Hello, My Name is Courtney

"Courtney!  Why are you so...strange?" 

My co-worker was just about to log on to Facebook, after me, but couldn't quite understand why the user name/password blanks were upside down and backwards.  She was commenting on that fact, probably because she had never seen it before and was frustrated because she couldn't log on? 

Of course, I didin't think there was anything strange with not having a normal Facebook setting.  But all I could say was, "I don't know...?"  Crap, I thought I doing a pretty good job of being pretty normal.  But was my "strangeness" really that apparent?  Even to Guyanese??

Often I will introduce myself to Guyanese and they will wonder why a girl is named Courtney.  "Courtney is a boys name," they'll say.  Or I will close my email with Courtney, and they will respond "Dear Mr. Gilman..."  One time I followed up with a phone call from an email and the lady was like, "Oh!  I thought you were a man!" 

Back in high school, I knew an African-American boy named Courtney.  We didn't have much in common, but we were buds, because of our common name.  Yes, I know Courtney is also a popular African-American/Guyanese boy's name, I tell the Guyanese who comment on my name.  Then, I kindly and calmly explain that in the United States, Courtney is also a popular girls name.  It's one of those Peace Corps "Goal #3" conversations.

But here is the kicker:  I remember a conversation I had with my father, when I was a little girl.  We were talking about what it would be like when I grew up.  He told me that sometimes, little black boys grow up to be white women.  Sometimes, little black girls grow up to be white men.  He suggested that there was a chance that I'd grow up to be the opposite color and sex of what I was when I was a little girl.  I kid you not.  Even back then, I knew that was an outrageous topic of conversation and claim to make.  I knew that it was really weird.

But I can't help but think back to that conversation and how ironic it is, that, today, as a grown white female, I'm being mistaken for, well, a black male.  Perhaps that anecdote might also help explain why I'm so, um, "strange".  I guess it's also true that the mango doesn't fall far from its tree...

Stay tuned for a detailed recap of WEnEx and pictures and thoughts and projections for the final month of service!

Love and limes!

See The Sea of Dreams

Have you ever awoken from a dream, only to realize your state of consciousness is just as dreamlike?  Or maybe something suddenly sparks your memory about a certain time in your life and you convince yourself that HAD to have been a dream.  There is no way you actually step foot in the Taj Mahal, held a naked Mandinka Gambian child in your lap, or watched the boy you were once madly in love with be called to drum live on stage with the band with whom you'll always be mad for.  Things like that only happen in dreams... Or do they?

Kiddos from the five primary schools where ChildLinK works at Children's Day 2012

Have you ever tried to keep a dream journal?  The first time I ever started writing down my dreams was for an assignment in high school psychology class.  We were talking about the unconscious mind and states of sleep and were encouraged to keep a notebook and pen on a nightstand, for those few moments when you awake from REM sleep, and you have the best chance of remembering your most recent dreams.  I even bought a dream interpretation book that allowed for some insight into what was happening when my eyes were closed.  Dreaming has always been a fascinating subject, and can be even more so when you remember them long enough to log them.  Don't get discouraged if you can't remember your dreams, right away.  Practice thinking about dreaming, as you drift off to sleep.

That's a steel pan drum set in the back!! 

I have to admit, my reality often feels very dreamlike.  Not just here, in Guyana, but for much of my life.  However, in reality, our dreams can take us to an entirely different world.  They can give us a completely different perspective, lend to new ideas and create alternative meanings and solutions to our realities.  Or they can be completely obscure and irrelevant make us question what was in the water we just drank.  Am I using the right kind of filter?!?!

Here it goes...Last night I dreamt that a Peace Corps Volunteer I once knew, but have had zero contact with, in Gambia was sending me care packages, one at a time, in Guyana.  Sweet, I know, except the care packages consisted of his "art instillation" which was a collection of paper egg crates and animal bones.  On each one, he had written endearing notes.  In my dream, I couldn't figure out the connection of an art project consisting of egg crates and bones and I couldn't figure out why, he had paid to send the whole collection, via individual pieces.  I'd be leaving Guyana very soon anyway, and who knows if I could fit them all in my suitcase, just to take them back to right where they came from?  

Besides, we've all experienced the horror and pain that is to pick up a package from the Parcel Section of the main post office in downtown Georgetown.  Why is it that something that brings so much joy and excitement creates such anxiety during the pick up process?  And although I'm fine with practicing my patience, something seriously needs to be re-visited.  Communication is key.  Safety is important and I understand that opening the packages and checking the contents might prevent the distribution of illegal items.  However, a simple numerical system, communication and accountability could help the 99.9% of the patrons picking up Pooh Bear party paraphernalia and "egg crates and bones" get back to work about an hour and a half faster.  Did I mention you also have to pay the worth of your package, according to what the customs officer thinks?

Interviewing for the video short debuting at WEnEX, at Lusignin Good Hope Learning Center.  Note the tank top/ Christmas tree juxtaposition. 

Recently, I also dreamt this group I was with was directed into a basement for a fire drill (makes total sense, I know), which was when someones glass shoe shattered into pieces.  I began to pick up the pieces by hand, but a fan was on and blowing the pieces I tried to gather, in every direction possible.  Finally, I decided I needed a broom and dustpan to clean up the mess.

That very same day, in reality, at the ChildLinK office, someone dropped a glass in the kitchen, and it shattered into pieces.  My counterpart started picking up the pieces by hand and trying to wipe the rest up with a towel, while a fan blasted on high, in the background.  I piped up about my dream about that time, and suggested they step back and let me sweep it up with a broom and dustpan.  If I hadn't come across as "different" already, I definitely just blew my cover.

