gone-ah to guyana.

Bartica Grant Wrap Up!

2011-07-12T16:33:00.000-07:00

Greetings!

In late February of this year, the Bartica Learning Resources Center (BLRC) began its work on a new computer lab. Negotiations with a local retailer for the purchase and installation of four computers at cost were completed. By early March, all four computers were successfully installed and put into regular use and community members in Bartica have commented on how helpful it has been to have a place to use Internet and excellent-working computers at no cost.

The two librarians who run the BLRC, Angela Douglas and Naomi Harris-Benn, have been very pleased with the project. In late June, both Angela and Naomi attended a national workshop to discuss ways in which resource centers can offer more to their communities and to the classrooms they help support. This was hosted by World Bank’s Education for All/Fast Track Initiative (EFA/FTI) which helps allocate government and international aid funding to resource centers all over Guyana. Not only did both librarians receive more support than they expected, but they were given certain liberties to act outside of the restraints of the Ministry of Education (MOE). This is a great thing to hear as good education opportunities are often neglected in Bartica due to partisan politics and tight control from bureaucrats.

Additionally, the work that has been accomplished over the past four years at the BLRC has earned the title of “Best Resource Center in Guyana” by many officials in and outside of the MOE. Because of its reputation, Angela and Naomi hosted an open house to those educators and officials attending last month’s workshop. The day was spent showing off the library and its many functions to members of the MOE, National Center for Educational Resource Development’s (NCERD), and local community leaders. It was viewed as a great success.

The following are some highlights that have marked local progress with the computer lab since my departure in late April:

Attendance from 3pm-6:30pm has risen steadily as more community members learn about the additional computers, access to Internet, and computer training that has gone on since the middle of March. Individuals arrive after school and sign up to use one of the new computers or bring their own laptop to use.

On any given week day, a host of computer programs are used at the center –Microsoft Office, Skype, Facebook, Google, email services, typing software, computer games, and Wikipedia to name the most popular. More and more questions are asked as the librarians become more knowledgeable about ICT interface procedures (i.e. how to bookmark a website on Mozilla Firefox).

Tutoring by the librarians in ICT has been very helpful to students and adults who are now regularly visiting the library to use these resources for academic and private use. Computer assignments and researching have increased and adults are using the Internet to apply for jobs and sign up for classes at the University of Guyana.

Seeing more and more patrons use this location to experience, practice, and expand their knowledge of the Information Age has made me really happy. The BLRC computer lab will continue to be a hub for access to the larger world, therefore offering the means to self-education, current events, and opportunities that open doors through access to global communication and networking.

Bartica Learning Resources Center

It is my opinion that donors to projects like this should know just how their contribution was put into use. For this reason, I have added segments of the final report submitted to Peace Corps that describe changes made to the original grant submission:

Since the managing of a computer lab puts additional responsibility on the two librarians at the BLRC, it was decided by the BLRC Committee that the amount of computers built be reduced from six to four. This decision has served the BLRC well. The amount of people using the center during the afternoon and evening hours has steadily increased. This increase means more attention focused on the computers and less on the younger students, who come in to read books, play board games, or take part in arts and crafts. Having four computers at the BLRC has been much more manageable than six.
Money allocated to a contingency fund was rejected by Peace Corps due to the fact that this money could not be monitored regularly after I left Bartica. In lieu of this decision, the $350 US contingency was instead spent on the following:

a. A new and better equipped wireless router to aid in the managing of Internet security and Internet use

b. A web camera for video communication. This has already been used to communicate with classrooms in Brighton, England

c. 10 educational DVDs and 8 educational IT study books for use with students who want to learn more about computer technology

d. Printer toner and some compressed air in canisters to help aid with computer maintenance

The community of Bartica was responsible for 42% of the funding of this project. The sum of financial contributions from you, the online patron, accounted for 58% of the funding of this project; and this project could not have been completed without the help of those who donated.

This combined effort is what makes the Peace Corps Partnership Program unique in its effort to link people from all over the world who share the desire for charitable and sustainable overseas development. While it is not the answer to solving our world’s most challenging problems, it is a useful way to begin and to examine where we stand as a global family.

Thank you for your contribution, your time, and your concern.

Sincerest Regards,

Christopher Olin

The Bartica Learning Resource Center
Tr. Angela Douglas
Tr. Naomi Harris-Benn

Computer Learning Resources Center

2011-02-01T13:51:00.000-08:00

Dear Friends and Family,

I am nearing the close of my service as a Peace Corps volunteer and looking forward to returning to the States after being away for over two years. For the past twenty-one months, I have been working as a literacy and Information & Communications Technology (ICT) adviser to teachers, students, and community members who visit the Learning Resource Center (LRC). It has been fulfilling to say the least as we have installed wireless Internet, two printers, a scanner, and many other tools and utilities to help Barticians connect with the digital and information age. In the last year, the LRC has seen a ten percent overall increase in attendance from teachers, students, and community members who come to use the center for a variety of different reasons, including computers. Evenings are sometimes met with queues of people waiting to use the computer for Internet access, word processing, photo editing, or simply to learn how to use Internet technology.

The increase in users at the LRC has been positively reflected upon the community, as can be seen through better computer skills and more computer-generated work in classrooms throughout the region. Unfortunately, the greater number of people who are using the center has put a strain on the two already old desktop computers that we have in our library.

To solve these problems, the members of the LRC created a Peace Corps Partnership Grant to help pay for six new computers to add to our library so that those who consistantly use the center for computer work will have more access to better computers. The community I live in – including the local government – has already contributed to 40% of this grant (i.e. providing a building and paying for electricity and Internet) and the rest has been posted online via the Peace Corps website as a donation open to anyone.

I feel that the LRC Computer Project will be a very helpful final contribution to the community I have served in for two years. My remaining three months will be spent working on the other part of this project - training a new employee at the LRC to take my place. The duties will include: literacy development and promotion at the LRC, offering computer classes to the public, and providing general trouble shooting to Guyanese who are new to ICT. Our goal with this project is to provide a service that is sustainable both in the capacity that a new computer lab will make available and in the knowledge that the employees at the LRC can share with their patrons.

If you are interested in learning more about the LRC Computer Project or would like to make a tax-deductible contribution to this project, please visit the donor page for this project:

Peace Corps Partnership Program 504-016 "Computer Learning Resource Center"

Furthermore, if you have any questions, please contact me at:

christopher.olinsb@gmail.com

believe education is the key to self empowerment, and in a world where information is moving at a speed much faster than time, it is prudent to provide even the least fortunate an opportunity to change their lives.

Thank you for your time and your kind consideration.

Cheers,

Christopher Olin,

Peace Corps, Guyana 2009-2011

Literacy & ICT Education Adviser

Region 7

The Sounds

2011-01-25T20:19:00.000-08:00

If I had to choose three sounds of the Jungle that I enjoy hearing the most, it would be these:

The coos of the spider monkey: clip temporarily unavailable
The song of the Screaming Piha: hear it here
The foreboding drone of the golden Howler Monkey: hear a similar version here

I'm currently traveling Region 9 on a video-documentary project and hope to post a blog sometime soon.

Hope all is well.

Chris

Goodbye Summer heat! Hello Autumn (but not really autumn) Heat!

2010-09-02T18:17:00.000-07:00

In light of all this discussion about climate change, I would like to comment:

Yesterday was really friggin' hot. I mean, plastic must've melted somewhere in Bartica. I mistakenly left the tub of margarine out on the table long enough for the sun coming through the back door to liquefy the entire thing. Not to mention the fact that my brain felt liquefied. You know it's hot when the Guyanese start complaining.

Strangely enough, this year delivered a quite pleasant August. It was hot, yes, but manageable and the rain was abundant enough to cool things down so that people didn't wander into the river with heat stroke (ok, I exaggerate a little, no one wanders into the river with heat stroke, but they do wander into the river out of sweating and sticky discomfort!).

But let's be honest here. Not once since I've been in this country have the seasons gone according to their natural rhythm. I mean, I've asked dozens upon dozens of Guyanese about the seasons and everyone has come back with some observation that the seasons are shifty. In my case? August ends this past Tuesday, Wednesday magically becomes the hottest day of this year and I inversely become the crankiest I've been this year.

We are so screwed if the world gets hotter, cause I do not enjoy being cranky.

If it seems like there has been a lapse in blog entries, it is because there has been a lapse in blog entries. Sometimes summer seems endless.

my endless summer in Tobago looks like this: click me

Canadian Diaspora Project

2010-06-21T16:19:00.000-07:00

Hello!

This month holds the last few weeks of the academic year in Guyana. It is crunch time as the three VSO volunteers in my community and myself try to squeeze in our last few projects and workshops before the school year ends. This includes a regular diaspora project that is funded by CUSO (Canadian University Services Overseas) and sends down a wonderful Guyanese born Canadian poet named Peter Jallal.

Together, we have feverishly pulled together week-long programs to the riverain communities surrounding Bartica. These programs offer students at primary schools a chance to develop and practice their critical writing skills and story telling abilities. We supplement this with creative writing exercises and group discussions that demonstrate the power that creative writing can have to a classroom.

It is one of my favorite reoccurring projects we do in Bartica. Peter is a superb writer and story teller. He is filled with enthusiasm and tells stories with his whole body. I've been recording our work in schools and hope to edit it all together for a presentation as well as something for Peter to take back to Toronto with him.

I'll write again as soon as things settle down.

Miss you all!
Christopher

Mid-Service

2010-05-19T18:13:00.000-07:00

Greetings!

It is time for the GUY 21 mid-service training (MST) in Georgetown. All us volunteers who came to Guyana over a year ago are back together again for five days of meetings and training sessions as we look back at a year’s worth of life as PCVs. Our last group-wide conference was in July of 2009. Since then, I haven’t seen some volunteers in over nine months. Like reconnecting with family that has been away, seeing familiar faces has been a great addition to a week in town, at a hotel with all the amenities.

We arrived on Monday and our full days have involved early breakfasts, meetings and training sessions from 8am to 5pm. Our lunch breaks are spent swimming in the pool, checking our emails on free WiFi, taking a hot shower for the sake of taking a hot shower, or enjoying a nap with cocktails in our hands. The evenings are transformed into tables of chatter box conversations. Like a flock of squawking birds, or a loud Italian family, we burn through the hours of the night sharing our Peace Corps moments while we pour each other drinks, light each other’s cigarettes, and throw each other into the pool only to dive in after. It is a reunion true to the definition we know so well. It is a breath of fresh air. It is a re-energizing shot to the mind, body, and spirit.

Highlights have included success stories of volunteers touching lives in their communities and being touched by the community they live in. There are stories about learning from projects completed and from projects that have failed. There are unique stories of volunteers refining new skills, mastering foreign cuisine, and traveling to beautiful and isolated places. There are stories of depression, loneliness, frustration, and embarrassment. There are stories about connection, happiness, accomplishment and self worth. There is a story about Lilly almost falling off Rogan’s horse leaving everyone at the table in stitches and tears of hilarity. There are even stories about our lives before we got here, like the two years when Rogan was a truck driver, or the kinds of stories we never were quite comfortable sharing before this week had come. A reunion is an important thing to have with a family that is far apart from each other.

Our Peace Corps banter is still the same. This time, we joke with each other about the times we’ve embarrassed ourselves. Like that one time when Ryan formed an acting troupe and called it a “cast,” which in turn was interpreted by her community as a group of students engaging in witchcraft. A letter was quickly sent out to clarify the word “cast.” We also joke about our hygiene and our bowels. “How many of us live barefoot!?” Five people raise their hands. “How many of us don’t care about eating food that has an ant in it, or rice with some rice weevils still hangin’ around?” Tyler and I look at each other, then raise our hands. “How many of us don’t even notice the five kinds of ants, six kinds of moths, the mole crickets, spiders, and mice all living in our houses? Oh, and don’t forget the cockroaches, scorpions, and snakes.” Jess tells her story about almost bumping into a jaguar at night. I tell my story of almost stepping on a labaria snake.

This week all of us volunteers must have a medical check-up. So, we go to the dentist, get some shots, pick up some pills, and fill out some forms. We poop into cups three separate times and hand them over to our Peace Corps Medical Officer for analysis and possible de-worming. We’ve become curious patients in our bathrooms as we examine our excrement, compare it, and laugh at how disgusting we are.

“Wait, wait, wait. Why is yours greener than mine? Is it ‘cause you are a vegetarian?”

“No, no, no you idiot. Look here, I have more fiber than you, that’s why I’m happier. Everyone knows that. It’s like an unwritten Peace Corps motto: The more fiber you got, the less time on the pot.”

The bush volunteers usually have wider grins. Like a ratio, the further you are from a hot shower, the wider your grin is when you come to town. Everyone grins, though.

So, we all have fun. We all bide the time in training sessions until we get to eat, or swim, or just plain sleep in air conditioning. It’s care free week for Peace Corps Volunteers in Guyana and I plan to milk it for all it’s worth… even when I’m collecting my poop samples. Thank you fiber pills!

One Good Thing

2010-05-08T17:32:00.000-07:00

"One good thing about music, when it hits you feel no pain."

Whether or not you think this quote profound, I don't really care. I like to hear it being said and being sung. It helps me maintain perspective on the culture down here when I forget how American I can be. I often write and rewrite this quote in my head or in my journal. Sometimes it is a written stand-in on days I am too lazy to write a journal entry. I've been a lot of lazy lately.

Hmmm, Laziness, you are such a fine vice to enjoy except you don't help anybody except for the person who is enjoying you. All the while, friends and family are awaiting news from afar. Updates from the exotic land. Word about the news and the what have you and the dozen versions of ants that crawl across the kitchen sink. But, I digress.

I've written this quote here because it's been almost a month since I've posted something and I'm a bit anxious to write some more after a month of silence.

...Maybe tomorrow, or Monday. Time to go listen to "Trenchtown Rock."

Lyrics are here.

Slow Change Exchange

2010-04-10T15:55:00.000-07:00

A lot of people ask, "why did you decide to join the Peace Corps?". And, the question for me has always been difficult to answer without lengthly explanation or discussion. There's always so many voices in my head saying each and every different thing that I feel exhausted trying to articulate for someone who is simply curious and asking.

I see it similar to asking a vet why he/she signed up for the armed services. A complex combination of reasons, desires, curiosities, and needs. Each person goes for different reasons even though many share some of the same larger goals - to serve, to learn, to change, to make a difference.

To help with this verbal vomit (as I like to call it), I try to find things in this world that can easily represent reasons why I have decided to travel. Art is a fantastic aid for me, especially in the musical and cinematic forms.

For this moment, I want to focus on a movie that I have recently seen and enjoyed. It tells three stories about American hardship. It provides a snapshot of American life that many do not fully understand, including myself.

Antoine Fuqua's newest film, "Brooklyn's Finest" is a gritty and unforgiving portrait of morality in an American society. It is a window into the lives of Americans who have lost faith in the system they live in and depend on - something that I think a lot of Americans can empathize with these days. This system is simply a variation of others all over the world, it just happens to be the American system that Fuqua focuses on in his film. It is as dark as I imagine the streets of Brooklyn's ghettos really are and I think it sets the new standard for American cop movies.

I want you to watch the film (rated R, please ask your parents first before renting it or downloading it illegally). And the reason why is that I believe the three stories told in this film are not just American stories, but stories from all over the world. It is why I wanted to leave my country and go somewhere else: to hear these stories being told outside of my own country.

It is why the movie "City of God" is so important and so difficult to watch. I wanted to directly challenge my personal view of the world and this movie asks to consider a different perspective: especially from Americans who are affluent and middle class like me. To question the idea of what is right and what is wrong is hard thing for an American to do. If you can do that, then ask yourself whether or not we live in a place where everyone agrees on these rules, or if we just follow them because we are told to do so.

I'm no anarchist, but I do believe there should always be a healthy debate about why we do what we do as a community. And I think Fuqua helps to keep this debate going as well as focus it on the people who are taken advantage of the most. After all, these are the reasons why we founded America in the first place.

So, why did I want to serve in the Peace Corps? Same reason why I am curious to see what life is like in Brooklyn, or Oakland, or Detroit, etc. You get the point.

I am not a religious person, but I do take comfort in certain parts of religion's wisdom. A quote I hold close to me is Gandhi's "be the change you want to see in the world."

It is an idealistic phrase. Not very effective when we consider the entire global community (or maybe even someplace like Brooklyn). But, it provides me with a certain peace of mind when I decide to lead by example. As you will see in this movie, being the way in which you want the world to be takes a lot of energy and a lot of courage. Sometimes I don't have either of those, and so my change is slow. Change is slow. But, I believe it works.

XTREME mine please

2010-04-06T09:49:00.000-07:00

Another great email from a fellow friend.

Brad is a World Teach volunteer from Dallas, TX, who lives in Bartica. He provides us with endless amounts of information on economic politics, sports, story characters like Jame Gumb, and most importantly, Texas.

"Normally I wouldn't look twice at a truck like this because it's just normal. However, having been living outside the US (mainly outside of Texas) for several months, a truck like the one below is not normal to me anymore.

To give you a frame of reference, the guy trying to get out of the truck is 6' 5". By the way, the trailer hitched to the beast was twice as long as the truck AND had a plasma TV installed on the side of it.

I tried to get everything in one pic but it wouldn't fit.

Oh, license plate of the truck...XTREME

For the record, my Glock 9mm is less than 12 inches from me in my console. And, yes, it's loaded with one in the chamber.

God bless Texas,

Brad"

For only a dollar more, I'd get mine XTREME.

Input from home

2010-03-24T08:14:00.000-07:00

I just received this email from my friend, Brandon.

Hey man,

I just thought you would think this was very interesting considering it approaches so many government services we take for granted that you may not have in Guyana.

http://i.imgur.com/590Ev.png

-Brandon

I think my friend's point is the most important part. I love getting input from home. Especially when people try to put themselves in other's shoes. In this case, we raise questions about quality of life in other countries and compare that with our own country's struggle for a better life. Albeit, the latest struggle in our healthcare reform has had many heated arguments and strong points of view, at least we've made some headway as well as have the opportunity to hear Joe cuss on the mic. You rockstar!

Thanks buddy!

Year in Reflection

2010-03-24T06:56:00.000-07:00

Grab your tissue boxes. This one’s gonna jerk some tears!

As mentioned before, it has been a year since I have come to this country. I celebrated the day during Guyana’s Mashramani holiday. I ate and drank well with my friends and enjoyed lots of dancing and parading around with Guyanese in Georgetown. Now, I want to experience Carnival in Trinidad, or Rio!

Yet, celebrating a year anniversary doesn’t solely include partying. There are also moments of reflection. So, here is a collection of thoughts from various emails and letter that best sums up what this last year has been for me from a position of growth and personal learning.

