Living That Guyana Life

9/1/14

Well that was weird. I might have mentioned before that I have a lot of time to kill so I’ve been doing a lot of reading. Recently I’ve been reading Helter Skelter, it’s about Charles Manson and the Manson Family. Very gruesome. So I’m sitting here reading I get up and move to put the book on the table and something falls out. I can see it’s a newspaper clipping and, judging from the printing I can see and the shape of the cutout, the article of interest is on the reverse side. This book is very creepy, anyone who’s heard about Charles Manson knows that he and his family were pretty strange.

So there I am. Standing, looking down at where this newspaper clipping has fallen. I could tell the clipping was old, it was yellowed and on the side I could see was a partial picture of policeman. Judging from his manner of dress combined with the color of the paper I could tell the article was not from this decade. I assumed the article must have been from a time period closer to when the book, and the Manson Family murders, took place.

I reached down and picked up the clipping. I fully expected to see the smiling face of Charles Manson on the other side. I turned it over and the reality wasn’t much better. It was an article, dated by hand in 1977, stating that Roman Polanski would be indicted for the rape of a 13 year old. Roman Polanski’s wife, Sharon Tate, was one of the victims of the Manson Family so that connection made sense but it was a strange thing to hold onto for 37 years. I wonder if whoever put it in the book knew that someday someone would find their article in South America. And to whoever did, that really freaked me out since I was just reading the part about the actual murders. Please don’t do it again.

9/2/14

                Well, its day 3 without running water and only intermittent, unreliable power. I was going to take to Facebook and verbalize my woes a little but then I realized: there are people, some of them very near me and some I know who don’t have water or power at all.

                There’s a comic strip that I really enjoy, Calvin and Hobbes. Nick and Chris enjoy it as well, so much so that Chris named one of his stuffed tigers Hobbes. Now, Calvin has a very philosophical way of putting things if you haven’t read the strip it’s essentially morals and life lessons framed by a 6 year old. In one strip, Calvin takes hold of a helium balloon and it lifts him into space. I forget the actual set up but at the end of it Calvin says, “Life’s never so bad that it can’t get worse.” I’ve tried to keep this in mind during my time here. No matter how bad I have it there’s always someone that has it worse. And often times that person is another Peace Corps Volunteer. What right do I have to complain when there are so many others that don’t have anything close to the few luxuries that I have?

                Interestingly, there is a psychological component to this train of thought. Multiple studies, none of which I can site because of my lack of internet access, have shown that people in lower middle and lower classes will often rank themselves in a higher class then they really are. The idea that someone else always has it worse is a truly human thought and ingrained into our very beings. Food for thought. Or at least a sandwich.

                And as I write this I am enjoying one of the most beautiful vistas from my porch. I’ve posted photos on Facebook and I’ll try to post one here but it is indeed postcard worthy.

9/4/14

                I got water last night! Albeit it was a deep shade of brown red but it was liquid enough to wash my dishes without having to go downstairs for a bucket of rainwater from a quickly emptying rain catchment. Sometimes it’s the little things.

                Apparently someone hit a pole and took the power out on Saturday. Since then electricity had been intermittent. Another volunteer, Naomi, told me that they’re cycling the power from one side of the coast to the other every six hours. They finally got the cycling right so now I have electricity from 12AM-6AM and 12PM-6PM. The water pumps need power to work so pair that up with the water station that’s supposed to, but hardly does, run from 4AM-10AM and 4PM-10PM and I’ve got water for, at best, almost four hours a day! Exciting!

9/6/14

                Unfortunately the water has gone back to not working. My rain tank is emptying quickly there’s about an eighth of a tank left (it’s 200 gallons, supposedly) but it’s not just me using it, the rest of the family does as well. But things will work themselves out I’m sure, at least I have access to water.

