Week 7

Well last week wasn't really that busy but making a blog post did skip my mind so here you go:

I’m afraid there’s not too much to report from last week. Wednesday was Independence Day and then we had an all Carter Center staff meeting on Thursday so Monday and Friday were the only real work days. I did receive a new assignment for this week. On Wednesday they want me to do a grand rounds with some of their clinicians in training. My understanding of grand rounds is that you present your own patient or at least a patient that you’ve worked with. I’m not too sure what to expect but I’m supposed to get some more information today or tomorrow. I’m not too worried about it, it will all work out.

Eastern view of Successful Beach

                Independence Day was a bit of a muted affair. I took a long walk around my neighborhood and down to the market just to see what was going on but it wasn’t much. Most people I saw were either working like normal or just hanging out at the local bars. The grocery store near my house closed at two and most other businesses I walked by were closed but there wasn’t a big show or parade or anything. When I first got here, one of the staff members was talking to me about how Liberians don’t have any pride in their country. I kind of attributed the lack of Independence Day activities to that but I think the real reason is that most people can’t afford to take a full day off of work.

Western view of Successful Beach and the bridge we crossed to get there.

                The staff meeting was in a word, chaotic. There were probably 50-70 people in the meeting talking about a variety of topics. I say 50-70 because people were consistently coming in and leaving throughout the whole thing. Some of the topics were the election activities, each department gave a synopsis of their work and introduced any new staff members, and the new code of conduct. Oh man, the code of conduct. This code of conduct has been the major point of contention since I’ve been here. From what I understand, there was no code of conduct prior to this one that was introduced about 6 weeks ago. It’s a huge document, at least 20 pages. It also covers a lot of different things. It gives directions on how to get contract approvals, standards for salary advances, and where and when the Carter Center can be represented. It’s a less a code of conduct and more of an employee manual with some standard operating procedures thrown in.

View from Linda's House. That's La Lagune on the right.

                When you read it, you can tell that some lawyer in Atlanta probably wrote it. The thing is ironclad. And I don’t think anyone in Liberia agrees with it. As soon as it got brought up in the all staff meeting the room was thrown into pandemonium. Everyone had an opinion on it and everyone just had to voice it at the same time. People threatened to quit if they had to sign it. Needless to say, the issues were not resolved and the group decided to send all of their issues back to Atlanta and hopefully something happens with that.

                This past weekend the other interns and I went to La Lagune for lunch, then down to the beach and then to Linda's house for some beers. The beer selection isn't great, to be honest. The local beer is called Club. It's fine, it's just your standard light beer. Your other options are Tsingtao, a Chinese beer, Guinness, or Heineken. So the selection isn't great. I miss Ninkasi.

Helpful signage

                That's really it for this week, I'm afraid. Feel free to hit me up with an email at timdaniel25@gmail.com and/or heck out the instagram @tdaniel541 

Africa chillin'

Tim Travels Liberia

On the way to Kakata, it really is a big jungle outside of Monrovia

I promised you all a blog post and I’m nothing if not a promise keeper. Last week I had the great opportunity of traveling around to different areas of Liberia and checking in with some of the people I had trained in DBT a few weeks ago. It was great to get out of the office and see some of the country that I’ve been living in for the last month and a half.

On Monday I went out to Kakata. Kakata is about an hour East of Monrovia. It functions as a gateway into the interior of the country. It’s a quaint little town of a few thousand people. They have a huge open air market, a hospital, and a few schools. On the way out houses stood intermittently next to the road. Most were made from concrete blocks and aluminum roofs but some were made from mud bricks that were that orange brown color. I’d never seen a mud brick house before, so that was novel.

Cottonwood Health Center and Subie, the security guard our front

On Wednesday I went to Cottonwood which was out by the Firestone plantation. If you remember from a previous post the Firestone tire company has a big presence out here. I drove through the rubber plantation which was interesting. They tap the tree and hang a bucket under the tap and I assume the rubber constituents flows down into the bucket. So everywhere you looked you’d see rows of trees with little red buckets hanging on them. Cottonwood has an interesting history. When Firestone first came to the area the inhabitants of Cottonwood refused to sell their land so the little community exists on the plantation but is completely independent of it.

On Friday I went to Monrovia Central Prison which was interesting and avid followers of my life will note this is not my first time in prison. When I first walked in I was surprised to find myself directly in the prison yard. Which we then proceeded across to the complete opposite end of the compound where the clinic was. A lot of the men yelled at me, “Hey white boy” which was a little unnerving. I wasn’t around long but the conditions of the prison seemed a far cry from the prisons of the US. Most of the prisoners wore faded orange pants and a variety of different shirts. They appeared to be able to wander anywhere without much supervision. I saw a few guards wandering about but there didn’t seem to be much order imposed on the prisoners. Another intern told me that as part of his project he’s doing a survey of the prisoners and their living conditions. Apparently overcrowding is a serious issue in the prison. This same intern told me that most cells designed for two people are actually housing three. The trainee I met with also told me that there are approximately 1,000 prisoners in a prison designed for 600.

The gate for the only mental hospital in Liberia

Also on Friday I went to the only mental hospital in Liberia. It’s supposed to hold 60 people but Alex, one of the people I work with, told me that at times it houses up 90. I didn’t take any pictures except for the one of the front gate but the inside of the compound was taken up by a large grassy yard bounded on four sided by the long dormitory building, an open air eating area, a tall border wall, and some administrative buildings. In the yard, residents dried their washed clothes and sheets by spreading them out on the grass. The dormitory was just one long building with rows of beds for all the residents, there were no private rooms. But the overall feeling of the hospital was very therapeutic. The clinicians I talked to all seemed very sincere about their work. The buildings are dilapidated though, there's not a lot of funding for the hospital right now

Bonus picture of hanging out at "Linda's House" on Saturday

So that’s about it for last week. It was great to get out and see some more of Liberia instead of just the area surrounding my house. Hope you’re all doing well. Feel free to email me at timdaniel25@gmail.com and say hi!

DBT Training

Well, as it’s been all consuming for the last month I don’t think it would be very fair for me not to tell you about the Dialectical Behavior Training (DBT) training. The training was pretty straightforward, just me and a co facilitator, Metti, and 11 student clinicians. Metti was a great counterpart. She’d always interject when the class didn’t understand what I was saying which was great because I usually needed a break or I had no idea that they weren’t understanding me. The students were wonderful as well very interested and engaged, they were all trained nurses or physician’s assistants that had received six months of mental health counseling training from The Carter Center.

The training was at a place called La Lagune. I’ve been told that a Chinese person built it. It’s a nice place, it has a deck that they’ve built out over the water that functions as a restaurant area. They also have a pair of conference rooms, one of which we used for training. Of course only one of the two rooms had air conditioning and unfortunately that was not ours. In fact, the two conference rooms shared a wall that had windows that I faced while I was teaching. So the whole time that I was lecturing I could see the other group in their conference room and it looked great. But, c’est la vie, as they say.