In a letter to a friend of mine, I recalled the reasons why I joined Peace Corps in the first place:

“…To answer your questions about me joining Peace Corps: I knew I wanted to get involved with overseas volunteering right before I graduated from SB. In my last term, I took a class on globalization and how it’s affecting developing countries. We focused on a lot of things, but the state that Jamaica is in really grabbed my attention – the truths about corporate tourism destroying coral reefs and other parts of the ecosystem, the choke hold it all has on the local farmers and merchants, and how mammoth hotels control the market (which I’m sure you’ve had first-hand experience with).

I had that fire in my belly for changing the world and I let that stew for a year and a half while I worked and lived at home doing all sorts of stuff: volunteering at a farmer’s market, tutoring ESL students, substitute teaching, and working at a public radio station. In ’08, I was close to getting a job teaching English in China and then I changed my mind (no surprise). Peace Corps looked really appealing for a whole host of reasons: A chance to see parts of the world that most Americans never see, a chance to become fluent in a language (although that didn’t pan out ‘cause Guyana is English speaking… go figure, hah); not to mention government health care, protection and pay, a flexible job description, etc.”

As a starry-eyed University graduate, I wasn’t going to let anything stop me from doing what I wanted to do – which was to save the world and to avoid having to work a 9-5 job like the rest of America. To put it bluntly, I’m a lazy, privileged, educated twenty-six-year-old who is selfish. And, there’s no one to really blame. I suppose I could argue that it is a by-product of growing up in America, being middle class, and not having to worry about things like hunger, shelter, and a proper education. But, that’s another conversation completely. The point I’m trying to make is much simpler: I came into this job with a few large visions and have now found myself more scattered than I have ever been before. And so, after just a handful of months in-country, experiences began to shift my perspective and I started to notice a change in myself:

“…Nevertheless, since [coming to Guyana] a lot of my reasons [for joining Peace Corps] have changed. I’m more jaded and cynical, but not so much that I have lost my drive or my faith in people’s ability to change or improve their lives. I suppose my place on the spectrum of idealism and realism has balanced out significantly. I’ve had the opportunity to understand more about how people behave in the ‘real world,’ how they struggle, how they see America, and what they expect from life. It has been as valuable as or more valuable than my education at [University], and for this I am thankful because it fits so well into what I love about anthropology, sociology, and politics.”

In another email to a friend I wrote this:

“It can be difficult to feel stable and find direction in what you are doing or where you want to take your life. In addition to this, it’s also hard to feel certain in your work choices or who you are as a person. Peace Corps is a wanderer's adventure both in the simple and the obscure. I have rediscovered myself in more ways than I thought possible. And, even though this has been exciting, it has also been tough and vague. I've had to learn how to let go of things that are out of my control and capitalize on what is available when it is available. This has always been tough for me.

One of the most difficult challenges I face every day is justifying what I am doing here. A lot of the time I feel alone in my quest to do something meaningful because everyone around me, it seems, doesn’t really care. Take education, for example. If a child doesn’t go to school and I happen to see him on the road, I ask, “Why aren’t you at school today?” The answers tend to vary, but they are all rooted in the same idea: “What is the point of going to school when I don’t learn anything there?” Some Guyanese have even gone as far to tell me that schooling isn’t important in a place like Bartica. The gold mining industry is so lucrative that miners can make twice or three times as much in a month than any blue or white collar job and their work requires little to no education. So, I have trouble encouraging kids to attend their classes knowing full well that many of them will be disengaged, disillusioned, or simply neglected.

On a day where my morale is exceptionally low, this kind of mentality devastates my motivation for doing anything other than staying at home, reading a book, or watching a movie. If I had the will power and determination of someone like Oprah, I suppose I wouldn’t be saying all this. But, I haven’t found that will power. I know myself well enough to understand that I work better when I’m around motivated people. I’m a team worker, not an independent worker. I’m not a religious person and I don’t believe in a God. I foolishly worry that the people in my community that are religious won’t understand me or want to work with me. I realize now more than ever that I work best when I have other, like-minded people around me. For reasons I haven’t figured out yet, I feel useless when I work alone. I don’t know if it is a confidence thing, a laziness thing, a fear of failure, or something else. And, all this while I thought I could easily do the kind of work Barrack Obama did in Chicago with just a smile and a brain. Looks like I was sorely mistaken.

How do I keep my head screwed on straight? How do I maintain forward momentum and a positive outlook? These have been the largest and strongest obstacles in my way to feeling fulfilled about my time down here. What an education I’m getting, wouldn’t you agree?

What I do know and feel is that I’m not ready to give up. Every day I try to do something that will work towards the larger picture. Every day I try to organize an idea that I have and then work it over until I get rid of all the possible weak points. It is a constant struggle between choosing two paths: the first is doing everything myself which doesn’t necessarily solve any problems within my community. The second is trying to get a group of people interested in something productive which does not necessarily work when those people stop showing up, stop showing interest, or simply get lazy. So, starting and stopping projects becomes a cyclical and tiring job. Persistence is always being challenged by skepticism and lethargy. Guyanese will even admit that, “people are lazy in this country and that’s why nothing ever gets done.” How do I combat a kind of comment like that?

I’ve tried to answer this question as best I can. I recently decided to adopt the “one day at a time” outlook in a whole new way in an attempt to be more headstrong about my ambitions here. I have set lower expectations of myself and began a baby step approach: small parts first, then expand on what works. This has begun already as I am starting to visit teachers regularly, plan some workshops, throw the Frisbee around and play football in the afternoons, and work out at the gym. I am fearful of underperforming.

The other day I received a package from my parents. Included in it was a much awaited magazine, called GOOD. I highly recommend reading it or simply browsing its articles and misc. info on their website: www.good.is

Inside the issue that came with my care package was a blurb that caught my attention. Its title read, “We all have this implicit promise to leave the world a better place for our children.” The commentary to follow came from an interview of Bob McKinnon, the author of Actions Speak Loudest. He said this:

“Generally, over the course of previous generations, we’ve been able to keep good on that promise – but what the data now point to is that we may not make good on that promise. We may actually be creating the first generation of children to lead shorter, unhappier, unhealthier lives than their parents, which, in a country with the resources, ingenuity, and brainpower the thought was, ‘What do we need to do to draw a little more attention to this promise and the issues that affect it?’”

I try to keep this idea in my head as much as possible down here. Being idealistic and having hope is a luxury in my opinion. Most people in this world suffer a great deal more than the average American does. Many do not have the opportunities or even time in their day to spend with their children, love their spouses, volunteer their time, or even improve the way they live their lives (if you don’t believe me, read up on the Congo, Darfur, or Burma). Hard work is something that a lot of Americans do not fully understand and that is part of the bigger picture for me as an American. Hard work is hard work and I have never been put in a position where I have had to consistently labor. Can you believe that? This truly has been the hardest job I love and most of the time I question myself.

Happy Anniversary to Me!

2010-02-23T09:51:00.001-08:00

Tomorrow completes one year of Chris Olin being in Guyana. What a mind warp.

I decided to celebrate today because it is Mashramani here in Guyana. I'm currently in the capital city staying at my friend, Jess', house and just one house away from us is a GIANT parade that operates much like the Carnival celebrations all over the world last week.

Here's a summary from Wikipedia (links are underlined):

Mashramani, often abbreviated to "Mash", is an annual festival that celebrates Guyana becoming a Republic in 1970. The festival, usually held on 23 February – Guyanese Republic Day – includes a parade, music, games and cooking and is intended to commemorate the "Birth of the Republic".

The word "Mashramani" is derived from an Amerindian language and in translation means "the celebration of a job well done". It is probably the most colourful of all the country's festivals. There are spectacular costume competitions, float parades, masquerade bands, and dancing in the streets to the accompaniment of steel drum music and calypsos. Masquerades frequent the streets performing acrobatic dance routines, a vivid reminder of Guyana's African heritage. Calypso competitions with their witty social commentaries are another integral part of "Mash", and this culminates in the coronation of a King or Queen for the particular year.

So with the loud Soca music playing, the hundreds of people dressed up, the food, the lights, and the party atmosphere, I am going to take it upon myself to celebrate my one year anniversary as a Peace Corps Volunteer in conjunction with this Guyanese celebration of a "job well done."

"Chris Olin, I salute you."

"Gee, thanks buddy. You're swell."

"Don't let it go to your head."

"Too late."

FYI

2010-02-19T15:34:00.000-08:00

Pictures of my trip to Mabaruma will be posted in due course. Thank you for your patience.

Captain’s Log for Chris and Jess’ Mabaruma Trip

2010-02-19T15:33:00.000-08:00

To read the journal that accompanies this log, please click here: Mabaruma Recap!
Monday, January 11^th

8am Flight to Mab, easy peazy except that Peace Corps forgets to extend Jess' visa. Possible reprimand is avoided. Whew!
9:30 Jess and Chris arrive and go to PCV house
After unpacking Chris goes to see Reg 1 resources center with Chris Miller
Jess sits on her lazy ass
2pm Everyone goes to bathe at waterfalls in Hosororo
Jess and Chris walk home in order to see Mabaruma. A Pink house is being built
Jess Y and Mike make Kufta and mixed grain curry. Yum!

Tuesday, January 12^th

11am Chris and Jess set out to hike to Skull Point
Trail guides are Ronaldo, Ryan, and Marissa. Ages: avg. 7 or 8
1pm Everyone Slides down Skull point on banana leaves into the marsh where the archaeological dig is. Jess and Chris do not see the pits.
2pm There are snail shells everywhere. Jess and Chris learn how to use them as whistles. Then they teach their trail guides how to make whistles out of razor grass.

Wednesday, January 13^th

Everyone sleeps in. Breakfast: eggs
Mike, Jess W. and Chris go with Karishma to visit Morawana with the Red Cross
They visit a school and talked to kids
It rains buckets on the way back. The boat ride is fun like always. Wahoo!
We see Scarlet Ibis flying around us
Chris has a great conversation with Mike about Peace Corps and then music
They all return to Mabaruma, Jess W. catches a tour of Mabaruma hospital with VSO Harriet. "Harriet! Sweet Harriet!"

Thursday, January 14^th

8am - Semi early rise. Breakfast: eggs
Chris phones Alexandra in New York and admires technology for its ability to connect family in the most appropriate times. Thanks nerds!
9am Jess and Chris depart for Rachelle community in White Water
3pm Jess, Chris, and Rachelle bathe in the creek near her house. "Oh black water, keep on comin'..."
5pm Rachelle tells the story of the Yakman ants and everyone can still smell them underneath her cupboards
Dinner: tacos from scratch
8pm: Bats fly around the house
9pm Everyone looks at the stars and the fireflies

Friday, January 15^th

7am Jess and Chris go to see the health hut and learn about malaria from Rachelle
9am Jess, Chris, and Rachelle hike out to check a patient’s BP and then continue to visit the landing where canoes come in from the Venezuelan border.
Dinner: soup
9pm the three look at the stars and Chris talks about the Universe and astronomy. He’s so smart.
10pm the three play cards together before bed

Saturday, January 16^th

10am Jess, Chris, and Rachelle hike to Hilltop with Ignatius' and Victor’s family
Lunch: fried rice
Everyone visits the family farm, and then walk through the Guyana palm estate
4pm Return to White Creek
Chris goes with Ignatius and Victor to play guitar: Victor is really good
Jess and Rachelle swing on swings
5pm Chris joins up with Jess and Rachelle
While Chris plays soccer with a bunch of Amerindians, Rachelle and Jess listen to Victor play guitar. Jess plays guitar, too
6pm Rachelle, Jess and Chris do crosswords together
Dinner: Rice and stir fry callilou

Sunday, January 17^th

11am Jess, Chris, Rachelle, Ignatius, and Victor paint Rachelle’s wall mural
1pm Jess, Chris, and Rachelle eat cassava bread for lunch. Putting salt on the cassava makes it taste like bacon. This pleases everyone
1:30pm Harriet, Mike, and other VSOs come to visit from Mabaruma
2pm Everyone goes to the creek to swim and practice canoeing
Everyone explores the Bamboo Forest
4pm VSOs leave. Jess, Chris, and Rachelle hang out on porch and talked until dark
5pm Chris passes out in a hammock never to be heard from again
6pm Rachelle and Jess go on a medical trip to Black Water to see Margaret
8pm Rachelle and Jess return, make rice and veggies dinner, and have a great conversation
Chris Has trouble sleeping and doesn't know why

Monday, January 18^th (MLK day)

9am Chris and Jess leave Rachelle to return to Mabaruma. They feel bittersweet
-missing data-
3pm Jess and Chris go to visit Aussie/VSO Mike and Mike and Jess Y. Aussie/VSO Mike is building bee boxes and explains to Chris his sustainable livelihood project
6pm Everyone enjoys food from Kumaka
8pm Electricity goes out in the house. The fuse is thought to be blown.
8:30pm It is an early bedtime.

Tuesday, January 19^th

7am Jess gets up early to go watch baby fall out of a womb (i.e. child birth at the hospital).
9:30 Chris sleeps in gloriously, then gets up and goes on hunt for eggs
10:30 Jess returns to wash baby goo off her clothes
10:45 Chris is invited to help build a house with Brad (SDA missionary) and two Rastas named Pencil and Chance Lee.
11am Rachelle comes into town, Jess hangs out with her while she waits for medicine. All. Day. Long.
3pm Rachelle finally gets medicine, Jess hangs out with Aussie/VSO Harriet a little longer at the maternity ward
4pm Jess walks to Mike and Harriet’s house and visits with Arielle (VSO)
Meanwhile, Chris meets up with Jess Y and Mike and walks to Mike and Harriet’s
4:30pm All watch for monkeys together while drinking tea out of Hello Kitty cups and coconut water out of a pitcher. Mike enjoys destroying cocnuts and attempts to climb a tree in the adjacent yard with little success. No Monkeys are seen. Mike holds VSOs responsible. All is enjoyed, though
Chris and Jess have deep convo about self perception and gender roles. Thanks Jess, you’re wicked smaat!
6pm Everyone goes down to Kumaka to have dinner.
Seeing as it is Jess, Mike, and Chris’ last nights in Mabaruma, all fun is had in Kumaka. Shots of High Wine, Brad gets wasted, Chris and Jess pack their stuff in the dark.

Wednesday, January 20^th

4:30am day begins as Chris and Jess leave Mabaruma and head back to Georgetown
-The rest of this log is truncated. If you are interested in reading the conclusion, email me and I'll send it to you.-

Mabaruma Recap!

2010-02-19T15:31:00.000-08:00

Long time!

It’s been over a month since I returned from my trip to Mabaruma. With plenty to do at my site and because our new Peace Corps volunteers have arrived, I’ve been away from my journal and away from writing to you.

Let me first recap Mabaruma. The post after this includes a captain’s log of my adventure with Jessica Wilson: an ever so reliable and agreeable travel mate.

Mabaruma was a possible site location for me during training. After visiting, I now know that had I been placed there, I would have been as happy as I am here in Bartica. For starters, Mabaruma is absolutely beautiful. In many ways it is more beautiful than Bartica. It is small: maybe ten thousand people or less living in and around its area. The town (which could be argued as a large village), is situated on the ridgeline of a large and long hill overlooking the rolling, green rainforest that borders Venezuela and runs down the coast to the serpentine, swerving Pomaroon River. Beyond the Pomaroon is region 2, the Essequibo coast, which includes the area in which Peace Corps trains their volunteers. Nearly all of region 1 is lush, green rainforest that looks like much of what I see in my back yard in Bartica and what I traversed through on my way to Kaieteur Falls. It is as stunning as any other wild habitat in this country and since Mabaruma is largely less developed than Bartica, someone like me feels closer to the rainforest and therefore closer to the parts of this natural environment that I have come to admire.

The people in Mabaruma are a mix of Amerindians, Afro-Guyanese, and a few Indo-Guyanese. They are pleasant people and create an atmosphere that is as laid back as Bartica. Life is simple.

Most of my week was spent catching up with the volunteers we stayed with. Karishma Patel is a GUY 20 health volunteer with a penchant for dry sarcasm and a hipster attitude which she’ll cleverly deny. I’ll probably be berated for that comment, but it’s worth the reaction I’ll get. Karish is a great cook and decent map drawer. Kinda like Hiawatha.

Jessica Yatteau is a GUY 21 volunteer who was last living in Oregon. There, she worked for the forestry service looking for new species of wild flowers to put into her hair. On her down times she reads and writes campfire songs with Mike, her love flame and drummer. Mike was actually visiting Mabaruma the same week I was. So, I’ll plug is his music because I like the guy and he showed me the ways of peanut butter and garlic sandwiches. They are called The Quick and Easy Boys. And you can check ‘em out here: http://www.myspace.com/thequickandeasyboys. Jess Y is also a great cook. I can’t stress enough how important it is to remember which of your friends and acquaintances have culinary skills - especially when living abroad.

The third in the Mabaruma Three’s Company is Chris Miller. A Midwest, long talker who is encyclopedic with his information, Chris is a GUY 21 volunteer in education and loves his job and his site. Chris always brings the excitement when volunteers get together and his laughter pretty much sets the tone in an evening of drinking and fun.

I was also able to met new volunteers from other NGOs (VSO, World Teach).

I took a lot of video footage which I’d like to edit and send out to those of you who want to see more of what Guyana looks like. Problem is: I’m having trouble getting a hold of video editing software. Anyone have a copy they’d like to lend out?

Jess Wilson and I hiked quite a bit in various places around Mabaruma. My personal highlight was going to Skull Point. It's a place just on the edge of Mabaruma’s borders where a large burial ground was said to have held the first people’s of Guyana. An archaeology team came a few years back to dig up the remains and study them. They concluded that their diets included a lot of snails because of the lack of sustenance in that part of the jungle (hard to believe seeing as a jungle has loads of food everywhere). They also claimed that a flood had wiped them out, leaving a natural grave and a load of snail shells laying around. Supposedly the remains are showcased in a museum in Georgetown. This has been added to my Peace Corps bucket list.

The hike was nice. We had three children as our trail guides, running ahead, hiding in the jungle, chasing butterflies, showing us all sorts of things like razor grass, various species of ants, flowers and edible plants. We picked fruit called Aquiro, which tastes like an avocado and a walnut at the same time with a semi-sour beginning and a nutty, creamy aftertaste. Our young trail guides donned leaves as head dresses and masks to scare Jess and I when they hid behind trees. They laughed, giggled, and ran around carelessly, like children should. They were doing everything they were suppose to do, and as obvious as that sounds, it was so much more enlightening. They were between 7 and 8 years old.

We took in vistas of extraordinary space and magnitude; jungle as far as the eye could see, rolling hills of carpeted vegetation filled with undiscovered animals, insects, and plants balancing between the plumes of moisture escaping the humid forest. It was different than Kaeiteur, but I can’t really tell you how. You had to be there.

When we reached our destination, there was a steep incline littered with snail shells everywhere. The children beckoned us to slide down the hill on banana leaves. At the bottom was the supposed dig site, but nothing I could see showed signs of a past dig. Instead, Jess and I learned how to use the shell as a whistle by positioning it between the knuckles of our index and middle finger. A bit tricky, but we caught on. Then, Jess and I taught our trail guides how to use two blades of razor grass to make a mouth Kazoo. A musical exchange: Look, don't make it into a sappy hallmark American movie thing. We were having fun with some kids and that can happen anywhere.

