After a full day of classes, Magda and I made plans to go to the neighboring village of Grove to use the Internet and refill our 5 gallon jug of water. Our usual "browsing" (as they say here) place was closed so we went to the one next door. That one wasn't doesn't even exist anymore even though there's a sign outside. Needing to get our fix of communication to the outside world I suggested we try the "business center" farther down the road. With nothing to do but fill our jug of water we started out down the street we back tracked a little bit and ran into our Internet owner friend, Navin who happens to be dating a Peace Corp volunteer and who also happens to drive a car. Navin explained to us that there was no power in his cafe, but offered to drive us to the one we were heading to.
Turns out it was closed along with 2 other places. Being persistent or ignorant to the signs (however you wish to see it- we prefer the latter), we decided to go all the way into Georgetown since we were already halfway there. So, we checked our email in Gtown and even managed to pick up some vegetables for dinner. We made it just before nightfall to Stabroek Market where we catch our minibus to Friendship. Like other times in S.M, there were street vendors pushing everything from cds, fruit, and shoes to miscellaneous everything. Basically, it is a massive yard sale of junk. After ignoring the whistles and calls of "white girl" and other obnoxieties (yes, I just made that word up), we get to our usual area to catch the bus only to find where a long line of minibuses usually waits, two hundred or so passengers waiting instead. There wasn't a bus to be found, so we asked three girls in red business suits what the deal was. They don't have a clue, but tell us they've been waiting for quite a while now. A few minutes pass, a minibus approaches and is quickly mobbed with tired workers trying to get home. We realize there is zero chance of us getting on a bus. By this point darkness has fallen upon us and we're starting to feel a bit uneasy about being in what the Peace Corp security officer deems as a "No Fly Zone" in daylight. After weighing our choices or whether or not to take one of the taxis preying on us and swallow the $1500 (Guyanese Dollars) fare or attempt to battle the crowd and get a seat squashed on the minibus, we see another one pull up. Again the minibus is swarmed like a hive of bees. We walk over half-heartedly to see if we can cram our way on. Looking pretty dejected, a guardian angel in the form of a ghetto taxi driver gets us a seat on the minibus out of town.
That's right A seat, singular. I sat on Magda's lap all the way home with a bag of veggies and an empty water jug in my lap.
That night we took minibus riding to another level- 22 grown ups packed into a vehicle that I consider maxed out at 17 people. Not only were we way beyond capacity but the bus driver drove at about 90 miles and hour up the highway, tailgating other cars, music blaring and the occasional smell of weed wafting to the back of the bus. We would like to believe that it was not our driver. Anyhow, Magda later told me that she was mentally calculating the physics equation of when we would tip over from the weight and speed. Both of us were holding on tightly. We got off the bus the second it was on the outskirt of our village and walked the remainder of the way.
Needless to say, we miraculously manage to make it home alive to retell the harrowing experience. I considered myself lucky to have only sustained a few sleeping limbs.
A slightly funny afterwards: Magda and I stopped at a snackette on our way home to buy a "duck curry and coke" aka rum and coke to relax us. Back at the homestead while we were preparing dinner, we made a weak drink for ourselves. Before I knew it we were nearly asleep at the table. We were such a sight to see! Magda, head on the table with eyes half closed and me not much better off. Apparently though, the one shot drink that we poured was more than either one of us could handle because we both slept 45 minutes past our alarm the following morning.
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