Meet the President: 8.16.08

Elizabeth and I met the president, Bharrat Jagdeo, on Saturday evening at Naya Zamana 14: "Dancing Beyond Boundaries." This was a performance by the Guyana Hindu Dharmic Sabha Dance Company that was performed at the National Cultural Centre and featured many styles of Indian dance both traditional and nontraditional and included, folk, classical, village, Bollywood, modern, plus much more. It was a beautiful event and please excuse my sorry excuse for a dress (I blame it on light packing!), as the attendees, predominantly Indian Guyanese, were wearing their best. There were amazingly colorful and beautiful saris and other traditional Indian-style dress on display. In the photo above, of us with the  president, in the background, over my shoulder, is the Prime Minister. He is wearing a garland similar to the president. I was more excited than definitely everyone else at the event. I was also the only paparazzi present. Until, our brilliant Guyanese friend, Priya, mentioned casually that Elizabeth & I should just walk up to the president and ask to be in a photo with him. This would be unheard of in the States. So, we did...

Exotic or not...

I went for a walk yesterday afternoon following my usual neighborhood route, to pick up a roti to scrumptiously supplement my evening meal. As I meandered, attentively, down Albert Street, with the Roti Hut as my ultimate destination, I realized how important it is that I take in all the sights that have perhaps become, over the course of this summer, commonplace to me. I think it was easy in Guyana, or was for me, to forget at times just how unique it is here, as it is much less "different" in a striking sort of way, than other countries I have traveled to- South Africa & India come to mind. In Guyana, at fifth glance, you can start to feel like, in some ways, it is just as westernized as the States, and perhaps then, not that different. I will be politically incorrect, as a prior student of anthropology, and just say it (the forbidden word), it is comparatively less "exotic." Perhaps in recognizing this, I am, as an anthropology-minded individual, just bringing awareness to my own perceptions. 

Guyanese dress in jeans and suits, skirts and slacks. There are no eye-catching, bold patterned ensembles wrapped in unusual ways around the female form. The females for the most part, dress like me, if not remarkably better, given my noticeable lack of wardrobe. The people speak English here, albeit often with a uniquely beautiful Creole style/Caribbean accent. Individuals chat on cell phones as they stroll the streets and many (it seems to me, like everyone) watches such American shows, as the Young & the Restless, with a religious dedication. I think it is easy in some ways to assimilate here, to an extent, as an obstinate U.S. citizen, wanting to do so. And, in doing this, one might begin to forget, as I sometimes have, that despite the similarities, there are many, many unique parts to this ultimately, very foreign place. Many of these I realize now, have eased themselves into my daily life with the facility of a lithe dancer and the stealth of a trained spy. 

My favorite thing to watch or look at here in Guyana, are the canals. The water of Guyana in general, I will miss first & foremost, be it that of the canals, the coca-cola colored rivers and ocean, or the relatively, cooling and always appreciated rain. But the canals. I find myself, in passing one, pausing to gaze down it, as it reaches away from me toward the middle of the horizon, long and straight. There are always palms growing on either side of a canal, and there are often curved wooden bridges or simply straight wooden planks, serving as a crossing. The palms, this is not even the correct nomenclature. The coconut trees, perhaps. There are tall ones and short ones, ones with green coconuts and ones with the gristly looking brown hair. Brown are for milk and green are for the refreshing, clear coconut water. I am perhaps one of the few here, that is not particularly taken by the coconut water, which is a little too rich for my taste, but unmistakably enjoyable with the local rum, on ice. But the canals... the tropical sun of Guyana seems to have a special way of hitting the water that is next to magical. Then there is the ephemeral afternoon light of Guyana, particularly as the hours near dusk, which is worthy of documentation by the world's best photographers. There is a pinkness and alertness to the it, perhaps as the sky recovers from the persistent mid-day heat, that is captivating, if not soothing, and encourages a walk such as the one I took this afternoon.

