BRAZILIAN BAR B QUE

Once again we join the circus in Lethem. Heritage days celebration has ended, and by all reports was a success, one famous or infamous (depending on which side of the family you talk to) writer arrives to deliver long awaited dictionaries, and rumor has it same said writer was seen on one handsome steed, shotgun in tow ready to right all wrongs or at least stir up more dust. (Picture of Pauline astride Manley)

The past weeks have seen more than its share of black outs within 20-30 minutes after the generator going on line. This has caused no end of problems, reported blue smoke coming from the cyber café, mainly from customers who have been in the middle of e-mail or chatting with boy/girl friends, and talk of lynching the manager of said operation for the cheering while she saddles up the trusty steed to head home early. This coupled with the fact that she had the nerve to take off Saturday afternoon, and all day Sunday has only served to fuel the fires of the lynch mob. The impromptu blackouts have proven to be a real boon to the liquor, lime, and gaff business; being yet another good excuse to have a couple more cold ones, like any excuse good or otherwise were needed.

This week welcomes a new month, new excuses as to why the Amerindian Brothers from Deep South, ie. Wai-Wai are still stranded in what passes for civilization, drunk tractor driver, water rising again and on and on go the excuses.

Tuesday it is learned that some poor sole from across the border apparently was not informed that Moco Moco was still receiving electricity via the Lethem Generator. Apparently this industrious chap decided that since the Hydro Plant in Moco Moco was out of commission, there was really no need of all that electrical wire that was strung from the poles, and that he should relieve the poles of the burden. He was in the process of doing just that when one of the wires wrapped around his leg and let him know that it was very much alive and well. Hence BBBQ (Brazilian Bar-B-Q, crispy critter what ever).

Tuesday evening starts like all the rest, power on at 6pm……blackout 6:15…….on 6:40………black out 6:45…..on 7:00……off 7:10 etc. etc, etc.

Wednesday am. No power at all, so now one has to wonder if they are checking all the out lying areas, to see how many BBBQ’s may be attached to the lines.

Rumor is that the new improved, state of the art generator has arrived from GT to help out the poor over worked, fuel guzzling generator that is currently in use only for brief periods of time when it feels like working.

But now we hear the rest of the story, seems that the Chinese were hired to put down the concrete pad on which the new generator would rest. One can only assume this was the same Chinese who also failed to put reinforcing rods into bed rock to hold the supports for the pipe at the failed hydro. The cement slab was poured, smoothed, and what ever else, except there was no steel reinforcement placed in the slab. When the engineers were ready to off load said new generator, the slab was tested for strength and low and behold it crumbled like a shortbread cookie.

In the mean time, the writer accompanied by a famous poet/leather craftsman, a famous bead artisan whose dictionary was recently published, and the local red cross representative . (don’t even ask what that has to do with anything), head south to deliver feathers, eggs, and other assorted rations. Now when this adventure was planned the river crossing was passable with no problems. Seems the problems arose when the heavens came alive with lightning, thunder, and sheets of rain in the night. The light of dawn shows both possible river crossings flooded to the point of impassible.

So heels are cooled, bits chomped, hands wrung, and mid-afternoon another attempt is made. The result of which amounted to one red cross vehicle up to its dashboard in water, all sorts of horse, bullock, man, woman power are unable to rescue said vehicle. Enter the Lone Ranger in the form of one Amerindian Vaquero, who escorts the famous writer across the lonely savannahs in the dark of night heedless to the perils of jaguars, snakes, giant armadillos, vampire bats, mosquitoes , oh never mind you get the picture. Arriving tired and saddle sore at Saddle Mountain with the dawn of a new day, the kindly rancher jumps in his vehicle and drives like a mad man to get our writer back to Lethem in time to meet her plane back to civilization.

Mean while back at the crossing, one vehicle driver, famous poet/leather craftsman, famous bead artisan/author of dictionary, quietly await the arrival of help in the form of a tractor and mechanic.

Questions to be pondered till the next episode;

Did the Chinese really build the great wall, or were there some little green men from outer space involved.

Would it be correct to expect to have farine served with one’s BBQ.

Feathers and eggs being delivered ….would it not have been easier to taken live chickens?

Will the Red Cross still have a vehicle, or can we expect to see it come floating by via the Takutu? Or better yet will the driver still have a job?

Will the writer ever come back to the Rupununi?

Stay tuned to the further adventures of “As the Rupununi Spins”

10/6/04

Shefishs