Einstein was on to something

That Einstein guy was right. Time (along with lots of other things) is completely relative. I have no idea where the first two months of this year have gone. January flew by, and February has been a blur. This is a stark contrast to the first few months at my site. In the beginning, the remaining months seemed like this unfathomable distance. 20 more months!?

“Who thought this was I good idea??!”

This was how I often admonished myself in the first months while I was still adjusting. Honestly, it was like listening to a Coldplay album. The entire album only lasts 62 minutes, but feels like you’ve just finished watching the entire Lord of The Rings trilogy: the director’s cut. Now THAT is an epic time commitment. Perhaps I’m just getting used to everything here, or it could be the little things I have going on each month that help the time seem to pass so quickly. For example: last week, a brand new group of Americans arrived from all over the States. Yes, GUY 23 is officially in Guyana! I was asked to be part of the group of volunteers to greet the newbies at the airport. The invitation was both flattering and exciting, so of course I accepted. I even obtained a Peace Corps Guyana polo shirt, so I looked somewhat official.

The serious face is actually an homage to the Guyanese people. Every time you take their picture, they make a serious face, usually accompanied with a hand gesture. Jillian and I chose to go to throw hard looks with a black panther fist. Kellen opted for the more appropriate Japanese school girl touristy peace sign. Unfortunately, I don’t have many more pictures due to them being on the cameras of other volunteers. I will try to obtain more for the next posting. We had fun anyway!

There were about 12 volunteers total, only about 4 (myself included) were on the “official welcome committee.” The others lived close enough that they were able to come and meet the new group. So we had a good showing, and the new arrivals had the opportunity to meet a good mix people that have already been here for a while. We had a large banner that said “Peace Corps Guyana” right outside the arrival gate, in case they had any doubts where they were going. The common axiom being spewed forth was “follow the white people!” Which is probably the only time in history that statement could be issued without a trace of foreboding and irony.

As part of the welcome committee, I stayed in the hotel with the new group for their first week. It’s a large group, with 37 members total. 7 guys and 30 girls means it’s a little one-sided, but apparently that’s not uncommon for Peace Corps. My group, GUY 22, was atypical. We were almost exactly equal numbers of men and women. They all seem to be really cool people. I very diverse mix of backgrounds, both in terms of where they’re from, and what their specialties are.

Training is being done differently this year for the new group. Instead of having all the trainees live in the same general urban area, they’ve separated them into two training sites. One more urban, and one remote, depending on which type of site the trainees are more interested in. Next week, I’ll be with the remote group from Monday through Thursday, then I spend Friday with the urban group. It will be fun to work with them again, and see how the adjustment process is coming along.

Watching them arrive was both thrilling and a little surreal. It was odd to think about not being the baby faced freshmen group anymore, and strange because I remember being in their shoes. And it doesn’t seem like that long ago! They seem more excited than I ever remember being, but the staff assured me that I was just like them. The weather has been mercifully cool compared to last year. When my group arrived, they had a thermometer reading on the screens of the plane, and it was 65 degrees at 3,000 feet. When we landed, it must have been close to 80 on the ground…at 7am. In general, the weather has been much more pleasant this year. I’ve even been able to get away with bathing only once a day a few times as opposed to the two or three times I had gotten used to. Locals told me that last year was unusually hot. Right now, the rain is falling harder than theocracies in the Arab world. (Too soon?) But I enjoy it because the temperature is actually quite pleasant. Maybe Guy 23 won’t have such a rough adjustment as my group.

The new trainees swear in as volunteers in mid April. Right after their ceremony, Peace Corps is having a huge 50^th anniversary party. It’s supposed to be an expo showcasing the various projects that volunteers have been working on here in Guyana. Peace Corps has asked me to spearhead the effort of coordinating the activities for the health sector! So the next few months are going to be pretty busy. Just over 4 months until I’m home for a visit, so plan your summer accordingly!

All the best,

Tony

Sorry about the delay...

After an unexpected and prolonged blog embargo, I am finally back in action! Sadly, this extended absence of whimsical musings was due to circumstances out of my control. I had planned a most epic and adventure filled update right after my Barbados vacation, however, I returned to Guyana to find my computer not working. Or, to use the parlance of our times, (and by our times I mean the crass linguistic choices of my college roommate and I) it had pooped the bed. The level of my computer’s incontinence was so great, in fact, it required a return to the States for full evaluation and repair. The event was tragic and unfortunate, however the timing was rather serendipitous. About a week after I returned to Guyana, many volunteers were traveling home for the holidays. I was able to entrust my computer-turned-doorstop to fellow volunteer Annie, who was good enough to mail it to my parents. I had friends coming from home to visit me in January, so they were able to bring it back down with them. Anyway, computer is back, safe and sound. Now, without further ado, I give you a lengthy and much needed excursion into whimsy!

First and foremost, I most recap Barbados. I spent 5 days on the beautiful island nation of Barbados in the first week of December. There were several reasons for my little excursion. The first was that fellow volunteers Jason, Kirsten and myself had signed up for a half marathon in Barbados. That’s a pretty good reason to vacation in the Caribbean, right? I mean I already live right near there…so it was really a natural progression. Some friends from the states flew down to meet me there as well. Here’s a whimsical memory frozen in time of the guys:

In order of lightening skin pigment, we have Alvin, Jason, and your humble narrator.

