Adventure down river - latrines, piranha and jungle

My day began early in the morning (early for me for summer vacation), meeting Seeta, Vanie and the gang at 8AM. Not too difficult when you consider they live across the street from me, but nevertheless, if you know me well, early for school vacation. I rolled up with my camping backpack full to the brim – considering it was full of food supplies, a first aid kit, blankets and two hammocks, it was quite a light packing for me. The 63 Bus arrived to the house and we piled in, loading all of our bags, the kids and the fishing gear. Down the Correntyne highway we went, racing towards Suriname. We had no expectations; just excitement. Arriving in Skeldon at 10AM, we learned our boat wouldn't be making the journey until 2PM. Thank goodness I have adjusted to the “Just Now”. So we headed on over to a local Halal restaurant for some fried rice/Chow Mein and chicken, and a few cokes. I showed the kids a magic trick my uncle Buddy taught me when I was about 9 – still was as

impressive as ever... except the 7 year old solved the magic trick immediately after – perhaps he was watching me lay the cards a little too closely. Finally the time arrived and we jumped the sea wall (well, climbed down a rickety old ladder to the concrete beach). We literally walked the plank to get onto the little boat (see pictures) and quite proud of myself I raced across only to bash my head on the low roof... an excellent way to start a vacation no doubt.

As I climbed on, my first thought was “oh my god, I hope it floats” , quickly followed by, “Now THIS is an adventure”. After stringing up our hammocks across the small boat with the other passengers the boat looked like it was swathed in a multitude of beautiful fabrics floating in the air (see picture). We waited while bags and bags of cement and rocks were loaded high into the boat, again making me question the sturdiness of the floating vessel. Finally we were on our way. We left Skeldon, traversing down the brown river, surrounded by a green ocean of jungle on both sides: Guyana on our right, and Suriname on our left. The contrast among the blue sky, brown river and green trees was breathtaking. I looked hard for monkeys, but unfortunately didn't see any. What we did see however, was a beautiful rainbow high in the sky woven through the clouds. Eventually, as the sun set, I crept over food supplies, luggage, bags of rocks, and lumber and nestled into my hammock for a night time rest.

We docked at Siparuta late in the evening (or early in the morning depending how you look at it: about 1 or 2 am – long before we reached Siparuta my cell service had gone down so my phone didn't know the actual time), and loaded with our luggage, climbed the sand hill to our hosts house. The house was on stilts overlooking the river and during the day, would have the most gorgeous view of the river, looking across to Suriname. We strung up my hammock across the veranda and piled mattresses out for the rest of the gang to sleep on (4 adults and 2 kids, with me in one hammock and a teenager in the second). Before bed, we filled buckets and took nice cold bucket baths under the house. I have said it before and I will say it again... bucket baths are a MUST try – they are beyond refreshing after a long hot day!

The day started even earlier than the day before, at 4am the rooster began to crow and by 5:30, the whole house but me was up and going about the day. We met more of our hosts children and our tour guide for the few days we would be there. I greeted him as I stepped out of my hammock – what a sight and first impression I must have made; hair flying everywhere, crinkled pajamas, 3 hours of restless sleep. But time doesn't wait for you in the jungle... so up I went in search of the bathroom. It was discovered that the

bathroom was outdoors and was a small latrine. This proved quite difficult for me, as up until now, I had never had to really face a latrine for an extended period of time (if you get what I mean). My host family didn't have one and no one I knew had one, so I legit had to be taught how to use the bathroom – YOU DO NOT SIT ON A LATRINE HOLE... lets just say, my quads got strong on that trip from squats. You Climb on up and squat over the hole until your business is done... Sorry to be graphic... but who knows when you will come across a latrine... this is very useful information.

Moving along... our guide took us all over Siparuta on a hike – through the village, by the river, passed the schools and town volley ball net, to the sandpits and to the black water creek. (see pictures).

Siparuta is a remote, isolated, Amerindian village far down the Correntyne River, beyond Orealla. There are approximately 600 people living in Siparuta. The major employment of the villagers is in the timber or sand business.

Later in the day, we loaded up a boat with the adults and headed out on the river for a fishing adventure. FIRST however, we needed to catch bait. We crossed the river and ducked beneath overhanging branches to the bank. Out we waded and entered pure jungle. The sounds and smells were invigorating and fresh; this was untouched jungle here. We found a small little creek and were taught how to flick the muck up on the bank and search for little fish... All I could think was.... SNAKES SNAKES SNAKES. There was a strong possibility that they were in that creek with us, but eventually, and probably stupidly, we were having so much fun slinging muck I forgot about my fears. In time, no thanks to me, Seeta and Vanie, we had enough bait. We had about 6 lines loaded with hooks and bait, for about two hours of solid fishing... and didn't catch a single fish. My ancestors would be extremely disappointed in my fishing skills. We passed by a lone fisherman in a hallowed out canoe and he proudly held up five fish that he assured us he just caught in the last hour. Giving up fishing, we parked the boat by the biggest sandpit I have ever seen and mountain climbed up the cliff to reach the top. Once we were racing around frolicking through the sand, my tour guide and some of the local teens who went with us pointed out some tracks in the sand they said were 'tiger'... I am pretty sure there aren't tigers in Guyana... but what do I know. Jaguar? Ocelots? Panthers? OK – when you are in the jungle... same difference!

