Three totally different images of Saint Stephen, The First Martyr for Christ
Wednesday, 26 December 2007
Feast of Saint Stephen
Sunday, 23 December 2007
A Happy and Peaceful Christmas and Everything you want in the New Year to all our Readers
Monday, 17 December 2007
Leavers' Forum leading up to Christmas
It's the first day for ages that they've been able to do it because the rains have been pretty awful. If you think the cold is bad, try the Guyanese rainy season!!!!!
Amber, Ian, Petra and Christine after the Leavers' Forum
Saturday, 15 December 2007
¡Feliz cumpleaƱos!
Tuesday, 11 December 2007
More News in the Side Bar
When the walls shook
Guyana is just about on this map - bottom right and move south east. On 29th November we were invited to the VSO office to meet Matt - the regional director. He is based in London and is responsible for all the VSO countries which don't fit into a neat category like Africa, Asia. So Guyana is one of them. We were discussing VSO's future involvement in Guyana.
At exactly 3pm, the floor rumbled and the walls shook. We all thought there was something wrong with us until we realised that it was an earth tremor. We left the building calmly and gathered outside where we saw telegraph poles shaking. It lasted about 30 seconds only and it was quite an exciting experience. I don't think anyone was frightened because it was so short but it will be a day I won't forget. All of Parliament left the National Assembly and the tremor was felt all over Guyana, Venezuela, parts of Brazil and all of the Islands.
It started in Martinique and was 7.4 on the Richter Scale. Quite strong but hardly did any damage but unfortunately there was one death.
We're going to St Lucia for New Year, right next to Martinique, so let's hope it's all over. A tremor here happens about every 20 years but there are no known earthquakes in Guyana. Not so for Martinique when 30,000 were killed in 1906 with a volcano.
Sunday, 9 December 2007
Navarathri
Those pesky donkeys get everywhere!
Wednesday, 5 December 2007
Sending Mail
Sunday, 2 December 2007
Sending and Receiving Post
But that's not the end of it. Small things come direct to the VSO office, albeit sometimes via Ghana, or a slip will be left for a parcel. It's not just a matter of going across the road to the nearest Post Office but to the general Post Office in the centre of town.
When you find the right window to go to, you wait some time and then a bored young lady will snatch your slip from you without saying a word and slam the shutters in your face. Soon after she will demand your passport and will wander around for a while slitting parcels and leaving them open for the customs officers and after a while will go round the back for your one. Eventually she will slit it open in its own little wooden tray. What excitement! After 10 minutes or so, a customs officer will casually sidle up to your parcel, flick the contents around with plastic gloved fingers and loll back into her office where she will chat, do a crossword or maybe even some paperwork before coming back out with the slip with the "amount to pay" written on it.
Some time will elapse before the same slitter lady will get some tape and parcel it up again (without the same loving care) and eventually will pass it to her left on a table. If you are in the know, you will go to the next window. If you are not, you just stay there waiting. I am now in the know. It was my second time giving up a whole dinner hour for this process. To the next window went I. Waited and waited until the cashier held out her hand for the revenue without even looking at me. I handed over a thousand and got the change to the nearest hundred but didn't complain because most of the stuffing had already been knocked out of me by then.
With a wave of the hand I was sent to the next window labelled delivery. At least this one told me. I was already 30 minutes late to get back to work. There was no-one at this window, so I waited and waited and waited. Eventually, the first girl came over and "yes?". I've come to collect my parcel". She knew exactly who I was and which parcel it was because I have a paler complexion than others around. "Slip?" I handed it over, whereupon it was stamped several times and went to collect the parcel, having the window slammed behind me.
Instinct made me go on to the next window even though I had the parcel in my hand. I stood there as the woman answered the phone (a personal call) and texted with her other hand. I looked up and saw SUPERINTENDENT OF PARCELS. "Yes, yes!" I thought. I will tell her what it feels like. After a very polite but assertive diatribe from me, she lifted her head, looked me in the eye and said "Yes, it is like that, isn't it?" and she closed the window behind her as she walked off. I don't complain anymore, I do it like the Guyanese, accustomed and resigned to such treatment from a public service. It's a pity, because the same people are so nice when you speak to them socially. It must be so miserable for them being miserable all day long!!!