Shower

Pop a malaria pill

Brush teeth

Apply ointments (whatever the day requires: anti-itch cream, aloe vera, talcum powder, antibiotic cream)

Blow out kerosene lamp

Climb into bed

Tuck in mosquito netting

Lay back and drift to sleep

We have a nightly routine. Of course, sometimes it varies: it might be cool enough to cuddle before drifting to sleep, we may have to find the cat, or we might be in the middle of a good book we have to finish by flashlight.

My favorite activity of the routine is tucking in the mosquito netting. We have a nice, large net provided by Peace Corps which defends us from mosquitoes – the evil, humming creatures out to destroy the world (I read somewhere, malaria may have killed up to half the humans who’ve lived on this earth). Every evening starting about 5 minutes before 6pm, the mosquitoes come out from hiding and start swarming. Their high-pitched hum provides the background music for dinner. We spray down with insect repellant.

When bedtime arrives, shifting between the often anonymous 8pm and 9pm, the mosquitoes are buzzing around our net. Tucking in the net provides a palpable sense of security – a literal shield between us and the natural world. The mosquitoes try their hardest – trying to fly through the net over and over again, much like a fly trying to get out a closed window. Fruitless effort. I rest easy in the protection of my shield-net.

In addition to mosquitoes, the net also protects us from bats. Occasionally, a bat gets into the house, seems to get very confused and spends a good time fliting here and there, often bumping in to our net. Thank goodness for the net. More painful than mosquitoes and bats, the net also protects us for all manner of dangerous Savannah critters: snakes, centipedes, spiders, and scorpions. One of my fellow volunteers has been bitten in her bed by a scorpion and…. A cockroach. Ew!

Just as a king feels protected in his castle with an impressive moat, a standing army, and mile high stone walls, so we feel secure with our simple mosquito net.

However. Occasionally, we tuck in the net and lay back to sleep. MMMMMMMMMMM…. Hums the mosquito around our head and ears. The enemy has infiltrated the fortress. Call the army. Prepare the weapons. So the battle begins.

Perhaps through a small hole the cat has clawed, or we may have left the net open during the day and a few snuck in.

The army, Chris and I, arm ourselves with mosquito spray and a flashlight. The hunt begins as we scan the net with our flashlights, searching for the hyper-haphazard insect. When one is found, one holds the light and the other sprays or claps the mosquito. She probably escapes just before the deadly attack. Again, we hunt to find the tiny adversary. If clapped, blood splatters onto the net, sheet, and hands – a tell-tale sign of his triumphs. Once sprayed, the bug falls gracefully to the mattress. We are victorious.

Yet we must find each infiltrator and bring them to justice. It is going to be a long night.

Merry Christmas!

Chris and I are celebrating, opening mom's amazing Christmas care package (Thanks, mom!), hosting Christmas brunch for some neighbors, going to the village feed up for lunch, and hopefully making a proper dinner - Sheperd's Pie and Cheesecake! :)

We are missing the cool weather, Christmas sweaters, sparkling lights, and Christmas carols. And you. Merry Christmas!

Love,

Chris and Kristin

Eggplant Choka

Boulanger Choka (Charred Eggplant)

2 medium eggplants

4 garlic cloves

1 onion

½ sweet pepper

1 tomato

Oil

Salt

1. Chop onion, garlic, pepper, and tomato.
2. Cut 2 slits in each eggplant and insert a clove of garlic in each hole.
3. Roast eggplant over an open flame or on hot surface. Turn the eggplant occasionally and cook 8-10 minutes, or until the skin of the eggplant is charred.

See how charred?

4. Peel the charred skin from the eggplant and place eggplant and garlic in a dish. Mash thoroughly.

5. Sauté onion and pepper in oil for 5 minutes. Add tomato, eggplant, and a pinch of salt.

Enjoy with pita bread or homemade roti (recipe below!)

Eat Guyanese!

I know you've been wondering what we've been eating. Here's a typical Guyanese flatbread eaten with curries. I'll be posting a delicious eggplant dish in the next few days that goes delicious with roti. Try it out!

