God is Guyanese

Dear Editor,

A few months ago my wife and myself on the wings of the Humming bird, Caribbean Airlines, arrived at Cheddi Jagan International Airport (CJIA). We disembarked on the tarmac with the sun on the horizon playing peekaboo with the clouds. The smell of Jasmine emanated from the fairer sex, permeating my nostrils, bringing back memories of my mother.

The check through the AC immigration building was a breeze. I was travelling lightly because I was informed that Guyana “has everything now”. In my haste to exit the building I neglected to pick up my carryon bag that had my laptop.

Panic set in, having had bad memories at Atkinson Airport in the 1970s, but my concern dissipated and a smile returned to my face when a young Afro-Guyanese Immigration Officer handed me my bag.

We exited the Immigration Building for the second time and piled into my friend’s Toyota. The car AC was immediately turned to the max and the driver proceed to exit the parking lot with Bob Marley’s “Coming in from the cold” coming over the radio.

The car seat belt was securely placed over my shoulder not because it’s the law, but memories of the huge pot holes on the old road made it a necessity to prevent one from hitting the wind shield.

The ride, however, was an enhancement from New York City’s road ways. With minimum delays because of the expansion from a two-way to a four-lane highway, we were on our way to the ancient county.

The road ways are crowded with mostly trucks and machinery. All along the public road and streets, deep from that vantage point, is construction of housing and road works. Approximately one hour and thirty minutes later we were on the approach to that construction marvel, the Berbice Bridge , complements of the PPP/C Government. That marvel of human endeavor is a sight to behold from earth, as well as from the heavens.

Two days after arrival we were at Ogle airport, a semi privately owned facility, to fly on a tour of the interior and a visit to beautiful Kaieteur falls, a gift to Guyanese and humanity. We had to wait one hour and thirty minutes to board the small aircraft because the runway was over crowded.

The aircraft flew over virgin territory for miles. Hundreds of feet below in the river we spotted three gold dredging machines, a foreign exchange bonanza. Marley, our tour guide, alerted us to a golden poison frog. I rushed over, but could not see the tiny frog partially submerged in a pool of water between thee leaves. I took pictures and later was able to recognize it. I was moved by the experience.

Returning to Ogle, I was further impressed by the unbelievable number of small planes parked on the tarmac facing every which direction. I was informed that they were owned by small business men and used to shuttle them to business meetings locally, as well as to Surinam and the islands. Guyana is flying high.

On a visit to my friend, the JP, the taxi dropped off my wife and me a village away three blocks from the public road. We exchanged pleasantries and immediately headed to a shed in the back of the house.

A few minutes into the conversation, and my friend informed me that the young couple under his house with his young son were there filling out applications via the internet for visa to the USA. He said that his son gets three sets of customers every day.

The US embassy is giving out visas to just about any applicant. I ask him why they are seeking tourist visas to foreign lands when they have so many places to visit in Guyana and if they remain abroad when they leave.

He said they have visited all the tourist attractions in Guyana and have money left in their pockets for overseas ventures and they return home to their jobs. Furthermore, they are unimpressed with housing in New York and the quality of live in the US.

On my jogging routine one morning, I spotted three boats in an empty lot surrounded by machinery of every description. I looked up at the house on the opposite lot and saw the owner sitting down for breakfast on their veranda with a fan blasting the morning air on their faces.

Ten feet away above him was a third floor that gives the structure an appearance of a captain’s cabin. I inquired about the boats and he informed that the boats give him access to the inter-coastal water ways leading to the interior. He told me his Construction Manager was leaving in 30 minutes to inspect pilings in Orealla and I am welcome to ride with his manager to the location.

I returned with flip-flops on and jumped into the towing vehicle heading for Crabwood Creek. After granting permission by the saw mill owner, we were off.

One hour and forty minutes later we were docking on an elevated plank installed by the owner of the boats. Docked on the opposite side of us was a boat loaded with baskets of varying sizes.

A quick query and I was informed that the baskets were destined for the islands from an order that was received via the internet. This I was told is a regular technique used to receive orders. The interior has gone global.

Fifteen minutes later the two men from our crew and an off duty Police man were having cool drinks from a refrigerator powered by solar panel. Nature must be preserved for future generation.

Time to leave the hinterland and say goodbye to my indigenous brothers. The Construction Manager, satisfied with the task completed by his workers and leaving orders for future work, took videos and still pictures to show the owner/contractor on the cost.

We arrived back at Crabwood Creek from where our small boat was launched and guided on to the towing trailor. The manager/boat operator dragged the boat to higher grounds and stepped out of the truck to discuss lumber ordering for other projects.

I exited the vehicle and approached a stair attached to a nearby structure. I started to climb a never ending number of steps to a deck perched approximately 90 feet into the air, feet away from the river.

Panting I reached the summit and stepped into an open doorway. In the middle of the structure was hung a huge home-made hammock capable of hosting four big individuals. Swaying in the hammock was an elderly gentleman. He informed me that he was on his lunch break.

He asked me if I was visiting and what areas I visited. He said to me that he has never witnessed this level of developments for all his long years. And in the same breath, he said to me, “God is Guyanese.”

I thought I missed understood him and I said, “Can you repeat that?” He said I am telling you that God is Guyanese. I said to him two millenniums ago, He was sighted in Jerusalem and most recently President Lula of Brazil said God was Brazilian.

He said, “No, God stopped in Brazil to refuel on his way to Guyana.” He said God was in Guyana in the 1950s and early 60s. But God had to leave in 1964 when LFS and the PNC stole democracy and He stayed away for 28 years. He said He returned in 1992 and wants to take up permanent residence, but is concerned that the PNC under the guise of APNU is once again on the prowl.

I asked him what God said about Moses. He said Moses is a double offender and will be banished for 80 years to roam the wilderness once again. I ask him if that was the extent of his conversation.

He said He instructed him and everyone else to vote for the PPP/C and democracy. My vote has PPP/C written all over it.