytime and anyplace. I occasionally still yelp on cooler days after the first dunking of the head into the chilly depths of the overhead spray, but actually cold water showers are very good for your lymphatic system and according to my hairdresser are also great for your hair and skin too! And well I have no option other than… “suck it up princess”.
2. Entomophobia or Insectophobia 202 I have developed a fear of giant flying insects in my face. I didn’t know I was afraid of this until it happened to me. It’s a good thing to know for future jungle encounters. I also am no longer afraid of trying to kill said giant insects as they attack me although some assistance from a valiant roommate and a whole bottle of lethal banned from 1st world insecticide is also helpful. This new fear has superseded my old fear of rats....I think. OK not rats in my face...just rats on the ground.
3. Bicycle Loading Ergonomics 303 This is an advanced course in how to transport things on two wheels. In this hands on method you learn to transport loose eggs, giant water bottles, loads of laundry, grocery bags, watermelons, flowers, ice, wooden art pieces, other passengers and still arrive alive. I am getting an A+ except for the umbrella section of the course work, where you ride one handed in the rain clutching an umbrella as I have almost crashed upon each attempt. I need a few remedial tutorials on this soft skill, but I have noticed the Dutch do it well.
4. Negotiations 406 I have studied theory on this most useful of skills back in my home country, but never had it tested to the limits as I have here. I have had to negotiate HARD with men, busses, taxis, at work, in seminars, buying food, with land ladies, police, street people, at trainings, with children vendors, street people, bus conductors, and in many other human encounters. Developing the skill to state what you need or can not do, or would like to do, firmly, fairly, diplomatically and without pissing anybody off is required to be utilized here most often. I feel I can negotiate with anyone now about anything, unreasonable dictators, bring them on…bitchy soccer moms…pushy phone sales reps... aggressive touts...HAH..I laugh at you all. No means no bitch!
5. Material Possession Awareness 503 The longer you live without some material items the more you realise they are not really needed in your life. I have now lived for the better part of five months without (in no particular order) a private living space, hot water, water you can drink from the tap, a hair dryer, a car, air conditioning, washing machines, dryers, a blackberry, a lavish wardrobe, good kitchen equipment, coffee shops, cable TV, movie theatres, an art studio, malls, comfortable furniture, butter, wine, cheese, chocolate, grapes, yogurt, and lattes and well I could go on.... All of these things will never again be taken for granted by me....and a hot shower alone will feel like a decadent small miracle to welcome back into my life.
Welcome 2011 and cheers to further learning about how to live on our shared planet, and to developing more skills, soft or not....Now where’s my umbrella and my bike?
1. COLD SHOWERS 101 I now have the ability to take a cold shower anytime and anyplace. I occasionally still yelp on cooler days after the first dunking of the head into the chilly depths of the overhead spray, but actually cold water showers are very good for your lymphatic system and according to my hairdresser are also great for your hair and skin too! And well I have no option other than… “suck it up princess”.
2. Entomophobia or Insectophobia 202 I have developed a fear of giant flying insects in my face. I didn’t know I was afraid of this until it happened to me. It’s a good thing to know for future jungle encounters. I also am no longer afraid of trying to kill said giant insects as they attack me although some assistance from a valiant roommate and a whole bottle of lethal banned from 1st world insecticide is also helpful. This new fear has superseded my old fear of rats....I think. OK not rats in my face...just rats on the ground.
3. Bicycle Loading Ergonomics 303 This is an advanced course in how to transport things on two wheels. In this hands on method you learn to transport loose eggs, giant water bottles, loads of laundry, grocery bags, watermelons, flowers, ice, wooden art pieces, other passengers and still arrive alive. I am getting an A+ except for the umbrella section of the course work, where you ride one handed in the rain clutching an umbrella as I have almost crashed upon each attempt. I need a few remedial tutorials on this soft skill, but I have noticed the Dutch do it well.
4. Negotiations 406 I have studied theory on this most useful of skills back in my home country, but never had it tested to the limits as I have here. I have had to negotiate HARD with men, busses, taxis, at work, in seminars, buying food, with land ladies, police, street people, at trainings, with children vendors, street people, bus conductors, and in many other human encounters. Developing the skill to state what you need or can not do, or would like to do, firmly, fairly, diplomatically and without pissing anybody off is required to be utilized here most often. I feel I can negotiate with anyone now about anything, unreasonable dictators, bring them on…bitchy soccer moms…pushy phone sales reps... aggressive touts...HAH..I laugh at you all. No means no bitch!
5. Material Possession Awareness 503 The longer you live without some material items the more you realise they are not really needed in your life. I have now lived for the better part of five months without (in no particular order) a private living space, hot water, water you can drink from the tap, a hair dryer, a car, air conditioning, washing machines, dryers, a blackberry, a lavish wardrobe, good kitchen equipment, coffee shops, cable TV, movie theatres, an art studio, malls, comfortable furniture, butter, wine, cheese, chocolate, grapes, yogurt, and lattes and well I could go on.... All of these things will never again be taken for granted by me....and a hot shower alone will feel like a decadent small miracle to welcome back into my life.
Welcome 2011 and cheers to further learning about how to live on our shared planet, and to developing more skills, soft or not....Now where’s my umbrella and my bike?
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
The Incense Seller
Why did you want to come to Guyana?….I was asked this last Sunday by a 73 year old Rasta gentleman who I stopped to chat with after he offered me some incense for sale. (It was a drive by sale, I was on my bike and he pulled up beside me with wares in his basket) We then pulled over to complete the purchase, $100 GYD or about 50 cents for crappy Chinese incense that I will never use, but I wanted to support him as he had asked me so nicely to buy it. We then started talking and he told me some great stories of the old days, when Georgetown was the “Garden City of the Caribbean” and pointed to where Jonestown prophet Jim Jones used to come to drink tea and we even talked about the current political situation and upcoming elections, a subject I tend to avoid out of respect unless brought up by locals. It was an awesome and intellectual conversation and after awhile I finally said I had to leave. He then asked me to come around the corner and see the ghetto with him (a VSO off limits zone I realized afterwards - whoops). “You must come to the ghetto, for what will you have really seen of Guyana, if not this…” He must have seen me hesitate slightly for he gently touched my arm and said “Don’t worry you are with me, and nothing will happen”. For reasons I’m still not sure of I instinctively trusted this old gentleman, maybe it was the peaceful cheap incense as his choice of wares to sell that inspired a subliminal confidence in him, or our conversation or maybe I didn’t want to let him down. I don’t know, I can’t really say, but I felt comfortable with him. We got back on our bikes and turned the corner and toured the ghetto together from the relative safety and perch of our bicycle seats for a few blocks. I didn’t know what to expect, I suppose I was a little afraid of what I might see…and I did see.. tears came into my eyes and what I saw made my small shared cold water flat in Kitty suddenly seem like opulent luxury accommodations for I have floors, a roof, running water, a stove, more than one room, a toilet, internet and electricity and what I think of as my terrible bike also suddenly seemed fancy and new, despite it’s thrice being smashed to the ground scars and bent basket I felt like I was driving a BMW. I had never seen anything like some of the living conditions I saw there, and I used to live a few blocks away from the infamous Downtown Eastside often called Canada’s worst neighborhood. Some people did tentatively wave to me as we passed and I nodded or waved back, yet the air was hushed and I noticed no one called me blondie or baby like usual. It was the longest four blocks of my life.