Roti: Guyanese flat bread

2 cups flour

1 tsp baking powder

1tsp. butter

¾ cup water

Oil

1. Sift 2 cups flour and baking powder. Mix in butter.

2. Add water and knead to make a soft elastic dough. Add more flour or water if dough is sticky.

3. Divide dough into 6 parts. Roll each piece of dough thinly on a floured board, apply oil to dough surface, and sprinkle lightly with flour. With a knife, cut a line in the dough from the center straight to the edge (see photo). Start at one side of your radius and roll the dough around the circle. Seal oil inside. Allow dough to rest for 10 minutes.

4. Roll out each piece thinly again, place on a pan over medium heat. Brush with oil to prevent sticking and turn frequently.

5. Once browning begins, remove roti and clap with hands or shake in container with lid until pliable. Serve with curry or Choka.

This is Chris, shaking the roti in the container. The roti should have delicious layers, the shaking or clapping helps pull them apart - flaky goodness.
Next up, The eggplant to eat with it!

.

Giving Thanks

We sat down to a lovely table, brimming with green bean casserole, creamed spinach, rice and beans, apple cider, and mango cobbler. We said grace (or thanks?) with 3 of our local friends and dug in.

Plans were to head to Lethem for Thanksgiving with fellow volunteers (a meal which boasted treats from Brazilian supermarkets and shared with plenty of laughter). Just a week and a half before, Chris and I were in Lethem to pick our grant for World AIDS Day. When it was time to leave for Aishalton, we dutifully sat in front of Shirley’s, with our bags, waiting for a vehicle. There we sat: reading and finishing books, playing cards, and trying to sleep on the short concrete wall. Cars sped by and kicked up Lethem’s red dust, which blew over and settled on us.

After waiting for 4 days, we finally left Lethem at 1am in an SUV with 5 children, 5 volunteers, and 1 driver. It was a long trip back to Aishalton, overnight and overcrowded. We were just not up for another trip to Lethem, even for a rousing Thanksgiving.

Without much foresight or planning, we set out to have a Thanksgiving at home. We couldn’t find a pumpkin, only mangoes. There were no potatoes, no chicken. So, we cooked up our rice and beans, borrowed an oven for properly baked green bean casserole and cobbler, and whipped up calilloo into something like creamed spinach.

We invited our good friends Gary and Claudine; we knew they would enjoy the meal. (Gary took an internet phone call from his brother in Montana, USA just before our meal. His brother was enjoying thanksgiving in the states with 5 Guyanese and 2 Trinidadians. Gary informed him he had been invited to Thanksgiving with Americans in Aishalton.) We also invited Nurse Bertha, the smallest yet loudest person in Aishalton. Together, we ate ‘til our “Belly Full.” I contemplated all the things I was thankful for: to be celebrating Thanksgiving with Chris, serving in the US Peace Corps, and our new friends we were beginning to understand and who were starting to understand us.

Now, as I am again in Lethem to pick up a paycheck, I browse the aisles of the shops, walk past piles of toy guns, fake Barbies, and plastic greenery with cheap red ribbons (Christmas overstock circa 1987), I am a little nervous to spend Christmas in Aishalton. It will certainly be more like a traditional Christmas (in a cheap, tacky, consumerist way) than I’d like. Chris and I have agreed: no exchanging of gifts, let’s not try to prop up the day with meaningless social norms. However the day is celebrated, I know it and future holidays will not be as real as my Thanksgiving: when I sat down and shared a meal with the Amerindians.

Waiting

I’m hot and sweaty. Granted, that is the state I am in most of the time. This time, I’m also sore. We’ve come to Lethem to pick up our grant (yay!) which we did on Wednesday and proceeded to spend the money on red ribbons, art supplies, candies, and other materials for our World AIDS Day project. Thursday we began looking for a ride and on Friday and today, we’ve been sitting outside by the road leading South. We start about 7:30am and sit around til about 3pm, I’ve just left at 4:30pm. We perch in front of a store where most vehicles stop before leaving town, to pick up a few beverages and snacks for the road, perhaps fix a few things under the hood, and head out. There are many villages south of Lethem, Aishalton is one of the furthest, so it is fairly difficult to get to. There aren’t many vehicles, and few vehicles make the trip south unless they have a darn good reason because the road is so terrible.

