The Coil: A different kind of social work….
by award-winning heritage blogger Vidyaratha Kissoon
“Do you want any help with your work?” the woman asked as she sat down at the table next to me in the cafe which was empty except for the two of us.
I laughed and said, ‘No’ and she said, “Buy a water fuh meh nuh.”
She had come in breezily, Good Afternoon to everyone. Smile on the face.
The water was free so I bought something else for her with exact change (in case she took the money to BUY DRUGS).
She asked me what work I did and I tried to explain but then I did not bother and mumbled about doing whatever I could get. She smiled and said, ‘that is good’.
A woman had damaged her property which she was using to set up space to sell.
“I am feeling bad today” .
We talk. She has a kind of dreamy way of speaking.
We move to the music. She with her pine tart and water and me in front of the laptop trying to focus on the work which I had hoped to finish and which was not making sense.
“I had everything. His sister took everything: the house, car.”
“What kind of work are you looking for?”
“Any kind of work.” She had asked around at some bars. “But I prefer to do my own business now, I see myself selling”
“What happened with your last work?”
“They did not want me any more. They are good people .. I had good times.”
“I was a waitress. I would hold down a table.”
“What you mean?”
She laughs. “I sit down, the men have their beers, they order cutters. I encourage them to talk and buy more – they spend like $18,000 in two hours.” I laugh. “What?” She said yes, the evening before she held down a table at another bar but the owners did not give her anything.
“But that is life, I don’t mind.” She smiles.
“Well, they don’t want me any more . Some people don’t want good people. .. “
We talk business. She laughs. If it was a foreigner, yes. $7,000. But not recently. She used condoms all the time.
“That was another time.”
“Yes, I climb jacobs ladder and so.. When you need money… you do anything..”
She smiles. “When the captain of the ship like you, you could get a pass to go through the gate on the wharf.”
We hum the lyrics of the songs. “I have travelled all over… I know Portuguese.. I went to the border with Venezuela.” My mind went to Jan, Sly Company of People who Care. I did not ask if she read books.
But now she is married. Her first fella used to be violent. Her husband is good. Her eyes look like they have tears in them as she talks about how grateful she is for the husband. She looks at the ceiling…eyes kind of distant. I get back to the laptop.
I ask about drugs. She got a bit agitated. “People sometimes have no choice, for money.” I did not ask more.
Then I wonder which part of her story is true. The part about the wonderful husband? But then, dreams and reality could get mixed up. And maybe it is how she knows to hold me down at a table and write an interesting story. She got me to spend more than I intended anyways ( I bought more stuff, though not 18,000) Or maybe there are mental health issues or both.
The woman and I talk about work. I ask, “So how long can you last in the business?” And she laughs and says, “Not long… but dem social workers lazy, dey don’t want to do other things and once you get the money, it is easy.”
“Social workers???? “
She continues laughing and her head is thrown back and she says yes, yes that is what some of the girls call themselves.
Some jobs have retirement with pensions. Not always good pensions. Later in the day I jump in a minibus and there is a man who I had met before who started to talk. And talk. “I am 74, will soon be 75”. He lectures – time to get new currency like Suriname, time for different housing for the elderly.
I try to insert questions because my man is a retired teacher and he talking with strength like the whole bus is the class room. I had heard the story once before. The man added, “I have written letters to the papers.”
He had also written letters everywhere else about affordable housing for the elderly. He is renting a room in a home. “The food is too oily.” It seems he and his children had problems so he moved out.
At one point I think of asking the driver to raise the music.
He comes out the bus and tells me that he hopes that I will see things improve in my lifetime because they did not in his. The bus driver asks me.. wait wait duh man was a contractor? I say nah, retired teacher and pension has devalued.
Driver said.. “dat man gah fuh stupid, he aint mek house fuh he self?”
I say ”Well the children.”
Bus man said “what.. no f..ing chirren gun put me out or tell me how fuh live me life”
Listening is not one of the Guyanese habits. People do not seem to want to listen to people, especially to those who seem down on their luck. People share pictures of the mad people and the homeless.
There are some mocking comments of the man reading a newspaper while he is lying on the pavement. I had seen one woman who is on the Bourda Market pavement reading aloud to others from old newspapers.
The International Literacy Day fair on Main Street had books and teaching aids. It was in Main Street, it seemed mostly for children. The Ministry might have paid to use Dora on the teaching aid but maybe there are other teaching aids with Guyanese characters.
This week also there was the Moving Circle exhibition at Castellani House which honoured John Bennet who created an Arawak/English dictionary. The woman in the cafe, the bus driver who could not understand the retired teacher living in a room in a place serving oily food – we did not speak of these events.