The next day, we piled onto a tractor for the most unique hay ride I have ever been on... through the jungle to the savanna! The flat, grassy savanna dotted with trees and flowers was breathtakingly beautiful... until one of my travelers showed me a giant metallic silver spider... but I was assured that this wasn't one of dem biting spiders. Even still, keep it away. 

We went back and swam in an icy cold black water creek. There is a saying in Guyana that you won't leave if you eat the wild meat (labba) and drink the black water... who knows what is floating in there, so I haven't yet drank it... jus' now.

We packed up our bags and said goodbye to our wonderful host and tour guide, who quickly became our friends. We piled into a much larger boat with several decks and spots for hammocks, but as our trip was short, just up river a few hours to Orealla, we skipped the hammocks and limed on the top deck watching the scenery pass us by and gaffing. We saw another beautiful rainbow on the trip.

As we docked into Orealla, I looked out over the village and saw that this was much more tourist geared than Siparuta. There were snackettes along the river walk, a gazebo and even a volleyball court. When you arrive at an Amerindian village in Guyana, the first thing you must do is find the

Tochou (“too-shou”) or chief of the village to ask permission to stay in the village. With this accomplished we began a short walking tour before the sun set. In Orealla, you better be prepared for some leg work – there were houses nestled into the mountain cliff and to reach them, you hiked straight up the hill. We watched little old ladies race up past us as we fought for breathe. The view looking out over the bay, yet again, was breathtaking. The bay looks out onto three islands called “the three sisters”. We watched boats come and go, birds of all variety, including giant carrion, and people going about their afternoon.

The next day we hiked up the giant hill and waited for a tractor to take us and about 60 other people to the resort that was being created deep past the savanna and into the jungle. When you hear the word resort, like me, your mind undoubtedly goes to those fancy Marriott or Hilton beach side resorts... but this was not that kind of resort. The resort had benabs to sit under, campsite fire pits for cooking and latrines. The beach side water was typical black water creek... but surrounded by lush jungle. The owner of the resort was training the locals on guest hospitality to promote ecotourism. We were their guinea pigs. After a meal of ramen noodles, we jumped in the cool water and swam for a bit... realistically... I swam... my fellow friends are not the swimming abled. Yet again, I wondered how many snakes we were swimming with. A small boat pulled up from down the creek and I immediately volunteered to be the trainees guinea pig to take me on a tour through the jungle creek. Initially, we had about 12 people pile in the boat and as it rocked back and forth, I wondered yet again about the buoyancy of Guyanese vessels... 

fortunately, my tour guides realized that the boat was way overloaded and quickly turned back. We cut the number in half and went on our way.  I asked my guides how old they all were, and they responded from age 16-18... MY LIFE WAS IN THE HANDS OF A BUNCH OF TEENAGERS! Once we left the other trainees and my friends, we were surrounded by silence broken by chirping of birds and the rustling of jungle leaves. White bright light poked between the thick jungle canopy. The feeling of being alone with nature was overwhelming. The boat rocked back and forth with every move we made and I asked my guides if there were snakes in the creek. I probably shouldn't have asked the question, but my curiosity got the best of me. “oh yes,” they said. “The bone crunching kind.” GREAT! I chuckled thinking they may want to work on a better answer for their tourists. As we went along, our path was suddenly blocked by a downed log. We simply could not pass over, so my tour guides got the idea that we would lift the boat over the log. Now mind you, we are in a creek that is way over our heads, with bone crunching snakes. I did what any reasonable Peace Corps Volunteer would do... I agreed that the adventure needed to continue and precariously climbed out of the boat onto the log. All 6 of us balanced on this one log and put our efforts into heaving and lifting the heavy boat over the log. After about 5 minutes of teamwork, and two tour guides falling in the water and quickly jumping out, we got the boat over. I was so glad I hadn't fallen in and encountered the bone crunching snakes. Again I chuckled realizing that we would have to do the same on the way back. We continued on our adventure, ducking below low branches and gaffing about their lives in Orealla, and my role as a Peace Corps Volunteer. I asked the guides if they come down the river a lot... to which they eagerly replied...”No... this is our first time!” - OH MY GOD! What had I gotten myself into! On we went and we came to a fork where we could go left or right. At this point, my guides decided that we had gone far enough – perhaps because they didn't know what was either way. We turned around and headed back to the resort. When we reached the log the second time, we got it over much faster – but still with a few guides taking a dip. We made it back to the resort safely and headed 'home' back on the tractor. I will never forget this boat ride!

