So here I am sitting in a nearly complete computer lab. In front of me is a desktop turned file/web/monitoring server and to my side is nearly 30 computers donated by Global Partnership for Literacy (I talked about them in the previous post.) We got a broadband connection (256k down for $50 US a month), and most of the computers are now connected to the internet.

The students have already been putting these things to good use by researching ideas for a regional science fair next month. The beautiful thing about the internet is it enables your imagination to run wild. Even though the kids competing in the science fair really have no grasp of chemistry, the internet has enabled them to start on a pretty complicated but exciting idea. The kids are basically replicated http://www.huskpowersystems.com/ , using the remains of rice processing (rice husks) and extracting as much cellulosic material as possible to create ethanol. This has turned into a learning experience for me. I tried explaining the basic overview of how to turn the rice husks into fuel (cellulosic ethanol) and they inferred that I already knew how to do everything. I actually have no where near the background necessary to oversee this project but I see this as a huge opportunity for these kids to learn some really substantial science so I’ve hit the books. Feel good stories aside, I am really glad that these kids finally the computer lab as a learning resource.

I am also learning much more about culture here by seeing what the kids look up on the internet. Of course I have an internet filter for the obvious inappropriate content, but like any generation of kids, colloquial terms are used so that adults have no clue what they mean.   Boomsy is actually a word they use here to mean a large butt, godie (large testicles), toss (woman or girl), pada or eloh (female genitals), or bull (sexual intercourse). You have a lot of slang coming from fellow Guyanese in New York (or it could be just 50 cent, I will never know) like onion booty, and magic stick.

Greet the birds.

It seems like ages since I have written a blog post, and it looks like it too. I don’t consciously fall out of communication with my friends and family, it just naturally occurs once or twice a year. I guess changing hemispheres doesn’t change a person’s habits. For those of who you have written emails wondering if I am still alive, fear no more I have risen.

I have done and experienced a lot of things. Some memories have faded with only pictures left to recollect the awesomeness of my travels, but I will do my best to summarize the events that have unfolded. After my previous post, school was let out and I was left with nothing to do. The break between the terms lasted for three weeks, just enough time to go and see some of the hard to reach corners of Guyana. However, I had to decide whether I wanted to experience the culture of Guyana’s people (of which 95% live on the coast) or cast them aside for the deep unpopulated regions of forest. I decided to spend the time leading up to Christmas at my post and then take a trip to Iwokrama for the remainder of the break.

Even in recollection, I still can’t reason why Christmas here felt like I was in New York City. No snow was falling, but it seemed everywhere you went the holiday was being marketed. The battlefield raged with massive weapons of fake trees, horrible music, and everything green and red. I don’t consider myself a Christmas scrooge, but it takes an extraordinary human to hear “I am dreaming of a white Christmas,” the number of times I have. I spent Christmas morning with my fill-in mom (another teacher at school who invites me over for dinner and board games) who cooked a Guyanese feast. One thing I will dearly miss when I leave is the quality of ingredients they use here. Breakfast started off with a dish called Pepper-Pot, a slowly stew of meat with the juice of cassavas (sans cyanide), a tall glass of warm egg nog, and freshly baked bread. Soon after, everyone at the house sprawled out on whatever furniture was available before lunched was served. Lunch wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, your typical ham with all the fixings. I spent the rest of the day playing my fill-in uncle (teacher’s brother) in chess.

Then I packed my military sack with everything I would need for a week and hopped on a bus for the interior with two other volunteers. Intraserv buses, run daily from Georgetown to a border town in Brazil. These are the only buses here that I have seen that actually look like Greyhound buses. The bus leaves at 9 P.M at night from a small hole-in-the-wall karaoke bar in town. It cost $35(US) to get to a research field station in the forest and $50 to get to Brazil. I have been outside of the inhabited coast before but it is always jarring how sudden a change in scenery occurs just an hour outside of town. Of course the road doesn’t have any lights so you find yourself starring at the occasional beacon of Christmas lights on houses that seem few and far between. Once you hit a mining town called Linden, you leave paved roads and relative civilization. At one point, you are looking at huge conveyer belts that are probably used to transport dirt for processing during the day, you cross a shaky bridge (on a Greyhound bus mind you) and all of a sudden you are surrounded by dense rainforest and a wide dirt road. I was sitting at the front of the bus and the driver’s view was horrifying. In the darkness of night, surrounded by never-ending and dense formations of trees, driving on a road with its fair share of potholes, I held on for my life. The driver seemed like a seasoned veteran and drove like one. This meant that the bus was weaving side-to-side avoiding as many holes as possible going as fast as the bus will allow. This roller coaster ride lasted for 8 hours, with the occasional police check point. At these police check-points you had to walk into a jail/station (that appeared out of no where) and identify your name and your seat number. My only guess was that this provided the means to track travelers heading through Guyana but it seemed easy enough to get past.

We arrived at Iwokrama, a million-acre forest conversation project run by Guyana, at dawn. As you can see from my new flickr pictures, the Kurupukari Field Station is situated right along the Essequibo river. The sun was inching it’s way up into sky as Jack and I looked onto the scene. Like something out of Jurassic Park, I could see islands in the distance filled with towering trees as I waited for a dinosaur to appear in my field of vision. Occasionally you would see a small spot moving along the water, which would end up being either a caiman (local species of crocodile) or a small paddle boat with Amerindian fishers. Over the next couple of days, with Amerindian tour guides, we would use the river and travel to various field stations to witness wild life and foliage. The shades of colors on the birds, plants and insects were incredible. You were constantly surrounded by different bird calls, the howling of howler monkeys (especially at night) and the intricacy of insect communities. We were able to go on a series of bridges that let you view an area of forest from the canopies, mingle with the locals at Fairview Village, and catch and eat some fish from the river. I lack the ability to verbalize the transformation that occurs when a domesticated human, like myself, lives in such an undomesticated environment but it was an experience of a lifetime.

