Snow White's Prince(ipals)

The window seat was taken but
I took over
           staring out the window

Lights,
a speckled glowing grid
growing farther away and
wider than the memories I've made
          over the past several months

And the soil changes
from sand to silt
to sludge
           to dirt as red

As the stockings hung on
the absent chimneys
waiting
           to be shimmied down

By the jolly old man
who
knows exactly where
           the key is living

And with that he
unlocks
           the imagination.
****************************************************************************

I had been up for approximately 48 hours.  Maybe if didn't go to bed, the next morning would never come and I wouldn't have to leave my "family" I'd come to love, over the past four months.  The people I had seen nearly every day and the places I had frequented and the streets down which I rode (and wondered how I would adjust to riding on the right side again) would all still be there.  Yet I would not. 

And then, after over twelve hours of travel, I hear a voice as familiar, yet haunting, as Will Rogers' himself and I turn around to see my father's face in the body of a fellow traveler.   How did you get though security?  To which he replied, "I never left".  

And so began the next 36 hours of a whirlwind...fast track:  father flew in unexpectedly but expected to be taken care of, sleeping an entire day and waking up thinking that I only slept for mere hours, as the sun slowly set.  I was in Norman, in my own home, in my own bed, but only for mere hours, before heading down to Dallas for the Famidays.

On the first day of Famiday, my mother said to me, Tonight we'll see the faces in the places we will be.

On the second day of Famiday, I said to my mother, It's snowing, can it be??  Come press your nose on the window and see!!!!  

It all happened so fast.  Christmas and family and snow, oh my.  I'm happy to have spent my first week back in Dallas, with family and attempting to settle into a life on which I pressed pause.  Yet it's strange to be back.  It's almost as if I never left.  And then I look at the photos and read back through my journal and look at the faces of my new friends whom I have made over the past short months of my favorite season, which was completely absent and I realize it wasn't the season, but me who was gone.  And now I'm back but gone from the place absent of seasons and I'm almost even more absent-minded.

One door closes and one opens, in the very same building which people use the revolving door.

What will I do now?  Everyone is interested to know, including me.  It is a good time to ask that question, to yourself, as we become just as close to the end as we are to the beginning.

One thing is for sure....do right and do it good, alright?

Procrastination Post

I should be wrapping things up neatly, like a present under the Evergreen Christmas tree, which I've come to see, everywhere I turn, from Church's Chicken, to the neighbor's front porch, to the Peace Corps Office.  My friend, Matt, pondered aloud why Palms weren't decorated instead and I thought to myself that he had a good point.  I have yet to see an Evergreen growing in the trenches.

The trees are as ornate as the businessmen and women who work in Georgetown, and as my days dwindle down to the very end, my to-do list grows infinitely.

When I reflect on my four short months here, in Guyana, I wonder why it snuck up on me so quickly.  I feel sad to be leaving.  I feel like this chapter was too short and it needs some editing, to be longer.  I feel like I wonder what it's like to be told you have a terminal illness and you only have four months to live.  Looking back, feel like I would have made a good patient.  I did a lot of things, contributing to Guyana in many many ways.  I grew a lot as a person.  I made a lot of new friends.  Friends to whom I will give my things away, because I am leaving them and going to another place, far far away.  We both will feel as since of loss and we will both grieve in our own ways.

There are times in our life when we feel like we're back in summer camp.  Peace Corps often feels that way.  You make strong bonds with people you may or may not ever see again, not just in the Peace Corps, but in the country in which you've served.  This time around, though, it reminds me of a combination of Lord of the Flies and Dead Poet's Society.  Even though we are out of our elements, we still manage to make serious and meaningful contributions to the Guyanese society, and make an impact on those whose paths we cross.

When we travel, we not only learn more about the world around us, but we also learn more about ourselves.  We learn more about our friends and family, too.  We learn more about the people with whom we became friends with who remained at home and we learn more about the people who we become friends with, who will remain when we once again, return to those friends whom we've left behind.  Moving to a completely new and unfamiliar place, and integrating into a new community is one of the hardest things for people to do.  But to me, saying goodbye is even harder.