Trainees hard at work

The training itself went well. I was pleasantly surprised the first morning that I arrived and was told there was breakfast prepared for the training. And, while we were scheduled to start at eight, breakfast wasn’t served until eight thirty and of course we couldn’t start until everyone had breakfast. So that pushed us back to about a nine thirty start time then we needed an hour and a half for lunch and we had to be done by four so everyone could avoid traffic. So I didn’t have quite as much time as I would have liked but it all worked out in the end.

Our training area

I’ve learned a few Liberian phrases since I’ve been here. “Small small” can mean “little by little”, for example, if someone asks you how well you’re understanding something, “small small” would be an appropriate response. However, if someone asks you how you’re doing and you replay “small small” then you’ve told them that there’s something small bothering you and they’ll be concerned.

“Don’t act like bell-ay” I wrote that last word phonetically but I believe it’s actually spelled “pbella”. Apparently a pbelle is an ignorant person and the phrase “don’t act like pbelle” means don’t act ignorant. For example if you were in a sketchy area someone might advise you, “don’t act like pbelle”. Although, when I arrived home and tried to act cool and throw out some phrases to the housekeeper and security I learned that Kpelle, which sounds very similar, is actually one of the sixteen tribes of Liberia and it’s a racist phrase to say “don’t act like Kpelle”. The housekeeper, Vicki, told me she is Kpelle and that the stereotype of Kpelle people is that they are ignorant. So now I don’t know what to think. I probably won’t use that phrase in mixed company.

View from the window

Speaking of the sixteen tribes I learned something else pretty amazing. Apparently most people in Liberia are at least bilingual. Something none of the books mentioned was that every tribe has its own language that survives today. And, most people know at least one tribal language in addition to English. Vicki apparently knows Kpelle and another tribal language. Jack, the security guard, knows English, French and Crown which is a tribe from Sierra Leone. That little bit of trivia has totally amazed me. I barely speak English and here I am surrounded by bi and tri lingual people.

Another interesting fact that Vicki told me is that during the Civil Wars in Liberia there were some racial divisions and genocides committed because of those divisions. So, in order to avoid the violence, Vicki learned to speak a second tribal language so she could pass as a member of that tribe if questioned about it.

Well that’s about it for this week. Feel free to reach out to me on email at timdaniel25@gmail.com, it’s nice to hear from people I don’t get the chance to talk to often.

A Brief History of Liberia

So before we get started today, a little housekeeping. I'm trying to make posts at the end of the week but I unfortunately was not able to this last week so here it is. I'll try harder to make that happen. This post is kind of long but I think the history of Liberia is very interesting so here is the short version.

The History of Liberia

Something I definitely was not aware of before I came to Liberia was its history. I’ve mentioned before that their Civil War only ended in 2003 but there’s a lot of history that came before that.

In the early 1800s the future president James Monroe advocated and worked for a state for freed slaves from the US. That state ended up being Liberia, and one of the US’s only attempts at colonization. This connection between the US and Liberia is also reflected in the Liberian flag. If you haven’t seen it, it’s very similar it has the same red and striped pattern and a blue upper left corner filled with a single white star. So, James Monroe sent a ship with freed slaves and a few white men to Liberia.

That ship first landed in what would end up being Sierra Leone. The voyagers tried to negotiate with the British colonists for a plot of land to start their own country. The British refused and the freed slaves sailed further up the coast where they made contact with an indigenous tribe in the area that would be Liberia. Again, they tried to negotiate with the indigenous people to buy some land but the indigenous people refused. The future Liberians then took the tribal leader of the indigenous people hostage and forced him to negotiate with them.

Establishing this foothold in Africa that opened the way for more freed slaves. As the former slaves immigrated to Liberia they formed their own government and townships. This required them to acquire more land and that, in turn, lead to them pushing the indigenous people further inland and the enslavement of the indigenous people by the Liberians.

One of the most famous uses of the indigenous slaves in Liberia was at the Firestone plant in the early 1900s. The advent of the motor vehicle increased the demand for rubber and Liberia had the perfect climate for rubber trees. I also heard, from my professor's husband Lorenzo, who is Liberian, that the Firestone plant signed a lease with Liberia for the rubber tree plantation that fixed the price of a bucket of rubber at 25 cents for 100 years. I don’t really know the going rate for rubber but the way that Lorenzo acted when he shared this information makes me think that 25 cents is low. Apparently, some car manufacturers had some qualms about the rubber for their cars coming from slave labor. The enslavement of the indigenous peoples divided the country and would set up decades of conflict further down the road.

The president in the early 70s was a man named Tolbert. Tolbert was what they call an Americo-Liberian. He was descended from the freed slaves that came over from the US. His heritage meant that most indigenous people didn’t appreciate him as a leader. His government also oppressed the indigenous people by denying them access to education and infrastructure development. Tolbert stated that the reasoning behind this was the majority of indigenous people lived in the interior of the country where it was difficult to build roads, water pipelines, and power plants. Tolbert’s government was also rife with corruption and the many people felt powerless to do anything about it.

Enter Charles Taylor. Charles Taylor was a teacher in Liberia. He had both black and indigenous roots and he was accepted into a government program that would send people to the US to be trained to work in the Liberian government. He lived in the US for several years and earned his degree in economics. While he was there he became part of a Liberians in America group that wanted a change in the Liberian government. He became an officer in one of these groups and lead protests and rallies. Some of these protests were against the US government that was providing humanitarian aid to Liberia which, because of the corrupt government, was prone to ending up in the pockets of government employees.

Tolbert actually made a visit to the US which was protested by Taylor’s group. Tolbert was there to negotiate humanitarian aid with the US and Taylor went so far as to push Tolbert out of the way as he entered the building and proclaim that Taylor, not Tolbert, was there to negotiate on behalf of Liberia. Taylor was arrested but never charged.

Tolbert then invited Taylor and some of the members of his group to Liberia to see what was really going on for themselves. A few days after they arrived, one of Tolbert’s generals, a man named Doe, initiated a coup against Tolbert. Tolbert was ousted and executed as well as prominent members of his government. Taylor elected to stay and soon found himself a place in Doe’s government in the Ministry of Finance.

Taylor worked hard but the Liberian government, despite changing leaders, continued to misappropriate humanitarian aid funds. At first Taylor tried to change things for the better but soon he found himself under investigation and eventually charged with embezzlement. At the time, he was in the US so instead of going back to Liberia to face the charges there he stayed in the US. He evaded the authorities for a while but was eventually arrested.

While this was going on, Doe’s government began to use its power to disenfranchise black people in Liberia. Doe installed an almost entirely indigenous cabinet and his government began to validate the indiscriminate killing of black people in Liberia. This lead to a huge public outcry by people, Liberian expats and otherwise, in the US.

The outcry became so immense that the US had to do something. According to Taylor, the guards at Taylor’s prison allowed him to just walk out. From there he traveled on his own passport to Africa where he traveled around the continent rallying forces to his cause of overthrowing Doe’s government. Taylor insinuated that the US government funded him to travel Africa and even paid for him to train as a guerilla fighter in Syria under Muamar Gaddafi who also provided a lot of the funding to Taylor's group the National Patriotic Front of Liberia. Taylor and his forces crossed over into Liberia from Sierra Leone and began to fight their way up to Monrovia, the capital of Liberia. Adding to the evidence that the US was aiding Taylor was his testimony that stated the US had given him a satellite phone that he used to call into the heads of the American military to report on his progress. The US Government also admitted that Taylor was working for them but refused to say in what capacity. 