Here are the girls:

From left to right we’ve got Kirsten, Sarah, and Hollie.

I know you’re probably asking, how did this motley crew come to share a two bedroom condo overlooking the Caribbean sea? Well, as mentioned before, Jason and Kirsten are also Peace Corps Volunteers serving in Guyana. We arrived in the same group, and Jason has become one of my closest friends down here. When either one of us need a break from the norm, we go visit each other. We have plans to travel around South America for a month or so when this is all done. His girlfriend, Kirsten, is tons of fun. She is a great conversationalist, fantastic cook, and an all around awesome person. Sometimes she complains that she has to share Jason with me. He and I just smile affectionately at one another. I think she’s finally embraced our bromance with a begrudging acceptance.

Jason and I:

Kirsten and I:

Sarah and I met in college, and have been best friends from the word “go”. If I were to have a fraternal twin sister, it would be Sarah. We usually introduce ourselves as surrogate siblings. She and I have been each other’s fashion advisors for a few years now. Honest to god we pick outfits for one another. In 5 years, Sarah hasn’t made a change to her hair without consulting me. I’m not kidding. We’re THAT close. We’ve already established than whenever she gets married, I’ll be standing right up there with the rest of the bridesmaids. On her side, no less. So you can only imagine how excited I was to see her!

Alvin is also a friend from college. Sarah, Alvin and I were all three big science nerds, and had many, many classes together. He is one of the happiest people I’ve met, and truly enjoyable to be around. One day he and I grabbed lunch at some random little restaurant in Barbados. When I asked the big Jamaican lady what was available, she explained to me all the options. In my hungered state, I forgot that Alvin isn’t too accustomed to the Creole dialect, but we both managed to get out an order anyway. After the meal, I asked Alvin how he liked his curried goat. His reply, “I ATE GOAT!?!” I felt some responsibility. We have fun together though!

Hollie and I actually hadn’t met until she got to Barbados. She and Sarah met a few years back while volunteering in Tanzania. They were instant friends, and have stayed in close contact ever since. Hollie has the travel bug REAL bad, and the financial means to indulge it. So, when Sarah said we were going to Barbados, Hollie was practically on the plane already. She is high octane, in your face, and tons of fun. Between the two of us, the island surely felt out presence.

Hollie, Alvin, and I:

So that’s how all the pieces fit together. To sweeten the deal, we had a few connections. I’ve become quite close with a family that lives around the corner from me in Linden. As it turns out, they have extended family in Barbados! Lisa (my neighbor) emailed her cousin Wendy to put in a good word. Now, Wendy owns a condo right on the South side of Barbados that she rents to people. With the family connection, we got a little discount. Fully furnished, two-bedroom condo with kitchen and air conditioning in the bedrooms, and hot water. It was incredible. Here’s the view from the back of the condo. Did I mention it backed out onto the Caribbean Sea?

Now, in case your envy wasn’t as green as the seaweed, there’s an even better part to this tale. Wendy’s husband, Stephen, owns a boat touring company. So, again for a discount, we got to go on a 3.5 hour snorkeling tour around Barbados. It was the highlight of the trip, by far. The first stop was swimming with sea turtles.

CZECH IT!!!

There were two other sites after the turtles. The first was a large coral reef, followed by two shipwrecks. It was an awesome experience. Not to mention free beer and rum punch was included. After a hard day of snorkeling, a rum punch is quite refreshing!

The other days were jam packed of adventures, too! After the race (which I finished not as well as I’d hoped, but still under 2 hours) we decided to go surfing! Barbados is a great place to surf. Waves are just the right size. Now, this is a story in and of itself. Sundays in the Caribbean, things pretty much shut down. But we were really jonesin for some waves. As mentioned before, Hollie is more than a little outgoing. On her flight in to Barbados, had befriended a flight attendant, who was actually from Barbados. They hit it off so well, she gave Hollie her number. What better way to see a place then by knowing a local, right!? So Sunday afternoon, Hollie called this flight attendant, and inquired about the best place to go surf. The flight attendant called her sister, who is married to a guy named Zed. Now, Zed owns the only surf shop on Surfer’s Point. Zed is good enough to go to his shop, and open it specifically for us. He then allows us to rent boards at a discount rate, for as long as we want. He had to get back home, and told us to simply put the boards back when we were finished. It was a pretty great day.

The final big event of the trip? Jason proposed to Kirsten! She said yes! I’ll take the photo credit for this one, thanks.

Barbados, in short, is an outstanding place to go visit. I can’t recommend it enough. The people are fantastic, the place is beautiful, and the weather, as always, is perfect. Plus, you can still be as juvenile as you want!