After a week, we hopped on a bus going back to Georgetown. I had a couple of days to settle back in before another term started. A new program from the Ministry of Education took my old students away from me and put them in a new slower-paced program. They basically have one teacher now , sitting with them all day teaching each subject. Maybe in an attempt to give them a chance to catch up with the kids who were able to learn in Primary School, they are recreating Primary School for these children until they grasp those concepts. I don’t have a background on educational psychology, and so I can’t really comment on what is going to happen to the kids in these classes. Anyway, I have moved on to teaching grade 8 mathematics (Form 3) and teaching information technology to all of the upper-level classes. Teaching mathematics to form 3 is pretty simple, in fact still mind-numbingly simple, and still gives me some frustrations. No matter how good a child’s math teacher is there will always been some cracks in their mathematical foundation. These kids seemed to have pretty shaky basics in math, but because they are at least in form 3, it looks like they have the motivation necessary to take my class.

The Canadian organization Global Partnership for Literacy donated all of the computers that have been sitting in the computer lab. At the end of last term, they actually paid a visit and was appalled by the obvious lack of utilization. I did my best to explain to them the systemic problems that I am encountering and my suggestions to get the lab up and running. In an oddly refreshing manner, they took my suggestions to heart and invited me to a meeting they were having with some donors. It seemed like I was finally talking to the people I needed to. I am finally allowed to give free classes to the teachers on the basics of computers which I wasn’t allowed to before. I am getting a projector and a screen this week from GPL. They are also removing the useless blackboard, putting curtains to block the sun (and provide better viewing for the projector) and finally getting the internet hooked up. All this work however is useless without a qualified teacher. I am working with both GPL and the ministry to train the teachers at the school, and maybe even bring one up to speed to take my place as the IT lab administrator when I leave.

Before I talk about leaving, I actually took another trip this past Saturday. I went to the mining town Bartica where another volunteer is working. To get to Bartica, I needed to take a mini-bus for an hour to the Parika Port. There I got on a speed boat that traveled on the Essequibo for an hour to Bartica. I am used to seeing mainly people from East Indian and African origins where I live, but in Bartica it is all Brazilians. The gold business has been booming lately (it is at an all time high right now) and people are finding tons of it in the forests near Bartica. You have a town in transition, with BMWs driving along one of the five only paved roads and huge houses appearing next to small shacks. People are bilingual there in both English and Portuguese and it really feels like I crossed the border into Brazil. Port-Knockers (the local term for the miners) seemed to be everywhere looking to spend their recently acquired cash they got on hookers and alcohol. The modern version of an old western hub or a South American version of the diamond fields in Africa. I took a small hike to a local monastery about three miles outside of town and then went back to soaking in the party back in town.

Leaving is a very awkward subject. People have begun to ask me if I am leaving and why I am leaving and they do it everyday. I don’t know how to respond to them, because I haven’t really made up my mind about leaving. I can’t say that I want to stay here, but I can’t really say where I want to go. It is amazing how your mind changes in a day, let alone a year, but I feel even more lost in my sense of direction. My life in America is beginning to seem like a dream. Conveniences like a washing machine are actually mind-boggling. Honestly, I can’t imagine what it will be like to gain the precious hours I spend washing my clothes back. I can’t imagine what it will be like to finally be able to use the internet and challenge my brain whenever I choose. Maybe it is something more fundamental than keeping my mind occupied. In America, you have limitless choice and convenience. Here in Guyana, things just aren’t that developed. My body and mind have adjusted to this limited life style, and it seems horrifying going back to the dilemma of choice. In the impoverished world, you go through such a wide range of emotions, the delta between happiness and sadness seem so much larger. This emotional wave is dampened in America, relating to the consistency and safety I used to cherish back home. My trajectory of life has been forever changed, and the only choice I have is to spend the next couple of months figuring out where I might land next.

About three weeks ago my forearms started itching profusly. Initially my diagnosis of the situation was an all out attack by the mesquito squatters trying to take over my living quarters. Unfortunately, even after I started using repellent, the itching was still present. Maybe it was a spider bite, but after a week I gave up on that hypothesis. I begin to noticed a pattern in the occurence of my symptoms. If I stayed out of the sun for the day, then my arms wouldn’t itch as much. Of course deciding to stay out of the sun in Guyana is near impossible. So holding true to the philisophy that the greatest medicine is rest and relaxation, I did as little work as possible for a week and prayed the itching went away. During this time as well, pale and red patches of skin started appearing on my arm. All my students noticed this and would give their unfounded guess on what was causing this ailment. “Sir, you ate something that didn’t agree with you,” “You have ladder,” “Sir, Guyana is making you sick, go back to America.” I would laugh at that last one, cause I couldn’t really argue with them.

A week ago, I finally took the bus ride into the capital and visited a pharmacy. I went up to the pharmacist, pointed to my arm and said “This doesn’t look normal, do you have any idea what this is?” “Does it itch?” Emphatically I said “Yes, but I don’t know if my itching or the thing growing on my arm is causing the damage to my skin.” “That is fungis, here take this cream.” She gave me a prescription, and I got some cream. For some reason I doubted the diagnosis of this woman, but I bought the cream and went home. he next day,  I went to go see the local doctor. I walked in and sat on a bench. He remembered me from a past meeting, which I will explain later, and I proceded to show him my arm. Without a moments hesitation, he pronounced that fungis is growing on my arm. I showed him the cream that the pharmacists gave me, and he mentioned that I also had to take the tablet form of the cream during the two week treatment. I thanked him and walked over to the local pharmacy and recieved the tablets for $5 US. Hopefully the treatment works within the next two weeks. If not, I have been craving some mushrooms since I got here.