    

Umbrellas of varying colors of the rainbow dot the Georgetown horizon, as women walk either alone or in pairs. The women here being savvy to the heat & sun. The ubiquitous minibuses, also of varying shades, and most often multi-colored, with creative names labeled across their sides and windshield, offer rides with honks, shouts, hisses and men hanging out the frequently, open sliding side door. This is Guyana's primary mode of public transport. A half moon of letters on the backside of the minibus declares where it has come from & where it will go. Then there is the honking. The honking is a signature sound of Georgetown. One that mingles with, and at times attempts to compete with, the song of the many, many local birds. The birds themselves, of the country and even city, are worth writing a book about. And, in the evening there is the orchestra of song: toads, frogs, insects, that seeps in through the windows, and seems to me, to be central to night. There are the predominantly, cachectic-looking, but heavy breasted dogs, spotting the town, that seem to be in a constant state and stage of reproduction. Never threatening, the canine of Guyana either wander the streets in a tropical haze or rest lazily in a hint of shade. 

There are unique smells here in Guyana, which will undoubtedly haunt my nostalgia of the future. Many are what I'll call, street smells. One such smell, quite pleasurable, being that of roti and curries cooking. I will always miss, until I learn to make it which I have vowed to do, the dual flakiness and softness of the golden roti as you tear it to eat. Served to you wrapped and folded, so as to maintain the delicious integrity of this satisfying flat bread. I cannot get enough of them or the Guyana "burrito" as I call it, which includes a large dallop of your choice of curry, accompanied by a sensibly smaller dallop of either peppersauce or achar (I routinely get both), and wrapped like a present (or burrito) in a roti. I am invariably laughed at by the locals because I regularly choose the mouthwatering pumpkin curry, which I have been told, is the most mundane. 

Most importantly, I will always miss and remember fondly, the people of Guyana. The varying shades of their skin and the discernible differences in their accents. Some with styles of living that can be very different from the other, due to the strong contrast between the Afro and Indian ways of life. And, I must not fail to mention the Muslim and Rastafarian styles which are most visually distinguishable. There is a kindness here, amid the hardship that is central to so many of the individuals' lives. There is also a general frustration, it seems, with the systems that govern, and a consensus of corruption seems to predominate. There exists a deep-rooted pride in the country and its beauty, and with it a recognition of the lack of awareness of this beauty by outsiders. There is a communal desire to share Guyana and encourage an understanding of what the country has to offer. There is also a disheartening understanding of all that it does not have to offer, in the way of employment, opportunities for upward mobility and financial fulfillment. There are more than enough highly educated and incredibly determined individuals here, with no opportunity for them to be utilized. There is also an all to common desire for future migration from Guyana, presumably because of all these things mentioned previously. A plan often exists, be it preliminary or in the complicated stages of progress, to exit the country when the time is right. Not by all, but by many. As for many, this would likely never be a possibility. There is great work being done in Guyana, and still so much more to be done, like anywhere, but unique in its own struggles: Healthcare, food shortage, the paucity of employment, and poverty. And, then there is HIV. So familiar is it, that there are a myriad of television commercials pertaining to its detection, prevention and acceptance, routinely, if not monotonously, run during the prime hours of the day.  I am hardly exaggerating. 

It is a busy and yet leisurely place. I speak mostly of Georgetown, as it is what I know best. It is Guyana, at once foreign, if not unheard of by many, and yet simultaneously familiar in its differences, to me. The point of anthropology, after an undergraduate degree in the field, has come back to me here as a nurse researcher in Guyana, many (!?) years post collegiate. In being taken away with a new place, and at the same time, less taken away with, than say a place blatantly more exotic, I consider the "other" which is examined in anthropology, to be understood in its own contexts, yet with an awareness of the subjective nature inherent in being an outsider. Perhaps also, at this point in my life, I examine such details with the meticulous, newly ingrained, awareness of a Nurse Practitioner-in-training. Contemporary cultural anthropology reminds the ethnographer to focus not just on the explicit exotic, but to see the exotic, if you will, in the familiar. To understand a culture in the context of itself and as a conglomeration of the symbols and meanings that make it what it is, is critical. Guyana and I have melded in many ways over the course of this experience, and in many ways, both obvious and not, I skirt the sidelines of its culture and, its ways. Many fond memories I will take with me on leaving, that I imagine, will undeniably seem much more exotic from the outside looking back in...

