I met him last March at Babu Jaan in Berbice where I had gone to cover the annual celebration of the iconic Jagans’ lives.
It was after the event and already dusk and the driver, who was unfamiliar with the Corentyne/Berbice route, was afraid to drive in the dark so was pleading with me to hurry.  I also needed to reach Chronicle as quickly as possible because the staff was on standby, waiting for me to return and finish writing my story so that they could close the newspaper. Neither the photographer nor I had any lunch and it seemed as if dinner would be hours away, if we were lucky.
But as I was slowly and courteously wending my way through the crowds streaming out of the venue (refusing to elbow my way out as the driver and photographer were), I overheard a conversation that compelled me to stop and listen.
It was a very old man who was saying “Bharrat nah know nothing. He a lil pickney. ‘E talk easy how dem bhai dead. None a dem nah gat fiah in dem belly like Cheddi.”
He was referring to President Bharrat Jagdeo’s “blood on his hands” speech that had caused so much subsequent furor as the collective opposition went into overdrive to condemn the President for recalling one individual’s pivotal role in the horrific elections day events when two innocent men were brutally murdered by soldiers as they tried to prevent ballot boxes from being hijacked from a polling station by armed ranks of the Guyana Defence Force.
Bholanauth Parmanand and Jagan Ramessar were ruthlessly shot in cold blood by the soldiers that day because they refused to let go of the ballot boxes, then dumped in the army vehicle and left in the hot sun to bleed to death.
The old man was explaining, obviously still deeply affected by events that had happened decades ago.  “Abe used to help Cheddi out.  Me nah see what happen because me bin a share out Mirrah newspapah when dem man start to fiah bullet.
“If you see scatteration.  But dem bhai family start fuh hallah. Da bhai moomah roll pan a ground and bawl fuh she son.”
I still had my notebook and pen in my hand and was taking notes as he spoke.
However, the driver returned at that point and urged me to hurry, so I asked the old man if he could call me and scribbled my home number for him.  He said he was leaving for the USA the next day but promised to call me.
I don’t know if he ever called because I reached home in the wee hours of the morning the next day.
I am a mood writer and events following a meeting last Monday  had upset me very much, so I was not inclined to do interviews; but a call from my grandson saying “gamma, a man named Babu Jaan called to say he came from the States and is at Vieira wharf and that you wanted to speak to him about Dr. Jagan” restored my equilibrium, because – after a moment’s reflection, I remembered the old man and hoped it was him, so I called a taxi and discovered – to my delight, that it was indeed him.
To someone like myself, who loses everything, it seemed a miracle that he still had my phone number after so many months – but it was a timely miracle that he remembered and called me at this momentous juncture in time.
He was terrified of exposing his real name because he still has relatives living in Berbice and he is convinced that the current crime wave is politically motivated and driven, especially because some of today’s opposition leaders were primary players during the terror-filled years in Guyana, when many persons were killed or tortured because they supported Dr. Cheddi Jagan in his lonely but determined fight to restore democracy in this land.
Because I had taken too long to find him and the persons who were driving him back to Berbice came almost immediately after to collect him, I only had a few minutes with him; but those few minutes proved highly illuminating as someone who had lived through those torturous years of this country’s history recalled the terror of those times.
“Before (called an opposition leader’s name) send kick-down-de-door bandits fuh bruk down people door in de nights abe bin a live prapah peaceful in dis country.  Abe nah used to lock door. 
“Almost all dem Indian fam’ly had nuff nuff gold jewels and all dem gyal pickney used to wear gold earrings and bangles since dem a baby and dem ears bore.
“Den (called name) send e people fuh bruk down abe door night time and tief out abe jewels.  And dem prapah used to rape abe gyal pickney when dem come in de house…li’l, li’l gyal pickney.
“Me marrid out me daughta dem but me buddy big daughta want tun lawyah, suh he send she a university.  Me bin a warn am, but ‘e bin hardears.
“Dem send she a national service in de bush and (called name) rape she.  If you see how she bin nice like a flim star and she bin prapah like fuh mek joke and laugh, but when she come home bin like she dead.  She only use to sit down like she nah know whey she deh since den.
“Abe couldn’t even marrid she out because she nah bin virgin nah mo’, suh which bhai woulda marrid she?”
The old man recalled the years of food shortage after almost every essential item had been banned in the country.
“Abe used to get everyting fuh eat because if you could a pay de price people used to bring tings from Suriname and sell am blackmarket.
“But dem police and soljah always a raid people house.  Dem does even look in abe latrine fuh see if abe hide dhal and flouah and alloo (potatoes).”
“But a wen abe get Jhandi and Koran Sharief and wedding den dem does come and eat out abe food, den lack abe up on tap – and dem prapah use to beat abe if dem find abe food.
“When me second buddy li’l daughta marrid abe had to dash de dhal, aloo curry and puri quick, quick in de trench.  Abe nah use to play music nor knack tassa fuh warn dem an dem bhai used to watch out a de street head fuh see when dem a come, but like dem use to smell abe food, because dem always does raid abe wedding house or jhandi house or reading (Koran sharief).”
He had to leave then, but I wrote the above in his own words for readers to judge the veracity of an old man who, years after democracy was restored in this land, is still fearful for speaking out because the same players who were responsible for the terror of those times are still lead players in Guyana’s political arena today.