We then pulled back around to the main road from “Tiger” as this particular ghetto is called and my 73 year old Rasta escort then told me it is fact where he lived, that the ghetto is his home and he wanted to thank me and share something with me for as it turns out I was the only person to stop today to buy incense and now he could eat a meal and had been just about to go home hungry for the evening when I stopped my bike. I was truly humbled by this man, still so proud, so full of ideas and words, still charming and funny and wise and able to engage his views with an idealistic foreigner here to try and help his country. That he took the time to give something back when he has so little was deeply moving to me.
I thanked him for his tour and refrained from further offers of unnecessary incense purchases lest I somehow insult his dignity and what he had genuinely offered me of himself. We said goodbye and shook hands he then asked if I was going to the pool, and I actually was and somehow I felt so obviously like the 1st world interloper that I am. Here I am a volunteer in a developing country and still I can afford to engage in 1st world privileges such as an afternoon swim on a hot Sunday afternoon.
Why did you come to Guyana he had asked in our conversation…and I have been thinking about our encounter and his question ever since…for why did I really come to Guyana?
I came to Guyana...
To try and make a difference
To understand how things are for most of the people on this planet
To be grateful
To challenge myself
To learn about a new culture
To give back…
Yes to give back… but give back what exactly…? Perhaps the gift that fate has given me to live where and how I have in this world thus far. I’m sure none of us would choose the ghetto…but if it chooses you and is your home how wonderful if can take enough pride in yourself, your country and your being to share it and give something back of your self. Thank you incense-selling Rastaman for this, for you made my week, my month and maybe even my whole trip.
We then pulled back around to the main road from “Tiger” as this particular ghetto is called and my 73 year old Rasta escort then told me it is fact where he lived, that the ghetto is his home and he wanted to thank me and share something with me for as it turns out I was the only person to stop today to buy incense and now he could eat a meal and had been just about to go home hungry for the evening when I stopped my bike. I was truly humbled by this man, still so proud, so full of ideas and words, still charming and funny and wise and able to engage his views with an idealistic foreigner here to try and help his country. That he took the time to give something back when he has so little was deeply moving to me.
I thanked him for his tour and refrained from further offers of unnecessary incense purchases lest I somehow insult his dignity and what he had genuinely offered me of himself. We said goodbye and shook hands he then asked if I was going to the pool, and I actually was and somehow I felt so obviously like the 1st world interloper that I am. Here I am a volunteer in a developing country and still I can afford to engage in 1st world privileges such as an afternoon swim on a hot Sunday afternoon.
Why did you come to Guyana he had asked in our conversation…and I have been thinking about our encounter and his question ever since…for why did I really come to Guyana?
I came to Guyana...
To try and make a difference
To understand how things are for most of the people on this planet
To be grateful
To challenge myself
To learn about a new culture
To give back…
Yes to give back… but give back what exactly…? Perhaps the gift that fate has given me to live where and how I have in this world thus far. I’m sure none of us would choose the ghetto…but if it chooses you and is your home how wonderful if can take enough pride in yourself, your country and your being to share it and give something back of your self. Thank you incense-selling Rastaman for this, for you made my week, my month and maybe even my whole trip.
Saturday, November 20, 2010
Everyone Loves a Road Trip!
In my three plus months here I have travelled now to eight different places in the “hinterlands” as any area outside of Georgetown is called and once to the neighbouring country of Suriname. Five trips have been for work to visit regional care clinics and three have been recreational. Travel to anywhere outside of the city is by private 15 seater minibus, 4 person shared taxi’s and 30 seater wooden river speed boats. I have used all of the above methods sometimes in combination and negotiation skills, observation, a steely will and the ability to say NO are all key in securing comfortable travel within Guyana. First thing to learn (the hard way of course) is that unlike in my home country here they are all private transit operators and as such they do not have to nor WILL they operate at a loss, so all of the busses, boats and shared taxis only leave when they are full, not according to any time schedule, even if a time schedule is posted. Sometimes there is a small amount of room for negotiation at the very end of the day for example and they have to get back to Gtown and you might pay more or less depending…but mostly the price is set, and is fairly applied to all and it means you will just have to wait until your mode of travel is at the optimum passenger level. This is somewhat inconvenient if it happens to be a very hot day and you want to be somewhere at a set time and the bus/taxi you choose is sitting in the baking sun while they try to recruit the last few passengers. A few weeks ago on the return trip from Linden in the interior I truly thought I was going to faint, sitting stagnant in the broiling bus, knowing I needed to stay put to keep my relatively good window seat (= fresh air once rolling) while we waited desperately for just two more riders to choose us. No one wants the last two seats on any bus you see, as they are the fold down bumper seats and for a two hour trip uh lets just say they don’t provide a very comfortable ride and this I know from first hand experience as of course on my first two bus trips whitey got stuck there. While baking to death in Linden I was willing everyone who came anywhere near our bus to have mercy on us…”please lady I would pray…please choose us, pick our bus, just take the bumper seat, it's not so bad...help us leave….pleeeassse”. Finally after sitting for nearly an hour like a dog locked in a car we disembarked….and…ahhh the window seat. The bus parks are a crazy place of competition, salesmanship and tactical marketing and when you arrive you will be aggressively approached from multiple drivers simultaneously speaking to you and grabbing your arm to direct you their way, and each promises to leave “just now”. Don’t believe this for a minute. In fact some busses go so far as to pose “bats” or fake passengers that appear to be waiting on the bus to lure others on board, then they “fly away” (hence the name bats) as soon as you get on. This tactic works well as logically you will choose the bus that you think will fill up the soonest and therefore leave the quickest, so part of your assessment of what bus to choose is one that appears to be pretty full of passengers already. I was told that although this practice is highly illegal, they do recognize that it creates employment – hah! If you get duped, and feel tough, full of moxy and internal strength you can walk away and try another bus or boat, although they will use guilt, cries of unfairness and broken promises and will likely follow you and claim title to you if you try and get on another bus and often rather loudly, this “stealing” of passengers is rampant and competition is fierce. Once on board the bus awaiting your fateful and unknown time of departure you can purchase wares from the vendors that sell things to the captive audience through the bus windows. Some items for sale make sense like “hot nuts, fresh juice, plantain chips” and a myriad of other delicious things to snack on, but others are so odd, tarpaulins, hammers, shoes, bras and car touch up paint have also been offered to me as a impulse purchase directly through the bus window… WTF? ..Tarpaulins?? who randomly sitting on a bus might need a tarpaulin?. I wonder what his mid month sales sheet looks like? Okays snacks and plenty of water and maybe a bra or two loaded into your bags plus any hardware store style impulse items that you may have purchased stowed away and you’re off. Be prepared to hurtle down the highway at speeds that are alarmingly scary to notice on the speedometer. The record speed of I think of any travel in my life in an automobile was on the outward trip to Linden where I happen to get the front bumper seat on a mini bus (the middle fold down seat over the console between the driver and front seat passenger, and a very bad seat as it turned out, as your head hits the ceiling over any bump and it is way too close to the blaring music and the loads of stinky air fresheners that are so inexplicably popular)This speedometer was kept steady at about 140 km the whole way as the driver skilfully avoided other buses, horse drawn carts, passed tankers, cars, donkeys, cattle and motorcycles at rip roaring speeds. I even asked if he could slow down a bit at one point as I hung on with white knuckles and thought about the last update to my will and he just looked at me sideways and turned up the music. Most other drivers I’ve experienced here travel at a much more reasonable (comparitively)100 – 120 km hour. I have noticed that they will actually stop rather than hit a cow, but all other livestock seems to be fair game. Speed is essential as of course in a free enterprise model the more trips in any given day they complete they more profit they make. Occasionally you will get pulled over by machine gun toting police for checks, or have to wait for the toll bridges lunch closure, where they just all stop working to have lunch and let the traffic pile up…do they really have to all take lunch at once? - well apparently they do! Also bridges close daily for boats to travel underneath and that can take hours as well, which means you have just missed your meeting. Otherwise you may stop for gas or you also might stop so the driver can eat or take a detour to complete errands like pickup his laundry, his step child, a 50 kg bag of garlic or stop to yell at a drunk.