Eventually Taylor invaded Monrovia and deposed Tolbert, and Taylor installed himself as the de facto president in 1989. Infighting in his group split them and the war continued on with a racial tint in which many racially motivated genocides occurred. In 1996, after the fighting had abated, Taylor held an election in which he strongly intimated that if he was not elected as president he would continue to inflict violence on the country. He was elected president but a plethora of rebel groups rose up against him in 1999 and the violence continued. Another interesting thing was that the current president, Ellen Sirleaf Johnson, was a big proponent of Taylor at this time, praising what he was doing. However, after he came to power she subsequently denounced him and his regime.

In the early 2000s the UN got involved and indicted Taylor on funding a rebel movement in Sierra Leone and personally ordering human rights violations also in Sierra Leone. When Taylor was indicted he refused to step down as president but the indictment fueled the rebel groups and the public called for him to leave office. The UN offered him safe passage out of the country to Nigeria which he eventually was forced to accept.

He remained in Nigeria while the UN collected evidence against him. Once the UN had their case they asked for Nigeria to deliver Taylor to Paris where the trial would take place. The Prime Minister of Nigeria refused and stated that they would no longer continue to hold Taylor. Taylor was released and remained missing for two days. During those two days the Prime Minister of Nigeria was supposed to go to the US and meet President George W. Bush. When Taylor was released Bush stated that perhaps the visit should be cancelled. When the Nigerian Prime Minister heard this Taylor was suddenly found trying to cross the border and delivered to Paris.

In Paris the UN proceeded with their trial against Taylor. They actually pardoned some members of the rebel group Taylor had funded in return for the member’s testimony against Taylor. The trial lasted two years and Taylor was sentenced to 40 years at The Hague for war crimes.

The first Civil War when Doe took over from Tolbert the death toll was estimated to be 500,000. When Taylor took over from Doe the death toll was 250,000. Between the two wars over a million people were displaced.

So that's the history of Liberia in a nutshell. I found it very interesting and I hope you did to. Hopefully I'll have another post for you at the end of this week.

It's a Blog Post

Transportation

The transportation system in Liberia has a unique paradigm. If you want to get somewhere you stand on the side of the road and hold your hand out. Taxis that are accepting passengers will also honk inquisitively at people walking down the road to inform you they are currently looking for passengers. In Liberia taxi means a car, usually yellow, that stops and picks up passengers and generally as many as possible. There are also designated spots on the road, usually at a major intersection, where taxis will stop and you can also walk to one of these and wait for a car to stop. These areas can be chaotic because if a lot of people are waiting for a ride they will literally swarm the car like a school of sharks on insert something clever here. It’s transportation Darwinism at its finest, only the fittest get a ride.

Most vehicles double as a small, mobile church because when you ride in one it’s usually an exercise in finding religion. Mentally, I’m screaming a prayer to sweet baby Jesus as we speed down the street narrowly missing pedestrians and other vehicles. But you do have to admire that the drivers here seem to share some sort of neural network in which they know exactly what everyone else is going to do and consistently miss each other by inches because of it. To get out of my work compound and get to my home compound you have to turn left out onto the street. The left hand path has always been scary but Liberia takes it to the nth degree. First, people coming from the left will never stop on their own for you. You have to edge the car out ever so slowly until you’re entirely blocking both lanes of traffic. Then you have to hope that someone in the far lane will let you in. If Liberians are anything, they are possessive over their roads. At times, it seems like they would rather hit the person in front of them by following them too closely than let a car turn left in front of them. It’s harrowing to say the least to see a Mack truck barreling down the road at you while the car in the far lane is doing its best conjoined twin impression with the bumper of the vehicle in front of them.

They also use motorcycles as taxis here, which is not something I saw in Guyana. I don’t think I’d use one unless it really was a last resort. Some of my readers are aware that I am a bit of a motorcycle enthusiast, I rode one around for the year between graduating Oregon State and joining the Peace Corps. What really strikes me as interesting, and I noticed this in Guyana as well, is the skill of the riders here. Back home, on flat roads with predictable traffic, I had a 500cc (that’s the engine size) bike that I loved. Riding with a passenger was terrible though. It removed all maneuverability and fun from the bike. Essentially, a bigger engine size obviously means the bike is more powerful which means it should be able to carry more weight more easily. Now if my 500cc bike has issues with carrying two people I can’t even imagine what it’s like for the taxi guys here who I’ve seen take two or three people at a time on their little 125cc or 250cc bikes. That has to be absolutely no fun at all.

Regular Life Stuff

In the last week I’ve been feverishly working on this DBT training, it starts next Monday. I just killed a bunch of trees to print everything for it so my little Oregon heart is hurting. Everything else seems to be going well. I learned where to buy groceries and how to put credit on my phone so everything is coming up roses. This is the end of the third week in my eight week journey so I’m glad I actually get to do some real work starting next week.

Drop me a line at timdaniel25@gmail.com if you need something to do. I enjoy hearing from people I don’t hear from usually.

2 Weeks In

Sup y’all?

Well, we’re about two weeks in and things are going well. My big project begins next week and I’m looking forward to it. Basically, The Carter Center has asked me to put on a training for some Physician Assistants and Nurses that they’ve already trained in mental health. They asked me to do a training on Dialectical Behavior Therapy (DBT).

Now, I know some about DBT. I used it when I worked at the Children’s Farm Home in Corvallis, Oregon after undergrad. I’ve also studied a little in my grad program and given a few presentations on it as well. I’m fairly familiar with the mechanics of it so I feel confident presenting the information. That being said, presenting it and teaching people how to use it can be entirely different things.

Luckily, after conversing with some of my professors, I was able to figure out that the best way to approach this is to present it then work with the trainees to figure out how to adapt it to a Liberian context. Easier said than done but still more in my wheelhouse. If Marsha Linehan ever reads this, this is not a training it is a study group.

(Usually I take a few days to write these and the above situation has just changed, the DBT Study Group will be taking place week after next starting July 3^rd)

That takes care of the work update for now. The personal side of things is a bit quieter I’m afraid. Every day after work I come home and mostly just chill or take a short walk around the neighborhood which has been an interesting experience.

Liberia is difficult to describe. I’m not sure where to start really. The people are very interesting. When I first arrived I honestly felt a cold welcome from most of the people I met. Not that they were antagonistic or cruel but they were very withdrawn, sharing a few words at a time of very little substance. It’s still ongoing, when I meet new people, they are similarly withdrawn. I don’t know if that’s a function of Liberian society or if it should be attributed more to my foreignness.

The other interns and I were talking about it and we think it could possibly be because of the recent events in Liberia’s history. They had an Ebola crisis just three years ago and the Civil War ended in 2003. So Liberia has had a lot of stuff going on and it seems reasonable that these past events have made them more withdrawn and reticent to engage with foreigners or people in general. But this is definitely all amateurish conjecture.

