South Road-Part 1

I needed to write something, anything, so this here is a beginning of a series called south road, the next part will have as its main theme the love and friendships formed on the road, stick ups--you get the idea.

When I think of the word south, several memories from all my experiences rush into my mind.

So I will start with the memory where I was first aware of the meaning of the mystical word south.

 I was 12 years old and it was my first year in Secondary school, a private institution called school of the nations in Georgetown.  After my first term, I returned home for Christmas, Dad, Mum and my brother picked me up at the airstrip in Lethem.  I remember launching myself on my brother, knocking the wind out of him.  Anyway—“ Just now we going right babes.”  My father said to me.  Yup.  At 12 I knew what this meant…I had heard that phrase all my life, was to hear it a lot more and I’m sure will hear it for the rest of my life.  Oh Rupununi’s famous—just now.

We drove home that night and my dad says “ Babe-see the southern cross” I stare at where he is pointing, just above the Kanuku range to the south I see the four stars making up the southern cross. “South, babe—welcome home”.  When I think of this memory, I remember the ecstatic joy I felt when we started to drive out of Lethem and the south road stretched ahead in front of me winding its way around the Kanukus through the Savannah and bush…I was going home.

I’m 18 years old.  Just returned from my first year in Vancouver.  Sitting at an intraserv bus stop with some friends… “ South is it—girl you going home!, C. says.  I hadn’t heard that phrase before but it was one to repeated all through the years.  I’m nervous.  It’s the longest time I have been out of the rupununi.  One year, I didn’t know what had changed…what to expect—did I change?.  I couldn’t sleep that night and stare out the window of the bus, excitement hits me when we get to the Essiquibo crossing.  I KNOW when we cross that river and head through that forest corridor; we come to a sudden opening into the Savannah and sky — heading south.  All fears forgotten I bounced quickly in my seat and stifle a little yelp of excitement and we emerge into the North Savannah—South, keep going south.  Country Roads by John Denver play in my mind and I start to think of all my friends.

I’m 23 years old, sitting at a bus stop in Vancouver, its freezing and I just missed the bus.  I stare at the mist coming out of the Molson brewery and the Burrard Bridge willing the bus to come.  A fresh wind blows at me, whipping off my hood and whistling around my ears, I see a feather floating on the wind and look up to see geese flying over head honking.  South for the winter—and this poem was a result:

And Just like that the time soon came

Winter with the northern winds blew in

And with it strange whispers in the rain

Head south-Head south!

the whispers proclaimed--

Float on the wind with the feather

Follow the paper heart blowing in the wind

The journey's not too long you'll find

My friend soon you'll be among your kind

I’m 24 and there’s so much more.  Sing it Neil Young.  Living alone in a paradise that makes me think of two.  Well in the south paradise, you’re never alone—even when you want to be (but that"s another meditation-in a city among millions-you can be very alone--in a place with a few hundred--you always have company--even if its a chicken).  When I start to feel Lethem closing in, I look South East and see the Kanuku stretching out.  Anytime I want I can head south-south is it.  And that’s a feeling I love.

Dry Season

The yellow butterflies fluttered across the green savannah in the hot mid-afternoon sun.  A warm breeze was blowing and I could hear the kaiambe leaves gently rustling and the grass singing with calm joy as the wind touched them, a soft whispering-a language I felt I could understand if I just sat in the grass for the rest of the afternoon.  "Daddy, the butterflies are so pretty. why are they so many of them "  I asked looking up, my dad's sun burnt face stared back down at me, I was 7 yrs old and new no other place than the Savannahs.

 "Dry season coming" he answered simply, "they sense that and moving to another place, they done what they had to do here." I thought about that answer silently, listening to the wind in the grass--did the butterflies understand the language of the warm wind?  They must do I concluded-because that breeze was bringing a message of dry season and away they flew on the breeze moving on somewhere else before the grass turned brown and Savannah fire would blow on that wind.  Dad and I continued walking, he holding my hand and with the other touching the tips of the tall grass on the roadside.  I knew then that Daddy could understand the language of the grass and the breeze. I looked down at my feet covered in dried mud, we'd just walked through a puddle and I was amazed at how fast the sun dried my feet.  Dry season coming, I hummed this to myself.

