Thoughts of a minibus traveller

  If we’d have waited, it wouldn’t have been done. For years, I have heard and made the complaint about the lack of free, safe spaces that encourage creative writers in Guyana. It’s obvious that we wanted it, so why didn’t we have it? I think that’s when I felt ashamed. Since when did the things that I wanted fall into my lap? And did I really expect them to? After making the effort to attend writing seminars, workshops and retreats online during the past few months, I realised that it would be a great idea to do it here, with our writers who experience the same issues, handle the same strain and sometimes feel just as alone as I do. Oddly enough we have each other’s contact information, it’s just a text message or call or email away. Yet, we operate in our little bubbles and tell ourselves we are alone. I needed that to end – at least for me. With self-centered objectives I reached out to the group. Thankfully, their responses helped me to grow that vision into something that was a li

   A nice Sunday night in October. The voice of the writer and poet comes over the Zoom call  "One second.., why are you saying the window is dirty?"  Another writer on the call  had shared a piece in which the morning light was coming through a dirty window and waking up the character.  There was a lot of description of the room. Brief silence, then someone asked.. 'what do you mean?'.  We then talked a few minutes about the use of the word 'dirty', about how this could bias the reader against the character, and other ways to describe the window.  I never imagined that a conversation about a dirty window could be so interesting.. Guyana's First Virtual Writers' Retreat was held over 5 sessions from 27 September to 25 October, 2020. People joined, as internet and electricity allowed, from Berbice , Essequibo and  Georgetown.  I joined since I have this work task to create a 'compelling narrative'  and I thought it was good to learn a bit more a

  Monkey pots Living in a virtual world– the new normal. When fellow writer Daryll Goodchild announced, via a Facebook writers’ group, that he wanted to organize a virtual retreat for interested Guyanese writers, I raised my (virtual) hand right away.   Thanks to Covid 19, and a year of learning to live in the midst of a deadly global pandemic, a large chunk of everyday life has shifted to a virtual dimension.  It’s a little surreal, we really have created these online replicas of the real world; worlds within the world, which we now occupy so comfortably and naturally.   What is actually surprising, at least to me, was how easily we have adapted to this new norm.  We slipped from the physical to the virtual and found it ready and functional.  Easier even, in some ways, to navigate than the physical one. So Daryll could organize a retreat without having to leave his home, without having to think about where to hold it or worrying about such things as catering for snacks.  Zoom, Skype,

  A man who speaks English sits in a speedboat and watches a child who tries to squash black water and brown water together. The man oncludes that it seems as though black and brown water would never mix. The speedboat is stranded out in the ocean. This from the story "Yuh waan to crass de riv-vah" in Daryll Goodchild's collection of poems and stories about 'experiences of Caribbean people, particularly those of Guyanese.' I read this collection at the end of that Guyanese experience of the elections 2020 in a time of Covid. Black and coolie .. black and brown ,  rich and vibrant and dominant colours, so  reading how the man in the boat wonders about black water and brown water never mixing, and seeing how in an article by another man who speaks English,that others have observed that Guyanese thing "While Guyanese of Asian and African descent have lived side by side for centuries, “they mix but they do not combine,” True true story... . One place where the b

  "Healing Practices" was the theme for the seventh conversation about domestic violence which was held on 17 September, 2020. The conversation was led by Terrie Mystique and facilitated by Carlotta Boodie-Walcott . The participants shared some of the practices which they used as part of their healing journey. Survivors noted that leaving the abusive relationship was just the first step, and that healing continues afterwards.  Some of the points which were noted during the discussion are: First step is to recognise that healing is needed "We have to forgive ourselves before we start healing". People shared about feeling angry at themselves for staying so long, or blaming themselves for not seeing the warning signs of abuse, and feeling this way after the abusive relationship ended. Recognise that 'love is the absence of judgement' and that numbing pain or ignoring pain is not the way to heal, that feeling the emotional and physical pain is part of healing fr

 Heard the man call and I looked out. He is 15 minutes early on the Sunday morning. Cap  peak turned backwards, torso without shirt and with tattoos, slippers, pants rolled up, oldish bicycle.  Haversack on his back. Ready to work. First time he has come to work, yard work which I cannot do. He has been working in the neighbourhood for six years or so, we hail up when I pass him.  A couple of times, he is chilling with a spliff and one time I said.. man.. you aint friken you get arrest and he said nah, that is just to keep his head cool..  . We had talked about doing some work but it never happened, but we hailed up every time I passed his work site.   We set the work. He is efficient. We talk a bit about where he lives, his family, about the work he does. ‘I like construction work.. that is what I really do, not this’   I leave him to work. I smell smoke and am thankful that it is tobacco and not marijuana.   He finishes. We chat some more.. noni and so. Work is good. He is doing a bi

  "I don't tell anyone..  you tell people what you going through .. and they tell you last week they had a headache.." the man tells me.  There had been a pause in our regular lighthearted chat, mostly text. I got a message "a lot going on' and I said let's talk. I am not good with the text chat typing thing in the listening mode. We talk. His voice is a bit different. Voice raised like if he is in a loud environment. Words coming quickly one after another. But he isn't in a loud environment. 'Google prednisone' he tells me. The inflammatory condition has flared up. He had to take the drug 'of last resort' and the side effects - insomnia , mood swings, feeling high energy to do anything, heart racing. "I hope nobody crosses me.. ",  He had told me of the ways he lived with the condition, adjusting life, taking precautions and so and being social and functioning.   He did not tell me  or anyone else about the flare up or the effe