Wha'm in me life does steh so

Yesterday saw the arrival of Project Trust's Guyana Desk Officers, Doug and Chris, in Wakapoa. We'd received an email a couple of weeks ago saying the visit was planned, but having spent six months in the land of "Just Now", Claire and I were a little sceptical. We were therefore delighted when we saw two very tired-looking white people walking towards our house, shouldering rucksacks whose primary purposes turned out to be transporting decent chocolate for us :)

It was a decidedly quick visit - they arrived at lunchtime (and were supposed to be observing our lessons, not realising that Claire has Friday afternoons free and I teach P.E. for two hours), played a lot of volleyball (at my insistence. Chris took it gamely, even though we got rained on and returned home covered in wet sand and sand fly bites), paid for and cooked the first decent meal we've eaten in weeks, provided us with rum and Mini Eggs, and happily sat on our floor in the dark playing cards by torchlight. Oh, and they then slept in our hammocks, which is trying for even us; there isn't that much space in our house so we really did sling them up poorly. This morning, more cards were played in the village benab as we waited for the boat to arrive to take us to Charity. Once we hopped inelegantly onto the stelling - after the beautiful ride through Wakapoa creek and down the Pomeroon - we said goodbye, and they headed back to Georgetown. We headed to the other side of the stelling to sit and gaff with our friend Philip.

Over rum the previous night, Doug and Chris had chatted to us about our time in Guyana (with rather more candour than expected - it was admitted that Wakapoa won't be on the cards for next year's volunteers), and our conversation inspired me to compile a list of things that the past few months have taught me...

• A boat is not full when the seats are all taken. A boat is not full if you have only one child sitting on your knee. A boat will be deemed "full enough" when seemingly everyone from the surrounding area is squashed into/teetering precariously on it. Also true of minibuses in Georgetown.
• I am crap at volleyball.
• Food is a huge part of my life. When it's raining and we're stuck inside, I can happily pass the time by swinging in my hammock and thinking fondly of snacks I miss. Salami, I'm lookin' at you.
• I'm good at killing things. Perhaps not Amerindian Good - yet - but hand me a book or a broom and I will happily rid your house of that pesky bat/tarantula/frog problem. Pancake would be wise to stay away from me when she's in a leg-licking mood.
• I don't think I want to teach for a living. No, that's not necessarily true. I don't want to teach in Guyana for a living.
• Hand-washing isn't hard. It's time consuming and dull, but we're pretty adept now, and clothes come out actually feeling/looking/smelling clean (despite being washed in the creek). My white tops still look white - they're perfect for showing off my newly-hench arms.
• Jaguars are hard to spot, and I should probably stop straining to see them in the dense foliage we pass through in boats. Considering I consistently fail to see either of the two Jaguars in the tiny enclosure at Chester Zoo, I think it's a lost cause.
• Guyanese night-time church is held in tiny clearings in the rainforest by candlelight, and is absolutely terrifying. If you attend you will be exorcised, slapped on the head a few times and given a lolly.
• Somtimes, in Georgetown, you will attempt to cheer yourself up by buying cheese. Actual cheese. It will be your first cheese in months, and you will love it like a child. When you reluctantly yet tenderly place this cheese in the only fridge in the village upon your return, you will not see that cheese again, and you will be sad.
• Unripe passion fruits are excellent pelting tools, and pretty much the only way to get the ripe ones.
• Guyanese people choose to eat mangoes when they're green, seasoning them with salt and wiri wiri pepper. You can try to persuade them to wait for a couple of weeks, but they will not, and simply so you get a mango, you too will have to pick and eat them green. It will be a shock the first time. And each subsequent time, to be honest, though you'll get better at hiding it.
• I can fry anything. I am a frying wizard.
• Claire is also a frying wizard.
• I can't outrun a piglet.
• I can outrun a 14-year-old Amerindian boy who loves running, and he isn't happy about it. We have had many, many races around the village in an attempt to disprove this.
• If you're sufficiently poor at cooking, it is technically possible to make scrambled egg from a box of cake mixture.
• I miss reading so much. Aside from the few we brought with us, the only book we own is the autobiography of a forensic pathologist left behind by a previous volunteer. We've read it several times.
• I am 90% certain I could competently perform an autopsy.
• Sand is potentially the most annoying substrate it's possible to live on. Wet sand is worse.
• The education system here (or at least in many hinterland communities here) is monumentally f***ed-up. I'm sure at some point I'll write the obligatory rant about it, so I won't open that can of worms yet, but rest assured that it's coming...
• Sarcasm is something that English (and Northern Irish) people do very well, but it is lost on Guyanese people and you'll look like a dickhead, so don't bother.
• Banks Beer tastes a bit like piss, but I've grown to love it.
• El Dorado 5-year definitely does NOT taste like piss. It's all I'm carrying back to the UK.
• I still miss bacon.

So, that's my list. It isn't the most comprehensive, but it's true to what our year has thus far been like. Feel free to visit us and I'll kill a bat as a token of welcome.