The thunder clapped in the late afternoon, but there was no rain cloud in the sky.  I lay in the hammock rocking, listening to the sound of the wind on the thatched roof.  A gentle breeze and I prayed for it to continue.  The air was stifling and I knew a big rain would pour down soon.  I was 20 yrs old but when the rain fell I still had the urge to take off my clothes and run through the rain with uncontrolled joy, the way I could when I was 5.  That's funny, even joy is controlled when you're older, because a 20 yr old can't just go screaming in the rain--people would think I was mad or something.
It was my first real relationship

"Dry season coming, hear that thunder?" My thoughts were interrupted by his statement. 

"What? Thunder is rain, "

"Well you hear thunder during this rainy season" he asked

"Not really..."

"Yes you hear thunder around more when rainy season coming to an end you know." I looked across at him and smiled.  He too knew the language of the breeze I thought to myself.  I didn't say it out lout, he wouldn't know what I was talking about.  " Rain gone come just now though" he said.  Half an hour later, from boiling hot sun, a cloud, pushed by thunder claps probably rolled across the sky. 

 A loud clap and lightning and the cloud burst, like a overripe cashew falling to the hard ground.  The raindrops hit the dry sand and burst into tiny pieces shifting the sand particles.  I shook with excitement in the hammock and kissed him.  "So this might be one of the last rains?" Its late august and I'm suddenly sad because the end of the rains, means the end of summer, which means I leave again the place my heart lay buried somewhere the breeze only knew.

"Well, not the last, always got more rain" he replied.  I smiled-always and answer for everything. "Well, go nah, nobody watching, everybody hiding from the rain."  I hopped out the hammock and began taking off my clothes until I stood in my panty and bra.  I ran into the rain and put my face up, opened my mouth and tasted it-sweet.  I ran around just like a minute, then stood under the edge of the roof where the water running off was heavy and watched the dry ground get soaked in a matter of seconds.

Yes yellow butterflies, warm breeze, hot sun and thunder.  Dry season coming.  But I would miss the rain, I would miss the mud but dry season meant cashew season, whitee and mango.  Dry season meant fishing trips to pools drying up and picnics and roast fish.  Dry season would follow the rain, the rain would follow the sun, in a cycle that I hope would never end.  

Black Mud

If you are a Rupununian, or have been to the Rupununi in the heart of the rainy season, the heading is enough to tell a tale.  This tale is woven with mosquito and sand fly bites, cricket and frog songs, kaiambe trees, itchy black mud, spinning tires, and of course rum.  When all else fails, there is no anti itch available and no insect repellent...well down the rum and push soldier!  Now I know I make it sound romantic, and it is ----after you get out, reach home, had a shower and are lying in a hammock drunkenly re-living the experience.

I got out the jeep and pushed until I thought my head would explode, slipping in the black mud I could already feel the tell tale itch of the black mud and hear the mosquitoes descending like a pack of starving vampires smelling fresh blood.  "Go check the road" the driver yelled.  I ran, stupidly, forgetting where I was and my feet slid in front of me.  I fell smack on my backside, is not like I can escape anyone seeing, the damn jeep lights pointed right at me, the stars and moon so bright and I so damn white that I glow in contrast to the black swamp.
The next order came " Kaiambe! I can't take my foot off the acelerator, if I cut out now we spending the night with the mosquitoes" Well thats an invitation I didnt care for.

Mud squishing between my feet I thought about our predicament.  Rupununi was high high high.  Its almost midnight and we're another hour from our destination.  An hour to get out from this hole probably.  I tore down a kaiambe branch bigger than me and began dragging it back to the jeep smiling because I see the driver has pulled out the stash of el dorado.  Take a bounce and start shoving the Kaiambe leaves and branches into the mud track where the jeep will go.  After about three Kaiambe trees, we push, it moves!! It fucking going. " Push! push! push!" everyone screaming in unison, she starts to go.  "Don't let go, run after she, run!" We push until we are out of the swamp but there's more water for half a mile and we watch the rear lights go up and down, in and out of water as the driver mash the accelerator in till he's past all the water.  We jog after the jeep slowly.  Laughter, congratulations, a bounce and back into the jeep mud all over the tarpulin, lying there staring at the stars one on top the other in sticky, itchy love.

