Forrò at the bus-stop
22-Dec-2007
Lethem
I travelled alone to Guyana, but in Guyana, whereever I go, I am never alone. One million can sound an impressively large number, but when that's the entire population of a country, it suddenly shrinks; and when your friends are part of a very close-knit subset of that millions - the Amerindians, the 'buck-people' of the savannah and bush - there is in every town or village, on eevery bus, someone who knows or is related to a friend.
Georgetown has nearly a quarter of Guyana's population, and I was bound to know someone there, despite having spent the vast majority of my year in the country far removed from it, in Aishalton. Still, the chances of bumping into them by accident seemed remote, and the only people I knew for sure in 'Town were the Thomas's - Janelle's family, with whom I would be staying. But the buck people stick together, and in the course of a few days I had met Clea, Benson, Shane and Shawn (all old pupils of mine), and Janelle's cousin Pamela, who all lived in Grove, the same part of 'Town as the Thomas's - a veritable mini-Aishalton. When Tubes came out of the bush, we met up with him, and Moses too, also from Aishalton. And when it was time to post a number of them off to Lethem on the Intraserv bus, a whole crew appeared at the Brazilian bar by the bus-stop to see them off. In the midst of 'Town's overwhelming, crowded, aggressive streets, such pockets of friendship were a comforting reminder of Rupununi life.
Tubes, Micky (his sister), Clea, and Father Amah all left on the Tuesday night bus; Moses had already beat out in one of the cheaper, but more cramped, minibuses on Monday. I stayed on in 'Town to act as Santa Claus for Manley's school in Grove, but by Thursday it was my turn to hit the 300 mile long trail through Guyana's rainforest interior to the border town of Lethem. And I was ready to go - although it had been fun seeing friends in 'Town, especially those who wouldn't make it South for Christmas, I was not a fan of the capital. The racial hassle - for being white - was far more aggressive, close to abusive, than in Aishalton, where there was an air of innocent curiosity; and, aside from that, Janelle and I had witnessed a money-changer being held up at gun-point outside the KFC where we were eating lunch only that morning. After having been caught in a shoot-out in a mini-bus on my last visit to 'Town, I felt I had had enough of guns.
I had thought most of our friends had left by now, but when we reached the bus-stop - three hours before the bus left, to give time for a proper send-off - the crew was bigger than ever. Manley and Janelle came; their cousin, Michael, who was hoping for a lift down on Joyce's truck; Shane, likewise heading South but unsure when or how/ Then, already at the bar, a number of Manley's ex-classmates - Maylene, Shelly, and Polly, heading home for the holidays from dental school, on the same bus as me.
Intraserv - the only reliable form of public transport traversing the Trail from Georgetown to Lethem (short of flying) - is a Brazilian-run company, linking directly with Amatur on the other side of the Takatu River at Lethem, to carry the many Brazilian passengers straight to Boa Vista. So it is that the Intraserv bus-stop on Oronoque Street, in 'Town, consists of two open-fronted rooms on the street-corner: one for checking in, and the other with the Brazilian bar. Outside are plastic tables and chairs, and a barbeque roasting pork and beef, served with farrine in the Brazilian style - ground into a fine powder.
Although nominally for the passengers, many nearby residents treat the bar as their local, including Bernard's boss, Kevin - a brash and loud white from Manchester, who I had encountered before on the Tuesday night shouting at Bernard, but, after gaffing over a few beers this time, I discovered to be more amiable than first impressions suggested.
In many ways, the people of the Rupununi share more with their Brazilian neighbours than with the Caribbean coast-people. So when, to our great delight, we find a shop selling 'catuaba' - a Brazilian drink - the shop-keeper for once assumes I am from South, instead of the inevitable 'American?'. At the bus-stop, then, we crack open the catuaba ('wab'), order ice and some beef and farrine, and lend the lady behind the bar my 'Pepe Moreno' CD - the anthem for the Rupununi. Soon, with the drink flowing (catuaba, running out, being replaced by El Dorado rum & Banks beer) and spirits high, the tables are pushed back and an impromtu dance-floor opens, the Amerindians adept at the forrò music playing, to the Brazilians' surprise. We dance in couples, swapping partners between songs or even during songs, the legs and hips moving impossibly independently from each other (something I never mastered). Even Kevin joins in, and again, in the heart of the capital, a little bit of Aishalton is conjured up.
Even when the bus starts up, and the driver blasts his horn, the dancing continues - there is a queue to board, and until it's down to the last man, we don't stop. Eventually, from our seats on the bus, those of us travelling lean out the windows to say our farewells to those staying back - and to be passed a final beer to enjoy on the trip.
A real Rupununi send-off, but with true Rupununi lack of fore-sight - I now have a 15-hour journey ahead of me, and as the bus rumbles and sways, my stomach is not happy.
Lethem
I travelled alone to Guyana, but in Guyana, whereever I go, I am never alone. One million can sound an impressively large number, but when that's the entire population of a country, it suddenly shrinks; and when your friends are part of a very close-knit subset of that millions - the Amerindians, the 'buck-people' of the savannah and bush - there is in every town or village, on eevery bus, someone who knows or is related to a friend.
