Even though I've now been back in the UK for roughly four months, I thought one final post to give the soon-to-be-retired blog some closure was needed. It was harder to write than I expected.
The fact it took me four months should go some way to show you how difficult it was, which probably sounds either pretty feeble or pretty lazy of me, but there you go.
Every aspect of my then-life was ripped away from me and, I guess, I went through a lull tantamount to mourning. I can talk about it more objectively now, though, so yaaaaaay!!
Coming back was something I'd avoided even contemplating during my last couple of months in the country in which I'd lived and worked, made friends who became family, adopted various animals, learned to make curry, picked up so many other disparate skills, and generally called my home. I absolutely fell in love with Guyana's melting pot of cultures, its joyous celebrations, vibrant flora and fauna, and passionate and friendly locals. I'd known roughly the date I'd be leaving from the very beginning, but that didn't make the approaching deadline any more palatable.
The month Claire and I spent wandering around the Caribbean after officially leaving our jobs in Orealla served chiefly to allow us to move on - a bit - from our lives in Guyana, whilst still enjoying the climate/fruit/creole/pace of life we were used to. It constituted a lazy interim between "teaching 40 unnaturally hyperactive children in the blistering heat for six hours a day" and "lying on a sofa in Manchester, huddled in a blanket and mournfully singing Trini Soca on your own for six hours a day".
It was also a sweetly trite way for the pair of us to end our gap years: we started them together and, after a challenging six months in Wakapoa, and amazing five months living with two other Project Trust Volunteers and a friend in Orealla, ended them together.
On a less corny note, the convoluted return journey took the piss.
We'd already undergone some somewhat gratuitous flights in the last month (stupid Trinidad), flying Georgetown - Port of Spain - Castries - Port of Spain - Bridgetown, and had assumed that, since we'd be returning to London from Guyana via Barbados anyway, we'd be OK simply to hang around in Bridgetown at the end of our Barbados holiday, and catch our connecting flight from there.
Not so. We spent a tense few hours on the phone to various airlines booking and rebooking, so our repertoire of stupid needless flights extended to encompass the delightful "Bridgetown - Georgetown - Bridgetown" leg.
By the time we blearily greeted the other volunteers (fresh from the PT flat) in Georgetown, we already had over a day of flights and airports under our belts. When we landed back in Barbados we then had nine hours of sitting around ahead of us, so Heather and I decided to ditch the airport and head to the beach. We swam (with turtles. Just thought I'd get that in there), sunbathed and drank a fair amount of Banks beer before skulking to the guesthouse Claire and I had just spent two weeks in, and begging the lovely owner Pauline for a shower. She happily obliged, and I got to say another goodbye to the people I'd met (and spent lots of time dancing and swimming with) in Barbados, which was lovely.
The flight back to Gatwick passed before we'd even settled into it properly. Having spent the last year on boat rides lasting, on average, 10 hours (where you don't get a seat, human companionship OR a free packet of peanuts), and bus journeys tipping the scales at 18 hours, we were all incredibly excited to have a comfy seat, a little TV (TV! We hadn't seen one of those in months!), blankets, and a couple of hot meals for a contemptible eight hours. We then said our goodbyes to the 14 other PTVs we'd just shared an incredible year with - although it didn't feel too final, since we knew we'd be seeing each other in a couple of weeks for our debriefing course on Coll.
As I sat on my final flight of my year - to a surprisingly sunny Manchester - I had little time to do anything other than vaguely articulate in my mind what I was going to say first to my family in the airport. When I finally did see them I think it went something along the lines of "aaaaaaaarhhhhhh!!!!!!", which wasn't the plan, but I feel got the message across sufficiently.
I then had a delightful - if slightly hectic - couple of weeks catching up with family and
friends. And running around the house checking for things that had changed (we got a new fridge, yo). And re-befriending the cat. And wearing all of the clothes I'd forgotten I owned. I also enjoyed everybody telling me how tanned I was, because
it's hardly the norm for me to look anything other than, according to
the foundation I hadn't used in a year, "Porcelain". I'd unintentionally lost a fair amount of weight due to not feeling hungry in the heat or being able to afford protein, so I very much enjoyed eating that weight back on also.
Debriefing was poignant, as we were all acutely aware that it was probably the last time we'd be together as a group, and able to talk non-stop about Guyana without pissing anybody off. We ended the year in a suitably Guyanese fashion: we wore tibisiri skirts, drank rum, and danced to Caribbean and Portugese music non-stop for 48 hours.
Volunteers who'd spent their years in Sri Lanka, Thailand, Namibia and Malaysia were there also (and, having been in more religious and conservative countries, did not dance in quite the same way to us), so it was nice to be able to catch up with the people we met on training and see how they'd changed in twelve months. The predominant changes every country group seemed to boast were being more laid-back, happy, tanned, and colourfully-attired.
The change unique to the Guyanese PTVs was that we now dance like slags regardless of the music or situation around us.
