IT is near to one month since my return from Guyana, and I still read of the dubious account given of the Agricola stand-off with the protestors and the police regarding the shooting of a young man. While I am not quite familiar with the actual incident, I am quite aware of the stand-off between the law enforcement officers and the rabble which stopped the traffic from the East Bank end of the roadway going towards the bridge.

We left Diamond Housing Estate at around 4.10pm to pick up a student in Georgetown. My friend, his son and I were not aware of what was really going on, until one Indian woman passing on foot said they robbed her of her bag and what little cash she had, and they were beating people.

We cautiously followed the traffic, since we thought it would be foolhardy to find shortcuts away from the crowded roadway. It was not a simple delay, as we made out, caused by the Bridge traffic coming into the East Bank roadway. We were into a serious traffic jam from around 4.25 pm.

So we sat tight, waiting for an ease with the flow. But our wait was forever.  Soon we learnt that they (the protestors) were burning tyres to stop the traffic, while they were engaging the police in exchanges.

The traffic build-up was about one mile long, with cars lined up bumper to bumper as far as the eye could see. I could not make an estimate of the number, but clearly thousands of commuters were held to ransom by the “don’t-care-a-damn” protesters. We were warned not to deviate from the traffic because we may fall into their trap for the loners.

This I surmised was surely not just a matter against the police, but against the nation. It was plain and clear thuggery centrally directed against the people, more appropriately Indian people. Most of the ones walking towards the blockade were obviously not Indians.

When we saw commuters on foot moving faster than the cars, we were convinced that our wait would be longer than we thought. Then we went to the nearby KFC food store and ordered a bucket of fried chicken and bottles of ZERO Pepsi.

Good thing we did. The traffic did not move more than five car lengths. We topped-up and sat tight for a break in the buildup. The lane to our East had a few guys taking strong drinks and using expletives as they drowned their sorrow. We learnt that two vehicles were set afire, and my friend made contact with another friend who lived right in the vicinity of the fires.

Finally, at around 9.15pm, after 5 hours of waiting, there was a break in the build-up, and we began to move slowly with more space between cars. Soon we drove past the site of the fires and saw a vehicle which was torched. We felt a ton of relief as we passed onward towards the Ruimveldt Industrial Site on our way to the Mandela Avenue Back Road.

We were safe at last, and I promised myself to let it lie in my memory. But seeing the mischief being now made out of the whole affair, I felt it my duty to tell what I saw and experienced.

My first visit after three years was marred by self centred political manoeuvres, and I am left with a dubious mind about when again I will return to Guyana.
I wonder how so many others felt about that ordeal. I am convinced this was the worst East Bank blockade in our history.