Georgetown has nearly a quarter of Guyana's population, and I was bound to know someone there, despite having spent the vast majority of my year in the country far removed from it, in Aishalton. Still, the chances of bumping into them by accident seemed remote, and the only people I knew for sure in 'Town were the Thomas's - Janelle's family, with whom I would be staying. But the buck people stick together, and in the course of a few days I had met Clea, Benson, Shane and Shawn (all old pupils of mine), and Janelle's cousin Pamela, who all lived in Grove, the same part of 'Town as the Thomas's - a veritable mini-Aishalton. When Tubes came out of the bush, we met up with him, and Moses too, also from Aishalton. And when it was time to post a number of them off to Lethem on the Intraserv bus, a whole crew appeared at the Brazilian bar by the bus-stop to see them off. In the midst of 'Town's overwhelming, crowded, aggressive streets, such pockets of friendship were a comforting reminder of Rupununi life.
Tubes, Micky (his sister), Clea, and Father Amah all left on the Tuesday night bus; Moses had already beat out in one of the cheaper, but more cramped, minibuses on Monday. I stayed on in 'Town to act as Santa Claus for Manley's school in Grove, but by Thursday it was my turn to hit the 300 mile long trail through Guyana's rainforest interior to the border town of Lethem. And I was ready to go - although it had been fun seeing friends in 'Town, especially those who wouldn't make it South for Christmas, I was not a fan of the capital. The racial hassle - for being white - was far more aggressive, close to abusive, than in Aishalton, where there was an air of innocent curiosity; and, aside from that, Janelle and I had witnessed a money-changer being held up at gun-point outside the KFC where we were eating lunch only that morning. After having been caught in a shoot-out in a mini-bus on my last visit to 'Town, I felt I had had enough of guns.
I had thought most of our friends had left by now, but when we reached the bus-stop - three hours before the bus left, to give time for a proper send-off - the crew was bigger than ever. Manley and Janelle came; their cousin, Michael, who was hoping for a lift down on Joyce's truck; Shane, likewise heading South but unsure when or how/ Then, already at the bar, a number of Manley's ex-classmates - Maylene, Shelly, and Polly, heading home for the holidays from dental school, on the same bus as me.
Intraserv - the only reliable form of public transport traversing the Trail from Georgetown to Lethem (short of flying) - is a Brazilian-run company, linking directly with Amatur on the other side of the Takatu River at Lethem, to carry the many Brazilian passengers straight to Boa Vista. So it is that the Intraserv bus-stop on Oronoque Street, in 'Town, consists of two open-fronted rooms on the street-corner: one for checking in, and the other with the Brazilian bar. Outside are plastic tables and chairs, and a barbeque roasting pork and beef, served with farrine in the Brazilian style - ground into a fine powder.
Although nominally for the passengers, many nearby residents treat the bar as their local, including Bernard's boss, Kevin - a brash and loud white from Manchester, who I had encountered before on the Tuesday night shouting at Bernard, but, after gaffing over a few beers this time, I discovered to be more amiable than first impressions suggested.
In many ways, the people of the Rupununi share more with their Brazilian neighbours than with the Caribbean coast-people. So when, to our great delight, we find a shop selling 'catuaba' - a Brazilian drink - the shop-keeper for once assumes I am from South, instead of the inevitable 'American?'. At the bus-stop, then, we crack open the catuaba ('wab'), order ice and some beef and farrine, and lend the lady behind the bar my 'Pepe Moreno' CD - the anthem for the Rupununi. Soon, with the drink flowing (catuaba, running out, being replaced by El Dorado rum & Banks beer) and spirits high, the tables are pushed back and an impromtu dance-floor opens, the Amerindians adept at the forrò music playing, to the Brazilians' surprise. We dance in couples, swapping partners between songs or even during songs, the legs and hips moving impossibly independently from each other (something I never mastered). Even Kevin joins in, and again, in the heart of the capital, a little bit of Aishalton is conjured up.
Even when the bus starts up, and the driver blasts his horn, the dancing continues - there is a queue to board, and until it's down to the last man, we don't stop. Eventually, from our seats on the bus, those of us travelling lean out the windows to say our farewells to those staying back - and to be passed a final beer to enjoy on the trip.
A real Rupununi send-off, but with true Rupununi lack of fore-sight - I now have a 15-hour journey ahead of me, and as the bus rumbles and sways, my stomach is not happy.
* * *
Still, I reached Lethem in one piece, a little the worse for wear. Maylene and her friends got off at the hospital, where her parents are living, and I stayed on until the airstrip and Shirley's shop. Shirley was in, and with her usual hospitality immediately offered the use of her shower and, on asking where I intended to stay, her landing to sling my hammock. Once again I found I was among friends, and although I must frustratingly stay in Lethem for the weekend, until the bank opens on Monday, 'liming' on the wall outside the shop isn't so bad when you're not alone.
But, despite the fun, despite the friends - unchanged since I left four months ago - each stop on the way to Aishalton has felt like I am reliving memories - as though I am playing my final departure from Guyana, last August, in reverse in my head. It doesn't feel like I am really here, amongst the gaffing and the drinking and the dancing around me. Perhaps my heart is not in it, or perhaps it is because I know that I am only passing through - as before, but even more briefly. But I understand, once again, that these, my friends, truly belong here - and I do not.
But, despite the fun, despite the friends - unchanged since I left four months ago - each stop on the way to Aishalton has felt like I am reliving memories - as though I am playing my final departure from Guyana, last August, in reverse in my head. It doesn't feel like I am really here, amongst the gaffing and the drinking and the dancing around me. Perhaps my heart is not in it, or perhaps it is because I know that I am only passing through - as before, but even more briefly. But I understand, once again, that these, my friends, truly belong here - and I do not.
posted by Unknown at 15:05
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