February 15, 2006
John Steinbeck, in regards to my life in my house here, would probably have changed his famous title to Of Mice, Termites, and Men. Just as the first war with the mice and rats drew towards armistice, a second war hastily began to brew. The evil empire began invading, one termite at a time. Of course, they would have to choose my books. With the attempted gluttonous destruction of my Peace Corps requisitioned supply, I, for a moment admittedly, considered making the sacrifice. However, when they started to invade my personal supply, which includes The Ultimate Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, the latest Harry Potter, and a pristine edition of Dr. Seuss' Mr. Brown Can Moo! Can You?, not even my copies of D.T. Suzuki's Introduction to Zen Buddhism or Thich Nhat Hanh's ANGER: Wisdom for Cooling the Flames could help calm me. Immediately, I geared up for battle again, hoping, probably naively, that this will indeed be the war to end all wars. Only time will tell. We have begun English lessons in Gunsi, as requested.
I am working with one man consistently and another on occasion. I am relying on them to help me teach, as I am aiming for sustainability here. My hope is that, after me or at least after the Peace Corps' full term of service in Gunsi, there will be no need for an imported English teacher. There will be people already living here who can teach.
The lessons have at times been very challenging and at times been exhilarating. We teach two classes, one for the adults and one for the young people. There is a fairly significant disparity in the adult class, in reference to formerly attained knowledge. Most of the men can read and write. Most of the older women were, unfortunately, never really given the opportunity or incentive to learn, much like it used to be in the United States. A few have remained in the class, struggling away, while others, sadly, have dropped out, asking for a tape to listen to on the radio, which I hope to provide as the time and means present themselves.
The young group is a different story altogether. While boys and girls are provided much more equal opportunity, the level of opportunity and incentive for all are still lacking (something we also still need to work on in the U.S.). As typical of young people (I guess I'm somehow placing myself in an older-age bracket, but I STILL LIKE TO PLAY!), they are a little difficult to contain. I can almost imagine what it's like to contain a centipede the size of the Empire State Building. Teaching class is a little like leaving my nucleic abode and getting swept up in the whirlwind of an electron cloud.
We have our moments where we are able to harness that energy (usually with song, dance, a game), and it is amazing to see the focus, to see their faces light up. Then, the boys get distracted by the girls; the girls by the boys; the younger ones, who could care less, get caught up in abusing each other, looking outside to see if there is something more inviting to do; and then, all hell breaks loose. It's one exciting hour, for sure! Though it's difficult sometimes to control this hyperactive conglomerate of Saramaccans, the little moments of focus when at their zenith; when all eyes appear hungry for knowledge; as well as the shared, soul-enriching fits of laughter..these, indeed, are the moments I treasure.
Outside of the lessons, I have finally started fishing some. In the time it takes me to catch one with my stick, line, and hook, a Saramaccan will have caught 20. Still, that is one aspect of the life on the river which I was not fulfilling and knew required remedy.
My ground (goon, pronounced almost like the English word "gone") is beginning to produce. I have been fortunate enough to harvest long asparagus beans, cucumber, shorter green beans, pinto beans, something they call Taja uwii (pronounced Ta-ya oowee, meaning Taja leaf), another they call bita uwii (bitter leaf), bananas, and plantains. I am awaiting the arrival of my watermelon, pumpkin, zucchini squash, okra, sopropo (I've only come across this here. It's bitter, but can be mixed in with other flavors), cantaloupe, papaya, and cocoa. The ground has taken a little beating by the rain, but it is starting to thrive, and I have happily shared some of the produce with the villagers and devoured the rest.
Some of the larger-scale projects I am becoming involved in are the installation of a water system (Villagers, at the moment, go to a creek or the river to wash) and one for electricity. They may be slow in the coming, but I am making contacts and am determined to see them through to the end. One thing I personally would like to do is provide Gunsi with a small library of informational books, which I hope will come to fruition. I have been contacting organizations such as UNICEF, plan to work with the Peace Corps in some of my searches, and will scour the bookstores in the city, as time permits. I am also hoping to put together a multiple-volunteer camp, perhaps even something along the lines of a traveling group. I want us to teach about health (exercise, physical maintenance, prevention, risks) and perhaps about business opportunities (what work can be done outside of school), as well. These are some of my goals now, though I am learning about other dreams through conversations with the villagers. I am hoping we can fulfill those dreams together.
