I'm ALLLLIIIIIIIIIIVVVVVEEE

Alright, so I've been pulled from my site (temporarily) due to some safety/security issues (don't worry, Mom; I'm fine) so I'm back on the coast with AC and internet until further notice. Be prepared: you are about to be inundated with all of the posts I've been unable to do, because as a Region Nine volunteer, I am determined to enjoy every moment of this internet until the lack of sleep literally kills me.
So let the flood begin!
Speaking of floods, that's also happening out in Region Nine. The whole savanna has become a swamp. The road out of my site is a mess. Either the road is completely under water, or the "dry" portions are so muddy and torn up, you can't get through. I've got a few pictures taken by a Peace Corps staff member, Flavio, but have none of my own. Why, you ask? Because the last few times I went, the buses couldn't even get through.

One of the "dry" sections

Yes, this is still the "road"

Most of that is water

At one point, the bus got stuck and nearly went over sideways, so we all clambered out like rats abandoning a sinking ship, and tried to push the bus out. I was knee deep in mud, hip deep in water, just hoping the bus wouldn't fall over on me. The next time, the bus didn't even attempt to cross: all the passengers just got out and waded through the worst of the flood until a bus on the other side could come get us. I know I should have taken pictures, but... I kind of had my hands full. Next time, maybe. If the photos aren't enough, here's a news link: http://demerarawaves.com/2017/07/02/rupununi-flood-hit-residents-to-be-evacuated-thousands-others-affected/

But no, the flooding wasn't enough to take the volunteers out of the region. We were left wherever we happened to be when the worst of the flooding happened, which generally was either in our sites or Lethem. Things have kind of eased up a bit, although the road is still a disaster. I was lucky enough that when I checked in at the airport for my flight to the coast, they asked if I'd like to take the earlier flight. Of course I said yes, and then it turned out I was THE ONLY PASSENGER ON THAT FLIGHT. I literally had the plane to myself. I am rocking this flying thing. Maybe I should go to flight school while I'm here...

At any rate, let me take this (rare) opportunity to post a million pictures, and show you what my house looks like. First of all, it's amazing. It may be only one room, but I love it. It turns out I don't really need much more than a bedroom/kitchen, porch, shower, and bathroom. For one person, it's the perfect size. Especially with how dirty everything gets here, if I had much more space, I'd never have time to do anything but clean. Every single night there is some sort of insect apocalypse, and I wake up to a house that looks like it has not been swept, or even inhabited, in a hundred years.
Let's start the tour!

My front door, featuring Archimedes

Bedroom, kitchen, livingroom

Dresser and bed (with two nets, because I'm not messing around)

Running water! And a water filter

My chronically messy desk

The shower, which is outside just off the porch

Back porch, hammock, and laundry

Posts coming in the next few days: Bina Hill graduation, the BHI first year students, the garden project in Kumu, the President's visit, the bus crash, my host family, the Paiwomak Warriors football team, and of course all the stunning Region Nine Volunteers without whom I would surely already have died. Stay tuned!

The fan was a lie

I can only get internet access in Lethem, which is generally only a once-a-month trip. I get a few hours in town (Peace Corps does not spring for an overnight trip, even though the drive there is usually about six hours round-trip, barring any problems). In these few hours, I have to hit the bank, do all my shopping for the month, visit any other volunteers that are there at the same time, and use what wifi I can find, usually at a little bar. Bad luck has struck ever since the Country Director's visit. Since then, the wifi town-wide has been out every time I go to Lethem. The two times I had to go to Georgetown, it's been down in the hotel there too. No internet. Since Easter. For those of you at home right now, surfing for memes while you watch Netflix, download some more music, and read this at the same time, just imagine that. No internet. At all.

So, what's been happening since then? The Rodeo was a mixed bag. About nineteen volunteers total came up to the region to see it, so we had more company than we're used to having. ALL of the Region Nine volunteers were there, which is a rare occurrence. Usually we miss each other by a matter of days, so only two or three of us will be in town at any point. There was lots to see, with bucking broncos and bull riding, and barrel racing, and every other event a rodeo should have. The downside was that there was a stabbing, where some guy ran up to one of the female riders after the barrel race and stabbed her in front of the entire crowd. She was taken to the hospital, along with another cowgirl who had taken a nasty spill off a horse and not gotten back up, and a few cowboys who were stepped on, kicked, or slightly gored. I'd love to tell you how they're all doing, but since I don't know them, I have no way of knowing. At least one horse was killed, too, which was the worst of it for me. One of the bucking bronco was lassoed after he threw his rider, but he reared and fell hard, breaking one of his forelegs so badly that it just dangled. He had to be shot. I, being right up against the fence, had a front-row view, and burst into tears.

