A Little Dutch Girl

Our guide in Suriname was also interesting; she was one of the 1% white people in the country, a Dutch immigrant to the former colony Hermina had lived in Suriname for 15 years, was single, quite content in her present home, and never planning to return to The Netherlands to live

She speaks Portuguese, French, Dutch, English, and Spanish fluently. She runs a little home company of her own, translating legal documents, government papers, forms, and anything else someone needs translations for. Because of her linguistic skills, she is often the official interpreter for her country’s president and other government officials. She looked to be in her 30s, though her black hair did show a few gray strands. Unlike the English girl who was ready to leave a “Guiana” behind, Hermina was very positive about Suriname’s progress and direction.

She was our guide to the most amusing of our encounters with the local peoples. When we had completed our tour of Paramaribo, we were to visit an Amerindian village about 20 miles from the capital city. We boarded our buses with Hermina and started out on a fairly good road towards the village

Hermina told us that the roads into the interior are pretty good because the trucks must get the bauxite ore from the mining areas to the port at Paramaribo. Once the bauxite mines are passed, the roads deteriorate rapidly so travel beyond the mining district is pretty difficult. She assured us that we would be on good roads until a turnoff that would take us into the village but that dirt road would be fine since we were not in the rainy season We traveled past some fairly prosperous looking homes (belonging to Hindus as evidenced by the ever-present prayer flags) with neat and healthy farmlands around them. There was some livestock in evidence too though not beef cattle, of course.

The Surinamese “Amerindians”

During the ride out, Hermina told us a little about the Amerindian village we would be visiting. These people live a fairly traditional life, much like their ancestors. This particular tribe preferred living on the savanna rather than in the jungles because many of their beliefs and superstitions involved fear of snakes and other creatures It was important to them that only sand surrounds their houses because they wanted no grass or shrubs to provide hiding places for snakes Therefore, their concrete blockhouses with corrugated tin roofs were widely separated from one another by stretches of white sand. Occasionally, we would see a fruit or flowering tree in the yard but not often.

Their crafts consisted of an unusual pottery type that was not baked in a kiln but cooked in an open firepit. Because of this method of firing, the pottery is very fragile but quite interesting according to Hermina. She assured us that we would enjoy seeing how the pottery is made as well as viewing a little native musical and dance performance the folks would provide.

We had no trouble reaching the little village and it appeared just as Hermina had described. Some bigger trees on the outskirts harbored many birds and we knew we would enjoy a little bird watching there as an added feature. We first visited the pottery barn where the clay is molded into the various shapes desired and then saw the open fire pits where the pieces are placed for their cooking. It all looked very primitive and the men describing the process were obviously pretty bored with it all But the strangest thing we noticed was these men did not look Indian at all; they were quite clearly black Africans! A sudden downpour that quickly soaked us and turned the crumbly white sand “yards” into mudflats distracted us from our confusion.

There was a large open-sided, tin-roofed pavilion where some of the finished pottery samples were on display so everyone scurried to get under the shelter to check out the goods Kay and I didn’t want to get into the hot and damp crush of people, so we sheltered on the front porch of a house across the way where some plastic chairs looked inviting Three little girls went in and out of the house and seemed not to worry about getting wet at all. They played in the water collected in the drums under the eaves; they dashed about playing tag; they stared curiously at the crowds of white folks. The pottery was not only quite fragile, it was also not very attractive.

A rather dull terracotta finish with no distinguished decorations or etchings. The potters were strangely uninterested in their own wares and mode no attempt to sell anything by displaying it attractively or talking with potential customers. They even had “uncooked” pieces among the things for sale. I didn’t see anybody actually purchase anything while standing under the now steaming roof.

Just about the time we were beginning to wonder why we were here, the sounds of a band wound towards us. And here they came: the Saints were marching in all right. Kay & I first looked at each in amazement and then just about doubled over laughing

Those Amerindians were playing the saxophone, a tuba, a trumpet and a drum set and the music sounded straight out of New Orleans, only pretty much abused rather than performed. And those Indians were strangely “painted up” to look like black Africans only the heavy rain revealed that the make-up did not run. These fellows were definitely people of African descent! They played quite a few familiar pieces and then we were told that the cultural program would now begin.

