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.

Giving thanks: a puja

        Yesterday I had the pleasure of attending a puja here in Georgetown. I was invited via Elizabeth (my friend and neighbor here) by her Guyanese Indian friend, Anu. I met Anu earlier this week, and she was thoughtful enough to mention to Elizabeth that I could come along. I'd like to tell you the puja was like nothing I had ever seen, because it deserves this sort of introduction, but I did attend a puja once in India to celebrate the Hindu God Krishna's birthday. Regardless of this meager experience with the celebration, it was extraordinary. I have consulted Wikipedia (my favorite) to best describe a puja to you the reader. A puja is a Hindu religious ritual that is performed on various occasions to show respect to God. The purpose of the puja is to maintain a communication between God and earth. The puja can also serve as a ritual to offer praise and thanks to God. The puja can vary in elaborateness depending on the ocassion, a puja could be as simple as a daily communication with God or as grand an event as the one I participated in yesterday. It can likely be very much more elaborate as well. 

This puja I was honored to attend, was the first Anu's family had performed since the murder of her mother, almost a year ago, so it was all the more significant. There was a Hindu priest at Anu's father's home to lead the puja and her extended family was 

present for the event as well.  Many of the attendees were dressed in what I know as traditional Indian (and perhaps Indian Guyanese) attire. On this occasion Anu's brother and his wife were the primary participants in the puja, so they were the main people interacting with the priest and giving offerings to God. Anu explained to me after the ceremony, that whoever wants to participate can, and that their was no particular significance to this brother and his wife's role today. The rituals that unfolded as the puja began were beautiful, ceremonious and detailed. The priest sang/chanted mostly in Sanskrit, with occasional prayers or instructions offered in English. He directed the couple participating, in the rituals they performed while sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of a framed picture of a deity. There were many, many offerings made to the diety, thus symbolically, to God. Wikipedia explains these offerings well, saying: "regardless of scale, all Puja's follow the same  simple principle, treat the diety like an esteemed (human) guest." 

During the puja there was chanting (mantra) and scripture reading (svadhyaya) and most beautifully, a detailed, ceremonious offering of food. The couple were handed flower after beautiful flower, spices of differing brilliant colors, rice, oils, coconut, fragrance, something that looked like honey, and other items I was uncertain of- As the priest handed the couple these items, they in turn offered them to God. They laid them one at a time in front of the symbol of God, creating in essence, a beautiful, colorful multi-layered pile of offerings before the picture. Often what I think was water, or ganga, 

was poured from a beautiful slightly folded, green leaf onto the offerings. The priest two times rang a bell ceremoniously and blew into a shell as if a horn, producing a commanding, musical sound. There was a fire made as offering and to be honest so much more occurred that I could only begin to imagine the meaning of, as I sat in front of this cross-legged on the floor. I could never do it justice with my limited, unversed words. There was a washing of feet and hands, a large red flag was blessed and attached to what looked like a bamboo trunk. After receiving her own from the priest, a woman went around the room applying what is called a tilaka mark on the forehead of all present. The vermillion dot placed on each individual's forehead, from a thumbprint of sandlewood paste. 

Toward the close of the puja the couple as well as the younger family members present each performed a blessing of sorts, to the elders by offering a metal tray with fire and various other items before their elders and prostrating at the feet of the elders and the priest. In a beautiful exchange the elder lightly touched the younger individual's back in recognition. I observed as a mother watched with nervousness, anticipation and pride, as her young daughter performed the ritual, seemingly for the very first time.  It was around this time, that I noticed that the eyes of Anu's father were glassy from tears. I cast my own eyes downward suddenly embarassed to be witnessing such an intimate moment, and knew immediately this was a time when everyone was poignantly aware of who was missing from the celebration. Thinking of the tragic loss the family had experienced when Anu's mother was killed. I discretely glanced sideways and saw tears streaming down Anu's cheeks as she hugged her father, who was by this time wiping his eyes with a handkerchief. As my own eyes filled with tears, I again glanced down at my own hands clasped in the way I had once learned to hold them during prayer, and I squeezed them tightly as I swallowed to hold back from crying. In that moment I felt a confusing mix of shame for my removed, tearful sympathy and yet simultaneously in this country far from my own family, I experienced a personal sadness and longing for my family as well as theirs. I felt in that moment utterly saddened by the loss this family had experienced and extremely grateful for my own loved ones, however far away from me. I resolved that this is the point of puja, thanksgiving.  

