4 Americans and a S*** ton of rope

For however obnoxious moving can be in the states, it becomes exceedingly tumultuous in a developing country. After our swearing in ceremony, all those in my group of Peace Corps colunteers moved out to our respective sites all over Guyana. My move consisted of my three housemates and I being dropped off on a street corner in the capitol city of Georgetown with a ludicrous amount of luggage. We proceeded to load the aforementioned cargo into the back of a 30 seat bus. Our bags, (which included clothes, books, bank statements, kitchen items, water filtration systems, and a little bit of peanut butter, to name a few things) did a hostile takeover of the back two rows with the efficiency and expediency of Germany's extended vacation into Poland. Dripping with sweat and anticipation (the former being a commmon motif in Guyana) we loaded ourselves onto the bus. Then, we shared a collective epiphany. In Guyana, life is completely different. From cooking practices to time management, it's a whole new world. No further Aladdin allusions will plague this entry. Anyway, we have an acronym within the circle of volunteers. We say "T.I.G." which stands for "This Is Guyana." I just watched Blood Diamond tfor the first time the other night, so I now realize how unoriginal this is. But it still works so bear with me. T.I.G. is a way to describe a moment in which the oddity one witnesses or experiences cannot be dealt with immediately. So when something arises that can neither be acknowledged or ignored...T.I.G. Now, back tot he bus. We had loaded up and were frothing at the bit to move into the new digs. But there are no tickets for this bus ride. One pays on arrival. Not like paying the boatman to ferry you across the river Sticks, although it is hot as hell and often times smells like death. This of course means that we had to sit, and wait...for the bus to fill. Fortunately, once we got going, the ride was only about and hour and a half. The house itself is really pretty great. Tim and Chelsea have the second floor to themselves, and Sara and myself have our own apartments downstairs. We've only been here a short while, but already have made many connextions around the community. Most of them food related, but I'm pretty sure we eat better than anybody else in Peace Corps Guyana.

Our first full day in Linden, my counterpart wanted to take us around town and show us the layout of things. We started at the office of regional affairs, where we were to meet the regional health officer. None of us had expected to meet many people in positions of power, and were slightly self conscious of the sweat stained grimy clothes we were sporting. Just then, the doctor we had met moments before rushed over and told us that the regional officers were having a meeting at that moment, and would like to be introduced to the four of us. We were awkwardly led into a large air-conditioned room with large tables filled with regional officials. Then the regional director made a motion to stop the meeting and take time to introduce and welcomeus. This is equivalent to walking into a state senate meeting. Super excited that my t-shirt looked like a rorscach test put together by Jackson Pollock, I tried to keep the movement to a minimum. T.I.G. As soon as that was finished, we walked across the street to open our new bank accounts. Now, to meet the regional officers and stop their meeting took roughly...10 minutes. How long then, would you expect it to open 4 new savings accounts? Survey says...Three and a half hours. I could've watched Sam and Frodo get a third of the way to Mt. Doom in less time. This Is Guyana, after all. Exhausted and hungry, we realized on the walk back home that we needed to take care of some practical things. Like a clothesline. We stopped by the hardware store. To purchase rope here, one cannot simply walk in with an idea of what length you might need. Oh no, that would be far to practical. Here, you buy rope BY WEIGHT. I'm not kidding. So, we just bought a whole spool of rope. Or, in Guyanese terms, three and a half pounds of rope. With such a ridiculous amount of rope, I'm sure you all know where this is going. In our attempts to string up three lines, the rope didn't come out of the coil like you'd expect. In fact, it was basically bunched together and tied with twine. So trying to unracel it was about as straightforward as taking a Sunday drive in Bagdhad. Needless to say, our neighbor had to come in for the assist.

We're still working on getting internet at the house. Considering the swiftness of the bank, I expect great things for the installation of DSL in our house. Except that we have to apply for a phone line that has to be approved by the communication company's headquarters in Georgetown then the line has to be installed then we can aplpy for broadband which must alsao then be approved and finally installed then we have to find Jimmy Hoffa's corpse, slay the dragon from Neverending Story and find Kevin Costner's dignity...then we'll have internet. Once that quest is completed, then these updates will be more frequent so Robin will stop whining at me and I'll be in better contact with everyone.

Since I now have a permanent address, if you'd like to part of the exclusive "I know Tony's international address" club, I'm holding a limited time offer on smal lvials of my musk for if you really miss me and want an authentic experience like I'm in the room with you. Or you could just email me and I'd be happy to give you the address.

TonxTheDestroyer@gmail.com

And check out the roommie's blogs!

tibbstravels.blogspot.com
sarakslife.blogspot.com

Miss you all!

One Love,
Tony