“Do you want any help with your work?” the woman asked as she sat down at the table next to me in the cafe which was empty except for the two of us.
I laughed and said, ‘No’ and she said, “Buy a water fuh meh nuh.”
She had come in breezily, Good Afternoon to everyone. Smile on the face.
The water was free so I bought something else for her with exact change (in case she took the money to BUY DRUGS).
She asked me what work I did and I tried to explain but then I did not bother and mumbled about doing whatever I could get. She smiled and said, ‘that is good’.
A woman had damaged her property which she was using to set up space to sell.
“I am feeling bad today” .
We talk. She has a kind of dreamy way of speaking.
We move to the music. She with her pine tart and water and me in front of the laptop trying to focus on the work which I had hoped to finish and which was not making sense.
“I had everything. His sister took everything: the house, car.”
“What kind of work are you looking for?”
“Any kind of work.” She had asked around at some bars. “But I prefer to do my own business now, I see myself selling”
“What happened with your last work?”
“They did not want me any more. They are good people .. I had good times.”
“I was a waitress. I would hold down a table.”
“What you mean?”
She laughs. “I sit down, the men have their beers, they order cutters. I encourage them to talk and buy more – they spend like $18,000 in two hours.” I laugh. “What?” She said yes, the evening before she held down a table at another bar but the owners did not give her anything.
“But that is life, I don’t mind.” She smiles.
“Well, they don’t want me any more . Some people don’t want good people. .. “
We talk business. She laughs. If it was a foreigner, yes. $7,000. But not recently. She used condoms all the time.
“That was another time.”
“Yes, I climb jacobs ladder and so.. When you need money… you do anything..”
She smiles. “When the captain of the ship like you, you could get a pass to go through the gate on the wharf.”
We hum the lyrics of the songs. “I have travelled all over… I know Portuguese.. I went to the border with Venezuela.” My mind went to Jan, Sly Company of People who Care. I did not ask if she read books.
But now she is married. Her first fella used to be violent. Her husband is good. Her eyes look like they have tears in them as she talks about how grateful she is for the husband. She looks at the ceiling…eyes kind of distant. I get back to the laptop.
I ask about drugs. She got a bit agitated. “People sometimes have no choice, for money.” I did not ask more.
Then I wonder which part of her story is true. The part about the wonderful husband? But then, dreams and reality could get mixed up. And maybe it is how she knows to hold me down at a table and write an interesting story. She got me to spend more than I intended anyways ( I bought more stuff, though not 18,000) Or maybe there are mental health issues or both.
The woman and I talk about work. I ask, “So how long can you last in the business?” And she laughs and says, “Not long… but dem social workers lazy, dey don’t want to do other things and once you get the money, it is easy.”
“Social workers???? “
She continues laughing and her head is thrown back and she says yes, yes that is what some of the girls call themselves.
Some jobs have retirement with pensions. Not always good pensions. Later in the day I jump in a minibus and there is a man who I had met before who started to talk. And talk. “I am 74, will soon be 75”. He lectures – time to get new currency like Suriname, time for different housing for the elderly.
I try to insert questions because my man is a retired teacher and he talking with strength like the whole bus is the class room. I had heard the story once before. The man added, “I have written letters to the papers.”
He had also written letters everywhere else about affordable housing for the elderly. He is renting a room in a home. “The food is too oily.” It seems he and his children had problems so he moved out.
At one point I think of asking the driver to raise the music.
He comes out the bus and tells me that he hopes that I will see things improve in my lifetime because they did not in his. The bus driver asks me.. wait wait duh man was a contractor? I say nah, retired teacher and pension has devalued.
Driver said.. “dat man gah fuh stupid, he aint mek house fuh he self?”
I say ”Well the children.”
Bus man said “what.. no f..ing chirren gun put me out or tell me how fuh live me life”
Listening is not one of the Guyanese habits. People do not seem to want to listen to people, especially to those who seem down on their luck. People share pictures of the mad people and the homeless.
There are some mocking comments of the man reading a newspaper while he is lying on the pavement. I had seen one woman who is on the Bourda Market pavement reading aloud to others from old newspapers.
The International Literacy Day fair on Main Street had books and teaching aids. It was in Main Street, it seemed mostly for children. The Ministry might have paid to use Dora on the teaching aid but maybe there are other teaching aids with Guyanese characters.
This week also there was the Moving Circle exhibition at Castellani House which honoured John Bennet who created an Arawak/English dictionary. The woman in the cafe, the bus driver who could not understand the retired teacher living in a room in a place serving oily food – we did not speak of these events.
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