Well this time we got out, but I began thinking about the time we spent a night on the white rock road, half the jeep in a serious hole when I was just a young un.  Well. numerous other tales for another day, but the same basic plot :) just the length of time and company varies.

Buck Cherry.

sweet round wild cherries....buck cherries.   Claudius Perry, as a botanist he worked with Smithsonians, he was also a bull rider and a fantastic person.  One of the only men in rupununi that could down a duck and remain cheery and kind and sweet as buck cherry.  A man who i have never throughout my life seen him frown for long.  Like most Rupununians Buck Cherry loved el dorado and he was a cowboy by nature.  Its strange, I stare out into the world and it seems normal.  I think about it some more and its random, unfair.  Claudo was a cowboy, he got bucked off, wiped the dust and shit off his clothes and walked out the corral just to jump on another bucking horse.  And life is like that.  Sometimes you hold on and its ok and sometimes you fall.  And sometimes things take you by surprise. 

I called the station to report the incident for my father to the police yesterday around mid day.

"Let us go home now I say Claudo" his wife Joy Perry would say when they had a bit too much and the dance floor seemed like a good place to sway.  Well Clado has gone home and I hope he gets all the things he deserves.  He leaves behind his wife who is pregnant, and three sons.

I want to dedicate a little piece more of this blog to Terrence and Julie, jason, Philbert and Sumi --those are the ones i know who helped last night.  If there were others--comment with their name.  Me and M came over last night with the bad news and Julie and Terrence immediately made moves to contact backup plane in case the RAM one could not be fixed.  In the thunderstorm, Terrence then went out with the boys, and the boys held a tarp over the plane while Terrence worked on it all night finishing early morning hours, just to take off with no shut eye, fly to dadanawa and take Claudius' injured family to GT.  Rupununi, a place where when shit happens, people don't throw it at the fan.  They shovel it out of the way and deal with it.  So a great thank you to Julie and Terrence.  

RAM, -I have heard that acronym since I was about 5 years old.  Remote Area Medical-its not the organization you know-its the people who make it up.  I want to thank RAM for the years of service to the Rupununi.  And for dedication to getting the plane fixed in the midst of a thunderstorm.

To sum up.  Love to Claudo and big up to RAM and my father who kept calling my phone to get the message through even though I could barely hear him.  What a man.  But maybe that'll be my next blog--a homage to the Rupununi people we respect and love.

Buck Cherry--it wont be the same without you.  

Manic Tuesday??

Guyana.  Well Rupununi to be exact.  Rose up this morning smiled with the sun (which had rose before me).  Boily, roast, fry egg and farine.  What else is there in the world but good food, friends and love.  Well a miner yelling outside my door for a mutual friend actually woke me up--jumped out of bed, damn its late.

  Had friends of my boyfriend over, eating some roast, and lots of veges around.  Coffee for four boys, off to bathe, dress, kiss my love goodbye and jump on my bike.  Here is the main reason for writing today's entry.  As I rode passed the carpenter shop , camoflage computer bag on the back of the bike, I heard "another manic monday" playing as the rough black carpenter boys sawed through the wood.  I smiled a little to myself.  Just like Rupununi to be playing manic monday on a tuesday morning. The song being played by some ungi bungi boys no less.  In this world, the weekend starts on thursday and the week begins on a manic tuesday.  Lets face it, no ones serious about work on a monday morning.

Rupununi sky

I floated in the warm creek staring up at the clear sky--hardly any stars out because the moon is so bright.  Hardly any clouds-we're lucky its been raining so hard that the raindrops felt like gravel and the thunder felt like an earthquake when it rumbles across the Rupununi savannahs.  But yes back to floating in the creek, the girls and I just went through a bottle of liquer, some rum (I think about 5 bottles-the boys helped).  Some were topless, some with bra and panties and I kept thinking how lucky we were.  We took turns telling hilarious stories about what happened to us in the rupununi when we were young guns.  I laughed so hard I swear I snorted so much water.