So far, we’ve waited about 3 days to find a ride once we really start looking. It just makes for long days: waking up early, cleaning up the apartment, downing some coffee and lugging our packs a mile to the store. There, we begin our campout, perching on a concrete wall, shifting uncomfortably from cheek to cheek all day. Today, I finished a book. Sometimes we walk around. But basically, it’s a day of sitting around, looking for a truck, Bedford, or tractor headed to Aishalton. All the other trucks, not headed to Aishalton, drive by all day, kicking up the red dust which lands all over us and our stuff.

Tomorrow we try again.

Another poem from another of my students, so glad to see them thinking! Read and enjoy, maybe share with others. Get the word out!

Discriminating Me

People are always discriminating me

Just because I have HIV

The say I’m this and I’m that

So when I go out for a walk they call me ‘skinny rat’

When my best friends see me by the road

They give me no greeting, they just shake their heads and say ugly toad

Everyone is afraid to come near me

Because I have the virus called HIV

They don’t want to see me living

And this hurts my feeling

They throw me away like dirt

And say bad things that hurt

When they see me they run and hide

They say I looked as if I had already died

These insults drive me mad

And it also makes me sad

They hate seeing me in the home

So they say to me ‘you go your way alone.’

Francis, 12 years

I organized the students of Aishalton Secondary School to participate in a regional poetry competition by Red Cross. The poems had to address stigma and discrimination in some way, against HIV or any other category - race, religion, age, gender, etc... The students really came through and I wanted to share what I received with you. This first one is from a young man in the class I teach. My class is a remedial class, a group of 24 students who failed their first year of secondary school (7th grade) last year, and are repeating this year. I've actually had quite alot of trouble from them, behavioral and academic, they seem to have really given up. This student, Steve, in particular, has been rather difficult, but I personally challenged him to come up with a poem for me. This is what he turned in, and I must say... I'm amazed and very proud.

HIV

HIV is dreadful

It’s very sorrowful

To discriminate me

Makes me lonely

It drives me crazy

But you’re very busy

Discriminating me

Just to let others see

Stigma is very bad

It makes me feel very sad

Stop doing this to me

You might get it, so beware

Then it’d be you and me

Facing all the difficulties

And even the symptoms of HIV

Steve, 13 years old

World AIDS Day

So… you may be wondering how our work is coming along. Well, the cultural posts are far more interesting than our work so far, I'm afraid. Our main jobs at the Learning Resource Center (Kristin) and Aishalton District Hospital (Chris) are coming along just fine. In addition, all Peace Corps volunteers in Guyana work in the HIV and AIDS field. Guyana has the second highest infection rate in the Caribbean qualifies for President Bush’s PEPFAR funding (President’s Emergency Planning and Funding for AIDS Relief). The HIV and AIDS epidemic is concentrated mainly on the coast where most of the population lives. Here in the interior, HIV and AIDS epidemic is not yet spreading (that we know of), but we work hard to keep it that way.

Chris and I have decided that in order to address HIV and AIDS in Aishalton, we would plan a health fair for December 1^st, World AIDS Day. The theme for this year is “Universal Access and Human Rights”, a fitting theme for introducing it to Aishalton. We are very excited; we have written our first grant proposal and have received some funding through Peace Corps and the Red Cross.

Our plan for the health fair is to have people moving around and interacting with different games and activities concerning HIV and AIDS. We are trying to utilize as many community members as possible – the hospital staff, the Aishalton Youth Corps, church groups, and leaders. Some people with be doing skits to interact with others, others will be playing “Myths and Truths” or “Risk Factors”, and another group will be putting on a puppet show about “Anna Assertive”, a very assertive girl who knows how to say ‘no’ to peer pressure. We will also have HIV testing which is not regularly offered in Aishalton. Chris will be taking photos of the Amerindians dressed in traditional wear with bows and arrows. The pictures will be used to design posters with the theme “Be a warrior. Fight HIV” and used in the Amerindian villages throughout Guyana.

We’re really hoping for more support, or particularly, more active support, over the next few weeks as we prepare. We want to see more people volunteering, more people coming to our planning meetings. Please pray for our project, I truly believe we have the power to change behavior and save lives with this health fair. Pray for support, pray for a good turnout and most of all, pray that people learn something and apply it to their lives.

We are going in to Lethem to pick up our funding, spend it on supplies, and bring it back out. Safe journeys all around. Hope all’s well in your neck of the woods.

Chris and Kristin

The Bow and arrow dance

I'm pretty sure this one is the 'shake your groove thing dance'.
The swishy skirt dance.

