The answer is simple. They are the topic of my brief blog for today. What name is professional wrestling going by these days: WWE or WWF? Regardless, this is the sport to watch in Guyana apparently. Well, that and cricket. I think I finally got the rules down; I am just waiting to test out how well my soccer skills transfer.
On a non-related note, the trenches in Guyana are quite a sight. Trenches is more appropriate than ditches because trenches provoke a more accurate visual. Trash strewn about, random cattle chilling out, and black liquid bubbling with unidentifiable diseases/objects/creatures. Did I mention that a fellow trainee happened to fall into one the other day? He has not transformed into the Boogey Monster yet, but I am keeping my eye under my bed.
Actually, I do have to keep my eye under my bed due to a different imposter. The other day, I happened to reach to the back of one of my drawers to retrieve some clothes, and instead I wound up holding a handful of newspaper shreddings. A nest-like clump of them. Now, my drawers are lined with newspapers, and my superior detective skills allowed me to infer that I was entertaining a guest.
Around 3 am the other night I awoke to a crunching sound. I am the only human in the room, and I was not crunching on anything. In my disorientation, I was able to identify the crunching noise coming from my purse. Using the light from my Kindle (the Kindle is more useful by the day) I tried to pinpoint the perpetrator. And the crunching (and my concern for the issue) promptly stopped.
The following morning, I inspected my bag. What had the mystery creature been hunting? A pack of cheese crackers zipped in a baggie of course. I can’t help but speculate that I might be housing a mouse, or a Lizard with a craving for salt (or identity crisis). All in all, I ended up setting a trap that my host mom gave to me. Don’t worry; it is human as traps get: a piece of paper with stripes of glue on it. So far, the only thing I have caught is a naughty four-year old that keeps creeping into my room. A dual purpose trap, if you will.
Finally, I will address the dog meat. As far as what I had been told, Guyanese people do not eat dog meat. Iguana sure, but dogs, no. Therefore, when I saw the sign stating a farm was selling dog meat for 70GD, I gagged. I reported my horror to my host sister-in-law, only to find out that the sign is a joke. Joke or not, that place is going to freak people out. Get a better marketing technique because grossing people out is not quite an effective tactic for sales.
Thursday, March 10, 2011
Saturday, March 5, 2011
Why hello Mr. President!
Can I start off this post by saying that yesterday was hands-down the most dreamlike day in Guyana thus far? After training ended around 4:30, my day got exponentially better by the hour.
It started with the minibus ride home. Typically, catching a minibus after training is a hassle. Because of the rush hour, the buses are packed pretty full. The bus I flagged down yesterday happened to only be filled with a group of 5 or 6 school girls. As we started our trip back home, I noticed that the driver was not taking any more passengers. “That’s odd,” I thought. Then after he dropped us off, he refused to take money, and wished us a great rest of the day. It turns out he was just a random man who decided to be gracious enough to give two foreigners a ride. What a gentlemen!
Chelsea had invited me to join her to attend an award ceremony in Georgetown that same night. Since getting out of the house does not happen all that often with the Peace Corps curfew, I could not pass up the opportunity. Noel was our driver and escort for the evening out. We stopped by a cultural center briefly, and during those ten minutes, we had the chance to see the Prime Minister from afar.
What could top seeing the Prime Minister you ask? Why, getting my picture taken with the president of Guyana of course. It turns out that the president, his Excellency, is quite active in Guyanese community life, and he was one of the speakers at the athletic award ceremony that we were crashing (for the record, Noel had been invited). When refreshments were being served after the ceremony, I could not help approaching him and asking for his photograph. Three weeks in country, I meet the president and I have proof. To wrap up the night, Noel treated us to a Hawaiian vegetarian large pizza at Pizza Hut. You judge for yourself if this was a dream.
It started with the minibus ride home. Typically, catching a minibus after training is a hassle. Because of the rush hour, the buses are packed pretty full. The bus I flagged down yesterday happened to only be filled with a group of 5 or 6 school girls. As we started our trip back home, I noticed that the driver was not taking any more passengers. “That’s odd,” I thought. Then after he dropped us off, he refused to take money, and wished us a great rest of the day. It turns out he was just a random man who decided to be gracious enough to give two foreigners a ride. What a gentlemen!
Chelsea had invited me to join her to attend an award ceremony in Georgetown that same night. Since getting out of the house does not happen all that often with the Peace Corps curfew, I could not pass up the opportunity. Noel was our driver and escort for the evening out. We stopped by a cultural center briefly, and during those ten minutes, we had the chance to see the Prime Minister from afar.
What could top seeing the Prime Minister you ask? Why, getting my picture taken with the president of Guyana of course. It turns out that the president, his Excellency, is quite active in Guyanese community life, and he was one of the speakers at the athletic award ceremony that we were crashing (for the record, Noel had been invited). When refreshments were being served after the ceremony, I could not help approaching him and asking for his photograph. Three weeks in country, I meet the president and I have proof. To wrap up the night, Noel treated us to a Hawaiian vegetarian large pizza at Pizza Hut. You judge for yourself if this was a dream.
Hierarchy
From my observations, being a spider is definitely preferable to being snake in Guyana. The only snake I have seen was being flogged to death with a cricket bat. Poor fella did not stand a chance. On the other hand, the two spiders I have seen have both been peeping on me in the shower. Clearly, the spiders have somehow advanced on the social status if they are entitled to such privileges as this. Come to think of it though, some ants did get to have a sleep over with me the other night; they win. Random thought: would spiders be more or less creepy if they could say “boo?”
As far as animals go, I think it is appropriate to acknowledge the mascot of the Peace Corps. Well, the unofficial mascot that I am officially appointing right now. His name is Stanley, and he is the brave (and terribly skinny) horse the roams the street of Guyana. We have encountered Stanley several times on our bumpy minibus rides, and I just wanted to give him a shout out. Thank you to Ashley for naming our fearless cheerleader. Also, I would like to say hello to all the puppies, which apparently outnumber people in Guyana.
Funny moment of the day: Having a random Guyanese man call me “Auntie White Lady” as I passed him on the street. I give him points for originality for switching up from the regular “baby” nickname that has been used far too often.
As far as animals go, I think it is appropriate to acknowledge the mascot of the Peace Corps. Well, the unofficial mascot that I am officially appointing right now. His name is Stanley, and he is the brave (and terribly skinny) horse the roams the street of Guyana. We have encountered Stanley several times on our bumpy minibus rides, and I just wanted to give him a shout out. Thank you to Ashley for naming our fearless cheerleader. Also, I would like to say hello to all the puppies, which apparently outnumber people in Guyana.
Funny moment of the day: Having a random Guyanese man call me “Auntie White Lady” as I passed him on the street. I give him points for originality for switching up from the regular “baby” nickname that has been used far too often.
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