In general most days are pretty formulaic. During the week I wake up around 6, go to work at 8ish then come home at 4. There’s a restaurant right next door that I eat lunch at about twice a week, the other days I bring my own lunch. On the weekends I go on long walks, usually either the maid or the security guy wants to come with me. I’m the only person staying at Eagle’s Landing right now so I think they get a little bit bored during the day. I’ve heard there’s a golf course not too far away so I’ll probably go check that out at some point and I think I’m going to see Ashley and Bianca who are doing their internship in Harper which is a rural community only accessible by plane. So that is what is going on everybody, I hope all of you are doing okay. If you’d like you can find me on Facebook, Instagram at tdaniel541 or shoot me an email at timdaniel25@gmail.com.

First Day of Work

Before we get started, I wanted to mention that I don't post a lot of pictures on this blog to start with. However, I do post more on Instagram because I like the platform more and I find it's easier to use with less of an internet connection. So if you want to see more pictures, Instagram is the spot you can find me at tdaniel541.

The ride in went well. It turns out my new home, Eagle's Landing, is only about a five minute drive to the office.

Once I got to the office I met a bunch of people, including the two interns that I am here with. They're both students at Emory. It's a good school but not as good as DU or Oregon State.

Julian is from California and he's working on a project surveying prisoners at the prison. Apparently his job is to get an idea of the conditions in the prison which seems like a slightly scary proposition.

Chris is from Washington and is also and RPCV (Honduras '10-'12). He's working on surveying religious leaders about what types of mental health services they provide.

And that's about how the first half of my day went, just chilling in our little work space. The three of us share an office in the back. I think, secretly, that it might be the worst office because the air conditioner doesn't seem to work properly. I think it's actually sucking in hot air from the outside so maybe it's a ploy to get us to go outside? More on this conspiracy later.

Everyone seems really nice at the office. It's a bit of a different vibe than my time in the Peace Corps. Being in an office solely focused on one thing feels a little weird. Normally during the work day in the Peace Corps your with other teachers in the school or nurses in the health center. And while all of them are very competent professionals there's a different air here that seems to insinuate everyone is working towards the same goal. It's a good feeling for the most part, despite it's alienness? alienosity? Alieniferousness? Alieniferousness.

In the afternoon I had a meeting with Janice, Dyonah, and Alex. Janice is head honcho around here, she runs literally everything. Dyonah is in charge of the training program. The Carter Center has a training program that trains nurses and PAs in mental health for six months. Alex is sort of the liaison to the people that have been trained after they leave. Everyone is very nice and seems very committed to the goals of the Carter Center.

Anyways, for those of you who want to know what I'll be doing here's the rundown. The Carter Center is trying to implement a new mental health program in elementary school. I can't quite remember the name but I know it starts with the words Eastern Mediterranean and the full acronym is EMROH. Janice asked if I'd be the point person in making sure it gets through whatever hurdles come up for the next eight weeks. That's one thing. Every month the mental health clinicians that have been trained all get together to talk about exceptionally difficult cases or the Carter Center puts on a presentation about something the clinicians want to hear about. Dyonah asked for my help with that. And Alex wants to give the people they've trained a refresher course in Dialectical Behavior Therapy (DBT) and so now him and I are supposed to have a training curriculum done by this Friday and have a five day training starting next Monday the 18th.

Well, that's the majority of what happened on my first day. There's a few more piddling details but I don't think I have the time to give you anything but the broad strokes as you can see I have a lot of work to do. In fact I'll probably have to stop writing in the middle of the next sentence and get back to work.

See y'all nex

In Which I Walk up the Street

Day 2/56:

Today went well.

I really had a hard time sleeping last night, I'm still adjusting to the new timezone. I got up early and watched Prisoners. I never realized what an all star cast is in that movie. Paul Dano's face should have it's own Oscar category.

I honestly spent most of the day just trying to stay awake. In the afternoon I asked the housekeeper, Vicki, if she would show me around the neighborhood. We took a walk down the street and looked through some of the stalls that were on the roadside.

Vicki is very nice. She is constantly checking on me and making sure I have everything I need. It's funny, actually, I have a big metal door that I shut at night and as soon as I open it in the morning Vicky and Jack, the security guy, come running down to check on me.

Well, now I have to confess something. I don't have any pictures of our walk because I didn't bring my camera. I didn't bring my camera because I learned that, not through any fault of their own, another intern was robbed last week. I don't want to write off the whole country of Liberia, I know that the majority of them are kind, big-hearted people. But I also have to face the reality that I stand out here and It's possible I could be targeted because of that. So, I've decided to be a little more cautious from here on out.

So I figured my first time down the street, I'll just leave everything of value at home and see what it's like outside my little compound (pictures of that will be forthcoming, the art is outstanding). We walked down the road a bit. Vicki pointed out all of the local party places and good food places. It's not much of a neighborhood though. Eagle's landing borders a very busy road near the junction to the airport so it's really just a lot of cars speeding by. At the junction there are some places to eat and drink as well as catch a taxi or motorcycle taxi. There's also a few car washes and by car wash I mean some dudes standing around with buckets and sponges. Looks like hot work.

The highlight of the excursion was when we stopped to watch a football (soccer) game. The field really was a sight to behold. There was no grass, it was more of an empty lot than anything else. There was a fair amount of trash on the field, it was crisscrossed with furrows caused by the drainage from the recent rain, and there was a water pump in one corner of the field. On the same side as the pump the field was bordered by a by a short concrete wall and building that served as an out of bounds line and spectator stands. Whenever a ball touched the wall, it was considered out and one of the players would grab the ball, clamber up onto the foundation of the building and throw the ball in. The most egregious part was that the field had a very obvious slant towards one of the goals which seemed, to me at least, a bit unfair.

The game itself was quite good. Both teams played hard and when we left the team playing uphill was actually winning 2-1. I learned that this was an inter-school game for two local high schools. There were no coaches that I could see but one team had substitutes. The referee appeared to be a volunteer, he stood on one side of the field and judged all the out of bounds calls and free kicks from where he stood, he must have had the vision eagle or at least a squirrel with tiny binoculars. At one point he did walk to the middle of the field to see the game more clearly and at the same time unwrapped a piece of candy then dropped the wrapper in the middle of the field. One short side of the field was bordered by a turnout from a busy road and twice the game had to be stopped so a car could drive through. The game also stopped for a motorcycle and a few times when the ball bounced into the road.

If what I saw today is any indication of how football is approached in other African countries, I can see why so many good football players come out of Africa. The conditions of the field were terrible. The players did their best to maneuver around them but even just watching I could see they were having a difficult time. I give them all the credit in the world though. Their field was terrible and there wasn't anyone really supervising the game but the kids really did try their hardest. It was an excellent display of sportsmanship and perseverance.

Liberia is an interesting place so far. Stay tuned for my first day of work.

First Day in Liberia

Sup y'all?

Well, I made it. Denver to New York to Montreal to Amsterdam to Freetown to Monrovia. What a trip, it has affected me in the most profound ways and I truly feel like a changed person. I'm looking forward to coming home and sharing all of this profound knowledge with my peers.

