Blog News!

Good morning readers!

Today, I just wanted to share some news regarding the blog. I have in mind to do some updates to it, but still looking for the time to do so. What I REALLY wanted to inform you was that I have a new Instagram account JUST for the blog!!!

It's in its preliminary stages naturally, but if you would like to follow it,  the account is @the_adventurous_a. I'll be uploading pictures there from any current or previous need-greater trip/service/unassigned territory trip.

Regarding any questions or suggestions you may have, feel free to contact me at TheAdventurousA@outlook.com.

That's it for now, I'm off to go out in service  soooooooooo I shall talk to you later. Jehovah's blessings and have a great day, Theocratic Mafia!

Love,

The Adventurous A.

The Most Beautiful Night

I have no picture evidence for this next anecdote. I have no evidence save for a memory, a memory that has now been seared into my ever-changing brain as the most beautiful night.

The most beautiful night was not romantic. The most beautiful night was maybe not the most unique of all the beautiful nights. It had all the qualities pertaining to other beautiful nights: darkness, stars, tiredness, senses engaged. This was, however, the most beautiful of all beautiful nights in the most personal of ways.

Day: Monday, November 2, 2015.
Location: A dock in Skeldon, Guyana
Destination: Orealla, Guyana

This whole Monday had been abuzz with activity. Buying necessary goods from the local market, making sure that all needs were taken care of and luggage safely on our boat.

I will confess that that was my first real boat ride. Ever (ok maybe not ever. My mother says that I apparently rode a boat as a child while on vacation at Virginia Beach. I do not remember this..). Being a nearly native New Yorker, I did not consider the occasional NJ to NY to Statue of Liberty ferry route to be validated as a true boat ride. Truth be told,  I was nervous of possible seasickness or feeling claustrophobic, surrounded in the boat's interior by a sea of brightly colored hammocks. We'd hung up our personal hammocks hours earlier to ensure the best "seats" inside. After lugging all possesions on board, three of us (Josh Westfall, Charlie Brohard and yours truly) decided to spend our evening travel atop the vessel's roof, while my Ribz opted to stay inside the boat.

Dusk started falling, the horizon fading from a turmeric orange to a splendid cerulean before finally dripping into inky darkness. Our captain beckoned all passengers onboard, marking our final call of departure. We literally walked a plank "shiver me timbers" style onto the boat and settled in our chosen spots.

A chill ran through my core as I sat on the cold tin roof, with not much cover save for a borrowed jacket and my unhung hammock. It was not so much actual cold that made me shudder, but rather the solemnity of feeling the boat tugging away from shore and heading towards our new assignment. Even writing this has transported my senses back to that moment.

Now to the reason behind the title!

Pulling away from Skeldon, our boat chugged along rather gently. I positioned myself in between my fellow roof buddies, purposely away from the precariously unsafe-looking edge  (if you're reading this Charlie, I'm sorry for almost pushing you overboard; I promise that it was surprisingly unintentional). Brohard passed out almost instantaneously, leaving Westfall and I to either continue conversation or fall asleep as well. Needless to say, my boding excitement made me chatter away more than usual, leaving Josh no choice but to cheerily "gaff" along. We laid on our backs, faces heavenward, when we were treated to a most fantastic sight.

By this point in the ride (maybe an hour or two in), our boat was snaking along the Correntyne River and past the neighboring Suriname landmass. In what felt like no time at all, all land and dock lights had melted away into the night, leaving nothing but the literal sky from horizon to horizon and the water below. How did the sailors of old ever doubt the "circle of the earth" (Isa. 40:20)? It was a cloudless evening, and the welkin was littered with stars beyond count, sprinkled in artistically placed precision like a celestial snowglobe. Tears pricked my eyes, stunned by the sheer magnificence.

But wait, there's more!

As if that wasn't enough, my most favorite stargazing event happened: METEORITE SHOWER! Faster than either of us could register, they fell speedily across the universe in dazzling display. If either Josh or I had entertained the idea of sleep, it was GONE by that point. I kept shaking poor Charlie awake, shrieking in delight with each falling star. What a visual feast! What a blessing!

I do not know what incredible nights my further adventures will hold. I may enjoy an aesthetically more beautiful evening sight. However, this most beautiful night was special because it was my FIRST astounding night on my first needgreater trip ever. I pray that I never get jaded or too used to the gorgeous wonders during these spiritual adventures. It will remain irreplaceably special in my heart and memory.

Well, I hope you enjoyed tonight's post, because I know I enjoyed writing it for you readers! As opposed to simple fact writing, I want you to be as equally enchanted and transported into the experience as I was and still am. I pray that your nights, no matter what your circumstances, continue as bright and beautiful. A virtual hug to all of you friends!

Stay tuned for the next post.

Love,

The Adventurous A

The Theocratic Mafia

It is a family tradition that whenever there is a special talk/assembly/etc, we enjoy catching it in English. Though we are currently serving in a Spanish congregation, I do consider English to be the "language of my heart." I got baptized in English, started pioneering in English, and still study in English for meetings.  I feel like I can grasp the information 100% when I listen in my mother tongue.