Back in Guyana, things just kept on rolling! I’m right in the middle of teaching a course on Pathophysiology. That’s been keeping me busy and out of trouble. Similar to last term, I’ve been given free reign of the class. So preparing lectures and tests is rather time consuming! Things are going well with the class though. The students are still very responsive, and on days that I haven’t gone to the school, or had meeting up in Georgetown, I hear “Sir! I missed you!” at least a half dozen times. As if my ego needed any boosting! I recently walked in on a meeting at the school. It was an accident, but my supervisor invited me to stay anyway. It turns out that HIS boss was there. This is the man who is responsible for all the nursing programs in Guyana. They asked for my impressions of the school, any suggestions or improvements I saw, and my overall opinion of the program in general. I was both flattered and excited, to say the least. After gathering my thoughts, I expressed my views and concerns to a rapt audience. The Big Boss was impressed with both my approach to teaching and my methodology. So impressed, in fact, that he wants to have me come teach up in Georgetown in the not too distant future. Whether or not that happens remains to be seen, but the potential is exciting!

There was some progress with the elderly club as well. While there has been regular attendance for the past few months, there weren’t any members in official positions. As of last month, we now have a president, vice-president, treasurer, and secretary. While this may seem like pedantic, bureaucratic stuff to most, in Guyana that implies some level of ownership. And with that comes sustainability. If all things go well, this club will still be going strong by the time I leave. The biggest hurdle now is just keeping those members above ground! That was a bit much, I apologize. That comment wasn’t exactly tasteful, but it sure was whimsical!

A few weeks ago, two friends from home came to visit. It was a little surreal to have some of my old friends from Oregon down here in Guyana with me. I took the opportunity to show them as much of Guyana as I could. We came down to Linden for a few days, travelled up to visit my host family, went on a 45 minute speed boat ride, did a rum factory tour, swam in the dirty Atlantic, and I introduced them to as many Volunteers as I could. We had quite the time. They were also here for my 25th birthday, which made it that much more memorable. First birthday away from Oregon, but still had friends there from home.

In just a few days, I'll have been in Guyana for an entire year. In retrospect, the year has gone by exceedingly fast. It certainly didn't always feel fast, but such is life. I'll be home for a visit in a mere 5 months! I'm very excited for that. July will be my first time on American soil in 17 months! The next group of volunteers arrives on February 15th, and Peace Corps has asked me to be one of the volunteers that not only welcomes them into the country, but stays with them for the first few days to help ease the transition. I'm excited to meet all of them, and see what arriving here is like from the other side. I'll see if I can scare any of them with tales of Guyana before they even meet their host families...

The hottest Thanksgiving on record

My Guyanese Thanksgiving started out not as I had anticipated and/or hoped. I had intended to get up early and knock out a 10 mile run. Alarm went off, Tony’s sausage fingers hit ‘off’ instead of ‘snooze.’ I awoke 45 minutes after I intended, cursing my Homer Simpson-esque dexterity. The sun was well on its way above the horizon, guaranteeing that my exercise session will be comparable to taking a run in a pizza oven. Which, in retrospect, better prepared me for the sophomore voyage of El Grill. (Only did 6 miles, for those who care.)

This is El Grill. We had a mechanic that lives down the street weld it together for us. I realize that the multicolored conglomeration pictured above looks like an aborted Fantasia character, but El gets the job done. So efficient is El at his specific purpose, he managed to roast (to perfection I might add!) a 12 lb. Turkey in 3.5 hours. Of course, the mountain of charcoal and liter of kerosene were the true players behind the scene, but overall it was a team effort.

The Cast:

Chelsea: Official in charge of turkey

Tim: Chelsea’s husband and official photojournalist of all events and happenings/ bartender for the day

Sara: Surrogate family provider and Stuffing maker extraordinaire!

Tony: Resident mashed potato and gravy master/Fireball maker with kerosene!

Becky: Volunteer from Region 3 who is an honorary member of Linden Crew for the weekend, and bringer of pumpkin pie!

Sara’s Family: Played the role of surrogate family, gift providers, and just all around exceptional people!

Lisa: My Guyanese mother and all around super lady!

The ceremonial lighting of El Grill commenced promptly around 9ish. We wanted to start the coals going around 7, but instead of letting the kerosene soak into the charcoal, Chelsea and I debated the various methods and idiosyncrasies of getting these amorphous blocks of charcoal to stay lit. I made fireballs, hoping to win the mental game against the coals, frightening them into submission. It was a fruitless effort, but my juvenile person was still satisfied with my spirited endeavors. Once lit, however, El Grill did a fantastic impersonation of the surface of the sun.

The preparation for this day was weeks in the making. We utilized all our various resources to get everything we wanted and needed. The first task was to convince the mechanic down the street to build El Grill for us. Turns out dollars are an acceptable incentive for a mechanic to do our bidding. Who knew!??! I had first approached him back in October about the possibility of locating all the necessary parts for El Grill, and then assembling them. He happily complied. Last weekend, El Grill was taken on the inaugural test run. We grilled an entire turkey, an assortment of chicken wings, some brazilian sausage, some chicken sausage, and a pizza, just in case. All accounts and opinions deemed the trial run to be successful. We spent the rest of the week mentally preparing for the big day.