For some reason, this time around, it feels even harder.  I'm not sure if it is because I don't know what lies around the next corner (or in the next chapter), or if it is because I have this gut feeling my work here isn't quite finished.  Whatever the reason is, I am trying to remain positive.  If it were not for all of my friends and family I left behind, who are happily awaiting my return, I know I would be feeling even more sad about leaving.  I am grateful for all the people in my life who have kept in touch, throughout all my traveling.  It gives the hard times a softer landing.  I feel like I have been spoiled here.  There are some people (you know who you are) who have just truly and absolutely gone above and beyond to contribute to my happiness as a PCV in Guyana.  I am so honored and grateful to you all and you are the people who are making it the hardest to say goodbye.  But perhaps it's only so-long-for-now.  At any rate, thank you, from the bottom of my heart.

For now, though, I'll look forward to connecting with friends and family from back home, and enjoying the holidays and maybe even the cold weather.  We shall see about the last one...

Here's to wishing everyone health and happiness, wherever they are in the whole wide world.

The Kindness of Strangers

The Kindness of Strangers

Water vapors coat the airplane's
exterior like cotton
filled inside the winter coat
I have forgotten to know
what it's like to wear; It's rainy
season where
the markets flood in
a matter of flash, the mothers
spread their tarps over their
stands with produce with names like
catahar, caramboa, white tea,
mangos, pineapples and papaya;
produce with names
with expensive tastes once you're
back in North America; yet
all I crave is the crisp and clean
juice of a Red Delicious, until
I'll discover how the Cashew nut
grows and I'll remember and
realize how long before my
meeting with it's mother could
once again be and
I look into the wrinkled eyes and
furrowed brow of the beggar I've
passed at least twenty times yet
all I can do is offer
my sympathetic smile.  But
maybe someday, I could offer
more, I think as
the rain continues to fall and
beat down on the corrugated roof as
loudly and as undeserving as
the children who run bare feet and
buck naked in the puddles so
deep, making it their personal
water park for
simple joy and amusement, until
their mothers shout from a distance
under their corrugated awnings and
tarps, where their fruit also lives as
the rain keeps beating and the mothers
keep shouting and the kids just
keep being kids.

Christmas in July

Seasons greetings from Guyana, the country that does a remarkably good job at suggesting that any moment now, Santa will shimmy down the chimney...except the thought of sitting around a flaming fire simply (and ironically) gives me chills and I can hardly believe it could be winter anywhere in the whole entire world.

Now that I think about it...does anyone even own a chimney in Guyana?  How does Santa deliver presents in the Caribbean, I wonder?  After inquiring, it appears that reindeer and rooftop nursery rhymes never made their way here, so when you wake up, presents just appear under the tree, in the case of one of my co-workers, under the bed.  There isn't the tradition of leaving cookies and milk for Santa, nor carrots for the reindeer, but pictures with Santa and a wish list conversation, can be found at the local grocery store.  Perhaps we can initiate a "Santa and his horse-cart" movement.

Last Friday, the entire work day was dedicated to decorating for the holiday.  Reggae style-Christmas tunes began blaring on the "Mobile Music Units" nearly two months ago, yet the snow-cone man continues to peddle down the street with his mobile icy-treat stand.  Today, at one of the schools, I showed up to offer support to the counselor and discuss alternative methods of parenting, and stumbled upon an impromptu Christmas decorating party.  They were all sitting around making colored paper chains, and hearts and I took the opportunity to introduce to paper snowflake.  I also explained that each and every snowflake took its very own shape and was comprised of a unique molecular make up, just like each and every one of our fingerprints.



Saturday, I attended a World Human Rights Day equality walk, representing Peace Corps.  Me and my fellow PCVs, Tina and Melissa were a tiny representation of our organization, but we walked proud with the Peace Corps Guyana banner.  Interestingly enough, we were instructed to relocate several times for the press photo, and then ended up at the back of the parade.  At one point, I wondered if we were, in fact, inadvertently being discriminated against, but at the end of the day, the gratitude was apparent by many of the participants.  Other organizations represented included, but weren't limited to SASOD and Help and Shelter.

While walking to the walk, Tina and I witnessed yet another car accident.  This time, it was a taxi driver who ran a stop sign, who was hit by the driver who had the right of way.  It was on a residential street, but both cars were going fairly fast (as they do).  In fact, the taxi passed us with such haste, blaring his horn, I wondered what was the hurry. 



Representing Peace Corps Guyana!!