That being said, Sunday April 3, 2016 was the worldwide Special Talk that was the follow-up to the global Memorial all of Jehovah's Witnesses and interested ones enjoyed on March 23rd. We as a family decided to make it to an English meeting for the Special Talk, but opted out of attending the local English congregation. Piling into the car, we drove almost 50 minutes to a congregation that we hadn't visited in quite a few years. Entering the Kingdom Hall, we were welcomed by some old friends of ours. As we made our way inside,  we came across a good friend of ours who amusedly informed us that due to that congregation having their circuit overseer's visit, the Special Talk would be postponed until the following Sunday.

I will admit, the first few minutes of the brother's first talk flew past me. I sat still, pen in hand, not sure if to feel joyous of hearing an English CO after so long or disappointed that that wasn't the Special Talk. I looked over at my mom, noting her serene smile. I looked the other way, and saw the sister next to me with a similar facial expression. I gave a Nehemiah-type prayer right there and then to help me focus and enjoy, which I thoroughly did!

But that's not the point of this post. Rather, that was to get you to the scene of this mini anecdote. My apologies if that felt long-winded; I just think in detail ahaha.

The focus and reason for this post was regarding the next portion of the meeting, the Watchtower study. Whenever it's the CO visit, the study gets abbreviated so as to allow time for the brother's ending talk. The Watchtower conductor, a brother I've worked with and around since my early (then)RBC days, was at paragraph 7 of that week's study. The question: Why does the preaching work bring us joy? After the audience's comments, he stated this next bit. I've attempted to write it as he said it, verbatim.

"Let me share with you a 30 second experience a brother shared with me. He was at Warwick last week and he was telling me about how he served in South America, in Guyana. He mentioned how he stayed with another brother in a small village and went by boat to an even smaller village. A man flagged them down and said 'Hey, I want to learn more, got anything on spiritism, I wanna know!' Now they had their first Memorial and had 19 in attendance."

Guyana! Who else but Charlie Brohard was at Warwick the past few weeks?! Who else was the brother he stayed with but Josh Westfall?! What other small village but Orealla, and what first Memorial but Siparuta?!? The brother continued the study, but I found myself in tears.

You're probably wondering at the meaning of this blog's title. Theocratic Mafia. That's a term my family uses to refer to the intimacy and sense of connection among Jehovah's people. Wherever you go in the world,  you will meet someone who (1) knows you, (2) knows a friend/family member of yours, or (3) has heard about you somehow. Like the Mafia, we're everywhere and super tight.

I felt the deepset connection as the brother told that mini experience. To be a part of something so much bigger...to firsthand have seen the reception of that tiny village and in a relatively short time see such progress...it's indescribable. The feeling of awe and closeness is irreplaceable. We are truly a family.

Well, I know this wasn't EXACTLY an adventurous adventure, but I hope you enjoyed this blog Nibblet! Jehovah's blessings and stay tuned for the next post!

Love,

The Adventurous A.

An Introduction to MEPS

com·pan·ion

 

kəmˈpanyən/

 

noun

 

1.

a person or animal with whom one spends a lot of time or with whom one travels.

Eg "his traveling companion"

 

What I love most about this particular definition is that not only can this "companion" be a person, but it can also be an animal. Here's a question for you readers: what about if having an animal is just too much of an expense? I absolutely LOVED having pets, but they're not usually travel-friendly or cost-efficient for a need-greater on the go. Is there, perchance, a fair middle ground for those of us who crave the furry company without the heavy responsibility?

 

Enter the stuffed animal.

 

I know, I know, you might be thinking, "...and HOW old are you, Alyssa?!? A tad too grown for playthings, maybe?" Well, age notwithstanding, I can't help but admit that yes, I have said fuzzy partner! My Instagram followers are quite familiar with him already, but I think it's high time for my blog readers to meet him.

 

Everybody, meet Mark!

 

 

I cannot fully introduce Mark to you all without two fun facts about him: his full name and his humble origins. You see, Mark's full name is Mark Euodius Pebble-Stone. Each part of his name has significance: Mark after his uncanny gentle-faced similarity to Br. Sanderson of the Governing Body, Euodius ("good journey" in Greek) after my favorite human, and Pebble-Stone for the idea of travelling over all sorts of ground. His initials together make MEPS, which for all of you familiar with the translation work at Bethel means Multilanguage Electronic Publishing System, which has advanced spreading the Kingdom good news to people of all tribes and tongues. If I was to have a constant companion, he'd have to be as adventurously adventurous and ready to go to the ends of the earth.