The boats traverse the scenic river waters ways in similar fashion, they must be full before leaving, have no set schedule but do seem to be somewhat more cooperative in filling first one boat then the other rather than several half filled ones all vying for customers at once. By law all passengers do need to wear a life jacket, and they actually insist on this, which is nice to see. The speed boats are brightly painted low cut wooden speedboats armed with massive outboard engines that render speech impossible and blast off skilfully down the river stopping at scenic river villages to drop off and pick up passengers. The scenery is indeed lovely with little islands and mangroves dotting the landscape, parrots flying overhead, and look in the water...was that a caiman?, nope a log, oh well. As soon as you land at the harbour you will be accosted and offered taxis, busses, more snacks and juice and again enter into fierce negotiations for the next leg of your journey. The 10 hr bus trip back from Suriname was even more nefarious with a pre-arranged 4am pick up (that didn’t arrive until 5:30am, and let’s just say this caused a little stress for a certain someone) then a flat tire in the middle of the savannah, where it was hot and rainy at the same time and they skilfully changed the tire while the nine passengers stayed on the bus, with the engine running and music blasting the entire time, losing only about 20 minutes time all in, it was a rather impressive feat actually. We topped this escapade with a side road passenger switch to allow for a illegal border crossing then endured the most insane border crossing ever with us two white girls standing quiet trying hard not to laugh, lest it be a crime to mock procedures and protocols, which are taken VERY seriously here.
I now embark on 7 more journeys over the next three weeks to introduce the supervisors training programs that I have developed and despite the chaos of travel I kind of look forward to driving down the highway like Super Mario dodging livestock, and seeing if you can stay alive until the next round. I love seeing the goats, sheep, and cattle all free and roaming the beautiful countryside dotted with shanty shacks, hindu prayer flags, farms, rice, pineapple and sugar fields. We will be passing through the candy bar named villages of Good Hope, Belvedere, Charity, and Pleasance at breakneck speeds with the Bollywood Chutney or Reggae music blaring, the air fresheners pungent chemical smell wafting in among everyone’s snacks, children maybe sitting in my lap, passengers with perhaps Rasta tails or burkas all looking at and smiling at the strange white girl in their midst. I can’t say that I haven’t enjoy the thrill of the ride, even if I do need to update my will...and who knows maybe I’ll just pick up that souvenir tarpaulin I didn’t know I needed next time it’s offered.
The boats traverse the scenic river waters ways in similar fashion, they must be full before leaving, have no set schedule but do seem to be somewhat more cooperative in filling first one boat then the other rather than several half filled ones all vying for customers at once. By law all passengers do need to wear a life jacket, and they actually insist on this, which is nice to see. The speed boats are brightly painted low cut wooden speedboats armed with massive outboard engines that render speech impossible and blast off skilfully down the river stopping at scenic river villages to drop off and pick up passengers. The scenery is indeed lovely with little islands and mangroves dotting the landscape, parrots flying overhead, and look in the water...was that a caiman?, nope a log, oh well. As soon as you land at the harbour you will be accosted and offered taxis, busses, more snacks and juice and again enter into fierce negotiations for the next leg of your journey. The 10 hr bus trip back from Suriname was even more nefarious with a pre-arranged 4am pick up (that didn’t arrive until 5:30am, and let’s just say this caused a little stress for a certain someone) then a flat tire in the middle of the savannah, where it was hot and rainy at the same time and they skilfully changed the tire while the nine passengers stayed on the bus, with the engine running and music blasting the entire time, losing only about 20 minutes time all in, it was a rather impressive feat actually. We topped this escapade with a side road passenger switch to allow for a illegal border crossing then endured the most insane border crossing ever with us two white girls standing quiet trying hard not to laugh, lest it be a crime to mock procedures and protocols, which are taken VERY seriously here.
I now embark on 7 more journeys over the next three weeks to introduce the supervisors training programs that I have developed and despite the chaos of travel I kind of look forward to driving down the highway like Super Mario dodging livestock, and seeing if you can stay alive until the next round. I love seeing the goats, sheep, and cattle all free and roaming the beautiful countryside dotted with shanty shacks, hindu prayer flags, farms, rice, pineapple and sugar fields. We will be passing through the candy bar named villages of Good Hope, Belvedere, Charity, and Pleasance at breakneck speeds with the Bollywood Chutney or Reggae music blaring, the air fresheners pungent chemical smell wafting in among everyone’s snacks, children maybe sitting in my lap, passengers with perhaps Rasta tails or burkas all looking at and smiling at the strange white girl in their midst. I can’t say that I haven’t enjoy the thrill of the ride, even if I do need to update my will...and who knows maybe I’ll just pick up that souvenir tarpaulin I didn’t know I needed next time it’s offered.
Thursday, October 28, 2010
Cultural Adaptation
The other night another volunteer and I were bicycling back from the pool in the silky dusk, trying hard to get home to our flats before dark or as we have heard it called “the bandit hour”. I had my head lamp on and confidently pulled out onto a busy street and starting pedaling fast when all of a sudden from behind me she screamed “Oh my god we are on the wrong side of the road”, I panicked and pulled over because of course we were on the wrong side of the road for both of our home countries, but it was the right side for Guyana. So after two months of acclimatization the WRONG side of the road now feels like the right side of the road and apparently I have adapted. We had a good laugh at ourselves. This episode got me to thinking about how quickly and in what ways we do assimilate and what things remain strong cultural challenges.
So how have I adapted in two months of living in a very foreign culture as a highly visible minority? First and foremost I have adapted to customs of dress and greeting. I know to always greet people with the formal “good marning”, “good aftanoon”, or “good evenin”. It’s amazing to me how hard it is has been to turn off the automatic “hello” I am so used to offering. I now know that dress codes are taken seriously, any manner of dress that shows my legs or shoulders will solicit comments, and that wearing my hear down is tantamount to “take me now”.