In good news, a visiting research assistant who had been studying frogs at Kaieteur Falls for the last month, came and couch-surfed with me for a few days, and we took some of the students out searching for frogs. The students had a great time catching frogs and toads. I'm counting this as a win, because most people here are afraid of frogs, and I had them not only touching them, but catching them. Several students even turned out to be particularly adept amphibian-catchers.

Another day, my host-sister Ryiela, showed up in my house after lunch with a big rice sack. She handed it to me, but when I went to open it, said "you should probably hold onto it, or it will escape." Inside was a mid-sized iguana! I had some issue getting it out of the sack, but I had great fun showing it around. The students were convinced that iguanas are dangerous, because they'll whip you with their tails, or bite off your fingers. Despite some minor scratches from his tree-climbing claws, this iguana was remarkably well behaved, and even submitted to tentative petting by some of the braver students.

Even better, another Giant Anteater made an appearance. I was in the shower, of course, because I have excellent timing. A few students came by to tell me they'd seen one, so I jumped out, dressed as quickly as possible, and we ran out into the savanna after it. Marlos, one of the first-year students, took off running faster than the rest of us, and actually chased it closer so I could get some really good photos.

Lethem

So much to catch up on!
My host family's mare had a baby, so there is the cutest little filly running around the savanna right now. I don't know if you're aware how adorable baby horses are, but it's right up there with puppies, kittens, and baby bunnies. I do not have a picture, because they've wandered way out somewhere again, and only come by the house when I don't have my camera on me. I've been insisting that the horses need names, so although I suspect my host parents are rolling their eyes at me, my host dad has indulged me by naming her "First Lady" since she's the first female born there. Okay, not terribly imaginative, but definitely apt.
Finals week has come and gone at the Institute where I work. All the first year students passed both of the classes I'm assisting with, which is great. The second year students struggled a little, but still got through it. Easter break has started, and most of the students are headed home to fly some kites.
KITE FLYING IS A THING AT EASTER! America, jump on this bandwagon. Kite flying is awesome, and people do not do it often enough back home. Of course, the downside is there's no dyed eggs or chocolate bunnies or peeps, or (my personal favorite) chocolate Reeses eggs. But still, kites!
I've been summoned to Lethem to meet the new Peace Corps Country Director. The upside is that all the Region Nine kids get to hang out together for a day or so, and get a bit of Wi-Fi and AC. The downside is I'm caked in red dust and have to sit through a meeting. Lethem is made entirely of red dust. It covers every inch of you, outside and in. I'm pretty sure I have a hard-core case of Red Dust Lung which will kill me faster than any of the mosquito-born illnesses. After a day walking around, it looks like you've painted your feet, and you leave tracks everywhere. It gets in your hair so much that when the wind blows, the dust stiffens it, and you get this fantastic Einstein style going on (I look hot, I know). My shower looks like a murder scene.
I've got a lot of traveling for meetings this month. I'm here to meet the CD, then off to Georgetown as part of the Volunteer Advisory Committee, then shepherding students to an agriculture meeting/training/I'm not sure what, and then there's Rodeo!
The Rupununi has a rodeo every year, and it's huge, and apparently awesome. Peace Corps staff has been reminding me I'm not allowed to ride in it, but since falling off a bucking horse isn't really my thing anyways, that's not much of a damper. I am a bit ridiculously excited for this. I've been looking forward to it for months. It will be a bit nerve-wracking, just because there will be so many people around, and I stick out in any crowd here, but be prepared for a full update on that in a few weeks. If horses aren't your thing, maybe skip out on April's posts, because Rodeo will be the most exciting thing this whole month, and I will probably be gushing about it for ages.
My last visit to Lethem was a trip (pun fully intended, so feel free to groan). Getting to Lethem is a hassle at best. Usually I call one of four drivers from surrounding villages to see if any of them are planning to come down and able to pick up another passenger. If I'm lucky, the answer is yes and someone comes by to pick me up at some point between five AM and eight AM, depending on when they wake up, how well their vehicle is running, how easily distracted they are, and what the roads are like. This time, none of them were sure if they were going. I got a call from one at five AM THAT MORNING saying yes, they'd come get me. At seven-thirty, when they were still a no-show, I found out they'd decided not to go, but asked another driver to come get me. The other driver decided he wasn't going either. So I got a ride out to the road where the Georgetown buses go, to see if I could catch one of them. Both blew right past, all full. I caught another ride further down, and finally managed to squeeze in on a bus. (Big thanks to the two people who gave me rides to try to catch the buses.) This is what it's like to live in Region Nine. You have to kind of roll with the punches, and sometimes accept help from strangers with the hope you don't get murdered in the process. I suppose that's true most places.
Anyways, when I got to Lethem, Essie (the PC Response Volunteer, who did her Peace Corps service in Malawi) and Gabrielle had done a whole birthday thing for me (the oldest PCV in my cohort) and Thomas (the youngest) whose birthday was a few days before mine. They made guacamole that I could have eaten by the shovel-full if it was socially acceptable, and a bunch of other delicious food, and a GIGANTIC chocolate cake. I cannot even describe to you how amazing that cake was. I still dream about it.
Also excellent: I was given a fan! I'm living a life of luxury, you guys.

