Filling a bag of groceries in Guyana isn’t like loading a cart full of goodies at Whole Foods. Similar to shopping in Manhattan, you purchase only what you can carry. And, no, you don’t have the option to pay for delivery to your front door. There are a limited number of grocery stores in town, but they tend to overcharge for most items, so I’ve learned to do most of my shopping at the market. The market can be wonderful fun. It’s a colorful scene filled with ripe tropical fruits and rich green vegetables displayed on wooden stands over a carpet of sewage water and litter. The experience isn’t quite a leisurely stroll through a farmer’s market. Every vendor regardless of their gender shouts, “Hey baby, what you shopping for?” If you stop and chat for a bit, you find that sometimes they can be very friendly and generous. Other times, they just want to continue marketing.
Each trip can be a grab bag. Here are a few of my experiences fresh off the market so anyone who might want to check out the market will be better able to.
- Sometimes you feel like a celebrity. “Look, it’s Bruce Lee’s daughter.”
- Sometimes you feel like you’re blessed with good genes when walking with other volunteers. “Hey! White and Chinee make beautiful babies!”
- Sometimes you feel a sense of security after being grabbed by a strange man. “Girl you walking too close to the bus.”
- Sometimes you feel like you’re in Baskin Robbins “You never eat this before? Here taste it”
- Sometimes you feel like you belong, “You Guyanese? You sound like Guyanese”
- Sometimes you don’t. (me) “I just got tomatoes at that stand for $200.” (Guyanese shopper) “No girl. She only charged me $140.”
- Sometimes you feel like they think you’re a sucker. (me) “How much for two?” (vendor quickly packs 4 in a bag) “This, only $200.”
- Sometimes you are. (vendor) “Look. I saved all the good mangoes for you.” (me) “But, some are all bruised up.” (vendor) “Mangoes scarce now. Ya want it?” (me) “(sigh) Fine.”
Friday, May 25, 2007
Sunday, May 20, 2007
Photo Dump
It’s been a while since I’ve just posted pictures, so here's a random collection for your viewing pleasure.
Most people want to be an “after,” unless you’re a worn volunteer tote that’s endured a year of sun, sweat and abuse. I still carry around the smelly used one. This Friday my roommate forced me to trash my favorite pair of flip flops because it had a hole in the bottom. I may have possibly sunk to a new low.
Don’t pee in the shower. It's not pleasant for the next person. 
A lesson on how to take notes when you don’t have a desk.
One of my favorite primary school students, Shaqueille. He’s a bit shy, but so tiny you could roll him up and put him in your pocket.
The skyline over the Caribbean Sea.
Friday, May 11, 2007
Stalling on a Shitty Situation
We’re in the last term of the year, and I was excited to see my students again after an extended Easter break. The first day back, I walked onto the compound to have students warmly greet me, ask how I spent my holiday and why my legs were so ugly, with a blanket of bug bites. “Miss, ya know about spray?” It’s good to be back. In the afternoon, I approached the Headmaster and inquired about the broken septic tanks that caused the school to close a bit earlier. “I went away for break, Miss, and forgot about it and nobody came to fix them.” Ok, well that makes sense: if you leave and don’t call anyone, no one would come.
The conditions have now escalated to the point that the students and faculty, including a pregnant teacher, can’t use the bathroom. The stench was also beginning to get unbearable. This isn’t the only problem with the school’s facilities. The stairs were so weak that a student had stepped a bit too hard and pieces of concrete debris fell on a female student’s head.
Week 1
On Tuesday, the Senior Master called an impromptu assembly after school. The Senior Master tells the students if they want change, they can take a stand by not coming to school. Then he declares that none of the teachers will teach until the problem is rectified.
I walked home with a few students and ask them if they plan on attending school tomorrow. Most of them said yes because they didn’t understand the concept of going on strike. Funny because we discussed trade unions and strikes last term. I’m such a great teacher.
Not much happened the rest of the week. Every time someone needed to use the facilities, they were sent home.
Week 2
The parents finally mobilized on Wednesday and bolted down every single door of the school with two by fours, then padlocked the front gate. About a dozen or so concerned parents stood out under the unrelenting sun, sheltering themselves beneath parasols, and holding up protest signs each time a vehicle passed. A few entrepreneurial students came around and sold icicles (flavored ice) to them. Actually they were my little genius students who did that. They don’t understand strikes, but they know how to make an extra buck. Good work. Since the teachers were evicted from the compound by the parents, they had no choice but to gather around the shop across the street, staring at and discussing the situation. The Teacher’s Union had instructed them to remain sitting across the street each day until further notice.