Along came 5 ladies of varying ages from probably about 18 to 60. They were dressed in bright cloth headdresses and big wide colorful skirts with matching blouses They strutted along like black ladies in Africa who can balance heavy loads on their heads and yet appear as graceful as gazelles! To the insistent beat of the drums and the brass, these ladies performed what we were told was an Amerindian change of clothing ritual for a young woman about to be married Well, the music was black jazz, the dancers were black ladies, black men played the music, and the clothing looked like it was straight out of Africa! Honest and truly, there was nothing Amerindian about the entire experience except for the three little girls we saw playing Where they came from we have no idea because they did not resemble anyone else in the village.

So, was that another “tangle” in the trip? We didn’t really think so because all the other visits we made to people seemed real and meaningful and, more importantly, “as advertised.” Besides that, we got to see and appreciate a most beautiful young woman there. The young “bride” in the dance sequence was drop dead gorgeous! We certainly didn’t blame our tour company (Zegrahm) for the “hoax” since we supposed that the local tourist bureau had set the visit up for us. Anyway, we laughed a lot and it was really okay.

More Authentic Amerindians

Besides, when we contrasted that visit with our later chance to call on other Amerindian villages, they were definitely not bogus The proud elder and the little school children who welcomed us to Saxacalli in Guyana couldn’t have been more charming, more pleased to see us, or more authentically of “Indian” stock. They were built like the Indian peoples we have seen in Mexico, Peru, Costa Rica and even Brazil: short legs, broad shoulders, thick torsos, black straight hair, almond shaped eyes, flat cheekbones, and reddish brown skin tones The citizens of the “stilt” village looked like that too

None of this means that we wouldn’t have wanted to visit a village where folks of African descent live as well. None of the foregoing means that the folks at that Suriname village weren’t glad to see us even though their greeting wasn’t as touching. It was much more laid back and even a little bored. Of course, it didn’t involve the schoolchildren from ages 5 to 12 with their signs proclaiming “Welcome”, letter by letter.

It was obvious that these children had been preparing for our visit for weeks since they also sang folks songs and their national anthem for us as well.

Then there was the heartfelt talk by the village elder telling us of the villagers’ belief that ecotourism could mean so much to their own development and well-being! And when we were taken on the nature walk behind their village (which sat on a wide beach) hacked out of the tangled and dense jungle by the men and boys of the village, we were humbled and impressed by their efforts. They had not only cut a pathway in really hot conditions, they had built ramps and bridges to keep the tourists from walking in low places where water collected and where the mud lies year-round. It was an amazing effort and we were all blown away by their optimism and willingness to work really hard

The ladies had been making handicrafts for us to buy and no one could resist purchasing something. We bought a fan woven of palm fronds, a map of their village and its nature walk, and some postcards.

This was a visit we all enjoyed and everyone on our ship shared the hoped that poor little Guyana can succeed in making the country an ecotourism destination country. It certainly has enough wonderful flora and fauna to satisfy any nature lovers.

Young Calvin Jones

This young Amerindian boy took a liking to me for some reason almost as soon as we alit from our zodiac onto the beach at Saxacalli He was slender and shy but eager to be with Kay and me. He sat with me through the presentations by the village elder, the songs of the elementary school children and the little talk by the schoolteacher I asked him why he was not with the other children and he gave me a condescending look while informing me that he was 14 years old and attended a boarding school across the river in an actual city!

He had been at that school for 3 years already. Well, folks, he looked pretty young to me anyway That faux pas on my part did not make Calvin desert me however. He led Kay and I around the little village and took us to the school building, the church, and the cricket pitch Most of the “guiding” was done rather wordlessly though because Calvin was pretty reserved. When I asked him what he wanted to do when he finished at his present school (I didn’t dare say “when you grow up”), he said he planned to go to “Chef School” in Guyana’s capital, Georgetown He has a sister who lives in the city and so he can live with her while he attends classes. That choice is probably one with excellent promise for Calvin since Guyana is trying so hard to improve facilities for tourism. We certainly wish him well in his ambitions. Calvin didn’t abandon our sides until a cricket game started between the village boys and some of the Englishmen on our trip. Then he dashed to the pitch to take up his place behind the batsman wicket keeper, I suppose? He gave us a shy smile and a wave as he ran.