Green beer, snakes, and birthdays

It's weird to say it, but this is the last you'll hear from me in my twenties. I turn thirty on Tuesday. The youngest member of our cohort turned twenty-three yesterday, so this weekend we've run off to Lethem to celebrate, so of  course, I'm starting the party by... writing on my blog. Oh god I feel old.

In other news, following Reconnect, the place I work canceled classes for two more weeks. No classes while I was away for training, then no classes because there was a one-day holiday (so they celebrated all week) called Mashramani ("to celebrate hard work" I'm told), and then another week to "clean up the gardens." I've started stealing back students. The next week, they wanted to pull all the boys for a meeting. I told the head-honcho-in-charge-of-whatever that he couldn't have them until the break, and then herded all the students back to class. The next day, the principal took them for an extra singing practice. I went down and took them back. Then, during a test, someone came to have them mill about in the background of a documentary. I insisted they wait until the students were finished. Yesterday, I think my class was the only one that actually ran. Now, the administration is complaining that the students haven't learned enough to have their end-of-term exams, and they can't understand why. Go figure. 

I had my first up-close-and-personal interaction with a snake! All the power was out in the compound for about a week, and I came home one night with my comically dim flashlight, opened my back door to go out to the bathroom, and a foot-long snake fell, inches from my face, to land at my feet. I had just enough time to think "Oh crap, a snake! Please go away" before it slithered into my house, under my bookcase. Now, back home, I could just catch it and put it back outside where it belongs. (Don't get me wrong, I like snakes, I just like them better when they're not in my house.) Here, that would be a bad idea. I couldn't see the colors on it well enough to identify it, but I'm assured it was almost definitely a rattlesnake. On the slim chance it wasn't, I'm told it would have been a "house labaria" which I've never heard of, and can't find in any ID book, but don't worry, because it's even more venomous than a rattlesnake. Oh goody. Lucky for me, I can't find it under my bookcase anymore. Maybe it left? If not, then the reason you won't hear from me again in my twenties won't be because I turned thirty, it'll be because a tiny snake has been hiding in my house for days, waiting for the most ironic moment.

People who are away from home for a long time start to crave the strangest things. Lately, for me, it's been hula hoops. I CANNOT FIND HULA HOOPS ANYWHERE. You don't even understand what a distressing thing that is. You never appreciate things until they're not around anymore, so, for me, go find a hula hoop and appreciate how fortunate you are.

Steven, the closest PCV to me, has gone back to the States for a visit. He'll be away from Region Nine for a month. I feel a bit like someone just lopped off my arm and said "don't worry, I'll bring it back in a month." Maybe I'm overreacting a little, but there are a lot of days where I'm pretty sure that he's a real Peace Corps Volunteer, and he's just nicely helping me pretend to be one too. Also, my candy stash is dwindling, so maybe it's just a crisis of confidence based on a lack of sleep and sugar-withdrawal. 

One fun idea to liven up your day: Try explaining St. Patrick's Day celebrations to someone who has never heard of it. Holy crap are we super weird with our holidays. 

On that note, it's party time. Wish me luck!

Reconnect

We've come back to Georgetown for our three-month check in! The eight of us converged on the capital city, which, honestly, terrifies me. Georgetown is not my cup of tea. So far the cab drivers have been nice, but walking anywhere subjects you to some of the most horrible cat-calls I've ever come across. These guys call out things I can't repeat, so trust me that it's the sort of comments that make a girl instantly gag.