Before a puja, it is tradition that no one eats anything, and as the puja ended it seemed that women came out of the woodwork. In a practiced and efficient manner the women took charge of the food. One woman handed me the largest, green leaf I have ever laid eyes on- this would serve as my plate. Then in succession, women carrying huge bowls served one item of food after another turning my green leaf into a palate of color. There was white rice to start, and then tumeric colored daal, pumpkin curry, spinach curry, mango curry, channa (chick pea) & potato curry, and one final curry I could not identify. Then there was a dallop of achar and several "special rotis" were handed to me and identified as such. Roti is a flat bread eaten by many here in Guyana, as well as a traditional Indian bread. The special roti was actually later described as being Puri, which is in fact different than roti, but a delicious unleavened, flat bread all the same. And, after the food was served, Elizabeth and I began eating, each timid, with our right hand serving as utensil. Many of the family members laughed and asked if we had ever eaten in this manner before, and a beautiful young girl began instructing Elizabeth on the way to do it. "Mix all the food together, like this!" She stirred with her hand. "Then eat it. Like this!" She demonstrated. So I scooped up my food with my fingers. With my three middle fingers and occasionally my thumb, I used the rice as the glue to cradle the others delicacies, proud to have previous experience with this method of bringing food to mouth. Having done this in India, eight years ago, and in particular on Krishna's Birthday celebration there, when I also ate off of a large leaf. Next we were instructed to fold over a side of our leaf and huge spoonfuls of rice pudding was served onto the clean underside, our new bowl. Perhaps one of the richest and sweetest desserts I have ever had, it's primary ingredient was condensed milk. The meal was extraordinary, and after working very hard to finish off my super-sized portion of rice pudding and 2 more puri, that mysteriously slipped onto my leaf, I was the fullest I have been since being in Guyana. Very much like Thanksgiving, although I was all them more satisfied, since the amazing meal was entirely vegetarian. 

I gave thanks for the rest of the evening, thanks to the family for their generosity, for the incredible food, and for sharing such a special event with me, for all intents and purposes, a stranger. I also gave thanks for my own family and all the love they give me. Thanks for everything I have to be thankful for.

Slow moving...

So, I cannot expect everyday to be perfect for data collection. I know this. The past few days have been quite a bit slower, and I cannot help but feel a bit frustrated by the time lost. I am learning that data collection can include quite a bit of down time and waiting. Patience I have, but the sitting and waiting makes me feel anxious at times. I was unable to get my personal, minimum goal yesterday and today has started off very slow as well. I know this should be expected at times, but I just feel the snail's pace more pressing today. I think sometimes when the data collection slows, I start to feel more lonely...

I do pass the time of course. I am reading an excellent book by Micheal Pollan, The Omnivore's Dilemma. I am devouring it actually. Who knew that I would get quite so captivated reading his explanations of the intricate way in which the grass takes in energy from the sun, and enchanted by his description of the chorus of previously unheard of, organisms whose daily tasks include enriching the soil. I had no idea what ruminants were, and definitely did not know the contributions they make to the grass, which in turn has captured the energy from the sun and shares this energy with us, humans, as we either eat the vegetables and grains grown in the soil or eat the animal grazing on it. Pollan describes it as "transforming sunlight into protein." It is utterly amazing to read about the circular process in which we are all connected to the sun, soil, plants and animals. And, it is utterly distrubing to read how industrial farming and of course, our government, and agribusiness, has stepped in and arrested this almost magical, process in favor of mass production and money. Control, I guess we always think we have to have it- even in cases like this, when we never needed it, as it was working itself out beautifully. Pollan reminds us in his novel, that we are what we eat, and how most of us have no idea the madness that is unknowingly added to the now, disjointed food chain. I am telling you- the book is worth reading. Food for thought: "By fertilizing the world, we alter the planet's composition of species and shrink its biodiversity."

Reading Pollan's descriptions of these slow, natural processes, such as the way in which cattle, chickens, the sun and a thoughtful and simple orchestration of them, can enrich the soil and in turn the food we eat, this reminds me to be patient, and to be OK with the slow moving. The need to move faster is how our world steers itself father and farther from the point.

Pictures: a Georgetown Business and the Dorothy Bailey Clinic (above): where I spend a few days per week.

downtown Georgetown

Today was a good one. I completed 11 surveys & I wasn't even there all day. I had to leave around 11:30 b/c I ran out of surveys, so luckily for me, there is a copy center right down the street, in between the GRPA clinic and the Oasis Cafe where I use the internet, so I dropped off my original, put in my request, and went over to the cafe to wait. Then my neighbor, Elizabeth called & asked if I wanted to walk with her to lunch at a place called German's. She met me here at Oasis & we walked there together- it was good to walk around a bit more here near the GRPA clinic, which is in the Downtown of Georgetown. The restaurant we went to is actually technically in an area that is mentioned as a ward not to go to. The ward (or neighborhood) is called Tiger Bay. But, the restaurant, German's, is right on the border off of Main Street & only a block into Tiger Bay. Tiger Bay is technically somewhat near downtown, on the other side of Main Street, towards the ocean. Everyone says that going to German's is fine, so no worries readers. Elizabeth has gone many, many times, even by herself to lunch there, and it was totally fine going there, and a very busy place. I had a dish called cookup (it is the only vegetarian item to chose from) and I had it with fried fish on top. Cookup is a traditional Guyanese dish which is made of rice and coconut milk and anything else vegetable wise, left in the kitchen. A way to use up leftover veggies, beans. Today mine had some split peas, onions and corn. It was very satisfying. I had it with a side of achar and pepper, which are the common dallops of condiment, to have with most Guyanese food. I asked for both. Achar has a mild spice to it, but is more bitter. And, pepper is-well, pepper.  I like them both. I am all about condiments & sauces. The entire meal with a yummy juice cost under 5 dollars, which is always nice.

