Oppa Black Bush Style

Gangnam Style as made it to Black Bush. 

This performance was done at the end of the our Gender Based Violence Prevention Rally that we had on Friday. 

Sorry if you don't find this as hilarious as I did. You can hear my cackle in the background, but you can't see the tears running down my face. 

When sleeping women wake, mountains will move

When it has been an extended period of time since you have last blogged, ones reentry into blogdom needs to carry a certain amount of weight or excitement. It would be disappointing to break the silence with a pithy story of how I went native for the month of November and didn’t shave my legs, that I learned the names and capitals of all African countries, or that I have been spending an embarrassingly large amount of my monthly stipend on buying chocolate milk.

Instead I wanted to share a story that is much closer to my heart, and has served as a great reminded as to why I am here.

This past August, myself and five girls from Black Bush Polder, attended the week long Camp GLOW (Girls Leading Our World) with about 40 other girls from different regions, religions, and ethnicities. It was incredible to watch the transformation that came over the girls during that week and they went through sessions, played games, and made new friends. Girls who at first appeared to be shy and timid erupted by the end of the week into exuberant, empowered, glitter covered girls who really believed that they could do anything. They were a force of nature.

But what do you do with this force, this energy, this belief, after camp is finished? What do you do when you tell girls they can do anything and then send them back into a patriarchal society that tells them they cant?

You give them an opportunity to prove themselves.

And that’s just what we did. Mini Camp GLOWs and other GLOW affiliated activities have been hosted all around Guyana with the help and leadership of our “GLOW Girls.”

I had the great privilege to work with the five GLOW Girls from Black Bush Polder to host one our own mini Camp GLOWs.

These five rock stars helped in every aspect of planning. From the schedule, to the food, they had a say. They even raised part of the funds and invited girls they thought would benefit.

The only thing they weren’t involved in was dealing with the bureaucratic morass that is the Guyanese government. I had to navigate the wilds of three different government offices in order to get approval to use the school. In all, it involved two trips to New Amsterdam (the administrative hub for my region and an hour + away), three branches government, multiple trips to the school, and lots and lots of official stamps. Or as another PCV Beth and I like to say “bumf” (Look it up. Add it to your every day vernacular. You’re welcome)

It was well worth it. Even though it didn’t have the same energy as the week long camp, it still had the essence of it, and it still had an impact on the girls. The greatest impact of the weekend being the empowerment that the GLOW Girls felt after having accomplished such a great task.

During the two days the girls learned and participated in a lot of fun and interesting activities. The GLOW Girls assisted myself and four other (amazing/selfless/inspiring) PCVs in leading sessions, playing games, and doing crafts.

(GLOW Girl Radika (on the far right) helping out her peers during the healthy body image session)

We had sessions, which covered topics such as healthy relationships, healthy body image, women’s empowerment, mental and emotional health, and sexual health.

We played games

(Hula hoop master)

(Hula hoop failure)

Took loads of pictures. (To see more, visit my Facebook page!)

(I think the prompt for this picture was: “show me what you look like when you smell something funky”)

We got in touch with our emotions.

(Wendy, another PCV who is a boss when it comes to creative expression and crafts, used this session to have the girls deal with their stresses in a positive and visual way. )

We also did crafts

(The girls tie dyed and decorated shirts, and made these bracelets)

All of this would not have been possible emotional, spiritual, and financial support that I received from friends and family back home. I was deeply moved and humbled by the fact that so many of you back home would give so freely so that girls, a continent away, would be able to experience a weekend of joy, learning, and growing.

So, on behalf of myself and these chuckleheads: THANK YOU!

The Night I Wet Myself

...Or nearly did so.

Let me set the scene:

Thunderclouds moved towards Mibicuri like a mass of heavenly indigestion, obscuring the normally bright moon and stars. At about 10pm, the edge of the storm reached my house and rain began to beat down on my tin roof with a cacophony of sounds vaguely reminiscent of a middle school marching band. My room was illuminated for brief moments by the lightning flickering across the sky.

Miraculously, somewhere amongst the crashes of thunder and bursts of light, I drifted off to sleep for a few brief hours until the eye of the storm was overhead.

Around 3:00am the lightning and thunder that had been steadily moving towards my little house was now all around me. I lay awake watching my tin roof illuminate by flashes of light, when...

BLAM!

It was if the hammer of Thor had struck my roof. In what may have been only a millisecond, my entire room was lit to the brightness of day.

Lightning ripped through my house, frying the electrical wiring, and my nerves.  I was completely and irrevocably awake.

As the storm continued to unleash itself overhead I cowered in my bed with wild, random thoughts running through my mind.

“Was a foam mattress a conduit for electricity?”

“Is my computer charger fried?”

“Can lightning restart my heart?”

“Is there anything that will spoil in my fridge?”

As the storm showed no sign of abating, and sleep alluded me, I moved on from electrically themed contemplations to more random trains of thought, which included:

“If I had a billion dollars, I’d buy a motor home and cruise across the U.S.” 

“I did a really crappy job building my mousetrap propelled car in 12^th grade physics.”           

“If I ever get to visit home, I want to eat beer and bacon for every meal. Oh and butter. Yeah, butter”

I kept up with these wild, seemingly nonsensical musings in order to escape one nagging reality...

I had to pee. Really bad. And my toilet was outside. And it had a tin roof.

I considered a variety of options, which included making an impromptu “tinny,” or pulling an Amy Phoeler in Baby Momma and peeing in the sink. Instead I opted for the suffer in silence, text my sister, and play Tetris on my phone option.

Every time I’d convince myself that the storm had passed, I’d hear a rumble and see a flash that dissolved any resolve I had for making a mad dash outside.