We heard the impact and directed our attention to the wreck, which was when we saw the taxi cab basically crash into a pole, which prevented it from heading into the trench.  As we approached the cars, Tina and I wondered who had the right away.  We didn't see any stop signs, or even any yield signs.  While driving in Guyana, it seemed like people are "just supposed to know" who is right and when to stop/yield.  People are just supposed to know which street runs east and which street runs west, which street runs north and which street runs south.  As I stated in a previous post, they say if you can drive in Guyana, you can drive anywhere in the world.  As a Peace Corps Volunteer, we are not allowed to drive.  But even if we could, I'm not sure I'd want to.  Then again, riding in a mini-bus, proportionately the most affordable method of transportation for a PCV, is an adventure in and of itself...but I digress.

Finally, drivers and passengers emerged from their vehicles, seemingly unscathed.  It was then that other spectators and witnesses began pointing out the completely faded painted "stop" on the pavement running east and west.  I was standing only 100 yards away, yet I had to squint to recognize the traffic demarcation. Fortunately, no one was seriously hurt.  But I couldn't help but think about the passenger in the taxi, who came out of the car flexing his knee, as a result of the impact.  Such a seemingly simple traffic sign is remarkably important when it comes to human safety. 


It also got me thinking about the "rat race" of life.  Why WAS everyone in such a hurry?  There seems to be a sense of urgency in Georgetown which kind of makes me panic.  Conductors are constantly ushering people into their mini buses, people want food fast, drinks faster and when I don't pay my grocery bill in under 30 seconds, I feel people behind me start to get anxious.  It's an interesting juxtaposition in a place where meetings starting at least a half an hour late, and food and clothing donation requests taking a month to come to fruition, because of all the red tape.



Showing off the snowflakes!



Tina and I stayed long enough to make sure everyone was okay, exchange a few words with the taxi passenger and driver from the other car, then proceeded on to our equality walk.  After the walk, we made our way over to one of our favorite Georgetown coffee shops, Oasis, and met up with another PCV.  My computer officially bit the dust, and ironically, he is selling his!!  So we set up a time to give me crash course in the awesomeness of an Apple product.  Wow.  Moving on up in this technology world!  I'm excited to learn about the graphic design software and trying my hand at some designing.

But this is how small Georgetown is and how it is beginning to remind me more and more of Norman, every day:  as Tina emerged from the washroom, she divulged that the man who was just in the car accident was having coffee on the other side of the wall, with the owner of Oasis.  When it was my turn to use the washroom, I too ran into him, and we struck up a conversation about the accident, the walk, and our respective work in the country (mine as a PCV and his as a cancer researching doctor and documentarian in Guyana).  Finally, we exchanged information and continued about our own business.  Just a day later, I received an email from him reflecting upon an unfortunate event, like an accident, and a silver lining of meeting motivated and passionate people like me and Tina.



Onions and a giant Nativity scene.

When we go about our days, we strive to be as productive as possible.  There are times when it is important to have a sense of urgency, when it comes to meeting deadlines and when it comes to health and safety.  But we must also step back and recognize when the line crosses from urgency to impatience.  When we get impatient, our bodies react in certain ways to cope with the stress it finds itself in.  There are actual physiological effects of being stressed and impatient.  Our bodies release stress hormones, such as adrenaline and cortisol, and that stimulates blood platelets.  As a result, our blood pressure actually raises.  High blood pressure puts stress on your heart and could possibly increase the chance for a heart attack, down the road.

During this holiday time, and really, every single day, take a minute to ask yourself if you really need to be worried about what it is that you're stressing about.  If it is something like not getting a bottle of wine open fast enough, then you probably don't need to be anxious about it.  If it something like someone is not moving fast enough in a line at the grocery store, or especially, in traffic, then you don't need to be anxious about it.  Everyone has to be some place and eventually, they will arrive. 

Bottom line is that it is better to arrive late and safe, than not at all.

It's Christmastime up in here!

I have about a week and a half left as a Peace Corps Response Volunteer, in Guyana.  I'm looking forward to continuing building relationships here, and also looking forward to returning to the ones back home.  Our family will actually all be in Dallas and that's a rare occasion.  I am thinking positively about finding something fulfilling and continuing to contribute to society, as this chapter comes to a close and another one begins.  The analogy of life as a book never gets old, perhaps because I enjoy writing so much. 