On the way to the restaurant we walked past the president's home which is a relatively simple, sprawling, wooden building and quite nice. There was a metal fence around the perimeter but you could still see right onto the property, which for some reason surprised me. It was fun to see it, just right there exposed. After lunch we walked to the Craft Mall which is a zig-zagging row of booths and mini shops downtown. I was able to see for the first time some of the local Guyanese made crafts. One of the highlights included the various products made of a special wood called purple heart wood. It is quite unique looking, purple wood... It was so nice of Elizabeth to give me a little tour of the downtown. I saw the City Library and also a perfect view of the famous wooden cathedral downtown. 

Some things that stand out when walking around: horse drawn carriages amid the hectic streets, the many, many scavenging dogs digging in trash (I swear each dog almost looks exactly the same) the mini-buses, which zoom by playing loud reggae music, and the diverse population. I am noticing it a little more lately. What else do I notice when walking around, the sun. It is a warm one, although I think it is less humid here than I imagined it to be. Last night there was a spectacular rain. I am talking serious down pour, as if the sky literally opened up and released its contents. It was awesome. 

Don't let the mosquitos bite

Oh how my world has changed since I learned the tricks of the mosquito net. My taxi driver, Mark, let me know the simple trick one day last week when I complained of two nights in a row with disturbed sleep. He inquired about my net practices. And it was then, that I learned how I had failed. The secret I learned is, to be sure to put the mosquito net down in the early evening, before the sun begins to set and the mosquitos come out to play. I had no idea! Of course after hearing these words of advice, it all made perfect sense. The next night, literally my sleep world changed. No rude awakenings: no sharing the bed with a stranger, no more buzzing in my ear, or waking up to find myself scratching my shoulder bright red. The next night, carelessly, I forgot to let the net down before bedtime. And from that moment forward, I made the decision to never put the net up again. Why should I? There is no reason for it not to rest comfortably covering my bed's frame, and offering constant protection from mosquitos. It is my lovely shield, and I have come to terms with it. We are now friends. I no longer struggle with feeling closed in or suffocated, and I am even beginning to see it as my little womb for respite. (Excuse the term, but I am specializing in women's health.) I no longer feel like it is more hot beneath the white web, although it is more warm beneath, than outside.
Now that I am using the net correctly, I am able to appreciate its beauty and purpose. It also hit me this week, that everyone here uses a mosquito net, if they are fortunate enough to have one. I had previously been thinking it was just something foreigners were recommended to do. Thinking perhaps we were more susceptible to bug bites due to our foreign born blood. But, I realized very quickly from speaking with Guyanese, that the net is necessity. And it keeps me safe.

Bright lights, little city

I have now ventured out a few times in the evening here in Georgetown. Last night my neighbor Elizabeth  & I decided to take a trip to the City Mall. A multi-story building on the corner of a busy, shopping area called Regeant Street. I am not clear exactly how new the mall is, but I do know that when it opened it was, and may still be, the only building in the country with an escalator. Apparently people came from all over to ride the moving staircase up and for awhile there was not a return trip, other than the suddenly, out-dated stairs. I discovered for myself last night, that there is now a down escalator, to complete the excitement. 

The mall is a narrow building, with fairly typical, mall-like stores selling this & that, but our goal was predetermined. We went directly to Avon, the 'entertainment' store. There we searched through stacks & stacks of DVDs, for a select few to take home. I assume the DVDs are mostly pirated in one way or another from the US. They are 4 for $5- so quite the deal. There were even many options that are out in theaters in the States as I write this, curious... 

Waiting on the corner after our quick shopping expedition, for the taxi we called, I could not help but people watch. Even after dark, this area at least, was busy with people. Men & women and families popping out of the mall and in, getting into taxis, or stopping in the fried chicken fast food restaurant, of which there are many of these establishments & they are beloved here in Georgetown. There didn't seem to be too many obvious deviants, and we didn't really even get too much unwanted attention. I must say overall, I have been very pleased with this here. I am rarely bothered when walking around. I do get the occasional, signature, loud and hard to determine how the noise is accomplished, kissing sound. Hiss-like. Some men here seem to have the sound down to a science, projecting it louder than the many honking horns and loud cars. I have learned from day one of the hiss-kiss, to continue walking & simply ignore, or play deaf and naive, whatever you want to call it. But really in the scheme of things, the kissing sound is not hissed too often in my direction, and I am pleased with that. Some of you may know I am not the hugest fan of unwanted attention, feeling even a bit uncomfortable when people sing happy birthday to me,  so the fact that I am a relatively rare, white woman who every so often roams around my neighborhood on foot, and does not get too much attention from others is pleasing. Actually more often than the unwanted, I get a friendly, Good Morning, as I cross paths with another. Very civilized and seemingly sincere.

