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.