The traditional cultures were celebrated all throughout the month of September. Not only were we able to see the celebrations here in Aishalton, but thanks to a well-timed conference in Lethem, we were able to see the regional celebrations as well. Here in the South, most of our Amerindians are from the Wapishana 'tribe', but at the regional celebrations, there were Wai-Wais, Machushis, and more. So, we were able to see a variety of outfits, hear new languages, and experience new dances.

This is a 'warashi', the traditional carrier for all things. It hauls cassava back from the farm, palm branches from the trees, the hammock for the trip, and produce from the neighbor's. It is certainly rapidly being replaced by large tubberware containers on the backs of motorbikes, but they are still around. It is a home-woven basket that is formed to the back, the weight placed on the head by a strap.

Mini traditional culture

A little taste of traditional Amerindian wear from the children of Aishalton, decked out for Amerindian Heritage Month (September). The first two are performers from the culture shows, the second two children decked out at the celebration market day. Aren't they amazing? Children are our future.

Some Garden - Pre Sowing

This is the pre sowing picture, eventually I'll put together one with the plants all coming out and bearing some harvest, of course time has a way of getting away from me.

Beauty

A blog in honor all things beautiful.

Photo credits to Chris.

Sh*t!

Our garden is looking SO GOOD. Finally planted: beds, rows, seeds, and more. I won't take any credit, Chris' been working HARD for a while, now. We were finally able to plant because we got a truckload of manure, this is Chris coming back from shoveling well... poop into the tractor. That's a fresh and clean husband if I ever saw one.

Chairman Meow

... wanted to say 'hello'.

Bora, Boulanger, and Beans

My nutrition interest has switched from the earthy ‘nuts and granola’ of organic/raw/vegetarian food to “can I count this small can of tomato paste as a vegetable?”

Since arriving in Aishalton, I feel the “Three B’s” can sum up the better part of my diet. Owing largely to Aishalton’s location - a Savannah - farming is limited and cattle raising is prevalent. The traditional diet is wild meats, fish, beef, cassava products, and local fruits. The cassava is grown on farms, located 3-10 miles from the village. Farms are in the forest, created by slashing and burning. In addition to cassava (a root vegetable), farms often grow plantains, bananas, and possibly papaya. Recently, more people have begun growing a variety greens (vegetables) to supplement their diet. There has also been a push for ‘kitchen gardens’, small-scale gardens around the home, growing greens.

Thankfully, we have arrived just after the advent of the ‘kitchen garden.’ Still, there are not plenty of gardens, and there certainly isn’t plenty of produce coming from them. So a few times a week, Chris and I go home to home, searching for greens. One farmer may have Boulanger (eggplant), the next may have a few green peppers. It may be a few more days before we find bora (a long green bean) and we may go weeks between a rare treat such as tomatoes or calliloo (spinach).

Since the rainy season, we have been able to find bora and bulonger fairly regularly, so we’ve been eating plenty of them. My favorite way to eat eggplant is to char it over an open flame, peel off the skin, and fry up the soft insides with onion, garlic, and peppers. Whip up some flat bread and dig in, delicious!

In addition to fresh greens, we rely on dried goods, mainly rice and beans, sometimes flour. While I didn’t eat beans before coming to Guyana, I have learned to enjoy channa (chickpeas), black-eye, and split peas. We make cook-up, an African rice and beans dish, dahl, an Indian split pea sauce, and we pretend to make hummus by stirring some peanut butter into the mashed chickpeas.

In other good news, we are 'plowing ahead' with our garden! Everything's planted (pineapple, banana, boulanger, bora, squash, lettuce, shallots, basil, cilantro, and more!)

Finally, a blog about the people of August Games.

Firstly, a picture of Sarah, our community development worker, and the much of the Aishalton crowd, trying to see who’s winning the cassava grating!

Next, here’s our previous toshao (chief), a major leader in the community, enjoying the games despite a recent motorbike crash.

This is one of the thousands of adorable Amerindian children.

Finally, here’s Renatta, a good friend who played on the women’s cricket, volleyball, and football teams, bringing our girls to victory!