 

Later that day, we did some fishing by the dock, and Seeta's son caught a giant piranha (Piri in local speak pronounced “Peer-EYE”)! I finally got to see a piranha! Let me tell you... you do NOT want to encounter one of those ever in your swims. The teeth were giant and sharp, reminding me of a bear trap; its eyes were red as blood and angrily watching us as we took pictures. There is a “joke” that in the rivering area people never have the same number of toes or fingers they were born with – because of the piranha. Later that night, Vanie and I went for a walk and sat on the dock looking across the water towards the B&B, and there were about 5 kids or teenagers bathing in the river RIGHT where Seeta's son caught the piranha.

The next day, I caught some sort of flu from sleeping outside in the cold and moist air in my hammock for so many days, so I stayed in my hammock and read a book. A few of us actually got sick so we decided to take it easy. When we planned this trip, we were planning to come back on Saturday, but as with everything, the boat schedule is unpredictable and sporadic. The boat going on Saturday was canceled because someone on the crew got his arm chopped in a drunken brawl with a brother. Literally severed with a cutlass. But we later found out that a next boat was going but wouldn't be docking into Orealla until 9:30/10:00. Two of us sickies elected to take this boat to get home and to our own beds. The boat rolled up to the dock around 11:30 at night and we loaded our bag and tied up the one hammock we had (left the other one for Seeta and her family). We decided we would alternate through the night and I piled up my life jacket and rain coat into a little nest on the bottom of the boat.

About 15 minutes into the trip, the skies let loose its tears and I was soaked. The captain took pity on me as the only one NOT under the secure overhang and NOT with a hammock and got a tarp for me. I pitched my umbrella opened and made myself a little tent on the bottom of the boat and slept. I woke up hours later when we arrived back in Skeldon at 5:30 am. My phone chirped with life as it connected to civilization and messages came pouring through.

It is easy to look back at this trip and reflect on the poverty of the communities we visited in comparison to what I am used to in the United States, and even in Adelphi... There wasn't a flushing toilet in Siparuta; electricity was from a solar panel and water had to be lugged from the well up the stairs to wash dishes and cook. There were no fancy electronics or cars, no designer clothing and certainly no excess of imported food. But then I reflected further. A person shouldn't be labeled as poor just because they don't have the latest ipads, trendiest clothing or state of the art electronics – these are first world interpretations of what we consider a lack of wealth and therefore gain our pity. They had enough food, enough clothing, enough water and a beautifully stable house. They weren't tied to a desk, slaves to the clock. All around me on that trip were lush forest and nature, fresh fruit plucked ripe from the tree, natural black water swimming pools for the villagers to play, fish in the river (unless you were bad at fishing as we were), picturesque views, beautiful people, laughter and love – if that isn't “rich” I don't know what is.

This was a once in a lifetime trip and I hope you enjoyed my retelling of this adventure. I saw a quote the other day and I think it fits quite nicely into one of the main reasons I joined Peace Corps. “Live the life you Love. Love the life you Live.” I believe we only get one shot at this thing called life, so better enjoy it while I can. Life is an adventure.

I am Everyone

In response to the attacks on Pulse in Orlando the other day, a lot has been running through my mind. Being so far from home I feel a bit outside of what is going on;  I am seeing news articles and stories through facebook or websites and it just feels so strange and disconnected. My heart is heavy over another senseless attack on innocent, defenseless, good people. I feel so overwhelmed and helpless when I keep hearing about something like this happening. Our generation has GROWN UP hearing, seeing or living through horrible people doing horrific things in the name of "insert ignorant, racist or hateful excuse here" (oklahoma city, unibomber, 9/11, kids killing kids at schools, shootings at military bases, movie theaters, concerts or other random shootings, Boston Marathon bombing, terrorism abroad, the list goes on & on, unfortunately) and it beats us down. It needs to stop and we need to stand up to violence and hate.  In order to do this, when life and sadness beats you down, it is important to build yourself back up SO YOU CAN BE STRONG and therefore STEADFAST in your BELIEFS. From there you can go about your day confidently, spreading love, acceptance, and kindness. We cannot sit idly by when words or acts of hate happen. We need to teach our children/nieces/nephews/neighborhood kids love and acceptance so the next generation doesn't have to see what we have seen... or worse, grow into the people we fear. Not only Believe that love is more powerful than hate, but emulate love in your lives and love will prevail.

Thinking about Orlando, a lot of people have talked about being united and standing together in love and solidarity. With this concept in mind, and expanding on the "single story" and stereotypes I talked about in May of last year (see earlier blog post), I wrote a little something something about how I was feeling.

Dear Haters,

I am Gay; I am Straight.

I am Black; I am White.

I am a Muslim; I am a Christian.

I am Poor and Starving; I am Rich and Well-off.