The other day,  a new friend asked me how it is that I've done so much in such short of time.  I suppose it is true that I have.  But I wouldn't want it in any other way.  We have to write our own books of life.  We have to make the most of the opportunities in which we engage, and maybe even more importantly, recoginze the opportunities.  If you know you are hungary, you are more likely to pick an apple off the tree you pass, instead of just walking by.  If you know you want to turn your book into a movie, you will recognize when the conditions are right and work towards making it happen.

(Wo)Man I Fest 2012

Have you ever tried thinking about something so much, with the aim that it will come true?  Or maybe you take the time to write down the things you hope to accomplish during the day, week, month or year; a similar idea.  At the very least, we speak about our plans, thoughts and desires to our friends and family nearly every day.  This is helpful and necessary when it comes to working towards achievements and goals.  It helps us remain accountable to ourselves, by means of verbalizing it with others.  The concept of manifesting your reality is not new.  But does it really work?  Can you really THINK something into REALITY??

We North Americans are all familiar with Manifest Destiny, the19th Century general notion and widely held belief that the United States was destined to expand across the continent.  It never became a policy, possibly because of the association of slavery, along with the expansion.  However, we remember it today as a legacy of an American mission to spread democracy around the entire world.

The idea of manifestation is more about making a point to recognize the wants and desires when they are right in front of you.  If you can't pin point exactly what it is that you are after, how will you recognize it?  How will you know what it is that you want if you don't take time to think about it, write about it or talk about it?

Two days ago, I was walking home after work.  I knew that I had a friend coming into town and that I should have picked up toilet paper at the grocery store, but I completely forgot to pick some up.  I was kind of kicking myself, and thought that I'd have to make an extra trip to the store.  Of course, that's no big deal.  Nothing to complain about.  BUT, it was on my way home from work that I stumbled upon a roadside stand selling nothing BUT toilet paper.  Roadside stands are not only popular in Georgetown and all over Guyana, but in developing countries all across the world.  I have seen everything from seasonal fruit and vegetables, to sweet homemade treats, bean sandwiches, sunglasses, fake beards, birds and rabbits, plastic toys, and, as of two days ago, toilet paper.  I started to walk by the toilet paper stand, un-phased, which was precisely when I remembered I needed it.  So I turned around and manifested my own need for the provision, they way I've come to learn...by means of negotiation.  

Now for my next manifestation trick...landing the job at the Multicultural Community Center at UC Berkeley I applied for a couple of weeks ago... I'm putting all of my feelers out.  In addition to the Center being student run and operated (besides the Director and Assistant Director-the job to which I applied), the Center appears to combine my love for cross cultural expression, event planning and promotion, advocacy for underserved populations, academia, and nice weather, ha.  Not to mention UC Berkeley has a PhD program in Ethnic Studies that I'm drooling over.  If anyone knows anyone associated with the Center or any of the departments associated with the Center, please please please put in a good word for me. Thank you!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

*************************************************************************

Kaiesh, my ChildLinK counterpart, and US Ambassador, Mr. Brent Hardt

After orchestrating around the clock for the past two months, to prepare for the Women's Enterprise Exposition (WEnEx), an event which aims to allow for networking and promotion of women's businesses and support groups and women's business support, our task force team did an excellent job in carrying it out and promoting the United Nations Millennium Development Goal #3: Promoting gender equality and empowering women.

Peace Corps Booth

On Monday, November 26ths, more than 30 registered booths, comprising of women owned businesses, youth development and women's support groups, and government entities, came together, under one roof to showcase their products and services, as well as network and share information and provide insight to the purpose of their existence  Among some of them were ChildLinK, Pandama Center for the Creative Arts, Guyana Business Coalition on HIV/AIDS, Women's Entrenurarship Network, the US Peace Corps and US Embassy, the Guyana Ministry of Health and many more.

GCCI President Mr. Urling, Kendra, Tina, myself and past GCCI President Mr. Ramnauth

We enjoyed opening remarks from WEnEx Director and PCV and WENET Coordinator, Tina Camara and Kendra Borutski, the Georgetown Chamber of Commerce President, Mr. Clinton Urling,  US Ambassador to Guyana, Mr. Brent Hardt, and Canadian High Commissioner, Mr. David Davine.

A 20 minute video short documentary directed by Peace Corps Volunteer, Matt Cusimano, and produced by yours truly, along with Tina and Kendra, also debuted, in addition to our panel discussion comprised of Dr. Faith Harding, Valerie Lowe, Dr. Paloma Mohamad, and Vanda Radzik. Minister of Human Services and Social Security, Jennifer Webster, served as keynote speaker for the evening.