So there I lay. Bright eyed and bushy tailed. No really. If I were a cat, my tail would resemble a pipe cleaner. My hair was literally, and figuratively, on end.

Hours later, after the eye of the storm moved on to other parts of Guyana, I could still feel the wrath of Thor echoing in my chest cavity.

And I still had to pee. 

Status Update

Status update:

Greedy Cat has successfully killed both of my rats (and one of my bats). Hallelujah. More praise is to be given for the fact that my house no longer smells like rotting rat babies.

Should I back up a little? Okay.

So you remember when the rat bastard was eating my shorts? Well, my hypothesis was that it was creating a nest for its babies. This hypothesis was further strengthened by evidence in the form of the lingering stench of death long after said rat was killed.

The stench emanated from the rat hole, which led me to the only possible conclusion that the rat had indeed had babies and their smelly death was one last act of retribution against me.

Several weeks, bleach, Baygone, and one fabric softener sheet shoved into the hole, and the smell has finally dissipated.

Well played Rat. Well played.

Lauren: 2

Rat: 3

Now that I’ve vanquished one foe, another has sprung up: Grass louse. On my butt. You’re welcome. 

Rat Battle

I’m learning to live with a variety of creatures in my house. The presence of some is more benign than others. Some, like the frogs just sit in my dish drainer. Others are more of a nuisance. Like the cockroaches that scuttle unexpectedly from dark corners, or the cloud of flies that billows forth every time I open my trashcan.

It’s interesting though how quickly these creatures have become commonplace and an accepted part of my life. On the other hand, there are some creatures that I will never get used to.

Rats.

Since I moved into my house I’ve been unable to use the bottom cabinets in my kitchen due to the obvious rat activity. I battled it with my arsenal of sticky pads, poison, and traps. All to no avail. A chance encounter last week at 2:00am finally brought my foe and I face to face. Surprised by this chance encounter the rat dived behind the refrigerator and I stood paralyzed, unable to decide if I wanted to make a quick dart past the fridge to the only exit.

While still frozen in this state of indecision, my savior entered from stage left. Greedy Cat. Greedy Cat always wants into my kitchen. So as fate would have it, she was stirred by my nocturnal kitchen visit and came to see what she could get out of me. When her primal instincts did not immediately kick in, I placed her by the crack where the rat was hiding and scurried over to the other side of the room so I could watch the ensuing mêlée.

In the rats last desperate bid for life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness, it made a bold dash across the kitchen. Towards me. With only the light of my headlamp to determine the rat’s path I misjudged and it ended up running onto my foot leaving two nice scratches in its wake. Rat scratch fever anyone?

In the end the sucker got what was coming to him. Greedy Cat and I walked away quite satisfied by the whole endeavor.

Round one: Lauren 1, Rat 0

Still gloating over the victory I was confused to find, a few days later, my favorite pair of athletic shorts in a corner of my living room where I know I didn’t leave them. Strange. When I went to pick them up, I realized I had to tug, for they were halfway lodged down a previously undiscovered rat hole. Curtains were thereafter discovered as a victim of the late night rampage. A new adversary has emerged.

Poison and traps were again strategically placed. Feeling confident in my enemy’s imminent demise I was shocked to find my second favorite pair of athletic shorts in the same corner the next morning. Again, half way pulled into the hole. I don’t understand its fixation with my nylon athletic shorts. It does not please me to know that it’s nesting happily, breeding its army, in my favorite form of loungewear.

Round two: Lauren 1, Rat 2. This is war.  

Three Months

I have officially been in Guyana for three months. 

Three months can be broken down into:

5 toothbrushes

36 loads of laundry by hand

8 cups of (real) coffee

7 books

4 sunburns

314 pictures

Innumerable mosquito bites

11 letters and packages from home

4 regions

1 pant size

1 caiman sighting

For our Swearing-In Ceremony, a fellow Guy 24er named Matt made this amazing video depicting our two months of training. The video will give you a better sense of what I did in my first two months in Guyana as well as a show you all the other wonderful volunteers that I'm serving with. 

Enjoy! Swearing-In Video

Love letter to my mosquito net

Last night I killed things with Baygone that I never knew existed. Armored bugs with thick legs, delicate looking moths, a creature that looked like it was caught half way through metamorphosis and still belonged in water. I indiscriminately killed all of them. I didn’t care. They were in my face. They were in my food. They were in my bed.

My murderous rage occurred after they so graciously held a welcoming reception for me in my house after I arrived home after dark. Instead of lovingly embracing them I lashed out with pent up fury and gloated over them as they met their untimely death. I hunted them down and performed a victory dance over their lifeless exoskeletons. I dumped their bodies outside with unnecessary amounts of flourish.

You know the scene in Office Space where they destroy the copier? I channeled that rage, but with an aerosol can instead of a bat. Same theme song.

I have been in Mibicuri for two weeks now. Apart from watching cheesy teen flicks, this has become my entertainment.

I write this from the sanctuary of my mosquito net, for beneath it I am safe from the retribution that their friends and family wish to inflict on me. Inside my pemethrin soaked cocoon I am blissfully unaware of the happenings beyond the scope of my headlamp.

Beneath my mosquito net I read novels of other’s adventures, journal about mud and sweat, dream about Mexican food, and watch movies starring teenagers from the Disney channel.

Beneath my mosquito net I feel the brunt of my new life. The enormity of two whole years, the elation felt from small victories, homesickness, joy of new acquaintances, contentment and doubt are all the things that my net cannot keep out.

Beneath my mosquito net I am recharged. I find the resolve to start each day anew, and the determination to make a difference.