The Oddest Day in Guyana…so far…

Today has been the oddest day since we have been in Guyana. The aggregate of all the individual experiences that Tim and our roommates and I experienced today can only be described with our well used phrase, “This is Guyana.” However, taken individually the incidents that occurred today have made us frustrated, roll in laughter, feel sick to our stomachs, and laugh till we cried. Let me tell you about our rollercoaster of a day:

I started this Sunday off by sharing pancakes and an egg scramble with Tim, Sara and Tony. Well, technically Tim and I didn’t eat together since we wanted to get the laundry that we had been soaking overnight washed and hung before we left from Linden to Georgetown on an 8 am bus. Our mission in Georgetown, simple: pick up Sara’s care package that had been sitting in the Peace Corps HQ for weeks. However, even with Tim and I taking turns eating and washing laundry (by hand, by the way) we were a little behind schedule. And, as it often tends to happen, it began raining just as Tim was hanging our laundry on the line to dry. He hung it all anyway and we figured, ‘what the hay, at least it will get an extra rinse and maybe the sun will come out and dry it by the time we get home’. Finally wrapping up our pancake and laundry adventure, we left home at 8:30 am. One good thing for us though is that there are no set ‘bus times’ so we hadn’t missed a bus. Rather, the four of us just flagged down the next minibus that was heading to G/Town and were happily on our way.

Tony, Sara, Tim and I were the only four passengers in the bus as we began our journey in the still pouring rain. Our bus driver, Tony, was friendly and chatty. We were cruising along at a good speed, making great time when we hit some unexpected traffic. As we looked ahead we saw cars and minibuses trying to pass some obstacle in the road. When we peered closer through the rain we saw it was a bicycle race that was taking up the entire highway. You might imagine that it would take hundreds of cyclists to take up a whole highway, albeit a two-lane highway. But no, Tim and I estimate that there were only about twenty bikes, and that is being generous. We mused to ourselves why they needed to take up the whole road. I mean, I am all about sharing the road but seriously sharing has to be mutual between cyclists and autos. Or you would think the road should have been closed if the race needed it all, right? For about 25 minutes Sara and I giggled at the absurdity of the situation, watching buses about to pass cyclists only to get cut off by a swerving racer. Then finally our driver managed to squeeze around the leading pack and we were on our way again.

As we cruised along Tony, the driver was talking to Tony, our housemate about how important it is in Guyana to slow down and drive more carefully in the rain when we came upon a most disturbing sight. I will probably always remember the horrific and deadly traffic accident that we witnessed on the side of the road. A Land Rover and a 4x4 had collided head on, probably only about 5 minutes before we came upon it. We saw the driver, covered in blood, in a state of shock, his hand bent back at the wrist, mangled bones protruding. Our bus driver, like a few other drivers that were passing, pulled over to see if there was anything we could do to help. However, the four of us PCVs stayed inside the bus. “What can we do?” we repeated to ourselves. The truth of the matter is there is nothing we could have done. Even if any of us were medically trained to assist in emergency situations, which we are not, PC does not allow us to do any sort of hands on medical action. I understand that this is for liability reasons, but it is still hard to be restricted from being a Good Samaritan. Instead of getting out to help, we watched as a young child was carried out through the shattered window of the vehicle and laid down on the road, unconscious.

To complicate matters further, by this time the bicycle race had reached the scene of the accident and our driver came racing back to the bus saying we had better leave or we would be mired in the traffic around the scene all day. So off we went again. As we drove away he said, with all certainty, “People are going to die.” So, basically we watched people in the hands of death today. For my own compassionate curiosity, I looked for emergency vehicles, needing to know if an ambulance was on the way, but in the 30 minutes it took to get us to G/Town I didn’t see any help rushing to the scene and there is only one road to access it.
Shocked and disturbed, we arrived at Peace Corps HQ in G/Town. In the office we were able to check email and connect with home, which was food for our souls, even if he did have to battle with irregular internet connection. The best part was that the care package that Sara had arranged to pick up that day was sitting in a room behind locked doors, inaccessible to us. So basically, the entire point of us coming to G/Town was moot. Sara was frustrated to say the least. After noonish we had gotten our fill of Internet time and walked to a Chinese restaurant, one of the only places open for business in all of G/Town on a Sunday. The food was good and it almost redeemed our wasted day. But by the time we were ready to leave, after purchasing donuts in the pastry shop attached to the Chinese restaurant (of course, because that makes sense) it was pouring rain again. I was the only one of the four of us who had walked with an umbrella and we would have been drenched to the bone if we left in the rain so instead we called a cab. Even though the taxi station was just around the corner, we stood in the foyer waiting for the cab to arrive for 20 minutes before we finally got so fed up that we hopped in an unaffiliated cab and headed back to HQ.

