Go Light Your World...

Here's a video I made about my school.

Journeys to Georgetown

Today I am back in Georgetown, it is my first trip back here since I arrived in September. Anca, Kurt and I came for a 2 day ASI lay evangelism training program, our objective: free DVD players that we can use and donate to the different villages in our area that need them.

The ride across the immense Essequibo river was the roughest I’ve yet to encounter. I’ve discovered since my arrival here that there is no need for roller coasters or water parks in the mission field, at least not here in Guyana. We climbed up and dropped down waves on the choppy water so many times that I was sure my liver and stomach changed places several times, before coming to rest on the opposite side of my abdomen from whence they began. Along with each rise and fall of the boat I inevitably got wet, whether it was just a little spray, or a total dousing of water in my face. Thankfully the canvass provided in such boats helped to some extent, but by the time we arrived at our destination I had already had my shower for the day. Looking on the bright side, it will save me time later tonight!

Then came the always entertaining experience of driving from the river to Georgetown. Along with the usual clutter of vehicles, pedestrians, donkeys, mopeds, cows, geese, horse drawn carts, bicycles, goats, and school children to dodge in the streets. It never ceases to amaze me, as we weave in and out to avoid the many obstructions on the street, that I still haven’t seen any accidents take place. I love watching the people and the interesting city happenings as we drive. We stop at a school crossing, and the school kids stare at us “white people” then smile and wave, I return the smile. We drive past roadside vendors with carts piled high with oranges, mangoes, bananas, and coconut. I see Hindu temples with their colorful shrines out front, an Islamic high school with a courtyard full of young ladies in uniforms with white hijabs covering their heads, and even pass a sign that states “SDA church.”

Finally we arrive in the marketplace where we’ll catch our last minibus to the mission house. It is crowded with people, animals, motorcycles, and of course many minibuses painted ever color imaginable. We try to stay together in the jostling crowd of people as vendors shout at us the value of their wares, and taxi drivers yell and try to get us into their vehicles. We pass several men loading huge pieces of freshly cut cows into the back of a truck, nearby the entire cow hide, including the tails are draped over a trailer, the underside still red with blood. We continue past other carts with fresh fruits piled high, and carts carrying baked goods and other foodstuffs, my stomach rumbles hungrily since I didn’t eat lunch, but we continue on. Finally we board a minibus going in the proper direction, and we are off. Stopping at random intervals to pick up and drop off passengers, alternating between being crammed in tightly and actually having a little space as people come and go.

At last we arrive at the mission house where we’ll spend the night. We unload our things, clean up from our travels, and meet some other missionaries from another village who are also here for ASI. Then, wonder of wonders, for the last 45 minutes before we leave for the meeting I get the wonderful experience of high-speed (what is that again??) free internet from the hotel next door. Internet is such a beautiful thing, especially when it is working

River Travels

In our part of Guyana, the river is an integral part of our lives. It is our interstate, many times the only way to get from one point to another; or at the very least the shortest way. Cars are nearly non-existent in this area, instead families own boats. Something I discovered early on, is that the river rises and falls with the tide. When I first arrived I was able to step from the boat directly onto the dock, but the next time I was down at the river I was surprised to see the water so low that we had to climb down the steps onto another boarded ramp to get into the boat.

Riding up or down the river in our mission boat we pass smaller wooden dugout boats with dinky outboard motors, young school children paddling together to school, large lumbering flat barge type boats carrying logs down river to the sawmill, and many other miscellaneous boats being paddled or motored up and down the river. Some carrying goods to the market, others returning from the larger village with supplies, boats carrying families, or being paddled by a single individual, boats of many different shapes and sizes.
As we travel the river we are greeted by friendly waves from the passing boats. The shore is interspersed with stilted wooden houses, some with tin roofs and others with thatched roofs, but all with docks leading up from the river. At many homes the members can be seen bathing off the docks, or washing their clothes on the steps of the dock that lead down into the water, they always wave to us as well.

During our trips on the river we may glide along the glassy, unbroken water that stretches out before us, perfectly reflecting the trees and clouds, other times we bounce and jolt over wakes caused by other motorboats. We may travel in the cool mist of the morning before the sun has broken over the green canopy for the day, or head home in the gathering darkness after the sun has long since set. We travel on large rivers where the distant shore appears almost absent on the horizon, on smaller rivers that are lined with coconut trees, houses, and thicker jungle, and at times up even smaller rivers where we seem to be enveloped in jungle above and on either side or us. At times we see beautiful displays of color in sunsets, other times all that is visible above is menacing clouds and we hope we arrive at our destination before the next deluge of rain begins to pouring from the skies above.