One of the parents called the media, which came hours later to expose the deplorable conditions: derelict wooden steps, piles of unburned garbage, numerous termite nests, rusty water tanks, lack of fencing (where the children just run out through the back instead of going to class), damaged and smashed toilets, and of course the ruptured leaking septic tanks. The piece was picked up by the other news stations (and by “stations” I mean the other one).
The Ministry of Education finally takes notice and says everything will be fixed over the weekend.
Week 3
During rainy season, everything gets delayed. We go to school on Monday to see the work unfinished and the gates still padlocked. The Ministry spends the rest of the week slowly and shoddily rebuilding a few of the critical items on the demand list. They also want to cut costs by trying to get prisoners to clean the school.
Week 4
School can finally resume! 5th Formers are supposed to take the CXCs during the month of May. This is probably the most important exam of their Secondary School career, a good score leading to the opportunity of a more promising future. Our 5th formers haven’t had the past month to prepare due to the school’s conditions and are planning on taking the exams starting this week. Since our school is too small to house all the students while the 5th formers are given sufficient space to test, many of them are asked to go home. We walk in on Monday to inquire about the schedule.
Me: Sir, I hear that there is a lot of testing going on in May and June. How will this affect my timetable?
Senior Master: Yes, well Miss is working on a Calendar of Events. There will be many days when you cannot teach.
Me: Can I see the calendar? When will it be done?
Senior Master: When she has finished writing it.
Right. Why did I even bother asking such a silly question.
On a side note, someone please give me a new job. I come back in August and I’ll work anywhere where the toilets are in working order.
The conditions have now escalated to the point that the students and faculty, including a pregnant teacher, can’t use the bathroom. The stench was also beginning to get unbearable. This isn’t the only problem with the school’s facilities. The stairs were so weak that a student had stepped a bit too hard and pieces of concrete debris fell on a female student’s head.
Week 1
On Tuesday, the Senior Master called an impromptu assembly after school. The Senior Master tells the students if they want change, they can take a stand by not coming to school. Then he declares that none of the teachers will teach until the problem is rectified.
I walked home with a few students and ask them if they plan on attending school tomorrow. Most of them said yes because they didn’t understand the concept of going on strike. Funny because we discussed trade unions and strikes last term. I’m such a great teacher.
Not much happened the rest of the week. Every time someone needed to use the facilities, they were sent home.
Week 2
The parents finally mobilized on Wednesday and bolted down every single door of the school with two by fours, then padlocked the front gate. About a dozen or so concerned parents stood out under the unrelenting sun, sheltering themselves beneath parasols, and holding up protest signs each time a vehicle passed. A few entrepreneurial students came around and sold icicles (flavored ice) to them. Actually they were my little genius students who did that. They don’t understand strikes, but they know how to make an extra buck. Good work. Since the teachers were evicted from the compound by the parents, they had no choice but to gather around the shop across the street, staring at and discussing the situation. The Teacher’s Union had instructed them to remain sitting across the street each day until further notice.
One of the parents called the media, which came hours later to expose the deplorable conditions: derelict wooden steps, piles of unburned garbage, numerous termite nests, rusty water tanks, lack of fencing (where the children just run out through the back instead of going to class), damaged and smashed toilets, and of course the ruptured leaking septic tanks. The piece was picked up by the other news stations (and by “stations” I mean the other one).
The Ministry of Education finally takes notice and says everything will be fixed over the weekend.
Week 3
During rainy season, everything gets delayed. We go to school on Monday to see the work unfinished and the gates still padlocked. The Ministry spends the rest of the week slowly and shoddily rebuilding a few of the critical items on the demand list. They also want to cut costs by trying to get prisoners to clean the school.
Week 4
School can finally resume! 5th Formers are supposed to take the CXCs during the month of May. This is probably the most important exam of their Secondary School career, a good score leading to the opportunity of a more promising future. Our 5th formers haven’t had the past month to prepare due to the school’s conditions and are planning on taking the exams starting this week. Since our school is too small to house all the students while the 5th formers are given sufficient space to test, many of them are asked to go home. We walk in on Monday to inquire about the schedule.
Me: Sir, I hear that there is a lot of testing going on in May and June. How will this affect my timetable?
Senior Master: Yes, well Miss is working on a Calendar of Events. There will be many days when you cannot teach.
Me: Can I see the calendar? When will it be done?