I also have learned that if I don’t respond verbally to the thousands of offers of goods being sold, taxis offered, bus drivers stopping for me and the constant cries of “ya shoppin baby” I’m not being rude. And that to transverse through the streets successfully you must be aggressive, you must cycle with confidence and use your hands, feet, bicycle bell and voice. The alarming level of noise and the crazy jungle traffic I found so intimidating now just seems normal and I have learned the maze of side streets, which roads to avoid at all costs, and not to underestimate the speed of horses. Despite constant repairs issues and two minor bike accidents (avoiding horses and a street side machete sharpening) cycling is still the best method of transport by far and I have learned to carry all manner of things by watching the locals. By the way I have affectionately named my bike “Deathtrap”. In a moment of hilarity I recently lent it to another VSO who without knowing my bikes name, was on her for less than five minutes before she called out “my God this things a death trap”… So she is aptly named.
For safety I know to tie my bags inside my basket in case it gets grabbed, and link my purse over the handle bars for the same reason. I don’t walk and talk on the cel phone, I always take taxis at night and I carry my keys, some cash and my ID card in a separate pocket just in case my bag gets cut right off my arm and stolen. I have gotten used to locking and unlocking the five padlocks gates to my flat and know that every time I lock up my bike that I may well come back and she will be gone… although this might be a blessing in disguise.
I also know that along with the ubiquitous water, flashlight, sunscreen and bug spray that you need to carry an umbrella with you at all times, and have even found myself popping it open to shade myself from the hottest days just like a local even though I still feel little ridiculous doing so. I also carry flip flops in case of torrential downpours. They don’t wear boots, but it is perfectly acceptable to wear a shower cap on your head to protect your hair from rain, yes while walking around out in public! I also carry a book everywhere I go as just you never know when you might have to wait an hour or two. Speaking of waiting I have learned that a trip to the bank or post office necessitates taking half a day off work and I am slowly making my way through Tolstoy’s masterpiece “War and Peace’ (TRULY!) while I wait patiently in the behemoth line ups and through the officious yet rather hilarious procedures that always seem to involve Santa Claus size ledgers and two or three clerks to be completed. I have learned what day is the best for topping up my cel phone to get “free time in the free zone” (insert annoying jingle music here) and laugh to think I am paying more to NOT use my cel phone in Canada than I do to use one here. I know nothing much will be open Sunday except church and not to expect anything to start at the stated time, and that “jest now” can mean something will take five minutes or… never. Power outages are to be expected at work or home anytime and “War and Peace” and the flashlight then both come in handy.
I know what subjects to avoid discussing with locals, which ones will be of interest and can follow some fast Creole conversations now if I pay great attention. I love the accent and it’s an odd experience to be the one who is apparently difficult to understand, an example being I recently asked a co-worker who had brought her adorable daughter to work how long it took to plait her daughter’s hair in the morning, I even consciously used the Guyanese term “plait” instead of “braid”…and she answered “I just have the 3 girls”… I repeated my question, this time much slower…and then she answered “no just girls, not boys, just the 3 girls”. I decided to let it go at that point and said “how nice 3 girls”! I have learned to really appreciate how direct the Guyanese are in conversation. I was sharing a minor concern with a Guyanese friend and she got exasperated with me and said..”damn it gal just come out and say it...you are just too damn polite and diplomatic..I’m Guyanese..we are direct..so just say it” This kind of directness makes some of the street commentary you overhear more understandable and even culturally acceptable. They just calls it as they sees it, so hence terms such as “fat boy” “white girl” “blondie”…etc. The best example of this is of a lovely redhead Australian VSO who was infamously called “white man belly sweat” on his first day in country.
I am slowly adapting to living and working in a very different culture. The unfamiliar experience of being a minority, a foreigner, the one whose ways are wrong and are suspect is at times overwhelming. I have had people tell me to put a slip on, put my hair up, to cycle on the other side of the road, and grab for my bag, and offer all kinds of sincere and kind drive by advice. I have had children gingerly touch my skin apparently in awe at how pale it is and one woman was so shocked to find out that I wasn’t wearing a wig she had to pull my hair repeatedly to believe it was real. I have been called all manner of things and have come to realize that when people call me names they don’t mean to be racist when they yell out “hey whitey” or sexist when they call out “hey baby”..I now know it is just normal behavior here, and well I do stand out. I have also learned which comments are the truly derogatory ones and thankfully they are heard very infrequently. So now instead of being intimidated I often will just wave or smile back no matter what I’m called as what do we all do when we see someone different – we stare right? Most Guyanese I have met besides being direct are curious, fun loving, open, gracious and if asked will offer you good frank advice. Most have treated this foreigner well and I have experienced them making allowances, being understanding and reaching out to me….at work now they are even beginning to tease me – ask me things like have I tried the BBQ’d rat, after my semi hysterical display of fear when a rat was found in the garbage at work.
I think to advance global understanding everyone should live as a minority at some point in their lives to understand just how hard and humbling it can be, how unfamiliar a life can be to what you are used to, how values so different from your own can be discussed in front of you and you know you have to shut the f up…as your values are not better, they are just different. When we can let go of that judgment we will be rewarded when we find each other’s common ground, break down through the stereotypes we have been taught about another culture and understand our shared humanity.
So how have I adapted in two months of living in a very foreign culture as a highly visible minority? First and foremost I have adapted to customs of dress and greeting. I know to always greet people with the formal “good marning”, “good aftanoon”, or “good evenin”. It’s amazing to me how hard it is has been to turn off the automatic “hello” I am so used to offering. I now know that dress codes are taken seriously, any manner of dress that shows my legs or shoulders will solicit comments, and that wearing my hear down is tantamount to “take me now”.
I also have learned that if I don’t respond verbally to the thousands of offers of goods being sold, taxis offered, bus drivers stopping for me and the constant cries of “ya shoppin baby” I’m not being rude. And that to transverse through the streets successfully you must be aggressive, you must cycle with confidence and use your hands, feet, bicycle bell and voice. The alarming level of noise and the crazy jungle traffic I found so intimidating now just seems normal and I have learned the maze of side streets, which roads to avoid at all costs, and not to underestimate the speed of horses. Despite constant repairs issues and two minor bike accidents (avoiding horses and a street side machete sharpening) cycling is still the best method of transport by far and I have learned to carry all manner of things by watching the locals. By the way I have affectionately named my bike “Deathtrap”. In a moment of hilarity I recently lent it to another VSO who without knowing my bikes name, was on her for less than five minutes before she called out “my God this things a death trap”… So she is aptly named.
For safety I know to tie my bags inside my basket in case it gets grabbed, and link my purse over the handle bars for the same reason. I don’t walk and talk on the cel phone, I always take taxis at night and I carry my keys, some cash and my ID card in a separate pocket just in case my bag gets cut right off my arm and stolen. I have gotten used to locking and unlocking the five padlocks gates to my flat and know that every time I lock up my bike that I may well come back and she will be gone… although this might be a blessing in disguise.