That’s not entirely true. We all knew what our respective jobs were, and since there were no expectations, it was and extremely relaxing holiday. In all truth and honesty, I think we all secretly thought everything was going to crash and burn, and we’d have just one more crazy tale to go along with our lives here. The final spread was extremely impressive, and extremely delicious.

The turkey before:

And after:

The whole spread: several angles were necessary to fully capture the awesomeness.

After dinner, Lisa and her dad came and picked up the whole gang, and we drove out to an old mined out section of Linden, and admired the view and the glorious sunsets of Guyana.

The hottest Thanksgiving on record was a wild success, exceeding (I think) everyone’s expectations. It was surely one that I’ll never forget. If I somehow DO forget this Thanksgiving, my sweat stained clothing will serve as a tangible memento of the glory of El Grill, and the difficulties of cooking on the surface of the Sun.

Hindus celebrate light, I celebrate beer.

As I was lying in bed the other night watching a movie, I could have SWORN that I felt something brush against my foot. It didn’t feel like a big something, but my brain instinctively said ‘rodent’. But when I turned my light on for the hunt, there was no sign of this phantom mouse. So I went to sleep, with no further attention given to the incident. The next morning, however, I got out of the shower, and noticed this hanging down beneath my bed frame:

Now, is it just me, or does that bear a frightening resemblance to a rodent’s appendage? Specifically, the tail region. But it looked lifeless! So I grabbed my camera, coming to the logical conclusion that somehow my girth had shifted just right during the night so as to slowly crush this mouse. However, when I lifted up the mattress, fully expecting a mangled mouse carcass, I saw only this:

The ‘mouse tail’ was a strip of wood glue that had come off the bed frame. Boy was my face red! Not to mention I was a little disappointed with the somewhat boring outcome of such a promising encounter. I got my wish a few days later though, when I actually saw a mouse in my apartment. I gave chase, and yes, this story does end with a casualty. Not of the mouse, mind you, but of my broom. I chased the devious animal until it ran under the couch, all the while screaming and weaving a tapestry of profanity that would make a sailor blush. Have I mentioned how much I loath rodents, by the way? So this mouse was taking refuge in a piece of furniture, and I proceeded to bash the furniture with my trusty broom, hoping that my fanatical thrashing will scare it out. However, I got a little too overzealous, and managed to snap the broom head right off. Mice: 2 Tony: 0 Defeated, I sighed and retired to my hammock, where I then saw the mouse scurry across the floor and leave. I quietly cursed his entire family.

Sometimes I honestly just feel like I’m living in Dr. Doolittle’s purgatory. Another incident occurred recently that reminded me just how far from home I am. As I’ve mentioned before, there is a humble but effective gym around the corner from my house that I go to about three days a week. I like to go first thing in the morning for three reasons 1) it’s a (somewhat) reasonable temperature 2) there is nobody else there 3) I like to have the workout finished early in the day. The gym is located behind a house, essentially in a door-less garage. The people have two dogs, which are both very sweet animals. One of the dogs, the aptly named “Killer” likes to sleep underneath the bench press. He also likes to use the gym as a latrine. So there is a section of the floor that is perpetually wet. And as I make my way over to another corner of the gym, I can’t ignore the somewhat unpleasant smell emanating from the old, broken down treadmills that reside there. You guessed where this story is going. Killer has turned the treadmill graveyard into an asteroid field. Yes, asteroid is indeed a polite euphemism. But that is a pretty regular occurrence. No, the unusual one involved animals of a different variety. I walked up to the gate one morning, and as I looked into the yard, there were about 5 or 6 rather large pigs having their way with the garbage and any other form of food they could locate. I stood at the gate for a few minutes, weighing my options. I decided to go ahead with my lifting session. I navigated that porky maze and started in on the bench press. Killer was nowhere to be found.

Now, before I go on, I have to make a quick digression to explain an odd linguistic trait of the Guyanese. People here never walk up to your door and knock to see if you’re home. No, they will stand at your gate and state as loudly as humanly possible “INSIDE?!?!” This applies both at private homes and businesses. Don’t see anybody around? Yell “Inside!” until somebody either responds or comes over to you. Conversely, if you’re wondering who is waiting at your gate, you can yell from inside your house, “Outside?!” This was the case on the Day of Pigs. The grazing ham hocks suddenly became very noisy as they knocked over a metal trash can in search of scraps. So I’m in the gym, still not entirely sure what my role is in the situation, and I hear “Outside…?” Since I don’t always have a total grasp of the rules of conversational etiquette here or colloquial phrases, I paused and then awkwardly responded with an uninspired “Um…yeah, Inside? Hello? There are…well there are pigs out here.”

“Pigs!??!?” She yells back.

“Yeah…there’s about 5 or 6 here…” I responded.

About thirty seconds later I sat there, still unsure of my role, as this woman in her late 60s wearing a floral printed muumuu ran around her yard with a stick, whipping these bacon-y invaders while they squealed with terror. What made this even more comical was that it was still dark out, so I could only see flashes of pig and flowers jetting through the darkness. When she was finished with the pork purge, she just walked back inside and shut the door. Apparently my services were not necessary during the whole ordeal.