A few nights ago I saw the Atlantic Ocean from Guyana for the first time. I went to a restaurant by the sea wall and there it was, vast & shining in the setting sun. Elizabeth mentioned that I was lucky to see the ocean here in Guyana for the first time in this particular light, because I could not, in this dusk light, tell that the ocean is a simple, unexpected brown. To me, in those few minutes before nightfall, the ocean looked beautiful, colorless even, and the sky big with spectacular clouds. The sea wall which separates the ocean from the below-sea-level city of Georgetown, is not just a structure but is also a location. Particularly happening is the sea wall, I hear, on Sunday evening when the entire city gathers there. I'll have to see it for myself sometime soon. On this Wednesday night, when I saw it for the first time, many people were walking along it, to and from where I stood. A few people were wadding in the ocean. I watched awhile & then went next door to Celina's "resort" which is not at all a resort, but rather a restaurant & bar with outdoor seating that looks out at the ocean. A very lovely place to sit and at one point I even felt cold there. Literally the first time to ever feel remotely, anything like cold here in Georgetown, where I can forget to turn on the hot water (a button that is actually outside my shower on the wall) when taking a shower & not even notice, as I do not need it. At Celina's I had my first "fruit punch"- which is pleasantly flavored with not only fresh fruit juice of several varieties, but also Guyanese made rum. Lovely.

A Georgetown street

Posters at the Dorothy Bailey Clinic

one of many old wooden buildings here

Taxis & Surveys

Well who ever knew that my most faithful comrade here would be the taxi driver, Mark, who I call for all my transportation needs in Georgetown. Literally he is the person I see every day, multiple times a day, and I honestly think he may be the person who is the most concentrated on my well-being. I was introduced to Mark by the Administrative Assistant for the Nurse's Association. Her boyfriend & Mark are god-brothers I believe. And, it is the norm here in Georgetown, that when you like a taxi driver & consider him a safe driver, you get his cell number & call him directly. So, here I am in my second week in Guyana, and I realized as I went about my work and life here yesterday, that he is the person who may be getting to know me the most. I also realized at that point, that I am very much so, on my own. I thought the Nurse's Association and my sponsor in particular might be a little more involved in my daily life, but they are not. And, it is not necessary for them to be. I am pretty much just getting to know things on my own, which I feel proud of- and am truly thankful for all they set up for me prior to my arrival. But, at the moment I am most thankful for Mark, who is an excellent driver on these wild streets and very knowledgeable about everything I need to know about Guyana. On my short stints in his cab, we discuss the trouble he sees with his country, the government, and at times his philosophies on life, its ups and downs, and being a parent. He points out the sights I have yet to see and explains the history of various buildings and institutions. Yesterday after a day conducting my study, he picked me up to take me home, and I had the pleasure of meeting his wife and son. Appreciation goes out from me...

On the study side of life, surveys are going well. I am on day 3 of conducting my surveys & interviews. On a quick FYI note: my study is called: Microbicide Acceptability Among Reproductive Age Women in Georgetown, Guyana. A microbicide is the name given to substances being explored by scientists that if used could substantially reduce the transmission of HIV and other sexually transmitted pathogens when applied prior to sexual activity. Many different forms of microbicides are being studied and considered, and part of my intention here, is to assess women's opinions about the possible product and possible product characteristics, so that when they are made, they can be made to suit the women who will use them. Acceptability of a product is considered a factor contributing to the use of a product. The idea behind microbicides being, that this could be a female-initiated method of protection from disease, and possibly also a discrete method which a woman could decide to use even if a partner does not want to use a condom. Therefore, they might put protection from disease more in a woman's control. While it is contended that condoms on the other hand, are often not in the woman's control, but more in the man's. My study just asks hypothetical questions about product characteristics and women determine if they find them very acceptable, probably acceptable, probably unacceptable, or very unacceptable. Does that help?? There is a bit more to it, but no need to bore everyone...

I have been in 2 different locations over the past 3 days and must say that the time it takes to conduct each survey is much faster than I had anticipated. And, most pleasing, is the realization that despite the intimate nature of the topic, the women appear very comfortable with the questions I am asking. I have found so far, that there is very little confusion, always a few moments of laughter, and the survey questions often inspire at least one, if not several, very revealing and thoughtful comments from the woman as she considers the possibility of microbicides, and the reasons that women need them. After completion of the survey the women often share with me small details about their lives, and just as regularly they inquire of me a few more particulars about myself, which I happily share. Many women have parted ways with me by expressing their hope that "something like this" really is invented for women, to stop the spread of HIV. These moments of interaction are inspiring me, which is nice, as I often consider how small and inconsequential my study will likely be over a mere 8 weeks. In talking with the women, an understanding seems to develop over the course of the short survey, and despite the actually very brief period of time we are together, as I read each question the woman often seems to become increasingly more interested and more committed to the necessity of her opinion. It is such a unique moment, randomly spending a short time discussing an intimate topic with a stranger, and often coming out on the other end of each conversation with a feeling of a shared mission. The mutual understanding of the necessity of a product that doesn't yet exist but should.

