For my Rupununi

I do not yearn for the land of what they call my ancestors'
I have no stake there-
For I gave my heart to this land here.
This land that I know -
Tis beautiful, this land of my ancestors'
But- it sings not to me -
Like the Savannahs do at sunset.
It offers not that feeling-
Something chosen freely
Tis beautiful, this land of my ancestors'-
But it does not pull at my heart, like the Rupununi River
At sunrise -

I do not yearn for the land of what they call my ancestors'
It is an ancient land they say -
But it is built through the ages to last.
A standing monument to the past-
My land is ancient too.
Kanuku blue - Guyana shield-
But my land was built to fade to dreams-
It knows that nothing will last.
My land knows-
So it breeds a people who have nothing to show
but love-
It breeds a people.
who know they will not last and give their all-

Tis beautiful, the land belonging to my ancestors-
But it is a beauty with no meaning to me
I have traded my heart to be free-

Ranch Morning.

 The sun slowly began to rise into the vast sky and the fresh dew glistened as the sun kissed the Savannah good morning.  The morning was still cool; when it got a little warmer the Kabaro insects would come out in fleets to feed.  Mist rose off the distant Kanuku mountain range and from it, came the sounds of Howler monkeys singing their song to tell each other where they planned to eat that day.  The Vaqueros passed the old ranch house as they headed for the corral, whistling and laughing, their leather saddles creakign in time to the eager trot of the horses.  The cattle lowed and ambled out of the way in indignation.  The macaw swooped onto the breakfast from the rafters in a flutter of red, blue and orange; he was greeted by Aunty Lucy's shrieks of protestation, which set a flock of parrots to flight from a nearby mango tree. The geese honked, begging for their release from their cage so they could roam the ranch in search of seeds, grasshoppers or anything appealing.

The pots clattered as one was selected for the use of boiling water so my mother could have her warm 'bucket shower' in the morning.  She and Aunty Lucy chatted quietly about what to cook for lunch, and how many people we might expect would need crossing over the flooded river, that acted as a barrier between the ranch and the main road leading to the nearest town some sixty miles away during the rainy season.  Suddenly from my parents' room came the bellowing of the Beatles' son, "OH BLAH DEE OH BLAH DI, LIFE GOES ONNNN, " as my dad thought it was about time everyone was awake.  Subsequently, my two nieces jumped into my hammock and engaged me in a tickle fight, begging for a morning story.  Jealous of my nieces' attention my Dad promised a better story and they scrambled out, leaving me alone with my thoughts.  I rocked in my hammock, enjoying the sounds of the wooden house slowly groaning awake witht he movements of those within it.

Random, illogical rant :)

Seems there has been no addition to my blog in a while.  And though I have some old stories I wanted to put  up, my mind is like a sieve and I keep forgetting them.
Today I want to start with a line from a Sean Paul song: "As the reality of the time take hold", but this is not a story of how much I miss people who have gone from my life, our life.  They are gone and nothing we can ever do will bring them back, save dreaming of them.  We all know how real dreams can be.

But this is a reflection of the title of the song "Never Gonna Be the Same". Its a reflection of how some people dont like things to change, because it means we lose some of the things we hold dear.  But nothing remains constant.  Not even our convictions, our beliefs waver constantly, even though we don't admit to other people what goes through our mind, we realize in ourselves that we have grown.  Its a reflection of the region we love, the Rupununi.  Its about the world we used to know.

Let me first focus on the world at large with the changes that occurred because of the Industrial Revolution, where there were massive changes in "agriculture, manufacturing, mining, transportation, and technology" , there changes had a major effect on the social, economic and cultural arenas of the time and who are we kidding, profoundly affected the way we look and deal with each other in the world today.  It apparently began in Europe and spread rapidly throughout the world (alot of people dont like cultural change but love the technological and economic change but dont seem to realize that this IS cultural change.  Things will never be the same).  Also, we had advances in medicine, so more people are alive, more people working, more things being invented, more money around and it just keeps growing and growing, like an unruly Neam tree (ever see a neam tree grow-at a rate and all over the place stretching to any possible light).  Can we sustain this growth, is there an end? Certainly in our day and age, do we see any signs of this rapid cultural exchange and change slowing down?  I dont know if people realize what this means.  We are 7 BILLION people. Some try, some don't give two shits.  Some argue, we are HUMANS, more intelligent than all life (arguable) but I think I'm digressing into full rant here.  But I think we realize deep down, something we are scared to admit the shit will hit the fan and we don't know what to do about it.  Or at least that's how I feel sometimes. I could go on a bit about the changes the world is going through (this is just writing, not a logically argued paper).  But the reason I wanted to write this pre amble is to go into this reflection on the place we all LOVE.  The Rupununi-
Historically, seen and known as isolated, exclusive, wild and free.  I want to know your thoughts here people, not your emotional sentiments of its free, its wild, we love it etc.  Things are changing, times are changing.  There are more people (in accordance with the growth of the world), more demand and use of the resources (mining, logging, hunting, wildlife trapping etc).  Money talks now.  Agriculture, the thing that is supposed to save us all is decreasing and big corporations making moves to do large scale agriculture.  Like I said previously we all (including me) love the economic and technological changes.  I don't love all, but with the good comes the bad, we don't realize when we release something into the world we may not always like what we put into motion.  Take nuclear energy, it was initially experimented on and developed for clean energy, but some fucker (not sure who) decided hey lets make bombs.
The people are changing, more coast landers and brazilians are in Lethem and around the region, roads making it possible for them to travel further into the villages.  This is all fine, im not advocating we ban people from traveling but some release things into Rupununi that have consequences which make the way we live change.  Night life, Music, distractions while Rupununi gets plundered.  Am I ranting again?  Anyway I think this is enough for one day, I want your comments people.  All 10 of my followers LOL.  WHAT do you think is the future of the Rupununi?  It will change because things will never be the same with some of what ahs been set in motion, and its motioning rapidly people.  But will it be a change that make us run for the hills, literally?  Will it be a change we embrace? Or will it be a change we can claim as ours, not feel like the change is being imposed on us.  Because we are a free people, a wild people and some of the allure and mystic allotted to the Rupununi has to do with who we are, who the people are.  If they change, the place changes.  With more people, Rupununi is no longer mystic, its a 'discovered world' heading the way of other discovered worlds.