On another hike, Jess and I got close enough to the border to see a Venezuelan army barracks. Unfortunately I didn’t come across any group surveying uranium. That would have been really fun because I know the Iranians would be there and I have always wanted to shoot an AK-47. But I jokingly digress…

In the middle of the week we headed out to see Rachelle, a GUY 21 PCV who is working at a health hut in a place called White Water. I really enjoyed the village, the serenity, the bathing in the creek and playing football with the Amerindians who live there. The three of us cooked, visited, read, helped paint a mural, went canoeing, hiked, played cards and did crosswords together. We spent almost every night talking and looking up at the stars. The evenings were mostly cloudless and since Rachelle lives with no electricity, the night is black and so the galaxies go on forever. When your neck gets tight, you just look down. As if they were working together, the stars are replaced by fireflies off the bench and into the game to continue the beauty in the moment as you rest your neck. What an absurd thought: fireflies on a tag team with the stars.

What else… Oh! We did some outreach work with Karishma and the Red Cross. During our boat trip up river, I saw Scarlet Ibis for the first time. They are magnificent in shape, color, the way they fly. I was really impressed. I also helped build a house down the road from where I was staying. I worked with two Rasta Guyanese named Pencil and Chance Lee, and an S.D.A. missionary (Seventh Day Adventist). We put up the framing for the house walls, ceiling, and roof. Watching the way those Guyanese build a house is a whole other conversation for a whole other time. It was one of my favorite moments on the trip and was, yet, another experience that teaches just how different America is from the rest of the world.

Karish and Jess Y. cooked great food for us – mostly healthy hippie stuff, but I can’t complain. It was delicious and nutritious! Guitars were strummed and songs sung, and we mostly just all joked around. It was a great ten days and I would definitely return.

To the Mob

2010-01-10T19:19:00.000-08:00

Tomorrow morning I'm off to Mabaruma (see link here).

There will be some working and some playing. The Literacy Professional Development Course is to be introduced in Region 1 this year with the help of NCERD (the National Center for Education, Research, and Development). The literacy course began in Region 6 (just south of Georgetown on the coast) by a VSO volunteer some years ago. It has since expanded to Region 7 where I have helped VSO continue its success in training teachers how to effectively teach literacy to their children.

So, I'll be presenting the training modules to the PCVs in Mabaruma this week, as well as visit the resources center and share some ideas around.

Outside of that, I'll be eager to get out and hike some with my friends who live and work there.

Dear Eureka,
Sorry you had an earthquake. Don't worry, you're still a part of California... which is what's most important.

The United States of Leland

2010-01-06T13:19:00.000-08:00

Just watched this one. Real sad. Would it be weird if I said I strongly identified with it? Minus the violence and being a junky of course.

Link: The United States of Leland

Christmastime in Bartica, pt.2

2010-01-06T09:22:00.000-08:00

Christmastime is over. Happy New Year! Here’s a summary:

There were sixteen volunteers who rented Willem’s place for the holiday weekend. Thursday to Sunday at $250 US a night plus food and the cost of party supplies turned our Christmas into a $100 getaway. It was one of the best Christmases I’ve ever enjoyed.

My roommate and I had been to Willem’s a few times before and we decided it would be the perfect place for volunteers to unwind and enjoy Christmas in paradise. Willem’s, as I have mentioned before, is a three story, five bedroom Dutch house on the edge of Bartica. Situated on a stretch of land that juts out onto the Essequibo River, its L-shaped design and two balconies face north to receive the constant breeze that comes from the passing river. And since our rainy season has been slow to start, the temps were mild all weekend long and the rain amounted to only a few showers during our stay. Suffice it to say, everyone was pleased with the lodging and accommodations (see pictures here).

Our activities included: lots of swimming in the pool, Taboo, Scrabble, various card games, Frisbee, football, soccer, movies on a projector, drinking and eating wonderful food, and of course the regular banter that comes with a group of Peace Corps volunteers eager to get rid of their stress.

It was relaxing to say the least.

Aside from a few trips out to town for beer, rum, and various other things in short supply, we all stayed at the house for the entire weekend. There was a gift exchange, lots of dancing, and even a few competitions including games in the pool and a sumo wrestling ring drawn out by the garden hose. Much was caught on camera.

The view is spectacular there and so is the design of the house. So, I think we were really able to let go of a lot of stress and enjoy something familiar: the atmosphere a bunch of Americans bring to an event like this and a house that resembles something you’d see at home.

All and all, we made it a Christmas to remember as well as a Christmas done the way we wanted it to be done. We sat down together for all three dinners and, albeit minimal by my standards, speeches were short and sweet.

By the time the weekend was over, everyone was exhausted. We had played hard, and cooked for an army. Sleep may have been in abundance, but that never really seems to do the trick when volunteers are on vacation. After settling in the boat returning to Georgetown, everyone slumped collectively in the boat. Like a giant lacklustre boat of white people with glazed eyes, sunglasses on, iPods playing, and some preparing to sleep the whole way back. I was so tired I didn’t even stay to see them off: another sign of a great holiday.

I took the remainder of 2009 to recover and prepare for what Guyanese call, “Old Year’s Night.” A phrase I don’t think I’ll ever inherit. Try saying it as fast as, “New Year’s Eve” and tell me you don’t prefer the latter.

Well, New Year’s Eve began with a nap at 6pm. At 10, Tyler and I watched the news feed from Atlanta as they covered the party in Manhattan. By midnight we were watching people set off fireworks in the streets and in their yards. Then, we went out and celebrated until 4:30 in the morning. Some parts are hazy, but we danced a lot and laughed a lot. I made like the dead at 5 and didn’t wake up until 1pm. Then it was the good old nurse the hangover routine. This, by the way, is a procedure that should be documented worldwide. Think of this: Much of the world likes to drink and there are so many people out there who have their own secrets to curing hangovers, like things they do, stuff they eat and drink, etc. And so, the hangover becomes quintessential morning greeting for the world of partiers – and what is a world without party and drink? A boring one, I should say. In this way, the hangover becomes a reoccurring ordeal that you both resent and respect whilst constantly hoping will never again be there in the morning to greet you – kind of like having to spend time with that family member you absolutely find repulsive, although we hope there’s no greeting in the morning at your bedside like our dear friend the hangover.

But I digress, on New Year’s my routine went like this: I willed my body from my bed to the bathroom and staggered a path full of zigs, zags, wobbles, lists, and the obligatory butt cheek scratch/yawn combination. In the cool tiled surface of my bathroom, I stood for a long while staring at the cold floor wondering if this would be my final afternoon destination. But, I laughed because it wasn’t – “silly Chris, that floor is dirty!” After soup, coffee, and four Advil, I drank as much water as I could without losing my lunch. Then I sat on the couch and didn’t move for the rest of the day. Reading magnified my headache, so I watched a lot of TV.

Now, I can’t condone the kind of drinking that will result in a visit from brother jackhammer because it simply is irresponsible. But what I can say is this: knowing the path is different than walking the path. Good path or bad, an experience paid close attention to is an education in and of itself. So I close with the thought that has gone through my head every morning that I have ever awakened with a 10-out-of-10-points hangover:

“Never again...”

Christmastime in Bartica, pt.1

2010-01-06T09:16:00.000-08:00

The holiday season creeps up on you in Bartica. In many ways it is like Christmas at home because people decorate their houses and businesses in Christmas spirit, lights, and signs wishing all the best. Toys, food, and other supplies are brought in weeks before Christmas eve and kids are seen running around with newly purchased plastic wonders all sent in from that emerging Oriental giant. Dart guns, remote controlled cars, dolls, bubble guns, tables, house wares, picture frames, and plastic flower arrangements. Oh the things we can do with plastic. How easily and cheaply they are made. How easily they break and how easily they are thrown away and repurchased in their newest version.

Yes, the season creeps up as Guyanese in town extend the operating hours of their businesses, put up plastic trees , and play Christmas tunes on their extraordinarily large speaker systems. Car and foot traffic increase as the days to Christmas sneak up. Yet, everyone seems to prepare well, seems to navigate easily around, and seems to be in control.

If you read the newspapers of the upcoming weeks to Christmas Eve, you’ll see sales, specials, advertising for things you need to buy for your loved ones. You’ll read the everyday news about crime, sports, politics, opinions, celebrity news, and world news. What you may find lacking – or in very short order – are reports of economic stimulus plans, traffic jams, terrorist plots, Miley Cirus’ Twitter, or Roman blinds strangling babies in cold blood. There aren’t even reports of stores gorged with customers arriving at odd hours of the morning to stampede in, where they can claim swathes of merchandise like some flock of Sooners grabbing precious farm land. You may read about a robbery here and there, or a nasty domestic situation involving homicide or suicide, but you probably won’t read about store attendants being trampled to death by hordes of commodity thirsty consumers. You know, the ones that anxiously stuff their bags full, like an army of heroin addicts kicking down a DEA warehouse full of the good stuff made in factories outsourced to the developing world. Nope, you wouldn’t necessarily read the news in any way different than you would if it were New Years, Easter, Independence Day, or Thanksgiving.

Now, I don’t want to come off as some self-righteous do-gooder who thinks he can muse theories of the post modern world because he had some liberal-California upbringing, a University degree in something as useless as Ethnomusicology, and a two year stint in the Peace Corps (arguably the Marine Corps poster child alter ego). What I am trying to do is raise awareness. No, not some stupid candle light vigil and a protest for the third world...uh, I mean developing world. I want to raise awareness at how wonderful it is here during Christmastime. In Guyana, I don’t have to worry about getting run over in a parking lot. Let's be honest, there are no parking lots where I live!

See, Christmas in Guyana is strongly influenced by American culture – as are many other things in this country. You will see the decorations, the toys, the advertising (to a relatively limited extent), and the Christmas spirit in Guyanese form. Yet, the Guyanese Christmas spirit follows the party spirit that Guyanese have for every other celebratory occasion. This includes lots of drinking, lots of food, lots of music, but not lots of raving lunatic Americans. Sorry America, but I’m just better off without you in this department and I think the rest of the world is, too.

For starters, the Christmas music in Guyana is an amalgamation of American holiday tunes mixed with Reggae and Dance Hall versions of all the known carols: Jingle Bells, Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer, We Wish You a Merry Christmas, and much more. I cannot truly explain to you the smile that spreads across my face when I hear Jamaicans chunking away at “Do You Hear What I Hear” as I walk down the arcade in search of eggs and flour. To my despair, Celine Deon (in all her annoying and aurally corrosive splendour) was played on repeat for hours nearly every day. Conversely (and to my appreciation), oldies versions of Christmas songs were sung by the likes of Nat King Cole, Mel Torme, and others. Like every day in this country, the music that accompanied the holiday season was tantalizingly amusing.

The food is much different. Nearly all Guyanese prepare pepper pot for Christmas dinner. Pepper pot is a Guyanese dish that comes from the Amerindian (indigenous peoples) culture. It is made with an assortment of meats including one or all of the following: chicken, chicken foot, chicken gizzard, chicken heart, chicken liver, beef, cow liver, cow stomach, cow hoof, cow face, and pork. The meat is either slow-cooked for days or pressure cooked for hours so as to become tender. A sauce, called casrib, is made with a ground provision called, cassava. Cassava, which is in the potato family, is stringier and tastes starchier than your run-of-the-mill Irish spud. To make casrib, the cook must first boil the cassava and peel the skin off. The chunks of starchy meat are then grated and pressed into a long, slender, hand woven sack called a matapee - which looks like a giant Chinese finger trap. The matapee is used to squeeze out all the moisture in the cassava meat. The moisture is then collected into a pot and boiled down to get rid of cyanide, a chemical by-product of this process. Once the liquid has boiled down, it begins to brown and caramelize into a dark, molasses looking syrup. This is casrib, and it is really tasty. The last task is to take the now dried cassava powder and place it on a round, flat, metal cooking surface which is called a tawa or roti pan (the latter named by Indo-Guyanese). The cassava powder then bakes together into a thin, wafer-like, white sheet which is called cassava bread. This bread is then used to scoop up meat and casrib syrup. This is pepper pot.

New Year’s celebration is accompanied with two different main dishes: Cook up and black cake. Cook up is one of Guyana’s national dishes (along with pepper pot, and a variety of Indian dishes). It is made with rice and a variety of meet, beans, and sometimes vegetables. All the ingredients are cooked separately and then combined into one giant pot with coconut milk and spices. It is as filling as it is savory and flavorful. Prepared correctly, it is an excellent dish. Black cake is made with rum, caramelized cane sugar, and dried fruits. It is a dense and moist cake that resembles an American fruit cake.

Drinking is as usual, although in more quantity as less people are working during this time.

It did not feel like Christmas time for me or many other volunteers, but I think that is a given because we are living in a foreign place with a foreign climate to accompany what is a rather cold season for most Americans. I mean, we don’t usually sweat the twelve days of anticipation (unless someone is trying to find a parking space). Americans don’t have intense, beating-down sunshine while they string up their garland lights and prepare their house with spices, decorations, presents, and feasts. They are usually freezing their asses off getting their cars started. Nope, here feels different. And, although there are many bustling around, many waiting in lines (something unusual for Guyanese to do), many whistling carols while they work, and even a few strolling the streets dressed as Old Saint Nick, Christmas in Guyana seems like a curious paradox of familiar and unfamiliar: familiar in its protocols and formalities, unfamiliar in its location, setting, and climate. Due to my own love-hate relationship with Christmastime, this experience turned out to be what I had hoped for when deciding to volunteer – that is: low stress, no lunatic Americans, no excess of material things, no traffic, and no barrage of overzealous Christmasers looking to inject more spirit into an otherwise bloated body of Americana. Clearly I’m a simpleton when it comes to holidays. Bah humbug!

Nevertheless, there were moments when the presence of Christmas spirit caught me off guard. It wasn’t anything special, just instances where I felt connected to the parts of the holiday season that I identify closely with. To give you some examples: Talking to family online or over the phone, the loud argumentative chatter of friends filling the room at a full table of good food and good drink, the smell of nutmeg, cinnamon, and cloves. For those seconds and minutes I was transported home to the places I always enjoy during this season: family, friends, food, and drink. The most important saying always pops into my mind when the holiday season revs up (and I paraphrase because I cannot remember correctly): “The company you keep is more important than what you do, where you go, or what you have.” Spending Christmas in Bartica with people who know how to party had all those things in perfect balance for me.

Barbados vs. Guyana: Part 2

2009-12-07T10:20:00.000-08:00

Sunday, December 6th, 2009 - Barbados Esplanade, near the Hilton hotel:

Today was race day. Dave and I woke up at 2:30 am and caught a cab at 3 for Sophie and Eliz’s hotel. The girls, who are volunteers living in Maruca, Guyana (Region 2), have been staying in a two room suite at the Hilton with Eliz’s mother and sister. Since their hotel is so close to the starting/finish line, Dave and I packed bags for the day and headed there to begin our prep.

Breakfast: Cliff bar and a banana, with water and poweraid.

Five of us racing: Dave, Sophie, & Eliz running the marathon at 4:30am. Eliz’s sister, Melisa, and me running the half at 5am

It was cool out at those early hours and I felt the same rush of excited anticipation as I used to running cross country in high school. We were all yapping at each other, explaining our strategies, what we had to look out for, who we were going to run with, what pains we may get, how training was easy and this would be hard. We really felt like a team. Right before the marathon began, we bumped into another Peace Corps volunteer from Dallas, Tx, named Alyssa. She is serving in Grenada. She claimed she took one look at us and had this crazy thought that we were volunteers, just like us.

I excused myself, popped two Ibuprofen before my start and made sure I stretched out long and easy. Then, everyone’s day began with the firing of a gun. The best runners out front and everyone else shuffling behind. There were close to 90 runners crossing the starting line – much less than I anticipated.

Exactly thirty minutes after gun one, the half marathon began. It was still dark as night out and I crossed the line with 140+ runners. Melissa and I started well and soon separated from each other to fit into our own comfortable paces.

There weren’t many spectators, maybe 100 or 150, and apart from the occasional cheering every so many meters and the occasional chit chat with a fellow runner, it was quiet. I brought no watch and no pedometer with me, making it sort of a mystery aside from my own estimates of distance and time. I was alone and it was peaceful. I tried this energy goo, which I snacked on half way through the race. Imagine eating a fat gummy sphere with tons of vitamins, sugar, and other stuff to give you a boost. A gummy bear on ‘roids, if you will. The ocean was to my left for the first half, then my right on my way back. The race course started in the Esplanade and traveled north on the West coast of the island.

The sites wear pleasant, the beach was beckoning. The runners were great to run with, pass up, or let pass. The cars and buses, for the most part, let us alone. Although, Sophie mentioned almost getting hit by a giant blue bus and being misdirected

My finish time: 2 hours, and 12 minutes. After receiving my finishing medal and a trip to the table with energy drinks and fruit, I walked the 5 meters to the beach. I took off my shoes, walked into turquoise water, and announced to myself that my vacation had begun.

After both races finished, we all returned to the Hilton. Dave, Sophie, and I were nominated to be in charge of making the ice bath. This meant that we went down the hall with all the room’s trash cans – empty of course – and all the empty plastic bags we had near us. What it must have looked like to the hotel staff as three skinny kids in running outfits ran a bucket brigade of ice into a room: hobbling back and forth on sore legs and feet in anticipation of a very cold 10 minutes to follow.

Yes, it was uncomfortable. But not for very long, because after about three minutes everything below my waist was pretty much numb.

We all spent the remainder of the day at the Hilton beach. We stuffed our faces with American food because we missed it so much. I slipped into a different mindset (dare I say, “American”?) because I am a product of my environment, no matter how much I tell myself I’m not. Nevertheless, I kept my recorder turned on during lunch to take it all in:

Smells that were new to me:

sweet (maybe flowers, maybe air freshener, maybe just the absence of sewage and trash)
perfume
food, burgers & fries
sunscreen
the leather seats of a luxury car
salty ocean spray

Things that visually caught my attention:

Fat Babies (like, so fat that they are beyond chubby and have become chunky). I watched one chubby baby for ten minutes, mesmerized by his size and his inability to crawl around with ease.
Pink, sunburned bodies (i.e. white folks who forget they are vacationing so near to the equator). Some of them were grossly fat… or should I say Obese with a capital O? You don’t see them here in Guyana.
Dark, leathery, over-tanned white folks who look like they could be in a movie entitled, “The Lounge Chair Lizard-People,” I suppose that’s a gross blanket statement, but I really don’t care.

Barbados vs. Guyana: Part 1

2009-12-05T11:32:00.000-08:00

What's happening now?