I struggle to Learn; I am Smart as can be.

I am a Slut who Loves Sex; I am a Prude Saving Myself for Marriage.

I am a Woman; I am a Man.

I am Tattooed and Pierced; I am Straight-Edge and Clean Cut.

I am Young and Foolish; I am Old and Wise.

I am Old and Helpless; I am Young and Thriving.

I am a Soldier and a Veteran; I am a Peace-Loving Hippie.

I am a Democrat; I am a Republican.

I am Shy and Reserved; I am Outgoing and Friendly.

I am Fat and Hungry; I am Thin and Full.

I have Scars and Marks that run deep; My body is Unblemished and Pure.

I am Ugly on the Outside; I am Beautiful and Desired.

I have a Disability Standing in my Way; I am Unstoppable and Successful.

I am Ostracized, Persecuted and Hated; I fit into a Neat, Safe little box, Accepted.

I am all of these things,

Some you don't see,

When you look at me.

You search through my face,

pick through my box;

You stick a label on me -

She must be something you say?

But these identities you can not see-

They exist in my heart;

In every friend who has touched my life;

In every loved one who has supported me;

In every encounter that has challenged me;

In every stranger who has struggled to be free;

In every person that has taught me to love;

I claim their Label; United, I Am all of Them.

No need to label my box with just one thing;

But as haters do, if you feel you must, remember this:

I bleed red;

They bleed red;

You bleed red.

Label my box Human;

Label their box Human;

Label your box Human.

Sincerely,

Acceptance

Clean Hands, Healthy Bodies

I  have posted a lot about my experiences thus far, particularly my challenges and struggles in Guyana lately; I think it is about time to give you an update of something positive that has been very successful and rewarding. You are all probably wondering what the heck I actually do at my school. This isn't quite on point with my primary project (literacy), but Peace Corps encourages us to undertake what they call "Secondary Projects". This project was near and dear to my heart, specifically after the many repeated illnesses I have had since being here. The students at my school participated in a week long hand washing campaign to promote “Clean Hands, Healthy Bodies”. The campaign was in response to the infrequent hand washing habits of the students, and as a result, the frequent illnesses at the school of both the students and teachers (particularly, me!). With the Headmistresses support and encouragement, I prepared visual aids about germs and hand washing. These were hung in the school canteen so the students would be reminded to wash their hands before eating, and while waiting, would read about the other times to wash their hands and learn about germs. 

On  Day 1 of the campaign, I visited each class individually to make sure greatest absorption of the information was obtained... sometimes in the big groups I wonder what is actually retained, i.e. who was paying attention; can they hear the speaker? who even cares!  As soon as I mentioned an activity with shine shine (glitter) I had their attention.  I first explained what germs were, and we talked about how germs make a person sick. I called on the students to fill in as much information as they could on their own  to make sure the information wasn't over their heads (ex. What kinds of illness do you think are caused by germs? Where do germs come from? How do you think germs spread?). The main point was to explain to the kids that germs are spread from friend to friend through hand contact, coughing, and food/drink sharing - they are each responsible for their own health and the health of their friends. To demonstrate this point, we did the “Shine Shine Germs” activity. One student started with a handful of bright shine shine that represented diarrhea or the common cold germs. The student then shook hands with their neighbor, and then their neighbor shook hands with the next person and so on. This showed the students how far germs could spread even if you didn't touch the initial sick person. 

We then read a story that was written by a prior Peace Corps Volunteer several years ago called, Squirt, The Slimy, Gassy, Ooey, Gooey, Invisible, Diarrhea Germ. After the story, I picked a few students in to stand in front of the class and ask the other kids to find glitter in places other than their hands. This demonstrated that if you get germs on your hands, they spread quickly to other parts of your body and will ultimately travel to your clothes and face, and finally in your eyes and mouth (some students had glitter on their lips 5 minutes after the initial glitter activity).  The kids were shocked to see how quickly the shine shine traveled... this seemed to be a very effective visual exercise.

On Day 2 of our campaign, at the school assembly I taught the students the hand washing song sung to the tune “If you are Happy and you Know it, Clap your Hands” . With the singing and moving around, I had the kids attention. I explained the proper method for hand washing and we sang the song, which included hand motions a few more times through. After assembly, a Grade 1 student came up to me and handed me 4 bars of soap. This meant that he came to school with the soap even before we started the hand washing session. He saw the look of perplexity on my face as I pieced that fact together and said, his mommy sent them with him. I asked how his mommy knew to send soap and he told me that he went home on Monday and told her that I taught them about germs in school that day. This meant that he was sharing what he was learning at school, with his family. I actually teared up because as I am sure many teachers can relate to... I was wondering if the kids were sharing what I taught them with others, or if they actually retained the information. That afternoon (and the many days since the activity),  I saw several students at the hand washing station after using the washroom or before eating, singing their ABC's as they rubbed their hands with soap. Many students still come up to me several weeks after the activity notifying me they washed their hands. 