 

Where Mark came from, I cannot say. I have asked my parents and they could not recollect either exactly where they got him. He was like many toys in a child's home, just THERE. What I can recall, however, was rummaging through our storage room when I was maybe around 14 or so and rediscovering him. There he was, slightly battered up, his tiny left ear torn, but his beady plastic eyes shining brightly. I don't know what came over me, but I found myself telling this small toy that someday we would travel and serve somewhere together. I was only baptized around a year at that time but I had already from quite a young age entertained the goal of being a need-greater.

 

Fast forward to August 2014. I was in the middle of a fine productive blueberry harvest over at Wallkill Bethel. I had had high hopes of maybe being called to stay a couple of months longer to assist with the later apple and grape harvests, but the quota of needed temp workers was filled already. Fortunately, a sweet friend of mine from Washington DC invited me to join her group to do unassigned territory down in Kentucky right after my Bethel assignment was done. A lightbulb went off; this should be Mark's first adventurous adventure!

 

From that point forward, Mark has been to the following places:

 

Hazard, Kentucky (August 2014)

 

The light of truth is shining bright with this one BEAR-ing thorough witness

 

Washington, DC (August 2014)

 

At the Museum of the Native American

 

Montreal, Canada (July 2015)

I do occasionally switch out bow-ties for him, for a change of pace.

 

 

Warwick Bethel Project, NY (June-August 2015)

 

Going Green!

 

and finally his most recent excursion, Skeldon and Orealla, Guyana (November 2015)

Our first flight together out of JFK

Brighton Congregation, Skeldon

Up Big Mama Hill!! Orealla

I have grown so very endeared to this toy; he almost is the physical representation of the child's dream that I have retained throughout the years: setting my goals of serving elsewhere and finally reaching them. For all you dear friends out there, keep your goals, whatever they may be, alive and burning bright. We do not always have control over our particular circumstances or situations, but Jehovah knows and sees all that you are doing. He remembers all that you wish to do and all you can do, even if they are not the same thing due to imperfect limitations. Just keep doing your very best, and let Jehovah take the reins. Who knows what sort of story He's writing for you...

That's it for today's entry, Jehovah's blessings to you all! Keep your eyes peeled, maybe you'll see the bow-tie bear heading your way. Thanks for reading!

Love,

The Adventurous A (and Mark)

Beach Walks: Not All That They're "Chalk"ed Up To Be

An open question to my readers: If and when you travel, do you ever get tired of people asking about your trip or having to repeat stories and experiences?
 

As I sit here in the oddly warm clime that is upstate New York currently, I can't help but ponder on how many times Ribz and I have collectively recounted our adventurous adventures to others. We've been able to enjoy in times recent quite a few visitors from out of state who have come to visit Bethel. Personally I have absolutely no problem sounding like a broken record player, telling friends what we got to do in Guyana time and time again. I fell in love with the country and the yearbook-like experiences, and when I share them, I hope that my listeners enjoy and maybe fall in love a little too.
 

Well, you didn't come here to listen to me ramble, right?  Story time, folks! Today's tale will take you to a perilous and dangerous expedition through...a beach!
 

A beach? Perilous? Dangerous?  Nonsense! How is that even possible?
 

It started out innocently enough. Ribz and I had each respectively enjoyed our service days out in the village territory. Considering the heat and humidity, I had made tentative plans to meet up with some of the young local sisters to a swimming hot-spot known as Johnson Beach. This beach, located in front of the house of one of the Orealla Congregation's elders, caresses the crescent-shaped edge of the village's riverside boundary. The golden stretch of sandy goodness extends to one of the area's loveliest sights: Chalk Hill Beach. Our game plan was to start at Johnson and, by walking alongside the water, ultimately make it to Chalk Hill.
 

Hindsight is a devious little thing. It makes you realize all the signs you probably were not keen to at the moment....such as no one showing up at the beach after service. Maybe the friends knew sonething would happen, but I found myself at Johnson Beach alone save for Ribz and Charlie (to read a full informative of Mr. Charlie Brohard's previous Guyana experience,  check out Josh Westfall's interview on his blog nutso42.blogspot.com). Us three Americanos decided to take the trek ourselves, enjoying the golden sand beneath our inexperienced feet.
 

The circumstance we did not consider ended up being our near-downfall: the tide. At that moment, the ground was fairly dry,  but the river water started eagerly licking at our toes and retreating back just as swiftly. We attempted not noticing, but the inevitable was certain. The boys and I had been walking a few minutes already when we felt the water inching its way up our legs. I was wearing a long black skirt over my swimsuit, and let me tell you: BAD IDEA.  It served as a wick, sopping up liquid faster than I could squeeze it out.
 

I could wax poetic and describe how lovely the currents of the Correntyne River appear from an aerial point of view, swirling in Van Gogh-esque designs past the land mass....but not now. In that moment, the pulsating ferocity of the current clutching our rapidly submerging bodies was anything but artistic or romantic. We were neck deep and nowhere near our destination. We'd reached past the point where we could exit the shoreline via the neighboring hills, so we shouldered on bravely. Charlie and I were both treading water cautiously while Ribz kept his backpack barely aloft in one solitary hand, each of us clutching helplessly to the conveniently close-growing mangrove trees for dear life.
 

