Dear Editor,
In the beginning of the movie Twelve Years A Slave, the brother was recruited because of his talent and offered a great opportunity. Well, my husband and I were recruited and offered an opportunity to go to the Rupununi Music and Arts Festival. We left Georgetown about 6 pm on September 16 and arrived there about 9 am September 17. It went downhill from there.
Okay, so we know South America is hot, but the savannah is a different kind of heat. We were told to put our belongings which included art, art supplies and cases of wine on a porch while accommodation was sorted out. No problem. But then up comes this ill-mannered person who doesn’t introduce herself but just says the sponsors are here and we need to move our stuff. I just sat there because I am beyond exhausted and at this point no water was offered nor were we told that the tap water was safe; the heat was unbearable.
The rude woman came back; she was panicking because our belongings were still there and we finally got proper instructions on where we should put these. Now mind you she was only addressing our belongings, not us! My husband was beginning to boil and I was having an out-of-body experience. So to keep the peace I suggested we take a swim while our accommodation is being sorted out. At this point, the director of the festival was having a rehearsal with some of the local entertainment and seemingly could not be bothered.
I am a master at creating my own reality, so we grabbed two bottles of Pandama wine and headed to the pool. We figured by now something should have been sorted out, so we sought to find an answer. The director was rushing in our direction because he got a call that the volunteers were in the pool and then realized it was us. This alerted me that I am in a space that folks are not empowered to be in.
We were then escorted to our home away from home—the Benab—which turned out to be black plastic wrapped around a frame that can also be used as a solar oven. On the way to the Benab I noticed a few mounds of horse poop, but didn’t take it on; exhaustion really messes with your reality. There was also wire wrapped around the area, but in my mind it was to keep the animals out. The space was too hot to take a nap, so I went back to the pool to cool off.
Later in the day I was able to get two tables for our display, but the director wanted me to know that this was privileged status. However, I was asked to be a featured artist and I emailed about space and setup so I could be prepared, but got no response. So I felt like maybe it was a stupid question, because if you’re asking me to come, of course you will be ready with proper workshop space, even if you don’t have a clue.
On the Festival Day we woke up early so we could take our time getting ready and I noticed more and more horse poop in the sleeping area and as I went to the showers. Then I noticed the horses… We were sleeping in the horse pen! And the horses were reclaiming their home. They ripped the doors off the showers and the mounds of poop were like landmines, shining and smelling as the sun got hotter and hotter.
Now because I don’t depend on others to create my happiness, I told my husband that we would sleep in our display tent. No worries. When artists come together there is always magic! All of the artists and volunteers participated fully in one another’s workshops. We danced, sang, painted, meditated and the caterers kept our culinary experience magical with every meal!
Our tent was the space for artists to come and regroup after experiencing some outrageous moments of disrespect; needless to say our tent had a constant flow.
The festival is now over, my husband is sick with fever and aches from sleeping next to animal poop and we have a full day to pack and leave on Tuesday. We get up for breakfast and notice the caterers packing up. The director eventually figures out they hadn’t quite thought it through and makes arrangements. The volunteers are working beyond expectations: cleaning up, folding tables and chairs and taking down tents. Now close your eyes and envision the whole festival is tucked away, but in the middle of the yard my husband and I are packed and camped out in the last tent standing.
The owner sees us now and creating the illusion of concern he offers us a room. I have now reached my saturation point and begin to cry. His gesture has nothing to do with our well-being; he just wants his yard cleaned up. We go to the room and I cry and cry I just want to go home!
We all have to meet for 8 pm for a walk offsite for dinner and I enter a conversation about birdwatching which confuses me because we are all supposed to be leaving at 5 am.
I am told that we are not leaving until 8 am because the volunteers have more work to do.
Anger rises from the depths of my hips and as we walk for dinner I do a standup comedy routine and have my walk partner laughing all the way. It relaxed me and made the walk go quicker.
During dinner we had a meeting that ended with us agreeing to leave at the original time. Now even though we took a vote one could tell the decision wasn’t appreciated by all.
At 3.22 am someone bangs on everyone’s door saying. “You said you want to leave early the buses are here!”
We bring everything out along with the volunteers and we are ready to go, but we can’t because one volunteer is missing. At 5 am, the volunteer finally shows up, nonchalantly rolling her luggage bag and says wasn’t it 5 am we were to leave? When questioned about her whereabouts, she said she was on the compound and that was all we needed to know.
I am not a sad person, but today I still cry. It is a collective sadness, as if I have tapped into the energy of all the souls who feel trapped.
Yours faithfully,
Tracy Greene Douglas