On Day 3 we discussed proper etiquette for if you do have a cold, particularly, the proper way to cough... into your inner elbow (which in my infancy and to this day call my "armbow"). I referenced the glitter activity, reminding the students that if you cough in the air, on your hands or in a napkin, the germs will be where you coughed and spread to your friends if they touch your hands or pick up your napkin. Since most people don't go around rubbing their inner elbow all over the place, this is the "safest and most thoughtful" spot to cough to keep your friends healthy.  Since the activity, several students have been demonstrated properly coughing into their inner elbow. One student actually coughed into her hands in the library and about five students yelled, “Germs!” She quickly jumped up and ran to wash her hands! 

On the final day of the campaign, the Grade 6 students wrote compositions from the perspective of a villainous germ. The kids really got into it and were very creative with their stories. They even got to design their own germ super-villain. As with every villain, I reminded the kids that their germ must have something, anything,  that will bring about their germs downfall. Not surprising, most of their germ villain's kryptonite was soap! 

This activity has definitely been one of the highlights of my Peace Corps service. I am seeing immediate positive changes in the students behavior following the campaign, and I am hoping that we see a decrease in illness related absences (including my own!)

A trip down the Canje Road

I have written a lot on my Peace Corps experience and my changing normalcy. With the arrival to Guyana of my best friend Brittany in a little over a month, and my “little” brother Steve and our friend Saba this summer, I found myself wondering what they would think about as they entered Guyana for the first time; what would stand out to them? Today as I rode in a taxi (also known as a hired cyar), I tried to erase my memory and pretend that I had been taking the trip from New Amsterdam (the major town in the Region known as #6, Berbice) down through Canje for the first time. It was a lot harder than you would think. I had to “see” a lot of things that over my year in Guyana had blurred into the background. I don't seem to remember the exact moment that everything just became “normal”.

So as we drive along in the cyar (not a typo) and I start my little experiment, the first thing that hit me was how green Guyana is; the palm and banana trees, huge bushes and overgrown grasses. Everything seemed very bright and clear. As we crossed the Canje Bridge leaving New Amsterdam, I looked out over the brown river to the opposite bank; dotted between palm trees were brightly colored houses with zinc roofs. I suppose in my initial observation, but now looking back, I missed the obvious... the water was BROWN. In Guyana, all the water is brown or black from soil run-off and tannins - living outside of Boston for so many years near the Charles River, and growing up on Cape Cod with the ocean as my playground for 31 years, it is astounding that I could get used to a brown milk chocolate colored river. As we race further along the road, the driver slams on the brakes of the car. A herd of goats has decided to take that moment to cross the street. I hear the “click-click” as the driver turns on the hazard lights; all Guyanese drivers are excellent with the hazard button, horn and brakes. You may think I am stereotyping... but ask any Guyanese... these taxi drivers know their cars and the road. The goats make their way across the street and no one in the car seems to bat an eye at the “strangeness” of a herd of goats stopping traffic on the only road into New Amsterdam. The driver continues carrying us on our journey to home or wherever the rest of the passengers are going. Yet again as I sit here remembering the car ride and writing this, I have overlooked a major point – I am not alone in the car with the driver. At home in Boston when you request a taxi or call up Uber (or however you do it... I honestly forget whether you call them or press a magic button on your phone, then BAM! a car shows up – this seems foreign to me here), you don't share your taxi with three other strangers. Here, if you are getting a car that follows a route, you either flag down the car along the route, or go to a designated spot. With confidence (because for about 100 reasons you NEVER look like you don't know what you are doing) you look at the drivers standing around and say, “Canje.” They point to a car lined up, you get in and you wait for it to fill. Normally, I take the front seat because besides the driver seat, that is the only spot that has a seat-belt. The seat belts in the backseat tend to conveniently be sliced right out of their safe little homes. Sometimes you get squished between two “aunties” who have just been to the market, lugging bags of fresh vegetables into the back seat with them. On this car ride, I was squished in the middle between an older gentleman carrying a backpack and an old auntie with three bags of groceries...not to forget mentioning, I also had a huge bag of vegetables and groceries- quite comfortable. You get over caring about your personal space very quickly traveling in Guyana.

Let me get back to our journey. Traveling down the road, we pass by some roads that snake off of the main road that are dirt, some are half-dirt-half-tar, and some are jankily paved; all are a hazard to your ankles, particularly in the rainy season which has just fallen upon us here in Guyana. Among the beautiful green trees and grasses, I see dots of colors littering the ground – literally littering; water, beer and soda bottles, plastic bags, styrofoam meal boxes (note that as of January, it is now against the law for a restaurant to serve food in styrofoam containers – go Guyana! However from the looks of the fields, trenches and streets, this wonderful and amazing environmental law does not seem to be enforced quite yet... perhaps just now.). The houses are close together and there is no rhyme or reason to how they are clustered. You have a beautiful, two story, elegantly painted cement house, complete with air conditioning units sticking out of windows, next to a barely standing, rundown wooden shack with an outdoor toilet. There are more churches or places of worship on this one road than I have ever seen in Falmouth (where I am from in Massachusetts). There are Mandir's for Hindus, Mosques for Muslims and every kind of church for Christians you can imagine – Seventh Day Adventist, Jehovah's Witness, Evangelical, Baptist, Methodist, Congregationalist – the list goes on and on – the only “kind” I haven't come across is Catholic.

