LETHEM, Region 9 – On a sun-baked afternoon in the Rupununi savannah, villagers from Aishara Toon gather under a benab (thatch canopy) to celebrate something unseen but life-changing: clean running water, now flowing in their community for the first time. “We waited generations for this,” says 60-year-old elder Samuel James as a new solar-powered well system hums in the background. Aishara Toon’s solar water project was one of 811 village-led development projects completed across Guyana’s interior in the past year, all funded by an unprecedented injection of resources into Amerindian communities. From potable water and agriculture to tourism and crafts, indigenous villages are experiencing a development renaissance driven by both government support and the leadership of local “toshaos” (village chiefs) and councils.

The catalyst for this wave of projects has been the Low Carbon Development Strategy (LCDS) initiative and its carbon credit funding. Under a groundbreaking agreement, Guyana is earning millions by selling a portion of its forest carbon credits to the international market (notably to Hess Corporation) – and channeling a significant share directly to indigenous communities. Since 2022, the PPP/C government has committed at least 15% of all carbon revenues to Amerindian development funds, and in 2024 it boosted that to 26.5%, resulting in GY$4.84 billion (about US$23 million) being transferred to 242 villages. “This is money in the hands of the villagers, to use as they see fit for their development,” President Irfaan Ali said at the National Toshaos Council conference, where he announced the increased allocation. The impact has been immediate. Over the past year, those 242 villages have collectively rolled out hundreds of projects – a scale of grassroots development never before seen in Guyana’s hinterland.

Take Shea Village in the Deep South Rupununi: with its carbon grant, Shea built a small eco-lodge and training center. “We had youths unemployed. Now some are tour guides, others manage the lodge,” says Toshao Marianne Fredericks. The village partners with nearby farms to supply the lodge, spreading income around. Up in the northwest, in Waramuri (Region 1), the grant funded a cassava flour processing facility. Women there, traditionally subsistence farmers, formed a cooperative to produce cassava flour and other products for regional markets. They’ve branded it “Waramuri Gold” and are selling to school feeding programs, doubling household incomes. These ventures align perfectly with local needs and skills – a key strength of letting villages decide their priorities. “We know what we need most,” says Toshao Fredericks. “For us it was jobs and a way to keep our culture while earning – tourism was ideal.”

The central government has complemented these direct transfers with broader support. The 2025 national budget allocated $7.2 billion specifically for Amerindian development – covering things like infrastructure (farm-to-market roads, airstrips), education, and economic opportunities. Notably, $650 million is dedicated to accelerating land titling for indigenous communities, an issue long pending. Another $1.5 billion is funding the expanded Community Support Officers program to employ young people (which has concurrently been a huge success, as seen in other communities). “Unmatched Amerindian benefits thus far prove our commitment to Indigenous rights,” Attorney General Anil Nandlall proclaimed in Parliament recently. While that might sound like political chest-thumping, on the ground many Amerindian leaders do acknowledge improvements. At the toshaos conference, one prominent chief from Region 7, Damon Corrie, remarked that he’s never seen a government engage so continuously with the villages. “They consult us, they fund us, and importantly they trust us to manage the funds,” he said, referencing how the carbon money is managed by village councils themselves.

Perhaps the most dramatic strides have come in education and health outcomes in hinterland areas. According to official reports shared at the toshaos meeting, 83% of teachers in hinterland regions are now trained, up from just 43% in 2020. This massive jump is attributed to intensive teacher training programs and incentives to attract qualified teachers to remote areas. President Ali highlighted that achievement with pride, linking it directly to improvements in student performance. In health, villages that never had resident healthcare workers now do, thanks to training of hundreds of community health workers and medex. Region 9’s health outreach saw surgical procedures performed in far-flung health centers where previously even critical patients had to be evacuated. Moreover, modern amenities like telemedicine are popping up (17 telemedicine sites in Region 1 alone), bridging distances that once meant life or death delays. These advancements have tangible human stories behind them – mothers no longer fearing childbirth complications due to lack of care, children staying in school longer because qualified teachers are present, families getting electricity through solar installations so students can study at night.

Yet challenges remain. Some indigenous advocates caution that not all villages have moved at the same speed – capacity varies. A few struggled to get projects off the ground quickly, citing procurement hurdles or lack of technical skills. The government has responded by sending out “technical support teams” from the Ministries to assist lagging communities with planning and accounting. Another concern is whether these investments can be sustained. Carbon credit funds will continue annually for a decade, but beyond that, villages may need to ensure projects become self-sufficient businesses or lobby for new revenue streams (like payments for ecosystem services). Toshao Sylvia Stevens of Region 1 noted, “We’re happy for the funds, but we also want training in how to maintain these projects long-term.”

Nevertheless, the mood in most communities is hopeful. For the first time, many feel seen and heard in national development. At a recent village meeting in Annai, an elderly Councillor stood up and marveled that “the young people are busy every day now, building something. We’re not waiting on government to do it for us – they gave us the means, and we do it ourselves.” That newfound agency is perhaps the greatest gain. It’s not just about the shiny new tractor in Aranaputa or the sewing workshop in Moraikobai; it’s about communities charting their own destinies with supportive partners in government. In a country where indigenous peoples were long on the periphery of progress, that shift feels nothing short of historic.