The language is still a bit of a struggle at times, rendering people utterly speechless, their eyes hazed with confusion. However, these moments occur less frequently, and for me, I can be somewhat satisfied with the pockets of clarity, smiles, and occasional ripples of laughter. I am starting to understand and pick up on some of the sound effects (ideophones) that pepper the language. It feels a little like I'm in an old Batman episode, with words like gbemm (ideophone for being hit and falling), gbai (for the sound of a gunshot), gbolou (for person or animal falling), and zengezenge (for rough water) being thrown in the mix. It all makes story time that much more exciting.
The river has risen considerably since the rain started to fall. I no longer have my stone peninsula on which I can walk, wash, and gaze admiringly up and down stream. I will content myself, for now, by washing on the shore, though I can hardly suppress the anticipation of my rock's return when we come into the drier seasons.
The river and forest are as beautiful as ever. New flowers are blooming every day. Slithering and scurrying little friends, on occasion, still manage to catalystically jolt my blood flow into hyperdrive. The butterflies are astounding, the toucans are tasty (Yes, I've had a bit of one someone gave me to try), and the monkeys are leaving no tree top or banana untouched.
I'd like to leave you with something I wrote while I was still in training. Though I see no cats out here in the jungle (as they would undoubtedly make a nice meal), I find it helps describe the piece of my life in which I now find myself enshrouded. Following a cool, gentle rain, a lush, enriching aroma surges from the earth, awakening my senses. A light breeze whispers the secrets of the rainforest through the outstretched arms of the papaya tree. A cat paces, gleaning the landscape for a foolishly confident toad, unaware of its impending doom. The moon glistens in the orbs of moisture clinging to the blades of grass, which bow to the sky in reverence to their silvery goddess. A solitary light shines from within a solitary abode--the only hint of civilization in this otherwise untamed land. With the aid of the nocturnal life's rhythmic, pulsating lullaby, a sweet soothing serenity envelops me.
John Steinbeck, in regards to my life in my house here, would probably have changed his famous title to Of Mice, Termites, and Men. Just as the first war with the mice and rats drew towards armistice, a second war hastily began to brew. The evil empire began invading, one termite at a time. Of course, they would have to choose my books. With the attempted gluttonous destruction of my Peace Corps requisitioned supply, I, for a moment admittedly, considered making the sacrifice. However, when they started to invade my personal supply, which includes The Ultimate Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, the latest Harry Potter, and a pristine edition of Dr. Seuss' Mr. Brown Can Moo! Can You?, not even my copies of D.T. Suzuki's Introduction to Zen Buddhism or Thich Nhat Hanh's ANGER: Wisdom for Cooling the Flames could help calm me. Immediately, I geared up for battle again, hoping, probably naively, that this will indeed be the war to end all wars. Only time will tell. We have begun English lessons in Gunsi, as requested.
I am working with one man consistently and another on occasion. I am relying on them to help me teach, as I am aiming for sustainability here. My hope is that, after me or at least after the Peace Corps' full term of service in Gunsi, there will be no need for an imported English teacher. There will be people already living here who can teach.
The lessons have at times been very challenging and at times been exhilarating. We teach two classes, one for the adults and one for the young people. There is a fairly significant disparity in the adult class, in reference to formerly attained knowledge. Most of the men can read and write. Most of the older women were, unfortunately, never really given the opportunity or incentive to learn, much like it used to be in the United States. A few have remained in the class, struggling away, while others, sadly, have dropped out, asking for a tape to listen to on the radio, which I hope to provide as the time and means present themselves.
The young group is a different story altogether. While boys and girls are provided much more equal opportunity, the level of opportunity and incentive for all are still lacking (something we also still need to work on in the U.S.). As typical of young people (I guess I'm somehow placing myself in an older-age bracket, but I STILL LIKE TO PLAY!), they are a little difficult to contain. I can almost imagine what it's like to contain a centipede the size of the Empire State Building. Teaching class is a little like leaving my nucleic abode and getting swept up in the whirlwind of an electron cloud.