Frustration.

"Ms. Gina, are you crying?" 

This is the question that an employee and, for all intents and purposes, a stranger, whispered to me today as I sat with my shoulders hunched and head hanging over my lap re-writing a letter on a legal pad at the Ministry of Home Affairs. She phrased this more as a statement of awareness, than a question. And she said it in a, you are being silly, it will all be OK, sort of way. Yes, I all but broke down in this government office with my white plastic visitor pass hanging from my lapel. Frustration. 

I think it is OK to cry a bit over frustration. This has been a summer of ups and downs. Most pressing at the moment, I have been here in Guyana illegally. When I arrived in the country, the customs officer only stamped my passport for a one-month stay. He could have stamped me for up to three, and from what I can tell the extent of stay given is pretty much as haphazard as how the customs officer happens to be feeling at the particular moment in time. I said, "But I am here for a two-month stay." He said: " Go to Ministry of Home Affairs in one month." So following orders, I did just that. The week before my month was up I spent a good portion of a day, not conducting my data collection, and dealing with the inner workings and individuals that seemed to be doing not so much, at the Ministry of Home Affairs. It was frustrating the first time I was there, as they kept trying to send me away to do things, when I kept mentioning that I could do those things right then without leaving and coming back. Finally, after much shuffling of my papers, copies, forms, and explanations, they said for me to call back in 10 business day. 

10 business days quickly came and went, and turned into nearly a month of calling and being told to call back. I am now, leaving the country in 6 days and have been, since the first of the month, illegally living in Guyana. I have tried not to let this be an added stressor, until today. After finally having someone talk with me on the phone this morning, I was given an instruction to write a letter of clarification. "Just to drop off," I was told. I followed this instruction immediately, got myself to the Ministry of Home Affairs and waited. The reason for hold-up now, the woman explained, is related to my multiple names, Gina and Regina (Mom, Dad!). They wondered could I get a new letter from the Ministry of Health approving my study, but this time one that includes both my names. "It took me many, many months to get the first letter. I am only here 6 more days." I explained. Perhaps someone could have mentioned that when I was here in June?, I thought to myself. Since there is no time to get a new approval letter from the Ministry of Health, I need to rewrite my letter and explain all this plus what I had previously written. No big deal sure, but for some reason, this was the straw that broke me and the tears began to flow. I am leaving in 6 days and still I can not get this settled. I just need a stamp to say I can be here 2 months instead of one. No visa was needed to come to Guyana, visitors can come to Guyana for up to 3 months... I guess I should be grateful they didn't just stamp me in for a week. Frustration. 

The tears are not just about the fear of not being allowed to leave the country due to my illegal presence since July 1, not just about the frustrating system which seems to not ever know up-front what I need to do or turn in, and instead waits for long periods of time and then tells me one more thing I need to accomplish before I can begin the application for an extended stamp on my passport page. It is not just about the time lost in attempting to complete all these tasks, it is something more. I am feeling tired. Georgetown life and data collection here for my study, has been doable for me for sure, and I have enjoyed it all in all. I have accomplished what I set out to do. I conducted a study here, something I do not think I really could have imagined doing a year ago. I am proud of this, of course. I just think I am feeling ready to be done. It is a tough life here. Beautiful in its madness and ugly when it wants to be. It is very hot here. I miss my home. I am trying to wrap my head around all I have done, seen and experienced while here, and at the moment I feel tangled. I am sure I will unravel things slowly when I get back. So I cried for it all. When are my numbers enough? I have surpassed my participant goal, but I am here, do I keep going and how far? I need help with analysis. I am frustrated and missing my home. Frustration. 

I assume this is part of it all, the whole Down's Fellowship experience. I have been lucky. Things have gone well. I should not be complaining. But, I just cried in front of a stranger sitting in a chair in the middle of a government office. Seriously. That is just plain embarrassing.

poisonous, golden dart frog

  Only place in the world this frog is found- at Kaieteur. Yes, it is tiny. Less than an inch in size, but deadly.

