I didn’t quite understand why before setting out on the 2007 Pakaraimas Mountain Safari. It is over, and I still don’t get it. The only possible conclusion I could draw is that it takes “balls” (our creole language substitute for testicles) to attempt to climb these mountains.
However, this is not to scare anyone into attempting the thrill ride. It is absolutely for the taking. However, good weather, and by that I mean never ending sunshine, is an absolutely necessity. If you see rain, tell Frank Singh, the guy at Rainforest Tours who does the organization, you’re canceling out.
That is of course if you want to miss out on an incredible adventure to test your prowess of gut, skill and fortitude. Sure, you might not reach the end point - Orinduik Falls - but if you get as far as Monkey Mountain, like the last team did, well then, you would have had an unforgettable experience.
For me, in more ways than one, it was just that - unforgettable.
To Karasabai
All the vehicles going on the safari were required to meet at the Guyoil gas station on Regent Street in the city by 23:00 h Sunday, March 4.
Guyoil, using its Castrol brand, was providing free fuel for the participants, so it was only fitting that that be the starting point. GUYOIL decided to come on board again this year, providing free fuel and lubricants to those participating. According to GUYOIL Marketing Manager Indranauth Haralsingh, the company is associated with the safari because it is synonymous with the company’s high performance fuel.
The day before, Frank had telephoned to tell me I was no longer traveling with him, since he was going along with former Minister of Local Government Harripersaud Nokta, who was taking along his brother who had returned to Guyana after 22 years. I agreed. My new partners were Carla and Shara from the Guyana Tourism Authority. Minister of Tourism Manniram Prashad had agreed to throw in a vehicle as evidence of his support for the safari.
Since take off was at 01:00 h Monday, I showed up at about mignight Sunday. Our vehicle was not there. I soon learn it was involved in an accident and the driver had to complete some formalities with the Police. At take-off time, we learnt that we weren’t going to get the vehicle after all. It was time to worry. Inside the vehicle were our sleeping tents and foodstuff.
Nokta came to us calmly. He gave Carla a hug. He assured her everything was going to be fine.
Prime Minister Samuel Hinds had come in the middle of the night to give his blessings. He was going to fly to Monkey Mountain on Wednesday to catch up with us. But his party had to go overland – our problem solved!
David, one of the Prime Minister’s drivers quickly came over to tell me I could join him, since he was alone. Soon, Carla and Shara were in the back seat and we were off.
David seemed young, about mid-20’s, so why he was playing “oldies” and not some soca, chutney, or some Hip Hop or R&B, was a bit baffling at first. But it helped me sleep. I woke up in Linden, where a Police check was required.
When we left, I slept again and woke up when the vehicle halted at the Kurupukari crossing. I stepped out of the vehicle and walked down to the river bank. On the left I noticed a sign: Bin Laden - Wanted dead or alive. There was no one in sight. It was about 10:00 h Monday.
The 11 vehicles got onto the pontoon that would take us across Kurupukari. The water level was low, so five vehicles had to come off, so the driver could ease the pontoon off the bank. Once the vehicles were back on, we were headed across.
We could see in the distance the field station of the Iwokrama Rainforest Conservation project, a global initiative to demonstrate how tropical rainforests can be conserved and sustainably utilized.
On the other side of Kurupukari we are first greeted with a sign that declares no hunting. This is because the road along the way is cut through the Iwokrama rainforest, which is home to an incredible array of mammals, birds and fishes.
At about midday we reached the Rockview oasis on the road. Rockview lodge, an interior resort, has constructed hammock accommodation, washroom facilities and a food and drinks bar on the roadside for backpackers, hikers, and any who want to cool down on their way deeper into the Rupununi, or like us, to the Pakaraimas.
We then proceeded to the village from where the official safari into the Pakaraimas would begin. The village is called Karasabai, in the South Pakaraimas. We had traveled 360 miles from Georgetown. It was about 17:30 h.
All we had time for were a modest introduction to officials of Region Nine. Since our foodstuff and sleeping tents never came with us, for Carla, Shara and me, our first move was to sort out a place to sleep and then, dinner.