In a last ditch effort to obtain her care package; Sara called the PC mail guy, who, because he is awesome, came to the office on his Sunday off to give Sara her package. YAY! As a side note, Tim had called this same mail guy earlier in the week to see if we had any mail because we were on the lookout for a letter from Emily and a package from Sydney but he told Tim that he didn’t have anything for us. However, when Sara grabbed her package she noticed a package slip with our names on it and, lo and behold, there was a package for me! YAY again! Sydney had sent an amazing necklace that she made in her glassblowing class and some delicious instant coffee. Plus we had a letter from Emily and Heather B too! I felt so loved! All my girls had written to me! The crazy trip to G/Town, at that moment, felt totally worth it because of the emotional boost that those notes had given me.

So, at last, we headed back to Linden. The rain had subsided and we were feeling good. The day had been odd but it couldn’t possibly get any odder, right? Wrong! On our walk home from the bus park to our house we saw a huge, enormous rat crawl through the trench and into a drain. Sara freaked out since she hates rats and I almost peed myself laughing since it seemed to be the cherry on top of a hilarious day!

When we got home, the hilarious antics continued though as preparations for dinner turned into a comedy act. Let me preface this by saying that the day before Sara had made Methem, a soup with coconut milk and a million different types of tubers. Not all the tubers, or ground provisions, would fit into our stew pot last night so we had a bunch left over that would go bad if we didn’t use them. So, we decided to attempt to make a Guyanese favorite, egg balls, for Sunday dinner. Egg balls are usually made with boiled mashed cassava, wrapped around a peeled hard-boiled egg and deep fried (who thought of that combination still baffles me, but T.I.G). Since we didn’t have plain cassava we opted to use all our left over ground provisions (eddo, potato, yam, cassava and plantain). We smashed these up with garlic and onion and wrapped the whole mix around a hard-boiled egg and fried it up and, voila, a magical tuber and egg concoction was born! How did it taste, you wonder?

Well, it actually tasted pretty good but something about the whole day had turned us a little loopy. We just couldn’t stop laughing at the fact that we were actually cooking this strange, fried Guyanese dish. Then Tony told Sara that she cooked “hobbit food”. I guess something about tubers brought hobbits to mind. We were laughing so hard that we all almost choked on our egg balls, which were quickly renamed, “hobbit balls” which made us laugh even more.

And so, after a whirlwind of washing in the rain, a bike race road block, a gruesome traffic accident, mail mayhem, more rain, transportation trials, and a trench rat we ended the day with “hobbit balls”. Today was the oddest day ever…so far…

-C&T

P.S.
As I am posting this I want to add that today, Monday, we read in the newspaper that there were no casualties in the accident we saw yesterday. We were happy to learn that everyone made it to the hospital and received the care that they required.

An Homage to a New Friend: The Climate of Guyana

A lot of this blog has been simple explanation and a telling of events, but there is so much more here than our stories reflect. There are experiences and understandings; things that need to be shown and not necessarily told. As a proponent  of creative writing I know stories are better revealed through "showing" and not "telling," so allow me to "show" you Guyana's climate.

    The days are hot. Heat constantly permeates our upstairs common area, and when I sit without the fan I break into a sweat. I can only wear my clothes once, and if I attempt to wear them again my odor acts as vanguard where ever I walk.
    Some mornings break blue and clear, but by lunchtime there may be a deluge that lasts 5 minutes, only to leave either a pall of gray clouds or a scattered blue sky. Other times, like this morning, it may come down hard for hours in the night, but when dawn breaks the sun shines, pushing away the dastardly diminishing clouds only to berate  my pale skin with vitamin D filled rays.
    Moreover, there is very little breeze. The air is so silent when I am outside sometimes it feels like I am trapped in a room with 4-walls, a ceiling, and a floor. I find myself imagining, in heat-induced delirium, that if I had a super power I would choose to control the elements. I imagine summoning a wind to grace through the windows to caress the sweat rolling down my forehead, neck, and back. I imagine having that wondrous breeze blowing, dispelling the drops and cooling my internal body temperature. I imagine...I imagine... 
    My roommate mentioned that once sweat is dripping down your body it's completely useless. The purpose of sweat is to evaporate and draw away heat from your body.  Thus, as it runs down the furrows that line my face, it is gathering, gasping for a breath of air.
    So when a rare breeze does occur it is a gift. A gift that, if it had tangibility, I would wrap it up and give it to myself for every birthday and Christmas. I use hyperbole, of course, but the breeze in sacred.
    Every weekday morning (around 5am), I do some form of physical activity, whether it be weightlifting or running. When I am finished, the fountains can't turn off. I take my shirt off, sit in front of the fan, make breakfast, and still my pores continue to weep. I stare into the mirror and someone who looks freshly showered stares back. Sometimes I wonder if I will ever stop sweating, but then realise probably not.
   It's hot.

Much love,
T & C
PS. As I was writing this it was clear, then it rained, then it stopped, now its raining again.
T.I.G.

End of Training, Linden Life Begins

Here are some photos from our last few weeks of training:

 

Linden Life: 

Soaked through, we walked beneath a massive rainstorm. It was our first storm here in country, but it won’t be the last. We’re finally placed at our site and it’s wonderful. We drove down here the other day with all our stuff. It was hilarious to watch the four of us “white people” take up the 8 rows in the back of large bus. And after getting to Linden we drove around looking for our house, which no one really knew where to find it. We had to call our landlady to give us proper direction, but it all worked out in the end.

Tony, Sara, Chelsea, and I all live in the same house. Tony and Sara live on the bottom in their own respective apartments, while Chelsea and I live on the top floor. There isn’t much here just a couch, a table, a few chairs, and a bed.  We were also left some plates, cutlery, and teacups. Though we each live in our own space we tend to gather upstairs to eat dinner and watch movies, crowded around our computer.  

We’ve been to market and met many, many people from market vendors to friends of friends who knew we were here, to just people on the street who stop us to have a “gaff” (I mean 4 white people walking through the streets is not exactly inconspicuous.)  Anyway, so far the people have been simply amazing.

But here are couple little vignettes to share, I am sure Tony can tell the tale with more humor and vigor, but I’ll give it my best shot.

On our first morning Tony’s counterpart came by and said she’d walk us around town for a bit, but first she wanted us to meet the Regional Health Officer (RHO), who is in charge all the hospitals in the Administrative Region. So we go the regional office, shaking hands describing our situation. Eventually, we make it to the back the building and a suit-clad woman walks out from the door at the end of the hall. This is the RHO we intended to meet. We give our introductions and mention that we hope we can work together in the future. She goes back to the meeting.

Out she comes again, “Excuse, excuse, but the policy-makers want to meet you,” she says. With our eyes wide with excitement mixed with nervousness we agree to go in. We walk in and see a circle of tables fill the room. There are a couple of tables to the sides with clerks taking copious notes on the proceedings and then they make a motion to suspend the meeting to introduce us!  For perspective, think of yourself walking into the State Legislature and them stopping whatever they are doing to introduce you. Granted, this was on a much smaller scale, but it was still a pretty big deal. So basically we have been officially introduced into the record of the region.

So here’s another story I like to call “4 white folks and a big bunch of rope”. We were setting up our clothesline this morning when our 3 lbs of yellow line became unfurled and turned into a giant tangled knot. Sara organized the line, while Tony and Chelsea were attempting to tie our line to “sturdy” post; yeah it didn’t work. However, our gracious neighbor offered his assistance and he was able to whip that line in to a taut, operational line in no time. But the image of four of us struggling was classic.

 

As I wrote this post a miracle occurred. WE HAVE STRUNG UP OUR HAMMOCK! Now, I know you in your comforts of the first world can’t even imagine the beauty of hammocks, but trust me they are miraculous. I didn’t think we’d be able to string one up because our house is entirely made of concrete, but the amazing resourcefulness of Tony and Chelsea has no peer. It’s true; necessity is the mother of invention!

April 14th, 2010

So I wrote the above post about two weeks ago before I started work, and I wanted to expand on it.

We’re still doing very well. We eat such good meals from pizza to “burritos” to a Guyanese dish called “Cook up.” We still all get along really well and we started an exercise regimen. Tony and I jog three times a week, usually in the morning since it gets so hot here during the day. We also work on some core, arms, and I usually do legs. It has only been a week, but the habit is forming and I feel better already.

Chelsea and Sara have their own routine. They brave the streets and walk every morning and then do their own workouts. I hear the best stories when they come home. They are constantly catcalled or “sipped” at (which is this sucking/kissing sound that the Guyanese do so well); labeled “white meat”, “baby”, “beautiful” or the men call out random, American sounding names like “Mary”,“Susan” and sometimes they get lucky and call out “Sara”, which is quite disconcerting; they are asked to be married; and also asked if they would have peoples Guyanese babies. It quickly gets old, and hopefully it will get better when they realize we are community members and not going anywhere. 

Work has been going. I have been visiting schools, talking with Head Teachers (HMs), and regular teachers to see where I can be the most valuable. So far I think I am going to focus on improving literacy, IT training (MS word, Excel, etc.), and classroom management through student empowerment. The Health Center crew is doing their own thing: wading their way through weighing babies, one-on-one nutrition consultations, and talking with nurses in terms of Youth Friendly Services.  We are all still searching for our primary niche and project.

It was my birthday yesterday and I wanted to thank everyone who wished me well: Thank you all for your support and love. I wanted to thank my roommates too who made my B-day in Guyana extra special with their thoughtful, yet practical gifts. It was a wonderful 29^th.

Anyway, if you haven’t noticed I have also posted pictures on our blogs so you can see a bit more of what we’re experiencing. We’re still thinking about getting a photo site to store our photos, but for now I hope you can enjoy the ones we’ve shared.

Much Love,

T & C