Kaieteur Falls: 8.10.08

Tiny, tiny plane that picked us up at Baganara Island (when I say "us," I literally  mean just Taylor &  I, the others where already aboard) and flew us 45 minutes into the interior of Guyana's rain forest to see the famous Kaieteur Falls. The plane was a 10-seater, including the pilot! There was actually a laminated flight safety info sheet in the seat back pocket in front of us, that no one mentioned, and that I felt was pretty much  a joke. If that plane goes down, I imagine you are out of luck...

Landing in Guyana's interior! 

View of the Falls from the plane... If you look down at the area surrounding the base of the falls, the lush green area, you are looking at an area whose flora & fauna is still being explored for the first time. There are species that are literally still being discovered down there... This is how pristine it is...
(Above, continued) It was one of our first views of Kaieteur Falls from the plane. We were all in awe. Kaieteur is 7 x Niagara Falls and 3 x Victoria Falls, per our guide, but with a narrower width of fall.


Water flowing away from the base of the falls... Guyana's interior.So, there are no ropes marking off the area where it is safe to stand and no fences to block off the serious drop overlooking the falls. There is simply a single sign. This is definitely not the U.S. folks. 
Taylor at the top of the falls. Literally that massive waterfall is just over his shoulder there. It looks so calm, very misleading, anyone could be confused...
There she is. The tourguide took us to 3 different spots to see the falls. Note the rainbow. I saw at least 4 rainbows on this day.

Kaieteur Falls: 

Kai was the name of an Amerindian who sacrificed himself by going over the falls during a war, and "teur" means falls.

So to call it Kaietuer Falls, is actually redundant.

 Those in the know: "Kaieteur" enough said.

Baganara Island III

On our boat ride to see the parrots roost! A Guyana sunset by speedboat.
Mangrove forests are all over the waterways of Guyana. These were at and near Parrot Island, on the Essequibo River.

Baganara Island II...

Photo below: First night and sunset on Baganara Island, after Taylor and I took a walk around the coast and grounds. That photographer of mine, was very excited, as you might imagine, new territory to explore. Not only were we greeted earlier this day on arrival to Baganara, with amazing fresh squeezed, ice cold lemonade, the

bartender/host, Orlando, also insisted in the early evening, that we must have a Baganara Special (note drinks in hands). These were complete with peacock ornament and fresh pineapple slices. They were yummy and quite intoxicating. They sure know how to treat you here on Baganara... We told them we were on our second honeymoon.

The meals here were served communal style, unless you requested otherwise, so we met many interesting people from all over the world as well as from Guyana. We contributed to many fascinating conversations about politics, the upcoming U.S. election, Guyana's political system and race relations, international development work in Guyana, and the EU and the Venezuelan government's work in Guyana, to name a few (whew!) of the many topics explored over the course of the weekend with fellow guests, with whom we shared breakfast, lunch, and dinner. We also shared space at Baganara. The first floor of the main house on the island, Baganara House, is an open-air (yes, no walls) area complete with a bar, dining room, kitchen, and play/relax area. There was a ping pong table, a pool table, many games, fabulously lounge-y, lounging couches & chairs, and just outside the area, cricket court. We spent the morning kayaking around Baganara Island, on the Essequibo River, which was amazing, and we kept having to remind ourselves this is South America, we are kayaking on a river in South America, as we looked out for any caiman (local crocodile). After kayaking an lunch on Saturday, Taylor and I took to the cricket field, where we were introduced to the wicket and enjoyed an afternoon of being taught cricket. (Did I rhyme?) We played in the sun (and HEAT) and then later, even more enjoyably, in the rain, with a wonderful, newly engaged Guyanese couple, who coached us with patience and enthusiasm. Taylor and I played game after game of cards, with periodic stints at table tennis, in the evenings and during the Saturday afternoon rain which turned into an afternoon thunderstorm and was quite lovely to watch in the Baganara House, sheltered, but sans walls. [Baganara's only flaw: no chess set. NB: BYO. We got hooked on chess on our prior trip and momentairly considered making our own pieces for the checkerboard.]