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, we MADE IT. We plopped our weary selves on the beautiful white sand of Chalk Hill, the tide thankfully receding to a normal state. Our legs were scratched and bruised, our clothing wet beyond all reason, but we crowed with victory and triumph.  Could we have died? Possibly. Was it totally worth the incredible story? Well....
 

*innocent smile*

WE MADE IT!!!!!!

Next time I will attempt to not be so foolhardy on my Adventurous Adventures, but what a story!!!

Well, dear readers, that's it for today. Hope you enjoyed!  Stay tuned for the next post, whenever it shall be. The posting will be much less frequent due to my schedule and whatnot, but thank you for reading!!!

 

Love,

The Adventurous A.

Q & A!!! Featuring Blog Guest Jonatan "Ribz" Camacho

We asked, you responded. My travel partner and I now happily present the Guyana Adventure Q &A!!! We shall designate specific text colors by whoever is responding: green for Ribz, purple for yours truly, and orange for joint answers.

 

On to the questions, folks!

QUESTION 1: WHY GUYANA? HOW DID YOU MAKE THAT THE COUNTRY OF CHOICE?

Plenty have asked if Guyana was the first choice. Frankly, it was not. I personally had not even paid any sort of attention to it until the summer of 2014. I was working at Wallkill in the blueberry harvest when I came across a very odd fellow named Josh Westfall. Interestingly, he, my brother and I got along great and became friends during the 6 weeks he served there. He had just recently come back from serving in Guyana and was after Bethel going to work and save up to return there. His stories of the country were intriguing, but at the time we didn't have any ideas of visiting...

Fast forward to February of 2015. I was making very early idea plans to travel to Ecuador with someone but the plans fell through. I felt down about it, but Ribz stepped up and volunteered to be my travel buddy! He had saved up enough vacation days at Bethel to take a whole month off. Now the question remained, where to go? Ecuador? Somewhere else? We had kept in contact with Josh the whole time and when informed about our predicament, he immediately invited us to go to where he was(and still is) serving in Orealla. He came back to the States that July for a work trip and we got together and got the necessary arrangements. That's how we got to here!

Needless to say, we fell in love with it and now cannot stop talking about Guyana!

QUESTION 2: HOW MANY TIMES DID YOU TWO ARGUE?

Ummm, I'm trying to remember....hey sis did we? (pause for thought) If we did, it was with such scarcity that I don't recall. We don't argue when we're home as it is.

Sorry everyone, but it's true: we don't argue. We just get along famously!

QUESTION 3: WHAT WAS THE BIGGEST UNEXPECTED LIFE LESSON LEARNED FROM YOUR TIME THERE?

I guess one of the biggest things I learned personally was that when you stop doubting, there is SO much to experience. Serving in Orealla helped me have now a better attitude towards my home territory. I never thought I'd enjoy the kind of experiences you would only read about in our Yearbooks.

I am tougher than I thought. I thank Jehovah that He allowed me the opportunity to stretch myself out and extend my previous limits. Eat iguana? DONE. Wake up daily at 5? DONE. Walk a village in the dark with no flashlight? DONE. I have been able to grow and now await with anticipation my next adventurous adventure.


QUESTION 4: WHAT WAS SOMETHING YOU WERE SURPRISED TO LEARN THAT YOU COULD LIVE WITHOUT?

This may be a very typical response, but I was pleasantly surprised to find that I could live without the common American commodities (electricity, running water, flush toilets, etc.). This was my, well our, first time out of the country (no Ribz, Canada does not count...), and being such I thought it would not be a smooth transition. However, it went well and I found myself adjusted within a couple of days in the village.

FOOD. Not that we were lacking, but I had to adjust into eating way less than I would in the States. I have an appetite! It was a lesson in modesty and took some getting used to. Hey, I lost 15 lbs down there, so THAT'S good!!!

I think we could agree that we both had the same attitude going there: become like the locals. Do as they do, live like they do. We didn't want to make anyone uncomfortable with us foreigners, so we strove to integrate into the culture as much as we could.

QUESTION 5: HOW WAS THE SPIRITUAL CLIMATE OF THE PEOPLE AND THE CONGREGATION?

The general attitude is one of interest. The people are very attentive and spiritually inclined. We left behind 10 Bible studies, if that tells you anything of the preaching! Preaching to the kids was always a joy. Sharing the Caleb and Sophia videos were quite the hit, attracting the miniatures by the crowd!

The congregation in Orealla is like an Altoid: small but curiously strong! They have only 5 pioneers, but the love of the ministry can be seen definitely. One outstanding experience that was relayed to me recently of my beloved hostess Sherine. She was auxiliary pioneering in December, when she got a REALLY bad stomach flu. She, her daughter Phoebe, and little sister Joanne all caught the nasty bug. They were determined to finish their time, sickness notwithstanding, and they DID!! Their example, along with many others from the friends there, really were faith-strengthening.