I also know that along with the ubiquitous water, flashlight, sunscreen and bug spray that you need to carry an umbrella with you at all times, and have even found myself popping it open to shade myself from the hottest days just like a local even though I still feel little ridiculous doing so. I also carry flip flops in case of torrential downpours. They don’t wear boots, but it is perfectly acceptable to wear a shower cap on your head to protect your hair from rain, yes while walking around out in public! I also carry a book everywhere I go as just you never know when you might have to wait an hour or two. Speaking of waiting I have learned that a trip to the bank or post office necessitates taking half a day off work and I am slowly making my way through Tolstoy’s masterpiece “War and Peace’ (TRULY!) while I wait patiently in the behemoth line ups and through the officious yet rather hilarious procedures that always seem to involve Santa Claus size ledgers and two or three clerks to be completed. I have learned what day is the best for topping up my cel phone to get “free time in the free zone” (insert annoying jingle music here) and laugh to think I am paying more to NOT use my cel phone in Canada than I do to use one here. I know nothing much will be open Sunday except church and not to expect anything to start at the stated time, and that “jest now” can mean something will take five minutes or… never. Power outages are to be expected at work or home anytime and “War and Peace” and the flashlight then both come in handy.
I know what subjects to avoid discussing with locals, which ones will be of interest and can follow some fast Creole conversations now if I pay great attention. I love the accent and it’s an odd experience to be the one who is apparently difficult to understand, an example being I recently asked a co-worker who had brought her adorable daughter to work how long it took to plait her daughter’s hair in the morning, I even consciously used the Guyanese term “plait” instead of “braid”…and she answered “I just have the 3 girls”… I repeated my question, this time much slower…and then she answered “no just girls, not boys, just the 3 girls”. I decided to let it go at that point and said “how nice 3 girls”! I have learned to really appreciate how direct the Guyanese are in conversation. I was sharing a minor concern with a Guyanese friend and she got exasperated with me and said..”damn it gal just come out and say it...you are just too damn polite and diplomatic..I’m Guyanese..we are direct..so just say it” This kind of directness makes some of the street commentary you overhear more understandable and even culturally acceptable. They just calls it as they sees it, so hence terms such as “fat boy” “white girl” “blondie”…etc. The best example of this is of a lovely redhead Australian VSO who was infamously called “white man belly sweat” on his first day in country.
I am slowly adapting to living and working in a very different culture. The unfamiliar experience of being a minority, a foreigner, the one whose ways are wrong and are suspect is at times overwhelming. I have had people tell me to put a slip on, put my hair up, to cycle on the other side of the road, and grab for my bag, and offer all kinds of sincere and kind drive by advice. I have had children gingerly touch my skin apparently in awe at how pale it is and one woman was so shocked to find out that I wasn’t wearing a wig she had to pull my hair repeatedly to believe it was real. I have been called all manner of things and have come to realize that when people call me names they don’t mean to be racist when they yell out “hey whitey” or sexist when they call out “hey baby”..I now know it is just normal behavior here, and well I do stand out. I have also learned which comments are the truly derogatory ones and thankfully they are heard very infrequently. So now instead of being intimidated I often will just wave or smile back no matter what I’m called as what do we all do when we see someone different – we stare right? Most Guyanese I have met besides being direct are curious, fun loving, open, gracious and if asked will offer you good frank advice. Most have treated this foreigner well and I have experienced them making allowances, being understanding and reaching out to me….at work now they are even beginning to tease me – ask me things like have I tried the BBQ’d rat, after my semi hysterical display of fear when a rat was found in the garbage at work.
I think to advance global understanding everyone should live as a minority at some point in their lives to understand just how hard and humbling it can be, how unfamiliar a life can be to what you are used to, how values so different from your own can be discussed in front of you and you know you have to shut the f up…as your values are not better, they are just different. When we can let go of that judgment we will be rewarded when we find each other’s common ground, break down through the stereotypes we have been taught about another culture and understand our shared humanity.
Monday, October 11, 2010
Lots to be thankful for….
A few weeks before Thanksgiving my fellow Canadian VSO and I decide we will host a big party so we can celebrate our national holiday while here in Guyana. We soon have 12 people from six continents, including two vegetarians and one vegan coming for dinner. So how many “live and pluck” chickens will we need? How many pies should we bake?… How will it all turn out?… Well things go like this…
Thursday – I realize I better start cooking pies in advance as my oven is so small. I bike to “Nigels” the elite supermarket that carries expensive imported goods and sure enough they sell canned pumpkin and cream.. for a price!. 8 thousand GD dollars later I have my ingredients, including the makings for vegan tofu pumpkin pie. Whoops I overbought and now am challenged to transport it all home on a bicycle…much maneuvering and swearing later I do successfully tie six cans of pumpkin and six cans of cream to the sides of my bike and balance eight Chinese take out foil containers that I plan to convert to pie pans, in my basket on top of flour, shortening, sugar, and tofu. I spend the night making pie crust.
Friday - Noooo!….My fellow Canadian is sick with the flu and won’t make it to G-Town for the weekend, so I have lost my co-host and am on my own. I am very sad at this news and will miss her company. I must steal up the courage to purchase two “live and pluck” chickens all alone. I have researched where I think the cleanest “shop” is to place my order. So after work I boldly step inside the chosen store and ask for two chickens. It smells strongly like poultry and wet straw (not a particularly nice smell combination)…and oh sweet Jesus I can hear the birds in the back. Welcome to the food chain I think as I nervously await my orders completion. An alarmingly short time later, two large bags are placed in front of me, oh God did one just move…no haha just my imagination; it seems I am a bit jumpy. I am charged 4 thousand GD dollars for two large fat recently alive and freshly plucked chickens, which after the cost of my pie ingredients seems like a bargain. I get them wrapped in newspaper and stuff them in my basket and quickly cycle home in the blazing sun to my salmonella free refrigerator. I wash them in the sink and notice they need a bit more …ahem...plucking. So I set to it and think of my grandmother homesteading on the prairies as I remove a hundred or so quills one by one. Finally I am satisfied and pat them dry, rub on salt and herbs and place them covered with a towel in the fridge awaiting their big day tomorrow. I bake four pies and have to ask my neighbor to store two in her fridge as I am already out of space. It’s Friday night and fellow VSOs are in town for the party and we all go out till late drinking and dancing to celebrate “Thanksgiving Eve”…yay!
Saturday – Party Day!