Senior Master: When she has finished writing it.
Right. Why did I even bother asking such a silly question.
On a side note, someone please give me a new job. I come back in August and I’ll work anywhere where the toilets are in working order.
Sunday, April 29, 2007
Adaptation
There are four stages that people experience when adjusting to a new culture. Each stage is marked by a different set of emotions and reactions to a given situation. Near the beginning of our stay in Guyana, my roommate and I would proclaim to each other in bouts of frustration, “I’m in Stage 2 right now!” But now long gone are the days when we characterize ourselves in terms of the culture curve. That was until one afternoon we were standing on the side of the road, and a man crossed over waving at us. His face looked somewhat familiar, but I didn’t know who he was. Without hesitation, I pleasantly acknowledged his greeting by responding in typical Guyanese fashion “All right, all right,” a gesture that might be received as dismissive in the States. My roommate began to giggle and I curiously looked at her, completely unaware of anything peculiar. She then turned to me and exclaimed, “Yvonne! You’re in Stage 4.” I had finally made it. I reflected back on all the events that led me to this point and decided to illustrate each stage using a bathroom theme as a tribute to the non-functioning ones at our school.
Stage 1: Initial Euphoria (The Honeymoon Phase)- everything is wonderful, new and exciting
- Upon arriving to the country, we stayed at dorms with only occasional running water. Learning to flush a toilet by fetching a bucket of water made me feel self sufficient. Look, I’m roughing it now!
Stage 2: Irritation and Hostility (Culture Shock)- differences between the two cultures are abundant and troubling
- After a week of living in Guyana, I flushed a toilet and a frog jumped out at me. I shrieked in terror and bolted out of the bathroom. Why would anyone want to make a home in the toilet?
- A few months later, I encountered my first concrete outhouse. Since I was never taught how to pee on a flat floor, I didn’t do so well. It was the first time I left an outhouse not feeling relieved.
Stage 3: Gradual Adjustment- adjusting begins but may not come naturally, ability to better interpret differences
- When using the bathroom at school, I always have to tell a teacher to keep a watch out for me since the stalls are too tiny to close. No, my fat ass doesn’t fit. As I was walking to the stall, I saw a flattened dead rat. I lightly gasped, but then just stepped right over it.
- It was dark and I was in the middle of a dirt parking lot with no toilet nearby. My best bet at this point was to hide behind a tree. I found the shrubbiest tree and took shelter behind it. I was content with the hidden spot I found until two bright headlights switched on and I froze, completely helpless to do anything.
Stage 4: Adaptation and Bi-Culturalism- cultural appropriate behavior comes naturally
- Driving through the savannah means no trees to duck behind when you need to go. We pulled over and I found a spot near some tall-ish grass. Luckily the roads were empty and everyone in our vehicle gave me privacy. But as I stood to pull up my pants, a large tourist truck drove by right next to me. Good thing I’ll never see them again and at least this isn’t the States where I would get arrested for public urination.
- We were passing through Brazil when we came upon a rest stop. I jumped up to use the bathroom when another volunteer warned me that the stalls didn’t have doors on them. I shrugged, grabbed my toilet paper and took off. I’ve flashed enough people this past year, a few more wouldn’t harm.
Stage 1: Initial Euphoria (The Honeymoon Phase)- everything is wonderful, new and exciting
- Upon arriving to the country, we stayed at dorms with only occasional running water. Learning to flush a toilet by fetching a bucket of water made me feel self sufficient. Look, I’m roughing it now!
Stage 2: Irritation and Hostility (Culture Shock)- differences between the two cultures are abundant and troubling
- After a week of living in Guyana, I flushed a toilet and a frog jumped out at me. I shrieked in terror and bolted out of the bathroom. Why would anyone want to make a home in the toilet?
- A few months later, I encountered my first concrete outhouse. Since I was never taught how to pee on a flat floor, I didn’t do so well. It was the first time I left an outhouse not feeling relieved.
Stage 3: Gradual Adjustment- adjusting begins but may not come naturally, ability to better interpret differences
- When using the bathroom at school, I always have to tell a teacher to keep a watch out for me since the stalls are too tiny to close. No, my fat ass doesn’t fit. As I was walking to the stall, I saw a flattened dead rat. I lightly gasped, but then just stepped right over it.
- It was dark and I was in the middle of a dirt parking lot with no toilet nearby. My best bet at this point was to hide behind a tree. I found the shrubbiest tree and took shelter behind it. I was content with the hidden spot I found until two bright headlights switched on and I froze, completely helpless to do anything.