Here is some of the press we received!!

*******************************************************************************

I often feel so fortunate and so lucky to have so many of the experiences that seem to find their ways into my life.  Whether or not it is something that I seek out and try to manifest, I take the opportunity to learn and reflect on the experiences.  Each and every person we meet has an impact or influence on us, whether we recognize it right away, or it years later.

Hurakabra Resort on the Essiquibo River

Most days I feel like my time here in Guyana has been all but too short.  I continue to meet remarkable and kind and generous people on a daily basis.  I continue to develop existing friendships, creating more substantial relationships with hopes of maintaining them long after we part ways, whenever that may be.  

World AIDS Day walk at 6am on a Sunday :)

No shave November=Movember

Kendra and Tina with the opening remarks

I continue to gain insight on the development of a country which was colonized approximately three different times, claims six nationalities, and at least three religions, and remains historically peaceful.  I feel Guyana could be on the brink of a major change; a sort of "paradigm shift", if you will.  I hope that I am right.  I hope that in 5 years, I look back on my time here and see a country whose postal system doesn't make mothers with crying children, business professionals and health care workers wait an hour and a half to pick up their packages.  I hope that the ministries listen to other key players in the business sectors and work towards a bottom up (instead of top down) approach to topics like education curriculum re-structuring, allocating the vast monies incorporated in the richness of land/mining resources towards infrastructure development, and utilizing tourism and promotion of resorts and lodges as a way to incorporate non-profit organizations through sponsorship.  I hope I look back and find the utilization of mentorships among educated and passionate secondary students, towards underprivileged youth around Georgetown and Guyana as a whole.  I hope that women's voices are heard more and taken seriously and that fewer reports of domestic violence ending in dismemberment of the victim appear on the front page of the daily news.  I feel like I've invested more of myself to a country whose existence I only vaguely knew of, in the past three and a half months, than I have to the country I've lived in for 27 years.  

Dancing Santa and our WEnEx poster

It's easy for me to become quickly invested in things and people and places about whom I am passionate.  It is even easier when there is a team with whom you're working, who are just as passionate.  We are fortunate to be on this world together.  We will not be on it forever, though, which is why we must make the most of our time here.  We must think positively, act kindly, follow through with our words, find something to be passionate about, and follow through on that, too.  

And if, at the end of the day, there is something out of life that you really desire, find a way to make it happen.  Manifest your own destiny... Just make sure it is for the best of humanity, and yourself, and not at the expense of others.

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...

Speed Boat Life vs. Ferry Life

"It's style," I declared with confidence, as I craned my neck around to the bus seat behind me.  The courteous stranger laughed at the explanation of why I had put my shirt on inside out.  I could tell it would be one of those days.  It was only 9:30am.

****************************************************

Staring.  Glaring as if I were a giant piece of white meat.  In fact, they'd no problem declaring it aloud, time and time again.  
Oh, did you want practice slitting a throat?  Don't worry, I'll be your sacrifice.  Maybe the dark meat bull isn't enough.  
I'M GIVING UP MY FALL FOR YOU, didn't you know?!?!?!?!?!  
It's my favorite season. 
I'd give up everything for you.  Isn't it obvious by now?  
My heart is a bleeding one.  But only as long as it's beating.  So therein is where the dilemma lies...

********************************************************************

Have you ever thought about what your life would look like if it were time lapsed and shown on a screen?  I don't just mean a head shot snapped, every day, but rather, your entire life filmed, and compressed into mere minutes.  Obviously, I'm not the only one who has ever thought of the idea.  There are even people who have actually executed the idea, as identified through the links.

I am not entirely sure what got me started on thinking about this, but I think it has something to do with my having developed quite a work week routine.  I enjoy routine, don't get me wrong.  But for the first time, in a very long time (probably since high school), my routine during this life chapter has ceased to greatly deviate, from one day to the next.  And I wonder what that must look like, to the outside observer. 

Waking up around the same time and biking the same route to work, passed the same trench construction workers, who inevitably shout and sip the same calls, dodging the same school traffic, boarding the same aggressive buses to the schools, coming home to run one of two routes I am comfortable with, and alternating between the same five outfits, seems kind of ordinary to me.  Yet to the outside observer, here in Guyana, it is probably anything but.