QUESTION 6: HOW EXTENSIVE WAS THE CONGREGATION'S TERRITORY?

Seeing that Orealla has only about 2000 people living there, it is fairly easy to cover the whole territory within a short amount of time. For more details regarding the particulars of Orealla, you should check out nutso42.blogspot.com

QUESTION 7: DO YOU MISS IT?

YES, YES, AND YES!!!!!!

I feel like those incredibly proud new parents who show off their kid's photos to EVERYBODY. Guyana in general, Orealla, and the brothers and sisters there are all my babies now. Anytime someone asks me "How was your trip?", I feel kind of bad for them because I immediately begin talking a mile a minute about all things Guyana. A piece of my heart got left behind there. 

Absolutely! That is all I ever (ahem) dreeeeeeeeeam, dreeeam dreeeeeam dreeeeeeam of. (obviously sung to the tune of "Dream" by the Everly Brothers")

QUESTION 8: WOULD YOU GO BACK?


OF COURSE!!!

 There you have it, friends and readers! Thank you all who submitted questions, this was very fun to talk about. I hope you have enjoyed getting some more background and getting to know more of the inner workings of our trip.


Stay tuned for the next post!

Love,

The Adventurous A.

Cassa(va) Blanca Part 2

Of  all the blogs, in all the towns, in all the world, you walk into mine...

Hello again readers! The last post left off with the conclusion of our first day of cassava bread making. Now it's time to hop into the second half!

CASSAVA ADVENTURES PART 2

I awoke much earlier than usual, already mentally geared to arrive at Sis Hendricks' house bright eyed and bushy-tailed. My normal time to leave Sherine's house each morning was 5 am, but I set out to meet up with the boys at 4:40 ish. What I did NOT foresee happening was another incident (yes yes ANOTHER one)...

Before my tale of early morning woe, I would like to share with you all a scripture. Why,  you ask? This scripture (unintentionally discovered by Senior Camacho,  thanks dad) perfectly describes the situation I found myself in.
Psalm 22:16 reads "For dogs surround me; They close in on me like a pack of evildoers, Like a lion they are at my hands and feet." Got the clue?

That's right, I was rushed by a gang of unhappy canines. I was not ready whatsoever when the first two pooches showed up on my route. Apparently they did not recognize me in the weak dawn light. At the sound of their growls, I sidestepped gingerly out of their way while they glared at me.  I thought I was doing pretty well when doggy #3 charged from my left. Like the first two, this one did not go past its designated yard area. I was completely unarmed, praying aloud in hopes of calming my raging  heart. #4 was the boldest, actively running in my direction until it forced me to walk into the ditch right alongside the road.

If you read the first half of the Cassava Adventures, you'll remember  that it ended on the wrong foot (PUN INTENDED), with a bloody toe injury. The endeavor to avoid the mangy furballs caused my wound to start bleeding and hurting again. *sigh* After a few minutes of walking away with my arms extended high above my head "menacingly", they left me alone to hobble the rest of the way to Josh's in pain.

Upon my arrival, a sleepy-eyed Charlie informed me of an unfortunate turn of circumstances: Josh could not join us for the day's cassava duties due to getting violently ill in the night. Apparently, the smoke of cooking casareep contains just enough cyanide that if exposed for long enough, can make one sick. He'd taken too much in while hanging out at the Hendricks' bottom house, and was finally sleeping it off. Charlie opted to stay and make sure he was ok,  leaving us Camachos to handle the job.

Ribz and I made great time and arrived at 5:00 sharp! Tete was already wide awake prepping the dried cassava blocks. Jonatán was put onto lumber chopping, and I was taken to the mother of all mortar and pestles I've ever seen in my life.  I kid you not, this thing is HUGE! Made of solid wood, it is most definitely an arm workout.

My job was to pound the cassava to the consistency of flour. I was taken off this duty within a half hour when sharp-eyed Tete observed the newbie blisters on my softened foreigner hands. The assignment switched to sifting the ground flour into a large basket, the fine powder drifting like snow. In the meantime,  Tete lit the fire and prepared her giant flat pan. It's essentially one large flat skillet balanced on 3 low burning stumps. She then would take the sifted flour and spread it across the pan, forming a large round flatbread. Watching her bread  carefully, she employed the use of a straw fan-like tool  to flip the bread when golden and toasty. She then proceeded to take it off and let it finish drying in the sun.

The whole thing took us from 5 am to maybe 12 noon. Tete rewarded us with breakfast and a nap in her homemade hammock. Along with this, she sweetly said that we were becoming more Amer-Indian, the best kind of compliment!

That's it for the Cassava Adventures. Stay tuned for the next post!

Love,

The Adventurous A.