Ever so often, I see a broken down car, picked apart, abandoned and overrun with grass and wild flowers. There is one red car along the journey, perhaps some relative to a Volkswagen Beetle, in a field that looks like it has been there since the 1970's... I honestly suspect it has been.

The Canje Road is wedged between miles and miles of sugar cane fields on one side, and the Canje River on the other. The houses go about four roads deep on either side, Sometimes if I look in the right places, I can see the cane or river. Sugarcane is quite beautiful blowing in the breeze. Once we have traveled for about fifteen minutes, I see the tall smoke stacks of the sugar factory sticking out over the palm trees. Depending on the wind, the day and the time, sometimes you smell the factory before you see it. I have no explanation as to how sugarcane smells as it is being turned into sugar, other than pungent. Sometimes I want to hold my nose, but I resist – I won't smell this smell after my 27 months is over.

On we drive, dodging cows, dogs, goats, pigs, sheep, horses, roadkill, bicyclists, pedestrians and slower vehicles. As we get closer to my street, I yell out, “Driver, stop at the sign by the purple church up ahead.” The driver asks me if I am enjoying my stay in Guyana and assumes I am a missionary – it is pointed out that no one seemed to have arrived to the church yet so I would probably have to wait. For some reason, perhaps a yearning to distinguish myself from the rest of the “white people” in Guyana, I correct him and I tell him that I am going to the street across from the church, not to the church itself. I want it to be very clear that I am a Peace Corps Volunteer. Not that there is anything wrong with the missionaries... but that is not me. I am constantly correcting people who assume I am a missionary because I am white... “I am not a missionary, I am a volunteer teacher with the Peace Corps. I teach kids how to read and write, and that reading can be fun.” Let it be known that I am a Peace Corps Volunteer.

The Ugly, The Bad, The Good and the More Better.

In our first month of training, Peace Corps Medical Officers (PCMOs) do a little lesson with us on the “Cycle of Adjustment”. This is to show us when to expect the “ups and downs” during our Peace Corps service. I just celebrated a year of being in Guyana; so far, “the cycle” has been dead accurate. I knew that going into this my mental health would be challenged, broken down and torn apart at some points. I hadn't written in a while because I had been in the down part of “the cycle”; the part where you are done with training, get to your permanent site, adjust, and then hit a lull and must face reality. You begin to see things for what they are and your optimistic plans tend to hit a wall of actuality. Your goals never go as planned, you hit dead ends or walls that you didn't see coming; and things are never as easy as you think they should be. A lot of walls were completely out of my control; injury and sickness; other peoples' actions or behaviors; deaths or illnesses of friends or family at home... and then dealing with death so far from loved ones; just being a “white gyal” from America living in a developing country. I can't write about some of the specifics until after my service for safety reasons, but you know the saying when it rains, it pours? It poured. There were chunks of days that went by during my “down” part of the cycle where I couldn't remember what I had done the day before. I didn't want to get out of my hammock, I didn't want to do anything and I didn't want to see anyone. I felt like I was constantly being watched and judged. My life (mostly my situation) was an overwhelming blur and to top it off, one thing after another kept piling up.

Over this last year I have learned to do a lot of self-talk, self-motivation and to give myself daily or hourly pep-talks. If I hit a wall at school or at home, I try to take a step back and look for something good that happened during the day: getting a student with a behavior problem to laugh or behave appropriately; having a new student come to the library; having one student get the point of a lesson; or as simple as one little girl running up to me and giving me a big hug because she was happy to see me – because I made the effort to show up. Getting through a load of laundry; emptying the trash; going to the market, or sweeping the floor all became accomplishments that I would recognize as positive. It sounds silly but holding onto one good thing has amazing powers over your mind. The good is always better and holds more power than focusing on the bad.

I learned that I am a lot stronger than I thought I was... but not by myself. I find comfort, motivation and strength talking to a few of my fellow Peace Corps friends, fighting the desire to be isolated. Sometimes you have to know when to reach out and ask for help. There is no shame in this. I am a huge advocate of sharing and being open about ones mental health, experiences and stories, because chances are, someone else may find at least one small part of this story similar to what is going on in their lives.