November has gone by very quickly. The first weekend in November was the Hindu holiday Diwali. It is also known as the “Festival of Lights” It represents the return of Lord Rama from his fourteen year exile and vanquishing the demon king Ravana. The legend goes that when the king returned, the people celebrated by putting out oil lamps called diyas to light the way home. In Linden, there are no people of Indian descent, so I traveled up to another region in the Northeast part of Guyana to stay with some other volunteers. Where they live, the Indian population is very high, and one of the families had actually invited us over to their home for the celebration.

This is Vani. She and her family invited us over to light the diyas and enjoy some curried potatoes and chickpeas. We then helped place lights all around the house, and they took us next door to the Mandir. A Mandir is a hindu temple. We sat through the entire Diwali service. I had never attended any Hindu function before, and for the most part had absolutely no idea what was going on. But it was interesting to see. The people were extremely excited to have white people visit them. The priest kept telling us that he commended us on visiting his temple, and simply said that we were welcome to worship the god of our understanding any way we choose. I appreciated the gesture, but didn’t have the heart to tell him that I’m just another godless heathen just enjoying a new experience. When we got back to the Vani’s house, she provided fireworks, which of course cause myself and the four other volunteers I was with to regress to giggling children. Needless to say, we had a good time.

Here's a photo of the shrine at the Mandir. The bowl in the lower right was the sacrifice to the deities.

I got a great surprise coming back from Diwali. I stopped by the Peace Corps office to see if there happened to be anything in my mailbox there. As it turned out, there was! To my shock, awe, and glee, there were TWO bottles of my all time favorite beer sitting there: Black Butte Porter. I was so excited I did a photo shoot with one of the bottles as I enjoyed it.

Where did the beer come from, you may ask yourself. Another volunteer from GUY 21 had recently gone home for a month to visit. Just before he’d left, he had mentioned that he was so excited to drink a few microbrews. I inquired about a few of my favorites, all of which he’d never even heard of. So, I sat down and created a rather substantial list of beers that if he should encounter, it would behoove him to partake in each. The list ended up being about 25-30 different types. As it turned out, he was so impressed with my suggestions, that to thank me he brought me two bottles of black butte! It was like a taste of Oregon all the way down in Guyana.

The rest of November has been relatively uneventful. Another meeting of the elderly club went as well as previous ones did. I do have a few more tales of victory though! One woman came in, she told me that she’d been exercising on a regular basis a few days a week. That news was exciting enough by itself. What sweetened the deal was that her blood pressure had dropped about 30 points since the two months when she first started to come seeing me. But my favorite victory story is with a 68 year old man. He came in for his checkup, and I asked how everything was going. He told me that he’d taken my advice, he now exercises two hours everyday, and no longer adds salt to his food! I congratulated him on all of his efforts. But the results spoke for themselves. Three months ago, his blood pressure was 150/90. Last week when I measured it, he was all the way down at 120/70! He thanked me and said that he was feeling much better than he had in some time.

Overall, things here are starting to mesh, and I feel like I’m getting into the swing of things. Days and weeks are starting to fall off the calendar. Next week is Thanksgiving, and we here at the Linden house have a culinary battle plan. Without an oven, we were concerned that turkey would be out of the question. Being resourceful Peace Corps volunteers, however, we found an alternative. There is a mechanic who owns a shop down the street. Long story short, we got him to build us a grill from a metal barrel. The battle plan is to slow roast the turkey on our new bar-b-que! Most of the other ingredients (turkey, cranberry sauce, etc.) are being purchased in Georgetown. We’re all pretty excited, and it should be as close to home as possible.

I’ll keep enjoying the Caribbean sun, and hope you all stay warm!

I’m going to Barbados in just under two weeks, so the next post will have many, many pictures!

All the best,

Tony

Autumn: Then vs. Now

October in Oregon is a turbulent mix of weather and emotions for me. Past October mornings were spent basking in the glory of a hot shower. The pinnacle of this humid mini-vacation occurred in college when my roommate Ian bought me a shower chair for my 22^nd birthday. Some friends were skeptical (including Ian), falsely operating under the impression that shower chairs were only for the old and enfeebled. They would start “well I just assumed that…” and I would rudely interrupt, curtailing even the most self righteous of acquaintances with words of wisdom from my omniscient grandmother. “Assuming makes and ass out of you and me!” Then I’d lock them in the bathroom until they felt the urge to bathe. Don’t worry, I wouldn’t actually lock them in the bathroom. But I would throw some caustic or rancid substance on their person, which would then necessitate self-cleaning. Well I wouldn’t do that with any regularity. But I would write them a harshly worded letter of disappointment (WHY DON’T YOU TRUST ME!??) or encouragement (YOU SMELL LIKE JABBA THE HUTT’S FAT FLAP), assuming I could find my thesaurus. Anyways, after I’ve finished the actual bathing portion of my shower, all I want to do is sit down and relax. But nobody wants to just sit down in the tub. That’s weird. Thus, my desire for a shower chair was born. I had actually forgotten this long lost love of mine. Guyana has a way of curbing all enthusiasm for hot things. (I mean temperature hot, not spicy hot.) But the last week in September, I was staying at a hotel in Georgetown with all the remaining GUY 22 volunteers for a workshop. (Each year another group of volunteers arrives, I’m in the 22^nd group, which is abbreviated GUY 22) The rooms had AC, which was fantastic. And I had my first hot shower in eight months. In my mind’s eye, I pictured my shower chair, and whispered “I yearn for you tragically” as I stood in the scalding water until my skin was red and blotchy. It was glorious. This particular workshop was to mark 6 months since we moved to our respective sites all across the country. The focus was on project design and management, or PDM as I will refer to it, since Peace Corps is really into acronyms. We were all asked to bring a co-worker, a Guyanese native that we felt would be a good asset. I brought a nurse from the clinic I work at.