Cassa(va) Blanca Part 1

As time goes by and the regular routine sets in, I find myself reminiscing on not just the incredible theocratic activities but also the day by day activities of Orealla. My personal goal (which I plan on applying wherever my adventurous adventures take me) was and is still to integrate into the cultures of my current location. Anyone who knows me knows how much I LOVE hands-on kind of work. It'll come as no surprise, then, that one of my favorite moments experiencing Guyana culture was making cassava bread. The entire process takes approximately 3 days but seeing as I only got to participate in only 2 of said days, this will ergo be a two-part blog post. Fortunately they weren't easy days to forget, I remember every detail...

CASSAVA ADVENTURES DAY 1 (technically day 2 but eh)

November 16

The previous day (Sunday the 15), our adopted Amer-Indian grandmother, Janet Hendricks (otherwise known as Tete*), had approached our little gang and had offered us a chance to help with this quintessential task of making said bread. Naturally, we jumped at the opportunity to help! The beginning process would have been walking to her cassava farm uphill to gather the needed tubers. Sadly, it rained on what would have been our first work day and we ended up missing Tete going to harvest. She's a spunky granny, and quite the hard worker! She did not give up on us pitiful foreigners and told us to come back Monday at 3 to continue helping.

The four of us (Ribz, Charlie Brohard, Josh Westfall, and yours truly) prepped ourselves in the frumpiest work clothes, ready to tackle the work! We walked the 5 minute distance to the Hendricks house and found Tete and her friend Claudia already busy. We were put to our respective tasks: Charlie, Josh and I got put into scraping and peeling duty, while Ribz oversaw cleaning the cassava. The particular batch of cassava they had harvested was bitter cassava, a main staple but potentially deadly. Why, you ask? If not peeled and cooked correctly, bitter cassava gives off cyanide. You can imagine that we took our cleaning process VERY seriously. The Hendricks had the assembly line figured out to a T: grab a cassava root, chop off the end, scrape off all the brown bark-like skin, drop it in a quake or basket, wash it thoroughly, grate it, repeat. The locals do this quite regularly, so it was highly amusing to watch us amateurs going at it.

Here's looking at you, kid

Once the cassava was grated into a wooden trough and the juices ran off into a bucket, we were introduced to a most important tool of the trade: the matapee.

Shaped like the body of an anaconda, this cylindrical strainer is woven from reeds traditionally. There are two loops attached; one is on top where the opening is, whilst the other hangs below the sealed end. It is meant to hang from the top loop high enough above the ground to allow a bowl or bucket to be placed underneath. A large stick is then put through the bottom loop, and that's where it gets interesting. The grated cassava gets placed inside the matapee until almost full, and one person sits on the stick below to pull and drain out all the liquid from the cassava mush. This has to be done carefully so as to not force the mush to pop out into the liquid below, which is highly valued as a cooked sauce called cassareep. The trick is to SIT VERY STILL. Since the heaviest person there gets the privilege of stick-sitting, obviously to our delight we watched poor Jonatán try to converse and get the job done without moving. If you know my brother, I will leave how that went to your imagination...

Tete showing us how the pros do it

Two of us equaled one Jonatan #heftybai

After the cassava was squeezed of its poisonous liquid twice, it was popped out of the matapee to dry outside the rest of the night. This was the final bit to remove the cyanide prior to being turned into bread. At this point (between 5-6 pm) Tete informs us that the first part of the process was finished. We would be more than welcome to help with the actual bread making if we would arrive there the next day at 5 am. Here are the responses from each of us:

Adventurous A: Of course! We'd love to!!! *bounces excitedly*
Charlie: Mmmm sure. Ok *blinks twice* I'll come. *scrunches face thoughtfully*
Josh: *laughs maniacally* great, I'll see you at 9 then.
Ribz: *also laughing* you're joking, right Tete?

Tete: *eyes widen* I AM NOT JOKING. *sighs* You are not Amer-Indian...

That did it for me. As soon as this adorably feisty little lady said that, I knew that I HAD to be there at 5 am sharp. I was determined to become an honorary Amer-Indian and not wimp out on her. The opportunity to prove my willingness to integrate was too good to miss.

We gathered all the cassava juice and rolled it back to the main house, where it would cook for several hours in a GIGOSMIC pot on a rapid fire. In the meantime, in typical hospitable Guyanese style, Tete invited us sweaty young folk to eat dinner with the whole Hendricks clan. While Ribz stayed upstairs with Tete's gregarious grandson Matthäus, the rest of us stayed downstairs at the bottom watching the future cassareep bubble and brew furiously. As we settled into the calm lull of conversation, I inwardly rejoiced at the feeling of home that Sis. Hendricks and her family had extended towards us. Jonatán and I were taken in and treated so very kindly, a true example of the worldwide brotherhood. These friends, as honest as the day was long, were becoming family...