I get up at six slightly hung over, and notice I have a terrible heat rash, the worst since coming here spreading from chin to knee. I look like a plucked chicken with angry red welts all over…is this “live and plucks” revenge? Itchy and painful rash aside I must start party preparations and quickly bake four more pies including two vegan ones and I’m very thankful for my 11 thousand dollar blender. A friend has spent the night and over coffee she and I make up party games, create giant turkey decorations and write a wall plaque asking “what are you thankful for?” She leaves at noon and there is still much to do for I must haul containers of drinking water upstairs, and then damn it I run out of propane mid pie cooking so must go buy gas and re-hook it up the tank to my stove. Much swearing and maneuvering later I successfully complete a job that is usually more in the male realm of responsibility. Water and gas secured I then hike in the heat over to Sheriff St. to buy adult beverages, my rash burning in the sun. I over-buy and need to take a taxi home, the driver does not offer me any help to unload my ten bags of groceries and sits idly by in his A/C’d cab smoking as I make three trip up to the flat…doesn’t he know its Thanksgiving? The afternoon flies by as I clean the flat, peel potatoes, prepare the live and plucks and on a whim also make a dozen chocolate cupcakes. By 4 pm I am all set with my cupcakes decorated in candy to look like turkeys, 8 pies cooked (vegan and regular), beverages cooling, 2 stuffed chickens set to go in oven, and the flat spotlessly clean, but decide I also need flowers and ice to make things party perfect. With no flower shops within a thousand miles I cycle up to the canal with scissors in hand to “harvest” a few wild lotus flowers. I park my bike with the kickstand and climb down the bank to a wooden board that crosses the canal so I can reach in and cut flowers. This goes really well and I collect a nice bouquet, but then hear a funny noise and look up to see my bike topple over and slide into the canal…F****!!! I rush back across the board and wade into the muddy, slimy, weedy canal water to fish out my bike which has sunk up to the handle bars. A few more seconds and I might never have known what happened to it, I would likely have walked back with my flowers and presumed it stolen. Much swearing and maneuvering later, I am slimy to the knees and my bike is gross but at least I have it. I cycle back slowly with flowers in one hand and my flip flops and bike streaming a muddy trail behind me. I wash my bike off by throwing buckets of water on it and this method gets it pretty clean actually and it even dries quickly in the hot sun. So canal sinking trauma over I then set off once again on the bike this time to buy ice with the goal of getting it back to my freezer before it melts. My basket drips icy water onto my knees as I blast homeward pedaling hard. I am required to do an entire fridge/freezer re-org in order to fit in all the damn ice in as it seems I over bought again. Despite the attrition of how much melted on the return trip, I still have to chop the bags down to make them fit inside the door. Whew…I didn’t plan for ice and flowers to take more than ten minutes so I am now running late and must rush to get my chickens in the oven and shower and clean myself and my ugly rash up. I come out from the shower to discover that the damn lotus flowers have tipped over their juice jar vases and water has spilled everywhere and I must re-do the entire table setting and mop up a huge flood…hmmm…maybe the message here is you shouldn’t steal lotus flowers…they also smell kind of bad.
The party finally starts and we drink, socialize, and have a fabulous feast of channa, curried eggplant, corn fritters, stuffed squash, baked peppers, rice and black beans, fresh fruit and lots more, all on top of my complete traditional thanksgiving dinner featuring the roasted live and pluck chickens. Which turned out very well if I do say so myself, other than the side effect of the oven increasing the mean temperature in the flat to about 50 degrees. The chocolate cupcakes from a mix prove to be much more popular than my home made pie and words are exchanged over who gets the last one. I end up with at least six whole pies un-eaten, apparently in the battle between chocolate and pumpkin there is no contest.
Throughout the night my international party guests fill out the poster sharing what they are thankful for, and besides the ubiquitous loved ones, health, world peace etc. we are thankful in no particular order for: “frozen towels, ice, insecticides, rat poison, karaoke, moth balls, cheap limes, cheap beer, cheap rum, cheap vodka, the swimming pool, umbrellas, plastic bags, mosquito nets, blenders, the VSO library, the spice shop, bus conductors, clean bathrooms (when located), hammocks, cameras, Skype and for each other’s company… And what great company it must be for the last guests leave at 5am… It's a party complete with too much food, inappropriate Christmas and rap music popping out of my iTunes all night, hilarious Dutch party games at 11pm that showcase our cultural deficiencies, second helpings of dessert at midnight, a 3 inch cockroach sighting and it's subsequent squealing slaughter at 1am, drunken dishes at 2am, musical horror movies at 3 am, stinky lotus flowers thrown out at 4am and lots and lots of leftover pumpkin pie for breakfast….. Happy Thanksgiving everyone, there is lots to be thankful for wherever you may be living.
Thursday – I realize I better start cooking pies in advance as my oven is so small. I bike to “Nigels” the elite supermarket that carries expensive imported goods and sure enough they sell canned pumpkin and cream.. for a price!. 8 thousand GD dollars later I have my ingredients, including the makings for vegan tofu pumpkin pie. Whoops I overbought and now am challenged to transport it all home on a bicycle…much maneuvering and swearing later I do successfully tie six cans of pumpkin and six cans of cream to the sides of my bike and balance eight Chinese take out foil containers that I plan to convert to pie pans, in my basket on top of flour, shortening, sugar, and tofu. I spend the night making pie crust.
Friday - Noooo!….My fellow Canadian is sick with the flu and won’t make it to G-Town for the weekend, so I have lost my co-host and am on my own. I am very sad at this news and will miss her company. I must steal up the courage to purchase two “live and pluck” chickens all alone. I have researched where I think the cleanest “shop” is to place my order. So after work I boldly step inside the chosen store and ask for two chickens. It smells strongly like poultry and wet straw (not a particularly nice smell combination)…and oh sweet Jesus I can hear the birds in the back. Welcome to the food chain I think as I nervously await my orders completion. An alarmingly short time later, two large bags are placed in front of me, oh God did one just move…no haha just my imagination; it seems I am a bit jumpy. I am charged 4 thousand GD dollars for two large fat recently alive and freshly plucked chickens, which after the cost of my pie ingredients seems like a bargain. I get them wrapped in newspaper and stuff them in my basket and quickly cycle home in the blazing sun to my salmonella free refrigerator. I wash them in the sink and notice they need a bit more …ahem...plucking. So I set to it and think of my grandmother homesteading on the prairies as I remove a hundred or so quills one by one. Finally I am satisfied and pat them dry, rub on salt and herbs and place them covered with a towel in the fridge awaiting their big day tomorrow. I bake four pies and have to ask my neighbor to store two in her fridge as I am already out of space. It’s Friday night and fellow VSOs are in town for the party and we all go out till late drinking and dancing to celebrate “Thanksgiving Eve”…yay!
Saturday – Party Day!