I visited the Golden Grove (the town/village next to Diamond) Doctor’s Clinic before to get the prescription needed for my C.B.Cs. As some of you know, I plan on going to Africa with the Peace Corps after this and they needed an updated C.B.C record. Both times, I didn’t have to wait in line, show a health insurance card, or pay a deductible. That is because health care (during the days of Burnham) was socialized here in Guyana. They still have private hospitals here, which you can pay a premium for. During my second month here, I lost my pair of glasses. I brought a back-up pair but I wanted to replace the ones I lost. I didn’t have my eye prescription on me, so I had to go to the Diamond East Bank Demerara Public Hospital. I was advised, by another teacher, to go there at 5 a.m. in the morning. That is when the gates open up and the line forms fairly quickly. The morning I got there I saw everyone sitting on a series of three long benches waiting outside. I saw people suffering from the symptoms of the flu, a guy with a huge bloody patch over his eye, and the typical older population. After about an hour of just sitting on the bench, one of the guards started handing out numbers based on seat position (and not when you entered the hospital grounds) so there was a huge rush from the people furthest away from the guard to get closer. Not being terribly crunched for time, I let people in front of me. While I was sitting there, I became afraid of picking up some of the contagious diseases around me, but I wanted to stick it out. Unfortunately, the eye doctor didn’t show up by the time 7:30 a.m rolled around so I left and just went to school. I later was able to just walk into an eye glass store and talk to the optometrist who gave me an eye exam in less then 10 minutes. When I had to get my C.B.C, I couldn’t get them done at the local public hospital. I had to go the biggest private hospital in Guyana, The Dr. Balwart Singh Hospital. The contrast between the public hospital and BSH was alarming. Instead of the hard wooden benches, I saw nice chairs laid out in front of an air conditioner. Very similar to an American hospital, I went to the front desk, told them what I needed and they gave me the paper work. I had to pay before services were given to me, but the price for my C.B.Cs wasn’t steep. Within an hour at the hospital I was on my way out with the results of the test in my hand.

As I reflect on the types of care given at both hospitals, I come to the commonly drawn conclusions. Public health care centers lack the facilities to provide the type of experience given by private hospitals. A poor individual would have to take at least a half day off from work to go see a doctor, putting him/her in an even more financially dire situation. Yet, I am sure the money provided for by the fee to recieve care at the private hospital help them provide the quality of service they give. I don’t really have an original answer for this dilemma but giving the public this choice seems to have it’s benefits. You unload patients from a single facility by giving them the option to pay a premium for better care. This also provides better care for the individuals who have no other choice but the public option since the public hospital can focus their resources on less patients. The real issue here is the cost of obtaining private health care. People need to make a living, including health professionals, but I believe the price point to receive care at the private hospitals needs to be set so that public facilities are not stretched thin. I am not sure if this means that health care professionals will have a standard of living lower than they deserve since I am not educated on the economics of health care.

On a lighter note, I didn’t realize you can microwave eggs and it actually tastes pretty good. I was at my friend’s quarters, another volunteer, and he asked me if I wanted an egg sandwhich adding “It is really easy to make.” He then put an egg into a cup, stirred, and nuked the egg for a minute. I was incredibly impressed, feeling like I had just learned a new skill that will serve me for the rest of my life. You should try it sometime for a quick and easy snack.

In repect to school, grading sucks. I hate grading 120 kids homework, assignments and tests. Especially on tests, since you want to give them credit if they were able to at least get some of the work right. Incredibly though, the kids are learning. They can finally add fractions consistently and they don’t hate me as much. One class though has begun testing my patience again. So instead of waiting until they get me mad, I pretend like I am made when I walk into the room. I usually have a look on my face like I am about to blow up, you know my normal fascade, and I always look straight into there eyes. This seems to work fairly well, but every once in awhile either a guy is trying to impress a girl or a girl is trying to impress the whole class.

Christmas break is coming and I think I might go hide out in the rainforest for a month.

The last two weeks of mine have been fairly challenging in retrospect.My flash drive with all my computer data from the States got corrupted. This means I lost all my recent pictures and the journal I was keeping. Then I started noticing that a large percentage of the kids in my class were feeling ill. Of course once you notice, it is already too late. Then my cell phone broke.

In relation to being sick, I was in bed for one day. After that, all I had was the occasional cough.  It was fairly comical though because everyone thought I had Swine Flu. I really didn’t think twice about it, though I am not really sure what I would of done if I did have Swine Flu.

So as I am sitting here, reflecting on the past two weeks and I noticed something. At no moment was I worried or angry at the events that unfolded. Whether this is ignorance about the severity of each event, or simply being apathetic, I find this incredibly interesting. Somehow in college, an upcoming test or project would stress me out, but this hasn’t phased me a bit.

School is getting better and better. I think I have always garnered the respect of my kids as an academic, but now I feel their respect as a friend and mentor.  I have become accustomed to  their poor work ethic, but sometimes their interests are there in the class and genuine.  I am no longer the homeroom teacher for a class which actually makes me sad. I had learned to love the kids and all their mistakes but I still teach them mathematics three times a week. More kids are coming to my tutoring sessions after school (after telling them that if they refuse to learn how to do simple mathematics I will not pass them to the next grade level,) and I have been asked to hold more tutoring sessions for higher grade levels.

There is a new buzz word floating around here. Kids here are commonly associating themselves with a movement called “Gaza.” I started seeing it written on kids exercise books, and backpacks. One day I asked a young girl (with Gaza written on her backpack) in one of my classes if she knew anything about the conflict between Israel and Palestine in that area of the world (which made me reflect on my conversations with Colin.) She really didn’t know anything about this region and mentioned something along the lines that she just wants to fit in. I knew the use of this word was really picking up though when I heard it in one of the local popular songs. Like anything that youth seem to really pick up and overuse, none of the adults really fully grasp the meaning and the kids are even more confused. One child finally shed some light on it and said it is a word in the Caribbean that means to fight or war. So people associated with Gaza means you are ready to fight. Any furthering questioning from the child led to empty and vague answers, so I left it at that.

The Guyana Power and Light Company is currently installing a new power plant to the grid my house is located on. I am not sure why this means that I have a blackout everyday for hours a day, but it does. It usually happens right when I am reading and there are no flashlights near me.