There comes a point where you just have to know your limit and call it a day. But when asked by someone who knew everything that happened why I have stayed instead of giving up and going home, my answer was simple: everything that happened thus far could be explained. Everything that happened was completely out of my control and wasn't a reflection of me, they were just things that happened to me. When you go into something like this, you need to know your limit. My limit, my point of return (home) would be: rather than feeling bad about the things that happened to me... I started to feel bad about myself. If I started to feel worthless, hopeless or helpless, these feelings would be my white flag.

But don't get me wrong, it hasn't been all ugly and bad things – I would be remiss not to finish this blog with happy memories. There have been some amazing days and amazing people in my life that have made this last year worth it despite the “ugly and bad” also known as my personal challenges. Some highlights include: having an awesome and supportive host family in Soesdyke; Fourth of July at the Ambassador's house; adopting my fur-babies Bora and Phoenix; having my students ask about my fur-babies; experiencing Diwali in the capitol with Kelly, Liza, Allee and some PC Response Volunteers; celebrating Christmas with Suzy, Cassie and Phoenix at the beach; cooking and playing Pahgwah (has to be my all time favorite holiday EVER); having cooking dates with Lori where we attempt to cook something from home with ingredients from Guyana (breadfruit taco's was a fail... but Pizza was a success); moving to Adelphi and meeting awesome neighbors – Seeta, Vannie and Rasheed – and being able to now ride my bike to school everyday; receiving boxes and a barrel all full of books and school supplies to help get the library up and running at school; watching the kids peruse through the shelves looking for the perfect book to take home for the night, knowing that the majority of them are voluntarily reading outside of school for the first time in their lives; spending a relaxing and delightful birthday at Pandama Winery with Kelly, Suzy, Liza, Latricia and Cassie; teaching the grade 6 students about puberty (certainly an awkward subject but their innocence and curiosity was refreshing); hiking/biking to New Forest with Marcella, Sarah, Lindsy and Lori...and falling in a ditch attempting to ride Guyanese (double on a bike) with Lindsy; discovering I can still do a cartwheel on the beach at the age of 32; taking time to swing in a hammock; reading over 30 books – including the entire Harry Potter series (finally – I don't know what I was waiting for! ) and some other books that have been on my list forever (Uncle Tom's Cabin, A Long Walk to Freedom); discovering that hand-washing your clothes is actually therapeutic and relaxing; and the moment you walk outside, pick up your pointy broom to sweep the concrete outside your house and see your neighbor doing the same thing at the same time – talk about being integrated - I think I am turning Guyanese.

 Pahgwah, Diwali, and me being weird

 

Playing in the pool on Lori's Birthday

In December I went on a trip with a volunteer group in East Canje (where I live) to a village called Mara. I wrote a blog about it but never posted it (again, that was when I started into my downward spiral) I am going to share it with you now because it is fitting to look back on more in depth at one of my happier memories here:

My day started with my arrival to a house to pack up the donation items and roll out. There were bags and bags, some marked with names of recipients, some full of balls, dolls, cars, sweeties, biscuits and some full of clothes. I watched the organized chaos as the bags were filled with food items, pampers, towels, and staples. As I looked around, at the bags and bags of items, I couldn't help reflecting on another similar event I partook in often with my mom and her friends... the filling of care packages to our American Soldiers overseas. It made me homesick but it was bittersweet to see and be a part of something similar (creating care packages) happening thousands of miles away from home. Onward and outward we went. Loaded into the back of a pickup truck, decorated in Christmas gear and the logo for the East Canje Humanitarian Society (ECHS), we headed out. Santa was picked up in New Amsterdam and as we rode through the streets people whistled and screamed out happily at us. We continued further down the road, beyond Stanleytown, where I have a few friends living, beyond where I have ever traveled before. On we went. The roads went from bumpy to smooth, to bumpy and finally, to dirt roads. The houses became further and further apart until finally, we went several minutes without seeing another soul. At one point, I interrupted the merriment to scream out, “A MONKEY! A MONKEY!” I had finally seen my first wild monkey! He was up high in a tree a great distance away, but I had seen him. Everyone laughed at me and I was the butt of monkey jokes for the remainder of the day. On we went. We passed the oldest Mandir (Hindu Temple) in the Caribbean, founded in 1846 . We passed the landing site where the first East Indians came to shore in Guyana, 128 of them on May 5, 1835A little beyond, and it was hard to believe that there were still people this far out, but the speckling of houses here and there proved me wrong. I asked my fellow companions the obvious question... “how do these people get water all the way out here?”. My friends had no idea...Perhaps from the river a long walk on the other side of the road? We passed the “Bamboo Jungle” where bamboo was planted over a hundred years ago, and took over. We meandered under arches of trees and bamboo, calling out “Duck!” when a low branch was headed our way. If we saw children we stopped and gave them sweeties (lollipops and hard candies). After an hour trip down a lonely but beautiful road we reached our final destination. The remote village of Mara! Mara has a very small but well structured community center, looking out onto a flooded field. Rows and rows of children were seated on the bleachers. There were so few houses near the community center, it was stunning to realize that these children had walked so far to see us, miles and miles some of them! Santa got out of the truck and made “his” way to the children. This may have been the first time some or most of these children had ever seen Santa. And I also couldn't help but thinking... this is also probably the first time some of these children have seen a white person. I was as nervous as these kids. I didn't know what to expect or how they would react. My task was to do the face painting so the first girl tentatively, with persuasion, came towards me and silently tilted her face as I painted a star on. She was silent and clearly didn't know what I was doing to her. I took out my camera and told her, “I am going to show you a picture of yourself”. Click. I brought the camera (phone) towards her and a slow almost imperceptible smile tweaked at the corner of her lips. It wasn't the biggest smile I have ever seen, but it was enough to make me tear up a little. So the line grew and on I painted. Finally, a little boy sits down and I paint a star on his face. When I finish he looks at me and says “tinks” . “you are welcome” I say. “tinks” he says again and again. I look to my friend for translation and she said, he said “thanks” and I said “you are welcome”. Same language but not the same! I don't think he understood a word I was saying. Sometimes I forget that as much trouble as I have understanding the Guyanese accent and Creolese... they must have just as hard a time understanding me!