Well, I signed up for a half marathon in Barbados and have been training for it over the last 8 weeks. Training? Yes, training Guyanese Peace Corps Volunteer style: run a lot, stretch, work out, drink a beer, have some rum, etc.

There are three other Peace Corps/Guyana volunteers running the full marathon: Dave, Elizabeth, and Sophie. They are all pretty serious about the entire marathon race. I'm only running half the marathon, so I'm only half serious about the race. Fair enough, I believe.

Problems for me have been:

The running distances of my training schedule are in miles, I used a taxi in Guyana to mark miles on our jungle road... turns out the taxi odomiter were in kilometers.
My knees have somehow turned to mush even though I've been training for the last two months (could be lack of exercise during college).

Perks:

It's only 13 miles and I have Ibuprofen
Barbados is flat. I trained on hills
The crowd and other runners will push me on (I was told to fixate on a female in front of me as motivation)
There's five days of sunshine, blue water and white sand, beer, rum, dancing, snorkeling...

The perks totally out weigh the problems in my opinion.

Yet, I've learned that 9 months in Guyana has dulled my sharp sense of tourism protocol. I made an error (quite a stupid one) with our guest house booking and am now trying to straighten everything out. It's too long a story. Suffice it to say: if you know me well enough, just imagine something absent minded that I'm capable of doing and you'll probably get close.

In addition to this, Dave and I arrived in Barbados and the airport wouldn't exchange our Guyanese dollars for Barbados ones (neither will the U.S. apparently). We also tried to top up our cell phones (charge up minutes)... and that won't work either, even though we have digicel phones and digicel is a main mobile company here in Barbados. Looks like Guyana has trouble being recognized everywhere outside of Guyana. I thought this was suppose to be a vacation

Tomorrow morning at 3 am, Dave and I will take a taxi to the race site. His race starts at 4:30, mine starts at 5 .

Wish my chicken legs luck. They will need it!

Butterball Pre-Cooked Turkey

2009-11-26T07:35:00.000-08:00

Our World Teach friend, Brad, is from Dallas, TX. He is assigned to 3 Miles Secondary School in Bartica as an IT teacher in a classroom with no computers. Therefore, he teaches computers with a book and a chalk board.

Yesterday, he was in Georgetown and bought a Butterball turkey for Tyler and I to cook for Thanksgiving. Last night we put the bird in our fridge. Taking a closer look, we realized that the plastic packaging read, "Fully Cooked Turkey, " followed by a sticker with an exciting message, "Just put it in the microwave and heat it up!" (click here).

Guyanese don't celebrate Thanksgiving like we do in America. There is no designated day for Thanksgiving. Instead, whenever they have a party or celebration for something or someone, they tend to call it a thanksgiving. Turkeys are also not that common here - hence the need to buy an American turkey in Georgetown.

I really don't know what else to say about this, except that it reminds me of last year's Thanksgiving when I saw an add on Craigslist for (and I paraphrase): "ONE FREE TURKEY - we had two and can't eat them both."

America is crazy. Just look at what will happen tomorrow.

I'm thirsty for a Sam Adams.

Happy Thanksgiving everyone.

Hometown

2009-11-12T11:20:00.000-08:00

I've been walking in the same way as I did

Missing out the cracks in the pavement
And tutting my heel and strutting my feet
"Is there anything I can do for you dear? Is there anyone I could call?"
"No and thank you, please Madam. I ain't lost, just wandering"

Round my hometown
Memories are fresh
Round my hometown
Ooh the people I've met
Are the wonders of my world
Are the wonders of my world
Are the wonders of this world
Are the wonders of my world

I like it in the city when the air is so thick and opaque
I love to see everybody in short skirts, shorts and shades
I like it in the city when two worlds collide
You get the people and the government
Everybody taking different sides

Shows that we ain't gonna stand shit
Shows that we are united
Shows that we ain't gonna take it
Shows that we ain't gonna stand shit
Shows that we are united

Round my hometown
Memories are fresh
Round my hometown
Ooh the people I've met

Are the wonders of my world
Are the wonders of my world
Are the wonders of this world
Are the wonders of my world

Lyrics are by Adele. Her album: 19

A song I frequently listen to from an album I frequently listen to. The entire album comes highly recommended.

Kaieteur Overland Part 2

2009-11-10T13:20:00.000-08:00

To read part 1 of this series, follow this link

Before I begin the second half of this journal, I’m gonna quickly describe our party.

There were ten of us as guests: Derek and Trudy (VSO in my community), Michelle Kinsella (VSO in Georgetown), Jason and Abby (VSO in Georgetown), Nicole (VSO in Georgetown), Matt (Abby’s brother), Tom and Nareesa (Canadian couple on vacation), and myself.

Our Guyanese tour guide was named Kurt. Our trail guides were John (nicknamed Solider) and his family. Soldier is also the captain of the Amerindian tribe in Kaieteur National Park and, therefore, has governing powers over the use of the land and whether or not outsiders are welcome in. Soldier and his family took very good care of us and they were great about answering all the questions we had.

September 30, 2009

I spent this Wednesday morning on a field of rocks dividing the Potaro River into two slow moving streams. After watching the morning unfold, I joined everyone else for breakfast. Matt found a black scorpion about four and a half inches in length in his bag. It crawled onto his arm and I’m guessing he shook it off because he didn’t get stung. One of Soldier’s sons, David, removed the scorpion’s stinger with his sandal and decided to show it around like a proud zoologist displaying his latest addition to the insect house. That morning we were also charmed by the enticing songs of the “Sweet Man’s Bird” and saw an incredibly large spider having breakfast on a tiger bromeliad.

On the walk to the next camp, we stopped at the edge of a near dried tributary bed. It was littered with giant, pink, sand stone boulders. We dropped our packs, took off our shoes, and hiked up the small riverbed until we reached its waterfall, about half a mile in. It was a tall cliff (approx. 40 ft.) with just a few streams falling from the cliff’s edge. We bathed under the falls and a few of us climbed up the face of the cliff. When it began to rain, we crouched under the boulders for shelter. It became VERY slippery from the wet moss. The cool shower turned those pink boulders into deep shades of crimson and brown and the smell of the sun-baked stone lifted from our feet and made me think of playing in the rain on an asphalt street as a child. After the shower let up, we headed back down to where our packs were and continued on our way. There was absolutely no one around for miles. We were hiking in one of the most remote and untouched places in the world.

As the day moved on, we met our hike’s end at a magnificent white sand beach. After setting up camp, we bathed at its river’s edge at yet another giant pool tucked neatly next to the slow and wide moving Potaro. Due to our early arrival, we took the time to wash our clothes and enjoy the beauty and serenity of the afternoon. This would be our last camp before the hike to the falls. Our camp had hornets everywhere. Hundreds buzzed and hovered around us. They seemed to move as solitary individuals, digging holes in the ground by the hundreds like a dog burying his bone. They did not sting us or swarm at all but provided a constant buzzing symphony as background noise to accompany our wonderful evening playing Cricket, having dinner, and finally, playing a game of password. In a way, we and the hornets shared the same land for some hours symbiotically.

That night we had a delicious meal: potato curry and pumpkin curry with rice and pepper (the hot kind). There were no clouds in sight and the moon was near full. At some point in the middle of the night I got up to use the latrine. I walked out from under our sleeping quarters and entered a new world filled with bright, white, moon light. The low droning of hornets had disappeared and was replaced by the low, guttural sighs of howler monkeys in the distant tree line. The sand was, again, as white as Antarctic snow and seemed to radiate light more than the moon above me. I ended up walking around the camp site for about twenty minutes before returning to my hammock.

Thursday morning started early. I had just enough time to bathe, pack, and eat breakfast before we all left on the last day of hiking. Walking with all our belongings, we headed for the foot of the mountain ridge that holds Kaieteur’s namesake. Our hike lasted a little over two hours with stops every now and again to re-energize and rest. It was very humid and hot and all of our clothes were drenched within the first ten minutes of our trek. There were two inclines Soldier prepared us for which he appropriately named Oh My God 1 and Oh My God 2.

When we reached the top of the mountain, it was about 11am and we were all pretty excited to finally reach the finish line. We hiked the ridge line for about fifteen minutes before emerging from the forest. What opened before us was a clearing that resembled an asphalt plateau salt and peppered with shrubs, trees, and giant bromeliads. It felt like we had entered Jurassic Park (see link – Mt. Roraima) as we put our packs down on the ground. What looked like asphalt was actually a combination of lime stone and granite covered with a thin layer of algae. Since it is the dry season, the algae lays dormant until the rainy season comes and turns the prehistoric parking lot we were standing on into a wet and super slippery place. Good for us it was the dry season because there were moments when a few of us slipped on wet rocks near the falls.

Soldier and his family took us to three separate viewing points each bringing us little closer to the main event. From each point, we took time to soak in the incredible panorama before us and snap some photos. Aside from these impressive vistas, other highlights included seeing blue and yellow macaws, parrots, chicken hawks, and a Peregrine falcon.

We arrived at the Kaieteur guest house just after midday to set our packs down, prepare our sleeping corners, and have some lunch. That’s when potential catastrophe struck in the most unpredictable way – as it has a notorious reliability of doing. Since there were over ten of us, we all had to find places to hang our hammocks in one, giant living room. And, it’s this point in my story that I have to describe this room to you.

Most windows in Guyana are louvered glass slats sometimes constructed in double sets within a window frame (so, imagine two sets of louvered windows in a frame separated by a vertical piece of wood).

Our tour guide, Kurt, decided to tie one of the ends of his hammock around the wooden window divider next to where all my gear was. At the same time as I was rummaging through my back pack, Kurt had finished his knots and decided to settle into his hammock for a snooze. Kurt is six feet tall and weighs only 130 lbs., and the next thing I heard was a deafening crash. Thinking the roof was caving in on all of us my instincts kicked in and I dashed away from the noise looking up to see that the roof had actually not caved in at all. Startled and surprised that there wasn’t metal and wood tumbling down on me I looked around to see if anyone else was injured. Due to the flight reaction, I had failed to process what my eyes had just witnessed: shards of glass raining on me from the two windows that had ultimately imploded from Kurt’s seemingly harmless 130 lb. ass. So, I took a deep breath and warily checked myself out. Turns out, my elbow wasn’t as fast as the rest of my body and was now bleeding on the guest house floor. Cursing under my breathe I walked briskly to the kitchen and started relaying orders to anyone listening.

“Uh, I need, ummmmm, things, I NEED THINGS PEOPLE!” my brain kicked in and told me, “You idiot, you don’t need things, you need: clean water, bactine fluid, gloves, gauze, a needle and thread, butterfly strips, band aids, and you need a shot of RUM!”

Thankfully, Michelle and Nareesa (who both have medical experience) were quick on their feet and had heard me relay my list of first aid necessities spewing out of my mouth. We started tending to the wound (which wasn’t severe), and I tried to keep my thinking brain from thinking. But, as you know, Christopher Olin always over analyzes. A chair came out of nowhere and I sat down while we all went to work.

At this point, Nareesa had gloves on and was probing my gash for loose glass and saying, “Oh, that’s definitely gonna need stitches.”

“Shit,” I thought to myself, “Just what I need in the middle of freaking nowhere.” And the neuroses begin pushing the panic button.

No stitches were with us, only butterfly strips that I put in my bag in a fleeting decision before leaving my house in Bartica – thank my lucky stars.

“Hey guys, I brought some water over,” said Kurt, appearing from the background and trying his best not to look guilty.

“Woa, woa, woa, Kurt! You can’t pour that water from the river on his wound, it’s not clean!” exclaimed Michelle who reached out, last minute, to block Kurt standing with a pitcher full of brown-tinted water. I just rolled my head back as the cloudy whiteness of shock kicked in and my thoughts tried to keep me sharp.

“You idiot. You can’t pass out now, what would everyone think? Especially if you need stitches, you are already going to have to be flown out of here and someone will have to accompany you AND IT’S NOT GOING TO BE KURT. Pull yourself together, you are sweating all over the chair and making a mess. Aren’t you a Peace Corps volunteer? You are disappointing me right now, you know that?”

I was more worked up about the idea of inconveniencing everyone and ruining the rest of this trip by needing stitches and passing out that I was actually in shock and passing out! So I asked for a glass of water and for the girls to talk to me. I became embarrassed and started to force random thoughts like swimming in my neighbor’s pool, or baseball, or anything one thinks about to get the mind off of fear.

In about three minutes, I came back, full force with lucidity and dripping in cold sweat. Then I experienced what I can only describe as an intense and warm euphoria from the adrenaline, endocrine, serotonin, or whatever had been released. It was a really awesome and enjoyable moment and I really didn’t care about anything else aside from the chemicals swimming around in my body. I was high.

Needless to say, I was successfully patched up and wrapped up without the need for stitches (which I definitely would have gotten had I been at a hospital). I then headed back to that shoddy window to deliver my full arsenal of expletives. It was about 2pm, and while walking the fifty feet down to the falls, I reassured everyone else I was ok and laughed about the series of events that had happened in my brain. What a trip.

At around 4:30pm, we were all still standing or sitting near the falls. The water had this hypnotizing effect on me – enough so that my injury had lost all real estate in my conscious mind and I was as happy as a clam. Thousands of swallows then began to swarm above us. For the next 2 hours, they congregated in the sky above the falls, began breaking off in smaller flocks, and then dove down and swooped up behind the falls to perch on the concave rock behind the water. Standing on a triangular rock overhang about 20 feet from the falls, we were surrounded by these small, dive-bombing birds; it was like something out of a nature program with just a hint of Hitchcock’s The Birds. I stood in awe and wonder at them. They must have some particular reason for entering their evening home in this way, whether to help navigate through the winds generated by the force of all that falling water, to avoid other predators who may use this time of day as opportunity to hunt, or simply to enjoy one last thrill of being a bird before settling down for an evening’s rest. Whatever the case, my captivation from the falls expanded out to these swallows as the sun set.

The evening for us may not have been as thrilling as it was for the swallows, but it certainly was enjoyable. In the guest house, we ate fantastically cooked fish and potato curry prepared by Soldier and his family and drank rum while playing a card game called Pig. At around 9pm, the moon was highest in the sky and we all decided to walk down to the rock overhang to watch the falls under a full moon and stars. But, what we found instead was something more incredible.

After a full day of sun, equatorial humidity and a few quick showers, a rainforest will absorb an enormous amount of moisture. After the sun sets and night time settles in, the atmosphere above a rain forest cools, allowing the sun-baked earth and all that moisture in the jungle to escape back into the evening sky.

Approaching the falls, we were all shocked at the site before us: giant plumes of water vapour in the form of small clouds rising up from bosom of the gorge, naturally-constructed by Kaieteur Falls. This million-year-old erosion must create its own mini-weather pattern every night as the rainforest exhales most of the water it takes in every day. Like a long and uninterrupted yawn, we watched Kaieteur manufacture cloud after cloud like some factory in Pittsburgh industriously pumping out submarine after submarine for father Kremlin. There were points when we were on our rock ledge and couldn’t see each other sitting five feet away. I could never have predicted an experience like those swallows, let alone this silent and tranquil exchange of water – the most important material in Earth’s production of life. Well, I tell you, it was hard to top that evening’s end. Fortunately, the next day had just as astonishing surprises awaiting us.

On Friday, we had until 3pm to explore the falls and its surrounding area before our plane took off for Georgetown. And what we explored, amongst many other things, were these little, golden frogs that Soldier’s son, George, showed us. As I have mentioned before, the vegetation surrounding the falls has an eerie prehistoric feel to it as there are species of plants and animals living there that exist nowhere else on the planet. The golden frogs we gazed at live in giant, 6-10 foot bromeliads their entire lives, making their homes in the reservoirs of water that collect at the base of each bromeliad frond (sort of like where an artichoke leaf grows from its heart). The frogs are as small as your fingernail and carry an extremely powerful toxin on their skin. To me, they are just another phenomenal representation of the way evolution can create life in the most obscure environments.

After lunch, ice cold beer, and a resentful, yet respectful “adieu” to my favourite window in the Kaieteur guest house, we walked to the airstrip and boarded our plane back to civilization. The flight was just as captivating as any other part of our trip because we flew right over the falls low enough to retrace every place we explored. After that, we were able to look down and see all the ground we covered on our hikes and boat rides (ballpark figure: maybe 175 miles). We looked out at hundreds of miles upon hundreds of miles of untouched green carpet covering Guyana’s interior. Then we passed over Bartica and I was able to pick out all the places I know as if using Google Earth to take a glance at some far off city or the back yard of my home in California.

It was an incredible trip that had all sorts of affects on me. I realize that this trip signifies a part of why I am here, in Guyana, of all places. I have had a lot of time to spend on self-reflection, inner growth, and what my identity as an American is. Kaieteur was not only amazing for its sites, liveliness, and tranquillity; it was also amazing because there are hardly any humans living and visiting this special place. There were no droves of tourists, no fences stopping us from walking out and on top of the falls, nor any authority telling us what we could and could not do. There were only our personal constructs towards nature (keeping morals in check, of course), the bare necessities for lodging, and a full and open experience of one of Earth’s most uninhabited places. It is a must adventure for anyone who has enjoyed reading this entry.

Link to my photo album - click here

Link to Naressa and Tom's photo album - click here

Google search "Post Cards from yo Momma". It's a great read.

2009-11-04T12:53:00.000-08:00

Look, I had to post this email because of how much caring, yet incredibly comical joy it brought me. Let me first direct your attention to the Halloween blog previously posted in which I mentioned my parents (please scroll down to read the end of that entry).

Ok, now that I've covered my bases from near direct beratment from the parentals, you may read on.

FYI: the typos mentioned in the below text refer to my sloppy job on the Halloween blog.

"There were a bunch of typos - hope you don't mind.

Dad says when you go swimming in the river, don't pee. I will send an excerpt from River of Doubt - Theodore Roosevelt's Darkest Journey with more information if you want.

The fish in question is a CANDIRU, a "tiny, almost transparent catfish...sharp-spined and the only other animal besides the vampire bat that is known to survive solely on blood...most species are only about an inch long". It "wiggles its way into a urethra". In a controversial and widely discussed theory" it is attracted to urine streams and follows the stream to its source, slips inside , sinks its spine in the soft tissue and gorges on the host's blood.

Now I have both my kids disgusted with my scare tactics. Yesterday, I told Alexandra to be extra careful on subways, etc., be diligent if she gets a cold so she doesn't get swine flu and then related a scarey story. Hey, I am your mother; this is my job, especially when you are both so far away.
Also, you be careful with flu symptoms - you are the one in our family who seems to get it the most. If you feel sick, get a cold, pay attention to it and DON'T LET IT GET WORSE. Young, healthy adults are dying from this flu.

I'm done.

Knowing you are having a GOOD day with your friends-
xx mom"

I was talking about this with PCV down here about five months ago. He mentioned witnessing the removal of one of these fish from a miner. Jungles are so fun!

Thanks for the warning, Mom. I love you very much.