Stage 4: Adaptation and Bi-Culturalism- cultural appropriate behavior comes naturally
- Driving through the savannah means no trees to duck behind when you need to go. We pulled over and I found a spot near some tall-ish grass. Luckily the roads were empty and everyone in our vehicle gave me privacy. But as I stood to pull up my pants, a large tourist truck drove by right next to me. Good thing I’ll never see them again and at least this isn’t the States where I would get arrested for public urination.
- We were passing through Brazil when we came upon a rest stop. I jumped up to use the bathroom when another volunteer warned me that the stalls didn’t have doors on them. I shrugged, grabbed my toilet paper and took off. I’ve flashed enough people this past year, a few more wouldn’t harm.
A Running Problem
One of my favorite things to do in Guyana is to go running… and no, I don’t mean running after ice cream trucks or delinquent school children. I gave that up for lent. Going for a jog is my opportunity to escape for some peace and solitude and also enjoy one of the most scenic paths of nature. Of course I am not always alone in my run. For instance, the same ugly dogs attack me every time I pass a particular house, or a man with a camera blatantly films me even after I ask him not to, or the Village Crazy approaches me brushing the dirt(y sweat) off my shoulders with his fingers.
One afternoon I was jogging in the usual sand lot when I came upon a student who used to attend my school that was also searching for tranquility. At first she sat quietly breathing in the silence, but on my second lap she decided to take me up on my offer and join the run. I asked her what she was doing here alone, and she responded saying she had problems to escape from. We jogged at a slow pace for about 300 meters when she stopped to put her shoes back on and started walking. Normally I would have continued my run in order to beat the rapidly setting sun, but I sensed there was something deeply troubling her, so I decided to walk alongside the 16-year-old girl.
Me: So, your problems you mentioned… would you like to talk about them?
Student: Well Miss, I’m the only girl in my family and it’s a big problem.
Me: Yeah? How so?
Student: Well I’m surrounded by boys and they take advantage of me. It started when I was 12 and a teacher told me to go over to his house for lessons. I went over for help and he… you know… felt me up. I was too frightened to tell anyone. Then a couple years later my cousin did it me. And my neighbor did it too. I didn’t want to tell anyone, but finally told his wife. She was the only one that believed me. She said it sounded like something her husband would do.…….I had a sister you know. She died when she was 9 months old and sometimes I wish it could have been me. What’s wrong with me that people keep doing this to me?
As she continued to describe even more occurrences, my heart sank a little more, and my anger at the incidences compounded. I knew I couldn’t advise her to go to the police since these issues are too widespread here and no proper actions would be taken. For example, there’s an older staff member at our school who has often been linked to various Primary and Secondary female students. He happened to be caught in one of the incidences and thrown behind bars for less than a week, only to return to the school and continue his pedophiliac ways.
My reaction at the moment was to empower her to not stand for anymore sleazy disgusting men, and urge her to tell someone else she could trust. I’m not sure if my words made an impact, and that thought haunted me for the next few days. I didn’t know where this girl lived and I didn’t know whether I would see her again. In the classroom, as difficult as it is to get through to the children, I know I’m at least doing something. This was the first time I felt completely powerless to help a student in need. The only thing I could think of was to write about it.
One afternoon I was jogging in the usual sand lot when I came upon a student who used to attend my school that was also searching for tranquility. At first she sat quietly breathing in the silence, but on my second lap she decided to take me up on my offer and join the run. I asked her what she was doing here alone, and she responded saying she had problems to escape from. We jogged at a slow pace for about 300 meters when she stopped to put her shoes back on and started walking. Normally I would have continued my run in order to beat the rapidly setting sun, but I sensed there was something deeply troubling her, so I decided to walk alongside the 16-year-old girl.
Me: So, your problems you mentioned… would you like to talk about them?
Student: Well Miss, I’m the only girl in my family and it’s a big problem.
Me: Yeah? How so?
Student: Well I’m surrounded by boys and they take advantage of me. It started when I was 12 and a teacher told me to go over to his house for lessons. I went over for help and he… you know… felt me up. I was too frightened to tell anyone. Then a couple years later my cousin did it me. And my neighbor did it too. I didn’t want to tell anyone, but finally told his wife. She was the only one that believed me. She said it sounded like something her husband would do.…….I had a sister you know. She died when she was 9 months old and sometimes I wish it could have been me. What’s wrong with me that people keep doing this to me?