Since there were a number of regional officials there to greet us, they were occupying the guest house. So we had to find somewhere else. The next available place was the health centre. They had three bunks. Two were located in the maternity ward and another in the female ward.
Carla and Shara decided they were going to use the maternity ward and I was left with the next option. I went in and rest my bag. All it had was the bunk, some containers filled with fuel in the corner, and a bathroom and toilet. I couldn’t be happier.
A kind woman volunteered to make the bed and clean the room. So, me and Carla decided to go walk around the community, particularly to go to the playground where they supposedly had a day of sports. We learn that it ended early because of the rain.
We came upon one of the many giant cashew trees and found that it had ripe cashews on it. After several attempts, I was able to hit two down. I had never tasted it before. These are not the sort of cashew we have on the Coast. Carla convinced me to give it a try. I didn’t like it. Either it hadn’t ripened properly, or my taste buds found it to be bland. I spit it out, to the amusement of a group of girls who were liming under the tree.
Of course, they had earlier laughed at me trying to hit the cashews down. Thoughts of me being a stupid coastlander must have been going through their minds.
However, one of them was nice enough to come up and talk with us. Carla wanted cashew nuts and she was just the person to help. She walked us to one of the benab type houses which are put up in no particular order.
The District Development Officer, Patrick Atkinson says the cashew nuts are usually trucked to Lethem for sale.
It is one of the means by which some families get an extra income in this community which largely depends on farming and animal rearing. Some 1, 200 now occupy Karasabai, with thatched roof houses scattered about in the open savannah land.
Nestled in various parts of the community are giant ant hills, which are sure to intrigue the mind. Chances of spotting the giant ant eaters are there, but the wait could be a long one.
Atkinson, of the Macushi Amerindian tribe tells me that with jobs hard to get, some of the young men and women would take the journey across the border to Brazil. The closest village is Normandy, a mere 12 miles from Karasabai. Some walk the journey. The women find work as domestics, while the men are employed as labourers. Others go to Brazil via the crossing at Lethem.
Atkinson gives a smirk, as he comprehends I’m trying to get him to talk more about this. But we leave it at that.
I head back to the health centre and Carla and Shara were ready for us to go hunt food, well not literally. We headed across to the guest house, where they had prepared stewed chicken and rice.
We had a few laughs about our trip thus far. We somehow now found it funny that one of the Prime Minister’s vehicle had skidded on the mud along the way and slammed into the one in front who had stopped to see him going off track. The back light of the vehicle was smashed, but when they decided to continue, we remember seeing the small bulb, lighted, dangling as they went along.
We thereafter retired for the night.
Remembering Dr. Jagan
I was awakened by banging on the door at around 05:30 h in the morning. Someone was shouting. “You’re in the female ward, get up, the ladies want to bathe!”
Oh, yeah, shucks. I slipped off the bed, forcing the eyes open and headed into the huge compound. I waited for the ONE “ladies” to finish bathing. Her companion also, it appeared, wanted to bathe. I’m not sure which one of them left their underwear in the bath. It was black, didn’t had any lace on it or anything. I left it there, grabbed my bag and placed it in the vehicle, which would join the rest along the airstrip.
The village was preparing for the annual memorial to Dr. Cheddi Jagan. The date was March 6, exactly ten years since Dr. Jagan died. The community was the first to set up a monument to the late President and every year holds a memorial service in his honour.
The teachers gathered the school children at the airstrip to await the arrival of the high ranking government official who would speak at the function. Emerging from the plane were Minister of Local Government and Regional Development Mr. Kellawan Lall and General Secretary of the People’s Progressive Party Mr. Donald Ramotar.
Joined by the villagers, the visitors embarked on a walk from the airstrip to the monument site where there were speeches glorifying Dr. Jagan’s work for the Amerindian people.
Shara, in the meantime, was busy trying to contact her husband in Georgetown. You can do that through the radio. It costs G$100 a minute. Not bad.
Afterwards, the minister gave the safari team an official send off. We posed for a picture with the big Catsrol banner and headed out to the mountains. It was about 10:00 h.