...For more quantity, and more thorough information about microbicides, you should check out: www.global-campaign.org. They have great content.

simple logistics?

Here I am again. Monday was a national holiday here, so I was excited to start my study today but still needed to print my survey with a few adjustments from a review by the head nurse at one of the clinics. I was finally able to print an original copy yesterday on the nurse's association computer- which was a challenge in itself for some odd reason. The next step was to make MANY copies of the 15 page document which includes, a sociodemographic survey, consent form, microbicide acceptability survey, and my 8 interview questions. I need one copy for each study participant, and I have anticipated a minimum of 100 participants (with many less interviews). So, big issue: how to make all these copies. Oh how I wish I could just run to the copy shop on Whitney. Of course no businesses were open in Georgetown yesterday because of the holiday, so here I am this morning trying to get the copies made so I can get started... I just dropped off the 15 pg document at a copy place and when I requested 50 copies (I really wanted 100) the woman working there looked shocked. Reason being, that amount of copies will be quite expensive (about the same price as it would be in the States) which is a lot of money here. I was too nervous to ask for 100 copies because of the amount of cash I'd have to pull out when paying. So, as it goes I am in limbo as I had to drop off the order & they said to call in 2-3 hours to check on it... 

Will I become a researcher really one day, this afternoon maybe? Am I already a researcher? It seems a bit surreal: me being a researcher. I was emailing my friend Eden yesterday who is beginning to conduct her own research in Uganda. She mentioned how she really just wanted to be a clinician, and here she was putting so much thought & work into becoming a researcher (I am paraphrasing of course). I empathized, and her words definitely got me thinking about the many roles of a nurse, and how I see myself. I realize that I spent all year in a dual world. I was preparing myself clinically, to see patients and attend to their healthcare needs, advocate for lifestyle changes that might prevent disease, perform skills and tests that sometimes felt like magic, understand the body and its intimacies, and learn to listen, listen, listen- to determine diagnosis. And at the same time, I was formulating my research proposal and later protocol. Working through many drafts and many, many hours of literature review,  preparation, interviews, ethical review. Through my first year working toward becoming an Advanced Practice Nurse, I was simultaneously navigating the language of research protocol, and the language of nursing and medicine: a 'triangulated' study versus 'phenomonology', this as foreign to me as the subtleness of the variation in heart sounds, murmurs, and the words used to describe and define them. How to write a 'protocol' of my proposed, hypothetical, research, as mind boggling as the art of conjuring the correct descriptors, to formulate the verbose, almost poetic, details necessary to 'chart' what I previously might have called a simple, 'pink rash' on an extremity.  

The familiarity I am still only grasping, of how to incorporate nursing theory into my research design, and how to assess 'normal' when palpating the ever-challenging, ever-individualized, thyroid. This was all new territory for me, challenging me, on both fronts: clinician & researcher- a novice in both. Dealing with certain logistics, I have decided, might make you question anything.

What is my role as a nurse? Am I forgetting my newly acquired clinical skills while being here in Guyana, considering so many other things, none being the innumerable adaptations that occur in the female body during pregnancy or the countless maneuvers to perform during a musculoskeletal exam. Should I review the cranial nerve exam when in the taxi? I have not felt divided until now. I was caught for a moment with my clinician  guard down. Is that OK? I know I am a nurse.  Because I routinely remind myself of this relatively, newly acquired role: 'You are a nurse. You are a nurse.' I am also a researcher (note to self) as I sit here in a wireless cafe in a foreign country awaiting some of the logistics of my study. 

St. Simon's Island, june 08

Here are some catch-up photos from Ashley's Bachelorette Weekend and Busy's Baby Bump Shower. Such an amazing place and so amazing, as always, to catch up with such beautiful and entertaining friends. Never a dull moment, to say the least. From Toto's "Africa" to wall dancing, Busy's fabulous fish tacos, Phebe's surprise, the pregnant ladies telling us our "singing" (yelling) voices were beautiful, but to please turn down the music, our biking 'expedition' through construction sites, even to carrying the god forsaken cooler across the jungle that was the beautiful walk to the beach, even when Annie, Ash & I got lost, all of it was so fun. It is fun to think back on it now, while here in Guyana. Great memories. Thanks for the photos Annie.