                One thing I’ve noticed is that whenever I’m casually strolling down the street and there’s a small child grasping his mother’s hand coming the opposite direction they always stare at me. I think, for some of these children and maybe some adults as well, I must be the first white person they’ve ever seen. It’s an interesting feeling and I resist the urge to pick my nose for fear of labeling the entire white community that I am now an ambassador for.

9/14/14

                I’ve been working on finding things to do lately. Right now, I might have an in with a local primary school. I’m going to try to paint a world map for them. I went to the school on Friday but the Head Mistress (Pricipal) wasn’t there. I spoke with the Secondary Mistress (Vice Principal) and she said she was all for the world map idea. Then she said it was her last day at the school and that she was transferring to a new one on Monday. That’s actually pretty typical down here.

                Yesterday morning I was washing my dishes and I found a dead cockroach in the sink. As I looked at it I had a singularly disturbing thought. Cockroaches, I’ve heard, can basically never die. They are supposed to be able to survive a nuclear apocalypse. The thought that I had was if this cockroach is indeed dead, and not just playing dead to lull me into a false sense of security before leaping up and biting me, there is an aspect of my life that is so toxic it has killed the one creature designed to survive a nuclear explosion. Something I do on a daily basis is able to kill what, essentially, cannot be killed. How filthy of a human being am I?

                Yesterday afternoon I helped another volunteer with a project. She started building a library for her school. It was the first day so she was literally just starting. When I got there it was just her and 2 parents of children at the school sawing rebar and wiring it together to make forms for the concrete to grip. I pitched in as much as I could. This was definitely one of those brochure moments that you hear about in Peace Corps, building a library in a developing country. It was cool.

                When I first got there I felt a little out of place. I don’t really know Iris that well and I wasn’t sure what to do. Then I remembered, “What happens when you go outside your comfort zone? It gets bigger.” After that I tried to be as proactive and volunteered to do anything they needed. Thanks Kristin.

                My mom taught me to be proactive. Whenever she had my brothers and I out in the field or in the garage working on some project she always stressed being proactive and anticipating needs. It’s something that’s been instilled in me and I’ve been trying to use it here. I think it’s working. I can feel my schedule filling up. Thanks Mom.

                My grandpa Pat has to be one of the most friendly and outgoing people I’ve ever had the joy of knowing. There have been moments when I’ve thought, “What would grandpa do?” Generally, I try to do whatever I think he would do. Thanks Grandpa.

                My friend Reed emailed me this past week. This is a guy I haven’t talked to in at least 3 or 4 years but it’s still good to hear from him. All it took was me moving to South America. He said that he sometimes envisions leaving his office job and coming down here. Reed you’re always welcome here. Thanks for the email. It really does mean a lot.

                My friend Abby sent me a Facebook message after that last post. Abby and I aren’t the closest but I still appreciated her reaching out. She’s also become a co-owner of my fantasy football team. Thanks for the support Abby, I appreciate it. A lot.

                Thanks Scott for being commissioner fantasy football gives me something to do in my free time. It can be a great distraction from some of the stuff that goes on down here.

                My friend Sarah has provided me with some technical and moral support. I don’t think she realizes how much she has helped me even before I left. Thanks, friend.

                And thanks to everyone for all your support, moral and otherwise. It gets tough down here sometimes. I’m tearing up just a little thinking about all of you and I know I say it all the time but I miss all of you. I miss Oregon. I miss the rain. I miss hating the U of O. I miss waking up cold. I miss just about everything at one time or another. But I’m going to stick it out for as long as I can, this really is a great opportunity that I’m going to try to make the most of.

P.S.

Emily, I don’t know if you read this but I imagine someone will forward it to you, maybe Chase? I really will miss you, you’re a pretty cool cat and I know that you’re going to do some pretty great things back home. We’ll definitely meet again sometime.

P.P.S

                Also, as I’m posting this the morning of September 15, 2014 I saw that this blog has been viewed 1084 times! This is probably the most successful blog ever. Thanks for reading, everybody! Shoot me an email sometime, timdaniel25@gmail.com.

