GULAM Mohamed Hussain passed away on Wednesday, December 15, 2009 far from here, far from me, and was buried on Friday, December 18, 2009, in New York, before I learnt of his demise on Monday, December 21, 2009.

‘George’ had been my friend for more than fifty years. The older we got, the more vociferous became the dialogue between us. Deafness perhaps was taking its toll.

We first met on the cricket field – ‘George’ for East Indians Cricket Club (now Everest); I for Malteenoes Sports Club. We were both opening bowlers. I always teased him about his being the fastest slow bowler I had ever seen. His bow-legged run-up was characterised by shirt-tail blowing in the wind, which occasionally would confuse batsmen, and lose them their wickets. His cricketing heroes were Rohan Kanhai and Garfield Sobers, in alphabetical order.

I remember visiting ‘George’ and family in Campbellville when Sheriff Street was not yet constructed; but more particularly, when he and spouse, Jean would regularly entertain at their Blygezight Gardens residence. It was good to look at this handsome couple with equally, if not more, handsome children – Maureen, who was always my favourite, Emron, Terry and Peter who was the last I saw in Guyana not so long ago.

In our more vibrant days, ‘George’ and I caroused together, and were supportive of each other, even though I was wont to harangue him about his promises, sincere but never fulfilled.

In his latter years, alone, he was preoccupied with winning the lotto and buying me a car from the spoils. Which was funny, since, on the other hand, he would entertain me with the Guinness I bought for him to store and serve on my visits. By then, of course, he could not be persuaded to join me in a drink, except once or twice when he carefully squeezed some drops of brandy into his coffee – at my urging.

‘George’s’ political inspiration was always Cheddi Jagan, and he railed latterly against certain contemporary politicians, suggesting that I should be in their place instead.

As the pains made it increasingly difficult for him to move around, he became as adamant about seeing a doctor, regardless of how much I might bully him. Somehow, he seemed reluctant to find out what the true medical problem was. He didn’t want to know.

He put off leaving Guyana to join his family in the US for as long as he could, particularly concerned that he might be confused with the other Hussain — Saddam. He took courage however, when Barack Hussein Obama ascended the presidency of the US.

When eventually he left for the USA, it was a parting neither of us could bear. Our subsequent telephone conversations would usually end with our discussing his return home and sharing with me.

Once again, however, he failed to keep his promise. He just went off and died – in the comforting arms of his wife and children, leaving me with the memory of an irreplaceable friendship, and the reminder that I would no longer have the privilege of certifying his NIS Life Certificate.

The following words from Khalil Gibran may best express my feelings:

“And let your best be for your friend.

If he must know the ebb of your tide, let him know its flood also.

For what is your friend that you should seek him with hours to kill?

Seek him always with hours to live.

For it is his to fill your need, but not your emptiness.

And in the sweetness of friendship let there be laughter, and sharing of pleasures.

For in the dew of little things the heart finds its morning and is refreshed.”