Faced with the choice between changing one’s mind and proving that there is no need to do so, almost everyone gets busy on the proof.”— John Kenneth Galbraith

Didn’t know exactly what to expect when I decided to introduce the idea that we should begin a national conversation on the topic “Who Were The First Guyanese?” I even shared last week’s column on my Facebook timeline, suggesting: “Whether you agree or not, I want to have your response to this idea….”
I was warned that this was an issue as volatile as the identity and validity of the name ‘Jesus’ and would hardly be permitted to survive, much less nurtured as stimulus for a national debate; no one would be willing to respond, I was told. However, like the cultural anthropologist Margaret Mead, I’m inclined to “Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, concerned citizens can change the world;” especially when historical facts supported by DNA evidence could prove that Africans were the first Guyanese.

If this is true, then what became of them? Why is it that, except for some proof that they traded with the Amerindians when “They Came Before Columbus” long before the slave trade, that the living presence of Africans in the Americas (in Guyana?) get expunged? When examined carefully, what more would history’s palimpsest reveal that some historians like Dr Imhotep are discovering while others seem reluctant to investigate and disseminate? Why shouldn’t we examine the records…disclose the truth…encourage a national discourse sparking our children’s curiosity about their origins; an interest informed by facts and the pursuit of truth?

It can be said that I’m behaving like that child living in a psychiatric home for children in the USA, in a story a friend told me a long time ago. My friend was working his way through college in a very challenging janitorial job in that institution. While vainly trying to appeal to the children not to make his work difficult for him; at the same time, he always warned them about the consequences. One morning he turned up to clean the dormitory and found feces splattered all over the walls and on this child who explained: ”I just wanted to see what would happen when the s**t hit the fan”

What was the response to my call for a national conversation, you ask? It was ‘PIM-PIM,’ which in ole people’s parlance, means, no response – not a peep out of anyone; not even those I believed should have had an interest in following up. In this instance, “the s**t” definitely did not hit the fan.

Since our nation’s historians, scholars, academics and certainly Guyana’s Administration, do not seem to agree with the necessity to pursue this issue, since I can be identified as none of the above, wouldn’t it be “foolish consistency” to continue to belabour this question here? Better to return to the fiction of:

FREE AS A BIRD!
…bout haf-pass-six dat mawnin areddy ah dun fetch d crab-wood seed up d hill…scoop-out a big batch…ana was wukkin pon anada one wen ah hear a noisy cackle-cackle! cacklin squawk-squawk! squawkin in de bush; ah cock mih ears an kerry on wukkin. Ah hear it a-gain soon afta dat: cackle-cackle- cackle! squawk! squawk! squawk!…is a bull-tatter some-where pon d trail coming in. He did seein me all d time so is not me excitin-e now; is eida dat-e see animal, or is some-body comin. If ah did idle ah wudda-guh- see if ah-coulda hit a wild-hog or some ting…mih sal-fish-stock runnin low an fresh-fish getting-scarce-like-hell dese days since wata- droppin.

Afta bout ten minutes, ah hear a hail-out – is people. Dey muss-be start walkin early dis mawnin. Wen ah look-up ah see a long-line-a-pork-knocka, ev-ry one wit a warishi-pon-e back. Ah glad to see dem… is long time now since ah see people; but…look all dis wuk ah gotta do…mek up mih mine…sen dem bout dey bizness quick-quick or dis hole day gon-gone-to-waste. Buh wen ah look-again, ah recognize mih ole swar Baje…is Baje-an-e-crew. Well, dat is okay – even if is hole day dey stay heah? fuh Baje – is okay…cause me and Baje we guh back a long way in dis back-dam…a long, long way.

Baje! Baje! Baje! Wappnin bro? Yuh early man…is witch die-rection yuh comin from? Demerara Woods or French-man?

“Naw man, oy sleep Ekuk Creek…truck break down last night just round there. Oy got some youth-man heah doan know the werks so oy training them … wake-up early…stead o waiting on the truck…ketch the late moonlight …tell the truck-man to check we here when he done repairs…. ”

Baje, ah hope yuh tell alladem fore yuh bring dem dat “BUSH NA FUH BWOY!”

“Oy tell them man, but…well we going to see who is man…time will tell, not so? Remember that ole werk you and oy did foin that time by that abandon…” –

…ole shaft?…how yuh meanin IF I rememba Bage? Duh was we LASHOUT LOCATION; is how I gon fuh-get dat spot? Rememba how we had to get-on like-if d blows was killin we? cause we didn wan start a SHOUT in d backdam? I must rememba dat, bro. Yuh go-in back dere? Is years now man…you sure yuh gon fine d place? Yuh wanta come-an-help- yuh fine it?…was a-heapa-ole-wood-an-rock-an- bramble we did-pile-up to hide-it…rememba?….duh was how long ago? D bush must-be tekover dat spot –

Look Baje, ah wudden promise yuh to stay…but if yuh wan-mih-come-help-yuh fine d place…

But Baje seh: “Don’t worry…doan worry my brother. Oy done foin a edge and oy start werk already. Baje just come now to get you to come werk that dream with me, man. How you mean you can’t stay? Oy just coming back from Linden where oy pick up this crew and come here just to look for you; like you forget…”

Dat mawnin ah look at mih ole I-dren Baje …how he lickin-e- whiskas like-if-e-tastin dat goal…ah see how d memory-a-dem coarse nugget we pick-up dat day in dat water-hole near dat ole-shaft, plus all d curry-powder we scrape-off d malgam-sheet; ah see alladat glintin in Baje eyes wen he look at me deep in mine an ask dat question. Is how I gon eva for-get dat day? How ah gon for-get wat Baje did seh to me wen we de-cide not to tell nobody else in d back-dam bout dat rich hole we fine; we siddown pon dat greenheart takuba and we reason…

To be continued.