I itch. Everyday. Mosquitoes, tiny ants, cabouros, and other various stinging, biting, and pinching insects plague my life. Currently, I have 17 bites from the knee down. We use DEET bug repellant (against our inner naturalist selves), sleep in a mosquito nets, wear pants after dark, and keep our water containers sealed. Despite all of our novel efforts, the bugs laugh in our faces… err…. suck our blood (quite literally).

I live with my failed efforts, trying to tell myself not to scratch… that makes it worse, right? No. Actually, it makes it better. Gloriously better, to scratch my nails deep into the skin surrounding a mosquito bite, not eliminating, but somehow appeasing the itch.

There was no preparation for the story I heard at August Games. Certain everyone was treating me like a ditzy American girl, I was refusing to believe that hundreds of giant army ants would be brought in from the forest, wove into a piece of fabric, stinger side out, and placed onto the bare skin of people. First, the foreigners, next the leaders, and finally, the people. Hundreds of ant stings. Itching, stinging, ants.

Excuse me? Have you seen my legs? I’m tortured quite enough without searching out any more.

I soon realized this was no joke when I saw the 2 liter plastic bottle full of giant ants. “Why would people subject themselves to hundreds of ant bites repeatedly over their body?” I sensibly ask. “Umm… well… to cure ‘sleepiness’, but mostly just to do it.”

Huh? There’s no deep-seated traditional reasoning? No spiritual healing? No special medicine in the ant sting? Nothing?

Nope. Just stroking the macho ego. Time came and they called the foreigners first. No one went forward, not our Indian priests or sisters, not the British development workers, and certainly not the 2 Peace Corps volunteers. Next they called forward the toshaos (village chiefs) and you simply must compare the 2 toshaos – Mauruanau’s and Aishalton’s. Maruranau’s toshao (blue shorts) faced the woven ants (stingers facing out), placed all over his body. To my horror, first covering his face. Next, across the chest, then back, then arms and legs. He took each touch without flinching, squirming, squinting, or hollering. You would think someone was touching him with silk cloth, not stinging ants. He ‘took it like a man’ and stepped down, seemingly unscathed. I wondered if the ants really stung.

Also, our toshao stepped up. He prepared for the first sting, refusing to take it on the face and lifted his shirt for the chest. As the ants came into contact with his chest, he pushed the ants away, screaming and running away. Everyone laughed. Over and over again, he tried to take the ants but couldn’t. I was convinced of the ants’ stinging power. Next, few came forward - most refused the lightest touch of the ants, fewer were able to take the full-body stings with a straight face. You can figure out who is who in the pictures!

Yours truly took pictures and video, enjoy. J

Traditional Games

I sat on the stage and weaved an intricate basket from the palm tree. I was almost finished, far ahead of the women from the 6 other villages. My basket was tightly weaved, each leaf wrapped around the next in just the right pattern. All eyes were on me - I was winning the August Games competition for Aishalton!

Well, almost. I didn’t weave a basket, or compete in any of the games, but I did take some awesome pictures! The final day of August Games were local activities. Representatives from each village showed how well they could weave baskets, make pari cari (local alcoholic drink), drink pari cari, grate cassava, climb trees, shoot archery, design arrows, cook pepperpot (Amerindian dish), make rope, and spin cotton. While I am basically skill-less in all of the above, the locals are skill-full. The competition was slim; everyone can perform these acts with their eyes closed, and probably have since they were young.

The competitions give life and excitement to the daily tasks of living in the Savannah as a Wapishana in Southern Guyana. They seemed to legitimize local culture for the younger generation, bringing a sense of fun and excitement to what could otherwise be construed as tedious and boring. Suddenly, the back-breaking work of bending over the cassava grater and pumping with one cassava in each hand now has the appeal of winning points! Now, instead of making an arrow just to shoot a parrot or armadillo, the arrow must have beautiful feathers and just the right point. Instead of endless spinning to weave a 12-pound hammock (for which the Wapishanas are famous), you are spinning to have the perfect piece of thread. It is just one method in the fight to keep traditional culture alive and well.

One final event of the August Games coming up in tomorrow’s blog! The best!

Palm tree Climing

Cotton Spinning
Pari Cari Drinking!
Cassava Grating!
Judging the cotton spinning

Smiling faces, hearty laughs, and a warmth that exudes the weather abound during traditional Wapishana culture shows. After watching several days of football, volleyball, and cricket, the evening culture shows began. Each village’s culture group performed stories, songs, dances, and dramas in detailed costumes featuring materials gathered in the local forests. It saddens me that I’m not yet able to understand Wapishana, because I know the stories and songs tell rich history and hilarious tales of life in the Savannah.