The view from the room we stayed in on Baganara Island (in the photo above). Also, note the birds in the distance in the photo. This was around the time when they begin to fly back to where they sleep for the night, to roost. The parrots here, which are called "creatures" by the local Amerindians, were my favorite to see flying overhead. Previously unbeknownst to me, parrots mate for life, so they fly and live together in pairs, as a couple. It is especially sad to see a lone parrot flying overhead, as this means something has happened to its partner. While staying on Baganara island we went on a boat ride one evening with another couple to "Parrot Island," to see the parrots roost. It was an island about 30 minutes away by speed boat, that is uninhabited by humans, but is the site where innumerable parrots return every evening to sleep. Our tour guide/boat driver, said that many of them will fly extremely far away during the day to find food, and then still return here in the evening. All return around the same time each day, to roost. It was awesome to see so many, all flying in toward the island from all different directions, most in pairs. Some were flying in teams of pairs, returning from who knows where. For some reason, I imagined some were returning from a day of food-seeking in Trinidad or Venezuela. I need to research how far a parrot couple can travel in a day. Parrots coming in to roost for the evening: Parrot Island on the Essequibo River.

Baganara Island...

This was one of my first glimpses of where we spent this past weekend...

Adel's: by land and by river IV

                                      This is how they do it...

Adel's: by land and by river III

One of the creepy, crawly, very big tarantulas that lived in our room at Adel's. It may be hard to tell without perspective for comparison, but this dude was very large!
View from in front of Adel's. Basically, this is the drive way/creek leading to the home.

By land and by river II

At Adel's, on a creek off of the Pomeroon River, where we were the only 2 guests staying at this odd little place. Long story... Highlight: we had 2 tarantulas living with us in our bedroom. Yes, and they were huge & creepy! It also relied on electricity from wind & solar panels. There was also a generator, which was used at times. When you are out of the city in Guyana, you are truly out of the city, and quite, quite removed. We stayed in an area that is mainly Amerindian. In the hammocks, this is how we spent most of the 2 days... 
Have I mentioned that this is a country with pirates. On the Pomeroon, I could totally imagine pirates sailing or speeding up and down the river. In some ways it felt like going back in time.

By land and by river

Boat ride from Charity to Adel's, where we stayed. Just off a creek which is off of the Pomeroon River- in Essequibo. This is the way you travel around these parts, by boat. Homes were off of the waterways and people travel by little canoes, or speed boat, anywhere they need to go. It was so interesting to see.
Waiting to leave Charity and head to a little lodge-type place we stayed for 2 nights, it is on a creek, off a river. Only accessible by boat.
Rice fields! So beautiful. On the drive from Supinam to Charity- the scenery at times was like nothing I had ever seen before, it almost looked prehistoric. To get to the place we were traveling to, we took 2 different cars and 2 different boats. It was quite far from Georgetown, more so in accessibility than distance, due to the remoteness of this country. See above photos from journey.

Emancipation Day! 8.1.08

Just a few photos, of the many Taylor took at the National Park festivities... See more down below.

Emancipation Day...

Emancipation Day Interview

   So, yesterday we headed to the National Park, which is really more like a city park as we name things in the States, for the festivities celebrating Emancipation Day. This is the day celebrating the end of African slavery in Guyana. There were many booths with food, and crafts, a main stage with children performing dances, and the most exciting was seeing families dressed in African attire. Many families were all dressed in the same pattern, but with varying styles, so you could easily delineate which people were there together. I was interviewed by a reporter from one of the local television channels. We also saw the manatees in the pond at the park.

Reunited...

Coconut Water for Taylor!

2 schools of thought

"My mother-in-law put in for me." This is an excerpt from a conversation I had with a woman today as she explained to me, with excitement, that she would be moving to New Jersey in December. I feel as if I have encountered 2 schools of thought on the topic of emigration. There are those such as this woman, that dream of moving away from Guyana and who express to me, very happily, their plans to move to the States, upon learning my country of origin. And conversely, there are those that express their unyielding love for Guyana and their lack of desire to ever leave for any extended period of time. The woman I spoke with today was referring to the fact that her mother-in-law has agreed to serve as a reference, or put in a request, for her daughter-in-law's visa to visit the U.S. I am sure this process is disturbingly daunting, and I do not mean to contend that I know the least bit about emigrating to the States, nor do I even know about the process for obtaining a visa to get to visit the land of opportunity. To say the least, I am grossly oversimplifying the process, but this is what was shared with me today, as we sat together to begin going through the microbicide acceptability survey. 