As she continued to describe even more occurrences, my heart sank a little more, and my anger at the incidences compounded. I knew I couldn’t advise her to go to the police since these issues are too widespread here and no proper actions would be taken. For example, there’s an older staff member at our school who has often been linked to various Primary and Secondary female students. He happened to be caught in one of the incidences and thrown behind bars for less than a week, only to return to the school and continue his pedophiliac ways.
My reaction at the moment was to empower her to not stand for anymore sleazy disgusting men, and urge her to tell someone else she could trust. I’m not sure if my words made an impact, and that thought haunted me for the next few days. I didn’t know where this girl lived and I didn’t know whether I would see her again. In the classroom, as difficult as it is to get through to the children, I know I’m at least doing something. This was the first time I felt completely powerless to help a student in need. The only thing I could think of was to write about it.
Sunday, April 22, 2007
Rodeo Drive
Blogger's Note: Many apologies for the extreme delay in posts. After my South American travels and a bit of a hectic homecoming week, I didn’t get a chance to write a proper entry. Anyway, this post is quite lengthy so if you want, you can just skip all the words and look at the pretty pictures. Also, for anyone that cares, the septic tanks at school are still broken. If I come home with some a horrible disease, we’ll all know why. (Just kidding Mom, I already had my vaccinations.)
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I took the opportunity over Easter break to travel a bit since there were parts of Guyana and South America I still hadn’t seen. The plan was to head to a quiet border town called Lethem for the Rupununi Rodeo, then over to Brazil and up to Venezuela.
Being a volunteer (and/or Asian) means two things when traveling: 1) carry a loaf of bread with you so you don’t have to actually purchase meals, and 2) use the cheapest form of transportation possible. In this case, it meant we had to travel by the retiring beaten busses that the neighboring Brazilians didn’t want anymore.
We had been warned by many about the lengthy uncomfortable ride with no air conditioning or toilets. The actual travel time is 12 hours, but can often stretch to 22 grueling hours depending on if you travel over the dirt roads during rainy or dry season. We were packed in claustrophobia-inducing seats with leg room that made flying coach feel like first class. Good thing I’m short, which means shorter legs and about an inch more space to breathe. I was assigned a window seat under the leaky roof, which splattered icy rain drops on me wearing off the drowsiness effect of my Dramamine. Luckily we had just ended the paved road portion of our ride and were entering the rocky dirt road. The bumpiness agitated my nausea even more, so I popped another Dramamine and soon enough fell asleep.
The best of part of the intermittent sleep was that every time I awoke, I felt like I had entered an entirely different country. First I was surrounded by tall thick canopy of trees in the rainforest, then shorter sparsely placed shrubs, then a peacefully flat savannah with a backdrop of rolling green hills, and finally the tall blue mountains.
(l) The red dirt road through the forest
(r) Blue skies and clear savannah
Halfway upon reaching our destination, we needed to cross the Essequibo River. The driver scantily woke up the sleeping passengers and forced everyone off the bus. In order for the bus to cross the river, it had to back itself onto a ferry, or what looked more like a small wooden raft. The driver explained to us naïve Americans that the bus has previously overturned in this process and for safety purposes asked us to stand by and watch.
I was woken up by the oppressive stale air when we encountered our next delay. A truck had fallen into the ditch and our bus driver had stopped to assist in the dilemma. As I got off the bus for some air, I had my own dilemma of needing to use facilities in the middle of the open savannah. Unfortunately I was surrounded by multiple other vehicles and men who were aiding with the overturned truck. I decided to save the chagrin for another day (which little to my knowledge at the time would have probably been one of the lesser humiliating moments throughout the trip), and eagerly awaited our arrival in Lethem.
We finally pulled into the small friendly town after 18 hours of magic, walked 25 minutes carrying our heavy baggage and happily greeted the Lethem volunteers we hadn’t seen since Christmas break.
(l) Yeah, this is safe.
(r) And apparently so is this.
------------------------------------------------------------
Since Lethem sits on the border between Guyana and Brazil, it’s influenced by Brazilian culture, music, and food. Reggae was left behind at the coast as we entered an atmosphere surrounded by Forro (pronounced “foe-haw”) music dominated by Brazilian artist Pepe Moreno. Sour, a peppery mango condiment, was replaced by starchy tasteless farine. Aromatic grilled meat on skewers filled the air and any personal claims I had of being a moderate vegetarian would immediately be dispelled upon entering the Rodeo grounds.