Life in the red, yellow and green is good.

I went on a tour of Kaieteur and Orinduik Falls last weekend. Instead of taking the risk of being verbose and imprecise, I will let the pictures do the talking. A link to my flickr account should be on the right hand of this blog page. Visiting these falls was absolutely worth it. If you ever find yourself visiting Guyana, plan a stop there.

School is going well. After changing a couple of things to my teaching style(a.k.a being stricter) and the help of some other teachers, miraculously the kids are behaving much better. They are slowly learning, but progress is always better than being static. The computer lab is also doing well. The students are really enjoying the IT class  I teach, and the teachers have begun using the lab to accomplish some of their more meticulous tasks. I was hoping by the time I was wrote this post, I would write it from the computer lab outfitted with the internet. Unfortunately, getting the internet in the lab has been an uphill battle filled with empty promises and waiting.

Yesterday was Diwali (or Deepvali) also called Festival of Lights. There is a large community of practicing Hindus in Guyana, so a number of the residents in my neighborhood lit up their houses and shot off fireworks. I’m sure that my experience pales in comparison with Colin’s. My friend Colin is spending a year in Northern India, learning Hindi. You should check out his blog at http://colinpace.blogspot.com/ .

In other news, I have almost finished all of my books I brought with me. I have one left, but I am not in the mood to read that genre. This leaves me with nothing but some math books for entertainment. It is great relearning the trigonometry, calculus, and other topics in advanced mathematics, but I can only do it for some long before my brain starts fighting back.  I just finished Kafka on the Shore by Murakami. I really enjoyed this book but I like Wind-Up Bird Chronicles (also by Murakami) much more. His writing is very accessible but his language is very metaphoric and layered. This may sound impossible, but I  have no better way of describing it.  It should be interesting how I choose to fill my time in the coming months.

Everyone here greets everyone else with a Good (insert period of day like afternoon), which is different from what I normally do. If you have ever spent time with me, you know that I usually don’t say anything when I enter a room. When you don’t greet an individual, they take it as offensive and rude. Old habits die hard, and I have made a lot of people vexed (no one here says mad, they say vexed.)

The grocery store is about to close and I need to pick up some grub. I hope you enjoyed this latest episode in as my world turns.

Guyana’s policy towards the indigenous people that occupy their lands is refreshing. All of the recognized tribes hold rights to their lands, and they work hand in hand with the government to develop the land as the people in the community see fit. They call these indigenous people Amerindians and you see them serving throughout the public strata.

The national government has devoted the month of September towards exposing the culture and heritage of Amerindians. At the end of the month you have Amerindian Heritage Day where the tribes host visitors for a big party.

One of the teachers at my school lives with an Amerindian family in Diamond. They invited me to the village settlement where they grew up.  The day started at 5:30 a.m. as I got myself ready and made the 10 minute trek to the teacher’s household. After a couple hours of waiting (nothing here starts on time) nine of us packed, like sardines, into a small pickup truck. I had the pleasure of sitting in the very back of the truck bed. Though this provided a nice view, any bump on the road caused me to bounce up in the air. Within ten minutes of departure the scene went from scattered houses and business to a vast open view of the Demerara River, and rolling hills. Even though I had read about the diversity of Guyana’s land, the vast forests and savannah’s of Guyana were definitely a sight to see. We continued driving on the Soesdyke-Linden highway for 45 minutes.

The truck then veered off the paved road onto a small path surrounded by trees. The road was fairly bumpy with mounds reaching up to 3 feet high. Sitting in the back of the truck had once again come back to haunt me. I keep emphasizing this point because at the time I am writing this post my whole lower body is sore.  The path was long with many turns that jolted us around like gum balls as we weaved in an out of forests and savannahs. The view was astounding. During the savannahs it reminded me of scenes of African Savannahs as I anticipated elephants and giraffes to come out. That in combination of feeling like I was riding a 4×4 on sand dunes made me smile the whole way there.

An hour and a half of feeling like I was riding a mechanical bull, we finally saw a village. I expected to see tents but I mostly saw spread out cement houses on stilts. We slowly drove through the houses until we came to a fairly big church building. This, I was told, was the township. You could see people setting up their fires and makeshift grills, preparing for the celebration.

The truck stopped and we all struggled to get out and stretch. My lower body was severely aching from being cramped and battered for such a long time. Since we were driving in sand as well, I was covered in soot. So I found a water pipe, washed up and jumped back in the truck. We arrived early enough, so we decided to take a trip down to the nearest creek.

The village lands where Mr. Orlando, the man who lived in Diamond with his family, was approximately 240 square miles. Outside of the township, houses were spread out along paths and creeks. The creek was beautiful with black cold water and great shade. The water is clean (for bathing) but it still looked like a huge hole with slight ripples.

We were hungry so we ate a snack (Guyanese cook-up rice is tasty, especially when you are hungry.) Mr. Orlando and Mr. Patrick, the driver, went to Orlando’s uncle’s house. After a half-hour of waiting, I went out to investigate. When I got to the house, the guys were having some drinks and looking at the latest catch. I saw a small baby jaguar (or some kind wild cat) hung up on a tree. It was skinned and looked ready to cook. I asked the house occupants when they were going to cook the cat. They said they normally sell the meat and the skin. The skin itself sold for $50 US (which is a good amount of money here.) The old man, who I was talking to, quickly pointed to a woman skinning what looked to be a huge rodent. It was a capybara and sold for $4 US a lb. Compared to other meats, the price is incredibly steep, but apparently it is a delicacy. The old man went on to tell me the method behind catching the animal. It is nocturnal and it’s eyes glow in the dark. Once you see it’s eyes, you shine a flashlight into it’s eyes. This stuns the beast. I continued to stare at the animal and the man offered me a drink. It was basically creek water mixed with vodka. The creek water tasted very sweet, and the vodka tasted like vodka.