This is June. And she is probably one of my favorite people down here. We’re good friends, talking and joking all the time. The biggest benefit of teaming up with June is that she tells it like it is, and if I have a bad idea, or perhaps my behavior isn’t culturally acceptable, she politely rectifies my social faux pas. We usually travel up to the clinic in the same vehicle, and one morning, I failed to notice her waiting across the street. When I told her this, she replied “Tony, I’m too big for you to miss!” She also knows EVERYBODY and yells at my students if they get too aggressive. Overall, I would consider the workshop successful. June and I made some tentative plans and jotted down ideas for the elderly club at the clinic. Over the next six months, we hope to double the number of participants, and get at least a quarter of them on some sort of regular exercise regimen. Monday was the third meeting of the elderly club since its inception. There were some new participants this time, and the group seems to be slowly growing in size, which is encouraging. People expressed their desire to have this club, and even expressed some ideas about what direction they’d like it to go. This is extremely reassuring for me, as I want the club to be a sustainable venture, and by helping the participants to take ownership of it, the likelihood of it continuing after I’m gone is much higher. One man came in, and we’d spoken before, but it had been about 5 weeks. He’s a hypertensive patient, and had some questions about dietary modifications. He told me that he followed my dietary suggestions, and he was actually feeling much better. In my head, I did a fist pump and yelled ‘VICTORY!!’ He’s struggled with hypertension for some time, and he was feeling so good, he had lowered the dosage of his blood pressure medication. When I measured his blood pressure at the clinic that day, it was down 20 points from what it was a month ago. He and I were both extremely pleased. I’ll go ahead and put a check in the ‘win’ column for that one. It was also a fresh reminder that I don’t have to build a monument here. The seemingly small victories are actually pretty substantial.

But just like that, it’s the middle of October. Back home this time of year, I embrace the cooler days and nights, because that means that my favorite season is fast approaching. I do love winter, but Fall and I have shared heated words before. When I was a child, I remember running outside in October to bask in the glory of Mr. Sun, then yelling up at the sky, cursing the fates for mocking me with this glorious spectral orb as my fingers cramped and turned red, impeding my videogame performance, which in turn made me a cranky panda. “Isn’t the sun supposed to be warm??!!?” I wailed emphatically, and since nobody likes a moody seven year old, I’m fairly certain my parents were tempted to give me a battery to lick in the hopes that my tongue would short circuit so I’d stop being such a whiny little bastard. As an adult, however, I secretly (or not so secretly) get more excited because as the weather turns colder, it means I can wear all my cool hats and jackets and things. In this place, I’m more concerned with fetid and oppressive sweat stains than I am with looking fashionable while staying warm. As I conclude my 8^th month in this place, time feels stagnant with no discernible change in weather patterns, temperature, or daylight. The sun rises and sets at the same time everyday, and its regularity makes me a little antsy. But I got another break from the day-to-day grind of regular work the first week of October. We here in Peace Corps Guyana put out a quarterly newsletter called The GAFF. Gaffing is a Guyanese colloquial phrase that simply means to talk or chat. I am one of four staff members who stays in Georgetown for a few days to write and compile articles, pictures, news, etc. So I actually got TWO WHOLE WEEKS of hot showers and air conditioning! I felt pretty spoiled. There are two volunteers from GUY 21, and two from GUY 22, including myself. Once GUY 21 leaves, I’ll be the editor in chief of this humble little newsletter. I really enjoy the work, and I’ll try to get an electronic copy for any of you who are interested.

I’ve started to compartmentalize my remaining time here, and it makes everyday feel like a small step towards a great achievement. Next month, I’m going up to Georgetown with my neighbor Dick to watch some motorcycles races. Then at the end of November, my housemate Sara’s family is coming to visit. The first week of December, I’ll be in Barbados for a weeklong vacation and half marathon (training is still going well!), then it’s jesus’ birthday. Just now, it’s going to be 2011, where two of my good friends are coming to visit! Then I turn 25, then my best good friend Robin turns 25, and I’ll have been in Guyana for one whole year! In March, GUY 22 will have our mid-service training. There will be de-worming medicine and stool samples aplenty! Shortly after that, I’ll be home for a visit! By the time I return to Guyana, I’ll have 8 short months remaining. Not that I’m counting or anything. Overall, this has been a positive experience, full of challenges well beyond the scope of my most loosely defined comfort zones.