Once we made it to Rodeo, a twinge of Texas nostalgia overcame me with country music echoing in the background and Brazilian cowboys with big belt buckles riding barefoot in stirrups. Cowboy hats decorated many heads that passed by. There were plenty of drinks to go around, especially the dangerously delicious and highly intoxicating caprihinas. By nightfall, the dark sky was dusted with the brightest twinkling lights I had ever seen and I was surrounded by drunken white people- yup, I’m definitely back at home. The only thing missing was funnel cake and overusing the word “y’all”.
Rodeo continued for two days, with events such as bull riding, catching a greasy pig, and tug of war (dumb foreigners and over-dressed coastlanders vs. locals and non-English speaking Brazilians). I’m pretty sure the locals always win.
(l) Can't even get away from the advertising in Lethem.
(r) He lasted less than 10 seconds. Not bad for an untrained cowboy.
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After a long weekend of indulging in tasty meat on sticks and delicious hot dogs that would put Gray’s Papaya to shame, I swore off meat until I was tempted again in Venezuela. It was now time to leave the red dirt roads behind, pack up our hammocks and cross the river to Brazil. Since the blog is titled Adventures in Guyana, I’ll give brief highlights of the two countries.
Boa Vista, Brazil:
- Scooped and topped our own ice-cream and purchased it by the kilo. Genius! I’m surprised no one in New York has come up with this concept yet.
- Best greasy pressed sandwiches ever. (Seriously, how can Brazilians be so thin?)
- Bathrooms don’t have doors on them.
- Still can’t speak Portuguese.
Santa Elena, Venezuela:
- Toured through Gran Sabana where they filmed Jurassic Park.
- Hiked through the forest, swam in the waterfalls, whitewater rafted and body rafted down the river. Minimal scars and bruises acquired.
- Eaten alive by black flies making the mosquitoes in Soesdyke look like friendly pests.
- Still can’t speak Spanish.
(l) A view from the top of a waterfall
(r) Walking to take a dip in another waterfall
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After falling in love all over again with nature, it was time to head back. In totality, the bus rides from Venezuela to Brazil and through Guyana took over 30 hours. After traveling for two full days, each bus increasingly less tolerable and each road bumpier, we finally made it back home. I was exhausted, had only $10 dollars left in my pocket to sustain me for the next week and a half, but gained a profound piece of insight from the trip: when traveling long distances with no toilets or privacy, always remember to wear a skirt.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
I took the opportunity over Easter break to travel a bit since there were parts of Guyana and South America I still hadn’t seen. The plan was to head to a quiet border town called Lethem for the Rupununi Rodeo, then over to Brazil and up to Venezuela.
Being a volunteer (and/or Asian) means two things when traveling: 1) carry a loaf of bread with you so you don’t have to actually purchase meals, and 2) use the cheapest form of transportation possible. In this case, it meant we had to travel by the retiring beaten busses that the neighboring Brazilians didn’t want anymore.
We had been warned by many about the lengthy uncomfortable ride with no air conditioning or toilets. The actual travel time is 12 hours, but can often stretch to 22 grueling hours depending on if you travel over the dirt roads during rainy or dry season. We were packed in claustrophobia-inducing seats with leg room that made flying coach feel like first class. Good thing I’m short, which means shorter legs and about an inch more space to breathe. I was assigned a window seat under the leaky roof, which splattered icy rain drops on me wearing off the drowsiness effect of my Dramamine. Luckily we had just ended the paved road portion of our ride and were entering the rocky dirt road. The bumpiness agitated my nausea even more, so I popped another Dramamine and soon enough fell asleep.
The best of part of the intermittent sleep was that every time I awoke, I felt like I had entered an entirely different country. First I was surrounded by tall thick canopy of trees in the rainforest, then shorter sparsely placed shrubs, then a peacefully flat savannah with a backdrop of rolling green hills, and finally the tall blue mountains.
(l) The red dirt road through the forest
(r) Blue skies and clear savannah
Halfway upon reaching our destination, we needed to cross the Essequibo River. The driver scantily woke up the sleeping passengers and forced everyone off the bus. In order for the bus to cross the river, it had to back itself onto a ferry, or what looked more like a small wooden raft. The driver explained to us naïve Americans that the bus has previously overturned in this process and for safety purposes asked us to stand by and watch.
I was woken up by the oppressive stale air when we encountered our next delay. A truck had fallen into the ditch and our bus driver had stopped to assist in the dilemma. As I got off the bus for some air, I had my own dilemma of needing to use facilities in the middle of the open savannah. Unfortunately I was surrounded by multiple other vehicles and men who were aiding with the overturned truck. I decided to save the chagrin for another day (which little to my knowledge at the time would have probably been one of the lesser humiliating moments throughout the trip), and eagerly awaited our arrival in Lethem.