Many times we are not lucky enough to evade the rain, so everyone quickly ducks under canvass coverings trying to keep their belongings dry, and as many body parts as possible out of the pouring rain. Then as the rain stops heads begin to emerge from under the canvass and sometimes are greeted by a brilliant rainbow as we continue our journey along the river that seems to stretch endlessly ahead, promising some new discovery around the next bend. Or perhaps just the arrival at our destination.

A Jungle Thanksgiving

Ah, Thanksgiving. That word alone conjures up multiple sights, smells, feelings, memories, and traditions. When I think of Thanksgiving, many things come to mind. Waking up early, and spending all day in the kitchen with my mom and sister making all kinds of good food, trying to sample the foods we were making without being scolded by my all-knowing mother, and then a delicious feast with all our family that always ends in groans of satisfied over-fullness. I remember my dad’s tradition of always going around the table and asking each of us what we were most thankful for, and the afternoon spent walking, throwing a football around, or maybe playing some other game in an attempt to alleviate our stuffed bellies.

This year, however, Thanksgiving was bound to be different. For one, it would be my first spent in the jungle, not to mention the fact that I was one of only four other North American individuals who would appreciate such an occasion. It didn’t help that the warmly humid weather lent itself to the illusion that it was summer, rather than nearly the first of December.

As the holiday approached, the four of us Thanksgivians got together to decide what we would do for the special occasion. We made a list of traditional dishes we would be able to make, green bean casserole was sadly omitted, as was any type of vegetarian turkey (we couldn’t bring ourselves to desecrate the dish by attempting to make it out of TVP). The list quickly took shape: stuffing, mashed potatoes, candied yams, fresh rolls, I offered my two cans of Fri Chick that I had been stashing for just this occasion, others contributed dried cranberries to be boiled and made into cranberry sauce, homemade peach and blackberry jam brought from the States was added to the list, and most important of all, pumpkin pie, the delicious kind, complete with real cinnamon. We also put together our shopping list of special items to get in town. Our plan was to make the general meal for everyone, but have our dinner together at Michael and Lauren’s house complete with our special contributions.

Finally the big day arrived, since we still had our usual day of outreach, we had to do the cooking in shifts. In the morning Lauren boiled the potatoes, and yams, and dried the bread squares I had baked the night before. My turn came after lunch, since I was at the clinic all day with the students for outreach. It was my task to finish the marathon cooking session and put together all the different dishes, and man did I have a great time!

As the food came together, the familiar smells of thanksgiving began to accost my nostrils. The pumpkin pie filled the kitchen with the delicious aroma of cinnamon, and pumpkin and several times I had to stop what I was doing to simply breathe in the lovely scent. The stuffing also permeated the air with its savory odor, and I was already feeling the Thanksgiving spirit. I even got to sample my creations without being scolded, but somehow I could hear my mom’s voice somewhere within the far reaches of my mind.

Dinner time finally came, and it was time to partake of our feast. We gathered in Michael and Lauren’s small jungle home, that Lauren had decorated with a fall theme. Five of us were present, Michael, Lauren, Anca, and I from North America, and Saray from South America, here to celebrate together with a bountiful meal to make our own Thanksgiving memories. The table set for 5, complete with two candles, and the small table of food piled high with special treats. It was almost possible to forget we were in the jungle, and almost feel that if we looked out the window we would see bare trees, grey skies, and maybe even a few flurries of snow beginning to fall.

Our meal was absolutely delicious, everything tasting as it should taste for Thanksgiving. And in keeping with tradition, we thoroughly stuffed ourselves making it impossible to fit any desert in our full bellies without first taking a walk through the already dark jungle out onto the airstrip. After returning to the little home, we savored every last bite of pie and tropical fruit salad, despite still feeling like our stomachs were near bursting. As we ate our desert we laughed, talked, and played games completing the evening of celebration.

So my first international Thanksgiving spent in another country, immersed in another culture, proved that tradition can be celebrated in many new ways. I am sure that this is only the beginning of memories that I will make in overseas holiday adventures wherever God may take me.