But, before that, there's this. The trip here was exhausting. And as I write this I've been in the country for almost 19 hours.

I arrived last night at 9:15. I was a little worried because the person picking me up was supposed to be there at 9:55, when the flight was supposed to land. Luckily, this fear abated as I made my way into the terminal. There was one person checking passports in the "Visitors" line so that took about 15 minutes but the baggage claim was the real nightmare.

If I had to describe the baggage claim as a wrestling event I'd liken it most to Hell in a Cell. When I read the phrase, "jockey for position" I assume it's a more polite way of saying people were pushing others out of the way. To use this nicety would be a grave injustice because it would misinform those that come after me and wouldn't properly honor the survivors of what I'm calling, The Baggage Claim Massacre.

There was no jockeying, there were no niceties, there was only you, your bag and the exit and it was up to you to find the most efficient way to claim your prize and leave. If that meant suplexing someone's grandma, beating an old man with his own cane, or leaping off the turnstile to deliver a flying elbow to a child's face courtesy of Papa Smurph (my new wrestling name), it was all acceptable. There's no referee at the baggage claim, that's the new adage I live by now.

Also, kind of an interesting tidbit, there was a thermal camera at the baggage claim. I'm still not sure why.

Anyways after the Baggage Claim Massacre I walked outside to the mass of taxi drivers, successfully avoided them and found my ride. My drivers name was Mark, a quiet fellow. We rode into town in the traditional white land cruiser and arrived at Eagle's Landing. Unfortunately, while we parked outside the gate and blew the horn for several minutes no one came to let us in. But Mark called Anthony, his supervisor, and he got me a room at the local hotel. I didn't think of any Mark Anthony jokes until I just wrote that last sentence. I'm off my game, must be the jet lag.

But, now I sit in Eagle's Landing. It's nice, I have a little apartment with air conditioning, cable TV, and a little kitchenette. It's a little more snug than the floor plan would have you believe. I have water all day and electricity from 6pm-8am. This is my life now and I'm looking forward to work on Monday.

T-12 Days

5/27/2017

Well, it's Saturday morning, I've just taken the last sip of my coffee and I was reading some old blog posts when I thought, "I'm going somewhere new, I should blog about it." For those of you who don't know, I'll be heading to Liberia in 12 days. I'm interning with the Carter Center which is situated in the capital, Monrovia. I don't necessarily want to tell y'all what I'm doing because something that I did in the Peace Corps was have expectations for myself that turned out to be unreasonable. This time around, I want to get there and just go with the flow.

But, instead of having expectations, I want to set some intentions for myself. A friend of mine, Jason, asked me something before I left for the Peace Corps that I dismissed fairly quickly but in retrospect I wish I'd considered it more carefully. He asked me, "What do you want to get out of this? (the Peace Corps)" At the time, I made some joke and forgot about it. What I didn't realize at the time is that working in humanitarian aid abroad is a mutualistic relationship, the people I work with get something from me but I also get something from the people. I need to consider what is it that I want to get out of this trip as much as what I want to give.

Now, I don't know what I can give, that may be limited by what the Carter Center has available for me so for now I'm disregarding that half of the question. What I want for myself are the following things;

1. Become as integrated as I can - I want to lose my fear of interacting with people and challenge myself to talk to new people every day. I only have two months and I want to meet as many people as I can.

2. Record as much as I can - When I was in Guyana, I had the odd blog post and posted the odd picture but this time around I want to really document as much of the experience as possible. This serves a double purpose, as I've been doing research it's difficult to get a sense of the culture that isn't sensationalized or coming from a particular angle. I want to be able to document activities and events around me unfiltered.

So that's it, it may change before I leave but that's what I'm thinking this morning. Every day I'm going to meet someone new and record something. That's the plan at least. Until next time, feel free to email me at timdaniel25@gmail.com.

Farewell Post

I realize it's been a while since I posted but I figured at least one more would be a good idea.

I've been trying to write this final post for at least the last month but I just kept coming back to it, here's what I came up with:

                This morning I had to get my blood drawn as part of my exit process for Peace Corps. I went with my fellow volunteer, Lauren, to Eureka Labs.

                After our arrival and the initial paperwork I was ushered into a small room with a man wearing a T-shirt and jeans telling me he was about to take my blood. Initially, I was worried at his casual dress and manner. I glanced a little further down the hall and saw that Lauren was being attended to by an older woman who was wearing a professional, dazzlingly white laboratory coat. I felt a pang of jealousy that Lauren was getting a “real” doctor to jam a needle in her arm and here I was with Mr. Casual. I thought to myself, “That’s just like Guyana, they just hire random dudes off the street to extract people’s bodily fluids.”

                And as I sat there, rage boiling over, I saw something that made me laugh. Written, on the breast of the “doctor’s” jacket was the word Chiropractor.

                I think this story illustrates three things about the Peace Corps. First, it is very, very easy to become agitated, upset, and angry with the current state of things. You see things that upset you sometimes you can’t help but be annoyed. As much as you want to believe that you’re here to help some things will just get your goat.

                The second thing is that nothing is what it seems. You see a behavior and assign a reason. And until you do the due diligence and work to find out why something is occurring your assigned explanation is what rules in your mind. Unfortunately, more often than not, you’re wrong. But you get used to it.

                Third, in the Peace Corps the grass is always, always, always greener. Other people have better sites, other countries have better posts, everyone that’s not you has better everything and it feels terrible. The life of a Peace Corps Volunteer is a rough road and the greener grass is actually a slippery slope. Don’t fall in.

In closing, if you’re looking to join the Peace Corps pay attention.

1.       Have no expectations

2.       Expect the worst and enjoy your disappointment

3.       While you did agree to this, it was also your decision. That being said, it is also your decision when to leave. I read someone else’s blog before I came and she said that if she ever has three days in a row that are really bad and she feels like she wants to leave, she will. So if you’re feeling unhappy and like you can’t do it then go home. There’s no point in being unhappy and hating your service.

4.       You’re going to see a lot of terrible things. Domestic violence, sexual harassment, animal abuse, there’s a reason they send people to these countries. Sometimes it will be really bad. And that’s just a fact, I’m not trying to scare you or your parents but I wish someone had told me the truth before I came.

5.       For every terrible thing you see you’ll see three wonderful things. A scenic vista, children playing, a colorful festivity. There will be so much to see and do in your country that you’ll feel like you barely scratched the surface by the time you leave.

6.       Learn not to care about time. The US moves very fast compared to where you’re going.

The Peace Corps is not a program designed to help people of developing countries. In all honesty it’s just an elaborate PR program. That’s disheartening to hear and even more so to experience firsthand. But, the silver lining is that oversight is not overbearing. When you sign up for Peace Corps you agree to let the government fund your modest lifestyle in a developing country for two years. And for that two years, as long as you file quarterly reports, you can do whatever you want to do. There have been so many great projects that were totally outside the volunteer’s purview. I was a health volunteer but I worked mostly in a high school. My friend Chase was assigned to a health center but started working in the capital with a sexual orientation discrimination prevention group. Mark had a full blown study of diabetes funded by the government and has elected to stay on for another year developing their emergency medical response teams. None of these things were what we were trained in or expected to do but no one told us to stop either.