The moon is once again nearly full.  Talk about an interesting time-lapse.  Where did the last month go?  I am more than halfway finished with my service here in Guyana.  All at once, it feels like I've just arrived, while I get the feeling I should be planning for what's coming next.  But how can one plan for the unknown? 

More importantly though, what can I do to stay present, while knowing if a plan isn't in place for when I return, I will function less favorably.

Me and my new friend, Natalia, waiting for the ferry to Leguan.

It was a three day weekend for the Muslim holiday, Eid Al-Adha, so I took the opportunity to visit my friend Mary, who lives on Leguan Island, in the Essequibo River.  It was one of those mornings when they ferry was confused, so instead of leaving at 10am, it left around 12:30pm, which meant I had plenty of time to sit in the sun, under my umbrella, and write a bunch of letters, listen to a bunch of music, make a bunch of friends and get a bunch of stares.  By the time the ferry arrived in Leguan, it was close to 2pm and most of the activities of the festivities had already passed.  Nonetheless, Mary took me around the island, visiting with co-workers and co-worker's families.  I borrowed the small BMX bicycle with minimally working breaks, of her Head Mistress' 12 year old son and rode in the dress I wore, planning to maintain my cultural sensitivity of the conservative Muslim island.  Instead, I likely accidentally somewhat flashed every person who watched two white chicks ride by on bikes. 

Eid Al-Adha, also known as the Feast of the Sacrifice represents the day Ibrahim was about to prove his holiest commitment and submission to God (Allah) by sacrificing his first born son, Ishmael.   However, just before sacrifice, Allah provided a ram to sacrifice instead.  I have to give Guyanese credit.  Considering the melting pot of religions, races and class, the people of Guyana get along very peacefully (albeit aggressively).  Muslims sacrifice the Hindu's sacred animal, while Hindus cook the filthiest animal to a Muslim, the swine, all in a matter of meters from each other.  Christians span from Seventh-day Adventists to Jehova's Witness.

That day, on Leguan, Mary witnessed the entire slaughter of a cow, from it walking in and being knocked out, to the slitting of its throat, hanging of its legs, skinning of its hide and butchering of its organs and meat.  She and her counterpart went around the entire island, delivering meat to families, after they had enjoyed the organs.  I got there just in time to sample the heart and liver.  It had been a long time since I ate anything like that, and I nearly gagged.  Who knows if I would have eaten it if I had actually watched the slaughter...  Probably so, actually.  I tend to be a "when in Rome" kinda gal.

Shooting  commercial for WEnEX!

It was a short and sweet visit to Leguan, visiting with friends and riding to the "beach".  We caught the 6am ferry and were back in Georgetown by 8:30am, just in time to figure out the plans for filming commercials for the Women's Expo (my secondary project) happening on November 26th.  Finally, after a little over 4 hours of filming, we got the materials we needed, and left the studio.  I got to play hostess made lunch for the other PCVs staying with me.  We enjoyed a nice, leisurely rest of our Saturday afternoon, before deciding it was imperative to get dressed up, go out to dinner, and then dancing at the hippest hotel party in Guyana. 
After all, the theme WAS Pirates of the Caribbean. 

Natalia's 8th Birthday Party!

This afternoon, I attended the birthday party of my 7-year-old friend, whom I met waiting for the ferry Friday morning.  Coincidentally, her party was being held at a relative's house not too far from my neighborhood.  I guess that's one of the perks about being a white girl.  You can become good enough friends to be invited to a birthday party within the first hour of meeting.  Attending the party made me realize two things:  1. I miss having a host family and 2. I gravitate towards befriending people twenty-something years younger, or forty-something years older, than myself.  I spent most of the afternoon talking with Margie, an elderly woman with five grown boys (one in Pennsylvania), whose husband left her after 46 years of marriage, 5 years ago.  

Article was published and (mostly) written by yours truly!

Talk about a life transition.  Talk about an interesting time-lapsed life.  An well to do elderly woman in a developing country, who has not only seen the emergence of technology, but the emergence of development.  From outhouse and candlelight, to electricity and machine washing clothes, to Internet and cell phones...to the capability of digitally time-lapsing images.

When The Rain Falls on Washing Day

I'd seen her beatin' heart drip with ache, rung out and hung up to dry for the last damn time.