I have had the pleasure of being told many different stories and thoughts related to the United States, as I have sat in this same position with, I'd like to say,  innumerable women, but I do know the exact number: 136. It is just an interesting thing to consider as a U.S. citizen, living temporarily in a foreign country that did not require of me the obtaining of visa. I am trying very hard not to call myself an "American," as I have been corrected and questioned many times, by people of varying origin, about the use by U.S. citizens of this term. Understandably its use is considered quite inappropriate, if not outright arrogant, seeing as everyone in Guyana, let alone the continent of South America, as well as the many Canadians I have met here, are all, also Americans. It is in fact a rather vague and exceptionally broad point of identification. 

Today I was reminded of the stories my friend Fabian has shared of becoming a U.S. citizen as an immigrant from Costa Rica, and the work it involved... Just something I am thinking about in this time when "walls" are being built around countries (meaning my own) and foreigners are having to be "harbored" "illegally" in churches around the United States. There has to be a better way. 

The Demerara River

...more Demerara

Bauxite Plant near Linden

River crossing

Flowers...

When it rains: 7.29.08

When it rains here in Guyana, it pours. When it pours, it floods, and when it floods it stinks. These are the thoughts that were circulating through my head yesterday as I waded through ankle-deep water around town and leaving my apartment. As all the employees stood, sheltered, outside the GRPA (clinic) yesterday marveling at the downpour and the subsequent flooding in Quamina Street, the reason for the flooding was explained. When "the river" is high, I assume the Demerara River, apparently the powers that be, keep the city drainage system closed. Thus, with a heavy rain, such as occurs often here during the three rainy seasons (one which we are in presently) this causes flooding in many of the streets around the city.  In my own apartment, I have learned, that during times like this, an awful, foul smell of sewage emanates from somewhere nearby. The smell is nearly nauseating. When discussing the flooding in Georgetown with another local and his wife, they both laughed when he proclaimed: "Guyana, the land of many waters." This is true. 

Awareness

       
"Nature must have had a plan for you to give me all you can." 

      So ends a frequently run commercial here in Guyana about exclusive breast-feeding for infants up to 6 months of age. So regular is the commercial, that the lines from it come easily to memory as I write this. I am using a line from this, oh-so-catchy, commercial slogan, not just because it gets stuck in my head on a regular basis, but also to highlight a point. This commercial which is narrated with the distinctive voice of  a small child's, and begins by saying: 

"When I was smaller than a pea, you gave me food to keep me safe and nourish me...," 

is on throughout the day and evening. It is on even during what one might call "prime time" if I might borrow that term from the States. Most notably, in this commercial, a public service announcement, if you will, women are shown, very uninhibitedly, breast-feeding their babes. It is a great commercial and one that we should envy in the States. I do not think I have ever seen a close up of a breast-feeding woman and baby in a commercial in the United States. The Guyanese commercial shows this intimate, completely natural exchange so plainly, that it almost shocked me at first. How comfortable the commercial was with showing the woman's breast. Shocked me!? I am a women's health specialty nurse and huge supporter of breast-feeding!? This just reveals to me, how I have been subtly influenced by, what?, my culture in the States?, the media?, I am not even sure. 

      What I do know, is that I have been pleasantly impressed with the overall awareness of many health related topics here in Guyana. One of these being breast-feeding, and another of these being, HIV/AIDS related issues. The country and its health care leaders, have done an excellent job, I feel, of discussing HIV with the people. After several weeks of interviewing women for my surveys and data collection, it dawned on me, that the women are impressively comfortable and unfaltering when I ask them the questions related to sex and prevention of HIV. Almost all the women have been very educated on the topic of HIV transmission and prevention. There is very rarely ever a time when I need to go too much into background education to preface my survey questions. The women are considerably aware enough, to meet me right where I am, in the discussion. The women are never offended and not only respond thoughtfully, but often also offer great insight. I cannot help but ponder how reviewing the same questions might be different in a clinic in the United States. The awareness here impresses me.