We then made our way back to the township where the party was starting. They had a small stage set up and people were dancing on it. Mr. Orlando and Mr. Patrick then went off to the side and I followed. They started drinking what looked like pineapple juice. They handed me a cup and I drank some. Immediately the drink stung my tongue and had an incredibly sour aftertaste. The drink was a beer made from a local root called cassava. If you know what yucca is, then this is basically the same thing. The Amerindians survive on cassava. They make bread (read crackers), drinks, and stew from it.

While I was busy analyzing the taste of the beer, I saw a Caucasian male at the stand next to us. His name was Billy and was from Florida. Apparently, he came here 8 years ago on a trip, met his wife (a local), and then moved here. It was fascinating talking to him. I also met some people from England and Scotland who were volunteering in the village.

This is basically what I did for the next five hours. I would meet people; try local food and drink, then meet some more people. The conversation would range from culture, low carbon development strategy (this along with climate change is a hot topic here in Guyana), and international politics.  I met a lot of really intelligent people who live their lives here farming and running the village. All of the food was really good and the drinks were like nothing I’ve ever drank.

We departed the village and had another really exciting ride home. Another part of Amerindian Heritage Day is the national beauty pageant in Georgetown.  A couple of the people in the truck quickly raced to the town’s performing arts theater after the festivities. The size of the theater is similar to Hogg Auditorium (the one next to the Union at UT.)

There were 10 contestants, one from each region. They wore their cultural attire, preformed various acts, and answered questions. I fell asleep a number of times during the event, but the contest had it’s moments. The audience would heckle the contestants when they couldn’t answer a question (like Showtime at the Apollo.)

Things at the school are ok. My students are starting to behave, maybe even realizing the necessity of exercising their brains. I am still really tired every day after school. Thankfully the teacher who has been feeding me since the beginning is still taking care of me. Mrs. Ghir lets me come over whenever I want and eat or play board games with her. All of her kids are working abroad so I like to think I’m giving her and her husband some company.

This past week I got some exciting news about the computer lab I have been working on. Hopefully I can dedicate my next blog post to it.

It has been two weeks since I have written a blog post, and I apologize for that. The school year has set in and I have a fairly busy schedule. I am teaching four sets of students (40 per set) mathematics, and integrated science. I am also teaching an IT class after school two days a week, as well as giving free tutoring lessons two days a week after school.

I already slightly touched on how school is conducted differently here but I forgot to mention one thing. Instead of students switching classrooms every period, teachers do. As a result, I can’t do things like put up science posters such as the quintessential picture of Albert Einstein. Any demonstration that I plan on doing must be portable enough to carry by myself. The inability to hang posters or have elaborate science demos doesn’t bother me. It is the fact that instead of these kids getting a 5-10 minute break in between each period walking in between classes, they are required to sit all day except during lunch. I can’t help but imagine myself in their shoes; constantly fighting off the desire to sleep or becoming really antsy with the desire to move. Having the teachers, as opposed to the students, move between classes does solve one major problem. I remember while going to public schools a lot of misbehavior occurred during this 5-10 minutes while students were transferring between classes. I still would prefer to have my own classroom though.

I am bringing this point up because I believe this is a direct cause of why my students are pissing me off so much. I have never yelled much in my life, but I find myself yelling at least twice a day. When I am presenting my lesson they continue to talk, they never raise their hand (instead they just continually yell out sir until I respond to them), and in general they’re detrimental to the learning environment. I am not a classroom Nazi, and I say this based on how other teachers conduct their classrooms. These teachers are like men/women leading soldiers in to war. They show no mercy while they strike fear into the children’s hearts.

Another big reason my students are getting me so riled up is because they refuse to study. I have been giving them homework every week and at least one quiz in each subject. I tell them to study, I constantly remind them to do their homework and study for quizzes. I even give them time during class periods so they can ask me questions. They still refuse to put any effort into their homework, and most of the ones that do turn something in have just copied off someone else. It has even got to the point where I do the heart-to-heart talk where I ask my students what they want to do with their lives and explain to them why math and science are good things to learn.

I have had some parents come up to me and ask “Do you give out after school lessons?” I mentioned to them my after school tutoring sessions and then they immediate ask me “How much do you charge?” This movement towards teachers supplementing their income with private lessons was addressed during our orientation here. Naturally, one might conclude that teachers give much more effort during their private lessons. In my case, it would be counter-intuitive if I started charging money for lessons. So I have been telling parents, their kids are welcome to come to my after school program (which is only an hour long) and if the kids need more help, I can spend more time with them as long as they pay me in snacks and drinks.

So are my students learning anything? This is something I have been mulling over fairly frequently. I think these kids are very intelligent for many reasons. For example, I just got done with the unit that covers the SI unit system. When I give them a problem at the beginning of class, no one can get it. However once I show them one example, for the rest of the class they do fairly well. So maybe these kids are just really forgetful This is why I have been laboring the point of homework and studying. If these kids just spend some extra time after dinner reviewing, or doing some homework, I am hoping they might retain some of the knowledge.

There are a host of issues I am having in respect to teaching (like how ridiculously little these kids cover in one term), but I will save those for another blog post. I wanted to write about how I am adapting to my new life.

Things I like about Guyana:

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Everything is made with real cane sugar here (it is Guyana’s main export). Yes, Angell that includes soda.

Fresh Fruit and Veggies.

How care free people are (this one is a double-edge sword).

How welcoming most of the community around me has been.

The breeze

Things I dislike about Guyana:

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The smells (one minute you are walking it smells like grass and then it smells like cow feces and then horse crap).

Lawless driving

How crowded public places are (95% of the population lives along the coast of Guyana)

The noise level especially with respect to music.

- This also includes how every single man here makes smooching noises whenever a woman walks by, even if the woman is 80 years old.

Stray Dogs and how they like to run after me when I run in the morning.

Lack of public parks.

The humidity

Washing my clothes (still takes me hours).

No sidewalks, and roads are barely big enough for two way traffic.

The garbage everywhere (the contracted disposal company is on strike at the moment and has been for a month.)