The hotel they put us in was great. Sam and I got "the party room" (aptly named). All of us had SO MUCH to catch up on, that I think none of us slept all week. I'm fairly certain that none of us have any secrets anymore, and every weird illness, parasite, pick-up line, or awkward situation has been hashed out. Lance and Thomas have proven to be the funniest of all of us. I'm pretty sure Lance could talk about a nap, and it would still leave the rest of us in tears laughing. Also, I can't remember the last time I had so many burgers or pizza. It's not that we don't like Guyanese food, it's just that for the last three months, we haven't had anything BUT Guyanese food. Pizza and burgers are the closest we can get to a home-comfort, and the search for the best version is like a PC-wide treasure hunt. I honestly get whatsapp updates on it.

I got to Skype my mother and two of my aunts back home (I tried to call my dad, but for some reason it wouldn't work). I haven't been homesick much, but I do miss my family. It's so good to hear from them, and see their faces. Even better when it's snowy and cold there, and I can rub in the fact that it's never been below 70F here.

Since the whole point of bringing us back to Georgetown was so we could sit in on more "trainings" and present our ridiculously long reports about our sites, I have surprisingly little that I want to say about that.

I fly back to Region Nine tomorrow morning, and it will likely be another 9 months before I see the other seven members of my cohort again.

The long-awaited wedding post

And now the news you were all waiting for: Orlenna's wedding. Traveling in and out of Region Nine is time consuming and expensive, so the less said of that part, the better. Of course, Orlenna was a stunning bride. We'll get to that. Her husband's whole family came from England and Canada to be there, and were very amiable and welcoming. I have to admit, it was refreshing to talk to someone who was feeling as out of place as I've been for the past four months.

 I met the rest of my training host-family (all four of the other sisters!) as well as a few of the husbands, and (I think) all the kids. Vanessa's daughter, Chelsi, without a single question accepted the introduction of "your new aunt" and from that moment all of her demands for attention were precipitated by yells of "Auntie!" which took a bit of getting used to. The four-room house was full to bursting, with me, my host-parents, five sisters, brother, two of the husbands, and (I think) five of the kids packed in (it's hard to tell how many were actually there, since most of them were under 10 and impossible to keep still for any sort of head count).

So we gave them a job picking over rice

I've gone from being referred to as the "fair-skinned daughter" to the "sister from Region Nine" which either means I'm getting tan, or they're tired of pointing out that I'm so pale I practically glow in the dark. Either way, it means I'm listed as part of the family in all introductions, which is both confusing to other people, and flattering to me. In fact, I was allowed to help the bridal party get ready. Orlenna, her sister and Matron of Honor Vanessa, the two other bridesmaids (Becky and another young teen), and both little flower girls (Chelsi and her cousin Julia) get dressed and all dolled up.

Julia was content with "you're both very pretty"

Exasperatingly, Chelsi insisted on constant confirmations that she was the most beautiful of everyone except the bride, whom she gracefully exempted.










When both the little girls were having their hair done, Chelsi kept up a constant chatter of:

Here she is, already bored with the wedding. She does look pretty, though.

"My hair looks more beautiful than hers. Auntie, doesn't my hair look more beautiful?"
"You both look lovely."
"Yes, but I look MORE lovely."
"You are both beautiful girls."
"My dress is prettier, though. Isn't my dress pretty?"
"You both have very pretty dresses."
"But mine is PRETTIER. And my shoes. My shoes are nicer."
"You're wearing the same shoes."
This went on for at least twenty minutes. Five-year-olds are hard to please.


For days it had been raining nonstop. We were beginning to think the whole wedding would have to be held in a boat (my own surmising, which the bride laughed at, but made the parents of the bride look slightly ill at the very idea). Tents for the reception had been set up, but none of the crepe decorations could be put in, because the wind would blow them into the rain and soak them. The church was decorated the night before, but about three balloons in (out of what I'm guessing were approximately a million), the air pump broke, leaving us with no option but to blow up the balloons ourselves. We corralled all of the small children and put them to work. Most of them couldn't tie the balloons after blowing them up, so had to be assissted, and many of the balloons were probably at least half-filled with kid spit, but they still looked pretty. I was moderately concerned that a few of the kids were going to pass out from the effort, and from lack of oxygen, but luckily none did as far as I know.
The rain stopped the morning of the wedding, with just enough time to decorate the tents and for the sand to soak up all the water so no one had to walk in a puddle. Although the service was supposed to start at 11:00, we were delayed until noon, but everything else went exactly as planned.