To Marabakau
The safari was touted as a test of performance, skill and endurance, but one that provides timeless memories, filled with breathtaking mountain vistas and intriguing Patamuna culture.
However, far from just the adventure and its impact for tourism development in Guyana, the offers a chance to explore the window of opportunity for development of the Amerindian villages scattered in these mountains.
The safari is only possible because of the vital road linkages that have been made to connect Regions Eight and Nine. These roads linkages are seen as crucial for not only the development of tourism, but for the economic well being of the indigenous Patamuna and Makushi people who live in the mountains.
The Amerindians, locked out from the coast because of the sheer distance, are fascinated with the high powered vehicles. Some are seeing us for the first time.
Our journey takes us through dusty savannah lands, through creeks, up rocky mountains and sometimes up dangerous mountains topped with wet mud.
One of the communities we stopped first was Rukumutu, where we were greeted by the sight of a beautiful school building. It was a pure delight. About a hundred yareds from the actual school building are two other buildings. One is the office for the headteacher along with spanking washroom facilities. The second building houses a kitchen.
Mr Nokta was greeted with a garland made out of peanuts, while Carla, who was called to the table to hand over a gift to the community has a garland made with a boiled egg, the shell still on, as a garland. You could imagine the ruckus that caused with us “safarians”.
One of the teachers played soulful music using his guitar, and the students welcome us, in song, to their “lonely place.”
Villagers brought out their cassava bread to sell, and we gladly bought. And the oranges were “cheap and sweet”. In fact, they were the sweetest oranges I’d ever tasted.
We waved goodbye, and the vehicle revved towards the Marabaikau river, where we would spend the night.
As Minister Lall had brought up our sleeping tents and foodstuff at Karasabai, we now felt safe. Frank suggested that we set up camp first and then started cooking and doing whatever else.
So, we did. Mine was a single tent, so I set it up, while I watched Carla and Shara struggled to get their tents up. Carla insisted she knew what she was doing. I helped out, upon her instructions.
Next it was time to decide what to cook. There was the pot in which the chicken was still preserved. So, we decided we were going to use it with chowmein.
Shara put the chowmein to boil, while me and Carla headed to the river to get some water to clean the chicken. We had fish also. The water didn’t seem clear, perhaps because it was the rainfall that was gushing down from the higher mountains.
However, Paul Texieira or “Putagee” as we would call him, said the water was good. He dipped a handfula dn drank it to convince us.
I seasoned the chicken and fish, and decided we were going to cook the chicken before. When that was done and the food was ready, we decided to go bathe and leave Frank with the responsibility to fry the fish. Goodness knows how he turned it into something looking like sardine! It was refused, at least for the night.
After dinner, and musing at Carla taking 45 minutes to prepare a cup of tea for Nokta (she said all the “ingredients’ weren’t together, she had to look for them), we headed over to where some of the others were camping.
Lovely Latin music filled the air as the bonfire ravaged with the breeze of the mountains we were enveloped in. We danced, had a few beers, and were ready to continue the good time when the rain aborted our plans.
We rushed back to our tents at about 21:30 h. The rain was now accompanied by heavy breeze, and soon I heard Carla screaming her tent was down. Frank was sleeping soundly in his hammock, as was Nokta.
I realized water was under my tent, and rain was seeping through the zipper. I spread my towel inside where it was seeping, so the entire bottom wouldn’t get wet.
I went out to see what was happening with Carla and Shara. Their tent had collapsed and they were in the rain trying to fix it. But it was not to be. The rain was pouring too much and there was no letup in the wind.
Carla decided she was going to get David, who had parked the vehicle about 200 yards from us. He too was sound asleep, and had some other guys in the vehicle, who had loosed their hammocks and escaped from the rain.
Carla’s banging on the windscreen and her power torchlight got him up. We packed all our stuff into the vehicle. The guys exited, and the rain had eased, and tied their hammocks again. So, we decided we were going to sleep in the vehicle. Of course, none of us could, really. So in between some sleep, we joked about all manner of things, laughed the night away, as we peeped for stars to emerge from the black sky.