We finally pulled into the small friendly town after 18 hours of magic, walked 25 minutes carrying our heavy baggage and happily greeted the Lethem volunteers we hadn’t seen since Christmas break.
(l) Yeah, this is safe.
(r) And apparently so is this.
------------------------------------------------------------
Since Lethem sits on the border between Guyana and Brazil, it’s influenced by Brazilian culture, music, and food. Reggae was left behind at the coast as we entered an atmosphere surrounded by Forro (pronounced “foe-haw”) music dominated by Brazilian artist Pepe Moreno. Sour, a peppery mango condiment, was replaced by starchy tasteless farine. Aromatic grilled meat on skewers filled the air and any personal claims I had of being a moderate vegetarian would immediately be dispelled upon entering the Rodeo grounds.
Once we made it to Rodeo, a twinge of Texas nostalgia overcame me with country music echoing in the background and Brazilian cowboys with big belt buckles riding barefoot in stirrups. Cowboy hats decorated many heads that passed by. There were plenty of drinks to go around, especially the dangerously delicious and highly intoxicating caprihinas. By nightfall, the dark sky was dusted with the brightest twinkling lights I had ever seen and I was surrounded by drunken white people- yup, I’m definitely back at home. The only thing missing was funnel cake and overusing the word “y’all”.
Rodeo continued for two days, with events such as bull riding, catching a greasy pig, and tug of war (dumb foreigners and over-dressed coastlanders vs. locals and non-English speaking Brazilians). I’m pretty sure the locals always win.
(l) Can't even get away from the advertising in Lethem.
(r) He lasted less than 10 seconds. Not bad for an untrained cowboy.
------------------------------------------------------------
After a long weekend of indulging in tasty meat on sticks and delicious hot dogs that would put Gray’s Papaya to shame, I swore off meat until I was tempted again in Venezuela. It was now time to leave the red dirt roads behind, pack up our hammocks and cross the river to Brazil. Since the blog is titled Adventures in Guyana, I’ll give brief highlights of the two countries.
Boa Vista, Brazil:
- Scooped and topped our own ice-cream and purchased it by the kilo. Genius! I’m surprised no one in New York has come up with this concept yet.
- Best greasy pressed sandwiches ever. (Seriously, how can Brazilians be so thin?)
- Bathrooms don’t have doors on them.
- Still can’t speak Portuguese.
Santa Elena, Venezuela:
- Toured through Gran Sabana where they filmed Jurassic Park.
- Hiked through the forest, swam in the waterfalls, whitewater rafted and body rafted down the river. Minimal scars and bruises acquired.
- Eaten alive by black flies making the mosquitoes in Soesdyke look like friendly pests.
- Still can’t speak Spanish.
(l) A view from the top of a waterfall
(r) Walking to take a dip in another waterfall
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After falling in love all over again with nature, it was time to head back. In totality, the bus rides from Venezuela to Brazil and through Guyana took over 30 hours. After traveling for two full days, each bus increasingly less tolerable and each road bumpier, we finally made it back home. I was exhausted, had only $10 dollars left in my pocket to sustain me for the next week and a half, but gained a profound piece of insight from the trip: when traveling long distances with no toilets or privacy, always remember to wear a skirt.
Saturday, March 31, 2007
Crappy Conditions
Blogger's Note: I will not be able to access the internet next week, so there won't be any posts until the weekend after Easter Sunday.
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Thursday 3/22
I was supposed to give my Form 2B class their end of term exam in the afternoon. I was waiting for the students to be dismissed for lunch, but instead they were dismissed from school. After inquiring about the abrupt alteration in the schedule, I found out that the school’s septic tank was broken and the children were playing in the dirty water. This being a health hazard, the school was to close by order of the Ministry until the tanks were fixed.
Thanks for letting me know so I could plan accordingly. Ummm…and did I hug any students today?
Friday 3/23
I walked into school not expecting the septic tanks to have been fixed, but hoping for the best. They weren’t fixed. I asked if school was to be dismissed, and the Headmaster hadn’t given any direction, so things remained stagnant and a bit chaotic. I took this opportunity and quickly grabbed my Form 2B students, even though I wasn’t timetabled to teach them, and administered the exam in the middle of the confusion. The Headmaster decides to call another half day since the tanks were still broken.