For me, it's a unique and rare example of a dream that parallels reality.  It's not something to dwell on, but rather an opportunity to be introspective about the happenings in the world around us.

Every child has the right to a safe and secure home.

Thanksgiving marks exactly one month until I return to a life that will feel as foreign as not sweating or running out of credit in the middle of a cell phone call.  I may not have had a "host family" during my PC Response service, but I have encountered something just as, if not more meaningful: a "host community".  Today, while I biked around putting up fliers for WEnEX, I ran into three people in my friend circle.  This evening, while running in the National Park, I saw three more.  That doesn't even include the Peace Corps Volunteers I ran into at the office and joined for lunch.  I have been here for three months now, which is not that long, in the grand scheme of things.  But it is long enough to integrate into a community and it is long enough to experience homesickness, all at once.  It is long enough to accomplish tasks and contribute efforts to a myriad of causes, travel to a myriad of places and network with a myriad of people.  But for some reason, I feel like I have only scratched the surface. 

And I wonder, when and if I move on to something new, how long it will take to feel like I've been dreaming for four solid months... I'm a dreamer though, at heart.  I always have been and I hope to always be.  So far following my dreams has taken me from sea to shining sea.  Who knows where they will take you? 

Women's Enterprise Exposition

The Women's Enterprise Exposition is only one week away!  In the mean time, watch THIS!

This past weekend, we started filming businesses and organizations for the video short, which will be debuted on the night of the event.  So much to do and so little time. 

I'll fill you in on the rest of the current happenings around this place, when I get a chance to catch my breath.  Christmas lights have been strung, toy shops are going up and sweat-marked backpack outline has me feeling like Christmas really IS in July this year...

This Bird's Eye

Me and my host, Rachael, visiting a friend's place

Dark green, light green

 
The houses quickly became Monopoly pieces down below, as we gained altitude above.  But the fields of green and green overtook the tiny, colorful polka dots, faster than you could pass go and collect $200.

Cane and rice fields were a patchwork quilt of slight variances of green and green, interspersed with polka dots, sewn together with aquifer canals the color brown.  Grandma and Grandpa have been hardworking homesteaders, longer than I could even remember.

Boys on bikes!

Eventually, our tiny plane became the blade which cut through the shaving cream mounds of clouds of a thick, white beard.  But the raindrops were too thin shy to wash anything away.

Our flying SUV became a bumper-car amusement park ride, when we hit pockets of air.  I closed my eyes and wondered what good a "co-pilot" was whose head was permanently in the clouds.

Parching ground cassava (farin)

The very first night I spent with a fellow PCV in Kato, a town of 500 villagers in Region 8, the waning moon rose late and low and hung like the occupied hammocks there, in the middle of the languid afternoons.  Strung up by about 200 million stars, for the world to watch, the moon swung silently, lulling its villagers softly to sleep.

How quickly we get caught up in the rat race of life and forget about the little things, which helps give us perspective and realize what's truly important in this world.  I never would have imagined my perspective could hide in the corners of a developing country, but this past week, it peeked out its head in a remote Amerindian village, and I smuggled it back on the plane to Georgetown, where it is needed most, right now.  I hope to share as much as possible.

Fermented cassava (cassiri-right), cassava bread soaked in tuma pot soup and smoked meat.  Breakfast of champions.

Bike-petaled cassava grinder (on right)

Friends and falls

For a brief moment, I was back in Gambia, taking bucket baths by candlelight and occupying pit latrines.  But this interior village was much different than the one I knew.  Where were the mosque calls and rhythmic sounds of women pounding rice?  Maybe it was due to the simple fact that we all spoke the same language, but it seemed like education and health was taken more seriously and cassava took on about five more roles, including being turned into the fermented drink, cassiri.

For five days, I enjoyed the good company of conversation, culture, slowing down, sleep, breathtaking scenery and solitude.  We hiked around some of the 93 square miles and even swam in a waterfall pool.  I came back to lots of love from the homepeople in North America, as well as the momentum to continue to contribute positively for the rest of my service.  I am grateful for all of the people I have met during my time here in Guyana, even though roles might not always be initially apparent.

During this last month or so, as a Peace Corps Response Volunteer here in Guyana, responsibilities will be directed towards ChildLinK, the Women's Enterprise Exposition, and finding a freaking job.  I am open to all sorts of possibilities, so please keep me in mind when you hear of possibilities.

Interestingly enough, too, I spent my second presidential election abroad.  Once again, I had the unique opportunity to engage with US Embassy personnel, but this year, I also gained the insight of residents of Guyana.

Sunset in the Kato valley

I cannot tell yet if I am ready to depart Guyana.  There is one part of me who feels like I am just starting to get the hang of Georgetown and meeting people who could be genuine friends.  Perhaps the possibilities of contributing to this country, even further, might exist?  There is another part of me who feels like I've contributed enough to the people in a country that has spit in my face and literally given me a "shit show".  I know the ease of the decision will come, as the departure draws closer.  In the mean time, I will simply continue to give the most of myself to the areas which have most meaning, such as counseling, culture and interpersonal relationships, writing pen pals and health and happiness, to name a few.  Thanks to everyone who has lent their support during my time here.  I could not be giving 110% without it!!  Here's to a lot of love, loads of perspective and relief for four more years...