Peace Corps is like the Matrix…No one can be told what the matrix is, you have to see it for yourself.

And I realize this is all over the place but that really is how the Peace Corps works. It's just a random collection of experiences that sometimes make sense but mostly don't. So I'm going to leave now by saying thank you to my Peace Corps Family, GUY26. It was a truly unique adventure that wouldn't have been the same ore nearly as fun without all of you. I love all of you.

To anyone that got this far and is interested in joining the Peace Corps you can reach me at timdaniel25@gmail.com.

Nick's Picks

Blog Owners Note: I wasn't able to change the weird formatting so sorry for the background color.

My name is Nicholas. I’m Tim’s younger brother. Tim is a talented and funny writer, I’ll try to keep with tradition the best I can. This is the story of my trip with my dad, not all of it is true.

I have never experienced anything like Guyana. When people ask me “how was your trip?” I usually say “it was nuts.” Or “amaaazing.” If there was a word that described an eight day trip to a foreign country involving deathdefying bus rides, constant chi-hiking, 24/7 sweaty garbage smell, nighttime batattacks, delicious mangoes, pleaded business-yelling, family time, chastising taxicab philosophy, and rum then I would use the shit out of it. I’m sure the Germans have invented one. For now, “it was nuts.”

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Imagine the Mystery Van (you know, the one from Scooby-doo). Imagine ten thousand Mystery Vans packsmushed with 15-20 passengers darting through traffic in cities and on two-lane highways. Everyone drives like drunk Jason Bourne, dangerously over-taking each other as more vans barrel straight toward you.

Those are minibuses. Ornately decorated by their drivers and the daily means for traveling and gambling your life. Did you pray before you got on? Don’t worry if you forgot, their designers have penned scary bible verses inside the upper portion of the windscreen. So when your driver mistimes that cow crossing the road and just before your head passes through the glass, “GIVE ALL TO JESUS” are the last words you get to see. Dad had to get more drunk than usual to travel anywhere.

How much is it to ride with the devil in the pale moonlight? Tim couldn’t explain it to me, but he knew the exact amount we were to pay every time. I’m not  there are different economic factors involved in pricing: number of passengers, time of day, length of trip, baggage, emotional baggage, moon cycle, if SNL is in a rebuilding year, and the decade trend of the green bay packers.

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On our speedboat ride up to Wakapoa to visit another volunteer named Beth, a group of young pork knockers (freelance gold miners who pack pork dinners into the interior, not the name of gay porn, apparently) were riding on the boat with us back to their village. They were about 18 years old, all were downing Guinness like clowns before a kids birthday. And they loved to party: when they emptied their beer, the bottle was flipped nonchalantly into the river; they kindly pushed bottles into our hands after we refused about a dozen times; one boy curiously ducked his head under a tarp/blanket for a minute, marijuana smoke billowed out after; a massive bottle of rum appeared and in a misguided attempt to pour some out for their homies on a speedboat travelling at about 20 knots, Tim, sitting directly behind them, received a rum facial.

The boys drank and smoked their way up the river, through the tight canal, all the way to our landing. They stumbled and slurred greetings to Beth, our host and their neighbor, and goodbyes to us. Later in the night we saw them across the soccer field unintelligibly yelling conversations at Beth. She dismisses them with a wave, telling us how she never can understand them when they get this drunk.

Beth, Tim, my dad and I were guided around Wakapoa by an Amerindian girl named…Janessa? Janelle? I forget. Beth called her JJ. Tagging along was JJ’s 6 year old brother, whom JJ is charged with taking care of all day every day.

JJ is about 14 years old and doesn’t talk too much around us, but Beth explained how she and JJ would spend a lot of time together. From what Beth told us JJ does very well in school, better than much of her class. After receiving interest from a Peruvian soccer academy, she practices soccer tricks every day and plays soccer with the fellas in the evening. The house she lives in has the cleanest yard of the entire village.

We spent the day tiptoeing across beams or canoeing to get from island to island, meeting people, eating mangoes, watching my dad diarrhea behind a tree. It was a fantastic experience, thanks Beth and JJ.

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The main reason I wanted to visit Guyana was to see my brother, Tim. He left about a year and a half ago and I haven’t visited him since. That is no way to treat a person I had shared a womb with.

There is a subtle Guyanese change instilled in most of the peace corps volunteers described in the common phrase “Just Now.” It is a measurement of time meaning now, today, tomorrow, in an hour. In essence, “I will do what I will, when I want.”

For example, after taking a speedboat across a river and reaching the landing a swarm of taxi drivers encircled us and began intensely talking, halfyelling directly in our faces, their hands outstretched, grasping at us to lead us to their cars. Dad froze, I followed suit with added stammering. Wide-eyed, I look over: Tim was texting on his cell phone.

One more Just Now story: We were on a minibus, stopped at a police checkpoint. A young man carrying a big box and displaying a giant marijuana leaf tattoo on his neck was asked by an officer wielding an assault rifle:

“Step out.”

“…No," was the reply.

“Okay.”

And we were on our way.

-

It’s a weird, difficult country and Tim has been affected by it. I cannot wait for him to come back, but I know he needs to stay.

I’m proud of how he has reacted and been able to adapt to hard circumstances, he’s learning a lot about something that few of us get to experience. Sometimes his frustration with work and school and daily life come out, but not all of it is bad: he’s dating a very sweet girl (Thanks Kaylee for letting us crash your house) and has a puppy. He has made a lot of friends, led camps, taught lots of classes, and is applying to grad school in Colorado.

I had tears in my eyes when I entered Guyana and saw Tim, partly because I missed him, partly because I thought he was alone in a scary place. I left Guyana smiling knowing the country wants to take care of him and he could handle more than I ever could. Guyana is awesome. And Tim’s a really strong dude. Just try to armwrestle him.

I’ll see you in 6 months, brother.

Thoughts from my Father

This is a guest blog written by my father who visited a few weeks ago.

Hi, my name is Paul, I'm Tim's dad.  I have four sons.  Tim is the eldest; the second eldest is Nick.  Nick and I visited Tim for a week just before Christmas.  We live in Oregon; the journey from Portland was meant to take about sixteen hours but a missed connection in Panama added nine hours to our trip.  Exhausted, we arrived at the Cheddi Jagan airport around 10 pm and Tim was there to meet us.  We had not seen him for twenty months and were interested to find out how the experience had changed him.  From photos and Facetime we already knew Tim had been conscientiously avoiding the barber and would look like a werewolf.  In reality I found the long hair and beard suited him well and was quite appealing in a scruffy, Che Guevara sort of way.  Tim in general was belligerently cheerful and impressively confident as he navigated us on our travels through Guyana over the following week.