Feliz Cumpleanos

2009-11-04T11:52:00.000-08:00

Just wanted to thank all of you who wished me a happy birthday these past days. It means a lot to me and it always will.

The birthday weekend was great, as well as the two days following. I partied with friends down here and the fun times were more exciting and enjoyable than I had expected!

On my to do list:

Post my Kaieteur Overland part 2 journal
Catch up on correspondences to all of you fine people who have been mailing me cards and letters
Create a PDF version of our Guyana Peace Corps newsletter to send to any family and friends at home interested in reading what we put in our newsletter (just kosher enough not to offend the moderates out there. Dirty and ridiculous humor really helps keeps us sane down here)

In other news:

Go Philly. You beat da shit outta dos Yanks for me.

Thank you Mom and Dad. You are incredible idols in my life. I hope I can fill the shoes.

Here is a link to more Kaieteur photos: click on me, baby.
If the link does not work, I'll work something out to make it work.

Eat a cheeseburger for me.

Happy Halloween

2009-10-31T18:13:00.000-07:00

Well, it is Halloween today and I shall write to you more casually than normal, even though Halloween isn't usually about being casual.

Halloween is not a big deal for the Guyanese, but it is as good an excuse as any for the Brazilians in Bartica to party as they seem to collect holidays for this purpose alone. But today is kinda quiet for me. Not in the sense that I'll enjoy some good R&R with friends here. But, in the sense that this holiday has always been one I look forward to every year with friends and lots of partying.

For the past I dunno how many years, I have spent Halloween with my best friend, Brandon Shafer. But this year is different. Instead of coming up with some strange and funny last minute costume ideas with my buddy, B, and then heading off to a friend's house or throwing a big party-dance bash somewhere, I've got the day to reflect on all the good ones I've had.

So, this year I will stock up on Halloween spirit (and drink spirits instead). And to see this decision through, I decided to phone Brandon today to reassure him that in two years time he and I would, again, share a wonderful Halloween weekend with all the sin and smut that goes with an American holiday. But, that was before he mentioned (with a half-assed sympathetic tone) that he was invited to the Los Angeles Playboy Halloween party as a VIP guest (pass entry, do not pay the $100 cover, drink for free, mingle with the bunnies, etc.).

...(sighs) It looks like my humbled outlook has been slightly shifted.

You bastard.

--

Let me shuffle my papers like a beautiful news anchor. Hold please*

*shuffle, shuffle. Glancing look off to the side.

Ahem.

In other news, I will be running 7 miles with my friend Brad tomorrow. My half marathon in Barbados is a little over a month away and I'm still working on kicking my habit of drinking coke, eating fried food, and drinking. Looks like this will be one of the most unhealthy races I've ever run. Good thing Barbados is flat and good thing I know of a place in Barbados that has an All-You-Can-Drink bar for $10 to reward myself after my 13 miles of glorious pain.

This 7 mile run will be at 4:30am. After the run I'll shit, shower and shave and then prep our house for our Day-After-Halloween/Chris Olin's 26th birthday party bash. And don't you dare make any comments about the above mentioned.

The party tomorrow will have pizza, chili dogs, and potato salad. There will be an appropriate amount of beer and rum and some vodka. We will be bobbing for apples, pinning the tail on the donkey, playing a giant game of twister, and doing all other sorts of things in proper Bartica Party Manner (BPM for all you government workers reading my blog for content - governments LOVE acronyms). Nevertheless, it will be a good day tomorrow, and I wish all of you could be here to enjoy the day with me.

I hope that America has a great Halloween - complete with lots of sex*, dancing, candy, living, loving, and taking care of each other. Oh, and lots of cute little kids tricking and treating their way across the fields of suburban forclosure. Hope Fall is falling wonderfully. It's hot here.

Miss y'all,
Christopher

*protected and consensual goes without saying

Kaieteur Overland in Review: Part 1

2009-10-24T13:17:00.000-07:00

For reasons that take too long to explain, I did not have a camera for 90% of my trip to Kaieteur. Therefore, my journal posts about my trip will temporarily be unaccompanied by photographs.

Hopefully, I will have images of my trip posted just as soon as my friends can send them to me. Until then, please use your imagination and my words to fill in the gaps. My trip to Kaieteur was arguably the greatest hike I've ever been on in my life. I will remember it as long as I have my sanity.

The following describes much of what I see regularly down here. It comes from this non-fiction book, The River of Doubt, Theodore Roosevelt's Darkest Journey.  I quote this as it explains the color of the rivers in Guyana (thanks momma for the passage!):

Each of the Amazon's thousands of tributaries starts at a high point - either in the Andes, the Brazilian Highlands, or the Guiana Highlands - and then steadily loses elevation and picks up speed until it begins to approach the Amazon Basin. Scientists have divided these tributaries into 3 broad categories - milky, black and clear - in reference to the color that they take on while carving their way through 3 different types of terrain. Alfred Russel Wallace, British naturalist and friend of Henry Walter Bates and Charles darwin, made the distinction widely known in the mid-9th century when he published his Narrative of Travels on the Amazon and Rio Negro.  Wallace noted the striking difference between the milky Amazon and the black waters of the Negro where they collide on the northern bank of the Amazon.  Seen from above, the meeting of these two colossal rivers looks like black ink spilling over parchment paper. The visual effect is heightened because the Negro, which is warmer and thus lighter in weight, rides on top of the Amazon, and the rivers do not fully blend until they have traveled dozens of miles together downstream.

Milky rivers, such as the Amazon and the Madeira, generally have their origins in the west and are clouded by the heavy sediment load that they carry down from the youthful Andes. Blackwater rivers, on the other hand, usually come from the ancient Guiana Highlands in the north and so wash over nutrient-poor, sandy soils. Scoured by the millions of years of hard rains, these soils cannot retain decomposing organic matter - mostly leaves - which, when swept into a river, literally stains the water black like tea.

Although during the rainy season of the River of Doubt is nearly as black as the Negro and as murky as the Amazon, it is technically a clearwater river. Like the Amazon's largest clearwater rivers, the Tapajos and the Xingu, it has its source in the Brazilian Highlands, and so it picks up very little sediment as it flows over ancient and highly eroded soil. Clearwater rivers are also less acidic than blackwater rivers. Some, most notabley theTapajos, are so clear that they look blue, perfectly mirroring the sky above them. But most, like the River of Doubt, mix with either blackwater or milky tributaries as they snake through the rain forest, and so look neither blue nor clear by the time they reach their mouth.        (pgs. 171-173)

The following is a journal entry about the first two of my five day hike to the falls:

Wednesday, September 30^th, 2009 6:15am

I am sitting on a field of jagged rocks in the middle of the Potaro River and looking out at the South American landscape before me.

Shear cliffs covered with thick vegetation and clouds dust their peaks in the morning sunrise. It is like living inside the cover of a National Geographic.

Soldier (our trail guide) and his nephew are bringing in some supplies for today’s hike and the littlest, tiniest bumble bees graze like cows in the miniature flowers that grow on the rocks of the rushing river that surrounds where I sit. The boat that Soldier is on is as tiny as my pinkie on the river ahead. I feel as tiny as my pinkie, and it is a reassuring feeling.

The air is so clean here. Much of the forest smells and looks quite similar to the forests in Oregon, near McKenzie Bridge and Crater Lake. The water here, however, is black like Coca Cola. It feels great on the skin and reflects the light of the rainforest differently than clear water does.

Yesterday, at the end of our hike, I watched the bottoms of the leaves of the trees above me reflect the sunlight that was reflecting from the water flowing slowly on the Potaro. As the ripples and small waves met the shore where I sat, the light above, coming from the leaves, fluttered and flickered like hundreds of lamp posts in this jungle world.

After thoughts:

There is oil build-up on beaches near our camps. It is undoubtedly from the boat engines. Oh the irony of natural preserves in a post modern world (yes, I'm making a pretentious comment)
Foam from vegetation near the rapids and pools. Naturally made, I think

Yesterday we arrived at our first camp, Amatuck, and walked through ivory-white sand banks. We bathed in a giant pool of water that has naturally dammed near a rapid. It was black water, clean and cool. The contrast of white sand, black water, blue & white sky, with sheer cliffs and the expanse of a green forest takes one aback, even the most seasoned traveler would be taken aback. This is truly a unique and special place on Earth.

We drank, ate dinner, and visited with each other speaking about everything from politics to music to philosophy to gender roles. Our Canadian couple (Narisa and Tom) make me feel home since they live in NYC. I thought of Alexandra a lot that evening.

At night, under a half moon waxing, the sand seemed to be as white as Antarctic snow, cool and soft. Vampire bats darted left and right over my head after the sounds of bugs and other small animals. Howler monkeys made their guttural calls, breathy and haunting. No mosquitoes in the dry season here!

In the morning, we walked around to see the area we had stayed overnight in and it was magnificent. I bathed in a recessed pool next to some rapids that gushed and rushed gallons of water like the McKenzie. There was a plethora of green moss and plants all around me. I felt like the Nature Channel guy who finds unity with the universe while cleaning his dirty fingernails in this massive river.

Later that day we reached our next camp site via hiking and boating. On our way, we experienced the forest from the river and from blazing trails along the Potaro’s banks. No wide pathways, just hints of a trail every so many feet. Seeing the gaps of vegetation in the faces of cliffs is really stunning. From one’s perspective on land, they seem like the sides of miniature carpeted walls and the gaps are where someone may have dropped a cigarette and burned a hole to reveal the dirty tiled floor beneath. In reality, they are as wide as two or three buses and as tall as big city buildings. These mountain cliffs are behemoth structures of ancient rock and tree, teeming with life from its great canopy on down to the soil that gives such abundant life.

At sunset, we bathed next to a Spectacled Caiman and watched it hide from us under an enormous river rock. The water was like black glass reflecting the afternoon sun and lighting everything underneath the forest canopy like a blazing bonfire.

Dinner was followed by two games of Mafia

Afterthoughts:

*Fat bumble bees as big and fat as a grown man’s thumb. Half velvet-black, half fighting Illini orange.

*The creaking of the ropes tying our hammocks up kept many of us awake into the night. We were all so afraid of falling asleep and then having our hammocks come loose.

Part 2 is on its way. Until then, please enjoy these photos. There will be more images in due course: Kaieteur Overland Photos

To read part 2 of this journal - click here

Temps go down, spirits go up

2009-10-15T10:13:00.000-07:00

After a great week hiking to Kaieteur Falls, I am back on planet Earth.

The rainy season is approaching and the heat from these past few months is starting to wane. What a world of difference the climate can make one's life.

Unfortunately I haven't posted anything new.

This quick update promises you that I am writing about:
1) my Kaieteur experience (incredible and dangerous!)
and
2) an experience involving an evening with friends at our favorite Brazilian eatery where two women across the street, who apparently wanted everyone at my table to see them, decided to walk around their apartment topless. Proof that people in this world just want to love each other and live happily ever after. Am I wrong with this argument?

*I want one to frame over my bathroom sink (hint, hint).

I'm not always a free service

2009-10-06T16:09:00.000-07:00

Well, seeing as I am a volunteer in education, I cannot have you reading my blog without providing some form of homework.

This particular assignment should take the average person 2 hours and 10 minutes to complete. It's simple and it's entertaining:

1) Watch the Brazilian foreign film, "City of God" - Cidade de Deus on IMDB
2) Read this article: GOOD.IS/post/African-Dynamo

The Shower of a Lifetime

2009-09-24T11:20:00.000-07:00

Ah yes, the magnificent Kaieteur Falls, the jewel of Guyana's rain forest preserve, 23,400 cubic feet per second (663 in cubics meters) of glorious, pristine, South American water dropping continuously for 741 feet (226 meters). This destination is now on my horizon.

In a last minute decision, I decided to join a band of gypsies heading overland to backpack Guyana's famous waterfall and national park - well, they're so much gypsies as they are various VSO volunteers mostly from the U.K. I just like to give them Brits a hard time.

Kaieteur Falls is the worlds "largest single drop" waterfall (not to be confused with the worlds "tallest single drop" waterfall: which I believe is Angel falls in the Amazon). I'm probably going to try to take a shower underneath it and come out with one less layer of skin. But, it will be totally worth it for retelling a story of adventure, high risks, death defying escapes from poisonous tree frogs, romance with some hot rain forest vixen, espionage with some spy liaison (absolutely not!), rum, and a ghost story about El Dorado. Think of what the friends and family at home will say!

Our plan: hike five days in to see the falls and camp at it's edge (not close enough to fall over), and then fly back to Georgetown. Then, our plan is to make a movie out of our trip, include some actors like: Michael Douglas, Kathleen Turner, and Danny DeVito, and throw in some guns and a giant stone that looks like it was made out of plastic, but is probably a blood diamond (at which point we'd have to use a stand in) and, "Voilà!" It's a blockbuster!

The trip is gonna be bitchen, no doubt.

Don't wait for me America, I may never return!

Wikipedia's overview: Kaieteur Falls

Housing version 2.0: now rising with a shine

2009-09-23T07:20:00.000-07:00

Mornings in Bartica can be really, really nice. They can be gorgeous and tranquil, yet I have only recently figured this out. Let me explain.

Normally (i.e. last four months), waking up in the morning consists of any combination of or all of the following things (please keep in mind that here I find myself consistently measuring the volume level of music in terms of number of china wear I want to throw at my wall):

Groups of roosters will crow for at least a half hour anytime between the hours of 2am and 7am (often 3-4 times a morning).
A donkey will complain or have sex with another donkey and they will share this information with anyone inside a quarter mile radius.
Our neighbours directly to the right of us (five families living in two houses) will turn on their music and play anything from Celine Deon, T-Pain, Busy Signal, Soca hits, Smooth 90s Jams (Boyz II Men included), or Oldies. They have speakers this size – see below photo – and the china wear count is usually anywhere between 1 or 2... hundred.

From Pork Knocker Weekend

Our neighbours directly to the left of us (seven families living in three houses) who own a rum shop will turn on their music and play anything from Celine Deon, T-Pain, Busy Signal, Soca hits, Smooth 90s Jams (Boyz II Men included), or Oldies. They have speakers this size – see above photo – and the china wear count is usually the same.
After getting out of bed I notice that Bartica has already shut off the pipe water. I learn (again) that 6:30am is too late for tap water and I must take a bucket bath. But, what’s more is that there are dishes from dinner the night before to be washed because the water was off last night. Looks like they’ll have to sit there until the afternoon when the water comes back on... if it comes back on. Usually pipe water is shut off for 90% of the day.

Wait, this one is my favorite:

A blood curdling scream begins anytime between 5:30am and continues on and off until around 7pm. What I mean by saying “blood curdling” is this: imagine a 5-year-old girl who is throwing a tantrum. She does not want to bathe. In fact, if it were up to her, she would run around naked “like the doggies do” and cover herself in dirt “just like the doggies do.” And so, in defiance of her mother’s hygienically driven demand, the little girl decides to make the most excruciating, aggravating, and ear piercing scream that her little, yet powerful lungs can produce. Now, imagine a parrot sitting outside your window replicating that very scream over, and over, and over, and over again: all day.
Finally, the day care children come trickling in from 7:30am to 8:30am. They are immeasurably cute, but they are babies. They cry, babble, poop in their pants (the smell rises with the heat of the morning sun), and they generally put the cherry on top of the ice cream of a morning full of screaming. You scream, I scream...

Yes, that was the routine every morning for the past four months. I honestly detested it. No, I hated it, loathed it with all my heart. There would be mornings where I would get up extra early to wash dishes, bathe, and do my laundry before the water cut out. And, while scrubbing my clothes on the wash board, I would turn and stare daggers of decapitation at the roosters squawking and gobbling like a senate full of idiots trying to legislate for something like “No Child Left Behind”. Then, I would turn towards that sorry excuse for a parrot and mumble verbal death threats to it, boasting about my effective punishment tactics like water boarding and pulling fingernails out with a pair of pliers. But, parrots don’t have fingers or fingernails, so I would become even angrier with him for making me feel stupid. If there weren’t droves of neighbors up and about at that hour, who knows what would have happened to Charles – named to remind me regularly of how easy it is for Mother Nature to put you in your place. But, what bothered me the most was that this cacophony was more difficult to tune out than the noises coming from a place like New York City. I mean, come on, if I can sleep like a baby even when someone is jack hammering the sidewalk outside the city that never sleeps, then why the hell can I not handle a few birds, some sweet jams, and a gaggle of pooping babies? It was a bit irritating, suffice it to say.

Yet, as things go, I eventually became habitualized to nearly all of the above mentioned. Sure, Charles continues to make me want to club baby seals, but I have manners enough to smile at him as he sits on our clothes line picking holes through the shoulders of my shirts. I cheerfully remind him that Exxon sells petrol to Guyana and accidents can always happen again. As far as the roosters, the loud music, the water, and the poop babies go, It has been almost two months since I have had trouble sleeping. To be clear, I have grown really fond of the house Peace Corps put us in and all the crazy activity that I once hated with all my being. What I thought would eventually drive me insane actually disappeared in the background of life down here. This demonstrated a part cultural integration I never thought I’d have so much difficulty reaching and then eventually succeed in. It felt great to finally feel “home” in my home! Consequently, every part of my daily routine became easier, less stressful, and more enjoyable: which definitely serves as a great example of what makes a house a home.

As it turns out, however, our employer decided otherwise. On a routine visit to our site, our Peace Corps safety and security officer deemed La Casa de Bartica Boys an unsafe place to house PCVs and so the hunt for a new house began: and boy did we luck out. Our VSO friend, Tessie, was finishing her service with the Department of Agriculture and heading back to the Philippines and we were able to swoop in and grab her apartment before anyone else could claim it. At double the rent, Peace Corps was happy to accommodate our choice. I won’t go into too much detail about the house except to say that every waking day has begun with a grin on our faces (i.e. a bathroom that is a part of our actual house, no pooping babies, no crowing roosters, and no Charles). The fact that we have tiled floors and a roof that doesn’t rain dust and mold on all our stuff is enough. And, even though we have been missing the musty and motley character of our old house, we are happily enjoying our new, less stressful residence. It is plumb. You should come and visit!

Our new address looks like this:

Christopher Olin, PCV

54 Fifth Avenue, Bottom Floor

Bartica, Region 7, Essequibo

Guyana,

SOUTH AMERICA

Empire Carpet

2009-09-22T06:51:00.000-07:00

"Eight-hundred five eight eight, two three hundred, Empiiiiire today!"

I heard the Empire Carpet commercial playing from a TV in my next door neighbor's house while I was reading in my hammock. Talk about throwing me for a loop. I NEVER thought I'd hear this American B-commercial playing in the corner of my ear in the middle of Guyana. Talk about throwing me for a loop

So, then I dropped my book and spaced for about 30 minutes about these White's Metal Detector commercials that would play on repeat in Santa Barbara county on the local channels: "With a White's, all you need to do is turn on and go!"