Region Eight Chairman Senor Bell, thought the vehicles should cross the river, before the rains continue and the water level increases. He did not get much support, as everyone just wanted to be out of the rain.
In the morning, at about 07:00 h, Frank announced that we were turning back. The rain was too much and the mountains could be difficult for the vehicles to go up, as some were coated with slippery clay, and others slippery rocks.
However, the sun came out and the water in the river didn’t seem too high, so it was decided we would move on.
Crossing the river was “a piece of cake” and we headed out to the mountains. As we slipped out of one spectacular view, another emerged. We were never disappointed.
Sometimes, when we came out of the rainforest and entered an expanse of savannah land, black rocks in the distanced seemed like lazy cows resting. The plants we saw we could not identify. All we knew was that they were beautiful.
The cries of a colourful Macaw flying in the air was much delight. Of course, seeing them in cages, or “tamed”, was nothing compared to them in their natural habitat. The sounds of the other birds we could not recognize, but they were surely plentiful, especially so in the rainforest.
Climbing the mountains was a challenge. At times, a tractor would drag us up, when constant revving brought smells of burnt tyre. Some got stuck. Some went dangerously to the edge of mountains.
We visited other villages on the way such as Young Paru, where the welcome was similar to that of Rukumutu and Tipuru.
The most spectacular view of the mountains is one calling “the Twilling”. From a distance it resembles Noah’s ark, as if it had settled on the mountain after the global flood of Bible times. Taking different routes, we would reach the top at about 16:00 h. We had to come out and enjoy the view.
“O, beautiful Guyana”, was one of the remarks made, mimicking the national song that extols Guyana’s beauty. At the top, the mountain was covered with the grass and it fluttered in wild abandon with the generous cool breeze. It looked as if that Kutch Kutch Hotai Hai video was shot right here. So, I decided to don my sunglasses and do the Shah Rukh Khan pose, and Carla worked the camera.
We then headed into Monkey Mountain. Welcoming in us was a Patamuna man who couldn’t speak our language. He just nodded in acknowledgement at everything we said. Two birds, looking like domestic fowls came peeking at my foot. They were in fact, powis, a delicacy in these parts, and the coastland. They were very friendly and so I picked them up.
When we reached Monkey Mountain, the Prime Minister, his wife, Yvonne and other emmebrs of his party were already there. HE had arrived earlier in the day.
No sooner had it dusked than the rains came again. The familiar chill of the night was more pronounced at Monkey Mountain and all we could think about was bed. We had dinner at a nearby shop.
As the rain poured, a message came at about 20:30 h in the night. One of the vehicles on the safari, which had developed mechanical problems and we thought would stay behind, caught fire while it was being dragged up one of the mountains by tractor.
One it was verified that none of the four persons in the vehicle had suffered harm, it was decided that it was too dangerous for others to go help out. The rain would not let up and it was pitch black. As we figured, those from the vehicle that caught fire sought refuge in the vehicle that was in front of them.’
On Thursday morning, it was decided that the safari would not continue, as the rain would make traveling in the mountains too risky. It was a disappointing end to a trip that was soaked with the adventure of defying rain, slippery mountains, and sleeping under the clear heavens.
To take in the spectacular mountain views, interact with the Patamuna people, see how their communities are slowly developing, was worth all the “balls” the safari was attempted with. To get from village to village, the Patamuna people have no choice, but to carry their belongings in Warishees on their backs, strung across their foreheads. It is fascinating for coatslanders to see them, but in their faces are one of utter strength and endurance in the face of hardships.
We came in our vehicles, and they could see some of that distress in our faces at times when we tried to meet what at times seemed unsurmountable odds when the vehicles refused to climb. Once the vehicles had crossed each hurdle, their was renewed determination, renewed joy. We were getting there.
Frank says the safari would take off in February next year, so as to avoid the rain. One thing is for sure, whether you get to the end point or not, it would certainly be an adventure you would never forget.
Maybe, my words don’t do justice to the whole story, but hopefully the pictures help.