I get up at six slightly hung over, and notice I have a terrible heat rash, the worst since coming here spreading from chin to knee. I look like a plucked chicken with angry red welts all over…is this “live and plucks” revenge? Itchy and painful rash aside I must start party preparations and quickly bake four more pies including two vegan ones and I’m very thankful for my 11 thousand dollar blender. A friend has spent the night and over coffee she and I make up party games, create giant turkey decorations and write a wall plaque asking “what are you thankful for?” She leaves at noon and there is still much to do for I must haul containers of drinking water upstairs, and then damn it I run out of propane mid pie cooking so must go buy gas and re-hook it up the tank to my stove. Much swearing and maneuvering later I successfully complete a job that is usually more in the male realm of responsibility. Water and gas secured I then hike in the heat over to Sheriff St. to buy adult beverages, my rash burning in the sun. I over-buy and need to take a taxi home, the driver does not offer me any help to unload my ten bags of groceries and sits idly by in his A/C’d cab smoking as I make three trip up to the flat…doesn’t he know its Thanksgiving? The afternoon flies by as I clean the flat, peel potatoes, prepare the live and plucks and on a whim also make a dozen chocolate cupcakes. By 4 pm I am all set with my cupcakes decorated in candy to look like turkeys, 8 pies cooked (vegan and regular), beverages cooling, 2 stuffed chickens set to go in oven, and the flat spotlessly clean, but decide I also need flowers and ice to make things party perfect. With no flower shops within a thousand miles I cycle up to the canal with scissors in hand to “harvest” a few wild lotus flowers. I park my bike with the kickstand and climb down the bank to a wooden board that crosses the canal so I can reach in and cut flowers. This goes really well and I collect a nice bouquet, but then hear a funny noise and look up to see my bike topple over and slide into the canal…F****!!! I rush back across the board and wade into the muddy, slimy, weedy canal water to fish out my bike which has sunk up to the handle bars. A few more seconds and I might never have known what happened to it, I would likely have walked back with my flowers and presumed it stolen. Much swearing and maneuvering later, I am slimy to the knees and my bike is gross but at least I have it. I cycle back slowly with flowers in one hand and my flip flops and bike streaming a muddy trail behind me. I wash my bike off by throwing buckets of water on it and this method gets it pretty clean actually and it even dries quickly in the hot sun. So canal sinking trauma over I then set off once again on the bike this time to buy ice with the goal of getting it back to my freezer before it melts. My basket drips icy water onto my knees as I blast homeward pedaling hard. I am required to do an entire fridge/freezer re-org in order to fit in all the damn ice in as it seems I over bought again. Despite the attrition of how much melted on the return trip, I still have to chop the bags down to make them fit inside the door. Whew…I didn’t plan for ice and flowers to take more than ten minutes so I am now running late and must rush to get my chickens in the oven and shower and clean myself and my ugly rash up. I come out from the shower to discover that the damn lotus flowers have tipped over their juice jar vases and water has spilled everywhere and I must re-do the entire table setting and mop up a huge flood…hmmm…maybe the message here is you shouldn’t steal lotus flowers…they also smell kind of bad.
The party finally starts and we drink, socialize, and have a fabulous feast of channa, curried eggplant, corn fritters, stuffed squash, baked peppers, rice and black beans, fresh fruit and lots more, all on top of my complete traditional thanksgiving dinner featuring the roasted live and pluck chickens. Which turned out very well if I do say so myself, other than the side effect of the oven increasing the mean temperature in the flat to about 50 degrees. The chocolate cupcakes from a mix prove to be much more popular than my home made pie and words are exchanged over who gets the last one. I end up with at least six whole pies un-eaten, apparently in the battle between chocolate and pumpkin there is no contest.
Throughout the night my international party guests fill out the poster sharing what they are thankful for, and besides the ubiquitous loved ones, health, world peace etc. we are thankful in no particular order for: “frozen towels, ice, insecticides, rat poison, karaoke, moth balls, cheap limes, cheap beer, cheap rum, cheap vodka, the swimming pool, umbrellas, plastic bags, mosquito nets, blenders, the VSO library, the spice shop, bus conductors, clean bathrooms (when located), hammocks, cameras, Skype and for each other’s company… And what great company it must be for the last guests leave at 5am… It's a party complete with too much food, inappropriate Christmas and rap music popping out of my iTunes all night, hilarious Dutch party games at 11pm that showcase our cultural deficiencies, second helpings of dessert at midnight, a 3 inch cockroach sighting and it's subsequent squealing slaughter at 1am, drunken dishes at 2am, musical horror movies at 3 am, stinky lotus flowers thrown out at 4am and lots and lots of leftover pumpkin pie for breakfast….. Happy Thanksgiving everyone, there is lots to be thankful for wherever you may be living.
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
A Morning Jog in the Park
I wake up to the rooster’s crow; it is just before five am and still dark outside. As soon as the roosters start it is open season for all the birds, lizards, monkeys and dogs in the neighborhoods to join in. A cacophony of sound explodes and no alarm clock is necessary. I roll over and slide out from under the mosquito net, use my cold water bathroom facilities and get dressed in my running clothes. As I head down my block I see my neighbor loading water into a truck, and few folks out on bicycles carrying tools, baskets, food and vending carts heading off to work, some recognize me and wave, other simply stare at my differentness. If I am lucky when I get to the end of my block I will see the goat herder bringing down his flock of at least 200 goats and kids, right down the middle of the four lane road that is usually snarled with traffic. They are a spectacle of bleating happy animals all bumping and grinding into each other some still hopefully try to mount the other as they are gently herded with what appears to be nothing more than a swatch of branches by a teen herder who looks very confident in his massive gumboots. This early in the morning the roads are still quiet enough for livestock to pass and the opportunity to move the herds to grazing grounds for the day is taken. The air is cool, sweet and it feels like running in a hot house, breathing in and out a moist warm air that would be perfect for growing tomatoes in. I get up to the main intersection, turn left and start to run along the canal past the army barracks, every other day they are out doing calisthenics on the road side in their full heavy fatigues, berets, boots and weapons and look so overheated. They call out as I run by…”go whitey”…”nice legs auntie”…”faster” etc.I wave which makes them laugh and keep going. The canal is active with jumping catfish, bouncing red dragon flies and alert predatory birds. There are three different kinds of herons and beautiful red lily walkers, all fishing for breakfast while overhead the falcons swoop for the rats. The giant lotus flowers open up to the first morning light and astound me each and every time with their size and beauty, the canal is full of them. Most mornings a group of organized cycling aficionados, storm past on their way out to the long road out of town, they even have helmets and spandex on and appear to sneer smugly at me a mere runner as they fly by in perfect unison. I turn past a boarded up old dance hall and pass through the rusty once grand gates into the entrance of the national park and wave to the security guard who has just unlocked the park sharply at 530am. On my left there is an albino horse that is almost unicorn like in presence that grazes near the entrance and ignores my hellos and continues to eat with a regal stance. Whose magical looking horse is this I wonder or does he just live there free range, a magic apparition for all to enjoy. I see the few others that are out this early, up and active in the park, some doing stretches on the ancient metal rings and bars and others walking or running. I turn right and head past the soccer fields and some mornings there is already a practice going on with several people out yelling, playing loud music, eating and drinking. I keep right and head past the deserted family picnic area towards the mangrove swamps and lagoon. I pass over the wooden bridge, wind down to the lagoon and stop to feed the wild manatees. It is the half way point in my run and I am drenched in sweat. I sit by the lagoon and whistle to the manatees, most days they come to the shore with their primitive leather faces questioningly looking up at you for some fresh grass, which they then eat out of your hand as gently as being tickled by a whisker. I can tell some of them apart now as I stroke their massive gentle faces. I get a thrill to the marrow at these creatures and their peaceful presence and seeming desire for human interaction. In Guyana there is a myth that if you fall into the sea a Manatee will save you by bringing you to the surface which feels totally believable when I sit beside them. I say goodbye and welcome the beauty of the sunrise through the trees as I feel the temperature increase and watch the sky get brighter. More people are out in the park now as I pick up the pace and head towards the centre of the park. I pass people and get passed in turn, some say hello or “gad marning” some do not, I simply nod to everyone and continue to run. I round the bend and see the sprinters out at work in the middle track. The Guyana national team practices here and it is amazing to see their long lean legs blasting forward from each whistle prompt. I round the corner and run back towards the road along the inner canal beneath the beautiful overhanging shade tress that are alive with birds and insects. Sometimes there are palomino horses grazing near here and always there are parrots up in the trees welcoming the day with loud squawking shrieks. Occasionally a giant frog will eagerly cross my path on his way to the canal. The water lilies here are smaller and more like Monet’s garden, heavily laden with picture perfect white flowers that cover the entire surface of the water. As I get back to the entrance gates a few hopeful snack vendors are now vying for position as they set up with their wares of candy, juice, sweets and beer. The sun is now out in full strength and it is going to be another warm day. I run down Albert Street past the private schools and see grazing horses tied to their work carts, and several wild dogs eating food that has been kindly left out for them in old foam containers. I get back to the busy four lane street I started out at; it’s an hour later and it's now full of traffic, blaring horns and care needs to be taken to cross safely. The goats and cattle are long gone, the beautiful pink quiet of the morning is lost, the heat is back and the smells of diesel, garbage and fried food start to fill the air as I make my way back to my flat to start another day in Guyana.