Sweetheart, I mourned.  When will you learn?  Don't you realize the energy you intend to save is at the ultimate expense of your own?

But Momma, she cried, if I don't put my heart out on the line, I'll end up just like you.

I couldn't argue with the child.  Her father had a left a scar, as dark and as deep as the C-section mark from her birth, the night he left us.

To this day, neither one have ever really healed.

**************************************************************************

Every day, whether realized or not, we put something out on the line.  After all, what is life worth living, if we don't take chances?  I'd venture to say that most of the time, like our easy-to-wash and quick drying cotton shirts and undies, our line is pinned with the kinds of emotions and intellect with timely bounce backs.  But every once and a while, you acknowledge you've worn those jeans and slept in those sheets, for as long as you can stand it, and like your heart, and in rare cases, your life, up they go, out on the line.

Recently, I spoke with a friend about his time in Afghanistan, with the US Army.  He was in charge of helping oversee an Afghan penitentiary.  He went on to explain that many of the inmates were there as a result crimes they committed, surrounding the dirty work of the powers that be.  Who knows how long they'd remain in prison and how just their crimes and sentencing were.  But they had certainly figured out how to entertain themselves, especially at mealtime.

***Disclaimer...the following material may not be suitable for younger readers***

During mealtime, when the US soldiers delivered the inmate's food trays, some inmates would deliver mixtures of feces and urine, right in their face.  The soldiers were instructed not to react, but simply suck it up, wipe it off, and keep delivering meals.  For this incredibly heinous act, the Afghan inmate was sentenced to a mere ten days in solitary confinement.  I can't quite remember how much time in solitary confinement was given for the same act, in the States, but I believe it was closer to a year.  He gave an example of a soldier who reacted "inappropriately" (use your imagination) to that behavior, and the soldier lost an entire rank (about a $10,000 demotion).

When negativity results from things that are out of our control, or even the choices we make, we often seek out a scapegoat on which to place the blame.  (This isn't the direction my life was supposed to go; I didn't sign up for THIS; if only I would have been accepted to this program; gotten that job; married that person; sat in the back of the car that was hit in the front...my life would have been different).  Other times, we are simply at the wrong place at the wrong time.  In any case, it is hard not to separate ourselves from the situation and recognize that, more than likely, it isn't a personal attack on our own person.  More than likely, another person's negative experience is affecting them adversely, which in turn, directly affects you.

If we can think of it in those terms, with respect to variables such as culture, education, familial upbringings, and present circumstances, it helps put these situations into perspective for us, as we look at the greater picture, as opposed to an isolated incident.

The other day, I was riding my bicycle to work, when I noticed someone yelling and screaming up ahead.  As I approached this man, I realized the yells and screams were directed towards me, and that, before I knew it, so was a giant mouthful of spit.  Since I was on my bike and wearing a helmet, I was able to duck just in time, and just enough, to where his saliva just skimmed the top.  I had never seen this man before, that I knew of, nor had I done anything to warrant his behavior directed at me.  And yet, I immediately wanted to cry.  It felt SO personal.  Some people might had decided to stop and confront him, but I was almost to work, and didn't feel like messing with it right then.  More than likely, he wouldn't have even known why he did it in the first place.  (A similar thing happened to me in the Brikama market in Gambia, when, completely out of nowhere, I was spit on in the face.  I reacted quickly and loudly, yelling for any help I could get, in order to locate my assailant, after which he was caught and brought to the police station.  I filed a report at the station, and with Peace Corps, which I suppose was enough conviction for me, since I never found out what happened to him, legally speaking).

It took me a bit to compose myself and process what had just happened, on the rest of my ride to work.  Obviously, it wasn't a personal attack on me, just like the aforementioned mixture shoved at the soldier.   I had "chosen" this adventure, here in Guyana, but what did that mean?  That I should tolerate and accept everything that comes with it?  Was I even being applauded for my efforts; my time here appreciated and truly desired?  Some days it is easier to tell than others, but every day offers perspective and something new.  We'd like to think that we will at least get out what we put into a situation; that someone will notice, or rewards will be issued, but that's not always the case.  We'd like to think that, for the help we provide and the selflessness we share, we won't get spit or shit on, but unfortunately, that's not always the case either.

Fortunately, though, every day is a new day.  Every day is a chance to applaud someone's efforts, to learn something new, to share something old, and a chance to change something small; that is, if you're willing to put yourself out on the line.