Counting the Weeks

Well… a month+ to go. Getting down to the wire. In typical form, He is just starting a project right now, with the remaining time here being measured in minutes, not hours. It keeps life interesting, to say the least. She, also true to form, is wrapping up a beautiful project which was enabled and empowered by support from home (namely, our two mothers – there’s some lesson there, but I’ve already forgotten it): 6000 books across 3 libraries. Books in hands that have never held one before. Kids being read stories by parents, kids reading to parents that can’t read. It’s awesome.

We gave away our animals yesterday. Our two girls, Riesling and Sumatra, have been a huge part of our life here. If we hadn’t set it in stone in our minds almost 2 years ago when we first got Riesling, the dog, that we would leave her here when we left, there would definitely be a plane ticket with her name on it right now. Yes, you have to buy a dog their own seat, at least here. And we would be doing it, if we hadn’t told ourselves (and each other), over and over, “They’re staying in Guyana”. We will definitely never leave a pet again. They do have a good home, though – in fact, a young woman from the same state in the Midwest. She seems great, and we think the girls will be very happy. And in a year, we’ll offer to help subsidize their trip home if she’s thinking about bringing them back, so that she doesn’t have to go through the same thing.

We’re getting quite excited about seeing home again – Home defined as family, good customer service, Chipotle, regular working hours, predictable travel times, water you can drink right out of the ta—well, can’t have everything, I guess. How will we travel to see all our friends and family? Beats me. We’ll figure something out. He’ll be back at the end of July; she’ll return from teaching English afterward (see previous post) in time for the holiday season.


I’ll give you a double-dip of True Caribbean Stories, since I skipped last week.

Tarantino #2: The Tapir (Wikipedia it)

There’s a bar, or perhaps a disco is a more appropriate title. A tapir, up on two legs, is dancing with a man. Both the tapir and the man have alcohol on their breath. The tapir isn’t a half-bad dancer.


Addendum to the story: It may not be in Wikipedia, but a male tapir’s… equipment… is the exact size and dimensions of its legs and feet. It literally looks like a 5th leg, and even appears to provide support and balance, when needed. Freaky.



Tarantino #3: White Man Walking

A white girl (“gyal”, here) looks out her window, for what feels like the thousandth time. This time, she’s rewarded: A car has pulled up, and she sees a white man inside it. Now that he’s here, two hours late, she’s freed from holding vigil for him in the apartment and they can go on to the wedding. She goes out to greet him.

When she goes outside, she realizes unequivocally that they will not be attending any wedding. Not today. Her husband is much whiter than when he left that morning, and is only walking with the aid of men propping him on each side. Although the crutches themselves appear to be quite drunk, the oreo-filling patient seems to be the worst by far. He’s lost control of his neck muscles, head flopping about like an infant. She foresees an afternoon of laughing at him and taking digital photographs while he lays in the hammock, deservedly ill. In between the vomiting, she will show him the pictures.

She thinks: So that’s what a Bharyat is.