Rockstone: an Amerindian Village

Yesterday I had the pleasure of visiting a small Amerindian village on the Essequibo River called Rockstone. The journey to Rockstone was just that, a journey (photo from journey at left). Let me start from the top. Elizabeth and I were invited to accompany a French Canadian civil servant, Richard, who is working here in Guyana for the Canadian government on the sustainability of mining communities. An engineer by trade, Richard used to work in the same building here in Georgetown, as Elizabeth, my neighbor. We ran into him the other night, while enjoying 'pizza night' (there is no cheese really here in G'town, save this lovely pizza night I have only just discovered) at the Pegasus Poolside Cafe, and he invited us to come along for the ride & opportunity to see an Amerindian community, my first. He would be going on business with Sensia, a lovely East Indian Guyanese woman completing her PhD in Syracuse, NY on the impressive, native Guyanese fish, the arapaima. An endangered freshwater fish that is among the world's largest, it can potentially be much larger than Sensia, regardless of her slight build and height.
The two of them were making the journey to Rockstone to discuss with the village chief and others, the potential and logistics of building a holding chamber for ornamental fish in one of the waterways in the village. The holding tank is the first step in creating a potential, alternative income for the community so that they are not solely reliant on mining. The hope is a supplemental income for the village in capturing & selling ornamental fish to outside companies. Many Amerindian communities are reliant on mining, bauxite is common, and the Amerinidans traditionally live in remote villages within the interior of Guyana. There were times when some communities prospered from mining gold, for example, but prospering is no longer common.

The journey to this particular Amerindian village began very early on Saturday morning as we ventured out in Richard's 4X4 vehicle. We took one of the few paved roads in Guyana, outside of Georgetown, towards Linden. Linden (see photo right) is the last stop town from which people drive onward to the Guyanese interior, which encompasses, by the way, most of the country. One may also verture through here on the way, via the interior/jungle, and on one of the many rivers, to Brazil, Suriname, or Venezuela. Linden is ~64 miles from G'town and from Linden you can continue on an unpaved road, more like a 'trail,' into the interior towards the Brazilian border at Lethem, or you can turn off as we did onto a similarly, but I am told, and less trail-like, red dirt road towards Rockstone. The road from Linden to Rockstone is roughly 20 miles, but it takes equally as long to drive, as the paved road from G'town to Linden. So, let me reiterate, a 64 mile distance on a paved road was equal in time, to the 20 miles we spent bopping up and down, side to side, on an unpaved dirt road (see photo left). Thus, the journey. NB: Most of driving in Guyana, except on the coast near Georgetown and the 64 miles to Linden, is unpaved, so approximately 85% of the country, if not more, is dirt roads. I am told most are much, much more rugged than this one on which I traveled. Thus, is the remote nature of the Amerindian communities and the untouched, "pristine-ness," if you will, of the wilderness/jungle, at times savanna, that is the majority of Guyana.