However, one shouldn’t conclude that my current environment is the main reason why I am kinda down/depressed. It is the amount of effort I am putting into these kids and the serious lack of progress I am seeing. I am running around from 8-3:30 everyday, constantly talking or yelling. I can’t remember putting so much effort into something that I can’t directly control. My mood is dependent on whether these kids learn, and right now things aren’t looking good. Facing the reality that it takes time to turn around bad habits and develop critical thinking within these young adults is really hard and it doesn’t help that I spend all of my free time reading and not trying to make friends.

Speaking of reading, I got my hands on The West on Trial by Dr. Cheddi Jagan. Dr. Cheddi Jagan was an influential political figure during Guyana’s long road to independence from Britain If you are at all interested in politics, the roles of society in shaping government and the long process of obtaining independence from an imperialist nation, you should read this book. The book is well written and provides a ton of insights into Guyana.

I also wanted to say happy birthday to my nephew. You can’t read yet, but I am sure your dad is reading this.

My first week of school went a lot smoother than I anticipated. School is from 8:30AM to 2:30PM, Monday through Friday. There are only 3 other male teachers and the rest are women. This is great because they treat me like their son and cook for me. They even invite me over for dinner. I haven’t cooked since Mr. Gibb’s mean bowl of beans and rice. Holding a conversation with them though seems to still be fairly difficult. They also seem to have a number of inside jokes and general expressions that I don’t understand. That said, they are still very hospitable and accommodating, making life much easier.

School starts with each classroom getting in a single file line in a very large courtyard. The girls are split from the boys. The students follow the instructions of one of the teachers speaking into a microphone. This teacher usually makes the kids stretch their arms, say the Guyanese Pledge, and then the Lord’s prayer. The kids are then required to go in a single file line to their classrooms and wait outside until their teachers come and let them in. The teacher then lets the students in and the students stand at their desks until the teacher lets them sit down. All of this should sound a tad bit on the disciplinary side but it gets better. The icing on the cake is the fact that everyone calls me sir and greets me when I walk by.

Even though school has started, the senior members still haven’t made the schedule. So all of the teachers were assigned a room and told to teach the children whatever we want until the schedule was made. My classroom is Form 1J. This is equivalent to 7th grade, and I believe the J ranks the classroom (A being the students who scored the highest on their last end of year examination Form 1 students). There were a number of students who were repeating Form 1, some of them this was their third attempt. They told us on Tuesday that the schedule would be done on Thursday. My first day included introducing myself, playing a game called two truths one lie, a introductory biology and chemistry lesson, and a math assessment.

Two Truths and One Lie is a simple game where individuals writes down three sentences. Two of these sentences should be truthful statements about the person and one should be a lie. I felt that this was also a good way to see the students ability to construct basic sentences. The results were less than stellar. These kids face a difficult task of learning how to write a language that is drastically different than their spoken language. Guyanese Creolese might share similar words with English but it’s structure and phonetics are worlds apart. Even with these simple sentences I failed to see any punctuation or the ability to spell even simple words (dis == this). To make things a little harder, I also asked the kids to identify the subject and the verb of each sentence, and any adjectives, adverbs, and pronouns that they used. I am not sure why I decided to turn the dagger even after the knife was displaced but it really hurt to see the kids struggling with basic English.

After enough time, I moved onto the Biology and Chemistry. I reviewed with them cells, prokaryotes, eukaryotes, states of matter, temperature, and atoms. This went fairly well as long as I didn’t ask them any questions. So I finally gave them a general mathematics assessment. I included things like fractions, working with negative numbers, solving simple equations with and without a variable. The kids didn’t know what were negative numbers, they utterly failed at fractions, and they couldn’t even carry out the steps needed to solve an equation without variables (like 6*(2-3)+1(5-6)). This concluded the first day of class.

The next two days were very similar. I would ask them to write about themselves, what they want to be when they grow up and walk them through the mistakes they were making. I taught them about the solar system, ozone layer, air conditioning, forest fires (all science topics that were dealing with some of the news the kids were hearing about.) The second day I went over adding and subtracting fractions, and the third day I went over negative numbers. I was told by Monday that the schedule should be done. I have been scheduled to teach mathematics and integrated science to form 1 students, and then teach an after school class on general computer usage to form 4 students and most of the teachers. I am also heading up an after school chess club (Colin I am sure you are getting a laugh at that). Some of my students did tell me they liked to play table tennis so hopefully I can get my hands on a table and some paddles.

Off the topic from school, I found a small street vendor that sells these things called Egg Balls. It is a huge egg covered in potato and flower then lightly fried. One of them is about as big as my fist and it only cost 50 cents. Harmon take note, I have found something you and Jen should try if you ever come to Guyana.

My first two days in Diamond haven’t really been that exciting. I woke up Sunday morning around 6 or 7. At this point I was starving. Since I don’t have a refrigerator, I only have non-perishable items in my house. So what did I have for breakfast? PB&J of course with a tall glass of lukewarm water. After my huge breakfast, I realized the only reason I woke up was because my stomach was empty. So I went back to sleep until 10:45. At this point, I probably could of slept another 2 or 3 hours but I decided to venture out into the vast world of Diamond. It takes me about 15 minutes to walk from my place to the main road. Along this main road you have some street vendors selling their latest produce, at least four Chinese restaurants (Guyanese love their chow mein), and various other “we sell it all” stores. I needed some small things around the house, so I went to a variety store. As soon as I walk into the store, someone is on my left asking me what I need. I was afraid to speak because that will reveal my Guyanese adolescence, but I didn’t see a way out. I told him I needed some trash bags. The man looked at me funny and shook his head. I interpreted this as a way of asking me to repeat myself. “I would like some trash bags.” “Oh garbage bags.” “Yes.” So we walk all the way to the back of the store, turn a corner and he looks at me. “No garbage bags.” “Ok thats fine, I need laundry detergent.” Once again, the expected facial expression. “I need soap to wash my clothes.” “Alright, sir.” “Are you a returning Guyanese?” Oh no, here comes the question about my origin. Should I reveal my true identity and put myself at risk? Should I find the next immediate exit and take flight? When will the locals stop questioning me?