It was time to give out gifts. The kids sat patiently as balls, dolls, cars, pencils, crayons, sharpeners and books were given out. I was in charge of the books. Most of the books brought were much too advanced for these kids, but we gave them out anyways – it may be the first book some of these kids have ever had. I did pass over a few of the books – Harlequin Romance novels... even if they can't read, I didn't think it was a good gift to give a 10 year old. So instead, I turned to the parents and said, hey, this is a romance, but it is a gook to read! They gratefully took them. I even spied one of them a few minutes later flipping through the pages.

When it got time to give out the clothes it did become a little chaotic. But it all worked out in the end. One old man, barefoot, rotted teeth and clothes hanging off of him came up to me and shook my hand, and then stepped closer and gave me the biggest hug. I could smell the alcohol and sweat coming off of him. I found him a shirt, but he really wanted pants or slippers (flip flops). Unfortunately, they all seemed to be ladies or kids pants, and there were no shoes, so he didn't get either. I felt really bad that I couldn't find him any pants or shoes. After most people left he stuck around. He told my fellow volunteers (ECHS) that he really loved this white gyal. They all giggled and I shook their heads.

As we were getting ready to leave the community center, I asked to use the bathroom. One woman sheepishly said okay, but it is outside, are you sure that you are okay with that? I said absolutely, I appreciate it. Inside I laughed and said, yes, I have been here for nine months... PLEASE I GOT THIS! So in I went... except this wasn't like any of the latrines I had ever been in. Yes reader. I am not going to lie to you. Some of you may never experience this so I need to tell you what happened. The toilet seat was dug into a slab of wood, but cut out far back, so squatting was difficult. The stench assaulted my nose and I considered walking out but I really had to pee. I closed myself into the chamber, with the bugs and smell and I gave it a shot... but I missed. We all know I am short, it is no secret, so I wasn't tall enough to squat far enough back. I ended up peeing all over my tights (shorts you wear under a dress). So that was fun! Quite the experience, peeing on yourself in the middle of nowhere. Luckily, the woman I was with was wonderful and when we got back to the community center she on the sly helped find me some leggings to wear under my dress in the pile of donated clothes, and stood guard as I changed in the bush. Talk about an experience in nature! I never would have thought that peeing takes practice, but it sure does! Sorry if this is too much information... but a lesson I learned quickly here was, hey, if you can't laugh at yourself, you will never survive here. So laugh away with me... just not at me.

So on we went on our adventure, me in my cool new white kitty leggings. We arrived at a home with a little girl who was disabled and the ECHS gave her family all kinds of supplies and toys for her. It is amazing to think that they live out here with no cell phone reception, no telephone, no electricity, no reliable water source and still manage to get by. My trip to Mara was definitely a highlight of the last 365 that have gone by. 

 So back to today: 

Guyanese have many phrases that they use over and over that are starting to rub off on me – “Just now” (see earlier blog), “me nah know” (I don't know), “you big up you-self” (you are trying to look impressive), “you skin you teeth” (everything is funny to you). One that I hear constantly that I find myself using, while grammatically incorrect, seems to be quite perfect and fitting: “more better”. This is more better than that. I like mango more better than papaya. I had a tough few months, but overall, my year in Guyana has been more better than I could have ever imagined. I have many things to look forward to in the next year: seeing results in the students reading; starting a new hygiene campaign at school; starting weekly "girls group chats" at school; visits from Brittany in June and my brother Steve and Saba in August; planning a hike to Kaiteur Falls with Cassie; and celebrating another Pahgwah in Guyana. This year will be more better than the last. 

 

 A Christmas card that I received from a student in the United States: