Oh, Georgetown. You're teaching this suburban girl so much.
Preparing me for the potentials of big city life back in the States, should I
ever end up in one. My street smarts are starting to stack up as high as
the palm trees, although I'm no longer as green as its leaf. I've heard
if you can drive in Georgetown, you can drive anywhere, and I believe it.
I'm starting to think if you can bike in Georgetown, the same rule applies.
In the past two weeks, I've actually been present during two motor bike accidents
and one of my more exciting mini-bus rides resulted from being side swiped by
an over taking car. Perhaps if the drivers turned up the music a little
more, it would help their reflexes. One morning, I practiced bracing
myself during the jolts, protecting my bag and holding my ears closed, all at
the same time! I'm no longer surprised by random people attempting to
draw attention to themselves through lewd conduct and strangers instantly
thinking they need to be my friend. In fact, the names I hear while I'm
biking are quite entertaining. Since here is English, everything is
explicit. From "white meat" to "white girl" to
"snow flake", prelude always takes form in a kissing, sipping sound
and "endearing" baby or sweetie.
I’m privy to homeless men with extremely impressive dreads and
zombie-like gates aimlessly moving about the streets. Once, due to my keen observation skills, I
even witnessed a swift, discrete drive by exchange of a very large stack of
currency. And like I mentioned before, petty
theft is fairly high here, so I always try to be alertly aware of my
surroundings. I’ve ran through different
scenarios in my head and the solution I come up with most of them is to just
act crazy. Being crazy just throws
people for a loop. In fact, it’s one of
the suggestions Peace Corps gives us, right before acting out physically. Each and every day, as I see a little more, I
tuck away a little more. Because at the
end of the day, you never know when or where you’ll have to reach into your
little bag, to keep them from doing the same.
I celebrated a month in Guyana last Wednesday. It seems pretty fair,
although it feels like I could have easily celebrated six weeks or six months,
just as easily. Living once again in a country with only two seasons,
time feels somewhat irrelevant. It's safe to say that I’m comfortable and
familiar with my surroundings, although I haven’t explored too much of the city
on my own. I stick to my bicycle routes,
comprised of work, markets, the bank and post office and friend’s houses. Inevitably, my shirt needs a good ringing out
after every single stop. I’d rather bike
or walk than take a taxi, perhaps because I’m frugal, which might limit me, at
times, to experience some of the fine dining and entertainment Guyana has to
offer. But, perhaps because I’m frugal, I’d
rather buy food to cook, and create my own entertainment, and save the limited
spending money allotted, for weekend excursions or giant annual events…enter
GuyEXPO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Last night, my friend Susan and I attended the annual event that Guyana holds
in Georgetown, featuring businesses, small and large, throughout the
country. A couple of weeks ago, one of
my co-workers informed me that GuyEXPO was an event, not to be missed. Of course, our perception of not to be missed
events could easily be as different as our hair products, but as time moved
closer to the opening, my curiosity got the best of me and plans were made, tickets
were purchased and attend, we did. And I
will admit, she was right. As a
foreigner, I was blown away by the expansiveness and expensiveness of the
event. There are few places when you’re
traveling and living abroad, that will remind you of being at home. A fancy restaurant with adequate or less than
adequate service, might be one of them. Or
people bronzing themselves on a beach. Or
a ginormous replication of the Texas or Oklahoma State Fair, as was the case
for GuyExpo 2012.
First thing I did when our tickets were torn? Splurge on and devour an entire bag of cotton
candy. I was 12 again. Oh, wait, 22, or 32? There was a midway. There was a bounce house. There were trampolines. I told Susan that if I were in the right
attire, I’d be jumping. She added…and
the right age? To which I replied, um, I’m
not? We toured business booth, upon
business booth, picking up a myriad of pamphlets and brochures, sampled wines,
masalas, and Mak-C (the powdered drink mix of choice here). We saw entertainment out the wazoo, while the
scents and smells of amazing food wafted through the air. We each purchased a couple of items from the
AmerIndians, to take back to the homepeople.
She, grass skirts and headdresses for her grandchildren, I crab oil
infused soap.
Attending the Expo reminded me, once again of the disparity in this
country. It is something that I’ve been
thinking about a lot lately. Disparity
is demonstrated around the world. The
haves and the have-nots. The working to
live and the living to work. We toured a
section of the fair solely dedicated to extravagant home furnishings, just like
you’d find at the state fairs back home, and I asked a rhetorical question aloud:
how many people can actually afford these things?! The
answer is, actually, a lot of people.
But most people can’t. Most
people probably couldn’t even afford the entrance price of the Expo. Maybe I’ve been thinking about all of this because
when you’re a foreigner, you’re automatically placed in a different financial
category or your status is automatically raised. Many times, you’re “in” with the livin’ large
and in charge crowd, whether you deserve to, or even want to… Back home, I’m nowhere near livin’
large. The interesting thing about Peace
Corps is, even here, I’m nowhere near that status, either. But I was fortunate to be born in a country and
to a family that allowed me the opportunities on which I’ve capitalized and
made the most of. I received an
excellent education, which has empowered me to excel in areas about which I’m
passionate. But it’s not just me who
received the education and opportunity back home, and THAT is the difference
abroad.
In the schools and in the homes, there is a culture of punishment through
fear and aggression. You see it clearly
when you’re placed and working within the schools. Our counselors have their jobs cut out for
them. Decades upon decades of “fixing” “problem”
children through violence and voice raising has produced a society of many
vocal and aggressive adults. Of course,
not everyone raises their children this way, but if you are not even aware that
there’s any other way, and that’s how you were raised, what are your
options? I’m looking forward to helping
the counselors with their daunting tasks of behavior change. First thing on my agenda is showing attention
through positive reinforcement. I tried
it out last Monday, during an incredibly aggressive and disruptive group
session about safe touches with 13 twelve year old boys. The counselor noticed it too. But at the end of the day, you just have to
do the best you can. And at the end of
the day, we all fall asleep, even if it’s not in the same place, every night.
No comments:
Post a Comment