The creek flowed silently as the trees slow danced with the wind to the distant song of night birds.  The loudest creatures there that night were  us - the girls.  I crept in to the warm water and felt the need to pee, I saw my friend coming towards me "I peeing " I warned her.  "Mannnn you so gross, why you had to tell me"
"Im peeing too!!" another friend piped up. " Meee too" another confessed and that began the laughing session which ended up with me snorting water...yup the same pee water, which got my other friends laughing at me.  I must admit I cant remember the exact course of events, the exact jokes shared etc but I do remember a feeling of bliss and calm.

On return to the Ranch house-we met the boys engaged in a game of cards and another group with a game of dominoes.  I looked on for a while until I felt like i was gonna knock out at the table.  So I tied up my hammock, told my love good night and jumped into the hammock.  My hair was wet and the wind picked up its slow dance pace to a more lively dance.  I lay there listening to the sounds of dominoe slamming into the table, friends laughing and arguing about whether a play was legal.  I drifted in and out of sleep listening to the gaff around me. Feeling lucky.  This feeling lasted the entire weekend.  Woke up with pepperpot and fry cow tongue, cream liquer, wine and rum.

With about 4 basins full of clothes me, C, L and M pushed the boat under some trees which shaded a part of the creek, there we washed rinsing in the flowing stream.  We gaffed about almost everything under the sun.  The rest of the crew swam around drinking and then I heard someone read off the wine bottle "WARNING: do not drink while swimming....opppps" and the group started to laugh.  It was as if we were all about 8 yrs old again when we swam, gaffed and laughed with no care in the world.  Anyway they say that the good times in life will remain with you forever--I believe that.  But I think its the feelings that remain with you.  You think of that time and you remember the happiness, the kindness and the love.  The drama and the petty things  slowly drift into oblivion leaving you with the true essence of what Rupununi has to offer: freedom, bliss and a comfort in our own skin that others can't understand because the world they live in demand they look outside rather than inside for happiness.
Nuff love.

excerpt from email

First, there is this rasta man (yes uncle a rasta man) who bums electricity off my boyfriend's house.  Sometimes the connection comes undone when there is too much wind or rain or if i bump it accidentally. When this happens, I hear "sistren, oi sistren, de plug come out or we gah blackout?" or "Lee man, me lights cut our brethren, check if de connection safe." Its usually the same phrases :)  But he is a nice man.  But sometimes he plays music at the top of the volume--which i dont mind in the least.  What I mind is the type.  I call it death metal reggae.  Im not even joking.  You know how in death metal they scream profanities about death and devil and such.  Well its the same but about jah and weed and pussy.  Lee and I are tempted to plug out the connection at this point, but I dont care to see the death metal rasta-"hey sistren, deh music cut out-we gah blackout or wah?" LOL.  

 

Second, my garden is coming along nicely, but we have goats so i tie my gate.  The there are chickens....these chickens apparently dont belong to anyone and are referred to as wild fowls.  So they scratched out 4 of my bora seedlings, so Lee and a man named Crutchy (not sure why) created a lasso out of a fishing line.  Laid it down with some rice, one of the brave young cocks walked up and started eating so Lee pulled the line quickly and we caught ourselves some lunch LOL.  For some reason the chickens dont live in the yard anymore.... :)

  The rain has set in with a vengeance and the road the govt built is often referred to as "govt death trap road" "govt swimming pool" and my personal favorite "govt skating rink" :P  Yesterday Lee barely crossed a creek so he may be locked off and I dont know when I  will see him again.  He put on a snorkel on his jeep, but because of so much water there is alot of problems with four wheel, the bearing and defferential 

I got a dog.  I didnt get her, she got me.  She lives in my yard and follows me to work.  I call her rasta girl because she has one long dreadlock of a tail.  She is quite fat so I think someone owns her.