Reverse-culture shock wise, the only thing that's majorly affecting me
is the time difference. I'm still functioning very much five hours
behind everybody else, which accounts for both my writing this at 2.55am
and my eating breakfast at highly inappropriate times. Having said
that, I'm also a little thrown by the variety and availability of food
("What? You mean things other than rice, plantain and cassava exist?!"), and lack of pulsing music at all hours of the day. I'm attempting to counter this by forcing those around me to wine, and listen to nothing but the songs I now have on my phone thanks to my students bluetoothing them to me (none of them own shoes or furniture but they all have Blackberries!). I decided about four seconds ago that I'm going to add my Guyanese Playlist to the sidebar so anyone interested can have a listen to the songs we heard on repeat from day one. Music is a MASSIVE part of life in Guyana - and the Caribbean in general - so, if you do listen, you'll definitely be hearing the soundtrack to our everyday activities, however mundane they were.
I miss my friends and students an amount I never thought possible. In fact, thinking about my life in Guyana at all for too long still makes me well up. Luckily, communication systems have improved in both Wakapoa and Orealla recently, meaning that we're able to text and call each other, and the kids finally have a use for those damn Blackberries. I'm still in frequent contact with most of those I got to know and love during my year away, and get to flex my otherwise dormant creole every few days. I also receive picture updates of my puppy, who's looking very grown up :).
I'm now happily settled into Durham University studying Biology. Possibly too happily settled in, considering I've carried the "Just Now" work-ethic home with me, but never mind, eh? There's also the chance I'm going to get myself expelled because I'm brewing rice wine under my sink following our tenderly-refined Orealla recipe, but, again, never mind, eh?!
So, that's it.
Once again, thank you so much to everybody who helped me, either in Guyana or the months immediately preceding it. Whether it was through donations of money or time, I couldn't have done any of it without constant support, so thank you. If all you did was read this blog, then thank you for taking an interest.
Words will never be enough to express my gratitude, really. Hopefully
I'll be able to pay it forward and assist anyone I can with whatever
their current undertaking is.
These past few months have been totally life-changing ones. For now, though, my days will revert to studying, and trying to save money so that I might one day return to Guyana. It's our tentative plan to head back in 2014, but I guess we'll see wha'gwaan just now, bais and gyals...
Edit: It's just occurred to me that if you're not friends with me on Facebook you won't have any idea of what anything I've blathered on
about actually LOOKS like, so here're (a lot of) photos, in absolutely no order...
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| Grade 6 students dancing merengue at our leaving party (Orealla) |
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| With fellow teachers (Orealla) |
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| Elaine and Heather, enjoying each other's company (Georgetown) |
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| Claire's attempt to cutlass her coconut open (Orealla) |
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| Wining during Mashramani (Georgetown) |
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| Rupununi Rodeo over Easter (Lethem) |
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| Most of the '11/'12 volunteers (Gatwick airport) |
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| Merengue with Andre, my 7A student (Orealla) |
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| Liming at the PT flat (Georgetown) |
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| Kids playing cricket (Wakapoa) |
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| The Creek meeting the Pomeroon River (Wakapoa) |
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| Kisharie and Roveena, my Grade 7 Remedial students (Wakapoa) |
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| My 19th birthday, spent in a lumber boat with my presents: a pig and an umbrella (Charity/Wakapoa) |
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| Wakapoa |
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| Some of my Grade 7 Remedial students, at an impromptu Christmas Concert rehearsal under the mango tree (Wakapoa) |
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| Kaieteur Falls (Region #8) |
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| What can be seen of Wakapoa from the creek during the dry season. Water reaches right up to the Kumaka tree when it's raining heavily |
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| Kanuku mountains (Lethem, Region #9) |
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| Playing with the dorms kids (Wakapoa) |
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| About 2/3 of Grade 7 Remedial (Wakapoa) |
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| Louann, a Grade 1 student and our neighbour (Orealla) |
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| Miss Janet and Dale during our farewell meal (Wakapoa) |
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| Doing our washing in the Corentyne River (Orealla) |
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| Orealla School |
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| Our house (Orealla) |
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| Leaving Wakapoa |
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| "The Road" (Orealla) |
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| Dale and Pogo mid-Rockies (Georgetown) |
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| The Potaro River (Region #8) |
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| What can be seen of Orealla from up the hill. Our house is nestled in there somewhere. |
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| Quagmire and Adam West in my hammock, on their first day of hammock-stealing (Orealla) |
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| Me and Claire learning to make tibisiri skirts at Auntie Esther's house (Orealla) |
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| How close it's possible to get to Kaieteur Falls (Region #8) |
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| Walking down the hill (Orealla) |
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| Labaria (a type of pit viper) are so venemous and ubiquitous that they're cutlassed on sight (Orealla) |
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| Taking the kids to The Resort (Orealla) |
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| Drinks up the hill (Orealla) |
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| Some of my 7A students in the library (Orealla) |
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| Trip to see some nearby waterfalls (Orealla) |
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| Wakapoa kids invading our house to play cards and drink Milo was a nightly tradition |
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| Top of the hill, walking to school (Orealla) |
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| Walking to a volleyball match (Siparuta, Region #6) |
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| My Dad and brother kayaking around Arrowpoint nature reserve (Region #3) |
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| Top of Big Mama Hill (Orealla) |
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| Umpiring cricket. See? I know the rules now! (Wakapoa) |
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| Playing with dorms kids (Wakapoa) |
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| Adam West, stealing my hammock when a little bit older (Orealla) |
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| Walking home (Orealla) |
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