Today is CARICOM Day

And, my sister's birthday! Christina the entire Caribbean is celebrating your special day... The pictures here are one step in the process of making a traditional staple here called pepper sauce. The woman on the right is my landlady and my most reliable person to chat with here, Sybil. This is in her beautiful backyard, which she ever so kindly shares with me and the three other tenants. They are preparing to make the red pepper sauce, which is the hot (spicy) kind. When I asked to have some today on the side of my curry the woman serving asked me if I knew what it was. She was worried a white woman like me couldn't handle the spice. Little did she know that I tried it last night and enjoyed it, of course in small doses, mixed with my food. (Kate knows from India, after our, or should I say her, pepper experience, that I would never try anything too confidently.) In Guyana there is also a green sauce, which I am told is more sweet. Basically this red pepper sauce is pretty much an accompaniment to almost everything you eat here in Guyana. Other exciting foods, or shall I say fruits that I am learning about: bread fruit, star fruit (or 5 finger), golden apple, custard apple, and star apple (all three of which are NOT apples as we know them but totally different), sapodilla, puncks, and most amazing these variations on bananas: there is the delicious sweet fig banana as well as the apple banana (they are both a bit smaller than normal bananas). There are even more rare fruits here that I have yet to understand the name of... more to come on that. There are also lovely fruits growing here that I am more familiar with, but that are plentiful and not exotic on this side of the ocean, such as mangos, coconuts, passion fruit, plantains, and the list goes on. Oranges are unique here in that their peel is actually green. Quite deceptive I might add. And apparently avocados are also on the witness protection plan here, as they are known as 'pears.' There is also a very long, snake-like green bean called bora. I have some in the fridge at home to check out soon. Exotic fruits for us here in Guyana (now that I reside in the tropics) include, broccoli, carrots, and regular old, apples.

Because Guyana is known as the land of six peoples, it is a bit more complicated when you ask others about typical, traditional Guyanese foods. There is pretty much a dish from each people that make up the melting pot that is this country, pepperpot, roti, fired bread fruit and sour, peppersauce, curries, cassava, cookups, to name a few. The six people that make up Guyana include, Amerindians, people of African descent, East Indians, Chinese, Europeans and Portuguese (yes the last two are recognized separately). With this amazing diversity has unfortunately come many hardships, but it is a fascinating place that I am only just barely beginning to come to know. The indigenous Guyanese are the Amerindians, the Arawak and the Carib tribes who lived here before the Europeans settled here in the 17th century. The Amerindians traditionally have lived primarily in the very undeveloped interior. In fact Guyana is one of the least developed countries in the world. The only real cities are on the Atlantic coast, and for a development-sort of reference, I am in the largest, capital city which has absolutely no tall buildings, making the downtown enormously different than say the Financial District, or even Little Rock and its sky-reaching TCBY tower for that matter. (The name of that building may have changed...) Guyana, the name itself, means land of many waters...

I am on week 2 now here in the land of many waters and six peoples, and I am doing well enough. Over the last week There has been a lot of alone time for me. Lovely, great, alone time is good for me, I know this is true. I have been mostly appreciating it, but there are ups and downs, of course, depending on the hour. I miss Taylor, and my pups. I do have many tiny ants that play games with me all day & come out of nowhere to entertain me. I have taken to the 409 bottle, which is the instrument I use for this game. Also quite exciting at night, is when I turn off the light to the main part of the house & retreat to my bedroom- with the bedroom light still on. If I decide randomly to go back into the main part of my apartment after a bit of time, when I turn on the light in there, there is a small city of night life creeping & crawling everywhere from the floor to the walls. Those lizards, to mention one such character, have excellent composure even when the lights take them by surprise. In this situation I am repeatedly proud of my response, seeing as I have no one to call to alert to the guests, I just quickly and without the pomp & circumstance Taylor might have witnessed in New Haven- I promptly turn the light back off & excuse myself for interrupting their time out. It is after all an apartment we are sharing.

Life should get busier this week, as I should be starting my study tomorrow. Keep fingers crossed. I have to figure out some technical things, like printing my surveys & consent forms so that they can be utilized by participants. I have almost completed three novels since arriving in Guyana. Anyone who laughed at my skyscraper of a stack of books which I began constructing when school ended for the summer (it was on my desk in the dining room at home)- well, I should have taken them all & I didn't because of the snickering and doubt many of you conveyed. I blame myself... love from here. happy birthday sister.

Sugar Cane & View down Forshaw (my street)...

The sugar cane fields I passed on the way from the airport last week. They are beautiful. Sugar cane is big business here in Guyana...

Here are some photos of Georgetown, and by some I mean very few. I have been intimidated about bringing my camera out with me. If I were snapping photos on the streets I would definitely stand out even more than I obviously already do. I would likely also be more of a target for pick-pocketing, which I hope to avoid... So the photos: One is from the taxi when I first arrived. One is of the inside of my apartment, a view from standing in the kitchen, my bedroom is behind me (from where I stand taking the photo). And one is from the gate of my apartment looking down the street in one direction. This is the first opportunity I have had to upload photos b/c I have been on other computers at the internet site near my house. I am at the moment pleasantly emailing you from my own laptop at a cafe I have been wanting to check out that has wireless. I accompanied my neighbor a woman named Elizabeth here. They have non-instant coffee here as well! I imagine I will be here again...

