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?

Who is this guy?

If you've written to me and not yet recieved a reply, it's not because I'm ignoring you (*cough*KateandAmanda*cough*). Much of my mail was stuck in Georgetown after I moved to Region Nine, and I only got it right at the beginning of December. Then it takes about a month for my letters back to get to the States. They're on their way.
Packages are like Christmas: it doesn't really matter what's in the box, we're going to get ridiculously excited anyways. Pretty colored duct tape and paracord in the box was like finding treasure. The candy was shared with my closest neighboring volunteers, and you'd have thought I was handing out cocaine. My host sisters play with the cards every single night, and I gave out the teeshirts (except for one, because I realized I needed a NH teeshirt too!) and it makes me smile to see people walking around emblazoned with NH slogans.
Oh, by the way, did I tell you I got to see Prince Harry? Yeah, that happened. He came to Guyana, flying in to a town not far from me, so I tagged along with the local school children. There weren't many people there to see him, which goes to show how remote everything is here. If he'd landed in New Hampshire, the entire state would have come to gawk. As it was, I was close enough to pat him on the head (I didn't, don't worry).

It's hard to top that for news, but I'm heading back to Region Four for Orlenna's wedding, which will be the first wedding I've been to outside of North America. It will be strange going back to our training site, but being the only volunteer there.
At some point soon, I'll head to Lethem, and pay for internet at one of the hotels so I'll have enough to post more pictures, and maybe get to actually call people back home. The hotels are really the only places where you can do that: everywhere else, if you can GET wifi, it's too slow or too little. Uploading this one picture took nearly half an hour.

Hi Honey, I'm Home!

I've made it to my permanent site! We're down to 80% in our cohort, as one of the boys (Matt) had to go back to the States, hopefully temporarily. Two months in, and two down. I hope this isn't developing into a pattern for us, because we only HAD ten to start with. 

The biggest downer for me was that he was going to by my closest neighbor of the whole cohort. Now the next closest is probably Thomas, who is about 5 hours away. I suppose it doesn't matter all that much, since I haven't heard from any of the others who came with me to Region Nine since we all got dropped off, but it was at least a comforting thought to know one was (sort-of) nearby (3 hours is close, right?).

As for me, I'm probably dying of sun poisoning, but before it actually kills me, I'm having a great time. There are horses to coddle, programs to design, my house needs some setting up, and I just bought a bicycle so that I can explore a bit. My hammock on the back porch, which was the first thing I set up of course, is getting plenty of use. The bike, in the first day that I've had it, has been ridden enough that I think my bum has a permanent indent from the bike seat. No, not the other way around. The bicycle seats here I'm fairly certain are made of cement, and we rode about three million miles today on the only road which is made up entirely of potholes and bumps.

My host family here has about seven horses, and I've already become very fond of one in particular, only to find out he had never been named! They looked at me like I was slightly crazy when I said he OUGHT to have a name, and so now he's Merlin. I'll have pictures of him soon. Maybe after I've given him a badly-needed bath. The family ALSO thinks I'm totally bonkers for wanting to give a horse a bath, but he's pretty badly chewed up by bugs, and has a big open wound on his leg that isn't healing well, so a bath is a good place to start.

Internet will be spotty at best here, but I'll do what I can for pictures and updates. For tonight, since it's well after midnight and everyone gets up around four AM here, I'm merely posting the only two pictures of Region Nine wildlife that I have at hand right this minute:

A beautiful rattlesnake (beautiful because I was out of striking-range)

Proof that Nature hates you and wants you to die of nightmares.

Okay, listen: I know environmentalists are supposed to love ALL of nature, but no. I do not do creepy crawlies. Snakes, sure, as long as they're not in my house and preferably not close enough to bite me. Lizards? Love 'em. Bats? I think they're cute. But bugs are gross, and most of them are trying to kill me or at least drink all of my blood, and they just give me the heebie-jeebies. Giant spiders as big as my hand are things that should only exist in horror movies, and yet here they're in your shower sometimes. Back at my training site, Daniel had bug-duty. Here? I'm on my own. It's the only downside to having my own house.

The local students have been viewing me as some sort of novelty. I've been asked to have my picture taken with several, and they're always calling out to me when I'm outside. I went to town for one morning, and got a chorus of "Welcome back, Miss" on my return. On the other hand, it's a little disconcerting to constantly be the center of attention. Every single move I make is under a spotlight. Remember: it's not paranoia if there really ARE people watching you.