Monthly Archives: May 2012

On the Anniversary of Guyana’s Independence Day: Guyanese-born Poets Etch our Nation’s Journey in Verse

27 Sunday May 2012

Posted by in Guyana, Poets & Writers

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Guyana Independence Arch – Georgetown – Guyana

“Monument to Freedom” unveiled on 22 May 1966, a gift from the Demerara Bauxite Company (DEMBA) to the people of Guyana on their independence.

Source: flickriver.com (arichards gallery)

On 26 May 2012, Guyana celebrated forty-six years as an independent nation. I recall well that night of 25 May 1966 when I stood with my family amidst the crowd in the Queen Elizabeth Park (later renamed National Park), watching the grand cultural performances to commemorate our independence from Great Britain. Just before the big moment at midnight, the crowd gasped in surprise. Our Prime Minister Forbes Burnham and his political rival and former Premier Cheddi Jagan unexpectedly embraced each other. Emotions ran deep.

The lights dimmed and wrapped us in silence. As the band intoned “God Save the Queen,” I watched the Union Jack slip down the flagpole while our new Golden Arrowhead climbed to the top where it unfurled to loud cheers and a gun salute. The sky exploded with the greatest display of fireworks I had ever seen, depicting Kaieteur Falls and the face of our Prime Minister. Great pride surged through my young veins. Our nation was born.

Syble G. Douglas in her commemorative poem “Independence (May 26, 1966)” expressed our joy:

At last Guyana is born / out of travail – strife and tears  / comes the new nation…

She then described the work that lay ahead to build a new Guyana.

Francis Yvonne Jackson in “Garden Paradise” also shared the joy of our achievement:

The Golden Arrowhead symbolic of our nation / Coconut trees whispering songs of hope, / Sending messages to the universe / Grasshoppers are hopping, / And lizards are crawling/… Roaring sounds of Kaieteur Falls awake masacuraman / Scaring the jumbie / Frightening the Canje Pheasant / Awaking my soul.

In the innocence of my youth, I believed that we could all work together and share in the wealth of our nation. I shared Mahadai Das’ dream expressed in her poem, “Looking Over the Broad Breast of the Land I Saw a Dream”:

I saw fields of fertility / Fields fed by the rain / Fields fed by the sun / Chimneys rising to worship the sun… / Children laughing in the sun, / Girls strewing their dreams with flowers;…

But our dream of forging “One Nation, One People, One Destiny” still eludes our young nation as we persist in emulating the errors of the past. Different leaders, same policies of our former colonial masters: divide and rule.

The young poet, Samuel Singh, in his poem “Unrecognized,” lamented:

This I do know; / yesterday’s Elysium is / today’s purgatory is / tomorrow’s underworld. / Heaven or hell / it is Guyana. / The drink / trembles in my hand, / drunkenness / soothes my mind. / I understand this land / less today / than yesterday / unrecognizable tomorrow.

In “My Native Land,” Francis Yvonne Jackson called attention to:

The haves away from the have-nots / a country of ethnic differences / Crime, drugs, political controversy, / The upsurge of violence / Not the Guyana I once knew / The young in a wilderness / Hoping for their Guyana / a better tomorrow…

The words of our beloved and world-renowned poet Martin Carter, in “Listening to the Land,” are still sadly relevant to our times:

I bent down / listening to the land / but all I heard was tongueless whispering…/ the old brick chimney barring out the city / the lantern posts like bottles full of fire / and I bent down / listening to the land / and all I heard was tongueless whispering / as if some buried slave wanted to speak again.

As Guyana celebrates its 46th anniversary of independence, let us remember the struggles and sacrifices of our ancestors – the slaves from Africa, followed by waves of indentured laborers from India, China, and Madeira – who forged our nation. Also, let us ponder on the simple truth of our existence: that regardless of our color or race, we are all the same. Gary Girdhari expressed this well in “Faces”:

Faces / Black, brown, white / All shades / All races… / Faces, faces, faces, faces / Everywhere you turn / The more you learn / There is no real difference among races.

