This post will be very short, but not for lack of stuff to say; I'm just in a rush.
Claire and I are back in Georgetown, having already been here last week for Mash. It was a fantastic few days, marred only slightly by everyone turning to stare at us incredulously when we used the Guyanese flags we'd been carrying as a picnic blanket (we're nothing if not a bit culturally insensitive). This time we have with us all of our possessions (well, not everything - we were given less than 24 hours' notice that we'd be leaving Wakapoa for good and hastily gave away a fair few items, including our beloved kerosene stove and a t-shirt I'd destroyed by letting the kittens sleep on it. And then spilling kerosene all over it.), because we're moving to Orealla tomorrow. Wow, the flow of that sentence was really reduced by the incessant parentheses-usage.
Anyway, yeah, we're moving to Orealla. I know next to nothing about it, but it's in Region 6, right on the Surinamese border. Oh, and Elaine and Heather - two other PT volunteers - live there. They were also in 'Town for Mash, and us moving in with them was briefly (and excitedly) discussed, but quickly dismissed as improbable at best. The problems we'd been facing in Wakapoa have worsened dramatically over recent weeks, and we made contact with our rep and PT. We expected any action to be taken slowly, so were very surprised to receive a phone call yesterday afternoon telling us to say our goodbyes. Given that Orealla has no mobile phone reception, I'm sure Elaine and Heather will be even more surprised when they come home from the market tomorrow to see two white girls sitting on their doorstep.
After the phonecall we shakily (but happily) returned to our classes to tell them we'd be leaving the next day. Any hope I'd had of getting my students to plot a graph evaporated as I was swarmed by hugs from crying twelve-year-olds. It was a decidedly bittersweet afternoon: we're pleased to be leaving Wakapoa at this point, but really have made friends here, and it was horrible to have to say goodbye. After we'd finished hugging, my class sat in complete silence, staring at me.
"Why are you never this quiet when I'm trying to get you to do your Social Studies?" I asked, frowning.
Devin, a boy usually more given to rapping and slapping the heads of the people sitting in front of him, stood up, looked around and very slowly said "We're hoping that if we're quiet, you'll change your mind and stay."
That's when I started crying.
In the evening (after dorms kids had helped us to pack our bags, and helpfully sat and ate the margarine we wouldn't be taking with us), we were thrown a farewell party by some friends. The evening rapidly went from "actually quite classy" to "lots of drunk people crying and taking lots of photos". I drank my fair share (and several other people's fair shares) of rum, and spent hours throwing up, still crying and taking photos. They're incriminating snaps, to say the least.
Gotta leave in style, y'know...
So, that's that. We're Orealla-bound, and still pretty dazed. Dazed and happy, though. I won't be able to contact people in any way other than letter-writing, and I don't even know my new address yet, but in a couple of months those of you with whom I've been corresponding thus far will begin receiving mud-streaked letters and pleeeeeeeeeease write back :) And, if you're feeling particularly generous, send marmite...
Right. I'm off into the jungle. See you all (figuratively) at Easter! xxxxxxx
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