After the greetings and hugs we stepped outside the airport and met Andrew, a Peace Corps driver.  Andrew gave us a welcoming hug that was much appreciated in our travel-weary, sleep-deprived state.  However, my feeling of well being towards Andrew soon evaporated as he thoroughly scared me on the forty-five minute car ride into Georgetown.  It was as though we were in a video game; tailgating, speeding, honking and overtaking.  After Andrew dropped us off I questioned Tim about Andrew's manic driving.  Tim laughed and said the ride was likely to be the least frightening we would experience in Guyana.  Unfortunately he was right. 

The three of us had a late night beer on the balcony at the Status Hotel before bed.  Sitting outside in the warm night air, listening to the sounds of a strange city and enjoying the company of the boys was worth all the trials and tribulations of getting there. 

The next morning we met Tim's girlfriend, Kaylee for the first time.  From previously reading Kaylee's blog I thought I would like her, and in person I found her to be even more charming than I had anticipated.  After breakfast we said goodbye to Kaylee for the time-being. Tim, Nick and I headed out to Wakapau.  We were being guided by Tim and really had no idea of where we were going or what to expect.  The journey involved a series of uncomfortable trips by boat and car or bus; the long speedboat ride across the Essequibo River was a most astonishingly spine-jarring experience.  The final boat trip on the Pomeroon River was the most enjoyable; starting in the town of Charity we cruised several miles down a wide section of the main river and then veered into a narrow side channel.  The boat tilted from side to side, almost touching the tangle of mangroves as we sped through the winding waterway before opening out to reveal broad views across the savannah.  Our trip was made more interesting by our fellow passengers; teenage Amerindians returning to Wakapau after working in the interior.  They appeared to have spent a considerable percentage of their earnings on beer, rum and pot.  Sitting behind them in the boat we were at times exposed to puffs of marijuana smoke and even liberally sprayed with rum.  However, they were cheerful, polite and insisted we each had a bottle of their Guinness.  The wild ride ended when we pulled up to the riverbank; there was no jetty or buildings, but everyone got off the boat. 

Apparently we had arrived.  We were here to meet Beth, the local Peace Corps Volunteer (PCV), and she soon emerged from the trees to greet us.  After introductions we followed her up a grassy path to a small group of wood buildings that were the home of her host family.

Life here is simple; we saw no cars or roads.  There are mainly only small, simple houses connected by narrow paths. 

The only electricity is provided by generators or solar, and plumbing is minimal.  We bathed at a bridge across a small pond, shaded by a roof of palm fronds and scooped up water with a calabash (a bowl made from half a gourd).  There was no bathroom at Beth's, only a communal latrine.  Being part of this community and lifestyle for a couple of days was a privilege, but to commit to it for two years as Beth has, would require an immense amount of fortitude and resiliency.  Kudos to Beth.

During our two-night stay we explored nearby communities on adjoining islands.  There is marshy savannah between the islands and 'paths' had been created to prevent sinking knee-deep into the ooze.  The paths consisted of branches, logs and even a couple of dilapidated dug-out canoes.  In places the branches sank below the surface and we had to guess where to place our feet.  The villagers we encountered were very welcoming, many generously sharing water coconuts and fruit with us as we passed through.  From Beth's host family we learned to open water coconuts with a 'cutlass' (machete) and how to slice off a scraper to scoop out the jelly after drinking the sweet coconut water. 

We also tried to paddle in dugout canoes; the canoes were extremely tippy and my weight brought the edge of the canoe within an inch of the water line.  At one point I had to be ferried to be ferried across a river by Janelle, a cheerful, competent Amerindian teenage girl.  She was highly amused by me crawling along in the bottom of the canoe as I boarded, and my terrified look as I clutched the sides of the canoe during the crossing. 

On the second night of our stay Beth's host mother prepared pepperpot for dinner.  Pepperpot is a national specialty and is a spicy meat stew, partially flavored with cassareep (a strong, dark sauce made from the cassava plant).  We ate it sitting in the dark on Beth's verandah and soaked up the sauce with locally made cassava bread.  With bats zooming by our heads, dogs running around and a host of night time noises, it was a memorable dining experience.

Our boat out of Wakapua left at 6.30 in the next morning.  It was a great trip through the clear morning air; there was no partying on the return trip.  Our fellow passengers were mainly nicely dressed women that appeared to be going on a shopping trip.  The only supplemental entertainment was when Tim slipped on the muddy bank getting into the boat and ended up sitting in the mud with one foot in the river.  He jumped up, made a funny comment to the audience in the boat, and was successful on a second attempt to board.  When asked if he was hurt his pithy reply was 'only my pride'.  (Later in the trip we bumped into another PCV, Naomi and her mother Bonnie.  They had visited Beth shortly after us and apparently both of them had also slipped on the mud in the same spot; it must be very entertaining for the locals).  We worked our way back across the west coast, stopping at 'Bachus' for a delicious coffee milkshake.  We took a short walk away from the main road to the seawall and got an expansive view of the Atlantic Ocean.  The boys and I have a tradition of playing hacky-sack, especially when abroad, we played here, cooled by the ocean breeze.  We took the ferry back  across the Essequibo instead of the jack-hammer speedboat.  The high deck of the ferry allowed a full view of the mouth of the Essequibo.  It is an impressively wide estuary almost twenty miles across and dotted with large islands requiring boats to thread their way through from one side to another.  Eventually we made it back to Georgetown and after the relative quiet of Wakapoa, Georgetown seemed loud and frenetic.  We elbowed our way through the hot, crowded markets with stalls and shops selling almost everything, and then through quieter streets to the Peace Corps office.  The office was calm and comfortable.  After Tim conducted a little business we left and got another car to take us to Kaylee's house in Mahaicony; the journey took about an hour and of the many hair-raising vehicles rides in Guyana this was the worst.  By comparison Andrew now seemed a paragon of safe driving.  The roads in Guyana are in generally poor condition with large pot holes and bumps that require drivers to swerve or brake drastically.  Cows and horses wander freely, and randomly stroll across the road, sometimes in small herds.  Goats appear mainly to be tethered, but on ropes long enough to allow them to stand on the edge of the road.  Out of town there are no sidewalks or bikepaths and many people are walking or cycling on the roadway also.  Occasionally we would see carts being pulled by horses or donkeys.  With all these obstacles even driving carefully would be hazardous, but most drivers seemed oblivious to the risk and drove with extreme recklessness.  Statistics from the World Health Organization revealed that road fatalities in Guyana per capita are approximately six time higher than in Europe, and three time higher than in the US.  Another mind-boggling statistic concerns fatalities per 100,000 vehicles.  In the US it is 13.7; in Guyana it is one-hundred-and-twenty-five times higher at 1707.3.  When traveling in Guyana I recommend choosing the driver with the newest car to increase the chances that the brakes, steering and air bags are working correctly.  Halfway through the hair-raising ride to Kaylee's I noticed the place where the air bag should have been in front of me was covered with two pieces of duct tape. 