A nation divided cannot withstand the vagaries of time in a world of giants.

 

POEMS CITED IN ARTICLE TAKEN FROM THE FOLLOWING POETRY COLLECTIONS:

Carter, Martin, Poems by Martin Carter, Edited by Stewart Brown & Ian McDonald, Macmillan Caribbean Writers Series, UK, 2010.

Das, Mahadai, A Leaf in His Ear, Peepal Tree Press Ltd., UK, 2010.

Douglas, Syble G., Transition: Poems Old & New, Georgetown, Guyana, 2008.

Girdhari, Gary, if only the gods were awake, Guyana Journal Publication, New York, USA, 2011.

Jackson, Francis Yvonne, Come Walk With Me: From Guyana to North America A Book of Verses, Illinois, USA, 2010.

Singh, Samuel, My Voice, Author House, Indiana, USA, 2007.

Brazil: My First Meeting with an Overseas Client

20 Sunday May 2012

Posted by in Brazil, Working Life

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Buggy Ride across Sand Dunes in Ceará, Brazil

Source: guiadolitoral.uol.com.br

 

My first meeting with an overseas client took place on a Sunday at the beach front of Tabuba, 13.7 miles from Fortaleza, capital of Ceará. With an extensive beach and high sand dunes, Praia de Tabuba is great for buggy rides.

Doutor Antônio, the owner and president of the melon exporting company where I worked, provided company transport to take me and my two sons to his private beach condo at Tabuba. The hot, outdoor churrasco (barbecue) called for light, casual clothing with swimwear for a dip in the condominium’s swimming pool or a wade in the ocean.

Arriving at the condo, we were escorted to the outdoor patio on the ground floor. While Doutor Antônio introduced me to our visiting British client, CEO of a major food chain, seated at a table with the company’s three directors, his wife Dona Rosa took my sons to join the other children under the care of their two teenage daughters.

When Dona Rosa introduced me to the wives of our British client and company directors, one of them expressed relief at my arrival. “How do I tell her that I adored the changing of the guards at Buckingham Palace?” she told me.

Seated in a prime position between Dona Rosa and our honored guest, I soon realized that my role at the churrasco was that of English/Portuguese interpreter. There was nothing complex about the conversation among the women: small talk about Brazil, England, and family life. But being a first-time interpreter required great concentration on my part, reminding me that the beautiful sunny day by the beach was in fact another working day.

Over bottles of cold beer and servings of barbecue meat, chicken, fish, and French fries sprinkled with grated cheese, the men appeared to be communicating well with their limited English-speaking skills. At the women’s table, those who did not drink beer, like yours truly, could choose from fresh fruit drinks and coconut water.

But the day was not all work. In the early afternoon, we all went for buggy rides along the beach and across the sand dunes. What a thrill! More so for my sons who also had a great time playing with the other children.

My first contact with an overseas client was a lesson in small talk and the first of numerous future experiences as an interpreter. If you plan to do business with Brazil, I strongly recommend that you brush up on your skills in small talk. Be prepared to answer questions about your country and to share personal tidbits about yourself and your family.

Through such informal business events, Brazilians develop trust with their (potential) clients for a long-lasting business relationship. The visiting British couple spent that weekend at Doutor Antônio’s condo in Tabuba. Brazilian hospitality at its best.

On Monday morning, I accompanied our president, commercial director, and British client on the two-hour drive to the company’s melon farm, over 125 miles from Fortaleza.

A Happy Mother’s Day

13 Sunday May 2012

Posted by in Brazil, Family Life, Relationships

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Bookmark received from my eight-year-old son on Mother’s Day 1993, Brazil

[Translation: I love you a lot – You are the best mother I’ve ever had – I adore you a lot a lot – I will never forget you mother]

We live in challenging times, a period of economic and social upheaval. As mothers, we are oftentimes required to make extreme sacrifices for our children, whether they are our own offspring, grandchildren or adopted.