Talk about throwing me for a loop. I've been singing Empire's jingle all week!

empire today

The first week of school in Bartica

2009-09-02T09:18:00.000-07:00

School started yesterday, and due to some issues concerning Peace Corps I wasn't able to visit any classrooms.

Today was the second day of school. I came to the Education Department office to wrap up some things before starting my visits. It was then that I realized I had lost all the music on my iPod and I got really angry and annoyed. This lasted for about twenty minutes.

Then, I found out that a girl was run over by a car and killed this morning while on the way to school. There are people in Bartica who drive down our streets doing 60mph. It was bound to happen at some point and today was the day.

I feel badly for that girl and her family.

Housing update!

2009-08-31T13:58:00.000-07:00

FYI:

There is a strong possibility that Tyler and I will be moving into a new house. For safety and security reasons, Peace Corps has determined that a new house is in order for the Boys from Bartica and we should be able to move soon.

Please keep this in mind if you are going to send mail. Feel free to email me beforehand so I can give you an accurate mailing address.

Miss y'all. Let's not burn California to the ground... some of us have homes to return to (asshole arsonists)

Digging for Gold

2009-08-28T12:15:00.000-07:00

Happy Friday!

As you may or may not know, I now have a laptop. Yes, a brand spanking new Acer laptop compliments of borrowing money from the parentals back at home. It was a great trade off - new laptop for ten years of indentured servitude in the Willamette national forest in Oregon doing house detail. I can now sit at home and write emails, blogs, play solitaire, organize my music, write grant proposals, and much much more.

I schlep this handy machine to schools and put on power point demonstrations about computer IT basics, how students can write and make their own talking books, and how to use computers to help combat the HIV/AIDS epidemic in this country. A lot of times I am teaching teachers and students how to use a computer for the first time in their lives; It is quite an experience that has revealed a lot to me. For one I realize that for Guyana, the time to connect to the rest of the world is NOW. As IT and communication technology grow more and more complex it is getting harder and harder for people who have never used these devices to easily learn how to use them. Take a pc laptop, for example. Try to think about what it must be like to use a mouse for the first time in your life? I, for one, cannot because for the majority of my life I have used a mouse almost every day. I am very excited about seeing what kinds of things teachers and students produce using the laptops we have given them. What I find most interesting is that the students pick up computer basics so much faster than the teachers.

Despite hotter temps of August, Bartica has been wonderful. This weekend will be our annual Pork Knocker Day. Guyanese miners are called Pork Knockers and Bartica is a mining town that is most recognized by its pioneer atmosphere and abundance of high rolling miners (sin, smut, and jealousy included and in full effect). So, every year the geology and mining commission of Guyana puts on a day of celebration for the Pork Knocker life style. I would now have you make your own assumptions on what activities that day may entail. One hint... we also have brothels in our town.

Outside of all the festivities we have in Bartica, I have been enjoying time on my own. I read, write, meditate, and cook regularly. I swim often in the river (whenever the tide isn't bringing in trash, gasoline, or mercury) and hike in the jungle with our British VSO friends. It is a certifiably crazy, yet fantastic place to live. I have never been anywhere like this before and I'm sure I will never experience its equal.

Talk about Conference...

2009-08-28T11:32:00.000-07:00

Peace Corps! You are ruining my street cred with this "let's have a conference in a resort!" Next time we should hold it in the bush with malaria and some caimans. Better yet, let's go to the Middle East or the Congo. Resorts just allow friends at home to ask questions like, "just what kind of work are you doing down there."

But I am joking, because having a conference at Lake Mainstay had huge an positive effects on my attitude towards volunteering and getting involved with the HIV/AIDS programs here in Guyana.

[To clarify: the word "resort" is used very losely down here in Guyana. There are 5 star, 4 star, 3 star, 2 star, 1 star, and a benab on the beach with sea turtles. Lake Mainstay is like staying in a low budget summer camp cabin. We have things like akooshi ants, pink toed tarantulas, bats, and field mice running around our cabin at night (another good reason to have a mosquito net). So, while staying at this resort for the average American may seem like a novelty, "camp-like" vacation, for us Peace Corps Volunteers it was like a week at the Ritz Carlton.

Trust me people, if you were at the same conference I was, you'd laugh at the size of my eyes. This is because perception is a funny thing. When living in a house without running water, eradic electricity, a bathroom outside, and holes in your floor and ceiling, a place called "Lake Mainstay Resort" is a beautiful, beautiful place to spend a week.]

the skinny:

Two person cabins with a/c and a fridge. Food that made me want seconds. A lake to swim in whenever we weren't learning something about about development. Oh yea, and lots of partying and trivial pursuit.

Yes, it was an all around smashing week on the Essequibo coast (my old stomping grounds from training) for a decent handful of PCVs. Peace Corps put on a three day workshop about behavior change and HIV/AIDS and we spent our time switching the brain on and off and off and on (depending on which part was for party and which part was for retention). Happy PCVs make efficient and productive PCVs and with sarcasm aside, I wonder if Washington knows this. Washington? Can you hear me, Major Tom?

By the way, David Bowie used to hang out with John Lennon a lot, they even co-wrote a record together (thanks Trivial Pursuit!).

Since the conference, I have spent the week's end at my friends', Beth and Eyal, house. There was a surprise birthday party last night where PCV Tim from Akawini (ah-ka-weenie) fell into a trench and came out looking like monster from the black lagoon. Xbox was in full effect with lots of Halo and lots of yelling and lots of tea-bagging threats. There was fresh ground and brewed coffee direct from San Francisco. Beth and Eyal are Berkeley, CA raised... total Jatheist (Atheist Jew) with a touch of the crunchy, granola, hippie that only a West Coaster can embody. It was a great weekend because I made new strides towards my goal of worrying less and living more.

Not to delve too deep (hah hah), but I've more than come to understand that when I return home I am going to view American life differently. Being here is empowering for me in a lot of ways, and I suppose for a great while I will view things (e.g. a small handful of complaining, middle-class, Americans) quite differently. I have been put in my place many times here and it has done me some good and also scared the shit out of me. In addition, my tolerance for all things sub-standard to the American middle class (save Internet and a/c) has been obliterated and replaced with a new appreciation for making leisurely decisions based on "funness" and not necessarily on amenities, convenience, or hygiene. We PCVs are dirty, dirty people. Oh and by the way, sitting through 2 hours of traffic to get to the beach in LA is a freaking joke to me, now... as is worrying where to sleep when visiting a friend, cause I can sleep pretty much anywhere now (trenches are really unsanitary, so I would never willfully sleep there).

Whether for better or for worse, I am changing rapidly. I am shedding some things I have been doing for many many years. I am learning to be less and less concerned with what others think. I may come back a cynic and an asshole, but I'll still have a sense of humor (most important). But, those of you who know me know that I won't let myself get too jaded; I'll probably just say I am and argue it for the sake of arguing.

Updates from August

2009-08-15T16:25:00.000-07:00

It has been raining here heavily for the past week and almost every day we are getting thunder showers with lightening. Our electrical current fluctuates constantly during all of this as the town I’m in works to avoid having lightning ruin the power grid we are on. Lightning rods are not used here (why? Who the hell knows), so our current goes out frequently and the Internet hasn’t been working in days. Today, it has been on so I’ve just had a moment to come online to post this blog. Yipee!

Our holiday reading course is just about wrapped up for the month of August and the teachers and us volunteers are very pleased with the turnout of children, their somewhat sustained attendance and the success of our teachers in teaching their material. It is a slow and laborious process, but the teachers we are working with are fortunately eager to learn and eager to test new ideas in their classrooms. The next challenge is to keep pressing them to try new things and be confident about what they have already learned. This will be an ongoing positive pressure that Derek, Trudy, and I will need to do during our service here. Luckily, this very thing has pinned down something concrete for me to do and call my own. After six months, I finally have bits and pieces to form the structure of my work here and I can proudly say I did this all on my own (with guidance from above volunteers of course).

Our “Learning Resources Centre” (spelled the English way because the Brits were the one to begin it – sigh, they are so pompous with their language), will most likely be my hub for work and my promotion of literacy, education, the arts, sciences, and of course music. Our center will become not only a library that provides books for children and teachers, but it will also serve as a model classroom. It will be a place for teachers to take their classes on mini field trips and special lessons that they may not be able to put on in their classrooms. It will also be a place to hold education workshops (as it has already been used for this), meetings for the community, education camps and courses (i.e. holiday reading course), a test examination center, a teacher training center, and a computer lab (once we get Internet hooked up).

Yes, it is a lot. Luckily, most of the resources, furniture, supplies, two computers, and technical equipment have already been purchased from the work of previous volunteers. It is our job (and ultimately my job) to continue raising funds to make improvements, repairs, and spawn new ideas in the promotion of this center. In the last year and a half, the center has become run down. It is not used very often by students or teachers and I would like to change this. So, here is a list of things I will be proposing to my community in hopes that they can raise 25% of the cost. The rest will hopefully be covered by Peace Corps sponsored grant money and any extra donations. There are two primary grants available to PCVs worldwide: the Volunteer Activity Support and Training (VAST) program and the Peace Corps Partnership Program.

Both are capable of generating funds upwards of $3,000-5,000 US dollars. When this money is generated, it will go to the following projects at the resources center:

Bartica Resource Centre

Needs Assessment and Budget Costs

1. More electricity wall outlets are needed so that things like fans, laptop computers, the data projector, and other electrical devices may be used in more than one place in the centre

2. A new paint job on walls, support columns, and book shelves is needed using vibrant colors and murals painted by the children of Bartica

3. Wheels are needed on some of the book shelves so that they may be easily moved around the room

4. Landscaping the exterior of the center is desired so that children have somewhere to play outside and teachers can play cooperative games with their classes

5. Building new book shelves would help those who are maintaining the centre keep books organized and displayed in a way that attracts students of various reading levels to grab a book and learn something new.

6. Building a cubby at the centre’s entrance is needed so that students have a place to store their shoes when using the library

7. Rugs are needed for the reading centre and the game centre so that students have a comfortable place to read or sit and put together puzzles

8. Bean-bag chairs and a couch are needed for students to have a comfortable place to read

9. A refrigerator is needed to store food for teachers and volunteers while working at the centre

10. A GT&T phone line and a DSL Internet connection is needed in order to increase the efficiency of communications and ease of access to information in the world wide web

11. Our storage cabinets need to be refurbished and reinforced as well as have new locks put in so that we can safely secure the valuable resources we provide for teachers and students

12. Funding is needed for the purchasing of computer hardware and software (i.e. “end computing”) and the maintenance of the computer we already have (i.e. cleaning solutions, dusting canisters, ink cartridges, paper, toner, replacing hardware that has failed or broken)

13. Something to attach photos and posters to the wall.

The Gang Goes Jihad

2009-08-15T16:19:00.000-07:00

Frank: “OK, the butter goes on, then the peanut butter?”

Charlie: “Hmm? What are you doing?”

Frank: “Peanut butter go in the middle?”

Charlie: “Don’t, DO NOT PUT PEANUT BUTTER ON THAT!”

Frank: “What?”

Charlie: “A Grilled Charlie has peanut butter last”

Frank: “OK you either inside or outside?”

Charlie: “Peanut butter outside, chocolate inside, butter inside, cheese outside.”

I've been watching It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia. The episodes get funnier every time I watch them.

You Crunchy, Granola, Tree Hugging Hippie!

2009-08-06T07:12:00.000-07:00

I finally got my first issue of GOOD magazine sent to me from home. Yay!

Aside from being an overall good magazine, GOOD is one of my favorite ways of staying connected to the world down here. This summer's issue was all about water and I've included some thought provoking links below. Conservation is something I believe a lot of American's are not used to, or even believe to be unneccesary. Yet, the facts seem have been on the table for quite some time and they are very visible down here in Guyana. I hope you find these interesting!

One Block Off the Grid

PlayPumps

GOOD articles worth reading for August's hot month:

The Evolution of the Squirt gun

Disobey Your Thirst

Pictures/interactives:

http://awesome.good.is/transparency/web/trans0309ariverrunsnearit.html

http://awesome.good.is/transparency/web/0908/joblessinthecity/flash.html

http://www.good.is/post/transparency-americas-problem-drugs/

Since I take bucket baths and wash my clothes by hand, I feel I have the authority to includ this link:

http://www.good.is/post/this-is-a-turn-off/

It's heating up down here, too. Luckily our raining season is still here.

PS If anyone has any great interactive posters that are educational, vibrant, or if you simply just have something you think would be great for kids to look at, I would love to have them to put up on the walls of the resource center I've been working at. You know, Natl. Geographic, History Channel, etc.

Finally

2009-08-03T13:45:00.000-07:00

Hello all!

I've been away for a while. Haven't had a chance to really write anything solid. Last week I helped put on a workshop with teachers at my site. The Literacy Professional Development Course is for those teachers looking to improve their skills in teaching literacy fundamentals to their students in the classroom. Part of this workshop was helping them design and implement a reading program for ten days during the holiday month of August. This reading program is open to students for free and began today. The teachers performed magnificently today and it was great to see them working with students outside of their classrooms. Our very own Bartica Learning Resource Center is where this program is being held and I have to say, we're pretty proud that it is being used for workshops and programs.

Anyway, I don't have much time to go into details. Maybe tomorrow. I will say that it feels good to find some direction after six months of waiting, watching, and wondering.

Miss ya'll

2009-07-22T09:48:00.000-07:00

Peace Corps Gets New Director and Honors Volunteers

Lots of really exciting things have been happening in the world lately, and we thought it would be a good time to talk about the fabulous folks at the Peace Corps.

As Congress works to figure out a new budget, including funding for the Peace Corps, President Obama was faced with the task of appointing a new Peace Corps Director. TheNational Peace Corps Association, an independent body made up of Returned Peace Corps Volunteers, wanted these qualities in a new director:

The Director needs to be a forward thinking innovator, prepared to adapt the Peace Corps to better meet the needs of the 21st century.
The Director needs to be a passionate advocate for the independence and integrity of the Peace Corps.
The Director must emphasize the success of volunteers.
The Director should embrace the greater Peace Corps community as a collaborative partner with common interests and goals.
Finally, the next Director needs to be prepared to inspire service.

So, who did the President pick? A man by the name of Aaron Williams. Williams is the Vice President for International Business Development with RTI International and has over 25 years of experience in the design and implementation of worldwide assistance programs. Before working with RTI International, Williams worked for USAID and the International Youth Foundation. He is also a Returned Peace Corps Volunteer: he served from 1967 to 1970 in the Dominican Republic. Williams was awarded the USAID Distinguished Career Service Award and the Presidential Award for Distinguished Service twice.
Seems like Mr. Obama did a pretty good job, no?
Aaron Williams:

In other Peace Corps news, the National Peace Corps Association announced the winner of the 2009 Sargent Shriver Award. The award, which is given out by the NPCA and is named in honor of the first Peace Corps Director, honors Returned Peace Corps Volunteers who continue to make a sustained and distinguished contribution to humanitarian causes at home or abroad, or are innovative social entrepreneurs whose actions will bring about significant long-term change.

The award for 2009 went to John Hatch, founder of the microfinance organization FINCA International. FINCA operates in more than 20 countries across the world to provide financial service to low-income entrepreneurs. He invented a type of microfinance called Village Banking, which brings together a group to ten to thirty people who guarantee small business loans for each other – strengthening the community and giving people access to jobs and a steady income. He served in the Peace Corps starting in 1962, as a community development volunteer in Colombia and later as a regional Peace Corps director in Peru.

Read the press release about Aaron Williams’ appointment and check out the National Peace Corps Association or find out more about FINCA International and John Hatch.

KCRW. Worth every penny

2009-07-22T09:31:00.000-07:00

http://gizmodo.com/5319316/public-radio-iphone-app-adds-on+demand-content-accidentally-kills-fm-radio

Belated Fourth of July

2009-07-10T09:59:00.000-07:00

Clearly that last entry was a bit over dramatic. Hah, talk about being in a dark place. Let's just say I had a week-long Scorping out because sometimes Scorpios disconnect altogether.

Our PDM conference is over and the Guy 20 volunteers are in "towng" for their mid service. We've had a/c, hot showers, free food... Since the Embassy cut their budget, they couldn't afford to host a party on the 4th. so, Peace Corps threw one on the 9th instead at the Ambassador's house where we swam in a pool, ate burgers, baked beans, potato salad, drank rum, and celebrated America's independence. It was much needed and Guy 21ers had a chance to mingle with Guy 20ers.

I'll be heading back to my site this weekend and back into the good life where I don't need to shell out money for a taxi everywhere I want to go.

Peace!

Towng

2009-07-08T14:32:00.000-07:00

I'm in the capital for a week-long workshop focused around program management.

Yesterday we watched MJ's funeral. Saw the motorcade drive past Forest Lawn and remember running on that same road during cross country practices. Weird seeing it from thousands of miles away. MJ: R.I.P. buddy. Your white, cleft chin will be missed.

The conference is... well, it's been hard. I'm pretty depressed and dealing with some things I've buried and now have to deal with. Frankly, it has been a shit show for me. I am seeing everyone from my group after being at our sites for 2 months and they are great support. I'll get through this and I will get better. But not right now.

Miss you all.

Boulanger? It means baker

2009-07-01T09:58:00.000-07:00

I haven’t journaled about food, yet. Last night Tyler and I made Boulanger Choka and here is what it is:

Taken from Sapodilla.blogspot.com in Creolese. Enjoy!

We does call eggplant by two names: “baigan” [say it like this: buy-gan] or “boulanger” [bu-lan-jay].

Choka is something mix up, mash up.
Try it first with one boulanger and decide if you like it, before you go and make more.

You need:

1 boulanger
1 clove garlic
½ of a small onion
1 small or middle size tomato
1 or 2 pieces o’ shallot, just for a li’l sprinkle
Salt to taste [or none, some folks don’t like salt]
Pepper to taste.
One spoonful [or less] olive oil.

You need a open fire...a gas stove does do the work good.

Rinse the boulanger with cool tap water, wipe it dry. Take a knife and stab the boulanger all over [don’t overkill, just some stabs here and there, longways, that is, lengthwise].

Peel the one clove o’ garlic and slice it up. Put slices o’ garlic into the stabs you make all over the boulanger.

Roast boulanger on stove with fire half way up, not too high. Keep turning boulanger 'round so it ain’t burn.

Roast it ‘til the skin get dark and the boulanger cook inside.

Put the boulager in a plate or bowl and cut the boulanger open, one long cut like you doing surgery. Take a spoon and scoop out the boulanger insides with garlic...remember you roast it with garlic.

[You can throw away stalk and skin now].

Chop up you onion, tomato, shallot and pepper.

Heat olive oil in pan.

Stir fry onion, tomato, shallot and pepper for a few seconds.

Now, you can either add the boulanger to the fry up onion and so on, in the pan, and mix it up well, mash it up in the pan [turn down the fire to do this].

Or you can add the fry up onion and so on to the boulanger in the bowl, and mix up, mash up together well.

