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.