A few minor differences from US weddings that I've gone to:
1) shouting *helpful* advice (and some catcalls) at the bridal couple during the service was not unusual, nor really frowned upon even.
2) the bridesmaids and groomsmen sat in the front row, rather than standing up with the couple
3) The family was just scattered throughout the seats, rather than sitting together at the front
4) climbing up on the stage, and on the benches, and clamboring all around the couple as the service was going on, in order to get pictures, was actually encouraged, even though it got in the way of the professional photographer. I couldn't do it. I just could not convince myself that it was okay to walk up on stage and get in the middle of things for a photo.
5) the paperwork was signed and witnessed during the service
6) drinking and dancing weren't a thing, but that was probably because the bride's family doesn't approve of alcohol

Orlenna was stunning, like I said. Vanessa did her hair and make-up, so kudos to her, because here's the result:

One amusing hitch: the ring-bearer panicked at the last minute, cried, and refused to walk down the aisle. Here he is, about a minute before he fled back to his mother:

The reception was nice, and food was carried around to all the guests by the family of the couple, and was fairly informal. There was enough food to feed an army, and the population of chickens in the area was decimated. There were actually two receptions, one hosted by each family. The bride's family (my host family) held the reception with lunch in the tents next to the church, in front of their house, and a few hours later, the groom's family hosted another party (more cake!) in Georgetown. Only Daniel and I went from the bride's family, although a whole bus full of other party guests went. Oddly, the group from my training town seemed almost afraid to go inside and mingle, so the party had two sections: inside was the grooms family, the couple, and the Georgetown and foreign guests. Just outside was the group from town. I floated back and forth, because I didn't really know anyone inside except Orlenna, who was busy being the bride, but it seemed silly to hang out in the road just NEXT to the party.

And now, my favorite picture of the day:

Father-of-the-bride loves bubbles

Happy New Year!

2017 is going to be weird for me. It's the end of my twenties, it's the first year of my life I won't step foot on my own continent (probably), and *comments about the presidential election redacted*.
The holidays were very quiet, with only four of us on campus: me, the principal of the school, and two students who stayed behind to take care of the grounds. On Christmas, I walked with my host mom and the two youngest girls (Zena, 9 and Esther, 7) to the nearby village where they were having a community lunch. The walk took about an hour, but was fairly cool with lots of cloud cover, which doesn't seem like a big deal, but here in Region Nine, that's halfway to a miracle during the dry seasons. The lunch was unremarkable, except for the introduction: one of the town leaders gave a prayer and then a long speech, which started with something about Jesus's birthday, and continued into "We're all Amerindian here... except Miss (pointing at me)... we're glad to have her here. I think she's a student or something..." and at that point I couldn't hear anything else he said because all of the stares were drowning him out. It was similar to wearing a Batman costume and a tutu to a friend's fancy dinner party: no one's mad, but it's a bit uncomfortable and people keep whispering about you.
New Year's was pretty similar, only there was a 3 1/2 hour church service before the lunch, which seemed a bit backwards, since back home my mother always insisted on church on Christmas, rather than New Year's. Presents were exchanged on New Year's instead, too. This lunch was devoid of awkward speeches about my shocking paleness, although it was brought up in several conversations. Not only do I stick out like a sore thumb, but I have the alarming tendency to go very red in the face from the heat. What can I say? At least I'm never at a loss for conversation. Forget ice breakers, most people just introduce themselves to me by going "you're turning pink!"
I'd love to tell you all about Orlenna's wedding, but I have gorgeous pictures of it that won't post, so I skipped that entry (still in draft form) to post this one, so you wouldn't all think I died.
For those of you who care about my Masters Degree Program, the first report's comments have come back, so ... so far so good I guess? I haven't figured out what I'm going to do for my Capstone/Thesis Project (which I'm putting in capital letters, because it is Wicked Important).
In other news, my host-family here has been trying everything I can think of to cook. Garlic bread was a huge hit, although pineapple upsidedown cake was a surprising disappointment (apparently the "cake" part was good, but the "pineapple" part they could do without.)
Iguanas have become my favorite thing here. Zico (my host-dad) manages to catch them somehow, and now brings them to me so I can carry them around for a bit. I get as excited as a five-year-old who is presented with a 10 pound candy bar. Stay tuned for WAY TOO MANY stories of iguana chasing. I'm pretty sure that's going to take up a lot of my time. Iguanas are the best.
I need a hobby (other than lizard spotting). I have more free time than I've had in years, and all I have to do in that time is write reports, which is terribly dull (though both my Peace Corps supervisors, and my Masters adviser tell me that reports are necessary and important), but no hobbies. Any ideas?