The Peace Corps is almost 50. Here’s some recommended reading for you all! Despite all the time that’s passed and all the individuals that have served all over the world, many of the emotions these returned volunteers describe are the exact same sentiments I feel here today. Check it out!

http://articles.chicagotribune.com/2010-10-09/news/ct-met-peacecorps-20101009_1_peace-corps-volunteers-sikh

Oh, and Happy Halloween!

It's a little hot for heaven

It’s been awhile since my last update. Turns out that the second half of August, and the first half of September have been rather uneventful. My schedule suddenly became very open as classes were on summer break, and the clinic was even slower than normal. Now I’ve been here almost eight months, and I’m still adjusting to the vast differences of life in Guyana. Just when I thought my body was acclimating to the tropical environment, the weather got even more hot and humid. I remember when I was a kid, I used to think how amazing it would be if summer lasted all year. And after being here this long, I can tell you that the magic is gone. In Oregon we have very distinct seasons. But as October approaches, I find that the weather is exactly the same as it was when I arrived in February. Maybe just a little hotter. I thought I was acclimating, but last week I got back from a morning at the clinic, and my shirt looked like this.

I know many questions are running through your head, dear reader. Are those really sweat stains? Did he go running in a dress shirt? Was it raining in patches? The answer is yes to the first of the above questions. That shirt was adorning my person for only a few short hours. I was working up at the clinic, and the nurses and I were walking around the neighborhood distributing flu vaccines. Despite my relatively active lifestyle, a slow saunter around the immediate vicinity caused me to transform my dress shirt into an extra salty Rorschach test. Even the waistline is soiled in the Everglades like mess of my equator. This is not an altogether uncommon occurrence. But this shirt was a particularly fantastic example due to the contrast of sweaty region to not sweaty. I’m also fortunate enough to have a Laundromat around the corner from our house. So once a week, I take a big bag of clothes over to my buddy James, and he washes, dries, and folds my clothes. Lazy? Perhaps. But truth be told, I hate doing laundry by hand. I hate it with the fiery passion of a thousand white hot suns. Some volunteers hate cooking, so they pay someone for that service. As we all know, that is not a problem for me.

Other changes since my last update…After almost six months, I finally got a haircut. Fear not though! My housemate Chelsea performed the aesthetic alteration this time. So I don’t have to sport that whole “Eastern Block” look that was my cross to bear during my first couple months here. That decision came after a particular incident a few weeks ago. Initially, I had planned to just let my hair grow for about a year, just to see how it looked. I made it halfway. After six months, the humor of it was lost on me. It wasn’t even that funny anymore. I started to share a frightening resemblance to Tom Hanks in CastAway. After he’d been on the island for four years, mind you. I would never compare myself to the argyle-sweater sporting mid-90s Tom Hanks. Anyway, so the hair was not only ridiculously hot, but I looked so deliciously white trash that I couldn’t stand it anymore. But I was still pretty determined, until this happened:

At the clinic one afternoon, it was still extremely slow. I was sitting in a small room with a fan, reading a book. In walks one of the younger nurses, and before I can finish the sentence I’m reading, I feel fingers start fondling my golden locks. I pause, place my book down, and without a word, give one of those looks that says “What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” She looked at me, stopped moving her hand, than said “Oh, is this not ok?” My mind raced over a variety of response from the crass to the combative before I settled on “I’d prefer you didn’t, but do what you have to.” Fortunately, she caught on to the underlying message, and quickly stopped. But not before exclaiming “YOUR HAIR IS SO SOFT!!!” I concurred, then she reached up to feel her own hair, a look of longing on her face as she contemplated the difference in hair types. I decided right then that a good shearing was required.

BEHOLD!!

Before...

After...

With my new ‘do came a new schedule. Classes have finally started back up again, so I’m finding that I have more to do finally. Going from the slow start up to busy then back to minimal activity was a difficult transition. This month I’m reviewing materials from the last semester that students still had issues with. Then come October, the next semester officially starts. I will be helping teach a class on pathologies and disease states as well as a class on health assessment. Or, if things go as they did last semester, I’ll be writing the curriculum and tests for the pathology course as well!

Not everything is going as smooth as the teaching job however. Including in the kitchen. My diet down here has become predominately vegetarian since moving to Guyana. Not only am I extremely cautious about eating meat in a third world country, (for a variety of reasons I won’t get into here. But let’s just say the livestock wanders around the streets…and it’s true that you are what you eat) but it can be quite expensive as well. Now, down here, I put hot sauce on EVERYTHING. I’ve always been a big fan of spicy foods. The Guyanese have a sauce they make which they simply call pepper. It is aptly named, and on the upper end of the spicy spectrum. If you get a little too overzealous with it, you’re guaranteed to be singing “Ring of Fire” for your next few bathroom visits. Anyway, the climate here is just as hot as the food, and it’s rare that I’m wearing more than just shorts while at home. As I was making some food the other night, I opened a brand new bottle of pepper. My attention wasn’t entirely on the bottle, and as the cap started to reveal the opening to the bottle, a Vesuvius like eruption cause pepper to spray ALL over everything, including your shirtless narrator. I tried to put the cap back on, but there was a substantial amount of pressure, and the sauce looked as though it were boiling. I finally managed to get the cap secured, and sat in wonder at this bizarre chemical reaction. It took a few minutes to clean up, and I finished cooking. But, about ten minutes later, that all too familiar burning sensation started emanating from my torso. I had cleaned the pepper off myself quickly, but the volume and concentration apparently cared not for my expedient sanitation. Lucky for you all, I had to foresight to document the injury. Those are not stretch marks from a girthy meal, but chemical burns from hot sauce.

