Coil: A minibus named Runaway Train, old houses and M.V Guyana

One of Guyana's beautiful old style wooden houses

by Vidyaratha Kissoon

“Oh losh is de same man in de bus” the schoolgirl said with some despair. De man was a preacher man. The bus called ‘Runaway Train’ was like a pentecostal church. The driver had been fiddling with the music – moving from one song wid dutty lyrics to anodda song..he kept the volume low

Second driver in a week having to fiddle with music.

Something with how the music is handed to the drivers on a flash drive to play. Minibus compilations.

Coolie people in the bus and I was going to ask for old coolie songs.

The bus stopped for a passenger. Driver turned to conductor and said.. ‘leh we pick he up.’

The man was neatly dressed. Looked like a construction worker.

‘Morning everybody’ said the man as he came in. It has been a few days since I notice a lot of people saying morning and afternoon.

Driver turn off the music.

“Driver you thought about those things which we talk about”

Driver said yes, yes. Driver looking in the rear view mirror. People in the bus quiet.

Man began. “Friends today I will bring a message to you. “

He started to share the word of God in the Runaway Train. Driver glancing every now and then in the rear view mirror.

“Everybody free to have their own belief and religion” preacher man say as he proceed to explain why his own is the greatest.

Dis still better dan de dutty music.

Man started to talk about the promise of heaven, and the torment of hell.

It remind me of the taxpayer funded scripture produced by the Department of Public Information ( I like to call it Department of Public Illusions) last week – MV Guyana on the way to Paradise.

Scripture about how the drug lords responsible for the former economic boom and that now the small businesses, taxi drivers, hair dressers, small shops, market vendors who feeling the squeeze was all probably drug dealers in one way or another.

I couldn’t hold back. “Man , now is hell for many people, look what going on, we aint gotta wait”

Preacher man tell me about the loving God and so. And that heaven is promised.

The loving God who punishing people with crime, and all the evil in the world. The benevolent President “magnanimously decentralising power “ according to the DPI. Those who are not profiting from the insecurity and crime must take comfort in “a difficult and necessary transitionary period towards a better Guyana. This is a temporary state of affairs” The Constitution will not be transformed. There is no news of when the various Commissions will be established. We hear of ‘magnanimity’ rather than duties and obligations.

“Brother you have your own beliefs”

It is true. I believe that MV Guyana is has not gone nowhere since it set sail 50 years ago and that it has a lot of holes in it with patches and an unknown destination.

Bus people quiet. Lady next to me keep looking at her watch. School girl jumped out a long time ago.

Preacher man talked more about heaven.

“Brother you might not believe.” His voice a lil impatient now. .

I say no man, my religion say we have to create heaven on earth here.

“I blessed to come in dis bus. Lord Krishna send you here today to stop dis driver from playing he dutty music, and you are doing good work’

Man in front turn back to me and ask me how come dey have two Diwali.

Conductor turn to me.. lil vex, if Ram was God why he had to go to exile and he couldn’t find he way back , and de people had to light up de path fuh he come back?

Driver looking at me worriedly in the rear view mirror.

“We aint quarrelling about who religion better.., we only discussing.. “

He said this more than once.

Driver of the Runaway Train keeping peace in the bus.

We dodging Dutty lyrics and discussing God with no quarrels. Like race and sexism and so in Guyana, we discuss. A lot , but difficult to move to resolution .. because the resolution is the destination.

“Take salvation , accept the Saviour and go to Heaven”

I say “nah according to my scripture, heaven is here and now”

Preacher man explained love. Agape love he said, the love of God, Filios love, Eros love

Driver say.. “call back them love again. “

Preacher man explained again. Eros love is the love of man

Driver  say, dat aint good.

I have a feeling he thought Eros love mean Gay love.

Preacher man say Eros love is the worst kind. It is lustful and so.

I say “yeah , just like dem lyrics dat de driver stop play, you see how God does wuk?”

Driver smiling nervously.

“Brother, I know you have your own beliefs. Do you believe in Adam and Eve… Vedas are not true.. 

Let me share some facts…“

Driver looking at me nervously.

Runaway Train reach my destination and I come out.

Preacher man tells “Brother, go in peace, one day you will learn”.

People still silent . There is something about the silence. The silence might not be consent. The silence might be the avoidance of conflict at the Runaway Train reaches various destinations. Like how in MV Guyana those who move to the top of the ship change course, or spin the ship around so that people think it is a different course. But it is the same course.

Maybe people want to hear the scripture of hope. Maybe that is why MV Guyana doesn’t have mutinies and the public quietly tithes for the gospel of the Department of Public Illusions or its previous incarnations.

Another bus parked in a no parking zone to pick up passengers. The Constitution is no longer going to transformed and we will hear o

There is one of those beautiful wooden houses, windows all around. I am obsessed with these houses. 

While waiting on my fellow citizens who are complicit in the illegal enterprise, my mind runs.. who lived there, who built this, what was it like when it opened, where are their descendants now?

The Berbice coast has many of them, some big, some small but the speeding cars fly past them.

I believe the architecture is unique to Guyana. Wood must have been cheap in those days. There are some with the ‘Widow Tower’ on the Berbice Coast. Some of the small cottages have the high roof and windows.

Many have been abandoned.

In Georgetown, some have been marked for destruction. I walked with a tourist on one of the quiet streets with many of the wooden houses. He kept taking pictures of them – even the abandoned ones. 

I kept looking for robbers.. regardless of the time of the day as I walk on the nice pavements and avenues, I am looking for robbers.

The houses would have been built by black people and coolie people. There must have been trading of the techniques across the races. Many of these houses would probably have been built before Guyana became Independent. The windows were not grilled up. If am ‘patriotic’ about anything, it is the existence of these old wooden houses.

This architecture which is uniquely Guyanese has disappeared. Advertisements now appear for ‘Florida’ style communities. Concrete. Grilled up windows. A lot of security. One builder near me cut down the tree that was there.

I love gawking at the old wooden houses which are in yards with trees.

Each house is monument to creativity.

The decaying houses are a reminder of the loss of the dreams of those who built them, and submission to the economics of timber and concrete.

Submission to the gospels in the Runaway Train and MV Guyana without thinking that there are alternatives.