Go For It

…There, but for the grace of God, or Allah, or whoever, go I… As I watched ‘older’ people –many much younger than me– crippled with some form of physical disability, beg outside rich people’s houses, the same thought always came to mind: “There, but for the grace of God, or Allah, or whoever, go I.”…

…One situation I saw quite often that always resonated with me was a small, wooden cart with wooden wheels, holding four older men with amputated limbs, being pulled by a boy aged no more than nine or ten. He reminded me of my grandsons. They stopped outside large houses, and the men chanted a prayer to Allah. Invariably, the gate to the complex would open, and some good soul from the kitchen would come out with a food tray of vegetables – cut off ends of carrots, outside leaves of cabbage and lettuce – that sort of thing…

…I recall feeling overwhelmed that I’d been born into circumstances so fortunate. I had no say in who my parents were, or in what country I was born, and nor did these beggars. It was just the luck of the draw of life that they were there, and I was here. This experience and realization increased my appreciation for Canada and of how fortunate all of us are who live in the West. That motivated me to want to help more…

…City bus rides in Kingston on Sundays and religious holidays were interesting. As most passengers were on their way to church, they wore their finest clothes. Men and boys had shiny black shoes, long dress pants, and white shirts with matching ties. Women and girls wore high-heeled shoes, oversized decorative hats, and matching purses, and were draped in billowing summer cotton skirts down to their ankles. Hair on both sexes was well-groomed and styled. Men’s and boys’ hair was usually slicked down or close shaved. Women and girls’ hair was a much more elaborate affair. Some silky hair flowed over shoulders and spilled down backs; some was tightly braided in a zig-zag fashion or in straight rows; some were twisted and tied or piled on top of the head, and most little girls had bobbles, clips, and ribbons in every color worked into their creations by their mothers…Topping off this pleasing Sunday visual were the many hands clutching well-worn Bibles. These Books were such an essential Sunday fashion accessory that children looked under- dressed if they didn’t have one in their hands… Another aspect I found interesting was the heavy air of solemnity that filled the air on the buses on Sundays. Was that because of the many Bibles on the bus? Were children less inclined to misbehave when they were holding a Bible? …Music is big in Jamaica. Wherever you go, even on a bus, I can assure you’ll hear music, and it will be loud, ear-splitting loud mostly. Bus drivers decide what to play. On Sundays and religious holidays, it was Gospel music. It pulsated through the bus, prompting passengers to sing out in full voice…Occasionally, when there was no music (the bus driver’s choice), an individual would take it upon themselves to stand in the aisle, read verses from the Bible, and deliver a sermon. It was usually about the devil or going to hell. The churchgoers in the crowd would add, “Amen.” I appreciated the gracefulness and vitality with which Jamaicans spontaneously embraced their religion; the ease and joy they expressed in singing; and their confidence when they recited a speech, a reading, or a prayer. There did not seem to be a lack of confidence in the Jamaican youth…

…Bill, the owner of the Sunset Villa Resort, was an American, who now lived in Jamaica with his Jamaican wife and two young children. One day, he invited us to go “crabbing” with him and his children at night. We eagerly accepted, without knowing what “crabbing” entailed. As it turned out, we weren’t prepared for what ensued. We met Bill, his two children, aged six and nine, and the night watchman, at the pool deck at 7:00 p.m. It was dark, very dark when we set off on foot down a dirt road to look for crabs and we only had one wind-up flashlight between all of us. Bill’s son wielded a machete, and the night watchman carried a big, burlap bag. We had no idea “crabbing” meant hunting for big blue sand crabs that came out of their holes at night. We weren’t adequately prepared: we didn’t have a flashlight, nor were we wearing closed shoes – we had flip flops. This made us vulnerable in the dark to crab claws that could take off a toe in one snap. Alastair and I were gravely concerned for our grandchildren’s safety. We spoke to Bill about our concerns, but he thought it was funny. I thought about ending the adventure right there and then, but I didn’t. Everyone was having too much fun. And so, we looked on with consternation as the children ran around and laughed. I was tense and waited for a crab incident to occur at any moment, but fortunately, none did. Everyone, besides Alastair and myself, was fully engaged with capturing crabs by stepping on them and putting them into the sack. And then my concern shifted to the machete being wielded in the dark by the six-year-old. After I expressed my concern to Bill that we were in more danger of being injured from the machete than the crabs, he took the weapon away…

…We returned to the hotel for the races. They dumped the crabs from the bags, and we picked which one of the ten we thought would travel the fastest and the farthest. The children ran alongside their crab choice, hooting and hollering at them to go faster and straighter. It was loads of fun and we laughed a lot. The children relived their adventure many times over the ensuing years, as they recalled their ‘night out crabbing.’…

….Guyana is bordered by Suriname to the south, Brazil to the southwest, Venezuela to the west, and the Atlantic Ocean to the north. It has one of the largest unspoiled rainforests in South America, parts of which are inaccessible by humans. It also has a huge diversity of wildlife, including undiscovered species, as well as rarities, such as the giant otter and harpy eagle…