TRINIDAD’S PORT OF SPAIN

The last full day of the expedition was spent in Trinidad’s capital city, Port of Spain We endured a long, rocky night at sea while crossing over from the Orinoco River via the Caribbean Sea to Paria Bay on which sits the city. The plan was to see a little of the island, a very little as it turned out, and then proceed to the Caroni Swamp Sanctuary for the evening.

It was really unrelentingly hot when we arrived at the Park and boarded large, flatbottomed boats to sit 6 across in about 15 rows In such a crowded space, the weak breeze that occasionally tantalized us could scarcely penetrate to the central sitters. All of us were pretty much stupefied with the heat and dazzling sunshine, but we tried to pay attention to our guide as we motored agonizingly slowly down the canal that would bring us to the mangrove swamp that was our destination. How we wished the driver would hit that throttle and create some breeze for us; however, he just continued unhurriedly down the mangrove-lined canal where there was simply no shade at all. But we did see some fairly interesting things as we “puddled into butter” right in our seats The guide pointed out a pretty good-sized Spectacled Caiman about 5 feet long certainly the biggest one we saw on the entire trip; he gave us an open-mouthed smile that showed all his formidable teeth. We saw numerous Little Blue Herons, many Cattle Egrets, a Spotted Sandpiper, Little Green Herons, many wonderful Amazon Kingfishers with their bright white neckband and iridescent navy blue color, and even some Green-Throated Mangrove Hummingbirds.

Best of all during this portion of the trip was seeing a Silky Anteater curled up in the crotch of a tree close to the bank. He scarcely awoke from his deep slumbers even when the park ranger jumped out of the boat and shook the slender tree in which he rested. He was a soft brown color with a short snout and two enlarged claws on his front feet. He is a small creature, about the size of a squirrel, and eats from 100 to 8000 ants per day to maintain his size. He did appear to wink at us once while trying to remain asleep. We all enjoyed seeing him very much and apologized for disturbing his slumbers.

While we continued to nearly expire from the heat, it became necessary to put on our insect repellant just to insure that all the suntan oil combined with the Deet to prevent any evaporation to cool us down. We were all beginning to wonder if we would make it to the end of the canal and before fainting dead away. Maybe this final boat ride was a “survivor” experience who would remain alive the whole time?

However, about then we saw fire breaking out in the swamp vegetation just a few feet from the canal! It flashed quickly through the close-set trees igniting the scene brilliantly but quite startlingly well The blaze continued to spread and we all gasped in wonder In just a few moments, we all became aware that the spreading conflagration was actually the arrival of the first of the resplendent scarlet ibises! Our entire boatload of onlookers was struck dumb as we watched that vivid red orange color so alive, so brilliant, against the green swamp foliage and the gray trunks of the saplings.

As we continued to stare in utter delight, we realized that the sun was going down behind the mangrove island we were approaching and a slight breeze was beginning to stir We rounded that island and came upon some snowy egrets and some sea hawks and even a peregrine falcon All the boats traveling with us (about 6) began to position themselves in line in front of the island we had reached. We faced back the way we had come and waited patiently. We were told that the regulations were strictly enforced and no boat could move ahead of any other boat and no one could approach the island we faced.

Now we were in the shadow of the mangrove island behind us and a gentle breeze had finally begun to cool us off. Without warning, squadrons of the scarlet ibis began to fly from behind us towards the opposite island They were returning home from their feeding grounds in Venezuela to their rookery here in the Caroni Swamp. Literally thousands of birds flew over our heads, some flying high to go to the nesting area beyond our sight (in protected waters) and others zooming in low to find roosting spots on the “green screen” before us. The birds are the most luminous red imaginable on their entire bodies except for the tips of their wings which are black in flight. As the birds tilted their wings to land, the sun would illuminate that color and the birds seemed to burst into flame with more brilliance than the eye could bear What was even more unimaginable was the length of the fiery “outbreak.” Those flames danced above our heads and in front of us for at least two hours! Thousands of birds festooned the green mangrove island until we beheld a fantastic Christmas tree adorned with flaming decorations. What a show! What an experience!