Some Stuff That Happened

8/27/14

It’s been awhile since I wrote anything so I’ll try to cover a few events in this post.

At my host step dads birthday party I had a pretty good time. They fed me and I got a few beers. One thing kind of stuck out in my mind though. They were playing loud music and everyone was having a good time. One girl, 17 or so, was there and her mom, my mom’s sister’s daughter, kept trying to make me dance with her. The girl was very nice, didn’t take it personally when I repeatedly decided I didn’t want to dance with her. Unfortunately I didn’t catch her name so she’ll have to remain girl. But that’s not the interesting part. At one point, toward the end of the party, most people were done dancing. And then this song comes on, “Wind Up On My Button”.

First, some background. The term wind is pronounced like wined and means essentially the same thing as twerking does. And button means penis. So this song plays and this young girl is the only one still dancing. She starts winding by herself out on the space reserved for dancing while all of her family is watching. Also some Cuban doctors huddled in the dark corner getting really drunk. Her family eggs her on telling her she’s doing great while she’s doing this extremely provocative dance. It was strange to see this entire family advocating for this girl’s advertised promiscuity but given the state of women’s sexuality in many other places in the world it was a refreshing take as well.

I went to the beach a few weeks ago. That was a singularly breathtaking experience. It was a beach on a lake, not the ocean but it was very pretty just the same. It was a black water lake which means that the foliage decaying in the water turns it a dark brown. It stained my shorts. We were there with my extended host family and they were very nice. At one point my host mom said, “We’re your family” and I almost broke into tears. They have been really nice to me and have made sure I haven’t wanted for anything. They really are like my family now.

My first week here, I was sitting on the porch with my host mom, just shooting the breeze. Several times, we were interrupted by my host mom’s pet parrot named Rosaline. The Parrot made a horrible screeching noise at an incredible decibel and really stopped the conversation in its tracks. My host mom grew upset with the parrot and threatened, several times, to lash it. Finally, my host mom had had enough. She picked up a stick from the table and approached the parrot. It was disconcerting to say the least. She joked and smiled as she got closer to the parrot stating it was, “a bad, bad bird.” I remember thinking to myself, “Is she really going to hit this bird with a stick?” She gave it a few hard raps and pushed it inside its cage. And that’s why I joined Peace Corps, to broaden my horizons and have new experiences. Never before had I had a reason to think about someone hitting a bird with a stick but finally I was able to have that experience.

Something very awkward just happened. My host cousin’s daughter, so my second host cousin, broke her leg. She’s about 3 or 4, I think, I’m not good with children’s ages. She can’t verbalize herself too well so it was difficult to diagnose her. She had bicycle accident about a month ago. Two weeks after that they took her to the hospital where they couldn’t figure out what was wrong with her. Her leg hurt, wasn’t swollen and they didn’t know why. My host cousin brought her home for a week then took her back to the hospital last week. They took the time to do an x-ray, which hadn’t been done initially, and saw her leg was obviously broken. I’m not sure how they missed that on the first visit since these are actual doctors with medical degrees, albeit from Cuba, but still. Now my little host second cousin has a cast that basically covers her whole leg, pretty cute.

So my host mom, Pam, and her sister, Patsy, are pretty friendly with some of these same Cuban doctors. They have doctors over every once in a while and they happened to show up just as I was getting home. And it turns out these doctors were the same ones that saw my host second cousin the first time and didn’t take an x-ray or even suspect her leg might be broken. So we’re all standing around just gaffing (talking) and the whole time my host cousin, mother to the little girl with the broken leg, is just staring daggers at these two doctors. Every time someone says something funny she just doesn’t laugh, she just keeps staring down these doctors. So I head to my house at the back of the lot, and everybody parts ways. My host cousin starts walking away then she says, very loudly, “They need a lashing, one time! (quickly)” I turned around and looked and I could see the doctors looking very embarrassed and keep walking towards the house. So that’s the drama in Guyana right meow. Miss you all, shoot me an email sometime. Timdaniel25@gmail.com

Also, I’m going to start trying to post on the 1^st and the 15^th now that I have fairly regular internet access. Please help me hold myself to this.