Friday, September 17, 2010
Eating and Drinking – Guyanese Style
In North America, the current culinary buzz words are local, fresh, organic, 100 mile diet, home grown, and sustainable. All of these attributes apply to the food items available in Guyana except without any of the “bon appétit” stylized hype. What they do have to eat here is fresh, plentiful and defiantly home grown, sustainable, fresh, local etc. etc. even if the range is somewhat limited for my spoiled palate. As bit of a self professed “foodie” I like to rise to the challenge and cook from the local products rather than focus on what they don’t have...like cheese, wine, sushi, tiramisu, chocolate, butter, granola, yogurt, and…sigh…coffee.Food shopping is daily occurrence with most of it done at low rent style street vendors and insanely busy outdoor markets. So what’s for sale here? Well the fruit is all tropical, fresh and plentiful. Mini bananas and water melons (like the ones sold in whole foods for mega bucks) are so cheap they are practically free. They have large long tapered pineapples for well under $2.00 that are sweet and less acidic than the imports we get in Canada, succulent red fleshed papayas as large as house cats hang in mesh bags, plump limes are about 25 cents a bagful. Also plentiful are “gimbits” a kind of a sour lychee nut, fresh passion fruit, coconuts, guavas, star fruit and mangos and avocados in season. You can sometimes also find apples, pears and grapes all imported oddly not from near by Chile but from far away New Zealand. I have broken down and bought a few pricey apples as I really miss them. Vegetable wise they have nice tight crispy little cabbages perfect for one person slaws and stir-frys, herbs or what they call “seasonin” which is large bunches of fresh thyme, chives, and basil (amusingly called married man in a poke) that are combined less than a dollar and smell divine. They sell a lot of what they call “ground provisions” which is cassava, sweet potato, plantains and “alloo” (or what I would say are small yellow potatoes) Ground provisions are eaten cooked up with rice, called not surprisingly “cook up-rice”, as a mash or even cooked into breads. I have gained a strong liking and appreciation for plantains, which are very good for you and here are sold as chips (green or yellow) cooked like wedgie fries and served with fiery pepper sauce or ketchup. Both sauces incidentally are just left out on counters in the blazing sun, but perhaps I have gained immunity to this strain of salmonella bacteria by now. They have fiery cherry bomb peppers that are hot as hades, a relative of the infamous scotch bonnet pepper proven to be the hottest pepper on earth. I accidentally ate half of one these babies whole in a curry...and HELLO!...ok we won’t discuss the aftermath of that incident. They also sell eggplants, nice little vine tomatoes, some woody carrots, cucumbers that are actually fat pickling cukes, absolutely lovely little onions, fragrant garlic, long string beans and I do mean long,….like a yard long, and giant squash the size of microwave ovens that they hack up with machetes and sell in pieces as “pumpkin”. Not much in the way of greens except for some wild spinach they call callaloo, which is kind of a weedy tasting, and better cooked than raw and that’s about it. Any imported vegetable sits insipid and expensive in the coolers of the higher end grocery stores. Fish, eggs and chicken are sold fresh....perhaps even too fresh! You can get...ahem “live and pluck” chicken and duck, and any fish you buy is usually still moving around. None of the names or types are familiar to me, even though I once worked at a fish market on Granville Island names like ”bangamary” “skake” and the so called “trout” which look a lot like mean little catfish which I fear come right from the bottom of the filthy canals, “shark”, which seem to be indeed mini sharks, ferocious brown crabs sold tied together on strings…looking very alive and ready to fight you from their death row perch, “snapper” which look nothing like snappers I’ve known more like pike or pickerel. Mostly I just point hopefully and chose them by size and they will always gut, scale, de head and filet them for you for no extra charge. A whole fish runs about $ 2.50 Cad. Quite a different price than the $50 – $70 you might pay in Canada for a whole salmon! There is a local chicken producer that sells frozen chicken in grocery stores...but all other meats here scare the hell out of me...dog meat, goat, wild monkey, iguana, turtle, paddo or bush meat, cow face, cowheel....are all wa-haay outside of my comfort zone. My vegetarian roots have come back in full swing and thankfully due to the Hindu and Rastafarian cultures here there are lots of good options including good soy proteins and legumes. They grow beautiful sugar, rice and they are disgustingly cheap and very good. Canned goods while plentiful are not that cheap and you will pay though the nose for anything imported. Butter when I finally found it was about $17 for a lb, frozen berries the same, canned olives about $12, a bottle of cheap Chilean wine that might be $8 in Canada is about $50 here...yikes!..on a $200 a month salary that’s rather out of my price range, yet a 40 ounce bottle of Absolut vodka is a mere $22. They produce a local beer called “Banks” and it is widely consumed and available everywhere including on the street, sold semi warm from coolers. The other popular drink is of course rum (it’s considered the Caribbean here even if you are in South America) El Dorado is their local brand which is proudly proclaimed to be “the best rum in the world”. Have you ever noticed all rums seem to lay claim that that title? The 15 yr old rum you can sip like scotch apparently. Sadly not being much of a rum or beer drinker I can’t comment on the merits of either national drink. I’m at a loss in a world without wine, scotch or martinis but I have discovered a nice little Trinidadian drink called lemon lime and bitters which is delicious on it own and just happens to pair very nicely with the reasonably priced Absolut vodka. They produce a nice local mineral water and have lots of fresh juices, punches and iced teas. So you know what I have been drinking…how about what I have been eating and cooking. Well lots of curries, channa (chickpeas) vegetarian stews and fried rices, poached fish, occasionally some chicken, plantains, cabbage salads, roti (homemade) yes I grew a foot as a cook when I mastered this, panneer (a vegetarian cheese) lots of fresh fruit, soy milk smoothies and …sigh..instant coffee. Rumor has it that some real coffee is on its way down to me…yay and thanks! Once or twice a week I do treat myself and go to the only coffee bar in town for a latte and croissant...(ahhh! just like France…ok not so much…but still good) Sadly my wallet won’t allow this to be more than an occasional indulgence. Somehow without trying I appear to be losing weight on this diet as my clothes are all loose. Some attribute this to the constant state of sweating but I think it is due to the lack of butter, chocolate cheese and wine, my four favourite food groups.
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