Future Cassareep

In process Cassareep

 I would like to say that the adventures of the day ended on that high note, but alas, that would not be the case for us. Josh took his leave first, feeling very tired, leaving Charlie, Ribz and myself to head back to the boys' house before dropping me off at Sherine's. After our goodbyes and promises to return early the next morning, we started walking in the dark. Ribz took the front with his head torch, as I tried to put on the flashlight app on my ever-present tablet. As I turned it on, all I felt was my entire left side collapse and fall straight down. Unbeknownst to me, the little wooden bridge right outside of the Hendricks house was rotting away on one side and I'd made the terrible mistake of stepping on that spot carelessly. It was only about a 2 foot drop into a ditch, but I could feel pain radiating from my entire leg. Holding back tears, I got out onto stable ground, only to see my left foot soaked in blood. I could see that my big toe was the culprit, a large ugly gash angrily gushing red liquid all over my flip-flop. The boys helped me steady myself and lit the way back while I limped along. Every step only exacerbated the wound. Ribz, being the gentleman he is, offered to give me a piggyback ride, but I didn't want to get him all stained. With wounded toe and pride, we made it back with no other incidents. After a thorough cleaning with some vodka at hand (and a couple of swigs for pains sake haha), I got the toe wrapped up and ready to go. Fortunately no stitches were needed, much to my mother's relief. I now bear it as a trophy from that day.

Whew, well that's it for the first half! Hope you have enjoyed it as much as I have enjoyed penning it. By the way, if you want to see my scar, just ask next time you see me. Just kidding, just kidding.... or am I?!? Hmm maybe instead of your last thought being a bloody toe, here's the gorgeous sunset prior to my injury!

"This scene could TOTALLY be in Vietnam. Except with more rice patties. And Asians." - Joshua Westfall

That's better.

Stay tuned for the next post!

Love,

The Adventurous A.

*Tete is the local Arawak word for grandmother

Nom-Noms of Guyana: Orealla Edition

Hello lovely readers! I apologize for the long periods between posts. I am recently back in the States (two weeks at the time of this post), and am falling back into my regular home/service/work pattern. Your patience and audience is much appreciated! I have my photos downloaded and will attempt to post more of our fun adventures in the days to come.

 Now then, are you feeling hungry? I know I am!! I think it's high time for yet another food-related post.

BRING ON THE NOM-NOMS!!!!!!!!!!

Before we begin, I will note that it is very interesting the noticeable differences of cooking between Skeldon and Orealla. Culturally, there is a strong Indian/East Indie influence in Skeldon, proven by the frequency of roti, curry, and turmeric. How would I describe Orealla's cuisine? Hmmm. I just consulted my partner in crime and travel and he captured it well: totally dependent on what is available, but still outstanding. Due to the fact that Orealla relies heavily on either home-grown crops or the twice-a-week boat arrivals from the coast, the food supplies can vary from day to day. This, however, does little to impede the generous hospitable personality of her residents. Put simply, whatever the people have, they will share. Their palms stay open and their hearts are even more so.

Now that I have boasted sufficiently about my dear lovely little Orealla, ONTO THE FOOD!!!!

Cashew: (the sound of a nut sneezing)
For future reference, Orealla is PACKED with fruit trees. EVERYWHERE. This ended up being a refreshing blessing, especially for hot service days when your water bottle would run dry. This happy-colored fruit grows plentifully and is delicious. The cashew fruit is an extremely juicy fruit, commonly harvested for the popular nut-seed hanging from the bottom. One bite and immediately juice begins squirting out. Be warned, though! This very juice can stain like nothing else, leaving unpalatable yellow and brown streaks that take plenty of washes to remove.

Padoo: The ice-cream fruit! A favorite among Orealla's tiny tykes (or as I affectionately refer to as "miniature humans"), the padoo resembles a pea pod at first glance. Inside lies the REAL treasure. Hidden within are usually 3 dark brown seeds enveloped in a white soft pulp. THAT. IS. DELICIOUS. No wonder children and adult alike adore it. We caught the very tail-end of its growing season, but at least we got to savor the flavor. This was high up on my favorite fruit list, most definitely.

 

 

 

Guinep: Now this fruit I was already somewhat familiar with prior to our trip. Latin Caribbean markets carry this tiny gem, usually under the name mamoncillo or quenepa. Reminiscent of a tiny lime, it is as well a seed fruit encased in a bright light-orange pulp. A bite into the skin bursts it and reveals the goodness inside, mmmmmm.

 



 

 

 As a quick side note, just last week out in service, a young lady from El Salvador offered us guineps as a snack during her study. One taste took me straight back into my beloved village. *insert dramatic sigh* Meeeeeeeemoriiiiies....

 

 

ANYWAYS.

 

 Butterflop and Bake: These ALMOST deserve a post of their own. Both breads are staples of the greatest kind. If you love bread(goodness knows Ribz and I do!), you would definitely enjoy them. Bake is a treat you'll find pretty much all over Guyana, so it seems. Vendors on the street, gramophone-bearing taxis, and restaurants alike sell them inexpensively. It's a triangular fried bread, simple in itself but tasty. It can be stuffed with anything from saltfish to potato to coconut shreds, very versatile.