Just for those who question the rant, here is my stand on it.  Im scared of the changes, because I feel it may change me, its already changed a world I knew from 10 years back.  But I still love the people, I still love the place.  The smell of rain as it hits the quenched earth, the mountains and how they look so different after a heavy rain.  The Savannah dry and brittle in the dry season, wet, green and lush in the rainy season.  I love it all.  The feel of the mud squelching between my toes and the feel of the current pulling at me when i swim across the Rupununi.

Spirit and bones.

Sometimes bones age faster than the spirit.  For others their spirit fades faster than bones.  Some weren't meant for this world being of another, dreaming of the moon and floating as if they were already spirits, feeling the tug of their other worldly home calling to them. The spark in their eye flits in and out of the world.
 Some were born with old spirits and although young outside, their spirit gained the wisdom of age, bringing with it, its experiences from a past life.  This spirt comes whole and can remember, so there are the young that are cautious, the spark in their eye showing true deep thought. Some are born whole and remember the love in the world, these are the kind spirits among us, the spark in their eye is empathy.
 Some spirits are born in pieces within us and dont remember.  Born lost from the very beginning, these are the ones reckless in life and their spark in their eye wild and hungry.
Some are born with rage for injustices done in the world, the spark in their eye is one of anger.
Some spirits know.  The spark in their eye flits in and out of this world, the spark in their eye shows deep thought, the spark in their eye shows empathy, the spark in their eye show wildness and hunger, the spark in their eye show anger, the spark in their eye show love and understanding.

Its not the outside that counts.  Its the energy inside you.  Time flies swiftly and takes with you the youthfulness of your skin, the shine of your hair, the flexibility in your bone joints and for some it takes the spirit in you.
But for some, the spirit burns and its the only thing that time cannot take from us.  It becomes knowing : of the ephemeral life, thinks deeply about the world, sympathizes with those who cannot stand on their own, is angry at the ones who step on the ones who cannot stand, is the spirit that searches hungrily for answers in the wild, its the spirit that grows to love and understand the balance that life has to offer.  Life is not unfair, we percieve it as so.  But the spirit that grows, that is not afraid to be kind, to be angry, to be lost and to love is the one who understands that life seeks balance and so must we.

South Road

Sand Creek sitting in the valley, Sand Creek you make me so happy to see the old and young, blue mountains around, what a pretty, pretty site, its my home town.

There is a song out there, written by Basil Rodriques if Im not mistaken, it could of been Winston Pugsley, the headmaster of Sand Creek at the time.  It goes like this; Rainy Season has come again, alot of people do not like the rain, mosquito, mis'o, kabaro, mareiw, kibaro all around.  Lightening and thunder, muddy savannahs,  But we plant our peppers, plant our cassava....
So I cant remember all the lyrics, but my point is this... I LOVE THE RAINY SEASON.  Because this is when life happens, when love happens (or sex) and friendships are forged on the road admist mud, rain, sweat, rum, iron and rope.  So yes, there are more mosquiotes and Kabaoro, but its a sign of life-the rain creates an opportunity for growth, for renewal.  It dampens the dust of the dry season that would punish any travelers eyes on the south road.  The negative side is break downs and stick up increases as the muddy earth suck onto the jeeps wheels and pull it to a stop.  The water gets everywhere causing electrical problems, contaminated oil, weakened bearings and such.  But think about the positive things that come out of these...every south traveler has a story about the road, has many stories of the road...I want to begin with my mum and uncle Malek.
Im young, I think eight or nine, traveling back from Lethem in the land rover 40-39 late at night, and of course all the adults had been drinking in front of uncle Don and Aunty Shirley's before we left....  This is through white rock, for those of you who know and we get a puncture.  Mundane enough for a break down, but we have no spare and its swarming with mosquitoes, we have only ration and alcohol.  So the adults began to drink (as a bug repllent you see).  I curl up in the punctured tyre slapping away at mosquitoes.  Then I hear uncle Malek and my mum start to sing.  I start to dance.  My repellent you see, the faster I move, the less chance I get bitten.  They sing old country and western songs, El Paso, by Marty Robbins, Clementine, Kenny Rogers, Dolly Parton and Country Road by John Denver, substituting South Rupununi for west virginia. 
To this day when I hear that song, I rememeber that night, dancing under white rock mountain with my mum and uncle Malek singing every country song they knew.  Boling an egg in a half of a beer can and when it rained the fire fizzled out...they sang louder under the tarpulin and I danced.  I dont think I can dance like that again.  No one came that night for us.  When the rain abated, i curled in my mums lap, dressed my dad's camel trophy T-shirt and fell asleep. 

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.