Greetings! How’s it so far? Time, life, anything you’ve been doing.
For me, it’s been smooth road, then into potholes, worrying me head and tail off about my mother’s chronic pain, and my second big brother’s health.
I’ve discovered that potholes are tests. I’ve heard the citizens of my lovely native land saying this in private spaces, and on their phones in public places. (No, I wasn’t eavesdropping. They speak loudly enough for the doorpost to hear.)
What fascinates me is how, despite horrid tests, people find ways to celebrate. Right now, the Guyana nation is in the middle of a celebration. September is Amerindian Heritage Month.
I’ve been thinking about this whilst crawling out of the potholes (there wasn’t even a li’l butter-basha swimming in any of the bleddy holes, not one I could’ve caught and stewed, man, I tell you, potholes ain’t fun). As I lay on the roadside of myself, like drunk Harri-bai ketching heself, the thought occurred to me…wow, look how the culture of our First People is woven into our lives. You’d think that, with them being so far in the hinterland, and with us on the coastland, we’d live completely separated.
To pass the time whilst struggling on my grass verge, I made a list of how the Amerindian people’s lives and culture intertwine with ours. Here’s a short list.
Friends.
We have friends who are either all-Amerindian, or mixed. My Auntie Amna’s best friend is part-Amerindian. It’s no exaggeration when I say that her friend, in younger days, had film-star looks. And her sense of humour would make you disgrace yourself giggling in the middle of a serious university lecture.
I also have a friend who is part-Amerindian. I’m fascinated with her way of seeing and analysing, and with her singing-voice so full of melody. Even her laughter is musical. Her calmness in the midst of distress pulls me in too.
My first big brother, in high school, had an Amerindian friend. I think the father of the friend gave my brother a bow and arrow. (Uh-oh. It was soon confiscated by our parents…long story for another day.) I once met the mother of my brother’s friend on a flight to the interior (another story, etc.).
The Interior.
This is where I met many Amerindians for the first time. A group of men came to see us, the five town teens holidaying there for a week. The feelings of curiosity, and gladness to meet each other, were mutual. Ambrose, a teen, took us on hikes up and down the mountain trails.
There are more people I can talk about, but lemme keep this list easy to travel through, eh?
Places.
Amerindian words sound like water, wind, things of the earth, yet we take it for granted that we live in places with names like Kuru Kururu, Hubu, Laluni. Not the St. Joseph High School nuns though. They gave each sports-house in the school Amerindian names of mountains:
Akaiwana
Wenashima
Paramakatoi
Holitipu
Marudi
Irimaipang.
Food!
Pure cassareep made from cassava juice…no burnt sugar added by conniving town people…gives Amerindian pepperpot a flavour that’s out of this world. Check out the eyes of outside people when they taste this stew for the first time. First love, true love and all that! (Ask the cussing chef from the UK.)
So far, I only know one, possibly two, Guyanese who can’t stand pepperpot; they’ve probably never eaten it made with paku, one of my favourite fish. (You know who you are, dear non-lover of pepperpot, you probably, secretly, crave ’guana pepperpot or agouti pepperpot, hehehe.)
Aaaah boy! Pepperpot and cassava bread. I ought to buy stocks in cassava bread. I toast mine on the tawa and eat it with fish stew, or with roasted tomatoes, onion and garlic, anything liquidy and stewed will do. And I don’t care who hates Marmite, I have to say this! Toasted cassava bread with a thin spread of Marmite…mmmm!!
Arts, craft, stories.
The mosquito brush:
This brush, made with tibisiri straw, was one of the best toys Cousin Nan and I had as children. The brush was loose straw, one foot (about thirty cm) long, woven tightly together at the top, finishing off with a plaited loop. The brush was our child. We taught it and punished it just like how some of the properly horrible primary-school teachers disciplined children.
My father was the only person I knew who used the brush as it was meant to be used…he chased away mosquitoes with the soft straw brush as he listened to the radio. We had that brush for years, until the straw thinned out with old age.
Baskets and table mats:
I’ve given these exquisite, hand-made items to friends in other countries. Seeing these gifts through foreign eyes has made me appreciate them even more. One friend said she displayed the small place mats on her wall.
Balata (from the sap of the balata tree):
Those balata figurines have come a long way. I remember, for years, only toffee-coloured creatures. See them now, my friend! Harpy eagles, tapir, jaguars and other jungle creatures in colours . That craft shop in Water Street had some really wild ones. I’m not sure, though, how many Overseas Guyanese visitors buy them to take back Abroad as reminders of home. I don’t know if the old prejudices persist.
The benab (meeting place):
Y’know what pleases me about the benab in Georgetown? In the midst of pompous, hard-edged concrete structures, there’s this circular brown building, the Umana Yana.
I love that its walls are made of the strongest wood in the world, from our forest, and the cone-shaped thatched roof is of palm leaves. The most skilled Amerindians were employed in its construction. I like that it’s used for floral exhibitions and poetry reading. I dream of reading my nature stories there.
Stories:
I will always remember Dr. Desrey Fox who travelled to Jamaica to perform in the University’s theatre. She wore a grass skirt and she sang stories and songs in her Amerindian language, and she danced. She’d started a fantastic project to share her culture but, unfortunately, she died in an accident. Sad to say, as with the stories of Guyana, the Amerindian myths, lores and legends tend to be placed on the back shelves by town people. Amerindian stories are powerful, and deserve to be gathered, shared through oral storytelling, via performances, and in books. Their songs, in their language, ought to be heard throughout the land.
Artists:
A few of the most well-known artists are:
Marjorie Broodhagen
Stephanie Correia
Winslow Craig
George Simon
Oswald Hussein
They’ve done phenomenal work with wood, steel, clay, canvas, moving from traditional to abstract. Their art explores simple village life, profound themes, mythology and ancient spiritual practices. If you want to look deeper into the works of Amerindian artists, check out this article by Al Creighton:
Aaahhh boy, there’s so much more that I can say but it’s time to rise up from this roadside of myself and get moving. I’m revved up, ready to create! And hungry.
See you two Sundays away! Remember to eat good food and dance up! Plenty love, neena.
What a great read this was I totally enjoyed it. Thanks for curating all this info.
Thank you for sharing the joy, the wonder, the magic of embracing other cultures.