We arrived, surprisingly unscathed at Kaylee's house in the late afternoon.  Kaylee has the upper floor of a nice, two-story house.  It is not all that different from a house you might find in warmer parts of the US, with tiled floor and arched, double-doors opening onto a balcony.  However, it seems the plumbing in Guyana generally is not up to US standards.  A Kaylee's house we had to plug in an extension cord every time we wanted to use any water, and there is no hot water system.  Apparently the best you can hope for is to wait until late in the day to shower; by then the sun has warmed the water in the holding tank.  Kaylee was most welcoming, and had even given up her large, comfortable bed for Nick and I to sleep in.  At the time of our visit another PCV, Ally, was living with Kaylee while her house in a nearby town was being fixed up.  Our visit therefore impacted Ally and she was also very gracious during out visit.  To welcome us Kaylee had arranged for a nearby neighbor to cook us a special meal of Guyana takeaway fish and chips.  We all walked a little way down the road to the woman's house to pick up the food.  It wasn't ready, so we sat outside chatting and drinking a beer while we waited.  The meal was delicious, the fish had a spicy coating the chips looked like regular French fries but were made from plantains.  (Plantains are similar to a banana but not sweet, apparently they grow well in tropical climates and are sometimes known as the 'pasta and potato of the Caribbean').  Other memorable meals during our stay at Kaylee's included homemade fried-egg pizza, and some other bread-like food that required vigorous shaking after cooking.  I cannot remember much about it except that Nick really seemed to enjoy violently bashing it about in a Tupperware container. 

The next day Tim sent Nick and I off by ourselves to visit Kaieteur Falls; arguably the most  famous and exceptional feature in Guyana.  Although there are some exciting-sounding expeditions available to get there by boat and foot, the most time-efficient way is by small plane.  Nick and I got a taxi to Ogle Airport and after an unnecessarily long wait we boarded the small plane with about ten other passengers for the scenic, one-hour flight to the tiny airstrip at Kaieteur.  The flight included a breathtaking fly-by of the impressive falls.  Kaieteur is said to be the world's widest, single-drop waterfalls.  It is four times higher than Niagara Falls and twice the height of the Victoria Falls.  Wikipedia says 'While many falls have greater height, few have the combination of height and water volume, and Kaieteur is among the most powerful waterfalls in the world'.  If not so remote it would undoubtedly be famous worldwide. 

Kaieteur is in a national park and appears to be generally well managed.  We were met by a competent guide and were taken on a walking tour to three viewing areas connected by a rugged path.  The guide told us the falls were named after an old man named Kaie, who sacrificed himself to the gods by canoeing over the falls.  The Amerindian word for waterfall was 'teur'; hence Kaie-teur.   However, a British geologist, Charles Barrington Brown, the first European to see the falls in 1870 was told by the locals then that an unpleasant old man was put in a canoe and shoved over the falls by his family and Kaieteur means 'old-man-fall'.

Our walking tour took about ninety minutes and at the end we looked around the visitor area in a tropical-style lodge waiting for the flight back.  Although the falls are undeniably impressive, we were viewing from a distance and Nick and I felt it was difficult to fully appreciate the scale and power of what we were seeing.  I would like to return one day to hike to the falls and explore the interior of Guyana which is generally considered to be some of the most unspoiled rainforest remaining in the world.  

The next day Tim, Kaylee, Nick, Ally and I walked to Kaylee's school.  Kaylee has transformed the school library and although there is still some work to be done it was impressive; the children will benefit from all her hard work for years after she has left.  Later we got a car up the coast to the 'Giftland Mall', primarily to see the Star Wars movie that had recently been released.  Giftland is an incongruously glittery, American-style mall.  It seemed luxurious and modern compared to almost everything else we had seen in Guyana and I can see how PCVs would occasionally want to visit for a reminder of home.  Not a fan of Star Wars I dozed contentedly during the movie.  Afterward we had a beer at a stylish outside bar while we waited for a car to take us back to Kaylee's house.  The car never actually turned up which did not surprise anyone.  In the end we found a driver to take us, but by this time it was night.  The darkness added another layer of danger to the roads, the only benefit was that most of the cows and horses had retired for the night. 

For the last two nights of our trip Tim had booked us into The Rainforest B and B in Georgetown.  Although we had heard there were monkeys in the garden we had no idea what to expect.  Behind a wall in a rather nondescript neighborhood, and within walking distance of downtown, the Rainforest B and B was a tropical gem.  Syeada, the beautiful and exotic lady of the house, was at the gate to greet us.  She showed us around the stylish and immaculately maintained house and grounds.  We soon met her partner Jerry, an American that looked as though he may have been cast as the safari boss in an old Hollywood movie.  The were both very welcoming and it really seemed as though we were friends they had invited to stay for the weekend.  Syeada soon introduced us to the two monkeys; these were not cute pets.  They were wild animals living in trees at the back of the house and took considerable coaxing to bring close enough to see.  One of them was relatively large and would have been quite an adversary in a banana dispute.

After settling into our room we headed to the Bourda Cricket club.  A historic cricket ground close to the B and B that had been recommended to us at the Peace Corps office.  Ignoring the 'Members Only' sign as instructed, we went into the bar and ordered a beer.  The clubhouse was festooned with old photographs and trophies going back to the 1930's; it had a vintage, colonial, feel to it and although there was no cricket being played, the bar was quite busy.  We sat outside on the deck overlooking the large, green cricket pitch and watched stray dogs running around and doing inappropriate things to each other.  Later we made our way into town for an authentic Indian meal at the 'Maharaja' before returning to the calm refuge at the Rainforest B and B. 

After a nice breakfast of omelet, fruit and toast we set off the next morning to explore Georgetown. The first stop was at a soccer field we had noticed that adjoined the Bourda Cricket club.  Nick is a soccer fan and player, and we were hoping to buy some 'Golden Jaguar' national football team shirts as souvenirs.  Little kids were practicing on the field as we walked through the gates, and immediately a young man greeted us with a firm handshake and British accent, introducing himself a Faizal Kahn, a manager with the national team.  After a few minutes of pleasant chit-chat we asked about buying some team shirts and although there were none at the soccer field, he offered to drive us to the team office to buy some.  On the way he told us that not only was he manager with the Guyana National Football Team but part owner of the Peel motor car company in England.  Peel makes the smallest car in the world and is probably most famous for being filmed driving through the BBC offices by Jeremy Clarkson in an episode of Top Gear.  After securing some shirts and talking a little more with Faizal we continued on our way into the center of town.  Adding to the interest of walking in Georgetown are numerous, randomly placed, large holes in the sidewalk that would seem to present a significant safety hazard. 

We visited the old British lighthouse, but it was closed.  We also went to St George's Cathedral; quite impressive but also closed.  Photographs and descriptions of the Cathedral’s interior looked interesting and I was disappointed not to go inside.  We passed a museum and went in, mainly because it was actually open.  I do not remember much about the museum, except the bathroom.  There were four stalls with doors on one side and the only toilet roll in the building was on a holder on the opposite wall, twelve feet away; very amusing.  We visited the some other watering holes before heading back to the bed and breakfast for our last night in Guyana. 

The next day we spent the morning buying gifts and souvenirs before Andrew drove us back to the main airport for the long journey home.  I enjoyed every minute of our time in Guyana and would love to go back and explore some more.  I was consistently impressed by all the PCVs we met and I would like to thank everyone for being so pleasant and helpful, especially Beth, Ally, Kaylee and of course, Tim.