Add salt to taste.

Eat this with roti, pita bread, lavash bread or spread on toast.

Oops, I nearly forget...some boulanger so bitter you can’t even look at them, they twast you taste buds. True, true, I ain’t lying, in one o’ them West Indian islands the eggplant been so bitter it twast me tongue and left me silent for hours. You got to know the eggplant in you area to know if you can roast or not.

I started re-watching Lost. And Entourage.

2009-06-30T07:24:00.000-07:00

A laundry list of TV requests:

It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia - You have no idea how much I miss watching this show. I will PAY for postage if someone is kind enough to send me the series.
Lost - every episode including the current season.
Entourage - reminds me of home. LA. The Glamour and Smut of Hollywood.
Six Feet Under - Heard so much. Want to see for myself.
Battlestar Galactica - En route to my house. Thank you Alex and Erich!
Avatar - Ditto A & E!

VAD? (aka what is it that I do?)

2009-06-25T10:59:00.000-07:00

My job description has been a little vague in the two months I’ve spent in my community. It would seem that there is a bit of frivolity associated with this fact and believe me; it is on my conscience most of the time. To be honest, getting sworn in as a Peace Corps Volunteer lacked the shiny luster it once had all of those months leading up to my journey here. The challenges I faced and expectations I had were both unique and nothing I would have imagined prior to coming to Guyana.

Before a PCV departs to his country, he is issued a VAD, or volunteer assignment description. This little pamphlet describes the primary job a volunteer will have and the things he will likely be doing at the site he is ultimately assigned to serve at. I would bet that the VAD for most PCVs all over the world is about as accurate as a North Korean test missile is at reaching space.

What I’m trying to say is that the things I am doing at my site right now are very, very loosely connected to the job description that was laid out before me six months ago. Personally, I am ok with this and I’m not sure I will follow my job description in full over the next two years. In the two months I have been at my site, most of my time has been spent watching, observing, asking questions, listening, and reading. I’ve actually done little, but that is what service is all about, no? Believe it or not, this has posed a bit of a problem with the people who work “above” me. Fortunately, the PC staff members that oversee volunteer work are content with this. Yet, those locals in my community that I work with are anxious and eagerly tugging on my shirt to get me moving and grooving. It has been a good exercise in negotiation. I have had to explain to my uppers that I need 3-5 months to prioritize the things that need the most attention in my community. And, I’ve had to do this without offending, upsetting, or rocking the boat too much.

The first thing I did was visit all the schools in and around my community: 4 nurseries, 6 primary and 2 secondary schools in my immediate community plus a handful of other nurseries and primaries in the outlying region.

The second thing I did was spend time with the VSOs that have been here for a year. They understand the workings of this community better than I do and they also have established a network that I can tap into. Since they are from the UK, there is a distinct advantage to learning about my community through their eyes since they are westerners like me. Don’t worry; I also make time to discover my community through interactions with my own Guyanese contacts, friends, and colleagues.

Lastly, I have spent my own time researching online. I correspond with a host of people in the states in order to open the door to a variety of possibilities. I share my experience with Americans through emails and a blog, giving them an opportunity to learn about Guyanese culture and life styles. I also have started setting up requests for resources from home, financial aid, grant money, etc.

It is hard not to jump the gun and difficult not to lock into one of the myriad opportunities that exist in my community. To give you an idea, here is a short list:

Head teachers have schools that are severely understaffed and they constantly ask me to take over a classroom full time
Computer labs are sitting in hot rooms, unattended, not maintained, and rotting due to lack of IT know how or the confidence of the teachers to use them
Schools are in dire need of counselors and qualified personnel to work with special needs students who are neglected by most everyone
There is no organized sports program or P.E. program in the community
There is no intervention program for low level readers (80% of the student population)
Most schools do not have a feeding program to provide hungry kids hot meals for breakfast and lunch
There are no arts programs, drama, music, or extra curricular programs established at the schools
Teachers are under-trained and have little experience with alternative teaching methods, IT literacy, and classroom management
Students seek extra lessons after school with private and public teachers from the community who charge money per lesson. Parents regard these fee-based lessons as a status symbol – the more they spend, the more they are seen as proud parents in their community. The reality is that these after school lessons are not monitored and many claim that no instruction is going on. Who will investigate? And how will a free after school lesson attract any student who’s parent is caught up in this money making scheme?

As you can see, there is a lot that can be done. It will be hard to make sure that the work I am doing will have an effective impact based on the needs of this community. Furthermore, I have to figure out a way to preserve whatever I do here so that it can be maintained and sustained after I finish my 2-year service. In my eyes, this latter challenge is the most difficult and the one thing that is most discouraging to the success of any project I choose to work on.

So, what is my job description? It is a vague group of observations, conversations, concerns, ideas, and expectations. But, it is also forming into something concrete as I filter and compartmentalize everything that comes my way. The activities I’ve been engaged in that demonstrate the above look something like this:

Visits to schools
Troubleshooting computer problems
Reading to children after school
Taking a day off to write songs about literacy on my guitar
Researching grants and emailing friends and family to help fund raise
Spending evenings at a bar drinking and talking to Guyanese about the things they want done in their community
Sitting in on head teacher’s meetings, community workshops, and teacher training sessions

It has been a whirlwind because of the severe lack of communication, lack of organization, lack of resources, lack of personnel, and lack of money. I can only do so much, so which project will have the most effect? Which will be most productive? Which will be most sustainable? Which will serve my community the best?

…and the questions go on.

Profile: Derek Lovell

2009-06-22T11:46:00.000-07:00

Here is another description of someone I work with closely. Hope you enjoy and hope you try Marmite.

Derek Lovell is one of my V.S.O. friends here at my site. He is incredibly youthful. In a month, he will turn 60 and, yet, I am constantly surprised at his ability to have an understanding of the world in a perspective that is both his own and that of any other age grade. For instance: when talking to Derek about music, Derek will tell you why his favorite recording of Vivaldi’s Four Seasons is that of Nigel Kennedy and the London Symphony Orchestra. He can then go into a long discussion about why the Beatles, the Stones, and Zepplin were so crucial to the evolution of Rock and Roll. But in the end, I might say, “Have you ever heard of a band called Brian Jonestown Massacre,” and he will say, “Ah, yes I love listening to him… he’s a bit of a character on stage and this one time when I saw him perform in Brighton…”

This is the point where I stop and consider, “This isn’t just any ordinary person. And this certainly isn’t any ordinary Brit who can argue the importance of his country’s musicians.” Derek is into hip, little indie bands from the corners of America and actually has an appreciation for things both part of and separate from his own generation of pop culture. In addition to this, Derek drinks in information like water and processes it like no one I’ve ever met. He is much, much more long winded than I am and will sometimes even lose himself in his own track of conversation! To me, these characteristics are hilarious. I also think they are the signs of brilliance; and brilliance is what Derek radiates.

At first glance, Derek looks like the poster child for a British gentleman’s club. He even has that English sneer that indicates a glass of fine scotch, a smoking jacket, and a pipe. Even most of his lingo and southern accent make him sound like he belongs in an ancient, dusty pub watching golf and commenting on how important it is for England to continue using the pound. He has been a head teacher nearly his entire career as an educator, but when you engage Derek, you find out that he is so much more than the wonderful English façade that decorates his exterior. For example: he has seen Led Zepplin in concert, served as a V.S.O. in Africa when he was in his twenties, hates Margret Thatcher with the passion of a thousand suns, loves watching independent films, is an atheist and a staunch Marxist, and has an incredible sense of humor. He is both refined and coarse in his character and the man can drink, period. Here’s a good way to illustrate his breadth of knowledge: in the same conversation, Derek is capable of dissecting Karl Popper’s theory of falsification, then go on to give you the name of our friend, Asim’s ex-girlfriend’s left breast (named Elvis), and end with, “I’m sorry, but I'm not at liberty to tell you what the right one is named.”

Derek is a constant form of entertainment and enlightenment. I cannot tell you how many times I have recalled one of our conversations and either laughed out lout or thought pensively about what we have debated. He and his wife, Trudy, have been volunteering here for a year. They have both been exceptional friends, surrogate parents, and extremely helpful at helping Tyler and I get our feet on the ground and then wet with meaningful work. I feel like I’ve capitalized on an excellent opportunity, and I’m learning British!

After tasting Marmite for the first time I told Derek it was the London Fog in spread form

The Meat and Potatoes

2009-06-22T10:04:00.000-07:00

It was brought to my attention the other day that I really haven't spent any time writing journals about what I have been doing at my site as a volunteer, what the day-to-day is like where I live, what my community is like, etc.

So let's address this, because I think it was a very important inquiry and a legitimate request. It makes me really happy when I get a message like this because it means that there is room for me to improve in my journaling.

For starters, I am going to write about everything I've mentioned above* and encourage all of you to ask me questions, request certain topics in my posts, or simply tell me what you think about the things you read. Part of this exercise in journaling is not to just practice my writing, record my thoughts, or showcase my growth as an individual. Nor is it to set the grounds for a publication. I want this to primarily be a way for readers to freely access excerpts of what it is like for me to serve as a Peace Corps volunteer in Guyana. This can help others who are interested in volunteering gain perspective as well as help non-Guyanese get to know Guyana more intimately. This is where globalization meets the road for me. I want Americans to look out their windows more often an observe what their neighbors are doing. This journal is only one, small representation of our changing world.

I want those who read to feel like they can have some sort of connection with this country and its culture. In no way am I unbiased, but I believe my studies at University help to give me a perspective that is informative and as balanced as one can be. This is why I value feedback so much. If I stray to far towards topics that are introspective, then readers will not have a chance to read about things like how much I sweat in a day, or what dhal and rice tastes like, or how to make roti with chicken curry. Please remember to ask these kinds of questions whenever you want to know something and I will try to publish what I experience and not just what goes on in my head.

*There are some restrictions, however. And, behind words and phrases like: confidentiality, "safety & security", and "upholding the constitution from threats both foreign and domestic," I am not allowed to reveal certain details of what I do and where I live. I will describe to the best of my ability what my community is like and the things I do at my site without disturbing the people who have enforce these restrictions. Unfortunately... I mean fortunately I value my job.

Thank you for all the comments, questions, and requests so far. Please keep them coming and in the efforts to share while following the Peace Corps mandated censorship rules I will continue to look for the line between acceptable and unacceptable and walk right up to it.

Smiley Smile

2009-06-15T12:34:00.000-07:00

Journal: June 14th, 2009

Listening to the Beach Boys always stirs up emotions of a fleeting summer; ESPECIALLY when I am far from home. Is it cause California beaches are the greatest in the world? Or is it because Brian Wilson is insane? Good Vibrations is my pick for his masterpiece single.

To me, the feeling of fleeting is difficult to compare to any other feeling. It is unique. It's lives in my gut and at the center of my sternum. It's bitter and sweet and has a hint of pang all at the same time.

Summer is just starting where home is. Here, the rainy season has finally kicked off and when it rains, it gets cool and feels sort of like Southern California. It might be the happiest part of my day. I love the temperature and the fleeting emotion it brings me.

Gotta keep those lovin good vibrations a happenin with her...

More ETs

2009-06-12T07:14:00.000-07:00

Taken from my journal on Thursday, June 4, 2008:

Today, three more PCVs chose to ET (early termination) from their sites and return back to the States. One was our good friend, Tolga, who was living in a Amerindian and logging community 28 miles into the interior from where Tyler and I live. It was unfortunate, yet necessary as Tolga explained to us. Except, neither Tyler or I wanted him to go. He was one of the three Bartica Boys. We all wear jean shorts, mesh tank tops and mustaches! Now there are only two. Shucks, it’s going to be a shit show this weekend as Tyler and I grieve.

On a slightly more serious note, I am beginning to understand how the morale of a group can be shaken so easily when one or many of its members leave. Like in combat, I suppose, when a soldier is killed. In our case, however, there is no war or fatality tied to our job description and I must mention that I have no idea what it is like to lose a friend in combat. It must be indescribable and overwhelming. With that in mind, the leaving of a close friend has had huge effects on my spirit here. Morale is low, I’m agitated easily and find it extremely difficult to motivate myself to do anything. The heat and humidity just adds to it. So, I think that perception is a very important thing to have positive control over. Especially when one is living in a foreign country below the poverty line. And especially in a time like this, when members of your family are leaving.

I am very excited for Tolga because he has wonderful plans of working in a summer camp in Michigan and then moving to Turkey to get involved with education there. He is one of the most gifted teachers I have ever met, experienced, and partied with. He can captivate anyone and his stage presence in and out of the classroom is unrivaled in Guy 21 and probably against millions of others. In addition to this, he is very smart, very funny, and excellent with children. Ladies, watch out!

Jen Grigsby (or Jen Jen as we know and call her) is one of the three ETing. She loved her job and site here in Guyana, however, she was offered a job position in education that she could not refuse. Strike while the iron is hot I say. It will be sad to see Jen return to Pennsylvania, but I know that she will continue to love her job and love the place she is in. Go Jen, you hot ‘lil iron

Ryan is the third of the three departing in the next 48 hours. He will return to Kentucky and probably ultimately find his way to Colombia as he once shared with me. He is a well traveled individual and I admire his sense of pace in life and his interest in how the world works. Snow peaks and long sparks Ryan!

Being a Good Host

2009-06-08T10:57:00.000-07:00

Hospitality is an important aspect of one's house keeping. The maintenance of a domain, living space, keep, vessel.

I suppose pride has a lot to do with it, as does the humanistic drive towards a sense of civilization... whatever civilization is/suppose to be.

Nevertheless, grooming and cleanliness are integral components to being a good host. And recently, my roommate, Tyler, discovered just how effective good hosting can be.

Proceed with caution:

A few weeks ago, Tyler woke up complaining of a soar foot. The symptoms hinted at a stubbed toe, yet it had mysteriously appeared over night. So, when did it occur? Why did Tyler have no recollection of hitting his foot?

Over the course of a week and a half, Tyler’s toes began to swell, become bruised, and eventually blister. One night, as I was lounging in the hammock reading a book, Tyler emerged from his room to show me that the blisters had popped and that black liquid had come out. Neither of us could make any sense of it and so we both went on assuming that it was a mysterious case of a stubbed tow with a bit of dirt in it.

Let us now fast forward to a week ago, Thursday. The day that Tolga left our site. As a group of us waited for Tolga’s boat to depart, one of our friends asked Tyler what was wrong with his foot. Tyler explained the events of his toes and the response he got from the audience was this:

“Tyler, you have flies in your toes.”

Tyler’s eyes doubled in size and were followed by a crisp, “What?” (much like pop you get when you bite into a cold, granny-smith apple). I almost died laughing and then abruptly shut my mouth in embarrassment.

In any case, Tyler stood there trying to wrap his brain around the idea that there were flies living inside his toes. Last time I checked, flies fly and then they land on things. You have to be one misdirected fly to burrow into someone’s flesh and live there. I mean, that’s like handing scuba gear to an airline pilot. Serious conflict of interest here. A few hours later and a confirmation from the Cuban doctors that live near us, Tyler decided to take action and I decided to watch. Everyone had told Tyler to just pour Kerosene over his toes, but that didn’t seem to fancy him at all. So instead, we poured two healthy portions of rum and Coke, got the tweezers, Swiss Army knife, and needle out and placed them next to the gauze, antiseptic, and band-aids. It was a grizzly affair and I’ll spare the details save this one: They’re hungry little suckers and the holes they make are incredibly symmetrical.

Apparently Tyler is a really good host.

P.S. Last night I pulled two out of my own foot.

Grimaldi's... Godly

2009-06-01T08:25:00.000-07:00

Last night I had another Larium dream.

This one has probably been the worst of them all; and by worst, I mean greatest.

I dreamed I was in Brooklyn. DUMBO to be exact. I was at Grimaldi's pizza with my sister and my best friend Brandon Shafer eating pizza. Grimaldi's is one of the best places for pizza in New York City.

Larium's side effects include having dreams that are more lucid than normal. Never in my life have I ever had better pizza than at Grimaldi's in my dream last night. I woke up feinding for a pie in a way that I can only imagine must be like a heroin addict craving his/her next fix.

The hardest part was that I washed my meal down with an ice-cold Brooklyn Lager. Glorious and maddening at the same time. Watch, two years from now I'll be having the same kinds of dreams about the authentic Guyanese food I've been eating here. Why can't we have it all?

It's T-storming today and the thunder sounds and feels epic.

Happy June and happy Monday.

Serving is Not Without a Sense of Helplessness

2009-05-28T08:24:00.000-07:00

From my journal: Saturday, May23, 2009

Note: The comments and descriptions here are both my initial reactions and my thoughts shortly afterwords. Please try to understand that I am human, like everyone else.

On my way into Georgetown this weekend, a man sat directly next to me on the speed boat. He was very ill and it took me by surprise that he was allowed to make passage with the rest of us. He was the last person on and was a miner coming from the interior. As we pulled away from the warf I put my iPod on and began listening to "Marketplace," a podcast which is a half hour program about the US and international economies. It was a strange experience in that I was connecting with the outside world via an MP3 player/icon of affluence, while watching this man suffer an excruciating boat ride under the siege of some affliction I couldn't identify. He had no outward signs of sickness, yet he looked and sounded horribly ill.

He moaned and groaned and made it clear that he was in pure pain. It was difficult to shut out. I was shocked that I was tyring to shut it out. What could I do? I'm no doctor. I don't even know what this poor man is suffering from. Dengue? Typhoid? Malaria? HIV/AIDS?

Did I drown my fear and sorrow for this man in something so commonplace as the economic forecasts of the nation I left? How Western of me, how tourist of me. But, I had to rationalize that I could not help this man as a doctor because I am no doctor. My skills as a teacher may have helped him in the past, if I had had the opportunity to educate him in time to prevent this illness from occurring. But even that has no guarantee. For the most part, disease is blind to those it infects. It has no ethnic or socio-economic preferences. It just does its job, like a postal worker who delivers your bills.

I considered offering him the Advil in my pack. Then I stopped and thought, "You are ridiculous. It is so rude to even entertain that idea." How could I even begin to know/understand this man's pain let alone give him some drug as a way to mask the larger issue. Shit, which larger issue? There are thousands. What's more was that if I did offer him pain killers, would that set a precedent? Would he ask for something else? I probably make less than he does as a miner (they average $2,500 US a month. Peace Corps gives me $200 US a month).

All the while listening to the state of the Detroit job market and how the global economy is still in shambles. It was surreal to be hearing something so familiar as my standard public radio program at the same time as watching something so foreign as someone's true suffering. He nearly threw up on my pack and I almost encouraged it as if it would justify my helplessness and aloof behavior.

Who was this miner with audible ailments? The "Oh, Gods" and "Jesuses" racing out of his mouth every time our boat slammed into a new wave, driving his body to stand up in discomfort and shame for making everyone else uncomfortable. It tore me apart. It tore my perfectly healthy, strong, educated, privileged, and able body apart inside and I felt guilty and dirty for feeling sorry for this man.