We arrived early in Rockstone, due to our even earlier departure, and were greeted by the village chief and many residents of the community. There stood a sign marking the village, and a small wooden phone booth, housing the only phone for the village (see photo right). This, I am told, was a fairly recent addition to the community. Most of the Amerindian communities of Guyana are very isolated, Rockstone was no exception, although with its relatively short distance from Linden, it is actually one of the least isolated villages. It was very interesting to listen to small portions of the discussion regarding the plans for developing an ornamental fish industry for financial support for the village. How the fish would be transported when sold, where the holding tank would be built, who the cement would be purchased from, the price of speed boats along the Essequibo River, to and from neighboring (a relative term) villages, the distance in time, travel between these villages would encompass, these were some of the topics I overheard over the course of the morning. (See the main road of Rockstone village in photo below... The path to the Essequibo River is off to the left, as well as the homes and meeting house.)Elizabeth & I, being unnecessary to the scheduled meeting, were invited/encouraged by the village chief to walk down the path to the Essequibo River, on whose shore the village sits. We journeyed (again a journey of sorts) down the dirt path running through the village and, after some time, on either side of the approximately 6 foot wide path, were waterways, with much flora & fauna growing and living. It reminded me of a marsh-like area, perhaps in southern Louisiana, but with Guyana's exotic (to me) trees, such as the palms holding green coconuts, the hairy trunks of the ginnep trees (see photo left), and the trees bearing the red cashew fruit (No, there are no nuts in these trees- totally different thing, this cashew fruit). As we walked in the relative silence of the jungle, and yes, I might add it certainly felt like a jungle to me. I was waiting for an alligator to meander out of the swampy water three feet to my right and snap off my torso, as we walked my slight fears (I never would have admitted to being slightly fearful, except I am doing this now...), were mitigated by the fact that a family had sent there three children out to follow us down to the river. I figured, if there existed child-eating alligators in these waters, than no parent would likely send three little ones, none taller than a small bicycle, out down the path by their lonesome... We were warned by all we met in passing, and there were few to pass, that we would likely not make it all the way down to the river, as there has been flooding since March. When we came to the end of the road as we saw it, not wanting to wade into the flooded area to make it to the river, we heard an astounding & yes, frightening sound coming from the jungle. It was guttural and menacing, and definitely intended to get us the hell out of there. My first thoughts were of a giant wart hog preparing to charge. (Don't ask me where this came from, as I have never heard a wart hog's warning call.) We looked all around us and part confused, part fearful, we looked at each other. I, wondering in which direction I should run. I think I also considered climbing a tree. In hopes of reassurance, due to this utter uncertainty, I looked to a second group of children who were making their way towards us, thankfully. (Is it a sad day when you are looking to children to alleviate your fears?) We asked the older of the three, what the noise was. She replied casually, "the baboons." I liked the casual nature of her response of course, and, as my cortisol levels switched to neutral, I was feeling much less fight or flight than just moments prior, and was immediately more relaxed.
On the walk back toward the meeting house, and more people, adult people, less baboon, we heard the guttural (menacing?) warning cry of the baboon, several more times along the way, until we were deemed sufficient distance, beyond the point of threat, when it ceased. It was an amazing sound, and I looked oh so carefully into the jungle in the direction of the call, searching the trees and waterways for the invisible baboon. I wanted desperately to see the creature and simultaneously considered perhaps it would be better if I did not. Regardless, nature is impeccable at camouflaging its inhabitants, and I did not see my baboon.

Some interesting insight from the trip... Richard's job seemed difficult, negotiating the desires of a community so separate from society and the ideas his experience brings, as well as the desires and budget of the Canadian government. The people in the village are very reliant on whoever brings in food from the outside, from Linden and Georgetown. They catch fish to eat, but other items such as sugar and rice and the likes, they buy from people who come into the community to sell to them. They end up paying very high prices for these necessities, so obviously with no other options, and several women complained to us about the recent, significant rising cost of food. The people of Rockstone make some income selling reptiles such as lizards & snakes to middle men, for sale in pet stores. The middle man is unfortunately, very big and a force to be reckoned with in this, and I am told, other Amerindian villages.
A story the chief described to me about the middle man: The middle man asks for a type of snake and offers a price, the people hunt many of these snakes, excited by the prospect of feeding their families, and when the middle man comes to purchase the snakes and sees so many, the market is suddenly flooded, in his dollar sign eyes, and he pays much less than he originally offered for each of the captive snakes. This middle man knows, that the community members have already done the work of capturing, knows they need the money, and so has no reason, save integrity, to maintain his initial offering price. A simple case of supply & demand? Or is it simply, despicable? Sounds sleazy to me. Did I mention that the village has a pool table? It was an interesting day.

Images of Georgetown...

Today was another slow one. Very, very slow. I 

am trying to be very, 

very patient. Today was difficult, the waiting, because I finished my book and did not have a back up at the clinic with me. There is only so much journaling someone can do while waiting for data collection... The photos are either of the neighborhood, or ward, known as Kitty, or they are on the drive to Kitty. This ward is fairly close to my ward, Queenstown. I had to take a photo of one of the many fast food chicken spots. This one being an American export. Have I mentioned how much the Guyanese love their fried chicken...

... and, that there is no McDonald's here. The Guyanese are not huge on cow meat. Perhaps the Indian influence.