Travelling in Third World Countries

Part two - Travelling in Third World Countries


It took three hours (normally a one-hour drive) to get to Georgetown, Guyana. Shoot, I should have known better. The Pegasus WAS the elite hotel for the country. We arrive, me sighing with relief, because we had actually arrived. The taxi driver sighing with relief because the woman from hell had finally let him off his beat.

Okay so now I check in. And I am told that there is no bell hop service, the elevator doesn’t work (yeah, well there’s no electricity- think about it) and I have to carry my three suitcases (all heavy as lead) up six floors. Yep, count ‘em, six floors.

Okay, now it’s around 4 AM, there is no air conditioning, the mosquitoes are nuclear in their strength and it’s about ninety degrees farenheight with a humidity of maybe 115. So go figure. There’s no electricity, and no candles and you can’t see your hand in front of your face. Okay, eventually, exhaustion and stress force you into two hours of sleep.

You wake up, and since there is no electricity, there is no water in the pipes. You arrange a bath from the front desk. Medieval times or so you think, before submerging in a glacial tub. How can they manage this in the heat and humidity? Power on, there is no other option. The UNDP phone around nine thirty. Someone will pick you up a voice says, and before I can ask questions hangs up. I wait outside the Pegasus, luxury hotel as it’s billed - bleach!

My first day teaching the UNDO staff is so bittersweet. The women, all in their forties, are valiant, brave, and have obviously put up with situations I have never dreamed about. I contract diarrhea around noon and visit the bathroom to discover, there is no toilet seat. But, who am I to complain? These women live with this as their daily situation.

Two hours later, I realize they only have electricity for four hours, usually in the morning, but that cannot be counted on. How am I to teach a computer literacy course without electricity? I drag my feet back to the hotel that night and try to figure out how to make the most of my week.

I taught them so little I will always regret that they paid for my visit. But, the people who had nothing, nothing I mean they were dirt poor, at the end of the week they hosted a thank you party for me. Somewhere, somehow, they paid black market prices and obtained food items unavailable at that time in Guyana, things you and I take for granted. Cheese, cracker, a horribly sweet fruit wine. The visit humbled me. To this day, I cannot think about it without my heart aching.