These last series of questions should sound like the ending of old superhero cartoons. As ridiculous as they sound, I seriously was thinking about what I should do when he asked me that question. I simply answered the helper with a no. “Where you from?” “The states.” “You here to work?” “Yup.” “Oh, are you teaching at the secondary school?” “Yes, I am.” “Oh ok let me help you out, what else you need?” “Matches.” “Are you a bachelor?” What? For some reason, I would naturally assume that people are more upfront about what Americans take personally but this seemed a little fast. “Excuse me?” “What size mattress do you want?” “Oh no, I said matches, the small sticks of wood you use to start a fire.” Most Guyanese that I have met so far seem to lack the ability to explain themselves. There are a few that are able to construct various sentences to express their thoughts. Most however, repeat themselves at the same speed and include hand motions. “Huh? Mattress?” “No, I said mat-chessssss” At some point he finally hands me a box of matches. I go down the list I made written on a small post-it note and I purchase my items. Before I left, the nice gentleman mentioned a store where I could possibly buy some garbage bags.

I make my way past the community mosque (they also have a baptist and methodist church) into Santos Variety Store. Of course, I made the same mistake twice and asked one of the clerks for trash bags. As soon as I said this however, I noticed some small girl starring at me. While the clerk was fetching the garbage bags, I asked the little girl “Do you recognize me from somewhere?” “Yes, you are teaching at the secondary school.” Ah yes, once again I feel the consequence of my introduction speach last friday. The clerk told me they only have large garbage bags, and he proceeded to show me a garbage bag that was taller than me. I told him that I didn’t need the trash bags and thanked him for his service. I also told the little girl that I will be seeing her on Tuesday.

There is a small “snackette” on the road back to my apartment that advertises being “vegetarian and hallaal cuisine.” Since I haven’t taken the plunge into being an omnivore yet, I thought this might be a good stop. Instead of talking, because I know no one can understand me here, I just point to items. If I need to know what something is, I simply point and say what. I bought two daal puri (Roti stuffed with some kinda bean), what the server called a donut, and a can of grapefruit juice. At this point I had only eaten PB&J’s since Saturday afternoon, so this meal was pretty amazing. Roti (which is like naan but made with a different type of flour and not really burnt) is great. The donut was very similar to something we had during orientation called bakes, with some sugar on top. I can’t really explain how different things taste here, but it really is a new experience.

The rest of my sunday was just taking naps, reading Fire by Sebastian Junger, and sitting outside.

When I woke up Monday, I thought I should probably do my laundry. Unfortunately, I don’t have the luxury of a washer or a dryer. Just two buckets, some soap, clothes lines, and some clips. Washing my clothes was such a pain. I sat there for 3 hours, scrubbing, rinsing and then hanging. It made me think about the efficency, maybe even neccesity, of co-ops or marriage. I was too tired after washing my clothes to do anything else, I couldn’t imagine having to cook my lunch. Even if I was capable of doing all of this labor, sharing these chores with someone would be so much nicer. Ok, so I have only been alone in my apartment for two days and I am already feeling a little lonely. With no music, no tv, and no one I can remotely hold a conversation with, I am breaching insanity.

I washed up, took a nap, and decided to hit up one of those fine chinese restaurants. For 380 dollars (200 to $1 exchange rate), I got a huge plate of vegetable fried rice. I couldn’t eat it all, but since I don’t have a refrigerator, I didn’t know what else to do. I came back home, got my clothes off the line (they dry in less than two hours), and took another nap. I thought it would be good to try and cook my own meal. I busted out my only pan, the pressure cooker, and threw some rice and water in there. I let it cook at full pressure, when the pan starts whistling, for 7 minutes and I got some tasty rice. Previously I had soaked some black-eyed beans in some water and decided I wanted to cook them. I washed the pressure cooker and threw them in with some water. At this time, I heard Mr. Gibbs (the owner of the house, his sister in-law is the land lady.) Since I hadn’t spoken all day, I decided it would be nice to try and have a conversation with the man. Mr. Gibbs is about 67, hails from New York, originally from Guyana, and is just here on vacation. He has a belly the size of Old Saint Nick, but is only 5 feet 4 inches tall. I mention Mr. Gibbs that I am attempting to make beans and rice. “Oh ya, what is your recipe?” “Um, black-eyed beans on rice.” He quickly laughs at me and motions his son to go get some garlic, onions and tomato paste. While Mr. Gibbs starts rummaging around for some knives and another pan, which I had to tell him that I didn’t have any, he tells me he used to live in the bush by himself. He learned how to cook a lot of different things, and today he was gonna make me a savory stew. Below is the recipe for Mr. Gibbs Guyanese Beans and Rice:

Ingredients

2 cups of black-eyed beans.

4 cups of rice.

2 sticks of thyme.

6 leaves of basil

One small onion

2 cloves of garlic

1 small can of tomato paste.

Procedure:

Soak the beans in 3 cups of water for about 3 or 4 hours.

Cook the Rice.

Cook the beans for about 10 minutes at full pressure in a pressure cooker.

Drain some of the water. Leave about 1/3 of a cup of water in.

Add the rest of the ingredients except the rice.

Let it simmer until most of the water has evaporated.

Spread the beans on top of your cooked rice.

Mr. Gibbs was a machine. If you ever worked with a pressure cooker, you know how hard it is to get the lid off once your are done cooking, but the pressure cooker is no match for Mr. Gibbs. Once he finishes, he tells me to go buy some eggs off the street tomorrow morning. “The chickens and eggs here are all natural, they are really good. Even the beef and milk man, it isn’t like America, none of that fertilizer or growth hormone, just straight nature.” Looks like I will be trying some eggs tomorrow.