Without understanding the words, I can see the faces and hear the laughter and still experience the humor. I love this time because I see a joy and cheerfulness in the Wapishana people that I don’t see any other time. Eyes light up, we all watch the culture groups perform simple dances imitating the local natural world and nature, repeat elaborate narratives and parables, and chant simple songs aided by drums and maracas.

Chris and I marvel at the intricate headdresses, beaded cloths, and straw skirts. The dye is taken from traditional plants, the beads are actually seeds, and the cotton is locally grown and spun. Months of preparation have brought the culture groups to this evening. Even though the performances take place under harsh florescent lighting and aided with microphones, I sense the ancient force that connected the Wapishana with their Savannah, their environment.

Storytelling

Dancing!
Storytelling!
Singing!

August Games

It was an exciting few days. We left Aishalton, hammocks and mosquito nets in tow, for a smaller village, Maruranau. Here, the entire South Rupununi converged for one week, celebrating sport and culture. The 7 villages faced off in football, volleyball, and cricket Monday through Thursday, ending in finals on Friday. Aishalton girls won volleyball and football, and our boys won cricket. I was feeling pretty high and mighty, being ‘from’ Aishalton.

Sitting in the stands adeptly covered by thatched palm roofing, constantly dropping water purification tablets into my water and sipping on ‘cool-down’ (local juice with ice), I was still sweating. Dripping into your eyes-soaking through your shirt-not even cooling you off sweating. Unlike me, the team was NOT sitting in the shade, but speeding around on the field to make their village proud. Off the field they walk, glistening, needing only a small cup of water. “How do you do it??” I’m always asking the locals how they deal with the heat. “I’m accustomed”, they always answer. Is two years enough to become accustomed, I wonder?

Here are some pictures from the games, taken by Chris, who was brave enough to face the sun.

Other blogs to come featuring the cultural events from the evenings and all day Saturday.

Our home sits on a hill on the Western edge of the village. A hill affectionatly named "The Concrete Hill". Our home is in a 5 apartment building, 'teachers quaters' and we are inbetween the police office, the secondary school and dorms, and the hospital. They are all government buildings, built in the same style as all the other government buildings in Guyana... Concrete structure with zinc (tin) roof, painted yellow with brown trim. All of the village homes and buildings are traditional - wooden structure, sun roasted brick walls, and palm thatched roofs. Surrounding our concnrete hill on almost every direction is the Barjoan family. There is a Barjoan nurse at the hospital. 2 families behind us, the 'grandparent' Barjoans on the other side. All members of the family have been helpful, from pitching in to finish the fence to teaching me how to make 'cook up', to housing us while we looked for our keys. Here is Auntie Radika Barjoan and her adorable baby boy. (The first baby who let me hold him without any screaming involved!)

First, we make the pari cari, then we drink it. For this particular competition, the only measurement is who can drink the pitcher the fastest without any spilling down around the lips. Here's the ladies and gentlemen.

Every year, the 'deep south Rupununi' holds "August Games", a sort of local Olympics where all hte villages come together to compete in games for 5 days. The first days are traditional sports - football (soccer), volleyball, and cricket. The final days are traditional games - local practices. The ladies make and strain pari cari, the local alcoholic drink made from cassava. The men and women have drinking competitions, they race to the top of coconut trees, weave baskets, spin cotton and rope, traditional dances and music, and my favorite... fire starting without matches or fuel.

These are pictures from Aishalton's try-outs, a group of ladies straining the pari cari, which starts as a thick paste, similar to mud. The ladies add water and strain it so that it becomes a thick, milky substance. Traditionally, it is drunk from a bowl and you always fill the bowl and return a drink to whomever served you. After the ladies made it, the tryouts for drinking pari cari started, pictures to come.

Mary, Mary

My sweetest little visitor to my library... Mary. A little girl who reads more that you or I, she is constantly checking out books. She comes in, quiet and still. She turns in the two books she has and moves quickly to find the next two. You could ask her any question about the books she's just read, and she'll know the answer. Her dad works with Chris at the hospital and brought us pinapple plants - we may have pineapple in one year! This is her on market day.