AS I write, I am sandwiched between two houses, being bombarded at the highest decibels by the vulgar cacophony a certain section of the society calls music.
At both houses, there are swaying figures with beer bottles in hand. Last month I visited my home village, which is Adelphi in East Canje, Berbice. What was once a very peaceful neighbourhood has music blasting from bars, private homes, and, ironically, a church, at all hours of the day and night. God has probably gone deaf and needs a loudspeaker from which to hear prayers. Did I say prayers? It seemed more like persons quarrelling. I woke up early in the morning to the clamour and called the police but never received a response.
For months I have been enduring the agony inflicted by these mindless, soulless miscreants while I tried to concentrate on my work. I wonder how students nearby are faring, especially when several of them were studying for future-defining exams. I have called 911 repeatedly, which is a completely fruitless exercise. I have called Ruimveldt Police Station and Providence Police Station, and at times received promises of a patrol being dispatched, which never materialised.
From Good Friday until today (Saturday) the entire neighbourhood has been intermittently bombarded for hours with this vulgar noise; but it seems only Clem David’s widow Charmaine and I are disturbed, and when she complained once she was thoroughly abused. The other neighbours seem to enjoy this crazy noise because many times they are seen gyrating even in the street.
Someone in one of the houses from which the noise emanates has police connections, and I have pictures showing what police do with the force’s vehicles when they make excuses that they cannot respond to complaints because of a lack of transportation.
Because my daughter could not find a parking spot in downtown Georgetown recently, she was forced to drive off after leaving me in a store. I decided to catch a bus after I had finished shopping rather than subject her to the traffic horrors in that particular area; but I soon regretted my decision. The driver disregarded pedestrians, did not stop at crossings, despite some children waiting to cross that busy street, and worse was the music blasting from the set he had hidden in a bag just behind the front seat.
But what shocked me was the policeman sitting with his daughter in the front seat, both gyrating and laughing at the lewdest lyrics imaginable. She could not have been more than ten years old. They got off the bus, still shaking their shoulders to the music. No wonder there are so many instances of rape and incest.
Seeing a traffic policeman in the distance, the conductor turned down the music, whereupon the driver admonished him, saying “nah worry bout he, man, he and I aright!” And while perpetrators can say they are alright, the public suffers unrelentingly.
An old lady boarded the bus in the vicinity of Bourda market and afterward begged the conductor to turn down the music. However, surprisingly, while the conductor merely ignored her, she was subjected to a barrage of abuse from some passengers, including some young schoolgirls, who laughed at the woman. One of them said “muds, if you caan tek de rockins den you need to wait fuh a corkball like yoself.” What happened to courtesy and respect for the elderly? One can just imagine how these members of the younger generation treat their parents and grandparents.
One senior member of the legal fraternity advised me to make a report to the Providence Police Station and take a copy of the statement to him; but I will never again visit a police station, especially the Providence Police Station, because of a horrible experience I once had there, which is another story.
Suffice it to say that, on what should be a day of rest and simple family recreation is being made into an ordeal because of noise nuisance across the country which, instead of abating, has been unrelentingly on the increase.
And the police?  They are too busy gyrating to respond to the complaints of peaceful and peace-loving citizens.