We have our moments where we are able to harness that energy (usually with song, dance, a game), and it is amazing to see the focus, to see their faces light up. Then, the boys get distracted by the girls; the girls by the boys; the younger ones, who could care less, get caught up in abusing each other, looking outside to see if there is something more inviting to do; and then, all hell breaks loose. It's one exciting hour, for sure! Though it's difficult sometimes to control this hyperactive conglomerate of Saramaccans, the little moments of focus when at their zenith; when all eyes appear hungry for knowledge; as well as the shared, soul-enriching fits of laughter..these, indeed, are the moments I treasure.
Outside of the lessons, I have finally started fishing some. In the time it takes me to catch one with my stick, line, and hook, a Saramaccan will have caught 20. Still, that is one aspect of the life on the river which I was not fulfilling and knew required remedy.
My ground (goon, pronounced almost like the English word "gone") is beginning to produce. I have been fortunate enough to harvest long asparagus beans, cucumber, shorter green beans, pinto beans, something they call Taja uwii (pronounced Ta-ya oowee, meaning Taja leaf), another they call bita uwii (bitter leaf), bananas, and plantains. I am awaiting the arrival of my watermelon, pumpkin, zucchini squash, okra, sopropo (I've only come across this here. It's bitter, but can be mixed in with other flavors), cantaloupe, papaya, and cocoa. The ground has taken a little beating by the rain, but it is starting to thrive, and I have happily shared some of the produce with the villagers and devoured the rest.
Some of the larger-scale projects I am becoming involved in are the installation of a water system (Villagers, at the moment, go to a creek or the river to wash) and one for electricity. They may be slow in the coming, but I am making contacts and am determined to see them through to the end. One thing I personally would like to do is provide Gunsi with a small library of informational books, which I hope will come to fruition. I have been contacting organizations such as UNICEF, plan to work with the Peace Corps in some of my searches, and will scour the bookstores in the city, as time permits. I am also hoping to put together a multiple-volunteer camp, perhaps even something along the lines of a traveling group. I want us to teach about health (exercise, physical maintenance, prevention, risks) and perhaps about business opportunities (what work can be done outside of school), as well. These are some of my goals now, though I am learning about other dreams through conversations with the villagers. I am hoping we can fulfill those dreams together.
The language is still a bit of a struggle at times, rendering people utterly speechless, their eyes hazed with confusion. However, these moments occur less frequently, and for me, I can be somewhat satisfied with the pockets of clarity, smiles, and occasional ripples of laughter. I am starting to understand and pick up on some of the sound effects (ideophones) that pepper the language. It feels a little like I'm in an old Batman episode, with words like gbemm (ideophone for being hit and falling), gbai (for the sound of a gunshot), gbolou (for person or animal falling), and zengezenge (for rough water) being thrown in the mix. It all makes story time that much more exciting.
The river has risen considerably since the rain started to fall. I no longer have my stone peninsula on which I can walk, wash, and gaze admiringly up and down stream. I will content myself, for now, by washing on the shore, though I can hardly suppress the anticipation of my rock's return when we come into the drier seasons.
The river and forest are as beautiful as ever. New flowers are blooming every day. Slithering and scurrying little friends, on occasion, still manage to catalystically jolt my blood flow into hyperdrive. The butterflies are astounding, the toucans are tasty (Yes, I've had a bit of one someone gave me to try), and the monkeys are leaving no tree top or banana untouched.
I'd like to leave you with something I wrote while I was still in training. Though I see no cats out here in the jungle (as they would undoubtedly make a nice meal), I find it helps describe the piece of my life in which I now find myself enshrouded. Following a cool, gentle rain, a lush, enriching aroma surges from the earth, awakening my senses. A light breeze whispers the secrets of the rainforest through the outstretched arms of the papaya tree. A cat paces, gleaning the landscape for a foolishly confident toad, unaware of its impending doom. The moon glistens in the orbs of moisture clinging to the blades of grass, which bow to the sky in reverence to their silvery goddess. A solitary light shines from within a solitary abode--the only hint of civilization in this otherwise untamed land. With the aid of the nocturnal life's rhythmic, pulsating lullaby, a sweet soothing serenity envelops me.
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