To me, this is a situation of extreme cross cultural exchange. Akin to oil and water, the experience cannot be put into a set of logical explanations for how the world works; it just does like everything else. All I can do is sit and watch a man suffer, see a dog get torn apart by another one, hear a drunk husband beat his wife to utter silence. I have no true place here. I am an alien, a foreigner, a white privileged man who's every move is tracked by others. Even those decisions I make which I perceive to be benevolent or good natured are not immune to scrutiny, judgement, or an overall sense that I am indoctrinating these people. The same exact things occur in the United States of America. Supposedly the richest and most powerful nation on this planet.

72 Miles is 72 miles into the Interior!

2009-05-25T10:27:00.001-07:00

I was just in the rain forest the other day and my gosh does Guyana have a lot of it. Some say Guyana’s forests are part of the most pristine rain forest in the world and others will say that it is the last part of untouched, virgin jungle left on this planet.
I spent last Monday and Tuesday doing outreach in an interior community, 72 miles into the rain forest. Our day began at four in the morning with a honk of a horn and a drowsy stumble into a cruiser (the Guyanese name for a 4x4 pickup). There were five of us, including myself: Tolga Yaprak, a Guy 21er posted near us; Ian Scott, a former VSO from the UK and now ex-pat living off his pension; Derek Lovell, a current VSO from the UK; and Philip, our driver.
Approximately 2 miles of our journey to 72 Mile Primary School was on paved road. Another 10 miles was on compact gravel and dirt. The rest of our distance was traversing through red earth, white sand, brown dirt and an assortment of deep water holes, fallen trees, mud patches, and animal crossings. The trip is 4-5 hours in length when the weather is dry. When it has been raining, however, the trip can take anywhere from 8 hours to a few days along with a possible rescues from a Bedford winch, or the construction of a bridge with felled trees.
Luckily for us, the rainy season has yet to come and our venture was 4 hours both ways. My friend, Tolga, who is a Guy 21 PCV working in a school just 28 miles into the bush, caught a free ride with us back to his site. Last week, there were two deaths in his community of 100 people. One logger, age 19, was killed by equipment that failed and collapsed on him. The other death was of a 24-year-old who had suffered from malaria, typhoid, and Dengue fever. Tolga is the only non Guyanese living in his site and every weekend he comes into Bartica to buy his groceries, collect his mail and allowance, and generally let loose because he is in the middle of the forest six days out of the week.
As we headed inward after dropping Tolga off at his junction, the first thing I noticed was how cool it was inside the rain forest. Our windows were down and many times I felt the need to roll mine up and put on a jacket. But, I didn’t because this was the first time in over two months that I’ve even felt the least bit cool, let alone cold! We would drive at 40mph for about ten meters, and then slow to 5mph to negotiate a ditch or large puddle, and then speed back up to 40 again, only to slow back down to a toss and jostle over some obstacle in the terrain. This ebb and flow of driving made it quite interesting for the members in our party who had drank rum the night before. Philip and I were not included, but I certainly felt sympathy for my fellow colleagues simply out of personal experience.
Looking out the window at the scenery was something that captured my attention for most of the trip out. Lizards in stripes of green, yellow, and electric blue scattered at every turn. Giant moths with wings so intensely blue you thought they may have been painted with lapis lazuli would light up when they flew into a spot where the sunlight made it past the forest canopy. Large buzzards croaked their hellos, and labba (large rat-like rodents) scampered across the road in fear of being hunted down and sold in town. The most peculiar thing about this forest, however, was that it smelled so much like the Willamette national forest I spent so many summers growing up in Oregon. The sweet, fresh smell instantly made me think of our property on the McKenzie river and this sent me into a long, looooong day dream about this and that concerning the Evergreen state. Talk about a mind trip, I spaced out for 45 minutes!
Other highlights were:
swimming in creek water that was 60F, black in color, and extremely good for your skin (Remember kids, don’t pee in the river because there are these little fish that will swim up your urine stream and enter your body through your urethra. I am NOT kidding).
Hearing baboons growl and seeing them cross the trails in the early morning
Seeing at least 12 different species of birds, butterflies, and moths
Bats and tarantulas the size of your fist!

Vent

2009-05-22T08:12:00.000-07:00

To be honest, I need to say that today has been a pretty shitty day.

A close friend of mine who is a Guy 21 volunteer here in Guyana went home.

Just like that.

Venom is not that nice

2009-05-18T13:26:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I almost stepped on a Labarria. This is one of 4 venomous snakes in my area

Here's what it looks like (third one down):
http://www.iwokrama.org/forest/snakes.htm

Funny thing was that there were nine of us on that hike and I was bringing up the rear. Everyone else walked right by him. The poor thing had to be killed with a cutlass so that it wouldn't bite the unsuspecting children that play in the forest. Our guide, Terry, told us that Labarria can bite up to seventy times in one minute.

Sorry buddy, it wasn't my decision. Terry was the one who had the cutlass.

Laptop me baby!

2009-05-18T12:19:00.000-07:00

Here is what I want:

A reliable, sturdy laptop that is relatively fast (no more than 1-3 years old).
I will be multi-tasking, so I need a lot of RAM (2 gig or more)
Microsoft Office software
DVD playing software
Preferably Windows XP, but Vista is completely ok
Macbooks are less susceptible to viruses... which run rampant in this country.

Here's the situation:

Today I spent most of the day across the Essequibo river visiting two primary schools and talking to head teachers about ways we can build capacity and technical training in their schools.

Problem number 1: BEAMS program is a foreign funded program that has poured money into the Ministry of Education by means of purchasing laptops, printer/faxes, desktops, whole computer labs, data projectors, and a ton of programs. The problem is that no one ever bothered to train teachers or hire technical support to manage and maintain these expensive tools.

Problem number 2: Internet is slow and scarce. I can access it at the office, but there are only two computers that are connected and they are constantly being used. Internet cafes are costly and less reliable.

Problem number 3: Fuel is astronomically expensive. This inhibits my ability to travel into the interior to visit schools and perform teacher training sessions.

Solution: laptop.
Most of my work can be done offline and saved on a thumb drive and then uploaded onto the Internet when I'm in the office and at a connected computer.
I can also:

Spend time at home setting up power point lessons
Writing music for literacy lessons
Drafting grant proposals
Showing educational films to students
Creating literacy games using powerpoint
Answering emails and writing blog posts on my off time

and much, much more. Catch my drift?

If you have a laptop in mind you might be willing to send me, please email me at:

christopher.olinsb@gmail.com

Finally, an extra perk to having a laptop is this: I can borrow our data projector and a white bed sheet and head into the interior. There, I can show school kids episodes of Planet Earth, Blue Planet, Land of the Lost Jaguar, etc. What a great way to usher in technology with global awareness, no?

Keep me posted friends and family. I'll make good use out of it, promise!

xo,
C.

Do the rotten ones always explode?

2009-05-07T09:21:00.000-07:00

There’s an old adage amongst Peace Corps Volunteers that goes like this:

A Pessimist will look at a glass of water and say it is half empty.

An Optimist will look at that same glass of water and say it is half full.

A Peace Corps Volunteer, however, will look at that same glass and say, “You know, I could bathe in that water.”

This morning was a culinary disaster. I woke up to Tyler preparing breakfast and thought I’d help out. We just bought a flat of eggs and a bag of salt to go with our bread and butter. Here’s where everything went wrong:

In Guyana, most people don’t use frying pans. Instead, they use two different kitchen devices. They are both from the Amerindian culture and are made out of cast iron. One is a round, flat pan that looks similar to tortilla griddle and is called a Tawa, or Roti pan. The other device is a bowl that acts as a fry pan/wok and has only two small handles. This is called a Cahari, or a stew pan. As you can imagine, Tyler and I are used to cooking with pans that have long handles on them. Burns have already begun to show up. Both the Cahari and the Tawa were generously donated by our landlady.

This morning Tyler decided to try to fry our eggs on the Tawa because three days ago he did it and it was a success. Two days ago, when I tried his method, the eggs ran off the pan, onto the Chinese-made three burner stove, and then onto the floor where our neighbor’s one-eyed-dog, Lassie, was there to lick it all up. Today, however, wasn’t so much of a success either.

First, Tyler forgot to grease the Tawa and the egg he cracked just stuck to the bits of charred, black cast-iron that have accumulated over the many years of its use. The egg-charred substance was collected into a bowl and consumed almost immediately because eggs with salt are so good when on a diet of bread and peanut butter.

Then, Tyler greases the Roti pan for round two and cracks his second egg. This one sort of explodes and then runs off the pan, onto the Chinese-made three burner stove, and then onto the floor. Lassie was not there. I laughed and continued to butter the bread that was on the other side of our kitchen. Then I stopped.

“Tyler, what is that smell? Did you rip ass?

“No, dude. I think we have a bad egg.”

“No way.”

Silence

“Oh shit, that smells horribly rotten. Getitoutside getitoutside! It smells like poop!”

The Tawa was covered in fried, rotten egg. It was time to put that utensil down and come to the agreement that our culinary skills were not keen enough to tackle the Roti pan. In shame, we decided to move on to the Cahari, which in theory would be a step in the direction of EASIER, but that would be assuming too much.

This time I took over the egg frying and plopped one into the bottom of the Cahari. Then, I took our makeshift salt shaker and added some to our egg. Since it is so humid here, you have to add grains of rice to your salt to keep it from congealing into one block. Being proud of my foresight, I shook my salt shaker with the utmost confidence that the rice had done their job and the salt would sprinkle ever so effortlessly into my golden egg. The rice did not do its job. And due to the combined mass, the pull of gravity, and my shakes of self-assurance, the collective force of salt popped the top off of the shaker and all the contents emptied into the Cahari and onto my egg. Tyler almost choked in laughter and I just stood there, astonished.

“You know, if I can scoop the salt out, I think I’ll be able to eat it”

“Chris, just start over. It looks disgusting.”

“But...”

“Hypertension, Chris. Hyper-tension.”

Tyler was right. I suppose it wasn’t so much the loss of food as it was the loss of dignity. How difficult is it for two grown men with years of cooking history to screw up eggs three times in a row. I started over, succeeded and with all the bad eggs, Tyler and I put them into a glass and they occupied half the glass. Tyler looked at it and said, “It’s about time for a shower, no?”

Cinco de Mayo

2009-05-06T08:46:00.000-07:00

Feliz Cinco de Mayo mis amigos.

Coincidentally enough, we had a holiday yesterday as well. Indian Arrival day is in observance of the arrival of East Indians into this country as Indentured Servants. We spent the day taking in the sites and enjoying a day with NO TRAINING, and a lot of socializing with Barticians, foreign volunteers, and some ex-Pats that live in the area.

No tortillas though. Hey can anyone send me a recipe for making tortillas? I got a bad craving for burritos.

Hasta Luego,
C.

Update - long awaited...

2009-05-04T06:33:00.000-07:00

Greetings everyone! long time you lovely, lovely people.

Firstly, I want to thank all of you who have been sending me packages, postcards, letters, and comments on my blog. I am truely greatful for getting/reading these little things that mean you are staying in touch and that you are interested in learning about my experience in this strange and unique country. These gestures cannot be repayed and are worth more than any luxury I may come across here at my site (luxury being an electric fan, an ice cold beer, or scrambled eggs).

I am now in a town near the interior of Guyana and settling in nicely. Due to Peace Corps regulations ("safety & security"), I cannot say exactly where I am located, but it is considered to be the "Gateway to the Interior". Like before, however, you can contact my parents (olin191@gmail.com) and they will be happy to give you my location and my mailing address that I will be using at my site. You may even be able to google map it!

Alright, let's be brief about what I've been up to for the last two weeks and I'll go into depth later on. Lists are always the best:

I have a cell phone and i have two numbers (long story, explain later). 641 4480, 674 5066. 592 is the area code and country code. my cell can access internet at slow speeds and I've been using it to write emails. If you would like to Skype me, just purchase Skype credit and you can talk with me for about 40 min at $10 worth of credit. Dial the country code (592) and then the 7 digit number and I'll pick up!
I miss you all terribly and the last week has been really difficult for me. I had the worst two days of my stay here last Mon and Tues, but will blog about it later.
My digital camera and my digital recorder (of which I had beautiful stories of my host mother's childhood stored on) were stolen out of my bag during my Peace Corps swearing in ceremony. The staff seemed nearly indifferent about this news, even though the ceremony was closed to the general public and inside a hotel. It was a hard lesson for me to learn.
Members of our staff haven't been very professional, reliable, honest, or transparent about a great deal of information about our sites. Members of Guy21 don't even have housing right now.
My site is gorgeous and my roommate is wonderful. Our house may look like it's going to fall down, but Peace Corps assures us it is safe and secure. We shower outside and have a pit latrine that is 50 yards from our back door.

Alright, I've got to go. More later.

xoxo

Chop Shop

2009-04-20T13:29:00.000-07:00

"The beard must go"

"Oh, no it mustn't. It can't"

"Oh, it has to. It moustache go. Please?"

"But it's a part of me and it's so healthy and has girth!"

"It looks disgusting. Wait, is there food in there? Ew. Please give us what we want."

It has been tradition for two years for Guyana PCTs to have moustaches for swearing in.

Seeing as I have had a beard since December, the other Guy 21 men told me I had to go with Mutton Chops.

So, that's what I did. For my Santa Barbara friends: JAKE IS BACK!

No one takes me seriously anymore. Seriously.

Walking the Path

2009-04-20T13:12:00.000-07:00

From my journal: Saturday, April 11, 2009

Today I slaughtered a chicken. No chickening around, I took a life. To be honest, though, I've taken lives before. I've got a history with a lot of ants, some slugs, snails, a few fish, those dumb June bugs that can never fly straight, some spiders, and definitely mosquitoes. But in terms of an animal that is a bit larger, has a definite character or personality per say, and a generally harmless demeanor, this was totally new to me. To add to this, a chicken is a bird. That was a big deal to me.

Now, before you choose to gasp in disgust and/or dismissal, laugh in enjoyment, cheer in some rite-of-passage approval, or react in any other fashion to this pre-meditated murder, I must preface with this:

I was sorry

Secondly, I am guilty. I am guilty of eating meat and I am guilty with a shit eating grin on my face. But, the most important thing is that I made a decision to do this in order to know the process. Because! There is a difference between knowing the path and walking it and if I'm guilty, then I'm going to be guilty 100%.

My host father raises chickens to supplement the income from his farm and rice paddy. I had a goldfish, some rabbits, a gerbil, a cat, and three dogs. All were pets and where I grew up chickens come in cling wrap from the supermarket. How can I call myself a meat eating American when the only firsthand experience with this is watching my dear friend and mentor, Paul Williamson, clean a trout before my 13-year-old eyes?

I decided to take advantage of an opportunity staring straight in my face through beady little eyes, a beak, and brain the size of a walnut. I decided to ask my host father if I could learn how to kill, pluck, and gut a chicken and he gladly agreed. With that, I stupidly put on a white T-shirt and followed him out back to the chicken coop. I'm not kidding; I put a white shirt on... IDIOT!

Chicken poop smells funny. What's more, chickens make some the funniest noises. Aside from the squabbly gobbilys and "bawk bawks," chickens also make weird noises that sound similar to old yia yias and babushkas quarreling at the plaza or the gargling of marbles and warm salt water whilst reciting the emancipation proclamation. Chickens are also mean to each other despite the fact that their personalities give one the idea that they are dumb and lazy. They are almost completely harmless and they are also innocent. And all of these things were running through my mind when Walter handed me two legs with a sizable mass of feathers attached to it.

I had to hold Stella away from myself because she would have pecked a hole into my calf muscle. When she realized that my leg was out of reach, she desperately tried to do a stomach curl to reach the hand that held her feet and thus kept her from running away from the fate that had been decided. Unfortunately for Stella, thousands of years of evolution through __ selection had given her huge breasts and absolutely now abdominal muscle strength. She eventually gave up in a subtle sigh almost as if her genetics gave her some predisposition to this very situation. As humorous as I may have made this seem, the thought actually came into my mind and I had to dismiss it immediately in order not to chicken out. Pun intended.

I followed Walter out of the coop and over to a spot I dubbed, "Greener Pastures" out of optimism. Greener pastures is a cement pad that looks like an empty sandbox. Against the fence is a wooden plank with a sheet metal funnel nailed to it. This device is what I call "The Rabbit Hole" and it takes you to greener pastures. I stopped and looked at Stella, a 12 pound bird I had named because I wanted to remember this moment for the rest of my life. Her limp body exhausted from flailing so much and heart racing in anticipation of the inevitable. I shook myself out of this daze only to look up at Walter briskly walking with two birds of which had no names. Walter then turned to me and said about a paragraph's worth of information that I can only assume was an explanation as to what was about to happen. I say, "assume," because I only saw lips and mouth move, and heard my conscious not saying, but weighing:

"Um. You are about to kill a chicken. Take a life. Murder in cold blood. Are you ready for what's about to happen? This is it. You've got to shit or get off the pot my friend and all I can say is have fun trying to enjoy your dinner tonight you demon. You evil man. You killer"

Easy? No. For Walter this was easy. It was like brushing his teeth or paying his taxes. Necessary for the financial sustenance of his family. For me this was a watershed moment. What if I failed? What if I changed my mind? What would Walter think of me? Better yet, what if I liked it? What if I couldn't stop? What if I turned into a blood lusting, chicken slaughtering fiend that couldn't resist the smell of chicken blood? Fat chance, I'm the one who gets teary-eyed when I see polar bears on Animal Planet. My Id was right, I had to chicken shit or get off the pot. I took pause and let my cognitive self marinate for about 5 seconds.

.....

I farted.

Then I said to Walter, "Ok, let's do this," but thought, "Jeff Foxworthy is probably laughing right now and yelling, 'Git R Done!'" Blue color comedy is the pits.

I won't go into the details of how I did the deed in this entry, but feel free to email me if you are curious. I'm censuring this part is because I want people to continue to read. Hope I didn't scare too many of you away with what I've written so far. All in good fun? Maybe not for the chicken,

STELLLLLLLLAAAAAAAA!

I did do the deed, plucked and cleaned. It was suggested that I take my T-shirt off and I silently cursed at my negligence forsight. There were two moments when I asked to pause for some fresh air and Walter simply saying, "Don' worry Christopher, you aren't used to this," and me thinking about the last time I tried to donate blood and didn't even make it past the questionaire before almost passing out. Red Cross asked me to come back another time.

But, I pushed through ‘til the end, not missing anything and keeping up with Walter's instructions, actions, and technique. I retold a version of this story to my fellow Guy 21ers during a cultural exchange forum. It was a bad idea. Some volunteers have never looked at me the same, especially Jess who will be working with the Guyana Marine and Sea Turtle reserve. It was an important and fascinating education and I am glad I did it. Now I can confidently say I've had firsthand experience from the egg to the chicken. Or is it from the chicken to the egg?