To the Market

I will, I think, be out of internet access possibly for a few days, as I have been told it is unsafe to walk around alone on Sundays and Holidays b/c the streets are empty & businesses are closed. Monday is a national holiday here in Guyana. It is called CARICOM Day- it is a celebration of the joint Caribbean nations. I think I am going to a "Curry Que" to raise money at the Nurse's Association on the holiday... your guess is as good as mine- it is lunch, waiting in a line for curries...

I ventured into the live action markets today thanks to my upstairs neighbor, an older British man here with his wife on VSO (Volunteer Service Organization, I believe a British Peace Corps type of two year service commitment). He goes to the boisterous, somewhat intimidating big market for fruits & veggies every Sat morning- He rides his bike & parks it right near the craziness so that he can carry lots home in the basket. So I set off late this morning with him on his wife's bike and I must say in this crazy traffic- I was very grateful for my recent beach side bike riding "expeditions" in Monterey and Georgia. (Note to Todd- I wore a helmet.) The markets are vast and there are three variations all adjacent to one another. Some booths are farmer's market style- food under a temporary umbrella-like shelter displayed for passersby, and some of the food being sold is in a more permanent type of wooden stall and then, most intimidating for the intimateness alone, is the food and other items being sold in this big indoor warehouse. I definitely would not have been comfortable delving this far into the market had he not taken me. Indoors (in the warehouse) there were rows & rows of fish on wooden slabs, grains spilling out of thick sacks, colorful, random plastic items for household use, and most noticeably, varying shades of red raw meats stretched out from hooks and hands for rows & rows. Let me tell you how appealing that was for me. No, no it was fascinating to see. I have always loved markets. I have to say while drinking my Nescafe this morning over breakfast I was fantasizing about instead making a comfortable journey on foot to the Temescal Farmer's Market in Oakland with Taylor, Heather & Jon. I was thinking I would be more than willing to wait in that seriously long line for a cup of some Bottle Tree coffee. I imagined myself people watching in the mild sun, picking out veggies for the week, and checking out the hipster moms & dads with their hipster children- seriously the best haircuts in town are on the tots... Silly me, with that imagination. The blaring heat here in Georgetown is something to be reckoned with- I have asked two people about the climate here: "Does it ever get cooler?" I ask (attempting to not sound judgmental of the unrelenting sun). I literally received the same response from both people: "Only two, sun and rain." Simple, factual, reality. 'Tropical' sounds like the term to use to allow yourself to believe it is OK.

Fourth of July in Guyana

I am having difficulty describing it here in Guyana. It is not any easy place to pin down- although I guess nowhere really is. I am feeling, when I walk around in the streets, that it reminds me more of rural, coastal Mississippi, if you could take out the cotton fields and rural, farms part and squish all the little towns and the buildings together & somehow have it be urban. To ,many of you this may make no sense, but to some it may?... I am living in what is considered a relatively nice ward, the city of Georgetown is divided into 'wards'- each with their own name. My ward is Queenstown, and I feel very pleased with it, but I must say when you walk down the street, an American would most likely not necessarily consider it "nice." This is just an observation or an assumption though. I am finding it very nice for me, all the same. The mention of ward does of course make me think of New Orleans. Taylor mentioned a few nights ago that he thinks of New Orleans when I write/speak of it here. I am sure it looks like parts of the Big Easy, but my recollection of New Orleans is childish and consists of a cathedral and a riverside hotel, so I am inept to compare. Georgetown is a coastal city and is a part of, or on a delta (not sure how you say this). We are at sea level here, if not below, and the ocean which I have yet to see, is apparently brown with runoff from the interior rain forests due to the rivers emptying there.

I visited two clinics where I will be conducting my study yesterday. Step 1 accomplished! Very exciting. One is called the Dorothy Bailey Center and it is one of four municipal clinics in Georgetown. I met with the nurse who heads the 4 sites. I am not exaggerating when I relay that she said there are 7 nurses for all four of the sites. The nurses divide up their time between them. Have I mentioned that there is a not surprising nursing shortage here, where isn't there I guess, except perhaps the Bay Area. But here where nurses get a free education, government compensated, there is a problem with them leaving Guyana for better jobs, pay, lives, elsewhere. Barbados, St. Lucia, the United States. The head nurse, Joan, reviewed the questions of my study (I did not show her the embarassingly long form of informed consent (other Downs's recipients will appreciate this comment), and afterwards I observed a prenatal clinic, which was I was not surprised, nurse run. This was of course, very fun for me. I watched 5 patients be seen by a sweet and jolly nurse named Jean. I was strangely amazed to see the fundal height being measured in just the same way as I had done for so many months this spring, the familiar pregnancy dating wheel turned to position just so, as to determine an estimated date of birth, the inspection of a paper describing numerically, iron levels in the blood and education offered about iron-rich foods, then the charting of what was done & discussed. Why would it be different. I guess just the recent familiarity of my own hands performing such tasks, feeling the abdomen with my eyes lifted toward the ceiling so as to better see with my hands, identifying the butt, and the back of a babe, estimating where we might hear the heartbeat best, all this is universal of course, and I know this seems silly & obvious, but in this distance from my "normal" life- it feels amazing & reassuring somehow, to be so similar, so universal.