I've been keeping busy though. Finished what I can only guess is my 18th or 19th book since arriving here. And, fellow volunteers Jason, Kirsten, and myself have spent the last few months training for a half marathon! It takes place the first weekend in December...In beautiful Barbados! So if you happen to find yourself in that part of the Caribbean in early December, you'll have to let me know!

Hope you all are well!

~Tony

Oh, and since I privatized my blog, only those who have invites can view it. So if you have anyone who used to enjoy it, but was inadvertently shunned by me, then let me know! I'm happy to send them an invite if you send me their email...

Half a year away

It’s been six months since I’ve arrived in Guyana, and I’m not even close to running out of shampoo. Thanks Costco! There have been many ups and downs during the past few months. There has been much adjustment. Some on my part, and some from those I work with adjusting to me. There have been good days and bad days. Some of the good days have been really good, and some of the bad really bad. I feel accomplished to have persevered this long, especially when I know that I’m about a quarter of the way through my time here. That seems crazy to me, but there it is.

I’ll be home to visit in a year, so please plan your lives accordingly if you require your own personal excursion into whimsy. Life in Linden is amusing and a far cry from the life I grew up with. The other night, I had to shepherd a frog out of my apartment. After living here long enough, I’ve gotten accustomed to having uninvited visitors both in my home and on my person. The mosquitoes fight dirty, biting tops of feet and around the ankles. You know how difficult it is to scratch your ankle?! But I digress.

Tim, Sara, Chelsea and I recently got our bicycles. Linden isn’t that big of a place, especially compared to the cities we’re used to. I mean, Guyana’s entire population is about the same as Portland. Excited for my new ease of transportation, I took my brand spanking new mountain bike down to the market to get a few things. I named it Black Mamba due to its grey and black color scheme. Anyway, it would seem that I have an inability to behave properly or follow regulations on anything with two wheels. My first time out on the bike, I got stopped by the police. I’m not kidding. My crime? Going the wrong way down a one-way street. For the record, there is no sign indicating the direction of traffic flow. So, as I was cruising along, giggling to myself at my new found expediency, when a small man in a black beret and a tan trenchcoat got out of a police pickup and said with unimpeded disdain, “Sir! This is a one way. You’ll have to turn around.” I briefly sized him up, guessing that I could probably outrun him, and finish my errands as quickly as I had originally anticipated. I felt especially confident in my escapist abilities due to the fact that this guy was wearing a long coat…in the tropics. Honestly, who wears a coat down here? Windows don’t even close all the way, no matter what time of year! Oh well. Then, I realized that I’m one of like, 4 white guys in the whole city. It wouldn’t exactly be hard to track me down and give me my rightfully deserved citation. Especially since I can see the police station from my house. Plus, he had a serious case of small man syndrome, and would have likely found my attempted escape a worthy reason to thump my skull with whatever blunt instrument his embarrassingly small-fingered hands could procure. I had to turn around, ride back to the street I had just turned from, then continue on to the next block before I could continue in the desired direction. As it turns out, due to the large number of one way streets I can only bike on uni-directionally, the bicycle really makes no difference to my errand running time. Instead of the shortest route, I have to pedal my cracker ass all the way down to the main road to even get where I need to in the market. Egg on my face.

Work has slowed down slightly, as I just gave the final for my class last week. Now the students have a few weeks off before the next semester starts. I’ll still be working with the faculty to modify the existing curriculum both in content and structure. Next semester, the most time-consuming class is pathophysiology which I will be teaching only about one day a week. The nursing school is a three year program, and several of the second and third year students have approached me to ask if I’d be available to teach some refresher courses for their groups. Looks like the nursing school will have their own token white guy for the next couple of years! Maybe by then the questions will cease. But that’s doubtful. Back at the clinic, my boss and I have started a club for the elderly that will meet once a month. We’re planning on doing some cooking demonstrations, exercise regiments, and some open discussion on the two prevalent diseases: hypertension and diabetes. The cooking demonstrations will attempt to show people how to make the foods they love without the huge amount of salt they typically add for flavor. Many people here use MSG, salt, and buillon cubes for flavor. Some will even put all three in the same dish. Most are floored when I tell them that all three are just variations of salt. So if they can use natural flavorings to still get a meal they find appetizing, then I’ll be pleased.

Oh, and tomorrow is my dad’s birthday. Be sure and call him and yell “Happy Birthday you Heifer!”

Because I feel he deserves the attention.