Exposing the students for only half a day to the contaminated water is deemed safe, but not a full day. Got it.
Monday 3/26
It’s the last week of school before Easter break. The tanks were still broken and it had rained heavily all night and morning and spread the dirty water through parts of the compound. The flies that usually swarm around the classrooms have now tripled. At 10am, the teachers were fed up with the situation and asked the Headmaster to call off school again. He doesn’t. At 11am they mobilize, and at 11:30 most of the teachers walk out. Seeing that the teachers had left, I approached the Headmaster to ask him if I should dismiss the students.
Me: Sir, all the teachers are gone. Would you like me to dismiss Form 2?
HM: No Miss, today is not a half day. You can’t dismiss the children.
Me: But Sir, they don’t have any teachers to teach them. What do you want them to do?
HM: I cannot give you a decision as yet. Tell them to come back after lunch and we’ll see what happens.
Me: But Sir, they’re just going to sit here with nothing to do.
HM: Miss. Please give me a minute to make a decision.
Another teacher then goes into the back and tells all the children to leave. The rest of us follow suit.
Decision makers may not be the ones making the decisions.
Tuesday 3/27
It’s announced in the morning that today will be the last day of school since Guyana is hosting the Cricket World Cup. Three days of education is lost and may or may not be compensated for in July. The Headmaster has decided not to come to school. The second in charge is not here either. I approach the third down the line to ask him if the tanks will be fixed and if it’s safe to keep the kids in school. He doesn’t know the answer and phones the Ministry to inquire. The Ministry informs him that the Headmaster was supposed to evacuate the students until the problem was fixed, but the message never got to the children. The students slowly filter out around 10am, and after they have all left, the teachers leave at 11:30.
Welcome to Soesdyke Community High. Please keep your shoes on as you enter the compound.
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Thursday 3/22
I was supposed to give my Form 2B class their end of term exam in the afternoon. I was waiting for the students to be dismissed for lunch, but instead they were dismissed from school. After inquiring about the abrupt alteration in the schedule, I found out that the school’s septic tank was broken and the children were playing in the dirty water. This being a health hazard, the school was to close by order of the Ministry until the tanks were fixed.
Thanks for letting me know so I could plan accordingly. Ummm…and did I hug any students today?
Friday 3/23
I walked into school not expecting the septic tanks to have been fixed, but hoping for the best. They weren’t fixed. I asked if school was to be dismissed, and the Headmaster hadn’t given any direction, so things remained stagnant and a bit chaotic. I took this opportunity and quickly grabbed my Form 2B students, even though I wasn’t timetabled to teach them, and administered the exam in the middle of the confusion. The Headmaster decides to call another half day since the tanks were still broken.
Exposing the students for only half a day to the contaminated water is deemed safe, but not a full day. Got it.
Monday 3/26
It’s the last week of school before Easter break. The tanks were still broken and it had rained heavily all night and morning and spread the dirty water through parts of the compound. The flies that usually swarm around the classrooms have now tripled. At 10am, the teachers were fed up with the situation and asked the Headmaster to call off school again. He doesn’t. At 11am they mobilize, and at 11:30 most of the teachers walk out. Seeing that the teachers had left, I approached the Headmaster to ask him if I should dismiss the students.
Me: Sir, all the teachers are gone. Would you like me to dismiss Form 2?
HM: No Miss, today is not a half day. You can’t dismiss the children.
Me: But Sir, they don’t have any teachers to teach them. What do you want them to do?
HM: I cannot give you a decision as yet. Tell them to come back after lunch and we’ll see what happens.
Me: But Sir, they’re just going to sit here with nothing to do.
HM: Miss. Please give me a minute to make a decision.
Another teacher then goes into the back and tells all the children to leave. The rest of us follow suit.
Decision makers may not be the ones making the decisions.
Tuesday 3/27
It’s announced in the morning that today will be the last day of school since Guyana is hosting the Cricket World Cup. Three days of education is lost and may or may not be compensated for in July. The Headmaster has decided not to come to school. The second in charge is not here either. I approach the third down the line to ask him if the tanks will be fixed and if it’s safe to keep the kids in school. He doesn’t know the answer and phones the Ministry to inquire. The Ministry informs him that the Headmaster was supposed to evacuate the students until the problem was fixed, but the message never got to the children. The students slowly filter out around 10am, and after they have all left, the teachers leave at 11:30.
Welcome to Soesdyke Community High. Please keep your shoes on as you enter the compound.
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