Today, on Mother’s Day, let us remember mothers who have lost their jobs and homes and struggle to provide for their children.

Let us remember mothers who have put their lives on hold to save a son or daughter trapped in alcohol or drug addiction.

Let us remember mothers who also care for their aging mother or mother-in-law.

Let us remember mothers who have lost a son or daughter and continue to mourn their untimely passing.

Let us remember mothers who have cancer or other life-threatening disease and fear for the future of their young children.

Let us remember mothers trapped in violent and abusive relationships.

Let us remember mothers mistreated, neglected or killed by their own offspring or the children they raised.

With motherhood comes great responsibility. During my years in Brazil when I raised my two sons alone, I recall a Mother’s Day that I lamented the burden of motherhood. I could think of nothing to celebrate. But there came a time when I realized that my sons were my greatest treasure; that being a mother made me more joyful, more caring, more compassionate, and more connected with others.

If the burden of motherhood weighs heavily upon you at this moment in your life, know that it provides you with an opportunity to develop your true greatness. Forced to raise my sons alone, I found my inner strength and courage, my capacity to overcome each obstacle along the way, and to triumph.

Just for today, celebrate the fragile joy of motherhood.

Auntie Katie, a Good Neighbor

06 Sunday May 2012

Posted by in Family Life, Guyana, Human Behavior, Relationships

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Bookers Stores (now Guyana Stores) – Georgetown – Guyana (1960s)

Source: www.flickr.com

When I was a kid, our neighbor Auntie Katie lived alone and had no children. I always thought of her as a woman in her forties. Perhaps it was because she was much older than my mother, who was in her twenties during those early years.

Auntie Katie was a buxom woman with strong arms. She had puffy fingers and wrinkly fingertips. “From washing clothes,” she told me when I asked her about her hands. Her large wooden wash basin, filled with water when not in use, always stood at the foot of her backstairs. I enjoyed listening to the squishy sound she made when she rubbed the wet soapy clothes again the scrubbing board.

No one was allowed to enter her kitchen when she was making black-pudding. Her well-seasoned rice sausage, eaten with spicy sourie sauce, was my favorite Saturday evening treat. Among her many customers was an important visitor she addressed as ‘Brother Forbes.’ He was a young British-educated barrister-at-law who later became Guyana’s first Prime Minister in May 1966, when our country gained independence from Great Britain. With sales of her black-pudding, Auntie Katie helped to raise funds for Brother Forbes’ political party. She never missed his party meetings and rallies.

She and my mother argued a lot about political matters. I was too young then to understand what it all meant. Sometimes, they stopped speaking to each other for several weeks. Then, they were friends again. Whatever their differences, my mother respected Auntie Katie and often looked to her for advice.

Every Sunday morning, Auntie Katie dressed up to go to Church. She used hot iron combs to straighten her hair, usually kept tightly-braided and hidden under a headscarf.  Her Church hat matched her dress and handbag. I dressed up with her colorful beaded necklaces and clip-on earrings.

Whenever my mother was busy with her sewing, Auntie Katie would keep an eye on us as we played in the yard. One Christmas season, when my mother had lots of dresses to sew for Old Year’s Night, she took me, my brother, and sister downtown to visit Santa Claus. The three major department stores – Bookers, Fogarty’s, and Bettencourt – each had their own Santa Claus. To our delight, we received presents (at a price) from all three Santas.

Auntie Katie was like a second mother to me. After we moved apart, I saw very little of her. But the years she was our neighbor were enough to teach me not to judge a person by the color of their skin. For this, I am forever grateful to her.

On Mother’s Day, I remember Auntie Katie, a good neighbor. I celebrate all women who have no children of their own but, like her, open their hearts to the children around them.