A person can go through an array of emotions when they are finally presented with something they have been anticipating. Especially something that they have been anticipating for months. The very accommodating government official who has been assisting WorldTeach found a house very close to the school (I can take a nap here for lunch if I so choose, Alex T style). They are renting the first floor of this house for me. The place is great, I have more furnishings here than I did back in * and some might even say that I am living a little better here (though an AC would be nice…)

Sounds great so far right? Well, this is probably the biggest shock that I have had so far here in Guyana. I went through days, maybe even weeks, preparing myself for the worst living conditions. I read about bird eating spiders, and snakes that could wrap themselves around me twice. I was gladly met with some fairly unaccommodating quarters during the orientation in the capital. Yet, here I am in a place that is a little bit bigger than the place I lived in *. I am even getting a couch and dining set. Honestly, I am a little disappointed. Of course, my reason for coming to teach wasn’t to get some badge of courage for living out in the “bush.” (How Guyanese seem to describe their lush forested interior.)

The secondary school that I am assigned to had orientation and registration for new students this past Friday. The head teacher asked me to come and meet my colleagues and see the school. At the time, I was still staying near the capital. I woke up bright and early, got dressed like I was important and went off on my first minibus adventure. Minibuses are Guyana’s public transportation. I am sure many of you have heard about the horrors of the red buses in India. Well imagine that with a family van (Old Chevy style with the three rows of seats). I am not sure if there are supporting companies for these minibuses or if they are independent but you basically crowd sixteen people (including the driver) into the family van. I don’t mind the crowds, everyone has to get around. The reckless abandon that these minibuses travel with though is very exciting. They rarely stay in one lane, they are always overtaking traffic. This is not all. At random times animals will be crossings the street. Things like cows, dogs, and horses on at various times. Finally, you have people riding their bike on roads where cars are traveling up to 60 km/hr (I have yet to see a speed limit sign in Guyana though.) There were times I would look out the front and fear for my life.

I chose the transportation of death and got to my school 30 minutes early. Now my school is located on a single road that comes off the main highway from the capital. It takes a good fifteen minutes to walk from the main highway (where you catch the bus) to the school. There were some parents waiting outside to get in and register their children. I didn’t know what was going on, so I joined them. Eventually I thought, I should probably try to get inside and see if they are having a special meeting before they herd the folks in. So I talk to the guard in what probably sounds like a foreign language and she lets me in. Unfortunately, the headmaster wasn’t their yet. So I sit in the guard house and begin to g’aff (small conversations, just being friendly). All of a sudden this minibus with four Americans drive into the main school grounds. Some of them were dressed in camouflage. The last thing I expected to see was Americans, especially not soldiers. Initially, I tried walking up to them and starting a conversation but they were ignoring me. I finally one of them that responded back, and started telling them that I am from *, *. One of the guys smiles and says that he thought I was Guyanese. The soldiers were here to give out free medical and dental examinations at the school the week before. They were there to just pick up their supplies. So I let them go about their work and I continue to wait in the guard house.

An hour passes and I am still waiting in the guard house. I’ve run out of things to talk about, and I was really hungry. A teacher finally came fifteen minutes later and started letting the students into the prison, I mean school grounds. What I thought were just a few parents and kids seemed hundreds. I patiently sit in the guard house while the endless array of children and parents form a single line and file in. Finally, I was told by the guard to go to the main office. I went to the office and sat down. Some of the parents thought I was another parent and followed me. Some of them asked me what was going on, I didn’t know how to respond so I just shook my head. After another ten minutes had passed by, a petite woman with very elaborate sunglasses walks in. One of the other women point to me and she begins to walk my way. I guess this was the headmaster.

The headmaster welcomes me, asks me how I am doing and then tells me to follow her. By this time, I stopped counting the amount of people coming into the school. I follow the headmaster up some stairs and we walked into a room. The room was huge and with people packed like sardines. The headmaster motions me to go to the back and sit. She begins to introduce herself and go over things that I couldn’t particularly understand. All of a sudden I hear WorldTeach and she starts pointing at me. I am not sure how many people were in this room but I would of guessed maybe 800. She motions for me to come over and asks me to say something. Now what exactly do I say to a group of kids and parents, who are probably tired for waiting on the orientation to start and who also probably have this wide array of perceptions about Americans. “Good Afternoon, my name is Abel *. I am from the *. My background is in *. I am here to teach Physics, and Mathematics.” Now I should of stopped there, but why quit when you have so many people’s attention. I then said “Kids, as long as you stay quiet and behave, I’ll teach you.” Why would I say that? Not really sure.

Anyway, the headmaster continues on and tells the crowd that I will be teaching mathematics, integrated science (kinda like IPC in Public Schools), and that I will be helping with the computer lab.I didn’t expect the school to have a computer lab. After the conference was over, I walked back to administrative offices where there were a ton of people waiting to ask the headmaster something. I saw an article on the wall and it says that Microsoft and Intel apparently donated some computers to this school only a year ago. It also mentioned that this school was built as a joint development program between the US government and Guyana. After my greatest public speaking endeavor, I decided it was time to head back to the orientation grounds. An hour of fearing for my life later, I am back just in time to hear the ministry of education talk to our group of volunteers.

There is one more interesting thing that happened over this past weekend. For our stay, I guess that there were some hired guards. The guards were supposed to get payed that afternoon, but unfortunately they didn’t received their money. So these guards, in their various ways, started soliciting for money because we were Americans. This was a fairly sound business model seeing that they are asking a group of compassionate volunteers for money. They would say things like “You are American, so you should give us money.” It really put me in an awkward situation. I knew that if I gave one guard some money, others would begin to ask. At the same time, we all have a heart and we don’t like seeing other humans suffering. This one guard kept trying to get money though. I had met this guard before, and he usually smelled like alcohol. So I asked the guy how he could expect me to give him money when he would just spend it on rum. He just says “that was only a couple of times,” and just walked away. Later that night, he again started asking me and other people for money. I finally gave in and gave the guy some money. Like I said before, it must suck being poor in a developing country. Until next time.