Later in the day I headed to the second clinic, the Guyana Responsible Parenting Association, which is in some way connected (or once was) with the International Planned Parenthood Federation. It was an air-conditioned building and I think I will be there approximately 3 days per week, not for this reason, but how nice. Did I mention that at the previous clinic the windows were wide open during patient visits for a nice breeze and my nurse had her radio blaring funky Caribbean sounding music- so funny. I had to ask to turn it down to better hear her speak. All in all it was a reassuring day, seeing the 2 clinics where I will spend most of my time. I will periodically visit other clinics as well- but I believe these 2 will be the consistent sites. Everyone has been so friendly. I should mention everyone does have beautiful English here, although there is an accent that is difficult for me to interpret at times. I have to ask for a lot of repetition, which I feel bad about. I am trying to think of all the most polite ways to ask for the statement a second time. Pardon me, could you repeat that, excuse me, what was that, and so on and so forth... What's that you say? No that doesn't sound right. Happy 4th of July from me.

Sweltering Georgetown.

Here I am in Georgetown, Day 3. I am sweating and doing well in this interesting place. I have spent most of my 3 days at my flat and lounging on the shared patio of my flat reading and thinking. I am staying at one of three apartments on the property of a very old and sweet woman. I have spent much of my time chatting with her outside, where under the patio- shade & a breeze cools better than in the apartments. She is an awesome whipper snapper of an old woman, and has a pHD in sociology, specializing in women's studies and social work. She never married and has no kids- and when she retired she bought the property and decided to open a Guest House. My "flat" is nice and I feel comfortable there. Above me is a British couple, and I have yet to meet a Canadian who lives across the patio- she was in Brazil.

Georgetown feels a bit like a mix somehow of India and South Africa- or perhaps that is all I know to relate it to... There is very much a Caribbean feel- there are busy streets with lots of honking and yesterday I listened to 2 young men drumming while checking my email. There are many birds in Georgetown- the Garden City, as it is called. I hear birds chirping from inside my flat & a rooster crows throughout the morning- that def reminds me of South Africa- especially if he starts crowing at night (hopefully not). The buildings are predominantly wood, colonial style (or so I read) and many appear somewhat run down- at least in the few places I have been. The people so far are very friendly. Some spots I see remind me of South Carolina near the beach, or something along those lines... I am now at an internet cafe, after my first little venture on my own. Despite the short walk I was sweating intensely. It is hot here with a very bright sun. There was a short rain shower this morning, but no rain, otherwise in the past few days. We are in one of the country's three rainy seasons. I visited the Nurse's Association yesterday and ran a few errands. I got a cell phone to be in touch with people here. Strange how I seem to only be able to go 24 h without cell phone...

Today has been a slow day, which is somewhat hard for me,as I feel like I need to be doing something. I am sort of waiting around to hear from my local sponsor (who is a very busy woman)about her having some time to introduce me to the clinics, etc. I sat around the house all day, and outside reading, got myself invited to lunch on the porch with the owner Sybil (she is like in her 90s) and her niece (a dentist) who comes over each day for lunch. We had fried fish and rice. I decided to get some guts so I picked them up off the floor and mapped my way to an internet cafe- so here I am quite a short walk- although I am sweating like crazy from it, and was nervous of course, for my 1st walk alone here. It seems I will be spending a lot of time here, as i think I will not be getting the internet after all in my flat. Seems very time consuming & expensive process for just 2 months. I will try to come here often if I can- to the internet cafe.

I jogged last night (dad-Longinotti-style)while watching a Friends episode on the tv. My first time to turn it on. There are only a few channels & some are very sketchy & some change rather awkwardly from 1 show to the next, as if it is being sloppily edited together from channels in the States. I saw a Obama commercial- that made me teary. How interesting to see this commercial here. I am feeling sort of ancy about getting my research started, but I know I should just relax and be here and not worry about it all too much. I am actually on NYC time- so same time zone as CT- interesting... Did I mention I had malaria-prophylaxis dreams last night that stirred me out of my sleep. I woke up and was itching like crazy due to mosquitos, or so I thought, I grappled for many minutes (way too many) with the big Out-of-Africa-style mosquito net hanging above my bed. Trying to put it on- I guess I should have taken a class on this, b/c in my tired state it was nearly impossible to cover my entire bed. I was moving it out away from me around the bed with all my extremities- I seriously must have looked like a Saturday Night Live sketch- I laughed at myself out loud. All I could think to describe it, in my one thin, sweat drenched sheet was "malarial heat"- Last night this descriptor sounded like a Tennessee Williams-literary masterpiece. In the light of day, I cannot even find the mosquito bites...