…There were never enough resources, and certainly one had to adjust to the “just now” approach to get things done. ‘Just now’ could mean in a little while, tomorrow, next week, or never. One learned when and how to ask again or to remind people. One never assumed “just now” would happen any time soon. The same ‘“just now’ approach was all too evident within the Government which passed the Disability Act. Other than setting up the National Commission on Disability (NCD), the government hadn’t provided funds to implement the Act – within its Service Departments. The process was slow and arduous. In Guyana, most people didn’t know Persons with Disabilities (PWDs) now had the same rights as them, and that it was illegal to deny them services and care. For so long, PWDs had been denied, shunned, discriminated against, and even locked away behind closed doors because families were ashamed of them. The three volunteers I worked with were PWDs: Each had extensive experience in the disability movement and was actively involved in different disabled person’s community groups. They were skillful and confident advocates and impressed me with their facilitation skills. They volunteered three days a week and received a stipend equivalent to about $4.50 in Canadian dollars for their three day’s work. What would that get you in Canada? A coffee and two donuts! They also received a transportation allowance to cover their travel costs to and from the office. They had no option but to take taxis because there were few sidewalks, few traffic lights, and many pitfalls, such as ditches filled with stagnant water and garbage. There was no infrastructure in place to assist PWDs access to buildings or to freely move around Georgetown….

…I worked with ten amazing young people, ranging in age from sixteen to mid-twenties, who lived in a scary place called Agricola, a small Afro community on the outskirts of Georgetown. It had a horrendous history of gang violence, resulting in a stigmatized reputation for anyone from there. Young people had a difficult time in the city when they applied for a job because city folk feared anyone from Agricola. This was what the youth wanted to change. They called their organization, “The Young Leaders of Agricola” (YLA). My primary job objective was to help them develop a five-year plan to heal their community and eliminate the stigmatization to benefit future generations…

…I had many challenges, but the main one was security. Cuso insisted I should never travel to Agricola by myself! It was a risk they didn’t want me to take. Some taxi drivers even refused to go there for fear of being robbed! The first few times I went into the community, Milton, the group leader, took me around and introduced me to as many residents as he could find, as well as to the shop keepers, and even the drivers who drove the buses into Agricola. Milton told the people it was their responsibility to take care of me and to ensure no harm came to me. Milton also took me to meet a couple of the “bad boys” – those who’d caused problems in the past – so they knew who I was and what I was doing in Agricola. They too had to ensure my safety. After I met with the locals, I felt quite comfortable and safe. I tried to always take a certain bus, driven by ‘Shoeface.’, who would save a seat for me,  even when the bus was full. The community greeted him warmly…

…Kaieteur Falls is the world’s third-longest single-drop waterfall – four times higher than Niagara Falls and twice as high as Victoria Falls in Africa. We hiked it from the bottom to the top on a three-day trek. It was grueling and exhausting and took every gram of energy we had, but we persevered and made it, and were ever so pleased we did. What we saw and experienced was wonderful on so many levels. One backpack containing a change of clothes and enough snacks and water for a full two days plus a hammock was all we were allowed to take. Two Amerindian guides, Tony and Alwin, were to escort us on our trek: one to lead and one to be last to ensure no one was inadvertently left behind. After a transportation nightmare of rides in a van, pickup truck and aluminum boat caring 12 people, we arrived at Amatuk where we met Alwin…

 …We climbed up from a small beach to a flat pad of ground with a benab (a hut with no walls) and hung our hammocks for the night. As it was, we hung them too close to each other, but then again, we only had so much room to work with. When one of us turned over in the night, we sent abutting hammocks swaying and they, in turn, swayed the hammocks on either side. And of course, being an elderly group, some of us seniors had to get up in the night for a pee. Alwin reminded us, as we prepared to retire for the night, that we were in a jungle and should expect to see anything: jaguar, large spiders, snakes, or huge insects. He said not to venture far from the benab and to check our boots before we put them on because scorpions and other nasty insects with stingers liked dark, smelly places! All things considered, most of us slept okay, but there were reports at breakfast about snorting, snoring, and other nightly sounds that the insomniacs joked about…

…Puttering slowly down the Potaro was enchanting and a memorable spectacle. The continuous solid green of the jungle on the riverbanks, mile after mile, was mesmerizing; the still, black water with its reflected trees, sky, and clouds was astonishing; and the cool water that occasionally splashed up and cooled us was delightfully refreshing. An hour later, it was about noon by then, we rounded a river bend, and there, framed between two mountains was Kaieteur Falls –what a sight! All this greenery split in two by a sheet of white from the blue sky above to the brown river below. It was an awesome vista. And to think we’d come to hike up there through the dense jungle seemed preposterous – an impossible feat for us oldies, surely……

…All my life I’d been intrigued by documentaries on the Amazon rain forest, its rivers and wildlife, and the indigenous tribes who lived there, so you can imagine how thrilled I was when CESO offered me a placement to go to four eco-lodges and spend four days at each in various parts of the Rupunini. The savannahs encompass 5,000 square miles of virtually untouched grasslands, swamps, and rain-forested mountains, and is home to 15,000 Amerindians – the Wapisiana who live mainly in the south savannahs, the Makushi in the north, and some two hundred Wai-Wai who live in near isolation in the remote southeastern region bordering Brazil. Never in my wildest dreams did I ever think one day I’d be there, working with the Amerindians, let alone being of service to them by sharing my skills and experience….

…What was most meaningful, and where I felt I’d made the most difference, was in my working with co-workers to help them strengthen their abilities and confidence. At the same time, I was also learning how to better communicate and relate to people of other cultures, and my capacity to understand, be tolerant, and be patient had grown considerably. I could now readily accept “what was,” and I felt loving-kindness and compassion for others less fortunate than I, and their life problems. I was living in the “now,” participating fully and intentionally with greater presence and passion than ever before. I was totally engaged with a purpose far greater than anything I’d done in my paid work life. I was living my dream….