Dear Folks, No, I'm not in Suriname, I'm still in Youngstown. However, my spirit still remains in Suriname 30 years ago. Today I was back in the village listening to Jytte telling us about the little fat black spirits. They were mischievous and naughty and a bit like little elves. In order for the villagers to keep them out of their huts, they had a handy whip nearby. It was from the Mauritia palm tree. I took a picture of the palm tree and I think it's the same one. The nuts hang down from a long flexible stem that looks like braided hair. Therefore, I have an idea that's what the handy whip was made of--the long stem. Whenever the little fat black spirits would enter a hut, they would be whipped out. I was back on the Marowijne River listening to Viano our boatman playing his drums, whether his drum was an empty metal Planters Peanut can or an empty orange plastic water bottle or whether it was a metal cooking kettle. He played it with fervor and while he was beating the intricate ancient African rhythms, he was singing at the top of his voice. I was back getting soaked to my skin in the pouring rain and the waves that washed over our boat in the rapids. And I was in the unbearable sweltering heat in the sun. I was with the slaves as they escaped from their slave masters and went into the impenetrable jungle guided only by the spirits of their ancestors. I would dearly love to experience that adventure again but it's impossible. Thirty years have gone by and such "tours" up the Marowijne River now wouldn't include all of the hardships we went through. Certainly the tourists wouldn't sleep in hammocks in a deserted Bush Negro fishing village with a kerosene lamp burning all night to keep out the vampire bats! However, I still have my tape recordings and my memories and I can go back to Suriname any time I want. vee