FML

8/14/2014

Today, something bad happened.

Because I’m not a physical therapist and I’m assigned to a physical therapy clinic, inherently, there’s not a lot for me to do. I found myself with a lot of free time, so I sought out new avenues of volunteerism. One area I found was the records department.

Before I get to too far on this I want you to know that I’m not pulling any punches. This is exactly what I think as I think it. I also am representing facts as they happened, nothing has been embellished.

My schedule is pretty basic. On Monday, Wednesday, and Friday I’m at the Bacchus school in the morning. It’s a private school run by an American ex pat. There’s a technology camp going on there that aims to introduce young kids to technology. Usually I volunteer at camp from 8:30-12:30 then end up hanging out there for the rest of the day casually working on a teacher development program for teachers at the school. The hope is that it can be extended to other schools in the area. The reason I don’t go to the clinic should be obvious from my previous posts; there’s nothing to do there. On Tuesdays and Thursdays I work with the stroke patients. Usually business drops off around noon and I head home for some lunch and come back to the clinic and end up doing nothing until 4.

Well, last week on Thursday I went to the records department and they asked me to help them get a computer so they could digitalize some of their records. I said I would help and said I’d be back to talk some more about it. They already had a computer but I didn’t say anything. This past week I was talking with another volunteer and he’s analyzing trends in hypertension and diabetes patients. This sounded cool and I was going to present the idea to the records department today.

So after lunch I went to the records department to see if there was anything I could help with and present my project idea. The records supervisor was in a meeting so I asked some of the staff if I could wait until she was done to talk to her. As I was waiting someone, a guy I’d never seen before, asked if he could speak with me. He took me back to his air conditioned office and asked me who I was and what I was doing there. I told him about Peace Corps and he asked me if I had an official letter or something to identify myself and what I was doing. Obviously I didn’t because this isn’t Nazi Germany. I don’t worry about having my papers with me at all times. He told me that I should get one so in case some supervisor or something came in I would be able to identify myself. I asked him what he did at the records department. He told me that he helped out the supervisor with different things so I assumed he was just a secretary taking his job way too seriously. I thanked him and left.

A little miffed and with no intention of getting a letter to identify myself to the secretary Gestapo I continued to converse with some of the staff and wait for the meeting to end. The secretary walked into and out of the meeting a few times and conversed with the supervisor. Another staff was called into the meeting then came out and said that I needed the letter so that I could volunteer at the records department. Now legitimately upset, I left before I said something I would regret later. Now, I know they’re just doing their jobs and that anyone else that came in would have to have some sort of identification to volunteer. But I’m still pissed.

Obviously I’m not a spy or anything. I’m not here to steal the mountains of records that they have or set fire to the maternity ward. I’m with the Peace Corps. I’m here to help.

Before, I wanted to help and the people here didn’t know how I could. That’s natural, if you haven’t seen what could be you don’t know how much better it could be. That was confusing. Basically, people here haven’t been to the US. They don’t know that they could have it so much better. So when you ask to help they don’t know how you can help because things have never been better for them even though they could be.

Now it feels like they’re actively denying my help. At one point, with people filing records all around me, I literally stood there and said, “Give me something to do” while people were working all around me. And they just gave me blank stares.

Another volunteer is considering quitting. He says back home he was doing way more to help people as a nurse then what he does here. And I feel the same way. I didn’t always like The Children’s Farm Home but I enjoyed the kids and my coworkers and felt like I was making a difference in someone’s life. It’s hard to see how I’m doing anything equal to or better here.

And to make things worse, I went to the shop on the way home to buy a Coke and feel a little bit better about this situation. While I was standing in line a cockroach crawled out from under the counter, climbed my pant leg and perched on my shoulder and looked me dead in the eye. That was pretty gross.