 

  

Bake and Cart-Witnessing, perfect combo!

 

Butterflop is the perfect marriage of LOTS AND LOTS OF BUTTER, fresh bread and MORE BUTTER. There is one man in Orealla that, despite knowing his actual name, we would refer to as "Butterflop Man" due to his buttery prowess. If and when you can make it to Orealla someday, look for Winston on a Wednesday or Friday. For $1,000 Guyanese (or $5 US) you can get 10 hot butterflops and have a yummy companion for your morning coffee.

 

The secret to life is.....butter. (read with a French accent)



We tried an assortment of meats down there as well; bush cow, jungle deer, even paca (labba in the local Arawak language. It's an ROUS. If you understand this reference, you get a virtual hug). Not as many pictures of said meat, but still tasty!

 

Mouth watering yet? If you travel to Guyana, you will have a culinary experience for sure!

 

Thanks a lot and stay tuned for the next post!

 

Love,

 

The Adventurous A.

Whoa, Big Momma!!!! (Days #5 & #6, November 3 & 4)

In honor of what went down Tuesday of our arrival, I have composed a haiku dedicated to my Burgundy wine/chocolate colored hammock.

Oh hammock my dear
Swinging lightly in the breeze
Makes me so lazy

In a nutshell, this is how the rest of the day was.

After the terrible spider incident (see Day #4 for details), we awoke very early in order to take our possessions back to Josh's place. I do not remember if I've mentioned this before, but Guyana does not observe Daylights Saving. Ergo, at this time of year, the sun is coming up easily between 4:50-5:00 am. For extremely happy earlybirds such as myself (no seriously, I'm SUCH a morning person. No sarcasm.), this would be most excellent.

If you have never spent the day in a hammock...you have to. You MUST. There is nothing more relaxing than rocking gently in sublime warm sunny weather, the air sweet with purity and light, as comfy and snug as lint in a belly button. The only responsibilities we had for that day were to unpack and do laundry.

Laundry? But Alyssa, if there's scarce electricity in Orealla, WHERE would you do laundry?
Why, in the same place you would do your bathing: THE RIVER. The Correntyne River, that is, the very heart and core of this humble village. If you have never done your laundry in the middle of a hot afternoon while submerged in a cool river, I HIGHLY recommend it. Your tan will inevitably darken plus you get some swim time in! Just mind the water at night, there may be unwelcome critters lurking....

I ended up meeting my gracious hostess that very evening. Sherine Patterson and her rambunctious daughter Phoebe (who will be referenced PLENTY in the course of my Guyana blogs) lovingly opened up their home for me to stay in. Our first evening together consisted of singing Kingdom Melodies together in preparation for the meeting the next day. Solid evidence of the worldwide brotherhood!

Day #6 commenced the first of MANY enjoyable service days involving cart witnessing. Orealla was the first congregation to receive this gift in the entire country, and the friends have made very good use of it. This morning saw us hauling it up a hill aptly named Big Momma Hill, enough potholes and rough edges to make your legs wobble a tad. It was a productive couple of hours, most of the response happening within a half hour of us packing away our trusty wheels/racks/books/tracts buddy.

Fast forward to the meeting now. The Orealla congregation has about 31 publishers, an absolute delight! The thing about small congregations, however,  is that you're likely to be used for a part on VERY short notice. As in 20 minutes before the meeting begins.  Which is exactly what happened. Sherine was the one who approached me and asked me to be her householder that night for the #3. Nervous does NOT capture the feeling! Nevertheless,  it's the PERFECT way to quickly introduce yourself into a new congregation! EVERYONE can learn your name fast right off the bat. Mwahaha.

That is all for now,  stay tuned for the next post!

Love,

The Adventurous A.

Wem Bai? Wem Gyal? (Blog Nugget #2)

In the month we've been living in Guyana, it has exposed us to quite a different style of speech. Guyanese Creolese (a pidgin/creole English) at first can be difficult to understand. Once you surround yourself and delve into the pattern, you will find yourself not only understanding but even speaking it! This may be either a post of educating my beloved readers, or more as a pre-return warning if suddenly you can't understand what I'm saying.

Let the reader use discernment....

Without further ado, the Dictionary!


Gyal: Girl
Bai: Boy
Teefing: Stealing
Gaffing: Chatting, talking, social visit
Liming: Hanging out
Horning: Cheating
Wem Bai/Gyal?: What's happening, what's up?
De: The
She: Her
He: Him
Me: My
Dey, Abi Dey: Them
"Tr" sound: replaces "thr" sound,  Eg tree instead of three
"T" sound: replaces "th" (ending sound), Eg eart instead of earth
Contractions are pretty much nonexistent. Possessives are also not used frequently.

There are plenty of other terms and phrases and words that I cannot remember off the top of my head. If anyone has more to add, feel free to leave a comment below!

Stay tuned for the next post!

Love,

The Adventurous A.